#…where he went wrong and wants to do better

[bluukive]

- ᡣ𐭩 Home is Where the Heart is

summary - What's more endearing than your affectionate husband? Your drunk, affectionate husband.

warnings - none, minus Satoru being a little snotty whilst crying. First proper attempt at a short fluff fic !! Kinda proofread (n idk how being drunk works lolol)

wc - 1044

It’s been exactly 23 minutes since your bumbling oaf of a husband came back home from a night out. After all, even the strongest needed some time to unwind. 

The front door slammed shut and a loud crash followed. It was most likely his gangling body colliding with the coat rack. Again. 

A groan. “W-who put thaaaat there?” he whined, long legs dragging all the way up the stairs. Too many of them, Satoru thought. He should probably hollow purple them all later. But only later, because right now? His lower lip was wobbling and there was a dull pain in his arm from crashing into the bedroom door. It swung open once he had a good grip on the handle, and alas, the tears started to fall. 

Satoru trudged over to the king-sized bed, not bothering to kick his shoes off. 

“I miss my b-bitchass wife,” Satoru sniffled, drunken words muffled by the increasingly sodden pillow that he had buried his face into. His heart ached terribly. How did anyone expect him to live without the love of his life beside him?

Satoru honestly thought he’d die without hearing your voice, so he fumbled about for his phone in one of the pockets of his tweed jacket once he was able to prop himself up on an elbow (trust your boyfriend to make the most questionable fashion choices). The intoxicated look in his eyes and the rosy cheeks would have been adorable if not for the fact that his nose was running from all of the dramatics, but Satoru couldn’t bring himself to care. With a quick wipe of his sleeve, his long, sluggish fingers went to work. 

Ring. Ring.

“Heeeeey gorgeous-”

“This isn’t your wife, Satoru. Wrong number.”

Click. 

Somewhere in the city, a tired sorcerer was exhaling out of his nose and clenching his jaw. How awkward.

Again, Satoru scrolled through his contact list with bleary eyes. Fuck, where were you?

Suguru? Not it. 

Shoko? Nah.

Mei Mei? Fuck no. He’d rather deepthroat a cactus than be associated with her, as he so loved to remind you frequently. 

But finally! ‘Wifey’, the contact name read. Satoru sniffed and tried pulling himself together before pressing ‘ring’, a giddy look in his twinkling blue eyes. The eager pants that left his lungs fell in sync with the rapid thuds of his heart.

Oh, he got to hear his beloved again! Joy to the world!

And what was even better was the fact that you answered on the first ring. “Yoohoo? What is my awfully drunk husband doing calling me at this hour?” you tittered, eyes crinkling further shut the wider your smile grew. 

Satoru swooned. God, what a dreamboat you were. His eyes fluttered shut as he rolled over onto his back, lower lip caught between his teeth. “Hmm? ‘M all fiiiiine and sober, I promise! I just m-miss you, that’s all…”

“No more lying, Mr. Cottonmouth. You are sooo drunk.”

A sniffle left Satoru. Your playful demeanour was getting to him good and proper. How did he get so blessed with a wife like you?

“...Toru? Don’t cry on me now, baby. Talk to me,” your voice called out, softening once the first telltale sign of your husband’s vulnerability came out. But whilst you were growing tender with Satoru, that same smile was still on your lips. 

“Well-” he tried to say, but his voice cracked. Satoru cleared his throat and began speaking once more. “I love you so goddamn much.”

And honestly, it warmed your heart to hear how he didn’t stammer through his declaration of adoration for you, even if no other words came as naturally to him.

“L-like, I think I’d die without you.” One pause.

“I just wanna crawl under your skin ‘n live there.” Another pause and a slight shudder.

“I want you to hold my heart in your hand ‘n feel it b-beat for you,” Satoru croaked out, shoving his face into his pillow once more. He felt so miserable that you weren’t there with him. 

But you should have been. You should have been laying there, head on his chest and one leg thrown over his hip as you both dreamt of each other. The fact that you weren’t doing that made Satoru’s heart clench so painfully.

And then he began wailing. Long, dramatic wails accompanied by hiccuping sobs that had you pulling away your phone from your ear with a wince. On and on the sobs went, and a deadpan expression slowly began appearing on your face. The game had gone on for long enough, and you missed your husband snoring like a baby beside you.

“Satoru. I’m quite literally beside you.”

Yes. Your husband, in his drunken haze, hadn’t noticed you in your shared bed. You were sitting up against the headboard, staring down at your pitifully hammered spouse. 

Click!

You both hung up your phones in silence, your shoulders bobbing as you concealed a fit of laughter. Satoru sat up slowly, clearly not amused.

His face was flushed nicely now, and not just because of the alcohol. His eyes remained blurry and unfocused, but indeed! You were sitting there with the biggest grin on your stupidly gorgeous face. 

“So y-you were just watchin’ me whilst I was pouring my heart out like a widow?”

You shrugged, shuffling over with a hand reaching out to tug your sulking husband closer. “It was cute. I like this side of you. Minus the wailing.”

“T-traitor. You’re such a traitor,” he groaned, the prank you had pulled sobering him up slightly. The embarrassment coursed through him as he lay down next to you, glassy eyes burning a hole through the ceiling. But hey! At least you were with him, right?

“...I feel stupid. Can you kiss me?”

“Wipe your nose first, you man-child,” your nose scrunched as you tossed a wad of tissues his way. 

In record time, Satoru had scrubbed his entire face dry and raw, then flopped onto you. He didn’t care that your fists were thumping at his chest. He didn’t care that he was slobbering all over your face and pecking you like an eager puppy. What mattered now was the fact that he was finally where his heart was.

With you.

divider by @cafekitsune

[sixxels]

yearn ~ r.sukuna ~ angst.

fratboy!sukuna x reader

the smoke clings to the ceiling like guilt, thick and slow and suffocating. sukuna stares at the burn mark on his comforter, where the ash from the blunt dropped earlier, but he doesn’t move to brush it away. the room’s quiet except for the low hum of the old fridge and the occasional burst of laughter from the living room where the rest of the frat is pretending life isn’t ugly. his head tips back against the wall, eyes red and glassy, not from crying, he tells himself, but from the high.

he can still hear your voice. soft. cracked around the edges. “why are you acting like this ryo?” you’d asked, standing in the doorway of his room that night, fingers curled into the sleeves of your hoodie like you were holding yourself together. “what... what did i do wrong...?”

he’d scoffed, mean and hollow, biting down on his lip to suppress the ache in his chest. “don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart. you didn’t do anything. i’m just not interested.”

“you’re lying,” you whispered. you looked so sure. so goddamn sure. like you could see right through him. like you weren’t afraid of what you’d find. “ryo, please, i know you don't feel that way, i know—”

“you don't know shit y/n,” he snapped, standing up so fast the chair he was sat in screeched across the floor. “this? whatever fantasy you’ve got going on up in your head? it’s not real. i hook up, i fuck, that’s what i do. i’m not boyfriend material, sweets. you fucking knew that.”

he’d watched something in your face shatter. your eyes went wide for a second like you’d just been slapped, and then you nodded. once. sharp. “right... i... i get it.” your voice shook, but you didn’t dare cry. not yet. you just turned around and left, shutting the door behind you like he was something to leave behind.

he’d stood there for hours after. didn’t go to the stupid party that raged on downstairs. didn’t drink. didn’t even move. because that wasn’t what he wanted to say. what he wanted was to grab your wrist and pull you back and tell you he was scared. that he’d never wanted anything more than you. that you made him feel like maybe he could be more than just some fucked-up frat boy with a god complex and too many bodies to count.

but he stayed quiet. because love from him? it was a curse. and you deserved better.

he drags another inhale from the blunt, coughs into the sleeve of his hoodie, and blinks back the memory of the next night after he had rejected you so coldly.

you were sitting on the steps outside the frat. head bowed, hair falling in front of your face. and gojo was next to you, arms slung around your shoulders, voice low and steady like it always is when he’s trying to be serious. “you don’t have to talk,” he’d said, brushing your tears away with his thumb. “but you’re not alone, alright? you’re not alone.”

and you’d leaned into him like you belonged there. like it was safe. and sukuna watched from the shadows like a fucking coward, nails digging into his palms, teeth clenched so hard it hurt. because he should’ve been the one holding you. but he knew how this played out. gojo was soft where sukuna was sharp. patient where he was reckless. the type to kiss your forehead and mean it. the type to remember your birthday without needing a calendar.

so sukuna turned around and walked back inside, pretended he didn’t see the way you clung to gojo like you were drowning and he was air.

he’s been pretending ever since.

his phone lights up with a text from some girl he doesn’t remember meeting, heart emoji at the end like he’s worth feeling something for. he doesn’t open it. just lets the screen go dark again and stares at the ceiling, wondering how the hell he got here. two years. two fucking years of falling for you in silence. laughing at your jokes even when no one else got them. offering you his hoodie when you were cold even though he played it off like he was just tired of hearing you complain. calling you sweetheart because it made you roll your eyes and smile up at him at the same time.

he still remembers the way you looked at him once, months before the fall out. you were on his bed, scrolling through your phone, and he was just watching you like a goddamn idiot. you glanced up and caught him staring, and instead of asking what, you just said, “you’ve got that look again.”

“what look?” he asked, voice rough.

“like you want to kiss me but you’re too scared.”

he almost did. right then. almost leaned over and ruined everything early. but he just snorted and said, “you wish,” and turned away, heart pounding like a fucking war drum in his chest. because he wanted to. so fucking badly he wanted nothing more than to have you, to kiss you like he meant it.

now you’re with gojo. and he can’t even hate him for it. gojo’s good. really good. he’ll treat you like you’re the center of the universe. and you deserve that. deserve someone who shows up and says how they feel instead of burning bridges just to avoid the pain of vulnerability.

sukuna doesn’t get that. he gets this. a room full of smoke and silence and regret, the weight of unsaid words choking him harder than any blunt ever could.

he runs a hand over his face, dragging his nails down his jaw until it stings, eyes fluttering shut. he whispers to the dark, voice hoarse and cracked like something long-dead, “i’m sorry.”

no one hears it. not you. not gojo. not the version of himself that still believed he could be better.

but it’s the truth. and maybe that counts for something.

he’ll never tell you. never say it out loud. never ruin what peace you’ve found just to unburden his guilt.

he’ll just sit here, night after night, loving you from a distance. too much of a coward to let you in, too in love to ever let you go.

[spidersoulss]

"Wheres My Shirt?!"

Pairings: Dean Winchester x f!Reader

Summary: Dean can't find his favorite shirt, he's ripped apart his whole room. Until he finds you wearing it. 

Warnings: Smut (fingering, P in V, unprotected sex(wrap it before you tap it BITCHES)) dean unlocks a new turn on, me still not knowing how to write decent smut (guys i'm trying my best i swear)

Word Count: 1,236

Dean grumbled in frustration as he pulled out every single shirt from his dresser. He couldn't find that one single shirt. I mean he wore it practically every day for fuck sake, how did he lose track of it?

He dug through his dirty laundry, went deep into his closet, but still no luck. “What the hell!” he shouted, ready to rip his own hair out. His room was torn inside out from looking for this shirt, his favorite shirt. “Sammy!” he yelled, storming down the bunker halls to Sam's room.

Sam looked up at his older brother, his brows furrowing when he practically sees steam emitting from Dean's ears. “What? What's wrong-” 

“Did you take my shirt?” Dean interrupted, Sam gave him a look of annoyance, the look that said ‘are you really asking me that right now?’. Dean gestured with his hands, waiting for an answer. “No dude, I did not steal your shirt” Dean grumbled angry words under his breath. “I can't find it anywhere!” he threw his hands up exasperatedly. 

“I don't know, dean, maybe y/n did the laundry and it's in there” Sam suggested, going back to doing whatever Sam does. “Yeah that better be it” Dean said, already making his way towards your room. 

You had done the laundry, everyone's laundry for today. Unbeknownst to Dean, you had washed his favorite shirt and decided to wear it fresh out of the dryer. You were laying on your freshly made bed, phone in hand, and cozy in Dean’s favorite shirt. Which was the perfect amount of baggy on you; Making it your favorite as well. 

He says your name as he barges into your room, not bothering to knock, “please tell me you have seen my fav-” he pauses when he sees you. His eyes raking over your body. His breath catches in his throat. 

Apparently wearing his clothes does something to him. “Your what?” you tilt your head to the side, clueless of his manic frustration to find this goddamn shirt. “My…uhh” he clears his throat, “my shirt” dean points to the shirt on your body. “Oh, yeah I did laundry today, I threw this on after I took my shower,” you explained casually. Dean couldn't stop staring, literally ogling you. “You good?” you raise a brow, “huh? Me? Yeah im- im so good right now” you notice how his voice got huskier, he stalked towards you. “Okaayyy, do you want it back or something?” he crawls over you, nestling his head in the crook of your neck and kissing lightly.

You inhale a soft breath. “Not anymore” he mumbles against your skin, “it looks better on you anyway” he kisses down your neck and across your collarbone. Your breathing becomes heavier as he leaves faint marks on your skin. “Dean-” he shushes you with his lips, you moan softly into them. 

“I just showered” you fein complaint and he huffs a laugh, “hope you want another one, because you're gonna need it after this” he smirks. 

His hands snake down your body, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He didn't expect you wearing his shirt, his favorite shirt, to turn him on so much. But alas, here we are, and neither of you are complaining. 

A shaky sigh escapes your lips as his fingers thread the waistband of your panties, because of course you're not wearing pants right now. “You fuckin tease” he grumbles against your lips, “not wearin any pants, and look at that-” he dips his hand under and drags a slow torturous finger through your slick folds. 

You whimper against him, “so wet for me already, huh? Was this your plan all along, rile me up and get me to fuck you senseless?” he asks tauntingly as he continues to tease at your entrance. 

That was not your plan at all but it sounds like a great one right about now. “It should've been my plan if I knew this was gonna happen” you grin, your lips turning into a soft ‘O’ shortly after as Dean sinks his two fingers into you. “Oh fuck..” you groan.

“So gorgeous baby” he praises as he sets a steady hard pace with his fingers pumping in and out, his mouth attaches to your neck. You arch into him, hands threading through his dirty blonde locks. He groans lowly against your skin when you give a little tug, hinting at your approaching orgasm.

“Oh my god, Dean please I need you” you moan, pleading breathlessly. “This aint enough for you babygirl? Need my cock inside you huh? Wanna cum around my cock?” he teases, kissing up your jaw and on your lips. You nod fervently, “yes, god yes please” you look at him through your lashes, he folds immediately. 

“I can't deny my girl what she needs now can i?” he grins as he pulls his cock out from his boxers, his sweats discarded long ago. You almost drool as you look at it, glistening red tip leaking with pre-cum. 

It's something you'll never get used to, the size of him. No matter how many times the two of you do it, it's always the same when he pulls it out for you. 

You lick your lips and Dean chuckles, “greedy girl” he tuts. He drags the tip through your folds and you both moan. Dean kisses you deeply as he pushes inside of you, inch by inch. “Relax, i got you” he can feel you tense up but you let go at his words, he pins your hand down on the sheets. 

“Dean you better move or i'm gonna-” you can't even finish your thought before he pulls out almost completely and slams back inside you. You cry out his name and squeeze his hand. He sets a brutal pace with his hips, leaving you a cursing, moaning, sweaty mess. 

“Thought you could just wear my shirt and get away with it? Huh? Thought I wouldn't do anything about it?” he grunts, his hips slapping against your thighs. The sound echoes throughout your room. 

“N-no, i didn't kno-ow” you manage to say between moans. “Shh shh babygirl i’m not mad, just.. extremely turned on” he kisses you more, drowning out your lewd, explicit noises and thrusting harder at his last words.

“Dean im, oh my god i'm so close” you whimper, clenching your walls around him. He takes in a sharp breath. “I know, i know” he reaches a hand down in between your bodies and circles his thumb over your very sensitive bundle of nerves. 

“Cum for me, cum around my cock, please baby I need to feel you” he almost whimpers, your stomach twists and the knot in your core bursts and you flutter hard over Dean, sucking him in deeper as your orgasm hits, his hitting not long after. (a second orgasm has hit the tower (again, not sorry, i had to)) 

“That's it baby, let go for me, i love how you clench around me, feels so good” he moans, his head falling into the crook of your neck as he sings your praise. 

Your breathing is labored and dean pulls out, you whine at the loss of him. leaving your walls empty and fluttering around nothing. You break the silence after a long moment, “I should wear your clothes more often” he laughs into your neck, wrapping his arms around you.

“Yes you should” 

Dividers by: @cafekitsune

[worlds-we-write]

Hii, I adore your writing. Can you please do one where Joelxreader had a fight, he didn't feel good enough, old and went to sleep angry. He woke up in the middle of the night, didn't see you there and even noticed your side was cold, which meant you hadn't been there for a while. He panicked and thought you left him.

In the end he did find you in the house and you made up. Some fluff please, smut if you want. Thanks :)

Only You

Word Count: 1,830

Tags: Angst, insecurity, emotional hurt/comfort, panic, soft making up, light smut (mildly descriptive, f!reader, oral f receiving), age-gap themes, language

AN: Thank you so much for this request! Hope you like it! As always, my inbox is always open for requests for anything specific you wanna read <3

My Masterlist

“You can’t just shut me out every time something scares you, Joel!”

Your voice cracked as it bounced off the walls of the cabin. Joel didn’t flinch. He stood near the table, arms crossed, face like stone.

“I ain’t shut you out.”

“You have,” you insisted, eyes shining. “For days. You’ve been in your head, pushing me away, barely talking, barely looking at me. And when I try to ask—when I try to love you through it—you act like I’m the one hurting you.”

Joel’s jaw flexed.

You took a step closer. “What is going on?”

His voice was low. Bitter. “What’s goin’ on is that you’re finally seein’ me for what I am.”

You blinked. “Joel—”

“I’m tired, baby. Tired of pretendin’ like this is easy. Like I ain’t constantly waitin’ for the other shoe to drop. You’re young, you’re kind, you got a whole damn life ahead of you, and I’m just—” He shook his head. “I’m just some old man clingin’ to somethin’ that don’t belong to him.”

Your heart shattered right in your chest.

“Don’t do that,” you whispered. “Don’t take what we have and twist it into somethin’ ugly just ‘cause you’re scared.”

“I ain’t twistin’ nothin’. I’m tellin’ the truth.”

“Well, it’s a shitty truth,” you snapped, tears brimming. “And it isn’t mine.”

Joel stared for a beat—then turned. “I’m done talkin’.”

He walked out.

Not a slammed door. Not a final word. Just silence. Like he’d already decided.

You stood there in the stillness, breath shaky, limbs buzzing with frustration. He didn’t even look back.

You didn’t go after him.

Your hands trembled as you grabbed a blanket from the closet and curled up on the couch. You couldn’t cry again. You were too angry. Too heartbroken. Joel had this way of building walls and convincing himself he was protecting you by doing it. But all it did was make you feel like a stranger in your own home.

You stared at the ceiling for what felt like hours, blinking up at the darkened beams as the clock ticked on. He didn’t come back out. You didn’t go in.

Eventually, exhaustion claimed you.

Joel’s eyes snapped open.

The room was pitch black, save for the faint glow of moonlight through the curtains. His body was still warm with sleep, but something felt wrong.

He reached out instinctively for you—cold sheets. Empty space.

His hand searched again, heart beginning to race. Your side of the bed wasn’t just empty—it had been that way for a while.

“Fuck,” he muttered, bolting upright.

The fight came rushing back in pieces—your voice trembling, the look in your eyes when he said you deserved better. The way he walked away like a coward, thinking silence would protect you both.

But now?

Now all he felt was dread.

“Baby?” he called into the dark, voice rasping from sleep and guilt. No answer.

He got up fast, pulling on the first hoodie he found and moving through the house, bare feet padding softly across the wood floor.

No sign of you in the kitchen.

Bathroom light off.

Coat still hanging by the door, shoes untouched.

His chest clenched.

Maybe you left anyway. Maybe it had taken a few hours to decide, but you realized he wasn’t worth it after all.

He deserved that.

But it would ruin him.

The fear took over, clawing up his throat as he stumbled into the living room—and stopped.

There you were.

Curled into a ball on the couch, blanket twisted around your legs, a crease between your brows even in sleep.

His knees nearly gave out with relief.

He moved slowly, crouching beside the couch and brushing a piece of hair away from your forehead.

You stirred at the touch, eyes fluttering open.

“Joel?” Your voice was groggy, confused.

His face was crumpled in guilt. “I thought you were gone.”

You sat up a little. “Why would I leave?”

Joel looked down. “’Cause I gave you every damn reason to.”

There it was—cracked and raw. All his worry, all his anger, all his fear that you were too good for him, poured out like floodwater from a broken dam.

You reached for his hand. “I needed space, Joel. I wasn’t leavin’. I was hurt.”

“I know,” he rasped, voice thick. “I—fuck—I didn’t mean any of it. You were right. I pulled away and then got mad when you noticed. That ain’t fair.”

You squeezed his fingers gently.

“I didn’t want to sleep without you,” he admitted, barely above a whisper. “Woke up and you weren’t there and... I lost it.”

His eyes were glassy. The vulnerability in them made your chest ache.

“Come here,” you said softly, shifting over to give him space on the couch.

He settled beside you, slow and careful like he didn’t think he deserved to. You pulled the blanket over both of you.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, voice barely audible against your temple. “I feel like I ain’t enough sometimes. Like you’ll wake up one day and see what I see.”

You looked up at him, gently guiding his face to meet your gaze.

“You wanna know what I see?”

He hesitated, then nodded.

“I see a man who has survived things most people wouldn’t. I see someone who carries so much pain but still chooses love. I see someone who protects what he loves with everything he’s got.”

Joel’s eyes shone in the low light.

“I see someone I want. Someone I love. Exactly as he is.”

A shaky breath escaped him. He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to yours.

“I don’t deserve you.”

“Yes, you do,” you whispered. “Stop sayin’ that.”

You kissed him then—soft and slow, mouths moving like they’d missed each other all night.

Joel deepened it, a low sound escaping from the back of his throat. His hand settled on your waist, pulling you closer.

You climbed into his lap without hesitation, straddling him beneath the blanket, hands cupping his face.

He kissed you like he was trying to make up for all the words he didn’t know how to say.

“I thought I lost you,” he whispered against your lips.

“You didn’t.”

“Never wanna go to sleep mad again.”

You smiled, touching your nose to his. “Then don’t be an ass next time.”

That earned a breathy laugh from him. “Fair.”

His hands slid under your shirt, rough palms skimming the soft skin of your back. You shivered, not from the cold, but from the way his touch still made your stomach flutter.

You rocked gently against him, your forehead resting against his, heartbeats syncing in the quiet.

“Let me show you,” he murmured, voice husky. “Let me show you how much I need you.”

You nodded, voice caught in your throat.

Joel kissed down your neck, warm lips lingering at your pulse point. One hand slipped between your thighs, fingers teasing gently through your sleep shorts.

You let out a soft moan as he touched you, his name a breath on your lips.

“You always so wet for me, baby?” he murmured, fingers stroking slow, deliberate.

You whimpered. “Only for you.”

He slid a finger inside, then another, curling them just right. His thumb circled your clit with practiced care, watching your face the whole time.

“You’re perfect,” he said, voice gravel and reverence. “Every part of you.”

You bucked against his hand, breath catching. “Joel—”

“Shh, I got you,” he whispered, kissing you again, slower this time. “Wanna make you feel good.”

Your body trembled as he worked you open, fingers stroking deep until your thighs shook around him.

“Cum for me, baby,” he said against your neck. “Let go.”

You fell apart with a soft cry, clinging to him as the wave washed over you.

He held you through it, murmuring sweet nothings as you came down, pressing kisses to your shoulder, your cheek, your lips.

When your breathing slowed, you looked up at him. “Can we go to bed now?”

He smiled. “Yeah, sweetheart. Let’s go.”

Joel carried you back to the bedroom like you weighed nothing, setting you gently under the covers before crawling in beside you.

You curled into his side, his arm wrapped tight around your waist.

This time, the sheets were warm on both sides.

[harrywavycurly]

Sarah, I'm in a terrible mood and I need something cute wholesome to read. Preferably boyfriendrry or husbandrry. Want fluff not angst. Can't handle it at the moment. Help me. I'm kinda dying inside rn

Hiii lovey!! I’m sorry you’re in an off mood I hope this little blurb helps you feel a bit better, I went husbandrry!! Also I’m sending you lots and lots of love babes 💖

CW: None just fluff

Summary: You and Harry have a fun little moment in the middle of a dinner party✨

Harry places his hands on your hips as he stands behind you at the kitchen counter where you’re cutting up fruit to serve with dessert to the small gathering of friends that are currently scattered around the living and dining room. He leans down and places his lips to the side of your neck as his hands squeeze your hips softly.

“Did you see the new piece of jewelry Andrea has on?” Your voice is soft mixture of playful with a hint of excitement as you toss a few cut up strawberries into a bowl.

“No? Where is this new piece of jewelry located?” He questions as he rests his chin on top of your shoulder, he feels your chest vibrate as you let out a chuckle no doubt due to his lack of observation skills. But he can’t be bothered to focus on other people that much while in the same room as you, his wife that still manages to steal all the air from his lungs and his attention the moment you step into the room.

“I’ll give you a hint how about that?” You tease as his arms fully wrap around you while you begin to cut up some watermelon.

“Okay hit me with it love.” He mumbles before placing a kiss to the side of your cheek.

“It’s not around her neck.”

“Baby that’s not much of a hint.”

“Yes it is? I’m narrowing down the options for you.”

“Oh is it her new watch? I saw her checking the time a few minutes into dinner.” Harry knows his answer is wrong by the way you lean back into his hold as you let out a loud laugh that you have to cover with one of your hands so you don’t disturb the people you invited over.

“No but you’re close.” Harry rubs his lips together as he tries to think of the brief interactions he’s had with your dear friend Andrea. You smile as you reach over and grab a bowl to place the cut up watermelon in, giving your finger that has your wedding ring on it a little wiggle that catches Harry’s attention.

“No fucking way.” He says shocked that he didn’t notice an engagement ring on your friend’s hand.

“Yes-did you really not notice how she was holding her wine glass? She was practically putting it on display for everyone to see.”

“Well I don’t make it a habit of looking at other people’s hands when yours are the only ones I’m worried about.” You roll your eyes as he nuzzles his nose against the warm skin of your neck. “Know how they like to wander and all that.” He adds as his hold around your middle tightens making you let out a scoff.

“Oh my hands do the wandering do they?” He lifts his head so you can turn around in his hold, placing your hands on his chest as you look up at him. “Whose hands got dangerously high on my thigh under the table during dinner then?” Harry just gives you a shrug as he leans down and presses his lips to the tip of your nose.

“I didn’t hear you complaining about it?”

“Why would I complain about my husband’s hand on my thigh? I’m just saying you’re the one with the wandering hands not me.”

“I can’t help it I just want to be touching you in someway all the time.” He explains as you reach up on the tips of your toes so you can place a kiss to his cheek making him grin.

“Did you really not notice the giant rock on her finger?” Harry raises an eyebrow as your hands slide up his chest to the back of his neck.

“Giant rock? Bigger than yours or-”

“Harry not everything is a competition.” You answer cutting his question short with a teasing laugh. He lets out a huff as his hands slide lower down your back. “See what I mean about the wandering?” You ask him as he gives your bottom a nice squeeze, he just acts as if he’s not doing anything as he leans down and places his lips against yours in a sweet kiss.

“Will you help me with the fruit?” You ask as you pull away, Harry gives your bottom another soft squeeze as he leans back in for a quick peck.

“Sorry baby I’d love to but I’ve got my hands full at the moment.” He says smugly making you laugh and give his chest a playful swat.

“You’re horrible.”

“I know but luckily that’s what my wife loves most about me.” You can’t help but smile as he leans in to place a kiss to your forehead before he loosens his hold on your bottom and slides his hands back up to your hips.

“I do-I love you and your wandering hands.” You tell him before turning back around so you can finish cutting up the fruit.

“I love you too.” He whispers in your ear before placing a kiss to the spot just below it.

[writingwithcolor]

Representing a Jewish Historical Figure in Fiction

@aaronthe8thdemon asks:

I'm writing a historical fiction around a real-life event (Chernobyl) and am basing the characters around real people rather than using actual names. During the catastrophe, a Jewish American doctor went to Moscow to provide aid to critically irradiated patients, and… concisely, I may be overthinking this, but I'm concerned about "how Jewish" to make the character. In his memoir he admits his Jewishness is kind of lax but I don't want it to look like I've skipped out on research and got lazy representing him because that's a problem in a lot of media. I'm currently converting to Judaism myself. But, AFAIK, he's still alive in real life and I don't want to be insulting by insinuating that he's "not Jewish enough" by making it too visible/going over the top. I haven't begun writing the pertinent parts of the narrative yet because this dilemma is anxiety-provoking, and I'd appreciate any advice/opinions the Jewish mods might have, even if it's just that I'm overthinking it. PS, thank you for running this blog, I know it's a lot of work and I've learned so much by following you.

If you do research and write a historical figure accurately and someone takes issue with your accurate portrayal because it doesn’t fit their needs for representation, that seems misguided of them. We don’t have the same control over reality and history that we do over fiction, where we get to make all of the choices.

I guess the key is to not make this person’s secular Jewishness/lax Jewishness “loaded”, like stop letting it take up space. You know how I’m half German? I’m also a good portion Polish, on the other side, but I never talk about it or think about it because that half of my family turned their backs on Poland entirely because of antisemitic abuse (if you want to get into why the German side didn’t considering they had even worse reasons, that’s a whole separate topic about German Jewish identity but anyway). But I don’t walk around like “oh I am DISCONNECTED from my POLISHKEIT i am SO LAX at being POLISH” it’s just not… relevant?

Him being secular or whatnot is reality (apparently; I don’t know the guy), but the slant of your writing, the way your writing interprets that secularness, is on you and your tone and your approach. So if you are looking at born-Jews who are whatever about Jewishness a certain way because you’re currently doing all that intense study just to join the tent, that might be a good thing to go back and filter out on an editing pass.

–S

It’s true that I’ve called for more representation of Jewish people who fall outside the false dichotomy of Orthodox/Secular, so I think I have a responsibility to clarify that neither of those are inherently bad representation OR bad ways of being Jewish. No single instance of a Jewish character being shown as either Orthodox or nonpracticing is the problem, and a narrative that frames either as being bad is engaging in antisemitism even if Jewish people are involved in the production. The problem isn’t that both of those extremes gets portrayed but that the majority that exists between them never does. That said, you’re portraying a real person, not inventing a fictional character.

If you choose to erase the complexity of his real-life Jewish decisions--and I hope that in the course of this project you’re doing much more research into the realities for Soviet Jewry than I could handily include in this blog post--then that’s not as much better representation of someone like me than it is an implication that there’s something wrong with being someone like him. It denies the dignity of a nonpracticing Jewish identity, and that feels to me like more harm than an accurate and respectful portrayal of a real-life historical figure who did not, in his lifetime, engage in Jewish ritual practice. 

It’s true that you’re fictionalizing the characters, and if your other characters are notably different than their inspirations it does less harm than if he were the only one fundamentally altered, but even so it feels like saying that ritually observant Jews are more “real” than nonpracticing ones. 

Instead, as you research for this project and your upcoming conversion, I encourage you to look for clues to a Jewish outlook in the words and life of the real-life person. This is a doctor, someone who traveled to try to save lives and give comfort, and I defy the idea that because he did not observe ritual practice those choices were without basis in Jewish values. 

-Meir

[byhuenii]

Oh my Good Looking boy

Pairing Bucky Barnes x Reader

Synopsis Bucky doesn’t believe he’s good looking—not really. Not after everything. But in your arms, with every soft word and kiss, he starts to see himself the way you do. worthy, wanted, and more than just a broken past.

Word Count 5.4k (got a little carried away sorry)

Tags + Warnings Mild Angst with Heavy Comfort, Touch-Starved Behavior, Physical Comfort, Crying/Emotional Breakdown, Mentions of Past Trauma/PTSD (ANDD FUCK HYDRA), Emotional Insecurity/Self-Esteem Issues, Soft!Bucky Supremacy, Found Family Feels, Established Relationship

— Oh my Good Looking boy He doesn’t see it—but to you, he’s the most good looking boy in the world.

He hated mirrors.

He really, really hated them.

They were everywhere in the Tower—gleaming, unbothered surfaces built into bathrooms, reflective windows, the goddamn elevators. Places where people looked and fixed their hair or admired themselves. But for Bucky Barnes, a mirror was a weapon. Hydra didn’t need to hurt him anymore. The glass could do it just fine.

Tonight, he stood shirtless under the blue-toned lights of the bathroom you both shared. It was nearly 1 a.m., and you were fast asleep in bed—he’d made sure of that before slipping out, mind racing, chest tight. Again.

His reflection stared back at him, and Bucky found himself cataloguing everything. Scar tissue. Uneven muscle. The almost cruel contrast between the sleek, deadly vibranium arm and the raw fragility of his skin. A face the world called beautiful—but not one day went by where he didn’t second-guess every compliment.

The scarring above his right eyebrow was subtle, but he saw it. He saw everything. The tiredness that wouldn’t leave his eyes. The grooves left by nightmares, sleepless nights, years of fighting a war he didn’t ask for. His hair, a little too long, curling behind his ears, messy from sweat and tossing in his sleep. A soldier too clean to be rugged, too broken to be polished.

The worst part?

Everyone thought he was cocky.

God, it made him sick.

Steve, Tony, even Sam—they’d tease him constantly. Say things like:

“Barnes, try not to smolder so hard, you’re melting the training room mirrors.”

“You walk around like a Greek god in a leather jacket and wonder why people stare.”

“He's brooding again. Someone call a modeling agency.”

It was always followed by laughter. Claps on the shoulder. Teasing.

But deep down, where no one dared to look, it didn’t feel funny. It felt like mockery. Like irony.

They didn’t know what it felt like to wear a face you never recognized. To wake up and feel like someone else had shaped you—sculpted from trauma and loss.

They didn’t see the way he flinched when people touched his arm, or how he never changed in front of the team. How he ate with quiet precision, hiding the way his hands sometimes trembled. They saw a man with edge and charm. But Bucky knew better.

He didn’t feel good looking. He didn’t feel wanted.

Especially not by you.

That thought hit him like a punch to the ribs.

You were too beautiful. Too warm. Too soft where he was rough. Too unbreakable in all the ways he constantly feared he would shatter.

You loved him. He knew you did. You said it a thousand different ways. But some nights—some hollow, aching nights—he couldn't stop the whisper in his head:

You don’t love me because you want me. You love me because you feel bad for me.

He didn’t hear the bedroom door open. Didn’t hear your bare feet pad across the hardwood floor.

But he felt you.

“Buck?” your voice was soft, lined with sleep, the kind that made his chest hurt. “Why are you—what’s wrong?”

He startled slightly, eyes darting to the doorway. You were wrapped in one of his old shirts, swallowing your frame, your hair messy, your face creased from the pillow.

He’d never seen anything so goddamn perfect.

And that made it worse.

You walked to him, concern etched in your face, but you didn’t ask again. You didn’t press. You just reached up and placed a hand gently on his chest.

His heart thudded beneath your touch.

“Can’t sleep,” he mumbled. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t,” you whispered, tilting your head. “I woke up and… I just knew you weren’t there. And I know what that usually means.”

He swallowed. Looked away. “It’s stupid.”

“It’s not.”

He ran a hand through his hair. The mirror mocked him. He couldn’t stand the way it reflected both of you—beauty beside something mechanical and haunted.

“I look at myself,” he muttered. “And I wonder if you’re with me because you feel sorry for me. I mean, look at me.”

“I am.”

You blinked. Confused. “What?”

“I am looking at you.”

There was no hesitation in your voice. No tremble. No pity.

You stepped in closer, one hand reaching for his jaw, guiding his face down so he’d meet your eyes. Your thumb brushed over his cheekbone, slow and reverent.

“You don’t know what you look like, do you?”

His throat tightened. “I know enough.”

“No, you don’t,” you whispered. “You think you’re this… scarred, broken thing. But Bucky, you’re beautiful.”

“Don’t—”

“No. You are.”

He closed his eyes, as if he could block it out. But your voice followed him, soft and unstoppable.

“You’re beautiful when you concentrate so hard on fixing things in the lab with Peter, like the world depends on it. You’re beautiful when you get quiet after a mission, like you’re carrying the weight of it so no one else has to. You’re beautiful when you pull me closer in your sleep. When you write poetry in your little black notebook. When you fumble over compliments like you don’t think you deserve them.”

You moved to his side, stepping between him and the mirror.

“When you walk into a room,” you said, “everyone sees you like you’re untouchable. Untouchably hot, yeah—but more than that. Like you’re carved from marble. But I see the way your jaw tenses. The way you shift your eyes away like you’re waiting to be laughed at. And it breaks my heart.”

He tried to speak. But you weren’t done.

“So I’m gonna stand here and tell you every reason I love you until you start believing even one of them. Okay?”

He blinked fast. And nodded.

You reached for his hand. You kissed his palm, then each fingertip.

“I love your hands. Even this one,” you whispered, brushing your lips over the vibranium plates. “Because they hold me like I’m something fragile and holy.”

You kissed his neck, the side of his jaw, each kiss slow and soft, like a balm.

“I love your laugh. The one no one gets to hear but me. I love the way you make coffee in the mornings and bring mine first. I love that you sit with Wanda when she’s quiet and sad, even if no words are exchanged.”

A shaky breath escaped him. You reached for his face again.

“I love your scars. They tell stories. They’re maps of everything you survived. And I love that you’re still here. With me. Letting yourself be loved even when you don’t feel like you deserve it.”

He looked at you then, really looked at you. His eyes—those tired, ocean-blue eyes—were glassy.

And then you said, barely above a whisper:

“You’re my good looking boy.”

He let out a soft, broken sound. You kissed it away.

“I picked you. You. Not a version of you. Not a story of you. I want you.”

He collapsed into your arms, forehead against your shoulder, and you held him like you would never let go. Because you wouldn’t.

“I love you,” he breathed. “So much it hurts.”

“I know,” you said, pressing your lips to his temple. “But I’m going to make sure it never hurts alone again.”

The sunlight slanted through the blinds like forgiveness.

Bucky sat at the long kitchen island in the Avengers common floor, elbows on the counter, chin resting in his palm. His coffee sat untouched beside him, lukewarm now. You were across the room, barefoot, laughing softly as you helped Peter pull pancakes off the griddle before they burned.

Your smile had a gravitational pull.

He didn’t even realize he was staring until Sam plopped onto the stool beside him, bumping his shoulder lightly.

“You brooding again?” Sam asked, grinning. “Man, you got a PhD in sitting around lookin’ fine and tortured.”

Bucky gave a lazy eye roll, his mouth twitching in a way that almost passed for a smile. Almost.

“Not everyone wakes up a walking motivational poster,” Bucky replied, his voice low but even.

Across the island, Tony chimed in, holding a protein shake that looked like sludge. “Barnes, you walk in here every morning like you're auditioning for a perfume ad called ‘Brood Noir.’ Don’t act like you don’t know what you look like.”

“Exactly!” Natasha said, looking up from her newspaper. “I mean, who has the audacity to be six feet of James Dean meets winter soldier chic?”

The group chuckled. Even Wanda smiled faintly, sipping her tea.

Bucky lowered his gaze. Just for a moment.

They meant well. He knew that. But deep down—buried just beneath the practiced smirk and the deadpan responses—something twisted.

He hated this feeling.

Because while they laughed at how he looked, he was still trying to believe he wasn’t a monster in the mirror. They thought he was confidence wrapped in leather and muscle.

They didn’t know that every compliment felt like a trap. That it always came with a punchline he couldn’t hear.

Only you saw that.

You glanced up and caught his eye from across the kitchen. Just one look. Soft. Knowing. Grounding.

And then—you smiled. Not the polite kind, not the “I see you across the room” smile. The smile that meant you knew exactly what he was thinking.

And that he was wrong.

You walked over with your plate and slid onto the stool beside him, your knee brushing his. Then—without a word—you reached under the counter, laced your pinky with his.

It was a small thing. Hidden from everyone’s view.

But to Bucky, it was a tether.

“You okay?” you whispered under your breath.

He nodded.

You squeezed his pinky with yours anyway.

—

Later that morning, the Tower buzzed with post-mission debrief chatter. Steve was with Tony discussing tactical tweaks, Yelena was teasing Peter with a Nerf gun, and Sam was narrating Wanda’s recent fight like a sports announcer.

“She took the guy’s gun midair and spun it around like some damn circus act,” Sam said, wide-eyed.

But Wanda wasn’t smiling.

She sat curled on the couch in the corner of the living area, her fingers pulling at the hem of her sleeve, gaze heavy on the floor. She hadn’t said a word in ten minutes.

Bucky saw it.

The way her shoulders curled inward. How she kept replaying something no one else saw. How her tea sat forgotten, her hands cold.

It reminded him of Rebecca.

The nights she’d come home from school after her first fight with a friend, and wouldn’t talk. Just sit on the floor beside the fireplace, hugging her knees. James, barely twenty and barely holding it together, had known exactly what to do.

He did the same now.

No fanfare. No noise.

Bucky walked over and sat beside Wanda, close enough to let her feel his presence, but not crowd her. He said nothing. Just let the silence stretch.

After a minute, his vibranium arm moved.

Slow. Gentle.

He wrapped it behind her and pulled her into his side, the way a big brother does. Protective. Quiet. Without asking.

Wanda leaned into him without hesitation. Her eyes closed, just for a second. Like she needed the weight of someone else’s stillness to keep her from unraveling.

He didn’t say you’re okay or it’s fine—because sometimes it wasn’t.

Sometimes the mission didn’t go right. Sometimes your powers failed you. Sometimes people didn’t understand what it meant to be cracked open and still show up.

Wanda understood. And so did he.

You stood nearby, watching the scene unfold as you held a mug of tea. Watching how Bucky—who thought he didn’t know how to care—gave comfort without even trying.

The way Wanda relaxed into him, the way his jaw softened, the way his touch was tender despite everything that had ever been done to him—it wrecked you.

Because he thought no one saw that part.

But you did.

So when Wanda finally lifted her head and whispered something, and Bucky gave her a tiny nod, you walked over and placed your hand on his shoulder.

He looked up at you.

And in that look, you reminded him: This is who you are. Not because of how you look. But because of how you love.

His hand slid into yours.

And for a second—for just one second—Bucky believed he might actually be good.

Not good looking.

Just… good.

It was evening at the avengers tower. Bucky liked the quiet out here.

Most people didn’t come this far up. It was too cold, too high, too exposed. But for him, it felt like breathing. He could see the whole city from here—tiny lights stretching into forever. Each one a life. A person. Someone with a story.

Sometimes he wondered how many of them feared the face he wore.

Or worse… how many of them wanted the myth and not the man.

He stood with his forearms leaning on the balcony rail, wind tugging his hair across his cheek. The air smelled like rain and steel and the faintest trace of you—your perfume always lingered on his hoodie. You’d hugged him goodbye before heading to bed early, eyes sleepy, lips soft.

He missed you already.

But he needed this moment. The space to gather the pieces before he cracked.

Then came the footsteps.

Heavy, familiar ones.

Steve.

“You’re gonna freeze your ass off out here,” Steve said as he stepped beside him.

Bucky huffed a breath. “Been through worse.”

They stood in silence for a while. The kind only old soldiers could manage without it becoming awkward.

“I saw the way you looked this morning,” Steve said quietly.

Bucky’s jaw clenched. “Don’t.”

“I’m not saying it to start something. Just…” Steve’s voice softened. “You’re not what you think you are.”

Bucky stared ahead, unmoving. “A freak in a leather jacket? With a metal arm and a nice face people want to admire but not actually understand?”

Steve blinked. “No, Buck. That’s what you think you are.”

He let out a long breath. “Every time someone compliments me… it feels like they’re admiring a car. Not a person.”

Steve didn’t speak. Just listened.

“They think I’m cocky. That I know I’m good looking. That I wear it.” Bucky’s fingers gripped the edge of the railing. “But I wake up every day and have to fight off the voice in my head telling me I’m just Hydra’s Frankenstein with good bone structure.”

His voice cracked.

“I don’t even know who I am in this body. Sometimes I look in the mirror and just… don’t see me. I see what they made me into. The shine, the scars, the man who can kill without blinking. I see the kind of beauty that people admire from a distance, like a painting in a museum. Not one they take home. Not one they touch.”

Steve finally turned to him.

“You don’t see it because you’ve been taught to hate your reflection. But she doesn’t. And neither do I.”

Bucky swallowed hard.

Steve put a hand on his shoulder, warm and steady.

“You’re not a relic, Buck. You’re real. And you’re still learning how to be loved again. That’s brave.”

Bucky didn’t answer. But when Steve walked away, he lingered just a moment longer.

Letting the wind carry away the weight—at least a little.

Then he turned. And went home.

Later that night.

Your shared bedroom.

You were waiting for him.

He found you curled up on the bed with the lamp on low, legs tangled under the blanket, a book in your lap and your eyes already on him the moment he stepped in.

And he looked wrecked.

Not physically. But soul-deep.

You put the book aside and immediately opened your arms. No questions.

He moved like he was being pulled by gravity.

Bucky lay down on the bed beside you, head falling into your lap. His eyes fluttered closed as you stroked his hair gently, tangling your fingers through soft waves.

“Bad night?” you asked softly.

He nodded. Didn’t open his eyes.

“Do you want me to talk or just be here?”

“…Talk,” he whispered. “Please.”

You smiled, leaning down until your lips brushed his temple.

“You wanna know what I see when I look at you?”

“No,” he murmured.

You kissed his temple again. “I’ll tell you anyway.”

You shifted, crawling over him so you were straddling his lap, your hands gently cradling his face.

“I see the boy who reads Russian poetry under his breath when he thinks no one’s listening.”

You kissed his forehead.

“I see the man who cuts fruit for me in the mornings because he knows I forget to eat.”

You kissed his nose.

“I see the man who folds Wanda’s shawl when she forgets it, who walks Yelena to the gym at 3 a.m. because she ‘feels feral’ and you don’t even blink.”

You kissed both cheeks.

“I see the man who thinks he’s hard to love when he’s the softest thing I’ve ever known.”

You kissed his jaw, slow and aching.

“I see the way you touch me like I’m precious. But baby—you’re the one who’s ethereal.”

Then, slowly, you kissed the corner of his mouth.

And whispered: “You are my good looking boy.”

He opened his eyes then. Just barely. They were wet. But not with pain.

With something older. Deeper. Hope.

“I don’t deserve you,” he said hoarsely.

You kissed his lips—gently, firmly, fully.

“You don’t have to. You just have to let me love you.”

He reached up then, fingers ghosting over your cheek. His hand was trembling.

“I do,” he said. “I do. I just… need reminders sometimes.”

“Always,” you whispered. “As long as I live.”

You kissed every inch of his face again, naming reasons with each one:

His compassion.

His strength.

His vulnerability.

The way he remembered everyone’s favorite tea.

The way he stared at stars like they held answers.

The way he loved you even when he didn’t love himself.

And as you kissed his shoulder, and chest, and every broken scar like it was sacred—Bucky finally let go.

He let the love in.

He let you in.

And for the first time in weeks, he fell asleep without seeing a stranger in the mirror.

He saw the man you saw.

The man who was so good.

So unreal.

So heartbreakingly, impossibly… good looking.

BONUS 1/4 !!

The sky outside was a warm pink fading into dusk. The air inside hummed with soft jazz from the speaker Tony left on, forgotten—some lo-fi remix Bucky didn’t recognize but had started to like.

He was sitting on the couch, shoulders hunched slightly forward, watching Wanda try to teach Friday to respond to Gen Z slang.

“FRIDAY,” Wanda said, raising her voice with mock authority, “what’s the vibe today?”

“I believe your vibe is… moderate?” FRIDAY replied in her dignified tone.

Bucky let out a rare, deep laugh—quiet but genuine. Wanda’s eyes lit up.

“You laughed, old man.”

He smirked, barely looking up from his phone. “Did not.”

“You did,” she said, plopping onto the couch beside him. She immediately pulled the sleeve of his hoodie over her hands. “This yours now.”

He didn’t protest.

She always did this—stole his hoodies like a little sister sneaking into her big brother’s closet. But it didn’t annoy him. Not like he pretended it did.

He liked it.

He loved it, actually. Because Wanda reminded him of someone. Someone he'd lost a long time ago.

“Do you think your sister would’ve liked me?” she asked quietly, out of nowhere.

He froze. But only for a second.

“Rebecca?” he asked, voice low.

Wanda nodded.

Bucky leaned back, letting his head rest against the couch. He stared at the ceiling like it held the answer.

“She would've adored you,” he said finally. “You’re both kind. Fierce. Smart as hell. Little bit reckless.”

Wanda smiled gently. “She sounds like she was amazing.”

“She was. But she didn’t have your magic.”

“You mean literal or metaphorical?”

Bucky smiled, eyes crinkling. “Both.”

A soft silence fell between them. Wanda reached over and placed one of her earbuds into his ear.

“You need to expand your musical palette,” she said, hitting play on her phone.

The beat dropped. It was something pulsing and electronic. “This is—what is this?”

“Doja Cat,” she grinned.

He blinked. “That’s not a weapon?”

“Not everything new is terrifying, Grandpa.”

“Right.”

But… he kept the earbud in. And he let the music play.

And Wanda leaned into his side. Just like she had the day she lost Pietro, the day the memories became too heavy, the day she needed someone who wouldn’t try to fix her—just sit there.

Just be there.

He had done that for her.

And now, she did it for him—bringing the future gently into his hands, showing him it wasn’t always sharp. Sometimes it was soft. Sometimes it was beats and hoodies and shared playlists.

Sometimes it was stolen sleeves and shared silence.

“You okay, Buck?” she asked quietly, sensing his stillness.

“Yeah,” he said after a long moment. “Yeah, kid. I think I am.”

BONUS 2/4 !!

There were two people in this world who thought 2 a.m. was an excellent time for snacks and chaos.

One of them was Yelena Belova.

The other was not Bucky Barnes—but he’d somehow found himself at the kitchen counter anyway, blinking blearily while Yelena lined up six bottles of hot sauce like she was about to summon a demon.

“Explain to me,” she said, waving her spoon like a wand, “how you have been alive for over a hundred years and your spice tolerance is embarrassing.”

Bucky stared at her, holding a mug of tea like it was the only thing tethering him to reality.

“It’s not embarrassing. It’s evolved.”

“You can survive Soviet mind control, but not jalapeño?” she teased, cracking a grin. “Come on, Sergeant Sizzling.”

“That’s not a thing,” he muttered.

“It is now.”

Yelena dipped a chip into the third bottle and shoved it into his mouth before he could protest. His eyes widened. He coughed.

“Oh my god. That’s battery acid.”

“It’s flavor,” she said, laughing. “You should try living a little. Might help with the brooding.”

“I don’t brood.”

“You brood so hard. You enter a room like you’re about to fight God and win.”

“I don’t—”

“—And then you sit in the corner silently, drinking tea like a Victorian widow and staring into the void.”

He opened his mouth to argue, then closed it.

Fair.

Yelena gave him a sideways glance. She could see the smile he was trying to hide.

There it was. That twitch in the corner of his mouth. The soft laugh under the surface, the one he didn’t think he was allowed to have.

He shook his head. “You’re trouble.”

“I’m your trouble.”

“You’re everyone’s trouble.”

“But I’m your favorite.”

He tried not to grin. He failed.

“Okay,” he muttered. “That’s possibly true.”

—

The prank war had escalated earlier that week.

Sam’s bed was now full of glitter. Steve’s shampoo had been mysteriously replaced with pink hair dye. Clint found googly eyes in his quiver. And Bucky, against every logical instinct, had teamed up with Yelena.

Because in her chaos, there was something he recognized: the way she threw herself into laughter like it could drown out the past. The way she was fearless—not because she had nothing to fear, but because she had survived it all anyway.

He didn’t say it out loud, but she reminded him of the kind of sister he never knew he needed. The loud kind. The kind that pushed boundaries. The kind that made him laugh when he’d forgotten how.

So when she started doing handstands in the gym at 3 a.m., blasting Russian punk from the speakers, he didn’t stop her.

He just sat on the edge of the mat, sipping his water, and kept watch.

“Bucky?”

“Yeah?”

“You think I’m too much sometimes?”

He looked up.

Yelena was upside-down, arms shaking slightly as she balanced. Her voice had dropped. There was no snark this time. Just the question, naked and small in the cavernous gym.

“No,” he said instantly.

She flipped down and sat on the floor, staring at the ground.

“You’re the only one who doesn’t make me feel like I have to be something I’m not.”

Bucky leaned forward, his tone low and certain.

“That’s because you remind me that being a lot doesn’t mean being wrong.”

She blinked at him.

“Also,” he added dryly, “because you snuck glitter into Sam’s boots and I respect that level of commitment.”

She grinned.

“See?” she said. “I am your favorite.”

He didn’t deny it.

5:12 A.M. – Quiet

Later, they sat side by side on the rooftop ledge, legs dangling over the edge. Neither spoke much. The sun was just beginning to bleed into the horizon, painting the sky with promise.

Yelena leaned her head on his shoulder.

“You ever think maybe we were put here to find each other?” she asked sleepily.

“I think,” Bucky said softly, “some people are chaos. And some people are gravity.”

“Which am I?”

He smiled.

“You’re chaos. But you’re my chaos.”

She smiled back without looking at him.

“You’re mine too, Barnes.”

And for once—he didn’t question it.

He just let it be true.

BONUS 3/4!!

Peter sat on the edge of the rooftop, kicking his feet over the ledge. Not dangerously—just enough to make Bucky twitch every few minutes.

The sky was a watercolor of purple and gold. Wind rustled the vines Tony had installed along the trellises. It smelled faintly of lavender and summer city rain.

Bucky stood behind him, arms crossed, brow furrowed.

“You know,” he said after a long silence, “people used to just pass notes in class. That was how you asked someone out.”

Peter groaned. Loudly. “Bucky, I can’t just pass MJ a note. We don’t even have paper anymore. Who carries paper?”

“Alright, fine,” Bucky muttered, sitting beside him. “But I’m just saying. Simpler times.”

Peter turned, exasperated and pink-cheeked.

“She’s smart, and funny, and intimidating. And she has this look—this MJ look—like she already knows I’m about to say something dumb before I say it.”

Bucky smirked. “Sounds like someone I know.”

“Are you—wait, are you saying she reminds you of [name]?”

He grinned. “Just a little.”

Peter slumped back dramatically. “Great. I’m doomed.”

Bucky leaned back on his hands, looking out over the city. “You’re not doomed. You’re nervous. That’s different.”

Peter frowned, rubbing his hands together. “What if I screw it up?”

“You probably will,” Bucky said casually.

Peter’s head snapped toward him. “Dude—”

“But,” Bucky added, “if she likes you, she’ll forgive it.”

Peter hesitated. “How did you ask [name] out?”

Bucky’s gaze softened. His voice, when it came, was low. Thoughtful.

“I wrote her a note.”

Peter squinted. “Seriously?”

“Not on paper. Just… something I said. Quiet. Not even dramatic. I think we were sitting on the Tower steps after a mission. She had blood on her sleeve and didn’t even care. I looked at her, and I said, ‘I think I’ve liked you for a long time. Maybe even before I realized I was allowed to like anyone again.’”

Peter blinked. “…That’s good.”

“She smiled,” Bucky said with a soft grin. “Said she’d been waiting for me to say it. And that was it.”

Peter fiddled with a loose thread on his sleeve.

“Do you ever think maybe she said yes because she… felt bad for you?”

Bucky turned sharply.

“What?”

Peter winced. “Sorry. That’s just… what I think sometimes. About MJ. Like… maybe she’s only nice to me because she feels bad.”

Bucky looked at him a long moment. His voice dropped into something far gentler than Peter had expected.

“Hey. Look at me.”

Peter did.

“You’re kind. You’re smart. You’re brave in a way most people will never understand. You love big. That’s not something people pity. That’s something people choose.”

Peter swallowed, his throat tight.

“I… guess I thought you never doubted that kind of stuff.”

Bucky looked away, jaw flexing. “I doubt it every day.”

“…You do?”

“Of course I do,” he whispered. “There are mornings I look in the mirror and wonder how someone like her could ever love someone like me.”

Peter was quiet for a long moment.

Then, softly: “But she does.”

Bucky nodded, almost to himself. “Yeah. She does.”

Peter breathed out, shaky and smiling.

“So you think I should just say it? To MJ?”

“I think you should be you. If that’s a note, if that’s a joke, if that’s a poem—whatever it is, make it yours. Don’t be who you think she wants. Just be who you are. That’s enough.”

Peter turned to look at him, smiling in that sheepish, sweet way of his.

“Thanks, Sarge.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Right. Sorry, Grandpa.”

Bucky shoved him lightly. Peter shoved back.

They sat there until the sun dipped behind the skyline, golden light tracing the curve of the city like a love letter.

For the first time in days, Bucky felt like maybe the world was finding space for him. Not as the Soldier. Not as the relic.

But as something new.

Someone’s brother. Someone’s friend. Someone’s safe place.

And somewhere, far below, MJ would soon get a text from Peter that simply said:

“Wanna go get coffee sometime? No pressure. Just me. Awkward, science-loving Peter.”

And when she said yes, Peter would scream into a pillow.

And Bucky would not let him live it down.

BONUS 4/4 !!

Brooklyn, New York – 1938

The kitchen was filled with the smell of cinnamon and bread.

Sunday mornings in the Barnes household were sacred. James always got up first—he liked to beat the noise, get a moment before his little sister came clattering down the stairs demanding toast and stories and for him to “stop being boring.”

He stood at the stove now, shirt sleeves rolled up, a dish towel tossed over one shoulder like he was something out of a magazine. The radio in the corner crackled old jazz.

“Are you burning the toast again?” came the sing-song voice from behind him.

He didn’t turn. “It’s not burned if it’s golden, Becca.”

“It’s black, James.”

He sighed, pulled the pan off the stove, and turned to find her leaning on the doorframe with bedhead and a mischievous smile.

God, she was just a kid. Twelve, maybe. But sharp as a knife and never let him forget it.

She crossed the kitchen, barefoot and confident, and stole a slice of the least-burnt toast from his plate.

“Hey!” he protested.

She shrugged. “I’m in my growing years.”

“You’re a menace.”

“I learned from the best.”

He tossed the dish towel at her. She caught it one-handed and stuck out her tongue.

—

They sat curled on the couch, her head resting against his shoulder as he read aloud from one of the dime novels she liked. The kind with cowboys and outlaws and heroic shootouts that made their Ma roll her eyes.

She wasn’t really listening anymore. Her eyelids were drooping.

“Jimmy?” she mumbled sleepily.

“Yeah?”

“Promise me something.”

He closed the book, looking down at her. “Anything.”

“When you go… when the Army takes you…” Her voice broke. “Promise you’ll come back.”

His chest tightened. The air felt too heavy for such a small room.

“Becca…”

“Promise.”

He swallowed. Tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear.

“I’ll always come back to you,” he whispered. “No matter what.”

Her hand found his metal dog tag that he already wore under his shirt. She held it like it was a charm.

“You’re gonna be the best soldier they’ve ever seen,” she mumbled.

He smiled sadly.

“I just want to be your big brother.”

“You always will be,” she whispered.

She fell asleep like that—curled beside him, breathing steady. The soft rhythm of childhood innocence wrapped around them both like a blanket.

And Bucky sat there long after she was gone to dreams, staring out the window, wondering if the world could ever possibly be cruel enough to take this from him.

(And years later, when he stood in an ice-cold cell and forgot even his own name, he would remember this moment—her laughter, her toast-stealing smile—and it would be the thing that cracked through the Soldier’s armor first.)

(You've got mail!) OH MY GOOD LOOKING BOY! MY GOOD LOOKING BOYYYYYY!!!. oh i love that song from suki Waterhouse so much. I saw an edit to this song to bucky and i had to, and i fully believed that bucky no matter what always found himself insecure after hydra. maybe it had to do with the arm he grew to love or just the fact he felt like Frankenstein (hydra's version). Hes such a complex person that i truly feel like this oneshot, and everything we get from the mcu doesnt do him justice.

Tag List (for mr. James Buchanan Barnes is open) @bbsbrina @herejustforbuckybarnes

[misty-petals]

You are too light for this world

Pedido:“Hi, can you please make one about Si-eun ending the relationship because she doesn't want you to get hurt by the union. She says hurtful things to you.”

|Yeon Sieun x Gn! Reader

|Angst, heartbreak, romance

English is not my first language.

You already knew Si-eun’s silence.

He was never the type to say or show everything.But lately, even what he used to show… disappeared.

Messages seen but left unanswered.

Invitations declined with vague excuses.

Touches that once happened on impulse now felt calculated. Coldly avoided.

You waited once again at the school gate.

He showed up, but his face… looked distant.

— "Hey."— he said, like it was just another day.

You couldn’t bear the tightness in your chest any longer.

— "We need to talk."

He looked around, clearly uncomfortable with the other students walking by.

— "Not here. Let’s go somewhere else."

You walked beside him in silence until you reached a quiet street two blocks away, where the old houses muffled the noise of the world.

When he stopped, the silence between you two felt even heavier.

— "Are you going to tell me what’s going on?"— you broke the tension. — "Because… our relationship feels like it’s falling apart and you’re pretending not to see it."

Si-eun took his time. He seemed to be weighing every word.

— "There’s no reason for us to keep dating anymore."

You blinked, unable to believe he had actually said that.

— "What do you mean?"

He shrugged.

— "This isn’t working. I thought it would, but it’s not. Not anymore."

You stepped closer, heart racing.

— "Did I do something wrong? I’m trying, Si-eun, but you don’t talk, you don’t explain, you just drift away…"

— "Exactly." — he cut you off. — "You always try. And that’s the problem."

— "What do you mean?"

He sighed, finally looking you in the eyes.

— "You try too hard. You expect too much. I can’t give you any of that."

You felt your eyes burn.

— "Then tell me the truth. Why are you ending this?"

He looked away. His jaw was tight, like he was forcing himself to stay in control.

— "Because you’re too light for this world. My world."

The words hit like a punch.

He knew. He knew exactly where to strike.

— "That doesn’t even make sense." — you replied, your voice shaking. — "Since when is that a flaw?"

— "Since always. You live in a place I can’t reach." — he said — "With me, you’ll get hurt. And I… I don’t want to have to see that happen."

You almost smiled. A sad, broken smile.

— "And you think it’s going to hurt less if it’s now?" — you said — "Do you really believe that cutting me with these cold words will spare me from anything?"

He answered without hesitation.

— "Yes."

The firmness in his voice didn’t match his eyes.There was something there — something broken, suffocating.

You went silent for a few seconds. The wind rustled the dry leaves around you.

— "Okay." — you said, trying to steady your voice. — "If this is what you really want… then fine."

You took two steps back.

— "But one day, Si-eun… you’ll look back and realize the problem was never that I was too light." — you said — "It was that you were too afraid to let yourself feel."

He didn’t respond.

He stood still, like a statue.

But his fingers were trembling.

You turned your back and walked away.

You didn’t run.

You didn’t cry there.

But when you turned the corner and he disappeared from your view, it felt like something opened up inside you — a hollow space.

🕯️ A few days later…

Si-eun was sitting alone in one of the empty classrooms.

The phone on the table showed the last message he never replied to:

“You know what hurts the most? You pretending not to care.”

He didn’t read it again.

He didn’t need to. It was already burned into his mind.

He rested his forehead on his arms, exhausted.

He didn’t cry. He didn’t speak.

He just kept repeating like a mantra that it was the right thing. That you’d be better off without him.

Even if it hurt.

Even if deep down, he knew:

She was the only piece of peace he ever had.

But he also knew…

That he would never forget the way you looked at him the last time.

Like you were trying to understand why someone who claimed to protect you… decided to hurt you like that.

Note: This text was requested by @adelaaeverden. I hope you all like it! Thank you for reading ��

[twst-drabbles]

Silly, sanctuary au where the shame bucket makes it's grand return but whenever the caretaker tries to take it out the tweels take it back.

It's somehow a reminder of the good old times when they were all tiny and everything was so innocent (cough cough) and when someone tries to take it they will draw blood

Floyd and Jade 10

Summary: Jade and Floyd were supposed to be in timeout for fighting, each to wear their own shame buckets, but when you went out to the sands, you found them both fighting over the very first shame bucket you've ever had.

(I get so easily distracted by coding. Twas working on the website, tinkering with the JavaScript to make things easier for me. Also I got bitten by mosquitoes again, so now I'm on the ice-pack until it all goes down…five days later…AGH! Anyways, here it beeeee! It's a silly little thing, the angst more of a background thing but certainly still there.)

Crowley could charm this bucket to the moon and back and even then it won't be able to survive the march of time. The bucket, once a bright yellow thing that you used to make sandcastles with, was banged up, scratched up, and more a musty yellow now. Survived a lot of damage, and it's still usable for the purpose you've transferred it to.

As a shame bucket.

Of course, you couldn't exactly grab and stick Jade and Floyd into the bucket anymore. They've grown too fast and too big, and were probably eager for it as well. You couldn't count the amount of time you've caught Floyd dragging himself on his belly towards the door, or Jade trying to unlock the window. They're smart, you know this, so you're under the impression that they…like being caught, weirdly enough. You've seen the way Floyd flopped around on his belly in excitement, even though he looked ready to bite and maim, and the way the tip of Jade's tail started to twitch even though his jaw was tight with a smile.

Little weirdos. Well, they're not exactly little anymore. And you can't shove them in the bucket like you used to. Doesn't mean they're any less weird.

"Alright, time's up," you kicked on your sandals and shoved your phone in your pocket, "timeout's over, give me the bu--"

Somehow, without so much as a squeak or a sound, Jade and Floyd were caught up in yet another fight, this time with the shame bucket. Piles of sand were scattered about until they were basically shuffling around in a semi-deep pit of water and mucus. Their tails lashing and slamming against said sides of the pit, with Jade shoving Floyd into the puddle while trying to yank the bucket from his claws that had hooked deeply into the lip.

Impressive that they can be so quiet while they fight, too bad they're still not any better at keeping a concept of time when doing so.

You clapped your hands and that was enough for Jade's back to ramrod straight and finally let go of the bucket. With a bubbling, "Yay!" Floyd dragged himself out of the pit and placed the bucket on his head, adjusting it as if a party hat. He sat pretty on the edge as if nothing was wrong.

"What," you pinched the bridge of your nose, "are you two doing?"

"Fighting over the bucket," said Jade and Floyd, in such rare unison. This apparently further annoyed them because they glared at each other right after.

"Fighting over the bucket." Because of course, of course they would. Leave it them to fight over anything and everything.

"I was simply reminding Floyd that it was my turn to wear the shame bucket." Jade said with a tight smile on his face, hand over his chest as if that'll do anything to soften his wound up self.

"And I said I wanted to wear it." Floyd said with a large, victorious grin on his face, flicking his tail and throwing sand up in the air.

"But," you vaguely gestured to the other red bucket that was there, "you have two buckets."

"We wanted this one," Jade pointed.

"Yeah," Floyd agreed bluntly.

"We have so many fond memories with this one," Jade sighed wistfully, leaning against a large rock near the pit.

"Yup, my little teeth marks are still in there," Floyd tilted the shame bucket to get a better look at it. "Just not the same, you know?"

…you can't help but sigh at these troublemakers.

Your troublemakers.

But now's not the time to get lost in anything, they're still being punished for fighting with each other, and fighting again when they're supposed to be in timeout.

You held out your hand. "Give me the bucket, I have to see the damage you've caused on it."

"Aw…" Floyd visibly sagged.

"Haha." Jade took pleasure in that.

"Give it," you went and reached for it, but Floyd let himself fall flat on his back just as your fingers skimmed the old thing. "Floyd."

"Hmm…Nah." Floyd grabbed it and tossed it Jade's way. He caught it with a very, very amused smile on his face that meant nothing but trouble.

Especially when Jade placed it upon his own head.

"…are we really going to be doing this?" You sighed, tossing away your sandals.

"Yes," said Jade.

"Yup," said Floyd.

[threegoldfish]

Marc ends up following that schedule he's been given.

...Somewhat.

It turns out that having meals at set times is actually the easiest for him to do; No, he's not enjoying the process of consuming food - which isn't the kitchen's fault, because everything is rather decent in quality and taste, all things considered. He's just lacking an appetite, and nothing he consumes makes him feel better in any shape or form... but he does manage to eat a suitable amount. Enough to keep him going, enough to make sure his body won't crumble and fall apart. ...As bitter as the coffee is, he's actually enjoying that one the most; A habit of his he can keep holding onto, having a cup of coffee in the morning. It feels... good. Secure. Familiar. Would be even better if he were to allow himself a bit of sugar or milk to go with it...

He's not there yet - allowing himself to even have that one cup of coffee in the first place is almost dancing at the edge of being too much, too generous, so he's going with a plain, black one for now.

The rest of that schedule that Harrow has created for him turns out to be a bit more of an issue - because Marc does not really want to go and see what's going on in the community room, does not want to join anyone doing anything. Since the other had phrased said task rather broadly, however, Marc decided to take it quite literal - found something going on, took a seat a bit further away, watched it happening. Looked at some guys working on a puzzle, then looked at a young girl painting at a closeby window.

...Trying to not come across as super creepy while doing that, yeah. He's, uh, not really eager to be seen as a weirdo... for rather obvious reasons.

He ended up doing that for a bit, then went to get himself something to read; Apparently there's a library existing within this facility, and Harrow had ordered him to go there, pick something up he'd like to read through. That task turned out to be rather easy to do as well - Marc sure as hell did not expect the library to look the way it does, and he also did not expect it to hold so many different books to begin with... many topics, many genres, almost anything a heart could ever desire.

Journaling, however? That's something he hates - he knew he would, but once he'd sat down in front of those stupid empty pages, he'd stared at them for almost a whole hour without writing a word. Everything had felt wrong, not worth it to be noted down, too stupid... all of that combined.

---He did manage to write something into it, in the end, despite it all - one single sentence, written in neat, slightly curved letters: I don't like writing journals.

--

He's never too late for anything, prefers to be early, if Marc can somehow manage to do that. And despite having decided the evening before that he would not join that stupid group meeting - because honestly, why should he? - he's... well, here.

Having stopped at the door frame, glancing into the room, Marc watches other people take a seat at whatever chair they seem to prefer; Harrow's already there, ready to start it all off---

Marc could still leave, turn around and make his way back down to his own room. Enjoy the peace and quiet there, the solitude, the white walls and white floors and white ceilings. He could change his mind about it all, could nope the fuck out and do something else...

But it's written onto his schedule and... what else is he even supposed to do? Drawing? Solving a damn puzzle? Well, he could read another book, but... he technically isn't asked to do that until later today, so...

...A sigh, Harrow's voice beginning to echo through the room - as much as it can, with it always being so quiet, level. Means that Marc is now a tad bit too late, if he's being strict with himself... Shit.

A swallow, a lick of his bottom lip, and Marc finally kicks his ass - enters the room with quiet, tentative steps, walking over to where the rest of the others are already sitting and waiting for whatever is going to happen; Eyes are on him, Marc can tell, and he has a brief, rather awkward lookaround before taking a seat on one of those empty chairs - ends up sitting closest to Harrow in a suitable distance.

Arms cross in front of his chest, a firm, slightly unhappy yet somewhat curious expression on tired features - a drilling gaze thrown at someone who stares at him, which causes that guy to finally look away. Good. Marc hopes it stays this way.

Arthur’s eyebrows raised, in an action that could be easily mistaken for surprise. Anyone who knew him would understand what it was, a nod of respect for being willing to reach out - there was nothing more difficult than accepting help. Asking for it, wanting it - he leaned over the desk, just enough to grab a clipboard near the edge of it, flipping to a fresh sheet of paper. 

“Alright,” he said, more to himself than to Marc as he clicked his pen. “Let’s give the day a spine.” 

He’d keep it light, just because structure wasn’t the same thing as pressure; it was just something for Marc to follow, if it helped. At 8, have breakfast. At 8:30, find something going on in the community room. At 9:30, observe a group session. 

He listed out the full day, using military time only in the hopes that Marc would find comfort in it. He ripped the sheet free with a clean precision, laying it down on the desk in front of Marc. 

“You have to be at every meal,” he stated. “At eighteen-hundred, I want you to journal. I don’t care what you write, but I want you to write something. A note to someone that you never send, something for yourself - I don’t care. But meals and this are ones I don’t really want you to skip. The rest isn’t set in stone, but it’s all yours. Cross out whatever feels like too much. And I’d like to know what is too much, if you don’t mind.” 

If Marc did mind, then it wouldn’t be pushed; Arthur wasn’t known for putting on pressure. Not unless it was something that was needed, something where pressure might help ease the pain, just a bit. 

─── ⋆⋅⚖️⋅⋆ ─────────────────

The chairs were already arranged when Arthur arrived, as they typically tended to stay inside of the sunroom. Morning light filtered in through the frosted windows, the warmth there but tainted with an artificial feel; the windows didn’t open, and the room smelled like the same lemon sanitizer. 

Arthur’s cane gave its familiar tapping as he walked in, setting the clipboard down on a side table. There were some people forced to come to these, just part of their treatment plans that Arthur enforced; but some were optional, too. Marc’s name was written neatly at the bottom of the list, in a gentle kind of hope that the man would come by for a bit. 

He took his usual seat, one that was a bit spaced out from the rest. Not because he thought he needed to make a ‘head’ of the group, but rather because he knew that no one would choose to sit next to him - this group was one for people with heavier problems. Trauma, mostly, though one or two might not fit that mold exactly. 

Some patients were already drifting in. A few nodded, while one or two avoided his eyes completely. As always, the mood was a strange cocktail; some people resented him, some were nervous, somme polite. Most of them had nowhere else to be, and some of them liked groups with Arthur just because he always stayed so calm. 

A woman with a scar down her forearm folded her arms too tightly, sitting with her legs curled up under her. An older man took a chair near the window, scooting it back some so he could be closer to it; someone else had coffee, sipping from it quietly. 

“Good morning,” Arthur greeted, his voice low and even. “If this is your first time, you don’t have to speak. No one’s going to force you into anything. But today… I’d like to start by talking about memory. Not just what we remember, but what we try not to. If anyone would like to begin.” 

[alexanderlightweight]

It's 5 mins after Wednesday where I am and I really don't mean to prompt outside of the designated day, but I fear I will forget if I don't get it all down now.

One of these days, I'd love a continuation of The Things We Do For Love. Maybe Alec waking up and just being happy that Magnus is safe and with him or the folks left behind being all sad/angry/confused that Magnus "stole" his fiance. Maybe thinking that he's gone "evil" or "corrupted" by Edom and trying to "rescue" Alec who is shirtless killing demons to impress his hubby.

Again, love your work and love that you seem to enjoy writing.

Ok, bye!

Oh nsfw coz why not.

Oki, bye for real real now.

you are absolutely fine! for anyone reading this also please do not worry so much, time differences exist and also writing wednesday doesn't end until I fall asleep or reblog the 'prompt closed' post. so it's okay to dip into thursday if that's the day it is where you are. this is not meant to bring stress or panic to people so give yourself grace!!

and I'm really glad that shows, like thank you so much for mentioning that. that makes me happy. because I do love writing and I never write if it feels like a chore or an obligation (except to my brain, sometimes I have an obligation to make my brain feel better via writing and I make time for that as part of self-care). I hope you enjoy!

<3 lumine

the things we do for love (first part here)

Maryse stares at her children and wonders just when she really went wrong with them.  Because things had seemed to be stabilizing between all of them, yet this has proved her wrong.

“What did you think was going to happen?” She keeps her voice gentle, soft and yet still they both flinch.  She hides the hurt behind a calm face, knowing that she deserves to see them surprised by her softness. “Alec was willing to lose everything, to be with Magnus. They were engaged.  Did you think Magnus would just let Alec go like that? After everything the two of them have gone through?”

It’s understandable that they flinch at her softness.  They’re raw from her expectations and demands and they’re wounded by her love and care because it wasn’t there before.

“Alec will be fine with Magnus, what the two of you need to do is explain to Idris why you ignored the protocol Alec left behind.”  They both stare at her, wide eyed with shock.  Who exactly did they think taught Alec to write such sharp, efficient protocols? 

Alec improved what she taught him, but still, the lessons he learned at Maryse’s side are what made him into who he is today.  No matter how much she regrets the part she played at times.

“You broke every single request and order he made, as is his due as the Commander and Head. You don’t even have the rank to pull that. You used the confusion of Alicante still recovering and the Institute itself mourning.  The only thing you obeyed was that you brought in Healer Loss, except only after the Silent Brothers.  You didn’t even inform me, Magnus did!”

Maryse sighs, because Isabelle is crying and Jace’s face looks raw and she's not trying to torment her children, she’s trying to help them understand and grow.  It hurts her that after deciding to cause them no more pain, she finds herself trying to but not because she wants to.

“Alicante owes its entire survival to Magnus Bane. Do you really think they wouldn’t have let him have Alec after that? The Clave is willing to do anything to lessen the debt they now owe. Telling Magnus that you were sending him to Alicante was the most insulting thing you could have done.”

Maryse rubs her fingers over her brow, the only reason she’s not panicking is because Magnus won’t let Alec die.  Her son is still alive because of Magnus and Maryse has no doubts that Magnus won’t let anything stop him from waking Alec up.

“Now, you’re both going to eat and then we’re going to talk about how you’re doing to fix things.” Because Maryse wasn’t going to leave them to figure things out on their own, not when she was why they were like this.

Her neglect, her lack of full censure on anyone but Alec and her over-reliance on her heir.

—-

Alec groans as he wakes up, turning to inhale sandalwood and cough, because despite nuzzling against familiar warm skin, the scent of Edom’s sands linger. Magnus is holding him, not on a bed but not on a couch either. It's comfortable no matter what it is and he’s with Magnus so Alec doesn’t really care what new kind of furniture Magnus is using.

“You still smell like Edom,” he murmurs because maybe this is just a new layer of change to Magnus after all he’s been through.

“That would be because we’re in Edom darling, once again.”

Alec frowns, because he vaguely remembers escaping Edom but his mind is hazy enough he could be wrong, except Magnus said ‘again’ and his voice is hoarse and rasping despite the power it holds.

“Did the rift reopen?”

“Far worse, beloved. You wouldn’t wake. Lorenzo’s magic poisoned me and it did the same to you. Your body rejected his magic as viciously as mine did.” Magnus’ fingers run through his hair and Alec is about to risk opening his eyes when a palm covers them. “Not quite yet, darling. I had to accept certain things, in order to come back to what I’d conquered and abandoned.”

Magnus fingers feel the same except that his nails are sharp and slightly curving.  Finding out why they’re back in Edom is suddenly far less important than figuring out why Magnus is so tense and not letting Alec look at him, as if in fear of rejection. 

Alec turns so Magnus hand shifts over his nose and against his lips and he kisses the skin of Magnus’ palm.  Magnus inhales sharply and Alec opens his eyes, smiling even as he meets Magnus' new look.

It’s certainly different.

There are white bone horns protruding like a crown of triumph from his hair and scales dappling his temples and his hair itself is streaked with color that matches Edom’s blood moon.

“Wow—” he teases gently, smiling wider and knowing his eyes are filled with nothing but love and adoration and maybe a little bit of lust, because it’s Magnus.  Magnus laughs, untensing and holding him more tightly.  Alec said it because he knew it would make Magnus smile but also because wow. 

Magnus looks amazing.

No matter what, this just proves it.

“You’re never going to stop surprising me, are you Alexander?”

“Hopefully not, but only in good ways.” Alec manages to get out, fascinated and a little fixated on the point of Magnus’ canines he can now make out.  He swallows, unaware of how Magnus’ adoring look turns to one of smugness at Alec’s reaction. Alec’s still not sure why they’re back in Edom, but seeing as he’s in Magnus’ arms he doesn’t really care.

“Did other things change?” Alec manages to ask, because he’s pretty sure that he just saw a flick of Magnus’ tongue and it didn’t used to be black or quite that long.  Magnus laughs, full of magic and relief and he cups Alec’s face with a smirk.

“Some of them.”

—

Alexander has no idea how tempting he is, finally awake and aware when he’s been healing in the cocoon of Magnus’ arms and magic in Edom’s new throne room for days.

Edom’s court is empty for now.

The throne Magnus is lounging on decadent and large and it’s where he’s been holding Alexander since they arrived.  Sustaining and cleaning and keeping them both in a state of limbo as Alexander healed and Edom reformed around Magnus, Alexander and Magnus’ throne, one grain of sand at a time.

Edom completed her rebirth at the same time that Alexander nuzzled against him, finally waking up.

Now he watches Magnus with curious, hungry eyes and Magnus shifts, so that his cock can press up against Alexander’s belly.  There’s only a few thin pieces of fabric between them and Magnus knows that Alexander’s can already feel the differences. The fact that his cock is smoother and harder, though he can’t yet feel the scales or how Magnus' blood now runs hotter than it ever has.  

Alexander whines, grinding down and rubbing closer.

Magnus cock has already been hard since his boy looked at him with want but Edom’s hungry to be fed and satiated as well; and Magnus realizes that there’s nothing he wants more than to glut himself on Alexander.

Especially considering how his boy is reacting, ripping off his own shirt so he has one less layer between himself and Magnus. The linen of Magnus’ pants is soaked, the fabric molding to his skin like an eager mouth so he can nestle his cock against Alexander, warming his boy through the fabric.

Magnus tries to think of a single reason to deny himself, now that Alexander is safely awake and finds none.

Edom’s lust is his, roaring through him and he pulls Alexander up, fucking into his mouth and ensuring magic coats the barbs of his tongue enough to only stimulate, not to rip and tear or shred.

Alexander keens and his hands find Magnus hair, his fingers searching until they find where the bone horns meet skin and he rubs entreatingly at the skin there before tugging at the horns carefully.

“They’re not going anywhere, Alexander.  You can pull as hard as you like.” Magnus teases, pulling back to lick a stripe up Alexander’s neck, admiring the raw, abraded skin he leaves behind and the way Alexander trembles and helplessly grinds against him. His saliva won’t harm Alexander — never Alexander — but it will make him more sensitive and Magnus can’t wait to get Alexander’s cock in his mouth.

Alexander is alive and Magnus’ and that’s all that matters, now that Edom protects them.

AN:

While alec was trying to recover, jace and izzy asked clary if she could make a rune to heal alec and like she tried and it made things worse (the angels said no) and they’re all feeling guilty about that because clary knew that backlash was possible after her mess up with bringing back the dead bs. I’m only using it as a plot point. I truly hate that arc.

They’re not intentionally, but they are a little covering it up subconsciously. Not purposefully, they’re just trying to protect clary and also save alec (but not as the main priority) and they think they know better since the silent brothers are who saved max. They also dont think magnus can heal alec since lorenzo’s magic doesn’t like magnus. Like in their head this is logical and makes sense, which is why maryse is so like... stressed. Because they cannot be this caught up in their own mindset ever again. Alec had protocols in place and izzy and jace used the stuff like alec not having a full chain of command, the commotion and damage still being recovered in alicante etc. like it’s going to take months for alicante to finish restoring all of the damage even with their angelic powers and/or hiring warlocks which they probably wont do. anyways. They got away with it and yeah.

Magnus is basically in a big version of domdrop this whole time along with like, ptsd and shock and a giant adrenaline drop along with emotional upheaval from betrayal? And also anxiety and stress. He’s recentering himself and alec without even completely realizing it because he’s been running on instincts as Edom reforms and regrew.

Alec wouldn’t have ever been like ‘magnus i’d like you better with these things’ but he’s in love with magnus in ways that rewrite his very being (he’s still himself it just changes parts of him and thats true for any relationship) and he doesn’t see them as ‘something to learn to love’ just ‘more and new things of Magnus to love’. 

[littleemissperfecttt]

Pain and Pleasure

Summary: You are a very beautiful girl who was forced to marry not one, not two but FIVE men in order to preserve your clans bloodline. How will the marriage workout? Will the five men get along? Will you have a happy life with them?

Warnings: Smut, p in v, riding, sub dom relationship, Angst, rough sex

A/n: Heyy my readers I wanted to let you all know I will be busy from now on and will be posting on Saturdays everyweek. Also can you all give me motivation to write the next chapter I kinda have been having a writers block so motivation will help a lot

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Chapter 10

You were still in bed refusing to get out nor responding to your husbands who came to check up on you. The only time you responded was when Sukuna threatened to break the door down if you didn't come out and you firmly responded that you needed time and weren't  ready to face them. Toji was nowhere to be found, may he went on a mission? or maybe he is just too ashamed to face you just yet, you didn't know what the reason was but you were very thankful that he didn't show up to talk to you. That would have drained your mental capacity even more.

With all of this going on the only thing you could think of was your family and if they were here would you have been happier? you didn't know the answer to that but you did know you missed them dearly

You looked over at your nightstand where your wedding pictures stand, you thought you were building a family and would forget your sadness in this marriage but you were wrong

You went to the washroom to wash your face and freshen up a little so you can feel a little better about yourself.

After coming out of the bathroom you took the picture of your family and sat on the bed

"Mom... you told me I have to be strong always b-but I don't think I can anymore" you sob "would it have been better if I died with you guys?"

"it wouldn't have been my love" you heard a small voice from inside the room making you stiffen in your place

"I didn't hear the door open" you said softly as you placed the picture back in its spot and turned to face him

"because I didn't open the door" he said "I can travel through distance because of my infinity" the way he said it was so casual as though everyone could do it but are too weak to do so

"I need space Satoru" you said and turned away not wanting to face him

"Why? Did we do something wrong?" He asked as he started getting closer to you "you only told us that if we want to make this work out we have to openly communicate... Please princess tell us what happened" he kneeled down in front of you so you could look at him

The more he talked the angrier you got, 'you can't fool me anymore' you thought as you grabbed him by his collar and kissed him harshly. Your lips were going to bruise because of the kiss but you didn't care if they want a heir you were determined to give them one, then finally you can disappear from this madness

Satoru didn't protest at all he just kissed you back with the same intensity, he helped you remove his shirt and pants, his cock hard and standing about to rip off his boxer if you touched him further. He could feel the pre-cum coating his tip as it stained his boxer. He couldn't hold any longer he ripped your dress apart and laid on the bed naked as he pulled you on top of him

To him you looked like an angel who came just for him so he was going to make sure to worship you the same way

"Use me all you want my love" he said his voice husky deep with pleasure "take all your anger and frustration out on me and i will take it my wife"

You bit your teeth as you sunk yourself down on his length as you heard his breathless moan, you smirked

"Can't be a sub can you?" you teased as you put your hands on his chest and started riding him making him grunt and hold onto your hips to help you move more freely

"Oh gosh" you moaned moving faster as he helped, the pleasure was intense as you closed your eyes and arched your back to give him more access. He reached out and squeezed your breasts pinching your nipple to elevate your pleasure.

He leaned you over so your breasts are near his mouth, he opened his mouth and started sucking on them making you scratch his chest as you let out a breathy moan

Satoru closed his eyes tightly resisting the urge to flip you over and fuck the brains out of you but he refrained himself as this was about YOU and not him. He wanted to know what was bothering you, you were so happy when you went to work even kissed everyone goodbye until he got a call from Shoko saying that after Toji left Zenin Naoya came to visit you and because of which you had a breakdown and had to leave your work early.

He wanted to know what that bastard had said that set you off so much that you didn't want to interact with any of them even Nanami

"T-Toru" you slurred bouncing up and down releasing all the pent up frustration you had "I am gonna-" you threw your head back and screamed in pleasure before coming all over his cock. This sight of you stirred something in THE Gojo Satoru. He wanted to be here all day and night make love to you every single second of your life

As soon as he came inside of you, your anger returned with full force. You slid out of him and wore your clothes without looking at him. This action made his brows furrow

"What is it?" he asked as he gripped your arm tightly, he could see his cum dripping down from between your legs that sight made him hard again but he shook his head to get to know what was really happening with you

"I will give you your heir soon Gojo, you don't have to act all concerned anymore" you said rolling your eyes and trying to get out of his grip

'Gojo' he didn't know why but his family name coming out of your mouth made him angry. He immediately brought you to bed and flipped you down so you were on your back and were facing him

"Gojo? You are acting really strange... and i don't need an heir.. Gosh did you think I came here for that? Do you think so low of me?" He asked enraged by your actions

"Then why else are you here for?" you asked with an eyebrow raise

"Because I care for you and I am your husband Mrs. Gojo Satoru" he smirked

You scoffed finally looking... glaring at him "husband? don't make me laugh and get off of me!" you struggled to get free

"I am not leaving till I get the reason why you are so angry!" he held you down "tell me!" he demanded

You closed your eyes for a second to compose yourself  "tell me about the contract you have made with your family"

Satoru furrowed his brows confused "what do you mean love?" 

"Oh shut it I know all your damn secrets!" you glared at him as a tear rolled down your face. Your tears made Satoru's heart clench in sadness

"I don't know what you are talking about seriously" 

"oh then you didn't make a deal with your clan to give away our son or daughter to them as soon as they are born? I know I am just a tool for you all" you scoffed glaring at him deeply

"Why would I make a deal with my clan when all I wanted to do was leave it every single day of my life?"

"stop lying!" you yelled out as you wiggled under his grip to be free

"I am not lying! My whole life I have had to carry this burden on my shoulder, I had to make sure I save everyone while no one wanted to know how I was or how I felt! If you think I would let OUR children be in the same atmosphere as that then you are so wrong!"

You were surprised non the less but you wanted clarity on why he married you "why'd you marry me Satoru?" You asked tiredly 

"My clan initially wanted me to reject the offer they said it was too risky with Sukuna and Toji being here, I wanted something for myself I wanted to build something, I wanted to feel love for the first time in my life... I know I am cocky and all but I wanted this because it would ground me to remind me I can be a human too.. and you  my love" he kissed you gently "the moment I saw you I fell so hard no one can help me, you saw me as ME accepted my flaws kissed me when I was too 'childish' laughed at my jokes... you made me feel like home and every time I go on missions I am eager to come back...Come back home to you"

That's when you lost it you pulled him into a hug and cried

He let you cry all over his shoulder he could feel your tears on it till you fell asleep because exhaustion

This made Satoru more determined to find out what happened and he was ready to kill the rest if he had to. So he waited till you woke up...

[fruutbaag]

BEEBO PLAYLIST FINISHED!!! at least as of now i'm very satisfied with it :]

(in both spotify and youtube flavors :>)

elaboration under the cut!! warning its Long lol

1–5: just kinda the first loop obviously, nothing really special yet. i had to put Stal because 1 similar vibes to Serious Detective Office, 2 its a little sillay with it, and 3 its a nod to beebo flirting via minecraft in the comic. :3 is there for the Vibe, its lighthearted and silly and i like it next question. Go Back (Death's Theme) is a given

6–11: The Ángel Songs, pt. 1. i could probably make a whole separate playlist just for him tbh. shoutout to my friend jon for recommending This Boy :D. Someone To Spend Time With is for the convo with oliver on the balcony in loop 2. A Mask of My Own Face is just like. a given. blah blah the different roles ángel takes during the loops.

Little Lion Man and The Scientist were just like. i was listening to shit and thinking about the characters and i was like ooooohhhh Fuck this fits:

Ángel "blames himself for things outside his control" Valdivia also time loop

just gestures vaguely at this one

12–17: house songs :) Labyrinth my beloved. most of these are just for The Vibe i will be honest. hi lemon demon. fun fact Scattered and Lost, for those of you who don't play Celeste, plays when you're in a haunted house (or haunted Hotel whatever). lol

18–19: um. ok eugenes segment is a little lacking because i moved people eater later on but. its fine ok. Had Enough is because eugene is an angy angy man who feels like everyone has wronged him

20–23: the endings 1/2 branch aka The Ángel Songs, pt. 2. uhhhhh i'll be honest Yellow is mostly there for these lines

Ángel Para Un Final is. the obvious. next

24–26: ending 2 songs aka The Ángel Songs, pt. 3. i thought about adding I WONT LET YOU GO HOME instead of Game Over - DLMAH because i think it fits better lorewise, but the actual songs vibe didn't really fit the vibe for ending 2 so i went with the next best thing

Ghost On The Dance Floor:

ough. Kiss Goodnight is mostly the vibe not any particular lyric

i was also tempted to add Starjump from the Celeste OST because of the sheer feeling of Anxiety it gives you (definitely give it a listen and you'll see what i mean). i ultimately decided there were too many ending 2 songs (and Game Over kinda already fills the space i would have Starjump at) but honestly i might silently add it later if i feel like it

27–29: endings 4, 5, and 6. The Villain I Appear to Be and People Eater are both givens. Bleed Magic is there because like. oughh the eugene vibes manipulating oliver. god hes such an asshole i hate him

"who would want to hire a shivering mess like me" eugene coli when i fucking Get You

30–33: and of course, endings 9 & 10 :) (mostly ending 10). you're at the party is like. well 1 its my favorite lemon demon song and 2 just Look At It. The Vibes. No Heart To Speak Of is also like just Look At It that's ending 10. that's ending 10. he misses ángel. Ghosting i was resisting adding because i thought it'd be too low hanging fruit but like. yeag.

escapism sat there at the very end since the First iteration of the playlist which only had 15 songs back then. most of the songs here were added just in the last like. week lol. i'm normal and sane

-

also!! i know there's a lot of regular beebo ost in there but it was nice to have as both a marker of where in the story it is and Also a kinda transition of vibe. also its just nice :]

ANYWAYS throws this out into the wild like a bird i'm releasing. be free my playlist hope u enjoy :3

[aingeal98]

What do you think of an au where cass ends up in another city instead of gotham and idolizes their respective hero and symbol instead of the bat

Like she ends up in star city and in star city and idolizes green arrow and tries to mimic him instead and (eventually) become a member of the arrowfam?

Or she ends up in coast city and somehow a green lantern ring chooses her and grows up as a green arrow

I mean we've already seen this semi-done with "cassandra lane" and her growing up in metropolis and lois and clark instead

But what about other cities? just wanted to hear your thoughts

Ooh both of those options sound interesting! Star City would be fun because Connor was also created by Puckett, and it would be interesting to see how he writes and contrasts them. If we place Cass in Star City around the same time she appeared in Gotham, then Oliver is dead, Dinah is working with Babs, Roy is with the Titans and Connor is the main Green Arrow but his series has ended. As far as I'm aware if Cass went to Star City instead of Gotham in 1999, she would have found it pretty empty. Dinah and Roy were the only arrowfam members appearing in comics that month.

So if we were swapping her from batfam to arrowfam, I'd probably have her appear in BOP first. She saves Dinah's life on a mission, Dinah takes her back to Babs, Babs names her Cass and Cass stops David Cain from killing Jim. Only this time instead of Bruce it's Dinah who's watching over her the entire time, and Dinah who ends up being her primary mentor/parent. When GA 2001 kicks off, Cass features primarily as Dinah's kid, with Connor and Mia as Ollie's. I feel like Cass wouldn't really see them as siblings the way she does the batfam. They're friends first and kind of step siblings second. Found family that doesn't need to be clearly defined. Sin on the other hand? Her little sister 100%. Having Cass heavily involved in the Shiva and Sin arcs would be so fun.

Green Lantern Cass would be interesting because at the time the only Lantern was Kyle. Like Kyle was meant to be the last of the entire Corps but suddenly Cass shows up with a ring and she can't explain why any better than he can. So screw it, I guess he has a partner now. A partner who's convinced her purpose is to take all the risks and die for him, which Kyle would not be too happy about.

So what would these changes mean for Cass? I think with Dinah there'd be a lot more focus on addressing her death wish and refusing to let her fight Shiva alone, compared to Bruce who felt so upset about her being a killer that he couldn't cope and refused to think about it. There would be a full fledged acceptance for Cass as a member of the family, over and over again despite Cass's fears. No hoops to jump through no standards she has to live up to. If anything the conflict would be trying to find ways to stop Cass from holding herself to said impossible standards, with limited success.

As for GL, I'm not as familiar with them so I could be very wrong, but I think being chosen to be a Lantern is the kind of duty teen Cass would cling to like a lifeline. Kyle would be the most important person to her, but at the same time she wouldn't really care about his personal life, and would be confused why he does. The burden of being the only remaining Lantern would be shared, but their personality differences would bring a whole new range of conflicts and challenges into their individual character arcs.

Thanks for the ask!

[anotherspookyarchivist]

ok, originally I wanted to leave it at that, but.... TW: death, implied suicide & kind of suicidal ideation.

Stanley remembered dying. It had hurt about as much as he’d expected, though, there had also been this sense of finality cursing through him. He’d take his brother’s book and take it to the grave.

“The first worthwhile thing in his life…”

So, needless to say the fact that Stanley was waking up was quite alarming. He tried to move his body, but it all felt floaty. It was hard to grasp.

He tried to open his eyes, but even as he tried the world remained dark. He tried to shout, and no sound could be heard.

Stanley started to panic. What was going on? He could… he could hear? Sounds from nearby? But it all seemed wrong. There was a wrongness to the way this information was processed.

“Stanley? STANLEY!” was this a shout of triumph?

But there wasn’t much Stanley could do, he was left feeling like he was everywhere and nowhere at once. He couldn’t even see or feel anything.

“Please, there’s no need to be agitated. It’s all going perfectly well.”

Wait… was that Ford’s voice? He tried again to say something, but still – nothing happened.

“I don’t understand what you were thinking, Lee.” was what he could… infer from whatever was happening around him. “Crashing your car like this! You could have died.”

...Well… he should have died. He had… he had died, hadn’t he?

“But as if I’d let you leave like that”. Was that a laugh? What was going on with his brother. “I managed to capture what was left of you and you’re now safe.”

Safe?

“I don’t know how long it’ll take to actually get you into a body. But for now, you’ll simply remain in this container, I know you can hear me, so you won’t be too lonely in here.”

Ok, so his brother was a crazy scientist, and magician that was playing with the souls of the deceased. Stanley would actually like to leave.

He was still left in this void, he couldn’t feel, couldn’t taste, and yet he could hear his brother’s inquisitive humming.

“Trust me, Stanley. You’ll be fine.”

The void had no way to actually count the hours, but Stanley knew that he’s been left here for too long. There was nothing other than thinking left to him. He wondered where Ford went. How many days had past. Why Ford would only sparingly talk to him.

He remembered a day where Ford had talked at him; had brought up all of Stanley’s dirty laundry without giving him a chance to explain himself. Ford mentioned the cartel, the drugs, the consequences that homelessness must have had on Stanley.

And all throughout… one thing started to change. Ford stopped talking about Stan’s future vessel. There was no talk about the body, about how his brother was trying to ensure that the transfer of… whatever Stanley now was… would go smoothly.

And the more time passed, the more the thing that was the remains of Stanley grew agitated. And the more agitated he grew, the more Stanford would start to berate Stanley.

Stanley should be grateful that Ford was doing his best. Stanley should have known that crashing the car would not work. Stanley should have known that Ford just cared so much about him. Clearly, there should have been a better solution.

He didn’t know how much time had past. He was both restless and also resigned, because the void didn’t give him anything. It was hard to remember having had a body. To remember what taste and touch had felt like. He only had his brother’s company.

The thing in the void was growing tired, as it waited for Ford to arrive and interrupt the nothingness of existence. Ford was the only thing that he had left. Ford would help him.

Which was why Ford’s next words had been worse than anything that he’d said before.

“You know, I had been so frustrated months ago, when I realised that I necromancy was more complicated than I had initially assumed. However, having seen so much of your past – I have to say, maybe this was simply luck in disguise. Because like this… like this you’re safe. Like this nothing could ever hurt you. And you’ll always have me by your side. Maybe I could consider creating something that’ll let you talk, but with all the other work at the Institute piling up… we’ll just have to see.”

The thing in the void couldn’t really react. There was nothing it, or he, could do. Whatever Ford wanted would happen - and Ford wanted to keep it/him safe at all cost.

Stanley remembered dying in a car crash. He wasn’t sure if it had hurt, he hoped it did. He hoped he could feel it again. Stanley Pines died months ago in a car crash. Stanford Pines claims to have revived shortly after. However, the thing left in a place of nothingness, bereft of any sort of stimulation with the exception of one voice, does not consider this a worthy life. It yearns for freedom and something other than his brother, but at least the emotional pain could remind him that he had once been more than nothing. He once thought death would be final. Surrounded by the void, and kept somewhere safe; Now, he mourns his naivete.

Oh the urge to write a dark-ish psychological horror set in "A Better World" from Stan's POV is so strong.

[neofelis----nebulosa]

I’m just going to come out and say it I think tai lung is getting a redemption in kfp 4