#doomed to repeat

[alicedopey]

Oh I like this ! Let's just keep in mind that older readers have older bones and are fragile. They need to be manhandled with care.

This reader breaks my heart. She seems so alone. Looks like her divorce hit her hard and she only focused on work. I don't even think she has friends. It's like she closed in on herself. She definitely needs company but I am not certain Bucky is a good one.

She got his interest though and he is obsessed now. Wonder why. Maybe because he thinks she needs to be rescued, maybe because he wants to control one thing in his life, maybe because she is older and isolated, maybe because Sam finding a woman gave him ideas.

"Sam? Nah, he's got a girl." I mean, it looks like it's official now. At least in Sam and Bucky's heads. Don't know if the woman got it yet lol.

Anyways, love the beginning. Can't wait to find out where you are going to take this one ! (with no pressure of course)

Doomed to Repeat 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, power imbalance, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: After a painful divorce, your wary of men, that is until Bucky Barnes needles his way in. (older!reader)

Same universe as this.

Characters: Bucky Barnes

I know it's Steve week but this doesn't count. Shhhhhhh.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and you are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

Your flat slips off your heel. You drag your foot to get it back on, the arch of your foot twinging as you flex the muscle. Don't stop. It's a jungle out here. New York slows down for no one, even the shoeless.

You dodge around the oncoming stampede, clinging to your modest assortment of groceries in the crinkling paper bag. It's a tight wire walk back to your apartment as you're crowded on all sides.

You're invisible among the city's rush, as you are in most rooms. You've aged past relevance. You don't mind so much, at times, the obscurity is your best ally.

You follow the flow of pedestrians across the fading white lines of the crosswalk. A taxi honks, a whistle goes up, and sirens echo somewhere down the block.

"Hey, lady!" The voice startles you. Are they talking to you. "You dropped this?"

You look down in a panic. You feel your purse on your hip. It can't be you.

You spin and a man's shoulder bounces off of yours. You stagger, struggling to keep your balance as the bag tears down the front. The man barrels past you. Just like he didn't see you, he didn't notice the speed bump of your existence.

You look down as several items fall onto the pavement around you. You get down to gather them up, watching helplessly as your loaf of sourdough is crushed under the feet of passerbys. Pigeons flock to devour the ruin.

"Ow!" The same man blusters.

You glance over your shoulder as you put the block of butter atop the load still in the bag. You see him hit his ass on the sidewalk as another man marches past him. You cower as you realises he's coming toward you.

He stoops to scoop up the small wheel of gouda wrapped in wax. He's agile and undeterred by the tides around him. He squats down in front of you and places the cheese in the bag. He surveys the damage to the paper.

"Some people got no manners," he mutters.

"You don't have to..." you protest as you stack the groceries carefully. "I can manage, sir."

You look up at his face and blink in recognition. You feel oddly intrusive, stalkerish. Most people would recognise him in the city. You know him from a couple books stacked on your second shelf.

You shake it off. "Ahem," you clear your throat. "Thanks, sir. I'll get it."

"Here," he slides the bag away from you and puts the open side against his chest. He lifts it easily. You rub your lower back as you straighten up. "Got it."

"Oh, no, you can't... it's nice but..."

"Don't mind. I got nowhere to be right now."

You stare at him, trying to contain your doubt. War hero, state representative, and avenger has nothing going on? You're more than certain Bucky Barnes is full of it.

"Really," he insists. "Point me in the right direction." He glances around. "Stay close. Don't wanna lose ya."

"Um, alright," you surrender. Don't trust strangers, you're well past that lesson, but he's not exactly that, is he?

You give him one last look. He wears a pair of dark aviators and he's dressed down in a denim jacket and dark slacks. Still, you see right through it, even with the cap over his hair.

You turn and continue forward. He's close as he walks with his shoulder just behind yours, the bag rubbing on your arm.

"I can tell you know who I am," he drawls. "Can I get a name?"

You nod and look ahead into the sea of people. You recite your name on habit alone.

"I gotta commend you on your choice in cheese. I like the brand, but I'm more partial to their havarti." He says.

"Oh, um... yeah... I'm supposed to cut back on dairy..." you murmur cluelessly. "Not that you would... you know, I don't think groceries are within your purview. You probably have more important things to deal with."

"Not right now," he repeats.

"Here," you point up the alley.

You turn and he follows. You reach into your purse, instinctively looking back as you search for your keys. You pass under the fire escape and stop at the door. You step up the creaky old stairs and shove the brass one in the slot. He lingers behind you.

"Think I can take it from here, Representative Barnes."

"Bucky, please. I'm off the clock."

You face him and reach for the bag. He makes no move to hand it over. You step down the stair between you. "I got it."

He stares at you, a dimple in his cheek.

"You've done your good deed and helped an old lady carry her bag," you assure him dryly. "You're free to go."

You wrap your arms around the bag. He lets go and you cradle it carefully to balance the contents. His gaze makes you sweat. Or maybe that's the hormones.

"Old? You're spry as a spring chicken," he chuckles.

"Uh huh," you lift a brow. "Well, you carry your age much better than me." You back up and awkwardly extend your hand from beneath the bag. You twist the key and push inside. You pause just past the door. You angle back. "Thanks again, Bucky."

"See ya around," he says your name. "You know, I think the big thing these days is those reusable bags. Sturdier."

"Thanks, I'll see what I can find," you nearly snort. "You should probably get back to the rest of your constituency."

"Gah, guess I gotta," he spins on his heel. "I did swear some oath or another."

He strides off down the alley, a casual slant in his shoulders. You watch him, almost amused, leaning back to keep an eye on him. You're envious. He's gotta be twice your age, technically, and he looks more than a decade younger. You're not so concerned with your looks but you wonder if maybe that serum of his might help with the menopause.

He stops at the end of the alley. He looks back and waves. You flinch, caught, and hide inside. You let the door shut behind you and harrumph at the staircase ahead of you. Your knees will remind you that his words were just flattery.

🌆

"This week, let's focus on the upcoming assignment. Reflect on the last few lectures when discussing the pre-war foundations for conflict. Remember, this isn't just about military force, this is social, economic, and cultural. Try to weave together the world when contextualizing your thesis."

You speak to the Zoom classroom split into a grid of faces. Your students look well past their limit and you have to admit, you're there. "And don't forget office hours and that my email is always open for questions." You smile. "Until next time. Have a great week everyone."

A litter of byes come as slowly the students trickle out. You miss the in-person format but everything is shifting, everyone is moving past you. You weren't always this stagnant. Once, you were a blooming flower. Now, you're wilted and content to sway with the breeze.

You exit the meeting room and log off. You make a few notes for next week's lecture then put your laptop to sleep. It's after five and you're tired but you can't keep finding excuses. That walking pad is going to get dusty and the doctor said exercise will help with the hormones. Most of his recommendations only add to your discomfort.

You go into your bedroom and change into some running shorts and a loose tee. The effort of lifting your arch tugs tightly. Your shoulder's still sore from the other day. That guy really knocked you around. You rub the tender muscle and sigh. 

You're not a sprinter but you do work up a sweat at a brisker pace of walking. You stretch as you look for a podcast to listen to. You enjoy the one about the tragic monarchs... always a nice companion to your own suffering.

Before you can hit play, a dull thumping gives you pause. You move closer to the door. Mr. Kryzcky opens his door with a grunt.

"Oh, hi, I was looking for..." the voice drawls your name. "Think I got the wrong one."

Another grunt from the old man next door and the slam of his door. A soft laugh sounds. You go to the door and keep the chain on. You think you remember that voice, from more than just your unlucky meeting.

You open up and peek out. Bucky glances over and turns to face you with a grin. "Ah, there you are."

"I'm here," you say skeptically.

"I didn't have your number so couldn't call ahead," he comes closer. He's in one of those nice suits you see him wear at his press conferences. His long hair is parted and combed back away from his face.

"Okay?" Your confusion inflects upwards.

"Right, uh, I guess maybe my clearance won't work everywhere," he chuckles. "I wanted to check in."

"Check in? Well, I'm just fine, Representative."

"Bucky," he corrects. "How's the shoulder?"

"Not as strong as yours," you nod to his left arm.

"Yeah, you're standing a bit..." he raises his hand and angles it. "You're favouring that side."

"I take advil," you shrug and wince. "Sorry, I wasn't expecting you."

"I didn't interrupt dinner, did I?"

"Uhhhh, nope. Just... not quite sure you can call it a workout but I was going to get my steps in," you say.

"Have you eaten?" He wonders.

You frown. You exhale as you shake your head. "I just got done class."

"Class? What are you taking?"

You snort. "I see why people like you."

"Some," he snickers. "Can I buy you dinner? I'm here and... starving."

Your eyes list over. You consider the offer. You're wary of it. Not quite sure why he'd come back. Did you give off that vibe? That you're desperate for company? You get lonely since your husband left but you've adapted.

"I don't like eating alone and if I don't eat in a car, I'm eating in an empty condo," he snorts. "So... have a little pity for an old war vet?"

"Playing on those heartstrings. You about to ask for a campaign donation?"

He snickers. "Maybe next time."

"Right..." you slowly shut the door and slide back the chain. Before you can open it again, your chest stirs. Your place is small, a bit cluttered, but not dingy or dirty. Still, it's been a while since you had company. Well, you never did here.

You open up and step back. Bucky enters as he smooths his hair. You shut the door softly. He bends to unlace his leather shoes.

"You don't have other friends? Like Cap?"

"Sam? Nah, he's got a girl." Bucky slips his foot out. "And he's always cranky when he gets back in town. You know, he really puts up a front for the cameras."

He takes his other shoe off as you look down. You hide one leg behind the other. The shorts are meant for the privacy of your home.

"I'll get changed." You sidle away.

"Don't gotta dress up for me. You know, if you wanna do your workout, I'll just muddle around," he stands up and slips off his jacket.

"Um, no it's fine. Later." You retreat quickly to the bedroom.

You pull on a pair of loose pants over the shorts. Good enough. As you emerge, you find Bucky at the large antique bookshelf against the far wall. His back is to you as his head is tilted. You cautiously cross to him.

"Where'd you get this stuff?"

You near him and look over the disarmed pistols; a luger, an enfield, and a colt. Below, there are a few grenades and some empty shells. Your collection is small but a point of pride.

"Around." You say.

"A collector?"

"Suppose some would say a historian but I just teach it."

"Ah, class," he points his finger. "Right."

"I guess seeing this stuff like this must be a little... weird for you."

"Mm, not really. Need more room on that shelf, I won't fit." He taps it and laughs. "So, dinner? In the mood for anything?"

"Didn't think about it." You slowly inch away.

"Pizza?" He suggests.

"Can't go wrong." You agree. "Let me find my wallet."

"My treat," he insists and peers around. "Just you then?"

"Um, yep." You cover your barren left hand. "More room for books."

"Makes sense," he clucks and pulls out his phone. "Pepperoni?"

"Whatever you like." You reply. You won't mention that it gives you heartburn. He offered to pay after all.

"I'm more interested in what you like, so... you a veggie girl?"

"Girl? I don't think anyone's called me that in a while," you scoff. "Cheese is fine with me. I'm easy like that."

"Music to my ears," he taps the phone. "Spend all day trying to please everyone..." He turns as the line picks up. "Hey, could I get a large double cheese..."

You watch him for a moment. It's not just who he is. You just never thought about having a man here. The thought of just speaking to one gives you anxiety since the divorce. It feels like an intrusion but not just on his part. You feel like you've gotten in his way.

[batfambrainrotbeloved]

I kinda just love how Tim goes by Cardinal? I’m definitely reading way too far into this but the fact that he picked the reddest fucking bird ever seen. Absolute nonsensical but like the fact that Tim sees every death as his fault because he has the knowledge to stop it and still failed, like with his parents. How even after coming so far back in time he can’t fix everything?? The blood on his hands, the blood he feels practically drowned in? How that’s reflected in Cardinal? The red of the bird like the red on the back of his eyelids, how he’s haunted by mistake he failed to fix? I need to throw out my instant coffee

Jesus christ I need to pat you on the back that is a level of horrific ironic symbolism I hadnt even considered and holy fuck I love it

No no drink more coffee- you're giving me the good shit here and I need you to keep it tf UP

Though if you're asking- honestly?? There are many reasons but the main points boil down to A. I liked the red bird aesthetic for Tim and B. I just really like Cardinals- I grew up seeing them everywhere, always present. Their cry felt like home, and when i talk so much about Gotham as a living breathing city (shout out Victor Hugo my love) it felt right.

Also theres also the Cardinal Flower in New Jersey (aka Gotham state) that symbolizes Distinction which is a big theme of my fic for sure

[outlanderalien]

Arcane really was just like, the love was there and it changed everything.

[raincoll3ctor]

Arcane spoilers

Silco treats Jinx how he wishes he was treated by Vander whenever he made a mistake, with understanding.

But he ended up hurting her anyways, because he couldn’t see where Vander was coming from until it was too late.

Jinx treats Isha how she wishes she was treated by Vi, and includes her in everything, even if it’s dangerous.

But Isha ended up dying anyways, because Jinx couldn’t see where Vi was coming from until it was too late.



[countessravengrey]

This is so fucking real. I've been spending the last year just having panic attacks every time I saw something in the news.

[valnvy]

mi vida se marchita inutilmente, necesita tu aliento

[vizionsin]

[optimisticdreamtacoshark]

*lessons, in fact, were not learned*

babe:..and you know how that ended the last time

[athingofvikings]

That historian moment when you're writing about an Empire that fell into decline after a golden age because the new Emperor...

...was only interested in his entertainments...

...engaged in disproportionate cruelties towards those he felt disrespected him...

....let the social, political, and economic elites of the Empire run wild and destroy any and all legal regulations against their corruption and self-aggrandizement...

...allowed those aristocrats to privatize imperial lands for their own estates, increasing their wealth and power while hollowing out the economic backbone of the empire...

...and in the end, the Empire went from one of the great powers in the region to a near rump-state in less than a generation.

And that moment when the new Emperor came to power?

'25.

1025, to be exact.

I'm talking about the Byzantine Empire exactly a thousand years ago.

In 1024, the Empire had a standing army of 300,000 and a surplus in the Treasury.

By 1040, it had less than 50,000, the majority of them foreign mercenaries, and the coinage was debased, with the economy collapsing after a succession of idiot Emperors (one of whom might have been an actual con artist, in that he was reputed to have been a coin forger prior to his elevation). The main power had been, for most of the prior decade, a palace eunuch who had been maneuvering his brothers into positions of authority where he puppeted them.

And by 1080, the Empire had lost 2/3rds of its territory from 1025.

Pardon me while I go scream a bit...

[lavenderfieldsforvr]

anybody else fucked up over the fact that kris is being contacted and manipulated by a mysterious force over the phone. just like spamton was. is anybody else fucked up over the continuous parallels between them. does anybody else think someone should tell spamton this information so he can be a protective uncle and smash their cell phone to pieces.

[secretmellowart]

"Is not one pardonable, if one at last refuses! Can the inexhaustible have any right? Are not chains which are endless above human strength?" -Victor Hugo, Les Miserables

I learned how to make shadow puppets and animated one of my favorite lines from Les Miserables, for @valvertweek.

[rookanisstuff]

Thinking about how Caterina was probably a bit gentler in the training for her own children and she’s probably convinced that’s why they died in the succession war

Also probably what made her double down on her cruelty to the boys

[toiletphotoshoot]

Sigh….

[laurellala-comics]

Ok, so we know that after Phoenix saw news articles about how Edgeworth had become a ruthless prosecutor but before Phoenix became a lawyer himself, he wrote letters to Edgeworth to try and get through to him and convince him that what he was doing was wrong. Do we think Edgeworth read the letters? Do we think he kept them? Realistically, I think he read the first one because he recognized Nick's name and was curious what he had to say, and then got angry and threw out all the subsequent letters without looking at them. But imagine if he had kept them, and after reuniting with Nick, went through them. I feel like that would be a good opportunity for drama.

I also wonder if Nick thinks Edgeworth read all his letters or not. Like if he said certain things in the letter and assumes Edgeworth knows them when they meet, it could lead to interesting miscommunication. Obviously you could do this in a ship context, but I think it'd be compelling from a friendship point of view as well. If Nick had emphasized how much respect he had for Edgeworth and how much he believes in his ability to do good in the world and how he cares deeply about helping Edgeworth realize that, and all Edgeworth does is tell him to go away and that he never wants to see him again, that that feels a lot more crushing if Nick thinks that Edgeworth read about him being vulnerable and honest and then just didn't care.

Honestly though, I feel like after not getting a response for awhile Nick would assume Edgeworth wasn't reading the letters and start getting pissy, and only continue to send the letters for the principle of the matter (Edgeworth will have to see the letter in his mailbox after all and be reminded of Nick's existence even if he doesn't read them). I could see him using the letters more as a way of shouting into the void about his feelings with no expectation of them being read. I imagine the first letter was a very mild and kind plea that Edgeworth remember his old friend and who he used to be, and then 10 letters later it's just one page with "bitch" written in big letters because Nick is So Done. In which case, it would actually be so much funnier if Edgeworth DID read all of them from the beginning. Maybe this is why he acted the way he did when Nick met him again.

[gothicrepetitions]

“The greatest weight.-- What, if some day or night a demon were to steal after you into your loneliest loneliness and say to you: "This life as you now live it and have lived it, you will have to live once more and innumerable times more; and there will be nothing new in it, but every pain and every joy and every thought and sigh and everything unutterably small or great in your life will have to return to you, all in the same succession and sequence - even this spider and this moonlight between the trees, and even this moment and I myself. The eternal hourglass of existence is turned upside down again and again, and you with it, speck of dust!" Would you not throw yourself down and gnash your teeth and curse the demon who spoke thus?... Or how well disposed would you have to become to yourself and to life to crave nothing more fervently than this ultimate eternal confirmation and seal?”

― Friedrich Nietzsche, The Gay Science

Supernatural (2005-2020)//True Detective (2014-)//Time and Personal Identity in Nietzsche’s Theory of Eternal Recurrence, Scott Jenkins//Purgatory with Color TV: Motels Rooms as Liminal Zones in Supernatural, Lorna Jowett//Yellowjackets (2021-)//Revolutionary Girl Utena (1997)//Quote by Guillermo del Toro//One Hundred Years of Solitude, Gabriel Marquez Garcia//Trauma Reenactment in the Gothic Loop: A Study on Structures of Circularity in Gothic Fiction, Andrea Juranovszky

[thepenguisalive7]

Same old same old