#he would kill for her without a second thought

[buckysleftbicep]

little black dress 𐙚 b.b

pairing: new avenger!dom!bucky barnes x fem!reader

warnings: nsfw, 18+, minors dni, unprotected sex, rough sex creampie, possessive!bucky, bathroom sex

summary: you and bucky have always danced the line between desire and something more. but he never made his move, so you showed him exactly what it looked like when john does.

word count: 4.8k

author's note: hii my darlings! i had this fic in mind for a while now, and it took me a few days to finally get to writing it! and, honestly, john's growing on me 🥹 i hope you enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it! thank you for your support <333 love ya guys and stay safe out there! 💖

The dress was barely a dress at all, if anything it was more suggestion than fabric, clinging to your body like a second skin.

Black silk, paper-thin, and cut like it was designed to destroy restraint. It slipped over your curves without resistance, the kind of fit that made strangers stare and men lose their footing. 

The back plunged low, scandalously so—baring the line of your spine, the dip at the small of your back, the parts of you that longed to be touched. The hem itself was short enough to provoke imagination, short enough to turn heads.

You hadn’t even considered a bra, the silhouette just didn’t allow for one, but truthfully, that wasn’t the reason. The absence was part of the appeal, it made you feel unrestrained

The silk whispered across your thighs as you moved, every step practiced and purposeful, it caught the light in just the right places, teased your skin like a lover’s touch.

You could feel how the dress made you watchable, the kind of thing people noticed and couldn’t look away from. Every inch of exposed skin became a silent challenge and every shift of your hips, a calculated dare.

You stood at the mirror, sliding in one earring, then the other, your lips were slicked in a soft, gleaming gloss that caught the light every time your mouth curved.

Yelena’s voice carried through the doorway, amused. “Wow. You trying to kill Bucky?”

You didn’t flinch, just met her eyes in the mirror as she leaned lazily against the frame, one brow arched in mock accusation, a knowing smirk tugging at her mouth.

“Maybe,” you murmured.

“He doesn’t stand a chance.”

You turned slightly, letting the dress shift like a ripple down your thighs, your mouth curving into a knowing smirk. “He’s had chances,” you said, voice lower now, almost thoughtful. “He just never took them.”

Yelena’s grin widened. “Don’t let him off easy. The man’s been blue-balling himself for months.”

She disappeared down the hallway with a lazy wave, leaving only the soft sound of her boots against tile and the muted thrum of your own heartbeat.

The tension between you and Bucky had always lived in that thin space between too much and not enough. Flirting had blurred into something else long ago, something darker, slower, heavier.

It lived in the way his eyes tracked you across a room like you were a threat to him.  In the way his touch lingered a second too long when he helped you up off the mats. In the way your breath caught every time he leaned close enough that you could practically feel his restraint.

It had become a game, a slow-burn stalemate of low voices, shared glances, and touches that hovered right at the edge of indecent. He’d press you down during training, thick thighs caging you in, vibranium fingers wrapped firm around your wrist, and the heat between you would spike. 

He never moved. Never let himself fall.

And you were tired of pretending not to notice the way his hands tightened when you teased. The way his jaw clenched when your laugh came too close to someone else’s ear. The way he looked at you—like he wanted to devour you, and somehow hated himself for it.

Your heels clicked softly against the concrete as you stepped out of the compound’s elevator, each step deliberate.

Ava was already by the SUV, one hip cocked, gaze flickering between her phone screen and the cluster of the others around her. Bob nodded along absently to the pulse of whatever bass-heavy song Yelena had commandeered for the aux.

Alexei stood beside them, sipping something clear from a paper cup that definitely hadn’t been cleared by protocol, honestly, nothing he had been drinking since the team moved into the compound had been, not that you were complaining though. 

But all of them stilled, for just a second, when you walked out into the warm, electric hum of the night.

John let out a low whistle, his gaze unfiltered and unhurried as it raked down the length of you. “If I knew you were wearing that,” he said, voice warm with amusement, “I’d have taken longer to get ready.”

You smiled, slow, confident, a little cruel, and breezed past him with a smirk that felt like the start of trouble. “Too late, Walker.”

As you passed, your fingers brushed Bucky’s. Barely. A whisper of contact, just enough to feel the static crackle between you. It could’ve been dismissed as accidental, if not for the way his fingers twitched, the almost-imperceptible flex, like he was fighting the urge to catch your hand and hold it there.

He was leaned against the SUV’s doorframe, arms folded across his chest. Stil, watchful. The tightly-leashed expression he wore wasn’t new, it was the same one he wore during missions, when the objective was in sight but the timing wasn’t right. Controlled tension, that coil of restraint wrapped tight beneath the surface.

His black tee stretched obscenely across his chest, the sleeves clinging to biceps that seemed to be sculpted from Adonis himself. His jeans were broken-in and low-slung, worn soft in all the right places, he looked lethal, almost unbothered. Except he wasn’t.

His gaze dropped—from your eyes to the slope of your bare back, pausing there before trailing lower. You caught the subtle shift in his jaw, the clench and release that gave him away.

He didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to.

And you didn’t look back. 

Inside the SUV, it was chaos, the kind that came with too many personalities jammed into one vehicle. Alexei and John were already halfway into an argument over the playlist. Both men reached for the center console like it was some kind of atomic bomb they were racing to defuse.

“I pick! You picked last time,” Alexei snapped, clearly offended.

“That was the gym,” John countered, cocky and unbothered. “This is clubbing. Different playlist.”

“It’s still music, идиот (idiot).”

Bob, ever the neutral third party, tried to mediate with a calm voice and a poor sense of timing. Yelena, predictably, told him to stop touching her mirror, and he did, again. 

You climbed in last, taking the only seat left, right beside Bucky. It was tight, deliberately so. Your thigh pressed flush against his, the heat of his body seeping into yours through denim and skin, a slow, smoldering current that made your breath hitch.

He didn’t shift. Didn’t lean away. Didn’t lean in, either.

He sat like he’d been poured into the seat and frozen there, every muscle drawn tight beneath his skin, jaw ticking, eyes fixed on the window like it was the only thing keeping him together. His stillness wasn’t calm, it was restraint, sharp-edged and suffocating, the kind that only lasted until something snapped.

You could feel it in the air between you, thick and heavy. You knew that silence, knew what it meant when Bucky went quiet like that. 

So you moved instead. Slow. Intentional.

You crossed your legs with a fluid, unhurried motion, letting the silk of your dress slip higher on your thighs. The fabric whispered against your skin, you knew what you looked like, knew how little the dress left to the imagination.

And you knew he was watching. Even if he wouldn’t look directly, you could feel the way his focus narrowed.

The effect was immediate, barely visible, but you saw it.

The twitch in his jaw. The subtle exhale through his nose. The slow, unmistakable flex of his gloved fingers against his thigh, the leather creaking ever so slightly as his knuckles tightened.

You turned your head just enough to catch him in your peripheral vision, your voice dipped low and syrup-sweet.

“Something wrong?”

He didn’t speak at first. Just blinked, once, as if clearing a fog, his throat worked around the words like they tasted dangerous.

“You know exactly what you’re doing,” he said, low, hoarse, like it scraped its way out of him.

Your smile curled, wicked and slow. You bit the inside of your cheek to keep it from spreading too far, too fast, but you were glowing with it. Thriving in the weight of his unraveling.

That wasn’t denial. That was surrender, dressed in defiance.

And you hadn’t even touched him yet.

Tonight was going to be fun.

The bass hit first, low, pulsing and thick enough to feel in your chest. It vibrated up through the soles of your heels as lights strobed across the club in rhythmic flashes, bathing the dance floor in a kaleidoscope of heat and haze.

Everything smelled like sweat, smoke, and sex, bodies pressed too close, perfume clinging to skin, desire hanging thickly in the air.

The boys peeled off toward the back, claiming a booth near the edge of the floor wall, Bucky didn’t even look at you as he passed, didn’t acknowledge the dress, the skin, the sway of your hips. But you felt him clock every inch, felt his gaze dragging behind him like smoke.

Let him look.

You, Ava, and Yelena made a beeline for the bar, heels clicking against sticky tile, hips swaying in easy confidence. The kind of entrance that wasn’t loud, but undeniable. The three of you moved with practiced grace, synced like predators on the hunt. 

Ava leaned her elbows on the counter, tipping her head just enough to catch your reflection in the mirrored back wall. Her mouth curved in a smirk, “So… what exactly do you have up your little sleeve tonight?”

You took your time answering, sipping your margarita first, your eyes went wide, mock-innocent, voice featherlight. ��Nothing. Just drinks, dancing.”

Yelena snorted—elegant and completely unamused. “Right. And I only wear red lipstick when I’m feeling shy.” Her accent slipped ever so lightly as she raised a brow, tipping her glass at you. “Game on.”

You laughed into your cocktail, the rim cold against your mouth, the liquid burn sliding smooth down your throat. “Come on. I’m overworked and underfucked. Let a girl have her fun.”

Ava raised her glass in mock salute. “Here’s to that.”

Yelena clinked hers against both of yours and deadpanned, “To sins we don’t plan on confessing.”

You grinned behind your glass, letting the moment bloom in your chest, the ache, the buzz, the sharp sparkle of anticipation. The burn of your drink was satisfying, but it was nothing compared to the heat unfurling low in your belly, thick and steady, pulsing with every beat of the music.

This wasn’t about about playing coy or waiting for someone else, him to make the first move. It wasn’t about almosts, and it damn sure wasn’t about patience.

Yelena finished the last sip of her drink with a dramatic sigh, setting her glass down, “alright,” she said, turning toward the dance floor. “Lots of bad decisions on the floor tonight,” the blonde added, gesturing with a tilt of her chin to the sea of bodies moving, looking like they were chasing sin.

Ava grinned and looped her arm through hers. “Pick your poison.”

They disappeared into the crowd, a blur of glitter and limbs, swallowed up by pulsing lights and sweat-slick rhythm, leaving you at the bar with a half-full glass and the slow, deliberate thrum of possibility building beneath your skin. You didn’t follow.

Not yet.

Instead, you leaned against the counter with one elbow, the condensation of your drink trickling down your fingers. You drew slow, idle circles into the damp ring left behind, a flick of your nail here, a swirl there.

The music surged, thick and pulsing, you sipped slow, lips parting just enough to let the burn slide over your tongue. 

John walked up beside you like a storm rolling in off the coast, easy grin, crooked charm and amused timing. He moved like he’d known you’d be here, like he was already in on the joke.

Two drinks in hand, shirt sleeves rolled up, hair a little too perfect not to be deliberate. He looked you up and down once—not subtle, not rushed.

“They abandon you already?” he asked, lifting a brow, offering the second drink with a tilt of his wrist.

You smiled, slow, sly, just the curve of your mouth like the lift of a weapon. “Strategically separated.”

He handed you the drink, and your fingers brushed his, just enough skin to spark. His gaze dropped, the way your dress hugged your hips, the bare line of your shoulder. He sure as hell wasn’t trying to hide it, and you didn’t ask him to.

“What’s the angle?”

You met his eyes, calm and unblinking, lashes dipped low. “Wanna help me with something?”

He huffed a soft laugh, low and almost fond. “You’re always up to something, aren’t you?”

You gave a little shrug, sipping slowly. “Mmhm.”

He leaned in a fraction, close enough that you could feel the heat of him—not touching, just there.

You tilted your head, eyes glittering, voice smooth. “I need a little distraction. Something that'll get under his skin.”

You didn’t say jealous, you didn’t need to. It was all over your posture, the way you lingered in the doorway between control and provocation. That got you a full pause. A low whistle through his teeth as he set his own glass down on the bar behind him.

His eyes narrowed. “You trying to get me killed?”

You smiled almost sweetly “Mmm. Maybe.”

John’s gaze dragged over you again, slower this time. Appraising. Heat in every pass. His tongue wet his bottom lip before he spoke again, voice dropping an octave. “You know,” he murmured, “with you looking like that, I don’t think it’ll take much.”

You said nothing. Just held his gaze, then—still watching him—reached down and slid your fingers through his. A small tug. No force.

An invitation.

And he followed, just like you knew he would. Because of course he did.

The bass swallowed you whole the moment your heels touched the floor.

It pulsed through the soles of your feet, climbed up your spine, sank low into your stomach—all rhythm and thudding pressure. Lights slashed through the darkness, catching glances of skin and sweat, painting the crowd in strobe-lit temptation.

The air was thick—muggy with lust and music, electric with the scent of alcohol, perfume, and too many people pressing too close. You could feel the pulse of it against your ribs, in the backs of your knees, deep between your legs. It was visceral, almost alive.

Bodies moved in waves, hands where they shouldn’t be..

You led John into the center of it, into the heat and chaos and everything you’d been simmering with all night. You didn’t ask, you didn’t wait. You turned, pressing your body flush to his, and started to move.

It wasn’t subtle and it wasn’t meant to be.

You rolled your hips into his slowly, deliberately, letting the music guide your rhythm—the kind of movement that left no room for interpretation.

John’s hands found your hips easily, like he’d been waiting for the cue, his fingers tight, almost possessive, but not quite. He moved with you, his body catching the pace of yours, letting the friction build, letting the fantasy settle into reality.

His touch dipped lower, tracing the shape of your waist, down the curve of your hips, then sliding further—over the swell of your ass, where he squeezed once, firm and unbothered.

You arched into him instinctively, feeling him hard against you, and felt the heat of his breath against your neck when he chuckled, voice thick with amusement and something darker.

“Shit,” he murmured near your ear, half-dazed. “You really want him to kill me, huh?”

You didn’t answer.

You just turned in his arms—slow, like silk unrolling, until your back was pressed against his chest. Your ass ground into his crotch with no shame, no pause, no hesitation. You wanted him to feel it. Wanted everyone watching to see it, to see you.

You moved with intent, liquid and hot, your body matching the beat in slow, deliberate waves. Letting the music pulse through your hips. Letting every roll say watch this. Watch her choose someone else.

His hand spread wide across your lower back, holding you there, fingertips pressing just hard enough to feel. The other settled on your waist, fingers splaying low beneath the hem of your dress, riding the curve of your body like he’d earned it.

Your hand slid behind you, fingers skating up the back of his neck, slipping into his hair, tugging him down until his mouth hovered just behind your ear.

You didn’t speak. Didn’t need to.

Because across the dance floor — through the haze and the lights and the pounding bass — he was watching.

Bucky hadn’t moved.

He was still sitting in the booth, drink untouched, his shoulders stiff, coiled like wire. Elbows braced on his knees, hands loose but twitching, almost as if he was holding something back. Like if he gripped any tighter, the glass in his hand would break.

His jaw was locked, the muscles working hard beneath his skin.

But his eyes—those fucking eyes—they were locked on you.

Cerulean. Burning. Blown wide. He wasn’t blinking, hell he probably wasn’t breathing. He was consuming you with nothing but a stare, tracking every shift of your hips, every breath you took, every inch of your body pressed to someone else’s.

And when your eyes finally met his, it felt like something cracked open between you—a tether stretched so tight it sang with tension.

You smiled.

Coy. Dangerous. Just the corner of your mouth, like you weren’t thinking about him at all when every second of this performance was for him. Like he wasn’t the reason you wore the dress. The fuck-me heels.

Then you turned your head—slow, deliberate—just enough for Bucky to see your lips ghost against John’s cheek.

Your fingers slid from the back of the blonde’s neck to his jaw, tilting his face toward yours with a kind of practiced care.

And you kissed him.

Full, slow and intentional. Lips parted. Breath caught. Not rushed and definitely not for fun.

Not for John. Not even for you.

Just for the man across the club who hadn’t taken his eyes off you since the moment you stepped onto the floor.

The man who hadn’t touched you.

You didn’t break the kiss right away.

You let it linger,  just long enough for Bucky to watch your lips part against John’s, your fingers curled lightly in the fabric of his shirt. Just long enough for him to feel the choice in it. 

The defiance. The line being drawn in real time.

You weren’t playing anymore. You were showing him what it looked like when you stopped waiting.

He was already watching, and he hadn’t looked away once.

And across the club, where the music drowned everything but the pulse in his jaw, Bucky sat like a man seconds from detonation.

Yelena leaned in, loud and unapologetic. “Your girl’s with Walker now, huh?” she said, nudging him with the sharp edge of her elbow, eyes tracking the slow, obscene way your bodies moved.

That did it.

The brunette stood, fast and sharp, like a wire finally snapping and shoved past Alexei without a word, shouldered Bob hard enough to make his drink spill.

And he came for you.

Bucky didn’t care. Didn’t slow down. Didn’t speak.

His boots pounded against the floor, direct, unrelenting, cutting a path through the crowd like he was built for one purpose only: you.

People moved before he touched them. Stepped aside like they could feel it coming off him—the possessive edge carved into every clenched muscle.

You didn’t see him until it was too late.

Until his hand wrapped around your wrist. His touch—firm, hot and unmistakable.

Your body jerked back instinctively, caught off guard by the sudden contact. His grip wasn’t rough, but it was tight. Claiming. As if letting go wasn’t even an option.

Your head snapped around, startled, mouth parted. “What the fuck are you—?”

He didn’t answer, didn’t look at John, didn’t acknowledge the beat still hammering around you.

He just dragged you.

One hard tug and you stumbled into him, your heel skidding against the floor, the front of your dress catching against his jeans for half a second before you found your footing again.

John called something behind you, your name, maybe, or just a startled, amused curse but it was swallowed by the music and the crowd.

Bucky didn’t stop. He pulled you through the writhing bodies like they weren’t there, cutting a clean line across the chaos. His grip on your wrist never loosened, not once and you didn’t resist.

Not really.

Not when your skin was flushed, your breath caught somewhere between panic and arousal, and your pulse was thrumming like a war drum in your throat.

He turned down a narrow hallway, cool and dim and lined with flickering wall sconces, and barely slowed before slamming his boot into a door. It flew open with a sharp, echoing crack, and then—

You were inside.

The door slammed shut behind you with a force that made the wall shudder, and then his hands were on you. Everywhere. Hard palms on your waist, his body pressing into yours, his mouth already devouring.

He pinned you against the door with the full weight of his body, all chest and heat and barely leashed violence. His mouth crashed into yours like a punishment, and it was filthy. Hot breath. Tongue. Teeth dragging across your bottom lip until you gasped. He kissed like he wanted to bruise, like he needed to stake a claim from the inside out. 

One hand fisted into your hair and yanked your head back hard enough to make you moan; the other gripped your thigh, shoving it up around his waist as he ground his cock into you through his jeans—thick, hot, already hard.

“You think I didn’t see what you were doing?” he growled into your mouth, voice ragged and ruined. “Grinding on Walker like that? Kissing him like you wanted me to fucking lose it?”

You couldn’t answer, too breathless, too far gone, and maybe that was the point. He didn’t want words. He wanted surrender.

He spun you hard—chest to the door one second, then bent over the sink the next. The mirror caught your wide eyes, your flushed cheeks, your mouth already parted in anticipation as he shoved your hips forward and flattened his hand between your shoulder blades.

You barely had time to breathe.

His hand yanked your dress up in one swift, brutal motion, baring you to the air.

No panties.

Just slick, swollen heat between your thighs.

The gasp that tore from your mouth wasn’t just shock—it was want. Need. Desperation.

He froze for half a beat.

Then, “Fucking knew it.”

The sound of his voice—shredded, possessive, starving made you clench around nothing. Your knees almost buckled, but he caught you, of course he did. One arm wrapped tight around your waist, the other slid down, fingers slipping between your thighs without hesitation.

He groaned. Deep. Raw. “You’re soaking.”

He didn’t ease in, didn’t test the waters. He shoved two fingers inside you, knuckles deep, while his thumb circled your clit with tight, filthy pressure.

You jerked against the counter, legs straining, hips rocking helplessly into his hand.

“Filthy little tease,” he hissed against your neck, biting hard enough to leave a mark. “You walk around with this dripping cunt and expect me to stay quiet?”

You whimpered something—his name, or maybe please—but it didn’t matter. He was already undoing his belt with one hand, jeans shoved down just enough, cock springing free, heavy and thick and leaking. He lined up behind you, ran the tip through your folds, groaning when he felt how wet you were.

Then he slammed into you.

One brutal thrust, all the way to the hilt.

You cry out, not from pain, but from shock. From the stretch, from the sheer depth of him. He was thick, perfectly shaped to ruin you, and he didn’t give you time to adjust. He pulled out halfway and slammed back in harder.

Again. And again. And again.

Your hands clawed at the counter, your thighs trembled. You were already splintering.

He fucked you like he didn’t care who heard. Flesh slapping against flesh, deep and punishing. He didn’t hold back. Didn’t slow down. He knew exactly what he was doing—grinding his hips into your ass, hitting the spot inside you that made stars burst behind your eyes with every stroke.

One hand fisted in your hair again, wrenching your head back so he could watch your expression in the mirror. The other found your clit and didn’t let up.

“Say it,” he panted, fucking you harder. “Say you’re mine.”

“Bucky—”

Another thrust. Vicious.

“Say it.”

“I’m—fuck—I’m yours,” you sobbed, eyes glassy.

“Damn right you are.”

Your orgasm hit like an explosion—a scream dragged from deep in your chest, your body locking up around him, pulsing, shaking. Your legs gave out and he held you up, fingers digging into your hips as he fucked you through it, chasing his own release.

But he didn’t stop.

Didn’t slow. Didn’t let you breathe.

“That’s it, princess,” he groaned. “Give me another one. Come on. You can take it.”

You were drenched. Shaking. Fucked-out and trembling. Your body tried to fight it, twitching and jolting with every thrust, but his hand on your clit kept moving—tight circles, never breaking rhythm.

You came again with a broken scream—your second orgasm ripping through you, thighs trembling violently as your body begged for mercy. Your cunt spasmed around his cock, pulsing so tight it dragged a strangled sound from his throat.

“Fuck—fuck, I’m gonna—”

He slammed into you one last time, deep and final, his hips jerking hard against your ass as he came with a growl—a raw, filthy sound buried in the curve of your neck as he spilled inside you, thick and hot, his cock pulsing with every wave.

He didn’t move for a moment, just held you, breathing ragged, his hand still gripping your hip like he thought you might vanish.

Eventually, he pulled out—slow, careful, your body still fluttering from aftershocks, his cum slick and warm as it slid down your inner thighs. You swayed a little, overstimulated and trembling, and he caught you instantly.

“Easy,” he murmured, voice rough as gravel. His hands steadied your hips. “I’ve got you.”

You let him turn you gently toward him, your heart still galloping in your chest, legs jelly-soft. His fingers were shaking as they fixed your dress—tugging the fabric down over your hips, smoothing it over your thighs like it mattered now.

You looked up at him, lips kiss-bruised, eyes dazed, makeup smudged.

His hand cupped your jaw, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth. He didn’t speak for a moment—just stared at you, pupils still blown wide, jaw still tight, like he was trying to figure out how the hell he let it get that far.

“Tell me,” he rasped, “did it work?”

You blinked, throat still too dry to laugh properly. “You mean the jealousy plan?”

His mouth twitched—not quite a smile. “You trying to drive me fucking insane?”

You tilted your head, kissed his thumb. “Just needed a reaction.”

He leaned in, forehead resting against yours. “You want a reaction, princess” His voice dropped to something low and lethal. “Next time, you ask. I’ll give you everything.”

You swallowed, heat sparking in your belly again despite everything. “That a promise?”

He kissed you—softer this time. Still deep, claiming.

“Yeah,” he whispered against your lips. “You can bet on it”

Finally, you opened the bathroom door.

And stopped short.

A paper sign, written in black sharpie and taped crookedly across the door, flapped in the hallway breeze:

OUT OF ORDER — DO NOT ENTER

Laughter exploded a few feet away at the booth.

Yelena and Bob were doubled over, howling. Ava leaned against the wall like she’d been waiting. John stood smugly sipping his drink, clearly proud of himself. And Alexei, hands in his pockets, gave Bucky a once-over and shook his head with faux disappointment.

“Was it worth it, Barnes?!” Yelena hollered, absolutely delighted.

Alexei sighed. “I owe Walker twenty bucks. Told him he’d snap before midnight.”

You groaned, burying your face in Bucky’s shoulder as he groaned under his breath.

“Oh my god.”

You laughed into his chest, muffled. “Told you I’d get your attention.”

He slid his arm around your waist again, pulling you in tight.

“You’ve got all of it now,” he muttered. “Hope you know what the fuck to do with it.”

And you did. You just grinned.

a/n: i hope you enjoyed this fic! if you did, please consider dropping a comment or even a reblog 💌 it keeps me motivated! thank you my loves

[happyk44]

[ID: 1. Text reading: And they went both of them together – Abraham who was aware that he was going to slay his son walked along with the same willingness and joy as Isaac who had no idea of the matter.

2. Tumblr post from @/katabasiss: do you guys think jesus, the son of a carpenter, smelt the wood of the cross & temporarily thought of home

3. Text reading: Perhaps the real test was for Abraham was to confront God as he did at Sodom, thus teaching his children “righteousness and justice,” and ultimately to say “no” to God. Perhaps on some level in this narrative, Abraham failed the test. […] God never speaks to Abraham again.

4. Tumblr post from @/carnivorousfairy: what horrible knowledge for isaac to bear.

knowing your father would sacrifice you without a second thought… simply because it was god’s will…

5. Tumblr post from @/noknowshame: why is religious Christmas imagery all so joyful and pleasant? Where is the inherent horror of the birth of Christ? A mother is handed her newborn child, wailing and innocent. Her hands come away sticky. Red. Simply by giving her son life she has already killed him. He is doomed from the beginning. Her love will not save him from suffering. Because the thing cradled in her arms is not a baby, it is a sacrifice: born amongst the other bleating animals whose blood will one day be spilled in the name of what demands it. The night is silent with anticipation. Mary, did you know? That your womb was also a grave?

6. Text reading: Isaac did not forgive his father When they returned home hew saw In the sidelong glances of his father’s eyes That everything had changed Under the cold knife That kissed his skin on the mountain He knew they could never Be the same again “You were my father,” He wanted to say “So why couldn’t you be my father?”

7. The painting “The Sacrifice of Isaac” by Gabriel Metsu. Isaac lies on a rock, a red blanket between his skin and the rock. His hands are crossed over his stomach. His head is held back, throat bared. His eyes are closed While the sky is dark, he is lit in a soft yellow glow, standing out compared to his father, who stands behind him. Abaraham holds a knife near Isaac’s throat. He does not look at his son. The blade of the knife is barely visible in the deep shadows.

/end ID]

Biblical Parents

unknown ( if anybody knows the source please tell me!!!), Rabbi Hyim Shafner, Amatullah Bourdon

[angelisnthere]

“Armed, and Dangerous!”

Bucky Barnes(Thunderbolts Timeline) x Male Reader

⋆˚꩜｡⌗: Synopsis: A late night encounter with your boyfriend Bucky Barnes mid-gaming session leads to a awkward interaction involving a character that looks, very similar to him

↳Warnings: Male reader, Bucky jealous of…himself, kissing, reader wants to crack Winter Soldier, I’ve never played marvel rivals ngl, probably poorly written, 1.3k words

————⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧

The bed felt cold without you. The white hue that glowed from underneath the door reminded Bucky that you'd rather spend your time playing “modern-day video games” than accompany him in bed.

“HOLY SHI— oh I'm cracking that when I log off.—”

“Dude, [Name], what???”

“Are we deadass…”

“Do us a favor and log off now!!!”

“Y’know what hell yeah! I would too—”

“Ugh, gross. Keep it in your pants. I don't need a reminder of what I heard last week.”

Various voices echo throughout the empty halls of the watchtower, believe it or not you had convinced everyone but Alexei(something about the game being too complex) and Bucky to join you in late night “team bonding” which from what he could hear from through the bedroom door, was an audible action based game—

Along with you randomly groaning about how “Oh my god he’s so hot” and Bob going “Do you #needthat ?” followed by you going “#needthat”

Sighing, Bucky lifts his right arm brushing the hair out of his face. “What on earth—” Pushing himself up, with his right arm, he makes his way to the door. Reaching for the doorknob, just before his fingertips touch the metal—

“OH MY GOD I'M ABOUT TO BUST—” Loud annoyed groans and laughs dance from behind the door. Just for a second Bucky wonders if he's that curious about what has you so vocally turned. It’s only when John screams about losing health that he's turning around tucking himself back into bed.

“I’m not that curious, I’ll ask another time,” He thinks before closing his eyes allowing the darkness of the room to lull him to sleep.

————⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧

Hand tucked under your shirt, scratching a spot close to your waistband, you walk into the main section of the watchtower. “Good morning” you yawn slipping into the high chair next to Bucky you take a sip from his coffee. “Good morning, кукла (Doll)” Bucky smiles, resting his hand on the small of your back.

“Yuck, save it for the bedroom.” Yelena groans, bringing her mug up to her lips. “Jealousy kills, Yelena.” You quip, holding Bucky’s mug captive.

“Hey, Barnes—” Ava turns from the stove, holding a spatula. “—can you say, ‘You thought I was gone for good?’” She turns to look at you, a smug smirk spread across her face.

“What?” He questions, confused Bucky follows Ava’s eyes to your hunched over figure, cheeks warmed, slowly tapping the mug in your hands, doing your best to hold it together. Snapping his head back up to the stove he arches his brow. “What's going on—”

Before he can finish Bob peaks from around the corner. “How about, ’Playtime’s over.’ ” Bob mocks a tone similar to Bucky’s causing you to stifle.

“No say, ’Armed, and dangerous!'”John starts looking over to Yelena expectantly. “Again! Again!! Again!!!” Yelena booms, mocking a pose similar to something you've seen Alexei do before, causing Ava and Bob to double over in laughter.

“I have no idea what's going on—” Bucky mumbles, biting his lip in confusion, looking over to a smiling Alexei, he has no idea what's happening but he's happy they're happy.

“Okay, that's enough!” You yell slamming your hands on the table, shaking a few glasses, your face feels hot from embarrassment, the room falls silent from shock—

“Stand down,” John says, eyes flickering to Yelena. “STAND DOWN!!” She roars, causing them to all burst into laughter. You loudly groan shielding your face from the room, storming out while yelling. “You guys are the fucking worst!”

“What the fuck was that?” Bucky looks around the room at his teammates all doubled over laughing at 7 in the morning over quotes he didn’t even understand. “Okay, we’re done here,” he says putting his mug in the sink walking towards the elevator.

“HE SAID THE THING, HE SAID THE—” Was the last thing Bucky heard from Bob before the elevator doors closed.

————⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧

“[Name], stop drooling and help us, we're getting cooked.”

“Okay, god forbid a man has hobbies that include staring at this mans luscious ass and man bun—”

It was currently 12:30 am, Bucky sat on the edge of the bed staring at the door that led to the home office that was connected to your shared room. He’d never admit it but he was actually nervous to see who you were talking about behind that door.

A part of him hoped it was just his ears playing tricks on him, but he didn't want you to find anyone else attractive. What if they looked better than him? Were they even real? Who is it that has you barking at the glowing monitor? Why were you barking at the monitor There have to be other ways for you to express being turned on by pixels that move across your screen.

All of these very valid questions filled Bucky’s mind as he made his way across the room turning the doorknob, swinging open the door.

“Armed, and Dangerous!! Again!—” You scream throwing your arms up leaning back against the plush chair. Time seemed to move in slow motion as Bucky took in the scene in front of him. Your computer screen displays a move that seems oddly familiar to the one he pulled in the desert, the one where he flips the almost 500-pound truck with ease—

—Wait why is your screen displaying just that? Squinting he looks in the corners of the screen.

“Winter Soldier, Thunderbolts.” in the top left

“MVP, buckysboyfriend” In the bottom right.

The metal arm spreads across the screen shining as he finally realizes—

“That’s, me.” Slips from his lips before he can even process it came out. Your head snaps to the now-opened door. Eyes widening you attempt to cover your screen to save at least a bit of face.

“милый! (Darling!) I thought you were going to bed, Did I wake you? Sorry, we were just…um…” Your eyes dart rapidly between the monitor and Bucky’s frame which slowly makes its way forward.

“That's me,” He repeats, his metal finger tenderly moves your finger covering his face flashed on the computer.

“What? Oh my god how did you get there What a coincidence, hahahahaomgpleaseleavebeforeidie-fromembarrassment.” You awkwardly laugh, voices from the computer’s speakers mocking your staggered tone.

“Uh-oh, lover boy got caught. Let's go guys, Night [Name], Barnes” Yelena whistles, Bucky stifles a laugh with a cough from Yelena's quick reaction. “You wanna explain yourself?” He crosses his arms, like he wasn't just spiraling thinking you were going to leave him for a digital character, Well, you still might, but he feels better knowing it's just him as an attractive video game character.

“Um…” You pretend to be interested in the floor scratching the back of your neck. Smiling, Bucky steps forward grabbing the back of your neck, lightly tugging your hair back to make you meet his gaze.

He places a soft kiss on your lips, “Ты заставил меня волноваться, что ты влюбилась в кого-то другого, но я рада, что это касается только меня.” (You had me worried you were falling for someone else, if anything I'm glad it's just me.)

Your lips curl upwards, “Really, who did you think I was talking about, Winter Soldier?” he pulls back shaking his head laughing. “Maybe that Leon Kennedy guy again.” he chirps, turning to leave the room.

“Oh my god, that was one time!”

————⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧

BONUS: You shuffle in your makeshift seat that was currently Bucky’s thighs. You look up at him, his face was serious, focused, and god was it attractive.

“I don't understand—” You snap back to reality looking down at the screen displaying the “Winter Soldier” and all his available skins, “—Why did you buy every skin of me, and why am I so conveniently hot?”

“God forbid I have a hobby.” You respond defensively, leaning against his chest. “Hobby…and it's just spending all your money on different outfits I already own?” He questions, tapping your thigh, and raising an eyebrow looking down at you.

“Well I can’t let anyone else go around thinking they like you more than me, now can I?” You nudge the center of his chest with your head affectionately.

“Touché, my love” He mumbles, kissing the side of your head.

————⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧

Ty for reading (๑⃙⃘´༥`๑⃙⃘)!

[runningfrom2am]

requiem // part nine

summary: according to coriolanus snow, his best friend had the most beautiful voice in all of panem. she had been training her whole life constantly to get where she was; being up for a residency at the most elite opera house in all of panem. singing was her passion. her true love; and when that got stripped from her in a second, his world became a whole lot quieter. he loathed every minute of it.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 2.6k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: opera singer!mentor!reader (blink and you'll miss it), she's kind of a prodigy!! p cool imo, mute!reader, bestfriend!coryo, friends to lovers trope ooo, mentions of graphic violence early on (particularly the prologue) but after that it's pretty safe, depictions of ptsd/trauma, mental illness and minor suicidal ideation but at least she's not entirely alone, descriptions of minor medical treatments and use of medication.

a/n: its been a while thats my bad i have no excuse

also, reminder to follow @runningfrom2am-library and turn on my notifications there to join my taglist for this series!!

and biggest of loving thank you's to @milliesfishes for prereading this for me :)

my asks are also open to talk about this series! (i do have emoji anons open now too!)

send me any and all of your thoughts! here!

series masterlist // playlist // pinterest board

Teaching yourself to play the guitar at eighteen was maybe a little bit harder than you had anticipated.

After two weeks, once you got the hang of all the chords and finger placements matched with how to properly strum the instrument, it started to kill you the same way the familiarity of your piano now did.

Every note, every chord, every pull of the strings with your fingers called for you to sing. It was a physical sensation, stemming from so deep in your chest you weren't sure you'd ever felt less real in your life. Your body was hardly a passive vessel used by you day in and day out to carry you from point A to point B. It was begging you to make a sound, to sing in a way that used to be second nature but was now forbade by your own anatomy. You wonder, if your body plead to create music so desperately, why had it even let you survive without functioning vocal cords? Why had you woken up from that trauma in the first place, if your body, separate of mind, needed the music so badly?

You have a vision of what you know the melody would go, should your mindless repetitive strumming be accompanied by lyrics. You can't even be granted the peace of being able to hum it to yourself.

What had you done to deserve this gentle torture?

You don't know when you'd started writing things down, scribbling on the nearest pad of paper you could reach for days between visits from Coryo or silent dinners with your parents.

That song was all you could think about until it was done, written and prophesied to never be heard in its entirety by anyone except your own mind.

By the time Dr. Gaul reaches out to you again, the song is perfect; scribbled and scratched and rewritten until it became what you were sure was your magnum opus- though you had never written your own music before. You had nearly succumbed to it being a work of tragedy, something you would never even get to hear yourself until Dr. Gaul gave you hope.

On September 3rd, the day before classes started and Coryo was meant to begin his apprenticeship under her, Dr. Gaul made a house call with a folder of extensive research done on the jabberjays in hand- she believed she could fix you.

In small doses, she believed it was possible to slowly tweak away at the remains of your vocal chords until they could be salvaged. Maybe. But you were more than happy to take a maybe, and so were your parents. What's the worst that could happen?

Coriolanus Snow had fallen in love with the beautiful voice of his best friend long before he ever realized he could feel similarly about the rest of her, too. If he were conscious of such a fact, it would have offered a much needed solution to his current predicament.

He could hear you in everything. In the whispers of the girls behind him in his lectures, in the crackling elevator music on the way to and from his penthouse- now that it was functional again, that is. In his own absentminded humming while he was too focussed on his reading to notice he was really doing it.

In the chirping of jabberjays in Dr. Gaul's lab.

Today, however, reviewing charts and signing off on the wellbeing of other creatures he couldn't really care less about, he has become convinced that the lack of sleep has finally caught up with him and he's actually lost his mind.

It is you. It is your voice he's hearing, like those records that lined a shelf in your room, though one he's never heard. Talking, instead of singing.

You were talking, and he clearly needed to ask Dr. Gaul for a prescription for some kind of sleeping med, because that was just plain impossible.

But he knew your voice as well as he knew the voice in his own head.

"Yes, please." Your voice says, echoing through a cracked door down the hall. "No, thank you."

His feet are carrying him through the corridor before he can weigh the merits of leaving his job, the section of the lab he was meant to be monitoring for the moment.

Dr. Gaul's office, separate from the extent of the broader laboratory she ran in the lower levels of the citadel, was somewhat of a mystery to him. It was her office that the sweet sound was coming from, but it was just more echoes of the same thing. "Yes, please." "No, thank you."

"Hello."

That one sounded off.

"Goodbye!"

That one sounded so cheery he almost jerks his head back like the word had struck him. When he knocks on the door, your voice abruptly stops and it's quiet for a moment before the door is opened.

"Did something bite you?" Dr. Gaul asks, raising an eyebrow as she looks at him in the doorway. She was clearly unimpressed that she was being interrupted.

"No, but-"

"Scratch you? Sting you?"

He shuts up then, shaking his head.

"Then I am busy. Please ask one of the other doctors to sign off on whatever you need me for and I'll look at it later."

He stops the door when she tries to close it in his face, his eyes searching hers. "I heard her, is she here?"

Dr. Gaul's lips press together at the question, her head tipping slightly. "Your chickadee? No. But I was just speaking with her mother on the phone, perhaps that is what you heard."

Immediately, Coryo is skeptical- his eyes flicking past her into the room. As if he wouldn't know your mother's voice from your own. It was you. He was positive.

"Why did her parents call? Is she okay?" He asks instead of calling her out on the obvious lie.

"As okay as a bird with clipped vocal cords could be, I assume." Dr. Gaul responds, and it's clear to him from the smile on her face that she somehow didn't mean any harm by saying something so horrible.

"If there is nothing else, then, please return to your duties." She adds when he doesn't say anything, and as she closes the door in his face, he can just make out the twitching wings of a bird pinned down to a metal sheet on her desk.

You hadn't intended to keep it from him. But something in your gut told you not to say a word, and you were grateful you couldn't. You were a lot of things, but not a good liar- and your muteness offered you a wall between you and your best friend that allowed you to guard secrets for once.

This was also made easier by the fact that you had less classes with him here at the university than you did at academy. Spare for a couple general studies courses you both needed for your differing degrees, you didn't see each other nearly as much. It was a curse and a blessing in equal measure.

Like a perfect routine, you slid his dedicated notebook back and forth across the desk between you while your English professor rambled on and on.

'Bellacora's after class?' He writes next to your previous doodle of a flower, sliding it back over to you quietly with a questioning expression.

You redip your pen a couple of times while you think about it. He had the day off, but thats why you had to see Dr. Gaul today. You couldn't accidentally cross paths with him while he was working between or after classes. But you did really want to go.

Being a little late to the lab wouldn't be the worst thing if it was only once, right?

'Sure. I'll meet you there after my last class :)' You scribble out and you can practically feel his smile as his hair brushes against your ear from where he was leaning close to watch you write.

Bellacora's is quieter than usual. The bustle of students in the shop set between the university and Academy campus's has dulled to a low murmur, the clink of spoons and the occasional hiss of the espresso machine filling in the space. Coryo's already found a booth by the window, one the two of you have always frequented since your parents allowed you to go out alone, and there are two mismatched mugs between you by the time you slide in across from him.

He doesn't smile right away. But he lifts your mug, blue with a spiderweb crack near the handle, and nudges it toward you with both hands. You mouth a silent thank you and take a sip.

It's perfect. Lemon tea with honey, no sugar- he remembered.

"I thought maybe you'd change your order," he says lightly, "new voice, new tastebuds, or something. But I decided to play it safe."

You raise an eyebrow at him, amused, and he immediately flinches.

"Sorry. That was stupid."

You shake your head, then pull out your notebook.

'Not stupid. Funny.' You underline funny twice for emphasis. He was right to wonder that, though. That had been your favourite drink for years- moreso, the only drink you could have other than water because it was good for your throat and kept your voice perfectly smooth. As far as anyone was concerned, there was no reason for you to continue drinking three cups of the substance a day. Truthfully, though, it was both a habit you couldn't break and ideal for the soreness that was a fresh constant since you'd started seeing Dr. Gaul.

He lets out a short breath, it could almost be considered a laugh, and leans back into the booth. His gaze drifts toward the window, where autumn leaves skip past in small bursts of wind. "Feels weird not seeing you everyday anymore."

You nod slowly, holding onto the top of your high neck shirt and pulling it up under your chin, further covering your neck as you rest your chin in your palm and mindlessly stir your drink even though you're not adding anything.

"Do you miss it?" he asks.

You hesitate as you let go of the spoon, then write, 'Every day.'

There's a long silence as he reads it and nods once. "You've been... different lately."

You freeze.

"Not in a bad way," he says quickly. "Just... quieter. And I guess that's ironic, but... I don't know. You feel far away. Even when you're right here."

Your throat tightens. You scribble something and slide it over with a bit too much force.

'I'm trying.'

He reads it once, then again, like he's looking for something hidden beneath the ink.

"I know," he says. "I can tell."

You look down at your mug. Your reflection wobbles inside it.

'It's not you.'

"I didn't think it was." He mutters. "But I wish you'd let me help. You always used to let me help."

You tap your pen against the side of your notebook. 'Some things you can't fix.'

That gets him. His jaw tightens. But then he nods, slowly.

"I'm still here. Even if I can't fix it. I told you that."

You can't meet his eyes, so you trace the edge of the table with your thumb.

He reaches across and places his hand on top of yours. Just rests it there, warm and still.

You want to speak, to say something real, something that would let you fall apart safely in front of him, but the words are still locked inside you. Maybe not because of your voice. Maybe because after the show those months ago, things had gone back to normal even though you were certain it would be the beginning of change.

So instead, you stay like that, holding onto him.

The lab was nearly empty, the usual unending busyness reduced to a low mechanical hum beneath the thick veil of silence. Coryo lingered, pretending to review data logs, but his gaze kept drifting toward the far corner of the testing room. The small metal cabinet, usually overlooked and locked tight, seemed almost to pulse under the dim light as he went over log after log, checking and rechecking dates for what he felt was no real reason.

He checked the time on the wall. Everyone had left at least an hour ago, and the dim orange glow from the street lamps filtered faintly through the narrow windows- the kind of light that made every shadow stretch and flicker.

His fingers brushed against the small, cold master key tucked in his coat pocket, the one Dr. Gaul had trusted him with weeks ago for emergency access. She trusted him, and for the first time, he's considering that maybe she shouldn't.

The urge tangled in his mind, an electric mix of curiosity and dread. It was none of his business, he knew that. His tasks were limited to the list of busywork given to him every day when he signed in, but the voice in his head was louder than that. He thought of her, of you, and the fragile hope in your eyes when you'd sat in the hospital room in the short weeks following the assault. The widening of your pretty eyes when you'd ran into him at this lab on the day he was offered his apprenticeship, and how he'd never been given a straight answer on why you were here.

With a steady breath, he rose from his chair and crossed the room, careful not to disturb a delicate jar on the nearby shelf. The key slid into the lock, turning with a quiet click that echoed louder than it should have in the stillness.

Inside, rows of glass jars gleamed under the low light, each containing pinned jabberjays, labeled meticulously with dates and codes he was still learning to decipher. Coryo's breath caught as he reached for the one near the back, its label marked only days ago, hastily scrawled in Dr. Gaul's unmistakable handwriting.

He lifted the vial gently, eyes scanning the tiny glass filled with a strange, pale tissue sample suspended in liquid. Notes accompanied it — words like "vocal cord regeneration," "experimental dosage 04," and "patient confidentiality." His chest tightened.

A soft rustling sound made him freeze. Footsteps? His heart hammered, and he pushed the cabinet door shut, pocketing the vial. He slipped back to his desk, hiding behind a cluster of equipment just as a janitor's shadow passed beyond the doorway.

When the footsteps faded, Coryo sank into his chair, the weight of the glass heavy in his pocket. His fingers reached instinctively for the worn notebook you shared with him. Filled with song lyrics, doodles, programs from your past performances. The pages were stained and creased, but still sacred.

He traced a finger over a line he'd written to you, he remembered sitting in the grass in the academy's courtyard over the summer when he'd told you something dumb.

'I'd sell my soul to hear you sing like that again.'

And then, where you'd replied in print:

'Me too :('

At that time you'd laughed at the dramatics of his claim, but he'd meant it. Only now he was considering the possibility that you did too.

no taglist this time around!! my fics usually get over a hundred requests to be added to the taglist so instead i made a library! follow me over on @runningfrom2am-library and turn on notifs to get updates when i post new parts!!

[mommy-mortis]

Irish Vampire Blues - 14

Remmick had to admit these new shoes you had gotten him had made it easier to scale buildings. He could fly but that wasn’t always the stealthiest option, like right now as he watched officer fuck face plunged into into something that held a few of your features at a quick glance but under closer scrutiny was a poor replacement.

Listening in Remmick can hear the conversation taking place “Oh I’m sure shes having second thoughts” Remmick rolls his eye’s ‘And I’m sure she’s fakin'’ Remmick mocks, referencing the especially bored looking lady underneath the cop.

“As soon as she gets a taste of pure American perfection, she’ll leave the foreign creep” with a long groan he empties himself in the girl under him, “Of course since that time is fast approaching, I won’t be needing you anymore.”

His hands move up her body “I hope you know this is nothing personal.” Then Officer Williams does something that even Remmick doesn’t expect, he snaps her neck. Grimacing Remmick looks on as he drops her body to the ground “This fucker is truly deprived.”

Remmick watches as John walks away with a pep in his step, not even giving the girl a second glance, and not noticing that she wasn’t completely dead.

Jumping from the ledge of the building Remmick waste no time giving her a second lease on life, sitting with her until she stirs awake. “It’s not your time yet little dove, what’s your name?” Her voice comes out raspy, before she coughs out it out. “Jonah”, nodding he smiles down at her, “do you want revenge, Jonah?” she nods still in shock of the evil that was done upon her. “Good because you are needed”.

Remmick brings her straight to the apartments, setting her up with one of the units you and the Hobbs had set up. You take a long look at her face as you hand her a set of keys, if you hadn’t been sure of your lineage you would have questioned whether or not you two might be related. You and Remmick give her directions around the building and she’s silent for the most part while you talk, but her eyes never leaves Remmick’s face.

You’ve seen that look in the pass but can’t place it, so you finish up the tour leaving her to her own devices but the look she gives you when Remmick puts his arm around your shoulders was one of confusion, like a person that suddenly doubts their place in life, you pay her no mind, the nights been long for her so you let her settle in.

When you get back to your apartment Remmick had talked about how he found her. So it hadn’t been in your mind, John had used her as a replacement for you, then killed her when he thought you were in his grasp. The fucker was a sick puppy, Remmick wasn’t sure how long they had known each other, but she would be the perfect card to play when the time was right and you agreed with him. There was something in her eyes a hunger to succeed, that you yourself had been very familiar with when you had gotten your first chance to prove yourself.

She showed up to the weekly meeting. You held it just to keep everyone updated, it wasn’t mandatory, the only mandatory meeting was the one at the end of the month. Where the leaders of the all the factions would voice their needs and complaints, but the turn out had been good. Moods where lighter and a new sense of purpose had been installed in the flock.

She silently watched you in the back as you listed off every minuscule problem that had been brought to you. Jonah seemed to be confused at your strong presence in the flock and the respect that you not only demanded but was happily given to you “Respect is not expected, but it's given 'cause it's real”.

You and the Hobbs had been quick and efficient in everything you did, and honestly you know that without them things wouldn’t have gone so smoothly. From setting up the blood donation center, to getting the flock careers within the hive and recruiting those that were deemed to be useful, but you had to admit it may be the optimist? Opportunist? in you, you believed everyone had a purpose and you were good at find it, looking over at her you hoped Jonah allowed you to find hers.

After you’ve finished updating and handling any problems that couldn’t wait but were simple enough to rectify almost immediately in the flock, you call her over with the help of one of the childe. They whisper in her ear and she makes her way to you from across the room, “I hear you’re taken to the lifestyle like a duck to water.”

Her face lights up “Is that what Remmick said?” you give her a smile you find her need for validation cute, you give her a nod and she seems to preen at this, you look behind her to see Ena frowning. You let it slide for now but would talk to Ena later, she was a confidant and you would always be there to help her with whatever was distressing her.

Remmick had been taking Jonah around town, showing her the ropes like he did with every new recruit it’s what kept him busy for the most part, he had given her extra attention for the role she would play in John’s early retirement. Remmick had been so excited when he talked about how quick she had been on the uptake, that her usefulness would really shine when our plans were put in motion, you just hoped that Remmick wasn’t asking too much of her by working her beyond her abilities. You have you’re own scars from chasing that high and they have taught you a couple of important things, one is that the feeling of purpose is intoxicating and another is that validation can be life threatening.

Remmick arrives and Dan is the first to notice, “It’s the sire madam.” You look over in the direction he’s pointing to see Remmick waving at you, so you wave back at him just as enthusiastically. Taking the world off his shoulders had him thinking clearly, gone were the dark circles under his eyes and the paranoia that plagued his every step.

Those around him were still a little wary of him, after he was forced to cull some of them you were worried about grudges, but for the most part he was getting along fine with the flock. Jonah tries to wave at him too but he turns around before he can see her, you feel bad for her. You know how it felt to not be acknowledged by your superior, so you throw her a bone. “He’s probably here for your training you should go to him.” This seems to perk her mood right up. You try to bid her a “Happy hunting” but it seems she didn’t’ hear you focused more on getting to Remmick.

You look down at the ink that stained the floor, “Shadow can you give Remmick something for me?” It lifts it’s self up until you’re almost head to head. Holding the shadow close and giving it a peck on what you could assume to be its cheek. You watch as it slides across the floor, quickly passing by Jonah, and wrapping it’s self around Remmick, giving what looked more like a snuggle than a kiss on his cheek.

He still didn’t completely trust the shadows, but the meaning was still well received. You could see as he smiled back at you, you could also see the displeased look on Jonah’s face, she must be one of those people that hated public displays of affection.

You could understand, you were cutting into her training and time waits for no one, you turn around before you can see the scathing look that she sends your way, but Ena sees it and her eyebrows knit together. Looking over at Dan to ask if he saw what she saw he doesn’t say anything but nods giving a slight grimace.

You may not have noticed the look that Jonah gave you, but you did notice how she wrapped her arm around Remmick’s, trying to pull him towards the door, as he looked back at you. Blowing a kiss at you while being pulled away, you return his kiss but then it dawned on you where you knew that look. The look that Jonah had been giving Remmick since she arrived, and the one she left out the door with. It was one you had ignored in the past because it didn’t serve you to dwell on things that didn’t benefit you, plus you had trusted your fiance in the pass, so you couldn’t see the harm in a little crush.

You had been wrong though, there was probably nothing you could have done to stop Michael from cheating, but you could have gotten out of the relationship sooner instead of enduring loveless days and nights. Though at the time you had to admit you hadn’t noticed those days and night too much, you had been too busy building your career and keeping Michael’s afloat to be bothered. But it’s not a surprise to you, a couple of days later when you’re dropping somethings off at the new girls unit that she decides to talk at you.

You decide to deliver the items yourself due to your strong sense of leadership, you also came alone cause you knew that if you brought Ena with you she’d dog walk Jonah if she saw her talking back at you, and if you brought Dan along he would tell Ena behind your back, and she would come Jonah’s unit alone and whoop her ass. You couldn’t even bring your Shadow, if the Shadows saw Jonah disrespect you it would go straight to the Hobbs to tattle, then Ena and Dan would come to Jonah’s unit and Dan would watch as Ena beat Jonah’s ass, If he could he’d probably film and sell it too, handing out disk like a failed sound cloud rapper in the 2010s.

She tilts her head squinting her eyes at you when she finally decides to open the door for you. “You’re just a human, why did he pick you?” She doesn’t offer to let you in, or make room for you to walk in own your own. You prefer it this way, you had no plans of staying long enough to get comfortable.

Ignoring her accusatory tone, you instead decide to keep things light, “That’s not how I would put it, but I honestly have no Idea, if you ask him I’m sure he’ll be happy to tell you.”

She looks happy at the chance to share some time with Remmick, “You must be uncomfortable being around an apartment full of us.” Her tongue lingers on the ‘Us’ as if to imply you weren’t a part of the family.

You give her a smile not impressed with her games. “Not at all, if you want the Hobbs, the Shadow, and I have game night two days out of the week, movies on Mondays, and shopping on Sundays, we’d be happy if you joined us”

“Will Remmick be there?”

“Not most of the time, no, but other childe are known to pop up.”

“Then I’ll pass.” She dismisses any thought that she maybe here for anything other than Remmick.

“Lovely.” You click your tongue and hand her a welcome bag.

She grabs it, roughly looking through it. “What’s this” sounding as if you just handed her trash.

“Just a little welcoming gift simple stuff toiletries, socks, underwear and a little allowance to get things for your unit”.

“Do you know where Remmick stays?” She was a bit clumsy with her delivery, but you had to respect her boldness.

“My fiance is usually home for most of the day were I have him in bed, or conversing about the flock, you can sometime be a handful” you’re more tired than anything when you admit this.

Looking like she solved a particularly slippery riddle her eyes light up, “So that’s where you get your power, I thought you were just his servant, but now I see, the others only respect you because you’re Remmick’s-”.

You don’t really mean to but you can’t help but to laugh in her face, you watch as the light in her eyes become dim. “I was the queen of this hive before, I was his fiance, so no that’s not why the flock listen to me and he’s definitely not where my power comes from.” You wonder if she knows how rude she’s being but you tell she’s having a hard time grappling with the information that she’s receiving

A pout formed on her face, “Queen? but you’re still just a human, what you have won’t last long...”.

Your smile never wavers, “Maybe, either way have a nice day Jo.” You walk away before she can bother you more than she already has. You hadn’t been threatened by her, you found her determination cute, to be honest even her pouting was cute to you.

She’s like a child who hasn’t leaned how to tie their shoes yet, but she’d learn soon, you’d make sure of. She was smarter than Sara had been, she could still be of use if she ever got over her silly savior crush, and you hoped she would you kinda liked her.

Taglist

@avidreader73

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14

[jadewolf22]

Ghosts

Larissa Weems x Daughter!Reader

Warnings: Grief, verbal aggression, light physical contact, mentions of coma and ventilators, etc.

Summary: After seeing Principal Dort slander your mother in a public video, you storm Nevermore Academy to remind him that ghosts don’t always stay buried.

A/n: I cannot even begin to express how pissed off I was when I saw this video. I couldn't make it past the first 30 seconds without wanting to throw my phone across the room. Fuck Dort. Fuck Netflix. Fuck anyone who thought slandering Weems (and, by default, slandering Gwen's role) in that video was okay.

Word Count: 1,019 words

You hadn’t even made it through the full video.

He blamed her for the attack on Nevermore, said that “her repugnant devotion to all things normie was a disaster,”, as if your mother hadn’t spent her entire career shielding that school—and every ungrateful soul inside it—from the world outside.

The moment Principal Dort’s smug face filled the screen, you were already on your feet. You didn't bother to grab a coat. Your hand shook around your phone as you slammed it screen-down onto the kitchen counter and marched for the door. There was no time for rationality. No patience for protocol.

He wanted to talk about your mother?

Fine. He could say it to your goddamn face.

---

Nevermore Academy looked even worse than you remembered it. Grey and skeletal beneath the overcast sky, the once-beautiful facade now resembled a mausoleum. A sick joke, considering what you’d come for.

You stormed through the gates like you owned the place. Your boots hit the stone steps like war drums. When the admin assistant tried to stop you, you barely spared her a glance. One flash of your ID and she paled, visibly, before letting you through.

Good. Let them shake. Let them remember.

Principal Dort’s office door—no, her office door—was already open when you arrived.

“Can I help—?”

“Do you really think you can say that shit about my mother and not expect someone to show up?” you snapped, stepping inside the space and slamming to door closed with a bang like a gunshot (something your mother would have screamed at you for). “Or did you forget she has a daughter?”

He blinked once. “Miss Weems, I assure you I—”

“Oh, spare me the bullshit,”

You crossed the threshold, every ounce of grief and rage twisting in your chest like a knife. Dort’s expression shifted from practiced calm to something a bit more defensive, though he stayed seated, folding his hands on the desk—your mother’s desk—like he actually thought he was in control of this conversation.

“I don’t know what you think you saw,” he began, “but I was asked to comment on the administrative legacy of my predecessor. That’s not slander, it’s—”

“You called her a failure,” you interrupted. “You blamed her for everything. You dragged a dead woman’s name through the mud like it was sport. And for what?”

His mouth tightened. “This institution needs transparency. It’s not my fault if people are only now realizing how deeply flawed her tenure was.”

You laughed—harsh and humorless. “Right. Because under your leadership, it’s going to go so much better.”

He stood at that, as if height might help him win. “She protected liabilities. Let a violent woman into this school. She got herself killed.”

“Watch your mouth.”

Your voice had dropped to a whisper, but it carried like thunder. The air between you turned electric.

“You think you can rewrite the story because she’s not here to tell it?” you hissed. “You think that little performance was going to make people forget who she was? What she did for this school?”

Dort circled around the desk, frustration etched deep in his brow. “You’re upset, I understand that. But you’re grieving, and it’s clouding your judgment.”

“Oh, don’t you dare,” you said, stepping back. “Don’t you dare weaponize my grief to justify your mediocrity.”

He reached for you—too fast, too desperate—and his fingers caught your wrist.

Wrong move.

Before you could stop yourself, your free hand whipped upward and cracked hard across his face.

The slap echoed through the office.

Dort stumbled a step back, stunned silent.

You yanked your arm away and stood your ground, breathing hard, your hands curled into fists at your sides.

“You touch me again,” you said coldly, “and I’ll make sure your career ends faster than hers ever did. And if you ever open your mouth about her like that again, publicly or otherwise, I will come back here and that slap will be the least of your problems.”

He blinked, a hand rising slowly to his cheek. “Is that a threat?”

You tilted your head.

“No,” you said. “That’s a promise.”

You turned to leave. Every inch of you wanted to run—run from the weight of it all, the pain clawing at your ribs—but you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

You made it to the doorway before his voice rang out again.

“She’s dead, you know,” Dort called after you.

You paused.

Then, slowly, you turned your head over your shoulder, just enough to meet his eyes.

“We haven’t seen her put in the ground yet, have we?”

The color drained from his face.

You left him standing there, too stunned to follow.

---

Home was quiet when you got back.

The sun had gone down during your tirade, leaving the windows silvered with moonlight. You shut the door gently behind you. Your chest still heaved from the argument, your fingers itched from the slap, but the rage had quieted—cooled into something quieter, something that burned lower but deeper.

You made your way upstairs, past the familiar paintings, past the dusty shelves she used to straighten even when they didn’t need it. You paused outside the guest bedroom door. Your hand hovered for a second before you pushed it open.

The air inside was colder, humming with the faint noise of machines.

There she was.

Your mother. Larissa Weems.

Lying in the bed, pale and still and impossibly beautiful even in sleep. Her platinum hair spread like silk over the pillow. Her chest rose and fell with the rhythm of the ventilator, steady and mechanical. Beeping monitors and IV lines were the only proof of life in the room.

You crossed to her side.

Gently, reverently, you reached for her hand—the one that had once smoothed your nightmares away, adjusted your collar before exams, held your chin during lectures and whispered, “Chin up, darling. You are a Weems.”

Your fingers curled around hers.

“They’ll regret underestimating you,” you whispered, forehead gently resting against the back of her hand. “They always do.”

Because ghosts never rest easy.

And your mother?

She wasn’t done haunting them yet.

[peetasallhehasleft]

I think something extremely irritating with the whole "Peeta is useless" argument is the movies completely robbed him of his strengths, literally, viscerally as well. Anyone who has watched only the movies doesn't hear all of Katniss's inner monologues and observations. For example......

Movie Peeta after dying in Catching Fire: *totally good nbd*

Book Peeta after dying in Catching Fire: *exhausted and completely worn out, still helps with everyone (dragging Finnick into the water, helping Katniss with Beetee, carrying Katniss out of the Jabber Jay wedge and back to the beach, alternating with Finnick and carrying Beetee to the lightning tree, killing Brutus, etc.) AND ALL WITH A PROESTHETIC LEG* Finnick: Can you walk? Katniss: No, he needs to rest. Peeta: If we go slowly. Finnick: Slow would be better than not at all.

Movie Peeta is kinda "useless" because he has very little to overcome. I think Josh did a great job with what he was given, but so many little things about Peeta are missed. He carried her up and down the stairs every day when she was recovering from her fall over the fence in the book, which wasn't translated to the movie.

He strengthened her image in the Capitol not once, but twice. He gave her the spotlight, and took backstage. Peeta gives her strength. He supports her, he agrees to leave without a second thought, even though he knows she won't go. He lets her feel what she's feeling about Gale and doesn't feel entitled to her feelings. He doesn't push anything physical on her. Doesn't expect more of her than she's willing to give. He exhibits so many examples of goodness, and she needs goodness. He's the hope of life. She is a shell of a person without him. Yes, she can function, but if she'd been able to drink...she'd have been just as drunk as Haymitch. Losing Peeta, broke her. She needs him.

What I need to survive is not Gale's fire, kindled with rage and hatred. What I need is the dandelion in the spring, the bright yellow that means rebirth instead of destruction. The promise that life can go on again, no matter how bad our losses. That it can be good again. And only Peeta can give me that. -- Mockingjay (This is from memory, please don't yell at me if it's not perfect.)

Also observation I just noticed, she doesn't need Gale to survive, but she needs Peeta. There's nothing about needing him to survive. It just goes back to what she said in the Quarter Quell...

I do. I need you.

[nosferatuix]

I'm obsessed with all thirty seconds of Suguru "testing his luck" because

1. first he had to track her down/knew where she'd likely be

2. he brought a lighter for her when its unclear if he smokes himself(i hc that he smoked sometimes but i dont think its ever proven and we now know he wasn't when he started high school)

3. shoko takes the time to ask him if its true despite the fact that she must KNOW. she may have even done the autopsies on the villagers bodies

4. she's not afraid of him, he knows she won't turn him in

5. satoru when she calls /asks her to stop him/ which. how was she doing that? this is the guy who without use of techniques could beat satoru up, what's shoko going to do here? but even though geto killed his own parents gojo doesn't believe he'd really harm her

6. sure shoko says she's not going to do that because she doesn't want to die but i don't think she was ever actually afraid of that at any time

Anyway shout out to mappa for drawing sgsk leaning towards each other, I love all legs of sashisu equally but sgsk have the least screentime together for plot reasons

let's talk about this i LOVE talking about this. suguru going specifically to shoko because he knows she'll at least be chill enough to hold a conversation with him and because even though (my personal headcanon) they'd been spending less and less time due to the how busy they all were that year, absolutely beautiful. i can actually see him waiting around the places she'd hang out the most, hence directly going to shinjuku, with the hopes of meeting her there.

shoko taking the time and the initiative to actually ASK him about this speaks volumes to me. i think it shows how much trust they had in each other, because this might have very well been a misunderstanding or suguru might've pissed someone off or he might've had a damn good reasoning that would push him to approach her if he wanted to explain that reasoning, and, even better: how little trust they had in the higher-ups. it was given in the report shiu kong was reading that the sorcerers that found the village he burnt down were jujutsu sorcerers so i hc that nanami was among them as well and that he might've seen the cage and thought something horrible was going on in here that drove suguru to do what he did because he's just smart like that. and yaga was probably the one who told shoko about suguru's defection as well since he was the one who told satoru too. with all of this combined, shoko still chose to believe what suguru was going to say instead of what possible lies the higher-ups might have fed to their fellow sorcerers and yaga. it's such a small but cool detail to me. shoko knowing he wouldn't hurt her and suguru knowing shoko wouldn't sell him out also reinforces these ideas respectively! she trusts in the relationship they have and he trusts her distrust towards everyone else. it's peak storytelling without actually saying anything outright!

i feel like satoru telling her to stop him isn't about physically forcing him to stay put because all three of them know she can't do that. but he's freaking out and wants shoko to get him to at least stay with her until he gets there to talk to himself and physical force is the only thing that he knows he himself could stop suguru with, so it's a slip-up, basically. but shoko might talk to him or try to convince him to wait, which could work and (in my personal opinion) did actually work because suguru was still in shinjuku by the time satoru made it there as well. (and based off of mappa's animation, it was probably afternoon when he approached shoko because the sky was blue and it was probably around the evening because the sky was orange so i feel like there was an adequate amount of time they spent together talking. he doesn't walk away when shoko's talking to satoru on the phone, it's almost like he's waiting for her to finish so they can keep talking until satoru gets there.) i think she's deliberately telling satoru she doesn't want to be killed because she wants suguru to understand that this is the way he's going to be treated for the rest of his life if he doesn't do some of the explaining that he has to do as soon as possible. that she knows he wouldn't kill her and condemn their other fellow sorcerers to a life of even more suffering and pain by taking away their only healer, but that she is still going to assume that he might, even though acting that way doesn't make sense for him specifically, because none of what suguru's doing right now makes sense for him in the first fucking place.

[maleyanderecafe]

Hi! just found your blog and wanted to ask if you've perhaps read the blood of madam Giselle, the guy's a yandere and all if you're interested in reading it👾

So the funny thing is I’ve known about this webcomic for a while and I was told that I would probably like Isaac because he’s very puppy like (which is true, he is very cute). I was also told that the ending sucks a lot and is disappointing, which is… true, but I feel like the issue is that the author wanted to be done with the series so badly that they just rushed/axed the ending. Which is unfortunate but it’s not nearly as bad as I thought it would be and I’m not sure why I was avoiding it as hard as I did. It is a complete series though at around 60 chapters.

The story is sort of split into two parts which is the romance arc where Giselle has to live a miserable arc with her husband while also falling in love with Isacc, the vampire and the second arc where she lives with the other vampires and Isacc. The first portion is much more dramatic while the second is much more tame, though I personally think it's not something that really ruins the story, however, everyone unanimously agrees that the ending is really bad.

The first portion is with Giselle and her husband Carter after the death of the head of the family, making Carter the new head of the family. It's made pretty clear early on that this is a loveless marriage with Carter controlling every aspect of Giselle's life while she spites him. The maids too are pretty much on Carter's side, not really letting Giselle do as she pleases. One day, she overhears and sneaks in to the basement only to find a child there, and once she is bitten by said child, he turns into an adult. She ends up befriending one of the maids, Anne into helping her visit the caged vampire, and slowly starts developing a relationship with him, by feeding him blood bit by bit. Eventually, she is able to free Isaac (the vampire) with the help of Anne and the two start a secret relationship together while cheating on Carter (though Carter is also just cheating on Giselle and pretty openly at that). Meanwhile, there are also reports of a vampire hunting and killing people nearby, which makes Carter suspicious about Isaac in the basement. We also get introduced to Olivia and Penny, another noblelady and another vampire who seem to be looking for other vampires (such as Isaac). The maids force Giselle to take medication to help with her fertility (as Carter is trying to make them have a child) and Isaac begs Giselle to run away with him, but she refuses, not knowing what will happen if she does. Meanwhile, more murders occur because of a vampire, with the news spreading far and wide. Carter has a prostitute (or side hoe) Roxy that ends up working at the manor as a maid and starts to seduce Carter while also slacking off on her maid duties leading to the head maid being pretty pissed off about it. In addition to Roxy's addition, Anne ends up quitting her job as a maid because of the headmaid finding out what she did leaving Giselle in sadness. Roxy starts to drug both Giselle and Carter by getting them hooked on some sort of drug while Isaac is eventually found and attacked by Olivia while Giselle tries to file for divorce. Roxy tells Carter about her plan of driving Giselle insane to ship her off by using the drugs, thus letting Carter have access to the title of nobleman and her riches without having to really be married to her. Isaac however is able to sniff out the drugs in Giselle's medication and prevent her from drinking it so that she doesn't get addicted.

Rumors spread about Roxy and Carter amongst the maids and Giselle goes to visit Anne and learn more about the life she lives and realizes how pampered her life is in comparison as well as what the drugs are that Roxy is trying to feed her. At some point, Giselle meets with Penny as Penny talks about how they are finding vampires to teach them proper etiqutte and live their lives amongst humans, leading to Giselle giving Isaac to them so that he can live a better life. Isaac tries to run away many times, but eventually decides to keep with the lessons so that he can show to Giselle how much he's changed later down the line. Eventually, while at the ball, Giselle comes face to face with Isaac once more and the two dance. While the two are getting frisky at the ball, they are caught with Isaac biting her neck before being forced to escape. Carter becomes more and more paranoid that the vampire killing people will come for him next, with Roxy comforting him by providing him more drugs while Giselle has to pretend to be the victim to Isaac's "attack" and end up pinning the "accomplice" to the scene to Anne with Isaac having to face the consequences of getting caught. Meanwhile, the head maid finds the key that Giselle hid and outs her to Carter showcasing that she is the one who freed Isaac from the basement. Anne is tortured by the police while Giselle is locked in the basement as a punishment. Things come to worse with Giselle is sent to the mental institution and Anne is sentenced to hanging, while Roxy contracts the head maid to burn down the house to fake an accident. Giselle is able to escape the mental institution by threatening a horse carriage driver and Anne is able to escape a hanging thanks to Penny's help, who swaps Anne with Olivia ( as she's a vampire and is unable to die from a hanging). After this, Roxy betrays Carter and leaves him injured in the woods only to be killed by the killer vampire.

This is where the second part of the story comes in and to be honest not much really happens. Anne and Giselle are brought to Penny's place and under Leo, the one who owned Giselle's mansion ( I believe) and the two have to work as maids. There's some shipping between Anne and Olivia and Giselle has to learn how to do hard labor. After a while, Penny and Giselle talk about a specific drug that will allow Giselle to really feel what Isaac feels, effectively turning her into a pseudo vampire. The last part (which is pretty rushed) is tracking down the vampire, only to find out that it's Isaac who was the killer the entire time. After biting and nearly killing Anne, Giselle ends up shooting Isaac supposedly killing him after falling off the roof. In the epilogue, Anne is married to Leo (for some reason) and Giselle ends up adopting a child that looks like Isaac with Isaac alive and watching over them.

It's no surprised that people really hated the ending because it was rushed and came out of nowhere. Personally I don't think it really ruined the story (but I have very tough skin after reading so many of these yandere stories, so I'm probably a outlier), but it is very clear that the author just wanted this story to get done with. There is a lot of ways that could have made it way better. The most obvious one is just to put more hints about Isaac being the killer at the end, which would make it feel a lot less like it's grasping at straws. I think another way it could have gone is to have the ending be sort of a murder suicide between Giselle and Isaac. Let Giselle keep taking the medicine until she turns into a vampire and when she ends up killing Isaac by accident (or on purpose), she also just ends it herself. I think it would be a tragic but a much more effective ending near the end. While there's not much that happens in the second part of the story, I don't think it was bad, it just felt more like it was trying to set up something, especially with Penny giving Giselle the medicine at the end and I sort of did like the slower pacing seeing them finally be able to rest after what happened in the first arc. Unfortunately, it didn't really amount to that much, but I don't think it was time wasted since I did like seeing the interactions with the vampires and just seeing them more relaxed instead of more high strung. I think just the fact that I knew the ending was bad kind of set my expectations so I didn't really feel that betrayed when it did happen.

Isaac as a yandere is pretty much more of a puppy dog type (which is what I generally like) as he pretty much is there to protect and love Giselle. He does imagine (and eventually does) killing Carter multiple times but stops due to not wanting to upset Giselle. He's extremely devoted, always coming back to her, taking away the drugged medication once he figured out what happened, and is jealous when others come near. This is one of those things that seems to run through a species where the yandere blood is just in these vampires as Penny states that they tend to be intensely devoted to one person their entire life. He basically runs under being like a puppy towards Giselle and a danger to other people (especially after we find out that he is the killer), but unfortunately other than some brief moments, we don't get to see it too much. However, I can say he is very devoted to her and thinks about her all the time and is willing to protect her when he is able to.

So yeah, this is one of those where the ending could be bad enough to ruin the entire webcomic for you, but I feel like despite that it was still mostly entertaining for what it's worth. There's a lot of smut in it so if anything I guess you can do it for that. I do wish that Anne and Olivia became a thing though because I really feel like it was trying to connect those two more and it would have been cool to have another vampire/human coupling.

[zvtara-was-never-canon]

https://www.tumblr.com/twinsarekeepers/786696321217232896/idgaf-i-nodded-when-katara-bloodbent-that-piece-of

Thoughts on this take regarding Katara and blood bending?

*sighs eternally* I'm so fucking sick of this discourse, so here's the short version: Hama abused Katara. Fuck that bitch, fuck her bullshit "teachings", fuck her excuses, fuck her stans, fuck her apologists, and fuck the people that act like she was doing Katara a favor by abusing her, free my girl from this stupid fucking fandom.

Long version actually breaking down the horrible arguments of that post:

"She used the a power created by the only other waterbender, who used it to escape colonial power" Did you miss the part when Hama, an adult, tricked Katara, a child, into coming into the woods with her and then used said power to violate Katara's body? And then did the same to her friends? Aka, the part that means that, despite being a survivor from Katara's tribe, she's also HER ABUSER, because I cannot stress this enough, that's what Hama is: Katara's abuser.

And if you don't agree, ask yourself how you'd label Ozai if he "taught" Zuko to redirect lightining by shooting lightining at him, or at Ursa and Iroh, to force him into doing it - and that for each second Zuko fails to get a handle on it, he and those he cares about are in visible physical agony, while Ozai is just laughing at their suffering, and then has the nerve to look all smug and congratulate Zuko, who is left in tears after such a stressful situation.

"It felt like ancestral rage" Yes, it did, and rage is important and can sometimes be good. Sometimes it also poisons you and makes you do things you'll come to regret - yes, even when done against somebody who was a total piece of shit (see Zuko, the person who was with Katara on that journey, not burning Zhao's face even though we know the bastard would not have spared him)

"And yeah, that’s not how the (white) writers wanted us to view blood bending" And the tumblr users want us to view abusive behavior as good just because it came from someone who happened to be of the same ethnicity as the actual hero, even though betrayed said hero's trust in a horrible way - again, something said tumblr users don't do to Ozai.

The *gasp* white writers are holding the brown skinned woman to the same standard they hold the light skinned man, aka treating them equally, and since they both abused vulnerable children that trusted them and used "I'm trying to teach you something" as an excuse, their "students" reject their lessons, find support, and send their abusers to rot in prison where they belong - and redemption is not even off the table, it's just clear the children they abused won't be bending over backwards to make it happen, because they don't owe their abusers a damn thing.

Maybe ask yourself why you have a problem with that, because I assure you it's not because the writers are the ones with a double-standard here.

"Aang had energybending, Zuko had lightining bending" Aang used it as a last resource to avoid taking somebody's life, and it comes with the consequence of "If your spirit is even a tiny bit corrupt, your very soul will fucking die." That's a much more extreme consequence than just "I did this thing and felt bad about it" and I doubt that using it without care wouldn't count as corrupting his spirit, so it's a power that he cannot abuse without IMMEDIATELY getting screwed over.

And Zuko has lightining REDIRECTING. He cannot create it. Somebody needs to attack him first, and even if he aims it back at the person that shot it at him (with intention to KILL him no less), they will not suffer too much. Once again, it's a power that is basically impossible for him to abuse.

Both of these are VERY different from being able to, in Katara's own words "reach inside somebody and control them" and that can be used in anyway she wants, as long as there's a full moon, therefore the comparison is, at best, unfair, and at worst it's downright dishonest.

You wanna know a power that DOES work in a simmilar way to bloodbending? Ty Lee's chi-blocking abilities. Abilities Katara was always freaked out by, and that the show presents as scary and evil 9 times out of 10.

Katara is a compassionate character with a strong moral compass, believes punching down is wrong, and her introduction to bloodbending came in the form of abuse, betrayal and trauma. Of course she hates it. It makes perfect sense for her to hate it, and I'm glad the writers respected that instead of just going "LOOK AT THIS COOL NEW POWER BOOST!" just because she'd obviously only use it against bad people.

Once again, somebody please free my girl from this fucking fandom.

[leresq]

I kinda get where you're coming from with Sam being blamed for Walker's actions, and I do think I phrased it poorly. Looking back Sam by no means was as equally shitty in this situation as Bucky and Walker. He did his best. I'm not a therapist or a counsellor, so I obviously don't know the best way to de-escalate a situation with an angry, psyched, armed individual.

I don't know where you're getting that I'm blaming Sam for Bucky's actions. If anything Bucky was the worst offender in this whole confrontation, the 'yeah we do' was just so unnecessary. He was looking to pick a fight with Walker because of his preconceived notions against him. If you think I meant that Sam followed Bucky's lead, I think he did but only because Bucky moved first, and Sam instantly knew a fight was happening, so he moved too.

I do think Walker should have dropped the shield. He was acting erratically and dangerously. But Walker isn't racist, or at least I don't think he's racist like someone like William Burnside from the comics is. There's an argument to be made about how he represents American imperialism which is inherently racist but I'm talking about Walker himself as a person when I say I don't think he killed that Flagsmasher because he was a person of colour. He did it because he was enraged, high on adrenaline, and he's an inherently impulsive person who acts on his first instinct without a second thought. I think he would have killed Karli if he had caught her instead. He would have killed anyone he thought was an insurgent if he caught them.

I get what you mean that Walker wanted to beat up Sam. Because of his impulsiveness if anyone starts monologuing to him for too long he'd fly into a rage and very possibly start a fight.

You do raise a good point that everything that has happened up until this point is ultimately Walker's fault. If he hadn't barged in on Karli and Sam, Lemar wouldn't have died and he would never have been put in the situation where he would bludgeon someone to death with the shield. The incident with the Dora Milaje was his fault too. They were just coming to collect a prisoner (regardless of the fact that they may or may not have had legal precedence to do so) and Walker stepped out of line by touching them. Not sure it warranted an instant beat down but it definitely deserved a punch or a slap. However if that happened I think Walker would have immediately escalated the situation.

I think it's an interesting character route for Walker to never take accountability. I personally don't like the character at all, even if he's intriguing from a narrative perspective. I haven't seen Thunderbolts yet but from what I've heard he doesn't really change there either, which is disappointing. I'd enjoy seeing him confronted with the things he's done in a meaningful way.

I'm rewatching TFATWS and I know the fight between Walker and Sam + Bucky is controversial, but I noticed both sides handled it very poorly.

Sam didn't tell Walker what was going to happen, his attempt at de-escalation was not good, and only made Walker more angry. Sam wanted the shield so Walker didn't have a weapon, but he phrased it confrontationally.

Bucky engaged first, which was a stupid decision. It looks like Sam engaged with him but I assume Sam only went forward because Bucky was going forward, and he wouldn't have engaged at all if he had the choice.

Walker was in a murderous rage at this point. He was actually going to kill Sam with the shield, whether he really meant to or not. He was not in his right mind and even if Bucky hadn't engaged Walker, he would have either ran or attacked at some point. He wasn't going to surrender.

[iwaasfairy]

cause when he loves me…

caleb doing ‘just big brother things’ aka I love them I do I really doooooo. art by me

[thenexusofsouls]

"Understand... each other..." Xenos concluded. Perhaps that really was a large reason why they seemed to be connecting so well after such a short amount of time, the fact that they both saw life from similar perspectives, having been treated in similar ways. He also understood not being in full control of one's abilities.

Xenos had a good handle on his powers now, but that was after centuries of acclimation and practice. When he was first trapped inside a human body, however, everything functioned differently. The way he called his magic was different. The way it felt, coursing through him. Even what he could do had changed. Some abilities had been lost while others were strengthened, and still others seemed to develop over time, as a result of him gradually becoming permanently bonded to his physical shell. It took him a long time to master his magic again in that new and unwanted existence. "Maybe... I could help?" he asked, his hand laying over his chest. "Practice? Together? Could learn... from each other," he suggested.

While he really didn't understand liking loud noises, he did understand the concept of having something to focus on other than panic or fear. He'd experienced that before. Just today, in fact, as Wanda had helped him several times to focus on her instead of on what was scaring or overwhelming him. Xenos nodded in agreement. "Understandable," he admitted. He nodded again to hear that her friends were act first ask questions later group. "Want to protect... humans. I know," he said, surprisingly having empathy for their treatment of him even if he didn't like it. "Better... to be unkind... to protect... than to be... unkind... to harm," he said with a shrug. If they were jerks about saving the world, at least they were saving it, and not trying to kill and destroy.

Xenos slowly opened his hands when Wanda laid hers on top of them, parting them like the pages of an imaginary book. Seeing that she trying to lace her fingers together with his, Xenos moved to slip off his gloves once more, setting them beside him on the bench. Then he put his hand right back where they had been, inviting Wanda do as she did before, but this time feel his actual hands. When she did, he turned to look at her and smiled. Just that simple gesture was enough to soothe whatever anxiety had surfaced as he'd explained how he happened to exist in this plane. One of his hands laced his fingers together with hers while the other laid over the back of her hand.

When she asked her next questions, he chose to answer the second one first, since that was much shorter of an explanation. "Just... wandering. Lonely. Wanted... to see... something new. Made a... mistake. Would... have left. Needed... to... calm myself... first." Hence the dome, but that hadn't gone according to plan either.

With regard to his face, Xenos reached up and touched the edge of his dangling hood before laying it back down over Wanda's. "Many reasons," was his short but cryptic answer. He gathered his thought before replying in more detail. "Sound... overwhelms. Light can too. Helps... to dim... everything," he said, though that was more a reason for wearing the hood, not necessarily for hiding his face. He had reasons for that too, though. "My... natural form... No eyes. No... Nothing... to be seen. In... Invisible. Others... could not... stare. With eyes... the stares... are..." He searched for the word. "Unsettling." He lifted his hand again to lift the fabric of his hood a bit so that Wanda could see through it as he did. "I... can see. They... cannot." he explained, gesturing outward and then inward. "Safer. Feels... safer... to me."

On to the next reason. "This face... is not mine. Belongs... to a human. Never... met. Never... asked permission... to have... his face. Feels wrong... to... put out... to..." Another pause to search for the right word. "...display... someone's face... as my own... without... permission." He wished he had known the man who used to own the body he now inhabited. Xenos wondered if the man would've been alright with him using his body. He assumed not.

And now, the last reason, for which he let go of Wanda's hands, and after a deep breath and a sigh to steady his nerves and prepare for the brightness of daylight, he reached up and drew back the hood, just to the middle of his head. He would've felt too exposed to push it all the way back, but this was enough for Wanda to see the whole of his face and some of his hair. His hair was long to his jawline, dark and curly, and his facial hair was kept trimmed short. Unlike the unnatural black color of his hands and forearms, his skin tone on his face, neck, and chest indicated that the man whose body he had inhabited could have been of darker-skinned Spanish descent, perhaps. He was, by human standards, likely considered rather handsome by most... but for his eyes. And that was the final problem with showing his face.

"Also... you see?" he asked her, gesturing towards his eyes, the irises of which were a faintly glowing red color. Not only that, but his pupils were a bit strangely shaped, more almond than perfectly round. "My eyes... cause fear... in humans. They see... and they think... evil. Demon. And they... attack. Or... just..." He thought for a moment. "Hate." He shrugged rather sadly and reached up with a mind to draw his hood down where it had been. "So... I hide."

what are you afraid of? (Xenos)

Xenos should never have come this close to this developed of a human city. Even wandering the suburbs of New York City had been a trial for him, with car horns blaring, people yelling, and a sense of too many things moving around him all at once. But once he'd reached deep into the city, he knew he'd made a mistake. There was a stark lack of awareness from the people walking around him. Some bumped into him without warning while others simply seemed to have no spatial awareness whatsoever. There were even more car horns, and more yelling, and Xenos felt his chest tightening from the stress of it all.

Soon, he couldn't breathe, and try as he might to get out of there, it seemed the more he walked, the deeper into the city he embedded himself. "Back!" Xenos shouted to someone who had bumped into him hard, pushing him away with one of his hands.

"Hey man, screw you!" the human said to him as he kept on walking.

He hadn't realized that he'd wandered into a roadway until he was almost hit by a car. It screeched to a halt and Xenos lifted his hands to cover his ears as the sound of the car's horn blared so loudly he thought he would die. "Get away!" he yelled, and it happened. His magic lashed out, creating a dome of isolation around him, encompassing the entire block. Everything went silent, for he'd removed all the humans from within the dome, leaving them outside its invisible border. Inside, he left the animals and insects for they did not bother him, but the cars, trucks and buses were now uninhabited, turned off, still.

The silence was wonderful, and he felt the tension begin to release him. The dome's barrier kept out the sounds of the surrounding city, as well as those of the angry and confused humans who had been moved from their vehicles, or who could no longer pass down the street because of the invisible barrier. While Xenos paced back and forth in the middle of the street, slowly calming himself, people outside the dome where already calling emergency services and police, angry and scared by what had occurred.

The Avengers were called in.

Xenos moved inside a building, where it was dim and peaceful, taking deep breaths as he slowly wandered around. This was better. Much better. He didn't care or even realize the disruption he'd just caused within a major human city.

Outside, people were telling tales of a strange man who had somehow made invisible walls in the city, not fully understanding what all had happened. When the Avengers arrived, they were met with a large block of New York City that looked... empty, uninhabited. Cars left abandoned, doors to buildings left open. It looked like something out of a zombie apocalypse... but where were the zombies?

Steve couldn't punch through the wall. Tony's repulsors couldn't penetrate it either. They couldn't even see what it was they were trying to knock down. But not all members of the team were as hindered by the magical barrier as the rest...

Xenos knew the moment someone had entered the dome, and he twitched with the sensation of his magic being disturbed. Perplexed, for this had never happened before, he walked to the door of the building and peered out. A human was there... but how? No human should be able to defy his magic. None ever had before. He watched her from afar for a bit, until it seemed that she was, either intentionally or inadvertently, headed right for him. Did she know he was there? No, no, she could not. Humans lacked such senses, he knew, especially in this time. The sorcerers of old were all but gone from the world now, or... or at least Xenos hadn't encountered any for a very long time.

Slowly, he stepped out of the building and onto the sidewalk, his body tilting awkwardly to the right as his head did the same, as though he was trying to size her up and see her better. When she spoke to him, he recoiled suddenly from the sound of her voice. He didn't take steps back from her, but rather only leaned back, his head snapping backward a bit as a dog or cat might do if they were startled while curiously trying to get the scent of something. He thought about her words for some time before responding.

"Not afraid," he said, but his voice was barely there. He couldn't remember the last time he'd spoken to anyone to any real capacity, and his voice suffered from a lack of use. He didn't think it was loud enough for communication purposes, so he tried again. "Not... afraid." Xenos put up his hand almost as if he was making a wait a minute motion with it, but moved it up and down, as though pressing some imaginary buzzer in the air, his fingers outstretched. He was merely thinking of the right word, his head turning this way and that like the word might suddenly be floating in the air somewhere he could see. "Overwhelmed," he finally decided upon. "The city is... too much." His hands found his head and he swayed a bit, as thought he was in pain. "So I have expelled it... from this space." He then made a pushing away motion with both his hands, moving them out from his body.

But then Xenos' head tilted again, his face obscured by the draping hood of his long coat. "How...?" he asked, pointing back in the direction she came. "How... did you enter?"

[unnerving-presence]

went through the wesker tag and I'm losing my mind over someone saying it's canon wesker and excella had sex and goes onto say wesker fucking GROOMED her... and their reference was the concept of excella the devs spoke about saying they wanted her as an assistant(?) to wesker and to be his right hand man and parallel him until they decided to change her to a CEO. Wesker was obviously disgusted by her the fact people think otherwise baffles me

not sure if the person has a tumblr but i saw this on twitter which was what i was so irritated about. it’s a CONCEPT. not actual canon. they make another post that they don’t get why people hate excella and that “we don’t know if he was uncomfortable” and that we’re trying to justify him committing genocide

like i just blocked them after that because how are you gonna like wesker, see a scene where he gets touched without consent and think it’s okay for that to happen just because he’s a villain.

need i mention this man is fictional and has not killed real people

nobody deserved to get touched without consent no matter what. it’s honestly insulting because they assume he wasn’t uncomfortable. i say this because many people who experience things like that typically DONT show they’re uncomfortable or give any signs at all. not everybody is going to react the same to being touched without their consent and it’s super insensitive to go “we don’t know if he was uncomfortable” when there are actual victims out there who reacted the way he did. not everybody shows how they feel in those moments

he IS uncomfortable. from his uninterested “hm” to him subtly pushing her away and even to his tone of voice when he talks to her. he IS NOT INTERESTED. it doesn’t even matter if he weren’t uncomfortable, that doesn’t excuse touching people without their consent. the people who say shit like this and try to excuse what excella did clearly haven’t been in any situation like that or know people who have.

also why would he ever want to have sex with her she is so damn annoying and she talks like she’s trying to moan all the time

ms girl is NOT ms muller

[onebillionbeans]

so what if my version of chat noir was an angel and what if the angel was the angel of death and also what if she was bigender. yeah thats all.

[shiniestcrow]

I kinda have lost all motivation for drawing digitally... I don't really know why. Objectively, it's easier to make stuff look decent but it's, at least at the moment, not fun anymore. So. Paper it is lol