#i don't hate it or anything it's just not something i think about since i don't wear any

[bruisedboys]

slight angst & fluff idea (ENDGAME) with your love bucky when u confess ur feelings and he replies with “you must be confused” maybe u really did experience a concussion before this or it’s just angsty bucky

drew omg hi angel thank you for the incredible request love you so much xoxo

bucky barnes x fem!reader, 1.2k words, medical inaccuracies probably sorry!!

Bucky pushes open the door to your hospital room with his heart in his throat, so worried about you he could burst. You were unconscious the last time he saw you, and he can't get the image of it out of his brain, your pale face, your lifeless hands. Your body limp as the medics lifted you out of the crushed van and onto a stretcher.

He’s half expecting to see your dead body in the hospital bed when he enters the room, but he’s relieved to find you’re very much alive, blinking at him with your head on a stack of pillows. You look lost, fragile. Bucky knows full well you’re not made of porcelain, you’re a (New) Avenger after all. But it still makes his chest ache to see you like this.

“Bucky,” you say softly.

Bucky doesn’t like how weak your voice sounds. It makes him want to demand you never go on another mission again. He knows you’d hate that, so he tries for a smile instead.

“Hey. Hi, doll,” he says back just as soft.

You reach for him. Bucky crosses the room and grabs the plastic chair against the wall, dragging it to your bedside. He sits down and takes your hand in his good one. You’re cold. He strokes the back of your hand with his thumb unthinkingly. You look at him, your face all crumpled up with confusion.

“What happened?” You ask quietly.

Bucky doesn’t want to tell you, but you’ll find out eventually. He’d rather him tell you than anyone else. It was a freak accident, no one’s fault, but you’ve come out hurt and Bucky hasn’t, and he hates that.

“You crashed the van,” he tells you in a murmur, hoping to soften the blow. “It wasn’t your fault. You’ve got a severe concussion.”

You’ve also got a lot of bruising all over your torso, but they’ve given you a bit of medicine for the pain. You shouldn’t be feeling anything, and Bucky doesn’t want to remind you of it lest you start feeling it, so he doesn’t tell you just yet.

“Did anyone else get hurt?” You ask.

Bucky shakes his head. “No, doll. Only you.” He wishes it was him instead. Wishes he would have protected you better.

You look for a second like you might cry. Your bottom lip trembles. “I feel funny,” you say.

Bucky thinks his heart splits clean in two. He pushes his hand further up your arm, rubbing at your forearm soothingly. “Don’t cry,” he says, rather unhelpfully. “You’re okay, I promise. You’re just a bit disoriented, s’all. Are you hurting?”

You shake your head. You look like you’re trying a great deal not to cry, but a few tears spill over your lash line, anyway, skipping over your cheekbones. You swallow hard like you’ve got something stuck in your throat.

“Will you give me a hug?” You ask quietly.

While Bucky’s not exactly the hugging type, he’s happy to indulge you with anything you want right now. He half stands from his chair and gets his arms around you, wary of your head and the bruises on your chest and ribs. He hovers over you, pushing his arms under your torso, doing most of the work so you don't have to move too much

You slot your arms under his and take a deep breath. Bucky can't imagine how you must feel right now, scared and confused, exhausted probably, uncomfortable in the starchy hospital sheets.

He’s going over all the ways he could possibly make this better for you In his head, when you speak up.

“Bucky,” You whisper into his shoulder.

Bucky rubs his thumb over your shoulder blade. “What, doll?”

“Can I tell you something?”

Bucky can't imagine what, but he pulls away from you and nods once. “Okay.”

You’ve got a look on your face he can't quite understand. He’ll admit he’s a little out of practice with women, and it’s been a long time since he’s liked someone as much as he likes you. He doesn’t know what the look on your face means, but it makes him worried, anyway.

“I, um,” you start, disjointed like you can’t find the words. You steal your hands back from around his waist and screw them in your lap. Bucky sits back in his chair but doesn’t let you go, his hand lingering on your arm. “I wanted to tell you how I feel about you,” you say.

Bucky just stares at you. He doesn’t understand. “What?”

“Sorry,” you say. You take a measured breath, looking at his shoulder rather than his face. “I really like you, Bucky.”

Bucky suddenly feels like a fish out of water. He wonders if they’ve drugged you.

“You must be confused,” he says slowly. “They gave you pain medicine.”

You shake your head. “I'm not confused.”

“You’ve got a concussion,” he insists. Maybe it's worse than he thought, if you’re saying things like this.

You shake your head some more. “No, because when I got hurt, right before I crashed the van, I thought I was gonna die. And the only thing I could think was that I never told you how I feel about you.”

Bucky just looks at you. He doesn’t know what to say, or what to do with himself. His vibranium fingers click as he scrunches them into a fist and back out again, a nervous tic. He’s liked you for as long as he’s known you, but he’s resigned himself to liking you from a distance. He never even considered you’d share the same feelings. You’re too nice for him. Out of his league, he’s been so sure of it this whole time.

“Bucky?” Your voice pulls Bucky from his daze, and he blinks to find you looking at him softly. “Are you okay?

Bucky’s not so sure he is. “I’m fine,” he says quickly. “I— sorry.” His veins feel rampant with electricity. He’s not sure if it’s nerves or something else entirely. “I didn’t know you felt that way, doll.”

You give him a soft smile. “I tried not to make it obvious,” you shrug, like you’re embarrassed. “M’sorry it took me this long to tell you.”

Bucky’s sorry he never told you. He shakes his head.

“Don’t, honey. It’s okay, I…” He pauses to take a measured breath and steel his nerves. “I think I get it.”

It’s as much of a confession as he can manage. You seem to understand, looking at him like he’s hung the sun for you. He would, if you asked.

“Yeah?” You ask in a whisper.

Bucky nods. “Yeah.” He leans in closer, pushing his hand up your shoulder. You’re warmer now, your skin flushed. “Could I kiss you, do you think?”

You screw your hands tighter in your lap like you’re nervous. Bucky doubts you’re as nervous as him. His heart hammers in his throat like it wants to choke him.

“Okay,” you nod.

Bucky leans closer still, and takes your face in his vibranium hand, gentle so as not to hurt you more than you already are.

“I’ll be careful,” he promises.

You shut your eyes, pliant, and he kisses you. Your lips are soft and sure, your hand fists in his jacket as he leans over you. He hopes the kiss says everything he can’t. You’ll talk it over once you’re no longer concussed, he’s sure, but for now he's content to sit with you and hold your hand for as long as you need.

[littlcdarlin]

getting Joel's name tattooed

warnings: big age gap (unspecified), dom!Joel, Joel likes the idea of everyone seeing his name on you, oral (fem!receiving), praise kink, claim kink (?), Joel calls reader “kid”/“kiddo”

note: Here's just a quick something to distract you all from the fact that I haven't posted a oneshot in two months. Enjoy! (Also, don't get people's names tattooed on your body without asking them first, this could seriously backfire. Or do what you want, I'm not your mother.)

Joel doesn’t dislike tattoos, but he never really cared for them either — he’s not one to make a fuss about his looks and likes you best just the way you are (or so he thinks)

It’s been rough, convincing your parents Joel isn’t a pervert for being with you (he is a pervert, but they don’t have to know about that), and you know Joel finds it hard to just walk down the street with you, thinking he’s ruining your life with his age and the hateful looks it attracts

It never bothered you much, which you tell him again and again, and though he let’s it go after a while, there’s still the occasional You sure you want me pickin’ you up from that? when you have a work event or something else Joel deems himself unworthy of attending

It’s unlike you to do something this drastic, this permanent, but in a way, that’s what your relationship to Joel is — drastic and permanent. There’s no going back from it, you don’t think you’ll ever want anything else

So you make the appointment, send the artist the design you want, tell Joel you’re going for brunch with your friends, let him kiss you gently and wonder if he’d stop you walking out the door if he knew what you’re about to do

You choose the placement on your hip, because it’s inconspicuous enough not to fuel Joel’s guilt, because other people would rarely be able to see it, and because you know how much Joel likes having you in his lap, his wide palms caressing that very spot

When you get home, he’s in his workshop, glasses low on his nose, carving away at yet another farm animal — he says he does it because it’s soothing, but you have the suspicion he’s hoping one of these days his load will take, and there’ll be a child to play with those animals sooner than later

I’ve got a surprise for you, you tell him, your hands massaging his powerful shoulders, and he puts down his tool and glasses, giving you his full attention. You gotta promise not to get mad, though.

Better not be one of those sour candies you gave me last time, because my tongue hasn’t been the same since, Joel answers, but when he sees you chewing on your bottom lip, the amusement seeps out of his voice. Won’t get mad, kid, I promise.

You believe him — there hasn’t been an angry man in your home since you moved out of your childhood home — so you pop open the button of your skirt, staring down at Joel. He clears his throat. Definitely not gettin’ mad, he mumbles, watching your hands pulling down the fabric. It slides of easily, you were supposed to wear something lose, so as not to irritate your healing skin

Joel’s eyes go wide when he sees the tattoo, the small, artful letters right above the waistband of your panties: Joel. You watch him swallow, his hands coming up to your hips, not touching the tattoo, but holding you as if to examine you more closely

Fucking Christ, he swears, his thumb drawing absentminded circles on your skin, you can’t be serious, angel. You’re fuckin’ with me.

You tell him you aren’t, that you’re serious about this, about him and his claim on you.

But…people will see, he mutters, eyes still glued to your skin, the top of his head all salt n pepper from your perspective. I want them to, you answer, and Joel looks up. You can see he's starting to believe you when you tell him you're his forever.

Joel spreads his big hand over your hips, tugs you closer, so that his nose is almost brushing your skin, and before he can kiss it, you thread your fingers through his hair and pull his head away.

It's got to heal, you explain, and Joel seems like he doesn't care for a moment, like he wants to ravage you anyway and risk an infection, but then his expression softens, and he slips his thick fingers under the waistband of your cotton panties

Well, I'm gonna touch my girl anyway, he growls, and tugs your panties down, his mouth latching onto your skin almost immediately. His beard scratches over your tummy, as he kisses you all over, mouth hot and wet, and so insistent

His hands grip your flesh hard, as if to keep you from moving away, but he's careful not to touch the little artwork on your hip

When he finally grazes your clit with his teeth, carefully, softly, your hips buck and your knees almost give out, but he holds you up

You stay right where you are, kiddo, I'm not done with you, Joel says into the skin right above your mound, and this more than anything sets your tummy on fire. He knows you'll do whatever he says, treats you like you're his, because you are – branded proof of it is healing on your hip.

So you let him move a hand to your folds, two fingers gathering the slick mess that's beginning to pool there, his touch almost playful.

He sucks on your clit as he sinks two thick fingers into your heat, curling them and forcing you to stay upright, when you almost sink down onto his lap. He could touch you like this easily without you standing in front of him, the muscles in your thighs quivering, but when you look down, his eyes are glued to his name right next to his hand.

The pleasure he gives you is merciless, and you can't help whimpers from escaping your mouth as he curls his fingers repeatedly, more than he moves them in and out of you

Go on, sweetheart, but tell me who you belong to first, he drawls softly, making your stomach flutter and clench.

You, Joel, you moan, and with another practiced movement of his fingers, you're coming on Joel's hand, unravelling while standing up, your legs shaking but unable to give in with how tightly Joel is gripping you and holding you up

Good girl, he praises, and you flutter around him again, as he drags his fingers out of you slowly, eyes on your new tattoo

How long does that take to heal? I gotta coat it in my cum, baby

[barnesandwilsons]

Operation: Go Hammy

a/n: since i got sm love on the first part (i hope you guys enjoyed) genuinely hated how it started but i think it gets better as it progresses.. NOT PROOFREAD AT ALL (i'll do it later i guess)

this is a CONTINUATION from part 1 👇

part 1: Maybe, Just Maybe

pairing: bucky x reader

wc: around 5k

warnings: cutie bob, bucky being sweet, reader being awkward for a TEENSY bit, ava being mentioned, walker wanting pizza rolls, alpine

summary: after spending a while with the thunderbolts new avengers, you begin to realize your feelings for someone.

The kitchen is dimly lit, and through the windows, the dreary New York sky bleeds in — all gray clouds and soft drizzle, like the city itself can feel how you feel.

Bucky’s looking at the pantry, his back turned, searching for anything that looks easy to make. As you walk fully into the kitchen, you can see the infamous peanut butter sandwich. Bucky feels your presence as he turns to you, “How bout I make you some pasta?”

You tear your eyes away from the sandwich, looking up at his blue eyes. They’re kind. He’s being patient with you – no one ever has. 

You nod. “Pasta sounds great.” A small smile pulls from him as he grabs a box of little pasta shells, moving back to the stove as he starts to boil the water. A few minutes later, he gets impatient and pours the pasta in the boiling water.

“I’m not really the best cook,” He stated, looking over his shoulder. “But, pasta," He says, shaking the box of little shells, "is something very easy and essential in life."

You lean against the counter watching him work, and smirk faintly at his words. “Yeah back in Romania, I swear I ate pasta around 50 times in a month.”

He pauses at your words. His head tilts slightly, not fully looking at you but enough to demonstrate his shock.

“Romania?” He repeats, now fully turning to you.

You nod, suddenly feeling in the spotlight for some reason. “Yeah. It’s where I went after…everything. It was quiet and had cheap food. Practically heaven.”

He hums in understandment.

“I was in Romania for a while too,” He says, almost like he’s reminiscing about a time of peace in his life, “After Hydra.”

You glance down at your hands, “Small world.”

“Yeah.”

The pasta bubbles behind him, immediately breaking his focus on you. He turns back to stir it, breaking the moment softly. Then you hear a new voice, “I smell food!”

Bob pops up to the kitchen. Oh sweet Bob. You’ve probably seen him around like twice ever since you got here. Apparently he tried to destroy the world, but you don’t believe it.

Bucky immediately sighs, “Go away, Bob.”

Bob just smiles. “I finally come out of my room and this is what greets me. Rude.”

You let out a small laugh before you can stop yourself.

Bob points at you triumphantly, like he just won a rare award. “Ah-ha! I made her laugh. I am so staying.”

“Bob,” Bucky warns slightly, he uses his metal arm to grab some hot water and flings it at Bob. Bob yelps, and side steps so he can avoid it.

“Okay, so, I think that's my cue to leave,” Bob jokes, already backing out of the kitchen, ��Truly nice officially meeting you, Mystery Girl.”

“Bob!” Bucky warns, now focused on stirring the pasta because it’s almost done.

“Bye, Bob.” You smile and wave as he leaves.

“Sorry about him.” Bucky apologizes, feeling the need to.

“He’s great, dont worry about it.”

Bucky glances back at you, “Yeah don't tell him that.”

You grin, honestly now you understand why Yelena likes it here. She works with hot idiots. Bucky drains out the pasta, and starts to look for the pasta sauce. You set eyes on it as you walk by, grabbing the jar and opening it with a soft pop before handing it to him without a word.

He pauses just a second too long as he takes it from you, like he isn’t used to people giving him things without asking. “Thanks,” he says, his eyes briefly locking with yours.

“Don’t mention it.”

Silence falls against the both of you. He quickly adds the sauce and mixes it in the pasta. And before the silence gets the chance to linger, Yelena bursts in, sniffing the air.

“Do I smell Mac & Cheese?”

“No, Lena,” You clarify as you turn quickly, you forgot this girl's obsession with the kids meal, “Pasta.”

“Pasta?” She repeats, almost offended, “Now c'mon, that's just depressed mac & cheese without the cheese.”

Bucky almost groans. He’s clearly trying to get to know you, while the rest of the team is almost hell-bent on making that impossible. “It’s pasta. With Marinara Sauce.”

“Well add cheese,” Yelena adds and turns back to you, giving you a once-over, “Where the hell did you get those clothes?”

You would get flustered, but now is definitely not the time for that. “Bucky loaned them to me. Since all my shit is in the washer.”

Yelena gives you a weird look. Yeah right. 

Finally, Bucky is done with stirring the damn pasta. Trying to keep some common decency, he turns to her. “Would you want a plate?”

Almost forgetting he was there, Yelena turns away from you and walks to the pasta and almost frowns. “Yeah, gimme one sec.” She then opens the top cabinet, grabs Sriracha sauce and squirts it on the pasta.

“Sooo much better,” she smirks, clearly feeling proud of herself and looks at Bucky, “Go on and try it, you’ll thank me later.” She quickly plates the food, waving you over and gives you the plate.

You smile at the plate, give Bucky a quick glance and say a quick thanks.

You all eat at the island counter, plates in front of you, a small conversation between a few bites. Well, Yelena is basically the only one speaking, talking with pride as she ranks the different types of fights she’s been in. You laugh more than you expect to, easily forgetting the mission beforehand.

But eventually, her phone starts to buzz. One look at it and she softly groans.

“Ugh, this girl,” Yelena complains, stuffing the last of her pasta in her mouth, picking up her phone and sending a quick text back. “Alright guys, I’m out to help Kate Bishop.”

Bucky and You share a confused look. Who?

Not caring to clarify, she grabs her plate, puts it in the sink, and pats both of your heads as a goodbye.

You stare at the plate in the sink, and the other two on the counter. You start gathering them and heading to the sink to wash them.

Bucky stares at you and gets up following you to the sink, “I got it.”

“You cooked,” You stated, with a wave of your hand, “Least I can do.”

He scoffs as he gently wraps his hand around your wrist– a way to get you to stop, not even a firm grip, a soft, gentle one just like his soul.

“I said I got it,” He says softly, “Just sit down somewhere.”

Don't gotta tell me twice.

You sit on the counter next to the sink. “So what’s your story?

He starts to wash the dishes, not even being fazed by the question. “Surprised you don’t know.”

“Oh I do, Just wanna hear it from a firsthand account.” You shrug. If you’re gonna be living here, you might as well get to know your coworkers.

“To start, I’m around 100 years old,” He pauses for your reaction.

You tilt your head, “Honestly, you peg me for a much older guy.”

“Yeah, well, I started to use sunscreen.” He deadpans, washing off the soap from Yelena’s plate.

“Must be some type of sunscreen.”

“Mhm.” 

He starts again, “I got drafted, I fell off a train and lost an arm.” He stops and slightly raises his metal arm to the best of his ability since he was holding a dish. “Hydra found me and well, I’m guessing you know the rest.”

You nod, “That’s tragic. Sorry for bringing it up.”

“Nah, You get used to it.”

You feel bad. After everything this man has been through, he’s still kicking? It almost makes you feel embarrassed that you feel this way about yourself. 

Reminder; try to be more positive.

You hop down from the counter, brushing off his hoodie. “Thanks for dinner, Bucky.”

He nods. “Anytime.”

You start to walk off, but you pause once you near the exit, “Any chance I can still wear your clothes for the time-being?”

“Yeah, just keep ‘em if you want. They look better on you anyway.” He says, while he’s still focused on the dishes.

You’re just lucky your knees don’t give out right then and there.

--

It’s been 2 weeks since Bucky made you dinner.

A lot has happened in those 14 days.

Bucky lent you another set of clothes, until eventually, you realized Yelena has to take you shopping, or you’ll end up stealing the rest of this poor man’s closet. He also lent you his old, worn-in copy of The Hobbit after you mentioned wanting to pick up new hobbies. 

It has a few annotations with his thoughts scribbled in the margins, a couple of question marks and a few rare sightings of his dry comments – but you don’t mind. You think it’s cute actually.

You also have seen Bob more ever since that one day – He’s pretty cool. A bit awkward. But cool.

He always offers to help when it comes to laundry, dishes or even basic cooking. You can tell he’s still struggling to figure out where he fits in. Maybe once you find yourself, you can help him.

Alexei was pretty loud, but you can tell it was from a place of love – or admiration. Or whatever else he has going on in that big head of his. When he’s not bragging about his days about being Russia’s very own ‘Captain ‘Merica’, he’s either helping Bob doing random shit, or finding new ways to annoy Yelena.

And Ava? You’ve talked to her a few times now. She’s cool too — but her powers? Yeah, straight-up terrifying. You’re glad she’s on your side.

So yeah, a lot has happened in the past 2 weeks.

Since you decided to take a tour of the Tower, you decided that the gym is your favorite place. So now, here you were listening to music as you work out. As you finish up, you decide to check your phone and see a couple of mixed texts from the “New Avengerz” GC.

Lena: 911

Ava: ?

Walker: what?

Lena: cat in the kitchen???

You frown, looking at your phone confused. 

Who let a cat in the Tower? 

And when can you meet it? 

You’re about to tuck your phone back into your pocket, as you’re getting ready to return back to your room and hit the shower.

Yelena texts again, “nvm false alarm, it’s bucees cat.”

You freeze. Bucky? A cat person?

You don’t mean to judge a person by their cover, but you never expected James Buchanan Barnes to like cats. 

A few hours later, your wish came true.

As you entered the kitchen, after Bob was done washing the dishes, you spotted a cute white fluffy cat.

Oh My God.

“She’s beautiful,” You mutter, only to yourself. No wonder Bucky has her, a beautiful cat for a beautiful soul.

What you didn’t know was that Bucky was looking for the cat.

Again.

For the 3rd time today. He needs to read a book on how to get a cat to behave properly. Thankfully, he made it to the kitchen entryway, as he saw you approach the cat.

You kneel slowly, trying not to scare it. Her beady eyes stare you down, tail flicking lazily behind her, like she’s sizing you up. Judging. Calculating. You pray that she doesn’t bite you.

“Hi, cutey.”

Bucky was just watching you, unafraid to ruin the moment, but he did anyway as he cleared his throat, “She’s harmless. Just has a flair for the dramatics.”

You glance up at him, lips almost pulling to a smile. “Wonder where she gets it from,” You extend a hand to her, as she sniffs it slightly. She nudges her head on your hand. 

Yeah, you might just have to take this ball of joy away from Bucky. 

You shift, sitting cross-legged as she climbs into your lap. Gently, you stroke her soft fur, completely in love. Bucky steps closer, settling beside you on the floor.

Who would've thought? Bucky Barnes, ex-assassin, with his heart almost melting at the sight of you with his cat?

Steve Rogers is practically rolling in his grave right now.

“She’s not like this with most people.” Bucky mentions, out of the blue, “Her name’s Alpine, by the way.”

You scrunch your nose at that adorable name. “She's perfect. I love her.”

“She's got good taste.” Bucky jokes, even softer now. Maybe, Bucky might have to thank his therapist for telling him to get a pet.

Alpine purrs. Your heart absolutely flips. Maybe you’re thinking about getting all the cats in the world. With how big this tower is, that seems like a great idea anyways.

You stay like that for a while, all three of you guys, unbothered.

Until your phone starts ringing. 

You glance at Bucky sheepishly and gently hand Alpine back to him. “Bye, Alpine. Lovely meeting you,” you murmur, getting up to take the call as you walk away. 

--

2 months have passed since you first got to the Avengers tower.

You slowly feel yourself being a part of this team. It took a while, but once you realized that this group was basically a bunch of damaged individuals, it got easier. 

Ironically though, the one person you did hit it off with at first–Bucky, has become a little... awkward. Not in a bad way. Bucky didn’t do anything wrong, it’s just that you started to realize that he was really hot. Like distractingly hot.

But you’ll deal with that later.

For now, you and Ava had finally made it back from your tiring, 2 week mission, and all your mind is set up on is sleeping on your own bed. Nothing else even matters. Not even bothering to charge your phone, you make it into your room, shower, and then jump on that bed.

You were asleep in minutes.

The next morning; you woke up to your alarm, almost groaning at the fact you had to get up soon. Today was the day.

Not like the day—as in your wedding, but still, it was the day AKA your turn to go grocery shopping for the team. The Thunderbolts have recently started a chore wheel, like who's gonna take out the trash this week? Or who’s gonna attempt to do laundry next week? Interesting shit.

It might sound dramatic, but you hated doing mundane tasks. Like grocery shopping? Why can’t someone else do it? 

Funny thing is, it was your turn to go grocery shopping a few weeks back, but you ultimately got out of it. You sighed, chanting to yourself to get up. Bite the bullet. One step at a time.

Perhaps even treat yourself to the shawarma spot before? Yeah. Definitely sounds better when you add that part.

You turned off your alarm, muttering, ‘five more minutes’.

You woke up 2 hours later. 

How? Very, very good question.

Turns out, you didn’t actually turn off your alarm. You just yanked the Alexa plug straight out of the wall.

Problem solved. Good riddance. You check your phone– dead. Oh.

You forgot you didn’t put it on the charger.

You almost cry. You decide now it’s best to charge it.

You finally decide to drag yourself out of bed, the frame giving a tiny creak in protest. Barefoot, you shuffle towards the connected bathroom, wincing slightly as you turn the overhead light flickers on.

As soon as you do, you can see your reflection through the mirror. You practically groan at the sight. You close your eyes and rub them harshly, as if you can scrub the exhaustion away.

You take another shower.

Fast forward: you’re dressed, in desperate need of food, and internally bargaining for someone to go do your ‘task�� for you. You grab your phone, still on the charger, and text the GC, asking for them to send their lists. With that part handled, You leave your phone in your room as you make your way into the kitchen. 

As you walk in the kitchen, in desperate search for coffee, you spot Bucky, right in front of the coffee machine, taking the last batch.

You just stare in utmost shock.

Granted, he felt a shift in the air and turned to you, almost glaring at the cup in his hands, “You good?”

You frown. The audacity.

“Just fine,” you mutter, a little too tightly, brushing past him as you search the cupboards for a mug. You grab the most aggressive one you can find: ‘Thanos was right.’

Fitting.

You decide to settle for tea. Bucky doesn’t say anything for the most part, he’s just silently drinking his coffee, as you drink your tea. 

Then Yelena walks in. 

“Good,” she says without anything else, pointing between the two of you. “Both of you. Perfect.”

Bucky raises his eyebrow, “Perfect for..what?”

“Grocery shopping!” She smiles sweetly, “Y/N is on the list today, but I decided to switch it up for today. So, team bonding. Off you go!”

Bucky blinks. Fuck this chore wheel. Can’t they just hire people to do these tasks?

“I didn’t sign up for this.” Bucky says, attempting to put his foot down.

“You live here.” Yelena deadpans, “Congrats! You have responsibilities!"

She grabs a drink from the fridge and is almost out the door before calling over her shoulder, “Don’t forget my Sriracha!”

–

AT THE STORE

You’re in the cereal aisle.

You don't even remember how you got here. One minute, you were reluctantly putting on real pants, and the next, you were pushing a cart with a grumpy Bucky Barnes walking beside you like he’s being forced into a hostage situation.

Because, technically, he is.

 Since half of the team didn’t even send their lists, you were forced to choose the cereal for the next two weeks.

You stare at the shelves, trying to make an unbiased decision on whether the team is more of a Cinnamon Toast Crunch kind of crowd or if they give off Lucky Charms vibes. Bucky leans on the cart handle, impatient. “You’ve been staring at cereal for five minutes.”

“Well, my bad, if I can’t figure out if the team is–”

Before you can finish, he silently grabs a box of Corn Flakes, drops it into the cart, and starts walking away.

You blink. Corn flakes wasn't even an option.

As Bucky is leaving with the cart, you sigh, grab a box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch anyway, and jog to catch up. 

“Glad to help speed up the process,” He says nonchalantly, scanning the area as if the sugary cereals can kill him. “Where next?” 

“Okay first of all.. you didn’t speed anything up. You just made a really bad decision,” You say, tossing your cereal box into the cart with a dramatic flair. “Second, we need to get the team’s protein powder.”

“Sounds disgusting.”

“Trust me..it is.” You shudder, “But, you definitely don’t need to worry, since you dont really need it.”

The next thirty minutes are spent roaming the store with Bucky, the two of you tossing essentials into the cart—some intentional, some impulse grabs. You argue over what counts as an “easier” snack and you almost forgot you were part of a superhero team.

Until it happens.

A girl—maybe college-aged, maybe younger, gasps loudly near the end of the frozen foods aisle.

“Oh my God. Are you guys the New Avengers?”

You freeze mid-reach for the frozen pizza. Bucky goes still, like someone just aimed a sniper rifle at his back. Slowly, you both turn.

The girl’s practically bouncing. “Wait—can I get a picture? Oh my God, my sister’s gonna flip. You guys are so much hotter in person!”

Bucky sighs through his nose like it physically pained him. You offer a small, tight smile. 

“Yes of course!” You say, the media training they made you do kicking in. You motion to her to stand between you and Bucky.

To your surprise, Bucky even starts to smile—like, a real one. It’s almost charming. Look at that. He remembers how to interact with the public. Progress.

The fan takes the photo, and squeals again once she looks at it. “You guys are like my favorite team. Ever! Totally have to post this on my Insta! So– wait, do you guys, like.. live together?”

You blink. “I mean.. Technically.”

“In the same tower?” she presses, eyes flicking between you and Bucky, who starts to wish he stayed in the car.

“Yep.” He answers for you.

Her eyes narrow. “Are you two… like, together together?”

Bucky almost chokes. You, on the other hand, let out the world’s most awkward laugh.

“Uh, no! But we are definitely done here! Danger is calling,” You say quickly, grabbing the cart handles and making a sharp U-turn, “Say hello to your sister for me! Have an awesome day!”

Bucky practically chases after you.

The fan is left shocked but satisfied, as she clicks on Instagram and starts a Live. “Guys you’ll never guess who I just saw shopping together–”

—-

Back at the Tower, you're in the kitchen with Bucky, the both of you unpacking the groceries in silence—well, companionable silence, anyway. The fluorescent lights hum, cabinets open and close, and every now and then you bump into each other at the fridge.

Walker strolls in and decides to help you guys put the groceries away. After a while, you guys were done and Walker opens the freezer.

“Uh, where’s my pizza rolls?” He asks.

You pause, look at Bucky. He looks at you. Neither of you say anything.

Walker turns around slowly. “Guys.”

“Bucky forgot it.” you say, flatly.

Walker turns to Bucky. “You forgot my pizza rolls, Buck?”

Bucky doesn't even blink. “You didn’t send your list.”

“I said it out loud!”

You snort. “We’re human. We forget shit.”

Walker glares at Bucky. “I told you when we were at the gym!”

“I had headphones in.”

“We were in the sauna!” Walker sighs, tired of this shit “I risk my life for this team, and this is what I get.”

You quietly toss him a frozen burrito. “Here. Be grateful.”

Walker catches it and glares. “This better be beef.”

“It’s beef,” You nod, already walking out of the kitchen. 

...You think it's beef. You’re like 60% sure you read it on the box. Okay, maybe like 40% sure.

You and Bucky both pause just outside the doorway, subtly listening.

2 minutes pass.

Walker grunts in satisfaction. “Okay. It’s beef.”

You exhale in relief and keep walking, Bucky falling into step beside you.

Once you’re both out of the kitchen, a brief silence settles in as you walk side by side. It’s not uncomfortable—just... different. Like something’s sitting in the air that neither of you have named yet.

You have a weird feeling in your chest. Being around Bucky Barnes brings out a weird side of you. You don’t wanna name. Not yet. Because if it is what you think it is—

Yeah.

You’re screwed.

You clear your throat, eyes looking ahead again. “Well... thanks for coming with me today. I know you didn’t really want to.”

Bucky’s quiet for a beat. Then, soft enough that you almost didn’t reach your ears, “Wouldn't have gone if it wasn't you.”

Your heart thuds. 

“Oh,” You manage to squeak out. 

Another beat of silence.

“Try not to forget anything, next time.” You say, like a coward. 

Oh My God.

“I’ll do my best.” He replies, with a shrug that says he’s absolutely lying.

“I'm gonna find Yelena.” You give him the weakest excuse.

You walk off before you can say something even stupider, tossing a casual “See ya!” over your shoulder.

You don’t see the way Bucky watches you leave.

But maybe it’s better that way.

–

You find Yelena in her room, sitting cross-legged on her bed with a bag of chips balanced on her lap and some ridiculous crime documentary playing in the background.

She doesn’t look up when you knock—just gestures lazily. “It’s open.”

You step inside, shutting and locking the door behind you. “Hey!”

“How was grocery shopping?” She smiles, knowing exactly what she did. 

You narrow your eyes at her. “It was alright.” You sit next to her, silently watching the show with her. As she turns to you, she tilts her head, “You know it’s obvious, right?”

You return her pointed look. “What is?”

“Your feelings for Barnes.” Yelena says, as if she didn't just drop a metaphorical bomb on you.

“Oh my God.” You groan, dramatically flopping onto her bed. “I don’t—I do not like that man.”

Yelena arches a brow, unimpressed.

“I mean, as a person, sure, yes, I respect him. But I don’t have feelings for him.”

“Mhmmm,” Yelena pretends to listen to you. 

A sudden realization hits you like a bucket of cold water. “Wait… You planned the grocery store!”

“Look at that,” She says, smirking. “You used your smart brain.”

You stare, betrayed. “Yelena.”

“Team bonding,” she says with exaggerated air quotes. “I just pulled that out of my ass. You’re welcome.”

You stare at her. “I dont–”

She points at you, a mysterious look in her eyes. “You don't have to lie,” Yelena says, her tone extremely casual, “It’s normal. Girl likes Boy. Boy likes Girl. End of story.”

You shake your head, because it’s never that easy. 

“No. Not end of story. There is no story,” You say, almost pleading, “I can’t like Bucky, he’s literally perfect!”

Yelena looks at you like you’re crazy. “Him?”

“He was literally in Congress. He’s friends with Captain America…” you mutter, like the words are proof of something. “And. I had options after I left the Red Room, and I still chose the wrong path. I didn’t know better, but I still chose wrong. That makes me a terrible person.”

Yelena pouts.

"Okay,” Yelena says softly, voice steady, “Well then you are fooling yourself. Because you’re not a terrible person and you still like Bucky.”

“Stop saying that— Lena, please.” You whisper, glancing around instinctively. You’re in her room, door closed, but still. You’ve never trusted thin walls.

She rolls her eyes. “Fine. I know my place. But Alexei—”

“Lena!” You hiss.

“What! Don't blame me, it's obvious.” She says, not even pretending to feel bad, “I can try to get him not to speak about it. At least not in front of Bucky.”

You feel the tension ease out your shoulders. “Thank you.”

–

The transition from fall to winter always makes Bucky feel…heavier. 

To be fair, Bucky tries fighting this feeling. He’s spent almost his whole life feeling bad about himself, but lately, he's been getting better, courtesy of Dr.Raynor.

He loves his cat, Alpine, the little menace who isn’t afraid to stand her ground.

He loves the small bookstore that opened a few blocks away from the Tower, which rekindled Bucky’s reading phase, a quiet escape he missed dearly. Because ever since he joined this rag-tag team of heroes, he hasn’t fully had time to be by himself.

He’s even started to listen to some of the music you recommended, a nice attempt to drag him out of his olden days into the new century. 

In general, Bucky has started to make peace with things.

It truly is the little things that matter.

Of course, he can’t help but notice the way you light up when he tells you he likes a new song, or how your face softens when he asks for more recommendations. Bucky knows it’s silly, but he likes these moments, even if he can’t bring himself to say it outright.

Ever since your departure from the Red Room, you threw yourself into countless hobbies, desperately trying to reclaim the pieces of your stolen childhood. Singing, writing, reading, painting, gaming—each one a quiet act of defiance, a way to remind yourself that you were more than what they made you. But the one thing that always pulled you back from the edge, the one thing that never wavered, was music.

Sometimes, late at night when Bucky couldn’t sleep, the nightmares being too much to bear, he'd listen to the songs you gave him. He’d picture you in your room, headphones on and swaying to the music gently. And it gave him hope, that maybe he could do it too, maybe he could find something that made the world more bearable to go on with.

On one of those nights, he found himself sitting alone in the dimly lit living room, Alpine curled up on the couch beside him. He didn’t even bother turning on the lamp. His thoughts were heavy, but the soft hum of music in his earbuds offered a silent comfort.

That’s when he heard your footsteps in the hallway, light but sure. You paused at the entrance, your hair tousled from sleep, wearing one of his old shirts that always made him smile.

“Couldn’t sleep?” you asked softly, stepping into the living room, surprised to see him. 

“Yeah,” He mutters softly, as he raises the book he was reading in his hands.

At the sight of the book, you remembered how he loaned you The Hobbit, “Speaking of books, I’ve read your annotations.”

Bucky seemed to forget how to respond for a second, “You actually read those?”

 “Well, it was kinda hard to ignore them,” You reply, settling next to him on the couch as Alpine took off and disappeared into the darkness. “I loved seeing how you view the characters. Makes the story ten times better.”

“Good to know,” He replied, smiling faintly at that, a tired but friendly smile which always made your stomach churn.

So many questions filled your mind, yet it wasn't the moment to voice them. Why was he awake? Was everything alright? What was his experience like in Congress?

For the most part, you kept those questions to yourself. But one of your thoughts had to slip out.

“What are you listening to?” You asked softly, your tone warm and curious, an attempt to change the subject.

He raised his brow, almost surprised by the question. Bucky gently pulled out one earbud, offering it to you as if sharing a secret. “One of the songs you recommended,” he said quietly, his fingers brushing yours for the briefest moment as he handed you the earbud.

Sliding it into your ear, you hear the soft beat of one of your favorite songs, you look at him. This was one of the first songs you recommended to him, because it helped bring you out from a dark place many moons ago.

You can't believe your ears, you turn to him with a small smile on your lips, “Can’t believe you still listen to this.”

“It’s a decent song,” He shrugs almost shyly, his eyes gentle, “Kinda helps…sometimes.”

You understand.

You don't say anything else, not out loud anyway. Instead, you just let the song fill between you, the familiar beat serving as a connection between you too. In that moment, there's no need for words or actions, the music says everything.

Bucky shifts closer to you, just slightly, as if the small distance between you guys was a barrier. 

You feel the heat of his shoulder against yours, the comfort of his presence. He doesn’t look at you, You don't look at him, you’re just trying to slow down your heartbeat. Your gaze shifts to his metal arm; beautiful and metallic. Slowly and carefully, you reach out and lay your hand over his, your fingers tracing the cool ridges of the vibranium plates. He stiffens for a split second, then relaxes, his shoulders sagging just a little.

You know what this means. You know you’re trying to let yourself feel, something unfamiliar and scary, but also something you can’t keep ignoring anymore.

“I hope this… doesn’t make you uncomfortable. I just–”

Bucky shakes his head, cutting you off softly. “It’s fine,” he says, his voice calm and almost dismissive—like it’s no big deal to him, even though you both know it is. “Doesn’t bother me.”

You then, feeling bold and comforted by his casualness, reach for his hand. Your fingers wrap around his, the contrast of his cool metal arm against your flesh arm making you feel grounded. He doesn’t pull away—if anything, he shifts just a little, his thumb brushing against your knuckles in a silent reassurance.

You almost cry.

The warmth of the moment lingers, you make a mental note to yourself to write this down somewhere, afraid you might forget that this happened.

Eventually, you start to get tired and fall asleep leaning on his shoulder. Bucky was gentle, careful not to move too much and disturb your sleep, as he shifted slightly, sliding one arm under your knees and the other around your back to lift you up. You stirred a little, but didn’t wake, your head moving against his chest. He carried you to your room, the softest look on his face.

He opened the door and slowly put you on your bed, adjusting the covers to cover your entire body. He paused for a moment to look at you, your face so calm and peaceful even in your sleep. A small grin showed up on his face.

Then he remembered how this might look if you woke up right then, and he shifted back awkwardly. “Night,” he whispered softly, careful not to disturb you, and just a little embarrassed as he closed the door gently behind him.

After 3 hours of sleep, You woke up feeling a bit confused. You sit up slowly, trying to recall how you ended up here, in your bed, tucked like a little lamb in Mary’s farm. Then, You remember the soft music and Bucky hours before.

You remember the soft feeling you felt in your heart when you held his hand. A tiny smile tugging at your lips, as you brush your fingers over your soft comforter.

If only Dreykov can see you now.

---

guys dont hate me bc they will notttt be confessing anytime soon.

[scrubbinn]

In Stars and Systems: In your own head

Prev - Next

Siffrin 9 days since the King’s defeat

Your mind stirs awake from dreams and vague feelings of lucidity. How long were you asleep? More importantly, can you go back to sleep? Opening your eyes doesn't help. Blinking a hundred times doesn't make your vision any less blurry. Your body refuses to move as it slowly creaks and snaps to life over the course of several minutes. Your nerves are the last thing to wake up, and you feel-

The searing pain hits you all at once. It hurts. It hurts! Your whole body is screaming! You can feel bile rise up in your stomach. You toss and turn in bed. Your body contorting into any shape that could ease the pain. Nothing works. Eventually, you give into the futility and wait for the pain to end. Tears won't escape your face. You can’t scream. It’s fine. You don't deserve to worry everyone. Soon it will become somewhat bearable.

(Where am I?)

You look around. The darkless walls are new. No, not new, you've seen them somewhere. It’s bright like the fields, cramped like the clock tower, it has the same dusty smell as the house. There’s someone there. You try to call to them, but a flash of pain keeps anything from escaping. You roll over in the bed, grabbing the covers tightly enough that your fingers begin to dig through the sheets and into your palms. The blankets wrap you in a cocoon that you pull on until your whole body feels numb. You try to let out a sigh but you don't hear anything come out of your mouth. You must have made some kind of noise, since a nurse is attending to you.

You’re held up and asked to drink something. You’re too tired to refuse. There’s an icy fire rushing through your head in waves and pulses. It feels distinctly awful, but it’s a new feeling so you gladly accept it. There's something in the water that the nurse forces you to swallow, she talks about something but you can’t make out the words. It’s all just meaningless noise. You’re starting to feel sleepy again. How long have you been awake for? It should only be minutes but it feels like you woke up days ago. No, not days, that’s far too long. Ugh, your sense of time is completely shot.

[Not that it was ever good to begin with~]

You can't think straight. Even lying back down in your bed doesn't help. What was the last thing you remember? You were fighting the king. You saw something… something sad. You hated it but looking back it feels silly to hate something like that. Like a scared animal lashing out at an abusive owner. You deserved it.

|...|

You scared your family. You hurt them… You told them about your wish, and they didn't hate you. They should hate you right? But they didn’t and no matter how much you tried to convince them… tried to convince yourself.

Your mind is calming down. Could it have been a painkiller you swallowed? Of course it was. It’s not like she was going to make you swallow poison or something. Maybe you could move your body if you tried?

[I wouldn't try it. You can hardly keep your eyes open. What makes you think you could move those noodle legs.]

Is that Loop you're hearing? Loop…

Loop!

Without a second thought, you bolt upright in your bed, eyes wide scanning the room. Loop! How could you forget! Stupid! Stupid!! Stupid!!! You were fighting Loop, and they started to disappear and you can't… remember… what happened next. You heard them just now right? They were talking to you, but all you see is the nurse in the room. Shocked that you're even awake. Did you fall asleep again? 

No that's not what's important! Where is Loop!? You have to find them! You idiot! How could you just let them fade away??? How could you be so awful to let that happen to your family!?

[So what? We're family now. Stars, you really can't let go of anything, can you stardust?]

“Loop?”

The nurse looks at you with confusion and panic. She moves your head back to your pillow. “Please lie down and rest. I'll go tell the others you're awake.”

The others? “NO!”

You didn't mean to shout. But you can't let your family see you. Not until you're ready. Facing them now would only hurt more. You need a distraction, anything to get you to stop thinking about this. You scratch at an itch on your stomach and it sends a jolt of pain through your whole body.

“Please don't scratch there. Those scars are still fresh.”

Scars? You pull your shirt up to see so many scars running along your arms and chest. Most of them look like marks from scissor craft. Tracing your finger across one pulls you back to the memory of that day. These are your battle scars, proudly earned from trying to end your own life in front of your family. It makes you want to throw up.

There's something else? You don't see any scarring but rubbing your fingers across it makes you wince. Above your hip is a small spongy square of flesh. The pain runs deep. Some sort of internal injury? Did you get it at the same time as your scars? When were you attacked?... oh.

You can't let Odile find out about this.

“Could I have some more water?”

The nurse nods and leaves the room. Good. You don't like feeling watched.

You spend more time than you'd like to admit testing how much pressure you can handle on each scar. Better to know now than the next time you have to fight. The injury above your hip is the worst one. you're not sure how easy it'll be to walk with it. You'll just have to ignore it.

Dizziness and fatigue takes over and your body starts to feel numb. You can at least think a little bit easier than when you first woke up. You woke up because you thought you could hear Loop right?… What happened to them? You try your best to remember.  They were sitting under the favor tree. You fought, but… you were so exhausted. You lost, they were about to kill you. Rip the heart out of you and they! They couldn't do it.

You both talked. About how important Loop was to you. How they're the reason you escaped. You were so excited to bring them back with you, to introduce them to everyone.

And now they're gone.

What was it that Loop said? I'll join you so we can become one. I'll die. I'll live under this tree forever. You didn't want any of those. You wanted them to stay with you. They said they'd see you again. You made a promise with them! Why didn’t you listen!! STUPID, IDIOT, YOU COULDN'T LET GO?

THIS ENTIRE JOURNEY WAS SUPPOSED TO BE ABOUT YOU LETTING GO! WHY COULDN'T YOU HANDLE ONE MORE THING!

IT'S YOUR FAULT BONNIE HAS TO WAIT BEFORE THEY CAN SEE THEIR SISTER!

IT'S YOUR FAULT EVERYONE IS STUCK HERE WAITING FOR YOU TO GET BETTER!

IT’S YOUR FAULT THAT THEY HAVE TO PRETEND THAT SOMEONE LIKE YOU COULD EVER BE LOVED ANd… cherished…

…You take a deep breath in. And out. There's a glass of water next to you. The same nurse is back setting down a pitcher and a bouquet of flowers. You must have been so stuck inside your own blinding head you didn't even notice. You idiot!! Did you really spend that much time hating yourself?!

What happened after Loop disappeared?... Oh, right. You tried to make another wish. You wanted to see Loop again. You ended up grabbing a handful of leaves. Your vision was too blurry to pick one. You couldn't even breathe your wish into one correctly. You don't remember ever folding your wish into the leaf. You passed out from trying to use wishcraft again like an idiot!

What happens if you fail to do it properly? Does the wish not happen? Can it never happen? Did you make it so you'll never see Loop again?

Your breathing grows rapid again. You can't think anymore, you, you, you…

The nurse runs to check on you. She’ll go tell the others you were awake. You’re disgusting for wanting to see them.

You pass out.

Strings bind your arms and legs. You’re made to dance for the entertainment of a crowd of two. A star watches you with pity and envy. Your blurred opposite stares with an intense sadness, wondering why you would subject yourself for the sake of those who hate you. And the other actors upon the stage do hate you. To the other actors, you are all at once a gnat, a burden, a diseased filth. The other seats in the theater are empty, but they'd fill in the blink of an eye if you kept your eye off them. Not that anyone would want to watch you. You keep going off script! Who would want to watch a play where the actor picked their lines? No one.

The last play was perfect. It was your favorite. But you couldn’t help but try ad-libbing the end. You disgusting thing. You just had to write a happy ending to your favorite tragedy. You awful disgusting blinding idiot. But it’s ok. Now the strings will move your body along. The audience will correct your improvised steps.

You blink, and suddenly you’re in the audience now. The star places a marionette controller in your hand. Are you allowed to move the actor? Is it ok? You… you hated those strings. You couldn’t stomach them at all. Every single day. Every single loop. Your favorite play. You watched it happen hundreds of times. You memorized all the lines. Forgot everything that wasn’t needed. Your favorite home cooked meal. Fed to you until you throw up from its scent. You don’t even remember what else there is. Is that kind of person even allowed to exist?

It’s selfish. For you to continue. You could let someone else play the fool. You could be the one to watch the play. Wouldn’t it hurt? You’d have to spend less time with your family, stuck inside this awful choking head of yours. Why does that thought sound pleasant?

Someone holds your hand. It’s…

[Stardust. I’m here.]

(Loop?)

It can’t be real. This is some awful dream, and you’re going to wake up, and Loop won’t be there and it’s all because of you! Because you ruined the promise! Because-

[STARDUST!]

You stop. You can’t continue your thoughts. You look at Loop. It feels blurry, in this dream. Like remembering a face rather than seeing the real thing.

[I told you, I’m here now. I’m not going anywhere. I don’t exactly know where here is… but I’m here now.]

There’s so much you want to tell them. But the only sound that escapes you is an empty sobbing.

[What, you missed me that much? Grrrosssssss~~~]

You can’t help but cry. You feel awful for how long it goes on for, but you can't help it. It's nice to hear that voice again. You always loved that children's story. About the man who got to meet himself. You always related to that story because… because…

You can't help but cry. You don't want to wake up. Even if you know it isn't real.

But then, Loop gives you a hug?

[If I do this, will you finally calm down?]

Is Loop the kind of person that would give hugs? You don't think so. You'd never give someone a hug like that, it'd feel strange. But Loop stopped being just you a long time ago, didn't they.

It helps, at least a bit, enough for you to steady your breathing. You feel calm. There’s a gentle warmth on your forehead. You can rest now. Loop is here. You don’t know where here is, exactly. But it’s enough to put you at ease. You can face your family now. You’re not a murderer….

You feel tired. Is it possible to dream inside of a dream? Well if it is… you dream that your family loves you, no matter who you are.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Prev - Next

[infamousodysseus]

okay. i don't usually get involved with this shit but i will touch on it very lightly. because i do kinda see where you're coming from.

"is it because its mlm therefore it's more acceptable?" yes. no matter what, the answer to this is going to be yes (especially in fandom spaces) because people love fetishizing mlm ships and it's been happening since forever. calypso & antinous are both dead to me as they're both rapists, but some people prefer "toxic yaoi" over "toxic... het" i guess, and honestly i just prefer to block these shippers when i see them.

BUT. another thing i will say is... there's a lot of men in these medias. the iliad & the odyssey aren't exactly feminist in nature, and penelope hasn't actually interacted with any other women outside of her maids, canonically, and the women in her family.

now i'm not saying you can't ship her with circe or whatever, but athena is a virgin goddess & the other women in epic were the sirens & scylla. if we're just talking about penelope & wlw ships, there's genuinely not a lot of options unless you start making oc's. compared to odysseus who is praised very highly by nearly everyone he meets (who are also men) in both the iliad & the odyssey. he was surrounded by men for over a decade. for some people that's more than enough shipping material, married man or not.

i will end this off by saying it is weird to say you hate mlm just because of other people in fandom spaces fetishizing it. i think you could've opened up a way more productive discussion without that. mlm ships, wlw ships, anything queer gets fetishized, in fandom spaces or not. my advice would be to just block anyone who ships things you don't like, bc life is genuinely just better that way. if you're on ao3 (yuck... ao3...) or something then the mute button will hide all works from an author u dislike from you

Genuine question for the Epic fandom:

Why is shipping Odysseus with a man acceptable but shipping him with a woman is cheating? Isn't it the same thing? Or is it just because it is mlm so it makes it acceptable?

And why do people get jumped for shipping Penelope with a woman? Isn't it the exact same thing? Or is it because it isn't mlm?

And why ship horrible ships like sharpwolf but hate Odysseus X Calypso? Is it because it is mlm so it is automatically acceptable?

I HATE MLM (to clarify I'm a lesbian and I don't hate gay men, I just hate mlm ships in fandoms because of the fanbase)

[official-james-b]

this might be like... a really dumb question and something that nobody but me can figure out... but how do i hate my body less? i feel like i can't even stand being in the same room as a mirror because i just feel disgusting and i just dont wanna feel like that anymore.

im sorry if that brought your mood down, and you don't have to answer if you dont want too.

"Your body? The body that's been growing with you ever since you were a cell? The body that's fallen and taken hits of the road when you learnt to bike? You body that's bled and healed itself anyway because it thought you were worth living? The body that's the vessel to the mind that expands inwardly all the damn time infinitely? The body that's your home? Look, my dear. The logic is incredibly simple. Superficially, all people in your life, all situations, all conditions are going to be fickle. And I mean, anything, will pass, as simply as it comes. But this body, that is fighting because it decided it wouldn't let the person inside it perish without the chance to completely live to the fullest, loves you. The body loves you so much that it heals from everything. It's a vessel. Don't you think it is only fair to love it back, just as much is loves you?"

"Do you agree that we are all different people, my dear? Based on what we think, what we require to fight for survival, we are built differently. You can be beautiful, even when it isn't conventional. Because frankly, nobody is born conventional. Everybody is born with speciality. So it might just be the delicate curve of your navel, or a soft muscle in your thigh, or a dip in your hip, that makes you different from others. Makes you, you. Because it is nobody's vessel but your own."

"I want to tell you that this body is your own no matter what it is. It isn't slackish or disgusting. It is you. And it is the only thing that will be with you until the very last breath. Your body will fight until every tissue gives up. Because it is you that needs to live."

"I'm not saying that it doesn't matter what you look like. In the fast life that we live, it does. I wouldn't lie to you. But what really matters is that when you accept what you look like, you begin to actively working to make it better and shape it the way you want. You begin to feel comfortable with change and in your own skin to. The only thing you have to do, is to accept it. As your body. As your vessel. Recognising it as yourself, when you look in the mirror. And, when you've tried enough, you'll wear your skin with pride and nothing else."

"Start to look at yourself and ask 'Would I love the person in the mirror if it wasn't me?' and if your answer is yes, then you know that your body deserves that love too."

"Don't ever think I'm not here to guide you or that I am put off by the things you tell me about, kid. I love you and I'm here with you, through thick and thin and whatever you need to talk to me about, remember that I am always listening. You don't ever have to apologise for expressing your feelings. They are valid. I love you. I hope what I told you makes a difference."

[sir-fenris]

Sorry for taking a little long <3 thought I would have more free time a few hours ago, happens I didn't. Here I am now :)

-

They had to submit it today.

I like how, on a superficial view, this whole scene sounds exactly like a normal teen who spilled something over their normal schoolwork. When I was in school, erasing my schoolwork in any way by accident was reason to cry. Especially because, thanks to the enormous amount of school projects and homework the school gave me at a time, I barely had enough time to re-do it.

So it feels very natural and familiar, like Walenty is just a teen that messed up a schoolwork and is frustrated because of it.

And yet the "schoolwork" is anything BUT a normal teen thing, and the consequences aren't a low grade or a few more hours fighting time and sleep to re-do it. The consequence is torture.

I really liked that ✨️ The smooth mix of something that feels natural and innocent, with something that is anything but.

Would leaving dried tears help?

I commented on this before, but such a sneaky, smart kid. Like the way they think ✨️.

Everyone does, they want to refute. It’s impossible to be perfect. But telling her that would be horrible disrespect even outside of a punishment.

Couldn't be more right. Be punished for not being perfect feels so unfair... like, who doesn't make mistakes? This was something they could barely even prevent, poor kid.

“What you did,” —the teen flinches from just the sound of her voice, hunching their shoulders, flicking their head to the side, trying to be small— “was a careless mistake. A stupid accident that you could easily avoid with a sliver of the intelligence you possess, Walenty.”

First, repeating our talk from before, Walenty is small, but "trying to be small" in this context is such a fawn response indeed, and I love fawn response <3333.

Second. To my understanding, the nib of their ink pen leaked ink/detached. So..... there was really very little they could do about it before it happened. :(

That’s not true since mishaps literally just happen sometimes, but they know what's good for them, so they bow their head like a scolded child. They are a scolded child.

Again, love love love how, despite Walenty being a child, they still pretend to be a child, or do actions that "a child would do".

We see this very little around here because a lot of people don't do minor whump, but when you are a kid and are pushed to handle things like an adult, or go through things that, as a kid, you didn't know how to handle, you end up dissociating yourself into fragments that no longer click together as one. You are, rationally, a child, but have been acting like an adult for safety for so long that actually acting like a child will always stand out in your mind. You feel less of a child in a way of "I shouldn't do this because it is childish" and of "this that I did right here, a child would do", but you still feel just as much helplessness, because acting like an adult doesn't make you one.

Anyway, I don't know if that made sense, I yapped a bit too much. But I think minor whump has an absurd potential, and though I understand many people are uncomfortable writing about it, I wish I could see it more often </3

It hurts. Why can’t they get used to this? Why can’t they avoid this?

Aw, poor kid </3 this is a very common way to think when you're forced to always handle things and be in control, when you actually have no control in a realistic way.

"Why can't they avoid this?" Because it is unavoidable. The one choosing to do harm is the lady, not them, they don’t have any control over this, even though their mind is set on first approaching things in a manner of "what do *I* have to do to solve/handle this".

They hate this. They hate it so much. This is evil. She’s evil. They’re so tired. Walenty lets their eyes close. Lets themselves cry themselves to sleep in a stress position.

(...)

“You haven’t earned your rest.”

Oh this 🏖. Let them rest 😠. Poor kid...

Spilled Ink

walenty masterlist + future link to part 2 of this

Contents: Minor (teen) whump, lady whumper, institutionalized whump, magic/fantasy setting, (non-combatant) living weapon whumpee, conditioned whumpee, secretly defiant whumpee, mentioned whipping and isolation as corporal punishment, mentioned torture for information, emotional abuse and manipulation, pain spell, kneeling, stress position

Taglist: @cryptozoolliegy @chiswhumpcorner (thanks for beta reading!!) @paingoes @loonybun @half-duck @inhurtandincomfort

They hadn’t meant to.

They really hadn’t meant to. They were only tracing the words their past self had left. They pressed too hard by accident. It was an accident.

The accident stared back at them, a black spot surely leaking into the next page. A broken nib. A smeared hand. Itchy coldness on their wrist, air on their fingers, ink spilling from notepad to desk. They were going to need to remake the draft.

Walenty took in an inky-smelling breath, putting a cap over the pen for a start. They’d have to fix it. It’s okay, replacing a nib and ink wasn’t too troublesome. They placed it down on the notepad since they didn't want to dirty anything else. Next, they got up from their chair, stepping to their bathroom. They rinsed their hands. Stacked toilet paper. Ran their hands under the faucet again, and let a controlled amount of water drip from their fingertips onto half the tissue.

Everything’s fine. This trepidation is illogical, they can fix this. They can. They just need to clean it. They walked back, moving the chair aside, soaking up the ink on the paper on the dry tissue and wiping the desk with the wet one. It was already fixed a third of the way, the desk and floor clean, dirty tissues thrown into the bin.

The notebook looked... Well, they couldn’t read any of what they’d originally written, and certainly couldn't decipher it with so much missing. They’d have to fully rely on their memory, then. Okay, not too bad. They can rewrite it. They still have time. It’ll cost them tonight, but they rarely get work back-to-back, so they’d only have classes and homework tomorrow.

For this reason, they couldn’t replace the pen nib just yet, it took too long. It was fine since they had another pen. Satisfied for now, Walenty exhaled, sitting back down and taking a new pen. They had to restore the draft, and then they could continue writing the actual report.

Only... what had happened in the missing blotches eluded them. That’s not good. But it must just be their anxiety, so they set out to fixing their previous pen. They just had to clear their head, and then they could recall this vital information.

They couldn’t do it. No matter how much they tried, they couldn’t remember. They’d tried recounting events, they’d tried pacing, tried looking at things in hopes the words would remind them, yet all they could recall was the bare-bones. Insufficient for a complete file.

They should’ve made a backup of their notes. They should’ve just paid more attention to their grip. They should’ve never made a mistake.

Walenty groaned into their arms.

Hours of work, gone. Barely anything to show for it. They would surely be punished, and it wouldn’t even be unwarranted this time. What would it be? Flogging? Isolation? Maybe one then the other. They’d have to count. They’d have to thank their torturer. Walenty hardly ever made the people they tortured thank them, because nobody pretended it was out of love or some other lie.

They couldn’t fall asleep, worry keeping them awake.

They had to submit it today.

Walenty tried to remember during the lessons, or write during lunch. They couldn’t. The sheer amount of anxiety was surely preventing them from recounting it.

There wasn’t much time left. It made everything worse.

They completed their homework diligently. Stared at the half-assed report. Who would be punishing them for their incompetence?

Would leaving dried tears help?

They tried to recall things at the last minute. Maybe it would come to them.

Their leg was bouncing. They couldn’t think.

All they knew was that it was a criminal of average age — couldn’t remember the number or species — who hadn’t cooperated until Walenty forced him to. They couldn’t remember how. They couldn’t remember the words that were supposed to kickstart their memory.

It wasn’t enough.

Walenty hung their head low, wearing shame on their sleeve. “What is this?” she asks, and they flinch from just her voice. The usual inflection. Better to save their tears.

“..I couldn’t recall the details of the session. I’m sorry.”

“What of your notes?” She doesn’t believe them. She thinks they were lazy.

They could lie and receive a different punishment. What would it be? Spilling ink and losing information could warrant a basic punishment, like a stress position or flogging but they’d have to clean it after. But Walenty rarely slacks off. What would happen then? Maybe sensory deprivation, showing them what it’s really like to do nothing.

Maybe outright expulsion for shirking their duties.

“I accidentally spilled ink when going over them, ma’am.” They confess. “I’m sorry. I’ll accept any punishment.”

Even when not daring to look her in the eyes, they can feel Cecilia’s glare. They clench their fists even when they’re sure they’ve gone white under their gloves, close their jaw so hard they can hear it scraping. Walenty doesn’t dare utter another word.

Not without permission. When it’s like this, protocol is the foundation of it all. A soldier only speaks when spoken to. Her heels click away, and for a second, Walenty hopes it’s dismissal, a promise for the pain to come later rather than now.

Her halting and a jolt that makes them tense assures them it’s not. It was pointless to hope, Lady Cecilia dismissal’s are always verbal. They walk behind her, head bowed. Neither speaks, the only sounds footsteps.

And the ringing in Walenty’s ears, but she can’t hear that.

It’s dim in here. Cold. It always is. The noble has locked the door. The orphan stands in place, waiting for orders. She hasn’t made them remove anything yet. Walenty hopes it stays that way. “It’s always so... disappointing,” she accentuates the sentence with an administration of artificial hurt, and their breathing stops, “—when you forget everything we’ve done for you.”

They haven’t forgotten it. They made just one mistake. An honest one. “I’m sorry,” they apologize regardless, holding their hands together.

“You always are.” Lady Cecilia replies, not even needing to flick her wrist for pain to shoot through them. It makes them gasp this time. “You’re always quick to beg for forgiveness, aren’t you?” Her heels click, click, click until she’s just in front of them. She could strangle them like this. Is that why she had them keep the cape on? “Yet you always make mistakes.”

Everyone does, they want to refute. It’s impossible to be perfect. But telling her that would be horrible disrespect even outside of a punishment.

“Walk.” The high-elf combines her command with magic that makes them see static, and they feel dumb for not realizing that was what she wanted. Walenty steps back. Is she just going to use the earring them this time? It seems like it. She has them remove the cape for just stress positions. Maybe she’ll add something else. Maybe they’ll be left here.

They step back, and back, and are about to continue before she holds her hand up, so they stop. They blink, breaking eye contact from sheer nervousness. The center of the room. There’s chains above them, not modified for Walenty’s height ye—

A too-loud buzz, then pain. It burns yet freezes, stabbing and pulling out the needle and stabbing again everywhere. Walenty cries out, already feeling weak in the knees. They gasp in gulps of air as she just looks at them, then cover their face. That hurts too, some weird resonating spell. They flinch back with an audible cry, losing their balance and falling on their butt. It hurts. It hurts so much, and it’s not stopping, and their heart is racing, and they can’t talk and can barely move.

“What is this?” She reprimands —barely audible over the sound of magic in their ear, but they can tell she needs to shout for them to hear her— and they instinctively shrink, doing their best to adjust to a proper kneel. “Better,” Walenty hears faintly, and the screaming in their nerves stops. They don’t bother to hope that it’s over already, merely hanging their head and breathing.

They can feel their pulse, racing against their chest, trying to get out with every heaving breath. Hell, they can hear it, thumping alongside the long siren that isn’t real.

Even when it’s not active, it hurts so much. They still hear its buzzing, their ears are still ringing, they can hear their own heartbeat and it’s way too fast. It’s so loud.

“Get up.”

They try and their legs give out. “I’m sorry,” Walenty pleads, trying again. She lets them, and they succeed this time.

“What you did,” —the teen flinches from just the sound of her voice, hunching their shoulders, flicking their head to the side, trying to be small— “was a careless mistake. A stupid accident that you could easily avoid with a sliver of the intelligence you possess, Walenty.”

That’s not true since mishaps literally just happen sometimes, but they know what's good for them, so they bow their head like a scolded child. They are a scolded child.

“Are you sorry?”

“Yes, Lady Cecilia.”

“That’s not enough.”

They scream in tandem with the unsaid spell, falling right back down, choking on the sound not soon after. “Ah--” is the high whine that comes right after as Walenty at least kneels. Every gesture matters. They’re glad they used the waterproof makeup today. The student gasps then holds, gasps then holds. In for 1, hold for 2, out for 2.

They put a hand over their mouth as if that makes their shuddering open-mouth breath look any more presentable. They look up. Blink away the tears that have gathered.

Cecilia looks back, her eyes like rhinestones.

“I’m sorry,” they try.

“Get up.” She orders, and so they do, trembling freely. The torture device pierced onto their body buzzes back to life, and they fall to their knees again. Walenty hardly even has the energy to cry out this time, just sniffling. A hot kettle rings out in the distance their auditory system, high pitched but far away.

“Are you incapable of following even the most simple of orders?” She steps behind them, forcing their head down when they try to look.

They don’t know how to answer. What can they say? Of course they’re capable of that, but saying so right now is disrespectful. Saying that no is contrarian, disrespectful too. Saying they’ll learn is an empty promise made by a begger, so she might as well give up on them. They wince at the sound of chains behind them, not needing to be verbally ordered to remove their cape.

They try not to stall for time as they remove their badge, fold their cape, and tie the ribbon around the collar of their shirt this time, but it’s hard to work fast when their hands are shaking this bad. Maybe, if they could’ve just done what they were told, they wouldn’t be getting ready for a stress position.

They position their wrists behind their back, thankful to their gloves and sleeves for making it a little less cold. She steps back and pulls up the lever, Walenty being lifted as the machine does its job, engine humming and manacles clinking. It stops when they’re barely touching the ground with the very ends of their shoes’ platforms, strung up by the wrists.

Neither teacher nor student say anything, staring at each other in the dark. Walenty ponders trying to apologize again. It won’t get them out of this, of course, but their punishment might end earlier if they’re remorseful.

They open their mouth, but all that comes out is an “Ack!” once the torture begins again, and midair this time. They tense so much worse this time, squeezing their eyes shut, hunching their shoulders as much as possible, clenching their fists, something.

It hurts. Why can’t they get used to this? Why can’t they avoid this?

They know this self deprecation is illogical, that it’s not their fault. That some reason to hurt them would’ve been found sooner or later.

But it’s so loud. A repetitive clicking, a nauseating buzzing, thud-thud-thud, burning that’s freezing, static, pins and needles, shivers, Pain.

They realize they were screaming when it ends, and then they devolve into gasps for air, both because they’re out of breath and because they need to regulate their heartbeat before it fails.

In, hold, out. Two seconds, two seconds, and two seconds. In, hold, and out. Three, three, two...

They try to look at Lady Cecilia through their teary haze. She’s watching. She’s only watching. Okay.

In for four, hold for 4, out for four. Again. Their ears are still ringing, aching somewhere in the back of their eyes, but their pulse is calming down. They look away, sniffling even as they try to blink away tears.

They hate this. They hate it so much. This is evil. She’s evil. They’re so tired. Walenty lets their eyes close. Lets themselves cry themselves to sleep in a stress position.

They’re metaphorically shocked out of it, gasping.

“You haven’t earned your rest.”

It goes on and on and on, until they can hardly even scream anymore, just pathetically beg for forgiveness. By that time, it must be getting late, because Cecilia leaves them. She said something, but they can’t hear it with the ringing in their ears, and they don’t manage to ask in time.

The door shuts. Walenty doesn’t know how long it takes them to breathe soundly or regain rational thought.

Magic-fueled pain administration, then a stress position for however-long. That’s their punishment. They sigh into the darkness, aching from both physical effort and the residue of the spell. It’s going to get worse as more time passes.

They’re so tired. In their desperate attempts to avoid this exact outcome, they haven’t gotten even a blink of sleep last night. Walenty ponders trying to nap. It’s extremely unsightly, of course, but they’re usually left alone for stress positions, and they’re going to be sore regardless. Still, they don’t know how long they’ll be left here. If someone walks in and sees them slacking, that’s a guaranteed extension, and they definitely won’t wake themselves up before that with the zero rest they’ve gotten lately.

Walenty sighs again. Now, what to think about to accompany mind-numbing torture...

[asgardian--angels]

things I wish I could relive for the first time again:

that magical window where you finish a new piece of media, having watched/read it all by yourself with no fandom contact whatsoever, and you are just so happy about it, and full of interesting theories and takeaways, and just in love with it as a gorgeous piece of art.

because I swear to god as soon as you join the fandom for anything, you're bombarded with how you're supposed to view characters and their arcs, how you're supposed to morally and ethically judge the plot and the ways it apparently failed to present the right message, and if you don't you'll either be shunned for not sharing the popular headcanons or you'll be harassed for not criticizing the source material enough.

like how is it that the fans of a piece of media are also the ones being the most negative about it? If I like a show or a movie or a book, well, I liked it. That's kind of the point. I'm actually not here to tear it apart and talk about how it didn't live up to standards other people had! I enjoyed it for what it was, and forcing myself to find negative things to say about it doesn't actually bring me more enjoyment of it or reap any benefit to me. Fandom's a double-edged sword; you want to join a community to share your love for a piece of art, and the price you pay for a modicum of joy is a mountain of negativity. that's one main reason that I never engage with fandom until I'm completely done with a show, because if I was plugged into all of that commentary and discourse during the process, I'd be completely colored by how I'm expected to interpret everything this piece of art is presenting to me without being able to even form my own opinions.

[cluescorner]

The most important thing about a Megatron ship is that it cannot end well.

[rustedleopard]

Hate to be a Debbie Downer but I don't think Chujin would like Ben 10 (or at least not be openly obsessed with it).

I feel like if you told him the premise of the show (A 10-year old human boy gains the power to turn into 10 aliens (which are kinda sorta monsters) and he fights other aliens with this ability), he'd scoff and say "This show is an appeal to humanity's naturally violent tendencies!" and "They're indoctrinating children! Humans find the idea of child soldiers entertaining!" and "This show discriminates against monstrous beings!" and all of these other dramatized nit-picks about it, despite the fact that it's a fictional cartoon whose target demographic is tween boys.

(I just think that all monsters should take human media a bit too seriously in one way or another. IDK if he would actually believe that a human could turn into a bunch of aliens with a wrist watch, but I do think he'd take the premise of "a child fights fantastical battles against aliens" too literally. Kinda like those parents who think their kid playing a video game where you kill fictional monsters is "corrupting the youth.")

Now, if you put an episode of Ben 10 on the TV, I do think he'd stop whatever he's doing to stand behind the couch, arms crossed/in his pockets in that "I am interested in what's going on on the TV but not enough to commit to actually sitting down" sorta way. He'd probably scoff and roll his eyes whenever Ben does something stupid because Ben is a 10 year-old and this boosts his ego a bit because "ha, I'm way smarter than this kid, I could see how that action would go wrong from a mile away. If this is how humans are on the Surface, I'd easily be able to crush them. Especially with my serum and Axis." But the split second you catch him in the act of watching, he pretends that he was looking for something in the room and then walks out.

[after-nine-at-the-oasis]

am I the only one who finds myself getting more attached to bucktommy and Tommy himself the more people push against it or

[dennisboobs]

most annoying thing about being me is that i cannot engage with like. any fanon shit about dennis because i'm constantly on some advanced derangement and the stuff i thought two years ago when i was first getting comfy in the fandom is still the way everyone else looks at dennis but i'm like. yes but its Worse than this. you're like a quarter of the way there. this isn't the interesting bit, this is a symptom of it, keep going.

[forestgreenlesbian]

.

[bleaksqueak]

I haven't been online most all day, and now I log in to see AI generated junk on the promotion radar. Ew.

[icewindandboringhorror]

I'm so heavily anti-advertising that all pitches sound goofy silly to me/I can never take them seriously, so I have no idea how I'll manage to to advertise my game even if I do finally finish it soon-ish lol...