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inkburnt · 2 years

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Seven years of friendship with @featherburnt is something special to mark! My dearest friend through thick and thin, you deserve all the love, appreciation. admiration and esteem you have coming, and more. ❤️ Naturally, I simply had to write something all for you! I know this celebration is about us, but this is how I wanted to go. I can’t do much more than write as you know.

I’ve watched your OCs go through it over the years, both the good and the bad, so here’s a little tribute to one I haven’t touched yet, until now—and, by extension, to your fantastic fic! I really hope I did him justice! ;v; I wanted to go with this particularly raw and wild angle, so I hope...yeah, I just hope akslfjdgsf. It’s not a lot and I feel kind of bad about that, but it’s something. And maybe with practice I can feel confident enough to dive even deeper and go bigger. But, for now, a snack. Keep going strong, bestie. ❤️❤️❤️

Teen–Mature // Words: 1,737 Warnings: N/A

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Something was visceral about him. The scowl on his face surfaced without prompt, but that was hardly a novelty anymore. Life had changed too many years ago for the outcome to be any other, and recent years saw all of his grief culminate into something destructive. Something visceral: deep-seated seething. The fire in one's belly was, to him, a thing far beyond metaphor and proverb. And though it started in his gut, roiling and lashing and intensifying every day with the apparent aim to reach a fever pitch, and spurred on his hunger in so doing, it spread to his veins to boil his blood, pump the fire all throughout and fill his size and shape; a blaze to match his image.

A man on fire, if he dared with carelessness.

But at his age, fresh out of his adolescence, there was still very much boy in him and about him, and that helped to make him as raw as he was also calloused. The burns on his skin long healed were fresh as far as memory served; and where they rested to pull innocence out of youth, they went their own way in stoking the angry coals that only inexperienced youth could account for. Wet behind the ears no matter how much fire was expelled. Nothing short of time would suck the moisture out of his mind—so wrathful in how much it craved and languished, but as well unwieldy as his age would only rightly dictate. There was nothing for it. The belief that with torment comes sagacity is flawed when natural age has proven itself time and again the ultimate catalyst for growth. To see the world through a child's eyes will always differ from peering through an adult lens.

The sooner he learned that, the sooner he may heal. Choler and hatred, distrust and vengeance were fine sources from which the steel shielding his brain was forged. Stubborn to a fault, and the fruits were laid bare here. He would not have set himself on the hunt otherwise. In the rains that fled was a salty tang left to smother his nostrils and tease his palate. Black of night covered his haunting form. From his vantage point, all of life appeared infinitesimal. And though he loomed above like their silver-toned towers, he felt about as valued as the dirt-level cretins he once put away in the name of something that was greater than himself. It was souring to live within a cage of flesh and bone that had bowed so willingly to the demons stoking his fire. Something was visceral about that. About him. Strange his hunger, but strong his will as far as holding back in patience. It was for his quarry he hunted steadily for years, and for whom now he waited. It was for the reward he would reap that he exercised some judgment, but the tension in him was fragile and set to break the moment his psyche blew the horn, and he would more than readily dash forth like a hound on the hunt, hot on the trail and hard on the scent.

The buzzing of his brain rivaled the beating of his heart. Like the two, all of the life below him was loud. It was partly for the people he desired to protect that he found himself perched atop a roof none would bother to glance at. The call to take matters into his own hands was deafening even now. There comes a point when justice bleeds into its opposite, the line between need and want, and reason and impulse blurs. What is objective to one becomes subjective to another; but at its core, altruism.

He thought. Hoped.

And even then, there was very little of that left.

Accrued over the years was insult upon insult upon insult to the first injury, the original sin. Not one of his own making, but all the same he would arm himself with guilt and blame, and self-flagellate with both. His hands were bloodied one way or the other, and to a heart drowning in bitter waters he may as well have done the killing himself. The source of all his discontent, the thing that made him malcontent, was breathing and walking tonight. He had been led to believe as much, and he would not chance to lose the trail. So much the child, he wished for death unto those who more than earned it; and he wished it from his own claws and teeth, and he may risk it all in so doing; and his blood may run warm and free when all is laid to rest, but if he should have his satisfaction—closure be damned—then he would deem it all worthwhile. Something was visceral about that. A feeling come from the bowels of the beast, maddened hunger like a dog deprived of meat. Tears had stung his eyes countless times more than the smoke from his body. The latter, however, had been catching up. Which of the two would drive him over the brink? The thought did cross, he did brood over it. The time, however, to preserve himself may have met its end with the nearing of his goal; and, following, ushered forth the coming of a point from which there was no return.

The boy pushed, and pushed hard.

In his gloves his fists flexed rhythmically, clench and unclench—breathe, breathe, listen. In his ears the wind howled; he nearly mistook it for his fire's roar. His guts stirred and his muscles twisted; from deep-seated seething came not only an urge, but a change, and with this change a summer's warm wind that tempted sweat from his pores. The cold of the air melted within an inch of the five-foot-five furnace. Hellfire infernal, the hellish hound its master—and if he was lax in his caution, it would swallow him up again. There was, after all, a reason he feared the powers that were unfit for man; and all the same, as if in arrogant defiance, man made them fit. The boy followed suit, no better and no worse than everyone else who had deemed themselves apt. His dream, in his hands. So where had it gone wrong?

Like a fly, drawn to decay. He waited to smell it on the wind.

Beneath his mask, his face contorted into something better left unseen. No deal with the devil struck for this when willpower was everything and more. Not even the powers that be had roped him down, but vigilantism was a crime punishable anyway; and if not them, someone else was certain to do something about it. No amount of good intent would change that. He had made his peace in that regard, largely. Life had changed too drastically these past few years to afford him any different. To be the lone wolf was easy; but when the fire burns too hot, he can count on no one but himself to put it out. How else to cope but to live day to day, and think of little else but the food he put in his stomach, the muscles he trained to success, and the rogue he happened to come across pilfering someone's wallet. But spring was much a season of beginnings, and as moist as the air had been at this height, it was just as enlivening. In whirling all around him and making a shambles of his tied hair, it was doing some little good in offering him a semblance of freedom. To every side of him, only air. Everything from his soles down was a concern separate, and if he had any less heart in him, a concern unimportant.

A child's heart is yet soft when adolescence ends. No matter the scars it bears, it tenderly bleeds. His hasn't tired of that yet, and he had not wanted it to. Not, at the very least, when it came to a calling he had harbored in his heart. Only recently had he turned away from it in practice, but in theory it nevertheless persisted within. Some things were still greater than himself, and even as he waited on a rooftop with his eyes obsessively searching for the life he planned to take, he believed that there were still greater goods to fight for, and he believed further that he could still do the fighting. Little else placed him atop the city, searching and hunting and hungering behind the mask so cleverly worn. He had a good number of them, and ready replacements whenever his psyche would fail and his front would fall before the stresses of his hunt. To cover his face was not sufficient when something much softer lay beneath, at twice the risk. Something was visceral about him. A boy of deep feeling and deeper instinct, sensitive where he was bruised, fearful when the phantoms haunted, unshakable in his beliefs, tempestuous at his core. A twister from the depths of hell, of fire and brimstone, of meat and muscle, of blood and breath.

Tear them down before they tear into you.

Purpose brought him hither and purpose stayed the fangs. With every fiber of his seething, stewing, storming being he would save all the lives that he physically could with what he planned here, this night. Like a demon pulled from the abyss, smoking and sulfuric, he sought to stifle his prey; and with an abandon diabolical, sinewy and sharp, he aimed to shred to ribbons and tatters flesh and fabric he had been deathly hungry to snuff out. Nothing less than that would satisfy, and this he knew, and it wounded him as much as it thrilled. Visceral, visceral!

Murder in the name of justice was not so abhorrent. Murder in the name of justice was something one could look past, recover from, live with. It did not have to be the end of all things, or the beginning of others. There was necessity in this, the need itself so shockingly organic that it imbued every heated fiber with a purpose unmatched and equally unquenchable. That man had to die! To pay for all of his transgressions—to thwart any other, to secure a future—he had to die!

His scent was on the wind but sight of him reached focused eyes first. The call was sounded, chains unfettered.

“Cry 'Havoc!' and let slip the dogs of war.”

#featherburnt #wow actual writing #gift work #Hurrah for friendaversary!

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luxeavenger · 3 years

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We Can't Go To Hell If We're Already There

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female!super soldier!reader

Words: 7939

WARNINGS: PTSD, BRIEF DESCRIPTIONS OF TORTURE (in section TWO), nightmares, insomnia, angst, emotionsl hurt/comfort, idiots in love, porn with plot, nsfw, oral sex (f receiving), piv sex

Summary: Bucky and the reader offer each other comfort when PTSD and nightmares make it impossible to sleep.

Main Masterlist | Ko-fi

Please reblog/comment if you enjoy it!

——-

ONE

The first nightmare burrows through the walls, and straight into your head.

The shout wakes you from a dark dream of blood and death and pain burning through your synapses like a forest fire. A vivid and torturous nightmare; the scream blending seamlessly with the horrors that play behind your eyelids. You don’t even realize you’ve woken until you hear the slam of a door close by. It’s too benign a sound to be part of the miasma of images haunting your sleep. The screams you hear outside your room are a primal sound that makes you think of nothing but unending, unendurable agony. It’s the noise of someone who longs for the blissful silence of death, but is deprived the luxury of making the decision to end their own suffering.

Beyond your door, the Avengers compound lies silent and still, save for the mournful noises from the neighboring room. Steve Rogers is on the floor outside of the room from which the wounded cries issue. Lamely seated, with knees to chest, and forehead to knees, he starts when your door clicks shut. His blue eyes are wide and brimming with unshed tears. A purple bruise the color of an eggplant blossoms around his right eye, the eyeball itself blooms red with burst blood vessels.

“What’s going on?” you whisper.

“Bucky,” Steve answers. He doesn’t go on, so you assume he’s got the situation under control, almost turn to leave, but a blood-curdling scream sounds from behind the door.

You move to enter the room, but Steve grabs your leg. “Don’t,” he urgently demands.

“Someone has to help him, Steve.”

As a super soldier who was rescued from the Winter Soldier program, you had an idea of what nightmares haunted Bucky on any given night, maybe even better than Steve did. You’d heard the stories of what Bucky had endured, and they were enough to turn your stomach. Bucky had actually lived them. You couldn’t bear to leave him to wrestle with his own mind alone.

“It’s bad though. He hit me, y/n. We fought. I couldn’t even get him to wake up. It’s never been this bad. I tried to wake him up. He wants to kill me. Kept repeating it over and over again in Russain.” Finally his tears break loose, and dash down his face only to stick in his stubble. “It’s never been this bad. Don’t know what to do. He usually wakes up. I can’t get him to wake up.”

Steve is heartbreaking in a wholly different way. A man who loves Bucky with every cell in his body—who’d give his own life to spare Bucky even a single moment of suffering. A capable man who isn’t used to being ill-equipped to handle any given situation. You want to comfort him, but Bucky is more in need of aid right now.

“I’m going in there, Steve. He needs someone. I’ll be fine.” And you would. You were a super soldier too, so even if he broke you, you’d heal. You’d been broken before. Hell, Steve’s eye, a fresh injury when you’d stepped into the hallway, was already starting to fade, the purple dulling to a sickly yellow-green color, the blood spots in his eye already diffusing back into the aqueous humor. A week worth of healing time-lapsed into a five minute conversation.

“I’ll stay out here, maybe he’ll be less upset if I do. Just… be careful. Don’t touch him. It all went to hell when I touched him.” Steve sighs around the weight in his heart.

You slip soundlessly into the room. The air is suffused with the salty bite of sweat, and the coppery tang of blood. Signs of a struggle are everywhere: the dresser canting crazily to the side, desk chair smashed to kindling, bathroom door pulled off its frame, its hinges twisted and mangled.

Bucky keeps his television on at night, the static of white noise is supposed to help him sleep. But falling asleep has never been his problem. What happens in his sleep is the rub. The blue light from the TV makes the blood smudged down the side of Bucky’s face look purple. You can see the cut on his scalp from across the room.

Bucky is curled into a ball in the middle of the bed, bloody handprints drying tacky on his ash grey sheets. His cheeks glisten in the dim light, the sheen of tears make him look fragile, broken. He’s whimpering, making small pleading noises, begging no, no, not again, please don’t, please stop, please no.

You crouch at the foot of the bed, and softly say Bucky’s name a few times. He doesn’t react. You try soldat—if he’s stuck in the Winter Soldier’s memories it might work—but it just makes him flinch and sob no.

Okay. Something different then. “James,” you cheerfully singsong, “James Buchanan Barnes. It’s time to get up. Come on, James. You need to get up.”

Something about the casual way you speak to him cuts through his nightmare, shredding the diaphanous dreams with a machete. Bucky’s eyes snap open, and he bolts upright, scuttling away from you, retreating into the pile of pillows at his headboard.

“Shh. It’s okay, it’s okay. It’s all okay, Bucky. You’re awake now. Shh.” You adopt a soothing tone, hold up your empty hands, trying to quell his breathless fear. “I’m here, Bucky. It’s Y/N, you know me. I’m not going to hurt you. I just need you to wake up.”

He blinks at you owlishly. The tension in his body lets go in increments. Legs uncurl, shoulders climb back down his neck, jaw relaxes, breathing slows to normal. He nods, parrots your words back to you, “It’s okay. I’m okay. I’m awake now. You’re here, I know you, and I’m awake.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He vehemently shakes his head. Squeezes his legs to his chest to armor himself against whatever memories still swim like sharks near the surface of his mind.

“That’s okay.” Maybe someone more familiar would help him feel safe. “Do you want me to get Steve?”

He shakes his head again, hanks of sweaty hair falling in his face. “I just… I don’t wanna-I-I can’t go back to sleep.”

“That’s fine. You don’t have to.”

“Can you stay for awhile?”

“Sure. I was having nightmares too, so I think I’m done sleeping for the night. If you want, I can make some popcorn and we can find a movie to watch?” He nods.

You come back from the kitchen, and Bucky has washed the blood off his face. You help him make a nest for himself on the floor using his blankets and pillows. Not wanting to invade his space, you make yourself comfortable on the floor just outside of his nest. You greet the dawn from your spot on the floor, Bucky curled up in his blankets beside you. He’s finally calmed down enough so tension no longer sings through his body like vibrations through a tuning fork. You’re discussing Return of the Jedi, which is playing on the television, while Steve snores softly just outside the door.

———

TWO

The next nightmare comes three days later. This time—it’s yours.

Hands are on you. All over you. They’re wielding needles and blades, cutting and digging into your soft parts, arms covered in hot, slick red up to their elbows, rooting around inside of you until the pain carries your mind away on a dark, salty ocean of blood. You regain consciousness days later, healed again, and the torture begins anew.

Your body is nothing more than meat, rocking violently when they saw through your tendons, scrape your muscles away from the bone, dissecting you with their too-dull blades. You’re muzzled, but you scream into it anyway, helpless to stem the hysterical outpouring of sound. You try to lash out. You always do. Swinging your arms, the restraints only allow you the barest inch of movement. You scream again, anger and pain bubbling up your vocal cords.

A shout in the dark startles you out of your sleep like a slap to the face. You dart upright, unrestrained arms held up for protection, unrestrained mouth pleading for mercy.

“Y/N, it’s me! It’s Bucky! Y/N it’s okay. You’re awake. Hey, it’s okay. You’re awake. I’m not gonna hurt you. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“Bucky?”

“Yeah, doll. It’s me. I’m here.”

“I-I can’t see you…”

Your bedside lamp switches on, illuminating Bucky’s worried face by the edge of your bed. By the door Steve stands, wringing his hands nervously. You see him there and flinch, hiding your face in the pillow. His stature is too reminiscent of the shadows invading your dreams.

“That’s just Steve,” he explains. Then to Steve he whispers, “I’ve got her, man. You can go back to your room. I’ll let FRIDAY know if we need you.”

You don’t peek out from the pile of pillows until you hear the door to your room click shut. You find Bucky where he was before, but Steve is gone. It lets some of the tension drain from your muscles.

Bucky slowly rises, and you see he’s sporting a vivid bruise over his cheekbone.

“Shit. Did I hit you?”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m fine.”

You swallow, “I’m sorry.”

“Hush. It’s okay.” He sits gently on the edge of your bed. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

A hysterical sob bubbles up from your throat.

“Hey, hey. You don’t have to.” He hesitantly reaches for your hand to offer comfort, “Is it okay if I touch you?”

You launch yourself at him, and he catches you with a grunt. Your arms go around his neck, you bury your face in his shoulder, and release the torrent of tears dammed up inside you.

Bucky makes soft soothing sounds, rubs gentle circles in your back until your tears become mournful sniffles. He scoots you off of his lap to retrieve some tissues.

“Bucky, don’t leave me. Please. I don’t want to be alone. I-I can’t-”

“I’m not going anywhere. I promise. You wanna watch a movie?”

You nod, and use the tissues to clean your face. Bucky asks, “You want snacks? I can text Steve, ask him to bring us something.” You shake your head, content to linger with Bucky’s soothing presence.

Bucky searches through the channels until he finds Raiders of the Lost Ark, an Indiana Jones movie you both love. You curl up on your bed, Bucky right next to you on the floor, his back pressed against your nightstand. The dawn finds you both fast asleep. You bundled in blankets, Bucky reclined on the floor, your hand gripped by his, clinging viselike together in the dreamless space between you.

———

THREE

The next nightmare hits and you hear it all the way in the medbay.

You’re fresh off a mission where you’d taken a bullet to the thigh. It tore through your femur, shearing the bone in two. Bruce assured you that being a super soldier meant that months worth of healing would only take a few days. You also needed skin grafts to cover the ragged, fist-sized exit wound on the front of your thigh, so Bruce wanted you to stay in the cradle overnight. The medbay was so quiet you’d fallen asleep in the contraption.

Bucky’s room is nearly on the other side of the compound. The sound of his hysteria reaches into your dreams, balls a fist into your hair, and drags you back into the waking world. Instantly you start trying to climb out of the cradle, causing Dr. Cho to panic. You tell her, in no uncertain terms, that you’re getting up, and she can either help you or get the fuck out of your way.

She wraps a quick and dirty bandage around your splint to reinforce it, and helps you into a wheelchair. She starts to push you down the hall, but she’s too slow, and you take off, speeding the chair towards your destination with your powerful arms.

Bucky’s door is open already, and Steve is trying to rouse him, but everytime Steve speaks another scream rips loose from Bucky’s chest. You stop the chair outside of the door, not wanting it in the room in case there’s another tussle. Steve looks relieved when you call him from the hallway. He picks you up and carries you into the room.

“Put me on the bed, Steve.”

“Y/N, if he fights…”

“I’ll be fine. Put me on the bed.”

He opens his mouth to argue, but you hold up a hand, “I’m not fucking asking, Rogers. Put me on the goddamned bed.”

He relents, setting you down gently.

You reach a hand out to Bucky, slipping your fingers into his open palm and calling his name. His hand grips yours and he yanks it toward him without waking. You roll over onto your injured leg with a groan.

Bucky’s eyes flutter open at your pained noise. “Wha’…? Shit, Y/N. You’re supposed to be in the medbay. Fuck, I hurt your leg.”

“No. I’m fine. You’re not the one who shot me, so you didn’t hurt anything. Are you okay?”

Steve sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose, “You two are a huge pain in my ass.”

“Yes. Yes we are,” Bucky says with a big grin plastered on his face.

“I’ll be in my room. Let FRIDAY know if you need me.” He exits the room with an eye roll.

“It must have been a bad one. I heard you all the way in the medbay. It’s just one of the many perks of this damn super-soldier hearing. Don’t suppose you want to talk about it?”

“It’s bad enough I have to see the shit whenever I close my eyes…”

“You don’t want to poison the air with it when you’re awake?”

“Yeah. Basically.”

“It’s the same for me, Bucky. It never really goes away, so it’s best left behind in the nightmares.”

“I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”

“Jesus, Buck. That’s a little heavy handed coming from you. You went through worse than I ever did. I’m sorry about everything they did to you.”

“Okay, okay. Enough of that. Now that the apologies are out of the way, you need to get some rest.” You try to argue, but he stops you, “No. Bruce wanted you to spend the night in the cradle. You had skin grafts, and given how fast you heal, that bone needs to be stabilized so it doesn’t mend wonky. If your stubborn ass won’t sleep in the cradle, you’re going to sleep in here so I can make sure you stay still and stay quiet.”

You give a petulant huff at his lecture, even though you know he’s right. Then you start struggling out of bed. “Well then, I’ll go get my blankets and pillows.”

“No you won't,” Bucky says sternly. “I’ll be dammed if you’re sleeping on the floor with a broken fucking leg. You sleep in the bed. I’ll take the floor.”

“Nope. I’m not kicking you out of your own bed. That’s a dick move.”

It’s Bucky’s turn to huff. “Fine. But I want you on this side, so your bad leg is away from me. I don’t want to bump it accidentally.”

You nod. “I find these terms acceptable,” you agree.

Bucky helps you scoot over to his side of the bed. He piles pillows up under your head, and props your leg up on another pillow, then piles blankets over both of you.

He turns the light out, and you tense. “Bucky,” you whisper, “can you… It’s too dark. Can you leave the TV on?”

“Of course, doll.”

You stare at the ceiling for awhile, unable to fall asleep. You’re surrounded by Bucky’s scent. Gunpowder, leather, and a spicy musk; it’s crisp and clean, and uniquely Bucky. It’s a heady feeling to be enveloped in his scent like this, and to have his body heating the mattress next to you. Your chest is full of a curious warmth.

“Bucky?” you say softly.

“Yeah?”

“I feel bad.”

“You want me to get Bruce?”

He assumed you meant your leg. It did hurt, because there wasn’t any pain medication that Bruce could give you that worked for very long, but that wasn’t what you meant.

“No. I feel bad about Steve,” you clarify.

“Why?”

“He wants so badly to help. He doesn’t understand though. He doesn’t know what it’s like at HYDRA. No matter how much we explain it, he’ll never get it.”

“He means well.”

“I know.”

Silence falls between you again, and it’s Bucky that breaks it this time.

“Y/N?”

“Hmm?”

“How much do you remember?”

“I remember everything.”

“Me too.”

The mutual silence is pregnant with over a century of accumulated pain and sorrow. You both know these memories have teeth, and to tamper too long is to risk destruction.

“Buck?”

“Yeah?”

“I promise I won’t let HYDRA take you away.”

“Me too. We can keep each other safe, okay?”

“Yeah,” you pause. “Hey…”

“I’m here.”

“Can you hold my hand?”

When the first threads of dawn spill into the room, you’re both sleeping soundly, dreams unbothered by darkness. Bucky is clasping your soft hands in his, holding them against his strong heartbeat. Bones mend in daybreak’s light, while hearts and minds begin their own journeys as each of you dream of one another.

———

FOUR

The next nightmare doesn’t come.

Steve is taking Bucky, Natasha, and Sam to Belgium on a mission. They’re supposed to be gone for three weeks—if everything goes well.

“Steve, I wanna go.” Steve just told you they were leaving you behind, and you’re already yelling.

“Y/N, I tried to bring you along. I did, I swear I did. I talked to Bruce about it. You were shot less than a week ago, your leg has only just healed, and he’s worried that going back to active duty this soon may reinjure it. I’m sorry. I know you and Bucky need each other, but I need Bucky. He knows his way around these Hydra bases better than any of us. I’m sorry, Y/N, but you can’t go.”

“I told him I’d have his back.”

“I know. And you have my word I won’t let anything happen to him. Our intel says this base has been defunct for twenty-plus years. It’s been sealed shut—no one in or out. No heat signatures. It’ll be completely empty. Sam is going to patrol the woods outside with Redwing, but I need Bucky and Natasha to help inside, there’s a lot of ground to cover, and a lot of computers and tech we need access to. If Bucky doesn’t come it’ll take twice as long. No one will lay so much as a pinkie finger on him. You have my word.”

You get right in Steve’s face, stabbing at his chest with your index finger, “So help me god, Rogers. If a single hair on his head is out of place I will make myself a pair of boots out of your hide.”

Twenty-one days pass about as quickly as a three week long root canal. You’re waiting in the yard thirty minutes before the quinjet is even in Avengers airspace.

When the cargo bay door opens it reveals Steve with Bucky leaning heavily against his side.

“What did I fucking tell you, Rogers?” you yell.

“Whoa, whoa. Easy. He isn’t injured. I didn’t lie to you. The place was empty. He had a bad dream the first night we were there, and after that he refused to sleep,” he lowers his voice, “Y/N, he hasn’t slept in twenty days. I tried to get him to sleep—even just take a goddamned nap—but he wouldn’t do it. I don’t know what he saw, but it scared the shit out of him.”

“Jesus fuck. Gimmie him.”

“How’s your-”

“I’m fine,” you growl. “Gimmie him.”

Steve sighs heavily, but he lets you slip under Bucky’s shoulder, and guide him inside. “I’ll come check on you both after debriefing,” he shouts at your back.

Bucky doesn’t say a word the whole way back to his room, despite you trying to engage him by asking questions about the mission the whole time. You sit his limp body on the edge of his bed and start peeling him out of his tac suit. You’re scared shitless at how quiet he’s being, and your fear turns into anger.

“Goddamnit, Bucky. Eleven days. Eleven days is the longest someone has ever gone without sleep, Buck—I checked! And you nearly doubled it. Are you trying to die? You’re supposed to take care of yourself. You have to take care of yourself,” a sob shudders through your chest, and you finish softly, “I love you, you idiot.”

You’re dangerously close to crying, and Bucky still isn’t responding to you, so you grab his chin and force his eyes up to yours. He looks like a ghost. His skin is translucent, the delicate blue veins that trace over his face are obvious through his paper-white skin. He’s gaunt, as if he hadn’t eaten the whole time he hadn’t slept. His cerulean eyes are dull and empty, and ringed by vibrant purple bruises. It shocks you, and you flinch as if you’ve been struck.

A distraught noise is all you can produce, tears rolling down your face. Bucky blinks at you slowly, eyes still flat and confused, but recognition brings life back to them bit by bit.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah, it’s me, Buck. You’ve gotta go to sleep. Now.”

“Can’t sleep. Dreams are red,” his words are slow and slurred.

“I know, babe. That’s why I’m here. I know how to chase the red away.”

“‘way?” His dull eyes search your face, “Yeah. Red go ‘way.”

He sounds like a child, all innocence and trust, and your heart shatters into a million tiny shards. “Okay, I’ll make the red go away, but you have to go to sleep first.”

He obediently scoots back onto the bed. His eyes track you around to the other side of the mattress. You climb under the sheets, and Bucky grabs you roughly and pulls you against him. His head goes to your chest, and he curls around you like you’re a human-sized security blanket.

It takes one inhale for him to register the vital lub dub sound of your heartbeat against his cheek, with the next exhale sleep has taken him. You gently kiss his forehead before sleep carries you away too.

Steve finds you both hours later as sunset casts a pink and purple blanket over the compound. Fast asleep, each clinging to the other like a life raft. He leaves a tray of food on Bucky’s dresser, with a few bottles of water. He watches you both sleep for a moment, his heart overfull, tears pricking at his eyes. Finally, he shuffles across the hall to his room and grabs one of his sketchbooks and a pen. When he slips out of the room again there’s a folded scrap of paper under the tray with a note:

Y/N,

I’m not a man who apologizes easily, unless I'm wrong.

I’m sorry.

I underestimated what you are to each other, and overestimated my ability to mimic that. The truth is, I understand I will never fully grasp what you have both been through. But I promise that I will never stop trying to learn, or listen.

I also promise never to let you both down like I did this time. Bucky means the world to me, and now I trust that he means the same to you too.

-Steve

———

FIVE

“Buck, you have to tell her.”

“I want to, but…”

“But, what? I’ve seen the way she looks at you when you’re not watching. It’s the same way you look at her.”

“But, what if you’re wrong, Steve? What if I tell her and she doesn’t feel the same way? What if she hates me? God, what if she thinks I’ve been using her?”

“Using her for what, Buck? To get a decent night’s sleep? You both do that. I’ve never seen someone so efficiently put you at ease—awake or asleep—as she does. When we came back from Belgium last week, I was scared shitless, man. You hadn’t slept in weeks. I didn’t even know it was possible to go that long without sleep and survive, even with the serum. I really thought I was gonna lose you. You slept for three goddamned days straight, and she never once left your side.”

“She’s been through so much.”

“So have you.”

“She deserves someone better.”

“Bucky, there is no one better than you. You’re the kindest, strongest, and most genuine person I’ve ever met in my life. After everything that happened to you, and how hard you fought back against all the shit HYDRA put in you, you are still such a genuinely good man. She deserves someone exactly like you.”

“Fuck. I just love her so much, Stevie. What if I fuck this up?”

“I’m telling you, the only way you’ll fuck it up is if you never tell her how you feel.”

——

SIX

Bucky spends the rest of the day in his own head. He’s vacillating between being brave and confessing his feelings to you, or convincing himself that a little of you is better than none at all. That losing you isn’t a price he’s willing to pay. That this small part of you he has now is enough, and he’d be selfish and greedy to ask for more.

That evening he’s detached from the unmitigated chaos that always takes place at the Avengers dinner table. You watch him carefully from your seat between Wanda and Steve. He’s intently focused on the food on his plate, pushing it around instead of eating it. His hair draped around his face like a curtain, so you can’t even see his eyes to gauge his mood.

Feeling strange and restless, you leave dinner early to walk around the compound for awhile. As the sun draws below the horizon you sit by the lake to watch the brilliant shades of the setting sun shift colorfully over the sky.

You often wished you had the aptitude for art that Steve possesses, especially at times like this. It would be such an incredible gift to be able to capture the way the sky looks as the sun drops behind the horizon, or the way Bucky’s eyes crinkle in the corners when he laughs, or the rapt attention on his face when you tell him a story, or the way his eyes glimmer with happiness when your eyes catch his from across the room. You could draw his face a million times and never grow tired of it, never fail to find some nuance you hadn’t noticed before.

But your hands are blunt instruments—weapons—better suited for cleaning guns, throwing knives, and taking apart HYDRA agents.

By the time dusk has fallen completely there’s a chill in the air, and the grass is damp with dew. You feel no less strange than you had before, so you ask FRIDAY where you can find Bucky. Sergeant Barnes is in the common room, she replies. You find him alone there, relaxing on the long couch, in flannel pajama pants, and a blue henley, reading a Neil Gaiman book he’d swiped off of your bookshelf.

“Hey, doll. Is everything okay?” he asks, looking worried.

“Yeah. I’m fine. I’m just… I don’t know. Restless, I guess.”

“You have to guess?”

You snort. “Yeah. I guess I do.”

“Oh-ho-ho, look who’s being a smartass tonight,” his eyes sparkle with laughter. “You wanna watch a movie, doll?”

“Sure. Your room in fifteen? I’m gonna grab some snacks. I didn’t really eat at dinner, and now my stomach is kinda pissed about it.”

“Sounds good, doll. Grab something for me too.”

When you push open his door he’s scrolling through the long list of movies. He’s made a soft and cosy little fort at the foot of his bed out of as many pillows as he could scavenge from the rooms on this floor. He looks comical in the middle of them all.

“On a scale of one to ten, how pissed are Steve, Sam, and Clint gonna be when they try to sleep later and find they have no pillows?”

His lips quirk into a smirk, “Oh, that’s going to be a ten, for sure. Well, probably more like a twenty, since I took Nat and Wanda’s pillows too.”

“Yikes. We may not live to see morning,” you laugh.

You drop the snacks on Bucky’s dresser, and open a beer for each of you. Neither of you could get drunk off of human alcoholic beverages because of the serum, so drinking beer was all about the nostalgia.

You flop down next to him, bumping your shoulders together accidentally on purpose. He bumps you back and you giggle.

Midway though the movie Bucky yawns, his arm coming down on the mattress behind you. A few minutes later it drops onto your shoulders.

You pause the movie and turn toward him. “Weaksauce, Barnes,” you tease. “Is that what passes for flirting in the forties? If you wanna kiss, just ask.”

His eyes dart down to your lips, and heat rushes up your neck. “Ooh.”

He licks his lips, “I’d very much like to kiss you now,” he breathes.

“That wasn't a question,” you whisper before you curl your fingers into the front of his shirt and pull your bodies together.

It starts out slow, a gentle press of lips, then Bucky’s tongue dips out to swipe over your lips. Your mouth opens for him and that small spark sets you both alight. You’re both all too aware of the other’s heartbeat kicking into a gallop as you devour each other.

You draw away first, panting. “What is this, Buck?”

He smirks, “Well, doll, I know I may be a little rusty, but I remember this being called kissing...”

“Bucky-”

“Sorry, doll. Look,” he presses a hand over your heart, “I can hear how your heart speeds up when I touch you,” he runs his fingers down your side to squeeze your hip, “and I can smell how wet you are for me right now.” He sucks in a deep breath through his nose, eyes falling shut, he whispers against the shell of your ear, “You smell so. fucking. good.”

“And I can smell you leaking into your boxers right now. Is this… You want me? For real?”

“Jesus, doll. More than anything.”

This time when he kisses you your arms go around his neck. He leans into you, and pulls your hips toward him so you slide down onto the pillows. His vibranium arm pulls you tight against him, and you gasp when his stiff cock presses against your hip.

“This okay?” he asks, lips still grazing yours.

“It’s very-fucking-much okay,” you murmur, smoothing your palm over the soft cotton covering his broad chest, and curl your fingers into the fabric until Bucky ducks his head and lets you pull his henley off, his dog tags falling loose with a jingle. Your hands go to his bare chest, and a growl rumbles just under your fingertips and he seizes your mouth again.

His cool metal fingers move from your hip to dip under the hem of your t-shirt. He leaves a trail of goosebumps along your skin before his hand cups your tit through your bra, making you moan when the nipple quickly stiffens under his cold thumb. You push your chest up into his questing fingers, and he swears softly, urging you up so he can strip off your shirt and bra. His chilly thumb is replaced with his hot mouth, and he hums around the hard peak. Your hips rock, seeking friction, but only finding it between your own thighs as you squeeze them together.

“So fucking eager.” You aren’t sure if he’s talking about him or you, but it doesn't matter because he’s dragging your shorts and panties down your legs. He gently spreads your thighs wide, drawing warm fingers through your slit, dipping into your wet heat.

“Fuck yes, Buck. More.” You push your hips toward his hand, pleading. Demanding.

The slack-jawed adoration on his face ignites a flame in your core. “You smell like heaven. Fuck, wanna taste you, Y/N.”

“Bucky, please,” you whine.

His mouth lowers to your clit, his sky blue eyes on yours. When his tongue swirls around the sensitive bundle of nerves your head falls back with a groan.

Bucky stops what he’s doing. “No, doll,” he lightly taps your mound, “I’m right here. Eyes on me—wanna see your face while I make you feel good.” When your eyes are on his again he purrs, “There’s my good girl.”

He slips warm fingers inside of you and curls his tongue around your clit. Sucking and licking at the little bud gets you even wetter, slick dribbling out of you with every pump of his fingers.

“Bucky, is it okay—can you… can you use your other hand?”

Quickly, warm fingers withdraw and two chilly fingers press against your entrance to replace them. You gasp as a shudder licks up your spine. “Fuck yes,” you whimper, as the cool digits push into your slick channel, curling inside of you and stroking your g-spot. You keen and let your head fall back again. Bucky smacks the inside of your thigh with his right hand and forks two fingers at his eyes. It’s a stinging reminder: Right here. I told you to watch me. Chastened, you nod.

Bucky gives head with the same energy he has when you spar with him: every movement is quickly and carefully calculated, no effort is wasted. Bucky yanks an orgasm out of you with ruthless efficiency. The heated weight in your core builds, overwhelming one moment, and the next you’re groaning his name, and spilling hot slick over his chin and arm. He laps it up with a hum of gratitude, and continues to slurp at your cunt until your body goes lax and boneless under him.

“Fuck, doll,” he breathes against your mound, “taste so goddamned good. Look so fucking gorgeous when you come. Your pussy is so fucking wet. Want it wrapped around my cock.”

“Fuck,” you moan, “please, Buck. Want you to fuck me. Want you to fill me.”

He quickly strips his pants and boxers and climbs up your body. His dog tags drag lightly over your skin as Bucky stalks slowly up your body. He looks savage like this, an apex predator on the hunt, thick muscles undulating with every move he makes, back rippling when he dips to suck and bite marks your skin as he goes. His fat cock is on display, ruddy, thick, and heavy, trailing sticky precome as it grazes along your sensitive skin as he prowls up your body.

His short beard is shiny with your wetness, and he slips his vibranium fingers past your lips. The earthy flavor of you spreads mellow over your taste buds before he hooks those fingers in your cheek and wrenches your jaw open so he can slide his tongue against yours, his wet beard coating your chin with your juices. He kisses you like he owns you, and fuck if you don’t wish he did.

His hardness slips hot and heavy against your hip, and you roll your pelvis, grinding his cock between your bodies.

His voice is soft and gravelly against your lips when he asks, “You ready?”

“Fuck me, Bucky. Please, just need to feel you.”

“Of course, doll,” he says when he really means anything for you.

He wraps a hand around his dick and drags it through your folds, teasing the head around your clit before easing into your slick channel. He presses his forehead against yours while his thickness stretches you, he wants to stay close so he can devour every little whimper, plea, and breathy moan you make as he fills you.

Finally his hips are flush with yours, and you feel impossibly full.

“Your pussy’s so fucking tight, doll. Squeezing my cock so fucking hard.”

“Jesus, Bucky. You feel so goddamn good, but you gotta move. Fuck me, please.”

He grinds his hips against you, and just the small movement makes you moan. Then he pulls out so just the tip is resting in your entrance and pushes back in with a languid roll of his hips. He fucks you slow and deep, hungry to feel every inch of you, the way your walls quiver around him, to hear you begging for him, moaning for him, the way you whine his name into the space between your bodies.

His dog tags sit coolly between your tits, a stark contrast to the fire his body stokes in you. “Faster, Bucky,” you mewl, “‘m so fuckin’ close.”

“Taking me so fucking good doll,” his rough voice is full of praise. “Feel fucking amazing. Gotta come for me, just once like this, then I’ll give you whatever you want.”

He slides a hand between your bodies to circle your clit, and angles his hips in a way that drags his dick against your sweet spot perfectly.

“Bucky, fuck,” you groan.

“Say it again, doll,” he purrs, dropping a kiss to the corner of your mouth, “Say my name.”

“Bucky, god you feel so good,” you moan, right on the edge of your orgasm is making your voice breathy and needy. “Gonna make me come, Bucky. Gonna come all over your big cock, Bucky. Oh fuck, Bucky.”

He growls and slams into you hard. Electricity sparks through you, and your orgasm rolls over you, assaulting your senses, your cunt clenching a chokehold on Bucky’s dick.

Once you’re able to breathe again, you roll so you’re straddling Bucky. He groans a curse, “Fuck, doll. You’re so goddamn sexy.” You lean back and plant your hands on his thighs, and his thumbs trace intricate patterns over your hips as you start to bounce on his dick.

Bucky feels even bigger like this, and not just his cock, even though he’s filling you so full there’s barely room leftover in your body for breath. His whole body seems larger this way. The way his hips force your legs to spread so wide, the expansive plane of rigid abs, the massive breadth of his shoulders with the beautiful prosthetic arm he wields with such precision, the way his thick thighs expand and contract under your hands as he fucks up into you.

Bucky Barnes is a fucking work of art, and you can’t fathom how you got lucky enough to have him under you, inside of you.

“God, you’re so beautiful, doll,” his hands trace up to your tits, “can’t believe I get to have you like this.”

You put your hands over his, hot and cold and a bit overwhelming, and tell him, “That’s funny, because I was just thinking the same thing about you.”

A smile lights up his face, and damn, the hoops you’d jump through just to have him smile at you like that again. He pulls you down for a kiss that leaves your head spinning.

You twist your hips, and Bucky whimpers. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. I wanna fuck you hard, doll. Want you to still feel me in the morning.”

“Well, fuckin’ do it, Buck. I ain’t gonna break.”

He snarls, one hot hand going possessively to your throat, squeezing hard enough that the world goes fuzzy around the edges. His legs bend, planting his feet on the floor for leverage, and starts fucking into you hard and fast. The room is filled with the rough slap of your bodies colliding, the wet squelches his cock drives out of your cunt, and the breathless pleas and praise you both shower upon each other.

Chilly fingers ghost over your pussy, exploring the apex of your thighs, tracing around the area where his cock splits you open. A cold thumb circles your clit, and two chilled digits force their way into your cunt next to his cock. You’re perfectly, painfully, exquisitely overfilled, and the dam inside you bursts. Liquid heat sizzles through you, lighting up your nerve endings, and whiting out your vision.

It takes a moment for the world to come into focus again, and Bucky chuckles, “Where’d you go?”

You shake your head, “I’m here. I don’t think I’ve ever come that hard in my life.” Bucky’s lap is soaked, and moisture drips down your thighs onto the pillows under your knees.

“Good, ‘cause I’m close, doll. Gonna fill you up.”

“Please, Bucky. Fuck, I want you to come for me.”

He wraps his arms around you, squeezing you against his broad chest, and pistons his hips into you, chasing his own bliss with a groan. Soon his rhythm falters, and he buries his cock deep inside you and comes with a grunt. Heat floods your tight channel as he paints your insides with his come.

You lie together like that for a bit, but you can feel your juices drying on your thighs. You roll off Bucky, and he jumps up to retrieve a wet washcloth for you to clean yourself up.

He stands above you with a strange look on his face. You’re unable to decipher the meaning of the look, so you ask, “What’s wrong?”

His lips squeeze into a line and he shakes his head, “Doll, I don’t think anyone is gonna want these pillows back.” You laugh as he helps you off the floor and into his bed.

You lie facing each other with the sheets gathered around your waists. Bucky looks at you curiously. “What is it, Bucky?”

“I think it’s probably personal, doll. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“It’s okay. If it makes me uncomfortable I’ll tell you—no hard feelings. Deal?”

“It’s just,” he reaches out ever so gently to trace some of the scars that criss-cross over your torso, then touches his chest, which bears many of the same marks. “It’s just that we have a lot of the same scars. And, well, I know how I got mine…”

You sigh heavily, and before Bucky can wave away his question you hold up a finger. “I don’t like talking about it, but I’ll tell you, because you deserve to know.” He nods, so you continue.

“Hydra stole me from my parents when I was fifteen. It was during the sixties, and hippies aren’t big on watching their kids apparently. I was the youngest of a group of a dozen others that were given the super-soldier serum. They put me through tons of training, a lot more than the others, because most of the others were already trained soldiers who volunteered for the program.

“Once they decided I was done training, they sent me on missions. Sometimes I was supposed to collect information from important men—I was expected to sleep with them. Some were targets I was supposed to assassinate. I refused to follow a single order Hydra gave me, no matter how many times they tried to scramble my brain, I refused to kill, refused all orders given to me. I was just a general pain in everyone’s ass. I made one escape attempt after another, and at some point it became one too many.

“Rather than just terminate me and waste all the resources they’d already invested in me, they used me. They tortured me, cut me into pieces to test how a super-soldiers body worked, how much damage we could take, how much they could carve us up and still have us recover. I was the ultimate guinea pig. Over and over again in thousands of increasingly creative ways. They were using me to figure out how to… motivate all of the other assets who may be stubborn enough to resist their programming. They used me to figure out all the ways they could hurt the other soldiers—hurt you—but still be assured they’d recover afterwards. That’s why we have so many of the same scars. They used the things they learned from me, on you.”

You don’t look at Bucky’s face while you tell your story. You can’t stand for him to know you were the reason they were able to keep him in line so thoroughly and effectively. You stare just over Bucky’s shoulder, where everything is wet and wavering through the liquid screen of tears you can’t allow to fall.

“You were part of the Winter Soldier program?”

You nod and a traitorous tear breaks loose and dives off the tip of your nose. “The team knew I was a super soldier—that was unavoidable—but I asked Steve not to tell anyone I was one of the Winter Soldiers. He’s the only one who knows. It’s a lot of baggage to carry around and I guess I thought it would be easier if no one else knew. I’m so sorry, Bucky. I should have told you before… before we… I’m so sorry. You must hate me. It’s okay. I understand. I’ll go.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hey,” his hand grabs your forearm to keep you from leaving, “Why on earth would you apologize to me? What was done to you wasn’t your fault, any more than the things they made me do were my fault. They used us, they tortured us… Hey, look at me,” he says gently, pinching your chin to lift your eyes up to his, “It is not your fault. Not in any way, and I need you to know that. You’re carrying around guilt that was never yours to begin with, and you’ve gotta lay it down before it crushes you.”

You break down, body shaking with the force of your weeping. Bucky gathers you in his arms and pulls you close to him. He makes soothing sounds, but lets you cry it out, because all that pain and guilt has to go somewhere and it’s a burden he’s happy to help you shoulder. Soon you run out of tears, and Bucky gently cleans your face with a tissue.

He presses a kiss to your lips, soft and tender, he pours all of his feelings into the small gesture. “Y/N, I love you.” He says it in a way that suggests he’d pluck the moon out of the sky if you asked him to. He says it in a way that means unequivocally and unconditionally and forever.

“Bucky, I love you too.”

The smile on his face is so incandescent it puts the sun to shame. With one big hand along your jaw he pulls your mouth against his.

Eventually there’s a knock on his door. He opens it, still naked, and unashamed of his nudity.

Natasha barks, “Damnit, Barnes. Put some pants on before you answer the door! Or a towel. Fucking something!”

He leans against the frame and shrugs. “What do you want, Nat?”

“Did you steal my goddamned pillows?”

He shuts the door, and grabs a couple pillows from off the floor, and shoves them out the door at Nat.

A few moments pass, and Bucky’s door flies open hard enough to bounce off the wall behind it. Natasha yells, “You perverts owe me new pillows! Fucking degenerates!” Two pillows fly into the room, and Bucky snatches them out of the air with a laugh.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female!reader #bucky barnes x super soldier!reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes imagine #winter soldier #winter soldier smut #winter soldier imagine #soldat #soldat smut #soldat imagine #super soldier!reader

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jojo-reader-hell · 2 years

Note

May i please have a part 2 of the Selkie reader x Jonathan where Jonathan finds out he has a child.

Yes you may 🥺

“But be not surprised, O man, if events almost always happen very differently from what you expect. That malicious power which lies in ambush for our destruction delights to lull its chosen victim asleep with sweet songs and golden delusions; while, on the other hand, the messenger of heaven often strikes sharply at our door, to alarm and awaken us.”

- Undine

He heard it so often that it was becoming a concern... was he going mad? Was it all a dream?

The seals had been driven from the island, local legends told far too many stories of kidnapped sea brides or the occasional human woman being whisked away into the sea after crying seven tears. There were also tales of the haunting woman running to the woods with her screaming child, howling in agony as the sharp stones and thorns cut at her supple legs, a seal pelt draped over her shoulders as she fled the bellow of a lost bull. Unfortunately the reality was much more harsh. Too much competition for food existed in the ever preset feud between man and beast, and the pelts of beasts made for the best waterproof items that kept the fishermen warm on long, arduous journeys. The seals didn’t dare come to the shores anymore, so why did Jonathan Joestar constantly hear the frantic wailing noise of a pup?

Had he been any less experienced he would have been frightened by the sounds, but they were more curious than anything. Morning noon and sunset the pup would wail, only stopping for a few hours at night, and picking up as soon as a sliver of light began to peek over the line where the sky met the sea. Jonathan would often go to the window, hopeful, afraid... but always went away again when he saw nothing on the shore line.

It worried him when he heard a low, mournful alarm of a bull seal join the pup’s cries in the middle of the night as he slept. He rose from his cot like a cadaver coming back to life, looking around the darkness of his living room.

Jonathan never slept in the bedroom anymore, not since the night he returned to cold, empty sheets with only pearls and shells remaining where his wife once lay with her salty hair strewn about the pillow.

“Jojo…” a mournful voice whisper screamed through the din, and his heart sank.

“Jo…jo…”

Immediately the fisherman jumped from his resting place, running to the window and looking every which way. Expecting to see nothing except the dark sand and the glowing reflection of the moon on the waves, Jonathan dashed to the door and put on his coat, not bothering with his boots as he flung the front door open. He couldn’t ignore it any longer... it had been almost four days. Something was very, very wrong. Jonathan had to help... at the very least try to soothe the pained cries.

The sand slowed him down and sucked at his feet the further he got near to the shoreline. A singular moment he’d hoped he would only see a dead beast with its pup mourning beside it. Another moment later and his heart flopped down into the pit of his stomach. He didn’t expect to see you, laying there in the sand, hair streaked with grey as a little human boy and a large blonde colored bull seal mourned beside your weak body as though they were both in pain.

Jonathan opened his mouth to scream, waking nearly everyone in the village.

“Erina! Erina help!”

...

“She’ll live. It’s a miracle she isn’t completely dried out... but we will need to keep an eye on that infection in her legs.”

Erina emerged after four long, grueling hours of tending to your wounds. The bathtub had truly been the most unceremonious place to put someone injured, but when said injured person was really your selkie wife, it was the only place he and Erina could think to put you. He looked up from his place by the fire. Jonathan’s eyes were bloodshot, his shoulders trembling as he held your dry pelt in his hands like a lifeline.

“Ah…” he didn’t know how to speak. Didn’t know any of the right questions.

“You’ll need to clean and dress her wounds twice a day for the first week. Make sure she’s fed well, keep her water warm and change it when you clean the bandages.” Erina replied curtly.

She was twisting on her finger the modest ring he had given her, and much to his everlasting horror, he watched as she twisted it once, twice, before pulling it unceremoniously and placing it on the table in his small kitchen.

“Erina… I…”

She shook her head, patting Jonathan’s shoulder and sighing. How could she ignore the pain you must have endured? The screaming? You cried for your husband in a low moan, your accented English hard to decipher until she heard the unmistakable whine of “Jojo” as you clutched the sides of the tub. Whenever you heard your pup cry in response, you would call back to him with a piteous sound. It broke her heart… Especially when you thrashed away from her as she tried to treat you.

“We’ll talk about this another time.” Erina said with a soft, sad smile, “Your wife needs you now. Go to her soon, she may need fresh water. And the boy, he must be hungry.”

Thoughtful as ever, she had Jonathan boil some water to make a more sanitary salt water solution for you to bathe in, and wasted no time to fiddle in the kitchen to give some hot milk with honey to the frightened little boy curled up in a chair nearest to the fire.

Without another word, Erina wrapped her shawl around her shoulders and left the cottage. The door shut softly, but with a finality that made Jonathan’s heart throb with sadness. She had been a constant in his life from childhood, one of his only friends who stayed with him since your disappearance, comforting him and cooking for him when he could not find the strength to even feed himself. When the darkness settled into his heart and home, she had been there to fill it with light. There was a fondness in his heart for her.

A soft splash from the tub reminded him again and made his heart cartwheel into his throat. The pelt was warm and pulsing in his hands, and he brought it to his nose to smell the salt water tang of the sea. He may have admittedly thought you were dead after seven years, but even though his heart had latched onto another, he knew that you were always going to be his greatest love in his life.

When he wasn’t fussing and fretting about you, Jonathan couldn’t stop staring at him.

The little boy clutching two pelts had such striking features. His frightened little eyes were a beautiful turquoise blue, much like Jonathan’s, and like Jonathan he had blue black hair that fluffed out when dried with a towel. Rather than pace back and forth in front of the bathroom door, Jonathan often found himself kneeling before the little boy, rubbing the apples of the boy’s cheeks as the little boy trembled in his touch. The child seemed content now and only shivered from the draft, still shooting an occasional worried glance whenever he heard you grunting in pain, and eventually reached out to Jonathan who scooped him up in his arms after swaddling him warmly in furs.

When he saw the fluffy white pelt slide down to expose pale skin, Jonathan held his son a little tighter. There was no more doubt in his heart, not with that beautiful pink star shaped mark that sat on the back of the child’s left shoulder.

“Mmm…” the child whimpered.

“Shhh, it’s alright.” Jonathan crooned, “Mummy is safe. We may go in to see her now.”

“Mmppbt.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle as a singular tear dripped down his cheek. So breathtaking… His son sounded just like a seal does when it blows bubbles in the sea, so precious and innocent of a sound.

“You know, you’re more beautiful than I imagined you would be. I’ve dreamed of you often.” Jonathan whispered to the boy as he snuggled him close, “You have the Joestar features, but you’re certainly your mother’s son. My precious boy.”

“Pppbt… pa… pa… mama.”

Seven years old and he spoke like a toddler, endearing and yet so alien to Jonathan who was hoping the child would articulate normally. But his son simply jumped up and down in his arms, making the sound of blowing bubbles until he saw you. Your son began to bark like a seal, reaching out a small hand to stroke your bandaged cheek as your husband knelt to your level.

“Jojo…” you murmured, your throat sounding dry.

“Hi.” He murmured, kissing your forehead gratefully. “I… I’m sorry darling. I thought…”

“I’m sorry too. I was dying… I didn’t know how else to tell you. I would have… our pup… we wouldn’t have made it if we’d stayed.”

You raised your head up to meet his lips, feeling his softness against the chapped skin of your raw lip. Jonathan’s heart pounded in his chest as your son observed the two of you gravely. He was still holding out the dark black pelt in his hands, and seemed quite frustrated that his wishes were not being respected. You and Jonathan laughed at his serious face, despite the hurt and deep emotional wounds, the little one seemed to be able to unite the two of you in ways nothing else could. You both talked long into the night, your pup falling asleep between the two of you.

…

The locals of the island had many legends surrounding the disappearance of fishermen lured to the sea. Often it was the same one over and over for many hundreds of years. The handsome fisherman who was set to marry a fair maid, only to be spirited away into the night by a selkie and her pup, the three of them running hand in hand into the sea at midnight wrapped in pelts. The legends vary, sometimes a mighty wave swept them into the watery sea, or sometimes they were chased to the water by a golden bull seal. Yet others often speak of the besotted maid whose betrothed abandoned her, and how she forever dwelt in his cottage by the waves with the fisherman’s son, the beautiful boy growing up with a fascination with the waves, often seen playing carelessly with three seals, one in particular with a fluffy white blonde pelt.

Yet perhaps they are just that, only legends that lonely fishermen tell to justify old scandals in this small village.

#jojo’s bizzare adventure #jonathan joestar x reader #jonathan joestar #jjba phantom blood #jojo’s bizarre adventure phantom blood #jojo’s bizarre adventure #jjba x reader #selkie #jjba pb #Jonathan Joestar x reader

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softly-mossy · 3 years

Text

hey uhhh yall order some bt and cooper fluff. cause i’m servin it right now. 1k words, no angst, this is just fluff. moot is here too.

[ao3 link]

He wakes suddenly, jackknifing up with a yelp.

Moot startles at the end of the bed, eyes wide and ears back. When she realizes there is no threat, she focuses on Cooper, crawling up the bunk to get closer. She plunks her head in his lap ungraciously, tail barely wagging, looking up at him with pitiful, begging eyes.

His mind reels. It has been months since...he shakes his head. As long ago as it may have been, it still haunts him as if it happened yesterday. He raises his hands--shaking, he notices, he’s so upset that they’re shaking visibly-- to scrub his face. His palms wipe away salty tear trails as he tries to comfort himself.

Cooper is distracted from his wallowing by a whine. Distractedly, he looks down and makes eye contact with Moot, making her tail wag furiously, thumping against the covers. With a heaved sigh, he slumps over, cradling her head in his hands and touching his forehead to hers.

Just as quickly as she was to offer comfort, Moot wriggles out of his grasp. Her nails click against the floor as she eases off the bed, moving to stand by the door. She huffs, not-quite-a-bark, to get his attention.

Blearily, Cooper looks up. He knows what she wants.

He wants it, too.

“You wanna go see him?” he murmurs, smirking.

The tail thumps against the wall in a quick rhythm, the dog shifting feet excitedly.

“You’re gonna wake the others with your thumpin’,” he scolds, swinging his legs over the edge of the bunk. His bare feet touch the cold floor, almost making him recoil. He is wont to leave the warmth of the bunk, but his nerves demand that he move to ease his anxiety. Quickly, he puts on socks and throws an old MCOR hoodie over his head. Stuffing his hands in the pocket, he plods over to the door.

It opens as he approaches, sensing his motion. Moot immediately shoves past him to get into the hallway outside, nearly knocking him off-kilter in the process. Cooper braces himself against the door with one hand to keep from stumbling.

Moot is already at the turn in the hall ahead of him, waiting impatiently. She does not go further until he nears. Once he reaches her, she scoots ahead to the next turn.

She most certainly knows where they’re headed.

At the final door between them and the hangar, she’s by far too excited to stay still. Darting back to Cooper, she circles around him before dashing back to the door. A bark threatens to escape; Moot manages to muffle it at the very last second.

She’s hurrying him, he realizes. She’s trying to herd him towards the door to make him move quicker.

“I’m comin’, I’m comin’,” he chuckles as he punches in the code for the door. As soon as it starts to sweep open, Moot is wriggling into the meager gap between the door and the frame to get inside. As he follows behind her, he realizes she’s halfway across the hangar already, bee-lining it to her destination. He feigns an air of calmness, walking slowly over to where she stops despite his urge to follow Moot’s lead and haul ass over.

Already, he can see the cyan glow from inside the dock. Struts creak as they’re tested.

“Hello, there,” a familiar, comforting voice rumbles from within. Moot finally gives in and barks happily. A giant hand appears from the dock, moving to gently pat Moot’s head with one finger. It is slow and incredibly careful doing so, aware of how small Moot is.

The sound of his voice makes Cooper instantly relax, the tension bleeding out of his body. His shoulders slump; he consciously makes an effort to stop gritting his teeth. His spine relaxes from the ramrod-stiff posture he had reflexively taken. It literally feels like the weight of his nightmare has been lifted off his shoulders and mind.

As he rounds the corner to look in the dock, he’s met with the same familiar cyan light he saw earlier. BT kneels down on his haunches to be closer to his Pilot, hands propped on his knee joints.

“Cooper,” he comments, optic shuttering as he scrutinizes the other. “You look...unwell.”

Reflexively, he huffs a laugh. Of course BT would state the obvious.

Cooper also knows the Titan will do what he can to fix it.

“Yeah, I--” he rubs his face with his hands tiredly. “It happened again.”

“I understand,” BT rumbles to him. The Vanguard shifts, cracking open the cockpit with a hiss. One of his hands moves from his knee to place palm-up in front of Cooper.

Cooper balks, despite himself. Normally, he simply spends time near the Titan to remind himself that, yes, BT is intact, safe and sound, before heading back to his bunk.

BT seems to have other plans.

“I can tell this was a particularly severe recurrence,” the Titan comments. “Your biorhythms are irregular and your heart is beating rapidly.” He looks straight at Cooper. “I can also tell it will be hard for you to go back to resting feeling as such.”

“So, your plan is to just keep me here? Is there an ulterior motive?” the Pilot snorts.

“Yes,” BT states bluntly. “The ‘ulterior motive’ is keeping you calm and at ease. In your state, the only way that can be done is to stay in close proximity for the rest of the night until your shift starts.”

“You want me to sleep here?”

“That is the idea.” BT shifts his optic to look at Moot. “There is room for Moot, as well.”

Cooper sighs, somewhat-defeatedly. There’s no point in arguing. The Titan is right in every aspect. Wordlessly, he stoops over to heft Moot off the ground and into his arms. She goes willingly, though her tail whaps against his side in this position.

Carefully, he steps up into the offered palm, leaning back against BT’s curled fingers for balance as it moves closer to the Titan’s chassis. BT waits for him to embark patiently.

Slumping into the seat, he releases his grip on Moot only for her to stay put in his lap.

“You’re too heavy,” he sighs, nudging her. “You’re not a lap dog.”

She pays him no mind, snuggling down into a ball and resting her head on the armrest. He knows that, truly, if he wanted her to move, he could make her. She could sleep on the floor between his feet.

He can’t find enough cruelty within him to disturb her.

“Rest well, Pilot,” BT rumbles, the constant thrum of systems working lulling him to sleep already. “I will see you in the morning.”

#titanfall 2 #titanfall #jack cooper #bt 7274 #some writin #i need a writing tag

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milkytheholy1 · 3 years

Text

Lunchtime Blues

Request: so, can you do one where All the turtles are with reader and reader is chubby! One day reader forgot her lunch and the boys go to take it too her but,they see she's getting picked on! They go to save her and they show her that she's perfect the way she is! ^^

A/N: Howdy everyone, this is a platonic story for a start between the turtles and a GN reader. Enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This day was a living nightmare, you'd gone to school feeling a little self-conscious about your choice of dress for the day. You walked down the school corridor, millions of eyes tracing the thick flesh of your thighs and the wobble of your belly when you moved. You began to nervously sweat, your cheeks burning red from embarrassment. You should have never worn this outfit, sure the guys said it looked okay but what do they know? They're turtles for christ sakes.

Lunch wasn't that long anyway, you mapped a course in your head where fewer people would be. As soon as the bell rang you moved faster than lightning, weaving through the large crowds you made it to the cafeteria just before the mobs of younger years came tumbling in. Perching your bag on one of the empty tables, you rummaged around your bag for your lunch. Your fingers dug through your school books and stationery but you couldn't find it, you knew you made lunch since Mikey helped you out this morning when you passed by for a quick visit before class.

Slumping your shoulders, you released a low sigh, guess you were going to starve for lunch. Feeling a presence behind you, you turn seeing a group of girls giggling to themselves, their eyes tracing up and down your form. Frowning, you packed away your stuff that was laying strewn on the table and marched out of the cafeteria doors. Passing by the girls, you could hear murmurs of their conversation "What were they thinking wearing that? And with those thighs too."

"They'll need to starve a few more lunches before looking normal."

"No wonder they're still single, who would want to date that!"

Tears started welling in your eyes, picking up your pace you rushed through the crowds and headed out behind the school. The school had a small garden, mostly where kids went to smoke after the day ended, but at lunch, it was usually empty. Sitting down on the bench, you threw your bag to the floor your hands going straight to your eyes. Maybe they're right you thought to yourself.

"(Y/N)! Thank god we finally found you!" You heard Mikey shout, looking up you saw your four best friends hiding in a bush opposite you. Your eyes widened, looking around the small garden in a panic you didn't spot any other pupils. Walking over to the bush, you bent down a little to talk to them "What are you guys doing here!" you harshly whispered to them. Leo smiled at you "What not happy to see us?" Raph reached back down into the bush pulling out a brown paper bag with 'lunch' written on in crayon.

"You forgot your lunch earlier, Mikey was obsessed with delivering it to you himself, but we decided to tag along anyway." handing you the bag, you carefully opened it to see the small lunch you had made with Mikey. Tears started to gather again at the thoughts that swarmed around your mind, what those girls said in the cafeteria haunting you. Pushing the bag back into Raph's hand hastily, you dashed back to the bench picking up your bag. The others stared at you confused, Raph looked from the crumpled bag in his hands to your shivering form "Erm (Y/N), what are you doing? This is your lunch."

You giggled, trying to suppress any more tears, "It's fine Raph, you guys can have it." you mumbled, rubbing your eyes. Donnie flipped his goggles onto his face using them to zoom in on your face, easily depicting the salty tear trails that ran down your face "They're crying." he simply stated. Leo swatted the back of his head, knocking the goggles slightly over his beak, "We know that dummy." he hissed.

Mikey carefully stuck one of his legs out of the bush, as though he was testing if it was safe, deciding it was his lanky frame flopped out of the bush. He rolled over to you, making sure he wouldn't be seen if he stuck to the floor like glue, "(Y/N) why are you crying?" he innocently asked. Looking down at him, you saw his small smile and wide eyes, he's so baby you mused. Sitting back down on the bench, fiddling with the tattered strap of your school bag in your hands, the others joined you. Raph and Donnie sat on the floor in front of you like little kids waiting for a story, while Leo and Mikey sat on either side of you, Mikey leaning his side against your own.

"S'nothing," you mumbled, using your arm to wipe away the tears. Leo cast a glance to his brothers, they nodded in agreement. Leo wrapped an arm around your side dragging you closer to his plastron, Mikey sliding down with you since he was still leaning against you. Rubbing a soothing hand up and down your arm he began to speak "What did they say?" it came out as more of a sigh than anything. This, of course, wasn't the first time someone had mentioned something about your weight or appearance, and it certainly wasn't the first time the turtles had caught you crying over it.

They had come together one night, without you knowing, and discussed what they would do in the future when things like this occurred; call it a self-help group if you will. They hated seeing you miserable, you were radiant sunshine you shouldn't be crying like a thunderstorm. Donnie clicked some buttons on his vambrace, his eyebrows furrowed as he worked "I can hack into the security cameras and find them, or you can tell us now." he bargained. You groaned "Guys it's really not that big of a deal-"

"Dude you're crying, that's a big deal to us. You shouldn't have to hide back here because of some dumb people." Raph argued, crouching down his hands snaking to hold your own, giving them a comforting squeeze. You sniffled, a smile forming on your lips. A beeping sound came from Donnie, looking over you saw him frowning "What's wrong with how you're dressed?" he asked. You gasped, your frame tensing.

Leo and Mikey looked at you, taking in your reaction, they scanned your outfit quickly you went red under their gaze. Leo shrugged his shoulders "I don't get what the big deal is, you look pretty hot to me." You laughed at his comment, your cheeks flushing "T-thanks Leo."

"Why are humans so mean?" Mikey asked, his fingers and thumb rubbing his chin deep in thought "Maybe they're jealous?" Raph proposed. You continued to laugh, a little snort echoing from the back of your throat, your eyes went wide at the sound. Snapping your mouth shut and imprisoning it under the guard of your hands, you stared at the four brothers, their eyes equally as wide as your own. It was quiet for a moment until you all broke out into laughter, Leo having to wipe a tear from his eye because he was going so hard.

"Will you eat your lunch now?" Donnie asked, taking the brown bag and waving it in your face. You looked up still trying to calm yourself down "Huh?" you hummed out, Donnie shook the bag a little more obnoxiously "Well you need to eat, otherwise your brain won't be at full capacity and obtain information more clearly-" he began to ramble on. Mikey leaned up from his slumped position next to you, snatching the bag away from Donnie, like he even noticed, he held it up to you "And it's super delicious, Chef's promise."

You couldn't help but smile at the poor innocent bean in front of you, gently taking the bag from his grasp you sighed "Fine, I'll eat it BUT only if you guys eat it with me." you mused. They gazed at one and another, no one made a move till Raph shrugged his shoulders, his form relaxing, "What the shell, why not?"

That lunch you spent sitting in a quiet garden with a group of people you trusted with your life. Who cared what others thought of you, you only cared about the people...well turtles in front of you thought, and you knew after today that they thought very highly of you and that they would be prepared to do anything for you. Even after everyone went home, they'd spend their night looking for the girls that teased you, Raph would even use his batman voice to scare them a little.

Since then, they've never picked on you since.

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cutesycadaver · 3 years

Text

Pellets

And now my creepypasta parody of Cupcakes (Mlp)

Content warning/violence, torture, Cannibalism, death, twists

After their plan had blown up in their faces, Brain was ready to collapse. He was lying on their sponge bed while Pinky was messing around on a lab computer. “Brain, come look!” He called, He begrudgingly got up from their bed, feeling quite sore. “What is it Pinky?” Brain grumbled “I found this video Reading Cupcakes (creepypasta) it’s about Pinkie Pie! Though cupcakes and haunted spaghetti sounds strange.” Brain looked at the screen, the video showed a cupcake with rainbow frosting “How do you know it’s about Ms. Pie?” Brain already knew Pinky was amazed by the horse he shared a name with but the video didn’t seem to directly state anything regarding her. “Oh, She was on the front but her mane was really straight and flat and her eyes were so small, poit.” Brain was growing suspicious “Pinky don’t you believe this seems...sketchy.” “Maybe but it’s Pinkie, It’s gotta be fun fun silly willy! Let’s watch it together!” Brain was hesitant “Alright” he mainly wanted to be there to turn off if (more like when) it turned sour.

At first it seemed like Pinkie Pie came seeking Rainbow Dash wanting some help making cupcakes, but took a gruesome turn. The problem being both mice were entranced and couldn’t get themselves to stop the video before it was too late. When the video finally ended there was a minute of absolutely nothing. They had wrapped themselves tightly together, both shaking. “B-Brain?” Pinky stuttered, shattering the deafening silence. “Yes, Pinky” Both mice sounded rather dreary “I-I’m s-scared” “I know you are.” Brain couldn’t get himself to admit he was too. “We should get to bed regardless.” The smaller mouse trying to regain his typical demeanor. He broke away from the embrace quickly, standing up. “O-ok, I mean ok, narf” Pinky attempted the same though his narf was far less enthusiastic than it typically was.

The two curled up next to each other, far closer than normal. “Pinkie isn’t really like that is she?” Pinky asked genuinely “Of course not, Pinky, it was just a story. You know Ms. Pie is just like you.” Brain rubbed his companion’s arm in an attempt to comfort him. “Just like me?” “Yes.” Suddenly the fatigue he felt earlier hit him like a truck. “We should sleep Pinky” he yawned “Ok Brain” he sheepishly grinned. Brain’s eyes slipped shut, his last sight was his still quite awake cagemate, seemingly content though.

Brain awoke with a start, though the cage was still quite dark. Now that he thought about it, was he in the cage? He seemed to be suspended upright in the air by ropes tied to his wrists and ankles. His heart began to race, What was happening? Where was he? “Pinky?” He called out, concern flooding his tone. “Oh, you’re awake sleepy head!” A familiar cockney accent giggled calmly “Pinky, you’re ok! Where are we? What’s happening?” Brain couldn’t see anything but Pinky was near, that was good “This is my workshop you silly goose. And your number came up, you get to join the party!” Workshop? Number? Party? Before Brain could voice any of his inquiries the lights flickered on. His eyes couldn’t believe it. There were tables with various painted mouse skulls as centerpieces. Balloons made of livers and kidneys and stomachs were all around . Streamers of intestines lined the top of the walls of the gritty basement Brain was in. “Welcome to the Party, isn’t it fun fun silly willy that I finally get to work with a friend!” Pinky appeared in front of him, donning a fur coat made of squares of, all too familiar, whites, grays and browns. “P-Pinky cease this foolishness at once.” Because that’s all it was, an elaborate prank, a stupid joke. “But I can’t Brain, it’s my job. And a job is a job is a job and I gotta do it, troz.” “What job?” “To turn you into food pellets, Brain.” He paused “Pinky this isn’t funny!” Brain shouted struggling against the restraints. “Well cause it’s not a joke Brain.” Pinky giggled. As Brain moved trying to free himself, he caught eye of a table with various tools typically used by the surgical scientists. It wasn’t a joke.

“Pinky, I-I’m sorry. I-I’ll be better, no more bad names, we’ll play the games that you like...every other night. We’re friends, Pinky, you can’t do this.” He pleaded, whatever would make him change his mind, anything “Brain, I already told you it’s my job” no no he needed more “Pinky I...I” he needed to force the words out, his life did depend on it “Pinky I love you! I always have, please, let me go, I’ll keep quiet, I’ll love you forever. No one will know I promise.” Pinky stood in shock for a moment, then lovingly looked at him “Oh, Brain!” He swooned, he came closer. Brain crashed their lips together in a hopeful deep kiss. “Zounds, Brain! I’ve never gotten a goodbye kiss before. Oh, Thank you it was so sweet. This batch is sure to be good.” Pinky pulled away seeming giddy but Brain’s hope died as his friend spoke. “Pinky...but…” “Aren’t you a smarty Brain, I told you it’s my job, zort.” His gleefully expression drooped. “I don’t make the rules, Brain. I really wish I did but your number came up and those are the rules.” Pinky shrugged “Pinky…” Brain started not entirely sure what he would say “Wait Brain, I just remembered something.” Pinky ran off to another part of the room. Brain’s immediate thought was to think to escape but then if he did what would he do, to hide from Pinky, with the knowledge of this, to cope, with his life.

Pinky was back as soon as he left, hiding his hands behind his back. “Brain guess who’s here to see you?” Pinky asked gleefully, Brain stayed in silent confusion raising an eyebrow “Hey Brain, it’s me Snowball, let’s ditch the dummy and take over the world together.” Pinky said in a poor impression of the hamster. He waved around a skull reminiscent of Brain’s own head. Brain gasped, he and Snowball were enemies but the knowledge he was dead made him sick. “I know he didn’t have a number like everyone else” blue eyes stared into the empty sockets “but when would I be able to try hamster meat again. I remember you liked them, said they were slightly more salty. Troz” Brain remembered the taste so vividly now in utter disgust. At the time the fact that the food pellets seemed to change two days after he defeated Snowball didn’t mean anything. Now it meant everything. This dawned the revelation that he was eating mice on the regular. Nausea took over his senses, Brain wanted to pass out.

Pinky studied the look on Brain’s face, then seemed to snap his attention to the table of tools. “Oh, Brain, We’re getting behind, we should get started.” Brain swallowed hard, he wanted to voice more pleas for escape but couldn’t force the words out. Pinky picked up a scalpel “I should get your fur patch first so it does get all icky and red, narf!” The tick that usually gave Brain mild irritation or silent bliss now sent puncturing fear and disbelief through his veins. Pinky went to his back and, with the scalpel, lightly cut a heart. When he got to be about the full size of his back, he placed the scalpel where he started, pressing further into the flesh. “Nyaaaaaa!” Brain writhed, the cold blade sliced through his back. Pinky traced the heart carefully, cleanly cutting the skin. Blood started to run down from the bottom of the heart. Brain instinctively struggled against the searing pain. “Brain, stop moving, I’ll mess up the cut.” Pinky complained, Brain forced his body to comply, with the hope Pinky might spare him with mild injuries if he behaved. Taking deep breaths to try to slow his heart, even though he knew it wouldn’t do much. Pinky had completely traced his work, setting the scalpel down, he placed a hand at the top of the heart and slowly peeled the flesh from his friend’s back. Brain stiffened, eyes widened, he let out a small squeaky cry, a single tear rolling slowly down his cheek. He forced his eyes closed to prevent more tears. Pinky eyed his work, satisfied with how it came out. He walked around to face Brain and show him the pelt. “Oh Brain it’s perfect! I made yours special, it’s heart shaped. I usually make them squares.” As Brain tried to open his eyes a wave of agony washed over him as the air pushed against the open wound.

Pinky went to place the pelt somewhere else in the room. Brain steadied his breaths trying to ignore the pain. He realized just how out of control of the situation he really was. He pondered the irony of his demise. It was almost funny. Almost. “ I’m back, zort” Pinky greeted, his usual cheery tone felt foreign in Brain’s ears. The lanky mouse went over to the tools, grabbing a simple kitchen knife. “Now for your ziggy-zaggy tail.” Pinky went behind Brain, wrapping a hand directly under the first bend. The contact would be sensual if not for what Brain knew what was coming. Pinky slammed the blade down, creating a red slit at the base of his friend’s tail. Brain writhed as the agony jolted through him. Pinky took a couple more strikes. Lingering on a third to slide the knife through the cut, as he wasn’t making progress. Brain let his tears flow freely, he quite literally had nothing left to lose. Pinky struck the tail again, it did nothing. “Guess I forget to sharpen it.” Pinky dropped the knife on the table. He picked up a hack-saw “Brain, why do they call it a hack-saw, it doesn’t hack, that’s what I was doing with the knife, it’s a saw poit.” Pinky giggled, Brain quietly sobbed. Pinky grabbed the tail again “Pinky?” Brain sniffled “Yes Brain” “I want to go home.” This was pathetic, he was pathetic and he wanted to be alone. “I feel like that sometimes too but I gotta finish a job zort.” He placed the saw in the cut “Oh, Like how we do with your plans, we never really finish but we get as far as we can before we fail.” Pinky pushed the saw, cutting through the flesh. “You know, Brain, I don’t usually keep the tails, but yours is just so special I had to!” Pinky giggled but soon the sound of grinding flesh and bone was the only sound that filled Brain’s ears. Pinky sawed through the appendage until it was only attached by a bit of flesh “Hey Brain, think fast poit!” He didn’t have time to register what Pinky said before his tail was ripped away from his body peeling a long strip of skin from his back with it. Brain couldn’t handle the pain slowly passing out as it surged through him.

Brain felt a small pinch before awareness filled his head. “It’s very rude to fall asleep when your friend is hanging out with you, you know.” Pinky reprimanded “I mean what I fell asleep in the middle of a plan, ‘Sorry Brain, you’re just sooooooooooo boring.’” Brain looked up about to make his own snarky remark before noticing Pinky was chewing on something, flashing a curious look. The lanky mouse took notice. “I needed to try some so I took a sample from your leg. Want some?” Pinky shoved a small piece of meat into the shorter mouse’s mouth. Brain spit out the chunk of his own flesh. He shuddered at the fact it tasted good. “You could have just said no, it’s not like you haven’t eaten the food pellets before.” Pinky said surprisingly curtly. “Ahhhhhh!” Brain finally felt the wound on his thigh, for where the “sample” had been taken. He started to sob as he fully remembered the earlier events. Pinky started to laugh “You really should have seen this coming Brain, it says I’m insane in the intro.” Brain’s expression twisted into a scowl. “Oh you’re cute when you’re angry but for falling asleep, I’ve got a surprise.” Pinky walked away leaving Brain very confused.

He came back with a nail gun. “Pinky...what are you doing?” Brain said, faking his sternness and attempting to swallow his fear. “You’ll see!” Pinky giggled, turning on the power tool. He knelt down to be eye level with Brain feet. He struggled against the restraints once again. “Pinky!” He reprimanded, he was ignored, the nail gun pressed against his left foot. Brain’s heart sped up, his breath hitched, his fear became known once more. “Please...don’t…” he whimpered weakly, he was ignored again, a nail shot through his foot. “Ahhhhhhhhhh!” The immediate pain of the puncture registered first but it was soon realized that the nail was burning the flesh surrounding it. He was using heated nails. Boiling blood ran off his foot and onto the rope that held it in place. Pinky went to the other foot as Brain writhed. The second nail went in, cauterizing the wound it formed. Fresh tears spilled fast and freely as another scream could be heard, Pinky giggled. He walked away, probably to go get something. Brain heard Pinky’s sadistic laughs, wondering if this really was the adorable goofball he fell in love with.

Pinky walked back towards him, heading towards something behind his tool table, a bundle of wires in hand. Brain couldn’t quite see what he was doing but Pinky appeared to be attaching the wires to something. He walked back in front of him, holding the ends of two wires. “Oh Brain I think you’ll find this next one quite shocking, narf!” he laughed “Pinky please, I’m sorry you...you don’t have to do this.” He pleaded softly, the nails still deliriously painful “You shouldn’t have been such a sleepy head Brain.” Pinky’s tone was casual “Don’t you bop me when I do something stupid?” “I-I thought you liked the bops?” “Oh I do Brain! They feel funny and make me get all…gooshy!” Pinky giggled, his eyes going half lidded and a bit of drool dripping from his mouth. “Don’t you love me, Pinky?” The mouse in question blinked out of his lovesicktrance “Well of course Brain, you’re my best friend!” Pinky hugged him, making all his wounds sting, including the one in his heart “Than why…” “Because! It’s! My! Job! And these are the rules. I know you don’t always get it when I say silly things but this isn’t silly. You tell me I gotta do my job and do it right all the time!” Pinky seemed to grow very angry on a dime, tying the wires to the nails “If you really loved me you wouldn’t do this!” Brain shouted, more pain than actual anger. Pinky walked over to where he before “You need to calm down Brain this might help.” A mischievous gleam in his eyes, he pulled a lever. Suddenly a strong electrical current coursed through Brain’s entire body. His muscles tensed, the pain unbearable and unchanging, the screaming uncontrollable and straining. Brain finally felt his body lost consciousness even though he tried to force himself through theare pain.

Another needle pinch in his abdomen before the awareness and trepidation came flooding back. “I’M SORRY! Pinky, I’m sorry.” Tears filled his eyes, wishing for mercy “Hush, It’s time for the harvest, this part’s my favorite, narf!” Pinky took a scalpel and pressed it deep into Brain’s sternum. The blood trailing down either side of his chest. He pulled the scalpel down his stomach. Pinky giggled at Brain’s screams. Peeling open the flesh to reveal the organs underneath. “Now to separate the good stuff from the bad stuff this is so fun fun silly willy! Like your plans, oh your plans. I’m sorry Brain you never got your world, didn’t you?” The sentiment sounded sincere yet demeaning “Pinky…” teary eyes looked into a sea of horrible sadistic beauty “Pinky you are my world.” Brain said in true defeat. He supposed it made sense that his world would end him. “Oh Brain, you stole my heart.” Pinky looked at his surgical work. He recklessly shoved his arm into his lover's ribs and pulled the aforementioned organ from Brain’s writhing body. “Now I stole yours ha ha ha narf!” With one last breath Brain’s eyes slipped shut.

Brain awoke a start, in bed, he was in bed. Brain was back in the cage, it was morning. He looked beside him, Pinky wasn’t there. “Pinky? PINKY!” panic filled his voice. “You’re awake! Brain? Are you ok?” “Y-you strapped me to a table! I-in a basement with dead mice everywhere! A-and you turned me into food pellets!” He spoke frantically “Brain that’s Rocket to Insanity silly.” “Huh?” “Rocket to Insanity, that’s the one where Rainbow Dash dreamed up Cupcakes and then goes to Pinkie and stabby-stabs her. Wait, you’re

not gonna stab me are you, Brain?” The smaller mouse looked at his friend in relief then processed his question. Without another moment his lips were locked with Pinky’s. “So that’s a no?” “I would never stab you, Pinky.” He stated gently “And you’re an idiot for ever thinking I would.” Brain quipped “There’s my Brain!” Pinky hugged him “I love you Pinky.” If that dream made anything clear it’s that those words needed to be said. “Really Brain?” Blue eyes gleamed hopeful “Yes, Pinky, really.” Pinky pressed their lips together. “I love you too.”

#pinky and the brain #patb #animaniacs #pinky x brain #brinky #mlp #my little pony friendship is magic #pinkamina diane pie

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haunted-plush · 8 months

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I need explicitly rated content with Winter King and Simon on ao3 so fucking bad

#salty haunts your dash #fionna and cake #fionna and cake spoilers #simon petrikov #winter king #simon x winter king

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nonasimming · 3 years

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🌺GET TO KNOW ME TAG 🌺

tagged by @gumdropsimstop tysm 😊

rules: answer the questions and tag 9 people you want to get to know better

favorite color: I really like blue and white because I'm boring because they go with everything, but I also have an embarrassing amount of pink things lol

currently reading: The Little Prince (very rarely), some required reading for my Coursera course, some optional reading for my post-grad (also very rarely lol), and @tainoodles berry legacy posts.

last song: It Just Is by Eaj x Seori

last Series: Uh last one I finished was a K-drama, Sell Your Haunted House, and I'm currently watching a ton (Bungo Stray Dogs, Lawless Lawyer, The Good Doctor, The Chair)

sweet/spicy/savory: I have a sweet tooth that needs to be followed by something salty lol plus spicy on every savory dish. Hot sauce, chili powder, chili flakes, garlic chili oil, all of it are necessities.

craving: Just k-barbeque in general since I really like grilled meats and spring onion kimchi

currently working on: getting back to grad school,

Tagging: everyone I see on my dash 💕 u all rock and i wanna know more about you all.

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itzagothamcitysiren · 4 years

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Welcome to the Family

So yesterday was Tim’s birthday and I had planned out a fic for it BUT I’ve been working a lot and just hadn’t had the time to sit down and write it out. I had kinda forgotten about it and when yesterday came around I was annoyed BUT I was given this idea after going out for the day with my niece.

We had drove by a Red Robin after eating somewhere else and I was mad salty, cause yesterday would’ve been the perfect time to go. Then for dinner we ordered take out and I kind you not, our delivery driver was named Timothy. Like what the hell? lol, I was dude I need to write something now.

So today after work I sat down and wrote this. It’ll be three parts, taking place after my mother’s day story. I’ll post up part one and two tonight, and once I finish three I’ll post it tomorrow hopefully :)

Tell ‘Em That It’s My Birthday pt. 1

“What day is it?!”

Halley’s voice seemed to shriek through the room, causing her now startled teammate, Kori Anders, to jerk her head up from her laptop. The girl’s off guard silence caused Halley to go bug eyed, repeating herself but more frantically. “The day! What day is it?”

The alien princess stared up at the wide eyed brunette unsure as to why the younger girl was so frantic suddenly. The coffee mug she held paused as it touched her lips and now was being held still. Cocking an eyebrow up, Kori gave her a soft and hesitant response,

“Monday?”

“Yes, I know its Monday. The date, I mean the date!” Halley shouted back, using one hand to run it through her hair as the other reached for her phone that she had tossed across the couch only seconds ago.

It was only minutes ago that the device was being held in her hands. She had been ordering herself and her team dinner from their favorite Thai place via Door Dash, it being her turn as Kori treated them to an array of Sushi the a few nights ago. She had found herself chuckling at the realization of the name of their Dasher. His name was Timothy and she couldn’t help but think back to yesterday when she and Kori were out on one of their many shopping trips. They had drove past a Red Robin and she had joked about how if they hadn’t already eaten lunch that they should’ve gone there and taken a picture outside the sign and send it to her Tim.

Why hadn’t it clicked then, she cursed to herself once her phone was in her hands. She let out the loudest groan she felt like she ever had when the date haunted her vision. It was July 20th; fucking July fucking 20th, she cursed to herself again, furiously rubbing her face with her hands as the phone dropped back down onto the couch. She was literally the worst sister in the entire universe.

She had been so consumed with her own life that she had completely spaced that Tim’s birthday was yesterday. She’d never done so before. She had never forgotten a birthday or any day of importance; she’d always made sure to leave herself reminders and be on top of stuff like that. Of course there were times where she would let certain things sneak up on her but she usually had a pretty solid excuse for days like those. But now that she was officially graduated from college she had no other big obligations to keep her truly and utterly distracted.

Sure, she was offered a job at the Gazette, but she didn’t have to start until the fall when they had a spot for her open. One of their tenor reporters was moving to Metropolis around then and Halley was more than okay with being able to take the summer off until then. Kori had asked for her help with getting the new Tower back up and running so it was ready for their new team of recruits.

The team of Titans she knew were mostly disbanded, having gone off to do their own things or another, a new team, a team Tim was a part of, taking over their Tower. Now Dick was in Bludhaven, Hank and Dawn giving up the hero life, Victor now joining the Justice League and Wally and Roy off somewhere no one really knew. Kori had reached out to Halley, asking her to help train her new recruits; Halley agreed and had been here for the last two and a half months.

But this was Tim. How could she just up and forget his birthday?

“Fuck, fuck, I need to call Tim,” She let her hands drop and grabbed her phone once more.

Going to her favorites, she clicked on the second name, dialing his number within seconds. She tapped her fingers against her thigh nervously waiting for the other line to be picked up. Her heart dropped when it had only been brought to voicemail. She didn’t wait to leave a message, hanging up and calling again. The phone brought her straight to voicemail.

He was ignoring her, she gulped.

She held the bridge of her nose, pinching it as she listened through his voicemail, waiting for the beep before opening her mouth to speak. When the beep rang she found herself unsure of what to say. She couldn’t just wish him happy birthday a day late through a voicemail. Biting the inside of her cheek she quickly composed herself, saying, “Hee-hey Tim. Uh it’s me, Halley er-. Look, can you call me? Please? Okay, love you, bye-,” Stupid, she hissed to herself as she hung up.

“Well that was almost as hard to listen to as Garfield when he flirts.” Kori chuckled, watching the girl hang up the phone and let her head drop into her hands.

“Shut up.” Halley spat but was muffled by her hands. She took her head out of her hands, leaning back into the couch and looking up at the ceiling.

Maybe he wasn’t actually in Gotham. Maybe he was with his own team of Titans. Yeah, maybe he was. And maybe he was on a mission and that’s why he couldn’t answer the phone. No, she frowned. She knew that he was in Gotham. Steph had sent her a snap a few days ago of the two of them out at Bat Burger. Wait, she though, bringing the phone back up to her ear. She dialed the blonde’s number but was met the same fate as with Tim’s.

“Ugh they hate me!” She cried out, finally meeting Kori’s eye. “I forgot about Tim’s birthday, Kori. He’s hates me now.”

“Tim would never hate you.” Kori rolled her eyes, waving the girl off and turning back to her laptop and work. “He looks up to you. He’ll understand that it just slipped your mind.”

“Yea but it shouldn’t have slipped my mind. And he’s clearly mad since he’s ignoring me!” Halley yelled, standing up. “Let Gar or Jaime have my plate; I need to catch a flight to Gotham.”

“Halley, wait a bit for him to call you back, don’t just jump on a plane.” Kori squinted at her, noting how similar to Dick she had gotten over the years. He had done the exact thing to her once, way back when she hadn’t answered her phone.

“No, you don’t get it, Kor, we always remember and I can’t believe I forgot.” She frowned, grabbing her phone and heading out of the common room as quickly as she could.

She was so mad at herself. She knew that Tim wasn’t one to just ignore people and send them right to voicemail. She knew he was mad and she was worried that if she waited for him to call her back it would take a couple of days. Halley wouldn’t wait that long, already trying to think of an apology as she looked up flights on her phone as she power walked to her room.

As her head was buried in her phone she found herself walking into a hard chest, instantly looking up with narrowed eyes. In front of her stood one of the last members to join the Titans before the newest kids and Halley showed up. The firm chest of the Atlantean sidekick stared her straight in the face as she slowly craned her head up to make eye contact with his purple eyes.

“Hey Garth, sorry” she said offhandedly, side stepping and moving to walk around him. She frowned when she felt his hand reach out and grip her upper arm, making her stop. “Come on, I gotta go. I have to go to Gotham; it’s an emergency.”

The Atlantean frowned his playful smirk now showing concern as he let go of his grip. He began to follow her to her room, walking a few steps behind. “Is everything okay? Do you need me to go with you?”

“I don’t think the Batclan will want an Atlantean in Gotham. No offense,” She smirked at him, looking him up and down. She pressed down the hall further, “But no, it’s not that kind of emergency. I’m an asshole and forgot Tim’s birthday.”

“You are an asshole.” He teased, stopping behind her when they reached her door. He laughed, raising his hands up in surrender and protection when she turned around to smack him. “Hey, I’m not the one who eats their boyfriend’s kind.”

“I said I was sorry about that!” Halley snapped, giving him a playful push before opening her door. She didn’t bother to close it, knowing he’d just follow her in anyway. “I told you I would be more mindful; I ordered Thai food tonight, no fish.” She pointed out, laughing at the incident that happened when Kori bought them all home sushi a few nights ago. The Aqualad was less than thrilled about her choice and even less than thrilled when Halley openly dug into roll after roll in front of him. “Also, you aren’t my boyfriend last time I checked.”

He watched her as she moved to her closet, pulling out a Superman backpack and throwing random articles of clothing into it. His face flashed from frisky to almost jealous, her words throwing him off as he had already assumed they were a thing. They’d met years ago when they were teenagers and Garth would be lying if he said he hadn’t gotten a crush on her back then. But he had only been with the Titans for one mission back then and quickly went back to Atlantis. When he was offered a full time spot on their roster he was excited when he found out Halley would be joining them for a few months.

It took some time but the pair hit it off, Halley at first reluctantly agreeing to go on a date with him but eventually growing to like the Atlantean. She had only just started dating a few months prior and it was all so new to her but it was somewhat comfortable with Garth. She wouldn’t say that she was falling in love, she was far from it. But she did feel something towards him unlike other’s she dated; she wasn’t bored. It wasn’t as awkward as it was with civilians who knew nothing about her nightlife and it was nice to talk to someone outside of the family who had shared life experiences. She also found herself not constantly comparing everything about him to Jason or holding him to the unreasonably high standards she had to match him.

“Well I haven’t gotten around to asking you yet.” He shrugged but kept a firm face, wanting to show that he was seriously thinking about asking her.

“Oh,” Halley said, placing the last thing she needed in her bag. She zipped it up, trying to shove away her sudden nervousness. She hadn’t thought about getting that committed to someone yet. But as she bit her lip, she looked up at him unable to stop herself from speaking. Giving him a sly look, she spoke “Well, when I get back maybe you can get around to it if you want.”

“I’ll have to make a note of it,” Garth smirked at her, crossing his arms against his chest. “For now let me at least bring you to the airport,” He offered, his eyes followed her as she walked around him and grabbed her phone charger of the plug in the wall and a book from her nightstand.

“Do mermaids know how to drive?” She teased him before heading out the door.

“Wow, you really are an asshole.” He teased right back as he followed her back into the hallway, leading the way down to the garage.

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raz-b-rose · 4 years

Text

Donsy Week 2020: Day 4: Future

This one twisted in such a way even I was surprised lol. Liked the experiment and will probably rewrite it sometime.

Words: 1705

@donsyweek

Donald always thought he could plan his whole life out, and his teacher encouraged that mindset with the constant writing of future plans. He always thought he would graduate high school and go to college for a degree that could take him anywhere. He would travel, sailing the seas of the world. That was not how everything has played out so far.

The war happened, and he was drafted fresh out of high school. He sailed the seas alright, just not in the way he desired. It was a difficult choice on whether or not to make friends during his time in the military. He could lose any of them at a moment's notice, but spending that much time together it was inevitable that a brotherhood would be formed.

He saw the world, but he wished he could forget some things. The rubble of the cities they patrolled for survivors or made their base camp were seared into his mind. He could smell the smoke and taste the dust still to this day.

He hated camping and campfires now. He hated canned food, he hated the smell of plaster and he hated the feel of sand and dirt beneath his feet.

Afterwards, returning home to Della and Scrooge, part of him was chipped away at by his experiences and his memories constantly taunting him with the inability to put himself back together.

Della understood, to a degree. She flew for the army, delivering troops and supplies. She was never in war zones though, rarely saw the aftermath of battles. She tried to help, she tried to get Donald to talk.

However talking to someone, only months after returning home, who did not fully understand his experiences was difficult. He did not want to share the knowledge of war with his sister, he wanted her to live knowing nothing of the horrors he saw. It was easier to share with someone who already had that same knowledge.

Donald sat on a bench across from the sea. He was thankful that despite everything, his love for the sea was left untampered with. He could watch the waves all day. He did watch the waves all day. Scrooge didn’t know how to handle the changes in Donald, so for the most part he had left him alone. Alone to relive and process everything while staring out at the water.

The sun reflected off it now, the early morning chill in the air ineffective towards him. Even after all this time at home, he still rose before the sun, the still peacefulness of the mornings, before others took to their respective days, a reminder that he fought to save these mornings for everyone else and that was good.

The sun made its way above the horizon little by little, the colors gaining a purple and pink hue blending with the blue of the sky and the sea. The asymmetrical blob that was the sun quickly gained power and was impossible to look at anymore.

So he closed his eyes, relishing in the salty air and humid breeze. He took in the creaky, warped weather worn wood of the bench with his fingers. He sat there every morning and knew every groove and divot of this wood almost as well as he knew the wood of his boat.

The wood shifted, a weight taking occupancy beside him. He didn’t open his eyes, wanting to prepare himself in his bubble a little while longer. Interactions with the citizens of Duckburg were still challenging, something he knew he had to work on to regain a sense of normalcy. Not for him, he would never be normal again, but for the citizens. So they could be comfortable in their innocence around him.

Slowly he opened his eyes, the sky now a lighter purple, pink all but gone, and blue taking control with the sun to declare the day had begun. He glanced at his seat partner, surprised to find a young woman as the occupant.

She looked around his age, her feathers white and perfectly held back in the fashion he had seen most women wearing these days. He wasn’t sure what it was called. Della wasn’t one to take notice of fashion trends, so he himself never knew.

Her hands were placed delicately in her lap, eyes closed as she too seemed to be talking in the morning. He saw her take a few deep breaths, so he elected to leave her to her thoughts, still deciding himself if he would even strike up conversation with her when she was done.

Looking back to the water, he watched the waves push and pull, a constant game of tug of war. A battle of the elements. A battle of nature. Something natural and uncontrollable to man. Maybe mankind had taken too much inspiration from the natural world around them.

She adjusted herself beside him, reminding him of her presence. Her eyes were now open and Donald couldn’t help but stare. This woman was not only his age physically, but it seemed spiritually as well.

She had a heaviness to her eyes and a haunted look to her soul. She met his gaze as well, their shared memories being exchanged with a single glance. He saw the way her hands shook the slightest, a broken smile offered to him.

“Daisy.” She said softly, holding out her hand.

“Donald” Her hand was not soft. It had a roughness to it that spoke to her experience and sacrifice.

“It’s a beautiful morning.”

“It truly is”

They didn’t speak anymore after that, letting the wind converse for them, the waves adding their own opinions. One by one, people leave their homes, people passing by in front of them, blocking the view.

Donald stands, offering a hand to Daisy. She takes it without hesitation. Both of them were quick to break contact however, both walking deeper into the city with no destination in mind. Donald observes as men dash down the side walks, almost all of them checking their watches while they walk. Women had their own sense of urgency, walking as quickly as they could in their heels, moving politely through the crowd.

“Would you like to join me for breakfast?” Her voice holds a gentleness, quiet and sad.

“I would be honored” He follows her into a shop Donald swore wasn’t here before the war, but he could never be too sure.

He sips on his coffee, watching the patrons outside the window, the waitress having just left the table with their orders. He hears the clink of her spoon as she stirs her own coffee. Besides Della, she was the first woman he met that drank coffee almost as black as he did.

“It's strange isn't it,” He says quietly, “It's almost as if nothing has changed, but we both know that isn’t the case.”

She hums in response, lowering the cup from her lips, “I only just returned,” His eyes widen a little, while she takes to looking out the window, her eyes clouded with memories. “I was a nurse, trying to rebuild something, anything for the survivors.”

Donald felt guilt bubble in his gut, grief weighing heavily on his shoulders. “I was no help in that department, I can barely hold myself together on a good day”

“Nothing wrong with that, the things we’ve seen, it's enough to haunt you for three lifetimes” She whispered, slowly looking back at him.

He laughs dryly, “I was going to travel the world, but now, I think I’ve seen enough”

She laughs as well, “Yeah, but home feels just as foreign right now, does that ever change?”

“I still feel that way too, I don’t know if it will. I hope so.”

The waitress returns, placing their food in front of them. She offers them a blinding smile and a command to enjoy before flouncing over to another table. He picks at his eggs, still having trouble with his appetite even after all this time.

“What are your plans now?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. I used to think about my future all the time, but now it just seems so clouded and impossible”

She nods, taking a bite of her own eggs, “I don’t think I can be a nurse anymore, not right now anyway”

“Enough for three lifetimes,” He reiterates, she whispers the words again herself, gaining that far off look once again.

Donald looks back out the window, taking notice of all the families and couples and friends and single people all going about their lives. He glanced back at Daisy. It was easier to talk to someone who already shared in the knowledge and he knew he had to talk eventually.

“Would you be interested in being foreigners together?”

“That sounds nice,” Again her tone was soft, but there was less of an element of sadness to it now. And so two foreigners in their home city shared a delicious breakfast.

Donald always thought he could plan his whole life out, and his teacher encouraged that mindset by writing about future plans. He always thought he would travel, sailing the seas of the world. That was not how everything has played out.

Donald jumped, gasping in surprise at the dull pain on his stomach. He wiped the sleep from his eyes, shaking off the remnants of his dream, slowly gaining his bearings.

“Dad! Come play with me! No more sleeping! ”Lying across his stomach, with wide eyes and an even wider smile was Thomas. He ruffled his feathers, slowly sitting up in his chair, adjusting his son so he sat on his lap.

“Donald, what have I told you about afternoon naps? Now you’re going to be up late again tonight” Daisy enters the house, closing the door behind her, scolding Thomas for leaving the door open again.

“Yes Ma’am,” He sassed, smirking at Daisy’s glare, rising to kiss her, prolonging the kiss when Thomas started to shout his disgust. She smacked him gently on the shoulder, kissing his cheek before leaving the boys alone.

Donald wasn’t too sure how his future would look for a short period of his life but now, with Daisy and Thomas, he knew it was a good one.

#donsy week #donald and daisy #donald duck #daisy duck

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tigerkirby215 · 4 years

Text

5e Yone, the Unforgotten build (League of Legends)

(Artwork by Riot Games)

A YouTube comment on “The Path“ cinematic:

I can’t top this. This comment is fucking gold.

GOALS

Asakana - Trust me as a Kayn main I’m salty that we have another half-demon anime boy who isn’t even Darkin. But we still need a mask of many demonic faces.

Three swift strikes... - “Brother, why did Elder Souma let you have two swords?” Regardless we’ll need two swords for many slashes.

Death is like the wind - Yone is dead except not really, but he’s still capable of some astral projection to fight his foes from a distance.

RACE

Yone may have been human but with a demon fusing to him that gives him just enough infernal blood to be a Tiefling! As a Tiefling your Charisma score increases by 2 and your Intelligence score increases by 1. Your Hellish Resistance grants you resistance to fire damage, and Infernal Legacy grants you a few innate spells which I’ll cover in the build.

ABILITY SCORES

15; DEXTERITY - You’re an anime sword boy who was second best only to your brother who is the most anime sword boy who ever did swing an anime sword.

14; CHARISMA - As the more level-headed brother you had to do most of the talking. Remember that Charisma is strength of personality; not raw attractiveness. (Though you certainly have that going for you too.)

13; INTELLIGENCE - A master swordsman needs to study the art of war, which is more theory and less art. (Feel free to set your CON higher instead if you want more health.)

12; WISDOM - Yasuo’s the hothead and you’re the calm one. Not calm enough not to try to kill your brother, and definitely not calm enough to not be a target for Asakana.

10; CONSTITUTION - You died before, and dying generally means you weren’t that sturdy to begin with.

8; STRENGTH - Being cut down by the legendary wind technique and then brought back from the dead doesn’t spell a good workout routine. Yeah Yone has big pecs but put simply we need everything else more.

BACKGROUND

You had a background before, but unfortunately dead men tell no tales. You are a Haunted One brought back to life to hunt the creatures of the night. You can choose two skills from the Haunted One list to be proficient in: Investigation will help you find any stray Asakana, and depending on if your definition of emotional demons are Religion or Arcana you can pick either of those for your second skill. (Arcana is probably going to be more useful though.)

As a Haunted One people can easily see into your Heart of Darkness, easily telling that you’ve faced unimaginable horrors in your past. No shit you have a demon mask permanently attached to your face. Regardless commoners will be willing to aid you as much as possible unless you’ve shown yourself to be openly hostile, such as throwing their promo games.

You also learn two languages of your choice: one of which must be Exotic but since you already know Infernal as a Tiefling Sylvan would be good to talk to the spirits in a dating sim. For your other language Elvish seems fitting for Ionia.

(Artwork by Riot Games)

THE PATH BUILD

LEVEL 1 - ROGUE 1

Perhaps not the most fitting for the honorable brother, but being a Rogue will give us the skill to strike swiftly. As well as more skills in general! Take Perception and Insight to find Asakana, Acrobatics to fight them, and Intimidation to strike fear into their hearts. You also get Expertise in two skills your proficient in: Investigation and Perception would help further with finding Asakana.

When you find the Asakana you can strike it down with Sneak Attack. If you have Advantage on an attack roll or are attacking an enemy within 5 feet of an ally you can do an extra d6 of damage. Despite the name “sneak attack” you don’t actually have to sneak, but you do need to use a Finesse weapon such as a short sword. Yes your swords aren’t exactly “short” but for the purposes of dual wielding it’s the best you’ll get.

And after striking the demon down you might need to speak its true name in Thieves’ Cant. That’s not what Thieves’ Cant is? Well regardless it’s a code language shared among rogues; perhaps you picked it up from the Navori? At least you can shout the demon’s name loud and proud as you seal it away thanks to Tiefling Thaumaturgy, along with all other sorts of little supernatural effects I suggest reading into.

LEVEL 2 - ROGUE 2

At level 2 Rogues get Cunning Action to Dash, Disengage, or Hide as a bonus action. Hiding isn’t very in-character but being able to move swiftly across the battlefield is key for the twin blade technique. Unfortunately attacking with a twin blade also requires your bonus action, so pace your movements accordingly.

LEVEL 3 - ROGUE 3

Level 3 Rogues get to choose their Martial Archetype and in order to strike swift and true you’re going to want to play a Swashbuckler. Swashbucklers get Fancy Footwork to be able to slip away from enemies they attacked without provoking opportunity attacks, even if they miss.

Additionally they get Rakish Audacity which ironically provides two benefits: for one you get to add your Charisma modifier to your initiate, but you can also activate your sneak attack if you strike an enemy in melee with no other enemies nearby. Single the demon out and cut them down now that your Sneak Attack does 2d6 damage!

And finally you can cast Hellish Rebuke at second level as a reaction once per long rest thanks to Infernal Legacy. Strike a ganking lust demon with a big burst of “BEGONE THOT” damage!

LEVEL 4 - FIGHTER 1

Adding a quick level in Fighter because Yone was professionally trained, so a Fighting Style would be good to have. Naturally we’ll be going for Two-Weapon Fighting to fight with twin blades. You also get Second Wind to heal for a d10 plus your Fighter level once per short rest for a quick Corrupting Pot in lane.

But unfortunately now we’re going to have to die...

(Artwory by KAIZERS02 on DeviantArt)

LEVEL 5 - WARLOCK 1

Just kidding of course because it’s ya boii coming back with the WARLOCK LEVELS! You can choose your Warlock Patron straight at level 1 and as someone who came back from the dead you may think we’ll be going for the Undying patron right? Well that’s where you’re dead wrong because we’re going for a pact with a Fiend.

Why Fiend Patron? - Along with the lore reasons (not all Warlock pacts have to be made on good terms) Pact of the Fiend gives us Dark One’s Blessing to recreate the shield from Spirit Cleave (W), and Burning Hands also gives us an easy-to-use cone spell to recreate a cone-shaped cleave.

Why not Undying? - Undying has a pseudo-support role and a heavy focus on not dying, neither of which Yone does in-game.

Why not Hexblade? - We need at least 12 levels in Warlock for an invocation, and that means we’d be getting Accursed Specter from Hexblade. Yone doesn’t summon spirits to fight for him and while I could normally get past that bit of flavor fail (as both Hexblade’s Curse and Armor of Hexes actually make a lot of sense for Yone) Fiend made a lot more sense given that he literally gets his powers from a demon. A DEX build also allows you to be shirtless in Ionia.

Pact of the Fiend Warlocks have the Dark One’s Blessing, granting them temporary hitpoints equal to their Charisma modifier and their Warlock level when they down an enemy for some spiritual shielding.

Additionally Warlocks gain access to Pact Magic. You learn two cantrips from the Warlock list: Minor Illusion creates a sound or small visual you can use to trick an Asakana into falling for a trap. And Toll the Dead isn’t Eldritch Blast! Excluding the war crimes I just committed by not putting Eldritch Blast on a Warlock (you’re going to be using your swords most of the time anyways get over it it’s one spell) Toll the Dead forces the enemy to make a Wisdom save or take a d8 Necrotic damage, or a d12 Necrotic if they’re injured, making it a great finishing blow after using Soul Unbound.

You can also learn two first level spells: Burning Hands forces enemies to make a Dexterity saving throw or be Spirit Cleaved for 3d6 fire damage. If you want to mark an enemy for Soul Unbound however Hex will let you do an extra d6 of necrotic damage every hit, and give an enemy disadvantage on skill checks related to an ability score of your choice. You can also cast the Darkness spell once per long rest as a Tiefling, blinding everyone in the 20 foot sphere of darkness. If only you could see through it...

LEVEL 6 - WARLOCK 2

Second level Warlocks get Eldritch Invocations and we actually won’t be taking the one that helps us see in the dark. We will however be taking Armor of Shadows to let us cast Mage Armor at will and go shirtless in Ionia. Your second invocation will remain empty for now.

You can also add another spell to your repertoire and Protection from Evil and Good will help a lot with fighting Asakana. A creature blessed by the spell is attacked with disadvantage by aberrations, celestials, elementals, fey, fiends, and undead. Additionally they can’t be charmed, frightened, or possessed by them. If they’re already debuffed by these types of enemies they have advantage on future saving throws against them. Once you know the truth of Asakana there is no reason to fear them... or some other edgy one liner.

LEVEL 7 - WARLOCK 3

Third level Warlocks get their Pact Boon and hey look it’s Pact of the Blade. You can create a magic weapon in your hand as an action. The weapon counts as being magical to overcome armadillos who say “okay” a lot. And you know that Invocation I told you to hold off on? Improved Pact Weapon will let you do more damage with the blade of the Asakana. If you want to remain in character I’d suggest only attacking with your pact weapon in your offhand, but remember that Two-Weapon Fighting takes your Bonus Action so feel free to hit hard and then run if needed.

You can also now cast second level spells like Misty Step for some sick plays with Flash.

LEVEL 8 - WARLOCK 4

Fourth level Warlocks finally get an Ability Score Improvement: increase your Dexterity by 2 for swifter and deadlier strikes with your twin blades. Could we take a feat? Yeah, but we won’t.

You also learn another cantrip at this level on top of another spell. For your cantrip Prestidigitation will further your ability to cast small spiritual magic, and for your spell of choice we already got flash so how about Ray of Enfeeblement for Exhaust? There’s a lot of other great options though: Blindness / Deafness from the Fiend list is also a great choice.

LEVEL 9 - FIGHTER 2

Second level Fighters get Action Surge, allowing them to take one additional action on their turn. Right now that only means one extra sword swing but you can cast a spell after you attack!

LEVEL 10 - FIGHTER 3

At level 3 Fighters can choose their Martial Archetype and to unbind one’s soul you must travel to the world of Wildemount for the Echo Knight subclass. I’ve already made a few Echo Knights before on this sub so I’m going to give the cliffnotes version of a class that has quite a long ability description at level 3 for Manifest Echo:

You can summon your soul within 15 feet of you as a bonus action.

You can move your soul up to 30 feet for free on your turn.

Your soul can’t be more than 30 feet away from you by the end of your turn, or else it disappears. (Goes back to your body)

Your soul has an AC of 14 + proficiency and 1 hitpoint.

It’s immune to all conditions and uses your saving throws.

You can swap places with your soul using 15 feet of movement (regardless of the distance between you two.)

When you attack you can make the attack come from your soul instead.

Your soul can opportunity attack (using your reaction.)

Additionally Unleash Incarnation will let you attack an extra time from your soul’s location on your turn. You can use it a number of times equal to your Constitution modifier but your CON mod is currently zero. Thankfully you can use it a minimum of one time before finishing a long rest.

(Artwork by Valkhar on DeviantArt)

LEVEL 11 - FIGHTER 4

Fourth level Fighters get an Ability Score Improvement: invest further in Dexterity for 19 DEX and all the benefits that provides.

LEVEL 12 - FIGHTER 5

5th level Fighters get an Extra Attack, letting them attack twice with their main action. This means that with your bonus action you can attack three times in a round! Now would also probably be a good time to put the Asakana’s blade in your main hand instead of trying to work around your fancy passive.

LEVEL 13 - WARLOCK 5

It’s straight down Warlock now to become one with the Asakana we wear as a mask. Level 5 Warlocks get another Invocation and it wouldn’t be Pact of the Blade if we didn’t take both Improved Pact Weapon and Eldritch Smite! Pretend to be a Paladin by turning a spell slot into more sword damage and pretend to be your brother by knocking people over when you do so!

You can also learn another spell like Gaseous Form to turn into petals on the wind. Additionally Hex is probably wearing away its welcome by this point so I’d suggest taking Hold Person instead to CC-chain a foe to death.

LEVEL 14 - WARLOCK 6

6th level Fiend Warlocks get Dark One’s Own Luck, letting them add a d10 to an ability check or saving throw once per short or long rest. I consider this less you being “lucky” and more you going all out just this once.

You can also learn another spell from the Warlock list such as Spirit Shroud from Unearthed Arcana to give nearby enemies a Randuin's Omen while you cut them down.

LEVEL 15 - WARLOCK 7

7th level Warlocks get another Invocation and while there are plenty to choose from it’s only fair for the man who collects masks of many faces to get a Mask of Many Faces, allowing you to cast Disguise Self at will! Is this mostly done for flavor and is it a bit late to get Disguise Self? Yes but it’s still a very good spell to have.

And you can learn a 4th level spell like Fire Shield from the Fiend List. You can make a Fire Shield for resistance to Cold damage or a Cold Shield to resist Fire damage which you already resist. But regardless of your choice anyone who hits you with a melee attack for the duration will take 2d8 damage of either Fire (if you chose the Fire Shield) or Cold (if you chose the other.)

Also I’d perhaps suggest replacing Misty Step with Dimension Door? Sure Dimension Door takes a full action (while Misty Step takes a bonus action) but Dimension Door has a 500 foot range which will never not be useful! Teleport can be just as useful as Flash you know.

LEVEL 16 - WARLOCK 8

8th level Warlocks get another Ability Score Improvement: put one into Dexterity and the other one into... yeah Charisma. You also could learn another spell but none of these really interest me so I suggest holding off on it for now.

(Artwork by MizuriOfficial on DeviantArt)

LEVEL 17 - WARLOCK 9

9th level Warlocks get another Invocation, and while again there’s plenty to choose from we strive for accuracy here so how about some spiritual levitation? Ascendant Step lets you cast Levitate on yourself without using a spell slot or material components, so you can float towards a wise old man who definitely isn’t an Asakana in disguise.

But most importantly you now gain access to 5th level spells! Hallow is a big spell with a lot of effects, a 1000 gold cost, and a 24 hour casting time but it’s the ultimate way to protect an area from Asakana! To seal the fate of your foes Synaptic Static forces an intelligence saving throw on all enemies in an AoE to try to avoid massive damage along with a disorientation effect that tends to come with being knocked up into the air by a tornado.

LEVEL 18 - WARLOCK 10

10th level Fiend Warlocks get Fiendish Resilience, allowing them to resist one type of damage of their choosing. They can swap the resistance out on a short or long rest but damage from magic weapons or silvered weapons ignores this resistance, so probably better just to resist wind magic (Thunder damage) in general instead of specifically resisting a magic wind sword.

Additionally while you won’t learn any more Warlock spells you do get your final cantrip: for some more minor spirit projection how about Mage Hand to grab things within 30 feet and bring them to you?

LEVEL 19 - WARLOCK 11

11th level Warlocks get Mystic Arcanum, which are like regular spell slots which only come back after a long rest because you’re no longer special. Regardless if you want to harness the wind technique look no further than Investiture of Wind Stone, because the rock spell actually lets you knock people over.

Regardless until the spell ends you have resistance to nonmagical slashing, piercing, and bludgeoning, you can move across difficult terrain without spending additional movement, you can move through terrain without spending extra movement (but can’t end your turn there), and you can spend your action to try to knock everyone near you over with some basic wind techniques.

Yes there are better spells to take (even in the Investiture spell line, such as the genuine Investiture of Wind which would let you fly as well as block projectiles with a wind wall of your own) but you’re not your brother. You’re a simple, practical stone who gets the job done. Or you can be a wandering poet: make your own Yone - you don’t follow this build point-for-point.

You also apparently get another spell because Mystic Arcanum doesn’t count as a spell? Hold Monster is like Hold Person but it works against everything at the mere cost of a much higher spell slot, meaning that you can only affect one creature with parallelization but that should be more than enough for your little brother to get the job done and flash his fancy blue crest afterwards. You do have three spell slots now after all.

LEVEL 20 - WARLOCK 12

12th level Warlocks get our final Ability Score Improvement and... ugh. As much as I want to do something fun I have to accept the fact that Charisma will help us more, so you may as well grab the Resilient Feat with Charisma for better saving throws and a higher Charisma mod.

But that Charisma mod is going to get a lot of use since now you can take the Lifedrinker invocation which grants the Asakana’s blade Necrotic damage equal to your Charisma modifier! That’s a lot of damage? How much damage? Well...

FINAL BUILD

PROS

One to cut, one to seal - Let’s do the math for how much damage you do with your swords every round: two strikes from the Asakana’s blade (d6 + 6 slashing + 4 necrotic), one from your regular sword (d6 + 5), and sneak attack damage (2d6) for a total of... 5d6 + 25 damage (8 of it being Necrotic and the rest being Slashing) every round. Not to mention Eldritch Smites in a pinch and a large assortment of spells.

Fear, once named, controls no one - You are also incredibly elusive with 18 AC and strong saving throws. Swashbuckler lets you get into the fight fast and get out before your enemy has a chance to react, and cunning actions let you weave around the battlefield as you see fit. To top it off Echo Knight levels let you attack your foes without even being near them! "Cross the veil!"

Wear a mask long enough, and you forget the face beneath - You have a great deal of out-of-combat utility too. Language proficiencies (along with Thieves’ Cant), skill proficiencies (including expertise in two very important skills 23 passive perception, anyone?) Thieves’ Tools, several utility spells which you can cast pretty much at will, not to mention the utility of near-infinite teleportation and flat out infinite levitation.

CONS

Blink, and you'll miss your own death - Between two-weapon fighting, cunning action, and interactions with your echo there’s such a thing as too many bonus actions.

Do not wish to hide behind masks - There’s also such a thing as being too elusive. Swashbuckler gives you plenty of mobility as does Echo Knight, but putting them together means that you’ll be everywhere at once.

Are you here to usher me back? - Multiclassing a spellsword means that you miss out on some vital ability score increases. This means your Charisma isn’t topped off, the saving throws you aren’t proficient in are subpar at best, and your health is just barely over the Power Word Kill threshold.

But a hunter with many weapons will always have the right one to catch its prey. Lure out the Asakana and strike them down. Just remember that even if you alone can stop the demonic plague you don’t have to work alone. Your brother may have struck you down but if you learn to forgive the Asakana will be a lot weaker. "Long before blades and sorcery are needed, words... can save a soul."

(Artwork by @ThatwasforZED on Twitter)

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