#trigger warning from here on out

[kiphisme]

One Small Step For Man

Victor Prowles moved swiftly through the crowd of people, the stomping of his thick boots echoing against the cacophony of similar sounds that covered the white tile. The man was on a mission: a mission he was late for.

 As a space engineer, life was hectic and the busiest it physically could be. Since the trading of goods became extraterrestrial in the last eight decades, the need for engineers became desperate and the desire for good ones became a must. Everyone was fully trained and retrained every five to ten years. Diplomas became a renewal service that your company would cover the cost of if they liked you enough. One wrong move and you were swiftly cut out of the engineering branch and had to go to the backstreets if you wanted real work. The working landscape became a fiery hell where only the best of the best could compete with each other and Victor was in his own words, the best.

His stride was wide and firm, his shoulders broad and muscular, he held himself high with a confidence and discipline that demanded attention and respect from everyone he walked past. From the moment he graduated in ‘73, he used this physical confidence to his advantage at job interviews, trials and now was NASA’s lead engineer in space travel. And yet, despite being at such a high position, he was finally given the greatest honour he felt he deserved.

The honour of being an on-ship engineer.

He had helped create and fix up ships that left orbit but he himself had never been on one during the many expeditions to keep it maintained and in peak condition when coming back down. He dreamed of sitting in zero gravity, bolting and screwing the ship back into its original pristine self and subsequently keeping his crew alive. Granted, the crew was not his main concern but rather the ships themselves. He created these ‘lovely ladies’ as he called them with his bare hands and pure metal tools, sculpting them from blueprints he designed and testing their capabilities himself. He was part of every process and ensured that any complaints or criticisms went to him directly. As involved as he was, he only did it in order to ensure the best was produced. Some people found him abrasive. A perfectionist. They couldn’t understand that he lived for this. The ability to create space crafts was something he always dreamed of and from a young age he knew this would be his everything.

And now he got to be on the inside of one of his greatest accomplishments. He would have the opportunity to run it, keep it functioning and overall keep it reusable. Life was finally at its climax. And it could only go higher.

Victor reached the meeting room and opened the double doors that introduced him to a large open space filled with several people who stood there in their uniforms, talking amongst one another. The group seemed nervous yet excited, a collection of emotions that even Victor was feeling, despite being separated from them.

A couple looked over at him and the tone of the room shifted a bit. Colleen Graves, program manager of the Launching Services Program rushed over to him, pushing her glasses up onto her face in frustration.

“You’re late!” 

“How can I be late? You can’t leave without me, remember?” Victor responded with a cocky smirk.

Colleen rolled her eyes and slammed his space suit into his hands. “Hurry up, press is coming at ten, we need to be ready to launch at five. Everyone, get to the dressing rooms please!”

Everyone began to scatter, murmurs surrounding them as they headed out. Victor knew what they were about but he didn’t care. He gave a glance to Colleen then looked down at her left hand. On it sat a small diamond ring on her fourth finger. He lifted her hand and kissed it gently as everyone left.

“Hey, you’re sexy when you’re mad, you know that?”

She rolled her eyes and pulled away. “Too bad you can’t get your dick hard before space. Now go.”

He laughed and headed off into the men’s dressing room, whistling as he entered ecstatically. 

There sat three of the crew members getting out of their work uniforms and into their spacesuits: James Revelle, Mickey Ross and Captain Nicholas Burnes. A man he’d been competing with his entire career at NASA. But today? That no longer mattered. Sure, he wasn’t co-captain but he was better than a lousy notetaker who had to watch and follow orders. In his own way, he was allowed to give orders if it had anything to do with the ship. Repairs, the handling of spare parts, installations. If all hell broke loose, Victor could just blame the captain for not letting him do his job. A position he’d gladly take when desired.

He stood next to the tall and brooding captain, taking his shoes off before he unbuttoned his shirt and began to undress himself.

“Excited, Captain? This is the furthest we’ve ever gone.”

Nicholas glanced at him slightly and gave him a small, tepid smirk. “It is. And it’s a journey we all should’ve been on time for.”

“Oh come on.” He scoffed back. “I’m here, aren’t I? That’s what matters.”

A moment of silence fell upon the two and Victor felt an aggressive cold form between the two. Nicholas stared almost past him like he was looking for something. Then he gave another held back smile.

“You know what? Sure. That’s what matters.”

Nicholas patted Victor on the back before he looked away from him and finished getting dressed. Without any more words exchanged, he went ahead of the rest of the group to give a farewell speech and answer some questions for the press. This was the farthest NASA, and by whole, all of humanity, had ever gone in space travel. As such, he had to demonstrate his bravery and strength as one of NASA’s main captains. Known throughout most of the world, he had a reputation to uphold.

Victor watched Nicholas leave before a scowl hit his face and he looked back at his locker. He felt his face twist in a disgusted way. “Prick.”

Victor came out last from the rest of the crew and they all formed a line behind Nicholas in straight and broad stances for the photos. While everyone posed up and waved gently to the cameras, Nicholas answered the press's questions on behalf of everyone else. He kept a warm and inviting smile.

“Captain Burnes! Captain Burnes! This is the farthest NASA, let alone all of humanity, has gone all just for trade. Are you fully prepared to be gone for a full six years?”

He chuckled. “Well, of course. With our new and full proof cryopod technology, for us the travel will feel like nothing, we’ll still look fresh and young and maybe even a bit younger than when we left.” He winked, causing a swarm of laughs and flustered voices to call out before getting back on track. 

“Captain Burnes, you’ve been travelling to space since you were in your mid-twenties, how many years have you really spent on Earth?”

“Long enough, I feel. I have a beautiful house, beautiful wife. Whatever time I’ve missed I feel I have adequately made up for it.”

More flashes of cameras shot out and more answers were shouted out to him.

“Alright here you, last question.” He called out and pointed to one of the reporter’s who stood at the right end of the large group. 

“Captain Burnes, there are rumours about your contract allegedly being set to end after this trip with no renewal in sight due to altercations with other crewmates. Would you be willing to elaborate on these claims?”

A sharp stillness rose into the air. Everyone held their tongues, their breaths becoming faint and hesitant. An awkward distance formed amongst the room as though the divisive question had formed a physical gap between everyone and the reporter who asked it.

“I’m sorry?” Nicholas hesitated.

“Okay! No more questions!” Colleen abruptly announced. “Thank you so much for your time--”

“Wait! Don’t you want to clear these rumours now? Rumours like this can ruin a trip--”

“Ah, the media will say what it wants to say, people will always feel how they feel, let’s not conflate dismissal with hiding the truth. Everyone if you could please follow me--”

“Hold on.”

Colleen froze and looked over at Nicholas who was locking eyes with the reporter. 

“Where did you hear this?”

The reporter hesitated slightly before brushing her hair to the side. “It’s just been floating around all year. It’s recently resurfaced online, it’s one of the main trends at the moment.”

Nicholas nodded his head. “Mm’kay. And sorry, what’s your name?”

“Oh, Olivia Brent.” 

“Okay. Well, Olivia, I haven’t heard anything about my contract not being renewed, let alone me not getting along with my crewmates.” He laughed, straightening himself up as he looked over at the other seven who stood on stage with him. “I’ve grown to get to know each and every single one of these lovely individuals. We have gone through the worst storms and the best tides and I couldn’t ask for a more solid crew. So if we’re having altercations…” He said and looked back at the reporter. “I’d love to know about it guys! Hello?”

Everyone began to laugh, Nicholas had swiftly knocked the tension away and replaced it with a joyful giddiness that engulfed the room. Colleen clapped her hands, signifying the guards to start escorting the crowd out.

“Right well, you’ve heard it here first folks! Now come on, we got a launch to make!”

The crew cheered and they all headed down the ramp, Nicholas followed behind them and Colleen closed in on him. The two made a small distance away from the crew and began to passively talk while they headed up.

“I am so sorry I was not expecting her to be here. In fact I told them -- I told them not to call her!” She hissed under her breath, scrolling through her mirror tablet as she looked at the social media responses.

“You’re fine, Colleen. After all, the best news is the most unexpected. What’s everyone saying?”

“Uh, you handled it well… Good on you for being true… ‘That’s what real patriotism looks like’.”

Nicholas nodded. “Good.” He said and began to walk ahead of her before looking back. “Oh and Colleen?”

“Yes?” She looked up at him puzzled.

“Get her fired. I don’t ever wanna see that bitch’s face in front of me again.” He then swiftly turned back around and hurried to the front of the group, becoming the new leader and surpassed Victor.

The crew were quickly led through the landing and to the spacecraft’s entrance. It was a rectangular, more boxy design than previous spacecrafts of the past. Rather than it being pointed up into the sky, it was on a landing that slightly tilted it upward almost in like a catapult design. The crew went into the ship one by one, skipping the formalities of waving goodbye and headed in. 

Once in, everyone took their places in the control room and buckled up into their seats.

“Oxygen levels?” Nicholas began the checklist whilst he turned everything on slowly.

“Elevated, not too high but could cause a problem in the air.” Roxanne Williams, one of the scientists said.

“Okay, turning it down. O-zone?”

“As clear as it’s gonna be. Get a move on already Captain. Unless you’re scared?” Victor mocked.

Nicholas glared over at Victor before he looked back at the consol.e. “You’re right, engineer, this’ll be my last flight anyways, might as well blow all of us up before we hit the air.”

“Oh don’t take that reporter seriously, Nick.” James Miller, another scientist, started. “You’re a great captain. Of course they’re gonna keep you here, why wouldn’t they? In fact, they’d probably clone you.”

Everyone except Victor laughed. Nicholas gave James a silent thank you and looked back at the console. “Alright. Hold on everyone. If we’re lucky, we’ll be in our cryopods in the next hour.”

Everyone cheered and with the press of a giant red button and the signal of a countdown, they were off. The biggest launch day in America’s history was taking place right in front of billions and billions of people. The Odyssey was a monumental victory for all of humanity. One that would encourage braver and more intense explorations of space and the hidden worlds above Earth.

That was the facade the crew left Earth with. And when they came back, they came back with a truth so visceral it couldn’t be buried.

GRAHH I FINALLY DID IT I am SO sorry this took literally the whole month (I suppose that was the point) but I REALLY need to discipline myself more so I can get ahead of that deadline for the sake of self preservation -- ANYWAYS Hope you enjoyed reading, it's about to get dark from here so STAY TUNED <3 PLEASE NOTE EVERYTHING IS A FIRST DRAFT SO I DON'T LOSE MY HEAD -- the goal of this story is to just post because I am terrible at motivating myself otherwise and then hate myself after SOOO. Ye, once it is fully finished it'll go through editing phase. It won't be major, just grammatical because I like what I have planned so far and I would never enjoy the idea of posting something knowing I am gonna change like half the plot yk SOOO. ENJOYYY

PREVIOUSLY: The Last Rose I Ever Saw

NEXT: ???

[babacontainsmultitudes]

AH. So that's why they put that content warning. I see!

[backpackingspace]

Guys listen I'm once again having ideas that I cannot draw. Consider:

A brief look of rage on Calypso as odysseus calls out for /a different goddess/

[dollya-robinprotector]

I mentioned this on my pin post, but it won't hurt to emphasize again:

I'm very, very, VERY into INCEST, particularly adopted siblings, siblings, cousins with similar appearances, and especially twin.

Yes, you heard me right.

No, it doesn't mean I'm in love with my irl siblings or cousins, in fact my sister and I share incest fanfics together and squeal together.

No, it doesn't mean I see a pair of twin when I walk outside and immediately think they should fuck. My liking stays on fictional world only.

Yes, this is your sign to unfollow or re-check your blocked-tags list. I will use the tag cw incest, so look out for your own good.

Love ya~✨

[enhanced-operatives-division]

Junicrane/Starstruck Ramble

I will not be brief, all under the cut

To clear some things right off the bat:

No corpse, no proof with Juniper. Obligatory this is set in a canon where he's alive and adjacent to the agency in some way.

Reggie & Juniper are just gay to me, but I don't mind any interpretation of their sexuality

The games are set in 1967/68 to me (based on a couple bits in game) which is before it was legal to be gay in America at least (1971), which is relevant to how I interpret canon as being somewhat grounded in reality, despite unrealistic elements.

This is just an insane amount of headcanons/elements of and AU all culminated into one post. I will talk about some headcanons like they're just facts because they are established in my head, and it saves me over explaining literally everything, however I will explain some parts a little bit for clarity.

Alright. Actual beginning of the ramble:

Juniper is a character to me who had gotten so lost in his job as an actor and a social presence that in the end his whole life revolved around that 'role'. Because of this, by the time he's put into the situation where he's around the Agency, he basically knows nothing about himself, though he doesn't realise at first. Furthermore, what little identity he had has changed in so many ways. He's no longer a beloved famous actor in the prominence of public light, he's legally dead and he tarnished his career just before he was supposed to die, with the bonus of that making him lose the majority of his estate. From that, he also has horrific facial scarring from the electrical burns from literally having his face fried. I believe a friend of mine made a post about this a while ago (I also think they were the first to think it up also), but, to me, Juniper has a permanent trimmer in his right arm (aka his dominant hand) from the electrical current and it is messing with his nervous system.

All in all, he's not doing great, but he's too proud to admit that he's not doing great, because if anything, what's left of his ego is all he has as a defense since he's deep in unfamiliar water.

Before ending up around the agency (I have multiple interpretations of this, so I'm just going to bring it up generally), he'd never actually seen Reggie, and his only impression of him is a single voicemail, which was his only reference he had to later impersonate him. Juniper probably has very little feelings other than the ones he projects onto him because of Phoenix and that, at the very least, he's physically attracted to Reggie to some degree (that's like the beginning of how everything else would tumble into place in this sort of interpretation at least).

And on Crane's side? His feelings towards Juniper are probably very intense and muddled. On the one hand, he adores musical theatre, and that's his now ex-favourite actor. The thought of just casually being around him blows the bit of fanboy in him away at first because THAT'S the GUY, plus the inklings of a celebrity crush which still poke at him. And then there's the rational side of him, which knows Juniper has committed absolute atrocities on the side of Zoraxis, and hates him for that. Then there's how much Juniper comes off as an asshole at first because he refuses to cooperate with anything the Agency tried to put in place. He finds Juniper endlessly frustrating, and yet he's stuck working with him since, afterall, he's the one who knows the Agency's history with Juniper the best. I imagine him acting a lot like how he does IEYTD 1 around Juniper.

At this point, I'm just describing the pitch for a romcom.

I think the start of their relationship with one another largely started with Juniper trying to wind Crane up. It was a way of getting his attention, and I don't think Juniper knows why he's so dead set on that at first, because I don't think he realises he has a crush on 'this grump' at first. (I think that's actually the fun part about these two, because it's almost like a role reversal of the celebrity crush dynamic. This ex-big name actor has a TERRIBLE crush on an average joe and it is KILLING HIM.) But of course the Agency keeps them together because Juniper is at least conversing with Crane, so it's a start.

Through one way or another, they actually get talking casually, at least mildly at first. It takes Juniper a long time to fully deconstruct the wall he's built, and the thing is, Crane isn't the one trying to deconstruct it, at least at first, because yeah, Juniper realises if he wants Reggie to actually like him in any way, he can't keep winding him up. So they talk. Small talk at first, something rhythmic and almost easy to keep to a script. And over time that turns into actual conversations. Genuine ones in which Reggie rips out the occasional one of his jokes which Juniper is endlessly endeared about. The way he smiles just before he makes them, like he wants to chuckle at what he's about to say before he says it. That's probably when Juniper realised that he does have some vague crush on him, and that it wasn't going away.

This is what kickstarts John I can't-buy-you-things-to-impress-you-so-acts-of-service-it-is Juniper to do little things for him. It mostly starts off as him trying to make Reggie his tea how he likes it. However, the nerve damage in his arm makes that hard, as the weight of the kettle and trying to pour is hard all of a sudden. And he refuses to accept that, so he tries for a very long while. Long enough that Crane would go to investigate what was going on. And when he does see Juniper leaning over a cup with the kettle as he uneasily tries to pour it, and when Crane asks Juniper responds so matter-of-fact that his intention is nothing but genuine. And it catches Reggie off guard because Juniper hadn't done anything like that up to that point, and his very apparent vulnerability is so clearly on show.

It shifts something between them.

From that point on, conversations are longer, more familiar. Both of their attitudes soften, and Reggie makes more jokes. Juniper learns how to better use his left hand while strengthening his right back to a point where it could be used again. Slowly, they're both spending time with one another not because they have to, but just because they can. Little bits at first, not too far outside what they already were doing, but those little bits turned into long bits to a point where the other person's company was genuinely desirable.

As time passes, Juniper probably realises that he doesn't genuinely know much about himself or what hobbies he's into, because he never really had the time when he got big, and his home life in his youth wasn't bad, but it wasn't picturesque. I think Reggie would pick up on it, and absolutely try to introduce him to some things he's into. Some things stick, other things don't (corn husking very much stays Reggie's passion, and John will go with him sometimes because it's him, but it's not something he strongly cares for). Crane introduces him to a lot of music, and it's something that becomes a staple between them, with tracks they listen to more than others (tragically, I know relatively little about 60s music so I couldn't really say what). Occasionally they dance, never anything intense, think slow dancing, but the closeness is nice.

Through all of it, Juniper is battling the worst crush of his life, and he can't stand it, because I think he struggles to read people since he doesn't have anything like a script or a director to refer back to, so he has no idea if Reggie likes him back or if he's just desperate for that to be true. I think because of that any sort of confession between them would be incredibly raw, not only because of the time they live in making it hard for them to be truthful about how they love, but because it's a complete show of Juniper who's worked to be this better person. I don't exactly know how that would go, mainly because I don't have one set version of their dynamic, this post is just a generalisation of main consistent points.

Reggie does like him back, because he's gotten used to Juniper being just this guy, not a figure in the public eye, not a Zoraxis lackey, and not any sort of Agency operative (despite being under their care to some degree). He's someone he genuinely cares for, because they've given one another the time of day to learn one another, and I think because Reggie was a field agent, he was a lot better at reading Juniper than Juniper was at reading him. Eventually Juniper's company becomes something he could see around him for the rest of his life, and I think he accepts that he likes Juniper a lot more gracefully.

I think any affection directed at Juniper would at first be met with him feeling a little muddled. Reggie was a very physically affectionate person when he could be, and sure the initial flirting with one another came with the occasional little touches, but everything now was so deeply intentional. I also don't think Juniper would almost ever get over the novelty of being able to kiss him, or many other gestures, because it made the fact that they were together so very real, and it was great. I do think it comes easier to Reggie, and it's a big way of showing how much he cares, so it's important for Juniper to try and show it back because he knows how much it means to the other.

I like the idea of them eventually living with one another, too. I think Juniper would have always had a quiet little daydream of sorts where he does just live a domestic quiet life, and he can with Reggie (well, as close as they can get between the Agency and Zoraxis always being at odds), and he loves that, and he loves him, and it's immense.

I think they cook for one another a lot, it helps Juniper work on his dexterity in a controlled environment, which means a lot because it's a huge point of insecurity (that and his scars). He does improve, and Crane is proud of that and shows it and it's great. I also think they'd probably cook together too, because they can deal with being in the kitchen together and they work well with one another. It's probably a good way for them to unwind because over time they can do it in relative silence.

As I said before, I also think music is a staple in their household, and that Reggie listens to things on vinyl almost all of the time because he likes the background noise. Sometimes Juniper will catch him chuntering along to the music which he finds endlessly endearing. I wouldn't put it past his dramatic ass to also join in to fluster Reggie, but I also don't think Reggie would mind that terribly because Juniper has listened to the music enough to know the lyrics, and that's huge to him.

I don't think they are without rough patches, no relationship is, but I think the good part about them is that they're willing to talk about it (... eventually). They're used to long conversations, and while they're often less fun conversations, they're needed and they know that, and it works out.

Alright. I think I'm done for now. I haven't mentioned everything, but this definitely got the worst of it out of my system. If you ever want to hear any specific thoughts my ask box is open but other than that, behold my general dynamic for these two which has been festering in my head for years. I think they're great

[moreaujeans]

the foxhole court sure was. i need fourteen more right now

you saying this and also rating it two stars is so so real

[penumbralwoods]

can you elaborate on torment nexus loop

yeah so river is an OC i made for the roblox game pressure which consumed me near the end of july last year. if you're unfamiliar, the main concept is that you're a prisoner sent down into Site-19 the Hadal Blacksite operated by an organization called The Foundation Urbanshade. lots and lots of monsters that kill you, but obviously you can start over. and the revive mechanic is diegetic, so it actually exists in-universe, similar to stuff like undertale. river is going through here and dying over, and over, and over again, (allegedly) attempting to finish the assigned mission and get out of there, alongside getting a full pardon for their crimes. but at least there's fishe

[orcelito]

Sometimes I get the urge to be like "Well, they can't live forever" when it comes to shitty situations with shitty people. But then I remember that A: shitty person dying might not be the result that someone wants, and B: it actually can take quite a while for people to die, in many cases

Idk I'm just so used to death being right around the corner that I'm like "Well maybe he'll die soon and that'll fix it" but he probably won't die that soon and it also might not fix it. Or be wanted.

Idk it's such a specific mentality that I have now. People can die with such short notice that you Never Know! The solution to all your problems may be short at hand. You never know.

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

oh my god what happened?? are you alright? do you need any help?

alright i will preface this by saying that physically, i am COMPLETELY FINE. please don't worry about me too much, i promise i'm physically okay and it's not that bad

the rest is under the cut not for length but in case people want to skip past it (warning for people being unpleasant)

so the short story is that someone i thought was an online friend suddenly sent me a pretty awful DM before blocking me. they said a lot of genuinely hurtful things which wasn't really good for my mental state since they preyed on a bunch of my insecurities, and i thought that i could trust this person. i'm doing better now thanks to my irl friends, but recovery is a process as usual. i'm not sure if you can really help apart from being emotional support, but your concern is appreciated nonetheless <3

[cuntwrap--supreme]

So close to being finished with my post office training! I just have to do my driver's test next Thursday and I'm officially an assistant rural carrier! Which is step one in becoming a full time employee and receiving those sweet, sweet government job bennies. But also, it's a lot of sorting and shit, and tism go brrrrrrrr with that.

[calebslver]

₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎ ovulating with caleb <3

💭 : p in v , overstimulation , fem!reader , praise , improper use of evol , squirting , messy sex , marathon sex , it’s ovulation week girls !! ^^

caleb knew how you got during ovulation week. one glance at his biceps, arms, or chest, and you’re looking at him with those eyes that are practically begging him to fuck you until you pass out.

and right now? you were looking at him with the same eyes. which is how you got led here. pinned down. drooling from both lips. being stretched out by a cock that was close to splitting you in half. “good girl,” caleb panted, sweat dripping from his temple.

his large form leaned over you, chest pressing against your legs in the meanest, most perfect mating press. his cock was hitting your g-spot repeatedly, drawing out more and more high, dumbed out moans from your puffy lips. he knew it too. oh, caleb knew how good you felt. to your fucked out facial expression to how your pussy is covering his cock whole.

“such a pretty—hah—pussy. god, she missed me, huh? suckin’ me in—all greedy,” he blabbered into your ear, the tone of his voice making you clench around his cock hard. you couldn’t even understand what he was saying—your brain was turning into mush, drooling from your panting mouth.

slurred words caleb didn’t even try to understand came out of your mouth as you went cross eyed, turning louder and louder. “ca—caleb! close, mph, ‘m close!” you whined and the man above you grinned. it felt like his thrusts got harder, faster and he pushed against your legs until they almost met your ears. “yeah? is my dumb baby close? i bet she is. ‘could feel this pussy clenching—i know her like the back of my hand.”

your gut coiled up into something you can’t explain and you blubbered nonsense, tears swelling in your eyes as you tensed. a few more thrusts—one, two, three—until you came with a scream.

except you didn’t cum. no, instead, you squirted. a wet splash and his abdomen, balls, and cock were covered in your juices. “holy—fuck—did you just squirt—” he let out a surprise gasp and your own pleasure triggered his own. he didn’t even have time to warn you before he toppled over, weight against your chest as he shot load after load into your wet heat.

you let out a mewl, too filled with ecstasy to hear hear caleb moan and groan about how “it’s so much”, and how he “can’t stop”. you felt filled to the brim, caleb’s thick cum seeping out of your well-stretched hole as his cock came to a stop. “fuck, thank you, baby. you did so good, so perfect.”

[presepohne]

Husband!John Price x Wife!Reader

cw: nsfw, minors dni, 18+ | John Price himself is the trigger warning. choking, p in the v, buff arms, made her recite her wedding vows because the reader was being a brat, married man and filthy married man John Price. 1.15k words

note: you need to know how much i need an older man and that older man needs to be JOHNATHAN PRICE. RAWR. also I'm bad at marriage vows :(

You have been on it for a while. Maybe more than a while.

John is sitting adjacent to you, evening you as you huff and puff around, slamming drawers, aggressively chopping the vegetables for dinner, and snapping at him any moment he even breathed near your direction.

And it has been bothering him a lot. His sweet wife, always calm and composed, easy going most of the time— here, acting as a brat around the house. Almost breaking his favourite mug as you slam it on the counter to pour him some tea.

He cocks and eyebrow at you, as if saying You gonna drop that attitude?

He also knows the reason why you were acting such, as silly as it may be. You had asked him to come back home on time. Asked politely that morning, as every morning you did— with a kiss on his lips and a murmur against them; Be back soon today? Please.

And he did say Sure love, I will.

But he didn't. His excuse was a valid one, got stuck in traffic.

It didn't get a reaction out of you simultaneously, but there were after effects and he was very certain at this point you were acting like a brat on purpose. Brushing off his touches, muttering curses on him, slapping his hands away.

The audacity.

You were pushing him again.

Snapping back. Eye-rolling. Throwing out half-serious insults with that scowl that said, What are you gonna do about it, Captain?

He’d already warned you once.

But now?

Now you've crossed the line.

“I hate you, John. You’re a selfish, arrogant bastard who only knows how to give orders. If I wanted to be married to a dictator, I would’ve signed up for the bloody military myself.”

He stood there for a moment, eyeing you. The silence lingered long enough.

You felt the shift before you saw it.

He was across the room in three strides. You barely had time to gasp before his body was on yours, heavy and hot, pinning you to the counter.

“Oh, is that right?” he said, voice calm—too calm—as his knee forced your legs apart, his forearm sliding up to press firmly across your throat. Not cutting off your breath entirely. Just enough to remind you who the fuck you belonged to.

“You hate me so much you wear my ring to bed?” he murmured, glancing at your hand crushed against the sheets.

You arched up, defiant.

“I don’t wear it for you.”

“Oh, love,” he rasped, tightening the pressure slightly. “You wear it so you don’t forget.”

You struggled—not because you wanted him off—but because you wanted to feel how much stronger he was. How easy it was for him to break you down without even trying.

He dipped lower, lips brushing your ear. “You wanna mouth off, brat? Fine. You’re gonna earn every bloody second of this.”

You squirmed under him, half-laughing through the tight grip around your neck.

“Can’t even talk, John,” you whispered, voice strangled and teasing. “How the fuck am I supposed to mouth off now?”

That earned you a low, dangerous chuckle. “Then I’ll make it easy for you.”

His free hand curled into your hair, yanking your head back, exposing your throat even more. You were breathless now—but not from fear.

“Your vows,” he growled. “All of them. From the top. Or I won't let go.”

Your eyes met his—dilated, dark, daring. You were burning alive under the weight of him. You wanted to spit something bratty, something cruel—

But your throat clenched when his free hand pushed down the waistband of your panties. You hadn't realised yet, but you were dripping, cunt exposed to the cool air as a defiant pout made its way to your face.

“No”

You meant to be a brat, really. You wanted to piss him off as bad as he had angered you, you wanted to get to his head and fry his nerves away with your mouth and actions. Act like some immature kid just to get him all riled up.

Now you think that might have been the greatest idea because your husband, John Price has never looked so good and so worked up because of you. And certainly turned on because of your behaviour.

His hands unbuckled his belt, a forearm still choking you. You squirm as he increases the pressure slightly. Patience brat, he snaps. He unbuckled his belt, languidly and helped his semi hardened cock out.

Rubbing the tip on your entrance as he pushed in slowly making you whine, Not fast enough. You try to push your hips back at him but he has one leg between yours and you pinned to the counter.

You whimpered.

“Come on brat, speak up” he grunted, the pink head of his tip stick rubbing against your folds to gather all the slick before he pushes in, “Come one don't make this hard for yourself baby girl, just obey” he huffed, softly pushing in and then pulling out again, leaving you empty.

“John please—” you whine, wiggling your hips again. He chuckles before pushing himself in you in one string thrust and pulls back out again, expect the tip, “Come on sweet thing, don't make it hard for both of us”

And you obeyed, nodding with a moan as he pushed in.

Through gasps, half-choked, you whispered them.

“I… I choose you.”

The pressure didn’t lift, his other hands now rubbing your clit in slow circles.

“I… follow you. Trust you.”

Still nothing. He keeps himself inside, deep as you can feel him— he hums praising you a little, urging you to say more.

You reached for him, fingers curling into his shirt like a white flag.

“I love you. Even when I hate you. Even when I wish I didn’t. Even when it hurts.”

Finally—finally—his grip eased, his hand replacing his forearm, rough fingers stroking the flushed skin of your throat. He looked down at you with something like pride. Or possession. He pulls back his hips and snaps softly, a slow rhythm. Nothing close to satisfaction between your legs and in your belly.

“No more of that hate talk, sweetheart,” he said, voice low and hoarse. “You don’t hate me. You just want me to remind you.” He chuckles, increasing pace as his forearms tighten again, making you go lightheaded.

His thrusts are relentless, making you gasp and claw at his shirt. Mouth slack open as you gurgle on your spit and beg with sweet whines and please of John please please please. But to a certain extent, the brat in you still there reveals itself.

Your lips trembled.

“Remind me again tomorrow,” you whispered, lips curling faintly followed by a moan.

That grin—the dangerous one—came back.

“Oh, I will.”

[spacetrashpile]

oh kid eternity we’re really in it now

[theobromine42]

This is about Arthur Lester and John Doe Malevolent in my mind

don't really care if the otp is romantic or platonic or erotic or whatnot. i care simply about the essentials (they are toxically codependent)

[marvelstoriesepic]

Your Ghost Knows Me

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky x Avenger!Reader

Summary: On a mission to dismantle a Hydra base, Bucky’s activation codes are triggered. And what does he do without a kill order?

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: mind control; non-consensual behavior (not sexual but bodily autonomy themes); possessive behavior; gun violence (implied, not graphic); threats of violence; emotional manipulation (unintentional); PTSD; trauma responses; forced proximity; mentions of Bucky’s past; Hydra

Author’s Note: I'll never get tired of a possessive Winter Soldier!! Honestly, I should write about him more often. Anyway, this absolutely iconic request is from my sweet dear!! Thank you so much, and I hope you'll enjoy ♡

2k Drabble Challenge Masterlist | Masterlist

There is always something quiet about Bucky when he looks at you before the mission begins. Quiet in the way thunder is quiet just before the crack. As if he is holding something inside himself too loud for the world.

You always say his name and he would look at you like he’s afraid to blink.

You don’t think you’re supposed to notice the way he hovers at your side. You’re not supposed to feel his shadow, stitched to your steps. But you do. You always do. Because Bucky Barnes does not know how to stay subtle. Not with you. Not when he thinks you might not make it out of this alive.

Your mission is to break into an old Hydra base with heat still humming through the walls and ghosts still hanging from the rafters.

The team drops in like rain. Controlled chaos. Clint on the left flank. Sam from above. Steve on the right flank. Nat somewhere in the dark.

You are light-footed and fast and smart and alive. Bucky stays behind you. Always behind you. Watching your six. He never lets you fall.

And you get the proof of this for the thousandth time when he throws his arm out and grabs your vest to yank you back hard enough to make you gasp. Your heart stutters in your throat. You stumble, twist, spin - and crash into him.

There was a tripwire. You almost walked into it. And Bucky saw. He sees everything.

“You okay?” He breathes, voice low, not quite touching worry but brushing the edges of it.

“Yeah,” you whisper back. “Thanks.”

He nods. Says nothing. Keeps moving.

You press forward into the maze of concrete and metal that is the Hydra base, gun raised, heart playing the drum in your ribs.

Bucky slows.

You glance over at him. “What is it?”

He stares at a rusted door, barely ajar. A soft static pulses from within, like an old radio dying in slow motion. The sound crawls down your spine. Your skin prickles.

“Bucky,” you start, reaching for him. “Let’s move.”

But he’s already walking toward that door with narrowed eyes.

The room is dark. Cold. Frost is on the walls like a memory that won’t let go. A machine in the corner makes low noises. Wires twitch on the floor like veins ripped from a corpse. The air stinks of metal and mildew and something old. Something wrong.

And then it speaks. A voice, thick with static, seeps out of the machine. A voice you don’t understand. Not really. You can’t make out the words, but you know them. You know what they mean.

“Желание. Ржавый.”

You spin around, heart rushing up to your ears, calling his name, but it’s too late.

“Семнадцать. Рассвет.”

Bucky stands frozen.

Stone. Steel. Silence.

His face is slack. That haunted stillness takes over.

He isn’t gone. But he isn’t Bucky anymore.

“Печь.”

His eyes go distant. Flat. His face cracks into something you’ve only seen in nightmares. No fury. No fear. Just absence.

“Доброкачес��венный.”

“No,” you breathe. Your heart forgets how to beat. “Bucky,” you basically yell at him. Nobody even knew there were still functioning systems here. But they’d been waiting. Planning.

“Девять.”

“Bucky please snap out of this.” You know it’s useless. You don’t know why you say it.

“Возвращение на родину.“

Your hand trembles around the grip of your weapon as you force yourself to jump out of the shock your limbs are locked in. You raise your arm and aim. You pull the trigger. One.

“Один.”

Two.

“Грузовой вагон.”

Three.

Four times.

The machine sparks. Cracks. Screams. A dozen red lights blink and die like stars going out. The voice cuts out, perhaps wanting to give a command, a final breath of Russian strangled by silence. And it slams into the room like a body.

For a heartbeat, for a breath, you think it’s over.

You hope it’s over.

But his name dies on your tongue when you turn back to him.

Bucky doesn’t speak. He doesn’t blink. He doesn’t breathe like a man. He doesn’t look at you - he tracks you, the way a sniper does. As if you’re a piece of intel.

Sam’s voice crackles over the comms. “Hey. We heard something. Everything good over there?”

You can’t answer right away.

Your voice is lost.

Because Bucky Barnes is gone.

And the Winter Soldier is standing in his place.

It takes you a minute to explain your situation and you hear the tremor in Steve’s voice when he tells you they’re on their way.

You try to breathe around the panic growing like thorns in your chest.

You whisper his name, again and again, as if it’s a spell that might pull him back. But the Winter Soldier does not know your voice.

Does not know you.

And when Steve finally rounds the corner, face pale, shield up, Bucky growls.

Low. Subhuman. A warning without words.

“Woah, woah- easy,” Steve says, holding up a hand. He looks at you. “He’s- He’s not gone. We’ll fix this. We can bring him back.”

You don’t know how promising he tries to make this sound.

But Bucky shifts his body, in front of you.

He plants himself between you and everyone else, like a wall, like a weapon.

Like a threat.

No orders. No hesitation. Just instinct.

He scans Steve’s hands. Sam’s gun. Natasha’s eyes.

Every time someone even twitches in your direction, he angles his body tighter around you, metal hand flexing. His breathing is shallow. Sharp.

He has no words. No explanations. He doesn’t seem to need them.

You try to take a step forward, away from his back. He moves with you. You stop. So does he.

“Please,” you whisper. “Bucky. Come back.”

But he doesn’t flinch.

Not for the begging in your voice. Not for the heartbreak in your eyes.

But you know he doesn’t hear you. He only hears the ghosts in his blood. The machine in his brain. The purpose Hydra seared into his bones.

“Alright, this can’t-“ The moment Sam takes a step forward, Bucky moves.

He grabs you. Not roughly, not violently, but fully. As if the air between your bodies has never existed. As if he’s made of magnets and you’re the only thing that ever pulled him north.

His metal arm anchors around your waist, his other hand at your shoulder, your spine, your hip - everywhere, all at once. He places himself between you and the others again and makes sure to keep you there as if you are a holy thing. His breath is ragged. Feral.

“Bucky,” Steve tries. There is something pained in his tone. Also something warning. “Let her go.”

But he doesn’t listen.

Because there is nothing left to listen to.

No more commands. No more codes. No more voice in his ear.

So he seems to have written a new directive into his mind and that is you.

You are the mission now. You are the purpose, the protection, the last thing left when everything else burns.

His hand is wrapped around your wrist so tightly, it makes your breath hitch. But you don’t pull away. You can’t. There is something in his eyes. Something not Bucky but not nothing either.

Not the soldier.

Not the man.

Just this animal of loyalty. Of violence. Of need.

You try.

God, you try.

You speak to him in pieces. In whispers. In words coming from trembling lips and bruised hope.

“Bucky,” you plead.

Soft. Like maybe softness will do it. Like maybe he’ll come back to the sound of your voice wrapped in love instead of command.

But he doesn’t.

And he doesn’t let anyone near you.

Not Steve, who takes one careful step and ends up with a knife lodged in the floor in front of his foot.

Not Sam, who reaches out and gets a warning growl that raises the hairs on your arms.

Not Natasha, who tries to circle behind, quiet as a whisper - and is met with the barrel of Bucky’s gun aimed clean between her eyes.

You frantically call Bucky’s name.

“Hey- easy,” she says, voice low. “Nobody wants to harm your girl, Barnes.”

He doesn’t blink. He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t care.

He tightens his grip on you, fingers locking around your arm like a shackle. You try to find a piece of Bucky still breathing in there.

But all you see is possession.

He steps back into the shadows, pulling you with him, shielding you with his body as if the world is trying to take you and he’s the last wall still standing.

No one sees you now.

Because he won’t let them.

He moves you behind crates. Walls. Corners. Shadows. Always putting something between you and them. Always hiding you. Not out of shame. Not out of fear.

Out of possession.

Out of protection.

Out of a command he gave himself.

You are a mission. A precious object. A singular order sculpted into the ruins of his memory.

You hear Steve’s heavy sigh. His quiet and deep voice. The pain in it. “We need to sedate him.”

The next thing you pick up is the click of a safety releasing.

Bucky’s gun is pointed and ready.

He would kill for you right now.

He would kill them.

All of them.

Within the blink of an eye.

For you.

“No,” you croak out, voice breaking. It feels wrong to call him Bucky. It feels wrong to call him Soldat. “Please don’t! Don’t do this!”

You don’t know if it’s something in your voice or something in your tense stance against his back, but he slowly lowers his gun, slowly turns his head to stare at you.

Empty.

Unreachable.

But somehow not cold.

And then his hand rises. Flesh fingers trace your jaw. So gently it nearly breaks you.

It’s not affection. It’s assessment.

He’s checking. For wounds. For weakness. For threats, you might be hiding beneath your skin.

You breathe as if forgetting how to.

You try to shift. Just a little. Just to look behind him. Just to meet Steve’s eyes, Sam’s, Natasha’s, Clint’s - who finally got his ass here as well.

But Bucky moves. Fast.

A hand around your chin. Tilting your face back toward him.

Eyes narrow. Jaw locks.

You know what it means.

He doesn’t want you to look at them.

He doesn’t want you to speak with them.

He doesn’t want you to think of them.

You are his now.

Because something in his mind burned the world down and left you standing in the wreckage, and he needs something to hold onto. Not just anything. Not just anyone. You.

You try again.

Whispers, again.

“I have to talk to them-”

He shakes his head. Once. Sharp. Final.

“No,” he growls. Not language. Not word. Just a sound scraped from somewhere too deep and too far gone.

You flinch and he feels it.

His grip grows stiff.

Your body goes still.

He doesn’t want to hurt you. But he doesn’t let you go.

You catch the glint of Steve’s shield out of the corner of your eye.

They haven’t moved in minutes.

They’re waiting.

They’re watching.

They don’t want to hurt him either. But they will if they have to.

“Don’t,” you murmur. “Don’t come closer. Don’t- don’t try to talk to me, he- he doesn’t want that.”

You hear Sam lower his weapon, just a hair. “We can’t leave you like this.”

You want to cry. You want to scream. You want to pull Bucky into your arms and shake him until something clicks and he remembers you. Remembers himself.

But the Winter Soldier only seems to be remembering his duty. Violence shaped into protection.

And right now, that protection looks like isolation.

You. Alone. Tucked behind crates and corners and silence and his broad shoulders.

You speak anyway. Because you have to. Because he’s in there somewhere. Because he might not hear the others, but maybe he can still hear you.

“Bucky,” you speak. Swallow. “They’re not the enemy.”

His hand twitches on your arm.

“They’re your friends.”

He tightens his grip.

“They’re my friends.”

He releases another deep and gravelly sound.

His body is tense, electric, fury held in the cage of his bones.

“Please,” you say. You hate the sound of your own voice now. You sound like you are shattering in slow motion. “You don’t have to protect me from them. You don’t- I’m not-”

You breathe out shakily.

Your lip trembles. Your eyes sting.

Because he’s looking at you as if he would kill the whole world to keep you safe. And he doesn’t even remember who you are.

You press your forehead to his chest. His body doesn’t move.

He’s breathing faster now. His pulse thrums under your cheek.

But he lets you stay there.

That has to be something.

Behind Bucky, someone whispers your name. Carefully. Cautiously. As though if they say it wrong you’ll be ripped out of this moment and Bucky will hunt them all down.

You lift your head.

Bucky sees it.

Sees the way your eyes pull toward Sam’s voice.

Sees the way you’re still trying to hold onto them. Still reaching.

He doesn’t like that.

He hates that.

His hand finds the back of your neck. He pulls you into him, hides your face in his chest. Your shoulders lock. His body shields you like a fortress of flesh and metal and confusion. As if your gaze is a window, and he is closing the shutters.

You are not theirs anymore.

And he will not let you be.

[cloverapple]

How To Finally Shift If You’ve Been Trying For 2+ Years

⚠️ Little warning before we begin: don’t get scared off! I might sound a little negative at first, but that’s not the point of this post. My goal is for you to reach the end of this and think “Oh, I’m definitely going to shift to my DR now!”

Having said that:

If you’ve been on your shifting journey for two or more years, doing methods, reprogramming your mind, consuming advice, maintaining a mental diet, manifesting, forcing assumptions, trying to create assumptions, etc, etc⏤and you still haven’t shifted your awareness to your DR, maybe it’s time to stop trying to make yourself shift.

Stop trying to shift.

Stop trying to trigger a shift.

Maybe the thing you need at this point in your journey is to stop trying to make yourself shift.

And I’ll explain why by asking you a question:

In these two, three, four, however many years of effort, don’t you think you would have shifted by now?

Think about it. You’ve oversaturated your mind with the intention to shift. You do all your methods correctly. You try to convince yourself that you're already in your DR. You feel symptoms. Sometimes you even "mini shift." And yet… you're still here. Doing the same things. Searching for advice that leads you right back to doing the same thing:

Trying to shift. Trying to trigger a shift. Trying to shift your awareness.

Trying.

Trying confidently.

Trying hopelessly.

Trying angrily.

…Trying.

If you were going to shift by inducing a shift, triggering a shift, or successfully shifting with a method, it would have happened by now.

“But Clover, I still have a lot of soul-searching and work to do! I just need to put in more effort!”

Awesome! Then click away, because this advice isn’t for you. I’m not talking to you.

I’m talking to the person who is tired. Who is drained. Who, despite applying all the sage advice on the internet, is just burnt out from the process of shifting.

And if that sounds like you, let me repeat: Maybe you need to stop actively trying to shift.

Your work is done. And that’s a good thing.

You’ve spent years ingraining the idea of shifting into your subconscious. You’ve impressed the intention to shift so deeply that it’s already there. Congratulations! You did all the mental work. It’s done.

Your DR is already yours. You already have the ability to shift.

So stop trying to trigger it. Stop trying to make yourself shift.

Let go of the ��making yourself shift” process.

“Oh my god, she’s going to tell me to take a break.”

LMAO you thought.

Yes, breaks are excellent. They help reset and recharge your mindset. I always encourage taking breaks if you need them. But let’s be honest. Sometimes, even the thought of taking a break feels just as mentally exhausting as staying on your shifting journey.

“Oh no, she’s going to tell me to do nothing at all.”

Once again, you thought.

Instead, you’re going to capitalize on the fact that you’ve already done all this work. The intention to shift is always, always, always in your mind. Your subconscious knows you want to shift. Just like it knows how to shift your awareness.

So, the next time you lay down to do your shifting process...

Instead of trying to shift…

Instead of trying to induce a shift, induce the void, or force an outcome…

Give yourself exactly what you want.

Give yourself the feeling of being in your DR.

Drop the conscious, active intention to shift because your subconscious already has it covered. You don’t need to keep hammering it in. Instead, focus on inducing the emotions you would feel if you were in your DR.

Imagine waking up in your DR. Imagine being there. Imagine spending time with your DR friends, your S/O, whatever makes you happiest. Personally, I lean toward wake-up scenarios. You can listen to music, meditate, visualize, even do a shifting method if you enjoy it—but instead of doing it with the intention to shift, you’re doing it just to give your body and mind the feeling of being there. The happiness, the calm, the excitement, whatever it is for you.

This does not mean you’re lying there thinking, “Okay, this is going to make me shift.”

No. No, no, no, no, no.

Drop the idea of shifting entirely. That process is done.

And I’ll say it one more time:

If you were going to shift by inducing a shift, making yourself shift, or triggering a shift, it would have happened already.

So let it go. Drop it.

Induce the emotions of being in your DR, and then let go. Once you do that, go to sleep. Or go about your day. That’s it.

So why does this actually make you shift?

Because feeling is the language of the subconscious.

Think about it: The moments in your life that shaped you the most weren’t just things you thought. They were things you felt deeply. Joy, fear, excitement, grief. Emotions imprint on the subconscious. That’s why certain smells, songs, or places instantly bring back vivid memories. Because your subconscious records experiences based on emotions, not logic.

So when you stop trying to shift and instead just focus on feeling like you’re in your DR, your subconscious responds by aligning your awareness to match that emotional state.

Because to the subconscious, there’s no difference between imagination and reality. When you visualize something vividly enough, your brain fires the same neurons as if you were actually experiencing it. Athletes use this trick to enhance performance. Musicians use it to refine their skills. And guess what? It works for shifting too.

When you let go of the effort and just immerse yourself in the emotions of already being there, you bypass the resistance that trying creates.

And that’s when the shift happens.

It happens because you stopped forcing it.

It happens because your subconscious already knows how to shift, you just needed to get out of its way.

So, again, drop the struggle. Drop the effort. Stop trying to shift.

The more precise or perfect you want the shift to be, the more pressure you put on yourself. Your brain rebels against that because rigid control drains energy.

Remember this:

High Emotion + Low Attachment = Flow.

When you feel something strongly but aren’t clinging to the result, your subconscious has room to act. This is why sometimes, when you care less or focus on something in a passing, emotional way, it manifests easily.

This is why people can give up on shifting entirely and shift. This is why people let go of the need to shift and shift. This is why you shift without meaning to.

You: “No, I can’t do this! I need to keep trying to shift or else my subconscious will think I don’t want to shift anymore!”

Me:

*As always, take what resonates, discard what doesn’t, because we’re all different people who need to hear different things :)