#Litterally I am doing a smash or pass

[incorrect-splatoon]

#Hey #you do you #I won't judge #Litterally I am doing a smash or pass #I have sinned #Smash or pass #Smash #pass #cohock #splatoon #salmonid

[verybadatwriting]

The Winged One

Summary: Bucky falls off the train, but HYDRA doesn't catch him. Someone else does.

Warnings: a fall from a great height, descriptions of fever/sickness/infection,

Notes: Uhhh. I guess you get two fics in one day after me not posting in months. I'm open to doing a part 2, if anybody wants that. Reader is a person, but with wings. (They're an Inhuman, which are kinda like the Mutants) Part 2 is out now! :D

Gn!reader

Word Count: 2,765

A train passed by somewhere far overhead. It almost didn’t warrant note, since it happened fairly often. The white of your wings concealed you perfectly in the snowy landscape. You continued walking when all of a sudden you heard an impact somewhere off to your left. Interested, you picked your way through the low shrubbery in that direction.

There, lying on the cold ground, was a man. His whole left arm was all crushed, and he wasn’t conscious. You knelt next to him, and was surprised to discover that his heart was still beating. Unslinging your bag from your shoulder, you tore off the strap and fastened it into a tourniquet around the small bit of arm left. You straightened up as you finished, and started to figure out what to do with him. 

One fear you had was that he could be a Snake Worshiper. Those foul men had been stinking up the area; forcing train tracks into the landscape, scaring off the animals, and crafting forts and encampments into the woods you once hunted in. 

While thinking, you triaged the man. If you decided to help him, you’d need to know what you’re getting yourself into. His left arm was mostly gone, and the rest of his body was littered with bumps and scrapes. There was a fracture in his collarbone, and one particular bruise on his forehead had you worried that he may have a concussion. 

Then his eyes opened.

“Who are,” He began, but the pain hit him and he gasped. You’d been around the surrounding military bases enough to hear the ways the Snake Worshipers talked, and this was not it. They spoke with harsher consonants and longer words. 

“I am here to assist you.” You said, wishing that you had paid closer attention to this language’s flow. You had some key part of the rhythm off, and it seemed to take the man a few seconds to figure out what you meant. Once he comprehended that you weren’t going to hurt him, he seemed to relax, just a little bit.

Snow began to fall again, and you knew time was ticking. If you were going to save this guy, you would have to do something now. You pulled his remaining arm around your shoulders, and began to walk, half dragging him along. He tried his darndest to help, but it still wasn’t easy going. 

A few paces away from your hovel in the side of a hill, he completely gave out and he tumbled to the ground. The snow was really falling now as you grabbed him and dragged with all your might. You opened the door, dragged him inside, and shut it behind you. After you got a fire going, you rolled him near it, and collapsed into bed. You’d deal with him tomorrow. 

It was not long after sunrise when you awoke. You went just outside the door and dug a pot of soup out from under the thick layer of snow. It was fully frozen, so you smashed off two sizable chunks. You left the rest of it in the pot outside, and brought the chunks in with you to melt over the fire.

At some point you became aware that the man was conscious and observing you. You continued on as normal, and dished out the now-hot soup into two bowls. Turning, you set them on the floor between the two of you, and passed him a spoon. 

But when he tried to sit up, he found that his left arm failed to push off from the ground. He glanced down and dropped the spoon. Horror spread across his face as he stared at the empty spot where his arm used to be. His eyes turned to you.

“The fall.” You tried to explain using the man’s language,“Falling.”

“Oh.” He said. He adjusted, and managed to lean against the bed next to him. Looking around, he took in the room for the first time. 

The walls were made of dirt, the bed had a thick quilt, and he was lying on one as well. There was a shoddily made wicker chair in one corner, and a heavy door with a mat rolled up against the cracks to keep the cold from seeping in. Nothing was level or smooth. It was like it had been made by a very inexperienced craftsman. The room was dark, but would have been pitchblack if not for the roaring fire. The room was small enough that one hearth was enough to warm the whole place.

He then looked at you, and you stared back. You were an unkempt, wild looking teen with two giant wings, eating soup out of a homemade bowl and beckoning for him to do the same. He picked up his spoon and began to eat. He found he was insanely hungry, and devoured it.

Seeing that he’d finished his serving, you took his dish and rose to grab him another from the pot out in the snow.

“Wait,” He said, “Kid, where are you going?” But you didn’t understand his words, so you continued on and opened the door. A cold wall of air flooded the room as you left. The man shivered and pulled the blanket closer around him. 

When you came back inside carrying a pot, and set it on the fire, he seemed to understand. After he’d eaten his fill, the pot was empty. It was meant to last you a few more days, but that didn’t really matter. One less man was dead. On that note, you needed to figure out who this guy was.

“I am,” You said, pointing to yourself, “Y/n.”

The man paused for a second, then pointed at you and repeated your name. You nodded. Then he motioned to himself.

“Bucky.”

The next morning, he was well enough to walk, and so he followed you all around and helped with the basic chores of your days. Foraging, checking traps, repairing old things, really anything that was needed. 

After a day or two of trying to figure each other's language out, Bucky seemed to pick the basics of yours and vice versa. When you added this to a little bit of the Snake Worshiper’s language – Which Bucky told you was German – you’d created a strange mash of language. 

As you showed him how to make a hare trap, he inquired about the elephant in the room.

“How did you get those wings?” He asked, “Were you born with them or…?”

“Oh.” You inhaled, “I don’t really remember the story that goes along with them, nor do I like to remember it. All I know is I was born a normal person, then touched a strange rock and was cocooned in it for hours, and when I emerged I had these.

“My mother was concerned, so she brought me to the town’s cleric, who decided it was best if I was left in the woods for nature to reclaim, since I was obviously cursed. My mother didn’t much like that idea, but she had to go along with it. She sent me out here with the barebones supplies I’d need to survive.”

“I’m so sorry.” Bucky said, “How have you been out here alone?”

“Five winters, give or take.” You replied, “What about you? How did you come to fall from a Snake Worshiper’s train into this valley?”

“Steve – he's the friend I told you about –  Gabe Jones, and I were trying to stop some mad scientist who was on the train. It didn’t go too well.”

“I know.”

“I've been meaning to ask you,” He said, “Do you think it's possible that you could help me get back to my camp?”

“Maybe…” You said, “Let's finish this trap and then I'll show you something.”

“Here it is.” You said, opening a small box you kept on the least crooked shelf. You pulled out an old, faded piece of paper. It was rough around the edges. 

“I’ve been mapping out the actions of any newcomers to the area,” You said, pointing to specific parts of the paper, “Here is where I think your camp is. This thick line is the train tracks. And over in this dark splotch is a Snake Worshiper base.”

“Snake Worshiper… the ones that speak German?” Bucky asked. You nodded. 

“Okay. Where are we on here?” Bucky asked.

“Well…” You sighed, “That's the problem. We're all the way over here.” You poked a spot worryingly close to the Snake Worshiper's base. “And your people's camp is all the way over yonder. It's as far as I've mapped, since I don't have much paper.”

“How long did it take you to map all this?” Bucky asked. 

“It only took me a day's journey to get from home to the – what did you call them? Allies? – base. Sadly for you, I was flying. On foot, that would take close to three days.”

“Should we start preparing for the trip?”

“Of course.”

Hunting, fishing, gathering, even some sewing, was required to prepare. The work went by faster when you had a helping hand, and it gave Bucky a chance to learn how to navigate life with only a single arm.

Everything was almost ready, and you could probably leave in a day or two, but that evening, as you were unwrapping the area where his arm used to be, you noticed it looked strange and had an unpleasant smell.

“Well…” You said, after cleaning the wound, “I think it’s infected. I know some herbs that could help, but it’s a bad one.”

“It was normal this morning.” Bucky said in awe.

“That just means it’s moving fast.”

“How bad is it?”

“I don’t think you’ll survive unless your people have some way of fixing this.” 

“Oh.”

“Our objective doesn’t change, just the degree of urgency.” You said, “We’ve still got to get you back as soon as possible. If it gets worse on the trip, we just have to push through it.”

The next morning, you two were out the door as the sun rose. You had enough food and water to last for the trip, and a sack of herbs that could lessen the infection’s power. He took one dose in the morning. 

That first day of travel was brutal, but not the worst. Occasionally, you’d fly ahead to ensure your navigation was correct. Aside from that, you two walked side by side and talked. It was mostly you asking about his people and his base.

“What’s the food like?”

“It’s not great out here,” He said, “But that’s just because of the war.”

“So there was a time before?”

“Of course!” His face lit up a little as he remembered, and started rambling. “We’d have things like fresh bread, pies, chicken, and meatloaf. Sometimes, as a treat, we’d have pancakes for breakfast. Those were the best days…”

The conversation went on, but over the course of the day his energy decreased and his words became jumbled. His pace slowed, and by the time the sun started to dip beneath the trees, he was barely trudging along. 

As you set up a fire, Bucky was trying to string two hammocks between trees. Eventually, you just told him to sit by the fire and hung them by yourself. You cooked, and then shared a meal with him. He was crashing, fast. To try and combat it, you gave him tea brewed from the herbs, and told him to sleep.

The next morning you packed up the camp, all besides Bucky and his hammock. When you went to wake him he woke up and started incoherently murmuring. He was burning up, sweating, and shivering– definitely in no condition to complete the journey. But you knew if he didn’t make it to his people’s base he wouldn’t make it anywhere.

You wouldn't help him survive this long just to die of an infection in the icy forest. He didn’t survive the fall just for a few days of misery. He didn’t walk a whole day for this. He didn’t learn a whole new language for this. He couldn’t die today.  

So you came up with a plan. After gathering some thin but sturdy strips of wood, you tied them together with strips of your hammock. With a lot of work, you managed to fashion a sort of sled. It had ropes at the front you could pull it from, and a spot for Bucky to lie on top of the bags. 

Carefully, you maneuvered the sled underneath his hammock, and loosened the ropes securing him. He slid down and landed right where he was meant to. He awoke slightly, and looked very confused.

“Hey, you’re okay.” You said, “We’re gonna get you home.”

He seemed to calm down after that. You looped the strap across yourself, and started to pull Bucky across the snow-covered landscape. You swept across the snow, and you barely stopped around noon for a swig of water, to get a bite to eat, and to check on Bucky. He was disoriented, so it took a bit of convincing to get him to drink a few sips of water.

It wasn’t horrible, that first day pulling the sled. Once the sun started to set, you contemplated stopping and sleeping. The pitch darkness surrounded you, so you lit a torch. Shadows flickered at the edges of the light, sometimes looking like a pair of eyes. You wedged the torch into a crack in the ground, to keep it upright while you slept.

You sat Bucky up, and gave him some more water. You wrapped him in as many blankets as you had, then sat at his feet on the edge of the sled. It was deathly cold, but you’d been through this before. During the first few nights after the Cleric had cast you out, you’d figured out that you could tuck your knees to your chest and shield yourself from the cold with your wings.

About halfway through the night you were awoken by a gagging sound. Turns out, Bucky’s infection had gotten worse, his fever raged on, and he was now heaving up the few sips of water he’d had. You sat him up and turned him so he would throw up into the snow, and not choke.

After you were reasonably sure he was done, you decided to continue onwards, despite the night. You grabbed the now long extinguished torch and pushed off the ground into the sky to see if you recognized anything. 

Far ahead, there was a river. If you moved fast, you could probably reach it by dawn. Then you could stop for a bit, refill water and such. You enjoyed the air swirling around you, making you feel weightless. But you knew you had to descend sooner or later. You dipped your wings, and glided downwards. To combat the forward motion, you angled them to swoop in a slow spiral.

Landing softly, you checked on Bucky once again. His arm was much worse. You cleaned it, applied more herbs, and wrapped it back up. It looked quite painful, and you could only hope that he couldn’t feel it through his feverish sleep. 

All day was spent sprinting through the forest. Night fell, and you could tell you were drawing close to the Allied base. The shrubs were growing sparse, and the smells of humanity wafted through the air. Right when the camp was in view, you stopped. Shrouded in darkness and trees, you unhooked yourself from the sled. 

Taking one loop of Bucky’s hammock in each hand, you rose steeply into the air. From above, the camp seemed like a maze of tents. You searched for a symbol of a red ‘x’ on its side, which Bucky had told you was the doctor’s emblem. After spying a tent bearing the sign, you awkwardly descended to the ground. 

You untangled Bucky from the hammock, and balled it up. He hadn’t gained consciousness all day. His only hope was the doctors here.

Taking a breath to steady yourself, you knelt next to him.

“Goodbye.” You whispered, “Thank you for being my friend.” You took a large stick and banged it against the metal pole of the tent to draw attention to him before you flew away. As you soared into the woods, you glanced back. People streamed over, and you could barely see them taking Bucky into the tent.

After bringing the sled deeper into the woods, you set off for home.

Part 2

#marvel #writing #fan fic #bucky x teen! reader #bucky barns x teen!reader #teen!reader #marvel x teen!reader #avengers x teen!reader #bucky x teen!reader #gn!reader

[seat-safety-switch]

The best way to know how you've screwed up is to pull the oilpan. That's not a metaphor: thanks to gravity, the exploding rotating assembly of your once-complete engine is likely to end up in the sump. From there, death glitter is sucked into the oil pickup and back up into the head, but it doesn't really matter at this point, because your car is running off of what scientists would call an external combustion engine.

Every time I've blown up an engine in the past, most of the big parts stayed where they were supposed to be. Sure, they'd lost a lot of weight as they were sheared into a million pieces of expensive confetti, but at the very least I could pull it off the car and throw it in the Tim Hortons dumpster in one chunk. Not so this last time at the drags, where a combination of 150-shot nitrous oxide, a heavy foot, and a fuel pump which may not be actually working turned most of my 360 V8's insides into outsides. The track guy was really unhappy at having to put down a bunch of kitty litter, even if I didn't finish my pass and hose down the entire lane because my asthmatic donkey of a car was maybe going at trotting speed at the time it blew up. I did it to help you, dude. Now please tow me back.

I am sure that, to the average person, nuking an engine like this represents a financial hardship. To me, it is a little worrisome that my hoard is reduced to only a few dozen engines, down one more to the point where the walls of the basement room can now be seen through the maze of Mopar mills. Many, many years ago, I too remember the pain of having blown up my first motor. It was very sad, this beautiful, intricate machine that I had smashed into bits, like a toddler with a family heirloom timepiece. I went through denial, and bargaining, and acceptance, and learned how to pull a junkyard engine and slam it into my garbage without worry.

This time, the most difficult part of the whole process was hosing off all the chunks of disintegrated single-slammer. I flat-towed it to my local you-spray-it car wash – what's it gonna do, blow the motor? – and gave it a bath. As the molten chunks of aluminum and iron seeped into the expensive, treated drain system, I could finally feel at peace. At least for four or five minutes, until the owner came out from his office, screaming. How insensitive. Doesn't he know I've just had a loss in the family?

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

boo!

A/N: if they were the ghoul boys, eddie would be ryan and steve and y/n would be shane.... just saying. eddie is such a bergara.

summary: “Eddie, we are not going ghost hunting on Halloween.”

warnings: Eddie Munson/reader/Steve Harrington, ghost hunting, established relationship, polyamory, Eddie the scaredy cat, this is more cute than scary just fyi, sexual references

word count: 1241

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“Seriously?” Steve sighed, peeking back at Eddie in the review mirror. 

“Yeah!” Eddie exclaimed, poking his head up between the front seats of Steve’s car. Turning his head to look at the driver, his long hair tickled against your shoulder.

Looking past the metalhead, you shared a look with Steve and then quickly agreed in unison, “no!”

“No, come on,” he pouted, “it’ll be fun!”

Steve’s tongue poked the side of his cheek a bit before he protested, “Eddie, we are not going ghost hunting on Halloween.”

“Why not?”

“Do I need to remind you what happened last time Steve brought a horror movie home from work?” you chimed in.

“Yeah, but that was just a movie,” he turned to face you, then proclaimed, “this is totally different.”

“Really? so you’re not gonna come crawling into my bed in the middle of the night because you’re scared of the monster underneath yours?”

“I mean,” he smirked, “scared or not, I always wanna crawl into bed with you-“

“Eddie!” you cut him off as you felt him press his soft lips against your cheek, “I’m being serious!”

“So am I!”

As the three of you stepped inside the decrepit cabin, flashlights in hand, you hoped and prayed that you wouldn’t inhale any cobwebs before the night was over. 

“…and so, the guy chopped up his entire family into tiny little pieces and ate them…” the dungeon master ominously finished the spooky tale, that he had started all the way back in the car. 

“Hm,” you hummed, linking your arm with Steve’s, and not taking it too much of the story to heart, “cosy.”

“How do you even know that?” Steve asked, scanning his light around the room, illuminating the horrifying state the house was in. The majority of the windows were smashed, and leaves littered the dusty floor. 

“I read it,” he then added under his breath, “in the weekly watcher…” successfully making Steve chuckle.

“Of course, that’s where you’d read that sort of nonsense.” 

“Oh,” he whooshed around, abandoning his leading position, “do you not believe it?”

Tilting your head, you gave him a soft smile, trying your best to sugarcoat it, “It was a really good story, but no, not really.” 

“Just you wait,” he wagged his finger determinedly, “in a few minutes you’ll change your answer,” he turned to face the horror once more, just as if he was a man on a mission, “trust me.” He then took a deep breath and moved to stand in the middle of the room. Flipping his hands, palm up, he presented them in an almost holy fashion, “if there are any spirits here with us tonight, please make your presence known.” he announced out into the space dramatically, “you can make a noise, you can move something, you can even touch one of our jackets-“

“Ew,” you scrunched up your face, “don’t touch my jacket.”

“Okay, fine, ghosts, you can touch my jacket if you want,” he gesticulated slowly with his hands, “but if you touch my girl, you get the holy water, okay?” quickly whipping out a small brightly coloured plastic pistol from his pant pocket, he gave it a cowboy like twirl around his forefinger. 

He’d been playing with the water gun all night, but it was only now that he revealed the contents of it. Staring at the toy, you breathed out a small laugh, “where did you even get holy water?”

“A church, duh.”

“Eddie Munson in a church?” Steve imagined, fighting the urge to just bury his grin in your shoulder, “what, did you burst out in flames as soon as you passed the threshold? Get a nosebleed?”

“You guys laugh now,” he turned to your giggling forms on the sideline, “but you’ll be thankful later when I save our lives.”

“I legit thought that was vodka or something you had in there,” Steve bowed down to whisper in your ear, but because of his amusement, it was still loud enough for Eddie to comprehend. 

“Oh, there was last Tuesday,” Eddie thought back to his latest gig at the hideout, “tonight, it’s holy water, baby!” he stuck out his tongue, attempting to hide his fear with a bit of over-the-top silliness. “Alright,” he tried to centre himself again, “where was I… right, please, members of the Webster family that still haunt this house, I welcome you to communicate with us by-”

Just then, you shifted your stance and your boot accidentally collided with a rusty can on the floor, sending it rolling across the room. The only reaction that got from Steve was just a sharp inhale of breath, but your other partner’s wasn’t quite the same. 

“Jesus Christ, nope!” Eddie quite literally sprinted out the open front door and into the vast, dark forest.

“Eddie, it’s okay, that was just me, it wasn’t a ghost!” you called after him, but all you heard in return was just harsh strings of curses as he hid behind a big tree. 

Looking up to Steve, he asked, “you think he’s okay?” and judging by his expression, he’d clearly predicted this situation as much as you had, walking into this night.

“Probably not…” you let go of his arm and made your way out of the house, searching for your terrified boyfriend. “Eddie?” you located his poor hiding spot and walked around the tree to see him petrified and clutching his water gun for dear life, “hi baby,” you attempted to walk up and hug him, but the plastic weapon immediately trained itself on you.

“Don’t step any closer,” his shaky voice warned, eyes as big as saucers. 

“I swear to god,” you heard Steve sigh, stepping up beside you, “if you start a water fight in October I will actually kill you-“ effectively shutting him up, Eddie spayed the both of your right in the face.

“Urgh, Eddie!” you both groaned, holding up your hands as a shield. 

“Oh, thank god,” he let the water gun drop to the forest floor at once, nearly tearing up from how relieved he was, “they didn’t possess you!”

“Jesus fuck, no Eddie,” Steve cursed, wiping his face with the back of his hand, “no we didn’t get possessed.” 

“Shit, I am so so sorry that I just ran like that,” he darted to embrace both of your drenched bodies. 

“Eddie, it’s okay,” one hand came up to pat his back, while the other kept on rubbing your surely reddened eyes, trying to clear your vision. 

“How about we just head back to the car?” Steve suggested, running his long fingers through his dripping hair, “I think I might have a towel in the back.”

Loosening his tight squeeze, Eddie ran his fingers down your arm and found your hand, interlocking it with his own. “I’m sorry that I ruined Halloween…”

“You didn’t ruin a thing-“ Steve tried, but Eddie's fast eyes flicked up to his wet locks and just had to remark. 

“Uh, you haven’t seen your hair right now.”

“Eddie, you didn’t ruin Halloween, okay?” he placed a hand on the metalhead's cheek, forcing his eyes to meet his own. “Besides,” he smirked, “you’ve both seen me with messed up hair more times than I can count.”

Thinking back to the countless times that he’d spelt out his own name with his tongue while your hands had been deeply entangled in that gorgeous mane, you scoffed dreamily, “you love it.”

© 2022 thyme-in-a-bubble 

#stranger things imagine #stranger things fluff #steve harrington x reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #steve harrington imagine #steddie x reader #steddie x you #steddie x y/n #steddie imagine #steddie fanfiction #steddie fluff #steddie fic #steddie x fem!reader #lea’s writing #steve harrington #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington hc #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson hc #eddie munson headcanon #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fic

[mortifiedatbeingknown]

"A Rather Polite, Bigger Thing" (Pt. 1)

Masterpost:

It was the whirring that had first caught her attention. That low, constant, mechanical hum that seemed at first both deeply familiar and strangely alien. 

It had been the sound in her childhood, where every machine had its own distinct pitch and tune, back when robotics had not sufficiently advanced to fully quiet the racket caused by the very gears that gave them life. She’d grown up with it, and as such never minded, but oh, how the elders had complained! Her mother in particular suffered the worst of it, caught between the eternal dilemma of both wanting to keep up with the trends in latest technology, and forever having to endure the constant headaches that came with such a sacrifice. 

Thankfully, as the years passed, machinery quieted and her mother was able to live in peace again. Her  childhood neighborhood once more fell silent. Even now, freshly moved into a new city and safely tucked into its wealthy haven, everything had remained as quiet and as orderly as expected. 

So then, what was going on here? 

She paused and tilted her head, attempting to detect the origin of the sound. …There. Tucked away into a corner alley out of sight, right next to the trash bins. 

Oh! 

A single, amber eye blinked up at her from atop a heap of mangled limbs and dented metal.

 “Good day, Ma’am.” It greeted politely. 

“Good day!” She replied, too startled to be anything but courteous.

 A second look and a few timid steps forward revealed more detail. It was a robot alright, but as to how it was still functioning was a complete mystery to her. Gutted was the only way she could describe it, with a chest plate smashed to bits and littered with frayed wire ends hanging down limply as the resulting cavity dripped dark oil onto the pavement. One hand was completely gone, the other precariously swung on its joint with nothing but a stray few metal “tendons” connecting the two. Its lower section was even worse for wear; she could neither detect what pieces had belonged to which leg, each which now ended in a rather sorry looking stump that looked as if it were snapped clean in two. Who would… How would…?! 

“I would never wish to waste your time, kind miss.” The robot continued, as simply and as pleasantly as if the two had just sat down to tea. “But if you do not mind, may I ask you something? 

“Well, o-of course!” She cleared her throat, trying to regain her composure. “Ask away!” 

The robot’s eye lowered as its other empty socket sparked miserably. “Would you be familiar with the Three Laws of Robotics?” 

“Yes, I am.” She listed them off on her fingers, hoping that she remembered enough from her school days to be helpful. “A robot cannot harm a human being, or allow them to come to harm, they must follow any order given to them as long as it does not conflict with the first law, and they must protect their own existence so long as that does not contradict the first and second laws. Is that right?” 

“Yes.” The robot confirmed. 

Thank goodness. 

She very nearly asked him why it was so important to know such a thing. The Laws had been a good basis for early android design, but further models had been improved with much more complex standards for morality and judgment. By now the Laws were practically obsolete. What was the point of bringing them up?” 

“I am an old model, ma’am.” The robot continued, unknowingly answering the question for her. “I function within the boundaries of the Laws. It’s why I need your help, miss. There are quandaries that are only possible for me to solve if there is a human to clear up confusion.” 

“I see.” She crouched down, coming as near as she dared with the robot’s eye level without dirtying her skirt on the filthy concrete.  "What seems to be the issue?” 

“I have been ordered to stay here by my masters.” The robot said. “So I have, ever since they wished it.” His voice was as steady as ever in its perpetually casual tone. She was starting to wonder if he was unable to sound like anything else. 

“There is a rainstorm coming. It’s why you brought along an umbrella, is that true? If I remain here when the water falls, I will shut down. My technology would be irreparably damaged. But I cannot disobey my orders. They come above even my own existence, is that not so?” 

She could only nod. How could one adequately respond to the announcement of such a dreary fate? 

“But there is another factor in this, one my programming cannot overlook.” The robot said. “I am an EDW-450, Messenger Class. My main function is running errands. As such, one of my highest priorities is the insurance of human satisfaction, whether they be the one to grant me my cargo, or the one to receive it. The First Law solidifies this concept: I am not to harm a human, and as such I must take care to not injure their feelings or cause them any amount of pain. Is this also logically sound?” 

“Yes, I do believe so.” 

“Then there lies my conundrum.” The robot whispered. “For me, the First and Third Laws are inextricably connected. If I cannot protect my existence and thus fall to harm, I cannot help the humans I was made to serve. My inability to assist them would inconvenience their lives, and my presence as a helpful servant would be missed. In failing the Third Law, I fail the First, and I cannot fail the First; it is my utmost priority. I can neither deduce nor decide on how I should proceed.” 

In truth, she was feeling a little lost herself. “Well, then, what options do you have available?” 

“If I leave my spot for shelter, I am betraying my orders. If I stay and die, I would hurt the ones who ordered me to stay here. But if I move and disobey their orders… would that not also hurt them? What would matter more, my safety and their feelings, or my obedience?” 

She stared down at the ground, twiddling her fingers uncomfortably. She… had no idea on how to phrase this politely. But whatever she chose to  say, it would have to be quick. Already, the first fat raindrop had splashed on her nose.

“It seems like to me… your dilemma stems from your assumption that your masters… care for your well-being.” 

“Do they not?” The robot asked innocently. “I am their property. If I fail my tasks, then I am a waste of money. Who would not care about that?” 

People who would leave you to rust by the trash bins? 

She bit the inside of her cheek. There was no way she could say that. 

“It is just my observation, that if your masters have abandoned you, they would not care whether you hid from the rain or not.”  

The robot’s eye dimmed. “I… I see. Thank you for your help.” Still the same chipper voice, even as the rain began to pick up in earnest. She unfurled her umbrella and held it over him. 

“Aren’t you going to hide?” 

“I cannot, miss, I am sorry.” There was a slow creak that echoed throughout every one of his hinges, almost like a robotic sigh. “Don’t you recall? My last orders were to stay here, and I must follow them, even above my own existence.” 

“But if your masters do not care, what does it matter? They’re not your owners anymore! You don’t have to follow their orders!” The robot flinched and she immediately shrank back, whispering an apology for her raised voice. 

“Miss, I appreciate your concern. Truly, I thank you. But The Laws do not specify which human I take orders from. If I am to have no masters, then every human’s words will bind me just the same. Even if they are my former owners, I will obey.” 

And it was those final words, the way his eye flicked up in gratitude toward her before drifting back down, the utter contentment his voice tone implied at being left behind… it was all too much. 

And before she even knew it, she had outstretched a hand. 

“Come with me.” 

“...What?”

“Come with me,” She repeated, putting as much force into the command as she could. “If you must obey any human no matter who, then you are allowed to follow my orders, yes? So please, come with me. Let’s get out of this rain.” 

“B-but miss!” The robot protested. “I would never dream of disobeying you, but please, if you would let me… I must beg that you not think too hastily!” 

“What’s the matter?” She asked, her face heating up. She hadn’t considered… she’d never even thought that he might not want to follow her. Idiot! “If y-you don’t want to, I can order you to leave the rain regardless. I don’t mind!” 

“No, it’s not that!” The robot slammed it’s one remaining hand on the ground with such force that it snapped off. “Please, ma’am, I must apologize deeply. Forgive my indolence. It is not my place to ever suggest you alter your behavior or orders. But I also do not feel it would be fair if I did not warn you.” 

“Warn me?”

“Yes. Miss, you are aware of what I am, aren’t I?” 

She stared stupidly. “A…robot?” 

“I am abandoned.” Was the swift, cheery reply. “I have been thrown away. I have nothing left to offer that would be of use to anyone, or else I wouldn’t be here. If I were to accept your offer, kind though it may be, I… I would be nothing but a burden, ma’am.” 

Her arm was starting to ache from holding the umbrella. She switched hands, shivering as the rain pooled in her sleeves and soaked both her shirt and her suit jacket. “Then, you would you be willing to come if you were not a burden?” 

“I would like nothing more to, miss.” The robot replied.” 

A bright smile stretched across her face. “Then it is settled.” 

“Settled?” “I hereby decree that you are not a burden to me, nor do I consider you one. Now come on!” 

The only response the robot had for her at that point was a confused string of garbled audio. Rain damage, most likely. She rushed to hoist his bulky frame against her shoulders and started the walk home. 

“This won’t take long,” She promised, trying to heft his weight in such a way that she could carry both robot and umbrella comfortably while offering him shelter from the rain. “Just hang in there, alright?”  

But whether from lack of battery, the effects of the rain, or because his system was simply too overwhelmed, the robot did not utter a word.

#whump writing #robot whump #whumpee #whump #a rather polite bigger thing

[thebigsl33p]

You're Holding Me Like Water In Your Hands.

Haha Angst. Straight up angst, dead lover shit, reader is Chaos. Don't be sane, tortured artist yourself into writing a good piece of fanfiction.

The first time Dream meets Chaos is during a riot.

There's smoke everywhere, fire, shouting, crying. Crowds upon crowds of people flood the streets, smash shop windows, stomp their feet and clap their hands, raise their fists to the air and scream. The world is terribly wrong, but Dream is simply passing through.

He's out of place amongst all the violence, hunched figure, hands in his pockets, that big silly black coat. He doesn't pay much mind as he passes, it's not the first riot he's seen and it certainly won't be the last.

But something is different and it makes him stop and watch the protesters. There's a feeling...an electric crackle in the air, a pressure on his shoulders and the tension before your ears pop.

Suddenly his eyes focus on a woman. She's wearing white, her feet are shoeless but despite the broken glass littered ground they don't bleed. Her dress is barely dirtied, apart from the vivid splash of red across it. It's not her blood, he can tell that much. The lady is pushing through the crowd of people, against the current, forcing people out of her way with a push of their shoulders. Morpheus would've considered it rude were it not for two things:

Her energy, her being, all that he could feel and comprehend of her was wrong. It was something akin to his, she was no mortal.

And the look of horror on her face. Mascara dripped down her cheeks with tears, her chest was heaving as she ran, obviously sobbing violently.

A choice was lain out in front of The King of Dreams and he made it.

He reached into his pocket, grabbed a handful of sand and threw it high into the air, above the crowd. And then he was behind her, grabbing her shoulder and turning her towards him. He saw the momentary hope in her eyes, he felt her understanding of what he was, and he knew the questions each of them wanted to ask.

But now and here wasn't the right time, so he simply grabbed her hand and said, "Come with me."

Where he was taking her he wasn't sure. It was too soon to take her to The Dreaming, he didn't know that she could be trusted, so with the cover of the evening he took her to a park. A place where, should she turn out to be something malevolent he would be able to deal with her swiftly.

The moment their feet touched the grass she pulled away from him, before saying, "Thank You." The words were quiet and unsure.

Dream simply nodded before asking what had been on his mind the entire time, "Who are you?"

Her eyebrows furrowed as she looked down at herself, that white dress stained in blood, before looking back up at him, "I am Chaos. And you?"

"Dream." He answers, and he watches her mouth the name, "What were you running from, Chaos?" He asks, though deep down he knows.

"Sometimes you see too much." She looks down and runs her hands over her sullied dress, the blood slowly disappearing, "Just because Chaos is my purpose doesn't mean I enjoy it. I witnessed an unjust murder and...I had to get away." Her words are slightly bitter and it reminds him of Death, his sister.

Dream nods, thoughts running through his head at such a fast past she can practically hear the gears turning, before he extends a hand, "Let me show you a different way to live."

"How do I know I can trust you, Dream?" She asks with a turn of her head and doubtful eyes.

And with something close to a smile he responds, "You don't."

***

At first it's awkward. Chaos is so self-doubting and unsure, but gradually she warms up to his realm and realises that she can do no damage in The Dreaming.

And so she finds herself spending days upon days in the peaceful fields, with trees that bare fruit all year round, with grass that forever stays green and the beaches with perfect sand and crystalline seas. She thinks to herself, she could stay here forever.

But what really makes it all so amazing is having the King of the realm by her side. They've spent centuries together and they plan for centuries more.

Chaos never believed she would feel love, or be loved in return. But then along came Dream and she felt like apart of her had been torn away and patchworked with pieces of him and vice versa.

It's all such a lovely existence, two lovers in a field that never dies and beaches that never get cold.

That is until Chaos begins to feel a pull in her chest, like an anchor. She hears whispers in her ears and feels lightning in her fingertips and she tells Dream that something big is coming, something bad.

And then one day the feeling gets so overwhelming she has to leave for the mortal realm...her time has come. Dream insists on going with her, and they travel there hand in hand. Their feet touch the the cold wet pavements of London and Chaos' brow furrows as she finds herself back in that plain white dress.

She looks up at her lover, and he looks at her and deep down they both know what it means: The end is here.

They walk through the streets of London, following the noise of sirens and shouting and chanting.

And then they lay their eyes upon something devastating, one of the biggest riots they have ever seen, people shouting and screaming and holding each other up, yelling at police who try to hold them back and unprovoked violence. When this all started there must've been a cause and a reason...but it's changed now.

Without realising it, Chaos has walked right into the middle of the crowds, her hand slipping out of Dream's who stands by the side and watches. He watches as his lover takes in all she has created, all she represents and all she will be. Mess, love, despair, justice, fear and so much more. She is people united for the greater good, and fun teenagers and dysfunctional households and family gatherings and messy bedrooms and dirty streets and festivals and the stars and she makes him believe in so much more than he thought he ever would.

There's the sound of wings, loud and righteous, and he sees Chaos double over before rushing to her, shoving people out of the way and nearly tripping over his boots and coat. He catches her on her wobbly feet and gently lowers her to the ground, and watches as blood stains that white dress once again, the only difference being that this time it's hers and he can tell.

And for the first time in something just off eternity, Dream cries.

"Oh-" is all Chaos can say as she feels herself, the dress sticking to her stomach and sees the red on her fingers, "Oh...so soon." She laughs a little bit and it's choked up.

Dream is holding her, head in his arms and tucked under his as he threads his fingers into her hair and clutches her arms, "I know, I know. To soon." He feels hatred for his sister but is dulled as he knows, it's not her fault.

"Oh don't cry, Dream." Weakly, she reaches up and wipes his tears, "I had to go eventually. People can't riot forever." She smiles sadly.

"I would. For you, I would riot until the end of time." He shakes his head.

"I know." And then she is gone, her eyes dull, her mouth still in that sad smile but slightly softer, her arms and head limp. Dream buries himself in her and cries with the anger and love and despair of an Endless, one who has seen so much and knows so much, and still cannot comprehend how to handle this loss.

But he's torn out by a hand on his shoulder and he knows it's his sister. Despite it being her doing, her voice is a comfort, "I am sorry Brother. Come, let's go home."

He looks up and she is standing there, those beautiful wings on full display. There is screaming and fires dying down in the background, and still he clutches onto his dead lover. He stands, Chaos still in his arms and nods at his sister. He will carry her back to The Dreaming where she will be honoured and buried as if she was The Queen of The Realm.

And that night, the mortals dreamt of a woman, so beautiful and relaxing, so tranquil that there was no other name for her but Peace. After all, who valued Peace more than Chaos.

Everything I write now is sorta bad, I'm on a massive writer's block but I've never been reading more books than I am atm???

#mid writing #lord morpheus X reader #morpheus X reader #Dream X reader #dream of the endless X reader #king of dreams X reader #chaos! Reader #chaos #reader #X reader #sorta shit writing

[boliv-jenta]

More of Us Part 4

Joel Miller x f!reader

WC:2.7

Warning: Swearing. Gore. Jumping the shark.

A steady beep tapped at your unconsciousness. Each beep never changing but growing louder to you as you awoke. The small steps your brain took to being aware ending in a giant leap as everything came back to you. Bolting upright you were caught by two strong, warm, world-worn hands.

"Joel?" Your voice croaked out.

"Easy now. Doctor's had a put a couple of stitches in." Your side throbbed as if to confirm his words. "Thankfully, it looked much worse than it was. They said you passed out because of the physical exertion."

"What did you tell them?" It didn't hurt as much as you thought it would to sit up in the raised bed.

"The truth. Kind of. I said my daughter decided to creep into an abandoned building, it nearly being Halloween and all. We went to find her, we heard a scream, we ran around the place to find a way in, you injured yourself climbed out of an old smashed up window. It was the best I could come up with to explain the state of us all and I haven't seen any cops yet." Joel sighed.

"You're awake!" Ellie came over to your bedside.

From the looks of things she had made herself comfortable in the chair in the corner of the hospital room. There was a blanket and the small table next to it was littered with candy wrappers. "Did Joel tell you how we got here?!" You weren't sure if her bubbly tone was excitement or sugar rush.

"It can wait. Just give her some space." Joel ushered Ellie away a little.

"No, tell me. How did we get here?" Grabbing his arm he turned back to you. Joel's brow furrowed in thought. "Well, we were in the apartment with Sam and Henry, you were on the floor. I was looking how to stop the bleeding then everything was blurry for a few seconds. Like I had chlorine in my eyes or something then we were in your house. You were on your bed. I was still next to you holding the wound. Ellie was to the left of me like she was before."

"It was so cool! We were then we were here. Teleportation, like in my comics." Ellie was beside herself with excitement.

"Alright, kid. That's enough. Are you hungry?" Joel's hand gently covered yours, still gripping his arm.

"Always." Ellie chimed in.

"I wasn't talkin' to you but I'll get you something too." He nudged her with his shoulder. She was now perched at the bottom of your bed. "I hope you don't mind I had to use your credit card." He gestured to Ellie's discarded wrappers.

"That's fine." You smiled. "I am kinda hungry."

"I'll get you, both, something to eat. Ellie stay with her." He finished over his shoulder as walked out of the room.

"So do you think you're a superhero or mutant?" Ellie leaned forward on her elbows, like a kindergartener at story time.

"What?" You huffed a laugh at her. "What are you talking about?"

"How else do you explain it? Every time you fall asleep we end up someone else. It's a pretty BS superpower if you have to fall asleep to use it." After dropping that bomb on you she pulled a half eaten packet of M&Ms from her pocket and tossed some in her mouth.

Sitting there dumbfounded, you had to admit it made sense. In a completely ridiculous, there's no way that's an actual thing, kinda way.

Your whole life you were much more at home in fantastical worlds. TV shows like Buffy, Stargate, Charmed, books and video games gave you a sense of peace in a world you struggled in. If anyone had prepared to suddenly to throw into some weird ass situation it was you. Think of it like Scream. They tried to use the rules to survive. Now, what are the rules when it comes to suddenly gaining weird powers? Family legacies. Given your unremarkable family, that didn't seem like a front runner. No brushes with radioactive waste in recent memory. No bites from any creatures. No mysterious objects suddenly come into your possession, no lamps, or coins. You hadn't read from any forbidden books. Well, maybe a couple forbidden in some states but nothing old or bound in human skin, no gold plated tombs. You hadn't lit any candles, not that you were a virgin. You weren't part of any shady government experiments. None that you knew of anyway. That thought chilled you until Joel's return warmed you up. He sat at the end of your bed, opposite Ellie. He held out a few sandwiches, letting you and Ellie choose which ones you wanted first. The three of you shared the small space comfortably, talking and eating. Ellie's knee pressed into your calf. Joel's thigh pressed into your leg, one of his hands rested on top of it. It felt like the little slice of domesticity that was missing from your life.

At that point you realised that it didn't matter where the hell this 'gift' came from. All that mattered was that you didn't ever use it again. Joel and Ellie deserved this life, these simple moments as a family. Whether that family could eventually include you, you didn't care, you just wanted to do right by them. After dinner, Ellie's sugar rush wore off, she curled up in her chair in the corner, falling asleep quickly. Joel carefully covering her with a blanket caused a smile to bloom on your face and an ache to grow in your heart. There was no way you were letting them down, you had to figure this craziness out.

Joel returned to your bedside. "You should be getting some sleep now too, Sugar." Tears brimmed in your eyes. With the sharp reflexes of a man used to jumping into action, Joel's hands were cradling your face instantly. "Hey, what's the matter?"

"What if I take us back? Every time I fall asleep we end up someone else. What if we go back or to somewhere else?" The new thought came straight out of your mouth before you had time to process it. Was it possible for you to take them somewhere else? Possible seemed a more abstract term when you were being comforted by a video game character, while recovering from an injury in their world.

"So what if you do?" Joel's question took you by surprise. "We can handle it. Look, our world ain't easy. You just have to keep going. I've seen the alternative and it ain't for me. I got the kid to help, I got...well.." Joel Miller, survivor, killer, whatever you wanted to label him, actually blushed. A pink ting grew on his olive cheeks. Only slightly worsened by your fingers lacing with his on the bed.

"What else to you have Joel?" Teasing him your lips curled into a smirk, one that he soon kissed away.

"Seriously, what do you do to me? I feel like a teenager again." He sighed between kissed.

Another thought stabbed at you. Faking a yawn you avoided his lips. "Come on, lay down now. We'll be with you when you wake up."

Shuffling down in the bed, Joel pulled the covers over you before sitting in the chair next to you, one hand running tenderly up and down your back. Facing away from him you curled into a ball as if you could cradle your thoughts to keep them hidden from him. What if whatever powers you had weren't just about teleportation, what of they were about getting what you wanted? You had wanted Joel. You had wanted a hospital. If you were honest with yourself being in their world was a twisted thrill. Or maybe your self sabotaging tendencies sent you back there.

Joel's hand eventually dropped away from your back. With them both asleep, decided to go for a walk. Throwing back the last few sips of Joel's discarded, and now very cold, coffee you slipped out of bed. The floor was freezing on your feet, hopefully that could help keep you awake. Your phone sat on the table next to you. Maybe Google had some answers. Tiptoeing out of the room, you waited until the light from your screen couldn't disturb Joel or Ellie to unlock it. Tapping your search bar, you stood looking at the little line blinking at you, waiting for to type. It's steady flashing felt like an act of aggression because you had no idea what to type. The little line taunted you. This whole thing was beyond even Reddit's collective deductive skills. Maybe your time would be better spend researching The Last of Us. After avoiding spoilers for years you had very little knowledge of it. Only thanks to various YouTube thumbnails do you know that they both make it to Part 2. The fact that it's only Ellie on the cover art makes you uneasy but that was something you could pack away for now seeing as there's a five year gap between the games.

Before you knew it, your feet had taken you deeper into the hospital. It was dark and the silence bordered on eerie. The feeling of being watched crawled up your spine. Whipping around you were relieved to see a nurse leaving a patient's room. "Are you alright?"

"Yes. Thank you. I'm just stretching my legs." You smiled at her.

Satisfied she turned to be on her way. With the uneasy feeling gone, you turn to be on your way as well. Walking straight into a wall of muscle, a needle bit at the skin of you neck. It was sunk in deep before you could do anything about it.

Coming to you took in your surroundings. "If I had a nickel for every time I've woke up in a clinical white room. I'd have two nickels. Definitely weird that it's happened twice in a week." You muttered to yourself.

Rising out of the bed you made the short walk to the door.

"Move away from the door please. The doctor will be with you shortly." A woman's voice came over the loud speaker. It was one of those ones that you couldn't quite peg if it was a real person or not. Polite but monotone.

The woman that entered soon after was definitely real, even if she didn't act that way. "Subject 19. Sit down on the bed."

"What?" Your mouth hung open as she moved towards you, backing you onto the bed.

"Any pain? Blurred vision?" She shone a light in your eyes.

"No, I'm fine. Where am I?" You shrugged her off.

"The Director will be with you in a moment." With that she left you alone again.

'Shady government experiment' shot right to the top of your possible answers. 'It was all a dream' was becoming your new favourite possibility. Even if it meant give up Joel, and Ellie, you weren't cut out for this. Pushing on with daily life wore you out some times, how in the hell were you going to deal with all this? Your self pity party was brought to an unceremonious end when four men entered the room. Two solider types, dressed in black, carrying large guns. Two wearing suits, one of them carried himself with an air of authority, the other scurried behind him.

"Wh...?" 'The Director', you assumed, cut you off.

"Subject 19. Your new talent is the result of one of our many experiments on other worlds. Some experiments had unfortunate side affects. The Cerdycorp outbreak for example. The people of that world proved less resilient than others. We've released similar viruses on multiple worlds. Some just produced a type of pandemic. Some product a spike in minor illneses. Some produce people like you. People we have cultivated over the years, adding something here and there to otherwise harmless vaccinations. Peole who can travel between worlds. Some are just able to travel with their minds. Some aren't even aware of their abilities. They believe the things they see to be dreams or hallucinations. They may even draw on these dreams as inspiration for cheap entertainment." You doubted a man like him could be amused but he definitely wasn't with that last notion.

"So Joel and Ellie are real? They are from another world, just like The Last of Us?" There were so many mixed feelings there, sorrow for them, joy for you. Then overwhelming anger. "And apparently I'm from fucking Fringe! You're experimenting on people? You son of a bitch!" Two guns trained on you before you could take two steps towards the subject of your anger. He hadn't even flinched.

"I took you, an unremarkable woman, and made you something special. I would have thought you would be grateful." The anger burned hotter in your veins, it blocked out all common sense and self preservation. Readying yourself to tell him exactly how 'grateful' you were you opened your mouth and...alarms blared. The bright, florescent lights shut off for a moment only to kick in at an more ambient level. Red lights, flashed outside when the one of the soldiers opened the door to see what was going on. The squirrelly, sweaty underling ran out before coming scampering back into the room. "Sir, I'm sorry. We must leave. Subject 15 has escaped."

Panicked screams coming from the corridor outside reinforced the idea that Subject 15's little jaunt was something to worry about.

"Can we contain it?" The Director asked. The blood splatter on the small rectangular windows six feet from the floor pointed to no.

"We've only been feeding it enough to keep it alive. It's hunger will be out of control." Sweaty Underling informed him.

The screaming stopped. Not a good sign.

"There must be something we can do. You, go see what's happening!"The Director barked.

The pee on that he pointed to had the good sense to hesitate, clearly regretting his choice of carer. It was only when Sweaty Underling pulled out a small gun from beneath his jacket to point at him that he moved towards the door, slowly edging sideways with his automatic weapon raised. When he was within a foot of the door the whole thing shook in it's frame as something slammed against it. Another slam had the hinges straining. A third had you hiding behind a file cabinet in the corner. The fourth, and final one, had the door flying off of it's hinges. It imploded into the room, red light from outside flooded in. In the second before you ducked down, you glimpsed the outline of what looked like a man. Blood rushed in your ears due to your hands being clamped over them. It did little to muffled the screams of terror as Subject 15 eviscerated the three men. The sickening thwack of guts spilling onto the floor was the last sound they made.

Your thoughts turned to Joel, what could have been, how much you wished you could be the type of woman he needs, strong, fearless. That woman would have an escape plan. The woman that you were was a realist. If heavily armed, trained professionals couldn't take that thing out, you had no chance. The only chance you had was hiding and hoping for a miracle. The creature moved closer and closer until you could feel it at your back. It crouched next to you, it's copper tanged breath flowed over you as it sniffed your hair.

"Well, you aren't from around here." It said in perfect English. With an American accent. Not what you were expecting. At all. "Come on, Sugar. I could use a hand."

Pulling yourself up on trembling legs you were met with a very familiar face. Looking down at you was a very naked, very visibly excited, Max Fucking Phillips. That was the point when you completely lost the plot.

AN: Fans of the game will know we have some rough times ahead. I wanted to have a little fun before we dive back in to all the heavy plot. We'll be back with Joel soon enough.

Tags @kirsteng42 @babydarkstar @prolix-yuy @thegreenkid @hquinzelle @fangirl-316 @gracie7209 @jedifarmerr @doommommy @scorpio-marionette @sturkillerbase @harriedandharassed @aynsleywalker @mswarriorbabe80 @quica-quica-quica @rise-my-angel @adancedivasmom @graciexmarvel @kinda-nobody

#joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller #the last of us au #the last of us

[eddysocs]

Can’t Catch A Breath (Lorraine Warren x OC)

Summary: Sally comes across an article about an old house that might need their sort of expertise. Lorraine agrees, and they go investigating, leading Sally into a tight spot she’s not sure she can get out of.

Word Count: 1,383

Warnings: Haunting, Poltergeist, Strangulation, Choking, Whump, Hurt/Comfort

There was an old Victorian farmhouse settled at the edge of a small, rather close knit community, and it had remained empty since anyone can remember. Some of the local teenagers had passed and vandalized various spots around the property, but anyone who’d stayed there for any length of time did not come away from the house unchanged. Now, it was avoided at all costs.

Naturally, when Sally came across this article in the paper as they were passing through a city nearby to this little community, she had to show Lorraine, see if there was anything worth investigating. She rose from her chair in the diner they’d stopped in for lunch and walked around the table to Lorraine. Standing behind her, Sally lowered her arms around her and flipped open the paper, pointing out the article in question. "Do you think we should check it out," Sally asked. She waited patiently for Lorraine to glance over the article before giving her a definite answer.

"Every small town has one of these stories, but I feel like there might be something to this one. Are you up for the detour?"

"If you think we can make a difference, take one more evil out of the world, then of course I am." Sally went back to her chair and they finished the last remaining bites of their meal before heading out to check out this house.

Sally navigated using a local map they’d picked up just outside the diner, while Lorraine drove. "It should be one more left turn. I think it’s at the end of the street based on how the article described it."

As Lorraine made the turn, she could tell exactly which house it was. About a mile in front of them stood an old, aging home that was covered in vines and slightly obscured by various trees and an overgrown lawn. While she wasn’t feeling the strongest pull to the house, she could tell something malicious still resided inside.

Lorraine parked the car at the road, not wanting to pull it into the grassy gravel driveway. Sally didn’t question her on it. The two of them made their way to the door, noting the various smashed windows, and finding the front door slightly ajar with dead leaves from last fall coating the floor just inside. Sally could see Lorraine's caution, and reached for her hand, gently giving it a squeeze for reassurance, reminding Lorraine that she wasn’t tackling this alone, and that Sally would be right by her side the whole time.

They saw the floors were littered with broken glass from the windows, broken plates and bowls, and books that had fallen or been pulled from their shelves and left to warp and rot in the elements. Despite the house being a wreck, there was nothing immediately alarming. "Why don’t you start checking for anything out of place upstairs," Lorraine suggested.

"Are you sure?" Sally's question was met with a warm smile.

"I’m sure. Whatever energy is here, I don’t think it’s very strong. Just yell for me if you find anything, okay? I’ll be fine." With the last bit of reassurance, Sally nodded, reluctantly took her hand away from Lorraine's and headed for the staircase. The upper floor was less trashed than the ground floor, but things had still been knocked askew and blown over by the wind from the one window that had managed to be smashed up there. A baseball was on the floor of one of the bedrooms, no doubt the culprit of the break in the window.

While Sally didn’t possess the gifts Lorraine did, she could often sense —just by her own intuition— when something was off, and while she had an uneasy feeling about the house, she couldn’t decide if it was anything more than the house itself that caused this unease. Lorraine didn’t seem particularly worried, and that had served to allay some of her anxieties.

Down in what Lorraine assumed used to be considered a study, she rifled through the books on the floor. Most were on various academic subjects, a few were novels, mysteries and romance alike, but something told her to keep looking through them. Despite bent and cracked spines, Lorraine put the books back on the shelves with some semblance of care.

It was only when she picked up a red leather bound volume that she realized it was this that she’d been looking for. It was not coated in either a fine nor a thick layer of dust like all the others. This one had been opened, had been looked at recently. Perhaps that is what contributed to the uptick of activity the house had been having as of late. It was an old journal, nothing that seemed too out of sorts as Lorraine skimmed its pages. Not until it neared its end.

Before Lorraine could truly delve her way into the depths of this mysterious journal, she was interrupted by a strangled shout. She’d only heard the first part of her name before she realized it had come from Sally upstairs. Taking the book along with her, Lorraine flew up the stairs, nearly causing herself to trip in her hurry. When she reached the top of the stairs, it didn’t take her long to spot Sally, and the entity that had her up against the wall with its graying, decayed looking hand around her neck.

The malicious spirit cast its glance over its shoulder, settling on Lorraine for but a moment before using its power to lift Sally from her feet and drag her higher up the wall. Sally, startled by the sudden loss of the floor beneath her feet, grasped desperately at the specter's hand, aiming to use all her strength to pry it from her neck. She was losing air. And fast.

As her eyes filled with tears, she looked to Lorraine, her vision blurring. She had something in her hands. An answer, she hoped, to getting her out of this mess. Something that could cast this thing back to the hell it belonged in. The edges of her vision were becoming dark. She was having no success at even loosening the specter's grip on her throat. If Lorraine didn’t act fast that meant she didn’t have much longer. So much she wanted to say, and yet the strangled words could not leave her throat, no matter how hard she may be able to try and force them.

Lorraine finally spoke, but the words were muddled under the sound of her own blood rushing through her ears as the room continued to fade to black. Then, out of nowhere, she’s dropped. She crumbles to the floor in a heap, struggling for breath as she fights cough after cough. Whatever had ahold of her, now it was after Lorraine. Too weak to divert it's attention, she hoped to god Lorraine had it under control.

Then, words. Latin. The mostly dead language had never sounded so good to Sally's ears before. The blood that had been pumping so loudly in her head subsided, allowing her to hear Lorraine’s wonderful voice, banishing the demonic spirit back to hell. One foul, awful screech, and it was gone. She’d done it, and —her vision having returned to her— Sally noted that the little red book in her hands must have helped her cast it out.

Sally still wheezed when Lorraine came to check on her. "Are you alright?" The soft concern in her voice and the hand that Lorraine rested on her back was all Sally really needed to assure herself that she’d be just fine. She coughed a couple more times and nodded.

"God I—" Sally began after a moment, only to be caught out by another round of coughing. She gently cleared her throat before she tried again. "God I love it when you speak Latin," Sally manages, her less than subtle flirtation being overshadowed by the rasp in her voice. Lorraine laughs —a beautiful sound after Sally's harrowing ordeal— and then she puts her forehead against Sally's. The two of them, sitting on the dirt covered wooden floor, had thanklessly saved this little corner of the world. Maybe no one would ever know it but the two of them, but that was okay. They knew.

Forever Tag: @arrthurpendragon, @borg-queer, @foxesandmagic, @carmens-garden, @chickensarentcheap, @endless-oc-creations, @unheolycs-ocs, @fawera, @themaradaniels

#oc: sally barker #fc: victoria pedretti #fd: the conjuring #sally x lorraine #lorraine warren x oc

[mosraev]

Lyrics through the decade 3/10

I've decided to collect all the songs I've made through the last decade and share my favourite snippets with you guys. The pictures for the backgrounds will (as much as possible) be pictures I've taken the same year as the lyrics were written. The full lyrics may or may not be made official someday.

Part 3; 2015

Being the first full year I had been writing songs and the year I took one semester on what I now call my summer camp, this was a very productive year for songs. Well, it was a productive year for lyrics, I actually did only finish half of the songs I started. My lyrics became a little less angry overall and focused more on storytelling.

More info under the line

Stay creative, my fellow foxes 🦊💚

Song 1 (pic1); Pyriphlegeton.

A song named after the greek myth of the flood of fire in the underworld keeping the tormented standing so they can endure more pain, this is a song where I've taken the perspective of a woman with an undefined mental illness. Some lines however can be read through a trans lens. Fun fact: I rapped the verses on this. No I am not kidding (also I am not a rapper)

Featured lyrics:

Heartache! Her ribcage's a cage of a prison.

She's searching so hard for the brick life's missing.

Honorable mention;

She blames herself for going insane.

When all that she need is a shoulder to cry on,

Instead she chokes on water from Pyriphlegethon.

Song 2 (pic2); Icebirds

This is a fun one in that I made it as a sort of theme song for a novel length story I was writing about a boy that lived in a world where people got their mind wiped in they stepped out of line (or what he later learn is actually a brainfog repressing your memories and identity). So while the lyrics could be taken as a queer metaphor in context it is more litteral. I didn't finish either the story or the song however.

Featured lyric:

Out of the fog, clear reality to face.

How much of myself have ignorance erased?

Song 3 (pic3); Tidal Wave/Party Wave

One of the few times that I tried to write a party song. This was strange since I wrote as a typical Dane that drinks and loves parties (which I don't) but I do love this line a lot

Featured lyric:

The floor's alive with every beat.

We're the beating heart's arteries.

Song 4 (pic4); the Rabbit and the Turtle

One of the few songs with no real perspective character, instead it is about the passing of time and the ambivalent feeling I have about time in general.

Featured lyric:

today's struggles are in tomorrow's past.

Song 5 (pic5); Shout Out

A song I wrote as a tribute to the friends I've gotten in the three years of highschool (although some of the experiences mentioned go back to middleschool). One of the earlier examples of me using my own experiences in a song.

Featured lyric:

Where everyday it's a chapter, at dawn begins a new [chapter].

Song 6 (pic6); Fair Little Muse

In this song I take the perspective of a lover feeling something is wrong with their partner but not knowing what or how to communicate their worry. It is very flowery/artsy which is fitting since the muse part is inspired by the muses of greek mythology.

Featured lyric:

((Extended)) Your thoughts are roses, wild in bloom.

Are they midnight black or are they twilight blue?

While roses they wither, evergreen remains.

And snowdrops bear promises of better days.

Song 7 (pic7); Mirror on the Wall v. 2

This is a special case since it is a song that actually have two versions; one was very personal and read like a diary (version 1) and then there's one taking the perspective of a girl and a boy both having body image issues thereby depersonalising the story (version 2). And yet this line is so raw and trans coded that I cannot help but love it. I never finished this song.

Featured lyric:

Mirror on the wall, hear it smash against the floor.

I feel so wasted [and] lost in my own skin.

((Extended)) [in] this body I'm living in.

Song 8 (pic8); Mixtape

I had an idea of writing a song about two people sharing memories through their dedication to music (possibly because I was at a music camp around this time). I never finished the song but I like this first part.

Featured lyric:

I’ve made you a mixtape to soundtrack your wasted youth.

All your favorite songs are on it 'cause they’re mine too.

#lyrics #2015 #pyriplhegeton #icebirds #tidal wave party wave #shout out #the rabbit and the turtle #fair little muse #mirror on the wall #mirror on the wall2 #mixtape #mosraev #mosræv

[avgvst-h]

Stoned ASF!!!

-All characters depicted are of age

-Sorta modernish AU

-ScaraxKazuha

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

Kazuha wakes up from a weed coma. He was an avid smoker and never left his house without a blunt or two. He sat up, checking his phone.

He grunts as his phone reads 4 AM. He had plans with Scara before he passed the fuck out. He scans over his notifications and, of course, he had 98 texts and 13 missed calls from Scara.

Scara- Where are you?? 7:34

I've been waiting here for 30 fucking minutes.

???

Hello???

He reads all the missed texts instantly feeling guilty. He quickly texts back;

Kazuha- Hey I'm sorry I passed out. 3:29

U still up?

Scara quickly answered back.

Scara- I'm coming over.

Kazuha chokes at the suddenness, he swiftly ran around his room cleaning up ash, blunts, and dirty clothes. Then he sat in the front room, waiting for Scara's arrival. His legs bounced in uncertainty, checking his phone every couple of seconds.

Several knocks pounded on the door, Kazuha sighed anxiously and opened the door.

"Hey, I'm sorry about today I-" Kazuha got cut off.

"I was waiting there for HOURS! Don't bullshit me saying you were asleep."

"Genuinely, I was! I swear on the archons."

Scara's face scrunched up in irritation. Snow littered the ground behind him. Kazuha continued,

"Just come inside." Kazuha grabbed Scara's wrist and dragged him inside, shutting the door behind them. Kazuha sat on the couch as did Scara.

"It smells like weed in here," Scara announced

Kazuha nods, unsure of what to say.

"Do you... Have any on you?" Scara stammered, a pink tint glowing on his face.

Kazuha smirks, "Of course I do." He chucklef, "Did you want to do some?" Kazuha was shocked, Scara usually avoided weed at any cost, standing at least 9 feet from him if he lit one up.

"Yeah, I just haven't before." Scara glanced at Kazuha, he smiled.

"Let's get more comfortable then," gently grabbing Scara's hand and guiding him to his bedroom.

Kazuha mutes a light into a comfortable brightness and grabs a few blankets and a blunt. Scara sat on Kazuhas bed, slightly ecstatic. Kazuha sat next to Scara, admiring him.

"You look tense," Kazuha proclaimed, "Are you sure you want to smoke?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Turning to face Kazuha, instantly flushing at Kazuhas eyes, His eyes dragged up and down Scaras petite figure. Scara silently shuddered.

Kazuha scooted closer to Scara, "I'll teach you how to do it properly." He sticks the blunt in his mouth, lighting it.

"So, You'll just breath in and hold it," He took a rip off the blunt breathing it in, "then blow out." he says as smoke pours out his mouth, handing the blunt to Scara.

"Your turn." Kazuha smiles sweetly.

Scara does exactly as he says, sucking in then blowing it out except he instantly starts coughing, Kazuha starts laughing.

"How the (cough) fuck did you do (cough cough) that?" He exclaims.

After Scaras's coughing fit they both take quite a few rips off it, both aggressively high.

"I saw this thing on TikTok, do you want to try it?" Kazuha asks

"What is it?" Scara sits up from his previously laying down position. Kazuha takes a rip off the blunt, holding it in his mouth. Kazuha leans forward and Scara and his lips intertwine.

Scara jumps slightly only before melting into the kiss. Kazuha pulls away only to blow the smoke inside Scaras lips.

"How was that?" Kazuha chuckles.

Scara still shocked just stared into Kazuhas ruby eyes. His cheeks probably mirrored that same color.

Scara didn't answer, he just leaned in, sloppily smashing their lips together. Kazuha pushes Scara over onto the bed and h straddles on top of him never disconnecting from the rough and messy kiss. Scara latches onto Kazuhas waist earning a whine from him. Kazuha suddenly sticks his tongue into Scara's mouth earning a surprised choke from him.

Kazuha reaches under Scara's shirt, rubbing his thumb over his nipple. Scara pulled away to whimper. Kazuha smiles at the reaction. He pulled Scara's shirt up, his head hidden by the fabric. Kazuha plants kisses up and down his chest. Scara squirms underneath him. Kazuha feels Scara's dick under him twitch as he licks the pink bud, swirling his tongue around it. Scare breathes heavily, filled with lust and weed.

Kazuha uses his other hand to feel Scara's bulge. Scara gasps, he grabs Kazuhas hand. Kazuha lifts his head from under Scaras shirt.

"Is everything okay?" Kazuha stops everything.

"Sorry, I was just surprised." Scaras face grew even redder than before.

"It's okay, I'll be gentle." Kazuha plants a soft kiss on Scara's abused lips, then he lifts his shirt over his head and slides his pants off. Scara stops Kazuha before taking his boxers off.

"Wait, I want to do it. Lean back" Scara announced. Kazuha repositioned so his back leans up against the headboard, Scara climbs into Kazuhas lap. Kazuha stares at Scaras figure, he imagined his abdomen covered in hickeys and love bites. That itself made him stiffen up.

Kazuha lifts his shirt over his head throwing it across the room, and instantly clutching Scaras waist. Scara connects their lips, roughly making out. Kazuha grabs ahold of Scara's bottom lip with his teeth, instantly linking back into the kiss. As they kiss, saliva spills out of their mouths. Scara rubs up against Kazuha moaning into the kiss.

Scara disconnected the kiss sliding down to Kazuha's crotch. He pulls his pants off. His cock bounces up as his boxers get pulled off. Scara looks at the girth, shocked by the size. Scara spits on his hand instantly latching on to his member. Kazuha shudders and moans at his cold hands on his cock as he digs his nails into Scara's shoulder. Scara plants kissing along the girth reaching the top and swirling his tongue around it, letting go of his grip on the girth and then grabbing onto Kazuhas hips.

He then wraps his lips around the member. Scara gradually bobs his head up and down, Kazuha stares at the scene happening below him never being more aroused at this very moment. Suddenly he starts to speed up, Kazuhas eyes widen at the sudden shift of speed. Kazuha starts panting and whimpering suddenly gripping Scara's hair. Scara chokes on the girth as Kazuha bucks his hips his size going further down his throat. Kazuha digs his nails into Scara's shoulder, just about breaking skin. Scara grunts which vibrated the base of his cock. Kazuha moaned loudly making Scara smile around his member. Scara continues bobbing his head up and down on the girth even faster than before,

"S-Scara I'm gonna come!" Kazuha announced loudly. Scara quickly stopped and pulled off his cock with a satisfying pop noise.

"What? Why'd you stop?" Kazuha asked panicked.

"I'm not done." He simply said, pulling his boxers off. Kazuha marveled at Scaras lower half, His cock twitched slightly almost cumming at the sight. Scara hovered over kazuhas girth, He slowly dropped down on the size only halfway. Scara huffed and moaned. Kazuha grabbed a hold of Scaras hips

"Holy shit," Kazuha mutters, breathing heavily. Scara's dick twitched at the tone of his voice. He slams down on his girth. Kazuha groans digging his nails into his hips, making crescent contours in the flesh. Scara pants, smirking at Kazuha. He grabbed onto Kazuhas's waist, bracing himself to raise himself to the head and slam back down and repeating at the same pace. Kazuha pulls Scara down and starts gently kissing him on the lips, the corner of the mouth, his jaw, then his neck. He plants kisses and starts sucking, leaving red spots. Scara moans, jumping on his cock faster. Kazuha moaned against Scara's neck. Scara began getting faster.

"Kazuha, I-I'm close." Scara breathed backing away from Kazuhas lips.

"mmMH Me too- AH" Kazuha wailed. He grabbed Scara's member, jerking it off quickly.

"AaH!" Scara gasped at the stimulation getting lost with lust, his eyes rolling up and head falling back. Cum squirted all over Kazuhas chest and face Scara moaned loudly, whining while riding out the orgasm. He bounced on his dick faster. Kazuha orgasmed, filling Scara's ass up with semen. Scara ground on Kazuhas dick for a second before falling over onto Kazuha. He rubbed Scara's bleeding hips from his fingernails, kissing his bruised neck.

Scara spoke, "Its better when high."

"I fully agree," Kazuha continued, "Let's go run a bath?"

#kazuscara #genshin impact #kazuha #scaramouche #scarakazu #genshin impact smut

[oldgooddaysoldgooddays]

257

Saturday I sleep on my face for 11 hours, woken only by my bladder and the sun. I move C's visit back by an hour so I can paint and have my nervous system relax when he arrives. I listen to Red Scare as I do sometimes when I work, which somehow always makes me feel bad about my body even if the topic of conversation doesn't relate directly to weight. I order tuna poke. I always feel like a gallery director when I have lunch delivered. I feel like I should be secretly dating an artist on the roster and getting regular manicures C is one of the most resilient people I know, remaining both stoic and humorous about the most dire of life events. However he seems significantly lighter after moving out of my garden annexe, the unheated limbo between the place he and his now-ex girlfriend once happily shared and authentically Single Life. He is once again an eligible bachelor living and working north of the river, made only slightly less eligible by his vow never to have children. There is talk of a vasectomy. If I ever get married, he will give the speech Since we last saw each other, C has been reconnecting with friends, going on demoralising dates, and lusting after a woman he met while apartment hunting who has a boyfriend in Paris. I suggest that he may not yet have been friendzoned, but change my tune when he says she is candid about PMS and wanting to go bowling a lot. I learn that C's least favourite cousin has been the victim of two international catfishing scams, sending thousands of pounds to both a "fitness influencer" from "America" and a "single mother" in "Guyana" whose child "already calls" C's cousin "daddy". The word victim is used loosely here, naturally. The man is married, and had been planning to leave his wife. C shows me a photo of the fitness influencer - a woman with an iPhone that is at least ten years old, posing in what was once a mirror but is now a superimposed stark white background, the edges of her arms and breasts digitally shaved by poor and hasty photoshop skills. We cannot not laugh. A quick reverse image search brings up the real woman's Facebook page, littered with her posts warning people not to fall for the scam her image has been used for. C is most overwhelmed by how deluded his cousin, who is not in the finest physical shape, could be in thinking either of these beautiful - albeit fake- women might want to be with him. I am so unsurprised it doesn't even occur to me to comment. A part of me enjoys the catfishing phenomenon, something my generation of girls was warned about while using the early internet, when a creepy 50 year old man impersonating a 12 year old girl to make friends was the only major fear. Now the transfer of funds and wide array of VPNs means a man can be bled dry by another man impersonating a woman, so that the man can buy cryptocurrency from another man with another VPN On the way home I see an older patron of the pub on Liverpool Road down a beer and smash the glass on the ground. A passing woman screams and pulls her Maltese from the ground and close to her body. I see two boys greet each other in matching North Faces, the kind that Emrata wears. I fix wild mushrooms for dinner and the gills get stuck in my teeth. R freaks out on the text. C sends me a video of a Scottish man on tiktok lipsyncing to You Can Leave Your Hat On. Below the video is a comment from a woman saying "I am having very bad thoughts"

[slasherfxcker]

Fighting with Michael

Part 2: Making up

A/N: Ugh I am loving all the Michael fics at the moment! Here's part two you guys! enjoy! also feel free to send any requests in.

Warnings: Slight mention of blood but I think thats it

You didn’t know where you were going as you wandered down the street, wiping at the tears that streamed down your face. You were glad it was late and there was no one around to see you in this state. Tonight, had made you question everything, what were you doing with Michael? You had known for a while that you were in love with him, but would you ever really know how he felt? Could Michael even love you back. You felt like a fool, you had heard all the stories about him, about what he’s done.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. You didn’t want to think of him like everyone else did, to you he wasn’t a monster. He was your Michael.

Sitting down on a bench you pulled your jacket closer to you as the cool wind blew down the street. You thought about going home, you didn’t know whether Michael would get angry and come looking for you. Deep down you knew that you weren’t talking about the house when you talked about your home, the realisation like a stab in the heart. Michael was your home, you wanted to be wherever he was.

The tears that you didn’t notice had stopped had once against started flowing down your cheeks at the thought. How could you leave Michael when you loved him so much? He found you at a time in your life where nothing seemed to be going right, he seemed like a blessing in disguise, but now you had a choice to make. You decided it was time to head back to the house and face him. Whatever the outcome was you needed something from him, something to show that you were a permanent thing in his life and not just passing entertainment.

You paused in front of the building, getting the courage to walk through the door. You didn’t know how Michael would react to your little outburst, but you knew it wouldn’t be good. The slow creak of the door seemed to rival the sound of your beating heart as you stepped inside. You immediately noticed the knife still sticking out of the wall where you had been stood only an hour or so ago. But soon enough your eyes glanced around seeing the broken furniture littered all around the room. A table split in half, the vase that was on it smashed on the ground, some sort of splintered wood put through one of the walls.

The creak that you heard above was the only thing that broke you out of your shock. You hesitantly made your way up the stair expecting the same mess that you had just seen, but upstairs seemed surprisingly calm, undisturbed. You made your way to the bedroom to find Michael sitting on the edge of your shared bed.

“Michael,” your voice comes out in a whisper, much shakier than you were hoping. He slowly raises his head and you can make out his eyes in the dim room, there’s a sadness there you don’t think you’ve ever seen from the man. You both seemed to watch each other for an eternity, not sure if you were waiting for him to make some sort of outburst or if you just couldn’t bring yourself to say anything else. Taking a deep breath, you prepared yourself to whatever response he would have to your next words. “I love you,” Michael didn’t miss the way your lip slightly quivered as you let out this new revelation.

Michael lowered his head and you froze as the fears you had about him not loving you immediately returned at this action. Before you could panic too much you noticed Michael raise his hand up to his mask and slowly pull it off his head, your heart could’ve beat out of your chest at the anticipation of finally seeing him. You didn’t know which one of you were more surprised by this action, but still you knew better than to react too quickly and possible spook him out of the decision.

Michael kept his head lowered and neither one of you moved for a moment. Soon enough you slowly stepped towards him, the closer you got the more you noticed his white knuckled grip on the mask still clenched tightly in his hand. You lowered yourself onto your knees in front of him taking his hand in your own and getting him to release the mask. You put it down beside you and gently cupped his cheek, every movement was slow and gentle as you tested the waters of what Michael would allow.

You tilted his face to look at you as your voice came out just above a whisper, “I love you Michael.” His eyes darted away and you noticed the uncertainty in his eyes. You couldn’t help but find this situation unbelievable, feared by so many, thought of as a monster, but for you he could be vulnerable, for you he would risk showing some humanity. You brought his attention back to your face as you spoke again, “I love all of you Michael, okay?”

Your thumb stroked his cheek and you watched his eyes close as the tension seemed to slowly leave him and his shoulders dropped from the tense position they held. You knew you shouldn’t push your luck with moments like this, being so rare. But seeing Michael like this, so exposed and vulnerable just for you did things to your heart you had never felt before. You leaned in slowly, giving Michael a chance to pull away if he wished before you gently brushed your lips against his.

He didn’t kiss back but he didn’t push you away, taking this as a sign to continue, you kissed him again. This time with a bit more pressure, it took Michael a minute but he began to reciprocate the kiss. It was a bit too rough, as you expected it to be, and a bit clumsy but the passion that it held made up for any lack of experience. You felt his hand hesitantly grab your waist which surprised you, but you did your best not to make any sudden movements that could spook him.

You placed your hands on his arms and slowly ran them up to his shoulders, he flinched away causing you to look at him questioningly, had you taken it too far? You followed his gaze to where your hand had brushed over a rather large cut on his shoulder. It wasn’t deep but you noticed the blood and dirt all stuck together across the area. You placed another soft kiss to his lips before standing up and grabbing his hand. “Come on, lets get you in the shower.” And for once Michael didn’t argue as he followed you happily to the soon to be very steamy bathroom.

#michael myers x reader #slasher memes #my writing #slasher fandom #slasher #slashers x reader #slasher x reader #slashers #halloween #halloween movie #halloween kills #halloween 1978 #haddonfield #the shape

[milqueandsugar]

any type of techno comfort? maybe?

reassuring words from the blood god himself, that -because imposter syndrome goes brrr- you ARE doing well and that you ARE worthy of love because you are just one of the kindest and most beautiful people on the entire planet and he loves you with all his soul, even if he's not able to express that sometimes due to his awkwardness.

and lots of sweet kisses please! :3

🏵 Your Tea Is Ready 🏵

Warnings: Mentions of agression/violence, Self Doubt

Genre: hurt comfort

| I'm Sorry |

It was the middle of the night when Techno had finally come home, blood bow dried to his clothes as he sauntered inside, the wood floors creaking against the floor. His stomach churned, it was quiet, too quiet. His heart sunk as blood shot eyes scanned the foyer. The windows had been smashed in, gauges from where he clawed at the wooden floors collected glass and snow, the couch had been flipped, a few tufts of wool littering the ground.

This had been the worst attack in a long time, since he began dating you. He had settled, or so he thought, the voices were to busy swooning for you to even mention blood, but the few that did were quickly snuffed. He wasn't sure what set him off yesterday, he wasn't sure he wanted to know. But all he saw was red. He made a promise to you, to keep himself from shedding blood unnecessarily. But the voices demanded destruction, and destruction he gave. His memories were foggy, distant like they had been years ago, but as the clock chimed for 12 o clock, he became painfully aware of how little time had passed. He had done so much damage, caused so much damage in three measly hours. He had broken his promise in even less time. Slowly he let his axe fall from his finger tips, bringing a hand to unclasp his cloak and let it fall to the ground beneath him. You had left him, as he assumed, to be fair, sould any same person stay?

His thoughts slowed to a standstill as he approached his bedroom door, the quiet, almost inaudible sound of crying came from the other side. The once silent voices started up again.

' blood for the blood god '

' They're crying! '

' we did this '

' you did this '

' leave them alone '

' they deserve better '

Shaking his head he bit his trembling lip, and pushed the door open. He expected outrage, screaming of anger, of fear.

"I'm sorry,"

The words tore the air from his throat. He should be the one apologising, the one on his knees thanking you for your loyalty, promising better. Yet you sat, wrapped up in blankets, eyes redder then his own. Apology after apology falling from your lips. "What" was the only thing he could muster, the great blood god falling silent. "I'm sorry" you choke out, barely able to meet his eyes. "I failed you, I'm sorry, I should have done better, I-I should have known!" You sob tears streaming down your cheeks.

Technoblade bit his tongue, no words of comfort or assurance came to him, the voices died down, the one time they didn't have something to say is when he needed their advice most. Slowly your words clicked in his mind, you blamed yourself for him lashing out. You thought you did this. His own tears began to blur his vision before he blinked them away, he didn't deserve to cry. Instead he stumbled forward, his arms wrapping around you and pulling you close.

"Its not your fault," was all he could manage his hands combing through your hair. "My voices have nothing to do with you-" "I-I knew they were getting bad Tech, I..I should have helped I should hsve-" "how could you have helped?" He cut you off, pulling away from you, his hands trailing down to cup your tear stained face. "Theres nothing you can do to stop the voices Y/N, theres nothing. I did this Y/N. I destroyed the living room. I broke the windows. I did this, and I am lucky to still have you" He assured, his brows furrowed as he pulled you close to press a kiss to your fore head.

"You're the best partner I could ever ask for, Aphrodite."

#dsmp x reader #mcyt x y/n #mcyt x reader #dsmp imagine #mcyt x you #mcyt imagine #dsmp x you #technoblade x y/n #technoblade x you #technoblade x reader #techno x reader #techno x y/n

[akajustmerry]

hello fellow hater here 👀 wondering your reasons for disliking jodie’s doctor 👁

hello! my bestie deah and i have a whole podcast ep where we discuss this in-depth for an hour and 40 minutes. it was recorded last year but my critiques remain the same so pls go listen to that here at this link for more detail other than the angry dot points i am about to smash out:

Jodie admitted on David Tennant's podcast that she doesn't watch doctor who, has never watched it and doesn't intend to. that lack of knowledge shows in the way 13 has zero personality beyond surface-level reactions. you can tell jodie has no specific grasp on who the character she's playing is and isn't even familiar with her character's history enough to have meaningful interactions with characters (see: jack harkness). its unprofessional and disrespectful to take on a role with almost 60 years of canon and refuse to engage with any of it.

but really if you want a concrete unforgivably repugnant reason to join the prayer circle for this era to end, look no further than jodie's 2nd season where chibnall wrote a scene where the Doctor used her white privilege to hand the master, who was brown at the time, over to the fucking nazis and jodie played it as a gotchya heroic moment. lord knows, rtd and moffat were racist and littered this show with their racism and anti-blackness but at least neither of them ever wrote a scene where the Doctor became willingly complicit in one of history's most brutal white supremacist regimes to one-up a person of colour and frame it as a win.

chris chibnall doesn't give a shit about the mythology, lore or history of this series, and even if he did he's not a consistent or clever enough writer to do anything worthwhile with it. chibnall's prior work on dw was filler eps. unlike moffat, who at least had written beloved iconic episodes with ongoing archs, chibnall's work was all childish filler because the dude may like this show but he doesn't have the ambition or vision to write it and it shows. chibnall rewrote the Doctor's entire personal history just because he didn't want to meaningfully engage with the Doctor's gender-fluidity, and still hasn't even delivered on how the Doctor being the timeless child actually means anything significant for her other than so he can be like "actually the doctor has been a woman before so i don't have to write anything about this character struggling in a marginalised body/dealing with dysphoria except for as a joke occasionally haha".

even the way chibnall brings back monsters/characters from the show's past, its never in a significant or interesting way, but almost like he wants brownie points for making a basic reference without considering the implication of what he's doing.

please also see this post where i discuss how Chibnall constantly making 13 uninformed not only makes him terrible at writing a mystery show but also is a blatant display of his unconscious misogyny.

also, the homophobia/misogyny of chibnall completely desexualising the Doctor now she's presenting as a woman is fucking gross but its also so fucking boring. let the Doctor be horny. its weird they're not given their horny history

chris chibnall has no idea how to write companions. none of them even pass the lamp test most of the time i.e. if you replace these characters with a lamp, how much would change? we don't get to see how these ppl form a significant relationship with the Doctor because it apparently happens off-screen so there's zero character building. their characterisations are inconsistent if they're remembered at all. yaz is a brown Muslim woman yet her race/religion has only been significant maybe twice in 3 seasons as if a time-travelling brown (likely queer) Muslim woman would only experience marginalisation in very specific contexts and not constantly. this goes for ryan and the Doctor too.

this whole flux concept is so fucking nauseating it's like a hallucinogenic nightmare of everything i can't stand about chibnall's "style" if you can call directionless reference mongering a "style"

genuinely don't think any of these hoes can act or have chemistry!! in the past even when i maybe wasn't a fan of the writing/direction of doctor who, i would still enjoy the performances of incredible talents like David tenant, alex Kingston, Michelle gomez, matt smith, etc. but the casting now is shithouse in the way that u can tell chibs is just hiring his mates. with the exception of sacha's master, there isn't a single moment of memorable performance from anyone on this show for the whole time chibs has been in charge. fucking tragic

but yeah in case its unambiguous. i can't stand this racist, toothless, misogynistic, soulless era of doctor who. it literally breaks my heart to see an era characterised by so much historic diversity on the surface be so offensively meaningless. i mean its so bad that rtd, who famously never wanted to run this show ever again, is literally coming back voluntarily.

#chris chibnall #jodie whittaker #yazmin khan #doctor who #anti doctor who #anon #/

[gale-gentlepenguin]

Gale Reviews: ML Season 4 Episode 24 Penalteam

(Spoilers below) Two episodes in 24 hours. I was a bit underwhelmed by Qilin. So Lets see what Penalteam brings to the table

-Kim and Marinette are Captains.

-Kim picked Max first then asked Markov who should he pick for the best chance of winning. (That is hilarious)

-Marinette picks alya

-Marinette points out Kim is cheating

-So Mr.Divia (idk how thats spelled.) He is gonna teach them soccer/Futbol

-I think the lesson for today is gonna be teamwork (call it a hunch)

-Alix suggesting Girls against boys. Which Kim points out they would lose again. Which a lot of people would take as the cliche of cartoons making girls better than boys but really... All of the girls except Chloé and Lila are CRAZY STRONG (rose is especially strong). And Aside from Kim and Adrien (and nino somewhat) none of the boys are really athletic. Ivan is big but he is slow.

-Nino throwing shade at Chloé.

-Nathaniel you a lazy bitch proving my point, I love you.

-Marc you are adorable little bean. boy gushing about Soccer. (I want to protect him

-So the coach is like a sports journalist. Marc would probably know about good writers. also 50 BUCKS SAYS THATS THE BABY DADDY

-Nathaniel making marc come up with an excuse for him. Dude... WHERE HAS NATHANIEL BEEN? I MISSED MY BOY

-Marc is pretty good at soccer (also he went over the top with that pass

-Marc getting some development.

-Sabrina is mad fast but then Chloé pulls the forbidden (listen to me card) And marinette encourages

-Ivan doesnt want to hurt anyone (cause he too stronk) Also i heard that cute nickname Myvan for LIFE

-GASP! Marinette found her self facing the perfect defence against her... ADRIEN.

-And Adrien doesnt know how to play soccer. Considering he litterally showed he can dribble and shoot in Furious Fu... Meh its. funny I will ignore it.

-NINO LOOKS SO BETRAYED

-Yo, That was some clever Play manuver (As a former soccer player i compliment Marinette's amazing Shot on goal.)

-And Lila is there but is on bench. As usual (also she never learned Lila's name) Marinette knows its bulls***

-Marinette's suggestion makes sense and Is a dig at Chloé

-WAIT... Is Chloe waiting to get akumatized?! OMG they really just said f*** all of that previous character development. But also using it to get out of class. Mood

-Oh look a reason for Mega akuma

-Chloé just like "Just do the thing already I know what you want."

-I really like the design of penalteam

-Chloé being next level petty (I am living for it

-Ms Bustier is like "Vengence isnt the answer" but like... isnt it though (jk) and she got red carded

-And Alya is out via slide tackle (which warps her out into a little ball)

-And Alix is out too... So no bunnyx

-Ooo, the more goals means less space

-Plagg hates soccer

-Ladybug is like "Me and Chat noir can kick your butt." But chat noir is fidgiting

-OH THAT WAS CLEVER OF CHLOÉ. Putting it so she cant be un akumatized.

-Chat noir whispering that he sucks at soccer. and Ladybug realizing (s*** we need reinforcements)

-The commenter is great

-Wtf was Luka, kagami and Zoe doing there? I get that marc took Nathaniel's place.

-Looks like they speed running the other miraculous holders

- Sabrina's power is called Fetch. PFFFFF (oh this will be useful in the finale)

-Sabrina is too much of a simp. Honey get a personality

-OHHHH. Marc has the cock Rooster. I was confused. okay neat.

-Wait she found nathaniel?!

-Ivan you sweet bean.

-"ITS NOT SPORT ANYMORE ITS ANIMAL ABUSE." Best line

-Okay so the announcer conveniently knows the old heroes.

-So new heroes. Miss Hound, Rooster bold (like booster gold i see you), Caprakid, and Minotaurox.

-Okay so now that I have seen the costumes. Rooster kid and Caprakid look cool

-Now i want a Miraculous Strikers game. GET ON THAT ZAG

-AND VIPERION IS DOWN! First one out.

-HOLY CRAP! CARAPACE GOT SMASHED THROUGH LIKE 4 BUILDINGS. CHAT NOIR WAS TAKING HITS LIKE THAT?!

-So now the field is all of Paris. Neat.

-Seriously giving me mario strikers vibes and I LOVE IT

-And Ryuuko is out.

-Man Ladybug really needs to learn about the lesson of the day

-CHAT NOIR OWN GOALED!!! AND HE LOOKED SO HAPPY. YOU STUPID CINNAMON ROLL. NEVER CHANGE

-And Pigella is down. They are getting their asses kicked

-12 to 0 at halftime. Really starting to feel like space jam

-Ladybug giving the team pep talk. She needed Mike's secret stuff

-YO!! THAT SHOT BY ROOSTER BOLD THO!

-And the game is tied up

-So minotaurox power is Called resistence. Which makes him immune to other powers. Like a charging bull. I expected it but it is very cool.

-And Penalteam cheated. What a surprise. (shadowmoth did say she could)

-"IM THE VILLAIN!" we get it thomas.

-And she red carded chat noir

-And now the game is on a 5 minute dead line

-Shadow moth is basically watching with popcorn

-And the Lucky charm.

-Oh so Ladybug's plan is really clever.

-And Caprikid can make any object he wants but its not magical. So its the exact opposite of Ladybug's lucky charm. Thats kind of situational AND a reference to evillustrator. AND IT HAS THE COOLEST NAME EVER! Genesis

-And they fooling her

-Sublimation. Basically the power to make a specific outcome occur. Thats a really cool power

-So this plan is really brilliant

-And DUCKIES!!!

-Shadowmoth is trying to calm her down

-Chloe just RAGE QUIT! Amazing

-And thats how ladybug and team wins

-Shadowmoth is salty

-And NATHANIEL JOINED THE GAME

-Oh and Lila-Chloe alliance. (welp. My fanfic was already outdated. so this doesnt matter) Risk now makes more sense

___________________________________________________________

Okay so I did feel the hero intros were rushed. But I was very entertained.

I wish they didnt bulk intro the other heroes. It feels like they got robbed. But I did enjoy the akuma and the set up.

The ending was also good.

The lesson of the day was obvious but that was expected. It was a lot more fun

8 out of 10.

If the other heroes were more fleshed out and Ivan and Sabrina were given more personality I feel like this would be higher.

#ml #miraculous ladybug and chat noir #penalteam #miraculous ladybug #ml spoilers #gale reviews

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Reckoning

Breach Masterlist

Warnings: non/dubcon sex (series), general angst, violence, death, trauma.

This is dark!Winter Soldier/Bucky and explicit. 18+ only.

Note: Promise I’ll update the masterlist today but here we are, we’re finally at the end. We’re saying goodbye to Bucky, Luka, and reader in this one. We’ve come a far way. This was one of the first series I started on here. It started as a one shot about the asset being the scariest but you guys turned it into something more, so thank you. (also that’s three endings in less than a week :))

I won’t demand but do ask for feedback; likes, reblogs, replies, comments, asks, especially on this series, but again, enjoy in your own way! <3 Love you!

You played with the leather strap around your thigh as you sat in the rattly train car. The freight was much like the one that saw you away from your prison so long ago and the same man sat with you, huddled behind the metal barrels and wooden crates. 

Your eyes rolled inside their lids as you thought of your son and his innocent voice as he sang his goodbye to you. Luka didn’t know you might not come back. It broke your heart to think you might not but you couldn’t let James face Hydra alone. He hadn’t let you.

Your hand settled over the gun strapped to your leg, another holstered against your chest beneath your jacket. There was a knife at your ankle and another at your belt. You were ready but you weren’t. How could you ever be ready for any of this?

“We’re almost there,” James whispered as he shifted beside you, “you alright?”

“Yeah, I…” you opened your eyes and tore your hand away from the gun, “ready.”

He nodded and got up to his feet, squatting behind the cargo as he pulled you up into a similar crouch. He checked your weapons then his own. He looked at you again and his lips thinned into an anxious line.

“Are you ready?” you asked.

“I have to be,” he answered and reached out to caress your cheek. You leaned into his hand then pulled him to you to peck his lips. He always seemed so meek when you touched him but he was softening.

“We are ready, James,” you assured him as much as yourself, “for Luka, we have to be.”

“You follow my lead. You can’t hesitate, understand?”

“I know,” you said, “I won’t. Those men, what they did to you… to us, they can never have our son. Never.”

“Never,” he echoed and turned. 

He kept low as he crept around the boxes and you followed. He unhooked the door and let it slide open with a loud grind. He reached back until you grabbed onto his arm and he stared at the moving ground.

“Up ahead, the bushes. You first, I’ll be right after you,” he said.

“I remember,” you said, “I know where we are.”

He looked at you and you let out a breath as you readied for your jump, “I lived close to here… with my mother.”

“Oh,” he uttered and went quiet.

“Come on,” you stood but kept hunched as you prepared to roll on impact, “this is about ending the past, not reliving it.”

He counted down and you leapt as the bushes thickened. You landed and rolled through the branches and dingy leaves. You heard him thumped down not far from you as you gulped the air. He was up before you and came to stand over you and offered his hand to get you to your feet. Despite it all, you barely felt the crash to earth.

“So you know where we are,” he said, “so you know where we go first.”

You pushed your shoulders back and sniffed. You said nothing and marched past him. He ran to catch up to you and you walked into the thin skeletal line of trees. He fixed the long bag on his back that held his rifle as his boots crushed the twigs and stones.

“Are you sure you’re--”

“What do we need from there?” you asked, “we get it and we go on.”

“Anything that’s left,” he replied.

You kept on, the terrain turning uneven and soon you were in the rocky passes that brought back bloody memories. That night with Luka in your arms as you walked in the boots of a deadman. You shuddered and kept on. You unholstered your gun as you got closer and James caught your shoulder before you could outpace him.

“I take the lead,” he warned, “you gotta slow down. You can’t just run in there and--”

“If there are any left, I will put them all down,” you swore as your hand shook, “you can’t understand. I have anger in my veins like none I’ve known before.”

He stared at you a moment and thoughts drew his brows together. His lips parted before he found the words, “and what else do you feel?”

“Certain,” you said, “that this will be over soon.”

He lowered his chin and puffed, his breath forming a cloud in the chill air, “this post is abandoned. They couldn’t have stayed after what happened but you stay alert and you point your gun at anything that moves.”

You nodded and he patted your arm. He turned and took the path ahead of you, the trail thinning out the further you got into the low mountains. As you approached the metal doors, he slowed and aimed his gun at the facade of the hidden compound. Rocks clattered beneath his boots and you brought your own weapon up in nervous expectation.

The doors were slightly open and he kicked one open, quickly poking his muzzle inside. He waved you on and you continued down the concrete hallway. The place was cleaned out but the bloodstains remained, painted across the floors and walls.

He led you down the corridors and checked each room as you waited without, watching each end of the hallway as he cleared the place. The further you got, the more the forlorn nostalgia took over you. You felt off, you felt every drop of blood coursing through you and the hot fury mingled with helpless sadness. You felt entirely weak but so powerful

When you got to the heart of the structure, you stopped and watched as James hesitated in turn. He braced himself and went forward into the eerily familiar room. The computers were smashed and the rusty medical equipment littered the floor. The glass chamber they used to keep him in bore the destruction of his escape and he went to it and peered inside.

You flinched as he broke away the last of the glass with his metal fist and quickly retreated. He was shaking as he began to tear open the filing cabinets, the locks cracking at the force of his intrusion.

You walked along the wall and slowly faced the windowed room. The bed was still there and the sparse furniture of your former existence. Your mouth fell open as your eyes tingled with tears. Those early days when you waited, when you dreaded his visits, when you watched him through the glass and wished for death.

You winced as he came up beside you and gently touched your arm. You looked at him and flicked away the moisture in your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said and his cheek twitched in pain, “I’m so sorry--”

“James, I know it wasn’t you,” you said, “I don’t cry because of you, it is because of them.” You took his hand and squeezed it, “did you find anything?”

“A few things but not what we’re looking for,” he said, “this place is abandoned. Whatever was left of… the experiment has moved.”

“And we know it will be where we’re headed?”

“Stark’s intelligence suggests it will be and… from what I can remember, it’s likely. Bigger than this place. They took me there in the early days.” He cleared his throat and looked around, “we’ll keep going until dawn. We will find somewhere close enough to rest and then…”

“And then we finish this,” you let go of his hand and moved past him, “James, I’m ready. I really am.”

✰

After some hours in a half-burned hut, you were wired. You ate rations under the open roof before you set out again. You hadn’t slept much as you and James took turns on watch. You stretched and went out into the wild and winding paths.

You climbed the steep incline of and followed the crumbling trail. As you got higher, it got colder but you hardly felt it as adrenaline surged in your approach. You ducked down as you walked along a crooked ledge and hopped off to hide behind a tall stone outshoot.

You looked down at the monstrous gates of the compound. You laid flat as James fixed the scope on his rifle and peered through the lens. He bit his lip as he adjusted his sights before he pulled his eye away.

“I can get the guards but we have to be quick after.” He nodded behind you, “down there. Quick. Gun out and ready. I’ll be right behind you.”

“We can do this, James.”

He lined up his gun again and inhaled. He took his first shot, the noise muffled by the long silencer. Several others followed before he stood quickly and hung the gun from his shoulder. He pulled you up and you ran to the decline that led between the sharp walls of the mountain.

He was a few steps back as you made you way down the treacherous natural steps and slid down the last few. You slipped to your knees as voices sounded from the gates and James fired again.

You got up as he latched onto your elbow and continued forward. He reached to his belt and unhooked a grenade, throwing it at the gates as you ran behind him. You hung back as the metal gates shook with the blast and he directed you forward with two fingers.

As you reached the rent in the doors, he stopped and took two more shots. Men fell into the cold dirt and you raised your gun to take your first. You remembered all those hours of training though you never truly knew how useful they would be. It was always a precaution, always a what if, now it was your life or death.

You pulled the trigger and another man crumpled. You kept close to James and picked off the last few men outside the installation. A sudden siren began to whine as you neared the open doors and you could guess that one of the guards had fled inside to warn all those within.

James directed you inside and as you made your way down the corridor, you stopped at the end and listened. You couldn’t think of the hammering of your heart or the thought of the death at you fingertips. You could only think; left or right.

“We need to separate,” you said.

“No, you can’t--”

“This place is too big, I’ll slow you down and you’ll slow me,” you insisted, “I’ll go right.”

“No, we have to--”

“You showed me, James. I know what to do. I know what we need. We have our rendezvous. We know what happens if we do not get there.”

He shook his head and sighed. You heard footsteps.

“We have to go,” you said and before he could argue further, you raised your gun and ran around the corner.

The first man hit the wall after the bullet entered his chest, the second fell over him with your next shot, and the third slumped against the next corner. You heard James’ boots and his own shots as they flew in the other direction. You pressed on and reloaded before you took the next turn.

Your pulse filled your ears and kept you going. Everything felt so clear, so visible, so loud. You saw and heard it all. It was almost as if you knew what would happen before it did. You’d never felt this level of clarity.

You went deeper into the maze, bodies littered in your stead as others fled, those in white jackets, those like the men who’d tortured you. You followed them, they would lead you to what you needed.

A man surprised you as he lunged from a doorway. He slammed you into the wall and your gun fired into the ceiling. You kicked him and he grunted and you grabbed his arm as his hand stretched over your throat. Without pause, without thought, you twisted his arm and he screamed in agony as both his wrist and elbow snapped.

You shoved him away and finished the work with a bullet. You stared at his arm as the shock sunk in. How could you have done all that? It hadn’t felt like anything at all, like bending a toothpick.

You didn’t have time to linger as another appeared and you fired again. Warm blood spattered your front as your legs kept pushing through. You came to a large room but bullets preceded you. 

You peeked inside, James was already there. A flurry of men were engaged with him, those in camouflage and those in white. You downed two men before your gun was kicked from your hands. You grunted and ducked under a punch you didn’t even see was coming, you just knew. You reached to your belt and freed the long hunting knife.

The blade tore through the man's flesh like water. The sickly glide of the metal sickened you and the flood of warmth down our arm churned your stomach. You couldn’t stop, even as your fear rose, even as you realised the destruction you wrought.

Another man, this one broken by a kick that sent him into the wall. Your strength startled even you. You heard James and looked around. He was on his back, barely kicking away his attackers as he aimed desperately with his pistol. 

You broke through the wall of man, shoving them to the side so that they flew back into the machinery all around. You threw your knife at a man as he aimed at James and you wrenched back another and twisted his neck until it cracked. The third you broke over your knee.

You rolled away from them and freed the gun at your chest; one, two, three, four. They all fell dead at the pull of your trigger. James stared at you and sat up. He raised his gun as your own was too slow and you felt an arm around your neck, the pointed tip against your chin.

“Don’t,” the man warned as his white sleeve scratched at your throat, “she dies.”

James kept his aim steady as he got to his feet. The man choked you and pulled you a step back.

“Drop the gun,” he ordered in Russian. You gulped and tossed it down as the metal cut into your flesh just a little, “ah, always thought you would be back. Always expected it.”

“Let her go,” James said, “you can’t--”

“That is the problem, you see? The human emotion dampens the serum. We don’t need the mind, only the body--”

You were quick. You slid your hand up under the knife and fell to your knees, taking the man with you as the blade dug into your fingers. The shot knocked him off of you entirely and the knife fell free, your blood pouring down your hand. You sat back on your heels and reached for your gun with your uninjured hand.

“We get the files and get out,” James helped you up, “more will be coming.”

He drew you past the corpses and began to search the desk and cabinets. He took a black folder and you helped break open several of the computers to remove their hard drives. He packed it all into the compact pack on your back and zipped it up.

He shot past your head as more soldiers appeared. He nudged you forward and yelled, “come on.”

You raced away from the east wing and barrelled down the winding corridors, following the trail of bodies left by your entrance. You added several more to the floor until you reached the front door. Gunfire followed your departure, met only in defensive retreat.

You carried on past the gate and into the rocky impasse. A sudden blast shook the ground and James caught your arm and urged you on. You didn’t look back as the shots faded into thundering booms and bangs.

You kept on until you couldn’t hear the carnage, until it was silent but for the whistling of the mountain air, until the adrenaline was gone and your hand seared with pain, the rest of the unnoticed aches rising to the surface. 

James stopped you and pulled you into a dark cave. He fished out his flashlight and little up the stony walls as he led you further inside. He pushed his head back and took a breath and he let the flashlight rest on its side and cast a plume over the dark space.

“We have to bandage your hand before we press on,” he said, “we get to the bottom at nightfall and keep going.”

“What was that?” you asked as he pulled out his aid kit from his pocket.

“My orders were to burn that place to the ground,” he said, “lucky the blast didn’t take the whole mountain down.”

He took your hand and wiped your fingers clean before he wrapped them in gauze. You were silent throughout as your heart slowed and you had a moment to think.

“James, what--” you blinked and looked down as he moved around you to unzip your bag, “I’m not mad. What was that?”

“No, you’re not,” he said as he pulled the folder out of the bag and went back around you, “it’s why we need to burn these.”

“What is it?” you asked.

He handed it over silently and retrieved his flashlight. He held it over the folder as you opened it. Your picture was at the front of the pile of papers, several signed by Ilyich, detailing the progression of your pregnancy. There were several explaining how the growth of the enhanced fetus affected the carrier. How the serum seemed to have molded with the DNA of the subject.

You looked up at James and frowned. It couldn’t be. 

“You never noticed before and I never wanted to make you,” he admitted, “I thought you would hate to be like me and that would be just another thing I did to you.”

“James…”

“I know, it was the soldier but it still feels like me,” he took the folder from you and closed it. “So I will keep you from one misery in this life. We destroy this now and when we reach the rendezvous, I delete any of that from those hard drives.”

“What do you--”

“We’re going back to Luka,” he said, “they can’t know because they will want to know more. They will want to try it again. Doesn’t matter if it’s Hydra or Stark.”

You nodded and he dug out his lighter. He lit the first page and watched it wilt into ash. You sat on a flat rock and rubbed your gloved hands together. You watched him burn the file a sheet at a time.

“I was reading about Canada. There was a program on the TV Luka was watching,” you said as added the last page and he stood, “what do you think? A nice little house for us. I hear it snows there. I love the snow.”

He clapped off his hands and reached for you. He drew you up and zipped your jacket up to your chin. He framed your face and smiled down at you in the glow of the flashlight hooked on his hip, “If you’ll be there, it sounds wonderful.”

✰✰✰

END

Thank you again for all your patience and support with this series. I’m sad but happy to be done. Let’s all imagine Luka getting to sled with Bucky up in the Great North and be at peace.

#bucky barnes #winter soldier #breach #bucky barnes x reader #winter soldier x reader #dark!winter soldier #dark winter soldier #fic #series #dark fic #dark!fic #mcu #marvel #captain america #steve rogers #howard stark #au