#but refuses to cross that line without permission

[rubra-wav]

Vox brainrot entry #1

(Part 2 fic)

A/N: I've been thinking about this all morning, and I want to talk about it and it's driving me crazy. I've never really ever shared anything like this ever, so I'm a bit nervous haha

CW: 18+ SFW - NSFW (marked as such), spying/voyeurism, gn reader

Disclaimer: This is purely fiction and is not to be applied to any real context. If someone is like this IRL, that is not okay.

- This man definitely watches you through whatever technology you have, and I refuse to believe anything less.

- In some fics, I've seen the reference to him spying on people through cameras but I mostly see it in yan AU fics where he is doing it to intentionally try to control and manipulate them. I think instead he does it because he's a pathetic simp. 💀

- Vox seems like he would be very much against directly pursuing anyone for romantic relationships due to how insecure he is underneath all of the egotistical bullshit he puts out at all times. This imo would manifest as also having a severe fear of rejection - especially if he does manage to get romantic feelings for someone else.

- Due to this, he spends a borderline obsessive amount of time watching the person he's attracted to without their permission as he's too chicken shit to seem *too interested* in them by actually asking them about their interests and things about yourself.

- At first it's just very rarely watching you - mainly after meeting up with you to see how you are after. He wants to see if you are happy or if you secretly hate the time you spend together with him because he is insecure as shit.

- It gradually becomes more and more frequent the more he falls for you, until it's a pastime watching what you're doing.

- He learns what your favourite things are, what you hate, what you do in your spare time, who your friends are, who your family are, etc. Etc. He knows just about everything you do in your free time.

- He will then use this information to try to get closer with you in everyday life.

- If you ask how he knows he will respond like he's just 'that good' at knowing what you like. You don't miss the way he starts sweating slightly as he's further prodded though.

- After you prod him for more on the subject he's going to be sitting in slight horror with his hands covering his face the second you leave.

NSFW starts below

- It also begins to extend to watching everything as well the more desperate he gets.

- For a while, he refuses to continue to watch you if you start to take your clothes off as he feels like that's crossing the line even with his tendencies.

- But a mixture of his desperation and craving to see that gets to him.

- The first time he watches you get undressed, he's flustered as all hell, brain telling him to switch the feed off while the other part of himself is absolutely screaming in excitement over seeing your naked skin slowly being revealed to him.

- It becomes an extremely shameful tendency after that as he begins to watch more and more as it drives him absolutely wild.

- I just have the mental image of him sitting in his studio after-hours and watching you pleasure yourself while he does the same. Him being embarrassed as hell, filled with self-loathing about it, but still desperate to continue watching you arching and letting out whimpers and moans of ecstacy.

- I feel like if he saw you after these sessions he'd not be able to hold it together as well as he usually does when you pry into something to do with him secretly spying upon you. He'd be smiling a tense smile, little animated sweat drops on his face along with light blue flush across his cheeks as he stutters with glitches while being questioned about why he was acting up.

- Giving you bullshit reasons in his normally cocky tone that were so obviously bullshit you don't even need to squint at them to tell.

- If you pry into it he may just start error-ing.

Someone needs to put me down about him.

- Afterwards, he'd probably be mortified in private. I can see him laying face down while blue screening on the floor of his room out of embarrassment whining with his ego in tatters about failing so badly to fully keep his 'extra-curriculars' under wraps in front of you.

#hazbin hotel #vox headcanons #vox #vox x reader #vox smut #I may write a drabble pertaining to this maybe maybe #idk we'll see #im thinking about writing one where reader knows he's doing this and they use it against him to degrade him #i want this bitch w h i n i n g ✨️

[dark-and-kawaii]

༺ 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐓𝐨 𝐔𝐬𝐞 ༻

The rest of the lesser devils in court stood around you both, watching your disgrace unfold as you were used by Raphael.

Raphael | NSFW - Voyeurism - Exhibition

Your hands grip the armrests of the throne he had forced you into when he started this little game of his. You had refused to play along at first but it became clear quickly that Raphael wasn't looking for a challenge. You were no match for the Devil, especially not since you handed him the crown. The throne was an odd shape and your legs were spread uncomfortably wide as your feet struggled to find purchase somewhere.

The rest of the lesser devils in court stood around you both, watching your disgrace unfold as you were used as nothing more than a hole for their newfound leader. You can't bear to meet their gaze, knowing the shame and disgrace that fills the air. Your eyes fluttered shut, you could feel your release coming, it wouldn't be the first time you came from Raphael using your body in front of others. You hated yourself for it but your body was trained to react this way, you had been conditioned to love it. To crave it. To respond to his every command.

Raphael can feel your walls tightening around him, signaling your impending release. He revels in the control he has over you, relishing the power he holds. Suddenly, he stops his thrusting, his cock buried deep inside you. He watches you intently, a sick grin spreading across his face. You open your eyes, tears streaming down your face, your body trembling with need.

Your head falls back against the throne, your throat dry from panting. You swallow hard, aware of Raphael's gaze fixed upon you. He wants you to beg, to surrender the last shred of control you have left. You fight against it, but deep down, you know you must comply.

"Beg for it, little mouse," he demands, his claws digging into the fabric of the throne as he grips it. His hips slamming into you, the force of his thrusts leaving you breathless. You gasp, your voice shaky as you plead, "Pl-please!"

But it was far too late, you crossed the line. You came without his permission, and Raphael's annoyance is evident. He seizes your hair, twisting it harshly, causing pain to shoot through your body. He cranks your neck, his grip unyielding. "Vermin," he growls, "it appears you elude growth. Untameable creatures, sworn to stay loath."

You whimper, desperate to please him. "P-please. I-I can do better," you plead, hoping to regain his favor.

Raphael throws your head back, the impact against his throne forgotten as he continues his relentless assault. Your body responds, twitching with every thrust, your moans growing louder. You can't fight it anymore. Your walls tighten around him once more, and you can feel his release building.

With a primal low groan, Raphael leans forward and sinks his teeth into your shoulder, causing a mix of pain and pleasure to surge through you. Your body convulses, your mind going blank as your release crashes over you again. Your mouth hangs open in a silent scream of ecstasy.

As you tremble, drained and lifeless against the throne, Raphael withdraws from you, his seed leaking from your spent body. He grips your chin, forcing you to look up at him, his voice filled with sadistic delight. "Tell me, oh Apple of my eye… What should your punishment be? Perhaps I should allow one of these devils below to enjoy you."

Hot tears stream down your face as you realize Raphael's words are meant to provoke you. The thought of being used by another other than Haarlep or himself, of being treated like a mere toy, fills you with dread. "R-Raphael, no, please..." you plead, your voice filled with a mix of fear and desperation. A chill ran down your spine at the thought of one of them releasing their own seed into you…

You wanted to trust he wouldn’t… But deep down, you know that in the realm of Hell, trust is a fragile thing, and the wickedness that resides within the souls of devils runs deep and untamed.

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #raphael bg3 #bg3 raphael #tav #raphael x reader #raphael x tav #baldurs gate #tw.degradation #tw.voyeurism #tw.exhibitionism #raphael baldur's gate 3 #raphael the cambion #bg3 smut #raphael #bg3 x reader

[butch-reidentified]

well my wife & I had literally just arrived downtown, were still walking down the sidewalk to the bar, when we run into this guy on the corner interacting aggressively with a very anxious-looking woman trying to lock a shop door and two young boys. my wife instantly steps in and firmly asks the man to step back a bit while I check in with the woman. he's obviously drunk and belligerent, and starts shouting at us. "I'm just talking to my son, I'm not allowed to talk to my son?"

she explains very straightforwardly that this is her restaurant she owns, and he's her abusive ex who's always hanging around her restaurant and trying to manipulate the kids by talking shit about her and giving her diabetic son candy. she tells us that the local police and "everyone" knows about this situation, that's she's tried twice to get a restraining order, he's stolen from her and her restaurant multiple times, etc.

he asks my wife and me with disgust if we're "girlfriends or something," to which I respond that it's absolutely none of his business. he asks us why we're in his business, then. She tells us he slapped her a few minutes prior, because of what she was wearing. He says it isn't fair that he "never got to see her like that" while they were dating because he "was always working in her restaurant." I ask him who the fuck told him seeing her ~like that~ was his right.

we ask her if she wants us to walk her to her car/home, and she says she lives a couple blocks away and that would be really good. as we walk away, he tells her "spirits" are going to come and get her tonight. so we walk with her and the kids, let her vent about him and everything she's tried to do to stop this without anything changing, how the police don't care and how they believed him that HER home and restaurant were his because he's a white man and she's a black woman, and they interrogated her while asking him nothing.

On the walk, he walks up behind us to a bit ahead of us to where the older boy is on his bicycle, and starts talking to the older boy again, but not before shouting to us that "men should be with women." She refuses to engage, and we follow her lead. I ask her some questions to get a feel for what she might have or need. We give her our phone numbers and a short spiel about available community resources and the importance of women looking out for other women. I tell her I can connect her with those resources and am happy to arrange help for her to complete the restraining order process, as the barriers preventing her previously have been things like being unable to arrange for childcare so she can go to court. She asks if she can give us hugs, and we say of course.

We stay while she and her piece of shit ex verbally battle for control of the older son. She's asking him to come up to their apartment. We can't hear what he's saying to the kid, but he keeps shifting position to block her from making eye contact with her son. She tells us he is teaching the kid to view and treat women like he does. She tells us the kid needs counseling and is struggling with depression.

We stay until the older son gets his father's permission to go upstairs with her. He approaches us on the corner as we wait to be able to cross, and asks us again about our relationship to each other. We tell him again it isn't his business. He asks why we get to ask for all of his information, then. My wife points out that we didn't even ask his name.

for several long and irritating minutes, he stands a foot away from us running his mouth while we wait to be able to cross. at a couple points, he borders on threatening, but never crosses the line. I keep my hand on my gun in my pocket regardless. I tell him I heard what he said about "spirits" and if anything happens to her tonight (or at all), we'll know who did it. he tells me I'm funny. my wife has already made a phone call, and we have three people on the way from our friend's bar (which is 1 store over from her restaurant). he hears her phone call and tells us that's a bad idea. I ask him if that's a threat. he stays silent as the light finally turns and we begin to cross.

he doesn't follow.

on the way home, we pass three separate police cars, and my blood is boiling hotter each time.

I really hope she's safe tonight. I really hope she reaches out and lets us help.

tonight was a stark reminder that all of our communities are rife with abusive men and abused women, all the time, and nobody is looking out for these women. know your community's needs and resources. any day or night could be the time you stumble across one of these situations. you'll be grateful you have that knowledge to share when you do.

#tw abuse #male violence #mvaw #misogyny #community action #mine #radblr #domestic violence #ipv

[luimagines]

How do you think the chain would react to finding out the reader is very touch starved and they refuse to initiate any kind of contact unless necessary?

Masterlist

Sure can do! It'll be in headcanon form. I hope you don't mind.

Content under the cut!

Warrior

Warrior is going to probably be the one to mention to the others that they need to ask and respect it if they get rejected

Warrior is also tempted to put hand son shoulders and ruffle hair but he’s a lot better at repressing it than some of the other boys

It’s not something he’s going to question if he learns it

Reader just gets treated like a soldier from then on

Sure Warrior will still be calm and collected and not at all use his commander voice

But he’s going to keep his hands to himself

Perfectly cordial as he smothers down any brotherly instincts

Again- he’s not cold even if it’s easy to get that impression with how much he’s been keeping his distance

But he’s still 100% willing to throw hands with anyone who makes them upset

Or throw hands with anyone who tries to get into their personal space without their permission

Is he projecting his personal guard training?

Maybe?

Warrior is always going to ask first when he needs to touch them

Or maybe just tell them where he’s noticed something so they can handle it on their own

In reality he doesn’t know what to do r how to handle the situation but he’s going to try his best

Twilight

I think Twilight would be very torn about it

He’s not as big on touch as some of the other guys but he’s first instinct when he’s comforting a person it to touch them

It’s instinctual to him so he’s not always aware of it

At the same time he wants to have them feel comfortable around them 

He’s not fully aware of what being touched starved is

As a concept he can understand it, but he’s grown up in a very warm and loving place where hugs and hand holding were common place

Even if it was just a pat on the back of a hand on the shoulder

So naturally Twilight copies that in his day to day interactions with the people he cares about

He may need to be reminded on more than one occasion if Reader wants him to back off

He’ll do his best to not take it to heart

But it’ll hurt him on the inside to think that anyone would not be deprived of it for so long but then also deny it until circumstances say otherwise

It’s not something he can fully comprehend 

But he’s willing to work with Reader in that case

He’s aware that it’s not something someone would just talk about and everyone has different paths that they’ve taken in life

He’d struggle in the beginning and slowly work his way toward a middle ground for the two of them

But it’s going to make some work on Reader’s part as well

Legend

Legend is probably going to be the last person learns this

He’s also touch starved but he’s not going to go out of his way to touch people

He probably doesn’t realize it until it was one of those ride or die moments 

That being said, I think he would notice that they would shy away from touch no matter who it came from

Which is no biggie

It doesn’t faze him- just “alright, cool, no touchy, got it”

And then he just never asks questions

So he doesn’t know why for a really long time

Legend isn’t going to judge or bat an eye about it and even then when he learns about it eventually he’ll shrug it off

“Alright dude, good to know, let me know if I cross any lines”

End of discussion

He will, however, also be their greatest defender

Somebody standing too close? He pushes them away

Somebody reaches out? He blocks them

If anyone so much as looks like they’re going to try something Legend is going to put himself in the middle of it

I can guarantee it  

Time

Another one in the don’t touch me club

Don’t get me wrong he’s still ok with physical touch

But he’s very selective in who gets to touch him and who he can touch on a casual basis

Family is typical- and he’s adopted all the boys so that’s fine

Strangers? Nope

Friends? Hard maybe. It would depend on the situation

Granted, he’s doesn’t really let people know that he doesn’t want to be touched

He’s so done with everything and anything life can throw at him that he’s going to take it in stride and ignore it the best that he can

When he notices Reader is in a similar boat to him he’s going to single them out when they’re alone

It’s nothing bad, don’t worry

But he’s going to ask what’s up just so he has a better idea of what’s going on

No one likes to hear from someone who’s got the wrong idea

He’ll be tactful with it and try to gauge information without going into anything too personal

Then he’ll gives tips and some pointer to let others know to keep their distance without making a scene or hurting their feelings

Basically it’s a  “Welcome to the club. Here’s your badge and here’s how to let people know you have with without showing it to them.”

That kind of fatherly pep talk moment

Effectiveness depends on Reader on at point

Wild

The worst of them hands down

His hands are on every one so much and he doesn’t even know it

He is the dude to koala people in his sleep

Wild is very clingy by nature and there’s very little that can stop him once the ball is rolling

That being said- he will stop cold turkey once mentioned

But he’s going to be curious

Did he do something wrong?

Was it something he said?

Was he in trouble?

Oh, it’s nothing personal? Then rock on my guy. That’s fair. My bad.

Hands to himself now

Mostly

He’s trying really hard to be cool with it and not make Reader uncomfortable

But I’m going to lie and say that he’s on top of it 100% of the time and that he nails every interaction

As much as he would like that to be the case- it isn’t

Please be patient with him. He wants to learn to be better

Four

Alright. Cool with him

Won’t engage in contact

Will keep a wide berth to pop the personal space bubble

Does not question it

He’d probably think about it though- even if he smothers those thought down

It’s none of his business anyway 

Besides he’s not shy of cutting people off from getting into stuff they don’t need to know- how can he just assume it doesn’t apply to him?

New flash- it does and he lives by it

A huge advocate of taking accountability for your own actions 

So if he sees someone not being called out for bad behavior or unwanted advances, then he’ll gladly do it instead

Some boys are quiet protectors and will watch from behind Reader to see how they handle the situation

Four is not

It’s admittedly his greatest strength and his biggest weakness

He’s quick to jump to conclusions unfortunately so Reader might (read: will) talk to him about it

He means well on all sides

But it’s not something he’s accustomed to handle on his own

It either goes well or badly- there is no in between

Hyrule

HO BOY DOES HE STRUGGLE

One of his main love languages is physical touch and it doesn’t take long for anyone to figure that out

His hands are on someone almost at all times and is going to extend to Reader more often than not

He’s not the worst of the group but he’s right on his heels

Because it’s so natural to him he might not notice a flinch or pulling away

It honestly depends non what has his attention and how violent it might have been

That being said- he seems the kind of guy to ask to work with it

Work towards desensitizing so that there won’t be a problem in the future

Because he would like to hug them or just have a hand on Reader’s shoulder without being rejected time and time again

At this point it’s going to be up to Reader to decide where they go with it

They can meet Hyrule halfway and so on and so forth 

Or they can keep refusing him in the end (But this option is the Break Hyrule’s Heart Option- so do with that what you will)

If Reader is adamant to keep Hyrule at an arm’s length then he’ll have to accept it but he might also pull away emotionally as well

It’s harder to connect to a person you’re forcing yourself to stay away from

If Reader agrees with slowly being ok with touch, Hyrule is going to have to work on dialing it way back

He’s willing to do that, but that’s still a decent amount of work on his part

Sky

Another guy who’s very casual with touching so he may need to be reminded more than once

However he’s very perceptive in this regard

One flinch or a subtle pull away and he pulls back like nothing ever happened

It’ll so natural no one would think that he saw anything

He won’t ask questions, he won’t pry, he won’t even think too much about it

He just takes a mental note of it and moves on with his day

He’ll find other way to show that he cares about Reader that doesn’t include touching

If there’s a moment where he’s going to touch Reader, he’d want to announce it to them first and give them ample tie to react the way they want to

Instead of letting initial reactions put anyone off

It’s in the air if Reader notices that Sky has put two and two together

A lot of people think that Sky is a bit oblivious that’s not true and it couldn’t be farther from the truth

His mind can be like a steel trap if he focuses and considers it serious enough

His personality throws people off sometimes because of it

Sky is going to watch how Reader interacts with the other guys and with people outside of their group

He puts together that it’s nothing personal very quickly because of this

That being said, he’s may not be as forward in blocking unwanted attention like some of the other boys, but he’s on the look out regardless

Wind

Has no idea what that means

Will ask all sorts of questions 

Handles it very maturely

Better than half the group if I have to be honest

It’s almost like actually talking to someone and having decent communication can lead to better results in the long run

Always asking if something is ok to do

Will ask if Reader is ok with being around a lot of people and will warn them if need be

You know, like going into cramped market places and such- where bumping shoulders is almost unavoidable

He offers to act as a buffer if Reader would want him to be or to even stay behind if Reader would rather avoid it entirely

It doesn’t always work out that way but Wind knows lots of ways to distract people from the worst of it

If anything he’s great at being live bait- even if it’s for the things unseen

Has the tendency to be a bit too excited though- he can’t help it being a 13-year- old boy

So if he grabs Reader without warning or taps them without thinking about it, Reader might have to reel him back again

He’ll apologize but he’s definitely better than a few boys in the group

Won’t bother is looking out Reader otherwise though

Jury’s out if it’s just because he thinks that Reader can handle themself or if it’s because it’s just on entirely on his radar yet

But both is a probability as well

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #linked universe x reader #lu x reader #did i understand the assignment? #maybe? #admittedly I don't much #and I didn't ask #so my apologies if this is entirely the *wrong* way to go about it #but frankly- I don't want to post these guys being 100% all the time

[cupids-chamber]

Sebak,Lilia,vil and Leona with someone with like big doe puppy eyes and they use it in them all the time for affection lol

❝ 𝐏𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 .ᐟ ❞ S/o uses puppy eyes on them for affection.

GENDER NEUTRAL READER

SEBEK ZIGVOLT

Would refuse to give into you and your charms, but after a while as always he'd fall for them.

He's only slightly dejected at how easily he'd fall for your eyes and give you affection, but it's his way of showing love to you as well.

Would compliment you a lot, during your cuddle sessions after.

VIL SCHOENHEiT

Would try his best to refute and ignore your puppy eyes but would somehow fall for them.

He'd sigh in defeat as he opened his arms for an embrace.

Would probably give you a forehead kiss and mumble about the defeat, in a playful pout.

LEONA KINGSCHOLAR

Actually doesn't care, immediately gives into you and indulges you.

Cuddles, affection? You name it! He's willing to indulge in affection with you any day. Though he wont out-rightly say it or admit it.

LILIA VANROUGE

Like Leona Lilia would indulge in you, but in a playful teasing way.

Would tease you a lot and loves to witness your reactions.

Basks in your reactions, but he won't cross drawn lines.

© cupids-chamber, do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or adapt my work without prior permission and or confirmation from me.

#twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst fluff #twst headcanons #twst imagines #twst imagine #twst scenarios #leona kingscholar #leona kingscholar x reader #vil schoenheit #vil schoenheit x reader #sebek zigvolt #sebek zigvolt x reader #lilia vanrouge x reader #lilia vanrouge #sebek x reader #lilia x reader #leona x reader #vil x reader #twst vil #twst leona #twst lilia #twst sebek #reader insert #fluff #twst lilia x reader #twst leona x reader

[oh-nostalgiaa]

Writing Prompt Masterlist, Part Nine

Masterlist of Writing Prompt Masterlists

The Prompts

18+ Phrases & Actions Prompts

100 Indulgent Trope Prompts

Acts of Service Prompts

Affectionate & Aggressive Biting Prompts

Angst Prompts

Angsty Prompts

Asking for Permission Prompts

Blood, Blood, Gallons of the Stuff! Prompts

Celebrity Fake Dating Prompts

Confrontation Prompts

Cuddly Starter Sentence Prompts

Delightfully Domestic Starter Prompts

Domestic Bliss Starter Prompts

Emergency Fluff and Softness Starter Prompts

Emotionally Charged Sentence Starter Prompts

End of the World Sentence Starter Prompts

Fake Dating But Crossing Way Too Many Lines to be Considered Fake Anymore Prompts

First Kiss with an Experienced Lover Prompts

Fluffy Prompts

Fluffy / Reassuring Sentences for Your Needs Prompts

Formidable Fluff Starters Pt. 2: Needy Edition

Friends or More? Sentence Starter Prompts

From the Hero Sentence Starter Prompts

From the Villain Sentence Starter Prompts

Have a Hug Nonverbal Starter Prompts

Have a Hug Verbal Starter Prompts

Hugs Sentence Starter Prompts

I Love You Dialogue Response Prompts

I'm Fine, Just Go On Without Me Prompts

I'm in the Mood, Babe Prompts

Ideas for a Date Prompt List

Ill & Injured Sentences Vol. 1

Ill & Injured Sentences Vol. 2

Ill & Injured Sentences Vol . 3

Is This Really Meant to Be? (Enemies to Lovers Arranged Marriage) Prompts

It's Fate, Right? (Arranged Marriage) Prompts

Injury / Hurt Prompts

It's Christmas Time Prompts

Just Some Fluff Starter Prompts

Kinda Spicy Prompts

Kiss Me Prompts

Kiss Roulette Prompts

Late Night Prompts

Laughter Prompts

Love Confession Prompts

Morning vs. Night Starter Prompts

Nearly a Kiss Prompts

Nightmares Prompts

Non-Sexual Forms of Intimacy Prompts

NSFW Emoji Scenarios Prompts

Oblivious Idiots in Love Prompts

Physical One-Liner Prompts, Part III

Physical Touch Prompts

Post-Breakup AU Prompts

Prompts for Asking Favors

Prompts for the Big Misunderstanding

Prompts for Carrying / Being Carried

Prompts for Curious Hypotheticals

Prompts for Emotionally Stunted Idiots

Prompts for People Who Refuse to Let Anyone Care About Them

Prompts for Playful Affection

Prompts for the Grumpy vs Sunshine Tropes

Prompts for Workaholic Characters Who Push Themselves Too Hard

Quality Time Prompts

Quiet Moments of Affection Prompts

Random Dialogue Sentence Starter Prompts, Part 1

Reasons for There to be Only One Bed Prompts

Receiving Gifts Prompts

Scenarios for Those Stuck in the Hospital Prompts

Send a Number to Touch Prompts

Set the Scene Prompts

Shared Desires Prompts

Shippy Autumn Prompts

Simple Acts of Love Between Lovers Prompts

Simple Acts of Love Between Lovers Pt. 2 Prompts

Smut & NSFW Prompts

Smut Dialogue Prompts

Smutty Starter Prompts

Soft & Sassy Starter Prompts

Soft Fluff Prompts

Soft, Fluffy Prompts

Soft Touch Prompts

Soft Starter Prompts

Some Valentine's Edition Intimacy Prompts

Spicy Enemies to Lovers Prompts

Spring Vibes Prompts

Subtle Love Prompts

The Last Time I Saw You, You Hurt Me Prompts

Tis the Season for Christmas AU Prompts

Together Prompts

Undercover Prompts

Valentine's Day Prompts

Ways to Kiss Prompts

Ways to React to an Injury Prompts

We Constantly Flirt Every Time We Meet But It's Never Gone Anywhere Prompts

We Could Be Together, Forever Prompts

What Are You Hiding From Me? Prompts

Words of Affirmation Prompts

You Were Asleep / Unconcious / Comatose Prompts

#masterlist #prompts #writing #writing prompts

[gatheringbones]

[“At long last, doctors now have—more accurately, ought to have—permission to support in good conscience what human beings, with or without any “professionals” assisting, have been doing for hundreds of thousands of years.

As the American journalist Anne Fadiman describes in her illuminating work on the clash of medical cultures besetting Hmong immigrants to the United States, these Asian women stubbornly resisted some of our “best practices” in favor of their own ways, including “squatting during delivery and refusing permission for episiotomy incisions to enlarge the vaginal opening . . . Many Hmong women were used to being held from behind by their husbands, who massaged their bellies with saliva and hummed loudly just before the baby emerged.” In short, they had tradition, intuition, innate body sense, Nature, and—no doubt unbeknownst to them—the most up-to-date science on their side. Not to mention their husbands, who literally had their backs.

The advent of modern obstetrics has brought much to be grateful for, sparing many women and infants from avoidable suffering, illness, and death. The problem is that, along with its triumphs, and in line with the mechanistic approach of Western medicine in general, obstetrical practice ignores the genuine and natural needs of mothers and babies—in fact, it often runs roughshod over them. Bringing infants into the world is not simply a question of pushing and pulling and cutting and catching. It is a major threshold in human development, and how it is crossed has potentially lifelong consequences. By pathologizing the birth process, present-day medical practice contradicts the wisdom of Nature and of the human body. More damningly, it frequently violates even its own commitments to align itself with science and to, first, “do no harm.”

We need not abandon the great achievements of medical work to honor traditional wisdom, rooted in age-old experience. We can embrace both.”]

gabor maté, from the myth of normal: trauma, illness, and healing in a toxic culture, 2022

#gabor maté #brainspace #currently reading

[starr-finn]

Horror payday fanfic,

y'all! I decided to do a Yandere wolf fic because as the discord says, (Me specifically after hearing the voice lines-) 'cuz that hoe is most likely too at this point-'

Yandere!Wolf x reader

NOTE: I DO NOT CONDONE YANDERE BEHAVIOR OR ANYTHING OF THAT NATURE!!!! THIS IS A SILLY HALLOWEEN FIC FOR MY FAVORITE SWEDISH GUY!!!! DO NOT REPLICATE OR IMITATE ANYTHING I WRITE HERE, IT IS HIGHLY ILLEGAL AND WILL RESULT IN RESTRAINING ORDERS, PRISON TIME, AND POTENTIAL HARM TO YOURSELF AND OTHERS! thank you and have a great day

Warnings cuz we need them: Stalking, Kidnapping, mentions of Murder, Vague hints at torture, manipulation, mentions of psychopathy, hints at a forced relationship, mentions of manipulation, drugging, mentions of amputation

I got a bit carried away, lemme know if you want one of these for the other heisters.

I feel like Wolf is the overly obsessive, clingy, and stalker type yandere

He refuses to let you out of his sight, at all

He follows you home a lot

He often sends little love letters and gifts to your house

He stalks all your exes and kills the ones he deemed 'Unworthy of life

He knows everything about you, your family, all your friends, and exes

He actively keeps you away from his role as a heister

and his crimes in general

eventually, Wolf stops watching you from your windows and decided to take you for himself

but until then, he watches from your bedroom window

He doesn't mind, he bides his time until he feels it's the correct time

When he does kidnap you, he does it at a bar, He slips something in your drink and drags you out to his car, ties you up in his basement, and just watches until you wake up

Wolf is, of course, Wolf, you are absolutely not exempt from his sadism, but he would never hurt you bad enough to kill you

super manipulative too, like terrifyingly so

He's annoyingly clingy, always clinging to you

He's probably not aware of how wrong this actually is, considering he's a psychopath

If he does know, he couldn't care any less

You're the love of his life, and He'll do anything to make you see that

Now that I'm writing all this, Slipknot fans, Y'all know both of the vermillon songs? Yeah, that's him

Ties the strongest knots known to man, good luck getting out

kills anyone that gets too close to you.

there are some lines he'd never cross, like touching you without permission, but the other lines are so blurry he can't tell they're lines, just smudges in his vision

waits until you stop struggling to even take the mask off

never wears it around you again after that, he thinks it'll make you like him more and fear him less

He's absolutely willing to remove your limbs, anything to keep you from running away from him, he loves you too much to let you do that

good luck tbh

#i'm sorry #i'm so sorry #payday 2 x reader #payday x reader #payday 2 #payday the heist #wolf payday 2 #payday wolf x reader #payday 2 wolf x reader #halloween fic

[streamafterlaughter]

Fundamental Differing

gif credit

masterlist | playlist | chapter vi

Chapter VII: Soft But Estranged

summary: an off day on tour doesn’t mean an off day for partying! The entire touring family heads out for what’s supposed to be a fun night off on the Vegas Strip.

tags/warnings: so much angst it’s gross, mutual pining, rockstar!eddie x rockstar!reader, slow burn, hurt/slight comfort, pining, longing, break up, excessive drinking

a/n: i’m turning up the dial on this fic to 11. angst to the max. no fluff all pain. torture. enjoy! Disclaimer: I do not give permission to have my work reposted on other sites. Reblogs are more than welcome, but please inform me if you find my work elsewhere unless otherwise stated. Reblog to support the author!

——

October 1989

“Oh, honey, come here.” Robin pulls you into a tight hug, letting you sob and snot into her shoulder. It’s three in the morning, and you’ve been drinking yourself into a stupor. You left Eddie a week ago, and haven’t been able to breathe right since. Seeing the video for The Crawl on MTV this morning sent you into a dizzying depression, remembering the days when Eddie would sit at the kitchen table trying to put the chords together. You wished you were with him, on tour, greeting him with kisses after every set. But he left for tour yesterday without telling you, and you only found out when Dustin asked why you weren’t with him. You hadn’t had the heart to tell him you’d broken up with him, so Steve had to break the news.

“I just don’t get it. Why didn’t he try harder? Why didn’t he fight for us?” You weep into the fabric of Robin’s shirt as she rubs your back in soothing circles.

“I don’t know, love, but he’s a fucking idiot.”

Present day

Your POV

Your issue of SPIN comes out today, and your heart is slamming in your chest in line to check out. In your hands is a copy of the magazine, a picture of Corroded Coffin plastered across the cover. Eddie’s eyes seem to glare even from the glossy paper, his arms crossed over his bare chest while the rest of his bandmates stand behind him, looking equally stoic. In the top corner of the page reads, Femme Punk Takeover: An Interview with Death Dance Approximately. You read the words over and over, refusing to spoil the spread for yourself until you’re alone and safe to scream with your friends about it.

Once you exit the store, magazine clutched in your hand, you speed walk back to the hotel you’re staying in. Today is your off day, but tomorrow you play a show on the one and only Las Vegas Strip. Your plans include celebrating the magazine spread by drinking yourselves silly.

Back in your hotel room, you kick your shoes off and fling yourself onto the bed. Robin’s out shopping with Steve, and Sylvie and Lilith are getting lunch, so you have the afternoon to yourself. Instead of diving right into your own spread, you curiously turn the pages until you find the Corroded Coffin interview. It spans four full pages, including photographs and quotes in bold, big lettering. You swear to yourself you’ll only skim, but that promise is quickly broken when you read the first sentence.

Kings of Rock, Corroded Coffin, sit uncomfortably in their folding director-esque chairs, as if sitting for an interview is the least punk thing they could be doing. Their frontman fidgets with his gleaming silver rings, his lips pressed together in concentration or annoyance.

Jessie Stevens: So, on your new album Freak Show, there’s a song titled Sweetheart. It’s far different from the rest of the tracks, a calming break before the climax of Severed Thumb and Wiped Clean. What influenced this mood change?

Eddie Munson: Sweetheart is about someone that was once very close to me. It’s about love and loss, and a whole shit ton of heartbreak, and the one person that never made me feel like, the freak, y’know?

J: Do you still talk to this person?

The frontman’s face falls a little, like he’s reminded of something upsetting.

E: It’s… complicated.

You roll your eyes. It’s not complicated, the answer is a firm no. You and Eddie don’t talk, not more than you’re forced to. You continue scanning the article, until you find something else that catches your eye.

J: You’re currently touring with Death Dance Approximately, who are quickly moving up in the world of rock. What advice would you give them as seasoned rockstars?

Munson pauses, looking at his bandmates with a question in his eyes.

E: I guess I’d tell them never to let go of themselves. I lost myself for a while, honestly I’m still pretty lost. The industry is brutal, it takes so much of your soul away from you, and if I could go back and tell myself one thing, it would be not to let go of who I was. I miss that person.

You read Eddie’s answer, over and over, your eyes stinging. You miss who Eddie was, before signing, before giving in to fame and attention the way he has. Desperately, you want to believe that sweet boy is still in there somewhere. You think he is, after the events of last night, but you’re not sure how to yank him out of the steel shell he’s built around himself.

Further down, one more thing catches your attention.

J: Do you wish you’d done anything differently? Whether it be in your career, or in your life outside of it?

E: I wish I fought harder for my people. I lost someone I loved so much. I let them walk out of my life without any objection. I wish so badly that I could’ve made them stay, but… It was too late. I’ll never know now. I’ll never get to fix it.

Munson’s bandmates look to each other knowingly, clearly aware that the mysterious person he speaks of is the reason for his sour mood.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” It’s barely a whisper, despite no one being in the room with you. All he had to do was ask, and you’d tell him everything. Why you left, what would’ve made you stay, but he’d rather tell the whole world he fucked up than just apologize to you.

—

Eddie’s POV

His copy of SPIN lay open in his lap as he reads the Death Dance interview. His bandmates are god knows where, enjoying their day off while Eddie mopes in his hotel room.

J: How do you guys feel about touring with one of the biggest names in rock?

Eddie rolls his eyes at the question, knowing you probably hated hearing his band brought up in your interview.

Y: I mean, we knew them growing up. It’s really cool to see them all again, and we’re honored to tour with them.

Eddie’s surprised you’d even mention knowing him at this point, it makes his heart beat a little faster.

J: You know Corroded Coffin?

Y: Yeah! I moved to Hawkins my senior year, where I met Robin, and they were all seniors. We played DnD together, made music together. We lost touch after high school, but the world is so small.

J: Is that what Indiana is about?

Y: In some respects, yeah. Indiana was a huge change from where I grew up in Boston, a much smaller, more conservative place for sure.

Eddie puts the magazine down, and reaches for his CD player. He skips to track 5, and closes his eyes as the guitars wail in his ears. He only knows parts of the song, from hearing it live when he can stomach watching your set, but somehow it feels like listening for the first time.

I’m from a city where no one knows each other / where we walk down streets avoiding eyes and shoving by / and when I moved to Indiana, I began to understand why / I wasn’t meant for smaller towns, where everyone knows my name, / but you had been there, my saving grace, / and now I miss the comfort. / I miss the sounds of singing birds, and the crackle of a fire. / I moved back to the city, and though it’s pretty, / it’s no longer what I know. / Indiana wasn’t home, but I found my home there / In the warmth of your eyes and the smell of your hair / I let myself believe I could make my life here / and when I lost you, I lost everything. / Indiana wasn’t home, but I found my home there. Indiana wasn’t home, and I lost my home there.

He plays the song four times before he can bring himself to breathe right again. Eddie can hear your heart breaking through your voice, the way it cracks on the chorus, the way you belt the final verse. All at once, he understands why you left, why you felt you had no choice. He was drowning in the pressure of being famous, leaving you behind to watch him from the shadows.

—

Your POV

You finally throw the magazine down, and rush to shower and get ready to go out. Tonight is your night off, a night to relax and not think about the boy across the hall. It’s easier said than done, though, as your mind keeps wandering to that final paragraph. I’ll never know now. I’ll never get to fix it. All he had to do was ask. You’d tell him everything; why you left, what could have gotten you to stay. But he’s been so cold, so distant with you, and you can’t really blame him. It’s just as difficult for you to be on tour with him, but you’re still trying to be mature about it.

Your spiral is disturbed by a knock on your door. You clip your earrings in and rush to answer it, smoothing your shirt to make sure you’re presentable. You open the door to Robin and Steve, their arms linked together like best friends on the playground. Both of them are dressed up, Steve in a button down and black slacks, Robin in sequined overalls that scream Vegas! They greet you with gleaming smiles, and you move aside to let them in.

“I’m almost ready! Any idea where we’re going?” You ask them both before pulling your lipstick out of your bag.

“We’re taking the strip by storm! It’s a group outing, everyone’s coming!” Robin claps her hands together

“Everyone?” You quirk an eyebrow, looking at her in the mirror.

She bites her lip and glances at Steve, who only shrugs. “Yeah, Gareth and Jeff overheard us planning, and we figured some bonding was in order. But don’t worry! We can separate when we get there.”

You smack your lips together and shrug. “It’s not me you have to worry about.” You turn to face them, extending your arms to present your glammed up self. “How do I look?”

“Like you’re gonna rip Eddie’s soul out of his bod— Ow!” Steve rubs where Robin has elbowed his arm. “You look beautiful.” He recovers, and you stick your tongue out at him.

“Let’s get goin’ then!” Robin heaves herself off the bed, and you hold the door for her and Steve, following them out the door.

—

The casinos are the most insane thing you’ve ever experienced. The bright lights almost blind you, and the sounds of slot machines are so loud you can’t hear yourself think. It’s no wonder no one wins these things, it’s impossible to concentrate.

“C’mon!” Sylvie grabs hold of your wrist, leading you and your bandmates to the blackjack table. You glance behind you, sending a help me look to Steve, who shrugs in defeat as he follows Eddie and Jeff to the bar.

“Robin, I don’t know how to play!” You object, but she’s already sitting in a free stool by the dealer.

“No worries, babe, this is all on me. I just want you all to watch me win!” She’s buzzed, having gulped her champagne down in the car on the way here. You giggle at her confidence, knowing damn well she also has no idea how to gamble.

“Whatever you do, don’t bet our royalties.” Lilith nudges her, hiccuping on her own bubbly.

“Yeah, yeah. Hit me!” She slaps the table, and the dealer smirks like he knows he’s about to watch Robin lose all of her disposable income.

—

Eddie’s POV

“Whiskey, neat.” He orders his drink, flopping down on an empty stool. Steve sits next to him, while Jeff orders drinks for himself and Gareth. “Come hang out, man!” Jeff calls when he receives his drinks, already walking to the table his bandmates sit at with yours. Eddie nods a response, nursing his drink.

“You gotta at least try to enjoy yourself tonight.” Steve says, taking a sip of what looks like fruit punch.

“I am enjoying myself, Steven” Eddie holds up his whiskey, as if to prove the point. Steve glares at him, and Eddie takes a swig. “What?”

“You’re moping! You’re a famous rockstar on a cross country tour, and you’re moping. Had I known you were gonna be a drama queen this whole time I would’ve brought a goddamn book to read.”

Eddie groans, taking another sip. “I know, I know. I’m miserable.”

“You need to talk to them.” Steve says bluntly, not looking at Eddie.

“Why would I do that?”

“I know you want to.”

“I do not!”

Steve snorts, and Eddie presses his lips together in annoyance. “You read that interview, right?” Eddie nods. “So you know they talk about you now. You’re on their mind. You listen to the song they mentioned?” He nods again. “So you still care about what they have to say. What’s stopping you? Why are you so fucking scared?”

Eddie turns in his chair, back to where your band sits at the table, anxiously watching as Robin plays another round. Your face is pink, caused by the alcohol or the warmth of the building. Your shirt hugs your frame tightly, accentuating your features. You lift a glass of champagne to your lips, pinky extended, leaving a smear of red lipstick on the rim of the glass. Your eyes sparkle with excitement as your friends cheer Robin on. You have a happy glow to you, and it takes everything inside of Eddie to rip his eyes away. “What’s stopping me is the fact that they deserve better.” Eddie grumbles, gulping the rest of his liquor down and calling the bartender over. “I don’t want to ruin this for them. I’m already here, and that can’t be easy. I want them to enjoy this experience, I don’t want to intrude on it.”

“So, what, you’re just gonna drink yourself to death every time we have an outing? You think that isn’t causing them any distress? Your liver is gonna deteriorate soon, man. May wanna figure out a different strategy.”

“Will you get off my ass about drinking, Harrington? It’s rich, coming from the kid that shotgunned like sixty beers a week his freshman year of high school.”

Steve chuckles, and Eddie can’t hide the grin creeping onto his face. “Fair enough. But that was high school. I didn’t have a billion fans relying on me not to die of alcohol poisoning.”

“Nah, just the six hundred Hawkins High students. Big whoop!” Eddie emphasizes his point with a show of jazz hands. “Either way. If I’m gonna talk to them, I’m gonna be drunk when I do it.” Eddie gulps down his second drink in one go, feeling the effects of the alcohol starting to kick in.

“Whatever, dude. You wanna go play some cards?” Steve offers his hand, and Eddie takes it begrudgingly, yanking himself away from the bar and into the mass of the crowded casino. He’s forced to squeeze by you, apologizing under his breath as he brushes against your back, sidestepping between the tables. You don’t seem to notice. He takes his place next to Gareth, and Steve stands firmly between him and you, a bridge neither of you dare to cross. Eddie feels your eyes on him, and it takes everything inside of him not to look back. Instead, he’s dealt into the next hand, planning only to play one round as a distraction from your presence. The waiter drops off another round of drinks, and Eddie slaps his palm on the table. “Deal me in.”

—

“Okay, that’s enough!” Steve yanks on an objecting Eddie’s arm, hauling him away from the table. He’s already lost a good chunk of change, both at the table and to the expensive drinks he’s been gulping down. Despite his objections, Steve manages to drag Eddie out of the casino unscathed.

“Here,” Steve sticks a cigarette between Eddie’s lips and lights it for him. “Sober up a little.”

Eddie plucks the lit stick from his mouth and exhales, the cool night air bathing his warm face.

“Where,” Eddie’s eyes are glassy, his vision blurring as he takes in his surroundings.

“We’re outside the casino. Waiting for the car.” Steve lights a cigarette for himself, inhaling as Eddie does the same.

“Where’s Y/n?” He realizes suddenly that he hasn’t seen you in hours.

“Back at the hotel. They left a while ago, but you didn’t want to get up. Sometime around your fourth hand, when you accused the dealer of cheating.” Eddie looks down at his feet, seeing four of them, and hums in response. “They told me to make sure I get you home safe.”

He looks back up to his friend, cautiously optimistic. “They said that?”

Steve nods, a smirk on his face. “Told me they’d kick my ass if anything happened to you. So I’m keeping my promise.” The car pulls up, and Steve opens the door for Eddie. “C’mon, in ya go.”

Eddie lets his eyes slip closed as the car starts moving, promising himself he won’t throw up on Steve. He thinks of all the ways he could possibly tell you he’s sorry, how he could start to mend the wounds he’s caused you. He’s going to, he decides, as soon as he can manage to walk on his own.

—

Your POV

There’s a banging on your hotel room as you’re clawing your way out of your clothes. You pull your big t-shirt on, pause Breaking The Girl, and rush to answer it. You’re expecting room service with some wine, or Steve with tomorrow’s game plan. “Coming!” You call, finally opening the door, only to be greeted by Eddie’s wobbly figure. “Oh. Hi.” You look at his nose as you speak, afraid of what would happen if your eyes were to meet his. His face is flushed from the drinking, his eyes glazed over and his hair frizzy.

“Hi. Bad time?” He looks you up and down, causing your cheeks to warm despite your blood running cold. You realize now that the shirt you’re wearing is one that once belonged to him. “I’ll, uh, go. I can um… I’ll come back later.” His speech is slurring, and you can smell the alcohol as he speaks.

“No!” You say, too quickly. “It’s okay, I’m just getting ready for bed. You wanna come in?”

Eddie hesitates, but you step aside to let him enter. He stumbles forward, placing himself gingerly in the chair across from the bed, where you sit across from him, acutely aware of your current pantsless state. “I read the interview.” Eddie starts, looking at the floor. You cross one leg over the other, waiting for him to continue. “And I’ve been listening to the album. Your album, I mean. It’s great, by the way, really fucking great.” He won’t look at you, instead focused on fiddling with his rings. You don’t respond, unsure where he’s going. “I came to say I’m sorry.”

Your eyes widen. This was the furthest thing from what you were expecting. “For what?”

Eddie slides further into the chair. “Everything. I’ve been such an asshole since the tour started. Especially to you. I wanna say I didn’t mean it, but I did. I wanted to hurt you. Flirting with all those girls, playing that fuckin’ song in front of you. I meant all of it.”

You bite your lip, unsure of how to respond. You doubt Eddie will even remember this conversation tomorrow, so you refuse to let his words convince you of anything. You don’t answer, just blink at him as he continues searching for the words to explain himself.

“I was trying to ignore it, I guess. How I felt about seeing you again. I was hiding it, and probably really poorly. I can't imagine it’s been easy for you, either, but you seem so happy. And it’s made me realize how horrible I’ve been.” He looks up from the floor then, his eyes searching yours for an answer. His face is flushed, his hair disheveled, and his lips are set in the pout that always got your heart stalling.

You clear your throat quickly, knowing it will crack under the pressure otherwise. “Eddie, it’s not your fault. You didn’t force this tour to happen. It’s an unfortunate coincidence.” He winces at your words, and you rush to correct yourself. “I mean, we didn’t know we’d see each other like this. We weren’t prepared. The way you’ve been acting, though hurtful, is completely understandable.” You want to cry. You want to throw Eddie out of your hotel room so you can sob into your pillow. But you don’t move, and neither does he.

“Why’d you leave?” He asks after a long moment of silence. “What happened to us?”

You know he’s drunk, and you shouldn’t be indulging him, but you’ve wanted to say so much to him since breaking it off, and you’re still a bit tipsy. “I was losing you. To groupies, to the label, to whatever you had become, and I didn’t think it was fair to fight it. This is all you’ve ever wanted, all we ever talked about when we were together. And you got it! The only thing you ever wanted. And I am beyond proud of you, Eddie. Who was I to pull you away from it? I couldn’t hold you back from this, but I couldn’t live in the background either. I couldn’t make you choose between me and your dream, so I chose for you.” Your voice falters as you explain, eyes threatening to spill the tears they harbor. “You deserve everything you ever want, Ed. I truly believe that.” You don’t tell him you still wish he wanted you.

Eddie is less than graceful in his response. “I would’ve chosen you. Over and over again, Y/n. I wish I hadn’t made you feel like you were my backup, my plan B. I lost sight of us, I know that now.” You sigh, your heart breaking as he speaks. Years ago, it’s all you wanted to hear. But it’s too little, too late now. “It got to my head, having you and getting signed. I felt like I could have it all. It got overwhelming, and I didn’t realize what I was doing to you. You were right to leave, and I’m so sorry it took me this long to figure it out. I blamed you for my misery when I caused all of it myself.”

You get up from the bed, and approach Eddie, kneeling beside the chair so he’s forced to look at you. “I appreciate the apology, Ed. I know you mean it. But I needed to leave for my own sake, too. I couldn’t keep competing with you, with all of the attention you were getting. I needed to focus on my own dreams, and I couldn’t convince you to root for me the way I had for you. Now that I’m here, I’m glad it happened this way. I wouldn’t have gotten here any other way.” You rest your hand on his knee, and you feel a drop fall from his cheek onto your finger. “You’ll always be special to me. I need you to know that.”

Eddie nods, sniffling. You stand up and offer him your hand. He takes it hesitantly, and you feel the familiarity of his calloused fingers entwined with yours. You can’t bring yourself to let go as he gets to his feet, missing the way his skin feels on yours. “Let’s get you back to bed, yeah?” You lead him out of your room and down the hall. “You got your key?”

Eddie clumsily pats his many pockets before finding his key card in his vest. He swipes it, and you pull him into the messy room, the bed unmade, empty beer bottles lining the nightstand and entertainment center. Eddie collapses onto the bed, and you get to work yanking his shoes off the way you used to after a long night out. He’s still in his jeans, but you don’t make a move to take them off. He’s not yours to take care of anymore, and if he wakes up uncomfortable, it’s not your problem. “Okay. Goodnight, Eddie.” You’re about to leave when you hear him whisper something. “What was that?” You don’t want to believe what you think you heard, but he says it again, clearer this time. “I’d still choose you.” You press your lips together, stifling your sobs as you close the door behind you. You can’t bring yourself to believe him.

—

chapter viii

taglist: @children-of-the-grave @five-bi-five @wiildflower-xxx @beebeerockknot @champagne-glamour @xxgothwhorexx @therensistance @chonkzombie @brxkenartt @sidthedollface2 @bibieddiesgf @gaysludge @eddiesguitarskills @littlepotatobeansworld | send a message to be added!

#stranger things #strangerthingscentral #st4 #stranger things fan fiction #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #rockstar!reader #rockstar!eddie x reader #gn!reader #gnc!reader #robin buckley #steve harrington #90s au #slow burn #hurt/comfort #angst #mutual pining #heartbreak #break up #fundamental differing #new kid fic #willow writes sins #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n

[zeenimf]

When a Petal takes to the Sky | Part 1

Also known as "I wanted to write something without thinking about it so here's backstory for my ffxiv character.

In the deep woods north of Gridania, where the lush trees struggle for dominion against the hard rock of the Abalanthia Mountain Range, a Miqo’te sits on a square wooden platform. It overlooks a small lake, where the opposing waterfall slams onto the water as thunder.

The miqo’te does not seem to mind. She sits on her knees, bent forward slightly while her hands are clasped together. Two black pigtails fall onto her white gi, which in turn drapes over her red hakama. Even though her eyes are closed, her face is one of intense focus. She tucks her ears backwards when a splash of water sends a torrent of droplets towards them, but her eyes remain closed. Though little does she know that something else would come barging in to claim her attention.

An Au Ra stumbles through the narrow path leading up to the platform, wearing a simple white garment that tugs awkwardly on his scales. His face is sweating, and when he reaches the foot of the platform he leans again a tree, heaving his chest up and down.

“Mistress Inari, I humbly apologise for interrupting your prayers, but someone showed up at the temple gate and is refusing to leave,” he says.

The Miqo’te, whose focus had already been broken the moment the Au Ra’s footsteps could be heard breaking the twigs scattered over the pathway. She opens her eyes, a mix of bright red and pink, though she does not offer the Au Ra her gaze.

“If it’s another tradesman offering a ludicrous sum of Gil to witness my ritual dance,” she says, “you have permission to drive a spear through his chest.”

The Au Ra grins, but before he can open his mouth the sound of twigs breaking causes him to turn back.

“Now now, is that how a priestess greets her guests?” a voice calls out from the woods. After which a black-haired Hyur walks into view. He carries himself with grace, adorned by a sly grin plastered on his face that would make most inhabitants of the Black Shroud swoon.

“I come offering nothing but humble promises of wealth and adventure,” he says, holding his hands out in front of him as if offering something to the gods.

The Miqo’te sighs and lets her hands fall to her knees. She bows to the waterfall and gets up, turning around to inspect the new arrival. He’s wearing a leather jacket, accented by white lines and a bright red scarf, the same colour as the goggles nesting in his hair.

“Redbill Leofard, at your service,” he says, swinging his arm in front of him before making an exaggerated bow. The miqo’te nods to the Au Ra, who retreats along the path he came, leaving the Hyur with a final glance of suspicion.

"If it was adventure and wealth I desired, Leofard, I would not be tending to a forgotten shrine in the depths of the Black Shroud."

She walks down the steps of the platform and extends her hand.

"If you came all this way to see me, can I assume that I need not introduce myself?"

Leofard takes her hand with both of his, shaking twice before letting go.

"Your reputation proceeds you, X'nohna Inari of the Sun. It isn't often that we find members of your clan this deep in the Twelveswood."

"You come here often then?" she asks.

X'nohna takes in Leofard at closer range. His red scarf has been cleaned meticulously, while old oil stains colour the weathered leather in dark black.

"No, I shan't say that I do. The sea of clouds keeps my hands tied, lest our coffers grow hungry or our name loses its fame."

"Your name?" X'nohna asks, though she knows perfectly well what he is speaking of. Leofard blinks twice, frowning while he considers his plan of attack.

"Have you not heard of our clan? I beg my pardon, but you must have at least heard my Manacutter slice through the winds on the way here?"

That she had, though her hope was for the Manacutter to continue on its trajectory and leave her woods alone. She crosses her arms and gives Leofard a blank stare.

"We are a clan of sky pirates—"

"That much I can see."

A hint of a blush cobers his face, although X'nohna doesn't notice it. Leofard shakes his head, producing a piece of parchment from his coat. The scroll is old, the edge raffled, though something magical lingers in the fine fabric, that much is certain.

"Perhaps we got off on the wrong foot. I apologise if I had hung too much importance on old legends."

He holds out the scroll. It is tied together by a black ribbon, where light blue runes light up as soon as he opens his hand.

"For this matter concerns not just the balance of the sea of clouds, but the rivers of the twelveswood as well, and all life that owes its health to those."

#short fiction #short story #fantasy #ffxiv #fanfic

[whitehotharlots]

Free Kareem

Kareem Hunt was probably the shittiest MeToo incident of the sports world. It happened over 4 years ago, which is an eternity by the standards of the today’s discourse, so let me recap what happened:

In February of 2018, two of Hunt’s friends went to a club while he stayed behind with his girlfriend in their hotel suite. The friends returned around 3 AM, and they had two very drunk and underage girls with them. Hunt did the correct thing: he told the girls to leave and had them escorted out of his suite.

The girls refused to leave. They stood outside Hunt’s suite for a half hour, screaming, failing, and pounding on the door. We know for certain this happened, because it was all captured on a security camera (full footage of this does exist, I’ve seen it, but Google has a way of burying primary evidence that contradicts popular narratives).

After approximately 20 minutes of screaming, Hunt’s girlfriend comes out of the suite to tell the girls to leave. This only intensifies the screaming and flailing. After a minute or so, one of the girls can be seen shoving Hunt’s girlfriend, who maintains her composure and goes back into the suite.

A few more minutes pass. The girls continue to pound and scream. Hunt himself comes out of the suite. He gestures toward the exit. The girls keep screaming. The same one who shoved his girlfriend now shoves Hunt. Again, he points toward the exit. The girl shoves him again, and he shoves her back, knocking her to the ground.

At this point, all but the most brain-damaged of feminists would agree that Hunt has done nothing wrong. But then he crosses a line: he raises his leg, hesitates, and gives the girl a kick, as if to accentuate that she needed to get her ass up and out of his hallway.

Now, yes, he should not have done the kick. Fine. But if you watch full video, it’s clear that he did not kick with anywhere near full force. It was more of a gesture than anything else. And, well, if an NFL running back were to kick a small woman with anything close full strength, that woman would not be able to get up and walk away.

I hold the retrograde opinions that men should be afforded some degree of dignity, and that random white women are not legally or morally entitled to enter the dwellings of black celebrities without permission. If I were the one to adjudicate this incident, I would have told the girl to go fuck herself. There’s really nothing Hunt could have done in this situation that would have escaped scrutiny. It was clear that the girl was unhinged and fully aware that she could manipulate MeToo discourse to force the black man to bend to her will: “Kareem Hunt Caught With Underage Girls Drunk in His Hotel Room” is also a bad headline, after all.

But, no, the headlines that were printed did not mention the girls’ intrusion, their initiation of physical contact with both Hunt and his girlfriend, or their statements to hotel staff about planning to exaggerate their claims so as to ruin Hunt’s career. 

9 months later, when TMZ released a very selectively edited expert of the footage, the headline read KC CHIEFS RUNNING BACK KAREEM HUNT BRUTALIZES AND KICKS WOMAN IN HOTEL VIDEO. At this point, his goose was cooked. The Chiefs threw him under the bus with alacrity, saying they weren’t going to bother digging into the specifics of the incident because they had already been contacted and Hunt (very, very understandably and justifiably) lied and said he never left the hotel room. This technicality was enough to end his tenure on the team. He was consigned to the living hell of the Cleveland Browns organization, and suspended for the first half of the following season. 

The average career in the NFL lasts just over three seasons. Running backs play the most physically taxing position in all of professional sports. The loss of a half season of pay is a massive, massive fine. But, still, that wasn’t good enough. The Root (a black-focused, Gawker-affiliated website that would have the exact same editorial content if it were owned by the KKK) ran the following headline “Cleveland Browns Sign Kareem Hunt Despite Video of Him Assaulting Woman. Kaepernick Still Banned for Kneeling.” From Vice we got “Kareem Hunt and a Sports World that Ignores Domestic Violence Victims:” a headline confirming the girls’ entitlement to a space in Hunt’s living area, regardless of not being invited and also being repeatedly told to leave. From Yahoo Sports “NFL should leave you feeling sick after recent revelations involving Kareem Hunt, Reuben Foster,” comparing Hunt to a man who appears to have actually committed domestic violence on multiple occasions. When Hunt was eventually signed by the Browns--which, again, is a punishment in and of itself--the President of the National Organization of Women used the occasion to claim that “women do not matter to the NFL,” and once more repeated the bizarre claim that he had committed “intimate partner violence” by shoving and kicking a stranger who had shoved him first. 

This, dear reader, is Intersectionality as it actually exists. It is not liberation. It is not leftist. It does not even provide protection to the groups who supposedly fall under its purview. The only goal of this wretched political movement is to divorce a person’s actions from the judgments of outsiders, to establish a hierarchy of NGO-defined victimhood statuses and provide hack journalists with a simple and unchallenagable means of sorting out the good guys from the bad guys. 

It’s not justice. It’s not an improvement over old systems. It’s a new way of being broken. It is, in short, the entirety of the modern American left.

[agileo-101]

Hi everyone we need to talk. Regarding my art.

Since there's lot of young people in the fandom, I'm going to have to spell it out so people actually get.

First of all, please do NOT edit, repost, redraw or steal my art! Worse, make merch of it without me knowing. That's not okay. The only place that should host my art is either my Tumblr/Twitter.

Secondly, if you ever want to edit my art. Please just run it by me. Great example is @sassinapaperbag whenever they do a dub of my work, they ask permission first. Some artist don't mind, but I urge you not to just make assumptions. Please just communicate with the artist, asking permission is not that hard. If they say yes, great! If they say no, move on. Just because this is a public space, you are not entitled to use my work however you like.

And third, fan arts are great! Fan art/fic is a best way to show how much you appreciate your favorite content creator without crossing the line.

One of my favorite fan art was from Jack @clownsuu

Here are our versions of Moon and DJ interacting without stepping the boundaries. I had several ppl come up to me, wanting me to insert their OCs into my contents (so many ppl threw a temper tantrum when I simply refused to draw their OC for free). Or they try to completely change the dynamics of the story I have built to fit their desire. If that's the case please just make your own AU, don't try to steal the characters and story I have poured all my energy into.

Again, I really do appreciate all the people who love and enjoy my work. And I want this space to be a place of fun and enjoyment. But please, respect boundaries and COMMUNICATE, all the headaches can be avoided if you reach out.

Remember that as artists, what we make is close to our heart and personal. Please don't abuse it

#me babbling

[girlactionfigure]

Psychiatrist Stood Up to Evil: Dr. Adelaide Hautval

She refused to assist Nazi medical experiments.

Dr. Adelaide Hautval was a French psychiatrist and devout Christian who was imprisoned in Auschwitz for defying the Nazis. While there, she refused to participate in cruel medical experiments on Jewish inmates and instead secretly provided them with medical care.

Born in Alsace, France in 1906, Adelaide was the youngest of seven children. Her father was a Protestant minister, and Adelaide’s upbringing imbued her with a deep faith in God and desire to be of service to others. She attended medical school at the University of Strasbourg and became a psychiatrist. Adelaide worked with special-needs children and lived a quiet life in southwestern France.

Nazi Germany invaded France in 1940 and for the next two years occupied most of the country, including the coasts and areas with the most economic activity. Adelaide’s out-of-the-way town was spared, and she was mostly unaffected by the German occupation until April 1942, when her mother passed away in Paris. Adelaide needed permission from German authorities to travel to the occupied zone, but they refused to allow it. Determined to attend her beloved mother’s burial, Adelaide decided to go anyway. While crossing the demarcation line, she was captured by German police and sent to prison in Bourges.

Soon after Adelaide’s arrival, Jewish prisoners wearing the yellow star started arriving at the prison. The Jews were treated brutally by the French prison guards, and Adelaide berated the guards: “The Jews are people like everybody else!” They responded that she would henceforth be treated like a Jew. Proudly, Adelaide pinned a scrap of yellow paper to her clothes which said “Friend to the Jews.”

Adelaide was transferred between multiple labor camps before arriving at Birkenau in 1943, where she was housed with five hundred Jewish women prisoners. The camp commander appointed Adelaide physician of her prison block. She used her medical skills to help many of the women. During a typhoid outbreak, she managed to sequester and treat inmates who showed symptoms of typhus, without the guards learning of their condition.

The Protestant psychiatrist was legendary for the sweetness of her bedside manner, and her Jewish patients called her “the Saint.” Decades later, those few who survived remembered Adelaide’s words, “Here, we are all under sentence of death. Let us behave like human beings as long as we are alive.”

As word spread of Adelaide’s medical prowess, she was sent to Auschwitz to work for notorious Nazi Dr. Eduard Wirths. in performing medical experiments. He wanted her to help him perform sterilization operations and medical experiments, without anesthesia, on Jewish women inmates. She absolutely refused to assist Dr. Wirths. He tried to reason with her, “Don’t you see that these people are different from you?” She replied, “In this camp, many people are different than me. You, for example.”

For refusing to assist Dr. Wirths, Adelaide was treated harshly. She survived until liberation, but was in very poor health. Adelaide returned to France, and later advised Jewish-American author Leon Uris while he was writing his famous book, Exodus. Uris interviewed Adelaide extensively about cruel experiments perpetrated by another Nazi doctor, Wladislas Dering, in Auschwitz. After the book was published, Dr. Dering sued Leon Uris for libel. Dr. Adelaide Hautval traveled to London to testify on Uris’ behalf, and described the horrors of Nazi medical experimentation to a packed courtroom. The English judge said that Adelaide was “one of the most impressive and courageous women ever to testify before a court in Great Britain, a woman of strong character and an extraordinary personality.”

In 1965, Israeli Holocaust Memorial Yad Vashem honored Dr. Adelaide Hautval as Righteous Among the Nations. She visited Israel to receive the award and expressed her love for the Jewish people and the Jewish state. Dr. Adelaide Hautval died in France in 1988.

For caring for the sick and dying, and standing up to evil, we honor Dr. Adelaide Hautval as this week’s Thursday Hero.

#Thursday Hero

[hot-illithids-near-you]

Another lil writing~

Takes place not too long after Lawrence and Carylin meet.

“Mornin’, squid face.”

The verbal announcement of Carylin’s arrival came a fraction of a second after she knocked on the door and opened it as she always did - without waiting for a welcome, or any sort of permission. Lawrence turned from his desk just in time to see her sit down on his bed. As many times as it had happened already, he swore he'd never get used to his new assistant’s approach.

“It's near midnight,” the illithid said, neglecting to acknowledge the latter part of her greeting. He'd already reminded her of his name multiple times, and she stubbornly refused to use it. 

“Well, that's like morning for you if you're nocturnal, right?” The woman shrugged. “It just feels weird saying hi to someone who just woke up with ‘good evening’, y'know?”

“I've been awake for hours.”

Lawrence turned back to his desk and the various books and journals covering it just as Carylin pouted at him. He attempted to collect his thoughts, and his writing tools, but it was a halfhearted attempt. He'd hardly gotten anything down on paper since the night before, and he knew the presence of his assistant wouldn't be particularly conducive to writing.

“What’ve you been up to? Doodling more lines in your book?” The sound of the bed frame creaking and footsteps approaching led straight to Lawrence’s side. “Can I see?”

“They’re Qualith, not ‘lines’. And your last question is the very reason I write in Qualith, not Common.”

Carylin huffed and crossed her arms, and the illithid turned to scan her face carefully. She stared intently at the lines of ink crossing the paper, but not, it seemed, with understanding. Excellent, thought Lawrence.

He had put great effort into disguising his journal entries, more than she realized. Qualith was normally embedded into a surface with psionic power, not a pen. That magical energy gave the lines further meaning, which could be deciphered along with the lengths of the lines themselves.

But that raised a concern: if one was sufficiently skilled with magic, one could discern at least half of Qualith’s meaning. Lawrence didn't know much about his new assistant, but there was a chance, however small, that she could read his psionic signature. And he couldn't let that happen. So he wrote in ink, a long-form style of the script that couldn't be understood as easily. A coded version of a coded language - it would be impossible for anyone but him to read, or so he hoped.

“What’re you writing, then?” Carylin asked, turning away from the journal with a tilted head. “Is it about me?”

“It is, actually,” Lawrence said carefully, wondering if the woman had actually managed to read the script. But she couldn't have. It was just a guess, that was all. “I'm writing about your unusual immunity to my psionic abilities. Theorizing, trying to find out what makes you different.”

It wasn't quite a lie. That was what the journal had started as, a collection of hypotheses about his assistant's strange power. But that was back when Lawrence still wrote the Qualith with his mind, and not ink. Before he had something he needed to hide.

“Well, what've you got so far?” Carylin asked.

“Not much of any use, unfortunately.” The illithid reflexively moved to a more thoughtful pose, stroking a tentacle. “I've considered that your skull, and perhaps your entire skeletal structure, contains some sort of magic nullifying material, or that your brain itself contains the answer, if only I could get to it. But testing either of those would require doing you at least some harm, if not killing you outright. And I'm no murderer.”

“Right, you just defile corpses to get your food, like a respectable person.”

“...As I was saying, there are precious few hypotheses I can test without invasive procedures. If you can think of any suggestions, you're welcome to help. You are supposed to be working as my assistant, after all.”

Carylin pursed her lips and assumed her own thoughtful pose, with a finger on her chin and a furrowed brow. The room was silent for a moment as she worried at her lips with her teeth, in what Lawrence assumed was an expression of great intellectual focus. What ‘great intellectual focus’ would result in from a human, especially his assistant, was unknown.

“...Are you sure there's nothing you can test out?” she finally said. “Something that doesn't involve poking around in my skull?”

Great focus didn't count for much, as Lawrence expected. But he supposed he could run through his thoughts for her, just to organize them, if nothing else.

“There are a small handful of ways that I know of to resist psionic power,” he explained. “Certain races have an inherent resistance to it, but that of course does not include humans. Some magical items may grant psychic resistance, but those are quite rare, and I highly doubt that you have any. And lastly, the undead are entirely immune, but-”

“Wait!” Her eyes lit up, making him immediately wish he could take back his words. “Entirely immune! That's me, right?”

“Yes, but you're not undead,” Lawrence said slowly.

“You don't know that.”

“I don't-” Lawrence stared at her, his theory of something being off with her brain quickly gaining credence. “...You're clearly not undead. I don't see any bones sticking out of you, and your skin isn't dessicated and peeling off.”

“Well…” She put a finger back on her chin and paused for a moment. “What if I’m a vampire?”

“Then you'd have burned to death by now, with all the time you spend under the sun.”

“What if I'm a special vampire that doesn't burn in the sun? You can't prove that I'm not.”

Lawrence’s tentacles writhed in frustration. Judging by her smile, his ‘assistant’ was playing with him. He could’ve easily brushed her off, told her to get out of his room, and gotten back to work. He should’ve. But he couldn't let himself lose an argument, even one as foolish as this.

“I can easily prove you wrong,” he said. “You have a heartbeat and body heat, therefore you're alive. It's simple.”

“Hmm…” Carylin rubbed her cheek. “I think ‘heat’ is a bit of a stretch. My hands are always chilly. Vampirically chilly, maybe.”

Perhaps it was his irritation with her finally boiling over, or his need to win every argument, or something else entirely. But for whatever reason, Lawrence grabbed her hand.

“I know that you're alive,” he snapped. “Now, admit that you're wrong, or leave this place.”

Carylin's eyes widened and her other hand fell from her face, as she was seemingly stunned into silence. But Lawrence was quickly stunned as well, as the gravity of what he'd just done sank in along with her warmth.

She felt alive. And warm, and soft, and in the state of paralyzing shock Lawrence was in, he could even feel her heartbeat. It was faint, and faster than his, even as he thought his own heart might burst from sheer anxiety. Maybe that was just how humans were. 

It certainly wasn't the only difference between them. Her skin was dry, but as smooth as his. And her fingers, outnumbering his by one, perfectly interlocked with his own. 

He froze. Their hands weren't in the same position as before. When did they move? Did he shift to hold her closer? Did she? No, it must've been him. His already rattled nerves were barely holding together. 

But he couldn't let go.

“Yes, as I was saying,” he managed to get out, “you're clearly not undead. And your hands aren't nearly as cold as you claim.”

Tearing his gaze from Carylin’s hand to her face, he saw a smile. It relieved him, to some extent. At least she wasn't mad. But seeing her smiling down at him made something else boil up within his soul.

“Took you a while to figure that out, huh? Guess you've gotta be thorough with these things, though.”

“Indeed. Now, since you've done your job of assisting me, you're dismissed.” 

He finally loosened his grasp on her hand and began to pull back, eager to get her out of his room as quickly as possible. But his hand barely traveled halfway to his desk before it was seized.

“Ah, ah! Not so fast!” Carylin pulled his hand back up toward her, grinning. “If you get to examine me, I need to take my own turn.”

She bent down and stared at his hand carefully, using both of her own to tilt it back and forth while she put on her thoughtful face. She hummed and bit at her lips, and traced her fingers along his skin.

“...Mmm. Well, in my professional opinion, I believe this hand belongs to a mind flayer,” she declared. “You can tell by the sliminess, you see. And, hold on-”

She held tight to his hand, and used another to feel his wrist. His heartbeat thumped against her fingers, slowly for a human, but as rapid as possible for an illithid. 

“Yes, it's a living mind flayer too,” Carylin nodded sagely. “And with that, you're dismissed.”

She released him and straightened back up, and judging by the sound of her footfalls, headed toward the exit. Then, the door shut, and Lawrence was alone.

He stared at his hand. Slowly, his pulse was returning to normal. But the memory stained his mind and his vision, and as he looked down he could nearly see her hand there, could nearly feel her body heat. 

He wondered, when his thoughts were clear enough to wonder, if his assistant would ever come back after his embarrassing behavior. But she hadn't taken her wages for the day, so she'd surely come back for that, at least. 

But Lawrence had work to attend to, and couldn't waste his time, especially when he had gained such inspiration to write. He turned his attention from his body to his desk, and picked up his tools. His latest journal entry could take hours to compose, with all the material he had.

He carefully marked down the first line, spacing out each segment of ink to form an idea. The second, third, and fourth lines of his first sentence followed, taking far more time to compose than they would have if imprinted by mind. But secrecy was vital in recording these entries, so ink would have to do.

Lawrence hadn't lied when he said his journal recorded theories about what made his assistant different. The nature of this difference had changed over time, though. At first, he wondered why he couldn't use psionic power on her, why he couldn't detect her with his mind. Now he had other concerns.

He read over his writing. Even though it was only one sentence, it took up a large portion of the page, with each line segment possessing great meaning. Ideas, thoughts, feelings, all recorded in ink. The sentiment could hardly be expressed in Common without greatly diminishing its soul, but if one tried, it would read as follows:

She held my hand.

#writing tag tbd

[h2obased]

Another Word For Surveillance - Part 11

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: You asked Bucky out. He said no. Cool. How do you move on? You don’t.

Notes & Warnings:

DNI if under 18 | Fluff, swearing, canon typical violence, some angst, lotsa pining, sexual content

I don’t give permission for my work to be copied/reposted/translated anywhere.

Series Chapters || Masterlist

Another Word For Surveillance - Part Eleven

SWEETS

There’s an open invitation from Steve to run every morning with him around the compound. The most athletic employees, typically ex-military, SHIELD-type individuals joined him a few days a week but never more than an hour per day. The only person who could keep up with Steve’s pace and grueling exercise schedule was Bucky, but even he refused to run everyday. He wouldn’t tell Steve why either. 

You knew better than to bug him - it’s his time after all.

Still, when you wanted to know if Bucky was in the compound, you’d keep an eye on the intersection of Grids 2 and 3, wait for a golden flash to zoom through the path in the morning, and see if that’s followed by dark hair waving wildly in the wind.

And that’s exactly what you did the morning after getting pizza with Bucky. 

You stood by the window next to his old work desk. Coffee in one hand and banana in the other, mentally going through what happened - or because of your overthinking, what did not happen - last night.

You regretted not trying harder to promote your apartment facilities to Bucky last night. You had a functioning coffee maker. A clean shower. A drawer dedicated to KitKats. And if all those things failed, you could have appealed to the gentleman in him and brought up the wobbly shelf - would he be so kind and take a look at it please?

Not that you expected him to make the first move.

And it’s not like you subscribed to a timeline of when you would be ready to try again with him.

You didn’t even need a grand gesture from him.

You just wanted Bucky Barnes in your life.

How could something that was so clear also seem so confusing at the same time?

Sam caught your attention as he sprinted across the field leading to the back of the compound, his shadow crossing with the lines formed by posts that lined the path. If the security manual was to be believed, a 360-degree camera mounted on each post monitored all visitors - official and unwelcome - from the moment they stepped into Grid Five.

Seconds later, Steve, probably finishing his third lap, caught up with Sam. You stood with your back straight, breathing temporarily halted, finger impatiently tapping the cup and willed a third runner to whiz by.

A full minute passed without any sign of Bucky. 

He wasn’t at the hangar either, and the grounds-keeping crew told you it’s unlikely that he’s whacking weeds into submission today because he accomplished all that last week.

“Have you tried texting him?” someone asked pointedly, to which you replied, “No, it’s not urgent,” with what you hoped was a carefree wave. 

As you walked back to your building, you tried to shake off the embarrassment. Of course you could’ve told him you’ve been up all night thinking, and ask him to drop by your floor. Today, if he had time. No big deal.

That text remained in the drafts folder in your head.

Over lunch, you contemplated marching over to the Avenger residence grid and just keep walking until one of Tony’s tiny drones shot you down. You were a little hazy on the security features of the compound’s private area. It’s not like you had a lot of reasons to trespass before.

Your phone dinged and Claire snorted when you practically dived to check who sent you a message.

“Sam says you’ve been stalking me.”

You huffed because Bucky would be correct about that.

“Busy? Need to ask you something.” He didn’t wait for a response. He forwarded a meeting invitation titled “Hangar” - no punctuation, no explanation in the email body.

You huffed again. Were you supposed to guess which hangar in this acre upon acre of a compound he was referring to?

It’s not like you didn’t know what he meant. And you weren’t going to pretend having that knowledge didn’t make you smile ear-to-ear. But if it’s a last-minute invite to a session with R&D or aircraft maintenance, couldn’t he at least add a salutation or something?

Sometimes these 30-minute meetings turned out to be two-hour operational reviews so you wanted to come prepared. Armed with a bag of mini-chocolate bars, you trooped to the hangar section, looking forward to a new project and a Bucky-sighting.  

But it was Steve you found pacing in the room. His sleeves were pushed - not rolled - pushed up his arms, which probably meant he’d been in meetings today. Judging by the starched shirt and tired smile he flashed upon seeing you, it wasn’t just some meeting with four-star generals or state officials who had Nick Fury’s number on speed dial.

“Come in,” he waved you to the only seat with a cushioned back.

“Uh, hi.” You glanced around the empty room. It felt smaller somehow. “How are you?”

He thought about the question. “Old.”

“Mentally or like the arthritis flares up-”

“Bucky and Sam are planning something for my birthday.” His eyes lit up. “Help me find out what they’re up to.”  

“Oh uh-”

“Surely you have strings you can pull around here.” His brows furrowed. “Seriously. They refuse to acknowledge that no fuss means no fuss.”

Before you could reply, the door burst open, revealing Bucky. His eyes met yours for a fleeting second before moving on to Steve. “Good. We can start.” 

The men grabbed the remaining wooden chairs. On your right, Bucky offered a tight smile, which turned into a wince upon taking a seat. That’s when you also noticed the pink cheeks and messy bun.

“Thanks for joining us pal,” Steve drily said, though he eyed Bucky with mild curiosity too.

Bucky shifted his weight slowly. He gestured to the bag of chocolate in the middle of the table. “It’s not an R&D meeting,” he said as if that helped clarify why you’ve been summoned to a tiny windowless room with Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes. “May I?”

You nodded idly and watched as Bucky fished a bar for himself before tossing one to his best friend.

Steve caught the foil-wrapped candy before it hit him between the forehead. “I take it Natasha took the news well.” 

Bucky grunted as he stretched his neck.

Steve chuckled. “As well as we can hope for at least.”

“Do you know how high the voltage on those things go?” Bucky flicked a mini-bar, hitting Steve’s chin.

The chocolate missile was ignored. “Everybody knows the bracelets have been upgraded.”

Bucky replied in rapid-fire Russian and his frustration, the narrowed eyes, and stubborn tendril on his jaw, it was all sorts of hot but you weren’t sure if it was ok to laugh about Natasha Romanoff setting electroshock charges on Bucky’s plums. 

Your failed attempt at muffling a snicker shifted the focus back to the meeting agenda.

With a rather authoritative sigh, Steve flipped his laptop to show you a blurry image. “You’re familiar?”

It was a rhetorical question. You didn’t even have to lean for a closer look at the 640px by 400px image.

It’s a crime scene photo from a 2017 assassination in Tbilisi, Georgia - the case Natasha asked you to look into. Off the books because the US government didn’t believe it was relevant to its interests in the region. Natasha saved the case files in an air-gapped computer off-base. You didn’t even dare keep back-up copies with you.

It was nearly impossible not to start blabbing when the two looked at you with kind eyes, respecting your loyalty to Natasha.

Steve tilted his head. “We already know you and Nat were looking into these four attacks.” 

“Three,” you muttered without thinking.

“New confirmed attack. Two days ago, we believe,” he showed you another graphic photo.

The hairs on your arm rose but you didn’t look away from the image. “US soil?” You’d bet that’s enough to scare the government into asking Steve Rogers for yet another favor. 

No one spoke. Nobody moved. One could say both men pretended in unison you weren’t asking for classified information.

“Who’s ‘we’?” You tried again, turning toward the string you could pull.

The sound of metal gears humming gave Bucky away. His crossed arms didn’t do much to mask his distress. His signature “anywhere but here” expression appeared. Like he’d rather be at a black tie event shaking hands with strangers who stared at his arm a little too long than be having this conversation with you right now.

Steve began circling the room. “You were on the right track, you know. About looking at the victims’ profiles instead of the cause of death. If we had you on the field-” 

“Steve.”

The soldiers glared at each other. Their twin telepathy always amazed you, although today there were more pressing matters to focus on.

“What does this have to do with Bucky getting the special treatment from Nat?” 

Five more seconds of staring determined who would finally take your question.

“This became an official mission yesterday. Locate and detain. Ideally.” Bucky spoke calmly, as if the alternative involved sending a person to a spa in the alps.

It felt like you were still missing something. “But she supercharged the shockers. For you.”

“Doesn’t matter-“

“Buck’s taking the case from Nat,” Steve clarified, clicking on another icon to show you the mission report.

“Why?” Did that come off a little pitchy? Nat has been working the case on her own time for at least two years before she brought you in months ago. “No offense,” you added with an apologetic shrug. 

Bucky sat up, placing his palms on the table to balance himself. “For the record, I didn’t take anything. The government, who was glad to remind me about being pardoned, assigned the case to me,” he added pointedly.

With broad, squared shoulders, he addressed you the way a tired school principal reasons with a first-time delinquent. “You’ve been working this with Romanoff for months and I completely understand if you prefer to be assigned to her missions.” He maintained a steady tone but it’s always the mechanical twitch - subtle, but you caught the squeak - that gave him away. 

Your jaw dropped. “You’re kicking me out too.” The realization sent your heart pounding, and the disbelief that followed did nothing to calm you down.

Before either man had a chance to reply, you looked at the ceiling and tried to take a deep breath. “Why? Did I miss something in the intel - which isn’t that great to begin with, just wanted to point it out. Did I set off any alarms?”

You were careful. Natasha drilled that into your unconscious.

“No,” Bucky frowned. “What sort of alarms would you even be setting off anyway?” He asked after a beat, the concern saturating the blue in his eyes, thereby weakening your indignation.

“None.” It’s an oversimplification, but you were trying to keep your spot in the project. “So your first decision after taking over was to take me off the op?” You turned to his friend as if to say “Can you believe this BS?”

Steve completed another slow lap around the table. “For the record, I wanted you to stay.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Four professional hits in a span of five years. More violent. Higher up the food chain. Closer to home. You drafted the brief. You know how sticky this is going to get.”

You sat up. “Then don’t put me on a different assignment.”

Steve gave you a helpless shrug. It wasn’t his call. 

Bucky remained quiet. 

You glanced at the door. You could take the candy and walk out. It’s not like staying in the room to glower at Bucky would change his mind. 

Something clicked as you fumed in silence. Was this why he took you out to dinner? Was this why he didn’t want to step inside your apartment?

“Sweets.” His voice remained steady, compared to your escalating mood. “You know why,” Bucky insisted. He craned his neck, imploring eyes trained on you. 

Avoiding his eyes in this small room - which was really more of a large supply closet - was next to impossible. 

You frowned. You may not be able to ignore that look but that didn’t mean you had to say everything was peachy.

He waited for a few more seconds. “I’m politely kicking you out of the room Steve.” Bucky spoke without taking his eyes off you. 

With only three feet separating you, the intensity transmitted clearly. 

Steve was about to protest but Bucky added a “Thank you!” and that was that. He waited for the telltale metallic click of the door shutting before speaking again. 

“I’m sorry.” His voice dropped, even if you already had privacy. He placed an open hand next to your fist. “Are you mad at me?”

Pretending to be late for another meeting would be the easy way out of this. 

Or you could stay and talk to him. Stay - you wondered if it was possible to choke on your own feelings - and just be in the moment. Weren’t you looking forward to one-on-one time with Bucky the entire day?

Bucky seemed worried but also relieved you hadn’t stormed off yet or confiscated all the candy.

“I don’t like this,” you clarified. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Please stop saying sorry.” You knew he meant it, but letting you work on the case was an entirely different issue.

He nodded and took a deep breath. “I understand.”

Against your better judgment, you glanced at those round blue-gray eyes again. 

Bucky took that as a sign to proceed. “You just turned down an asshole dangling a cushy senior role in D.C. over your head yesterday. Today some better-looking asshole got you reassigned-”

“Hmmm - ‘kicked out’ is more accurate.”

“Reassigned to another op.” He bit his lip to hide a grin because you were letting him get away with the compliment about his looks. 

Being able to make him smile like that was probably the closest thing you’ll have that could count as an enhanced ability. The idea made you giddy as fuck.

Bucky waited for your counter. When you remained silent, he gently prodded your foot with his. “Thought I’m supposed to be the quiet and mysterious one.”

“You think I’m mysterious?”

He laughed. “Sometimes I wish I knew what you were thinking,” he confessed with a shake of his head. A lock of hair landed on the high point of his cheek. Bucky finished three pieces of chocolate before you spoke again. 

“I’m not used to this. And I don’t want to be difficult Bucky. But part of me doesn’t want to let go. Part of me wants to fake having another meeting to go to so I can run away.”

You hoped honesty would change his mind. With a deep breath, you looked him in the eye. “I’d like to stay in this. See this through for Nat.”

He didn’t even blink. “Can’t do that.”

You crossed your arms. “Can’t or won’t?”

When he gave you a measured look, your heart sank. He wasn’t budging. 

“Won’t.” He didn’t look pleased but he wasn’t exactly dripping with remorse either.

Why the hell did Steve think you had a string to pull here again?

“Is it a safety issue or… we share a pizza that I didn’t have to nuke ten times and suddenly we’re not supposed to work together?” Your neck felt warm. “Are you worried about HR policy or - I don’t know. You couldn’t even wait to leave my building last night.”

Realization flashed through his eyes but Bucky didn’t immediately respond. He let you simmer for a few seconds.

“Whoever we are looking for - this asset is a highly-skilled, very unstable maniac. You know this. You wrote the profile.” Bucky retracted his arms when he leaned back on his chair. It squeaked under the weight of the tall super soldier. “I’m not often in a position to make these kinds of calls, but if kicking you out of the op keeps you away from this psychopath, I’m making the same choice every time.”

When a former prisoner of war who was tortured and subjected to mind control for years brings up his ability to choose, there’s no arguing against that. Despite the obvious appeal to your emotion, you couldn’t deny he made a valid point.

“I don’t like this.”

“You don’t have to.” 

“Now I understand why Sam whines when he has to take orders from you.”

He smiled. “Because I make the right calls.”

“But Buck-“

In one fluid motion, Bucky crouched next to you. With his face only inches from yours, you could see the fine lines on an otherwise youthful face, a reminder of all the history Bucky carried on his shoulders. His stubble carved a tense jaw. But his eyes were kind. Even when you were giving him quite the headache right now. 

He took your hand. “I promised you I’ll make things right. I swear to God that’s all I’ve been up to. And if you tell me you don’t know what the fuck I’ve been doing, Sweets, that’s going to end me.”

He stroked your tingling skin with a thumb. “And I need you to let me keep doing that. Because…” He exhaled, his warm hand cradling yours. “I hope one day you’ll believe me when I say you’re all I think about.”

It’s definitely possible to choke on your emotions. 

“And looking out for you is a pretty big part of that,” he added.

Bucky watched you closely and he was generous enough not to gloat when your resolve to be stubborn, to make this difficult as payback for being sidelined, to have the last word, crumbled.

When you reached for his cheek, Bucky leaned into your palm immediately like a man under a spell. “I think-“

“Yeah-“ Your lips grazed his forehead and that caring gesture gave way to the hunger you were both suffering from. 

His eyes bored into yours just as Bucky’s lips pressed into yours firmly, seeking to be as close as possible to you. Bucky pulled you up, backing against the table. His weight pushed the slim desk against the wall, dragging a chair with it as it slammed into concrete. 

Bucky’s eyes dazzled below furrowed brows. “Is this - I mean, I thought-“

You were drunk from his kiss. “I’m ok. Are you ok?”

He nodded frantically. 

You let gravity do the work, leaning into Bucky’s space. He didn’t just meet you halfway - his lips crashed into yours this time. 

When you ran your fingers through his hair and dragged your nails gently down his nape, Bucky responded with a groan and nipped at your collarbone before soothing your skin with his tongue. 

A hand warmed the small of your back. Bucky mumbled feverishly onto your temple. You couldn’t make out any of the words but you understood him.

With his arms wrapped around your body, Bucky held you steady. His kisses lingered, like he needed to keep tasting your lips. You barely had time to catch your breath before Bucky’s mouth claimed yours again. 

He brushed the hair off your face as his eyes took you in, mapping your features with care. 

“Is now a good time for an appeal?” You joked before kissing his throat.

Bucky bared his neck with a low moan. “Sweets,” he begged. 

You couldn’t get enough of his scent. It reminded you of riding his bike with your arms curled around him, his steady breathing bringing you so much comfort.

“Maybe?” You teased right before trailing kisses along his jaw. 

He kneaded your skin, hands locking your hips into him. “I think you should ah, you know, keep trying,” Bucky whispered thickly.

“Ok, I think-“ 

He stole the rest of your words, your stream of thought, with another hungry kiss. 

Part Twelve

Find the other parts here.

Masterlist

#BUCKY BARNES X READER #BUCKY BARNES X YOU #BUCKY BARNES IMAGINE #BUCKY BARNES X Y/N #H2OBASEDFICS #BUCKY BARNES FANFICTION #ANOTHER WORD FOR SURVEILLANCE #BUCKY BARNES #BUCKY BARNES FIC #MARVEL FIC #MCU FIC

[wordtotherose]

It takes until Dammon is wrapping up the last of his stock of enchanted arrows into various cloth parcels for her to realise she's left her coin purse behind on the desk. She tells Dammon as much but he waves her off, a confused furrow in his brow as he points to a tall, familiar figure leaning up against the wall across from the forge.

"Karlach paid already, when you were looking at the stock downstairs. I tried to refuse it, I would have refused your gold too, but she was adamant. Not like I'll have all that much use for gold if you don't win this thing so it's in my best interest to help you guys out."

Karlach, noticing Elizia's gaze on her, uncrosses her arms to give a jaunty wave. Elizia sighs and musters up her most confident smile for Dammon's sake. 

"We will, win I mean. You remember Mol?" 

Dammon laughs. "How could I forget? Merciless little kid. I take it she's done well for herself here?"

Elizia smiles, small but real. "You could say that. She's got messages for everyone we can trust with the plan, you should get yours by the time night falls." She pauses. "You can always back out, you don't have to join us, there's no…pressure."

The tiefling hands over the large bundle of arrows. He covers her hand with both of his own, looks her in the eye. "You will have my help, whatever I can do, I will. This is my home too."

Searching him for any signs of doubt or hesitance leaves her empty handed. Somehow, somewhere along the way, she'd found the bravest people in the whole world to call her friends.

She nods. "Thank you. For everything."

He smiles gently and lets go. "It has been my pleasure, Tav. Now go put Karlach out of her misery, I haven't seen her stand still for so long before, it's unnerving."

Continue Reading on AO3 or under the cut.

Purchases packed safely away, Elizia bids Dammon goodbye and warily crosses to walk past Karlach and continue down towards the lower city gate. Karlach, as usual, falls into line next to her without needing to be told or given permission. 

"Thank you for bringing the gold," Elizia says when they've walked in silence for too long. "But you don't have to follow me around. I won't run away. Or throw myself on a sharp fence or something."

Karlach's elbow digs into her side and she's left her armour behind so it bloody well hurts. She elbows her back and regrets it when Karlach's retaliation nearly sends her careening into a wall accidentally. 

"Oops, sorry, soldier." Elizia waves away the apology. "Do you want me to go? 'Cause I can leave you in peace if that's what you want right now."

She takes a moment to think about it. Shakes her head. "No, I…stay. The company is nice."

"Phew! Good, 'cause I want some Tav time before Astarion snaps you up for the evening." 

"I don't think you're going to have to worry about that tonight. Not after…well, you saw. And heard."

Karlach links her arm with Elizia's, pulling her into her warm side as they walk through the quiet streets. It's nice. She leans into it, lets Karlach's infernal heat provide some semblance of peace. 

"It was rather hard to miss, I'll admit."

"Yes, well…sorry." She runs a hand down her coat, smoothing non-existent bumps in the light leather. "I'll have to apologise to the others too when I get back."

Karlach shrugs and it jostles Elizia enough to make them both laugh, her more tensely than the tiefling but the brief spark of levity is good, welcome. 

"They've all gone out shopping too, not that they need an apology, you know."

"How come you're not with them then?"

Karlach grins down at her. "I told ya, I need me some time with you before you vanish for the night. Plus Astarion threw your purse at me. Figured that was his way of telling me to come check on you."

"Mm, maybe…" 

It was more likely he'd just wanted to avoid bringing it himself and anyone other than Karlach would have pressed him as to why he was passing the task along. They would tell him to come apologise and take the gold with him. Perhaps she should feel bad for it but she's glad he sent Karlach instead. There's too much lingering frustration for her to trust herself to handle another conversation well.

"Was he right," Karlach says, breaking her out of her thoughts, "when he said you think you're going to die tomorrow?"

"It's a possibility," she answers honestly after a beat. "There's a lot of things that could go wrong that end up with me not making it out the other end."

"But there are just as many ways that it could go right, just as many scenarios where you do make it through. Aren't those worth fighting for? Worth focusing on?"

"Of course they are, but I have to plan for the worst too. I have been since Gortash, it's…hard. To not think about it. He doesn't like that I'm planning for the just in case but I don't know how not to prepare for every situation. I had to be good at thinking on my feet, noticing things early and prepping to deal with the worst anyway."

Karlach considers this, her expression mired in heavier thoughts than Elizia is sure she wants to be. "Your brother, right? And your parents?"

She sighs, looking at the houses they pass rather than at her friend. "Yeah. They- There's a certain mindset you have to have to care for someone sick like my brother was. I guess I've never left it behind, even when he was gone."

They pause to let a small group of drunken friends stumble their way past them, toppling down the steps with hollers and jeers at each other. Elizia turns Karlach to face her, holds her hands in hers.

"You out of all of us know what it's like to be living on borrowed time. I just want to make it hurt less for him, for all of you, if it happens, I want to make it easier."

Karlach's fingers squeeze hers, a small comfort to her next words. "Nothing you do will lessen his agony if you die tomorrow. So live for him. Let him protect you. Asking him to go with you isn't taking his freedom away, it's giving him the choice."

"Maybe…" she trails off, uncertain but not outright disagreeing.

"Definitely," Karlach says emphatically. "Now, let's go find something to eat, don't think I didn't notice you skipping out earlier. Can't send you back to your man starving, now can I?" 

***

Karlach sends her back to camp after a meal eaten at the docks, legs swinging over the harbour water. She promises to pick up everything Elizia wants in her stead. She goes reluctantly; her exhaustion has been ignored but not unnoticed because while rest is sorely tempting, it's a waste of daylight. Plus, she doesn't want to face Astarion yet, doesn't want to face any of them. Karlach is having none of it and threatens to march her back to the Elfsong, insinuating as an afterthought that she is still rather ripe from dealing with Orin too. 

When she arrives back the room is blessedly empty asides from the floating family members and Yenna, already curled up on a sofa napping, so she takes a change of clothes and decides the best way to continue avoiding everyone is to lock herself in for a bath. 

It helps. 

The water turns alarmingly pink so she runs a fresh tub after she's scrubbed herself clean, sinks into it up to her chin. She lets time pass by without her constant care. Blocks out the world beyond this room, bit by bit, worry by worry. Dozes in and out of meaningful consciousness. She's near tranquil when the door is opened and cold air spills in. She cracks an eye as the intruder closes it behind them. 

"I locked that," she says pointedly, voice hoarse from finally having rested for the first time in days. 

"And I unlocked it," Astarion replies primly.

He's cleaned up too, looks far more relaxed than she expected standing in his ruffled shirt and trousers, barefoot, hair curling more than usual thanks to having been freshly washed. They watch each other from different sides of the room. He doesn't come to her. Doesn't reach to touch her. Doesn't say anything. He looks…unsure. And she hates that. She hates it so much it shreds at her insides, worsened by the fact that she is the reason he is doubting himself. How many times has he told her that she's the first person he has ever cared for? How many times has he laid himself bare to her to rip him apart or help hold him together, trusting her to be gentle, to keep him whole? How many times has he saved her in battle? Held her through the repercussions of her actions? The least she can do now is do as he asked. Karlach's right. Damn it all but they're both right. She has to give him the choice and that means giving in and voicing what she wants. Tears tickle her nose but she doesn't wipe them away, lets them drop into the bath water, watches him track their fall.

"Come with me," she croaks at last, "please. Stay with me whatever happens tomorrow."

His eyes close softly, his nose wrinkles up in that way it does when he's so relieved he cannot breathe for it. Like when Cazador had died. Like when she'd told him she loved him sitting on his grave. His fingers clench and release as he breathes out deeply. Her own breathing hitches embarrassingly and then he's there, kneeling beside the bath, cradling her face, thumbs brushing away her tears as he pulls their foreheads to rest against one another. 

"You are not dying tomorrow, you idiot" he whispers fiercely.

"I might."

"Over my dead body," he says with the solemnity of a vow. Then: "Elizia, do not make a vampire joke right now, I'm trying to be honest with you. Don't ruin it."

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[Chapter 3!! I am both very happy and very nervous about this chapter so let me know what you think!]

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #ao3 #astarion #my writing #fanfic #astarion x tav #astarion x oc #i'll make it through the winter #fanfic update