#like there's that CARPET on the wall that's super Russian

[elenatria]

@gavimp we should have known this scene was absolutely canon. 😏

#tetris 2023 #tetris movie #alexenk #taron egerton #nikita efremov #henk rogers #alexey pajitnov #parallels #looks like they're in Pajitnov's apartment in the U.S. idk #like there's that CARPET on the wall that's super Russian #and at the same time he's wearing a Tetris T-shirt that was obviously made in the U.S.

[totaldramamarching]

Oneshot Friday!

#8: Of Systems and Saxophones

A story in which Sky and Zoey teach Svetlana how to survive marching band and talk about her feelings while she’s stuck fronting. Set within the current blog timeline.

DISCLAIMER: I am not apart of a system. This was written after a lot of research and discussions. If any systems find this incorrect, misleading, and/or offensive, please let me know!

“So you can’t hear anyone?”

Most of the band had been given permission to take a break from sectionals, so they all gladly journeyed back to the air-conditioned band room. Once there, Leshawna entertained Dave and Cody with a dramatic story of some long-forgotten marching incident while Sky and Zoey sat some feet away on the cheap carpeted floor of the WHS band room. With them was an apprehensive Mike -- or, well, an apprehensive Mike’s body, anyways. Currently, Svetlana was the one who sat across from the other girls.

“No,” Svetlana answered, fiddling with the edge of Mike’s shorts. Her voice was notably higher than Mike’s, a little lighter, like the sound waves were floating. It took away all the bite her Russian accent would otherwise have. “Usually, I hear Mike, sometimes Manitoba, but zey are not here. I zink I am stuck.”

Zoey pursed her lips. “If you don’t mind me asking, Svetlana, how long have you been out?”

Svetlana scrunched her nose in thought, something that Zoey noticed that Mike didn’t do -- not that she watched him closely enough to notice that or anything.

“Two days?” Svetlana eventually said, though she sounded unsure. “Sorry, our memory is blurry.”

Sky nodded to herself. “That would explain why ‘Mike’ didn’t know where his dots were yesterday.” She sighed. “Thank you for telling us, Svetlana. I’m glad that you trust us. If you want, I can tell the directors about your, uh, situation. I’m sure they’ll understand. Or I can tell them Mike was sick if you don’t want them to know.”

Zoey smiled. “You can stay here once sectionals start, is what she means.”

Svetlana, on the other hand, frowned. “I want to march, properly. Now is perfect time! Zere are no teeny grass blades to remember.”

She was right, Zoey thought. They were just reviewing fundamentals after break, so Svetlana wouldn’t have to remember all the intricacies of Mike’s drill charts. Just all the intricacies of marching fundamentals, which, given her flowy impressions, she also didn’t know too well.

“You look more like you’re doing a rhythmic gymnastics routine than marching,” Sky joked.

“Or ballet,” Zoey offered. “It does kind of look like dancing.”

“Svetlana is Queen of Gymnastics, of course I dance.” Zoey giggled. “But Mike loves zhe marching! I want to give it zhe try. Maybe spin flag, perhaps?”

Zoey cocked her head slightly, and her pigtails drooped with it. “Unfortunately, Mike isn’t on colorguard, but I can show you some moves if you want! We have time,” she said.

“We do!” Sky energetically affirmed. “Don’t worry, Svetlana. You’re a fast learner. With proper instruction, you’ll have a perfect roll step in five minutes, tops!”

Svetlana practically leapt off the ground, waiting in excitement as Zoey and Sky got off the floor in a much more mundane manner. Sky and Svetlana went to the foyer as Zoey grabbed some flags -- the area had a lot more space and a lot less people.

Sky went on to explain how Svetlana should hold her posture, and Svetlana copied her every word. Her head was high, her legs were straight, her toes were up. In some ways she looked more professional than Mike, who had the tendency to slouch and wobble if he wasn’t focused.

When Sky told her the importance of control, balance, rigidity, she got it almost instantly. Turns out all she needed was someone rehashing the basics. With it, she graduated from normal forwards marching to backwards marching faster than most sophomores. It was fascinating to watch. Sky’s eyes followed her as she marched up and down the foyer.

“How is zis?” Svetlana asked as she swung her leg back like a pendulum, perfect form for backwards marching.

Sky chuckled. “Don’t tell Mike, but I think you’re a natural.”

“Yes, I am knowing zis.”

At that moment, Zoey returned with two six-foot flags. Sky leaned against the wall as Svetlana giddily grabbed one,

Somehow, Svetlana caught on to colorguard skills even faster. She even managed to perform a double toss without breaking any lights. The flag just looked so natural in her hands.

“Wow, Svetlana, you’re amazing!” Zoey complimented.

“Well, a flag is similar to a rhythmic gymnastics apparatus,” Sky commented.

“Colorguard is simply gymnastics on zhe blades of grass,” Svetlana said, moving from a graceful swan-like pose to performing drop spins.

“With marching fundamentals,” Zoey added.

“With zhe marching fundamentals,” Svetlana repeated. Her voice faltered slightly, as did her form. Sure enough, her arms drooped down, causing the top of her flag to scrape the foyer tile. The flag was planted at a forty-five degree angle, unmoving, as Svetlana stared blankly at the floor. Sky and Zoey glanced at each other, worry filling their faces.

“It is shame. Mike loves zhe marching,” Svetlana mumbled out. “I hate to take zhe marching away.”

Oh.

“I don’t think you’re taking it away,” Zoey quickly amended, approaching her friend gingerly.

Sky was right on the red-head’s heels. “I mean, there has to be a reason you’re the one in front, right?” she suggested. “Maybe you’re in front because Mike knew you could handle marching, being the one who does gymnastics and everything.”

Svetlana playfully scoffed. “Svetlana can handle any-zing.”

Zoey smiled in approval, turning her head to look out the glass doors. “Of course.”

“You can’t help the fact that you’re stuck out here,” Sky continued. “So you’re not really taking anything away, right?”

Svetlana shook her head, tapping her fingers on her knees. “Band is Mike’s, so zhe rest of us usually do not front in band unless triggered or pushed.”

“It doesn’t have to be just his,” Zoey said. “You really looked in your element when you were spinning, Svetlana.”

“And you were pretty happy when just marching, too,” Sky added.

“I do not want just zhe marching,” Svetlana said, quieter and gentler than either of the girls ever heard her spoke. “I want to spin flag. I want to perform.”

But performing would take marching away from Mike, Zoey finished in her head. Therein lied the dilemma.

“I think,” Zoey started, “when you can start hearing the others again, you should try to get in touch with Mike about this. I probably don’t know him as well as you do, but I don’t see him being super possessive over band. You guys can come to some solution, even if it’s just learning routines to random songs at my house after school.”

“Or you could be co-conscious!” Sky piped up.

Zoey furrowed her brow. “Co-what?”

“Co-conscious. When more zhan one of us are aware of zhe outside,” Svetlana supplied.

“Oh, got it.”

“Bottom line, you don’t have to feel guilty for enjoying something that Mike enjoys, too,” Sky said. There are a lot of different ways to go about this that don't shut anyone out.”

Svetlana smiled. She wasn’t as bouncy as usual, but at least she wasn’t upset anymore. “Zhank you, Sky, Zoey.”

“No problem.”

“Of course!”

As if on cue, Mr. Hatchet’s voice boomed from the band room. “Alright, guys, party’s over!” Be back to sectionals in five!” And thus, everyone poured back onto the field, even the trio from the foyer, even Svetlana.

To Svetlana’s credit, she was great at marching. She only wished she could hold a flag, too.

#total drama marching #total drama au #total drama fanfic #oneshot friday #td zoey #td sky #td svetlana #tdroti #tdas #tdpi #td mike

[everything-withered]

So, I remember reading about a headcanon of Tony having asthma after the arc reactor and uh. Hi, hello, this is how that went.

This is post-CW because it's going into "Who's Been Lovin' You Good?" once it's done. And also. Like. I'm winteriron trash.

Barnes doesn't like being touched.

It's hardly a surprising revelation given his history, but Rogers isn't as bright as he likes to think he is.

And while Tony's aware that Rogers would know his best friend better, who Barnes is now isn't the guy Rogers remembers if the reports that proceeded their arrival from the palace are any indication.

Not that Rogers cares.

The captain doesn't seem all that interested in anything that doesn't suit his agenda nowadays, and Barnes is definitely not playing ball with his less than "good old boy" routine.

Barnes' decision to exclusively speak Russian definitely does not help.

And while Tony's waiting with baited breath for Barnes to rip Rogers' arm off and take it for his own, Tony loathes the thought of the paperwork he'd have to do.

For the sake of his sanity, he doesn't get involved. Can't. Not when Tony's horse in the race involves Barnes winning.

Which should say something about the state of his life that Tony wants Barnes -- Bucky Barnes, the Winter Soldier, the Fist of Hydra, the murderer of his parents -- to win against the symbol of American patriotism and one of Howard Stark's greatest inventions. But life after Afghanistan and a Siberian bunker changes one's perspective if you let it, and Tony really hadn't had the option not to.

Nonetheless, catching the minute little twitches in Barnes' expression: the tick at his jaw, the slight furrow in his brow, the subtle flex of the arm that Rogers is grabbing is giving Tony heart palpitations.

Because.

Because.

He just got the walls painted in here. The carpet is. It's new.

And their wing of the Compound isn't exactly homey, but it's state of the art, and has people situated a floor below them right now -- civilian and official personnel both -- minding their business, completely unaware that someone could be thrown through the floor at any second.

Tony designed the building himself, but it might not hold against a battle royale of Super Soldier proportions. At least not from the inside. He's only really tested the Compound's durability on the outside anyway with the confidence that enemies wouldn't be able to infiltrate it without triggering other security measures which is clearly a blind spot he should've accounted for but didn't because he hoped.

He hoped.

For any other circumstance, the Compound has panic protocols, safe zones, sectional lockdowns with overrides and manual switches for all of it in case -- in case. There are sections of the Compound that can take Brucie with a big green sized tantrum, but it would've been a waste of resources to Hulk-proof the entire property when Bruce and his alter ego were pretty simpatico these days which was fine. It was. Because Super Soldiers were a different kettle of fish altogether and. Tony hadn't thought he'd ever have to worry about the Rogues being back.

He'd hoped he never had to deal with them again.

But well.

Hope's never not taken something from him every time he had it. It's only fair he'd have to sacrifice his peace of mind and personal sense of safety for the greater good. It's the least Tony can do for all the sins he's committed.

So what if he can't breathe easy anymore? It's not like struggling to breathe has ever been new to him.

If it wasn't his anxiety attacks in MIT, or the waterboarding in that cave, or the arc reactor digging into his chest cavity, or the shield coming down-down-down it was, it was.

His stuttering exhale comes out in a wheeze, the muscles around his ribs tightening in a squeeze because the human body is incredibly intelligent but also incredibly stupid. Not that Tony could blame an automatic biological response. How was his body supposed to know that his lungs are garbage at being lungs?

Fuck.

Why did he choose today to forget to carry his inhaler?

Tony gets the sense that the Rogues, at least, are getting out of his way as he stumbles out of the room in his panic.

He knows the first step to treating an asthma attack is to stay calm but. The step that would make him feel calm is to get away from the trigger: the reality of the Rogues' return, the bullshit of his own life. But Tony will settle for getting away right now.

Right now is good enough.

But Tony's always been a spoilt brat, and good enough isn't actually good enough because now he's stressed about the fact that he doesn't have his inhaler. And fuck, he hopes that if he passes out in the elevator that it isn't Pep or any of the kids that come across him.

And that thought makes him stress out more because, god, the kids --

A metal hand grabs his arm, and Tony's surprised inhale clashes against his teeth, makes his chest tighten like his lungs are being clenched in a fist.

Tony can't tell anymore if he's having a panic attack or an asthma attack.

Tugged down to sitting in the hallway lobby just in front of the elevator, Barnes' arms looped beneath his armpits so his palms are hooked over Tony's shoulders, Barnes gently eases Tony's body into a slight arch so the breadth of his chest is stretched out, so his lungs don't feel so claustrophobic.

Tony's body has never quite recovered from the first blast to the chest, and everything after hasn't helped. His lung capacity is pathetic. He's almost use to occasionally losing feeling in his toes.

With Barnes' chest flush against Tony's back, he can feel Barnes' exaggerated breathes, a silent prompting to take deeper inhales.

Tony doesn't struggle against him.

Even if he wanted to fight Barnes off, he couldn't do it emotionally comprised in the Iron Man suit, so Tony's got no chance in hell in a regular Tom Ford with his lungs being useless.

At the very least, deoxygenated or not, he can still do the basic math to this problem.

Besides, if Barnes wanted to end him right here, he could've. Even Friday wouldn't be able to do anything to stop Barnes from snapping his neck right now.

But Barnes. Isn't doing that.

Sitting behind Tony as he is, his kneecaps pressing into his lower back, Barnes' arms are sure and secure around his arms so that his shoulders and Tony's are pressed against each other; he is a warm, solid presence, angling and supporting his body posture to stay open to put less pressure on Tony's chest. The gentle, but forceful push of Barnes' breathing against Tony's back mimicking the action to empty and fill his lungs for Tony to repeat again and again and again.

Eventually, once his chest doesn't hurt as much, and his breath doesn't whistle as often, Barnes murmurs against his ear, "I've got you."

Tony startles, his breath hitching as his fists curl reflexively on either side of him. His voice is rough from the strain, and Tony means it, from the very bottom of his heart when he mutters, "What the fuck."

#winteriron #prompt #asthma

[wandas-sunshine]

A Soldier’s Spring - Chapter 5

Summary: She was one of Hydra’s best kept secret weapons; a female winter soldier. And Bucky can’t let her go through what he did alone. Everything is coming back to her, and he’s the only one that can help her become human again.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Angst, light violence, very few warnings for this chapter

Word Count: 3,008

Previously on A Soldier’s Spring | Series Masterlist

The screams were deafening, almost as loud as the rush of blood in his ears. His hands were trembling and covered with blood. He hated the way it shone against the metal of his prosthetic. His eyes flicked up again. He didn’t even know where he was, he didn’t know what he’d done. Everyone was running. Running towards the men in tactical gear with the assault rifles. Running away from him. A hundred guns all aimed at him, and in a moment, a hundred bullets were let loose. He was frozen in time as they all closed in on him, but there was nothing to do, no way of escape. It was too late.

Bucky sat up, drenched in sweat and his chest heaving as he gasped desperately for air. His throat ached, and he half wondered if he’d been screaming. He didn’t let himself dwell on that thought for too awfully long. He rubbed his shaky flesh hand over his face and exhaled slowly. His heart was still hammering in his chest, and angry tears welled in his eyes

He thought for a long moment, contemplating writing about the dream in his journal, but he couldn’t imagine how it could help. It was the same awful images as always. The same faces of innocent people he had slaughtered. The same nauseating guilt filling up his chest and taking over the space meant for his lungs.

He sighed and cradled his head in his hands. It was pounding from the screams. The screams of his victims. Or maybe it was from his own. He shook his head as yet another decent night of sleep slipped through his fingertips.

There was no saying just how long (Y/N) stayed there, motionless and silent in that chair, just waiting for something devastating to happen. But nobody came in, and she didn’t feel like anyone was watching her. That alone was unusual, but that didn’t bring her more than a little comfort.

Finally, she moved, kneeling beside the plate of food and examining it for anything harmful, any traces of poison or drugging as if it would be that simple. But the rumbling in her stomach was getting the best of her. A super soldier’s metabolism was a curse without proper care.

In record time the plate had been cleared of food, all but licked clean. She pushed the dish away, just sitting...waiting. Time crept by as she counted the seconds. She hugged her knees to her chest. The longer she waited, the more convinced she became that the food really hadn’t been tampered with.

They could have hurt you, her mother’s voice prodded into the back of her mind again. Something within her trying to reason with her. Maybe you should trust them.

But her trust was a hard thing to earn, and she didn’t take well to being caged up.

She had until morning to escape, and who knew how long she’d already wasted. She stood, every muscle in her body tense, every nerve practically jumping. She’d never broken out of anyplace, but she was pretty sure she’d broken into plenty. Just how hard could breaking a lock be with her strength?

Her hands were shaking as she gripped the door knob. It twisted surprisingly easily under her touch. She had hardly even squeezed; They’d left her door unlocked.

She felt like she was going to hurl. This had to be some kind of terrible trap. You didn’t hide away a dangerous monster just to leave the door unlocked and unguarded. But what did she have to lose? She’d come this far.

The hall was pitch black. Were it not for her enhancements, she wouldn’t have any idea which way to go. But she could make out a few cameras on the walls. She didn’t see any locks on any of the doors along the hall, but she didn’t want to risk that much. She just needed a way out. And what were the odds that this place was locked from the inside out?

She snuck down the hall, her footfalls deadly silent against the carpeted floors. She couldn’t escape the cameras; If they were going to catch her on the security footage, they already had. Nevertheless, she trusted her training and stuck to the shadows.

Her ears strained, searching for the sound of anyone nearby. She couldn’t pick up on anything particularly concerning. She took the stairs at the end of the hall to the lower floor, careful not to step too hard.

The lower floor looked more lived in than the one above it. It looked like a home. Her eyes wandered the space. There was a couch, a pair of arm chairs. There were books stacked on a table, and a pair of shoes seemingly abandoned in front of the couch. She reached out to touch the fluffy blanket on the back of one of the seats. This was someone's home.

She pushed out a soft breath. She didn’t have a home. She may not have ever had one. A lump was forming at the back of her throat, and her chest ached. How could someplace so unfamiliar, so dangerous, make her feel so safe? How could it invoke such an unexplored longing?

She forced the feeling to dissipate. Missions were no place for emotions. A living space meant a kitchen, and a kitchen meant knives. That would serve her better than her fists would. She kept her head on a swivel, her ears open and constantly searching for warning signs that her time was being cut short.

It didn’t take a particularly long time to find the kitchen space in the little area dedicated to their cozy home. She searched the room before finally finding the drawer with the sharp objects. She quietly tucked away a few smaller ones, ones that she could hide easily. Then she picked out a larger one, one that handled like her dagger, heavy and shaped nicely for her hand.

That would have to do.

She slipped back out in the darkness, looking for the door. There had to be a goddamn door. She followed the hall until it opened into what looked like a foyer. She rushed to the door, but in an instant she froze. The frosted glass seemed to loom over her. Or maybe that was just the agonizing fear of everything outside of this prison. Her hands trembled as she pulled the door open. Freedom was at her fingertips, but this terror was no different from what she was already being suffocated by.

She pulled her hood up and gripped the hilt of her knife tighter, relaxing a little at the familiar feeling of the weapon in her palm. Now or never. She pulled the door open, just enough to slip outside, then pushed it closed, careful not to make any noise.

The air sent a chill through her. She didn’t even know what time of year it was anymore. Maybe spring? She liked the spring, didn’t she?

It was dark out, not too far into the night. Midnight, she thought. The sky was inky, clouds blotting out the pale moonlight that tried to filter through. It must have been raining judging by the damn glisten of wet pavement. There was hardly any movement aside from a couple cars passing by.

Then the creak of a door.

She spun on her heel, brandishing her weapon like a desperate plea to simply be left alone.

Bucky really hadn’t expected to be threatened at knifepoint when he wandered outside to clear his head. His nightmare had caught him off guard, and he couldn’t sit still anymore. Walks always helped when he was back in Wakanda. But now he was face to face with her again, and he could feel himself starting to freeze up.

He could see the way her body tensed, like she was bracing for impact. She was ready to bolt, or maybe fight, he couldn’t be sure which one. It didn’t make much of a difference either way. She was a wild animal trapped in a cage. That was something he could understand.

(Y/N) swallowed hard. Her throat felt like it was closing up, and her stomach was churning with panic. They had sent him to bring her back, and she never had been able to beat him.

She gasped for air, her hair falling in front of her face. All of her energy was going into avoiding the blade he was attacking her with.

“Block him,” A voice barked in Russian. She narrowed her eyes, glaring at the winter soldier with a look of pure determination. Sweat was dripping into her eyes, but she ignored the burning. With every well aimed attack he made, she lost ground, backing towards the corner of the training gym.

He was pushing on with a stamina she simply couldn’t keep up with. She tried to plead with him through desperate looks, but to no avail. The longer she looked at him, the more convinced she became that she would never work any sympathy from him. She wasn’t even sure there was any human emotion on the other side of his murderous gaze. She didn’t give up, even as tears started spilling down her cheeks.

It was never a fair fight; A seventeen year old, all but brainwashed girl against a 80 year old, super strong assassin. A shriek ripped from her throat when his knife cut into her bicep. She clutched her wound and fell back, scrambling back into the corner helplessly. Sobs wracked her body and all the while, the dark haired soldier closed in on her.

“Up. Again.” The voice of the Hydra agent ordered once more. She pushed herself up, every limb weak with exhaustion. A sick feeling settled over her. She couldn’t win, she didn’t even really think she was supposed to win. He was an unconquerable wall of muscle and metal, and she was losing her strength. “Up, now. Fight for your life, little princess.”

“Stay back.” She warned, trying to hide her rising fear behind a stony glare. Bucky looked at her for a long moment. She looked...pathetic. She was clutching her knife in her shaking hands, and her nerves were all but on display there in front of him. He was nearly positive he could feel his heart shattering in his chest. She was broken, only held together by a tiny bit of spite.

“Let’s put that thing down. Do I look like I’m here for a fight?” He tried to keep his voice steady, looking down at his sweatshirt and joggers. Her eyes scanned his appearance, then snapped back to his face. She glared.

“You’re with Hydra. You’re the reason they knew how to make me like this...You’re a killer.” She spat the words like pure venom, but she didn’t have the strength to mention that despite it all, he was just like her.

Bucky looked at his feet. Her words stirred up his guilt, and the feeling swelled in his chest, in his throat, cutting off his air flow. He swallowed it down. Now wasn’t the time, and she couldn’t be blamed for being afraid of him. He would be too. He had been just another torture device used against her, and judging by the tenseness of her form, she remembered that clearly.

“I’m not Hydra. Not anymore.” He looked back up to her, his gaze trying to lock onto hers. He poured every bit of sincerity inside him into his words. “We don’t want to hurt you. I’ve hurt enough people. I don’t even want you locked up. But Steve and Natasha think you’re too dangerous right now.”

She listened quietly, mostly because she was still too terrified of the consequences if she ran away.

“I don’t understand.” She whispered, slowly lowering her weapon. “I don’t understand what you want from me.”

“Steve made it his mission to take down Hydra once and for all. He thinks you’re our best bet. But we…” Bucky sighed and scratched his jaw. She glared again. Just when she thought everything was making some sort of sense.

“But what?”

“But I’m not Hydra. I won’t force you to stay. But these are the good guys. They got all of that shit out of my head, the fog.” He didn’t know how to do this, how to talk her down. “You’d be safe with us. We can help, you just have to let us.”

She was moving slow, shuffling back away from him. He didn’t notice until it was too late.

“I’ve never been safe with you before.” She started scrambling away faster now, hardly staying on her feet. Bucky only followed her a few steps, not chasing her but simply staying close enough to try and convince her. “I don’t want your help, and I sure as hell won’t be your bait.”

She turned and sprinted down the darkened street. He called out, running his flesh hand through his hair. He stood in the cold and watched, a sinking feeling settling in his stomach. Letting her go was the right thing to do, wasn’t it? Or maybe it was the most moronic idea he’d ever had. Either way, he couldn’t stand the idea of her being locked up like she was some force of evil. So what if Steve got mad at him? They’d worked through plenty of fights before.

Once he could no longer make out her silhouette against the dark, he turned and headed back inside. He had hoped the night air would help clear his mind and settle his anxiety, but now he was going back to bed with even more worries clogging his mind.

The walk to his room was silent aside from Sam’s snoring through his slightly ajar door. He paused outside Steve’s door. He should tell him, maybe they could convince her to come back. But even his loyalty to his best friend was challenged by the building protectiveness over this near stranger.

He locked the door to his room and settled on the edge of his bed. He didn’t understand the way he was battling with himself. The only people he’d ever been so protective over were his family and Steve. He never imagined he’d find someone he cared about so much, especially not in someone who didn’t want anything to do with him. It was overwhelming, and Bucky knew deep down that if anything ever hurt her, he’d never forgive himself. Come hell or high water he’d protect her. He would save her if it was the last thing he ever did.

He dropped his head into his hands, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes until color sprouted in his vision. He’d first seen her when she was tiny. She was so much different now. He wondered if that little girl was still trapped inside her. She had nobody in the world, it made him feel like he’d vomit. Even when he was the most alone in the world, he still had Steve, and he still barely managed. She wouldn’t go through this alone. She’d have him.

She didn’t manage to run very far before she collapsed in a mess of tears and gasps for air. Her entire world was crashing down around her. She didn’t know anything anymore, not for sure. And something in her wanted to trust him with her life.

She sniffled and choked on her sobs. How pathetic could she get, crying in the middle of the street because she was scared. She’d been scared her entire life, this was no different. She swiped her cheeks clean of tears and took a deep breath. That was enough.

She picked herself and walked on a while longer. She had no idea how long she’d been walking, her mind in some sort of daze, but the sky was still dark and the world around her was still quiet. It was late enough to allow her to spare some time, and she desperately needed rest. Going on like she was would simply get her killed, or worse. 

So she slipped into an alley, snug between two small buildings. It wasn’t the worst place she’d slept by far. So she settled in, tucking herself out of sight of the street behind a trash bin. Being hidden brought at least a little comfort.

The cement was hard, and bitterly cold beneath her, and the bin dug uncomfortably into her back. But at least she was free. It didn’t take a long time for her to fall asleep, the quiet of the night lulling her into a sense of comfort. For a moment, the stress, the terror, the agony of reality was washed away.

But peace could only last so long.

A hand clasped over her mouth, and hot breath fanned over her neck. She squirmed, eyes darting around as even more figures came into view, all with guns leveled at her.

“You had us worried, принцесса. You’re a hard one to find.” The man behind her hissed into her ear. She thrashed, teeth closing as hard as her jaw would allow on her captor’s hand. He tore away from her. She grimaced, the taste of his blood invading her mouth.

“You little bitch,” He roared. She had barely made it to her feet before she felt a sharp prick. Her eyes widened and she screamed for help. Sedatives. The strong kind, the kind they used on her when she was young and defiant, she was sure.

He head swam, but she fought desperately to escape anyway. She couldn’t stay steady on her feet, having to clutch the wall or the trash bin to stay standing. She tried to run, but only managed a couple steps before her wobbly legs gave out completely. She tumbled to the ground, her palms scraping against asphalt, and her head jolting forward until her head hit the pavement. She groaned, giving up on escape. This was hopeless.

Then her vision faded to black.

Tag List: @dragonofthenorth0726 // @dustyinkpages // @believeitseeitdoit // @ravenesque // @this-is-mycrisis // @xmtd5 // @someonekeepstakingmyusernames // @greeniemoon // @wayward-student-philosopher // @messedupmyfuckinglife // @yourwonderbelle // @booboobella01 // @kpoplover1306xdepressedgirl315 // @heybbyitsdarkoutside // @buckmesidewaysandcallmesteve // @rebekahdawkins // @2132981 // @starbooty // @comebackanothertime // @condy-wants-a-cookie // @thedaisydeer

#bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #the winter soldier #the winter soldier imagine #the winter soldier x reader #avengers #avengers x reader #avengers imagine #imagine #x reader #marvel cinematic universe imagine #marvel cinematic universe x reader #marvel cinematic universe #marvel imagine #marvel x reader #marvel #mcu imagine #mcu x reader #mcu #a soldier's spring #wandas-sunshine

[enkelimagnus]

Literature

Bucky Barnes Gen, 1756 words, rated T for Hydra shit

Jewish Bucky Barnes, The Falcon and the Winter Soldier: Episode 3 Power Broker

Sam falls asleep on the plane over to Madripoor and leaves Bucky and Zemo alone. They actually talk to each other. I would say it's nice.

TW: brief allusion to past rape, internalized homophobia, brief mention of the holocaust

Read on AO3

Part 20 of Making a Home - the Jewish Bucky series

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

It’s an eleven hour flight from Berlin to Madripoor, even with Zemo’s private jet. Once drinks have been served, food has been eaten and threats have been made, they all find themselves settling.

Sam has dozed off on a seat, seemingly exhausted. After all, they’ve already travelled the eight hours from the states, and the day has been stressful at best. At least, Sam trusts him enough to fall asleep while Bucky watches Zemo. He wasn’t expecting that. Or perhaps his human physiology is betraying him.

Bucky needs less sleep than a normal human on regular days, and he also can survive much longer sleep deprived. He’s well aware of the limitations of his body. Hydra tested them thoroughly and multiple times. Zemo would know as well, that Bucky might look tired but it doesn’t diminish his abilities as much as it seems.

The man in question is at his seat with his book, though he’s regularly looking up through the windows of the plane or around the cabin. There’s something quiet and wistful about the way he stares at a spot where the carpeting is not perfectly set against the wall to the bathroom.

The silence is good, especially after earlier, where Sam and Zemo somehow managed to gang up on him about Marvin Gaye of all people.

It’s not that Bucky doesn’t like Marvin Gaye. He just doesn’t like much music. He’s sort of lost the taste for it. His brain is usually unable to perceive it as anything but unnecessary noise that keeps him from being completely aware of his surroundings. And at least 40s music doesn’t have death and rape associated to it.

And he doesn’t need to know what Steve thought of it, whether Steve loved it or not. He’s not Steve. Steve journeyed light into the 21st century. Everything was something new to learn and experience, it was exciting and bright. Bucky is travelling with baggage. And he has memories attached to songs and tastes and sensations and events.

Bucky simply can’t use the notebook the way Steve did.

Sometimes, he wonders if Sam forgets Bucky wasn’t simply on ice for 80 years. The issue with him is that he lived through most of it, and it was all torture.

Or maybe not all . He woke up craving Karpov’s kasha the other week, and it makes no sense. He only tasted it during one specific time of his life, when Karpov and him got stuck in a safehouse in the snow, with no way to reach the outside world, for two weeks. The Soldier’s rations and formulas ran out long before they were able to leave. Karpov was too smart to let him starve, and perhaps that time alone with the Soldier, away from the world, with no way to freeze him or unplug him had made him see he was still a man. The kasha was warm, and thick, and sweet and sometimes, Bucky remembers that feeling and craves it.

The danger with people like him, America’s Super Soldiers, is that we put them on pedestals.

Zemo’s right.

In all honesty, Bucky believes he’s forgotten who Steve really was.

Memories become blurry when they age and no matter how desperate Bucky is to crystalize them, to remember them, to be sure of what he lived, all he manages to do is to frame faded photographs and fill in the blanks himself.

Steve and him didn’t have time. He found him after two years of searching, only for Bucky to be back on ice within two weeks. After that, Steve visited a few times during his recovery, when he introduced him to the goats he’d named after the sisters he finally remembered. And then, there was the War, and the Snap and once Bucky was back to life, Steve was shattered. And two weeks later, he was gone.

They didn’t have time to learn each other again. Bucky doesn’t know who Steve is anymore, half of his memories feel tainted by Smithsonian explanations, and he hates it so fucking much.

He hates that he can’t remember right, he hates that Steve’s slipping away from him every second of every day, that all that is left is the fucking shield and Captain America. That Steve’s legacy doesn’t seem to run deeper than that, else Bucky would have less of a single-minded focus on that fucking piece of useless fucking metal.

It’s only been three months. Why does Steve feel like he’s been gone for a lifetime?

Bucky breathes out a shuddering breath.

When his eyes focus again, Zemo is staring at him.

The book is open on his lap. Bucky can read the title. Same Sex Fantasies in Heterosexuals. Fucking hell. He doesn’t need that right now. At all.

“You’re a different man than the one I remember,” Zemo says quietly after a moment. His voice is soft, just slightly above a whisper. He knows Bucky has sharp ears. He knows he doesn’t need to wake Sam up.

Bucky dignifies that with a huff and looks away for a moment. Zemo’s eyes don’t leave him. He can feel them on him, on his face, on his throat, on his hands, on his body. They make him itch. They make him want to punch him for looking at him like that.

Like what?

You know exactly like what.

When Bucky looks back, Zemo’s indeed still watching him.

“You’re old now,” Bucky says eventually, in a vague answer to what Zemo said earlier.

“Eight years have passed, James. You cannot blame a normal man for something he has no control over.”

Eight years. So Bucky was right. Zemo wasn’t dusted. He stayed in that solitary confinement cell for eight years as the world moved on around him, as the world fought and lost half of its people.

Had he wished to be one of the ones that were snapped out of existence? Probably. After all, every second Zemo breathes and exists is a second more he wasn’t supposed to have. He tried to kill himself in Siberia, once his mission was over.

“Do you ever read normal stuff?” Bucky asks, a bite in his words.

Zemo raises an eyebrow, head tilting slightly to the side. His eyes are still glued to Bucky’s face. He still wants to punch him.

“I would need you to define ‘normal stuff’ to answer this question.” There is a hint of mirth in those brown eyes though. He knows exactly what Bucky means.

Bucky huffs and rolls his eyes. “Machiavelli, fucking… whatever this shit is,” he makes a motion of his chin towards the book. It’s in German, something about boundaries in relationships. Hilarious, really. It’s not like Zemo has anyone to set boundaries with. Unless those eight years of solitary have somehow driven a rift between Zemo and his own dick. “That’s not normal stuff. Novels, popular stuff…”

“I wonder,” Zemo starts. “Have you any recommendations for titles of ‘popular stuff’ for me?”

Everything Bucky can think of is old. He’d told himself he’d look into acquiring books but… he hadn’t had the time or the energy.

“I see your taste in literature has elected to stay with your taste in music, then.”

Fucking ass. Bucky closes his eyes and sighs so heavily he’s pretty sure Sam’s going to wake up.

“To answer your question, James,” Zemo starts, conversationally, as if they aren’t enemies, as if they are just old friends, so old they have become strangers. “I do read normal stuff.” The phrasing is foreign in his mouth, in that accented voice of his. “I’ve read all the classics, and children’s literature. Eight years are long. I practiced my Russian with translations of Harry Potter and the Lord of the Rings at first.”

Bucky hums, looking up at him for a moment. “I noticed your pronunciation had changed,” he says quietly. “Did you read it to yourself out loud? Pretended someone was telling you a story?”

It’s cheap. They’re both aware of how lonely the past eight years must have been. It’s cheap, and it’s low-hanging and Bucky almost feels guilty.

Zemo’s small smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Have you read Jules Verne?” Bucky asks, trying to erase his taunt with some more literary conversation. “Was obsessed with his work as a kid. Kinda like Tolkien, but even better because it was… full of invention, not of magic.”

There’s a floating moment, a few seconds of Zemo just watching him with that slight sadness in his eyes before it is washed away and replaced by a hum.

“I’ve read those books, yes. In the original French,” Zemo points out and Bucky is almost grateful for the boasting. “You should seek a new translation, if you’re not adept at the original language. The one I assume you read was a descendant of 1870 translations, riddled with errors and political censorship. They fixed that in the 60s. You’ll like the new ones better.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “I’ll take that under consideration, I guess.” He’s so sure he’ll like it.

“And if you find yourself in the north of France one of these days, you should stop by this little city called Amiens,” Zemo continues. “A fine place, old and new, in the way only Europe can be. Jules Verne died there. The city’s positively themed after the man and his work. You can even visit his house.”

Visiting a dead man’s last residence? “That’s kinda morbid,” he mutters and Zemo has a small chuckle.

“People visit Anne Frank’s house as if the walls aren’t hollowed with fear,” he points out. “Dying makes one the public’s intimate friend. You know that better than anyone else.” He gives Bucky a sidelong glance. They both know he’s talking about Steve, and the documentaries and exhibits and think-pieces.

Bucky nods quietly and looks back through the window. The sun is painted indigo and pink. It’s beautiful. He’s forgotten the sunset could be this beautiful.

When he looks at Zemo again, he notices the exhaustion written all over his face, in the small wrinkles and under eye bags and the way his eyes won’t settle on anything for too long, desperate to stay awake.

“I’m not gonna kill you,” Bucky says after a moment. “We need you.”

Zemo chuckles tiredly, a soft and muted sound. “If that is the one thing that is keeping me alive… I believe I shall keep myself useful, then.” It’s almost sarcastic. A man living on borrowed time, wishing desperately he could be executed.

“You do that.”

#bucky barnes #helmut zemo #fatws #jewish bucky barnes #mine #fic

[jungkookienoona]

Rescue and Rehabilitation 1

|Masterlist|

Summary:

In a time where it’s no longer legal to own a hybrid, Jungkook is part of the Hybrid Rescue and Rehabilitation Unit. This is the story of how he found you.

~ Trying to make as little contact as possible he draped the blanket over you, covering your nudity and offering you some warmth. “There. You’re safe now.”~

Genre: Fluff, Angst

Pairing: Jungkook X Cat Hybrid!Reader (Y/N)

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of child abduction, suicidal thoughts (but no actual suicidal thoughts if that makes sense), mentions of non-con (before fic takes place), mentions of Nazis, mentions of human experimentaion on minority races, hybrid slavery, abuse, traumatised Y/N.

A/N: I was planning to upload this as a one-shot but I feel like I’ll be able to write more if I actually break it up into a mini series. Also I need validation because I submitted an altered version of this as coursework and made the changes suggested by my lecturer... then got marked down for making those changes...

Edit: I’m a dumbass and forgot to tag two very important people who read through this before uploading. Thank you @mhysaunburnt​ and @namjin-fangirling-again​ so much!

Word Count: 2731

It was just another day on the job, probably another false lead with some kid trying to piss off their neighbour by having the police turn up at their door. But Jungkook had a policy. ‘Always investigate a call’, he wasn’t the best in his unit for no reason after all. What unit was that? He was part of the Hybrid Rescue and Rehabilitation Unit. 

Hybrids were originally created by the Nazis during the Second World War to be super soldiers. Those who were experimented on to create this new species of human were those considered “subhuman” by the regime: The Jewish and Roma people. Luckily, the allied forces stumbled across the concentration camp in which these experiments were being conducted before they could be deployed. However, this did not mean a happy ending for the hybrids. They soon found themselves being used as soldiers for the allies, with more being created by the Russians using stolen research notes and prisoners of war. They modified the reproductive organs of the hybrids so that they can breed and multiply, along with their aging accelerated so they could be of use sooner.

The use of hybrid soldiers turned the tide of war but they were not given their freedom. Instead they were repurposed into slaves where they were explotied for free labour and sex trafficking.  A decade before Jungkook was born it became illegal to own, breed or sell hybrids. This happened due to an increased amount of people protesting the way hybrids were treated. Hybrids had become the new slaves. Yet 35 years since the law was implemented, since they were freed, hybrids were still being used as slaves. Abducted as children and sold to the highest bidder. It was Jungkook’s job to find these hybrids, arrest the perp and help the hybrid to become stable before reuniting them with their family.

So, taking a breath, he adjusted his backpack then raised his fist to the fading white door and gave a resounding knock. 

He heard a grunt from the other side of the door before there was a loud thud accompanied by a woman’s pained shout. He frowned. That wasn’t a good sign even if there wasn’t a hybrid in there. Once again, he knocked on the door, this time somewhat impatient to see what exactly was happening in there. There was some shuffling before the door was opened to show a sliver of a man’s face. His hair was matted and shaggy, eyes sunken and somewhat glazed, and his skin was pale and dirty. Possibly in his late forties, early fifties. 

“What d’ya want?” This man really needed to see a dentist. Teeth stained brown from coffee and cigarettes, some even missing or rotting. 

Squaring his shoulders, Jungkook mustered as much calm authority as he could, “We got a call about a disturbance. Possibly spousal related.”

A small lie but from experience, he found they would never let him in if he outright said he was there to find a hybrid. The man looked sceptical for a second before opening the door wider, revealing his torn, stained clothing. 

“Fine, ‘ave a looky-loo but ya ain’t gonna find shit.”

How drunk or high did the guy have to be to think Jungkook hadn’t heard the commotion that had happened inside? 

“I’ll be the one deciding if I’ve found anything or not.”

With that, he pushed past the man to enter the premises. Jungkook gave a quick scan of the main space. Cigarette butts littered the floor almost carpeting it. There were signs of struggle. In the centre of the room was an overturned table. On the left-hand side to that; a torn-up couch cushion, torn-up in a way that resembled how a cat hybrid would. Jungkook noticed a strange mark underneath one butt covered area. Crouching down, he swept away the mess to see ten fresh groves dug into the flooring. Claw marks. The female voice must have been a hybrid. And where the marks led to must have been where she was kept. Following them, he ended outside a metal door. He jimmied the handle and found it locked. Normally an officer would ask the occupant of the premises to unlock doors for them. But Jungkook wasn’t going to risk being ran out of the building. 

Once again crouching down, Jungkook pulled a lock picking kit from his pocket. It didn’t take him long to get the door open but the sight that met him had anger bubble in his stomach. There you were. Naked, beaten and bruised, chained to the wall by a metal collar around your neck. Turning on his heels, Jungkook marched back to where he had left the man and got his handcuffs from his belt. The man was stood by the front door, having a smoke, with his back to the angered officer. Perfect. Swiftly grabbing both the man’s arms, Jungkook pinned them behind his back and cuffed him.

“Sir, you are under arrest for the possession and abuse of a hybrid. You have the right to remain silent.”

He radioed in his arrest, asking for a squad to come out and take care of the perp as well as the crime scene so he could see to the hybrid. Luckily there was one close by who could be there in ten minutes. Once they arrived, Jungkook headed back to the room you were in. 

You looked absolutely terrified as you stared up at him, tears rolling down your cheeks as you gave a warning hiss. Jungkook quickly shrugged off his backpack and slid it closer to you then raised both hands in a gesture meant to pacify you. 

“It’s alright. No need to be alarmed. I’m here to help.” He said quietly as he got onto his knees to get level with you, shuffling towards you, “I’m going to undo the chains but you have to promise not to attack me.” He was wary of how your tail was wagging against the floor. With cat hybrids that could mean one of two things. You were excited at the idea of rescue or you felt threatened and about to attack. He hoped it was the former.

Finally, he reached you. Once again pulling out his lock pick kit, he kept eye-contact with you as he unlocked the collar. Not an easy feat. When you heard the lock click free you yanked the offending metal off and chucked it as far away from you as you possibly could. Jungkook went to place a soothing hand on your shoulder but you hissed at him once again.

“Whoa. Okay okay. I won’t touch you. Not without your permission.” Slowly, he reached for his backpack, unzipping it to pull out a large fleece blanket. Trying to make as little contact as possible he draped the blanket over you, covering your nudity and offering you some warmth. “There. You’re safe now.”

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

It wasn’t exactly easy to get you out of the building and let alone into his car, but somehow, he managed and you were curled up in the backseat, staring intently out the window, ears twitching at every sound. The drive to his precinct was long and quiet. You weren’t a talker but hopefully, once you had calmed down and got used to him you would open up a little. 

Once arriving at the precinct, Jungkook had you follow him to his office. Though you kept a good metre behind him. Sensing your unease, he paused outside his door and gave you a gentle smile.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to do anything to you. I just have some paperwork to do and file so I can begin your care.” He opened the door and pointed to a cupboard, “There are some modified clothes for hybrids in there. Wear whatever makes you comfortable, I’ll be out here as you dress.” You gave him a suspicious look, “Promise I won’t try to peek.”

You sent him another sceptical look then hesitantly entered the office space. Jungkook waited outside the door for you, keeping to his word and not opening the door after you had closed it. Even when he was a little concerned about how long you were taking. He knew that if he did try and check on you, you would mistake his concern for more perverse intentions. 

Eventually, the handle clicked as it turned and the door opened. There you stood, the blanket still wrapped around you but only loosely. You were dressed in a light blue t-shirt and a pair of Khaki shorts, seemingly having decided to remain barefoot. But you weren’t looking at him. Your eyes remained downcast as you stepped aside to let him in. The way a hybrid slave would do for their master. It appeared he would need to undo your conditioning as a part of your care programme.

He stepped closer to you but made sure he didn’t get too close, then crouched slightly to look you in the eyes, “You can look at me. You can look at anyone. From this day forward you are your own master.”

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

Even when he was filling out all the necessary forms and reports you hadn’t uttered a single word. And that’s all it took for Jungkook to figure out what was going on. You were either mute due to a medical reason or a selective mute from trauma, he leaned more towards that latter since you still made little noises here and there. He made a point of including his realisation in his report.

“I hope you don’t mind me assigning you a temporary name, kind of need something to call you while your with me.”

You frowned, eyebrows furrowing as you tilted your head to the side in confusion.

“For me to help you, you have to live with me for a while until I think you’re ready to identify your family and return you to them. I’m hoping by that point you’ll be talking and will tell me your real name. It’ll make everything so much easier.” He chuckled, “No pressure by the way. Take as long as you need… I think I’ll call you… hmm… let’s see,” He scratched his cheek on thought, “Goyang-i (Cat/Kitty). I’ll call you Goyang-i. Short and sweet… but not very imaginative.” A sigh left his lips, disappointed in himself.

With one final signature, the last of the paperwork was finished. He rose from his seat at his desk and gestured for you to follow him. Your eyes once again looked towards the floor as you shuffled after him. He gave the paperwork to the necessary person for them to be filed before leaving the building and getting into his car with you in tow.

He shot you a gentle smile when you climbed into the back seat, still a blanket burrito, “Once we get back to mine you’re free to explore my apartment while I run you a bath.”

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

Jungkook sat and watched as the water filled the tub. He had dealt with hybrids who had been found in worse conditions but you must have gone through something horrific to choose to go mute. Jungkook knew and understood that selective mutism was rarely caused by abuse and trauma, it was caused by social anxiety more often than not, but the trauma you went through seemed to be the case for you. 

The soft padding of your feet was near silent, the running water almost drowning them out completely. He could just make them out as you explored, drifting close then away again. It was best to let you do this by yourself, at your own speed. Rehabilitation worked best when it was self lead with guidance from him, is what he found out through trial and error. The first step was to get you to relax in your new temporary home. With that thought in mind he reached out to the collection of bath bombs he was gifted by a childhood friend, Yoongi. He was older than Jungkook by four years and was a cat hybrid. Unfortunately, he had been abducted himself, along with his little sister when they had gone out playing one day. Jungkook had successfully found and rescued Yoongi in his first year on the force but as for the little sister…

Jungkook shook his head to clear it, it was no time to dwell on his failure. After a bit of thought on what bath bomb to use, he chose Big Blue. It was meant to be calming, with arame to help the metabolism, sea salt to exfoliate, lemon oil to clear the mind and lavender oil to act as an antiseptic.  Hopefully it will do the trick of relaxing you and cleaning your injuries from the struggle with your former owner. Once the bath was filled, he placed the bomb in, watching as it fizzled and the steam became scented. It kind of reminded him of Busan with it’s subtle ocean smell thanks to the arame and sea salt. 

The creaking of the bathroom door opening let him know you had finished your little adventure for now, the padding of your feet more audible on the tiles. 

“As you can probably tell, your bath is ready.” Your stared at him warily, still a blanket burrito, “Don’t worry,  I won’t be in the room as you… yeah. I’m going to get started on dinner. We’ll eat when you’re done.”

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

Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, also referred to as C-PTSD.  Jungkook was pretty sure you might be suffering from that. Although he had no way of actually knowing unless you spoke but he wasn’t going to force you to. It was never good to force a non-verbal person to speak when they’re uncomfortable with it. However, you had been through events that could cause it: abduction, abuse and slavery/possible sex slavery. All these events most likely happening from your childhood onwards, though that was a guess on his part, he had no idea what age you had been abducted at. But for a large majority of cases, it's as a child. So suffering multiple traumas to the extent of becoming mute… Yeah, this was definitely a complex situation he was dealing with.

Standard PTSD treatment wouldn’t be of any use to you. You were going to need long term, intensive support from both him and your family once he figured out who you were. For the meantime, he’ll have to keep a close eye on you as C-PTSD normally leads to attempts on one’s own life.

Jungkook frowned as he pushed about a meatball in the pasta sauce. It’s not like he hasn’t dealt with C-PTSD before, a lot of his rescues suffered from it. He’s just never dealt with a survivor that couldn’t talk, which meant that monitoring your mental health was going to be difficult. The best thing was to observe then create a plan of action. Taking the meatballs off the heat, he took a quick glance at the pasta. Shit. It was nearly boiling over. So he took that off the heat too.

“Goyang-i! Dinner’s ready!” He called, then flinched. Raising his voice wasn’t a good idea if the sudden splashing coming from the bathroom was anything to go by.

Distressed yowls accompanied it. He had to stop himself from rushing to your aid, if he burst in on you while you’re undressed after he shouted… There’s no way you’d trust him. His worry for you disappeared with the sound of water rushing down the drain, meaning you had managed to sort yourself out. And thus he busied himself with plating dinner. He briefly wondered if you would be able to use cutlery but, given the environment he found you in, quickly realised you most likely couldn’t. 

He didn’t want to, however, for the time being he would have to treat you like a child to an extent. That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Some rescues responded well to regression therapy because they get to experience the childhood that was stolen from them. It’s just there are those that can’t move past that stage or reject the idea of becoming an ‘adult’ all together which has happened to him a few times. With a sigh he put your portion in a bowl, then proceeded to cut it up into bite-sized pieces and store it in the fridge.

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

Links: Mind.org.uk on C-PTSD

NHS on C-PTSD

A/N: If anyone has any links they think might be helpful that could be added, please send them my way. Also if you like my work please consider supporting me on Ko-Fi (no pressure though, I know there’s currently a global panademic and a lot of people aren’t able to work because of it)

This work of fiction is copyright © JungkookieNoona and protected under UK and international law. All rights reserved. Any unauthorised broadcasting, copying or reposting will constitute an infringement of copyright.

#networkbangtan #armiesnet #bangtanarmynet #jungkook #boop #jeon jungkook #BTS jungkook #jeongguk #jeon jeongguk #jungkook scenario #jungkook fanfic #bangtan #bangtan scenario

[turtlepated]

The Ghost and the She-wolf

Part 7

------

Let me preface by saying, sorry for the long wait! It has been super crazy these last several weeks (as I’m sure it has been for, like... everybody.) and I’ve been distracted.

But! 

The wait is over!

Thank you all so much for your patience and your feedback and I hope you enjoy! 

Tag List

@nikkivfx , @beetlejuicebeadoll , @insomni-snacc , @do-ya-hear-that-sound , @young-erstill , @dilfyjuice @monsterlovinghours

------

You kept pace with Zhuk as he and the man he’d introduced as Scarabee strolled amicably down the otherwise deserted street that ran from the fountain near the docks straight through the heart of the seemingly vacant settlement. There were houses, inns and taverns, shops and stables, all completely bereft of life. Zhuk and Scarabee were engaged in pleasant conversation, mostly about their respective illicit trades. You gathered that, unlike the seafaring larceny Zhuk partook of, Scarabee made his way smuggling spirits. Rumrunning, on the surface, may have seemed like the milder of the two crimes, but you knew for a fact that rumrunners could be every bit as nasty and cutthroat as any pirate, and there were many who did both.

“If you’ll excuse my ignorance, gentlemen,” you interjected, both of them fixing you with expectant looks. “Where is everyone? There’s a whole town here with no one residing in it.” The two men exchanged a poignant glance before breaking into laughter. Zhuk was more composed, chuckling warmly deep in his barrel chest while Scarabee made no attempt to stifle his amusement. You frowned darkly at them, pointedly stopping where you were and folding your arms impatiently over your chest, waiting for them to collect themselves. “Apologies, volchista,” Zhuk all but cooed, trying to soothe your ruffled feathers. “It is a fair question, particularly if one does not know any better.”

“We didn’t mean anythin’ by it, cher,” Scarabee assured you, his mismatched eyes still glittering with mirth. “And as an added antidote to our rudeness, allow me to explain.” 

He gestured with his walking stick and his free hand to the dark and empty buildings that lined the main street where you all stood. “You’ll find that we all have different names for this place. I myself, as you may recall, like to call it Carrefour. Means “crossroads,” you see. And that’s what this town is, really. The dead come here from all over, but this is not the place where they’re meant to remain. It’s a waiting room of sorts, a stepping off point to whatever comes next.”

You frowned, not understanding, and Zhuk elaborated. “The town has always been here, we think, always exactly as you see it now. The departed arrive, some may linger for a time as you saw when you met your men, but eventually they all go on.” Your frown deepened, guilt twinging in your chest again at the memory of Mathers and your crewmen fading away before your eyes. “Where do they go?” Zhuk smiled sadly. “That we do not know,” he answered, his voice a deep throaty rumble.

“Wherever it is we were meant to go, I suppose,” Scarabee added with a nonchalant shrug. At his words you turned to gape at him, realization striking you suddenly, that he must be… like Zhuk in some way. He grinned his feline grin as he watched you appraising him with a new comprehension, speaking to Zhuk while keeping his eyes on you. “Mon amie, just how much have you shared with your charming companion?” Zhuk only hummed pensively, scratching at his whiskery chin. Scarabee’s grin widened, his green-and-purple eyes narrowing shrewdly at the Russian captain for a moment, reaching his hand into an interior pocket of his opulent black and gold jacket and withdrawing an expensive looking pocket watch, checking the time. If you weren’t mistaken, there appeared to be human finger bones dangling from the chain like charms.

“We’d best adjourn to the house,” he said, closing the watch with a sharp snap and stowing it once more. “The others won’t be long, and I believe we have much to be getting on with.” Zhuk nodded in return and you all set off down the main road again, soon leaving the ghost town behind and finding yourselves in thick jungle. You swallowed, unsettled by the thick shadows between the tightly packed trees, the rustling of leaves as though something were moving just beyond the narrow trail. Almost subconsciously you quickened your pace to keep stride with Zhuk. It felt like things were watching you, unseen, from within the impermeable darkness to either side. The two men appeared utterly unconcerned, so you did your utmost to show no trepidation as a pair of large gates of dark wrought iron loomed ahead.

Raising his walking stick, Scarabee gave the cold iron a resounding tap with the head of his stick and they creaked open of their own accord, swinging shut with a decisive and jarring clang as the three of you passed through them. “Ma petite chérie,” said Scarabee grandly, bowing at the waist and gesturing you forward. “Welcome to our humble abode.” Your breath caught in your lungs as you took in the sight of the domicile before you. An Italian renaissance manse, four floors with twin pairs of chimneys at the front and rear of the structure, a roof of scarlet tiles, the entryway flanked by arches and marble pillars, a raised stone courtyard flanked with creeping plants.

You were vaguely aware of Scarabee snickering to himself at your stunned silence, Zhuk stepping up beside you with a chuckle. “Come along, volchitsa,” he rumbled. “Come and meet the rest of the family.” The next several minutes were a whirl of activity. Zhuk looped his arm around your unresisting hand and led you into the mansion, up the red carpeted stairs of the great hall, down corridors of gleaming marble floors and rich carpets, past rooms with vaulted ceilings and sparkling chandeliers, wood paneled walls and paintings and all the other trappings of nobility or even royalty. Zhuk and Scarabee ushered you into what looked to be some sort of parlor or smoking room, a lavish fireplace at one end of the room already made up and crackling heartily. Most of the walls were taken up by shelves, laden with books in dozens of tongues and a vast array of brick-a-brack from every corner of the world it seemed.

“Make yourself comfortable,” said Zhuk, indicating the number of large armchairs situated in a vague half circle by the hearth. Still somewhat overwhelmed by the grandeur all around you, you sank into the first chair you came to, your head unable to stop from swiveling all around, trying to take everything in. Zhuk crossed to a side table and poured himself a measure of clear liquid that you felt sure was not water, setting the crystal decanter back in place. “Anything for you, Scarabee?” he called to the other man who stood by the hearth, one hand braced on the mantlepiece with the other perched on his hip, his coat swept back as he gazed absently into the crackling flames as though studying them. “No, thank you, I brought my own.” Reaching once more into his coat he produced a flask. “Though our guest might be grateful for something to settle her nerves. She looks anxious as a lamb in a den of wolves.”

Zhuk moved to stand by your chair, fixing you with a concerned look. “I’m perfectly fine,” you insisted, proud of the way your voice didn’t waver despite the unease roiling in your stomach. How had your attempts to capture a pirate led you here? To an island that should not exist, sitting in the smoking room of a mansion owned by men who, by their own admission, were meant to be dead? Zhuk did not seem convinced by your feigned poise, reaching out a hand to sweep a loose lock of hair back over your ear. “There’s no need to be frightened, moye sokrovishche,” he murmured. “No one here will harm you.” He let his fingertips linger on the curve of your jaw, and you turned your head to meet his eyes. He spoke the words with such assuredness; it wasn’t merely an empty statement for your benefit, he would see to it that no harm came to you regardless of what did or did not happen when these “others” arrived.  

Scarabee seated himself in one of the adjacent armchairs, crossing his legs and observing the two of you with an inscrutable expression. As one, all three of you turned to face the tall open double doors at the sound of rapid footfalls coming down the marble hallway toward the parlor. A moment later another man strode into the room, heading straight for the side table where the drink service was set. 

“Well, lads,” he said aloud in a definite Irish lilt to no one in particular. “We are well and truly fucked.” Zhuk rolled his eyes as Scarabee chuckled, steepling his fingers under his chin. “Always a pleasure, Ciaróg,” he replied, apparently unbothered by the vaguely troubling assertion. Ciaróg hummed, having already splashed what you took to be whiskey into a glass and raised it to his lips, draining it in one go and pouring a second portion. “Didn’ I tell ya that Renard bastard was trouble?” he said, pointing accusingly at the other two. “Told me I was frettin’ over nothin’, said there was no chance he could talk his way out of the noose, but lo an’ behold! They went an’ made him a fuckin captain!” 

Zhuk grimaced, still standing somewhat protectively by your chair. “Please, Ciaróg, at least attempt to calm yourself,” he said. “And watch your language, we have a guest.” Ciaróg had already planted himself heavily in one of the vacant seats, the amber liquid in his glass sloshing precariously, looking up at Zhuk with a puzzled expression before his eyes finally landed on you. His brilliantly green eyes widened, brows shooting up toward the bill of the flat cap atop his head. 

“Bless my eyes,” he said slowly, his previously harried demeanor dropping away at once. He sat himself up straight, favoring you with a rakish grin. “Beggin’ your pardon, rud álainn. Did’na even see you sittin’ there on account of Fionn mac Cumhaill tryin’ to keep you hid from me.” The playful Irishman thumbed at Zhuk, who rolled his eyes again and sighed through his nose. You could only blink, taken aback by the blatant flirtations, taking in his appearance as he did yours: shoulder length hair, several thin braids decorated with beads and bits of colored thread, the bridge of his nose dusted in freckles.. Seeing the three of them all together you did notice similarities: their pale complexions, in the muted greens and grays like that of a corpse; the unnatural greenish hues to their hair; the decidedly inhuman quickness of their movements, even something as simple as their eyes tracking on another. 

“Cia!” called another voice from outside the doors. “Amigo, where did you go?”  “In here,” Ciaróg called back, eyes still on you. “Come an’ meet Zhuk’s new friend.” At once yet another figure appeared in the doorframe, a lanky man with a dancer’s frame, a mess of dark green wavy hair swept back from his forehead, and a singularly amorous look on his face. Good Lord, how many of them were there?! “Zhuk, have you been keeping secrets from us?” he purred, crossing the room in a few long strides and gracefully lowering himself by your chair, nonplussed when you recoiled slightly in equal parts embarrassment and surprise. The newcomer caught your hand in both of his, delicately grasping your wrist and the tips of your fingers in his hands as he pressed a kiss to your knuckles. “Estoy tan contenta de conocerte, encantadora dama,” he mumbled against your skin. “Steady on, Bajo, you’ll scare the lass off!” Ciaróg chastised, slumping back in his seat and swirling his glass while the man he’d called Bajo backed off from you with a laugh even as you withdrew your hand from his grasp and bunched it stiffly into your lap with the other hand. Zhuk loudly cleared his throat, glowering at the two like a thoroughly exasperated teacher scolding a pair of rowdy pupils. “Are you two incapable of behaving yourselves?” Cia and Bajo, looking utterly unapologetic, merely grinned back at him but Bajo did at least rise and give you some space, seating himself in the chair between Scarabee and Cia. “Can you blame us, amigo?” he asked, plucking Cia’s half empty glass from his hand while his attention was on you and Zhuk and draining it, earning a scowl and a muttered curse in Gaelic. “It is very unlike you to have a guest. And such a pretty one at that,” Bajo went on, winking and blowing a kiss at you. You blushed, trying to remain stoic and unruffled but you had certainly not expected this. Zhuk was a powerful presence, a feared pirate, you had expected his associates to be like him, but it seemed he was the lone voice of reason amongst lunatics. “Anyway, what’re we waitin’ for?” Cia asked, glancing around the room as if counting heads. “Of course… Where’s the Italian?” he griped. You had also taken note of the one empty chair. Presumably you were seated in Zhuk’s customary spot, while the others had gravitated towards their seats in a way that indicated familiarity. Which left one seat still unoccupied. It was Scarabee who answered, having been silently observing the proceedings since he sat down. “On his way. He sent word.” Cia scoffed, swatting Bajo on the upper arm to get his attention. “Must be at another one o’ his fancy dinner parties,” the Irishman joked, the two of them sharing a laugh at the remark. This time it was Scarabee who interrupted their frivolity, rapping the metal tip of his cane on the dark hardwood floor. “While we’re waiting on Scarfaggio, why don’t you elaborate on your earlier comment, Ciaróg?” Cia’s brows raised again. “What? Y’mean about how we’re all fucked? What didja think I meant? Renard, o’ course! We always knew what a cunt he was, but now he’s a cunt with the Royal Navy at his back!” Zhuk winced, glancing apologetically at you before turning back to Cia. “Radi vsego svyatogo, sledi za svoim yazykom!” he nearly growled. Cia leveled a long suffering expression at him and flipped him off, eliciting snickers from Bajo. “What I’m sayin’ is that the lil bastard is out there now practically with his own private armada!” “What?” you asked, alarmed, four heads turning towards you. “How many ships does he have?” Bajo ticked them off on his fingers, “Colossus was the first iron-side, there’s at least three more; two in the Atlantic and one in the Caribbean.” “There are four more besides Colossus,” Zhuk corrected. “As we had the misfortune of discovering in Java Sea.” Cia was nodding emphatically. “We’ve seen what one of those things can do, y’know what two can do? I saw ‘em do it, they’ll skewer both sides of a ship with their fuckin lances and then steer away from each other. Tear the ship apart!” 

You suppressed a shudder as a chill crept down your spine, thinking about how close you had come to witnessing such savagery firsthand. You’d always heard the rumors, of course, about Renard and his pet project, but the idea of his reach extending so far, spanning oceans was distressing to say the least. “So for now, he only has five,” you said, thinking out loud. “Those five will soon be the least of our problems.”

All eyes turned to the back of the room one final time as the fifth man strode into the room. He was impeccably dressed in an officer’s dress uniform, dark hair slicked back with one errant curl resting on his forehead as he approached the assembly, stopping just short of his empty chair but not sitting down. 

“It would seem that Ciaróg’s hyperbole was more accurate than even he knew,” the newcomer went on, withdrawing a folded piece of paper from the inside of his tailored coat. “This letter indicates that Renard has some sort of presentation to make before the Board of Admiralty, including the Lord High Admiral himself. No one knows for sure what he plans to bring to them, but most suspect he’s actually petitioning them for the funds to make a fleet of ironclads.” 

“Learn about all that at your little soiree?” Cia teased, earning another scowl from Zhuk and Scarabee as well as the sharply dressed new arrival. “Yes, Ciaróg, as a matter of fact I did,” he retorted through gritted teeth, and you got the distinct impression that this was a recurring conversation. “As I have told you again and again, it’s never about the party, the part is merely a device used to display power, wealth, prestige. There are few better places to obtain information than from a gathering of wealthy, prideful revelers looking to brag about their ambitions or achievements. Perhaps one day you may realize that the contents of a ship’s papers can be every bit or even more valuable than the contents of her hold.” 

“Yes, of course, Scarafaggio,” said Scarabee, sounding like a referee in a boxing match. “We are all aware of your contributions to our endeavors and continue to appreciate all your efforts. What else did you find out?” Shooting one last scathing look at Cia and Bajo, who were still glancing at one another as though barely able to contain themselves, Scarafaggio schooled his expression once more. “Apparently he plans to make his presentation at the grand masquerade being held at the Lord High Admiral’s estate. They’ll be celebrating his thirty year career, and I shouldn’t doubt there will be some intrigue related to who will fill the post when he retires. We can count on Renard to throw his hat into the ring, and if his ironclad fleet proves as successful as Colossus and her sisters, there is a troubling chance that he may well get it.”

--------

Yay! First time writing all the boys! It was NERVE. WRACKING. But I like what I ended up with? 

Sorry no ETA for part 8 yet, but in the meantime I will make available the Google doc so all the various parts will be in one place together in order to make it easier to re-read! And I’ll also put the tags to the previous chapters below.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

And hopefully this link works, if it doesn’t let me know!

#beetlejuice #mafia au #zhuk #pirate!zhuk #pirate!zhuk x reader #zhuk x reader #gia #bee #cia #bajo #the conglomerate

[alexsmitposts]

The Emergence of the Technetronic Society of Humankind The world community is being transformed. The current pandemic is only another phase of a metamorphosis set in motion decades ago. The intersection of our physical and digital lives is the battleground, where the last hopes of freedom are being bludgeoned to death. Few can see this because most people are already casualties the old world order sacrificed before the altar of liberty. Most of you reading this introduction will sense a bit of melodrama. But I assure you, anything I could type out here pales in comparison to the skullduggery that has beset humankind the last half-century. The war for planet Earth is upon us, but the battlefield is not some desert in Syria or a swamp somewhere in Latin America. The battlefield is real and virtual. It’s in the streets of Portland, Oregon, and the pages of Facebook. The Third World War is taking place in Walmart. It’s spreading to every back yard in Florida and every apartment complex in Bucharest. We’ve taken up arms against one another over every facet of life, not just whether or not to wear protective masks. Working-Class Struggle Redux Some of you already see this. You understand because you were finally forced to unfriend that high school buddy who Tweets or shares Facebook posters revealing humankind’s ignorance and meanness. We’re back to being tribal, devolution is upon us, and the end is written on the slum wall and the internet version. Wall Street is making a killing, billionaires are gnashing their teeth and wringing their hands, and the so-called little people are boiling in a kettle about to explode. Amazingly, my words here can be proven. Nobody can call “fake news” on this author. No sir. In 1970 the legendary (notorious for some) Zbigniew Brzezinski wrote a book entitled, “BETWEEN TWO AGES: America’s Role in the Technetronic Era.” The author, who was one of the five or six most influential political celebrities of the latter part of the 20th century, is well known for his aversion for first the Soviet Union, and then the Russian Federation. Brzezinski’s book was an is a “how-to” book on methods for using computers and communications technologies as a means of transforming society. Though the book reads like an analysis by a technology outsider, the work is part of a wide-spanning strategy we see coming to competition today. Let’s look at an excerpt from the first section of the book where the former counselor to President Lyndon B. Johnson and President Jimmy Carter’s National Security Advisor delineates post-industrial America’s course: “In the technetronic society scientific and technical knowledge, in addition to enhancing production capabilities, quickly spills over to affect almost all aspects of life directly. Accordingly, both the growing capacity for the instant calculation of the most complex interactions and the increasing availability of biochemical means of human control augment the potential scope of consciously chosen direction, and thereby also the pressures to direct, to choose, and to change.” I won’t tax the reader here, but I encourage you to read the book yourself so that what I am presenting will sink in. Brzezinski, in no uncertain terms, is describing the fundamental transformation of society beginning sometime shortly before 1970, when he collated the information within the pages of the book. Remember, he was LBJ’s advisor. The Rise of the Techno-Bourgeoisie He continues in this section to refer to the past ideologies of the industrial age which built and sustained America and other democracies, to insist upon a more “modern” or “advanced” central ideology. Brzezinski, who most detractors would describe as a dinosaur or archaic, was discussing cybernetics replacing humans when Bill Gates was still at Lakeside Prep School being bullied and writing his first computer programs. I mention Gates for a purpose that may be obvious to some readers. This citation from Between Two Ages will transport the reader to my line of thinking here. Brzezinski writes knowingly: “In the emerging new society questions relating to the obsolescence of skills, security, vacations, leisure, and profit-sharing dominate the relationship, and the psychic well­being of millions of relatively secure but potentially aimless lower­middle­class blue­collar workers becomes a growing problem.” Please remember, this was published in 1970, years before Brzezinski would brag that he had helped cause the Soviet Union to invade Afghanistan so that it could get its very own “Vietnam.” The man was a genius, an evil one, but a brilliant geo-policy strategist nonetheless. This book is not a reflection of Brzezinski’s powerful mind, however. This book is the revelation of a plan set in motion after Dwight Eisenhower left office. It’s a blueprint for the liberal world order to completely dominate the world. But before you label me, please consider how this “growing problem” is being used today. Who is Donald Trump? Aha! Now I have your full attention. What about the psychic wellbeing of aimless lower-middle-class Americans? Or, the psychic wellbeing of relatively secure Germans right before Adolph Hitler made them afraid of all the nations surrounding their country? Wait! Don’t go to that tangent, please focus on who got Donald Trump in the White House and how this came to pass. You see, Brzezinski and his colleagues created the conditions, the society, and the “path” we see taking shape today. Think about our symbols now, for instance. How did Google come to dominate the internet? Who stood behind? What does Google do? How about Facebook or Amazon, or any of the monumental successes we see controlling this technetronic society we now live in? Google lured the masses in with “free” and with slogans like “do no evil.” The competition was driven off, through massive investment. Now billions of people are analyzed and “computed” like Brzezinski revealed, to transform society, not to simply extract money via ads. Take the case of Facebook, it’s the same story. A huge swath of humanity is studied, spied upon, and manipulated while the puppetmasters tweak ideology, foment discord, and steer the crowd toward the desired endgame. Sounds crazy and dramatic, doesn’t it? But, wait for it. In 1972, Bill Gates served as a congressional page in the US House of Representatives. He was then a National Merit Scholar who went to Harvard for a brief time, where he met Steve Ballmer, who would lead Microsoft until 2014. Ballmer was an assistant product manager at Procter & Gamble for two years, where he shared an office with Jeffrey R. Immelt, the onetime CEO of General Electric. I hope you are keeping up with me here, for these names figure prominently in the current situation. Immelt was the head of GE’s Medical Systems division (now known as GE Healthcare) as its president and CEO back in 1997. To make a very long story shorter, Brzezinski was closely tied to all the names I am mentioning either through roles at the Council of Foreign Relations, or via more intimate and secretive associations. Take into consideration GE and Immelt’s view on China from back in 2010 when he said; “’I worry about China. I am not sure that in the end, they want any of us to win.” Fast forward to 2015 and Brzezinski is pushing for Donald Trump to “outbid” everyone for the presidency. He tweeted this to his followers on Twitter: “What’s better: a billionaire outbidding everyone for the Presidency, or billionaires picking the candidates for the Presidency?” The answer to his feigned query is drop-dead simple – “It doesn’t matter, the same people control no matter what.” And the control processes were put in action once John F. Kennedy was out of the way. LBJ played his role to a “T”, Nixon got too big for his britches and had to go, Ford plated nincompoop in charge to put the plan on pause, and peanut farmer/Nuke sub commander Carter helped roll out the red carpet for our current technetronic society. But I’m getting ahead. The Immuno-Catalyst Let me retrace a step to the associations of Gates, Ballmer, and Immelt. And most importantly, the current healthcare/pandemic crisis some experts believe is an induced one. Remember Gates’ pal Immelt headed GE Healthcare, which entered an agreement with Gates back IBio to commercialize the iBioLaunch vaccine manufacturing platform. The Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation has funded iBio Pharma, which has been in recent news because of President Trump grandstanding about a COVID breakthrough. The company is one of those focused on vaccines against the coronavirus. And if you’re getting lost in this maze of technocrats, now it’s time to interject another key player named Warren Buffett. Buffett, who for all intents and purposes owns IBM, is another link in what we should call the Brzezinski Plan for world domination. Remember, it was IBM that teleported Bill Gates out of brainiac obscurity back in 1980. It is not common knowledge, but the last Watson family head of IBM, Thomas J. Watson, Jr. served as US ambassador to the Soviet Union from 1979 to 1981. It was the ideas and ideals along with the patriotism of the latter Watson, from which people like Brzezinski convoluted the notion of modern democracy. Thomas J. Watson Jr. was also central to the administrations of L.B.J., Nixon, Ford, and Carter. Moving forward, most people are unaware, that Warren Buffett is also the biggest contributor to the Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation (more than $30 billion). And in this, we see how the “system” of control gets its continuity. Finally, it was the Brzezinski plan that delivered us to the current sorry state of democracy. The former advisor to key presidents not only helped devise the plan to shift the world’s ideologies and social structure, but he also helped empower the super elites running the show, and the lower-middle class minions who would stoke the forest of orchestrated rebellion. When asked how he would deal with the super-rich, Brzezinski differentiated people like Warren Buffett and Gates from the rest, while at the same time feeding the mob that Trump now leads and the left learning hordes on the left hanging: “It would be increasingly helpful if there was a movement to publish, worldwide, lists of those who make, largely through speculation, enormous amounts of money almost instantly, and hide the fact from their social context.” A Government of Business Power So, a ruling elite was and is to be lifted, isolated, and protected using demonic intimidation from every vector. Today’s dog and pony show across western capitals have roots in Rockefeller’s and Brzezinski’s Trilateral Commission, established to help put in motion the tenets from the latter’s Between Two Ages manifesto. If I throw in the fact that the Trilateral Commission’s notable member list includes such notorious super-rich as Jeffrey Epstein here, I’ve no doubt the reader will be overwhelmed by the scope of this “plan” for turning the world upside down. Finally, the academic Noam Chomsky once criticized the commission’s goals as undemocratic saying the publication of the organization, The Crisis of Democracy reflects how modern democratic systems are not democracy at all, but systems controlled by elites. And the Rockefeller Foundation’s support of the various German eugenics programs and the connections to Nazi war criminal Josef Mengele and Auschwitz tarnish anyone and everyone associated with Rockefeller, and the ruling elite of this new “modern ideal” or technetronic society. In his 1980 book With No Apologies, Republican Senator and presidential candidate Barry Goldwater called the Trilateral Commission: “A skillful, coordinated effort to seize control and consolidate the four centers of power: political, monetary, intellectual, and ecclesiastical in the creation of a worldwide economic power superior to the political governments of the nation-states involved.” The Brzezinski Plan for new democracy is the liberal world order’s plan for humanity. It’s a process that’s been going on for decades, one centered around and dependent on the puppet President Donald Trump. You see, I believe it is Trump’s mission to utterly destroy the very social class of people he is supported by. It is the only idea that makes sense if you examine the loosed cannon idiocy of an otherwise shrewd businessman. What better way to bury the working class who have been bred, reared, and marginalized into mediocrity than to create a revolution against everything they stood for? The Confederate flag, the statues of heroes, the race issues resurfacing, riots, discord, snarling and biting at anyone and anything that is not TRUMP! Real Death, Real Fear, Real Monopolization For this Technetronic Era to culminate in a Utopia for the ruling classes, a pandemic was set loose, a very special kind of virus engineered (probably) for segmenting society. The hard-nosed working class would shun the femininity and weakness of mask-wearing, while the ultra-liberals at the other end of the spectrum would thrive on the morality of caring – and on winning against the callousness of right-wing discord. As I try to explain to those who ask, the situation today is a perfect storm of social upheaval engineered to bring in this new society. You see, both sides of the COVID argument are right – and wrong – at the same instant. This is as it was planned. Bill Gates and his monopoly on vaccines and the health community can hide in plain sight, while Trump’s and Biden’s handlers rake in hundreds of billions playing the dynamic markets. Watching it, at least from my perspective, is like watching the pressure in a boiler build up past the red danger gauge on the outside. In Hitler’s Shadow we find the depth of the US deep state and Brzezinski’s role in the planning for the new world without the Soviets (Russians) in the picture. There’s limited space for describing a CIA operation codenamed AERODYNAMIC which was the forerunner for transformative/revolutionary efforts in the CIS including Georgia, Ukraine, and now Belarus. The reader should understand that Brzezinski, and his father before him, were central figures in a movement to subdue and subdivide the Soviet bloc, and later Russia and her neighbors. No one reading this will know of a man named Mykola Lebed, who operated alongside Joseph Bandera and with the backing of the OSS and later the CIA. He immigrated to the United States because of his importance to the CIA and the deeps state, even though he was in league with the worst Nazis who ever breathed. Brzezinski broadened the scope of AERODYNAMIC, which was in league with former Nazi sympathizers to upend Stalin, and then later Soviet leadership. The history of it is all a deep well no single volume could encapsulate. Again, I have fallen too deep into the rabbit hole of the order, but the reader can observe via this CIA document bearing Brzezinski’s authorship how the plan for today was set in motion decades ago. Trump is destroying the Republican Party for good. Technocrat Bill Gates has monopolized immunization and will leverage it for this new Technetronic Society. The money and power behind this forceful transformation of our society are incalculable, mostly unseen, and probably unstoppable. Think about it, a plan to take over the world put in place decades ago, a plan hardly anyone notices because of its incremental, indomitable, and relentless nature. Sounds conspiratorial, doesn’t it? Well, conspiracies killed Caesar and overthrew the Czar. Conspiracies were the seeds of the American Revolution and the French one too. What? You think control is just a roll of the dice?

[spongeekat]

Life as a Super Powered Omega Sucks (Chapter 2)

read on ao3

Masterlist Here

The hotel room they holed up in once they arrived in Russia was…to put it lightly, complete shit.

It made sense to send Peter, a young adult clearly not from the area, and Wade, a man with a very distinct appearance that could easily be used to identify him, to a location that would be lucky to have a working security camera. That didn’t mean Peter still wasn’t grossed out by the dusty front desk, or the rat he saw running around when he first entered the makeshift lobby. The process of checking in under fake names and swiping the card allocated by SHIELD seemed to stretch on forever.

Wade was conversing with the woman at the front desk in Russian that sounded fluent to his untrained ears, so Peter couldn’t follow along. He busied himself with drawing patterns into the floor, mimicking the path he would have to take in a few days time through the super-secret building no one would tell him anything about. He had more questions, wanting to make up for the time he was spacing it during the meeting, but only he and Wade were at this particular location over the next few nights.

Natasha had taken Clint and Bruce with her to stay with a trusted individual somewhere in the city. Mr Stark, Sam, and Steve were at a SHIELD location too classified for even Spider-Man and Deadpool to know about. Scott had apparently been sent to another run-down hotel. While his role in this portion of the mission was vital, he was being put on reserve until further notice. Peter was offered a spot with Natasha at the home, but it would have been too difficult to keep his identity under wraps, so he instead opted to stay in the same hotel as Wade- Which may or may not have been a mistake.

Eventually, the receptionist forked over two room keys, pointing off down the hall and relaying two numbers in Russian. Wade passed them to Peter, who flashed a polite smile, and started down the hall with their backpacks slung tightly. They searched the doors until they found 118 and 119, pausing just outside.

Wade fumbled with the cards, sticking one in each hand at random, and shoved his arms behind his back. “Pick one.” He teased, a surgical mask drawn up over his lips and his hoodie pulled tightly around his face. Peter had, of course, seen his skin over the 4 years they had known one another, but the mercenary was still sore about his appearance and preferred just to keep it concealed.

“I want this one.” Peter placed his palm against room 118, 119 having a suspicious red stain drawn over the carpet that looked like there had been attempts at shampooing it out for years. “Which arm is that?”

“Don’t take the fun out.” Wade whined.

Peter let out a groan and tapped Wade’s left arm. He produced both arms and opened his palms. Inside his left hand was the key to 119.  

“Sorry, baby boy. Better luck next ti-”

Peter swiped the key to 118 from his right hand and scanned it. The door clicked open, and Peter pushed it open with a smug grin.

Wade stood dumbfounded, watching the events unfold as if the devious younger man had stolen his first born. Finally he shut his mouth and straightened up, sliding his own card to gain access to his room. “I guess some people really do get everything they want. Just know, if I find bed bugs, I’m sleeping in your bed.”

“It can’t be any worse than your pigsty back in New York.”

“Hey! My pigsty has class.”

“Goodnight, Deadpool.”

Wade looked like he wanted to say something else, but decided against it and disappeared into his room. Peter quietly locked himself in his own, turning to face the small space he would call his for the next few nights, or however long this piece of intel gathering took. It was small, as he expected, barely the size of his bedroom back in his own apartment. There was a queen-sized bed stuck in the center of the room and a small, ancient television placed opposite on a dresser. The bathroom was mostly made up of a square shower and a toilet spanning on one wall, the toilet continuously running silently. It wasn’t terribly dirty, at least, as Mr Stark had been sure to book them the most expensive rooms, and paid extra to assure they got fresh sheets.

Peter wasn’t feeling the best, likely just plagued by nausea after the bumpy plane ride over, and he was more than ready to crawl into bed and catch up on the sleep he had missed.  It was somewhere around 3 or 4 AM here, which meant it was still dark outside for another hour or so. So the web-slinger pulled off his civilians, then his suit layered on underneath, and set them all in a neat pile in one of the dresser drawers. He didn’t remove his web-shooters, just in case, and pulled on the single pair of pajamas he had brought, before crawling under the covers that were way too light for the October morning. He soon found a comfortable sleeping position and closed his eyes. Anxiety over their crunched deadline was still bruising his brain,but he didn’t want to agonize about it now. All he could trust was that the skill of the group would make up for the difficulty of the mission, and they’d be in and out by the weekend.

*

Peter awoke shivering.

At first, in his dreary mind, he assumed it was due to the cold and wrapped himself tighter in the blankets to try to calm his tensing muscles.It took all of 10 seconds to realize he was instead overheating under the poor excuse of a comforter, the scratchy material making him increasingly uncomfortable. He opened his eyes to the sunlight filtering in through the curtains, temporarily blinding him.

The world seemed too bright, and Peter's skin felt clammy under his clothing. He forced his eyelids shut again to try to fall back asleep, his dreams seeming a lot more comfortable than the present. Minutes passed, and Peter was unable to slip back into slumber, but rather was noticing just how… unbearable the world was beginning to feel. His stomach hurt, feeling like he got punched in the gut and his organs rearranged, leaving an empty hole in the center of his abdomen. His senses, which were usually dialed up to 150%, now felt closer to 300%. Everything felt way too loud, from the birds chirping outside his window to the baby crying down the hall. The baby’s cries made Peter’s stomach tightened, and he noted, with sudden panic, that moisture had begun to form between his legs.

“Oh shit. ” Peter started out of bed, now acutely aware of the fact that his temperature was burning. His voice was breathy, the foundation of his vocal chords tighter than usual. “Shit shit, shit. Not now! It’s the first day!”

The poor young man tumbled from the bed, his feet caught in the sheets, as he stifled a cry of surprise when he hit the floor. He crawled the remaining distance to his backpack and tore it open. It was only Wednesday. His heat was almost always on time. Why did it come so early?

But then he smelled it- The alpha pheromones radiating from the room over. They were much easier to pinpoint now, stronger than they had been just the day before. Wade had pushed his body into heat, and Peter simultaneously wanted to beg for his attention and beat the shit out of him for it.

He realized he was spacing when another wave of heat started to wash over him, making him moan under his breath, jarring him from his thoughts. Peter ripped his clothes out and scattered them on the floor, locating his box of syringes and his vial of heat suppressants. He fiddled with the needles and tubes for a few minutes, his trembling hands making this task quite a bit more difficult, until he finally got the correct dosage and sunk the needle shaft into his thigh. Pressing on the plunger sent a cold liquid into his muscle, and once the barrel was empty he let the used syringe fall to the floor. Gradually, his muscles began to relax, and he could feel his breathing returning to normal.

It was fortunate that he had woken up just before his heat had entered full swing, but he couldn’t deny the entire room stunk of omega now. Peter managed to find his scent blockers and doused his fingers in the murky ointment, rubbing a generous amount over the scent glands under his ears. With the area now smelling a lot less like a panicked omega in heat, he set to work on  deodorizing the room. He cracked the window to air out the space, but kept the curtains drawn, to make his exact location unidentifiable if the wind didn’t carry his smell far enough. The sheets were pulled from the bed and thrown into the shower, doused with enough water that the slick left on them wouldn’t be terribly obvious. Next went his pajamas bottoms, but he kept the shirt and tucked it back in his bag. Somehow he was working diligently, while he was still recovering from the condition he was in not 10 minutes before.

Even so, Peter’s mind was definitely preoccupied on another issue. It was day 2 of their 5-14 day mission. He had packed enough heat suppressants to last him a week, but using them any longer than 3 days was considered dangerous. Not only that, but the longer he put off his heat, the harder it would hit when he let it come. He needed to find a length of time he was guaranteed to be away from the group, to ride it out, but finding an alpha to shorten it was completely out of the question.

He could possibly tell Mr. Stark to see if he could be temporarily sent home...but the risk of his identity being found out was too high, and he would likely be scolded for not being honest in the first place- Maybe even kicked off the Avengers for good. Dealing with health issues seemed like the most sound possibility.

For now, Peter just needed to get replacement sheets and ask the hotel staff if they had a spare candle he could borrow. Checking his clock, he’d only been asleep for 2 hours, which meant Wade might still be passed out. He prayed for that fact as he gathered up his sopping sheets and carried them down the grimy hall towards the lobby.

The receptionist was less than happy to see he had soiled them this quickly, the housekeeper even more annoyed looking, though they quickly changed their tune when Peter promised to leave a hefty tip if they kept the charge for new sheets off their bill and kept a clean supply for him throughout their stay. He left with a greyed out flat sheet and a topper with holes, but it was better than a slick-stained set, so he gratefully spread them out over his mattress and lit the candle on the dresser. Now calmer, he eventually managed to crawl back in the bed and attempt to get an extra few hours of rest, wanting to be ready at any moment whenever they needed him again. It took almost no time at all for his sleep-deprived form to pass out again, lulled into a much more restful dream now that his heat symptoms had been dealt with for the time being.

*

7 PM. It was 7 PM according to the clock plastered on the wall, they had already been in Russia for 17 hours, and Peter still hadn’t gotten a text back from Mr Stark or Steve on his burner phone. He wouldn’t have been so inherently frustrated by the radio silence if he was even sort of updated on plan, or if they were still mid mission. However, it was already growing dark outside, and Peter had been sitting tensely in wait for them to call on his help. The hotel room that was supposed to feel like a mini-vacation had started to seem more like a prison. The only plus side was that Peter had powered his way through one essay and two written assignments, leaving him with book readings that were too difficult to focus on when he was so anxious.

So he busied himself mindlessly watching some Russian soap opera on the poor quality TV, checking his texts every 2 minutes to be sure he didn’t miss any sort of an update. Still nothing, he determined as he flipped open the lid of his cheap pay-as-you-go cell.

Did they actually need him at all?

He was reeled from his thoughts by an insistent knocking- or rather, banging seemed to fit the sound better- obnoxiously from his door. Peter knew who it was before he had even made it halfway to the door, the thin walls giving him full access to unintelligible chattering transpiring from the mercenary’s conversation with himself. According to what Wade had told him in a fit of honesty, they were two voices he could hear clear as day, one a more honest version of himself, and one completely belonging to some ‘mad’ guy. Peter didn’t really understand it, but he had learned not to question matters that related to Wade unless it was required.

Peter clicking the deadbolt prompted a ‘ shuddup’ from the hallway, and then he opened the door to see Wade clad in a Hawaiian shirt and cargo shorts that covered way too little for the season. Peter drew his eyes slowly down the line of his body, and then back up to his grinning face half-hidden by a large-brimmed hat, looking unimpressed. “Festive.”

“I may have only heard the part about ‘vacationing’ and ‘Los Cabos.’” Wade returned with the same dumb expression trapped on his lips. “ Vamos a desnudarnos y tumbarnos en la arena. ”

“I don’t think they even said anything about vacationing.” Peter couldn’t help the smile working itself onto his face, trying his hardest to stay sullen but not doing a very good job at it. He ignored his dirty comment, leaning cooly up against the door frame. “So? What’s up? Why’d you come bother me?”

“I don’t know about you, sweetums, but I am absolutely starving. And I know you can out-eat me by a mile, so there’s no way you’re not going crazy with hunger cramps by now. Let’s go get food.”

The mention of cramps made Peter wince in memory that his heat was impending and he’d have to give himself another dose of suppressants in… about 6 hours, due to his quick metabolism, though it was perfectly timed with his stomach growling in response to the thought of food. He hadn’t eaten in almost a day, and it was definitely taking a toll on his body. Wade snickered triumphantly at Peter’s involuntary reaction, making heat crawl up his neck. “I guess I’m a little hungry.” He mumbled, shifting awkwardly on the balls of his feet. “I didn’t bring any money, though.”

“Lucky for you, Iron Dick gave me a wad of cash before we got off the plane.” Wade waved around an envelope presumably of Russian currency, as if they weren’t probably surrounded by criminals in other rooms keeping their heads low. “We passed by a cafe on the way in to the hotel, and I’m really craving some blinis right now. So hurry that tight ass up and grab your jacket so we can go.”

Peter really had no choice in the matter, and he had been desperately wanting to get out of the hotel room that had begun feeling way too cramped anyways. He hummed a resolved ‘mmkay’ and shut the door on Wade to give him the chance to get his stuff together. He also grabbed a jacket as suggested, not wanting to turn into a spider-sicle before he’d even gotten the chance to be a real part of the mission. He made sure to stuff an extra syringe in his pocket just in case, along with his burner phone on the off-chance someone decided to reply back, and shut his window tightly.

Most of the omega scent had been wafted out into the cold, and the candle had replaced it with a cheap smelling spice. Peter struggled not to remind himself of the fact he was going out with Wade, unmasked and vulnerable, before his anxiety could talk him into feeling awkward about the entire situation. He made his way back to the door, shut and locked it,and looked back up at Wade’s eager eyes. “So...what’s blini anyways?”

“Baby boy, I’m about to blow your mind wide open.”

Peter came to find out the town they were staying in was called Scherbinka, and it was a lot smaller than New York. About 266% smaller, if his math was right. The business fronts were colorful, compared to the overcast weather blanketing the night sky. Wade had noticed Peter was shaking through dinner- mostly due to the cold and somewhat due to his heat symptoms numbly pulsing through his body- and had blanketed him with his leather jacket that was twice his size. It hung loosely off his shoulders, but it kept him warm, especially on their walk back to the hotel.

“This city is kinda boring, huh?” Wade commented as he turned another alley, passing by rows of houses interrupted every so often by small businesses or motels. “They could have at least stuck us somewhere cooler. Like actually in Moscow? The escorts there are pretty cute.”

“You want to go to Moscow just for the hookers? Not the art or theatre?” Peter snorted, pulling the jacket just a little bit tighter around himself. The fall really had a bite to it, and the sun sinking behind the hills only accentuated the weather.

“Hey, sex work is a valid career, Pete. Back off, hater.” Wade stuck his hand obnoxiously in Peter’s face as he swatted it away, claiming his space again. “Anyways, I’ve been to Moscow for jobs like 6 times. I could give you a pretty good tour of the city; the good and the bad.”

“I’ll have to take you up on that offer some other time. If we went there now, you’d blow the whole thing.” Peter grinned, turning to look up at him.

“What do you mean? Also, don’t make me make a joke about blowing anything right now.” Wade gasped in dramatic hurt.

“You don’t exactly blend in.” Peter murmured, but he could see the edges of a disappointed frown dragging Wade’s lips down, and he self consciously pulled the brim of his large hat further down his face. “But that’s not a bad thing.” He rushed out, not wanting to give Wade the wrong idea. “Your tacky clothes and drama queen act fit you. You like being the center of attention.”

Wade instantly brightened, the hop returning to his step. “You got me there. That I do, sweetums, that I do.”  

They continued on their quiet walk through the suburbs, bumping into each other every so often with growing force to try to knock one another off the road. Peter couldn’t help his grin and a small laugh forcing its way up his throat when he nearly knocked Wade on his ass, but the man looked completely happy playing along.

“This is nice.” Wade blurted out suddenly, drawing Peter’s attention up to him.

“What?” Peter asked through his breathy snickering, watching Wade fix his shirt that had been coated with dust.

“Hanging out. With you.” Wade murmured, stretching and bringing his arms up above his head as his muscles pulsed. The action had Peter feeling like he was staring too long, so he forced his face forward and added a bit more focus in his steps. “Don’t get me wrong, angel, I love any time I get to bring you back to my apartment, but you only chill with me because of our other halves. It’s cool that we can just get dinner together, y’know? Nothing hanging over our heads or some evil mutant dude about to bust down the Empire State Building so you have to run off. Just two gal pals.”

“I never really thought about that.” Peter frowned, his eyebrows knitting in concentration. Now that Wade had mentioned it, they didn’t typically spend a whole lot of time together outside of ‘work.’ “I guess I just always considered us friends either way. You definitely bother me over text enough.”

Wade didn’t respond, and when Peter curiously glanced up at his face he saw a weird expression in place. Maybe embarrassment? It was a funny look on the otherwise cocky man, but he didn’t comment.

They walked a bit longer in silence, the street lamps lighting up their dirt path home, gravel crunching under their shoes, the cold biting at Peter’s nose and ears and turning them red. He briefly wondered if Wade experienced the same sensations, or if his healing factor gave him infinite body heat, before he heard him cough at his side.

“Thanks.” He finally croaked out, and that ended their heart to heart for the night the rest of the way to the hotel.

#spideypool #alpha wade wilson #omega peter parker #spiderman #deadpool #my fic #iron dad #marvel #fanfiction #abo

[slutforgoodliterature]

Bucky Barnes A-Z

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

He just wants to curl up and pass out, especially as he wont usually stop until the both of you are too tired to continue. He’ll make sure you’re asleep first, though, because he’s just a gentleman like that.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Absolutely loves your hair. Pulling it, playing with it, nuzzling it... he’s just a major sucker for your hair. He loves it when you play with his own hair, or when you decide that it’s too messy so you tie it up for him. 

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

He’s really not expecting you to swallow, as growing up in the 40′s, that wasn’t really a thing, so when you do do that, it just blows his mind. He likes cumming in you, not on you, as that requires clean up and we all know that he just wants to sleep after sex, not worry about cleaning up. 

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He loves it when you get off on his metal arm, he feels like you’re redeeming it, taking back its purpose as a weapon as turning it into something intimate and sensual. 

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Who are we kidding, Bucky knows exactly what he’s doing, and he’s had plenty of experience. Although, he hasn’t had a kiss since 1945, so he may be a little out of touch, but it’s nothing a little practice can’t fix.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying.)

Call him old fashioned, but he loves when he can see you face. Whether it be plain missionary in bed, or against a wall (his personal favourite), anywhere he can see you fall apart, he’s into it. 

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

Definitely more serious. His days as the winter soldier pretty much decimated his goofy side, and although he’s slowly becoming more of his old self, Bucky always takes sex seriously. 

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

Trims when he remembers to but it doesn’t bother him much. To be honest, he doesn’t really understand this modern concept of ‘manscaping’, and will only really do it if a partner asks him to. 

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

He tries to be romantic, he really does, but sometimes he’ll slip out a bit and lose himself, but you’re always there to bring him back, and he makes up for it with extra gentle cuddling afterwards. 

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

Let’s be real: he was by himself for almost 70 years... he knows his own way around his body. Doesn’t do it as much anymore, but when he’s got a stamina like that and has no trouble keeping it up, it’s really not an issue.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Absolutely loves choking (shock horror) and senses play, never too much bdsm though as it can trigger memories of him being strapped down by Hydra. 

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

Literally anywhere. In bed, on the couch, on the floor, in the shower, on the desk, on the counter, you name it. If there’s a will, there’s a way. And with Bucky, there’s always a will.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Seeing you being badass or worked up, whether it be training/exercising, or even just in an argument with someone (who isn’t him). Seeing you all hot and bothered really get shim going, and he’s always offering to help you blow off some steam, if you know what I mean...

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Intense BDSM, including heavy bondage or masochism. He’s all for being dominant but intentionally hurting someone, seriously restricting their movement is just too triggering for him. Also hates the whole ‘daddy’ kink, that shit is way too modern for him.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

He loves to receive, but he’s just as happy to give (and he’s unfairly good at it for an old man). But seriously though, he fucking loves blowjobs. 

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

He’s very rarely slow, as with his heightened speed and stamina, a turtle’s pace is just not going to cut it. Also a bit rough. Jokes, who am I kidding, James Buchanan Barnes is always up for a rough fuck, but is always hyper aware of how you’re feeling, so if slow and sensual is what you want, he’ll give it to you (but you’d have to ask). 

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

Has never prided himself in being quick, so they’re usually for your benefit rather than his, but hey, whatever gets you off. It just means he’ll be tracking you down later to finish what you started. 

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Always down to take risks, as he really doesn’t give a shit what others think of him, and if they know that he’s getting some, no harm, no foul. In fact, he’ll do his damnedest to make sure other people know he’s got you and he’s giving it to you good, whether that be unnecessarily loud sex in your room or scaring everyone out of the kitchen. 

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

Boy oh boy, has this kid got stamina. Always up for at least two rounds, and even that is underperforming for him. He will literally go until you can’t any more, and even then he’ll push you just a little bit further to make sure that neither of you are getting up for a long while. 

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

He’s from the 1940′s, of course he doesn’t have any toys of his own. And to be honest, there’s really no need for them when you’re with Bucky. Got an itch? He’ll scratch it, and then some. 

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

If teasing was a sport, he’d be world champion. He’s constantly grabbing you under tables or whispering dirty things into your ears, and always at the worst of times. Loves it when you quip back, as was said before, he doesn’t care who knows if you’re turning him on, and is not past just grabbing you and dragging you out of the room, team briefing be damned. 

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

He himself is not all that loud, but god does he talk dirty. Whispering in your ear and driving you insane with his Russian almost as much as his Brooklyn accent does.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

He’s always wanting to move, so trying to watch a movie with him without him slipping a hand into your pants 20 minutes in is near impossible, but who’s really complaining about that. 

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

He’s a goddamn super solider. You can bet he’s got a weapon of mass destruction in those pants, and no it’s not the hidden gun I’m talking about. 

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Through the fucking roof. He would never turn down an opportunity for sex, and honestly, you have no idea how he survived in the 1940′s, because wow that kid never stops. 

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Almost instantly, seeing as you’re both usually knackered and on the verge of passing out. Sometimes he’ll stay up and feel guilty if he lost himself a bit, but with your help, he’s always up for a cuddle.

#bucky barnes #a-z #bucky headcanon #bucky barns imagine

[cultho]

BNHA Characters as Drivers

I just finished watching the first 8 episodes of season 1 and my brain is already bursting with headcanons for these wacky teens. Thanks @howlarts for your help coming up with these!

Bakugou

A technically great driver. Can weave in and out of lanes like a pro, owns parallel parking. Most people don’t like catching a ride with him though because of his awful road rage. 6/10 cant carpool with unless you wanna be the metaphorical fly on the wall between a screaming Bakugou and the guy who cut in front without signalling. He was the first to get his license so the entire friend group always asked him for a ride and despite him being like ‘Fuck you what am I, your shitty servant?’ he almost always ended up being the mom and driving them.  Cue Bakugou at the wheel of a full car of rowdy teens: Bakugou is yelling at other drivers, Kirishima is yelling at Bakugou not to be rude, Sero is yelling hit or miss because he’s trying to get Kaminari to look at memes instead of yelling, and Mina is yelling with laughter at the whole thing.

Midoriya

A decent driver. Needs a little work on parking, but adheres to road rules well enough. Lets you take over the aux cord. 8/10 pretty safe to ride with.

Iida

Bastard. Religiously never goes over the speed limit. Epitome of 'better safe than sorry,' literally wont start the car until everyone is strictly buckled in (will verbally confirm with each individual that the belt has been applied). Indecently slow on turns, and takes forever to enter a main road because he waits until there’s a huge gap in oncoming traffic before driving forward. 3/10 you don’t want in the car in general because he will backseat drive and literally scream at the slightest mistake the driver makes. People only ever take him along for drinks because he defaults as designated driver.

Uraraka

Plays screamo music only, but its actually pretty good and shes gets you into it too. Often ends up giving the other heros a ride home bc shes nice like that. 9/10 super nice and you’re surprised by the good qualities of her music taste.

Aizawa

The teacher who ends up driving you and the class to the convention center 3 hours away, despite swearing multiple times that he hates both driving and teenagers. Before he gets in the car he lays down ground rules: 'Don’t be a clown. If you fart roll the window down.' and 'Stain the carpet seats and I dump your ass on the highway.' His car is cramped and stuffy and he absolutely refuses to turn on any radio/music. The windows are operated by that old-timey turnable crank. 7/10 Will literally stop the car and beat your ass if you act up but its funny to watch if its not your ass getting beat.

Mineta

Won’t stop making jokes about car sex. Also nerds about cars themselves. But like. In a desperate way because he thinks other people will find that sexy but it’s just sleazy. He nearly misses a turn distracted by a gaggle of girls on the crosswalk. -5/10 who in their right mind gave this bald grape bitch a license.

Todoroki (pre character arc)

He’s dead silent the entire car ride. You’re so nervous you nearly jump a mile in the air when he asks for an address. The voice on his Google Maps app is a man with a russian accent for some reason. You get to your location perfectly on time but are mentally scarred for it. 5/10

Allmight

Never learned how to drive.

Momo

A great driver all around. You literally feel like a nuclear bomb could go off and she’d be able to drive through it like its nothing. It’s partially due to her car being military grade for some reason. She mentions she is a usual at the NASCAR racing track. You also find out that she used to be part of a biker gang but then went rogue because of personal differences that she is stubbornly vague about. ∞ /10 a strangely spiritual experience. Everyone exits her car a changed person.

Kirishima

Drives like a madman and runs at least 3 red lights, but his rock playlist is a banger and you two end up having a really good time singing along to hits like Bohemian Rhapsody, Rocket Man, and Stressed Out. Your video of him emotionally mouthing the lyrics to a Beyonce song goes viral. 9.5/10

Thoughts I had while writing this: Logically, I know cars in Japan exist and that the legal driving age is probably similar to the one in the US, but have I ever seen superpowered anime teens drive? Do any of these adolescents actually know how to drive?

#bnha #bnha bakugou #katsuki bakugou #mha bakugou #mha #midoriya izuku #izuku #bnha izuku #mha izuku #deku midoriya #bnha deku #mha deku #fandom #headcanons #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #kirishima eijirou #bnha kirishima #mha kirishima #todoroki shouto #bnha todoroki #mha todoroki #uraraka ochako #mha uraraka #bnha aizawa #mha aizawa #aizawa shouta #all might #kaminari denki #sero hanta

[phanboyo]

Woof so close to the deadline, i can’t believe i finished it. It wasn’t supposed to be half this long, but it just kept going and going and GOING.

@skulking-around-the-phandom‘s prompt: Danny goes intangible through the ground to avoid a painful impact and discovers something very strange beneath Amity Park…

complete; 8,152 words

Danny gasped as his breath clouded in front of him and then sighed. Another ghost attack. It really wasn’t that big of a deal, nothing different from usual, and that was exactly the problem. Maybe it was a good thing that he had fallen into a routine of sorts, but the part of him that forgot all about Desiree kind of wished for something unusual to happen.

He raised his hand. “Mr. Lancer can I use the restroom?” Danny was already out of his seat before Mr. Lancer replied. He transformed in the hallway and shot up through the roof to find Technus closely examining a floating overhead projector.

Danny floated there for a moment, clearing his throat when it became obvious that Technus hadn’t seen him come.

“Oh, ghost child! What a surprise!” Technus said, completely unsurprised.

“I know that’s a piece of junk, but that doesn’t mean you can take it,” Danny said, putting up his fists.

“But if it really is junk, then I’ll take it,” Technus lit his hands up “and you take this.” Technus blasted Danny, who for once had the sense to turn intangible before hitting the ground.

Danny expected to open his eyes to dirt and complete darkness, but instead saw a large chunk of metal illuminated dimly by an old flickering light on the wall. Danny blinked and took a step towards the metal. Upon closer examination, it appeared to be some sort of door, shut tight with a crank like on a submarine or a bank vault. He shook his head.

“Technus first, weird old door later.”

Danny shot back through the earth led by his fist, and was pleasantly surprised when it hit a waiting Technus square in the jaw. “Well that was convenient,” Danny said. He blasted Technus while he was recovering from shock and quickly sucked him into the thermos. The lack of Technus’s presence caused the overhead projector to crash into the ground, smashing into a few jagged pieces. Danny stared at it.

“Not my problem,” he decided, rushing back to class before someone came over and blamed him for the theft.

Danny couldn’t focus much on class after that. He was thinking of the door underground. What could it be? A secret government facility? An ancient UFO, buried by centuries of dust? Maybe it really was a giant underground bank vault. How much money could be in there? Or gold?

He told Sam and Tucker about his discovery after class. Tucker was fond of the UFO idea but he also wouldn’t say no to a bunch of gold bricks, which, Sam reminded, was stealing. Sam thought that it was probably just a reservoir or part of Amity Park’s sewers, which made a lot more sense but also made Danny a little bit disappointed. She was probably right.

Once the final bell rang, Danny was finally able to go back down and investigate. His hopes were significantly lower after Sam’s comment, but he figured he might as well check it out anyway. It took a minute to find the door again, but before long he was back. The door had unsurprisingly remained unchanged. He approached it and put a hand against it. He felt nothing, so he put an earthquake against it. Again, nothing. The light from the old incandescent bulb on the wall was too dim to make out much, but lighting his hand with ectoplasm, Danny could see through the green light that the door was incredibly rusted. He decided that if he wanted to know what this was, he would have to go through the door. So, taking a deep breath, he stepped through.

And was met with darkness. He took another step. Still dark. He kept stepping forward until suddenly his eyes were assaulted with a light much brighter than the dim flickering bulb outside the door. He blinked and looked around. He was in a small grayish room with two large switches on either side and another, much smaller door directly across from him. Danny didn’t know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t just a small boring room.

He walked through the door on the other side into another small room, though this one had three normal-looking doors with faded labels above them. Over one of the doors Danny could make out “rec…all.” whatever text was in the middle had been too faded and scratched out. The labels above the other doors were similarly unreadable. Looking at the doors, Danny wondered for a moment if it really was an old government facility.

Using the handy-dandy “eeny meeny miny moe,” Danny walked through the door to the right.

The room was largely white and metallic. It had an examination table in the center, accompanied by a tray with surgical tools whose sharp points shining in the light made Danny shiver. In the back was a large steel box, which Danny assumed was a refrigeration unit, as well as a counter with beakers, test tubes, and a microscope among other things. There was a sink and a few glass cabinets with various chemical containers and medical supplies, and sitting in a wheeled stool at the counter was man in a white coat who appeared to be in his late forties, reading a book.

He didn’t seem to notice Danny’s presence, so Danny cleared his throat, causing a small clank from the chair as the man jumped and turned to him.

The man froze when he saw Danny and the two just sat there staring at each other for an awkwardly long time, neither moving, neither blinking.

“Hi,” Danny said finally.

The man blinked. “How did you get in here?” He asked.

Danny glanced behind him. “The door?”

“But—” the man blinked again. “You’re from the surface?” He stood slowly.

“Yeah,” Danny responded, taking a step back warily.

“Incredible,” the man said, tapping a finger on his chin. “So the exposure to radiation has caused you to glow, among other things, I’m sure.” He began to circle Danny, who was beginning to feel quite uncomfortable. “Your hair is naturally that white?”

“Um, yeah.” Danny responded. “Who are you?”

The man stopped. “Oh, where are my manners? I suppose it’s been quite a while since I met anyone new. My name is Harold Dire. And you are?”

“Danny Phantom. What did you mean by ‘exposure to radiation’?”

Harold looked somewhat shocked. “Well, er,” he scratched his head. “You know. Nuclear fallout. From the bombs dropping.”

Danny raised an eyebrow. “Bombs? Nuclear fallout? What are you talking about?” Had bombs dropped somewhere near Amity Park and Danny somehow hadn’t noticed? He was pretty sure he would notice the detonation of a nuclear bomb.

Harold looked at him with some mix of pity and distress. “You mean you don’t know?”

Danny suddenly got really really worried.

“I had expected there would be some loss of history or news with the collapse of regular society but this is beyond what I ever would have guessed.” He began pacing and put a hand to his chin again. “It’s like the whole of society has some sort of repression.” He looked back at Danny briefly. “Or perhaps the only ones who were old enough to remember have been killed. It stands to reason that… shorter lifespan… ages ago…” he began muttering.

Danny clapped his palms together. And Harold looked up suddenly as if he had forgotten that Danny was still in the room. “I’m gonna ask again. What are you talking about?”

He looked at Danny. “Right, well… you might want to sit down.”

Danny remained standing.

“Okay, well, we were attacked a little over 40 years ago, before your time.” Danny rolled his eyes. “Russia finally did it. They bombed us.” Danny blinked.

“Russia.”

“Yes, precisely. You know what Russia is?”

“Yes, I know what Russia is.” Danny shook his head. The man was obviously crazy. Maybe this was some kind on underground insane asylum, for the people to were too crazy to be locked away in regular mental hospitals. Then again, the guy was wearing a lab coat. Maybe there was some sort of patient uprising. Or maybe he really had just been down here for a few decades, afraid that the Russians were gonna get him.

“So you’ve been down here alone for how long?”

“42 years,” he said, putting a finger up. “And I’m not alone. There’s Henrietta, and Lilly, and Andy, and Eve to name a few. Oh, I should introduce you! They’d love to meet you!” He paused. “Actually they’d probably incredibly wary and distrustful of a strange person from the surface who broke into the shelter, but you’re only like, thirteen, I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“I’m fourteen actually”

“So how did you break in? Are you alone? Do your parents let you break into fallout shelters all by yourself?” Harold opened the door and left, beckoning Danny to follow.

“Um, well I just sort of found it while I was… fighting, and—”

“Fighting? Who were you fighting? Looters? Gangs? Super-powered mutant monsters? But you’re only fourteen.”

“Um, actually pretty close to the last one.” Danny ran a hand through his hair. “And I know I’m young, but someone has to protect the town. Might as well be me.”

They walked through the ‘rec… all’ door and Harold looked at Danny skeptically. He obviously thought Danny’s logic was flawed. “We will be continuing this conversation later, but for now,”

The walls of the room were a deep red color and they were walking on a grey carpet that had probably been plush and light before years of use. There was a pool table near the center of the room and a couple of chairs and a couch pushed to the walls, in one of which a woman about Harold’s age sat stitching something. There were a surprising number of bookshelves around the chairs. There was a card table, where two older folks were playing, and in the corner was a girl Danny’s age leaning over an old fashioned jukebox.

Everyone was frozen in place, staring at Danny.

“Let me introduce you.”

There’s more but i dont want Tumblr to have a seizure again so you can read the rest here on FFN or here on AO3

#I think any of Danny's ideas about what the vault was would have made better stories but I'm a sucker for fallout so here we are I guess #my writing #phic phight #fic #oc #boyo makes stuff

[jeor]

You’re a terrible fucking human being. You’re going to die alone you lesbian

[Hook: Ilich & Olympia Ivleva]Give me your money! Ay!Give me your money! Ay!Give me your money! Money!Give me your money! Ay![Verse 1: Ilich]Brany-money minimumMini-mini-mini-mini minimumSee my duffle, try my boozeShare it all, but don't abuseTinted windows, loaded gunI don't keep the change for funLa, la-la-la, la, la!Brany-money's everywhereI don't even really careChocking chicks in public bathFor my life is not a big surpriseNow I've got my own wayFor that shit I do not payLa, la-la-la, la, la![Hook: Ilich & Olympia Ivleva]Give me your money! Ay!Give me your money! Ay!Give me your money! Money!Give me your money! Ay![Verse 2: Ilich]Brany-money minimumIn my dirty pocket's endless gloomLook man I'm still rockin' outParty, party, party, party, never doubtIn the super marketTryna find wall carpetLa, la-la-la, la, la!Brany-money light my fireWhy does everybody fucking lieIf you wanna see the truthCome to me, don't be confusedOld school Russian gangsterSupermassive rave starLa, la-la-la, la, la![Verse 3: Tommy Cash, Olympia Ivleva & (Ilich)]Three stripes every dayRussian carpets all the wayI squat like SergeyKayf life, it's a partyMoney comes, money goes (money goes) – But I'll stayMoney comes, money goes (money goes) – But I'll stay (yeah)Like Twitter, I will follow youNow scroll my body, I'm like really cool[Bridge: Tommy Cash & Olympia Ivleva]Touch me, touch meTouch my body, touch my bodyTouch my body, touch my bodyTouch my body, touch my bodyI'm in your blood, I am your drugI am your wind, your stupid dogYour angry mum, your precious cumI'm best, that you ever had[Hook: Ilich & Olympia Ivleva & (Tommy Cash)]Give me your money! Ay!Give me your money! Ay!Give me your money! (your, your) Money! (your money)(Your, your, your money)Give me your money! (your, your, your money) Ay!(Your, your, your money)Give me your money (your, your, your money) (Wooh!)(Your, your, your money)Give me your money (your, your, your money) (Wooh!)(Your, your, your money) La, la-la-la, la, la!Give me your money! Money!(Your, your, your money)Give me your money (your, your, your money) (Wooh!)La, la-la-la, la, la!

#chloe.txt #Anonymous

[lolabean1998]

Avengers Fanfic - 3rd Super Soldier (Part 6)

You and Wanda were chilling and chatting in the kitchen each nursing a large mug of coffee each as you danced around the kitchen throwing together a recipe that had been bouncing around in your head since you had been so rudely awaken. Being the small person you were, you had spent most of the time climbing to reach cabinets and shelve to high up for you to reach even with a chair. You had just scrambled onto the counter by the sink and was rummaging through to unnecessarily high spice cupboard when a very grouchy Bucky strolled in, a jet black beanie pulled over his head hiding his bright pink hair.

"Don't climb the kitchen Y/N, knowing your luck you're bound to fall!" Bucky commented drily just as your foot slipped on some soapy water that had been splashed from the sink sending you crashing into him, his arms catching you just in time.

"I'm quite certain i haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about." You chirped, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing his cheek before leaping out of his arms snatching the beanie from his head as you did so. Bucky gave an irritated grumble squeezing a nervous squeak from your throat as you darted around the kitchen waving the beanie around in victory as you taunted poor Bucky. You were too busy looking over your shoulder to Bucky who was in hot pursuit, to notice Steve stepping right in front of you until it was too late. You crashed into Steve rock hard abs, stumbling back a bit as you tried to regain your balance but falling into Bucky's arms before you had time to adjust.

"Ah shit!" You huffed blowing a strand of hair from you face and slumping completely, into Buckys arms, grinning innocently up at him as he glared down at you an unamused eyebrow raised as he shook is head tutting at you.

"Oh shit is right you little punk! What do you call this?" He questioned sternly pointing to hot, pink mess on his head.

"Hair?" You asked more than answered, your voice high as the adrenaline from being caught hit the pit of your stomach and began shooting up your spine.

"Strike one" Bucky counted lifting you up and placing you on a nearby stool. Judging by the way he had plonked you down and the stern expressions on his and Steves faces you figured this was temporarily known as the 'Naughty Chair'.

"In desperate need of a trim?" You couldn't help it, the words left your lips before you had a chance to stop them. Nice one dick head, Poke the bear why don't you! You cussed yourself internally, whilst maintaining your exterior facade of innocence.

"Strike two" Bucky continued, his voice raising a little. This was it, you knew if you continued down the path you were on your ass would be toast, but still your mouth continued on without you.

"Too much conditioner?" You quipped, letting out an internal scream as your words betrayed you. We're fucked! Bucky turned to the drawer behind him, turning back a ew seconds later to reveal a large pair of silver scissors in his hand. Steve grabbed the end of your pony tail before you had a chance to bolt, holding it out ready for Bucky to cut it. "Ok, Ok I'll behave just please put the scissors away." You begged, eyeballing the scissors warily, you were to attached to your hair to allow anything to happen to it. Bucky slowly lowered this scissors, signalling for you to continue. "I wanted to see if it would work and I knew you were the only one strong enough to handle the colour. If i targeted anyone else they would feel as though their masculinity was being challenged, you're the only one man enough to pull this off." You lied confidently, your raser sharp tongue working quickly to undo the damage it had done, your plan was going smoothly until Nat walked in, Bucky was about to put the scissors away, Steve had released your hair and then BOOM Nat arrives.

"Well if it isn't Pinky and The Brain!" Her comment sending you into raging hysterics swiftly joined by Wanda who had been caught off guard, spitting her mouthful of coffee everywhere including all over Bucky. He was not having a good day. RUN! Your brain screamed to your limbs as the mildly annoyed frown on Buckys face contorted into an all out angry scowl. You shot past Nat, diving over the sofas as you made a B line for the glass doors leading into the hallway. Your fingers gripping the hinges of the door as you swung yourself round sprinting up the Hall way like your life depended on it, because at this very moment in time, it did. Your feet pounding against the light grey carpet as you bolted blindly away from the furious super soldier behind you. You hadn't realised where you were heading until you crashed through the doors to the training field outside, Fuck it we can do this! You confirmed to yourself determinedly. Without thinking your body leapt into the air as you jumped towards the 10 foot tall brick wall, the only way for you to survive this was on the other side of that wall. Bucky was only seconds behind you as your body soared through the air, you had made it just over half way up, the rest you had to climb and pray. Digging your claws into the grey concrete bricks, you clawed your way up, landing on all fours once you miraculously made it over. Your tail flicking with pride as you bolted towards the trail leading towards the city, you'd lose him there. Just has you reached the busy streets filled with buzzing crowds and skyscrapers it dawned on you. When the FUCK did i get a tail?! You looked down to your feet as you made your way leisurely through the crowds, gulping hard when you noticed great big black, cat like paws where you feet should be. Now I'm sure they weren't there this morning. You thought to yourself frowning at your new retractable claws.

"Hey Steve, you need to see this!" Bucky stammered into his phone as he caught sight of you staring at your refection in a nearby shop window, his voice hit you like a tsunami. You flew into action, tearing up the hard pavement with each stride of your new giant pantha form. You caught sight of a busy market ahead, knowing that you would lose him in the crowds if you played pet and walked along side strangers as if they were your owners. Maybe I'll get a belly rub or a treat! You couldn't help but make jokes about your situation. Sticking to the side of a very rich looking man, you blended into the crowd to your surprise.

"Steve just messaged, sounds like the newbie is causing trouble again." The man you were trailing told the red head beside him. Thats why he looks familiar! Its Banner! You figured before the realisation set in FUCK ITS BANNER! LEG IT! Without a moments hesitation you launched into action, hooking the wallet that was poking out of his pocket with a sharp fang before charging through the now screaming crowds. "Barnes, what the hell just happened?" Banner questioned in the distance. Oh fuck me, now I'm going to have the whole team on my ass! You grumbled, you weren't ready for them to see you like this, you felt like a freak. How were they going to accept you now? They were only just getting used to you as it was. You had already started off being the freak that couldn't remember anything, the freak that had night terrors and sleep walked, the one who had had an odd connection with people you had only just met. If the saw you like this it would only up the level of freak, how were they supposed to accept you then?  You stupid bitch, god damn it!  You'd taken a wrong turn and were met with a dead end, the sound of foot steps behind you told you just how screwed you were.

"I'm not mad, I just want to talk!" Bucky lied, his voice was calm and steady but something deep inside you knew he was lying, perhaps it was the forced calm in his eyes. You had only known Bucky for a few days and though he always came across as calm and collected, his eyes were always filled with anger and sorrow. So for them to suddenly be calm something had to be a foot. He inched his way closer as Steve and Banner edged their way round the corner. Great, Maximum effort it is! You huffed shifting all your weight onto your back legs moving into position ready to pounce, You leapt into the air hurtling towards Bucky, claws out and fangs showing ready to strike upon landing but he saw you coming. He stepped a side wrapping his metal arm snugly around your rib cage before bringing you crashing to the ground. Your hissed and snarled making savage swipes at the air as Banner and Steve dove to your sides assisting Bucky in holding you down. Savage miaowing growls echoed from your throat as you tried to beg and plead for your release but it was no use. Steve was wrapping heavy metal chain around your stomach and neck whilst Bucky wrapped his belt around your muzzle making sure it was secure and that you couldn't get it off. Your heart began racing and you felt as if your world was about to implode your snarls and growls become erratic as your breaths became few and far to breath. Your head began to spin and you felt as if you'd forgotten how to breath. Flashes and Glimpses of a past you couldn't remember began replacing your vision. Metal chains dug into your legs and throat, barbed wire wrapped around your tail and rapidly rising water. Voices in the background shouting commands in Russian 'Escape or Die, Escape or Die' the words repeating over and over again as you tried to force a change. The only way out was up and the only way up was in human form.

"Hey, Hey it's ok, you're ok! It's Bucky!" His warm voice rang in your ears like a beacon. Suddenly the icy water that you were drowning in, vanished a warm, reassuring hand in its place. "Easy doll, we just need to get you back home without injury. The restraints are to protect you, we don't know how you're going to react in the jet." His voice took over, chasing away the horrible visions and spine chilling voices. You blinked you're big Y/E/C eyes a couple of times before they came into focus, suddenly your blurry vision had gone completely and you were staring into the worried, blue eye's that could only belong to Bucky.

"Hey Buck, how do you know it's her and not some escaped animal from the zoo?" Nat asked, once you were on the quinjet, her eye's twinkling with a mysterious sense of mischief.

"You mean besides the fact that i saw her change in mid air? Her eye's, her eye's stayed the same." Buck admitted his flesh arm resting on your furry back and your head resting on his leg. "and any way, she's the only one dumb enough to pick pocket the Hulk." He chuckled raising his eyebrows at the low growl you sent his way. It didn't took less than five minutes for you to arrive back at the compound, Bucky untied the chains around your rib cage attaching them the the chain around your neck before walking you to a holding cell. The minute you saw all the people that had gathered around to see you, your body froze and fear took over. Without warning, you leapt at the crowd giving an almighty roar, snapping the thick leather belt that was around your muzzle as the animal instinct took control. Steve and Nat shoved people out of your way as you began charging at any one that looked at you, your longs fangs exposed with your vicious snarls and roars whilst Bucky struggled to keep a grip on the chain secured around your throat.

After several minutes of screaming, snarling and struggling the crowd of people had disappeared and Bucky had finally managed to regain control with the help of Steve and Nat. The trio walked you cautiously to the cell designated for and overly angry Hulk, releasing you once inside and slamming the door behind you before you could escape. You paced the length of the room before the animal instinct inside you subsided handing the controls back over to you. You lay down in the far corner of the room after several failed attempts at changing back. Maybe I'm just too tired?  You thought resting your head on your paws and closing your eyes. You fell asleep almost immediately unaware of the commotion going on outside.

Masterlist

#Bucky Barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes soulmate au #bucky barnes x you #bucky #sebastian stan #sebastian stan fanfiction #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fandom #Steve Rogers #captain america #the winter solider fanfiction #the winter solider x reader #Avengers #Black Widow #wanda maximoff #vision #sam wilson #Iron Man #tony stark

[auxilium00755]

Late Night Chat

Late Night Chat Newt had been reading the “A tale of two cites” on his black leather chair while in his casual black t-shirt and sweat pants when he got a text on his iPhone. He sat the book down Newt looked at his phone and saw the message was from friend Adam. Adam had sent a text asking Newt if he could talk to him tonight. The request it self wasn’t out of the ordinary as the two did regularly have late night chats. He texted Adam ‘sure, just knock on the door when you get here.’ Not two-seconds passed that a knock was heard causing Newt to drop his book in fright. Grumbling to himself about how he needs to pick better friends he walked over to the door and opened it slightly to check if it was Adam. Sure enough it was him, though why he was at Newt’s apartment and not the hospital was a mystery. Adam was wearing plain dark blue jeans and a yellow t-shirt and his dark hair was more of a mess than normal. Rather being it’s light brown color Adam’s face was more purple and red. He had a left black and his lips were all cut up and leaking blood by the cups, his right cheek faired no better as it had swollen into a fleshy purple ballon. “Are you going to let me in or are you gonna just stand there staring?” chuckled Adam. “What in the world happened to you? I thought you couldn’t be hurt?” Newt inquired as he opened the door for him. “I might have gotten carried away a bit with my hero hobbit thing?” Adam said though haggard breaths. “You have super: strength, speed, healing, and are able to breath both atomic fire and ice. So how in the world can you still get hurt?” Newt questioned while he all but carried Adam over to his couch. “Well having super powers doesn’t mean I free from getting hurt it just takes a bit more to do it is all,” he said as he laid his back on the couch to ease his aching body. Walking over to the sink to pour Adam some water Newt replied with “I guess that makes sense.” Grinning a bit Adam answered, “Yep and for this week’s addition of wacky stunts of mine I caught a train. You know, that train that almost fell into the street earlier this week.” Struggling to grasp what Adam had just said Newt inquired for both clarification and his sanity “I’m sorry did you say you caught the train that almost fell into the street this week?” Adam tilted his head toward the ceiling causing his neck to pop disturbingly loud. “Succeeded and paid for it,” he said as he lifted his bandaged hands. Stumbling a bit at the absurdity, Newt had to take a moment to take in the situation he was in. Here he was giving water to someone who earlier this week had stoped a train with his bare hands. Despite being a vampier himself and having met some rather unique beings Adam was by far the strangest person he has so far met. Which he supposed wasn’t entirely a bad thing as being friends with Adam has kept his life supplied with excitement. Handing Adam his water Newt chuckled “You know even after a year of being friends ,you still find ways to surprise me.” After taking a sip from his cup Adam gave Newt smirk of a smile “Well that’s interesting for you to say. Seeing how you were the one who said he did’t want to be friends with an idiotic lunatic.” “Heh, yeah guess I jumped the gun on my judgment on that one,” Newt said looking down at the carpet in shame. He was not in the best of places when he had met Adam. Newt had been recently kicked out of a prestigious magical university for being in position of illegal dark artifacts. He knew someone had planted them in his dorm room, but without suspects to name it was the words of a vampire versus the evidence of the crime. Only a few days had passed after his departure from the university when Newt decided one night to take a walk around the New York streets. He was hoping a long walk would clear his mind of his troublesome situation. Coincidently during his walk through streets of New York a certain would be hero would just so happen to be thrown at him through the window of a store. “To before fair, you did break my arm on the night we met, “ Newt stated as sat back on his couch. “Really Newt? For the millionth time, that was not fault. I was just trying to buy some milk when some thugs busted in wanting to rob it. The whole getting thrown through a window was not something I planed on doing that night,” a slightly annoyed Adam shot back. Smirking Newt carried on “And I suppose you replacing one of my blood bags with hot sauce was also not your doing?” With a deer caught in the head lights look plastered over his face Adam nervously laughed “Um, I was dared?” Raising his right eye brow Newt asked “Dared by whom?” “Um, my conscious?” Adam answered as he scratched his head in embarrassment. Rolling his silver eyes in amusement Newt said to him “Your conscious huh? Some hero you are.” Sighing deeply Adam replied with “Heh, yeah I guess I am a sorry excuse for a hero.” Worried his words may have packed more of a sting than he intended them to, Newt attempted to rectify this “Look I didn’t mean that, I was just messing with you dude.” Adam gingerly sat up to look at his friend in his silver eyes with his one working eye he said “No, that actually brings me to I am here. I came here to let you know you were right this hero business is best left to folks who know what they are doing. So I’m gonna quit being a hero.” ’I must be low on blood or something cause I think just heard Adam say he quits,’ Newt thought to himself as he processed the words that came out of Adam’s mouth. The same Adam who a had jumped into a burning building to save a family of goblins. The same Adam who stoped a mob of alien haters from lynching a newly arrived group of extraterrestrial refuges by freezing all their feet to the street. This was the same Adam ,who did all those things and more, who just said he was quitting. “I’m sorry could you run that by me again? Did you say you quit?” Newt asked bewildered by the notion Adam was even thinking about quitting. Adam gazed down on the carpet as though he was looking for the answer to the question. Without looking up Adam somberly answered “I said I quit. You were right, this hero gig wasn’t meant for me.” Newt recalled the day dumped all over Adam’s hero plan. It had been a few weeks of being friends that Adam explained to Newt about his plans to bring hope to the world they lived in by becoming a superhero. Though Newt had barely knew him at the time the thought of Adam throwing his life away for something so foolish was something he could not accept. Despite the many protests of both their fiends and himself Adam began his heroic mission of bring hoping back into the world. “It’s been almost a year since you started this hero thing and you pick now to actually think this through?” Newt asked flabbergasted by Adam’s declaration. “Look I’m not proud of it either but honestly what choice do I have? I mean just look at me, does this really look like the type of hero who can make the world a better place?” he said while he gestured toward his broken body. Fighting the urge punch his good eye Newt said through gritted teeth “You chose to be a hero, to give the people something to believe in. But now when the going gets tough you are just going give up and leave everyone hanging?” “Why are you getting so upset? I thought you hated this hero thing anyway?” asked a puzzled Adam. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, “Yeah I did hate it. I hated because I thought it was going to get you killed but now…”Newt couldn’t bring himself to finish his thoughts. “But?” Adam sarcastically asked. Hearing the audited in his tone Newt fired back, “You are such a selfish jerk you know that?” As quickly as his injured body would allow him Adam got off the couch and headed toward. He didn’t care if the journey back to his own apartment would kill him. Far as Adam was concerned, death was more appealing to him than listing to Newt berate him for things he didn’t even understand. Newt hoped up to his feet to stand in between Adam and the door, “Where do you think you are going?” Letting a tired sigh escape Adam replied “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m leaving to go home.” “Not before you promise not to quite,” Newt demanded as he spread his arms and legs further to block Adam from the door. “Newt as a friend I feel I should let you know you are dangerously close to being chucked across your own apartment. Now get out of the way,” growled Adam. Newt simply glared at Adam in response. He was fully aware that he would have better luck at stopping a rhino than stopping Adam. Though he couldn’t actually stop Adam from leaving he still had to try, no matter what. Running his bandaged left hand through his black messy hear Adam said “Alright have it your way.” Adam snatched Newt’s shirt and prepared to make due on his threat until Newt cried out “Wait a minute, wait a minute, at least tell me why you are quitting. Don’t I get that much?” Adam took a moment to consider this then he asked “Do you really want to know?” “Yeah, I do,” Newt demanded. Shaking his head, “Ok, let’s go sit down first.” “Alright,” Newt said, letting his arms relax. They walked back to their respective seats in uneasy silence. Newt took a quick glance at Adam’s face, the weary look of his eyes betrayed the youthful vigor that Adam would normally give off. Whatever had transpired this week seems to have allowed Adam’s true age to catch up to him. Taking a few moments to collect his thoughts Adam began “I was chasing a group of Russian mobsters who had stolen a cache of military grad weapons. One those nut jobs noticed a nearby rail way bridge and fired. Lady Luck must have been peeved with me because not a second later a train was heard coming from a few blocks away. I broke away from the chase to keep the train from crashing…” Adam had stopped abruptly as though he had hit a wall in his story. Speaking softly so as to not provoke him Newt asked “What happened next?” With his one working eye, Adam stared Newt eye to watery eye “Well I stopped it but.” Taking in huge gasps of breath Adam had to fought the urge to breakdown then and there “But the sudden stop of the train injured a lot of the folks on board.” Streams of tears poured down from Adam’s eyes and through unending sniffles Adam carried on “One of them was a kid barely seven years old, he fell on his neck. After the doctors did what they could the parents were told he would be paralyzed from the down.” At a loss for words, Newt could only watch as Adam finally let himself break. Wanting to relieve Adam of some of his internal anguish Newt sat next to him and placed his arm around him. Whether Adam was aware of his actions or not it wasn’t clear as he continued to cry. Newt just rubbed his back all the while searching for the words that could bring his friend back. Minutes seemed to stretch into hours as Adams sobs carried. Though fatigue was setting in Newt was in no rush to sleep, not while his friend was in pain. He continued to rub Adam’s back until he remembered something special he had tucked away in his closet. Though the occasion he was originally supposed to present it was not for another three months, desperate times do call for desperate measures. Standing up gently Newt sneaked his way to his bedroom to fetch said item. Adam’s sobs had barley began to reside when Newt returned and presented him with a large black box wrapped in gold ribbons. Whipping away the tears, he looked up at Newt for an explanation. “It’s supposed to be a birthday present, but I figured now seemed like a pretty good time to do it,” Newt nervously laughed as he scratched his head. Giving him a puzzled look Adam returned his gaze to the box. He then took the box into his trembling hands and opened it. What resided in the box was hundreds of numbers of papers. “Those papers are from people who have been helped by you. From kids whose pets you helped find to cops whose lives you saved. They had written their thanks on a website dedicated to you as a way to say thank you. I just printed them out,” Newt explained. Astonished by what he was holding, Adam couldn’t help but notice the box was still too heavy to only have paper in it. “Um what else is in it? I mean the letters are great but it feels like something else is in here?” “That would be your suit,” Newt chuckled as he padded the top of Adam’s head. Confused at what he meant Adam stuttered “My suit?” “Yeah, we figured it would help you out a bit if you had something that wouldn’t get shredded when you do your hero stuff. So our friends and pulled a few strings and got the materials to make a suit for you.” With tears swelling up again Adam could only choke out one word “Why?” Sighing, Newt asked Adam “First off do you know why I ended up taking up your offer of being friends?” Adam looked as though he was searching for the answer in Newt’s eyes. After a few minutes passed ended he up conceding and shaking his head. Adam well and truly did not know why Newt became his friend. Kneeling down in front him Newt gently pulled Adam into a hug then softly spoke “Its because you were the first person in a long time to see me as a person and not just another vampire out for blood. Do you still want to know why I don’t want to see you stop being hero?” Fighting another breakdown form erupting Adam answered “Yes, please.” Holding Adam tighter Newt replied “Its because you give that same kindness to all the people you help. You don’t see any of the vast types of mythical or extraterrestrial people as anything less than people. In a world that likes to keep separated by how they look or how they were born, that type of kindness is a miracle. Its a miracle all of us: your friends, the people you’ve helped, and I want to support.” Streams of tears were pouring down from Adam’s eyes as he meekly said “Thank you.” Ruffling Adam’s hair a bit as he stood up Newt studied him for a bit. “Now I’m gonna go get some junk food for us to pig out on. Will you be fine while I’m gone?” he asked a bit worried his friend might do something drastic. Gazing into Newt’s silver eyes, Adam gave a wide toothy grin that partly restored his lost vigor “Yeah I’ll be ok and thanks again for everything.” Newt replied with a grin “Hey what are friends for?”