#not that my artwork is good enough to be stolen but i sure as shit dont feel encouraged to post any of it now!!!!

[mauesartetc]

PSA regarding character design asks

For those of you who are new here, if you take a look at the "character design" tag in this blog's archive, you'll notice I post a fair bit about the subject, sometimes helping others improve their own designs. I love getting these kinds of asks, as working out design kinks is a fun challenge for me (despite urgent life shit delaying my response times. Folks who've sent me design asks in the past few months: They're in my drafts and I thank you for your patience).

But recently I received an ask that displayed some rather disappointing behavior, and I thought I'd take this opportunity to nip it in the bud. This isn't a callout post, and I'm not trying to sic the shame squad on this person. I just want to stress to all of you that this isn't okay.

The ask included an image of a character they drew and some brief paragraphs of background information. Typical fare for this kind of ask. Everything was fine until the last two sentences.

I have to confess that I shamelessly stole the [clothing article] from [someone else's character design]. But since [worldbuilding info related to a real-life thing the other person's design was based on], it made perfect sense.

I looked up the original design they were referring to, and sure enough, they had traced so much of it that half of their design wasn't really theirs. Because it "made perfect sense."

I'm going to say this in the most civil way I possibly can.

ANYTHING. Would have made more sense. Than art theft.

"But Maue, it's just part of a design, not the whole thing". Doesn't matter. Theft is theft. And I want to make it clear to everyone reading this that if you think it's in any way acceptable to rip off another character designer, my posts haven't taught you a damn thing. Frankly I'm a bit insulted that this person assumed I'd be complicit in this.

For the record, professional designers do NOT steal from others, or at least the good ones don't. They might be inspired by an existing design, but, importantly, they'll use other inspirations too, and put their own unique spin on it. It's just a starting point, not the final product.

They say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, but this ain't just imitation; it's the equivalent of copying another kid's homework in school. This is cheating. I've had one of my own characters shamelessly ripped off before, and there was nothing flattering about it. It just made me feel used, like a parasite had sucked me dry. I never want anyone else to feel that way, and I hope to God none of y'all do either.

Folks, if you want to design your own characters, do the research and actually design your own characters. It's really not that hard. Sure, the first attempts might look terrible, but at least they'll come by their shittiness honestly. Ugly art that tried has infinitely more charm than gorgeous art that didn't.

I'm sorry if this comes off as harsh, but I take this shit seriously. So please don't send me asks containing stolen artwork. I won't respond and you'll earn yourself a block. Fair warning.

Don't get lazy. You know better, so do better.

Thanks.

#psa #character design #asks #art theft

[incensuous]

im gonna have a fucking stroke im so tired of people just reposting other people’s art and/or fics as if this is ok???? even the naive ones who repost and then “credit” the artist

it doesn’t mean shit if the artist themselves has said “REPOSTING PROHIBITED” and you’re reuploading their work without permission

even if you’re not claiming it as yours, it’s stealing if you didn’t ask for permission???? the BIGGEST offenders are the idiots who learned to use pixiv just enough to search for fanart of their ships and then they repost it elsewhere. why???? why are you doing that??? don’t you want to support these amazing artists? don’t you want them to feel encouraged and loved?? imagine how you’d feel if you spent hours working on something, wanting to share it, thinking people would interact with your hard work respectfully... and then someone who doesnt speak your language decides “well i’ll just ignore the rules they posted clearly on their profile” and then posts it without your consent or knowledge to a diff website?????? imagine someone just *right click* *saves image* *types tumblr dot com* *uploads image* to try and get some fucking attention off the hours you put in for that piece

#if u see me reblog reposted shit #feel free to let me know #it happens SO OFTEN #SO OFTEN!!!! #PEOPLE HAVE NO BRAINS AND IT DRIVES ME INSANE #not that my artwork is good enough to be stolen but i sure as shit dont feel encouraged to post any of it now!!!! #why am i so pressed abt this? bc i just imagine how that would make me feel #i'd feel LIVID. i'd feel honestly discouraged #i've seen ppl just say theyre not gonna post their stuff anymore #is that what u want u IMBECILES #to DISCOURAGE PEOPLE FROM MAKING THE FREE FANART AND FANCONTENT WE ARE DESPERATE FOR??? #i hate being so preachy i really do but i fucking hate idiots #incensuous personal #idk... just ignore me... im ranting bc im so angry

[that-spider-witch]

On “Dead” Cultures and Closed Spiritual Practices: Why Colonialism Is Still A Problem.

Let me start this by saying that, as far as my knowledge of Paganism and Polytheism as a whole goes, I’m what the internet witch community calls a “Baby Witch”. I’m stating this out of the gate because I know there will be lots of people, including witches who have more experience on the craft than me, who might decide to ignore what I have to say based on that fact alone, stating that I’m not knowledgeable enough to give my opinion about this.

Here’s the kicker: I’m a ‘baby witch’, yes, but I’m also a twenty-six year old Venezuelan woman. I’m an adult. I’m Latina. I’m a Christian-raised Pagan,but I’m also a Latinoamerican woman over all other things including that. I grew up on this culture, these are my roots. It is because of this background than I’m writing this post today.

Looking through the “Paganism” and “Witchcraft” tags of this website, I’ve seen a few posts throwing indigenous deities and spirits’ names around on lists alongside deties of open cultures. Yes, you can know better by doing your own research and not going by what just a random Tumblr user wrote on one post (as I hope its the case with everyone on this website), but the fact that pagan beginners are still getting fed misinformation is still worrisome to me.

There’s nothing like reading a so-called expert putting Ixchen (Maya), Xolotl (Nahuatl) and Papa Legba (Vodou) on the same damn list as Norse, Hellenic and Kemetic deities and tagging it on the tags aimed at beginners who might not know better to truly ruin your morning. I’m not mentioning user names here: If you know then you know.

To quote @the-illuminated-witch on her very good post about Cultural Appropriation: 

“Cultural appropriation is a huge issue in modern witchcraft. When you have witches using white sage to “smudge” their altars, doing meditations to balance their chakras, and calling on Santa Muerte in spells, all without making any effort to understand the cultural roots of those practices, you have a serious problem.

When trying to understand cultural appropriation in witchcraft, it’s important to understand the difference between open and closed magic systems. An open system is one that is open to exchange with outsiders — both sharing ideas/practices and taking in new ones. In terms of religion, spirituality, and witchcraft, a completely open system has no restrictions on who can practice its teachings. A closed system is one that is isolated from outside influences — usually, there is some kind of restriction on who can practice within these systems.”

A counter-argument I’ve seen towards this when someone wants to appropiate indigenous deities and spirits is to use the “dead culture” argument: Extinct cultures are more eligible for use by modern people of all stirpes. It is a dead culture and dead religion. It would be one thing if some part of the culture or religion was still alive, being used by modern descendants, but the culture died out in its entirety and was replaced, right? They were all killed by colonization, they are ancient history now, right?

Example: “If white people are worshipping Egyptian deities now, then why can’t I worship [Insert Aborigen Deity Here]?”

To which I have two things to say:

Ancient Egypt’s culture was open and imperialistic, meaning they wanted their religion to be spread. This is why Kemetism is not Cultural Appropriation, despite what some misinformed people might tell you. Similar arguments can also be made for the Hellenic and the Norse branches of Paganism, both practiced by people who aren’t Greek/Norse.

Who are you to say which cultures are “dead” and which are not?

Religious practices such as Vodou and Santería certainly aren’t dead, not that it keeps some Tumblr users from adding Erzuli as a “goddess” on their Baby Witch post, something that actual Vodou practitioners have warned against.

Indigenous cultures such as the Maya and the Mapuche aren’t dead, despite what the goverment of their countries might tell you. The Mapuche in particular have a rich culture and not one, but two witchcraft branches (The Machi and the Kalku/Calcu). Both are closed pagan practices that the local Catholic Church has continuously failed to assimilate and erase, though sadly not for lack of trying:

“The missionaries who followed the Spanish conquistadors to America incorrectly interpreted the Mapuche beliefs regarding both wekufes and gualichos. They used the word wekufe as a synonym for ideas of the devil, demons, and other evil or diabolical forces. This has caused misunderstanding of the original symbolism and has changed the idea of wekufe right up to the present day, even amongst the Mapuche people.”

For context, the Wefuke are the Calcu’s equivalent of the Familiar, as well as reportedly having more in common with the Fae than with demons anyway.

This and other indigenous religions are Closed because it is wrong for foreigners to just come and take elements from marginalized groups whom are still fighting to survive and that they weren’t born into. To just approppiate those things would be like spitting in their faces, treating them and their culture like a commodity, a shiny thing, a unique thing to be used like paint to spruce up your life or be special.

I know some of you are allergic to the word “Privilege”, but on this situation there really ain’t a better word to explain it. You weren’t born here, you don’t know what it is like, you are only able to see the struggle from an outsider’s point of view.

If a belief or practice is part of a closed system, outsiders should not take part in it. And with how many practices there are out there which are open for people of all races, there is really no excuse for you to do it.

Why Colonization Is Not “Ancient History”

If you have kept reading all this so far, you are probably wondering “Ok, but what does Colonization has to do with any of this?”

The answer? Everything.

With the general context of culture appropriation out of the way, let me tell you about why the whole “dead culture” argument rubs me the wrong way: Here in Venezuela, we have a goddess called Santa Maria de la Onza, or Maria Lionza for short, whom’s idol statue I have been using to illustrate this little rant. If you happen to know any Spanish, you might recognize the name as a derivative of Santa Maria, aka the Virgin Mary, and you are mostly correct: Her true indigenous name is theorized to have been Yara.

And I say “theorized” because it is a subject of hot debate whether she was really ever called that or not: Her original name, the name by which she was adored and worshipped by our ancestors, might have been forever lost to history.

That’s the legacy of colonization for you: Our cultures were stolen from us, and what they couldn’t erase they instead tried to assimilate. Our ancestors were enslaved, their lands and homes stolen, their artwork and literary works destroyed: The Maya and the Aztec Empire were rich in written works of all kinds, ranging from poetry to history records to medicine, and the Spaniards burned 99% of it, on what is probably one of the most tragic examples of book burning in history and one that people rarely ever talk about. 

People couldn’t even worship their own gods or pass their knowledge of them to their children. That’s why Maria Lionza has such a Spanish Catholic-sounding name, and that’s why we can’t even be sure if Yara was her name or not: The Conquistadors couldn’t steal our goddess from us, so they stole her name instead. Catholics really have a thing with trying to assimilate indigenous goddesses with the Virgin Mary, as they tried to do the same with the Pachamama.

On witchy terms, I’d define Maria Lionza as both a deity and a land spirit: Most internet pages explaining her mention the Sorte mountain as her holy place, but it is more along the lines that she is the mountain. 

You’d think that, with Venezuela and other Latinoamerican countries no longer being colonies, we’d be able to worship our own deities including her, right?

As far as a lot of Catholics seem to think and act, apparently we are not.

The Catholics here like to go out of their way to shame us, to call us “cultists”, to ostracize us, with a general call to “refrain from those pagan beliefs” because they go against the Catholic principles. Yes, the goddess with the Catholic-sounding name, a name she happens to share with a Catholic deity, apparently goes “against Catholic principles”. You really can’t make this shit up. (Linked article is in Spanish)

This is just an act of colonization out of many, of not wanting to stop until the culture they want to destroy is gone. Don’t believe for a second that this is really their God’s will or anything like that, they are just trying to finish what years of enslavement and murder couldn’t. They might not be actively killing us anymore, but they still want us dead.

So no, colonization is not some thing that has long passed and now only exist on history textbooks: It is still happening to this day. It is by treating it as old history that they can keep doing it, and it is by pushing the narrative that our indigenous cultures are “dead cultures” that they try to erase our heritage.

Because we are not dead. We are still here, we are alive, we have survived and we’ll keep on surviving, and our gods and goddesses are not yours to take.

¡Chao! 🐈

#pagan #paganism #religion #culture #latino #latinoamerica #colonization #witch #baby witch #witchcraft #witchblr #Maria Lionza #colonialism #venezuela #brujeria #polytheism #witchcore #mapuche #vodou #nahuatl #history #cultural appropiation

[tricksters-captain]

Bucky Barnes Imagines - Some Sunny Day Part 3

Summary: Before the Blip, you and Bucky were close. After you both returning and Tony’s funeral, you decided to go back to your home town to spend time with your family. When duty calls, you return.  

In this chapter: After finding Sharon in Madripoor, you learn about the creator of the soldier serum (Based on S1 EP3)

(PART 1) (PART 2)

Pairing(s): Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader, Sam Wilson x Platonic!Reader

Word Count: 3,457

Warnings: Spoilers for episode 3, violence, strong language.

Once you arrived at Sharon’s you were itching to get out of the costume Zemo cooked up for you. 

“Looks like breaking all those laws is treating you well.” Sam gawked at Sharon’s place which was full of art work and collectables. 

“I thought if I had to hustle, might as well enjoy the life of a real hustler. You know how much I’ll get for a real Monet?” Sharon shrugged as she lead you through her gallery. 

“Easy...Deactivate your hustle mode. You sell fake Monets.” Sam didn’t believe her as he stared at the artwork. 

“No. She means real. This gallery is specialized in stolen artwork. Monet. Van Gogh. Classics.” Zemo defended Sharon as he followed her.

“It’s true. You know, half the artwork in museums like the Louvre is fake. Real stuff sits in places like this.” Bucky informed Sam. 

“Okay, guys, I see what you’re doing. You’re more worldly than good old Sam.” Sam pulled out his phone and started searching a nearby paining. 

“Yeah. What’s Google say?” Bucky teased him for it. 

“No shit.” Sam muttered as the realisation hit him. 

“You guys need to change. I’m hosting clients in an hour.” Sharon beckoned you along to which you were silently thankful for. 

Sharon was kind enough to let you look through her vast collection of clothes until you picked out something you liked. 

“Hey... You okay?” You asked softly. 

You and Bucky were alone with your backs to each other as you changed in one of Sharon’s many rooms.

“I’m fine.” Bucky replied quietly. 

You knew he wouldn’t be fine after having to act like the winter soldier again. You watched him at that bar. He didn’t hold back when he attacked those men. 

“Buck, you know you can’t lie to me.” You tried to keep it light but Bucky wasn’t having it. 

“I’m not.” 

You didn’t push.

“Hey, will you zip me up?” You asked after stepping into your dress. You didn’t turn but you could hear Bucky’s footsteps as he approached you. 

You felt the cold of his fingers brush against your back as he slowly zipped up the dress. 

You turned when the zip reached the top. 

“Thanks.” You whispered. 

Bucky’s eyes were burning through you as he admired your choice of dress. 

“You look beautiful.” Bucky murmured, his eyes taking in every detail. 

“You scrub up quite nicely yourself.” You smiled as you admired Bucky in the suit Sharon had given him. You couldn’t deny the butterflies in your stomach as you thought about a possible normal circumstance Bucky could wear something like this. Like a date. 

“Come on.” Bucky took your hand and lead you to the door that would take you back to the others. 

“It’s alright. I’m gonna sort my hair out. Running through Low-town didn’t exactly do it any favours.” You retracted your hand and returned to the mirror. Bucky hesitated didn’t question you. 

“What’s going on with you and Bucky?” Sharon’s voice filled the room as you  heard the door open again. “Thought the two of you’d be together by now.”

“We’re coworkers. We’ve always been coworkers.” You were wary of Sharon’s new found attitude.

“Oh please. You two have wanted to jump each others bones the whole time I've known you.” Sharon rolled her eyes at you as she slump down on the love seat beside you.

You remained silent as you brushed through your hair. 

“Oh come on.” Sharon rolled her eyes. “You two have never?” 

“No.” You said almost too quickly. 

“Well it’s only a matter of time. I don’t know why you are dragging it out so long.” Sharon sighed dramatically as she picked at the fabric on the settee. 

“I don’t know why everyone is so invested in mine and Bucky’s relationship.” You spun around to face her. “You. Sam. Steve. You all poke and prod but you don’t take into consideration all the factors.”

“No you don’t take into consideration that there’s only so much time before one day you’re shot or killed or you have to go on the run and never see him again. You need to grow some balls, (y/n).” Sharon didn't bother sticking around after that. 

You groaned and closed your eyes. 

When you finally decided to rejoin the group, they were discussing Sharon’s status in Madripoor.

“What’s going on, Sharon? You don’t ever wanna come back home?” Sam asked as he put on a shirt. 

“They’ll lock me up if I step foot back in the States. Madripoor doesn’t allow extradition.” Sharon replied pretty matter-of-factly as she walked over to her desk. 

“Look, I’m sorry I didn’t call, but after the Blip and the chaos, I just––” Sharon cut Sam off before he could explain himself. 

“––Look, you know the whole hero thing is a joke, right? The way you gave up that shield, deep down, you must know it’s all hypocrisy. 

“He knows. And not so deep down.” Zemo felt the need to jump in. 

“By the way, how is the new Cap?” Sharon asked.

“Don’t get me started.”Bucky grumbled.

“Please. You buy into all that stars and stripes bullshit. Before you were his pet psychopath, you were Mr. America! Cap’s best friend.” Sharon smirked as she sat down beside Bucky.

“Wow. She’s kind of awful now.” Bucky said as he looked over at you.

“Karli Morgenthau and at least seven others have taken the serum.” You took the initiative to change the topic back to the reason you were here in the first place. 

“You guys really should steer clear of all of this for your own safety.”Sharon warned you as she shook her head. 

“We know it’s a risk, but we won’t leave until we find the one who cracked the code.” Sam took the chair beside Sharon as he spoke. 

“We got a name. Wilfred Nagel.” Bucky told her. 

“Nagel works for the Power Broker.” Sharon informed you as she stood to pour herself a drink. 

“We need your help, Sharon. I can get your name cleared.” Sam offered. 

“You haggling with my life?” Sharon smirked again.

“Not like that.” Sam shook his head. 

“I don’t buy that. You pretending like you can clear my name.” Sharon leant back against her bar. 

“Okay, maybe it is hypocrisy. Maybe you’re right. What happened to you. But I’m willing to try if you are. They cleared the bionic staring machine, and he killed almost everybody he’s met.” Sam approached her with his good old puppy dog eyes. 

“I heard that.” Bucky frowned, unimpressed by Sam’s use of example. 

“I don’t trust charity.” Sharon sighed. 

“All right, a deal then. You help us out, and I get your name cleared.” Sam offered his hand. 

“Well, I sell to some pretty connected people. Lay low, blend in, enjoy the party. Try to stay outta trouble. I’ll see what I can find.” Sharon took the deal. 

The party seemed to suddenly start. 

Within minutes the whole place was jam packed. Music suffocated the space and the smell of sweat and alcohol was growing.

You stayed in between Sam and Bucky as you walked single file through the gathering. You reached back and linked fingers with Bucky’s to make sure you didn’t get parted in the crowd. 

As the bar came into view, you felt a hand grab your ass. 

“Hey!” Bucky took hold of the stranger and slammed him against the nearest wall. Holding him by the throat. 

Sam was there to diffuse the situation in a second. He placed a. hand on Bucky’s shoulder to pull him away. 

“Lay low remember.” Sam repeated what Sharon had told everyone over the blaring music. 

Bucky released the creep and stepped back. 

That gave you enough space to send your own punch. The man cried out, sliding down the wall and cradling his gushing nose. 

“Looks like she does not need help.” Zemo chimed in. 

You all left the guy without drawing too much attention to yourselves. 

The music wasn’t exactly your taste and you knew that it definitely wasn’t Bucky's but that didn’t stop you from taking him away from Sam and Zemo. 

“What are you doing?” Bucky asked you. 

“Got a bit boring just standing there, no?” You smirked. 

“You can’t expect me to dance to this, can you?” Bucky grimaced at the pulsing beat that classified as music. 

“You can try.” You smirked as you brought yourself closer to the man. 

You moved your body to the music, smiling widely him as he awkwardly tried to sway to it. 

“I thought you were a good dancer?!” You teased Bucky as you watched him. 

“I was!” Bucky defended himself. “When the music was Louis Armstrong and Glenn Miller!” 

You couldn’t help but laugh at the man before wrapping your arm around his neck. 

“You gotta move a bit more like this.” You tried to show him, taking his hand and placing it on your hip. 

Bucky was starting to look a little less like a grandpa as he got into the groove of it. 

His eyes were locked on you, a small smile on his lips. He looked undeniably handsome. 

“I think you’re getting it.” You leant up by his ear to tell him. 

“Well, we can’t look any worse than Zemo.” Bucky pointed through the crowd where Zemo was dancing. 

You burst into laughter at the sight of the war criminal dancing and buried your face into Bucky’s neck. Bucky laughed next to your ear. It was a rare genuine sound that sent tingles through your head. 

“Come on.. Let’s get some water.” You left the dance floor and rejoined Sam by the bar where he had started to speak to some other guests.

Sharon approached you a little while later with some good news and so you all immediately left the party. 

“Madripoor could give New York a run for its money.” Sam stated as you arrived at the location of Nagel. 

“They know how to party.” Zemo agreed. 

You followed Sharon through the shipping container yard as she searched for the right one.

“With that bounty on your head, the longer you’re in Madripoor, the less likely you’re ever leaving.” Sharon stopped and pointed over to a red container. “All right. He’s in there. Container four-two-six-one. I’ll watch while you guys talk to Nagel. But hurry. We’re on borrowed time.”

“You want me to stick around out here with you in case you run into trouble?” You asked her as you all took an ear piece. 

“I’ll be alright. I’ll call if I need any back up.” Sharon dismissed your offer before walking away. 

You all entered the container cautiously before Sam contacted Sharon. 

“Hey, Sharon. You sure this is the right one? It’s completely empty.” He was right. To the eye, it was empty. 

“Positive. It has to be.” Sharon replied. 

You shared a look between Sam and Bucky as Zemo felt around the. back of the container. 

Suddenly, it shifted and a hidden door opened. 

Soft music played from below along with a muffled voice. 

It has to be Nagel. 

Sam, Bucky and you all went in armed. 

You silently negotiated between each other which urged Sam to go ahead and cut the music. Nagel spun around at the intrusion. 

“Dr. Nagel?” Sam inquired. 

“Who are you? What do you want?” The man wasn’t intimidating and didn't seem to have any weapons around him but you had learnt in the past not to underestimate your opponent.

“We know you created the super-soldier serum.” Sam informed him. 

“Get out of my lab.” Nagel demanded pretty boldly considering Sam was the one with the gun. 

“Hey! You know who he is, right?” Sam asked as he caught the shocked look on Nagel’s face at the sight of Bucky.  This is Baron Zemo. I know you’ve heard of him, too, right? You seem like a pretty smart guy. So you better become conversational real quick.”

“How about a counter proposal? Make me a better offer and I’ll talk.”Nagel smirked. 

“Guys, we have company.” Sharon’s voice whispered through the ear piece. “Every bounty hunter in the city is here. We gotta go.” 

“I’ll go up.” You lowered your gun from Nagel and went to turn when Sam stopped you. 

“No, we might need you.” Sam meant he might need your powers. 

“But...” You gestured to your ear. 

“She didn’t ask for back up.” Sam argued. 

You sighed but listened to Sam. 

Bucky moved Nagel over to a chair. He held his gun to the man’s temple. 

“Here’s your counter offer.” Bucky shot next to Nagel’s head which worked wonders to make him talk. 

“Okay. Okay. I was brought into HYDRA’s Winter Soldier program to pick up their work after the five failed test subjects in Siberia. When HYDRA fell, I was recruited by the CIA. They had blood samples from an American test subject with semi-stable traces of serum in his system. After much labor, I was able to isolate the necessary compounds in his blood. I was a god. I did what no other scientist since Erskine was able to do. But mine was going to be different. No clunky machines or jacked up bodies. Mine was going to be subtle, optimized, perfect.”

“How have we never heard about this?” You asked, your eyes flicking over at Sam. 

“Because… Before I was able to complete my work, I turned to dust. Then when I returned, it was five years later, program had been abandoned, so I came here. The Power Broker was more than happy to fund the recreation of my work.” Nagel explained. 

“How many vials did you make?” Sam asked. 

“Twenty. Karli Morgenthau stole those, so I can only imagine what the Power Broker has planned for that poor girl.” 

“Where’s Karli now?”You stepped forward, rolling up your sleeve as a warning.

“I don’t know where she is. But a couple of days ago, she called and asked if I could help someone named Donya Madani. Poor woman has tuberculosis. Typical of overpopulation in displacement camps like that.” You took a mental note of the name Nagel mentioned. 

“Well, what happened to her?” You pushed

“Not my pig. Not my farm.” Nagel shrugged. 

You looked back at Sam with a look asking if you should check if he's telling the truth but Sam shook his head. 

“Is there any serum in this lab?” Bucky asked. 

Nagel sent Bucky a deep glare but Bucky’s gun brought forth the answer. 

“No.”

“Now what?” Bucky asked you and Sam. 

“Guys, we’re seriously outta time here.” Sharon bursted in, looking a little battered. 

All of a sudden, Zemo pulled a gun out and shot Nagel. 

“No!” Sam cried out

You lunged forward and reached for the man’s arm. If you could catch his final moments of life leaving his body you could still get the memories but as you hand touched his skin all you saw was darkness. 

You screamed as you went blind. 

You felt a pair of hands pull you up from the ground to which you could only assume was Bucky. 

“What did you do?!” Sharon gasped at Zemo’s action. 

“I can’t see, Buck.” You felt your whole body go limp in his arms as you muttered those final words before you passed out. 

When you felt your eyes open again, you were out of the container. Gun shots were muffled in your eyes as you heard Bucky and Sam arguing. 

You were covered in dust and you didn’t have your gun. 

“Where’s my gun?” You asked. That’s when the boys realised you were awake. 

You only managed to crawl over to Bucky to take it from him and start to fire. 

Your aim was off from how exhausted you were but the adrenaline was there enough for you to get a good few shots in. 

“Are you okay?” Bucky asked you as the firing stopped. Zemo was busy taking out the remaining bodies so it gave you time to sit back again. 

“Not really.” You shook your head. Your body felt cold and darkness still clouded the corners of your vision. It’s what happened when you tried to get the memories from a dead body, all you could see and feel is death. Your powers only worked on living people or people close to death. 

“Come on.” Bucky lifted you up, tucking his arm underneath you to keep you steady on your feet. 

You only lasted being half dragged/half running before Bucky picked you up. You hated being carried but this was a life or death situation. 

“Buck!” Sam shouted as some more bounty hunters appeared. Bucky put you down and you fell against the container door as he used a broken off pipe to fight them off. 

“Let’s go!” Sam tugged you both inside.

Bucky kicked open the back of the container so you could escape, only for you to be met by Zemo in a swanky getaway car. 

“Supercharged.” Zemo gestured to his ride. 

“You’re going back to jail.” Sam told Zemo. 

“Do you want to find Karli or not?” Zemo asked. 

“He’s right. We need him.” You tried to speak but your throat was hoarse. 

“And there’s only three of us, and at least 20 of them.” Bucky added. 

“Fine. But if you try that shit again...” Sam warned him. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Zemo stated. Not that he was to be trusted. 

Sam helped you into the back seat. There was concern painted across his face. 

“Well, that was one hell of a reunion.” Sharon sighed as she placed her hands on the car. 

“Come back to the States with us.” Sam tried to persuade her. 

“I can’t. Just get me that pardon you promised me.” Sharon reminded him of the deal they made. 

“Thanks for everything.” Sam nodded. “You’re not gonna move your seat up, are you?”

“No.” Bucky shook his head. 

You laughed weakly as you remembered the same conversation back when Steve was still around. 

Back on Zemo’s plane, you took a position on the small couch with Bucky. You were resting your eyes but trying to stay awake as you listened to the boys talk. 

“Donya Madani. She’s a refugee, yeah.” Sam had contacted Torres about the woman Nagel had mentioned. “Call me if you get a hit. --- Thanks, Torres.”

“You okay?” Bucky asked Sam as Sam slouched down.  

“Yeah. Just thinking about all the shit Sharon had to go through. And Nagel referring to the American test subject like Isaiah wasn’t even a real person. Just makes me wonder how many people have to get steamrolled to make way for this hunk of metal.”

“Well, it depends on who you ask. That hunk of metal saved a lot of lives.” Bucky looked up from cleaning his hand. 

“Yeah, I get that. All right. Maybe I made a mistake.” Sam confessed. 

“You did.” Bucky agreed with that statement and so did you but you kept your eyes closed. 

“Yeah. Maybe I shouldn’t have put it in a museum. Maybe I should have destroyed it.” Sam didn’t say what you expected. 

“Look, that shield represents a lotta things to a lotta people, including me. The world is upside down, and we need a new Cap, and it ain’t gonna be Walker. So before you destroy it, I’ll take it from him myself.” Bucky turned to face Sam as he spoke. You felt the couch shift.

Sam then got a call with the information on Madani. 

“They found Madani… Dead. She died in Riga, a city near the Baltic Sea.”

“I have a place we can go. I, for one, am looking forward to coming face to face with Karli. Oeznik, we’re changing the course.” Zemo’s voice was the last thing you remembered before waking up at landing. 

“Hey sleepy head.” Bucky whispered quietly. He’d rather be caught dead than let Sam hear him say that. 

“Have we landed?” You asked as you rubbed your eyes. 

“Yeah.” Bucky nodded. “Come on.” 

It didn’t take too long to get to Zemo’s place but when you did, Bucky decided to break away. 

“I’m gonna go on a walk.” Bucky announced before you entered the building. 

“You good?” Sam asked. 

“Yeah.” Bucky nodded as he stepped away. 

“Be careful.” You warned him. 

You knew Bucky needed his space sometime but now wasn’t the best time for him to just be wandering the streets. Especially if Walker clocks on it was you three that broke Zemo out of prison. 

“Always.” Bucky winked at you before finally leaving. 

But that was a bad feeling in your gut. 

(PART 4)

Bucky Barnes Tag List

@florencxs @mystictimetravelcolor @yourphotographyteen16@shannon-posts @darkbluenovember @sexwithhiddlesbatch@thefandomimagines @mydarkness-itsnotmyfriend @sad-huffle-nerd @glitchingghosts @themaddies-obx @avenging-parker @delilahsdaydream​ @felicityofbakerstreet​ @purplewcrld​ @opheliaaaa​

#Bucky Barnes imagines #Bucky Barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes #falcon and the winter soldier #falcon and the winter soldier imagines #Sebastian Stan #Sebastian Stan x reader #Sebastian Stan imagines #the winter soldier #falcon #Sam Wilson #Zemo #imagines #series #some sunny day #part 3

[oliviayamaoka]

The Roseville Murders (Chapter 2)

Hi, just wanted to say I adjusted the plot slightly and will go into more detail with the story next chapter! This was a bit experimental and I wanted to write the growing relationship / rivalry between Y/N and Danny. I also wanted to write Y/N as a girlboss and to be just as witty as Danny!

Anyways, please comment any ideas or suggestions you may wanna see in future chapters! I have this planned out but would love any ideas or stuff I can add into the story! Tysm for reading!

It rained softly outside as you took a seat at your workplace. The desk was a bit cluttered with your art, notes, junk, and your papers regarding your current investigation.

One of the drawings on your desk was a sketch of Ghostface’s mask, attached to it was a few notes regarding the origin of the mask. Did Ghostface care for the history of it, anyways? You already theorized he was a narcissist who took pride in his work. Perhaps, he admired Edward Munch and his infamous “The Scream” artwork? Or maybe he based his persona off of it? You weren’t too sure but you did research the distribution and the company that made the masks. It wasn’t a particular popular company but it only distributed to the USA, Canada, and Brazil.

Ghostface didn’t seem too caring when it came to where he stabbed victims. As long as there was a lot of blood and something only he could perceive as art. And maybe you too. You felt excited, you already had a three year timeline. Maybe, you could get ahold of other states and ask if there’s been similar killings. Maybe even Brazil and Canada? You had to pinpoint a location and see if you could find just one name, any name.

Three years. Three countries. A part of you doubted he was Brazilian. Maybe Canadian? You weren’t so sure, you were pretty sure he was American. Y/N would probably have to go to the library tommorow to do research and use the slowly growing internet. Your research was suddenly halted when you knocked your sketchbook over.

Our slid a page. You kneeled down to pick it up, holding it as you examined the dark sketch. On the paper was a sketch of claws? No, they also looked like tentacles. Ever since the incident, you had dreams of these tentacle claws grabbing you and pulling you away from life as you know it. It must’ve been a sign of trauma or maybe it represented what happened through the nightmares? You slid it back into your sketchbook, deciding not to dwell on it. It would only make your room feel more depressing.

Beside your sketchbook was your leather journal. Y/N wrote everything in there, for mental health reasons. You included the incident and what Jonathan did for you. Your previous therapist said journaling your thoughts helped the healing process. It worked but journaling about how you killed your abuser was hell.

Your thoughts were suddenly interrupted when your phone rang. It was a chunky, black mobile phone you got about a week ago? Y/N reached for it and answered.

“Hello?” You answered, using your other hand to organize your desk.

“Hello?” A voice answered, it was a male by the sound of it.

“Hi, who’s this?” Y/N asked, paying no mind to the phone call as she started to put some of her stuff away. Art supplies.

“Who’s this?” He replied.

“Y/N L/N, am I who you’re trying to reach?” You asked, sitting back down.

“Ah, you’re no fun, detective.” He chuckled as you stopped, furrowing your eyebrows in confusion. Who was this?

“My apologies but, this is my personal phone. Can I ask who gave you this number?” You questioned him.

“Why does it matter, gorgeous? I know it’s you now.” He responded.

“Please don’t call me that. And yes, I am indeed a detective but I’d feel more comfortable discussing anything with you on my work phone.” Y/N said sternly.

“Oh, yeah… Detective L/N, huh? Think you’re some sort of hotshot because you’re new? Where did you come from? Washington? Gonna take more than the feds to catch me.” He said to you.

You listened intently and stopped for a moment. Catch him? Must be a stupid prank. Although, not a funny one since he had your personal phone number. An eyebrow raised as you looked at your notes on Ghostface.

“You still haven’t told me your name. Let’s not be rude, yeah?” You responded, being a little more cocky since you were off-duty.

“Awe, don’t tell me you forgot my name. I’ll give you a hint… I’ve been quite famous lately. In fact, I think you’ve taken quite the interest in me, Y/N.” The man teased. It was 100% Danny.

“I asked for a name, not an alias.” You said.

“Maybe after dinner, hotshot.” Danny said to you as you furrowed your eyebrows.

“I’m not in Roseville to play games. Either verify you are who you claim to be or quit wasting my time.” Y/N spoke with a stern tone.

“My last victim had three stab wounds to the throat. It was going to be two but their scream wasn’t as satisfying as I thought it would be. And they had a tattoo on their upper thigh. Bella Smith.” He said as you froze for a moment.

It was true. The latest murder victim was a middle-aged woman named Bella Smith who worked at a convenience store. She had multiple stab wounds but it was pretty much impossible to see she had three wounds on her throat just looking at photos of the crime scene.

“Okay and how did you get my number? I imagine the infamous Ghostface doesn’t have access to these types of things. How do I know this isn’t some sort of elaborate prank orchestrated by my coworkers?” You questioned.

“Honey, I am Roseville. Also sounds like you have experience with these kinds of things. You ever get humiliated like that?” Danny asked, grinning widely.

“No, it’s just a very logical conclusion. And why would you be talking to me anyways?” You asked him.

While you spoke to him, you quickly wrote down what he said and what he sounded like. You quickly speculated what his age may be, maybe 25?

“I keep tabs on the cops who are investigating my work and to be honest? They’re all stupid, it’s pathetic. Although, I noticed something about you. You come from one of the big cities, don’t you? You’re actually smart compared to those other pigs.” He said.

“Those pigs you speak of have tried their best in pursuing you. They have families too.” You responded.

“Really, huh? You’ve only been here three weeks? I think you should just trust me on this one because those other officers really don’t know what they’re doing. If you actually find out who I am, are they gonna give you credit? The newbie? A woman?” He asked.

“I don’t understand why gender is an issue. And why would they try to steal credit?” You questioned.

“They’re stuck in this shit hole city and I bet they could just really use a promotion right now. They want so badly to be the hero that arrests me… but first, they’ll let the freshly graduated detective do the work. It’s so easy to overshadow women in this world.” Danny said.

“Well, I don’t care. As long as you’re put behind bars.” Y/N responded.

“The bars at this station? I must say, your desk is quite cute. A bit plain but I like your style… interesting files too.” He mused.

“Huh?” You responded, furrowing your eyebrows.

“Your lil’ office at the station, I like it. This place has always been easy to break into. You noticed it too, didn’t you? Their security sucks and their morgue is just too damn small.” Danny said as you frantically looked around, shoving your shoes on.

“I’m going to call them right now and tell them you’re there. That was a stupid move on your part.” You said, practically yelling.

“So young and naive. I’ll be long gone.” He responded, chuckling as you hung up.

“Fuck, shit!” You said, quickly dialling the number to the police station.

You practically flung your door open, sprinting down the hallway and out through the front doors of the apartment complex after three flights of stairs. Your heart rate increased as you continued running down the sidewalk, feeling more frantic when there was no answer.

“Answer…!” You yelled, calling the emergency number.

“911, how can I help you?” A staticky voice answered as you continued running.

“I’m Detective Y/N L/N! Please inform the police station that there’s an intruder! He might be armed and dangerous! Do not touch anything since there may be forensic evidence!” You instructed.

“Oh—yes, right away, ma’am!” The dispatcher answered as you hung up, continuing to focus on your running towards the station.

Back at your apartment complex, there stood Danny with his own mobile phone. It couldn’t be traced back to him since it was stolen and he didn’t leave any DNA on it. If anything, it had the previous owners. Bella Smith. Your apartment complex had fire escape stairs outside your window. Easy enough, he thought. His outfit was black and had some stuff hanging off it. Strings? Ribbons? Danny was quite quick and extremely quiet when it came to climbing the set of stairs.

He reached your window, pulling it open gently and hoisting himself through, landing gently whilst kneeled down. For precaution, he had his knife gripped in one hand. This was purely for investigation and to see what you truly had on him. His head tilted curiously as he noticed your desk. Your art and notebook. His gloved hand reached out to your sketch of him.

Danny was truly impressed at how detailed and good it was. He read through your sticky notes and theories. Other than the fact he was blown away, he knew you were a threat since you successfully guessed his age range and height. Wait, his height? You did a careful examination of the footage he was in, looking at objects around him and his boots to correctly guess a height.

“What the fuck…?” Danny muttered as he looked at your notes.

The Scream by Edward Munch and a costume company? He skimmed over your notes and the psychological profile you built on him. He felt somewhat panicked since you were indeed no joke. His gaze averted towards your leather notebook. Eagerly, he grabbed it and opened it. Most of it was your thoughts and causes of your stress and anxiety. He stopped flipping through when he saw a darker page. It was dark because of the writing and how crumpled it seemed.

December 23rd, 1992

I was walking down an alleyway two weeks ago. It was cold so I had a jacket over my uniform. I suppose that’s why the man didn’t know I was an officer.

At first, I thought that he was going to try and rob me. It took me a while to realize that my money and belongings wasn’t what he was after. I suppose it would be appropriate to say that I was in shock for a moment. He never finished what he started. Despite being in shock, I was able to feel everything and the adrenaline only helped my rage.

Why? Why did this have to happen to me? After getting him off, I pulled my gun out and he stopped. I still remember the look on his face after I shot him. He was scared and pathetic, as he was in life. I don’t regret killing him. I never will. I just feel utterly violated. Never once have I been touched like that so violently. Is this what this fucked up world has come to? What if I didn’t have my gun and training?

He definitely did this to other women… he deserved to die. And I would do it all over again to him and to other men just like him. Of course, I had to call the police. They were going to charge me with manslaughter but they said that they would push this all under the rug, just as long as I never tell anybody. Did I contribute to corruption in the police force? This getting out would ruin everything. I don’t know but I do know that this was my gift.

Freedom was my gift for killing that man. It felt oddly exhilarating. I hope nobody remembers him, I hope his family know what kind of monster he was. Anyways, I’m being reassigned somewhere. They said they’ll give me my first investigation. In a smaller city.

Danny’s fingers trailed over the page. He felt angry and sad for you. That this happened to you. But, something arose in him when he kept re-reading that paragraph. You… enjoyed it? Behind the mask, he had a soft expression on his face. He imagined your beautiful face full of blood with you and your gun. He smiled gently as he kept the notebook.

He did indeed feel bad for you but he wasn’t satisfied with his limited knowledge of you. Danny decided to use this notebook of incriminating evidence to hold some leverage over you. Not only that but he figured he’d get to know you better if they had something interesting to talk to you about. Danny couldn’t help but grin when he thought about your journal entry and the sketches you made of him. So smart yet so naive.

Danny quickly took a look around your apartment to see all points of entry. He took a peak into your bedroom, it was neat and tidy. He seemed somewhat paranoid so quickly went back to your living room window, making his swift little escape. Not without taking some of your notes on him and your sketchbook.

About two hours later, you rubbed your eyes in frustration as another officer came to talk to you. There was a forensic team still investigating your little office space. Apparently, there was nobody here and your office seemed untouched. For about thirty minutes, you inspected any points of entry and tried to look for out of place shoe marks since it rained outside.

“Detective, are you certain it was the killer who called? We get prank calls a lot.” He said as you nodded.

“Yes, I’m certain. It was him, he knows I’m going to catch him soon.” You said as he nodded a bit.

“Okay, well, we’ll take it from here. Come early tommorow.” He said as you sighed.

“I will but please, don’t miss anything. I’m starting to think he was lying. It was him though.” You said as you turned, walking down the hallway towards the exit.

It seemed to be evening at this point and the rain stopped pouring. It was slightly humid but the city looked oddly beautiful when it was wet? You couldn’t stop thinking about your phone call with Ghostface earlier. Y/N already had some tech professionals try to track the number he called from and all of the information regarding the phone company. You’d have to wait two days at the latest for the results to come back.

As you walked through light puddles, you felt more and more tired. All the running and frantically searching for him was enough to just make you exhausted. It was all last-minute too. Y/N stopped dead in her tracks when she felt her mobile phone ring. You pulled it out of your pocket and answered it.

“Hello?” You asked, tired.

“Hey, gorgeous. Just wanted to apologize for my little deception trick earlier.” He responded as your eyes widened.

“Ghostface…” You responded, shocked that he had the courage to call you again.

“God, hearing that from you…” He said with a slight husk as you took a deep breath quietly to calm yourself.

“You know I’m close, don’t you?” You questioned him as he chuckled.

“Of course, I do… only these hands of mine can do wonders for you.” Danny said to you as you scoffed.

“You’re disgusting.” You say to him.

“Don’t lose your temper now, detective. There’s… things we should discuss.” He cooed.

“Things? Seriously?” You asked him, already tired of his bullshit.

“Yeah! Like, this lil’ notebook of yours! Really deep stuff… Victor Houston, was it? The serial rapist? Must’ve felt real good to put him down, didn’t it? Did it feel as good as you said it did in this thing?” He asked as you froze.

You probably let out a small whimper of shock as your hands trembled. Your heart pumped hard and fast. It was all you can hear as you felt your face heat out of pure embarrassment and shock. He… read your journal? This wasn’t good, this wasn’t good.

“W-What…?” You asked as he cackled.

“God, you’re so hot when you sound scared. Don’t be offended though, babe. You still sound real sexy in your cop tone.” He said as he continued.

“Yeah, I read all about the guy you killed. And how it was all covered up to accommodate you. Are you a star student or something? It’s hard covering up murders… or has it always been easy for you?” He asked.

“I-I, um… how did you get that…?” You asked him, trembling.

“You see, Y/N… we’re the same. You and I are too smart for Roseville. It’s just that I got the upper hand this time. While you rushed to the police station, I took a quick trip into your apartment.” He said as you let out a light gasp.

“Yeah, that’s right! I know where you live, I know where you’re from, and your number. I know who you truly are, Detective Y/N L/N.” Danny said mockingly.

“And what are you going to do with it?” You asked him.

“Always so straight to the point. I might give that annoying little journalist Jed Olsen. You’re trying to work with him, aren’t you? You mentioned in one of these notes… you also think he’s handsome.” He said as you covered your eyes.

You fought tears.

“Why? Why would you do this?” You ask.

“I should be asking you that. I’m a bit jealous you find someone like Olsen… attractive. He’s so boring, so normal, so… ugh, I hate talking about him. Still though, nice to know I have another fan besides him.” He said to you.

“Where are you going with this?!” You snapped as he chuckled darkly.

“I won’t tell anybody. Just as long as you halt your investigation for a while. I still want to have fun in Roseville here and well… get to know you.” He said.

“Go to hell.” You muttered.

“How original… so what’ll it be? I kinda need to know now since I’m also on a bit of a time crunch.” Danny asked you.

“W-What the fuck do you want me to do? Sit back and watch as you kill more innocent people?! I won’t let you.” You said with a venomous tone.

“What are you gonna do? Stop me behind bars?” He asked mockingly.

“Fuck you.” You said.

“I’m sure we will. But first, I just want you to sit back and not do anything stupid. We’ll see each other eventually. I’ll call you from another phone soon.” He said, hanging up.

You held your phone in disbelief and quickly made sure you had your gun. How the hell could you have been so dumb?! It was genius, leading you away from you apartment and finding such leverage against you purely out of luck. Your breath trembled as you walked back to your apartment, having your gun ready in your pocket as you did so.

#dbd x reader #ghostface x reader #the ghostface #ghostface dbd #danny johnson x reader #jed olsen x reader #jed olsen #danny johnson #dead by daylight x reader #dead by daylight

[pilothusband]

Abducted Amphora

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: Marcus Pike x Reader

Warnings: Alcohol (not to an excess), food mention (they eat pizza), non-explicit tension, mentions of stealing shit, hints at a boss/employee relationship so there’s a slight power balance there, age gap that isn’t mentioned (he has years of service and she’s almost brand new)

Word count: 1,972

Author’s note: Written for @autumnleaves1991-blog Writer Wednesday! Lightly edited, unbeta’d. This one is pretty tame compared to my other works. Thinking about turning it into a snapshot series. Let me know what you think!

A smattering of footsteps clatter throughout the courtyard, echoing off the old walls that surround you. Sprawling greens adorn almost every inch of the balcony, reaching out to an impossibly blue pool situated in the middle. You can’t help but gawk as you walk through the museum, trailing your boss by a few paces who is currently following the curator, a middle-aged woman with bouncy curls and a wardrobe to die for.

A few minutes prior, she had introduced herself as Vanessa Harrington, given a firm handshake to the two of you, and hastily made her way to the exhibit where an expensive piece of artwork was stolen.

“What’s weird is, this isn’t even the most expensive piece the museum owns,” she says, glancing backwards and waving her hands. How she manages to walk briskly in stiletto heels without looking forwards is a mystery to you. 

The stolen piece is a Panathenaic amphora from Hellenistic era Greece. It was most likely used to fill with olive oil to give to Olympic champions. Not to say it isn’t valuable, but it had sat nondescript amongst bright and flashy paintings that were incredibly rare and sought after.

“And the security cameras were disabled prior to the theft?” Your boss, Marcus Pike asks, scribbling in his notepad. Vanessa nods in confirmation. “Then they were enabled right after, as if the thieves knew how to hack into the system.”

“Either they knew how to hack into the security system or they had enough insider knowledge to disable it,” you voice your thoughts, not even aware that you were speaking out loud.

Marcus looks over to you, his warm brown eyes flicking over your face in acknowledgement.

Every time his eyes meet yours, you feel yourself freeze up for a moment. No matter that you’ve been working with him for nearly a year, it’s as if time stops every time you look at him. His jaw, square and strong, along with his soft brown eyes that give away to his emotions at any moment. His broad shoulders always manage to get your pulse going, along with his small waist, showcased by the form-fitting button downs he wore under his suit coat.

“We’re going to need all information regarding museum personnel, as well as any vendors that drop by regularly,” Marcus shifts his attention over to Vanessa, who nods decisively.

“Absolutely. I have that all on my office desktop and can get that to you ASAP.”

Vanessa doles out more details for a few minutes and Marcus jots them down– in his unreadable handwriting no doubt– and then Vanessa bids you adieu and spins on her heel to her office, giving you two free rein over the museum.

There isn’t anymore DNA evidence to go over. The local police already had their personnel collect it days prior and the scene was spotless once you arrived. The thieves had been meticulous in leaving as little evidence as possible. The only fingerprints found were already processed and pending a match. They were most likely from an employee, and there’s a good chance it was just normal prints left behind from dusting priceless artwork.

Once Vanessa is out of the room, Marcus turns and places a big hand on your bicep.

“Good job back there, agent.” He flashes an easy grin. Marcus is an incredible boss. He’s driven, observant, kind, and knows when he has to make the tough calls. He’s a natural-born leader. You haven’t been with the bureau for long, being a junior agent among a team of seasoned professionals, but comparing him to other supervisory agents you have met, he’s warm and kind, always making sure his team is in good shape. He’s the kind of guy who’s prepared for anything, whether it be backup for a shootout with an unsub or someone in the room needs a pen before a staff meeting.

You can’t help but feel flushed at his praise. Despite Marcus’ easygoing nature and his openness with the team, he always seems to keep you at an arms’ length. It was getting to the point where you were wondering if he was regretting hiring you in the first place. Marcus often rotates the team when it comes to working directly with him on cases, and you have only worked directly with him once– your first ever case. 

Initially you’re convinced you fucked up so badly that he didn’t want to pair up with you afterwards, but then the case report made its way back to your desk and your evaluation was normal, good even.

“Thank you,” you reply, ducking your face down to hide the growing heat licking its way up your face.

“Let’s grab some lunch, get those files from Mrs. Harringon and start digging.”

You nod in agreement and turn, walking towards the exit. You don’t notice the subtle movement, but Marcus trails you, arm raised as if he’s about to touch your waist, but pauses halfway through and scratches at his chin.

Later on that night, you’re holed up in Marcus’ hotel room, hunched over your laptop reading up on all of the museum employees. Marcus took on the task of reading over vendor files, his shoulders set much straighter.

Your back is screaming at you and your eyes are sapped of all moisture as you blink rapidly, trying to will your tear ducts into submission. It’s too early in the night to fall asleep with the amount of work you have to look forward to, and the longer it takes you to crack the case, the more likely the thieves are to get away with the crime.

“I think we could use a break,” Marcus says from across the room. You look up blearily, noting the look of concern he’s giving you, brow furrowed. He must have caught you in your tired state somehow, between poring over files and jiggling his leg absent-mindedly.

“Can’t argue with that,” you chuckle, rubbing at your eyes.

“I’ll order room service, compliments of the bureau,” he says, smiling sideways. “I’m feeling pizza, what do you think?”

“Pizza sounds heavenly,” you groan.

“What do you want to drink?” Marcus asks, his eyes scanning over the menu unfolded next to his laptop.

“Oh, uh,” you hesitate, trying to decide on caffeine or something healthier. “I think the room has plenty of water.”

“I was thinking something a little stronger,” he says, a small grin making its way over his features. “Nothing too crazy, since we still have work to do.”

“What’s your opinion on red wine?” You ask, wanting to select something you both can agree on.

“I love it,” he says, giving you a toothy smile. “Pinot Noir?”

“Sounds perfect.”

An hour later, you’re both seated on the floor, pizza box spread open between your bodies, munching away at the slices of pepperoni you both decided on and sharing the bottle of wine Marcus ordered.

“Turns out it’s bad optics for the boss to drunkenly sing 9 to 5 by Dolly Parton off-key, and I still get teased for it to this day, which is why I refuse to join the team on karaoke nights,” Marcus finishes. You’re clutching your stomach as you laugh at his story, head thrown back as you giggle. 

You’ve only had a glass and a half of wine at this point, but you can already feel a persistent buzzing in your brain, your head feeling much lighter and much heavier simultaneously. This is what you get for skipping breakfast and lunch, opting to replace them with an afternoon snack and a late dinner.

Marcus laughs along with you, shaking his head and looking down at his slice of pizza.

Your laughter dies down and there’s a moment where it’s quiet, the only noise in the room being Marcus chewing on the crust of his pizza slice, and you taking a sip from your glass.

“This is a nice change,” you blurt out, immediately regretting your outburst.

“Mmm,” Marcus hums around the bite in his mouth. He swallows and looks up at you in question.

“What do you mean?” he asks.

Your eyes meet after he speaks and you can feel your heartbeat accelerating in your chest. God, why did you have to open your big mouth?

“Oh, nothing,” you shake your head. “It’s just…”

You don’t continue and Marcus shifts on his knees, leaning forwards to spur you on.

“It’s just what?”

“Well, I don’t know, it’s stupid.” You say, studying the box of pizza below you, as if it was the most interesting thing in the world.

“Nothing you could ever say is stupid,” he says with conviction. His tone makes you look up at him in wonder.

“Tell me, please,” he adds softly.

“Well, I thought you didn’t like me. Or that you didn’t think I was a good agent.” You can feel your stomach plunging and your cheeks burning at the admission.

“Why would you think that?” Marcus almost looks hurt.

“God, it’s dumb,” you babble. “But I noticed you haven’t had me partner with you on a case in ages, and you seem to get on with the rest of the team so much easier.”

You risk another look into Marcus’ eyes and he looks absolutely crushed. He cards a hand through his locks and his eyes look far away for a moment. You physically deflate, feeling like the biggest asshole on the planet.

“Hey,” he says, scooting forward and moving the pizza box aside. “You’re an amazing agent. Everything I put in your evals are the truth.”

You don’t reply, but smile softly at him.

“I’m so sorry I’ve made you feel undervalued,” he puts a hand on your shoulder and squeezes it. The look on his face, much closer to yours now, is absolutely putting you through the ringer.

Marcus looks disheveled, which is rare for him, as he always looks put-together in the office, not a hair or thread out of place in his tailored suits. His hair is sticking up and his tie is loosened. His brow is furrowed in concern and you have the overwhelming urge to soothe your thumb over it.

“I just–,” he starts and pauses, trying to come up with the right words. “I was so distracted during that case with you, and I never want to put you in that kind of danger again. Especially as a junior agent.”

Distracted?

“What do you mean?” You ask, blinking in confusion. What could have possibly distracted him from the case? This man, so motivated, so focused. He was diligent to a fault, at times.

“I–”

He’s cut off by his cell phone, ringing insistently in his pants pocket. He lifts a finger to pause the conversation and answers the phone.

His expression is focused as he listens to the other end of the line, murmuring affirmations as the call continues.

“Okay, sounds good. We’ll be there first thing in the morning.”

He hangs up the phone, shifts his legs and stuffs it back in his pocket.

“We’ve got a lead on the suspects,” he tells you. “A bodega near the museum has a security camera that caught a large utility van parked in front, right around the time the amphora was stolen. The owner said they’re only available to talk before they open, so we have to be there by 5:30 AM.”

You scramble to your feet and shut your laptop while Marcus clears the pizza and wine. You watch him silently as he finishes the task, noting his stiff shoulders and the carefully neutral expression on his face.

You’ll have to ask Marcus about the conversation later, if you can work yourself up to it. For now, you’ll let your imagination run wild and hope someday you can get over this juvenile crush you have on your boss.

Taglist: @tenderclio @softdin @darnitdraco @freeshavocadoooo @recklessworry @wyn-dixie @manalg14 @codenamewife @comphersjost @princessxkenobi @manalg14 @comphersjost @a-skov @sheresh0y @greeneyedblondie44 @blackmarketmummy @brandyllyn @gracie7209 @bootyliciousbilbo @dobbyjen @vanillabeanlattes @knivesareout​ @fastandfeminist @phrog-seeds @janebby​ @xoxo-callie​

#marcus pike #marcus pike x you #marcus pike x reader #pedro pascal #writer wednesday #marcus pike fanfiction

[arvandus]

Touch (Pt 6)

Pairing: Dabi x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS: 18+ only please!  Drug abuse/withdrawal, adult language/themes, heavy angst, past trauma/abuse, anxiety/panic attacks, PTSD, fluff, pining, slow burn, eventual emotional SMUT. *please pay attention to the chapter tags as these warnings will apply at different times*

Synopsis: When you first joined the LOV to lend your healing quirk, Dabi  terrified you.  Not interested in attachments, he wanted to keep it  that way.  That is, until he needs your help. (Slow burn, soft Dabi).

Special thank you to @salvator-heartbreaker​ who has helped me hash out this chapter and some future plot details; this would not be as amazing as it is without her help!

Chapter warning: Buckle up, y’all.  This chapter is LONG.  Like, 12k words long (separating it into multiple chapters was NOT an option).  Prepare yourself for a roller coaster of feels.  Also, please PLEASE be aware of the warning tags.

Recommended Chapter Songs: Overdose by grandson/The Drug In Me Is Reimagined by Falling in Reverse

Part 1  Part 5

Artwork credit to @hellowon31 on Twitter (https://twitter.com/hellowon31)

Part 6 - The Long Night

After Dabi left, you cleaned up the various items around the room.  You placed the pills back into your bag from where they were in your pocket. A moment later, you decided against that location and put the bottle under your pillow within your pillowcase. You changed your mind again, taking the pill bottle into the bathroom to stuff it with cotton.  It would keep the pills from rattling.  You returned the bottle to its hiding place under your pillow. If Dabi came back looking for more, you wanted to have them within reach and not where he’d immediately look for them. You placed the damp washcloth in your hamper and drank some water before lying in bed with your phone in your hand.

You were only on your phone for a few minutes before you felt sleep start to drag at your eyelids, so you turned off your light and put your phone on your nightstand.  Sleep was elusive, however.  You stared at the ceiling pensively.  Something nagged at your mind, but in your groggy, tired state, you couldn’t figure out what it was.  You felt each minute tick by with painstaking slowness, frequently checking the time on your phone while your thoughts ran a mile a minute.  It mulled over what had transpired, what was said and done, and how you felt… It was like flipping through an entire novel in a matter of seconds and then trying to describe a specific, obscure scene hidden within its pages.

By your fifth minute, you gave up and sat up in your bed.  Your hands went under your pillow, feeling the familiar bottle in your fingers.

Realization hit.  You quickly turned on your lamp. You pulled the bottle out of your pillowcase and spilled the contents out onto your comforter.  You counted the amount and your breath stopped.

No.

You counted again.

FUCK.

You always made it a point to know exactly how many pills you had of anything you carried, but especially so for these pills.

You quickly put the remaining medication back into the bottle, counting them as they fell in with a tap.  Then, you got up out of your bed and hid the pills inside an unused pair of shoes which you then put into a black duffle bag in the top of your closet.  You only hoped Dabi didn’t come looking for them. At this rate, if he was willing to steal from you, then he’d be willing to rifle through your things.

Betrayal, cold and hard, soaked into your bones.  You tried to reason with yourself, to talk yourself through what you knew about addiction, what you had learned in med school.  But taking what was learned in a textbook, with no emotional attachment, and applying it into this situation did little to assuage the feelings roiling within you.  This wasn’t hypothetical.  This was real.

Even worse than the betrayal was the cold hard fact: Dabi could kill himself.  And all because you left him alone for less than a minute. Did he already take them?  How long ago did he leave your room?  Your brain didn’t have time to do the math as you dashed across the hallway to his door.

You didn’t bother to knock – not this time.  Thankfully, Dabi must have been so out of it that he forgot to lock it.  You barreled in like a fiery chariot knocking down Hell’s gate, slamming the door behind you loudly enough to wake the dead.  You didn’t care.  In that moment, nothing else mattered but getting those pills back.

Dabi sat on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands.  He looked up at you groggily when the door slammed.  His movements were noticeably slower, his pallor a sickly grey and shining with sweat.

“You took my pills.” You seethed.  “Give them back.”

“What?” Dabi slurred.

“My pills, Dabi! Three of them are missing!  Give them to me!”

He looked down at his hands as if confused by what they were.  “I don’t have them.” He replied.

“Bull-fucking-shit!” you shot back.  “I swear to God, Dabi, I will search this room until I find them.”

He rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands.  “I already took them.  And stop fucking shouting.”

“You what???” You gasped.  “What the fuck, Dabi??  Why would you do that??”

He stood up now, angry at your presence, at your justified rage that he knew he was responsible for but didn’t want to face.  He was barely keeping himself together as it was.  His insides felt like a writhing, fiery snake.  His head felt filled with cotton.  And underneath it all, the pain hummed low like a purring beast.  He couldn’t decide if the pills he took were actually working or not.  The relief he thought they’d give him evaded him like a shadow.

“I told you I needed more.” Dabi replied.

“Dabi, you can O.D. on this!” you shot back.

“I’m not gonna O.D.” Dabi scoffed as he swayed on his feet.  He fought the sickness rolling over him in waves, great crests threatening to drown him like a raging sea.  He didn’t need this right now.  Not with you here.  Fuck. When did he get so fucking weak? 

Your body instantly became poised to catch him if he fell.  He needed to throw up what he took. That was the only option.  Your mind frantically tried to assess if he was weak enough for you to overpower him, to try to put your fingers down his throat to trigger his gag reflex.

“Your drugs are weak as shit compared to what I was taking before.  I can handle it.” He continued. “I know what I’m doing.” His eyes were unfocused as they tried to stare down at you.

Suddenly, the wave crested, higher than he could tread.  Immediately his mouth began to water in sickly preparation, his gag reflex kicking in while his gut clenched.  He stumbled to the bathroom, shoving you aside in the process, just in time to empty the contents of his stomach.  It was clear, made of only the water he drank and the partially dissolved pills that he had stolen.

A wave of relief washed over you while Dabi emptied what remained of the drugs into the toilet.  A part of you was still angry, wanting to give him an ‘I told you so,’ but you held back, instead keeping an eye on him from the bathroom doorway to make sure he was okay.

Once he was done, he leaned back against the bathroom wall, a pained grimace on his face, the metal rings pulling along his cheeks.  His breaths were ragged and heavy.  “Fuck.” He muttered.  He should have eaten the stupid crackers.  What a fucking waste.

Once you were sure he was okay for the moment, you paced back into the bedroom to try to calm your nerves.  He threw up what he took.  That was good.  Of course, that also meant there was no telling how long your meds would stay in his system now, and once they started to wear off, he’d continue to suffer through withdrawal since you couldn’t give him more right away. This was just the beginning for him.

A knock on the door resounded into the room, interrupting your thoughts.

“Don’t answer it.” Dabi rasped from his spot next to the toilet.

You stared at him for a moment and waited while discomfort settled over you like an itchy blanket.  You understood his need for privacy, but you also needed help… at least to have someone bring some water and food. It was going to be a long night and at this rate, Dabi was going to become severely dehydrated

Another knock came through, more persistent this time.

“Dabi,” called Toga’s voice. “Are you okay in there???”

Twice’s muffled voice followed.  “He probably wants to be left alone.  Fuck this guy.”

“I’m not gonna just leave him, Twice.  You heard him in there.” Toga replied in annoyance.

Dabi groaned in frustration, his head in his shaking hands in denial.  Why did it have to be Toga of all people?  She was annoyingly persistent, poking her nose where it didn’t belong and not taking hints when her prying wasn’t welcome.  The last thing he wanted was her and Twice standing outside his door while he hurled into the stinking toilet.  They’d probably barge in without permission.  You seeing him like this was bad enough – but at least he could excuse your involvement as the team’s medic, even if the vulnerability ate away at him. But letting them see him like this?  He’d rather light everything on fire.

“Make them go away.” He whispered hoarsely.

You leapt at the opportunity, rushing to the door.  You opened it to see Twice in his usual gear and Toga in a pink pajama set, her hair pulled back into twin buns.  Her hand was outstretched as if ready to grasp an invisible doorknob.

“Hey guys.” You said through a fake bubbly smile.  “It’s okay, I’m in here with him.”

“What the hell is going on??” Twice demanded.

“We heard a door slam, and yelling, and I’m pretty sure I heard someone throwing up.” Toga said crossing her arms.

They heard yelling – did they hear what you had shouted at Dabi?  About him taking your drugs?  You mentally scolded yourself for being so loud earlier.  There had to be some way you could play it off.

You felt your skin get hot with embarrassment.  “It’s fine, don’t worry about it.  I’m helping him out.”

“What’s wrong?” Toga asked nosily.  “Is Dabi hungover?  He sounds like he’s hungover.”

“Stomach flu.” You improvised.  You hoped they believed it.  If they did, it’d give Dabi a reason to be left alone by the other league members for a few days while you helped him out.

Neither of them showed any doubt with your explanation.  Toga made a disgusted face while Twice sighed. “Well, that’s a fucking relief. But keep the damn noise down!”

You smirked at his dual reactions.  “Sorry, Twice.”

“Do you need anything?” Toga asked.  “Water? Food?”

“Drugs?” Twice chimed in.

You froze like a deer in headlights for a moment before you realized he probably meant the kind that wasn’t illegal.

“Water and food would be appreciated.  Something easy on the stomach, like crackers.  And bananas if we have any left.  I already have the other supplies I need.” You commented.  Then, you remembered - Shit.  Your supply bag was still in your room….

“Sure thing, big sis!” Toga replied through a cheery smile, her fangs prominent.  “Come on, Twice.  You can help me carry stuff.”  Twice followed after her and you closed the door with a breath of relief before the sound of Dabi retching again made you go check on him.

His fingers grasped the toilet seat while his body shook, his knuckles as white as the porcelain they held onto.   Spit dangled from his parted lips, his nose running, his eyes squeezed shut as he fought his body’s reactions to his poor choices.

After a minute, he leaned back and carelessly wiped his face with his bare arm, the fluids glistening on his skin in the light of the bathroom.

His face was pulled into a grimace, eyes squeezed shut against the brightness, his body slumped against the wall.  “You should have taken Twice up on his offer.” He said with a forced grin through wet lips.

“Not funny, Dabi.” You scolded.  “Drugs are the last thing you need.  Besides, you know that’s not what he meant.”

“Well I certainly don’t think water and some fucking bananas are going to fix this.” He replied sourly.

“Better than your solution of taking six of my pills.” You shot back.  “A lot of good that did you, huh?”

He opened his eyes to give you a cold glare, his mouth opening to protest.  But his words were cut short by another round of vomiting, nothing coming up but thin strings of yellow bile from his empty stomach while his gut spasmed and clenched.  You furrowed your brow.  His nausea was getting worse, his vomiting more frequent. You wanted to use your quirk to alleviate his pain, but you couldn’t.  Not for this.  If his body couldn’t register the pain signals his gut was sending to his brain, then there was a chance the vomiting would stop.  Throwing up was what he needed to make sure the stolen pills were out of his system.

Even aside from the vomiting, there was the issue of using your quirk too much, too soon.  You could no longer fall back on your pills to manage your own pain if you pushed yourself too far.  Your lower back itched uncomfortably, as if the very thought woke up the scarred nerves there, old memories threatening to follow in their wake. You pushed them aside forcefully by focusing on the man in front of you.

If you over-exerted yourself too soon, you wouldn’t be able to help him later when things got worse. Once these pills wore off, which you weren’t sure when that would happen, you wouldn’t be able to give him new ones right away.  You were already short three pills after his little stint, and even if you did give him pills, his body might still reject them if it wasn’t ready for them.  That would only make things exponentially worse. It was better to skip a dosage now and get back on track with the remaining medication you had.  You’d pair what you’d allotted for him with your own quirk as an added relief; you only hoped the combination would be adequate until his pills became available for pickup.

Once he was done dry heaving, you handed him a hand towel from the hanging bar next to you. You had no idea if it was clean – he probably used it to dry his hands after washing them - but it didn’t really matter.  It was better than using his arm again.  He took it in silence, his eyes avoiding yours in what you could only describe as shame. Your heart clenched. You knew he didn’t mean for this to happen.  No one ever does.  You wanted to reassure him, to let him know it was all going to be okay, but words escaped you.  How could you even begin to tell him something like that while he’s retching into a toilet in the wee hours of the night? 

Before you could think of something to say, there was a familiar knock on the door.  You forced yourself to step away and answer it. Sure enough, Toga and Twice were there, their arms full of offerings.

“Here you go.” Toga said, her arms filled with six water bottles.  Twice also presented an array of items in his arms – a box of saltine crackers, some canned soup with a pull-top lid, and a couple of bananas.

“Thanks.” You replied, taking the items and placing them on Dabi’s desk.  You were grateful neither of them tried to enter while you unloaded their arms; perhaps they really did believe Dabi had the flu and were too scared of catching it.

“You can go back to bed if you want.  We’ll be fine.” you suggested.

“Let us know if you need anything else!” Toga offered with a toothy grin.  You smiled your gratitude and closed the door as they turned to leave.

Once you heard their footsteps fade down the hall followed by the closing of bedroom doors, you returned to the bathroom with a water bottle in hand.  You knew food wasn’t going to be an option for a while, but at least this might help.  Even if he threw it back up, it was better than bile.  But before you could even hand the bottle to him, he convulsed, hugging the toilet again, gagging and coughing.  You knelt next to him patiently, ready to offer the water in your hand or the towel now forgotten on floor… whatever he needed.

He spit the drool dangling from his mouth and continued to hover over the toilet bowl with a groan. Everything hurt.  His abs, his throat, his sinuses… his head was still muddled from a variety of factors – dehydration, lack of sleep, the drugs. He hated himself, reduced to a useless fucking puddle like the loser he was, and all while you were here watching him.  You, who even though he let you down - even though he stole from you - continued to stay and care for him.  He didn’t want that for you, and he didn’t want the guilt of your presence continuously reminding him of how he failed you while his body fell apart on him.

“Get out of here.” He said gruffly.  “You don’t need to be here for this.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” You replied. You knew he was pushing you away and you understood why, but that didn’t matter to you. Sure, you were mad at what he had done, but you also understood he couldn’t help it.  His obvious shame was apology enough for now, and his well-being was more important to you than his pride.

“Leave.” He growled.

“I can’t.”  You could feel tears start to sting at the corners of your eyes.  You didn’t want to leave him.  Not like this.

More dry retching overtook him, and guilt began to creep on you like a thorny vine, choking your words from your throat.  He couldn’t fight you on this even if he wanted to; was it really fair to stay when he asked you to go?  He made his decision clear – he wanted to be alone.  Where were you supposed to draw the line between forcing your care on him for his safety versus respecting his need for privacy?

You stared at him as you warred within yourself.  He obviously wasn’t going anywhere any time soon, and on the upside, he did throw up some of those pills.  But what about later, when the pills wear off and the hunger returns?  Could you trust that he would come to you, looking for what he knew you had? Or would he go elsewhere, and risk his safety on something potentially worse? You wanted to respect his wishes, but your body wouldn’t move.

Dabi’s world was spinning; round and round he went, as if the toilet had been flushed and he and his rejected pills were being washed away like the trash that he knew he was. He was breathing heavily now, painful groans falling from his lips.  “Get the fuck out, Y/N.” 

The sound of your name on his lips for the first time smacked you, your breath catching painfully behind the lump in your throat.  You struggled to suppress the tears threatening to unleash themselves down your face.  He said your name.  He had never said it before.  You had imagined that the first time he’d say your name would be a sign of trust and intimacy.  This wasn’t that at all.  Instead, it was a weapon, a foul word that stung you like a whip.

He didn’t want you here.  Maybe your presence really was just making it worse for him.  He’d focus more on not wanting you around and fighting your hep than he would actually trying to fight his withdrawal.  You had to leave and hope that he would be able to come out of this on his own.

Without a word, you loosened the cap on the water bottle and set it on the floor next to him as a final offering before getting up off the cold tile to leave.  You left the bathroom, while the sounds of his continued retching filled your ears.  Each cough and gag from his battered throat deepened your guilt, reminding you how your irresponsibility had contributed to him getting into this mess.  Yes, he stole from you.  It still angered you.  But at the same time, you were the one who had all your mental faculties and still left drugs within his reach when he came to you for help.

You placed two water bottles and the crackers on the nightstand for him.  Then, you took the half-full trash bag out of his trash can and made sure it was near his bed, just in case he needed to throw up again later.

With one more glance at him through the bathroom doorway while he sat doubled over the toilet, you made your way to the door. 

Please be safe, please be safe… you silently pleaded.

Just as you put your hand on the doorknob, you heard a thud.

“Dabi?  Are you okay?” you called.

Only silence greeted you. A cold panic set in and you rushed into the bathroom to find Dabi unconscious on the floor, face down in a puddle of water.  The water bottle you had left had tipped over, the cold liquid spreading across the bathroom tile and soaking into Dabi’s clothes.  You pushed your panic aside as you immediately switched into emergency mode.  You knelt by his side and rolled him over onto his back, cupping his face in your hand. His skin felt hot to the touch.

“Dabi??”  You called.  No response.  You checked for a pulse and felt it fluttering beneath your fingers. “DABI??” you shouted as you lightly smacked his cheek.  He didn’t respond.  His color was lifelessly pale, but his chest rose and fell in slow breaths.  He was breathing.  You checked his pupils – dilated.  He definitely still had your drugs in his system.  How much, you weren’t sure.  Once again, you were grateful that he had managed to throw up what he could.

His skin was burning. Was it already hotter than a moment ago? Was it a fever from the withdrawal? Or was it his quirk acting up, going haywire without him being able to consciously be in control of himself? The idea of his cremation randomly unleashing itself in the small bathroom made your throat dry up with dread.

You had to cool him down somehow. Dabi’s bathroom had a walk-in shower just a foot away, and you gave a silent thankful prayer to the universe.  A bathtub would have made this entire fiasco exponentially more difficult.

First, you had to remove his clothes.   They were trapping in his body heat at the moment, compounding his fever.

It wasn’t easy.  Dabi was lean, but he certainly didn’t lack muscle, and what he lacked for in bulk, he made up for in height.  It was awkward in the small space as you pulled his sweatpants off of him, exposing scarred legs with metal staples curving along his thighs.  You left his boxers on.  You couldn’t bring yourself to take them off of him while he was unconscious.  His head lolled to the side while his eyes, now half-lidded, stared with an empty, unconscious gaze.  His shirt was next, wet with sweat, water, and specks of bile. The fresh bandage that you had recently applied fell off as soon as the cotton fabric wasn’t there to hold it in place. The wound was healing, but it was still pink and raw.  The slightest amount of pressure would reopen the sensitive tissue, undoing your hard work.

You needed your med kit.

Once he was undressed, you rolled him to his side.  You didn’t want him to aspirate if he ended up vomiting again.  Then, you ran the shower to let the water warm slightly.  It needed to be lukewarm – cool enough to bring down his fever, but not so cold that it would shock his system and make him shiver.  Shivering helped to increase body temperature, and that was the last thing he needed.

Once the water was running, you took one last look at the man laying unconscious on his side before making a mad dash out of his room and into yours to grab your medical bag by your bed.  There was no time to double check the supplies in it; you only hoped you had what you needed.  You grabbed a couple of clean towels from your own bathroom before running back into his room, thankfully unnoticed in the empty hall.  It took less than a minute.

You bandaged his wound back up quickly, while he was on his side.  It wasn’t the neatest work, but it would do for now.  Already, his body temperature was noticeably higher than when you had left him.  There was no time to check it with your thermometer - it was a race against the clock, now.

You rolled Dabi back onto his back to try and rouse him once again, picking him up slightly so he lay in your lap, while you called his name and cupped his cheek.  His eyes fluttered open slightly, his head shifting at the sound of your voice, before his eyes closed again.  You cursed under your breath and laid him back down the way you had him before while you checked the water temperature.  It was warm enough, or so you hoped, since his own temperature kept rising.  You turned off the water briefly to retrieve the unconscious man.

Finally, you were ready. You tried to grab Dabi from under his armpits, but his skin was almost too hot to touch for an extended period of time.  Definitely quirk related.  You grabbed a spare towel and tried again, this time protecting your hands and arms against his scalding skin.  You wrapped your hands around his chest, your arms under his armpits, and began to drag him to the shower stall.  You tried your best to be mindful of his scars and staples, hoping that dragging him across the floor wouldn’t tear anything.  For a shower that was so close in proximity, it took a painstakingly long time to get him into it and properly positioned before you could step out and turn the shower back on.

Lukewarm water sputtered out of the showerhead, drenching his body from the chest down.  The water steamed upon contact, reacting to the heat rolling off of him like asphalt on a hot summer’s day.  Dabi stirred slightly, roused to consciousness by the sensation and the change in temperature.  He looked around groggily until his blue eyes settled on you.  You waited for him to say something, but no words came as his dazed eyes seemed to lose focus.  The only sign that he was still somewhat conscious was the occasional slow blink while he watched you take a wet washcloth and squeeze it over his head to let the cool water soak his hair and dribble down his face and neck.  The water trickled down his forehead to his brow, and you tenderly wiped it away with the washcloth to keep it from getting into his eyes.  You followed the contours of his face with the cool cloth, along his jawline, across his cheeks.

Dabi closed his eyes for minutes at a time, only opening them briefly as you adjusted the water temperature slightly and again as your ran your fingers through his wet hair, moving the dripping strands from his forehead so you could see his face better. Color slowly began to creep back into his skin, the water no longer steamed.  What you were doing was working, and you were grateful – so grateful – that you hadn’t left him yet.  The rush of time slowed down.  Dabi’s eyes closed again as you quietly hummed to yourself as you cared for him. It helped to calm your nerves and pass the time.

After what felt like ages, you finally checked his temperature, this time with the temporal thermometer you had in your bag.  The number that beeped back at you satisfied you enough to turn the water off.  You gave Dabi’s shoulder a small shake, and his eyes opened to look at you under heavy lids.

“Come on.” You whispered. “I need you to stand up.”

He licked his chapped lips as he braced himself into a standing position with your help and made the two feet distance to sit on his toilet, his wet boxers dribbling puddles of water onto the floor.  You covered him in two towels, one for his head and one for his shoulders, before you stepped out of the bathroom for a moment to get him fresh clothes.

You realized quickly that he’d need to change out of his wet boxers – something you hadn’t considered earlier when you undressed him. You gulped briefly.  Could he even do that on his own right now?  He still was out of it and needed assistance just to stand.

There was no way around it.  You’d have to help him.

You grabbed a pair of fresh boxers, black jersey shorts, and a white tee before returning to the bathroom. He was in the position you left him, the only difference being that he was now leaning against the wall while he sat on the toilet.  His eyes were closed at first but they opened slightly when you nudged him gently.  He still looked completely out of it.

Even so, you talked to him. “Dabi,” you whispered.  “I have to change your boxers so I can put dry clothes on you.  I’m going to help you stand up.”

He gave a slow blink but made no attempt to move or speak.  As you wrapped your arms around his chest to help him up, he didn’t fight you, leaning his weight into you just enough to rise slightly from his sitting position. You weren’t sure how conscious he really was for this.  Was he aware of what was going on, of what you were doing?  Or was his body going through the motions, barely registering his environment?  You hoped it was the latter. 

“I won’t look.” You promised.  You looped your fingers into the wet waistband and pulled it down, before letting him sit back down on the toilet.  With your eyes respectfully averted, you pulled the wet material off the rest of the way down his legs and off his feet.  You quickly dried his legs off before grabbing the clean boxers you had set up on top of his sink, the only dry spot left in the bathroom.  Through the use of touch, you were able to put his feet into them and pull them up just above his bent knees.  His shorts followed until both items were pulled up as high as they would go in his sitting position.

“One more time.” You said. With him braced against you, you grabbed both waistbands and pulled his clothes on.  A moment later, he was sitting back down, properly covered.  You proceeded with your administrations now that the hard part was done. You dried his hair with the towel still on his head, and then dried his torso and arms using the towel on his shoulders.  By the time you were helping him with his tee shirt, he was starting to show some cognizance, pushing his arms out through the holes himself once you got them into position.

Quickly you flushed the toilet he was sitting on, washing away the contents from earlier, and gathered the soiled clothes and towels from the floor before taking them to the laundry hamper in his room.  It was still dark outside, and you wondered what time it was.  3:30am?  4?  You had no way of knowing; you had left your phone in your room.  With the situation no longer critical, your adrenaline finally started to drop.  Exhaustion pulled at you, a heavy blanket threatening to smother you until you surrendered.  You were so tired, that even Dabi’s bed looked inviting at this point.

You forced yourself to keep going. 

You grabbed one of the water bottles from his nightstand, hoping that you could finally get him to drink something now that the vomiting was over and he was starting to gain awareness again.

When you came back to the bathroom, Dabi looked up at you as you entered, his eyes truly seeing you for the first time.

“You’re still here.” He slurred, his voice raspy.

“You noticed, huh?” you gave a small smirk, an attempt to lighten the heavy atmosphere.

He was quiet for a moment and looked down, confusion on his face.  “I told you to leave.”

“Yeah, well I was going to, but then you passed out on the bathroom floor.” You replied.  “I couldn’t just leave you there.”

He didn’t respond. The fight in him was gone for the moment.  He was placid now, almost childlike.  You opened the water bottle and handed it to him, but he turned his head away.

“Please, Dabi…” you begged.

He looked back at the item in your hand and stared at it for a moment before finally taking it and taking a small sip.  He grimaced painfully.

Of course; after all that vomiting he did earlier, his throat probably hurt like hell.

You pointed at his neck. “May I?”  You hoped he understood.

He seemed to.  He lowered the water bottle from his lips to allow you access to his throat, and gently you placed your hand over it, feeling the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed against your cool touch.  Your quirk seeped into him like honey into a cake, coating his throat and washing the burning pain away.

He swallowed again, this time without flinching.  His eyes stared at you, still hazy, but with the hint of something lively in them –a flicker of kindling.  He took your hand from his neck and moved it down to his abdomen.

“Here.” He spoke.

You understood, but you hesitated.  Would you be able to keep your quirk focused on just the nerves of his muscles?  Or would it go deeper than that, impacting the nerves in his gut? That could have its own effects – he won’t feel the burning in his gut, but he also won’t feel hunger for a while, and may not feel that urge to vomit again even if his body needed to later.

“Just a little bit.” You replied.

You felt your quirk trickle into him, like water through cracks in concrete.  Once your quirk felt the resistance of the deeper layers of muscle and tissue, you pulled your hand away.  If you pushed any further, it’d be too much.  He might feel some pain still, but it should be mitigated at least.

“Drink more now. Please.” You ordered.

He obliged, drinking the water in large, thirsty gulps for the first time that evening.  Once he was done, he wiped his mouth and handed the empty water bottle to you.  You set it on his sink next to the faucet, in case it needed to be refilled later on.

“Come on,” you said. You kneeled down and put his arm around your shoulder, helping him stand.  “Let’s get you into bed.”

He didn’t respond; instead, he let you lead him out of the bathroom to the edge of his bed where he fell into it.  You debated on whether or not you could leave him there and finally retreat to your room for much-needed rest, but you decided against it.  The meds that were flowing in his system were going to start wearing off soon.  He will be hungering for more, and you won’t be able to give it to him this time.  If you left him alone here, he’d either somehow end up back in your room hunting for that hidden bottle, or he’d go out on the street to try to score whatever he could, no matter the consequences.

There was no choice. You had to stay.  And when his pain became too much, you’d help out as best you could.  Maybe you could mitigate the symptoms enough to last him until tomorrow evening.  By then, you could start him back up on your pills.

You hoped you could handle it. You’d already used your quirk three times tonight - twice just now, and once earlier when you treated his burn in your room.  Already, the environment seemed a little harsher to you.  Light was brighter, noises louder… It wasn’t too terrible just yet, but all of your senses were heightened more than they were before.  The damaged nerves on your back, always hidden by your shirt, itched irritably. It was still bearable – for now. 

A sense of trepidation filled you.  You’d gone so long without over-exerting your quirk… it had taken only one time to experience it, and you vowed to never let it happen again.  Then again, you never expected to be single-handedly dealing with drug addiction and withdrawal for a man who takes enough opioids to take down an elephant.

You peaked at him in his bed where he lay curled up on his side.  His eyes were closed for the moment, but you weren’t sure if he was asleep or not.  Without disturbing him, you managed to steal a spare pillow from his bed.  Then, with a heavy, resigned sigh, you laid down in front of his door, his pillow your only comfort.  If he tried to leave, he’d have to go through you.  The window was unguarded, but you weren’t too worried – you were three stories up.  The building was an old hotel, so all fire escapes were located at the end of the hall, and he was in no condition to try to climb down the rusty drainpipes.

Despite the hardness of the floor and the coldness of the air, sleep claimed you within seconds, the scent of Dabi enveloping you.

As you slept, Dabi stirred restlessly in his bedsheets, his mind drifting between a vague wakefulness and dreams.

There was humming. Someone was singing.  It soothed him.

He blinked.

You were talking to him, but he couldn’t make out the words.  Something cool and wet passed across his forehead.  Was this real?

He blinked.

Your face peered up at him, filled with a loving concern as your hand cupped his cheek, your thumb stroking across his stitches softly.  Was THIS real?

He blinked.

He stared at himself, his scars gone, his hair a deep red.  His blue eyes echoed his other self like an infinite row of mirrors.

He blinked.

He tried to speak, but pills kept falling from his mouth, choking his words.  He couldn’t breathe.  His other self stood before him, hands cupped and outstretched as the pills filled them and overflowed, scattering over the floor like a child’s marbles.

He blinked.

All he could see was a blue sky, but there were sounds.  The sound of children’s laughter, the sound of a ball being kicked. The was a faint smell of dirt in the air.  He was happy.

He blinked.

A woman sat near a window, bathed in sunlight with a white bundle cradled in her arms.  Something about her was oddly familiar, yet he couldn’t place her.  She sang. “My little Shouto.  My sweet, little Shouto…”  A baby cooed.  Her face turned to him, but her features were hazy, hard to see through the dust that danced in the sunbeams.  She reached out a long, slender hand.  “Come here, Touya.  Meet your little brother.”

He blinked.

He saw the woman again, standing at the end of a lake dock in a white dress, her hair billowing like a white flag of surrender.  The lake was smooth as glass, a white mist ghosting over its glossy waters.  He knew her.

Mother.

He tried to call to her, but his words were silent, falling from voiceless lips like birds with broken wings.  She put one foot out over the water and fell silently, disappearing beneath the murky depths without a splash.  A cold dread filled him.  Frantically, he ran towards the water, but before he could dive in, the water on the lake erupted into orange, writhing flames.  The wood beneath his feet crackled and charred, flames licking at his legs, his arms, his face.  The dock broke and suddenly he was drowning, boiling water filling his lungs.  Unseen hands grasped at his limbs, pulling him down, down, into the darkness, his flesh turning to ash beneath their touch.

Dabi woke with a shout, his eyes wide and filled with a wild fear.  He felt restrained, his legs unable to move.

“Hold him down.” Said a familiar, gruff voice.  The smell of cigarette smoke choked him.  “I told you this would hurt, kid.”

Suddenly, your face came into view, hovering over him with your hands on his shoulders, shaking him. “Dabi.  Dabi!” you called.  You stared down at him with worry, dark circles under your bloodshot, tired eyes.

You were here.

The waking nightmare lifted and suddenly he was gasping for air like a deep-sea diver, heavy breaths filling his lungs as he broke through the surface into consciousness.  “Y/N?” he said, his voice sounding strangely strangled to his ears.  His eyes looked around frantically, taking in his room.  A dark twilight was starting to emerge from the clouded, early morning sky outside, dark blue-grey contrasting with the yellow light seeping from the edges of his closed his bathroom door.   The colors framed your face as you spoke to him

“Hey, it’s okay.” You said soothingly.  “It was just a dream.”

His bedsheets were tangled around his bare legs like a snake.  Dabi kicked them off and sat up in his bed with a wince.  “I need some water.”  An open water bottle appeared in front of him, which he gratefully took and drank.

“Are you okay?” you asked.

Dabi handed the bottle back to you without looking.  “I’m fine.” He said gruffly; more so than he intended.  But he wasn’t fine.  Everything hurt.  His head was pounding.  His damaged nerves were starting to scream while his body felt as if it had been forced into a box that was too small, aching in places he never thought it could ache. Underneath it all, humming low like a wild animal growling a warning, sat an uneasiness - a dark, nervous energy - threatening to envelop him and wrap him up tightly in despair.  Flashes of dreams – or were they memories? – threatened to drag him back down into the darkest parts of himself.

Dabi grappled for control, but he was losing.

You placed a concerned hand over his and he withdrew from your touch, the affection foreign to him. The heavy weight of shame sat deep in his gut as he took in your weary face.   Somewhere, beneath the noisy din of his mind, a thought occurred to him: this was taking its toll on you too. 

“Why are you still here?” he asked as he laid back onto his damp pillow, his arm over his eyes.

“Because you need me.” You replied.

He clenched his jaw. “No, I don’t.”  The words were feeble and weak in his mouth, not an ounce of truth in them.  You both knew it.

“I’m too tired to argue with you.” You stated as you rubbed at the bridge of your nose. 

“Then go to bed.” He replied.

You wanted to growl in frustration, your own exhaustion making your fuse especially short.  If he could just not fight you every step of the way, that’d be great.

“The last time I almost left, you fainted on the bathroom floor in a puddle of water while your body tried to combust itself.  So no, I’m not leaving.”

Your tone allowed no more room for argument, your words forcing Dabi to sulk silently.  He sat up from his reclined position, his long, scarred legs swinging over the side of the bed to plant firmly on the ground.  His leg began to bounce and jitter, an attempt to relieve the irritated, unfocused energy that swirled inside of him like a cyclone. He felt like hell.  He was a desert, his body and mind parched as the drugs in his system began to dry up. Even the slightest bit of movement set his nerves ablaze, pain coursing over his skin like a wildfire.  He was tired… so fucking tired.

You reached across him, your proximity allowing him to smell the shampoo in your hair as your arm and shoulder pressed against him. For the briefest of moments, he felt something akin to peace break through his stormy mind like sunlight.  It was short-lived though.  Your closeness left as quickly as it had come, taking the sunshine with it.

“Hey…” you whispered next to him, a pack of crackers in your hand.  You opened the packaging and handed him one.  “Try to eat something.”

“I’m not hungry.” He replied.

“I don’t care.  You need to eat.” You replied.

He didn’t have the strength to fight you.  Begrudgingly, he took the cracker and nibbled on it.  There was no pleasure in it, his jaw going through the motions like a machine as he chewed and swallowed.

You continued to talk to him, your voice soft, as you handed him another cracker.  “You’re going into withdrawal again.” You stated.

“I know.”

“It might actually feel worse this time.”

“It does.”

Your face blurred as another wave of fiery pain washed over him, making him double over, the cracker crumbling like ashes in his fist.  He gasped and panted against it, his body shaking from the stress.

You placed a gentle hand on his arm. “Let me help you.”  You said. “Let me use my quirk.”

For the briefest of moments, Dabi’s pained expression lifted, and you could see the desperation in his eyes. “It won’t be enough.” He replied.

“Let me try.” You begged.

He stared at you.  It was either this, or drugs.

He nodded.

You took his hand in yours and began to trace your fingers along his staples, your quirk seeping in. He inhaled a sharp breath.  The pain dissipated where your touch landed. It soaked into his aching bones like heavy rainfall on a burning forest.  There was a moment of clarity, the sensation so shocking that it distracted him from his suffering.    Slowly you let your hands follow up the length of his arm, following his scars and leaving a humming numbness in its wake.  Then, you took his other hand to continue the same treatment on the other side.

Dabi stared at his painless hand in vague fascination.  It didn’t seem like it belonged to him.  His vision blurred, memory replacing reality.

His hands were smaller now, the stitches gone.  The skin was bubbled and blistered, and he could hear his own quiet sobs as hot tears rolled down his cheeks.

“Hey, sweetie.” A soft voice called.  Pale, white, delicate hands wrapped around his own damaged ones.

He looked up to see his mother smiling at him.  It was a sad smile, full of love, but never quite reaching her tired eyes.

“It hurts.” He sobbed.

“I know.” She soothed. “It’s okay.”  A cool frost began to ghost over his damaged skin, soothing the burning, throbbing pain.

“Why does my quirk hurt me, mommy?” he heard himself ask.

“It’s my fault, honey.” She whispered, tears stinging her grey eyes.

“It’s not your fault.” Dabi whispered.

Your touch on his collarbone pulled him back to reality on a thin, white thread.

“What was that?” you asked, your fingers pausing in their work.

“What?” he replied, disoriented.

“You said ‘it’s not your fault.’” You replied with a confused look.  “What’s not my fault?”

“Nothing.” He responded as he turned his head away from your prying gaze.

You didn’t pursue it. Dabi was grateful.  Instead, he felt your cool touch return to his collarbone to trace along the muscles of his neck and shoulders.  While your touch helped initially, the cloud of suffering followed close behind from the places you had yet to reach, a parade of aches and throbs blaring their horns against his brain.  His body focused on the noise and continued to shiver and shake while he struggled to keep himself focused.

His face was next, so you cupped his cheek in your hand and gently returned his averted gaze to you. His blue eyes locked with yours, and you stared into them for a moment, captivated by their beauty, aching with their suffering.  He didn’t deserve this.  Any of this. You could only hope that what you were doing was enough, that it could make a difference.

Your fingers rushed and fumbled clumsily across the lower half of his face and beneath his eyes. You couldn’t quite explain why.  Perhaps it felt too personal, even after all you two had been through so far.  You barely touched his lower lip, the sensation of its roughness sending electric tingles up your fingertips.  You desperately wanted to slow down, take your time, and cherish.  But you couldn’t. Such exploration was far too intimate to happen here, now, under such heavy circumstances.  

You paused for a moment in your administrations as sweat started to break across your brow.  The light from the bathroom felt unusually bright to your eyes and you could feel a headache start to form.  A shiver began to take you as your body became increasingly sensitive to the cool temperature of the room, each soft gust of air from the open window feeling like an icy blast.  Even your hearing was more sensitive – you could hear Dabi’s heavy breaths as his body struggled; you could hear the early morning sounds of songbirds beginning to sing as the sky gradually lightened outside.  The rumble of a car passing by on the street sounded like a freight train. All of your nerves were beginning to tingle, and you became increasingly aware of the texture of the clothing on your skin, the feel of Dabi’s staples beneath your hands.  Most of all, the scarred nerves on your back were beginning their own little dance, sending small shoots of tingling pain up your spine.

It was already happening. The feedback from your quirk was starting to cross the threshold into painful overstimulation.  It was happening far sooner than you had hoped. But then again, you’d already used your quirk three times within the past eight hours, and your body was already at its limits in other ways. Even quirks could be impacted by physical fatigue, dehydration, hunger… it was like trying to run a marathon on zero sleep and an empty stomach. 

Dread settled into your empty gut, making a home there out of wild, thorny weeds.  They tangled themselves in your limbs, slowing your movements as your mind began to race. Would you really be able to help him?

Your worried thoughts were interrupted by the sound of multiple ‘dings’ coming from Dabi’s phone that sat neglected on his nightstand, as a series of text messages came through.  Each ding vibrated your inner ear at the loudness. A few minutes later, you heard the sound of bedroom doors opening and closing in the hallway.  Your hands froze over Dabi’s skin as you waited and listened. Muffled voices vibrated on the other side of the thin walls, your sensitive ears picking up every word.

“Why the hell do Kurogiri and Shigaraki have us getting up so goddamn early?” Twice complained.

Spinner’s voice answered. “He said he’ll explain it to us downstairs.  Something about our next mission, I guess.  Something to do with the Yakuza.”

A loud yawn came from Toga. “Couldn’t it have waited?? I still need my beauty sleeeeeep….” She whined.

Magne’s voice soon followed.  “You’re already beautiful, sweetie.”

“You’re the best, Magne…”

Their voices faded as they entered the old elevator at the end of the hall, it’s off-key ding marking the closing of the doors.

A heavy silence followed. You and Dabi were alone now, the entire floor empty.  A confusing combination of relief and anxiety washed over you.  The privacy was good, but then again, there was no one around to help if you really needed it.

You returned your gaze to Dabi who sat in silence while his withdrawal continued to wash over him. If your quirk had helped so far, you couldn’t really tell.  His breaths were still labored and his vision unfocused as his body shook slightly.  He sat there as if waiting.  Waiting for you?  Or was he still falling in his mind, waiting to crash hard across the sharp jagged rocks of his withdrawal before you could catch him?

He had more scars you needed to tend to… on his legs, his back, his left side just below his ribs, and over his hips, the dark tissue disappearing beneath his shorts.  This wasn’t even counting the rest of the pain he felt everywhere else in his body simply from not having any drugs in his system.  You were only able to do damage control on the parts that hurt the most.  What if it wasn’t enough?  It wasn’t a possibility you had considered before.

You swallowed, your mouth and throat dry.  You had to try. 

“Let’s take off your shirt.” You said.  “It’ll make it easier for me to reach your other scars.”

He didn’t respond to you, his gaze unfocused.

Scars… scars….

The word echoed in his mind, and he followed it as it led him down an invisible road to another memory.

“Eww, look at his scars!” a kid said to his friend, his finger pointing. 

The friend wrinkled in disgust.  “Gross!”

“Dabi?” a voice called.  He turned and saw his sister.  His brow furrowed.  Something wasn’t right.  The name didn’t match the movement of her lips…

“Dabi??” your voice cut through, and the memory disappeared.

Dabi looked up at you, confused.  “Hm?”

“Your shirt.  We have to take it off.”

He silently lifted his shirt over his head, while you watched him with worry.  It wasn’t hard for you to figure out what was happening.  He was having long moments of non-responsiveness, getting repeatedly lost in his thoughts.  You didn’t know much about him, but you could hazard a guess that this guy probably did not have a happy backstory. Villains never did. No doubt the lack of drugs in his system was bringing up that backstory for him right now. The concern, however, was that that was something that was completely outside of your scope. Physical pain was one thing. Mental pain was an entirely different beast.  All you could hope for was that your physical treatments could help him enough that he could handle his mental issues by himself.

You took a moment to assess his body and how it was responding to your quirk.  His leg no longer bounced, and the shivering was reduced. He showed no hesitation or pain when he removed his shirt.  It was definitely doing something.

It gave you hope.

You kept going, your hands washing over wherever the scars presented themselves.  Your relief continued to pour into him, but it was impaired now, impacted by your body’s need to limit itself.  It was like holding your hand in increasingly hot water – at some point your body was going to recoil to protect you before you burned yourself.  You were pushing yourself dangerously far, but you didn’t have a choice.  If you stopped now, all of this would be for nothing.

As you struggled to treat every damaged part of him, your heightened senses became worse and worse. And the scar on your back… the one that you always kept covered, the one you never told anyone about because of what it represented… that hurt the most. It burned nearly as fresh as it had when you first got it, a hot searing pain, and panic started to seep into your mind.

You forced yourself to focus on the present, to keep yourself in control.  Your hands were on his legs now.  You counted the staples as your fingers passed over them.

One, two, three, four, five…

This was the reason you needed your meds.  Everything else you could handle on your own.  But the scar… the scar always hurt if you pushed too far, and the memories associated with it were never far behind.  And this was the farthest you had pushed in a long time

Six, seven, eight, nine…

But you couldn’t take your pills.  And you couldn’t cry.  Dabi would see it, and there was no telling how he would respond.  You silently clenched your jaw and hoped that he didn’t notice the sweat across your skin or the way your hands were shaking now.

Finally, your hands reached his feet, and you couldn’t deny your fingers rushed across the staples that marked the end of your journey.  Your touches were done, your quirk spent.  Your body was tensed now, each muscle tightened in an attempt to keep yourself together.

You looked back up at him and watched him intently, hopefully, forcing your eyes to focus on him and only him, as you tried to tune out the rest of the environment that was demanding your attention.  His body no longer shook.  But his eyes were still glazed over and his hands were still wrapped around his core. Was he still in pain?  Or was he holding himself for comfort?

Although the battleground of Dabi’s body was more balanced now with your help, the war within himself was far from over.  His muscles still ached where your hands had yet to reach, and his head still hurt almost to the point of sickness.  But most importantly, while your touch soothed the physical, the mental was left unbarred. The demons of the flesh were replaced by demons of the past, as memory after suppressed memory crashed back into Dabi’s defenseless mind.

“Don’t stop.” He begged in a strained whisper.  “I need more.”

Your eyes widened. You didn’t have any more. You gave everything you could and now you were hanging on by a thread.  

You no longer had the will or strength to hold in your emotions.  Tears slipped down your cheeks, wet roads marking your failure, your failure to subdue his suffering as you had promised.

“I can’t.” you sobbed.

He stared at you foggily, confused by the tears on your cheeks.  Were you crying?

“Are you crying??” demanded a deep, angry voice.

Dabi squeezed his eyes shut against the sound, as memory mingled with reality.  It sounded real.

Dabi knew he was hallucinating from the withdrawal.  Years of dependency had the wires in his brain crisscrossed, and now they were misfiring as it tried to process the trauma he had neglected.  Even so, he couldn’t shake the feeling that his father was here. He sensed his towering, overbearing presence, could feel the heat of the fire rolling off of his broad shoulders.  He wasn’t ‘Dabi’ in that moment. He was ‘Touya,’ small and weak. He couldn’t suppress the fear that followed, crawling up his skin like a thousand ants.  He wanted to run from it, but he couldn’t. 

This was hell. He was in hell.  He couldn’t make the voices stop, couldn’t make the memories disappear.  He was cornered, with no way out. 

Dabi craved surrender, to satisfy the addiction and let it wash over him. He wanted it drown his shame and agony, leaving nothing but that comforting, vengeful rage he was so used to. It was the only thing that worked, the only thing he believed in.  If he could just get the right drugs, enough drugs, then all of this would go away.  It was his only option.  Earlier was just a mistake, his broken mind reasoned.  He wouldn’t have thrown up those pills if he ate something, after all. This time… this time, he’d be okay.  He ate those crackers, didn’t he?

Desperation fueled him, fear and exhaustion consumed him as he locked his eyes on you with intense purpose. “I need those pills. NOW.” 

You shook your head vigorously as your words fell from your trembling lips. “I don’t have them.”  More tears slipped down your cheeks.

“ARE YOU CRYING??”

A child sobbed.

“Get up.  I SAID GET UP.”

Dabi’s blood went cold. He knew this memory.  No, no, no…

Dabi leapt out of his bed, nearly knocking you over in the process. 

His frantic eyes spotted your medical bag against the wall and before you could even get off the bed, he was dumping its contents all over the floor.  Scissors, gauze, over-the-counter pain medicine, and a variety of other items rolled across the hard wood with a clatter.  You winced.  He threw the bag aside when he couldn’t find what he wanted.

“Where did you put it??” Dabi demanded.  His world spun, but he managed to find the wall with his hand and used it to brace himself up.

“I can’t tell you that.” You replied as you stood up.

“So now you’re keeping them from me?” he seethed.

Now that he knew the drugs weren’t in the room, you knew he would try to leave.  You made yourself stand up, stifling a cry with a bite of your tongue as your shirt rubbed against your back, to position yourself between him and the door.  Fear coursed through you.  Even though he was weakened from all that he’d gone through, you knew he could easily overpower you.

You put your hands out towards him cautiously.  “We either deal with this now and be done with it, or we deal with it all over again later when the pills run out.  You’ve already been through so much.  Please, Dabi, don’t give up. You can fight this.”

“You’re pathetic.  Weak, like your mother.”

He covered his ears, a futile attempt at blocking the voices from within.  

He couldn’t.  He couldn’t fight this.  The pain was too much, the exhaustion too heavy, the emotions too raw. He needed the drugs.  His survival depended on it.  Without them, he would go insane.  Hadn’t he suffered enough?  He wanted to scream, to break things, to ignite his cremation and send everything to ash, including himself.  But he didn’t.  Perhaps it was the cowardice of dying, or the dissatisfaction of unfinished business, or even the simple fact that you were here with him.  Instead, he tried to step around you, but you matched him move for move, blocking his exit.  He was trapped.

“Get the fuck outta my way.” Dabi growled.

“No.” you said firmly, even as your body shook in fear and pain. Your eyes were trained on his hands. What if he decided to use his quirk?  He wouldn’t… would he?

His face contorted in rage. Betrayal, his mind seethed. You cared more about protecting your precious stash than you did about him. How could you be so fucking selfish?

“You just want to keep the pills for yourself.” He spat.

His accusation shocked you. “W-what?”

“Admit it.  You’re a fucking addict just like me. THAT’S WHY YOU WON’T LET ME HAVE ANY!”

“I’m not!” you protested.  “Dabi, I’m trying to help you!”

“I’m sorry!” Touya begged.  “Let me try again. I just wanna be like you!  I wanna be a hero, too!”

“You’ll NEVER be like me! You’re a DISGRACE!  A failed experiment!”

“No, no, NO!” Dabi shouted as he squeezed his eyes shut, his fists pounding his head.  He opened his eyes, a wildness in them that terrified you. He grabbed at you then, his long fingers wrapping around your biceps with shocking force as he prepared to physically move you from his path.  You cried out in pain, his touch like knives against your sensitive skin.

“Dabi, stop it, you’re hurting me!” you cried. 

Your frantic words cut through his crazed mind.  He stared at you, bewildered, taking in the terror in your eyes, the tears on your face. He saw his hands gripping you, your arms bent up in front of you defensively in fear. 

In fear of him.

He let you go, stumbling back a step.  He stared at his open palms in horror, his chest heaving.  He’d grabbed you.  Hurt you. It was his worst fear come to life.  He really was like him.

His hands morphed before his eyes, the scars and staples vanishing, and suddenly they were bigger, rougher.  They were his father’s hands.  And as he looked up, he no longer saw you.  Now, he saw his mother, her eyes holding the same fear yours did a moment ago, a fear he’d seen countless times as she tried to defend her children.  Those eyes were now trained on him, and it felt as if his soul was being ripped to shreds.

“I-I’m sorry.” He stuttered. He needed her forgiveness.  Did he even deserve such a thing?  He fell to his knees with a choked sob.  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He repeated.

You stared in shock as you watched him fall apart before you, rambling apologies and broken words falling from his lips.  You whispered that it was alright, but he couldn’t hear you, too far lost in whatever nightmare he was stuck in.  You knelt next to him and placed a gentle hand on his back, rubbing small circles in the space between his shoulders.

He could feel it… his mother’s touch, cool on his back and warm on his soul.  He was falling and no longer knew where he was.  He only knew that this touch between his shoulder blades was an anchor to a place he couldn’t reach, a place he longed for but never believed existed for him.  It was an exoneration, made of mercy and love, sewing together his broken pieces with a golden thread. He wasn’t worthy of it.  He cried.

Tears rolled down your cheeks as you bore witness to his agony, this unknown monster that haunted him as he sobbed, completely dismantled and unaware of your presence. There was nothing you could do, no way you could help him through this.  All you could do was be here for him.  You wouldn’t let him go through this alone

You wrapped your arms around his head as you buried your face into his black hair, your own tears running down into his dark strands.  His body responded, lean, strong arms wrapping around your waist as he pressed himself against your stomach and suddenly the two of you were entwined, with him halfway in your lap, gripping you like a child would his mother as his body shook and his tears ran hot into your clothes.

With every inch of you on the brink, your body screamed at his iron-like grip around your waist. Even so, you twined your fingers into his thick hair, bracing the palms of your hands against his sweating skull. With one last surge, you drew what you could of your quirk, scraping the dredges of your ability, and pushed, deep into his brain where the pain still sat like a bullet in a wound that couldn’t heal.  A choked sob escaped your lips as your body was pushed passed its threshold, your world exploding in color, sound, and pain.  Dabi’s own sobs fell silent and his body went limp in your lap, his arms around your waist going slack.  He was unconscious. 

A deafening silence fell across the room, slowly replaced by the sounds of daily life from outside – the bustle of traffic, someone’s radio blaring, people laughing.  It felt out of place in contrast to all that had transpired and clashed harshly with your ears.  The sun was completely up now, the grey haze of morning burned away.  It seeped past the cracks in the curtains, a beam of light streaking across the floor to kiss the face of the man now passed out in your lap. The brightness of the sunlight made you squint against it, but you couldn’t take your eyes off of him.  You watched the tension in his face disappear, furrowed brows and wrinkled forehead smoothing over, his lips parting in a relaxed breath.  It was the first time you’d ever seen him look so peaceful.

You watched as your tears fell on his pale cheek to slip down and catch onto a metal ring. Suddenly, you were doubled over him, sobbing violently into his shoulder.  The rollercoaster of all that had happened crashed over you in unrelenting waves as your body screamed at the entire loudness of the world around you.  As you cried, the broken man beneath you slept. There was no waking him now; his own exhaustion had claimed him once you hit his withdrawal at its source. 

After what felt like ages, your sobbing subsided, and your tears dried up.  Your body and soul were spent.  They screamed for relief, for silence, for sleep.  Slowly, you removed Dabi from your lap before finally staring at him, asleep on the floor.  There was no way you could get him back into his bed, but you’d do what you could to make him comfortable.  Even the slightest bit movement was agony, but you forced yourself forward with painstaking slowness.  You managed to get the pillow you had borrowed under his head and draped his blanket over him before you grabbed a water bottle for yourself and downed its contents.  You followed it up with a banana, although your stomach roiled slightly, the pain in your lower back bringing forth a wave of nausea that you fought with clenched teeth and deep breaths through the nose.

Every movement was stiff and calculated to try to mitigate your own suffering as you gathered the items Dabi had emptied across the floor earlier.  When you finally left his room, it felt like entering another dimension, the hallway oddly quiet and peaceful.

On tired, aching feet you crossed the hallway to your room and entered. As soon as the door closed behind you, you dropped your bag and headed straight for the bathroom.  As you passed your closet, you eyed the duffle bag stashed up high in your closet, your mind longingly thinking of its hidden contents. You did your best to ignore it.  The idea of having to go through it all again because you couldn’t exercise self-control was enough to keep you from giving into temptation.

Instead, you pulled your over the counter pain relief pills from your medicine cabinet and took four of them; they might not work as well as what you were used to, but it was better than nothing.  Your body screamed for sleep, but you knew that sleep would elude you as long as your senses were going haywire and your back burned.

So, you closed your bathroom door to plunge yourself into darkness and turned on your bathtub, adjusting the temperature to an equilibrium that matched with your own body.  You undressed yourself, slowly, grateful to no longer feel the itchiness of the cotton on your skin while the soles of your bare feet complained about the cold hardness of your bathroom floor.  Once the tub was full and the faucet turned off, you entered the water slowly and submerged yourself until only your mouth and nose were above water.

Immediately, a familiar, comfortable silence fell over you as the water entered your ears and muted your hearing, your closed eyes blocked out any remaining light that the bathroom door couldn’t eliminate, and the water caressed your skin in a gentle, numbing embrace.

This was what you needed – sensory deprivation.  Or, at least the best you could do with your current situation.  A heated pool was more ideal of course, but clearly not an option right now. You could feel the edges of the tub press on your skin where you couldn’t quite fit or where the water wasn’t quite deep enough to fully support you with its buoyancy.  But still, it was far better than anything else you had at your disposal.

If it weren’t for the fear of water getting into your nose and lungs, you would have fallen asleep right there in an instant.  Instead, you lingered, your mind filled with memories and thoughts of the gauntlet you had somehow managed to survive.  You wondered if Dabi would remember all of it when he finally woke up, or if some of it would get lost or buried.

Will he be okay after you used your quirk on his mind?  You hadn’t thought about it when you did it – your instinct took over, fueled by desperation and emotional turmoil at seeing him fall apart in front of you against his will.  You’d never used your quirk like that before, and it scared you.

There was nothing you could do but wait.  Wait and see what happened.

You left the bathtub once the water started to get cold and dressed yourself in your softest article of clothing before falling into bed.  Your blackout curtains did their best to block out the daytime, but nothing could be done for the noise, the old windows made of thin glass.  But fatigue pulled heavy, its weight stronger than your quirk’s feedback.  Time lost its meaning as sleep finally found you, pulling you into its gentle arms while visions of Dabi filled your dreams. __________________________________________________________________

Part 7

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Taglist (always open!): @lemonfvck @vs-redemption @inanabsentia @sheedaabee @toshiuwuu @marydragneell @chillinwithmybakubros @genuinelytodorokisbitch @sam-i-am-1025 @redflannel @axerrri​ @necccomancy @miadraws0 @hot-pocket01 @hopelessdisasterr @dummythiccwitch @villainsdeku @aquzairus @officialtrashbusiness​ @hemdem018 @purplesweethart @doebopeepeebbod @ghost-of-todoroki @marvel-philosophy @lysawayne @udontneedtokno @citrussaurus @littleladdty @starsforannie @zunmie @mae-rd @mrsreina @ohh-takuuu @ih8beefnoodles @kellyyween @jojoniles @steale24

#dabi x reader #dabi x you #dabi #touch #dabi touch #soft dabi #angst #TW: drug abuse #TW: drug withdrawal #TW: withdrawal #TW: abuse #tw: mental health #TW: emotional breakdown #TW: mental breakdown #TW: sensory overstimulation (not the fun kind) #TW: sensory overload #dabi is not in a good place #Dabi is a todoroki #Dabi is Touya #Touya Todoroki

[kippykasey]

Snowdrop Chpt 3

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 5033

Series Summary: Bringing Zemo in to help fight against the rise of the new group of super soldiers brings in a new, yet famailiar face into the mix.

Chapter Summary: Sharon uses her contacts to find out information about Nagel. Meanwhile, Bucky and (Y/N) do a little catching up. Sharon's lead sends them to the docks to confront the man behind the serum.

Chapter Warnings: Episode level violence. Brief mentions of injuries and blood.

A/N: So this chapter took me a while and it kind of took a mind of it's own. There is a character mentioned in this chapter I can not take credit for and that will be 'Ghost'. Credit for that character goes to @darke-15 who is one of my favorite authors with an amazing story in which reader is 'Ghost', so big thanks for letting me borrow your character for a chapter!

Disclaimer: All languages that are not English were provided by Google translator with the translations following in bolden italics. Gifs used were found under the gif tab provided by tumblr.

Catch up on Snowdrop here: (1) (2)

“Well this is too perfect.” A female voice came from the hooded figure. Zemo turned around, The female sounding figure, while pointing the guy towards Zemo, reached up and pulled down the hood. The face revealed was familiar, at least to most of the group. “Drop it, Zemo.” Zemo set down the gun he had in hand while Bucky stepped forward looking confused. “Sharon?”

The blonde woman stepped forward, gun raised pointed at Bucky. (Y/N) moved to step forward but Sam grabbed her arm to keep her in place. “You cost me everything.” She mentioned in a low voice. “Sharon, wait,” something was kicked as she approached the four person group as Sam tried to explain what was going on to the woman, “Someone recreated the super-soldier serum and Zemo had a lead.” Her head nodded to the side in understanding. “That explains why you guys are here. And Selby’s dead.” The woman’s eyes looked at Bucky like she blamed him. “So what are you doing here?” Bucky asked and his tone was almost gentle as he spoke to the woman. “I stole Steve’s shield, remember? I also took the wings for your ass,” The gun moved to point at Sam then to Bucky before landing on Zemo again, “so that you could save his ass from his ass.” (Y/N) who was pretty hidden from Sharon’s view was smiling at her comment.

“I didn’t have the Avengers to back me up. So I’m off the grid in Madripoor.” Sharon shrugged her shoulders finally lowering the gun. “Don’t blow smoke. I was on the run too.” Sam’s town was low and serious as his attention was focused on Sharon. “Was. Is. Big difference. I don’t speak to my family anymore. I can’t. My father doesn’t know where I am.” Sharon spoke and this whole conversation was starting to confuse the other woman who wasn’t around for the events that were being discussed. “Listen, Sharon was it? We need your help blondie.” (Y/N) tells her as she steps up into sight between Zemo and Bucky. Sharon looked her over as she let out a chuckle. “Please.” Bucky adds stepping up next to his old teammate. Sharon let out a sigh as she shook her head slightly. “This isn’t over. I have a place up in High Town. You’ll be safe there.”

Bucky, without asking or offering, scooped the nurse next to him up into his arms. “Don’t argue, you kicked off your shoes and I’m not letting you cut your feet on something.” The rumble of his chest reminded her of a time where the only person she could trust was him. She simply nods her head, glancing over the leather jacket to see Sam push Zemo forward. The group made their way to Sharon’s car that she drove over to her place in High Town.

“Looks like breaking all those laws is treating you well.” Sam comments as he takes in the place the blonde woman was staying. “I thought if I had to hustle, I might as well enjoy the life of a real hustler. You know how much I’ll get for a real Monet?” She gestured to one of the paintings on display as she talked. “Ey easy. Deactivate your hustle mode. You sell fake Monets.” Sam tried to correct her but Zemo cut him off. “No, she means real. This gallery is specialized in stolen artwork. Monet. Van Gogh. Classics.” Y/N nods from Bucky’s side. “It’s true, Wilson.” She confirms before Bucky adds his own confirmation, “You know, half the artwork in museums like the Louvre is fake. Real stuff sits in places like this.”

“Okay guys, I see what you’re doing here. You’re more worldly than good old Sam.” The southern man spoke, pulling out his phone to google the truth. Deciding to catch up with Sharon and Zemo who had kept walking, the lone female of the group giggled as she passed by Sam. “Yeah. What’s google say?” Bucky asked, patting his friend’s shoulder as he passed following his old partner. “No shit.” Sam muttered before Sharon called back to them to change before her clients arrived in an hour. Sharon left the men with a cart of clothes before dragging the other female with her to another room to change.

Sharon led them back into the main room where the three men were left. She commented on Sam's change of clothes, or middle of change considering he was still shirtless. Y/N, now dressed in a navy blue dress pant-suit that was surprisingly comfortable and easy to move in, moved to sit on the couch next to Bucky. She reached over to smooth out the lapels of the black jacket the former soldier now wore. She could hear Sam questioning Sharon about why she never came back and how Sharon would be locked up if she returned. Yet hearing Sharon talk badly about the shield drew the nurse’s attention to her rambling about hero business being hypocrisy. “He knows. And not so deep down.” Zemo comments holding a drink in his hand. “By the way, how is the new Cap?” Sharon asked making Bucky’s eye’s roll as he replied, “Don’t get me started.”

Sharon scoffs as she moved towards the couch. “Please. You buy into all that stars and stripes bullshit.” The silent nurse shifts uncomfortably as she listens to the conversation. “Before you were his pet psychopath you were Mr. America! Cap’s best friend.” Bucky could probably feel the tension growing between the two females that were now seated on either side of him. “Wow. She’s kind of awful now.” The 106 year old man’s face was blank as he glanced up at Sam who was adjusting the neck of a shirt deciding it best to change topic. “Karli Morgenthau and at least seven others have taken the serum.” Sharon shakes her head at the statement “You guys really should steer clear of all of this for your own safety.”

Y/N stands up rubbing her palms over her hips before stepping around the couch to stand behind Bucky. “Sure there is a risk sweetheart but until I… we find out who cracked the code,” She started correcting herself as she spoke. Although his face was as blank as ever a metal hand reached up and back to rest on the hand just next to his shoulder. It wasn’t much but the nonverbal comfort that was given was enough. “We got a name,” the dark head of hair leaned back till the nurse could see the blue eyes she had known for years, “Wilfred Nagel.” Sharon’s eyebrows scrunched together before she moved off the couch, “Nagel works for the Power Broker.”

Sam bargained for Sharon’s help in exchange for clearing her name. Meanwhile the nurse was behind Bucky muttering, “We don’t really need her. Just give us a few hours and we can do it ourselves.” The small tug of a smirk against the stubble jawline of Barnes could be seen before he shook his head slightly. “Trust, doc.” His voice rumbled like low thunder as he spoke to her. She was never one to jump full into a plan without looking at all possibilities, which is why Steve always liked her opinion back in the war.

“They cleared the bionic staring machine, and he killed almost everybody he’s met.” Sam’s comment on Bucky drew the nurse’s attention back to the main conversation in the room. “I heard that.” Bucky comments as the nurse moves back around the couch to sit back down next to her dark haired friend. “I don’t trust charity.” Sharon mentions. The nurse groans dramatically, making the room turn towards her. “She’s as stubborn as Peggy. Look toots, it’s not a hand out. You’re doin’ a job. You’re going to help us and in exchange bird-man is gonna get your name cleared.” Sharon took that as a deal and agreed to help using her sellers as a network to find out what she can, leaving instructions to lay low and blend in before she heads to the front to start greeting guests.

The four still sitting in the back didn’t move for a moment. Zemo was sipping from a tumbler, probably a whiskey, which Sam moved over to the other two. “So what did you mean earlier about you and Bucky being seen together?” The room again lulled into silence before the woman hummed and looked from her hands to Sam. “In the days of the Winter Soldier, seeing us together meant death, if you didn’t die that day you would die in a year. Seeing just me represented mercy, if you saw me alone the chances were the Winter Soldier wouldn’t kill you. That’s why I was Snowdrop. The meaning and folklore around the flower was my duty, besides keeping the soldier in prime condition”

“She also was his partner. On a mission if she was not nursing an injury it was her job to cover his right side, the side deemed weaker without the metal arm. She was trained to stay out of his way but move in tandem with him, like magnets.” Zemo added to the woman’s explanation. The nurse stood up from the couch. “It’s in the past. I am not Snowdrop. Just like Bucky is not the Winter Soldier. I’ll see you gentlemen out there.” She left the three men in the room alone. Sam turned his head towards Bucky silently asking if there was more to the story. The man shook his head pushing up from the couch. “Come on, we should blend in.”

The music was definitely not anything Bucky or Y/N were used to. The two war vets met by the bar, both nursing a tumbler of whiskey over ice. “Where did you go after you got out?” If it wasn’t from years of memorizing the tone and every aspect of the voice talking to her (Y/N) might not have heard him over the music. Her eyes glanced up at his as she stepped around to his left side, a nonverbal ask of permission to touch his arm. The man let out a soft grunt, raising the glass to his lips. Sliding into the spot next to him and placing his arm around her waist for casual onlookers she leaned up to talk.

“They were going to use me to get you back, Zemo let me out when he found out HYDRA’s next plan for us. They were going to force Project Chroma onto me...us. I was to be transferred to the lab when my escape happened. First thing I did was go home. Security sure has changed in the years. I saw the war monument in Washington. I got to see the tribute made out to Rogers at the Smithsonian where you were mentioned." She bumped her hip gently against his and even caught a small smile before it was covered by the glass of whiskey. She took her own sip before continuing, walking with the man as he led the way around the outer perimeter of the room. "Most action I got to see since my escape besides what is going on now was the slight trouble I got in with my new hacking hobby and helping someone." Bucky's blue eyes glanced down at her. "I shouldn't be surprised you always were a bit of a tech nerd. What about this person you helped? That's dangerous for you right now until you get pardoned." His hand brushed over her lower back as she turned to face him. "Now listen here James I made an oath when I became a medic, I was going to help everyone I could if I was able to so that's what I did. Now hush or you won't get the story before Sam tracks you down." From the way her eyes darted across the dance floor Barnes knew she had a location on all of their friends. He nods his head pressing his lips into a firm line.

"Zemo called me. Needed me to be ready for a job he was doing. Flew me out to Vienna, Austria. I was there the day you were framed for that bombing Buck." She rubbed a hand over her face thinking back on the day and how worried she got for him after that day. "I was okay, sugar. Now tell me about this kid you helped." Bucky soothed pulling her closer the way his arm felt around (Y/N) was always comforting to her. Maybe it was how safe he made her feel and knowing the damage that arm could do. Her fingers brushed over the metal plating of his left hand.

"They sped up on this bike, jumped off it and were heading straight for the building like they knew what was going to happen and needed to warn everyone. They never made it inside. The explosion, it...it seemed to trigger something and they froze. Just standing there. Something fell from above, a piece of concrete you know the kind with the support pipes, it caught them on the way down. Person was unconscious and more debris was falling. I did the only thing I could think of, took them back to my hotel a block away, away from curious eyes. They woke up when I was laying out the first aid kit.

I nearly got punched in the face if it wasn't for working with you. Stubborn kid that one was, laceration from shoulder to inner elbow on the right side, dislocated shoulder, and there were already some previous injuries. The kid called themselves 'Ghost' so I told them to call me 'Grace'. Fixed them up and sent them on their way with the car I was using to get out of there. After that I went to Visit graves.."

Bucky was quiet for a moment before ducking his head down towards her ear. "Hearing someone call you Grace got to you didn't it?" He asked as his mind went back to how he felt when Steve called him 'Bucky'. "Amazing Grace, Ghost said the whole thing when they left. I didn't think anyone would remember me as Amazing Grace after the war."

"Wait, you're Amazing Grace from Steve's war stories?" Sam's voice asked in shock over the music drawing the faux couple out of their own world to let him join. "Best nurse you may ever meet. Plus she always sang for the injured soldiers. Got the nickname Amazing Grace because that was her go to song and some of the men started to think she was an angel." Bucky looked down at the blushing nurse next to him, eyes swimming with pride and fondness for her, a smile teasing the corners of his mouth. Sam definitely took note of the change of attitude the grumpy old man always seemed to have after spending time with the woman who was so casually wrapped up next to the man that Sam wouldn't have believed it if he wasn't seeing it. The nurse patted the tall man's chest a few times before pointing into the crowd of partiers to where Zemo was doing his own dance.

【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】

Sharon was able to find the man they were looking for but by the time the guest had cleared and the trip to the docks was made it was light outside. Small conversation was made as Sharon led the way. With word that she would keep watch Sharon sent them inside after handing over an ear piece to each of them. Sam opened the door to the container. Bucky and (Y/N) exchanged a look and there was something in his eyes that she knew meant that he was worried for her. The container was empty upon entry. Yet that was soon disproven by Zemo and his flashlight finding a secret door within the back wall. Zemo pushed open the door as the other three drew a gun. Sam moved to the font of the line followed by Zemo. Bucky kept an eye on the back with (Y/n) between him and the German man.

Music was playing, masking the sound of their entry. The hidden lab was dimly lit with fluorescent light casting a gray tinge over everything. The nurse took a silent deep breath as she took in the lab around her. She could remember the day Erskine brought her in see him work on the serum used on Steve Rogers. She could remember the failed attempts she had in the HYDRA labs and the even worse side affects her body went through upon testing. All the flashes of the serum in her brain and the trouble it caused made her uneasy for a moment as she took a small step closer to Barnes, his eye catching the movement and moving to cover her.

Sam and Bucky lead the way towards Nagel while (Y/N) stays at Zemo’s side. Bucky pulled the needle from the playing record making the music stop. Nagel turned from his workstation to find out why his music stopped only to let out a gasp at the sight of Sam standing there with a gun. “Dr. Nagel?”

“Who are you? What do you want?” The doctor questioned quickly, probably nervous. Sam rose his head slightly and his voice was gentle when he answered. “We know you created the super-soldier serum.” That did not trigger a positive response as the doctor stepped forward ordering him to “Get out of my lab.” The doctor walked past Sam as if to escort him out but froze upon seeing the former Winder Soldier standing there, dark ice blue eyes locked onto him. “You know who he is, right?” Sam’s voice was still calm as ever even as the doctor stepped back away from the direction of Barnes and turned towards the other blocked direction where Zemo and the nurse stood. “This is Baron Zemo. I know you’ve heard of him too, right? Maybe even her?”

The doctor was escorted by Sam to the more open area. Zemo followed him as (Y/N) stepped up to the workstation to take a look at just what they were making the serum with. “You seem like a smart guy. So you better become conversational real quick.” A slight rattle drew her attention back to the doctor and the interrogation that would soon occur. “How about a counter proposal?” The doctor offered, “Make me a better offer and I’ll talk.” Sharon’s hushed voice came through the earpiece warning them of some company arriving outside. The lone female in the lab stepped forward into the doctor’s line of sight. She moved forward with a sweet smile on her face before reaching up to grab the collar of his shirt to force him down into a chair. “Look here doctor, I’m a pretty patient lady, but if you don’t start talking he’ll start shooting. Got it? Now I’m not too happy about you messing around with my serum.” There was a brief glance towards Bucky as she spoke to the doctor, a firm tone hardening her voice. She didn’t ever realize how she had referred to the serum as hers, which in a sense it could be after Erskine’s death she was the only one that knew how to do it.

When Nagel didn’t respond but just glared at her a warning shot was fired off behind his head before the gun moved back to pointing at the side of his head. “Okay, okay. I was brought into HYDRA’s Winter Soldier program to pick up her work, after the five failed test subjects in Siberia. When HYDRA fell I was recruited by the CIA. They had blood samples from an American test subject with semi-stable traces of serum in his system.” (Y/N) listened, taking a small step back just barely catching a glimpse of a small head shake from Bucky as he looked at Sam. “After much labor, I was able to isolate the necessary compounds in his blood. I was a god-” The woman standing in front of the doctor raised her gun aiming it right between his eyes as she cut him off, “You are not a god.” Buck made a nonverbal command for Sam to move over towards the nurse who seemed to be taking this harder than anticipated. “I did what no other scientist since Erskine was able to do.” The doctor completely ignored the woman as he spoke to Sam. Zemo moved from the woman’s side to walk around and look at the equipment in the lab. “But mine was going to be different. No clunky machines,” A dig at the radiation chamber used to help Steve, “or jacked up bodies.” A dig at Bucky. “Mine was going to be subtle, optimized, perfect.”

The woman narrowed her eyes at Nagel. She wanted to punch him, it was almost like an insult to herself the way he spoke about her work. She had been there right next to Erskine the day Steve received the serum. She had given Rogers the morphine before he entered the chamber. She had read over Erskine’s destroyed notes so many times the day before because she was scared for the test subject’s safety. Then when HYDRA captured her and she was forced to start recreating it she refused to try it on anyone but herself. The amount of times a HYDRA agent found her near death was probably close to a dozen before she perfected it enough to start inducing it on Bucky. Sergeant Barnes was so weak the first time she gave him a shot of the serum, a test to see if his body could handle it. When she was contacted and brought back, it was a life or death situation that led to her giving the remaining required dose of the serum to Bucky.

“How have we never heard of this?” Sam’s voice brought her back to the present. Her eyes glanced over at the other super soldier and he was already looking at her. Bucky had seen her far off expression. He almost wished she was outside helping Sharon. “Because before I was able to complete my work, I turned to dust. Then when I returned, it was five years later, and the program had been abandoned so I came here. The Power Broker was more than happy to fund the recreation of my work.” The doctor explained the woman in the room taking a step back to recollect herself. She really wanted to put a bullet through this Power Broker at the moment. “How many vials did you make?” She asked as calmly as possible, trying to match Sam but she could hear how annoyed she was. “Twenty. Karli Morgenthau stole those, so.. Could only imagine what the Power Broker has planned for that poor girl.”

“Where is Karli now?” Sam asked as the nurse looked over her shoulder at Zemo. The two made eye contact and in that moment a silent understanding was passed between the two. “I don’t know but a couple of days ago she called and asked if I could help someone named Donya Madani. Poor woman has tuberculosis. Typical of overpopulation in displacement camps like that.” Nagel explains as Zemo came back to rejoin the circle. “What happened to her?” Sam’s question didn’t get a direct answer since the doctor didn’t care to find out since it wasn’t his business. “Is there any serum in this lab?” Bucky questioned, looking down at the man. His jaw clenched and unclenched as he waited for the response. When the man did nothing but look at him Barnes pushed the barrel of his gun to the side of the man’s head earning a quick ‘No’.

“Now what?” Bucky wonders aloud looking towards the other three, not moving his gun from the man’s head until he sees Sharon enter. “Guys, we’re seriously outta time here.” Sharon insists, her entrance being just enough of a distraction for Zemo to raise the gun he had found strapped under one of the lab tables and shoot Doctor Nagel. Sam pinned Zemo to the wall as Sharon knocked the gun out of the baron’s hand. (Y/N) quickly moved to the doctor, the impact of the shot having knocked him back in the chair and falling backwards. “What did you do?” Sharon asked in a panicked voice. The nurse checked for a pulse but the man was dead. “He’s gone.”

An explosion broke out as something shot into the lab. Bucky grabbed onto his old friend/partner and covered her from the blast as he dove out of the way. An emergency alarm sounded out against the slight ring caused from the explosion. Groans came from everyone as they recollected themselves to get up and move. Bucky and (Y/N) were the first to move onto their hands and knees given the enhancement provided from the serum. “You good?” Bucky breathed out as he struggled to get up. “M’fine.” She muttered using something near her to push herself up before helping him stand. Things were shaking, glass items clinking together. “This place is going to blow, we have to move fast.” She urged Bucky forward as she began to move both of them looking back at beakers of chemicals. “Anyone see Zemo?” Sam wheezed before (Y/n) helped him up from the ground as the chivalrous Barnes helped Sharon up. “Let’s go.” He ordered. The lab explosion happened right behind the two super soldiers that kept the other two moving.

The four now, without the sign of Zemo, were now outside where the company was waiting for the smoke to clear to take fire. “All right, wait for my signal!” Bucky instructed but went unheard as bullets started to ping off the shipping container around them. Sam shot back as he moved in a different direction. Sharon and (Y/N) followed Bucky around the other way, guns at the ready. It sounded like fireworks with the amount of bullets being shot through the air. Only a few actually hit a target. Sam was taking cover already when the three arrived, Sharon moving to cover Wilson as he reloaded. “And you like living here?” Sam asked in an exasperated yell to Sharon to be heard over the gun fire that sounded way too much like a war field. “It’s not terrible.” The woman behind Sharon scoffed at the answer as she and Bucky shot at targets in opposite directions, each covering the other’s blind spot.

Bucky’s gun clicked a few times proving it was empty. He let out a short frustrated yell, something (Y/N) wasn’t used to coming from him since way back in the days of the Howling Commandos when his gun would jam. He rushed back under better coverage calling over to Sam, “I thought we were going left?” Sam glanced over his shoulder for a moment to the man yelling at him.

“You went the wrong way!” Sam points to him as he yelled back

“I cleared the way!”

“I came out first. You’re supposed to follow me.”

“And where are we now?”

“Guys, not the time!” Sharon called back to them from where she was still shooting nearing the end of her ammo. From across from her (Y/n) was in the same situation as she called back. “We can sign you two up for couple’s therapy later!” The nurse called back completely unaware of the therapy session the two have already been through together. “I’m out!” Sharon called, ducking back out of direct fire. A moment later the other female ducked back too, “So am I.” The two men are still arguing over who should have led. None of them were prepared for a second explosion. Recovering from having to quickly duck and cover from the flames they all looked out to see a masked Zemo jumping into action taking care of the remaining men. Bucky tapped on Sharon’s back, “Go.” Sharon jumped into action and made a run for it, “Come on. Let’s go.”

There were still bullets being fired rapidly as they wove through the maze of shipping containers. Opening up an empty container to hide inside didn’t help as they were quickly located and shot at. Sam and Sharon were already inside. With his left hand Bucky broke off the metal lock bar off the container while pushing (Y/n) inside with his right. He used the bar to knock one man unconscious before turning, raising the bar like a spear and throwing it with the left arm with enough force to pin another person through their shoulder to a shipping container. “Come on, let's go.” Sam grabbed onto Bucky’s jacket pulling him into the container.(Y/n) walked through the dark metal box to the other side. Bucky bit the other doors with his metal fist before she could even lift her leg to break it open. As they stepped out of the container screeching tires alerted them to a fast approaching vehicle. Zemo rounded the corner in a supercharged Pontiac Firebird.

“You’re going back to jail.” Was the first thing out of Sam’s mouth as they all glared at the man. “Do you want to find Karli or not?” Zemo asked, turning his head away and then back to them. “He’s right. We need him.” Bucky looks at Sam as he helps (Y/N) into the back seat of the car. “There’s three of us and at least twenty of them.” The super soldier says as he gets into the car himself. “Fine but if you try that shit again.” Sam’s voice was hard as he pointed at Zemo while climbing into the back. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” Zemo states as Bucky turns to glare at him.

“Well that was one hell of a reunion.” Sharon sighs, closing the car door for them. Sam tried to bring her back again but she refused to go without the pardon. That was when they parted ways with Sharon Carter. Sharon walked one way while Zemo drove off in the other heading back towards the airstrip to leave Mandripoor behind them.

#Snowdrop #bucky x reader #bucky x f!reader #fatws fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x y/n

[tigerkirby215]

5e Ezreal, the Prodigal Explorer build (League of Legends)

(Artwork by Suke “hugehugesword” Su. Made for Riot Games.)

In my constant and continued effort to deny Ezreal’s existence I finally had to get around to building him. Again it’s not that I don’t like him... I mean I don’t. But I kinda forgot what I was going to build him as. Lol.

Dorans & Dragons also made a build for Ezreal back in like... early 2020. Christ that’s before the world went to shit, ain’t it? Well regardless they also made their build before Tasha’s Cauldron came out and I think I can make a build that is different enough to warrant my build existing alongside theirs.

In short: this is an elaborate excuse for me to make another Artificer build.

GOALS

Gawk at this! - We need many a glowing projectile to spam at foes before blowing them up. Ezreal isn’t the type to just autoattack.

I always know a shortcut - Flash on a 15 second cooldown is nice. We’ll need to be able to blink around constantly throughout the entire fight.

Time to show 'em who's best - Nothing’s more dangerous than a well-placed Trueshot Barrage sniping through the entire enemy team.

RACE

Back to good ol’ Variant Human. As a Variant Human you can increase two of your ability scores by 1: increase your Intelligence and your Charisma, to be the hot smart twink you are. You also learn a Language of your choice along with a Skill of choice. You spent plenty of time studying The Void so Abyssal would make sense as a language, and for your skill Perception would help you spot traps or incoming ganks... as long as you remember to ward.

For your feat we’re going to be grabbing Arcane Shift as fast as possible with Fey Touched so you can start Flashing. (Not like that!) You can increase your Intelligence score by 1 and also learn the Misty Step spell. You can also add a Divination or Enchantment spell to your list and a little Heroism never hurt anyone. You can cast both of these spells once without spending a spell slot, and can then spend spell slots on them after the fact.

ABILITY SCORES

15; INTELLIGENCE - Archeology is a lot of history and facts... If you do it the boring way, that is!

14; DEXTERITY - Repeat it after me: “something something Medium armor.”

13; CHARISMA - You’re a pretty boy twink who got at least two girls on the Rift to fall for you.

12; WISDOM - Traveling through ancient temples and traps takes a degree of common sense. Not necessarily common sense you have, but a bit of boost never hurt.

10; CONSTITUTION - You’re an ADC, which means you’re squishy.

8; STRENGTH - Twink.

Feel free to swap Constitution around with another stat for better health but worse roleplay.

BACKGROUND

“Archaeologist” is just the nice way of saying Tomb Raider, which is the mean way of saying Adventurer! You get proficiency with History and Survival (hey you’ve gotta tough it out in the desert sometimes!) You also get proficiency in a language of your choice (I went for Dwarvish because Dwarves seem to have built most ruins) and proficiency in either Navigator’s Tools or Cartographer’s Tools... “Who needs a map?”

You spent enough time in ruins to pick up some Historical Knowledge on ancient dungeons and temples to know who made them. And if you find anything that belongs in a museum you know how much it’s worth to the museum!

(Artwork by Sangsoo Jeong. Made for Riot Games.)

THE BUILD

LEVEL 1 - ARTIFICER 1

Starting off as Artificer to “borrow” a few inventions. But also because you get training in Arcana to know your magical artifacts, Investigation to find said magical artifacts, and Calligrapher’s Tools to slay Ascended and Darkin alike in one blow. You also get Magical Tinkering to wave that gauntlet of yours around on some Tiny objects, making them glow or play sounds or do all sorts of things that Prestidigitation would probably do better. But at least you can play your own theme music too!

But of course the main appeal of being an Artificer is the Spellcasting. You can learn two cantrips from the Artificer list like Message to coordinate with your support and Guidance to help yourself find treasure! (Or help others I guess.) You can prepare a number of spells equal to your Intelligence modifier plus your Artificer level (rounded down.) Cure Wounds will let you summoner spell Heal yourself or your Support. Faerie Fire will serve as a more basic version of your Essence Flux, making an enemy easier to hit (therefor making them take more damage!) And Feather Fall is always useful in a pinch!

Also yes you don’t have your gauntlet yet so you’re going to have to use a Light Crossbow for now. Feel free to take a combat cantrip if you want but you don’t really need it.

LEVEL 2 - ARTIFICER 2

Second level Artificers can make Infusions, special definitely-not-stolen magical treasures that make them more awesome than everyone else. For a little more AD an Enhanced Weapon is useful to have. You can also put those goggles on your head to use by making Goggles of Night to see with your dumb human eyes. A Mind Sharpener may feel like a cheat, but I’m not going to say no to keeping Concentration in check. And for your final infusion? A Rope of Climbing might be useful? Honestly the more impressive stuff comes after you’ve done a bit more exploring.

You can also prepare another spell like Alarm, just in case someone’s planning to steal your... legitimately earned treasure.

LEVEL 3 - ARTIFICER 3

Third level Artificers get to choose their specialty and Armorers don’t have to wear an entire suit of armor; just a gauntlet! Along with proficiency in Smith’s Tools you can turn any suit of armor you find into Arcane Armor. The armor has a variety of benefits: no Strength requirement, the inability to have your armor removed against your will, the ability to take it off or put it on as an action, and some replacement limbs. But notably it works as an Artificer spell focus!

There’s two different Armor Models and we’ll be going for the Infiltrator variant for a Lightning Launcher. This makes your Gauntlet a weapon that deals a d6 of lightning damage, with a regular range of 90 and a long range of 300 in case you want to go for long ranged snipes. Additionally once per turn you can pop Essence Flux to do an extra d6 of damage on hit! And I didn’t even mention the best part: this works off your Intelligence! So no more need for the crossbow.

You also get your boots for Powered Steps, increasing your movement speed by 5 feet. And thanks to your Dampening Field you can hide in bushes with free Stealth advantage! I’d recommend trying to get a Breastplate because that’s the best armor you can get that doesn’t also impose stealth disadvantage, but even with Half Plate you can still be sneaky! Heck, you can even wear Platemail if you want! "And my boots are not waterproof. Fantastic."

Oh and you get some Armorer Spells! Magic Missile will autoaim for you like your Arcane Shift projectile, and Thunderwave is helpful for some self-peel.

LEVEL 4 - ARTIFICER 4

4th level Artificers get an Ability Score Improvement: seeing as we have uneven Intelligence take the Observant feat for +1 Intelligence and a boost to your passive Perception and Investigation to watch the minimap for people to snipe! Additionally you can spy on the bad guys if you want and read their lips to gain knowledge of all their secret plans!

More Intelligence does also usually mean more spells prepared but I’m going to wait for...

(Artwork by Xu “Crow God” Cheng. Made for Riot Games.)

LEVEL 5 - ARTIFICER 5

5th level Armorers up their Attack Speed with Rising Spell Force, gaining an Extra Attack with the attack action!

You also get Mirror Image and Shatter added to your list of Armorer Spells, and can prepare spells like Rope Trick for a safe place to rest for awhile, and Heat Metal to really lay in that Essence Flux.

LEVEL 6 - ARTIFICER 6

6th level Artificers get more Infusions which is what I was waiting for! A Radiant Weapon is all the fun of an Enhanced Weapon but it also doubles as a flashlight for your dumb human eyes! And Boots of the Winding Path will let you Arcane Shift back to safety in case you accidentally run into danger.

Feel free to swap some of your old infusions around too. A Lantern of Revealing or Cloak of Elvenkind would be helpful... and Gloves of Thievery never hurt anyone.

And finally you can prepare Aid, as your natural awesomeness rubs off on your allies. "Oh, please, don't die. I can't lose a sidekick. Not again."

LEVEL 7 - WIZARD 1

You didn’t think this would just be a pure Artificer build, did you? Even if that would’ve been stronger I’m legally obligated to needlessly stick multiclass levels into all my builds. And Wizard is definitely a good multiclass for more slots to do Spellcasting! You learn 3 cantrips and six leveled spells as a first level Wizard:

CANTRIPS

To help your allies land their shots take Mind Sliver to weaken an enemy’s saving throws.

Prestidigitation will let you do a bunch of simple magic, and if you want you can have your own hero music too!

Finally Friends is good to make friends you don’t mind losing after they tell you where the ancient ruins are.

SPELLS

I basically just took everything with the Ritual tag. Alarm (yes you have it as an Artificer spell but you can swap that out), Comprehend Languages, Detect Magic, Identify, Tenser’s Floating Disk... and sure why not Find Familiar too? Seeing as you can ritual cast at will most of your early level stuff is going to be reserved for Ritual Casting, as you’re probably going to be spending most of your first level slots on Magic Missile and Faerie Fire anyways.

You also get Arcane Recovery, letting you recover spell slots equal to half your Wizard level (rounded up.) So right now you can get a first level spell slot back at the end of a Short Rest! And later on you can get more!

LEVEL 8 - WIZARD 2

Second level Wizards get to choose the school that their parents left them in before disappearing in the jungle, and the School of Evocation has a surprise tool that will help us later. Along with being an Evocation Savant (allowing you to copy Evocation spells into your spell book with half the time and cost) you can Sculpt Spells so that they only hit the bad guys: when you cast an Evocation spell (from any class, not just Wizard!) you can choose a number creatures equal to the spell’s level + 1. The chosen creatures automatically succeed on their saving throws against the spell, and they take no damage if they would normally take half damage on a successful save. This will be really useful when we get our (pseudo-)Global ultimate; wouldn’t want to fry your pals now would you?

We may as well grab some of those Evocation spells, right? Earth Tremor will let you hit an AoE Mystic Shot because Riot decided that Tiamat should have a cleave I guess, and I mean... Shield is never a bad thing to have?

(Artwork made for Riot Games.)

LEVEL 9 - ARTIFICER 7

Back to the big brain plays: 7th level Artificers can make the biggest brain plays thanks to Flash of Genius, letting you boost an ally’s skill check or saving throw with your own natural perfection. The boost is equal to your Intelligence modifier and you can use this reaction a number of times equal to double your Intelligence modifier.

LEVEL 10 - ARTIFICER 8

8th level Artificers get another Ability Score Improvement? Well seeing as Intelligence still controls just about everything we do it would do good to increase that by 2! That does mean you can prepare more spells (both as a Wizard and as an Artificer) but I’m going to wait for...

LEVEL 11 - ARTIFICER 9

Every ADC dreams of being six-slotted; now you can be with Armor Modifications! Your Armorer armor counts as 4 separate items for the sake of your Infusions: the chest piece, boots, helmet, and the armor’s special weapon can all be infused. Far more importantly however you can have two extra infusions! Those infusions have to be on your armor, but you can put the Radiant Weapon (weapon) and Goggles of Night (helmet) onto your armor and save your other infusions for your allies! Or for yourself; yourself works too.

And we can’t forget the third level spells! You get Hypnotic Pattern from your Armorer Spells for an AoE stun, but far more importantly you get Lightning Bolt which will serve as Trueshot Barrage! And since you’re an Evocation Wizard you can shoot past your friends without blowing them to bits. "Oh, a plan. Yeah, I totally have one of those."

You can also prepare spells like Haste for more DPS (just don’t get stunned), Blink for some Duskblade invisibility, and replace Alarm with Revifify... Ya know: just in case.

LEVEL 12 - ARTIFICER 10

As an ADC it would be good to get six-slotted, and Magic Item Adept lets you get your 4th Legendary item! That’s because you can now attune to 4 magic items at once! (And can also craft Common and Uncommon magic items more easily.)

Speaking of Infusions, we can make more of them, such as a Cloak of Protection or Winged Boots! These are just generally useful but not really Ezreal specific; they’re mostly for your allies. "The gauntlet's for show... the talent's all me."

You can also prepare another spell like Fly which is just universally useful, and holy shit you get another cantrip. Take Mage Hand and maybe try to be a little more cautious when tomb raiding?

(Artwork by Bo “chenbowow” Chen. Made for Riot Games.)

LEVEL 13 - ARTIFICER 11

Do you want a lot more Mystic Shots? 11th level Artificers can make a Spell Storing Item and put an Artificer spell of first or second level inside. What’s cool about this is that anyone can use it, allowing them to cast the spell as if they were you!

My recommendation? Give them Mirror Image. It’s an amazing buff that doesn’t require Concentration. Even a low DEX Paladin will appreciate the chance to not be hit, and a high DEX ally can really get value out of Mirror Image. Yeah the Barbarian technically can’t cast while raging, but they can use this before going into a Rage to be very hard to hit!

And speaking of spells you can prepare another one, so how about you grab Create Food and Water to keep yourself sated on longer archeological trips. "Why didn't I eat before I got here...? Ezreal, why?!”

LEVEL 14 - ARITIFCER 12

12th level Artificers get another Ability Score Improvement... we got all we need in terms of stats (Intelligence lol) so now it’s time to really make some impressive trick shots: the Sharpshooter feat will let you attack at long range without disadvantage and ignore cover bonuses, but most importantly you can take a -5 to your attack roll for a whopping +10 to damage! Don’t use this on high AC targets obviously but if you think you’ll hit why not go for the one-shot? "No applause, please. ...Okay, maybe just a bit of thunderous acclaim. ...A little?"

LEVEL 15 - WIZARD 3

I do still want more spell slots, as well as more spells known! Truthfully there isn’t too much I want from second level, so take Locate Object to find hidden treasure and Augry (added to the Wizard spell list thanks to Tasha’s!) to know what to expect in the next dungeon... sorta. "No plan survives first contact with me."

LEVEL 16 - WIZARD 4

4th level Wizards get an Ability Score Improvement: we got all the abilities we wanted really, so why not Get Lucky? The Lucky Feat will give you a bit of anime protagonist power to guarantee that you make the perfect daring escape. Feel free to take Warcaster or just increase your Constitution however; by this point Ability Scores don’t matter too much.

You can also learn two more spells like Melf’s Acid Arrow for another Essence Flux-esque DoT ability and See Invisibility, in case you need a Sweeper Lense to deal with any clowns.

LEVEL 17 - WIZARD 5

Ima be honest I kinda just wanted third level for Thunder Step to get an Arcane Shift that does damage. Artificer 18 / Wizard 2 (or even just Artificer 20) would’ve been a fine build for Ezeal too, if you don’t think this one spell is worth a 5 level class dip.

Anyways you also learn another cantrip and I mean... you may as well take Shocking Grasp for some defense up close? You also get one other spell and I’m gonna suggest Galder’s Tower this time which is like Tiny Hut... but awesome. And really small. This is mostly just a way for me to talk about a fun spell and also recommend my homebrew fix for it.

(Artwork by Alvin Lee. Made for Riot Games.)

LEVEL 18 - ARTIFICER 13

You got third level spells as a Wizard, you can now prepare 4th level spells as an Artificer! Fire Shield and Greater Invisibility are both available as Armorer Spells, one of which is far more useful for you than the other one. Bro imagine how crazy Evelynn would be with Evelynn’s passive. But yeah feel free to swap around your prepared spells a bit for more 4th level spells, since you definitely have the slots to do so.

LEVEL 19 - ARTIFICER 14

14th level Artificers are Magic Item Savants who can attune to 5 magic items at once, meaning that along with your boots which are technically magical but whatever you can finally be properly six-slotted! But far more importantly you can attune to any item, regardless of any class or race restrictions tied to the item!  "I can't get hauled into wizard court again. Technically I don't have a permit for the gauntlet."

Speaking of more attunement: more Infusions. An Amulet of Health will let you boost your bad Constitution from a 10 to a 19, giving you a solid 76 health boost near max level! Other than that more movement speed is never a bad thing, and Boots of Speed may give you more value than your other magic boots.

But holy shit forget all that because you finally get your 4th Artificer cantrip! Grab Mending because somehow we don’t have that yet; gotta keep your outfit in check! Oh and you can get around to preparing another 4th level spell! Truth be told though the 4th level spells for Artificer are kinda... bad? But at least Tasha’s gave us Summon Construct which is a surprisingly strong summon!

"Last time I was in Shurima, I decoded some glyphs. Something about a jackal head... End of times... The usual. All I wanted was this ruby scarab. It looks great on my mantle."

LEVEL 20 - ARTIFICER 15

Our final level is the 15th level of Artificer for the Perfected Armor Armorer capstone. When you shoot an enemy you mark them with Essence Flux, giving them disadvantage to hit you. In addition the next attack (including your own I’m pretty sure!) has Advantage against the enemy while they’re marked with  Essence Flux, and if they’re hit they’ll take an extra d6 of Lightning damage!

FINAL BUILD

PROS

Blast 'em, gauntlet! - With your capstone ability you do 4d6 + 10 damage with your Lightning Launcher, and that’s before using Sharpshooter. Even without your capstone 3d6 + 10 is still really good damage output, especially when you can cast spells for big bursts of damage.

See if you can handle this! - Speaking of spells your slots go all the way up to 7th level, and while you’ll mostly just be upcasting a 12d6 Lightning Bolt is nothing to sneeze at! Not to mention other options like a 7d8 Fire damage Heat Metal or +30 HP Aid.

If anyone asks, I didn't see any of these priceless artifacts for sale - It goes without saying that having two more attunement slots than the average character is massive, especially when you can stick infusions onto your armor to maximize the amount of treasures on your person.

CONS

I wasn't strong enough? - Investing fully in INT gives us maxed out combat stats but it leaves a lot of our other abilities lacking. We’re nowhere near Charismatic enough to sell (somewhat) illegitimately gotten gains, and while Infusions can help augment our health (and even our Strength if you grab a Belt of Giant’s Strength) your Wisdom and even your Dexterity are rather mediocre, which is bad for both skill checks and saving throws.

Impossible comebacks are sorta my specialty - Most of your coolest stuff is tied to spell slots and other Long Rest dependent mechanics, and while you have a lot of spell slots (as well as Arcane Recovery to get some of them back) they are still quite limited. You’re perfectly viable as just an auto-attack and Q spammer, but who doesn’t want to shoot lasers and explosions, ya know?

Never met a problem that I couldn't blast away with magic... that I don't even understand - 5 levels in Wizard give us big spell slots but that’s about it, and yeah a 7d6 Lightning Bolt (that won’t hit your allies) is nothing to sneeze at but for the most part you are more of a Martial character. Just saying that level 18 of Artificer would’ve given you Magic Item Master for a whole 6 attunement slots! And level 20 of Artificer would’ve given you Soul of Artifice, essentially operating as a +6 to all saving throws and a 6 time use Guardian Angel.

But if a teamfight breaks out you’re more than a capable ADC. Artificers are the masters of magic items and it doesn’t matter if you make them yourself or “borrow” them from an ancient tomb; you can be the hero mom and dad always wanted you to be! Just concentrate on your farm in the early game and don’t take unnecessary risks. You may be the perfect man of magic but you’re not immortal, despite what the ADCs I’m forced to support always seem to think.

(Artwork by Jennifer Wuesting. Made for Riot Games.)

#dnd #dnd build #dnd guide #League of Legends #League of Legends Ezreal #you belong in a museum #dnd artificer #dnd wizard #twink

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #336

"get back, you’re never gonna leave him  /  get back, you’re always gonna please him”

What were your favorite things to draw when you were a lil kid? When I was a very little kid, idk. But once I got into meerkats... I drew them like crazy. Do you think there is something with or around you, like a spirit, angel, ghost or something else? How does this make you feel? No. Imagine you’re a stranger looking at yourself. What things would immediately catch your eye? Ugh, let's not. When did you feel the most confident in your life? Probably my senior year of high school. I was happy with Jason with plans for the future together, I was doing excellently in school... I thought I was really going to go somewhere. Do you think love is needed to have good sex? For some people, no. For me, loving one another is an absolute must. Do you think, or want to, die in the city you currently live in? Fuuuuuuuck no, I hate it here. What is the strangest thing you have ever encountered? Probably when I was otw home from my doctor appointment and we passed a random guy in drag walking on the side of the street... That guy is an icon. Favourite soft drink? It's really strawberry Sunkist, but I love it to a degree I don't even allow myself to drink it, because I will fucking destroy that shit so quick. So I tend to just say Mountain Dew Voltage is my fave. What do you like to put gravy on? I hate gravy, period. Have you ever gone canoeing/kayaking? No, but it sounds fun. What is one thing you know about your family history you’re proud of? Uhhhh idk. Who depends on you the most? My snake. Are you related to anyone famous or historical, if so who? Yes; William Clark and Queen Victoria or Queen Elizabeth, idr which. Would you ever donate a kidney to anyone, and who? Mom. She only has one kidney, so, y'know. She kinda needs at least one. I wouldn't even hesitate. What is the main quality you think makes a great parent? Unconditional love. What three things do you think of most of each day? My weight is #1. Every second of every day, it, as well as Jason, are somewhere towards the front of my mind. The final is financial and job-oriented stuff. Does/did your high school have pop machines? It did. Do you know anyone who’s won the lottery? No. Have you ever slept in a water bed? Yeah. How often do you use Flickr? I pretty much abandoned my account; nowadays I only occasional check my friend's profile who works at the Kalahari Meerkat Project because she uploads wonderful pictures of the 'kats as well as gives interesting info about them! Who is the last child that you took a photo with? Mom took a picture of me holding my youngest niece Emerson because it surprised everyone; I NEVER hold babies. She crawled over to me and reached up though, so of course I was going to pick her up. How often do you wear hats? Never. Would you ever get a nature tattoo? Sure! Idk what, but I'm rather sure I'll get at leaast one. Is anyone in your family sick at the moment? No. Where do your siblings work, if anywhere? My older sister is a mammographer, and my younger sis is a social worker. Where is your favorite place to buy groceries? Wal-Mart, I guess. Who do you generally talk to the most? My mom. Is anyone saved in your phone under a nickname? Mom is "Mama Bear," and then my siblings are "Little Sister" and "Big Sister." Whose birthday is coming up? My lil sister has her birthday in April. Have you ever ordered from an informercial? No. When, where, and why did a needle last pierce your skin? I needed to get blood drawn for some testing. It was drawn from my inner elbow, obviously at the doctor. Have you been to an escape room? Was it a success? I never have, but it'd be fun. I enjoy puzzles. How many followers do you have on Instagram? I don't feel like checking. What’s the most recent music video you watched? Thoughts? "Mutter" by Rammstein. I picked a screenshot from it to draw, so I rewatched it to select one. It's a beautiful video, but also strange, which Rammstein is great at. Have you ever recorded a cover of a song? No. What makeup products are your go-tos? If I wear makeup, the bare minimum is black eyeliner. Are you going to school this year? No. I gave college as many shots as I could handle both sanity-wise and with finances in mind. I do NOT want to even ATTEMPT to imagine the debt I have after going to three different colleges and dropping out each time. What is your favorite water activity? I enjoy just kinda swimming around aimlessly, relaxing. What are your favorite video games? Okay, I talk about SH2 and SotC enough on questions like this, so I'll mention some others I really enjoy as well: the Silent Hill franchise in general, Spyro games, The Last Guardian, both The Evil Withins, The Last of Us, some Resident Evil games (the 4th in particular), etc. etc. I just love video games. Do you like jello? I enjoy the flavor, but the texture makes me squirm. When was the last time you gave someone "the finger?" Probably while riding in the car with Mom when a dumb motherfucker swerved into our lane. Or something like that, idr the exact occasion. Have you ever held a snake? Yesssss, I want to hold all the snakes. ;_; Most unique place you’ve ever been to? Uh. I guess maybe the Whirligig Park/"Acid Park" nearby us? It's just this large expanse of unique architecture that are mostly, as you guessed it, extravagant whirligigs. You've got to see it if you come to the town. I have some pictures on my deviantART if you wanna see a few pieces. If you were a superhero, what color would your cape be? NO CAPES! Have you ever slept out on your porch all night? Oh fuck no. I'd feel way, way too unsafe. Do you like horror movies? Yeah! What’s your favorite Coke product? Just normal Coke. Watergun or water-balloon war? Watergun. I don't like being hit with stuff. Do you know anyone that’s afraid of elevators? I kind of am. Is there anything in your room that belongs to a boyfriend, or a friend of the opposite sex? I have three plushies from Jason, Tyler, and Girt. My Marilyn Manson poster is also from Juan. Who’s your favorite Beatle? I don't know; I was never a big fan, so I don't know any of them as people well at all. Have you ever texted an ex whilst drunk? How’d that go? I've never been drunk, but no, I've never texted an ex because I was drinking. Do you have to stand on your tip-toes to kiss your boyfriend? I don't have one. The only instance where I had to do that was with Girt. Tall motherfucker. Have you ever been tackle-hugged? Yes. Those are the best. Have you ever rejected someone’s kiss before? Girt once tried to make out with me and I noped the fuck outta that situation. It was so fucking awkward. Is your mood or the overall tone of your day often affected by the dreams you had the night before? My nightmares definitely can. Do you think that there are any positive aspects or outcomes of suffering from a mental illness? If you have a mental illness, do you think it has changed you for the better in any way? I definitely believe my mental illnesses forced me to mature faster and also instilled a great sense of empathy in me. And don't forget emotional endurance. What is your opinion on celebrity culture and celebrity worship? Have you ever been guilty of putting a celebrity on a pedestal? Do you think it’s somehow more acceptable/understandable to obsess over certain types of celebrities (musicians over YouTubers, say) than others? At what point do you think an obsession like that crosses the line? It's dangerous and can be very blinding. An outsider could say I put Mark on a pedestal, but I've always been very aware that he's not perfect and really just another human, I just happen to love him a lot for the human he is, haha. As time's passed, my vision of him has become healthier though (not to say it ever reached the "unhealthy" threshold); it's gotten easier for me to judge him and stuff like that. I think an obsession crosses the line when you put on rose-tinted glasses to look upon someone and entirely ignore their flaws, or if you try to invade their personal lives, ex. being one of those creeps that loiter outside their houses and stuff. If you were to pursue a career in photography and had the opportunity and means to photograph whatever you wanted, what would most like to photograph? Ah, livin' the dream. If I had to choice and would be paid well regardless of focus, I would absolutely travel and photograph the local nature/wildlife. Is there a certain type of clothing (outerwear, activewear, loungewear, etc.) that you enjoy shopping for more than others? Shirts, 100%. Are you ever afraid to post your ideas, artwork, photography, etc. online for fear that they will get stolen or not credited? When it comes to OCs, yes, given that things have been stolen from me before. Photography doesn't worry me much because I don't think I'm good enough for someone to possibly want to steal it (and besides, I use a watermark), and I do the same for drawings. It's the unique characters I make I worry about being stolen if I share them. When is the last time you did something sexual? A few years back. Who is the last person you showered with, if anyone? I haven't showered with someone since I was a little kid and my younger sister and I would to conserve water. What do you think when you see roadkill on the side of the road? It really makes me genuinely sad, and I always wonder if it could have been avoided if the driver was more alert, slower, and thinking about more than the damage it could cause to their car... I enjoy photographing roadkill, brutal as it may be, out of respect for them and the desire to make their individual stories known and just kind of like, raise awareness of it. Too many people are just annoyed by hitting an animal versus more concerned. "Stupid deer," stuff like that. I sometimes worry that doing so can be interpreted as disrespect, to photograph and publish pictures of their corpses online, but I sure hope not. It's the least of my intentions. I just want people to see and care. Have you ever had an ex that just didn’t understand that it was over? Biiiitch I was that ex, 120%. But besides my situation with Jason, this was how Tyler was. I had to tell him about five thousand times to stop texting me. Are your fingernails currently short or long? They're always pretty short. Would you rather have big or small dogs? I like medium-sized dogs most. I'd have to pick large dogs between the two, though. What is your favorite sports drink? I'm not a fan of sports drinks. What was the last compliment you gave a guy? Yesterday, a guy in PHP shared two poems he wrote while hospitalized, and they were wonderful, so full of passion and emotion. I sure as hell told him they were amazing. He's going for his Master's for poetry, so he knows what he's doing for real. Does your jaw ever crack, pop, or lock? It's popped on very, very few occasions. Have you ever thought of how you would give your kids “the talk”? I don't want kids, so no, I've never thought of this. I certainly wouldn't wait for sex ed in school, though. I feel like it's a bit late. I feel children need to know what it's about at a younger age with how disgusting some people are... I want them to be informed on what consent and molestation are so they know to let Mama know so I can punch someone's face into a whole new galaxy if they're ever violated. Do you ever feel like you’re missing out on something? Oh, always. Do you ever write/draw on windows that are fogged up? I did as a kid, sure. Not so much now. If you were married, and your spouse’s parents became ill, would you let them move into your home? If they were truly sick enough to need assistance but not actual hospitalization, yes. I'd want my spouse to do the same for me. Have you screamed in a pillow before? Yyyyep. What do you like more, acoustic or electric? Electric. Did you actually have a cookie jar? We have a Santa one, though I don't even know if we ever used it versus just having it as a decoration. What’s worse, having someone mad or disappointed in you? Disappointed. What do you bite on more, your tongue, lip, or nails? Bottom lip. Do you think that knowing when and how you’re going to die would ruin your life? "Ruin" it seems a bit extreme, but I definitely wouldn't like it. Do you have a favorite bromance? From TV or a movie. Not really, if we're only talking those two options. Do you find flea markets and thrift stores enjoyable? Yeah, you really can find the coolest shit for great prices. What color is your wallet? Mostly red and white; it's a Harley Quinn design. Have you ever been somebody's photography subject? No. Nicki Minaj fan? I believe she's a very talented rapper, but I don't enjoy her actual music. I just don't like rap. Have you ever seen the Niagara Falls? No, I wish tho.

#survey #surveys #questions #lyrics: ''angel with the scabbed wings'' by marilyn manson

[bluevlvts]

“this is unbelievable. this is just unbelievable. it’s just completely and one hundred percent…”

“unbelievable,” a soft voice supplied for him.

“i’m being a little bitch, aren’t I?” he asked not really expecting an answer, fully knowing he was in fact being a little bitch.

sabrina didn’t answer. she didn’t need to answer. instead, she kicked out the chair that sat next to her. ollie immediately stopped his pacing and huffing around the sunny and warm kitchen, pausing just a moment to gather himself before he turned fully to face the tiny redhead that sat perched on the worn wooden chair. he dragged a hand down his face before letting out a rough laugh. ollie knew better than to fight her, plopping down in the seat and letting his head crash down to the table, using his arms as a pillow. he didn’t flinch when he felt a warm hand gently rub his back until he moved to his head.

he finally released the tension from his shoulders and letting his body relax. he knew he wasn’t free from the lingering pain and anger that was brewing inside of him, but it was hard to stay worked up when in the presence of sabrina. he wasn’t sure if it the maturity that came with getting older or just being a mom that had created this wise creature that sat before him. not to say she wasn’t smart or kind when she was younger. she had been those things and more, but it seemed more pronounced now in a way that only a lifetime of living could give you. when ollie looks at her, he’s only ever seen yellow. warm, comforting, sunshine in a tiny bottle.

it wasn’t just sabrina that offered him comfort during the worst moments of his life, but this house was so wrapped up in love and good memories that just stepping through the door made him feel like he would be okay. there was magic in every corner of the crawford house.

from evan’s guitar that sat in the corner to the colorful array of artwork that hung against the fridge and even the walls. to the worn-down appliances from daily usage. this house, especially this kitchen, was well used, well loved, and housing a myriad of stories. ollie lost count of how many times he spent saturday mornings having breakfast or their ritual sunday dinners. this was the only place that truly felt like home to ollie.

his own place was superficial and empty. only a place that he could rest his head when he had any bit of off time. he would be lying if didn’t feel bitter and jealous every now and then when he came home and the quiet settling around him. there was no joyous laughter filling the hallways. there was no pitter patter of tiny feet, begging to stay up an extra an hour or so. watching it all unfold for the two people he loved most in this world made him beyond happy, but the pain always settled back in once he was alone with his thoughts.

it was the future he had wanted so badly when he was younger. the future that he thought he was so close to having until suddenly he wasn’t. to get so lucky to find your soulmate so young…ollie felt almost invincible. that his future was set in stone. that they could have kept the darkness at bay and not let it touch whatever tiny golden paradise they had found within each other. he had been under the impression that it would be so easy. that the future they talked about in whispers late at night in the dark was within reach.

if ollie had known that the time they had together would be over before he could blink, he might had held on a little tighter. look at him more. touch him more. kiss him harder. maybe then he would be left satisfied. maybe it wouldn’t feel like a weight was dragging his heart down whenever he thought about brown curly hair and soft pale skin. of shy longing looks and stolen kisses.

“do you want a cup of tea? maybe some water? we even have apple juice, but I think evan has chugged most of it,” sabrina’s soft voice filtered through his thoughts, humor tracing her words as she continued to gently ease him like she would one of her kids. it made him miss being young and wrapped up in his mother’s arms. the last time was when…well…he tried not to think about it. the tiny crawford demons truly had no idea how lucky they were.

“have any whiskey? what about vodka?” his voice was muffled but clear. he laughed and muttered out an ow when he felt sabrina tug at his hair, finally lifting his head to stare at her.

she didn’t have to say it out loud. it was written on her face and in her eyes. you’ve been through worse.

“I don’t know how I fucked it up so badly. it’s honestly amazing how badly I fucked it up. do you think he hates me?”

“yes.” sabrina said bluntly.

ollie blew out a breath and shook his head, “you’re supposed to be making me feel better. you think I came here to get jam stuck on my good jeans? how the hell do the gremlins manage to get shit everywhere”

“you came here because you knew I would be honest and it would distract you from your thoughts,” she said before adding gently, “plus, you love me. and the gremlins.”

“I would die for you and the gremlins.”

sabrina quickly reached back out to grasp his hand, giving it a squeeze. ollie in turn twisted it around to hold her hand tightly. “I don’t know if it’s going to make you feel any better or worse, but it’s not the end of the world and cillian will be okay. he will. maybe not right now, maybe not next month. but eventually he will be okay.”

ollie sighed and straightened up in the chair, staring ahead at the fridge, mesmerized by the sea of colors that covered it. “I just wish we could have a conversation now. he won’t take my calls and I’m…I’m frustrated. i can’t let it end like this. doesn’t he want closure?”

“sweetie, he’ll come to you when he’s ready, and if that mean’s he never does then that’s it. I’m positive he’s got all the closure he needs, there’s no need to rub salt in an open wound for both of you. he won’t hate you forever; it’s too hard to hate you.”

ollie let out a ragged sigh and closed his eyes as a brief moment of anguish rolled over him. she was right. of course, she was right, but it was nagging on him that it had ended so badly. ollie was so desperate to explain that cillian was wrong. he wasn’t hanging on to old memories or letting him get in the way of this relationship. the he had moved on. he wasn’t entirely sure he even wanted to get married. but ollie knew he was only lying to himself. and lying even further to cillian would only make it worse. ollie couldn’t bear to hurt him even further. the man did make him happy, if only for a brief moment of time.

ollie knew he craved one final conversation because it’s what he never got. it’s hard to let go of your ghost when it left behind so many unanswered questions. not knowing if it had been him that drove him away. and if that wasn’t the case, then why hadn’t ollie been enough to make him stay.

“I miss him.”

the words were barely above a whisper, but they sound like a gunshot in the silence that rested over the kitchen. it felt like a hand was grasping his chest, making it hard to breathe. ollie was embarrassed to feel the burning sensation in his eyes, roughly clear his throat to drive away the tears that threatened to fall. when he looked back up at sabrina, the devastation on her face was crystal clear, but there was something else there he couldn’t place. it could have been guilt or maybe just sadness, but it was gone as quickly as it came. she linked her fingers through his, holding his hand even tighter. as if she could simply ease is pain by taking it on herself.

ollie wasn’t sure how much time had passed at the sat connected in companionable silence before the fog from his head. ”it’s quiet.”

sabrina hummed her response, still content in sitting there with her hand wrapped in his.

”no, it’s quiet. it’s too quiet.” ollie narrowed his eyes and glanced around the kitchen, as if evan was suddenly going to pop in and try to throw ollie over his shoulder. “where are the tiny gremlins and their ugly leader?”

sabrina let out a startled laugh, loosening her hold on ollie’s hands. ollie wouldn’t have thought twice, but there was a nervous energy that surrounded her now. a confused smile spread over his face, watching her flounder for a second. the only time he had seen her this flustered was whenever someone mentioned her super obvious crush on evan. she was hesitating, and ollie’s stomach suddenly dropped.

”is everything okay?”

her silence filled the void, leaving his question unanswered. It was his turn to grasp her hand tightly, holding onto her to offer her comfort, if it was even needed.

”you and evan? you guys okay?”

sabrina let out the breath she had been holding, practically sagging in her seat before she gently pulled her hand out from his to grasp his arm.

“Oh, my god! Of course! no, no, no. we’re completely fine. me and that idiot are for life. he just took the kids away for a week-end getaway.

it was ollie’s turn to sag with relief. it didn’t hit him until now just how devastating the thought of a world without sabrina and evan together would be. ollie laughed, the first true and light laugh he had all day, and sabrina laughed in return. her’s still slightly awkward and strained.

“what has you so worked up? i’m 50% positive evan can handle a weekend taking care of kids without maiming or seriously injuring himself. I hope.”

sabrina only looked down at the table, picking at a tiny splinter of wood that had peeled back. ”he took them to ians.”

her words were so soft that ollie was lucky to barely make it out. if he’s being honest, the only word he did hear was ian. the name rang through him like a shotgun blast. his smile frozen on his face,

”are you fucking with me?” the longer the silence between them spread, growing tighter and tighter and no longer full of comfort, the faster ollie’s heart started to race. his smile slowly dropping from his face, watching sabrina sit there and pick and pick and pick.

”sabrina, what’s going on?”

she still refused to even look at him. the only tell tale sign that she was even listening was the small tremor that went through her hand.

”sabrina.”

his voice growing rougher, trying his best to contain the growing storm that was brewing inside of him. the wild energy that now filled him couldn’t be ignored, slamming his hand down on the table hard and loud. watching sabrina jump and flinch made him recoil only a tiny bit, and he knew he would severely regret it later when he was left alone with his thoughts, but he couldn’t take another minute of unanswered questions. not when it came to this. not when it came to ian. she finally rested from picking at the table, growing courage to face him head-on.

”evan took the kids for the week-end to visit ian. at his cabin.”

ollie couldn’t only stare back at her. in confusion and disbelief. he shook his head once and then once more. he wasn’t sure if he was telling her ‘no, you’re lying to me’, in denial about what she was saying, or if he could shake his thoughts free…maybe it will clear enough for a levelheaded response.

”where?”

“ollie…”

”where”

ollie yelled loud and clear. there was no use in controlling himself because he was past the point of self-control. he could just add it to the list of moments he used to fill his self-loathing. ”how long have you know where he was?”

when she finally looked up at him, her eyes filled with stark devastation and her face pale. it felt like a punch to the gut. ”you knew. you knew the whole god damn time.”

it wasn’t a question at this point. he pushed himself out of the chair and away from here, letting the chair fall against the floor before he turned back to her.one minute he was standing the next he was crouching, doing his best to catch his breath as it raced in and out, tugging at his hair to bring him back to earth.

warm hands were pulling at his, trying to offer comfort and love. or maybe trying to ease her own guilt. ollie pushed her hands away, standing back up and putting his back to her. his ears filled with a roaring wave, broken please and sorry’ s carrying through the sound. the second her hand touched his back, he came back down and rushed away from her touch. ”I can’t do this right now.”

maybe it wouldn’t have hurt so much if it hadn’t been sabrina. honestly, when he was calmer about this, he would have to give evan props for keeping it a secret. willow he expected this. no matter how close the two of them became over the years after ian left, ian would always be her top priority when it came to his mental health and safety. but sabrina. he didn’t realize she was even capable of a betrayal this deep. and he knew, in the back of his head, that she was only protecting both of them, she loved them both. ollie couldn’t manage rational thought at the moment.

she was there to make sure he got out of bed, dragging him along to third wheel dates. taking him out to eat just the two of them, making sure he was actually eating. she had been there when he read that fucking letter, holding his hand until he cried himself to sleep. it hurt – deeply. he had meant to rush out the door, heading to the sanctuary of his car. this kitchen felt like the walls were caving in. the house felt cold instead of the warmth it usually offered. yet he couldn’t get his feet to move. all he could manage was a soft please. it took him a minute to turn around, looking her dead in the eye.

”please. I need to know.”

she stared at him; face covered in tears. even through his haze of anger, he felt a pinch of regret. if or when evan came to kick his ass, he would allow it. no matter how angry he was with her, and evan, he hated seeing her in despair. she only hesitated for a moment before she was moving, grabbing a piece of old artwork one of the kids drew and the closets pen. her hands moved lightening fast against the paper before she folded it, grabbing his hand to place it in his.

”I’m sorry. I love you.”

ollie took in a deep breath, feeling too many emotions at once. honestly, he wasn’t entirely sure what he felt, but he knew he was going to crash the second he was home. his hands shook as he pulled his hands from hers. he quickly walked away from sabrina, his steps brisk and strong before he paused at the kitchen doorway. he couldn’t fully face her yet, still filled with too much anger and regret.

”I know. I love you, too.”

he didn’t waste another second, rushing towards the door and for the fresh air. the piece of paper gripped tightly in his hands in fear that he would lose it. his entire world was about to change. he wasn’t entirely sure yet if this was a good thing or bad. he would worry about that tomorrow

#*𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠.

[ratmonky]

Smooth Criminal

Hee hee~

One special fic for one very special person! <3

@a-nonnie-mousse​ wrote this at 3 AM and the horny bitch I am, I wanted to write something out of it!!

Here’s a link to her artwork of the same post!

2.5K Words

It’s been an entire week since Illuso had left Naples for a mission. The mission itself wasn’t difficult but he’d been looking forward to having a day off before Risotto handed him another file of a man he had to take care of. The target was in Bari, he’d stolen from Passione. To his surprise, the man wasn’t even a Stand user. It was an easy mission but it took him a literal week because of how well the man hid.

Simply, he was in a bad mood because of how much time he lost to find the man. He was both tired and very upset over why Risotto gave him a mission in Bari where he’d have to track the man with little to no trace at all. Melone would’ve been perfect for this mission.

He could’ve complained but he didn’t have the heart courage to disrespect his leader. That’s why he was going to the base at midnight, just like Risotto asked. The leader wanted Illuso to write a report on how the mission went.

It wouldn’t take long. Maximum an hour or two.

He could go home and finally open that bottle of wine he got from Gelato as a present. Getting drunk on red wine before dozing off would bring him in a good mood, definitely.

Illuso pushes the door open and the foul smell of mold and dust overwhelms him even before he steps inside. Covering his mouth he looks around to find the source of the horrible smell but he’s not sure if it’s the old food that’s literally decomposing on the coffee table or the horrid stains on the carpet and the walls.

“What the hell happened here?” he yells to the only person who seems to be unaffected by the smell and the mess around her and of course the only person in the base.

Shrugging you continue reading your magazine.

“How can you sit there and continue reading your shitty fashion magazine?” he yells turning around to indicate the mess around the base, “You were told to stay back to clean the base and take care of it. Not to trash the fucking place.”

You stare at him over the magazine but nonetheless flip a page in disinterest.

“You fucking-” Illuso snatches the magazine away from your hands, “Are you fucking listening to me?”

You click your tongue and give him a death glare, how dare he interrupt your ‘me time’!

“It wasn’t me, this happened because of Ghiaccio and Formaggio. They had a fight and-”

“I don’t care what happened, you were ordered to take care of the damn place!” Illuso interrupts you again and makes it clear that he doesn’t need to hear any unnecessary explanations from you, “You’re useless.”

“Oh am I?” you jump up from the dirty couch and point at him, “Who’s the idiot who lost track of his target and wandered in Bari for a week?”

Illuso’s shoulders tense, “What did you say?” his eye starts to twitch.

You smirk at him, “I said that you aren’t shit, Illuso.” your mocking tone makes his blood boil, “You’re the weakest member in our team. Even Pesci could easily kill off that target.”

“You don’t belong here, you can’t kill on command, you can’t work in pairs and you’re doing nothing to be useful to Passione. Why are you even here?” Illuso asks flatly, trying to maintain a calm tone to not start another fight between you two, “I’m not asking this to start a fight,” he assures but a sharp blow to his jaw from you gives him the answer.

Illuso halts for a moment as he brings his hand up to his face to rub his aching chin but it’s enough to make you regret your actions... just a little too late.

“Man in the Mirror,” he brings out his Stand even if it’s in the rules that nobody in the team were allowed to use their stands during an argument.

Before you can manage to call out your own Stand Illuso drags you into the mirror world, leaving both of your Stands back at the base.

“This is going to be a fair fight,” he starts, rolling up his sleeves, “No Stands-”

“It isn’t fair, you deserved that punch!” you ineffectively tried to end the fight before it even began but Illuso wasn’t having it. You swung at him with every intention of starting a fight, it always has been in your nature to start meaningless fights.

“We’ll fight equally. I won’t hold back and you shouldn’t either,” Illuso sneers at you, you both know he’s more of a fighter than you are.

“Take me back,” you warn, tone low and dangerous.

Without warning, Illuso lurches forward, grabbing you by your hair and twisting it around his hand to get a better grip on it. He pulls your back flush against his chest and yanks your hair, “Just admit that you’re useless to the team.”

A startled sound escapes your lips when he pulls your hair harder, “Son of a whore!”

This wasn’t a fight, this wasn’t even equal as he said it would be. He was just taunting you and not giving you a chance to fight back. You knew he’d be unfair and wouldn’t let you fight him but he wasn’t even giving you the chance to argue with him either.

“Repeat after me; I’m no use to Passione and to my team.” he scoffs.

You’re the best assassin they could find, he knows he’s wrong. You’re superior to even Risotto with your Stand for fuck's sake.

“Die you dumbass!”

When you start struggling, he pulls your hair harder and reminds you once again as he’s done countless times, “You’re here just because of your Stand, without it, you’re nothing.”

You grit your teeth and try to twist your body to hit him. It hurts to admit that he’s right. Everyone in your team knows that you’re accepted in the hitman team thanks to your Stand; Back to Black.

With the power to wear your Stand like a suit, similar to Ghiaccio’s White Album, you could move within shadows. Your power gave you the ultimate advantage to kill your target without being followed or having to risk your life. Because once you drag someone in the shadows with you, their Stand separated from them.

This was the main reason why Illuso hated you the most, with Stands similar to each other’s, your fights mostly ended in a deuce.

“Same goes to you,” your mocking tone must’ve caught him off guard because you felt his hold on you loosen for a second, enough for you to use the floor as a springboard and slam into your teammate as hard as you possibly can.

Illuso lost his balance and fell backward. You fell right onto him with your entire weight, earning a pain filled grunt from him.

Not even waiting for another second, you make a move to get back on your feet to declare your victory over him but Illuso pulls you right back on the floor with him. He captures you under his weight, pressing you flat on your stomach while muttering, “I hope you eat shit and die.”

With all of your might, you try to use your hands to leverage yourself up but Illuso forces your hands down with his own.

“I’m stronger than you don’t ever forget that,” he whispers in your ear huskily. He’s out of breath and still isn’t aware of how close you two are to each other but you’re painfully aware of everything. Like how warm his chest feels against your back and how attractive he sounds when he’s on the verge of snapping.

The position he’s holding you down is even worse. He’s using his hips to hold you down while your hands are strongly being held down by his own and Illuso’s hot breath is tickling your skin.

It’s all too much to handle. You can feel your cheeks blushing and a wave of arousal hitting you like a brick.

“Illuso,” you call out his name desperately, “please get off of me.”

Your pleads falls to deaf ears, your teammate chuckles at what he thinks is your shame of losing to him.

“I win,” he declares and you nod rapidly to confirm his victory over you, hoping that he’ll get off of you as soon as possible.

But again, this is Illuso. He loves to brag about his win.

“Say that you’re a useless pawn without your Stand.”

You repeat after him without hesitation.

Illuso raises a brow at your submission. It was hard to even get an apology or a couple words of gratitude from you but now you were bowing your head to your literal arch nemesis?

He had to take it as far as he can, he wanted to see how much he could milk this.

“Who’s the worst and weakest Stand user in the team?”

“Me.”

“It’s your fault that we’re not getting paid enough, you’re nothing but a nuisance to our team.”

“Yes.”

After you admit another dozen ‘facts’ he finally got bored. It wasn’t fun at all when you weren’t resisting or calling him names while cursing.

“Alright, that’s enough,” he mutters to himself.

He pushes his torso up with his hands and turns you to face him so he can lecture you about how you should do as you’re told by your higher ups but the words don't come out.

Illuso stares down at your flushed face in awe.

(Had he taken this way too far? To the point to make you cry?

No, you weren’t crying… you wouldn’t cry because of his words.

Nobody ever managed to get to you, this had to be a prank.)

“Don’t look at me,” you cover your face with your hands.

The atmosphere of the situation suddenly shifts to something much more sultrier. Illuso would’ve looked away, got up and return both of you back to the real world to never talk about this again… But! He couldn’t. Not when you looked so cute, hiding your pretty face behind your hands, begging him to look away.

Sorbet and Gelato had told Illuso many times that the new member of the hitman team was head over heels for him but he thought they were baiting him on it. It had to be a lie. You wouldn’t even look at his way without insulting him or starting a fight.

ALl out of a sudden the realization hits him harder than any of your punches.

Illuso leans forward with a smile, “You know, nobody can see you inside the mirror but me.”

“So you can be as vulnerable as you want to be,” he adds by whispering in your ear, slowly pulling your hands away from your face.

Illuso finds himself studying your pretty face, “Melone keeps talking about how cute you are,” he purrs, ignoring completely what they were fighting about. He lets out a raspy sigh, “I never thought I’d agree with him on something.”

Blushing red, you cover your face with your hands once again. He enjoys the view for another second. “You’re gorgeous,” he breathes out.

You groan, taking a peek at him through the gaps of your fingers, “Stop it.”

“Stop what?” he smirks and raises a brow, leaning even closer to your face.

Your hands go to his chest to push him away, “This.”

Pouting, Illuso gives you the best puppy eyes he can pull off, “I thought you liked me.”

You decide to look up to his face and tell him to fuck off but you simply get lost looking in his eyes.

“I do,” you confess. Catching him by surprise.

Illuso loses no time on pressing his lips on yours as he hovers over you between your legs and you kiss him back hungrily. You wrap your legs around his waist to bring him closer to where you need him the most, Illuso is quick to roll his hips into yours to let you aware of his growing erection under his pants.

“I need you, Illuso.”

Your needy voice sends shivers down his spine, he pulls back from you to pull down his zipper and kick off his pants. You waste no time slipping out of your leggings.

Illuso looks down at you as he’s pumping his cock, “I never thought I’d see you like this.” he chuckles.

“Me neither.”

His cock slides inside your needy hole with a little too much force. A shaky moan escapes your lips before arching your back and holding onto his strong shoulders.

Smirking, Illuso slams into your slick heat harder to tear a louder moan out of you and it works.

It’s been a while for him, so he can’t stop himself from thrusting in your needy pussy without warning. As wet you are, with every thrust a squelching sound echoes in the mirror world’s base. The sounds of skin slapping on skin fill the dead silence of this world. Your lips part and call out his name in need, “Illuso!”

His cock fills you so well. You can’t help but lift your hips to meet his thrusts, shamelessly begging for him to fill you even more. Noticing what you want from him, he starts to fuck you frantically.

Your moans fill the void world of the mirror once again before his cock twitches inside of you and giving you what you actually need from him, filling your pussy full with his seed. You feel his warm cum gush out of your spasming cunt when he finally pulls out.

Taking a minute to catch his breath, he can hardly believe what you two just did. You seem to agree, it’s easy to tell from the way how silent you are.

“Uh,” he doesn’t know what to say.

Thanks?

That felt good?

We should do this often!

“We should return back to the real world,” he looks at you and you agree with a silent nod as you’re dressing.

He uses the same mirror he used as before to return to the base with ease and in the middle of a meeting your teammates are having.

Although your teammates were used to seeing you two fight in the mirror world and come back with messed up looks, there was no way for either of you to be able to explain why you’re both trying to put your clothes back on.

You sink into the shadows with the advantage of having your Stand with you now to avoid looking at your teammates.

“We can explain-” Illuso started but got cut off by the people around the now clean coffee table to collectively groan and throw stacks of money on the table.

“We told you they’d do it in the mirror world,” Gelato says as Sorbet is collecting their teammates’ money off the table with a smile.

Gelato throws a stack he got from his boyfriend to Illuso, “Take her out on a date next time.”

#illuso x reader #illuso #la squadra esecuzioni #la squadra x reader #jjba part 5 x reader

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Off Day: Eleven

Bucky leaned on the bathroom door watching you apply makeup to your face, pulling seemingly endless pallets, brushes, and bottles from your bag. “Why’s your foundation not match your face?” he asked.

“Because I’m not gonna go out and kill the Batman later.”

“Huh?”

“If your makeup stops at your neck, you look like a party clown.”

Bucky smiles a little and watched you work for a second and nodded, “You never used to wear makeup,” he mused.

“I never used to have money,” you say shrugging, pouting at him in the mirror. Bucky nods, “How does that work?”

“Does what work?” you ask, starting to blend things in properly.

“Do you get a check from the store?”

You shrug and smile a little, “Theoretically. But. Jack and Judy are paying for the groceries in the house. Kaity won’t let me pay rent. So, like... I just take enough to buy gas and cat food. Everything else I take out of my savings.”

Bucky shook his head, “Baby,” he scolded.

“What?” you ask, quirking an eyebrow.

“When’s the last time you bought yourself something fun?”

“I buy art supplies and makeup all the time. Online shopping is nice. I can buy pretty things in my underwear.”

Bucky tutted and made a mental note to buy you a little something. Still. He couldn’t be upset. You had his hoodie on and your panties, nothing else. It was a nice view. It was why he’d come to lean on the doorframe. He stayed because he was a little fascinated. Like watching you draw on his arm with sharpies, it was a miracle of artistic skill watching you play with contrasts and colors. If he hadn’t watched you do it, he wouldn’t believe it. You look like an almost totally different person.

When you finished your makeup, he smirked, “How mad would you be if I dragged you back to bed and ruined all that?” he asked.

“Pretty mad. I’d be keeping Kaity waiting,” you answer, smiling just a little as you put things back in your bag.

Bucky winces internally, feeling guilty. For just a minute, he’d forgotten. You were his and didn’t have responsibilities. It wasn’t Christmas and Kaity wasn’t dying. You weren’t putting makeup on like you were getting ready for battle. Armor to protect you from the reality that nothing was ever going to feel right again. 

“Are you ready to go home?” he asked.

“No,” you answer, “But. I need to. I just... I don’t know if I can handle this.”

“Do you want me to stay?” he asked.

You shake your head, “No. I just... I just need to suck it up. It’s not. There’s not anything I can do.”

He nods and wraps his arms around you slowly, “I’ll come by tonight,” he murmurs, “Put something warm in your belly and put you to sleep.” He kisses your neck and shoves his hand in your hoodie pocket.

“Okay,” you murmur, focusing on putting things away to give you time to breathe. 

“Maybe make you come two or three times,” he teased, kissing the spot on your neck that he learned made you shiver, chuckling when you did. “That never gets old,” he rumbled tightening his arms around you.

“Bucky-” you protest weakly

He grins at you in the mirror, “What is it, doll?” he teased, taking his hands out of your pocket to rest them on your hips.

You whimper and he stops moving, not letting you go but not pressing any further. “Baby girl,” he said gently, “Talk to me. What do you need?”

“I need to go home. I’m sorry I-” you take a breath and let it out slowly, “They’re waiting and if it’s another bad day, they’re gonna need me.” You can’t meet his eyes expecting him to be mad and Bucky feels like an asshole. “Let me put on some decent clothes and I’ll take ya home,” he said softly, “And then tonight I’ll come keep ya company... can’t promise to behave. But I’ll be there.”

You half turn to look up at him, all big sweet eyes and a soft smile and he kisses the tip of your nose. “Promise?” you ask.

“Promise,” he answers softly, cuddling you for a second before going to get some jeans and a clean hoodie to replace the one you’d stolen.

He’d never had a girl that asked so little of him. All you wanted was his time. Some attention. A little TLC from time to time. And he felt, strange. It felt like he wasn’t doing enough by not buying you gifts and making extravagant (for him) gestures. Char had been like a magpie. She liked her shiny shit. She liked to be fawned over. Treated like a princess. He desperately wanted to treat you that way. You deserved it. But as far as he could tell, you didn’t wear much jewelry and you worked in a whole store full of books if you wanted books. He didn’t know dick about art supplies of jewelry. And he felt silly buying cat toys. What did you get somebody who’d learned to get by on as little as possible? For Christmas, well. He didn’t know if you’d like it but. It was the only thing her could think of. 

He pulled it out of the closet and set it on the bed, thankful the girls had done the wrapping for him. It looked pretty. All green paper and silver ribbon. Glitter. “Fucking glitter” he groused, brushing it off his sleeve. The inside of his closet looked like a titty bar exploded. 

You pause in the doorway, pulling leggings on, “What’s that?” you ask, cocking your head. “Santa must have figured out where you were,” he said grinning.

“Bucky,” you protest, “I told you not to.”

“And I didn’t listen,” he said simply. “Come on, open it,” he encouraged, “I looked everywhere for it.”

You look up at him and smile, kissing his jaw before sitting next to the box, starting to open it carefully.

“C’mon, we’re not gonna save the paper!” he teased.

“I’m trying not to get glitter on your bed!”

“Doll, there’s been stripper dust on my sheet before. It’s fine.”

You snort and tear the paper off, opening the box carefully, “Bucky,” you gasp softly, “This is too much!”

“No it’s not,” he said grinning as you carefully inspected the new tattoo kit. “I figured if you wanted you could start doing them again. I got bored the other day and looked through the Instagram you post your art on... It was a few years ago and you were learning sure, but you did pretty good tattoos.”

“I dunno, Bucky,” you say hesitating, “It’s really nice but-”

“No buts,” he said, kissing you softly, “I just wanted you to have it if you wanted it.”

“Thank you,” you murmur, blushing as you kiss his cheek.

“Anything for you, doll,” he murmurs, “Honestly I didn’t know what to get for you at all but, then you kept doing a bunch of pretty artwork on my arms and so I thought I’d do this.”

“Even though I told you not to,” you pout.

“Sorry doll,” he chuckled, “I took enough orders in the army. Unless you’re naked I’m probably not gonna let you boss me around.”

“I don’t wanna boss you around,” you protest, “I just knew I wouldn’t have time to go get you what I wanted to get you.”

“Whatever that was, darlin’,” he drawled, kissing you slowly, “It wouldn’t have compared to last night.” Your cheeks burn and he smiles, “That was a dream come true. Literally. Thinking about you was the only thing that got me through basic. And both deployments.” He tugs you into his lap and kisses your head, “I always had a picture in my head of what it’d be like if I saw you again. I’d know exactly what to say. I’d sweep you off your feet and do the whole nine yards... Instead I didn’t even recognize you.”

“I mean, Dolly Parton once lost a Dolly Parton look a like competition to a drag queen, so I can’t really blame you. A new nose, some new hair, and sometimes probably made it a little difficult,” you tell him.

“A new nose?” Bucky asked.

You shrug, “Got my shit busted enough times it needed done,” you tell him.

“I couldn’t even tell,” he said.

“Well, no,” you answer, standing up to get your things around, “That was the point. I just had them get as close to the original as possible.”

“Who busted up your face?” he asked following you.

“Parents a couple times. The last time, it was a guy I’d just started dating,” you don’t look at him, pretending to be preoccupied with your coat. Bucky does his best to breathe. To stay calm. He’s very, very aware of how fragile your emotional state is and how likely you are to jump to the worst conclusion if he looks angry but inside, he wants to reach through time and beat the living shit out of your dad for it. And find the guy that hurt you and snap is legs off. 

“Y/N,” he said gently, tilting your chin up, “I love you.” It’s all he can think of to say. The best way to remind you that you’re safe. 

“I love you too,” you tell him, turning your head slightly to kiss the palm that’s cupping your cheek.

_________

Bucky walks you into the house. It’s quiet but for A Christmas Story playing on the TV and Jack and Judy quietly eating breakfast. You sigh and let Bucky help you out of your coat before padding into the kitchen. This is going to be a long day. It feels like a wake. A really fucking lame wake. The kind of thing Kaity hates.

Bucky accepts hugs and Merry Christmases after you get yours and watches helplessly as you pad into the bedroom to say hello to Kaity.

Judy hands him a mug of coffee, “How was your party?” she asked. “Fine,” he said, “We had a drink and I took her home with me. Watched some movies.”

“No mistletoe?” she teases, handing him a plate to go with his mug.

“I don’t kiss and tell,” he said blushing.

“You’re a good boy, Bucky.”

“Shh,” he hisses, “Don’t say that too loud. You’ll ruin my rep as a drug king pin.”

Jack chuckles, “Son,” he said, “Anyone who believes that is an idiot. Your truck is real nice but it ain’t that nice.”

_________

“Hey, Kaitykat,” you murmur, leaning over to kiss her head, “Merry Christmas.”

She opened her eyes a little and smiled, “You smell like boy.”

“Well I mean. I slept with one and stole his hoodie so, that’d probably do it.” you tell her, smiling a little and curling up on the bed next to her to watch Muppets.

“Slut,” she teased, tugging a hoodie string, “Did he at least go down on you.”

“Kaity-” you start blushing.

“So no,” she chuckled, tucking hair behind your ear. “But did he take good care of you?” she pressed, looking anxious.

You nod, “Yeah,” you tell her, “He did.”

“You used a condom right? I mean. If he knocks you up I’m not going to have any fun making fun of you while you panic taking the test.”

“You’re such an asshole,” you giggle.

“Yeah, but you love me.”

“You know I do, Cat-cat.”

She smiled a little and laced her fingers through yours, “Do you love him,” she asked, laying her head on your shoulder.

“Yeah.”

“Good,” she murmured. For a long moment, Kaity’s quiet, watching Michael Cain find redemption. Trying to gather the strength to go sit out in the living room. “Promise me something?” she asked seriously.

“What?” you answer.

“When he does knock you up, name it after me.” She grins at you and you groan.

“Goddamnit Kaity.”

“What,” she pouts, “You’ll make cute babies.”

“He probably doesn’t even want kids, Kaity. And I don’t think I do either honestly.”

“Why?” she asked, letting you help her into her chair.

“Because,” you answer, kissing her head, “I don’t want to turn into my mother.”

Kaity winces but lets the matter drop. For now. Letting you wheel her out to the kitchen for something to eat. She’s thankful for the pain medicine that makes this possible. Thankful you’re here. That she can watch Bucky fuss over you fire hand. Coffee. Pastry. Anything he can coax into you. She meets her mother’s eye across the table and they nod. Thankful Bucky realizes that you’re losing weight and shouldn’t be. 

Bucky lets you walk him to the door and steals a kiss goodbye. A lingering kiss that makes you sigh, “Be a good girl?” he murmurs, kissing the tip of your nose.

“Yes, sir,” you answer, rolling your eyes. Bucky chuckles and raises an eyebrow, “Careful with that, darlin’. Especially with those pretty red lips.” You blush and he kisses your nose again, “I’ll see you tonight. I love you.”

“I love you too,” you answer, kissing his jaw before he slips out the door into the cold.

Tags: @lancsnerd @stevieang @thorfanficwriter @blameitonthecauseway @etherealwaifgoddess @wellfucksorrymum

#Bucky Barnes #soft bucky #Christmas #biker!bucky #biker!au #fluff #mentioned smut #implied d/s #fluffy fluff

[outroshooky]

think you’re so criminal | kth

⇢ genre: drabble (artthief!au) (smut, crack)

⇢ pairing: kim taehyung x reader

⇢ word count: 2.0k

⇢ prompt: “right, so i’ve ruined an iconic historical painting with my cum. See kim taehyung, this is why you don’t edge me.”

⇢ warnings: smut (dirty talk, mild exhibitionism, oral sex [f receiving], a mention of cumplay), there’s some foul language and mentions of dick sucking; don’t read this if you don’t like innuendos, jimin being sleazy, or law-breaking; the fourth wall is also broken like three times

⇢  a/n: i’ve had this prompt sitting in my wips folder since last october. thank you @pvrpletae for this one; without you, your burning love for kth, and our questionable text conversations, this drabble would not exist. also, thanks to bad guy and billie eilish for the rough inspiration for this fic

For all of your years of artnapping, absolutely nothing could have possibly prepared you for tonight’s break-in.

I should note that it wasn’t like you didn’t have experience with this. While most folks your age were casually sipping cheap wine at a bar on a lazy Friday night, you could probably be found plotting a break-in to some rich collector’s home who’d taken from the poor to keep for the rich. You liked to think of your occupation as vigilante work; others called it downright illegal. Maybe you’re both right.

It was a family business that got you started, a long-lost connection to a great uncle on your father’s side who’d shown you the ropes, and the rest was history. We won’t talk about how your parents feel about the whole enterprise, but they certainly did appreciate the Monet painting you’d brought home for them for Christmas- even if they wouldn’t hang it up in the foyer. It would’ve pulled the whole living room together if they’d mounted it above the fireplace like your wonderful boyfriend, also known as their unofficially adopted son, had suggested.

Miraculously, your parents had no clue that you’d been partners with the notably infamous Kim Taehyung for longer than you’d worked on your own. Partners was once a generous term- you met when each of you pulled a knife on the other in the basement of the Louvre, Rembrandt in hand- but over time envy morphed into a mutual respect, a tenuous thread of friendship spun into colorful wool that blossomed into its own thick congenial quilt. You knew each other inside and out, and while many in this particular industry opted to fly solo, you took a generous amount of comfort in knowing that no matter what, there was always someone watching your back.

Your parents adored Taehyung with every ounce of warmth in their souls. He could do no wrong in their view, his own puppy-dog almond eyes and the fair bit of innocence that sparkled in them so irresistibly endearing not only to you, but to them, too. You supposed you couldn’t blame them; the first time you saw him, you assumed he was some sort of lost schoolboy in the wrong place at the wrong time. That is, until he’d almost broken your ribs with a well-placed kick and delicately introduced himself as the Nightstalker. At least he apologized afterward.

Needless to say, with all of this in mind, you’d seen plenty in your time doing creative enterprising deals on the black market. You’d nearly gotten your finger cut off when the heavy frame of a Matisse fought back; Taehyung had lost his favorite beret to the hands of the feds; and you’d both, on one occasion, spent fifteen hours in a cramped janitor’s closet that reeked of cat shit. Ironically enough, the latter happened to occur on the same day you met Taehyung. Alas, that’s a story for another fic.

Anyways, there’s one little detail I forgot to mention that might be relevant. You had, in fact, been dating Taehyung for three years, had known him prior for about half that. And yes, you absolutely had fucked in the middle of a heist.

At least once.

But not more than four times.

It wasn’t like you had planned it. It was one of those things that just sort of happened on its own; nobody was home and the getaway car was late, so Taehyung suggested that he kill time with his head between your thighs. If someone had told your earlier self that you’d be getting off in the dusty attic of the museum you had freshly robbed to merely kill time, you wouldn’t have believed them, but there you were, going on your three year anniversary, sucking his dick an hour later in the comfort of your own home as a thank-you present.

And tonight, apparently, was heading down the same route.

It was a simple break-in, one that you’d done before, from some guy (last name Kim, first name Seokjin) who had a penchant for hoarding works of art that deserved to be appreciated in the public eye. You’d deemed yourselves knights of valor, taking not only the O’Keeffe and the tiny little Pollock shoved recklessly in a dusty corner, but pocketing a miniature Rodin that Taehyung spotted on the bedside table. It was all too easy- change your locks, folks!- and thus, you were left with time to kill before Jimin pulled up in an inconspicuous white worker’s van. 

Blame the fairly suggestive Hayes painting Seokjin had perched over his king-size bed, which happened to be draped with red silk sheets. He was a man of taste in more than one category, it seemed, and as Taehyung had hinted at, it would be a pity not to, ah- christen not only the now-bare walls as your own, but the neatly made head of the house.

Blood rushed in your ears as Taehyung made it quick, a few sloppy strokes of his tongue making you squirm and hiss. “S-swear to god, Taehyung, we’re gonna get caught-”

“If you keep being loud, we will, babygirl.”

“Are we c-completely su- fuck- sure the housekeeper is g-gone for the evening?”

Taehyung withdrew slightly and hummed, tracing his fingers through the slick. “I thought we decided Seokjin and the housekeeper are fucking each other. That’s why the sheets are red. Don’t think we didn’t spot the matching sheets in the carriage-house bedroom half an hour ago.”

You exhaled unsteadily, feeling completely wrecked under the power of your boyfriend’s lips and tongue. “That doesn’t mean they might not still be here.”

Taehyung’s eyebrow quirked between the apex of your thighs. “I wonder what thrills you more, federal handcuffs on your wrists or the look on Kim’s face when he sees you on your back and smells you all over his sheets.” His eyes narrow, the pleased look of the devil incarnate marring his handsome features. “Bet you’d love either option.”

“Don’t you have better things to do with that tongue than run them off about my worries?” You retorted. It was a weak insult, but an effective one.

Taehyung drove you to the brink of near-insanity, wanting to drag this wonderfully fucked-up act as long as humanly possible without the risk of genuine danger. However, the twice-repeated honk of a car outside meant Jimin had made his way into position, and you were running out of time.

“Tae, baby-”

“Fuck,” he panted, speeding up. “Be a good girl, come on babygirl. Cum all over my tongue, you’ve done so well for me, baby. Cum, now.”

At the same moment that it hit you, a dazzling euphoria of white that sparked and sputtered behind closed eyelids, a horn just under the windowsill honked one long blast.

You were about to have company, and if the panic in Taehyung’s eyes was anything to go by, you’d overstayed your welcome.

His neglected, throbbing boner would have to wait.

“Isn’t he not supposed to be home yet? I thought he was in Germany!” You whispered as you scrambled off the bed with a mind still foggy from your orgasm. You stumbled to find your various articles of clothing scattered about the feet of the furniture.

“For another four days, he was!” Taehyung retorted in a slightly louder whisper. Next to you, he ripped at the corners of the bed, furiously wrapping the stolen artworks in the silk sheets themselves.

“What do we do?” You murmured, fingers hurriedly finding the clasp of your pants.

Two levels below, the front door creaked open and footsteps resounded in the massive, marble-floored foyer.

“Taehyung, we have to go,” you urged in low tones, tripping into your left sneaker.

“I know, just-” The traces of sex had drained from his voice, replaced by daunting panic. “Help me with these, please.”

Footsteps resounded on the stairs, thumping closer and closer, and you didn’t even have time to process the fear before your feet were moving and you made your way to the window, following close behind Taehyung. Your boyfriend took care to lower the last two stolen paintings to a waiting Jimin before he himself took one last glance back at the bedroom and saluted. “It was fun desecrating you!”

The bedroom door creaked open just as Taehyung began to ease himself off the sill.

“Go!” You hissed, practically shoving your boyfriend out the window before you followed, clutching the Pollock tightly to your chest.

You hit the ground and rolled, your shoulder taking the brunt of the impact as you stumbled and threw yourself into Jimin’s van as his foot slammed the gas pedal down. The engine revved hard, peeled rubber burning black on the uneven cobblestone of the narrow city streets. Taehyung wrenched the door closed and held on just a second longer, eyes on the dark figure that had appeared at the window you had slipped out of a mere seconds before. You panted, air wheezing in and out of your lungs erratically as you regained your senses. In the darkness of the van, it was impossible to read Taehyung’s feelings until he spoke.

“Well, that was an adventure.”

“Taehyung.”

“It certainly was the most risque of our trips; I mean, it beat out the time we fucked in a chur-”

“Taehyung.”

“What?”

In the frantic struggle to finish wrapping your stolen goods and lower them via silk sling to the waiting hired help below, you had realized, in a stunning moment of clarity, that Taehyung had not taken the time to wipe his fingers clean before touching your prizes. His tongue may be experienced, but his idea of how to preserve a historical masterpiece was not. “Did you, by any chance, wipe your hands before you picked up the artwork?”

He was silent for a moment, contemplating. “Was I supposed to?”

“Oh my god.” You collapsed back into the seat, running a hand through your messy hair. “Right, so I’ve ruined an iconic historical painting with my cum. See Kim Taehyung, this is why you don’t edge me.”

“It could’ve been worse; I only touched the frame.”

“The four-hundred-and-ninety-year-old frame?” You gaped at him. “Do you really want to be searching up what pussy juice does to a Da Vinci at one in the morning?”

Taehyung shrugged. “It’s nothing a little lemon juice, magnesium, and a rag won’t take off.”

“And how do you know that for certain?”

In the rearview mirror, Taehyung and Jimin locked eyes, and Jimin opened his mouth, then closed it again. Mild horror seeped into your bones.

“Have either of you actually had to remove semen from a historical object before?”

Jimin wisely stayed silent. 

Taehyung gently withdrew the statue from his pocket, turning it over to inspect its cracks and crevices. “All I’m saying is, The Girl isn’t the only one with pearly-”

“You are disgusting,” you declared, folding your arms over your chest.

“This is coming from the one who probably left her panties in the house of the collector she just robbed.”

The car went momentarily quiet, the mild horror rotting in your bones suddenly turning a freezing cold. “Taehyung…?”

He opted not to reply, and his hesitance was all you needed.

“Fuck!”

“Hey, look at it this way,” Jimin peeped from the front seat. “At least you’ll have something to tell your parents over Christmas dinner.”

“Park Jimin, I am not telling my parents about how my most expensive pair of lingerie was left in the home of collector Kim Seokjin, whose new acquisitions coincidentally went missing the same night!”

“I mean, if it was a good fuck…”

You smacked Taehyung’s arm as he whined in protest.

“You two are so cute,” Jimin teased. “Like an old married couple.”

“If old married couples like to break into houses together and give head while stealing the art, you’d be spot on.”

Taehyung opened his mouth and you silenced him with a glare. He mouthed something at you and you rolled your eyes. “Yes, I’ll still suck your dick when we get home!”

#bts #taehyung #bts smut #bts crack #kpop smut #kpop crack #taehyung smut #taehyung crack #taehyung x reader #taehyung x you #drabble #outroshooky