#soldier Tumblr posts

  • wokenhardies
    22.01.2022 - 9 minutes ago

    c3 party voice: ohmigod you cant just ask people if theyre a drow

    shivra: ...my eyes are LITERALLY RED AND PUPILLESS--

    #OC: Shivra #story: soldier poet king #breaking up my chetney wolf squealling in this fic tag #to instead drop some new shivra lore! #commonly albino drows mimic high elves #shivra doesnt but the c3 party is convinced that theyre a high or pallid elf #in spite of all the other signs #also im deeply sorry the meme template was apparently recorded on a potato #caps tw
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  • negans-lucille-tblr
    22.01.2022 - 20 minutes ago

    The Soldier - Epilogue (FIN)

    Summary: Y/N comes from very little, but is married off to Sam Wesson, a rich and powerful lawyer in Kansas. Her only job is to give him children. But Sam works away a lot, and Y/N isn’t getting pregnant. One day, a soldier fresh from the Civil war knocks on her front door looking for shelter and food, and offering help in any way he can. She lets him in, and the relationship that forms between them comes with lies, betrayal and secrets that were meant to stay buried.

    Chapter Warnings: angst, mentions of domestic violence, mentions of murder, fluff

    Chapter WC: ± 2.3K

    DISCLAIMER: Please check out the masterlist for the disclaimer for this series!

    A/Ns: A big thank you to @little-diable for all her help with the historical facts and accuracy. This chapter is unbeta'd so please excuse the mistakes! This is it! The end!! I really hope you enjoyed this series! I really loved writing it! Stick around for some Jensen x Reader filth coming as my next series, Senior!

    < Previous Chapter // The Soldier Masterlist

    Dean’s POV

    Dean can’t think about Sam. He can’t think about the fact that his own baby brother – who he thought had been dead for thirty five years – had been alive this whole time, and is now lying dead as deep as Dean could bury him with his bare hands. If he thinks about that – about what he’s done – he’ll break down, and right now he needs to focus on Y/N and their baby, and getting the both of them to safety, far away from here. He knows the answers to the reason Sam is who he is today lies in the diary in Y/N’s grasp, and he wants to read the whole thing from cover to cover. And he will. Maybe there’s more too, maybe his mother kept journals for years, and Dean can find out as much as he can about his baby brother’s life through them.

    “Wait, Dean, do you think Greta knows?” Y/N asks.

    “I doubt it, she wouldn’t have let Sam treat her so badly if she did,” he counters. Y/N nods mindlessly, looking down at the diary again while biting her lip.

    “So what do we do?” Dean takes a deep breath and tries to clear his mind, his only focus and goal is on getting them to safety now. If Tomos or Greta find out what he’s done, there’s no telling what they might do. Dean’s wanted to get Y/N away from this hell for a long time, but now he’s desperate. Especially because she’s carrying his child.

    “If Greta finds out that she’s the rightful heir to all this, we can’t know what she’ll do with that information,” Dean reasons.

    “She’s the one that told Sam about us. She’s painfully loyal,” Y/N adds.

    “Right, so if she finds out what we’ve… I’ve done…” Dean paces, trying to get his thoughts straight. He remembers Sam telling him to deal with it, and given the very little Dean knows about Sam, he can only assume that his younger brother was suggesting they kill Greta, before she can know. But there’s been enough killing of innocent people in shitty situations for one lifetime.

    “Here’s what we do,” Dean decides. “You’re going to go to the bank and withdraw all of the money, tell them you’re moving states. We can leave Greta the house and everything in it, and we can give her the pages of the diary that explain who she is. We’ll take a carriage and we’ll leave, as far away as we can get. Whatever money you can take, we’ll use to start our new lives together.” “Dean, we can’t steal everything from her,” Y/N sighs, shaking her head.

    “Baby, listen to me,” Dean implores, rushing to her, he grips her hands and holds them tight. “We have nothing right now, and after everything you’ve been through… Greta’s the entire reason we’re even in this mess right now. We’re not taking everything. Greta will have the house and all these expensive things… she’ll be just fine.” Y/N looks around, tears glassing over her eyes. “We need to give our baby a good life,” he urges, placing his hand on her stomach. Y/N looks back at him, placing her hand atop his and slowly nods her head.

    “Okay, let’s do it.”

    “Is this everything?” Dean checks, loading the back of the carriage. He’s cleaned up a little now, thanks to Y/N’s help.

    “I think so,” Y/N nods, “and I found a box of more diaries like that one in the basement, I’ve put them in the suitcase.” Dean smiles and kisses her lips softly, and then breaks away when he sees someone out of the corner of his eye.

    “Joshua,” Dean forces a smile, and Y/N turns away like nothing is happening.

    “Going on a trip, Mrs. Wesson?” he asks, looking at the things of hers in the carriage.

    “Only for a few days,” she lies, smiling politely. Dean can tell that Joshua doesn’t buy it, but he doesn’t seem annoyed by the prospect of them leaving either. He looks between the two of them for a moment.

    “Say, we could do with a driver, I’m not all that good,” Dean speaks up.

    “Dean,” Y/N whispers.

    “Mrs. Wesson has always been good to you, right, Joshua?” Dean presses. Joshua smiles softly and nods his head, looking back towards the house. Joshua is young, and Dean can only assume he’s only ever known the Wesson estate and working under someone like Sam. “So come with us,” Dean urges.

    “I can’t,” Joshua finally replies. “Mr. Wesson might need me.” But then he clears his throat, “Abigail might need me,” he adds, coyly. Dean smirks, knowing there had been something blossoming between the two kids.

    “Then Abigail must come too,” Y/N speaks up.

    Joshua beams, “Thank you, Miss.”

    “But on one condition,” Y/N adds sternly. “You stop calling me Miss and Mrs. Wesson. It’s Y/N.” Joshua’s eyes widen a little and he nods his head.

    “Of course, M– Y/N,” he chokes out. “I’ll fetch Abigail.” Joshua practically runs back inside the house and Y/N smiles softly. “I’m glad they’re coming,” she confesses.

    “Me too,” Dean nods, smiling warmly at her. “C’mon, we need to leave as soon as they get back.”

    “Did you place the letter and the diary pages on the table?” Y/N checks as she takes Dean’s hand to climb into the carriage.

    “Yes, it’s all there,” he confirms.

    As Joshua returns with Abigail, Dean informs Joshua they wish to go to the bank first, and then climbs into the carriage. He sits alongside Y/N and takes her hand.

    “We’re really doing this?” she asks, breathing deeply. Dean squeezes her hand, and the carriage sets off, relieved that they’re getting away filling Dean’s veins.

    Dean is sure to hide his face in the back of the carriage so people assume he’s Sam while Y/N is in the bank, and he only feels even more relief than before when she climbs in with two large bags filled with money.

    “You might never have to work again,” she tells him, placing the bags down.

    “Where to now?” Joshua checks.

    “As far away as possible,” Dean confirms, taking Y/N’s hand. She squeezes it and gives him a soft smile, and the carriage sets off once more.

    Just like the journey to the bank, it’s quiet in the carriage, but Dean can tell Y/N has a lot of questions, and rightfully so, and the longer they travel, the more confident he feels that they’re going to escape for good. Now he’s able to relax a little more, knowing his family are out of any immediate danger, Dean can start feeling the guilt and sorrow pressing down on his chest instead. He knows he needs to tell her, if not for her own peace of mind, then for his.

    “Sam took me in the forest to kill me,” Dean begins. “He told me so himself.” Y/N’s grip on his hand tightens at the words, and he continues. “He was talking about how he was going to raise my baby a Wesson, that he didn’t care if it wasn’t his, because everyone believed he was a Wesson. He didn’t know his birth parents, but he’d found out he was adopted. The way he talked about the baby, and you… I lost it.”

    “You did the right thing,” Y/N confirms quietly, like she doesn’t want to admit it.

    “That’s not all,” he continues. “I shot him in the stomach, and when I moved to take a shot at his head – you know, to finish him off – I noticed this.” Dean picks up the rosary around his neck and grips the pendant tightly in his grasp. “It was my mother’s. Mary Winchester.”

    “Your mother’s? How did Sam have it?” Y/N frowns.

    “That’s what I wanted to know, so he told me it was what he was wearing when he was given away. He was adopted from a church in Lawrence. My baby brother was wearing this rosary the night Bobby took him away. My father told me he’d died with Mom, but…”

    “It was Sam,” Y/N whispers, filling in the blanks.

    “We used to call him Sammy.”

    “Did you know? When you arrived at our home, did you know who Sam was?” Dean shakes his head, knowing what Y/N must be thinking, that he knew this whole time and was trying to get close to his brother through her.

    “I had no idea. I didn’t think anything of it when I met him, why would I? My brother was dead, why would my father lie about that? If I knew, I’d have never let myself fall for you… I’d have never… done what I did.” Dean starts to cry again, and Y/N holds him.

    “You were protecting your family, Dean,” she reminds him, holding him close.

    “He was my family.”

    “You didn’t know,” she insists, shaking her head and soothing him.

    “I should’ve.” Dean only cries harder, shaking his head, refusing to believe he could’ve been so foolish.

    “Dean, listen to me, you were protecting your family.” Y/N pushes him out at arm’s length, and then takes Dean’s hand and places it on her stomach. While there’s nothing to feel yet, no bump or moving baby inside, it still calms him a little to know that his child is in there. “I know he was your brother, but we can’t forget how he treated us.” Dean nods, sniffling through tears.

    “You’re right. You and our baby are the most important things to me now.”

    They travel for several more hours, and after Dean is done crying, he takes to reading some more of Bertha’s diaries, reading entries out to Y/N as they both relive the trauma that seemed to be Sam’s childhood. Dean can suddenly understand why Sam was the way he was. He was raised to believe that women were only good for heirs, that they were useless and pathetic if they couldn’t get pregnant. Dean sees so much of Sam in George, it scares him. If only he’d been around to protect him, if only Sam had been raised to believe differently. It’s getting dark when Joshua turns into a small village and suggests they stay the night in a small tavern, insisting they can travel more in the morning light when everyone – horses included – are well rested and fed. Dean and Y/N agree, heading inside.

    “A room for the night, please,” Dean asks.

    “Name?” the guy prompts, looking between them.

    “Mr. Dean Smith, and this is my wife, Y/N Smith.” It’s the first thing that comes to his mind, but he goes with it, and he can’t help but notice the small smile on Y/N’s lips as he refers to her as his wife.

    They’re shown to a small room with a double bed inside, which will do just fine for one night, and as they settle into the bed, Y/N lays her head on his chest.

    “I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” she sighs. “I just wish the circumstances were different.”

    “Me too, sweetheart,” Dean agrees, kissing her forehead softly. He strokes her arm lovingly, feeling the tiredness take over him in a way it’s not done for years.

    “But I’d follow you anywhere, Mr. Smith,” she replies, smirking softly as she lifts her head and looks up at him.

    “You say that like there’s anywhere I’d go without you, Mrs. Smith. We’re a family now, and that’s all that matters to me.”

    Seven Years Later

    Dean smiles happily as his home comes into view. The white fence, the porch and the two windows either side of the door. Whenever he sees it, he’s reminded of that day in the barn with Y/N. He knew he had to build the house she’d always dreamed of, and he did, despite her insisting that he didn’t have to build a house with his bare hands to impress her. He unburdens himself from his work clothes at the door, and waves at Joshua who walks further across the field towards his own home, before getting inside.

    “Daddy’s home!” he hears Y/N call, and then a chorus of voices parrot her, until he’s getting tackled by three children, all clinging to his legs and calling his name.

    “Hey,” he beams, reaching down to pick up the toddler about to fall flat on his ass. Bobby cooes and reaches for Dean’s nose, and the other two children break away from him and allow him the room he needs to make it to the kitchen.

    “Smells good,” Dean tells Y/N, kissing her cheek from behind.

    “Daddy, today I caught a frog.” Dean turns to his daughter and raises his eyebrows. “A frog?” he questions, placing Bobby down in his highchair.

    “Yep, it was this big,” she tells him, holding out her hands several inches apart.

    “No! Dad, she’s lying, it wasn’t that big!”

    “Sammy, leave your sister be,” Y/N warns, placing the pot of soup down in the centre of the table. Dean stops her as she passes, placing a kiss on her large, round stomach, and Y/N giggles, before taking a seat beside him. The two eldest are bickering between each other again, but Dean quite enjoys the noise.

    “Okay guys, let’s pray,” Y/N calls out, reaching for Dean’s hand. Dean takes it, and as the room falls quiet – except for Bobby’s babbling – Dean can’t resist opening one eye to peek out at his family. If there’s anything to be thankful to God for, it’s Y/N and the family she’s given him.


    Always and Forevers: @foxyjwls007 / @waywardbaby / @tatted-trina6 / @lunarmoon8 / @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone / @warrior-angel / @impalaspixie / @sexyvixen7

    * * *

    Supernatural Forevers: @moosekateer13 / @akshi8278 / @notyourtypicalrose / @angelofthetrenchcoats / @pyroqueen-k / @collette04 / @impala1967dwinchester / @blueaura / @beth-winchester21 / @laxe-chester67 / @bobbie3939 / @jaydahlynne / @michellemxndes / @allys-creative-bubble / @squirrelnotsam / @chocolateheart / @cluz1babe / @musicalraven100 / @iceythelostwinchester / @cutiecowgirl / @sacriceria / @pink-sparkly-witch / @justanotherficreader / @idblamekate / @waynes-multiverse / @idreamofdeanie

    * * *

    The Soldier: @siospins / @hoewkeyesblue / @ravenhood2792 / @lovelyrocker / @namelesslosers

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  • wokenhardies
    22.01.2022 - 1 hour ago

    so uh a funny shivra story;

    in my head once the gurge is a wildman thing was revealed, i wanted to have shivra joke “hey chet, are you a wild man too?” which was supposed to be seen as a joke bc of their low wisdom

    uh... oops?

    #OC: Shivra #story: soldier poet king
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  • tearsfortheyouth
    22.01.2022 - 1 hour ago

    Unpopular opinion: Bucky Barnes looks better with longer hair.

    I am convinced that the only reason the producers and directors and writers or whoever the fuck made this decision didn’t give him long hair because they KNEW he would hold to much power.

    They KNEW that the minute we laid eyes on that beautiful face carved by gods framed with long honey kissed brunette locks, we would all single-handedly be wiped from existence. We would instantly melt at the sight of this man, therefore they decided to chop off all his hair for TFATWS

    don’t get me wrong, Bucky could literally be BALD and I would still let that man run me over, but oddly enough, I am not the biggest fan of his haircut in TFATWS. I get it, the long hair WASN’T Bucky — that was the Winter Solider and he needed to cut ALL ties with his past self, but the BEAUTY we missed out on guys — the absolute perfection we could have had is out there.

    behold — the most beautiful man you’re ever going to see in your life, with artificial edited-on long hair that makes me absolutely melt and froth at the mouth

    You’re so welcome. I have truly graced you today. Have a good day

    #marvel#bucky barnes#sebastian stan#avengers#james barnes #james buchanan barnes #james buchanan bucky barnes #falcon and the winter soldier #tfatws #run me over
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  • dainikjanwani
    22.01.2022 - 1 hour ago

    टीवी कलाकारों ने किया देश के जवानों के जज्बे को सलाम

    टीवी कलाकारों ने किया देश के जवानों के जज्बे को सलाम

    26 जनवरी, 2022 को भारत के 73वें गणतंत्र दिवस के रूप में मनाया जाएगा। इस गौरवशाली दिन का उत्सव मनाने के लिये एण्डटीवी के कलाकारों, ने हर फ्रंटलाइन वर्कर और देश के जवानों के जज्बे को सलाम किया। तेज सप्रू, एंडटीवी के ‘बाल शिव’ से प्रजापति दक्ष कहते हैं, ‘मुझे लगता है कि भारत एकमात्र ऐसा देश है जो वास्तव में विविधता में एकता को परिभाषित करता है। गणतंत्र दिवस स्वतंत्र भारत की भावना का प्रतिनिधित्व…

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  • cataroo
    22.01.2022 - 1 hour ago

    More random Captain America: The Winter Soldier thoughts:

    -Natasha saving their asses in the car because she anticipates how the Winter Soldier will act is maybe the most badass act in the movie

    -Maria Hill calling Sam ‘Falcon’; did Sam pick it based on the project right before they started the mission? Was he already called that? (Meaning, were he and Riley ‘Falcons’ during the Falcon project or did he just choose that as his call sign right then based on the Falcon project.)

    -did Sam have a moment of panic when Steve just threw himself off the helicarrier, thinking of Riley falling?

    -then literally they’re flirting 30 seconds later. Save it for after you save the world, guys.

    #just thinking winter soldier thoughts #sam wilson#steve rogers#natasha romanoff#ca: tws
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  • spencerrrxid
    22.01.2022 - 1 hour ago

    can someone recommend me ws!bucky x reader fics thanksssss

    #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes#winter soldier
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  • bluezeri
    22.01.2022 - 2 hours ago

    an alliance agent on nar shadaa :}

    #its kahsii #aged up kahsii #so ​yk not a child soldier anymore #swtor#star wars#swtor oc#swtor fanart#imperial agent#chiss#swtor stuff #i didnt render the ear #i didnt feel like it :/ #anyway look at me doing backgrounds woo
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  • expertmakodriver
    22.01.2022 - 2 hours ago

    Hello I am still mad that I can’t make Femshep beefy

    #mass effect#my post#femshep #she's a soldier. why does she have noodle arms #i'm not saying she has to be jacked but i would like some substantial muscle mass please
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  • tater-thief
    22.01.2022 - 2 hours ago
    #the punisher #not your thin blue line #not your soldier #not your hero #raw vengeance #death for those that deserve it
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  • narayanstha
    22.01.2022 - 3 hours ago

    King Soldiers Ultimate Edition

    King Soldiers Ultimate Edition

    Become the king of the castle in this action packed shooter game! Take out your targets and prove you are the best. You are a soldier and your mission is not so easy: kill all the frogs using as less shots as you can and collect 3 stars a level! King Soldiers Ultimate Edition Play Wechha Click or tap to shoot. Kill all monsters. Collect stars.

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  • dameofdeath
    22.01.2022 - 3 hours ago

    Sambucky confession post #279

    Ship: Sambucky

    Fandom: Marvel

    Warnings: Some mild description of gore

    Fluff level: OMG

    Summary: Sam is spending some quality time with his family, but a distressing call from Clint may just change his life forever

    Note: Sorry for spelling errors. I've had this idea for a while and I thought it would be nice to get it out there. Sorry for any inconsistencies.

    Sam chuckled, he didn't know why. He was just so happy. It had been only a month since he had last seen his sister, but it felt like forever. “Good morning“ Sharon walked into the small kitchen and placed a loving peck on his forehead “You look like you slept well”

    Sam nodded, he had definitely had a good night. No nightmares, no waking up for no reason, He'd had slept for a solid, uninterrupted 10 hours. ”Any news from your boyfriend?” Sharon asked

    Sam laughed again “He's not my boyfriend. Bucky and I are best friends but I just don't like him like that.” Sharon rolled her eyes. “You’re in denial, “ She said, but too softly for Sam to hear,. “The boys will be back in a couple hours, they're staying at a friend's house tonight.” He nodded.

    His nephews were the closest thing he had to kids of his own. And Sam loved them like it too.

    ”You've got a call from Clint,” Sharon said, handing Sam his ringing phone. ” He probably just wants to give me some more information,” Sam said, still grinning “there was something about another Captain America meeting. They keep inventing more forms for me to sign.”

    Sam tapped to open the call. Clints face appeared, it was choppy, like there wasn't service wherever he was.

    "Sam, get here right away, my place. It's Bucky, I don't know If he'll make it. He was shot-" The connection fizzled out. Sam shot up out of his chair, crashing his bowl to the floor. "I have to go" Sharon looked concerned. "What happened?"

    "I have to go RIGHT NOW." Sam had tears in his eyes. "Bucky- I can' lose Bucky. Not another one." Sam never even got to tell him- No. Bucky was going to live. "I need a way to get to Missouri fast."

    Sharon tilted her head at him. "Oh. right." Sam ran up to the room he had slept the night before and took his wings out from underneath his bed. As he soared off into the early morning sun he wondered if Bucky would still be alive the next time he saw him.

    Sam birst into Clints house, his face covered in sweat and his eyes brimming with tears. “WHERE IS HE?” Sam yelled it as loud as he could “I NEED TO SEE HIM.” Clint nodded, unfazed by Sam's yelling.

    “Sam… You have to understand. He's only alive by a miracle really . The bullets, six of them, managed to miss his spine and his organs. He lost a lot of blood. You have to understand…” Clint didn’t finish his sentence. Sam ignored him, and pushed his way to the back room. Bucky lay face up on the bed, the blood of six bullet wounds apparent through his bandages. Sam gripped Bucky's limp hand, and shut his eyes tight. Throughout the next few hours Clint described what happed, and Sam had to admit, if the situation had been different he would have been quite smitten with what had happened. Clint had gotten a choppy sounding call from an unknown number. The person claiming to be Sam. The impersonator claimed to have been tied up in a warehouse a couple hours away from Clints place. Bucky had not taken any extra time and rushed in immediately, blinded by ”some unknown desire to save his teammate“ as Clint called it. Following the callers instructions he had walked all the way into the back of the warehouse where he had been ambushed by a lone person and shot six times. Clint had shot an arrow at his feet and asked him who he was working for, to which he answered for nobody. Clint threw him off the balcony and killed him, before taking Bucky back to his place. Sam stayed by Bucky's side until late that night, when he drifted off, still gripping Bucky's hand he was only woken by a faint groaning sound. “Bucky” Sam sat up, peeling his cheek from Bucky’s sheets “Are you awake? Oh god, I have to go get Clint. Aw man this is-“

    ”No, Sam listen to me. I can't stay awake much longer. Listen I don't know if I'm going to make it. I just have to tell you-“ Bucky took a shaky breath, his face contorte, he was obviously in intense pain. “I have to tell you, I love you Sam.”

    Sams eyes widened. Ok Sam. Calm down. He probably doesn’t mean it like that. Don't jump to amazin, wonderful conclusions. “I love you too Buck, you're a great friend.”

    ”No, not like that. Ever since I met you, ever since we started being, you know, friends. Sam, I wanted to be more. The only reason I'm telling you this is I don’t know if I'm gonna make it through this, but-“ Bucky never got to finish his sentence. Sam pressed his lips to his, letting him feel Bucky’s warmth and them merge into one.

    Sam didn’t remember falling aslee, all he knew was Clint shaking him awake. “Sam, SAM.” For a horrible , horrible moment, Sam thought Bucky was gone. But then he saw Clints face “It’s a miracle, I think he's going to be ok. What did you do to him?” The memories of last night came flooding back. Sam looked away, embarrassed. ”Nothing, nothing at all.” He could feel the color rising in his cheeses, and also somehow felt the peircing of Clints eyes bearing into his neck. He knew, but somehow, he didn’t care. All that mattered was that Bucky was going to be okay.

    Part 2? Idk, maybe it would be cute.

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  • leznatural
    22.01.2022 - 4 hours ago

    actually i really do want to talk about Venka about to throw that baby back into the river. and then that scene when Rin buries the child shamans she trained and got killed, and Venka knew exactly where the graveyard was

    #i want to talk about i just don't know how to say anything #something about soldiers and especially child soldiers #also lady yin and her being just as much a victim of Hesperian colonization as the rest but also #she is just so wealthy and powerful that she will not experience the same effects of imperialism as everyone else
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  • zapphi
    22.01.2022 - 4 hours ago
    #voi'nar#other wols#ffxiv#arr spoilers #can we talk about how fucked up ifrit was #like arr writing so i wasnt impactful but #most wols would have just heard about the echo for the first time #they had no guarentee it would protect them #did they bond with any of the soldiers captured with them? make promises to themself that they would save them? #reassure anyone that they'd make it out together? #only to hear later on that they had been taken care of #the primal situation in eorzea is so fucked up and the game is always like ''this situation cannot be sustained'' #but i dont think they really drove home how every time a primal is summoned #a platoon of men go to fight it. and then a second platoon of men come to kill the original platoon #i have many thoughts about arr if you couldnt tell
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  • fuck-you-i-didnt-eat-the-beans
    22.01.2022 - 4 hours ago

    Chapter Two of oneshot-turned-fic that was requested by @moongoddessmox. I hope this is once again sufficient! <3

    Take Me To Church {BikerAU! Bucky Barnes x Reader}

    ❗CW❗ This fic contains graphic violence, strong language, descriptions of sexual intercourse, and most of all, Domestic Abuse. Do not read this if it offends you, or will trigger you.

    Do not replicate or repost my fics. The only site this fic will be on is Tumblr. If you see it anywhere else, it has been stolen. Please message me if you come across this.

    You are free to reblog!

    All mistakes are my own.

    There are references to certain songs in this chapter, so just like the last one, i'll post them here. Feel free to listen to them whilst reading, it really sets the scene. Sorry that the boxes are so damn big.


    The interior of the building was, unsurprisingly, not much different from the outside. Everything was just the same, besides the fact that it had been coated entirely in a ghastly shade of fern. Over time it had seemed to mute down to a sickly vomit colour, showing just how old the place actually was. 'Must have been decades ago..' you found yourself musing, realising upon closer inspection that you were right. There was more exposed brick than anything else, years worth of plaster and paint visibly littering the clubhouse's accompanying stone flooring. You watched as numerous sets of hulking, leather and buckle laden boots dragged the plaster around under their feet, leaving dusty streaks of antique white in their wake. With baited breath, and eyes unable to keep from wandering, you did your best to follow after the other as he stomped throughout the large room, one hand stuffed into his the back of his jean pocket, the other resting in the opening of his kutte. Your hands wrung together nervously in comparison.

    As Bucky had previously noted, it seemed that the previous commotion had since died down. The place now bubbled with overlapping conversations, howls of laughter, and clinking glasses, which was blanketed over by the dulcet tones of some music of old- more specifically, the sounds of classic Motown. It was pleasant, the crackling noise that spattered out of the time worn jukebox, one that would have previously grated at the inside of your skull, now perfectly complemented the place.

    On second thought, everything seemed old here. The floors, though printed with a beautiful pattern, were cracked and broken, each individual tile's colour having been worn away after decades of being stepped on. Each wall, though already looking decrepit enough, were at least bought to life a little, as a vast collection of wall hangings encased the place. Some were ancient looking advertisements, probably for alcohol, others ranging all the way from the tiniest of photographs that were wedged in between the countless bottles of liquor, to gigantic hand-painted banners, depicting the clubs colours; the hand of Eve, her long, fleshless ghoul-like fingers curling around a rotting apple. These banners, at least the size of a Harley, coated every bare wall. It didn't take much to know that this was Clubhouse- unless you were blind.

    However, most notable of the lot were undoubtedly the sheer majority of the people that sat inside the building. Whilst not clones of each other in any way, they all sported the same visual aesthetic. For one, they were all men, a stereotype- yet also strict tradition, unless you advertised otherwise. Another thing of note was that they all seemed to be dipping in and out of their late forties to early fifties, some more apparent than others, so much so that it became some sort of a game to see just how many young faces you could count. A fair few of the older men wore beards, which were either dotted with grey or almost white, others sported thinning hair that they hid under hats, or for the most daring, tattoos. The way they curled themselves around the chipped, stained wooden tables, women snaking themselves around them, their hands trailing all over each other's bodies.. it reminded you of times of old, causing you, against your will, to reminisce over the countless centuries old paintings that Zemo would have smothering the walls. In hindsight, it was probably those types of people that chose the music around here- not that you were complaining. Bucky didn't seem to care either; you swore you saw his lips move in time with The Four Tops' smash hit 'I can't help myself' at least three times, though you weren't sure that it would be a good thing to bring up.

    The Clubhouse, now roaring with life (the positive kind), seemed to calm you at least a little. After all, you weren't entirely sure just what to expect, the time you'd spent in a sheltered, do-good-or-die community making damn sure of that. But, this place seemed a lot less dangerous than what the clusters of gossiping mothers would whisper about. Instead, you could easily compare it to nothing more than a little church community.. if every member wore a heavily adorned, leather kutte, and looked as if they'd drink themselves into a stupor. Now that would be a hell of a sight, to such an extent that you had to force yourself to suppress a giggle at the thought of it, rather attempting to shift your focus back to your surroundings, specifically the fact that it looked like a tornado had run through the building. Despite the mess, however, everyone seemed to be living alongside it as if nothing had happened.

    Whether it were indeed a bar fight was unknown, but it was apparent that there had obviously been some sort of a scuffle, as Bucky kicked away a few large shards of discarded glass as he walked. These seemed to be the remnants of a collection of drinking glasses that had been used as projectiles of sorts, the ones that Barnes had kicked away definitely not being the last. What hadn't occurred to you, at least not yet, was that despite the place having since changed its tune in the wake of Bucky re-entering, small collections of whispers and mutters had begun to bubble up again. These, whilst only situated at certain tables for now, caused Bucky to instinctively take a hold of your arm. His hold wasn't harsh in any way, though was firm, his fingers curling around your wrist with almost protective intent.

    "New bird you got there, eh, Pres?" A thick, drunk sounding voice bravely sauntered out over the music all of a sudden. All of the talking appeared to stop as more and more tables turned and stared. Some didn't, noticeably the older men, probably knowing that this wasn't going to turn out well from experience, though everyone else seemed to follow the male's voice as if he were the Messiah. A few even craned their necks just to get a look at you, and, almost by clockwork, then came the mumbling. You just turned your head away and wrapped your free arm around yourself, your poor choice of clothing most likely not making the situation any better. This seemed to be something that Bucky picked up on, as he shuffled over a little more as if he were attempting to shield you. No matter what he did, however, you couldn't help but feel trapped, encircled by lions in a colosseum. Every pair of blinking, unmoving eyes were on you, like you were a piece of raw, bloody meat, including the drunk male who had plucked up the immeasurable, albeit Dutch courage of being the first to speak up. To mention, you weren't sure were it came from at first, but just from the way that Bucky was peering over gave you the faint idea that it had come from one of the corner tables in the back. Under the blinding lights, you couldn't exactly make out who it was either, but the aforementioned male knew immediately, responding with a set of knitted brows and a booming voice.

    "Your folks ever taught you to mind our own business, Hawk?" Bucky called back loudly. It seemed at first that he was simply joking; the way that the other responded being a goofy, though proud looking grin, but that was wiped from his face pretty quick as a growl crawled it's way up the longer haired male's throat. Honestly, you weren't sure what he was expecting. Maybe a few laughs, a free drink, or the attention that he so obviously craved from his peers, and more importantly, Bucky. "Bold of you to talk about birds." He continued, though this time, and to your surprise, his once crystal clear voice dropped down to an intense, albeit cool drawl. So cool, in fact, that he could have easily re-frozen the melting ice caps with just the power of his tone. "Why don't you just fuck off back to your roost?"

    Hawk seemed to do nothing in return but slump in his chair, his head bowed into his glass that he bought to his lips. Cheeks, although already infused with a drunken sprinkling of red, now blazed a shock of amaranth, as if he'd been slapped, face prickling with the heat of embarrassment. He didn't take a drink however, the muddy looking liquid instead sitting just below his chin. "Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning." The dark haired male slurred sourly into his glass, the few accompanying bodies dotted around his table sniggering scornfully like school children.

    Bucky let go of your wrist before taking a few commanding steps forward. If he were a dog, his ears would have pricked, but the sheer speed at which the male seemed to turn his head was animalistic enough. "You group of fuckers wanna speak up there?" He paused as he took a few more steps forward, the muscles in his face tightening. His words curled and slithered out of his mouth dangerously, his foot tapping impatiently on the floor. Your ears buzzed as Barnes' voice reverberated over the spread of now bowed heads. "..Because I don't mind taking this outside." He expressed, though it sounded more like an offer than a threat. His tone also seemed less pointed, more targeted towards the whole room. As he spoke, he glared down at everyone through his eyelashes, hooded eyes lowered, tone unwavering.

    Hawk, like the others, didn't raise his head, the rest of the gaggle doing the same as they too buried themselves into their drinks. Not a single sound could be heard in the whole bar, almost as if it were encapsulated in a sweet placid stillness, besides the now steady sound of Bucky's foot tapping the floor. Even the jukebox had stopped playing; the whirring of the disk changer could be heard, yet barely. Although not directed towards you, the blaring silence left you with an uneasy feeling, something along the lines of a pit in your stomach.

    'Click. Click. Click.' Went the toe of his boots, the steel toe clacking against the floor like a pair of castanets.

    "That's what i thought." Barnes grumbled after he seemed satisfied enough with the length of the silence, and, promptly taking a hold of your wrist again, though this time significantly looser, the both of you continued your walk through the clubhouse.

    'Okay, so not like a church community.' You thought.

    Bucky's irises swept over the place like an eagle. He was a superhero, the way they would perch themselves over the city and look down upon the citizens not being that much of a stark contrast between the way Barnes was acting. However, even at the height that Bucky stood, a proud 6'1, he had to prop himself up a tad on his heels, the spread of different bodies at such a range of heights making it difficult for the other to find exactly what, or indeed who he was looking for.

    You weren't exactly sure yourself, but there was no possible way that you were going to be able to look over Bucky's shoulder, or peer around him to see what was going on. Instead, you tapped the other on his back, which in return got you nothing but a distracted sounding hum. "What are you doing?" You whispered, inching yourself closer to the other as a man squeezed behind you on his way to the bar, muttering a:

    "'Scuse me, darlin.."

    Barnes pulled a face as his head darted around the place, craned up with his jaw aiming for the ceiling. It seemed as if he was having real trouble. "Remember that kid, Parker?" Barnes aired, though didn't turn to face you. He fiddled with the collection of rings that accessorized his fingers, turning them around in circles. Your silent nod, and slightly more audible huff of air was enough for Bucky to know that you were indeed listening, and he clicked his tongue against his teeth a few times. "I think, and I'm not saying I'm right here, that whatever went down here was over Peter."

    "Something this bad? Over Peter? ...Why?" You asked rather incredulously, a single brow now cocked, your attention peaking.

    "Needless to say, he fucked up. Big time. I can't- and won't go into specifics, but let's just say.." He paused as if looking for the appropriate words to say, his hands moving around themselves and pinching the air. "...It's a money problem." His hands bobbed to accentuate each word, and afterwards just resumed playing with his rings. "I'm pretty sure I don't have to say anything else for you to know that this is pretty serious."

    "Yeah, you don't." Your breath whistled through your teeth as you inhaled sharply, and your eyes widened in to some sort of a surprised, yet unbothered stare. "I can just.. I don't know, take a look around, i mean-"

    "Like fuck you are." Barnes shook his head, emitting a serious chuckle. "You're staying here. You've seen what the fuckers in here are like. I'm not letting you out of my sight."

    You nodded. After all, Bucky was speaking the truth, although you were only offering your help. He was right, though. These people, or 'Fuckers' as Bucky had so crudely named them, had already thrown any sense of trust out of the window. You'd expected it, however, otherwise he wouldn't have gone out of his way to pre-warn you like he did; the sudden protectiveness still catching you a little off guard. "I..I guess you're right, sorry. Any idea where he could be though? I mean... this place isn't exactly the cleanest- oh, hold the phone. There he is!"

    "Where?" Barnes shook his head, brows furrowed as he peered around dumbly. You stared up at him, even pointing out your hand, to which the other just held his own out in front of him, all exasperated.

    "Oh, just.." You rolled your eyes and squeezed past the other, who pulled a sour face, like he'd just been disobeyed by his child. Taking a quick and tight grip of your wrist once more, you shot him an annoyed look in return, something that almost knocked the other off of his feet. All of a sudden, the shy, barely speaking person that he had taken in, had become this brave, no-nonsense.. thing, who had the nerve to boss him around! His speech faltered, to which you took advantage of as soon as you saw the chance. "Look, I appreciate the protective.. I don't know, uh.. thing you have going on, but right now, your only goal is to find Peter, right? If this thing is as serious as you're making it out to be, then the last thing you should be doing is messing around. Right now, I can help myself. Now come on."

    "You shouldn't talk to me like that, you know." The rough man muttered as he unwillingly followed you, eyes trained at the floor. It didn't seem as if he was serious with his threats; rather that he was just a little peeved that he'd been talked down to like that. Maybe this was the first time it had happened; you figured that with his tough and uninviting demeanor, it would seem that other people wouldn't dare talk down to him like that, or at all.

    As you had pointed out, there, in the middle of the club, and at your feet, knelt Peter, who rested upon his hands and knees. Clenched in one hand was a disgustingly grimy rag, accompanying an equally as dirty bucket. It seemed, at least from where you were standing, that he was cleaning the floor; just what he was cleaning from the floor however, that was unknown- until you peered from around Barnes' side, that is. In reality, area around the thinner male was coated in a crude mixture of blood and vomit, some of which had curdled, and became a gelatinous puddle, with the consistency of mucus.

    Most of all, it stank. Embodying the odour of a septic tank that had cooked in the hot summer sun all day, it irritated your nose as it invaded your senses. The already lingering stench of stale piss and beer that had followed you in from outside didn't make it much better. You had to hold your sleeve to your mouth in a failed effort to avoid smelling it, though still retched, Peter casting an apologetic glace over to you, to which you returned with nothing but a taut jaw. It wasn't really until you held your gaze that your restrained look quickly morphed into one of utter horror, for it was his face that caught you way off guard. When you had seen it previously in the night, not even 20 minutes ago now, it was nothing more than a little scuffed up. Now, in such a small amount of time, it had become something heavily reminiscent of a Jackson Pollock painting.

    It wasn't as if his face was rearranged, rather that the blood that coated his face had the air of having been applied hastily with a brush. Though, as you knew, Pollock's paintings weren't without a fair few splotches. These were horribly represented by the collection of wounds that had blossomed upon the poor man's face, consisting of two developing black eyes; one of which was already beginning to swell, what looked like a broken nose (though you hoped it was just a particularly bad nosebleed), and a burst bottom lip, which had since formed a thick scab. Each new wound had been layered atop his old ones, so much so that you could see the garish purple bruise from before only just poking out.

    Despite having felt betrayed by a man you had met not moments before, you now stood in front of him with some sense of... forgiveness? The feeling even felt stupid to you, but you pushed it aside, and without even thinking, found yourself looking down at the fair-skinned male with the same expression you had the first time you saw him. To you, he was just that scared, alone young kid on the side of the road, yet he refused to meet your worried gape.

    "Are you okay?" You asked quietly, giving the male a quick once over with your eyes. You weren't really in a good state yourself, your body aching and your mind still reeling from the build up of events that had occurred in the last few hours, but you were nowhere near as fucked up as he was. Whoever did this must have been demented. Peter remained quiet, busying himself with his cleaning just as the jukebox had loaded yet another disk. It was almost as if the click of the record being lowered into place had bought the young member to life, and he scrubbed the floors on beat with the song that was playing. Barnes, his foot absentmindedly tapping along with the melody of the song, nudged you harshly with a rough tatted elbow. You tore your vision away from Parker almost instantaneously, only to be greeted with the unwelcome, yet expected sight of the other shooting you an ice cold, fierce glare.

    "I told you not to talk to anyone in here." He hissed darkly, and you noticed that just from the sound of his voice that what had happened between him and Hawk had really gotten on his nerves. Though, as much as you did want to comment on the way Barnes was acting, you knew it wouldn't be a good idea. It was also good to note that Barnes was probably still pissed off after what had happened outside, too. From what you could make out, (though it was probably a wrong assumption anyway), was that Bucky had been seriously undermined by whoever that 'Rogers' guy was, and it seemed that he had decided to take it personally. Nevertheless, Barnes decided not to utter a single word about it.

    'Probably better off for the Club.' You thought, hands clasping into themselves again as you struggled to maintain eye contact with the other. To be honest, you weren't sure what to say to him. Did he expect an apology? A thank you? Or did he expect you to get down onto your knees and worship him like some sort of God? Thankfully, barely a few more seconds passed before Bucky's steely glare faded, and his overcast blue irises traveled all the way down to Peter, whom he nudged with the toe of his boot.

    "You." Barnes barked tiredly. "Go change that water. How do you expect to clean the floors with that shit?"

    "Oh, uh.. Yeah. Sorry, Sir." Peter's head perked up, and he looked around at his surroundings. For some reason he shook his head as if he had something in his hair, before he got up quickly, brushing himself off. "You're right. I'll go change it. Thanks." It was almost, in the amazing speed that Peter had sprung to his feet, that his obviously excruciating wounds now failed to exist, as if they had been turned to dust. He was a drone, and the Clubhouse a hive, immediately becoming able bodied at his superior's request. The both of you watched as Peter picked up the bucket with both hands, the wet rag squelching under his tight grip like water-saturated bread, your skin crawling in utter disgust. You were also pretty sure you felt your toes curl in your shoes too.

    It took until Peter hauled the bucket up that you to saw just how dirty the water was. How Peter had managed to clean up as much as he did was insane. The bucket, that was made from a cheap plastic, looked as if it were going to buckle under the weight of the water, which in itself was filled to the brim. It felt wrong calling the liquid water, as even from up close, it was discernible, the substance barely looking like the normally crystal clear liquid. Hell, it wasn't even the right consistency to be called water, never mind the colour which was an entirely opaque brown, the shade reminding you of chewing tobacco. It didn't seem far-fetched to assume that it was filled with tobacco spittle either, a barrage of scum that floated atop the sea of dirt only cementing the idea, as it looked like cancerous phlegm. The thought of Peter dipping his hands in the liquid, without a care in the world.. you couldn't think about it without becoming nauseous. Peter eventually steadied the bucket, and turned slowly, eyes trained on the murky bog inside the container.

    "Parker." Bucky suddenly spoke, his voice gruff as he opened his kutte, slipping a hand into the breast pocket. You watched between them, peering at Barnes as he rummaged around in his pocket, paying no attention to the other he had just called for, who turned with such rigor that the water in the bucket sloshed over the sides, a small puddle splashing to the ground at his feet. Barnes finally returned from his Mary Poppins-like pockets, slipping out yet another cigarette, to no one's surprise. Shoving the fag between his lips, Bucky emitted something along the lines of an exasperated sigh as his eyes lay over the smaller male, who now sported a rather apologetic looking grimace, though it was almost as if he had expected it to happen.

    Ignoring the younger male's attempt at an apology, you peered over at Bucky as he now attempted to find a lighter. It was like he'd conveniently forgotten just how much trouble it had given him last time. You'd half hoped he'd whip up a new one out of thin air, as maybe it would get the conversation over faster, and you'd get to wherever it was he was taking you. You didn't want to seem rude, (that was the last thing you'd want to do, Zemo having done his best to bully that trait out of you), but the Clubhouse was filling up with more and more people as each minute passed, and you felt anxious enough. Alas, Barnes did not possess the powers of a genie, and instead opted to using the same old cheap plastic Zippo that had fucked him over last time. "Who roughed you up like that, huh?" He asked, twirling the lighter between his fingers. Better than shaking it like a madman, though not as if he didn't look like one already.

    Peter's hazel eyes traveled over to the side, glinting against the thrumming overhead lights above. They had the appearance of glass; you weren't sure whether he was crying or not. Instead of saying something, which would have been disturbed by the sound of the other male now flicking at his lighter in a losing battle to get it to spark, he instead switched his grip around on the handles of the bucket in order to relieve some pressure, if there was any at all.

    Bucky flicked at it a few times, his teeth bared ever so slightly as he kept a tight grip on the roll up that was wedged between his teeth. His other hand sheltered the sparks that sputtered and flared from the flint. It took a while, though with the carcinogenic now lit and emitting it's dragons breath, Bucky took a long, slow drag whilst his eyes scanned Parker, like the way a father would to his kid. "Look, Parker." He spoke after slipping the cigarette out of his mouth. He let it smoke passively as he leaned all of his pressure on one leg. You watched it rise and eventually disappear, this conversation both boring you, and being one you probably shouldn't be listening to as it was. Barnes paused, the smoke he had been seemingly holding in his mouth now exhaled in a thick, wisp of cloud. "I appreciate you upholding the no snitching code, but I need to know who it is that thinks they have the right to be handing out punishments around here."

    "It was Rogers." Peter continued, closing his swollen eyes. It took a while for him to muster up the words, almost as if they were damning- which they seemed to be, as Barnes responded with an annoyed huff of air through his teeth. His suspicions were correct. As if it were a toothpick, Barnes placed the coffin nail back between his teeth and just left it hanging there. You'd now taken to watching the ever-growing ash sprout at the end, trying to perfectly time just when it would fall. The now nervous Peter shuffled on his feet. "He.. He didn't do it all, I mean, he got some others to do most of it, so it wasn't all him, and-" He paused, his rambling forcing him to take a breath. Darkened irises, wide with fear, darted around the Clubhouse as his voice hushed to barely audible. Barnes even had to lean forward, struggling to hear over the ever growing cacophony of voices. A few people had even taken to singing along- though it was less like singing, and more like a collection of drunken idiots yelling along to the music. They were like a virus, the way they spread and mutated every few minutes. Before you knew it, almost the whole bar, including the recently scorned Hawk, were now joining in on a rather mentally exhausting rendition of Gloria Gaynor's 'I Will Survive.' It proved to be a perfect noise level to cover what Peter was so nervous about saying. "It wasn't like I didn't deserve it, but they were also saying other things. Something about Rogers trying to get under your skin-"

    "Damn right you deserved it, kid." Bucky pulled away, flicking the ash away with his tongue. It seemed as if what Peter had said had garnered no reaction from the other, but at least it confirmed your suspicions. Whether Bucky actually believed it, that was a whole other question, but the way his steely eyes became piercing all of a sudden at least confirmed that he had heard it. "You may have fucked up, but Rogers has no say who dishes out the punishments, whether you were under his call or not."

    It took a while of chatting, most of it hunched over and almost voiceless, for Peter to become more comfortable with the other. Barnes' personality had also seemed to change as a whole, the way he talked to Peter coming across as friendly, and relaxed. It was a far cry from his otherwise normal, reserved demeanor, the former of which you had grown to prefer a lot more, despite the fact that you barely knew him. The sound of spitting, hollow engines that roared with a throaty growl signified the end of the conversation for Bucky, and he dropped the still smoking, charred butt of his cigarette into the bucket. Both you and Peter watched it intently as it fizzled out with a hiss upon immediate contact, then bobbed atop the grime as if it were a buoy. Bucky, on the other hand, couldn't give a shit. "Go on your way now." He ordered the other, with a dismissive flick of his hand.

    "Yes, sir."

    "Oh, and Parker? I want this place fucking shining by the time you get back. Is that clear?"

    With not another word, choosing to only respond with a nod, Peter took his leave not seconds later. With a stress-soaked sigh, Bucky had already turned on his heel and resumed his walk through the room, though despite his obviously visible tensity, evident by the way the man cruelly and carelessly raked his fingers through his own hair, he still strode confidently through the Clubhouse. You followed after him in silence, eyes now trained back at your feet. The previous burst of confidence was all but permanent, now feeling as if it were some sort of manic reaction. The nagging demon of doubt had returned, and whispered haunting words into your ears as you meekly followed after the other.

    'I wonder what's going to happen when Helmut wakes up..' the voice crooned, its intrusivity causing you to flinch.

    You wove your way through the tables and chairs, whereas Barnes didn't have to. The sea seemed to part for him. He was more or less a dictator, the way everyone, no matter how old, or naive knew that they would be better off getting out of his way, and quick. Some even tipped their hats or bowed their heads at the sight of him, almost afraid to meet their eye. You, despite being nothing but a lowly civilian, now seemed to receive the same welcoming. At first it was jarring, the way the place quietened like a wave as you both ambled by. You felt like king and queen, though after a while, the hands that didn't grab, the voices that didn't snark and whisper became a blessing.

    Your head killed.

    Forming in the aftermath of Peter's rather failed attempt at a mugging, it had begun to gradually get worse as the night went on. Now, and relentlessly, it pounded, feeling as if there was a demon struggling to get out, it's claws scratching and gouging at the inside of your skull. In all honesty, you just wanted to sleep. Nevertheless, saying anything would be fruitless, the words probably just falling on deaf ears, so you did your utter best to swallow down the pain, your eyes half closed as you squinted down at the floor.

    "Oh, shit- I'm sorry-" You squeaked out all of a sudden, as you seemed to hit what felt like a wall, though it was unnaturally textured, parts jutting out irregularly and with the added feeling of cloth gently brushing against your cheeks.

    "Woah there, chick." A heavy, slurred voice drawled. So definitely not a wall. "You should watch where you're going around 'ere." The faceless voice sneered, the accompanying figure swaying tenderly to the music. A pint glass of beer, the liquid coloured a deep, dark brown, pendulated alongside him, sloshing up against the sides. It took you a little while, but once your blurring vision cleared, you could finally make out just who you had bumped into.

    Not the large, stocky biker you'd expected, the male instead stood at an above average 6'4, though that could have just been because of the tall-soled boots he wore on his feet. His stature, well, it was big, especially for his age (mid 20s, give or take), though not what you'd envisioned. He was nowhere near the size of Bucky, though barely fell shy, his heavily toned biceps curled around the waist of some skimpily dressed addict, who in turn, had herself wrapped around the other, needle like nails grazing against his clothed chest. The dusty blond ignored the obviously high female as she purred absently into his ear. It looked as if she could be blown away with one singular puff of air.

    You kept your eyes trained on the girl, almost as if you were transfixed. You didn't look at her as if you admired her, though, rather surveying her with an air of deep concern. As expected, however, she didn't even notice you, almost as if she were in her own world. Sure would be a better one than this current reality, or at least it seemed to be, the utterly euphoric, yet not-all-there gaze the girl had plastered across her face easily showing that. It was obvious, even though you hated to say it, that Rogers was the one supplying her with the drugs. She wouldn't be attached to the other like a parasite otherwise. In a fit of irony, it seemed as if you barely noticed your surroundings yourself, as the feeling of Barnes pulling you behind him with a rough yank of the wrist didn't even register.

    "Keep out of it, Rogers. I'm sure you have somewhere to be." Coolly, Bucky puffed out his chest though remained scarily calm, his relaxed movement of resting all of his weight on one leg seeming to work, as the other just rolled his eyes, backing away like a cornered animal.

    So this was Rogers.

    "Oh, come on, Buck, lighten up a little!" Steve moaned, though he seemed to be feigning the hurt, his face still plastered with a cheeky grin. His sky blue irises met yours as he yanked Bucky over to him with a hand that he snaked around his waist, Barnes stumbling over with a groan as he did so. You too careened forward, though Barnes, albeit reluctantly, let go of your wrist once more. "Can you believe that we used to be best friends, him and I? Now look at him, all pissed off and a piece of shit for a brain."

    You weren't sure whether he expected you to laugh. Instead, you just responded with a blank, thin-eyed stare, the ache having distorted into a stabbing electric pain behind your eyes.

    Roger's expression curled and contorted into one depicting the way someone would stare at a caged animal, almost as if this was the first time someone had dared not laugh at his jokes. However, instead of becoming peeved, or pissed off, his tensed jaw instead relaxed, and he bought the glass to his lips as his mischievous smile once again returned, though this time it was paired with a cocked brow, his interest peaked. Swallowing down the rest of his drink in one gulp, Rogers set the glass onto the nearest table and held out a hand.

    "Rogers. Steve Rogers. Tell me, Buck, where did you find this gem?"

    Barnes rolled his eyes, massaging his temples. "I didn't 'find' her, you dick- and I don't see how that's any of your business."

    Steve responded with a childish pout, his hand left hanging for around five seconds, until he waved it, as if he insisted that it be shook. It wasn't until then that you extended yours in return, to which Rogers swept up with a hearty guffaw. "So she can follow orders! Quite the obedient little one you've got here, Barnes."

    You pulled your hand away as if it had been burnt, a scowl coating your lips. Rogers, receiving the reaction he was indeed expecting, returned with a dirty smirk, looking you up and down. "Feisty too."

    "Alright, that's enough. Fucking prick." Barnes interjected, a sour look on his face. His eyes shifted over to yours, noting your expression. "Look, I told you not to listen to what people say in here-"

    "Come on, sweetheart.." The girl, out of the blue, whined airily, her voice hoarse and brittle, bony, anorexic fingers skating over Roger's hair, and her voice, this being the first time she had spoken, being enough to set someone on edge. Steve's locks, though short, were enough for her to wrap around her fingers. Steve audibly groaned, his fists flexing, abraded knuckles spotted and worn. "You said you'd got me more of that stuff..-"

    "For god's sake, shut the fuck up!" Steve howled all of a sudden as he pushed her with such ferocity that her body slammed to the floor with a loud and resounding smack. "Can't you see I'm busy!?" You visibly jolted back, eyes wide, whereas Barnes just shot the other a look. It was apparent that Rogers, whilst quick witted and enigmatic, was downright unpredictable, bordering on psychosis, something that, whilst shocking in the moment, now didn't seem all that surprising.

    "Rogers. Was that really necessary?" Bucky's tattooed arms crossed over one another, though he ended up propping one up atop the other to scratch his beard. Despite his scolding demeanor, it really seemed as if he didn't care, as neither persons eyes fell to the girl who had since begun crying.

    "She wouldn't fucking leave me alone." Steve muttered, sounding the way a toddler would when they discarded a toy.

    "Doesn't mean you have to push her like that, shithead."

    "Tsk tsk. Language, Buck. You know how much I hate it when you speak those utterly harmful words." Rogers smarmed, the corners of his lips turning up into a shit eating grin as he leered through his drink, already forgetting what had just happened, as if he hadn't done it. Your eyes met the floor, where the female lay, panting like a dog. Breath hitching in your throat, you looked between the both of them, before leaning down to help her, a hand outstretched.

    "Don't you touch her!" Roared Steve all of a sudden, and he leapt forward. You jolted, only just turning on your heel to see that Steve was heading right for you. Without any time to react, you stood like a deer in headlights, your eyes squeezed shut so hard that you were sure you popped a blood vessel.

    Though, with lighting fast reflexes, like no other normal man you'd seen before, Bucky had lunged straight for Rogers, pushing him away with such force that he stumbled back, slamming against the hard stone floor with a sharp groan. When you opened your eyes, you were surprised to see that he was curled up on the floor in a fetal position, gasping for breath. Not only that, but the sheer volume of it was due to the fact that the whole club had once again come to a complete stop, this time as if it were frozen. A few members, varying in height and stature, begun rising from their seats, but Barnes just spun, teeth bared. "The fuck are you all looking at?"

    The Clubhouse instantaneously roared back to life.

    A corridor, thin, and bitingly cold, now stood silently ahead of you. The both of you had since taken your leave, Bucky having left Rogers on the floor as he attempted to catch his breath. He had winded him, leaving the other in a state that rendered them immobile, for now. Barnes knew he would get a bollocking tomorrow, but it didn't faze him, as what would someone with Roger's lower standing be able to do?

    The hallway in itself wasn't bare, as a number of doors, either cracked open or locked shut lined the painted walls like soldiers to attention. You shot an inquisitive look to the other, who just chewed on the inside of his cheek, a moist clicking sound being the only noise he made. That was until the male eventually shook his head, cocking up the corner of his top lip as if expressing disgust. "You won't be staying there. Those are for our permanent members, or sometimes, very rarely, members from other chapters."


    Bucky continued on down the corridor. Peering in the open rooms as they sped past, you noticed they were all empty, and undecorated, to boot. The only seemingly nice thing about it was the fact that they were somewhat furnished, a bed and a carpet making up the small, boxlike area. "A chapter is like a.. city, or even a country. When the club splits off, which isn't always bad.." He broke his speech with a sigh, his voice loud over the echoing footsteps that bounced on the walls as you both made your way through. "..They make, I don't know, congregations, um.. new places to call home. Sometimes they come down, you know, for joint meetings. When something bad happens, mostly, like a big death in the club."

    "Are they often, the deaths?" You spoke after a while, stopping just as Bucky did. You both now faced a larger door at the end of the corridor, to which Barnes pulled out a set of keys. It took him a few seconds to find the right one, and when he did, he wedged it into the lock.

    "You sure ask a lot of questions for someone of your.." he looked you up and down. "..look. What are you, a cop?"

    "My look? And no, do I look like a fed to you?" you peered down at yourself, wrinkling your nose. It was true- as much as you hated to admit it, you were more of an outsider than anyone else in this place. 'No wonder they were all looking at me weird.' You ruminated, yet responded vocally with a long, dense, and very pointed exhale. Barnes only chuckled chestily, his back turning to you as he jiggled the door handle for a few moments, then, with a kick to the bottom of the door, manhandled it open.

    "This is where I stay. I have a place, but for a while I was used to hopping around from place to place, y'know, shelters, couch surfing, all that stuff. But here..."He ran a calloused, weathered hand over the wall, then rubbed the powdery plaster residue onto his jeans. "This is my longest place to date... besides my folk's house of course."

    You nodded, eyes scanning the moderately spacious, 100 square foot room. It was surprisingly clean for someone of such an unkempt, rough looking visual; not a single piece of litter gracing the old, carpeted floor, rather being shoved in a small, plastic rotary lidded bin that stood in the corner. Upon closer inspection, it didn't seem as if the room had been lived in much at all. Despite being furnished, and quite well at that, everything in the room seemed to be covered with a thin layer of dust, as if it hadn't been touched in a long time. The only thing that was disturbed was the double bed, which had its blanket rustled and slightly messy. There were minimal decorations on the walls too, something that was a rather relieving thing, as the main Clubhouse area was littered with them. Instead, all there was were a few photographs, the only people you recognised being Bucky, Steve, (and for some odd reason, Hawk), and a collection of takeaway menus that were either sporadically taped or pinned to the wall.

    Across from the bed was simply a wardrobe and a chest of drawers. Atop the drawers was nothing to note, besides a desk lamp, an extra set of keys, and a motorcycle helmet. All in all, it was a rather boring room to look at, though it seemed to be filled with everything a man like Bucky would need.

    Kicking one of the feet of his bed with his boot, Barnes motioned over to it as he shut the door behind him wit a click. "No one should bother you here. Go ahead, make yourself at home."

    Politely, though hesitantly, you lowered yourself onto the bed, surprised when it cushioned your arse and actually took your weight. You'd half expected it, not as if this would reflect on Bucky in any way, that it would simply collapse under you or emit some sort of humanoid, pained groan. This was indeed not a reaction to your weight, but rather the way it looked- like a haggard, old man.

    However, a fairly new set of winter season bedding blanketed the double bed, matching pillows propped up against the chipped mahogany headboard that was rafe with scratches and dent marks. Obvious reason aside, it looked like something the other had picked up from the side of the road, and in all honesty, you were expecting to lift up the duvet to see that the frame was held together with nothing but duct tape and loose screws.

    The sheer state of the headboard was enough of a deterrent as it was, causing you to create some sort of a mental note to carefully avoid any certain stains.. if you came across them, that is. Normally you weren't one to judge, hell, you were friends with all the weird kids back in your school days- but you didn't know Bucky. It was almost as if he were ripped straight out of a fanfiction, rugged, stoic and commanding, something that most girls would fall for at the drop of a hat.

    Most of the women that were entertaining in the bar had most probably been in Bucky's bed.

    "You'll be stayin' here for the time being." Bucky spoke as he walked around the room, intent on making it look at least a little more presentable. Things like the spare keys, motorcycle helmet and takeaway leaflets were put away safely or thrown into a draw. "I would have gotten you to take one of the other rooms, but.. they're not really mine to give out."

    "Here?" You asked, running your hands over the soft duvet bedding. "But don't you.. I mean, i know you have a place, you said that yourself, but whilst you're here..-"

    "Nah. It's not a problem. I'll probably end up sleeping in the meeting room or something, either that or i'll just.. you know.. stay up."

    "Stay up?" Oh, but.." You stood, brows upturned into a look of sadness. "I appreciate your hospitality, but if its going to cause that much of a problem, then i can just go."

    "I said it's not a problem." He responded, though it came across a lot more forcefully than he wanted to, his lips pulling into a thin line as he silently cast an awkward look.

    "...Oh. Um, okay." You muttered, and lowered yourself back onto the bed. "I'll stay here for two nights, nothing more. I wouldn't want to get in your hair any longer than that."

    Barnes, after around five minutes of silence, shot a somewhat scrutinizing glance over to you as you fiddled with the zipper on your hoodie, then rubbed your hands together as if you were trying to warm yourself up. "..Why exactly were you out this late?" He spoke quietly. "No offense, but someone of your background.. they don't exactly come 'round here for no reason."

    "I told you, I was going to meet a friend."

    "Hm." One arm folded over the other, and he cocked his head to the side. "You know, if you're in any trouble-"

    Without even looking at the other, you shoved your hands in your pockets, atmosphere humming with tension- or at least to you it seemed that way. So it finally happened. It felt like a million dollar question, yet another catch twenty two. If you told him, what would he do? Surely, he wouldn't care all that much, you hoped. Maybe he was only asking in the hopes of a shred of conversation, after all, that five minute silence was painfully awkward. Though what if he knew Helmut? It seemed unlikely, Helmut wouldn't be seen dead in this part of town, his reputation was too important to throw away over such a stupid thing.

    You had to lie.

    "No, i'm not." You enunciated stiffly, staring in to your lap. The other's eyes squinted, and he combed his fingers through his hair, brushing it away from his face. It fell, perfectly framing his face, showing off his expression, which seemed to be a little suspicious.

    "Sure." The male nodded, though didn't look away. The oh-so-painful silence returned, the majority of which you spent nibbling on the inside of your lip until you eventually drew blood. "Well.." With the resounding sound of Barnes slapping his hands together as if he were signifying the end of a quiz round, he stretched himself out, straightening his kutte so that it sat square on his shoulders. "..That's me. If you need anything at all, food, clothes.. just knock on the door. I'll probably end up making my rounds anyway, once this place quietens down."

    As he walked towards the door, your eyes followed him. Unfailingly, and right on time, your stomach pained. Sure, you'd eaten, but it had gotten to the point where it had become whatever Helmut had either left out, or wanted you to have. That evening in particular, you had been treated with the scraps left in a bowl of warming stew, consisting of chopped potatoes, watered down stock, vegetables, and, as your lover seemed particularly generous that day, two or three mouthfuls of meat.

    "Actually.. some food would be nice." You muttered sheepishly, just as Barnes' hand curled around the unpolished brass door handle. "If it's not too much trouble."

    "Gotcha, 'n not at all. I'll see if there's anything out back." The american drawled, his voice having inklings of smugness sprinkled throughout it.

    You slipped into bed as you waited for Bucky to come back. It wasn't long, however, before you rested your head on the pillow, and felt the oh so irresistible pull of Sleep, her hands brushing against your stained cheeks, benevolent and delicate. Her digits swept against your eyelids as if they were the work of a spirit, the pads of her fingers as soft as velvet, her sweet whispers imbued with melatonin. Before you knew it, and without any fight at all, you had fallen asleep, the sounds of the Clubhouse that echoed around you becoming nothing more than whispers. Bucky returned not ten minutes later, huffing and puffing, having apparently sped down the corridor on his way back. In his hands he held a home-made sandwich, the layers of which stacked atop each other erratically, and seemingly without a second thought- although it was relatively simple, being just white bread, butter, and an accompanying filling. In the other was a cup of tea, it's teabag still stewing inside the chipped mug.

    "Alright, all I could find was a- oh." Barnes hushed, his head poking around the door. Glancing down at you, he stood stock still for a while, listening to your calm, rhythmic breathing, and once he was sure that you were asleep, the other squeezed in between the gap in the creaky door, his footsteps thankfully muffled by the carpet. He flicked off the light, which fizzled out with a low, short buzz.

    Barnes was known to be relentless, having lived a rough life, both before and during his time in the club- and yet, after all he had seen, all he had done, he couldn't stop a small smile from crawling its way up onto his face as he shut the door behind him.

    "Sweet dreams, Doll."

    #dark!bucky x reader #dark bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes#helmut zemo #marvel cinematic universe #marvel fic #dark!bucky barnes #winter soldier #biker!bucky #biker bucky x reader #marvel au#alternate universe#Sebastian stan#chris evans#steve rogers#peter parker#tom holland#spiderman #geez look at all these tags #I based the visual representation of Steve Rogers on his character in knives out #I hope I did well
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