And I guess by writing this, I officially come out of the shadows. Yes Delilah, I am your 💎, your diamond anon lol. Hi!
Heart on My Sleeve
For several months now, you were hearing Bucky’s incessant musings on the subject of tattoos. They weren’t as common in his era as they are now. Back then, soldiers used them more as identifiers instead of the general population. But now, Bucky couldn’t walk down the street without bumping into someone who had some kind of ink etched on their skin.
And if he was being entirely honest with himself, you were a big reason that inspired his decision. The first time you two slept together was the first time he had seen your tattoo. Moments in between your passionate lovemaking, he’d trace his finger, both flesh and metal, along the ink on your upper thigh, utterly hypnotized by the simple swirl.
“Why a swirl?” He asked.
“It’s stupid,” you sheepishly admitted.
“Come on doll, tell me,” Bucky insisted.
And so, you divulged to Bucky your vulnerability. You explained to him how the tattoo was actually covering an array of overlapping scars from years of cutting yourself. He knew about your longstanding battle with crippling depression. But what he didn’t know was that you used to indulge in self harm.
Right around the time that you started getting better was the time you fell in love with the Harry Potter series. And you had heard in interviews with JK Rowling that she had based the dementors in the third book off her own battle with depression. Malevolent creatures that sucked the happiness out of your very soul could be destroyed with the power of a happy memory. But by no means did that mean it’d be easy. The charm that repelled dementors required great concentration. “I mean, how could it not? Your very soul is being sucked out of you, you’re wishing for death, and you’re supposed to think of something that makes you happy?” you told Bucky. But there was something about that message that resonated deeply with you. That there’s this simplicity in believing that if you were happy once before, why couldn’t that be hope enough that you could be happy again.
“But why the swirl?” Bucky asked. You laughed and explained that it’s believed by Harry Potter fans that each spell has its own hand movement along with its incantation. The swirl was supposedly the hand movement, nothing confirmed but enough to convince you, you explained. “So, there you go!” you laughed. Now whenever your depression threatened to get the best of you, reducing you to the urges to self harm again, you simply traced your finger along the swirl of your tattoo and reminded yourself that there were happy memories in your life worth holding on to, and many more happy memories to come.
“It’s a way of looking toward my future while honoring my painful past. There’s beauty in seeing how far you’ve come. I guess I’ve come to accept that maybe I’m not supposed to forget what happened to me but having strength in not letting it define me. It’s made me who I am today.”
After hearing that story, how could Bucky possibly come up with his own idea for a tattoo? He didn’t want any dime a dozen tattoo after hearing your story. He wanted his tattoo to mean something as well.
Grabbing a beer from the fridge, Bucky sauntered over to the couch and settled in. He took out a legal pad and began scribbling his ideas. The date he met you? The date you both told each other ‘I love you’ for the first time? Your name written in Romanian? After all, he did meet you in Bucharest when Steve finally found him during that mess with the Accords. Maybe the coordinates of Coney Island, the place he and Steve spent so much of their youth at when they were just kids in Brooklyn and before everything in their lives turned so damn complicated? The date he asked you to marry him and you said yes? The date you found out you were pregnant?
Technically they were all great possible ideas, but none of them resonated with him. He loved every single one of those moments with you, and with Steve. But when he heard your choice of word ‘resonate’, it just put all the more pressure on him. He was just about to give up for the afternoon when he heard the faint sound of the door unlocking. Tossing a glance over at the clock in the kitchen, it was just about that time that you’d be arriving home with your daughter after picking her up from preschool. Bucky got up and tossed the beer bottle in the trash just as the door swung completely open.
Greeted by the sight of a wide toothless smile, Bucky lowered to the ground, balancing himself on the balls of his feet and held his arms out.
“Daddy!!!” your daughter cried out, dropping her ladybug backpack on the floor ungraciously before running to Bucky, the sound of yours and his laughter echoing through the house before you closed the door and followed your daughter’s suit.
“Hey princess!” he said with equal enthusiasm, sweeping her up into his arms and planting a great big kiss on her cheek, followed by kissing you on the lips. “How was my girl’s day at school today?”
“Great daddy! I wanna show you something!” She giggled, squirming until Bucky set her back down on the floor.
The tiny tot grabbed Bucky’s metal hand and pulled him toward the coffee table where he had left the legal pad. She fished around for any writing device she get her hands on. Taking pity on her, Bucky grabbed the pen he was using earlier that was only a few feet away from her and placed it in front of her. The two of you sat on the couch as your daughter bent her tiny body over and leaned on the coffee table, writing what you could only imagine. When she was finished, she pulled back and moved to the side so you and Bucky could see what she did. In big handwriting was the name of your daughter perfectly scrawled out on the paper. The “e’s” and the “c’s” weren’t backwards. The “b” wasn’t confused for “d”, “p”, or “q”. There on the paper was name “Rebecca”, written perfectly by your daughter.
“I’m so proud of you babydoll!” Bucky said, picking Rebecca up and placing her on his lap. “You finally wrote your name perfectly. You did this in school today?”
“Yeah,” Rebecca blushed. “Teacher said she was so proud. Said I’ve been working really hard.”
“It shows princess,” Bucky beamed.
And nothing had ever been truer. While only four years old and in preschool, you and Bucky could already tell your Rebecca Winifred Barnes was going to be a perfectionist student. Nothing would be peaceful until she nailed anything she was working on.
That night while you were preparing dinner, you watched as your daughter kept practicing writing her name on any surface she could get her hands on, with Bucky looking on every bit the proud father he was. There’d been a time when he believed that these type of moments would never have been possible for him. That the former deadly Soviet assassin and fist of HYDRA would find freedom, peace, and especially love was a foreign concept to him. And yet there it had been. He was on his knees beside your daughter, a bright and exuberant smile in its purest form on his face. He looked at Rebecca as though she created the stars in the sky herself. A former assassin who was good at masking his emotions around his team could never hide how he really felt when he was around his daughter. When it came to Rebecca, Bucky really did wear his heart on his sleeve.
That following morning, Bucky showed up to your work, his flesh bicep bandaged.
“Babe! What happened? Oh my god are you hurt?” You shrieked, running over to check his arm.
Bucky just laughed and kissed your forehead. “I’m fine doll. I just came back from the tattoo parlor,” he said proudly.
“You finally decided on a tattoo?” you smiled. “That’s great. Though I wish you’d told me. I could’ve gone with you.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry, I guess I was just really excited about it,” Bucky shrugged.
“Well show me,” you encouraged.
Knowing Bucky couldn’t take the bandage off just yet, he took his phone out and scrolled through his pictures until he found what he’d been looking for. He turned the camera over to your possession and you marveled at your husband’s new tattoo, tears brimming in your eyes. Written on the inside of his bicep was your daughter’s name, Rebecca. In her own handwriting, permanently etched into Bucky’s arm.
“Now my heart is literally on my sleeve,” Bucky gushed.
“You know she’s just going to love this!” You agreed. “I’m curious though. What inspired this?”
Bucky smiled and reverently kissed your lips. “There’s beauty in seeing how far you’ve come. I guess I’ve come to accept that maybe I’m not supposed to forget what happened to me but having strength in not letting it define me. It’s made me who I am today,” he replied, echoing your words from all those years ago from the first time you two had slept together.
“Bucky I said that a long time ago. It’s been years. And you remembered?”
“You were the reason I did this in the first place,” Bucky said, as though it were the easiest thing in the world to understand. “Of course I’d remember.”
“I love you James Buchanan Barnes.”
“I love you too Y/N Barnes.”
A/N: If you see a strikethrough in your URL, it’s because I couldn’t tag you. I tried and for some reason it wouldn’t let me. Please don’t think I didn’t want to tag you, and if there’s anyone I forgot to tag, please let me know so I can fix it right away.
Not that anyone cares, but Y/N’s tattoo is actually based on my own, so that’s why I went into such depth in detail. And that was actually me holding back. Lol.
Also, really quick, please don’t take this mean that I’m bashing or judging anyone who has a tattoo that doesn’t have some “deep resonating significance”. I realize not everyone has tattoos like that, and I completely respect anyone’s right to choose the type of tattoo they want. The choice of tattoo/tattoo backstory was just based on my own experience because it was easier for me to write it that way. That’s it.
Everyday is your birthday in the fifth house. It is a cosmic Disneyland that opens just for you.
Sun in the 5th house/Leo in the 5th house The world is a stage and the performer is gracious, radiant, and absolutely transcendent. A Queen dancing on the rays of the Sun, the whole world is watching on
Moon in the 5th house/Cancer in the 5th house A child walks under a white Moon spotlight, exquisite and enchanting, glowing with the sovereign of an heiress
Mercury in the 5th house/Gemini or Virgo in the 5th house The word alchemist, wings made of sun, a painter of children’s fairytales with language, a pen that pops with confetti holding books full of colour and delight
Venus in the 5th house/Libra or Taurus in the 5th house The lover dances on a stage, blowing kisses and swaying with the sun, releasing the bubbles of pleasure, music, and indulgence and seduction
Mars in the 5th house/Aries in the 5th house A child emerges from a box of crayons ready to draw a world into this one, a woman flickers lights from her fingers, under a blaze she bedazzles with a fire twirling display
Jupiter in the 5th house/Sagittarius in the 5th house Laughter radiates from the crackle of morning light, today is everybody’s birthday, it’s eating a marshmellow icecream cake for breakfast
Saturn in the 5th house/Capricorn in the 5th house A guardian appears, one who swoops in to hold and love and protect those vulnerable children, a guardian emerges to soothe his own inner child
Uranus in the 5th house/Aquarius in the 5th house A bizarre artist walks from his home, an abandoned church in the woods, eccentric portraits and paintings hang upside down
Neptune in the 5th house/Pisces in the 5th house A circus performer walks and floats and contorts, every movement a display of bodily art and entrancing sensuality, she creates ambient music with her thoughts
Pluto in the 5th house/Scorpio in the 5th house Beneath a pastel sea, swirling with hypnotic music and art, a spellcaster swims with a wand, every exertion of self is a creative display of godly magnificence
Hey, you’re awesome! Could I request a reader insert with Dean for prompt 19: “You never let anyone in, and that’s why everyone leaves.” If it’s not already taken that is. Thank you!
A/N: Here you go, babe!!! I hope you like it!!!!🙈💜💜
Warnings: Angst, Slight Language
You slowly walked down the hallway, your heart hammering hard against your chest.
You didn’t know what to expect. Dean Winchester, the green eyed heartbreaker, was literally broken in that very moment. And it wasn’t all “haha” and “hehe”. This was a serious matter.
Mark of Cain serious.
The turmoil going on inside Dean’s head was tearing at you. As much as he tried to hide it, you could see the fear and torture in his eyes. Could see the way they yearned for someone to hold him. For someone to soothe comforting word into his ear.
You couldn’t remember the last time he had a decent sleep. It was always interrupted by his screams while nightmares plagued his mind. He was restless. And you wanted nothing more than to be there for him.
Like right now.
He had walked out of the kitchen, leaving his dinner untouched as you and Sam tried to make him open up to you about what he was feeling with that cursed thing on his arm.
He had waved it off, a low growl emitting from his throat before he stood up and stalked out the kitchen, leaving both you and Sam at a loss for words.
But you couldn’t leave it just like that. You had to know. You couldn’t bear the thought of him torturing himself like this. He needed help. He needed support.
You stopped in front of his bedroom, your eyes staring at the wooden door, suddenly afraid. As much as you loved Dean, the way he had reacted with a simple question such as “you okay?” had you second guessing your actions.
However, you were his friend, and you weren’t about to let him face this alone, no matter how tough he wanted to seem.
You knocked on the door gently, half hoping he didn’t hear it, but you sighed when you heard his faint grunt.
Swallowing the huge lump in your throat, you walked inside, closing the door behind you and leaning your back against it.
You stared at Dean as he sat at the end of his bed, his head bowed down, shoulders slouched forward.
“You can stop pretending you’re alright, you know,” you began, your voice faltering slightly. “You don’t have to be all macho about it.”
Dean scoffed and looked up at you, hypnotizing green swirls entrancing you. “What makes you think I’m pretending, Y/N?” He stretched his hands out to the sides, his eyebrows raised. “I’m fine.”
Your bottom lip trembled and your body buzzed with…what was that? Anger? Frustration? You couldn’t pinpoint what it was, but you didn’t care at that point.
You pushed yourself away from the door and balled your hands into fists. “The hell you are,” you said through clenched teeth. “I know this is killing you, Dean.” You kneeled in front of him, your hands resting on his knees.
You half expected him to push you away, but looking up at his eyes, your heart broke at the broken and weak gaze staring back at you. Dean looked defeated. Tired. Just…so done with everything and everyone.
Dean scoffed. He closed his eyes and finally stood up from the bed, letting your hands fall from his knees. He walked around you, facing the door.
“I don’t need your pity, Y/N,” he said in that low, gruff voice. “I’ve seen far worse things than a stupid tattoo on my arm. I’m not some weak link.”
“And I’m not saying you are,” you said, standing up to face him. “But every time someone tries to help you, because let’s face it, Dean, you’re not all that, you push them away, thinking you’ve got everything under control when you don’t. You’re just a human being. You cut. You bleed.”
Dean turned around to look at you, a dark, menacing look thrown your way. “A human being who happens to have the damn mark of the Father of Murder. Yeah, I’m a normal fucking human being.”
Your bottom lip trembled at that. “You don’t have to do this alone, Dean,” you managed to say. “We can help-”
“I don’t need your help! I don’t need anybody’s help!” he yelled, startling you. “When are you going to get that through that thick head of yours, Y/N? I. Don’t. Need. You.”
And those words stung like the very fiery pit of hell. You swallowed the ever growing lump in your throat.
“Alright,” you choked out. “I see where this is going.” You shook your head, unable to hold back the tears falling down your face.
Dean stared at you, his chest heaving. There was a moment where his features softened and he wanted to apologize but then he flexed his jaw and he was his cold hearted self.
“You never let anyone in, and that’s why everyone leaves”, you said, fighting back a sob. “And I’ve tried to be there for you but,” you shrugged hopelessly. “It’s obvious that you don’t want me here so…”
You began to walk toward the door, brushing past Dean. You could have sworn his hand shot out to try and grab your arm but he brought it back down and let you keep walking.
“But don’t worry, baby boy. I won’t bother next time.” And with that, you yanked open the door and ran down the hallway toward you room.
(Stressed out anon who yelled in the tree) huh? What? I-I can't relax now! *tries climbing out of coils, regardless of how soft and cooling they are, feels my body shake a little from exhaustion* I have work to do!
*My tail curls gently around your head and I playfully press my nose up against yours.* Ohhhh, but surely it can wait just a little while, hmm~? *I chuckle and nuzzle you as my eyes begin to swirl soothing hypnotic colors.*
Three little words. Eight letters. They came out of your mouth smooth and easier than you thought they would. But it felt right. Nothing felt more right than this. Castiel’s great big blue eyes looked up at you saying more than words ever could. It wasn’t thought out or planned. It just came out randomly while the two of you were laughing over a few drinks after a hunt.
Of course it had been stuck in your mind, pounding to get out in the open for years. But you never thought you’d have the guts to say it out loud. He’s an angel and you are human. The odds were against you but the way he looked at you let you know it would be worth it.
Nursey doesn’t want to talk about it. Well, he does, hereally fucking does, but the idea of saying it, of finding the right combination of words to make Dex really understand how much he means to him…it’s daunting.
Light splashes across his room, illuminating his walls and leaving a kaleidoscope of colour against Dex’s skin. Nursey feels bad, momentarily, for watching Dex while he sleeps but, considering he woke up with the other boy pressed tightly to his side, one arm flung across his chest, Nursey gets over it. His head feels fuzzy, his mouth even more so, but the desire to stay in bed–to enjoy this while it lasts–overrides the part of him that wants to hunt down ibuprofen and brush his teeth.
Dex shifts and his head is on Nursey’s shoulder; Nursey sighs, shuts his eyes tightly, before looking up at the ceiling in defeat. He can feel Dex’s breath against his jaw, he can feel Dex’s pulse against his heart.
The night was young and full of possibilites. It was also full of new, intriguing spirits. She had dreamt about it just a few weeks ago, and even though the vision was unclear, she could feel that the night when it was to fulfil was upon them.
Something must have happened in the city, the Tremere thought to herself as she watched the Regent enter the chantry, faded colours swirling around the man’s frame, clearly dissociated from hypnotic and swirling palette surrounding the one that came in right after him.
She decided not to say anything, as she didn’t know if her assistance was even needed. Probably not.