#a peaceful haunting. hes There. ive literally been sitting with my head in my hands for real for like 10 minutes now. whatthe fuck

[stuck-in-the-ghost-zone]

OH MY GODP YOU DID IT. OH NY GOD. QUICK QUICK WHAT DO U THINK ABOUT VASH KILLING LEGATO TO SAVE LIVIO??? OH HEY SINCE U NOW KNOW LEGATO’S BACKSTORY, REMEMBER THE SCENE EARLIER ON IN THE MANGA WHEN HE’S IN THE TAVERN AND HE KILLS A BUNCH OF SLAVE TRADERS AND LETS THEIR VICTIMS GO FREE. JUST LET THAT PROCESS FOR A SECOND. WHAT ABOUT KNIVES USING THE LAST OF HIS PLANT ENERGY TO MAKE AN APPLE TREE SPROUT FOR THE DAD AND SON TAKING CARE OF VASH AND PRESUMABLY DYING AFTER??? MAC CAN U HEAR ME??? I’M VERY NOT NORMAL ABOUT VOL 14 I WANNA SCREAM ABT IT

I CAN HEAR YOU. I CAN HEAR YOU SOOO LOUD OVER MY DESPAIR. HOLDING YOUR HANDS.

vash killing legato to save livio in trimax. vash killing legato to save milly and meryl in 98. same story different font. vash breaking his code of ethics, what he believes is his whole life's purpose, to save people he loves. becayse he finally makes that choice. he decides saving his loved ones is more important. smacking his spiky head this bad boy can fit so much love and peace and trauma in him.

OHHH FUCK. OH SHIT. LEGATO. as much as i joke abt hating him he is a genuinely good and interesting character. holy shit. i didnt make that connection. oh my god. he saves them and immediately thinks "that was so uncharacteristic of me" and then blames it on vash affecting him. holding his stupid puffy shoulders and staring autismally directly into his eyes. some part of you cared about those people. enough that you saved them. there is good in you.

KNIVES MAKING THE APPLE TREE. FUCK. GOD. SHIT. IM SO UPSET.

^ this panel means so much to me. knives, fallen from grace, begging humans to save his brother. asking for help. no wings, no plant mutation, no knives, just. a human body. he wants his brother to live. and he repays them with an apple tree. can you fucking hear me crying. i think the international space station can hear me crying. what the fuck man

[bramadian0336]

Black Honey- Chapter 1

A Kylo Ren/OC fanfiction

Jeyna is a scholar whose obsessed with the legend of Revan, a famous Jedi and Sith from millennia ago. She has found the first of many star maps, clues to something Revan left hidden, but her studies catch the First Order's attention. Captured and interrogated, she is expecting to be killed once she has no more information to give. Instead, she finds herself working for Kylo Ren.

Warnings: Eventual Smut/Explicit Sexual Content, Language, Mild Violence

Chapter 1

The little girl knew better than to be in this room. For the entirety of her brief life so far, she had been forbidden from entering it. Her mother had sternly enforced the rule, not even permitting her to peek beyond the doorway.

But her mother wasn’t home, having left in a hurry but promising to come back as soon as she could. The little girl had tried to behave, to play and to avoid that room that called to her. But inevitably she had been drawn to the door, her hand extending to the knob. Like magic, it turned and creaked open a few inches before she could even lay a finger on it.

And now here she stood, in the small room that was barely more than a closet. It was almost disappointing, if not for the strange object she found her gaze settling upon. It was taller than her, exotic looking.

She crept closer before giving a childish, worried glance behind her. She would be in so much trouble if her mother caught her. She should leave the room and go back to playing, she decided. Despite this thought, however, her feet stayed firmly planted. Her ears pricked as she realized she heard a light humming. Eyes widening, she instinctively knew it was coming from the object. It was shaped like a square pyramid, dark, reflective. She stretched her hand out, suddenly wanting to feel it. Would it be hot, or cold to the touch?

The instant the skin of her fingertips connected with the side, it split open, the sides folding down. She jerked backwards, dropping her hand as guilt spread through her. Now her mother would know what she had done.

Before she could process the utter terror her immature mind associated with disappointing her mother, an image was projected above the base of the object.

It was a holorecording of a man. He had dark, thick hair and intense eyes. A thin scar ran from his left eye down to his mouth, but somehow it didn’t mar his handsome face.

He looked too tired, but began speaking. The little girl listened in awe, wondering how a recorded image of a man could seem to look right at her.

“Revan. Day 134. Still nothing to show for my search,” he begins, sounding dejected.

“I’ve had nothing to do out here but contemplate my life’s decisions. Far away from the hyperspace routes, from even the most remote outer rim planet…I sometimes question how anything can exist. I fear the silent dark of the unknown regions might very well drive me insane…” The man shakes his head, his eyes stormy. The little girl wants to look away but finds she can’t tear her gaze from his. Something about him is compelling, something in her knows this is important. “Everything I have done, I’ve done to protect our civilization. The threat I have seen from outside is greater than any war we have ever faced amongst ourselves.”

The little girl hears the door to her home, and she knows her mother is back. But she doesn’t know how to stop the recording. She doesn’t want it to stop. What is the man talking about?

“Jeyna! JEYNA!?” Her mother’s panicked voice is screaming suddenly throughout the home. The girl startles and turns, confused. It is then she hears the noise, one that she cannot yet place. One day the sound of it will haunt her nightmares, almost every night.

The sound of the first bomb falling on her small village.

18 Years Later

The little girl grew into a young woman, and that young woman threw herself into her studies. Research, archives, archaeological expeditions…it allowed Jeyna to fixate on something purposeful, something that she found fascinating. It should be little surprise that her chosen area of research was Revan. The prodigal Jedi Knight, and Dark Lord of the Sith, from thousands of years before her time.

She still remembers the man’s face, the somber timbre of his voice, as if she had seen the recording just yesterday. She remembers his vague reference to a search, to some threat from outside the known galaxy. It’s a mystery she’s been working on, sponsored by various universities, for most of her adolescent and adult life. And now it has brought her here.

Dantooine - Now

Jeyna races through the cave system, stumbling on chunks of rock and narrowly avoiding hitting her head as she has to run hunched over to fit through the passage. She’s unfamiliar with her path, as it’s not the same way she had entered the ancient vault. However, it's now her only way out.

Her breath comes in ragged gasps as she forces herself to go as fast as she can through the dark maze, hoping it's leading her to light and freedom. Behind her the stormtroopers’ shouts are echoing, reverberating off the rocks and surging towards her. Her heart hammers in her chest as her mind struggles to catch up with the current situation.

The First Order is here, on the peaceful farming planet. And they’re coming after her.

Jeyna pushes herself faster when she realizes she sees daylight, the path becoming uphill quickly. The muscles of her legs burn as she climbs, eventually having to use her hands to grab at the jagged rock. It scrapes and cuts into the flesh of her palms as she scrambles upwards, the light growing stronger. She can see beams of light now ahead, coming around a corner. She’s nearly out of the cave when the stormtroopers erupt into the space behind her.

“FREEZE! STOP WHERE YOU ARE!”

The shouts of the many identical uniforms blur together, and Jeyna ignores them not out of defiance but terror. As she reaches the top of the incline, a blaster shot rips through the air and impacts a large boulder near her shoulder, showering her with fragments of stone.

She staggers, almost falling in surprise, before righting herself and lurching forward. Around the corner, and she can see it. The mouth of the cave system, dead ahead. Jeyna pushes her sore muscles to move as she sprints forward, only to falter.

The sunlight dims as stormtroopers step in front of the opening, blocking any hope of escape.

One Week Later

Are you working for the Resistance?…What does the Resistance want with the Holocron?...How did you get the Holocron to open?...What does the map lead to?... Where are the other pieces of the map?... What do you know of the Ritual of Nathema?... Who is your contact with the Resistance?...What are you trying to find?

The questions they’ve bombarded her with for days blur together in Jeyna’s mind, as sleep deprived and stressed as it is. She’s answered their questions, time and time again. She hasn’t bothered to hide anything. She isn’t a Resistance operative, after all, she’s merely a scholar. Their war doesn’t concern her.

It doesn’t matter. Still, they hurt her. They wake her from her sleep, strap her onto the cold metal board. They ask her the same questions, over and over again, as if her answers could suddenly change. They don’t bring her food, and her stomach is past grumbling. It feels hollow, burning, pained. They don’t bring water, either, allowing a med droid to supply her with IV fluids to rehydrate her. It keeps her alive but leaves her mouth and throat parched and painful from her screams.

Jeyna twitches her limbs, restricted by the cold metal cuffs. This is the worst part of it. At least when they are done with her for a few hours, she can lay on the floor and curl into herself. But here, strapped to the board, even her head restricted into place, she can’t block out her situation or escape from the terror and pain.

The door slides open, and she is expecting more of the same men to appear. What she isn’t expecting is Kylo Ren, second in command behind only the Supreme Leader of the First Order.

A wave of relief crashes through her at his recognizable mask and dark robes.

Jeyna knows the rumors about Kylo Ren. That he is violent and ruthless, prone to literally slicing through his enemies on the battlefield and even those that anger him within the order. She doesn’t care about those rumors, though. The ones Jeyna cares about are regarding his abilities with the force.

Supposedly, he can enter someone’s mind and see everything they are trying to hold back. He can read memories and secrets like a book.

And so she doesn’t tremble in fear at his approach, but rather she feels the sweet relief that perhaps her nightmare is almost over. Of course, the logical part of her brain that is still hanging on knows that once he sees she has nothing more to offer in her mind, she will likely be killed. But at least, Jeyna reasons, this marathon of sleep deprivation, starvation, and torture can be over.

His approach, which had started with a purposeful stride, hesitates for a moment. That strange mask he wears tilts to the side, as he contemplates her. She wonders what he is thinking, if he is curious about something, as the door behind him slides shut again and he seems to just be staring at her from behind the metal.

Jeyna draws in a painful breath, waiting. He is huge, she realizes, tall and broad. There is an energy around him that even she can pick up on, heavy and thrumming. Finally, he moves again, coming to a stop in front of her. He is too tall, she attempts to crane her neck to look up at the mask. The back of her skull presses into the hard table, aching. She sees his hand twitch, and suddenly the metal holding her to the interrogation device releases. Her legs barely catch her, almost giving way when she lands on them. She has to grab on to the sides of the table behind her to steady herself on weak, strained muscles.

He turns and strides across the room, to where the metal table and chairs sit. She hasn’t even approached it during her confinement. All of her time has been spent trapped on the interrogation device or on the floor, exhausted and wishing for sleep.

To her surprise, Kylo Ren sits in one of the chairs. His mask fixes onto her face again, and he gestures slowly at the table.

“Sit,” he commands. The mask strips his voice of humanity, of emotion, making it mechanical and unkind.

She stumbles forward obediently, pulling out the chair and practically falling into it.

“I find myself interested in your studies, scholar,” he says idly, as if making pleasant conversation. “I’m going to look inside your mind to check the veracity of your prior statements.”

Jeyna nods slightly, having expected this. The feeling of relief returns, accompanied by sadness. He’ll see she’s told everything she can, and he’ll have the stormtroopers come for her. Will they give her a blaster shot to the head? Or just shove her out of an airlock?

Ren reaches forward a hand, low, hovering above the table. The palm of his black glove is up, as if waiting. “Try to not resist me. It will hurt less,” his mechanical voice says quietly.

Her eyes widen slightly in surprise at his advice, before the pressure starts in her skull. It’s like the atmosphere is suddenly too heavy, pressing down on her head from all sides. And then she feels it, she feels him. It’s as if something is inside her brain, crawling around, sliding through her thoughts.

Jeyna instantly resists on instinct, willing away the intrusion. She is met with blinding pain, throbbing and shooting and making her eyes see nothing but static.

“Don’t resist,” he orders, but she can barely hear him. She tries to obey, to give in. She accepts the pressure, the uncomfortable sense of wrongness that his presence in her mind causes. She feels tears leak out of her eyes at the sensations, but the pain dulls gradually.

When her vision comes back to her, it is swimming. The room is rotating nonsensically, and she grips the edges of the table and fights waves of nausea. Her fingers hurt from the pressure she applied trying to dig them into the metal, and she consciously releases her grip. Slowly, her vision stops spinning and she can focus her eyes again.

Kylo Ren sits across from her, silent. Waiting. She raises her eyes to his mask, and bizarrely wishes she could see his face. Even if it was hideous, even if he was twisted by the dark side like the rumors said… Jeyna would like to see one last face before her death, instead of masks.

He cocks his head slightly to the side again. “You do not work for the resistance,” he states finally.

“No. Like I told them, I don’t work for anyone,” she says, her voice coming out hoarse and frustrated.

“You are wrong,” Ren says, suddenly standing. “You work for me now.”

Jeyna is left staring after his imposing form as he strides to the door. It slides open for him to exit, and she is left alone to process what he has said.

Next chapter: https://bramadian0336.tumblr.com/post/646500010079485952/black-honey-chapter-2

Chapter Index:

https://bramadian0336.tumblr.com/post/646403464799404032/black-honey

[kenzieam]

Save My Life - Chapter One

@jewels2876​ ​​​​​ @moonbeambucky​ ​​​​​ @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123​ ​​​​​ @iammarylastar​@captstefanbrandt​ ​​​​​ @badassbaker​ ​​​​​ @pinknerdpanda​ ​​​​​

I know I’m forgetting people, sorry. If you want in, hit me.

************************************************************************

Warnings: Definitely M. Language, violence, adult situations, graphic mentions of horrible things, traumatic death and descriptions.

************************************************************************

!!!!!TRIGGER WARNINGS!!!!!

************************************************************************

Paramedic Bucky Barnes has seen it all and it’s definitely taken a toll on his mind and body, witnessing senseless death, all but wading through it at times as he is the first responder to so many ghastly accidents and mishaps. The widow of one of his former patients haunts him long after his brief, chaotic contact with her and destiny conspires to cross their paths again. Can the broken man and grieving woman find peace together?

Feedback is life, y’all.

***********************************************************************

EIGHTEEN MONTHS LATER

With a growl and a groan, Bucky rolled over onto his back and threw his arm over his eyes. His body throbbed in a way that, while unwelcome, was far from unpleasant and he reached down, palmed his aching cock through the plain black boxer briefs he usually slept in.

It was so much easier to stumble to the shower if he only had to tangle with briefs, not try to pull a t-shirt off his muscular frame, it wasted precious seconds that could be better spent gasping for breath under the spray, hands pressed to the wall and bowed forwards, water washing away the nightmares that had torn him from uneasy sleep to begin with.

The dichotomy wore at him, even as he relived the horrors of her husband’s messy final moments of life, his body yearned for her, his cock hardening while his mind played the reel over and over, the sightless eyes, the crunching of the man’s ribcage beneath his hands.

There was no use fighting it, he’d tried so many times, only to lose every battle.

His pleasure crested, peaked and he groaned in release, his cock pulsing thick ropes of his seed onto his heaving stomach but the physical gratification didn’t touch the emotional turmoil and he dropped his hand with another groan, squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth until the sensations faded, both the ecstasy and the guilt.

Finally, he moved, hauling himself off the bed, off the tangled, soaked sheets and grimaced; the evidence of his twisted mind drying on his belly. Stumbling over last night’s jeans he shuffled into the bathroom and turned the water to scalding, scowling at his face in the mirror, scrubbing a hand over his stubble.

Would he finally get his shit together today? What compelled him, day after day, to continue like this? Sure, not every call ended the way that one had, but the good ones had long stopped overpowering the bad, their shadows too dark to chase away.

His phone jangled, clashing with his already raw nerves. Would such a simple sound ever stop eliciting such a heart-stopping response in him? He reached for the receiver, his seed still painting his belly, pulling at the downy hair there as it dried and silently held it to his ear. The voice on the other end knew he was there.

“Hey.” Steve said quietly.

“Hey.”

“Is today the day?” The day you stop this, quit the job that’s slowly killing you and start putting yourself back together again?

Bucky exhaled, a harsh yet anemic sound. “No, not today.”

Steve, his partner of eleven years, the man who usually drove the ambulance while Bucky worked so hard in the back, sighed quietly. Closer than brothers, he could read Bucky like an open book, but it went both ways and Bucky could hear the small smile on his face too. Although it was slowly killing both of them, there was nobody they’d rather die beside.

“See you at the station?”

“Yeah, an hour.”

“Coffee.”

“Your turn.” Bucky grunted, slamming the receiver down. Their shorthand baffled most, pissed off others, but you couldn’t be stripped bare emotionally in front of someone for over a decade and not connect like that.

One last lingering glance in the mirror, a brief grimace at the haunted cast in his blue eyes, then he continued into the shower, letting the water wash away both the sweat and the tears.

**********************************************************************

“Still having nightmares?” Steve asked, glancing Bucky’s way before returning his attention to the road. On their way to a frequent flyer found semi-conscious and, no doubt, more than semi-intoxicated, sprawled on the ground outside a local McDonald’s, there was a mild sense of urgency but an even larger sense of ‘same-old, same-old’ weary acceptance.

“Never stop.” Bucky replied shortly, barely looking up from poking listlessly at the computer screen mounted on the dash.

“About her?”

Bucky exhaled, eyes falling closed until the pain, while by no means gone, diminished enough to allow him to draw the next breath. “Yeah.”

“Man, that was over a year ago and you haven’t seen her since. What gives?” Steve demanded, slapping the steering wheel with the palm of his hand before cursing under his breath and hitting the sirens again to persuade a stubborn car out of their lane.

Bucky mused that he’d probably hear those god-damned sirens in hell.

“I don’t know-”

“Her husband died-”

“I know!”

“And I’m sure the last person she wants to see is the guy who was covered in his blood literally crushing the man’s ribs!”

“I know!” Bucky bellowed, slamming his fist on the dash then pulling it back with a grunt to cradle against his muscular chest. He’d need the full use of his hands, both massive paws that somehow could be so gentle and precise while intubating or placing an IV line, to deal with the patient they were now pulling up on.

“You using again?” Steve asked, voice low, bordering on a mix of angry and disappointed.

Bucky turned away, opening the door and jumping out before the bus had come to a full stop.

************************************************************

Lev glanced around briefly before dropping her eyes again. She felt supremely uncomfortable here, despite the fact that she was one of the more in-control attendees; she wasn’t weeping ceaselessly into a handkerchief, or burying her face in her hands while her shoulders shook, or muffling her wails on the shoulder of the person beside her. She was keeping it together.

Wasn’t she?

Eighteen months since Clint’s violent and unexpected death and this was her first meeting for grieving survivors, held in an aging school gymnasium that smelled like old socks and even older sweat, the wood floor marked and scarred with years of abuse.

Her friend Wanda had finally put her foot down, after a year and a half of back and forth, of, ‘I’m fine, just tired’ excuses and tearful limbo and all but dragged Lev to her doctor, where the kindly soul who may or may not be hiding pain just as visceral as hers and therefore knew what he was talking about had suggested this place, as an alternative to the pharmaceutical option that had been the first choice, and rejected so vehemently by Lev to warrant it’s proposal.

She glanced around. The middle-aged woman who’d lost her husband when he’d choked to death right in front of her during their weekly Sunday brunch, three chairs over in the large circle; the man who’d suffered through agonizing minutes of his wife pleading for help over her phone, then her final screams of terror as her car’s throttle had malfunctioned on the freeway and she’d careened at top speed into an embankment, instantly dying but taking with her his unborn son as well, five chairs over; then…. Him.

Lev startled slightly, dropping her gaze before it could be returned. Her memories of that time were so scattered and chaotic, stained with Clint’s blood and the sound of that goddamn siren, but she remembered him, or more accurately, the pain in his supernatural blue eyes.

Built like a marine, massive and muscled, shoulder-length hair pulled back into a loose bun, clad not in his uniform but a simple red long-sleeved Henley and jeans, hulking and intimidating until you looked closer and saw the anguish, was the paramedic that had tried so hard to save her husband’s life that lifetime ago.

Her heart sped up and she focussed obsessively on her cuticles. She wished suddenly for Wanda, but she’d insisted on attending tonight by herself and consequently was now alone as a tsunami of memories crashed over her. The incongruity of smells: bitter antiseptic, raw panic and body expulsions, warm male musk and blood; the duelling opposites that had all but torn her in half: frightening, in-your-face reality as Clint’s blood dried on her face coupled with the dream-like quality of the whole drawn-out nightmare.

How did that man cope? Dealing with that life and ugly death daily? Was that why he was here now, slumped in his chair and listening to other lambs to the slaughter open their veins in wretched attempts to assuage the pain?

She was called gently upon to speak, to give her name and reason why she was here; what screaming banshee howled unending torment in her ears, but she shook her head, burrowing further in on herself and muttering a vow to make herself talk next time, no matter how uncomfortable.

An eternity and an eye-blink later, the meeting ended, and Lev stood stiffly, her body raw and pulsating with fresh grief. For lack of anything else to do, she wandered to the refreshment table, knowing she was far too shaky yet to attempt to drive herself home and picked up a pre-poured paper cup of juice and pack of generic cookies. She’d just sat at an empty table and touched the cup to her lips when a quiet, tentative voice washed over her.

��Hi.”

She glanced at him, quickly back down again. “Hi.” Her voice was stronger than she felt, and she was grateful for the support of the table and chair.

“May I sit?” There was a puzzling hesitancy in his voice, as if he expected screaming rejection, but Lev was too tired to push someone else away, it was too wearying keeping her own mind and body quiet.

At her nod, he sat, picking at his own pack of cookies, seeming to be warring with himself about something.

“I remember who you are, you know.” Lev added, watched his shoulder slump with mingled relief and trepidation.

“I didn’t know… if you…. did or not-” He mumbled, trailing off uncomfortably.

“Hard to forget that day.” Lev whispered. She hesitated before adding. “I never got a chance but… thank you… for trying.”

He nodded, jaw tight, not lifting his eyes from the table.

“How do….” She didn’t want to ask, but God, she did too. “How do you manage to do that… as a job I mean?”

He smirke humorlessly, gesturing with one massive hand to the assembly around them.

“Does it help?”

He shrugged. “More than the company counselling. A friend of mine suggested it a couple years ago; I try to come when I can but….” He cleared his throat. “What about you?”

Lev dropped her eyes again, puzzlingly embarrassed. “My first time. My friend… she made me see a doctor-”

He held up a large hand. Say no more.

“How are you sleeping?” He asked quietly, lifting his hypnotizing gaze to hers again, which she quickly averted, in parts shocked and soothed by the tractor-pull that seemed to emanate from his supernatural blue eyes.

The question stung somehow, and it was so much easier to bite at that then lay bare the devastation beneath. “How do you?” Even as the question left her lips she recoiled, horrified with herself and pressed her hand to her mouth.

He flinched, barely perceptively, but the dark rings under his eyes answered her.

“God, I’m sorry-”

He shook his head, held up a massive hand again. “It’s alright.”

“No, it’s not!” What was wrong with her, biting the first hand that extended any type of friendliness? “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“This place… feeling this way… it makes you raw.” He replied, glancing up at her before looking away and gesturing with a chin jerk to a nearby table. “Sweetest old lady you’ll ever meet over there, but once she comes here and starts remembering her husband’s death again, turns into an old hag.” He twisted the paper cup in his hands, completely engulfing it before taking a sip. “Later, she’ll sit there with a stunned look on her face, like she’s waking up from a black-out.”

“I don’t want to be an old hag.”

A faint smile touched his full lips, temporarily lighting up his unbelievably handsome face. “You’d never be.” A faint pink flush and he looked away again.

Lev suddenly couldn’t breathe. The room, the man across from her, were taking all the air and she stumbled to her feet. “I have to go.”

He watched her, face falling and tried to stand but Lev lifted her hand, an emotional traffic cop, and shook her head. “I’m fine.”

It was a lie, and both knew it, but he only watched sadly as she hurried out the gymnasium doors to the darkness outside, head bowed.

**************************************************

“You never answered me.” Steve spoke suddenly, breaking the silence in the bus as they took a rare break between calls, sitting in the parking lot of a local coffee-shop, trying to wolf down their breakfast sandwiches before the radio blared and re-established reality.

Bucky grunted, knowing what his partner was referring to but hoping that he’d drop it if he played silly buggers.

“James.” Shit, he was serious, using Bucky’s given name.

Bucky sighed, staring out the windshield. “It’s under control.”

“Is it?” Steve all but shouted. “Shooting H? Seriously, man. How do you have that ‘under control’?! What the fuck, James!”

“I don’t do it all the time-”

“Once is too many!”

“Fuck you. You got someone to come home to-”

“DO NOT put that on me, asshole. You’ve had plenty of women hoping for your last name, what the hell are you always waiting for?”

“I’m-”

“Stop thinking about that girl, it’s never going to happen!”

A bitter retort stung Bucky’s tongue and he knew if he spit it out it would poison their enduring friendship, weaken it just when he needed it the most but he was saved from sabotaging himself by the damned radio itself, the dispatcher’s efficient voice relaying maximum information with minimal syllables.

Glaring daggers at Bucky, obviously having a damn good idea what he had been about to say, Steve snorted angrily and grabbed the microphone, snapping an affirmative before slamming the vehicle in gear and hitting the sirens.

************************************************************************

Levi was not at the next meeting and Bucky felt a curious mix of relief and disappointment. Steve was right, this was never going to happen and, even if it did, he had no right dragging this girl down into his shit, not when she was still trying to dig herself out of her own. But still, he was disappointed; she was the rare light in his darkness, had been since the moment he’d first seen her, even with all the chaos and horror around her, cradling her dying husband’s head in her lap, pleading with someone, anyone to help. When their eyes had locked, a visceral, physical jolt had shot through him, almost painful in its intensity and he’d become personally invested in doing all he could to help, if not the patient he’d been dispatched for, then her.

Anything for her.

He was a sad fuck.

He’d barely heard the meeting going on around him, the others whispering their shame and pain, the answering murmurs from fellow sufferers. He rarely spoke at these, was rarely called on anyway because the overseer, a thin, bantam rooster of a man named Tony, who still lost all confidence and swagger when remembering his dear wife, Pepper, who’d passed suddenly from an aneurysm a few years previous, knew who Bucky was and why he was here.

He had no personal stories of loss to tell, but shared the pain of every single death he witnessed, every patient he tried to save and usually ended up only managing to usher into the afterlife with some semblance of comfort anyway.

He left the meeting that night alone, curled up on the floor at the end of his bed and found a vein.

[angrylizardjacket]

any time {Brian May}

@brianandthemays​ asked: Hello! I’m having a rough week and I absolutely love your imagines! So I was wondering if I could get a fluffy piece with Brian where the reader is sad/disappointed and he comforts her. Thank you!!

A/N: 1343 words. This is for me, @hysterical-qween, @brianandthemays​ who requested it, and everyone else who wants Brian to hug and tell them it’s. I hope it’s okay, I literally fell asleep twice at my computer because I started writing it at midnight. Anyways it’s 4am, good night, I hope tomorrow is better.

It’s Saturday, or it was Saturday like half an hour ago, but you’ve been staring at the TV playing some b-grade raunchy action movie too explicit for the hours regular people keep, and your hands are shaking. You’ve been home for what feels like ten minutes, but is closer to two and a half hours, and there’s a weight in your chest that won’t go away, an overwhelming- sadness? Disillusionment? Anxiety? Distress? You can’t quite put your finger on it.

“Hello?” When Brian answers the phone, he sounds groggy and annoyed.

“Hey, sorry it’s so late.” There’s a slight shake in your voice and his tone shifts immediately. 

“Darling, is that you? It’s almost one, what’s wrong?” He’s so gentle, so concerned, and there’s a hollow feeling in your chest that the sound of his voice goes a ways to healing.

“I-” Your words catch in your throat, and maybe it’s that you can hear him but he’s not there with you; you feel touch starved, needy and unashamed to want him with you. “I’m so sorry,” you start, and you can feel tears already stinging your eyes as you speak, “can I ask you a huge favour?”

“Anything, anything.” He assured, you ,and you sniffled loudly. “You know what, I’m coming over.” He preempts your request, taking the words right out of your mouth, and the tears begin to fall.

“Thank you.” You manage, and you can’t move, muscles wound tight with anxiety and sadness, holding the phone to your ear.

“I love you; I’ll be there soon.” 

In between breaths you feel like you’re drowning in your own emotions, as though sadness has you in a choke hold. Overwhelmed, you’re lost in the white noise of the television for what feels like an eon, time rushing past, a blur where it had felt like mere heartbeats only minutes before. There’s a knock at your door, and you finally uncurl yourself from your sofa, joints sore where you’ve been in the same position for hours, unmoving, barely feeling. 

Opening the door, you see him there with his sweater on backwards and concern in his eyes. He moves forward, wrapping you up in his arms as your silent sobs become more audible. There, in the doorway, at one in the morning, you’re crying in his arms. That hollow feeling in your chest, the way you’d been aching to just hold him, you can feel it slowly disappearing, and you hold him tighter.

Apologies tumble from you as he guides you back into the apartment, closing the door behind himself, one arm still carefully holding you. You’re sorry it’s so late, that he came over, that you’re just being silly, that-

“Don’t apologise.” He admonishes, sincere. Pressing a kiss to your forehead, he moves the two of you into your bedroom, his voice gentle as he assures you; it’s never too late, he’ll always be there, you’re not being silly. He sits you down against the headboard, and you wriggle beneath the covers as he climbs in beside you. 

“If it’s got you this upset, it’s not silly.” When he pulls you close to him, wraps his arm around you and lets you rest your head on his chest, you feel for the first time since you’ve gotten home, that perhaps the whole world wasn’t against you. “Darling, anything that upsets you is never silly.” 

His tone doesn’t leave room for argument, and you know he means it with his whole heart. There’s something unequivocally reassuring about that. Already you can feel your stuttering, distressed heartbeat calming down as you clutch at his sweater.

“I’m sorry-” you start, and he quietly tells you to stop apologising, “I’m just- I don’t know what came over me, I just had a shit time at work and I just-” Pressing your lips together, you can’t even continue, words stuck behind a lump in your throat. Brian doesn’t press you, just rubs his hand up and down your arm in a comforting rhythm, occasionally pressing his lips to the top of your head.

“I’m just stuck in this dead-end job,” you finally spit, working through your sadness to the anger you held towards the situation, “and I have no idea what I’m doing with my life; I feel like I’m never going to achieve anything or do anything meaningful and- Brian I’m so scared, and I feel so useless.” You admitted, pressing your forehead to his chest, trying to take some deep breaths as he rubbed circles into your back.

As soon the words are out, and Brian’s still holding you close, you feel the anxiety disappearing, slow of course, but there’s a gentle peace that begins to fill you now you’ve articulated the thought that had been haunting you. It’s so cathartic, being able to finally admit that, but as soon as you do, you’re filled with an uncertainty, an irrepressible urge to apologise for dumping that all on him. You’re not expecting a response, it’s a lot to hear in one go.

“You’re not useless, darling, even just for the fact that you’ve made so many people smile.” Voice soft, he punctuates it with a kiss to the top of your forehead, and you know if he continues like this then you’re going to cry again, but for a very different reason. “There’s no rush to figure out the over-arching plan for your life, sweetheart, and-” he paused, and when you looked up, eyes red rimmed but heart already growing warm, he’s giving you a curious look; “would you like me to tell you how little anything matters to the universe, or how much you matter to me?” 

“I don’t care, I just need you to tell me it’s going to be okay.” Voice a whisper, you think you can see the moment your words melt his heart. 

“Everything you do is meaningful; every time you speak, everything you do, it all goes to making the world a little bit of a better place,” he continues, even as you try to protest, “I’ve seen you at your worst, dear, believe me, I’d rather spend the rest of my life with them than anyone else at their best. One day the world will see how incredible you are, or even if you see how incredible I think you are.”

“You’re gonna make me cry.” You pouted, but he reached down to pull the duvet further up the both of you, and you snuggled in tighter.

“Sorry, I was trying to stop that.” He half laughed, and you hummed thoughtfully, shifting to a more sitting position so you can rest your cheek on his shoulder.

“Good cry.” You assured him, and he nodded with a laugh of understanding, before you looked up, the movement prompting him to turn, and the two of you shared a sweet kiss. Pulling back, he wiped the tear tracks from your cheeks, smiling so fondly at you that you could feel your heart growing warm, earlier sadness still inching away, leaving much faster when you see him smiling at you like that.

“Thank you, I really needed to hear that.” You tell him, voice gentle. “I really needed you here.” He presses a kiss to your cheek, and you settle back in against him.

“I’ll always be here.” He assures. He starts to quietly recount how captivated he was, seeing you in the audience that first time the two of you had met. It’s one of your favourite stories, and you would never get over the way your breath would catch when he says ‘I’d wanted to see the stars for as long as I could remember, imagine my surprise having you right there in front of me’. As he speaks, you can feel yourself grow tired, with him still gently rubbing your back, his firm heartbeat steady with your head against his chest.

You fall asleep to the sound of him humming a melody you don’t recognise. Years later, you will come to recognise it as the song he writes for you.

[cryingbilldenbrough]

hi i want to request some ryers from you. idc what it is, i just want to read something about that beautiful ship written by you. literally. you can write about anything you want. please and thank you. (i deserve this for the number of times you’ve made me cry thanks)

ok so just remember that u asked for this

i feel like a lot of ryers stuff has the idea that richie moves to hawkins so let’s switch that

will byers moves across the country to derry, maine and the fresh start isn’t quite what he thought it would be

johnathan isn’t with them, having graduated high school and gone off to college 

joyce rents a two bedroom house and there’s no Johnathan’s Room anymore, no place for will to go and lay on the floor and turn on the boombox and let The Shins drown out the biting wind in his ears

it’s two stories, with stairs that creak under his feet and the basement isn’t like theirs was back home, solely for storm shelter. there’s shelves all along the walls for canning and storage and will spends a whole day down there exploring

anyway he rolls up to derry high school on the first day of sophomore year, his mom sitting in their idling car near the buses, and shoulders his backpack

he keeps his head up

because this is the first time he’s been able to restart and no one in derry knows, man. he’s got the chance to reinvent himself which is every teenagers dream!! 

he slides into his first period homeroom class and there’s a kid in the back who looks as apprehensive as will feels and the boy introduces himself as ben hanscom after class, offering to show will around

“ive been the new kid before” he says, warm and with a smile and will gets a big lump in his throat because he misses dustin SO BAD

ben hanscom invites him to sit with his friends at lunch and will stands through the lunchline for what feels like forever, anxiety swimming in his stomach

but the Party (not a party, will, they’re not the same try not to think of that) is so welcoming and kind? 

eddie kaspbrak is a small boy who pauses mid-rant about the disgusting boys bathroom on the third floor to offer his hand out for will to shake

beverly marsh has max’s firey hair and el’s powerful nature and she winks at will and says something about his haircut and will blushes and ducks his head because while he’s not really interested in women, beverly marsh is everyone’s weak spot/exception

stan uris is quiet and will almost glosses right over him until stan says something wry out of the corner out of his mouth, stopping the entire group in their laughing and joking and they’re deathly still until stan’s facade cracks and he grins at them, all dimples

will notices the air of tension during the pause wasn’t apprehension, more like the group was simply Waiting for stan to give in and accept that he’s told a joke

mike hanlon is quiet with an air of serious consideration, like he’s cataloging everything they do and say to save for later

he looks a little haunted, a little fucked up, and will thinks he recognizes the dead look in the boy’s eyes

mike reminds will of sheriff hopper, kind and haunted and sad

bill denbrough is will’s favorite right away. his eyes are alight and he smiles out of the side of his mouth, guarded, and he makes will feel kind of like the only person in the world when he talks to him

he compliments will’s notebook which is covered in little doodles and will has a weird moment when he’s like Wow i would do anything for bill denbrough? whom i have just met?

basically bill denbrough has +20 charisma and will saves that thought in his back pocket to revisit later

and finally

there’s richie

richie laughs while eating and sprays milk all over the table and has coke bottle glasses and a dumb goofy grin 

he ruffles will’s hair when bev compliments it, sticking his hand across the table and rubbing down just a little too hard

will slaps his hand away, so used to johnathan doing it, and richie laughs and laughs

stan explains richie to him while the other boy is turning his attention to eddie kaspbrak who swears at him, saying “whenever richie needs to shut up, we just say beep beep richie and that does the trick”

will doesn’t get the chance to try out the trick until lunch is almost over, warning bell ringing and everyone scrambling to wrap up the rest of their lunches for later or to throw away

and as will stands up, a book falls out of his backpack

it’s a Dungeons and Dragons guide, the one mike used to map out their campaign  

(”take this with you,” mike says, thrusting the book into will’s hands. they’re standing in the bare byers living room, hands stuffed in pockets and surrounded by cardboard boxes. 

“no, you need it,” will argues “you gotta finish the campaign” and man this hurts really fucking bad

“i bought a new one,” mike says quickly, making will take the book and wrap his fingers around it “besides, we all signed this one”

will opens the front cover and there’s writing all along the inside, little notes and drawings from the Party to him

will holds it to his chest and then brings mike into a hug, the last one before he leaves hawkins for probably forever)

“what’s this?” richie says, holding it out and will tries to snatch it back but richie’s fast “this is some next level nerd shit” he says 

and will knows he’s kidding but years of being called freak dont do well for self esteem and will is blinking back tears before he can stop himself 

“beep beep richie” he says in a choked voice and nobody else but them is paying attention which will is thankful for because crying in front of his new friends is NOT COOL

and as soon as he says it, richie’s fingers go lax. he gives the book back without a second more of fight and will blinks and tries to calm down and richie’s just looking at him

“it’s from my friends” will explains and richie nods, little and thoughtful. there’s a beat, a moment of peace and silence, and then richie’s throwing his arm over will’s shoulders

“welcome to the losers club,” he says, warm and understanding

and will byers has a new party, a club full of laughter and love and a power he doesn’t yet understand

for the first time in a long time, will belongs again

but this is derry and in derry the dead don’t stay dead and that includes dead pasts

will opens his locker one day and a balloon floats out

it’s red, almost transparent from how overblown it is, and it drifts at exactly his height out into the hallway

will reaches a hand out, to touch and figure out who the fuck put that in his locker and what the fuck it is

and the balloon spins

ZOMBIE BOY it says in happy white letters

and will blinks and he’s in the Upside Down

it’s not real it cant be real but the cold is biting and the wind is chilling him to the bone and derry is covered in vines but it’s different this time? theres a smell of decay in the air that hawkins didnt have, the scent of actual real death and it smells like brick and concrete and a sewer and the bodies of hundreds of dead kids

will’s hyperventilating, crying and stuck frozen and the balloon is still there and it drifts towards him and it’s getting closer and the demogorgon isnt there but there’s something else, a presence of evil he can FEEL and it sounds like dripping water and fingernails on steel and breaking bones and wheezing breath

there’s lights in the distance, three of them swirling together in a drifting dance

just when will thinks it’s real, just when he’s giving into the swirling lights and blowing wind and the shiny red balloon

the balloon pops

the sound is a gunshot, shocking him out of the trance and will blinks and he’s back

he’s in the hallway and the balloon is gone and the Upside Down is gone and richie tozier is there

he’s got his hand outstretched towards will and he’s saying something that will cant hear over the rushing wind in his ears

“are you okay?” he thinks he sees richie mouth and he forces himself to nod

later, after he’s explained it all, richie tells will he found him staring at the wall, catatonic and crying

will wants to be embarrassed but he’s only grateful for richie for bringing him back

“it was a balloon?” richie says, voice hushed. they’re in the boys bathroom, crowded together in the furthest stall while they skip class

richie had stuck his sneakered foot on the toilet and hoisted himself up to open the window

he pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket and offers one to will, which he declines, before lighting up and taking a drag

“yeah” will responds

“fuck” he breathes out, smoke leaving his lungs and it smells strong enough that it erases the scent of this new Upside Down from will’s nostrils, replacing it with menthol and richie

“did you see…. a clown….” richie says and will wants to laugh but he looks serious

not just serious

richie looks downright scared

he’s shaking a little, the cherry of his smoke bobbing in the air and will knows that kind of fear, the primal urge to fight or flight and richie looks kind of tired and weary too

“no” will says and richie sighs, relieved

he doesnt want to tell richie he saw the past and the future at the same time, an alternate and adjacent universe far beyond anything either of them could comprehend

richie takes another drag off his cigarette and sets his jaw and will thinks he’s making a decision

“meet us at the clubhouse after school” he throws the cig out the open window and leaves will, the bell ringing in the distance

when will shows up in the barrens, backpack over his shoulders, they’re waiting for him

the clubhouse is hidden and will has been to it a few times and still sometimes has trouble picking it out, camoflauged with brush and leaves

he drops down into the ground and the whole Club is there 

he draws his knees up to his chest as richie tells them all of how he found will, explaining the dead look in his eyes 

(”they almost looked…. grey” he says and all the blood drains out of bill’s face in the light of a few candles)

richie hands it over to will to explain what he saw and will struggles through his explanation, trying not to let onto the fact that he’s some freak with Now Memories and a haunted fucked up past

but the Club doesn’t look… surprised? scared?

they look frightened and tired and weary and sympathetic

stan uris has his knees drawn to his chest and is running his fingers over the sides of his face, over faint scars will never noticed before

“sounds like…” eddie trails off

“i k-know what it s-s-sounds like,” bill says 

“sounds like what?” will asks and hes kind of pissed off because they all look shifty

they’re hiding something, some secret related to balloons and death and fucking clowns and will byers is so FUCKING SICK of being out of the loop

of being left out of the plans because he’s weak and people are afraid of him getting hurt

“sounds like what?” he repeats and the group collectively flinches

“look, we don’t know exactly” ben starts

“it’s hard to pinpoint exact memories,” bev finishes for him and they share a look “we can’t keep track of all of it,” 

“they c-c-come and go” bill says and eddie nods and richie looks sick and angry

“what happened here?” will asks, voice low

the group look at each other, the lucky seven sharing their cosmic energy and deciding to pull another into their chess game with death

they make a decision, an election, to tell the story, the history of their haunted town and the fog that covers it, the story of a manifestation of Evil and their ever-tiring fight against It

will feels richie’s hand slip into his, sweaty and shaking but grounding

he turns to look at richie and the boy is smiling at him, soft and guarded and will thinks he’s very lucky to have met this group, haunted pasts be damned

“derry,” mike hanlon starts, licking his lips, “is not like other towns”

send me headcanons/prompts/requests!