#emotional showers

[solskrikja1989]

So, I ran through the fire, and I held out my hand I’m not here to save you I don’t have a plan - Vincent Lima

Reprieve - Solskrikja_thyri_1989 - Marvel Cinematic Universe [Archive of Our Own]

VALCAROL post-endgame

This is a short one, so I'll post it below as well as on AO3. Written for Made by Marvel week 6: Wet hair and turned out a little more poetic than I originally expected. I've never posted a story to Tumblr before and it's very strange to me, lol. But there's a first time for everything.

Enjoy :)

@made-by-marvel-prompts

Reprieve: Carol Danvers/ Brunnhilde | Valkyrie

Rated T: Immediately post- Endgame

700 words

The ache didn't tear into her soul, when the world turned to ash and the enemy disintegrated. The dust filtered through her lungs and shredded Carol's heart as she expected it to. In the darkness, there was a shimmer of light... a brief moment where her chest slowly expanded instead of heaving, not quite peace but not quite dread. The monster was gone, the battle had been won, and the emptiness, though prevalent and old, wasn't quite as paralyzing. 

"Let's go home," Val whispered into the silence: an order, a demand. Her hand brushed against Carol's as those left behind gathered, and Carol closed her eyes.

She let the blood trickle down her temple as violently as it pleased.

"Let's go home."

***

There was something inherently beautiful about water.

It wasn't always calm. It didn't play favorites. It came and it went in a whirlwind of forms, destroying and healing without moral, and when it fell from Carol's fingers in tiny streams, her mind went quiet.

The storm ceased its thrashing.

She gazed at the drain stopped halfway with hair. The puddles grew into a river and a flash of cold rushed over her skin. The shower door opened, then closed. Brunnhilde didn't say anything... there was nothing to be said, but her presence was enough, made real by the warmth of her body; close yet separating itself from Carol's while the water ran. 

Her eyes weren't asking, either.

No question left her lips or her hands or her skin, and Carol didn't answer. She reached for the shampoo. Her fingers snagged on the pump, liquid dropping to the tile in spatters of bubbles. It was a mess, the shower was. But Brunnhilde turned. And then they touched-- raw hand to head, the steam building from the heat of Asgardian plumbing.

There were tangles, of course. Which Carol ignored until the conditioner, and even then, she struggled to loosen them.

It hurt.

It always did, but Val didn't flinch or hiss at the tugging and unwinding of roughened curls. She stayed silent, chin to throat while her body swayed to the muted sounds of rain until the last knot was unwound.

The conditioner was left to set.

And Carol turned in kind. 

Val's hands weren't as careful. They shook as they threaded soap into blood. The blue melted down Carol's neck and into the stream that was slowly filling to a lake, leaving her toes hot and her thighs cold. And Val shook, and she shook until the quivering was an Earthquake threatening to collapse the walls they'd so carefully built. Carol didn't try to stop it.

She let the destruction happen. Invited it in.

It was inevitable.

Necessary... 

As the memories soaked into the gulf at her feet, swallowing her whole, Carol's eyes glassed over.

Thanos. Monica. Maria. Tony.

Steve. Nat.

Death and more death. The steam overtook her, and the sickness inside her grew. It grew and it spread until Val's lips broke with a cry that mirrored her own and when the walls crushed the ground beneath them in a disastrous wave, their arms collided.

Not salvation. Not acceptance.

Nothing could heal this grief-- this foundation that was so gaping and exposed that chilled white was practically screaming between gushing wounds-- but they held each other all the same.

Clutching with promise.

"I'm so tired."

"I know."

"I've got you."

"I know."

Lips to foreheads and palms to spines. Carol rested her chin atop Val's curls, and the ocean swelled with vigorous foam as two beings refused to let go. It wasn't enough to bring them peace... sobbing and hugging would never heal the scars of loss or comfort the emptiness of a change so painfully unwanted.

But there, pressed tight against Val's shivering body and breathing soul. With plain soap on her tongue and water in both of their eyes,

Carol buried her fingers into Brunnhilde's hair, held her close 

and knew she was not alone.

~

So, I ran through the fire, and I held out my hand I’m not here to save you I don’t have a plan You see, love isn’t rescue, it's someone to lose My feet burn but dear Now I’m in this with you

~

[doomedclockworkdotmp3]

his therapist woulda had a field day at their next appointment

[caruccio]

Just a friendly reminder: Don’t let anyone drive or sleep with a heavy heart.

[incognitopolls]

In movies/tv, characters often lean against the shower wall due to their great emotional turmoil.

We ask your questions so you don’t have to! Submit your questions to have them posted anonymously as polls.

[deelovesbooks]

ko-fi

[alien-bottle]

We're the only ones left

[dailyloopdeloop]

DAY 71: shy

[girlsdads]

maxiel; post-silverstone quali hurt/comfort, mild sexual content, ~900k

Steam is already curling out from under the bathroom door by the time Max returns to the suite. They’d ridden together that morning, but he’d left his debrief and found his motorhome empty. Some poor VCARB hospitality worker had been faced with Max’s frustrated disappointment upon hearing Daniel had already called a car. Another thing to hate about this year. Max can count on one hand the times Daniel’s made it out of Q2. It makes him want to run every other car off the track next time—he’d gladly take one million penalties if it meant Daniel got to sail right through.

He shimmies out of his jacket, drapes it over the back of one of the starkly modern chairs arranged in a stupid little seating area near the door. Rainwater drips onto the cushion, oddly satisfying. He thinks about Daniel in the hot, hot shower, washing the chill from his bones. Max himself doesn’t mind the weather much, but he could rip the clouds from the sky with how the rain makes Daniel shiver and shrink.

Max sheds his shirt next, tossing it onto the still unmade bed. Kicks his shoes off, hops from one foot to the other peeling his jeans down his legs. He’s naked by the time he enters the bathroom, the humid air heavy on his skin. He can see Daniel’s lovely silhouette through the steam, the strong lines of his back down to the gentle curve of his soft hips. He’s got his forearms pressed to the wall, head ducked and resting on his clasped hands. He doesn’t startle when Max opens the glass door and steps in behind him.

Inside the spacious stall the air feels thicker, almost suffocating. Daniel’s curls are flat to his forehead and his skin is flushed pink. He’s been in here for a long time already, Max can tell.

“Daniel,” Max touches the flat of his palm softly to the small of Daniel’s back. He is so warm. It takes everything in Max not to plaster himself to Daniel and shove them both against the shower wall, to feel him everywhere. But Daniel has been in here for too long and his sensitive skin will be getting pruny.

Max opens his mouth to say as much, but Daniel cuts him off. “None of it was my fucking fault, today.” His voice is practically a hiss.

“They put you out into traffic,” Max says calmly, his thumb rubbing small circles into one of the dimples at the base of Daniel’s spine. Max had been coming around toward the pitlane when his radio had chirped with Daniel is out now, Max. Max had of course seen Daniel pull onto the track, had seen the traffic there in front of him. Had tried to push Daniel forward with the sheer will of his own mind, as if his devotion alone could overcome shitty mechanics and shittier strategy.

“If it was me fucking up—I could handle that, y’know,” Daniel laughs, one of his honking ones, but it’s humorless. “They want me to prove myself? When they don’t give me a fucking fighting chance?”

Daniel suddenly whips around to face Max, his big round eyes a bit red like he’s been crying but a bit wild like he’s ready to put his fist through a wall. Max can’t help the way his cock starts to thicken a little between his legs.

“I dunno if I can do another year with this team, Maxy,” he says after a moment, his gaze flicking from holding Max’s to cast down at the tiled floor. The resigned admission is swallowed by the thick swirl of steam surrounding them.

Max chokes on the lump of panic that suddenly rises in his throat, the lingering dread that Daniel would not bother with him if he were no longer racing. The insidious little voice in his head that wishes Checo would just… disappear, so Daniel can have back the seat that has always been his.

Before Max’s brain can continue its spiral, Daniel chuckles, shakes his head, smiles tiredly but genuinely. His wrinkled fingertips come up to caress Max’s jaw in a way that makes Max want to melt into his skin.

“I’m expecting the full WAG experience, once I’m sacked.” He grins.

“You will of course be racing next year, Daniel.” Max is sure of this, as sure as he is of his own career. Though it is delicious to imagine a future where he could publicly pamper Daniel to his heart’s content.

“Mmm, you sound so sure of that, baby.” Daniel’s words are a rasp in his ear, breath hot on the wet skin there. “Wish everyone believed in me as much as you and I do.”

Max hears himself hiccup a gasp as Daniel’s teeth scrape over his earlobe at the same moment his hand wraps around where Max is fully hard, now. The raised wrinkles on Daniel’s fingertips feel like needlepoints against him. It makes him tremble.

“Just me, Daniel, and you—just us together—please,” Max pants as Daniel speeds his hand up, slipping the foreskin up and down and up and down. “Fuck everyone else.”

“Yeah, Maxy,” Daniel whispers, almost reverent, as Max spills over his fist. “Fuck everyone else.��

[baeshijima]

mmm thoughts of private executioner!blade, who is high priestess!kafka's bodyguard. well, more like her guard dog, as many fearfully seem to think.

he is aloof and gruff and rough around the edges, his name capturing it perfectly. when in the eyes of the public he either keeps to himself or stands ready by kafka's side, but when out he lurks in the shadows ready and waiting to carry out her death orders.

you, yourself, haven't had very many pleasant encounters with him... if you can even call them that. that being said, you haven't had many pleasant encounters with anyone. notorious for your... less than pleasant disposition, for a lack of better words, you have more people who'd rather see you run through than those you can call a friend.

in a dog-eat-dog world, you had no choice but to protect yourself. that, however, ultimately became your demise.

"oh? so you're the one sent to kill me. can't say i'm all that surprised."

standing before you is the feared executioner. his sword is tucked inside the sheath attached to his hip, that ever-present dark swirl of an aura stifling the air. he doesn't say anything, instead opting to silently stare down at your slumped and worn-out form. you find that his gaze doesn't bother you; rather, it's oddly comforting knowing someone will see you in your last moments.

"i've never asked you for a favour before, so this will be my first and last request for you." in all honesty, you're not sure where this chattiness stems from. considering you're currently in a holding cell under the crime of attempted murder towards kafka (a poisoned wine you were most definitely framed for, though you can't say you were surprised) and are awaiting for your turn to be under the guillotine for your public execution, you probably should be a little desperate towards the private executioner in front of you.

and yet, your mind is nothing if not peaceful.

with a huff, you relay your request, "can you make sure it's quick? painless, preferably, but i'd rather you just get it over and done with."

silence blankets the cold chambers. moisture accumulated along the cobble ceiling drip in a steady rhythm, like a clock ticking away the seconds. it's unnerving, almost, how there is not a single sound other than your impending countdown.

"why?" comes his low mutter, effectively causing a ripple within the stagnant air. you almost think you misheard him, but his following words cease the thought, "why won't you ask me for help?"

had it not been for the abrupt shuffle and clanging against the metal bars, you would have never looked up to see him in your last moments.

his scarred hands gripping the metal until his knuckles turn a ghastly white and blood dripping from his palms is what greets your sight. as your gaze slowly trails up, you almost let loose a laugh of disbelief; who would have thought blade, the infamous guard dog of the high priestess, could make such a desperate expression? one looking as though his whole world crumbled before him, in which he can do nothing but sit and watch.

(you will never know of the anger and desperation which coursed through his veins the moment he heard of your predicament. had it been anyone else, he wouldn't have cared. but you're not anyone else; you're you — unapologetically, wholeheartedly. it didn't take him long to hunt down those behind it, cutting them down without thought and putting an end to their miserable lives. he rushed as soon as he could when kafka gave him the order, no thoughts other than you, you, you, occupying his mind.

you will never know of the anguish which overcame him when he found you in such a state, your once healthy complexion and defiant gaze reduced to nothing but a tiredness which had always sat quietly behind your disposition. he's almost positive the muscle which unwillingly keeps him alive tore at the seams from your request, the acceptance in which you displayed causing his mind to go astray. even as he damn-near begs you to rely on him for help — to run away with him to some place no one knows of you and start anew there — you merely smile, resigned and peaceful.

you will never know of how much blade is willing to put on the line for you, for you never made it to see the complete and utter carnage he wrecked in your name.)

[discord-emote-customs]

a part 2 to the self care/health reminder post ! get some rest , take a shower !

[andavs]

I know it's still early in how much of their relationships we've seen and we're only halfway through the season, but at least right now it kind of feels like both Buck and Eddie are split between two relationships.

So far Buck has physical intimacy with Tommy, but emotional intimacy with Eddie. Tommy got the (sober) hugs and kisses, but Eddie was the one at his side throughout the stresses of searching for Chimney, and supporting him while he supported Maddie.

And Eddie has the physical intimacy with Marisol but the emotional intimacy with Buck, even several months into their relationship. Marisol was right there with Eddie when he found out Chris was talking to a bunch of girls, but (as far as we were shown or told) he waited to talk it over with Buck. He went to Buck about his Catholic guilt, but we never saw him address it with Marisol, who would probably have some experience with that.

If it's being done intentionally, then that could make for a really interesting storyline about like...I don't know if emotional infidelity is exactly right, but something like that.

But it could also be the realities of having a limited amount of screentime per episode and prioritizing popular main character dynamics, in which case if Buck and Eddie don't end up together, all of their romantic relationships might just feel a little surface level to some degree. If they pull back on the emotional Buck and Eddie scenes, then they're cutting back on a core relationship of the show. But if they have those emotional talks and support with each other, we won't see that emotional growth with their partners.

[blommis-writes]

what I say: I’m fine

what I mean: in Avatar: The Last Airbender, the ending theme is a sort of positive foreshadowing that follows you throughout the whole show until, in S3E13 The Firebending Masters, you find out that it’s the rythm to the dancing dragon which Aang and Zuko work through together. In that moment, the show makes you fully realize just how much Zuko was destined from the start to be part of Aang’s support and so much more than what he seemed early on in the show. The ending/dancing dragon theme was there from the beginning to hint that the show was not only about Good vs Bad, but that it was also a story about redemption and about how Zuko would have his own part to play but only after he’d gone through his own journey separate from that of a classic villain character chasing after the main protagonist. In this essay I will-

[confessionseddie]

i can visualize buck kissing eddie in eddie's dimly-lit kitchen, face cradled in his hands, so clearly that it's as if it already happened on screen for real. and it's going to happen, is the thing

[bitchapalooza]

I relate to Sanji too much because it really does seem like he’s adopted the mentality that physical and mental abuse is a form of significant affection but only directed towards himself, like he sees it’s wrong and unjust when other people are being abused, but when he’s the victim he feels this conflicted sense of I deserve it and Wow they love me so much! It’s heartbreaking just to think about tbh

[sophsun1]

Queer As Folk – 2.01: Home is Where the Ass Is

[fishareglorious]

Post-Mor Pankh where Kaalaa Baunaa and Shamane hang out sometimes and something Shamane does just. reminds Kaalaa deeply of Kumar. The siblings haven't met each other in literal decades aside from the latter's final moments, but the fact that they're related is there, mirroring each other in the way Shamane goes cocky or makes tea or some other little idiosyncrasy, and after she notices, Kaalaa Baunaa is hit full speed with missing Kumar.