#even if he stays he should be vice captain the way him and his rat brother have handled this has killed a lot of goodwill

[carebearcody]

“not gonna let it play out in public” man fuck that guy 🤣

[ashiemochi]

aphrotitty - 50☢

✠ Aphrotitty ↳ Don’t do anything stupid ↳↳ does something stupid

~~ pairing: OC x Leon S(exy) Kennedy. ~~ genre: fluff, a slice of life, angst, gore at some point, smut/suggestive themes ~~ word count: no

NOTE: ✠ = time skip ✠✠ = switching povs/characters

☢ Warning: more zombies, mentions of blood/gore, mentions of anxiety disorder, clueless but determined so ah being clueless but determined, finn :(, ooc of entire chris's unit because, stupid cliche flashback is stupid.

prev -> next

Cold sweat glistened on the unconscious girl’s forehead as her body shivered under the leather jacket and shifted uncomfortably on the bench. Burning from inside out never seemed more exaggerated than now with the virus eating her up and taking hold of her at an excruciatingly slow pace.

So Ah was visibly shaking, whimpering in pain while pity eyes were set on her. The BSAA agent frowned beside her, her hand coming up to gently press the back of her fingers against the girl’s forehead.

“Shit... She’s heating up...”

She – Nadia – then turned to the cross-armed-frowning Chris.

“I’ve never seen a virus work like this before – I mean, they usually turn on the spot but she’s...” Her eyes trailed back down to So Ah, “It’s like her body’s rejecting it.”

“Whatever it is, we should stay on guard in case she does turn.” Chris reminded the agent as he made his way towards them, looking down at the girl in sympathy.

Nadia pursed her lips when So Ah’s breathing hitched before going back to short and quick ones then she looked at her captain.

“Alright so... What’s the plan now? Why won’t we turn her in?”

“Leon thinks she doesn’t have a hand in this.”

“What would you tell HQ then?” The BSAA soldier popped up from the far end of the aircraft, leaning with crossed arms against the edge of the door, “You know they ain’t gonna like having their top operator disobeying their orders for some lover boy.”

Chris let out a gruff sigh, fingers coming up to pinch the space between his eyes; Damian was right.

He and Leon didn’t really share much experience in working together in the same field, considering they aren’t even in the same organization – but the only thing that kept them linked, like all the other rare survivors, was Raccoon City.

That and the fact Leon was there with Claire – Chris’s sister – when he wasn’t.

He felt like he kind of owed Leon; they were friends... Somewhat.

Not really.

But he holds great respect for him and vice versa – literally, the only mutual connection is Claire.

“Did HQ figure out who’s the third party?”

“Some scientist within the corporation saw them working on the virus and ratted them out.” The dark-skinned BSAA soldier, who’s an accomplished pilot, spoke from the opposite side of the bench, not once looking up from his hardcover book.

Chris furrowed his brows in confusion at that, “And?”

“That’s all they got.” Nadia piped up from her place next to the girl who began whimpering audibly and muttering in her sleep, catching their attention.

Her clammy hands clenched around nothing as her weak voice came out shaky. Chris leaned down a little to pick up whatever she was saying.

“Fred... Ric – why... It... Hurts...” So Ah whispered then ended it with a soft trembling sigh when her hand was grasped by Nadia’s gloved one.

“Frederic?” Chris repeated and remembered Leon’s words when they held each other at gunpoint.

“A witness?! She’s the one who did all this!”

“No! It was Sonny – the Executive Scientist of Green Life.”

He’ll be honest, he did not give it much thought with all the rush of the adrenaline and the fact So Ah was standing right there behind Leon – but he recognized the name now.

“As in Frederic Sonny?” Chris questioned his unit as Damian grabbed a bag of potato chips from the closet next to him.

“Isn’t he the one who’s a family doctor of sort for the Hans?” Damian returned the question before diving into his snack.

“Maybe she needs him.” Nadia wondered in a guessing tone, “Technically, he’s her doctor.”

But Chris shook his head with an incredulous huff as he grabbed an extra bulletproof vest.

“I want a thorough background check on Frederic Sonny.” He ordered and began prepping himself up with extra ammunition.

“Where are you going?” Damian asked, tilting his head at his captain who only gestured to So Ah with his chin.

“Keep an eye on her.” Chris reloaded his assault rifle, shaking his head as if in disbelief to himself, “Leon might just be right again.”

He stepped down the military aircraft just in time for Piers to run up to him, breathing heavily. Chris instantly noticed the lone soldier, peering behind Piers to see if the rookie was coming.

“Cap–”

“Where’s Finn?”

Piers exhaled with distant pity eyes, “He got infected by the virus, Captain. I’m sorry.”

Chris growled under his breath; Finn was just a kid. First time on the field and this is what he gets. He did not deserve it and Chris hated losing his own unit; his own men that entrusted him with their lives.

“Piers...”

“Sir?”

“I need you to report to HQ – there’s been a change of plans.” Chris walked past Piers, eyes dead set on the elevator but his soldier stopped him.

“Wait – Captain, what plans?” Piers asked, puzzled.

“I’m going back down to the lab.”

“Let me come with you –”

“No.” Chris nearly snapped, turning around to face Piers.

“I need you here with the others; I can’t lose more of my men.” He muttered at the end and Pier’s shoulders dropped a little at the grieving tone in his captain’s voice.

“Roger.” Piers nodded curtly and Chris gave him a grateful look then turned down to leave, but Piers stopped him again from a distance.

“That gigantic bastard is taken care of, so you won’t be seeing him anytime soon.” Piers informed, “But some lady in red was there too before she left the scene.”

✠✠

Frederic’s office was empty with his desk in disarray. Papers scattered and files torn apart; it was a whole mess. Not to mention the fact even the computer’s monitor was toppled over. It didn’t take Leon long to figure out that this chaos was not a mistake – it was on purpose.

Someone wanted to throw him off and think that someone other than Frederic was involved in this. Either that or Frederic liked to work with his mug of coffee spilt near the trashcan.

And Leon nearly fell for it if it weren’t for the personal lab door that was most likely locked – but thanks to his sweetheart, he got it open with the keycard. Unlike the office outside, the lab was clean and organized.

It was clear that Dr Sonny much preferred science over basic hygiene because the amount of empty stray coffee cups and crinkled up protein bars sprawled all over the white tables and floor was almost concerning.

Leon did wonder if the crazy “devoted” scientist ever took a shower – but then decided he didn’t care since he was taking him down anyway.

The large test tubes filled with pale green liquid held the different sizes and shapes of deformed Plagas. Some were moving and breathing but most were idly floating, seemingly dead. The notes sticking to said tubes spoke about versions of Plaga made and taken from Spain.

It all made Leon’s stomach churn as he frowned deeply at the distant memory of the Los Illuminados.

“Shit...” Leon muttered, seeing samples of Frederic’s work smashed onto the ground – now that was not intentional. Frederic was in a rush to escape, but from whom? And why?

Seeing files lying open on the table, he could only assume the scientist was looking over his research before he had left in a hurry. Putting his gun back in its holster, he checked the open files and papers, eyes narrowing. It was related to Project PANSY.

ASSIGNMENT: PROJECT PANSY BEGAN ON: 8/10/1998 LAST CHECK-UP: 05/12/2006

Anaemic subject is getting severe dizzy spells and coughing out blood after the injection of PANSY. I’ve already prescribed EN-0X under the guise of Midodrine and it led the subject to unconsciousness. I was concerned my last subject was another fail – but EN-0X levelled the bloodstream and stabilized the nerves.

Certain pills are needed to be taken to stabilize the sample and cause it to stay undetected. So far, it’s been going smoothly. Seems like whenever the subject is exposed to such stressful situations, PANSY’s effects heighten. The more anxiety-inducing scenarios the subject witnesses, the faster PANSY evolves. It works splendidly in my favour as the subject has some sort of an anxiety disorder.

The subject was diagnosed with Anaemia at 10 years old – hence the use of EN-0X to stabilize her with hints of antigens. As of now, it’s been around 8 years since the subject has been exposed to the Golgotha Virus, also known as the G-Virus – coming of age at 26.

The G-Virus is still adapting and evolving, coming more and more ready than ever to be released. With my constant experiments and EN-0X doses, the virus remains raw within the subject’s body. To put it bluntly, imagine a sample of the virus just waiting in the cooler to be used – that’s what the subject’s body is. After the sterilization of Umbrella in Raccoon City, I’ve been ordered to save the G-Virus in any way possible. And then I saw her.

I’ve never felt such pride at seeing my own masterpiece walk around and such successful progress I’ve been doing so far. They said they’re sending someone to collect the subject and would like to see the mutated G-Virus in action. I’m looking forward to seeing their stupid faces gawking at my work. When my experiment catches Tricell’s eyes, who knows how much they’d pay me to turn over my subject.

Those useless Han family don’t know how to use the power of science to benefit for shit.

“Son of a bitch...”

It all made sense now – her ‘condition’ wasn’t genetic. She was experimented on since she was a kid.

Leon’s hands hardened on the desk, taking in air to calm his anger down – though it barely did squat – then he turned around to see an open case on the ground next to the shattered samples. The foam held an injection gun shape along with three sample ones – all empty.

The case was empty.

In a rush or not, Frederic apparently had enough time to take whatever was in the case.

Huffing, Leon gripped into his Lightning Hawk and headed out of the lab just to see the map of the underground facility on the wall. It had layers and layers going deep underneath, really taking underground laboratory literally.

All floors had elevators to each other but they all were connected to one main lift that also led up, probably to the roof. The lift was in the centre of it all with four walkways leading to it.

The lab that held the G-Virus was in one of those big rooms. Figuring Frederic must be in one of them, he began making his way down the hall with more determination on his feet to keep him going.

“Just hang on a little longer, sweetheart...”

✠✠

“Doctor Sonny, what is this for?”

“This is to make you feel better, alright? Now, you’ll feel a little pinch–”

“Ouch!”

“Haha, it wasn’t so bad, right?”

“Are appa and eomma mad at me, Doctor Sonny?”

“Why would they be mad at you?”

“Because of my sickness... I wanted to play outside with Minji and Jaehyun but appa didn’t let me. I asked why and he told me that I’m too sick for that. I told eomma but she sided with him. I felt so alone, Doctor Sonny.”

“Oh, no, don’t cry! I’m sure they have their reasons!”

“You – you think so?”

“I know so. Here, how about I talk to them when they’re back from their trip and I’ll tell them that you’re sad and want to play outside, okay?”

“Okay...”

“Let’s keep this a secret between us, alright?”

“Oh! Is it cherry?”

“Sure is! Your favourite.”

“Thank you, Doctor Sonny!”

“You’re very welcome, my little pansy.”

A hitched breath escaped sharply through her lips, eyes snapping open as So Ah jolted up. Her heart was pounding as she tried to level her breathing. Oxygen burned her lungs but it all soothed down to nothing – releasing a cold sigh. She didn’t recognize her surroundings and nearly panicked when a lady sat down next to her with a bottle of water.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay. You’re safe.” Nadia calmed her down before handing her the bottle, “You’re in an aircraft on top of Green Life Pharmaceuticals.”

So Ah hesitantly took the offered cool drink, eyeing warily at the woman, “Who are you... And what aircraft?”

“Chris brought you here after you were infected... Do you not remember?” Nadia asked worryingly, straightening up and So Ah kind of shook her head with distant eyes, clearly trying to remember anything.

“You were exposed to the virus and you seemed like you were going to wake up turned,” Nadia informed the girl.

“How... How long was I out?” So Ah asked nervously, internally and externally puzzled with her hazy memory ever so slowly, but surely, clearing up.

“About half an hour tops,” Nadia answered after glancing down at her watch before giving So Ah a quick once over with a half-baffled half-impressed look.

“You recovered really fast for someone who had one foot in the grave.”

So Ah’s cinnamons lowered down at her bottle and blinked at the leather jacket – the same one she bought for Leon; his jacket. The earthy scent of it along with the honeyed whiskey made it feel like he was around her right then and there in his arms, holding onto her so gently and lovingly.

Then she recalled everything.

It was almost vague but bits and pieces of the puzzle of thirty minutes ago were settling in her head.

The concerned but hurried tone – with a dash of panic – in Leon’s voice as he urged Chris to fix her up as fast as possible, the way his warm hand held onto hers as a silent whisper ‘I’m here; just hold on to me’; the frantic voice when her body had succumbed to the pain.

With a trembling hand, she pushed the jacket aside to glance down; and it was true. The bandages were rolled around her mid-section, visibly showing the bloody patch on the side right beneath her rib. She didn’t pay much attention to the fact the tyrant induced bruise was no longer there.

She was more focused on the hidden scar.

Yet, the panic-stricken blues that usually held a relaxed but sharp nature were too stubborn to leave her head.

“I... I have to go.” So Ah muttered and swung her legs to set her feet onto the ground, unaware of another BSAA agent on the opposite side of her looking at her from his almost ending book.

“Sorry, but that goes against captain’s orders.” DC reminded as she stood up, being a little wobbly but Nadia kept her balanced, grabbing onto her upper arms.

“I haven’t listened to a single order from Chris; what makes this one any different?” So Ah countered with furrowed brows; well, I did follow one order and it was to unlock that fountain but they don’t need to know that...

Damian laughed from the pilot’s room, doubling over as if proud and impressed; “I like her already.”

Nadia chuckled and nodded then gestured to So Ah’s attire, “We’re gonna have to do something about this unless you have a thing with running in heels.”

So Ah glanced down, seeing her originally white shirt was now bloody with the lower part of it cut messily, giving her an askew crop top. She had her cardigan’s jacket on along with Leon’s jacket and she would be lying if she said it didn’t feel like she was walking around with a portable sauna. Her tights were still ripped at the lower part of her leg with distressed stitches here and there.

And her cheeks reddened in a little embarrassment, looking up at Nadia with a small bashful smile.

✠✠

“See? Doesn’t that feel better?”

Instead of the ruined shirt, she wore a plain black short-sleeved shirt tucked under her overall skirt. She kept the tights but changed the Lita boots to combat ones. Her cardigan was folded aside on the bench where she once sat next to the leather jacket.

“Well, mija,” Damian flirtatiously chimed up from his spot near the backdoor that rested on the roof of the facility, “If I knew you’d look this cute in my shirt, I would’ve taken you from Kennedy.”

Nadia rolled her eyes at her co-worker as So Ah blushed and shook her head, “I think I much prefer the jacket.”

Damian let out a feigned rejected sigh, “Whatever you say, mija.”

“This is what we’ve got in store.” Nadia ushered So Ah to the wall where firearms of different sizes and shapes were hung.

“And we don’t have a spare axe, sorry.” She joked, enticing a giggle from So Ah who scanned the weapons.

“Did Chris tell you?” So Ah asked, looking up at Nadia who nodded.

“That was the first thing he mentioned when he came here,” Nadia replied.

“That and it was also the first time he was saved by the same girl who’s accused of this outbreak crap.” DC piped up from behind, eyes still on the book.

“Even though to him I’m a suspect, I couldn’t stand seeing him hurt...” So Ah muttered before a weapon caught her eye, “What’s that?”

“Good eye.” Nadia hummed in an impressed tone and picked up the weapon.

“This is a semi-auto rifle and it comes with this,” The team’s Recon latched a scope on the rifle and then gave the gun to So Ah, “It’s a long-range weapon so you’d be safer shooting from a distance.”

“Oh, that’s - oof!”

So Ah nearly toppled over at the unexpected weight if it weren’t for Nadia steadying her whilst laughing, “If you want, you can have a handgun instead.”

So Ah shook her head, letting out a harrumph as she straightened up, now holding the rifle with a thin-lipped smile, “No, no, this is fine but uhm... How do I use it?”

“DC will show you.” Nadia nudged her head to the reading man before gesturing over her shoulder; “I’ll get you your radio.”

So Ah watched her leave into the pilots’ room then returned her eyes to DC. His eyes looked up from the book and saw the nervous girl then he exhaled, setting the book aside and standing up.

“I’ll have you know,” DC started and offered his hand, waiting for the gun, “I’m against this choice of yours and I can see you trying to hide your shaking hands.”

She frowned, giving him the hefty rifle as he twisted it to hold it correctly.

“You’re afraid.” DC said as a matter of fact then the corner of his lip twitched upward, “But without fear, there cannot be courage.”

Her eyes instantly lit up, recognizing the quote from one of the books she was assigned to read back in university.

“Christopher Paolini.” She nearly exclaimed in achievement, receiving an impressed hm from the pilot.

“Alright, so this right here is the magazine...”

✠

As So Ah buckled the last ammo belt around her hip, Nadia jogged back to her with an earpiece and a communication device similar to the one Leon owned – but this was green in colour and was a bit thicker.

With much persuasion from Damian and advice from DC, she took a handgun and a combat knife for safety measures.

“There’s a map on the phone of the underground facility.” Nadia showed her where to tap to bring up the map then moved her hair aside to put the earpiece in, “And this so we can keep in touch in case you need anything.”

“Thank you all so much, really.” So Ah grinned shyly at the unit, receiving smiles in return; though DC’s was subtle, it was there.

“Just try not to get killed, okay?” Damian patted her shoulder then winked, “I know a Mexican place with great food if you’d like to have a snack after this.”

She chuckled, shaking her head with burning cheeks – not because of him, but a familiar pair of azure eyes popped up in her head at the similar flirtatious tone.

“Sorry, Damian, but I already got a date with Leon.”

“Gah.” Damian let out a scoff, pretending to be disappointed; “It’s always the Americans who get everything.”

“I’ll keep in touch.” So Ah turned, briskly running down the raft and instantly shivered at the New Year’s cool weather but figured with all the running and dodging she’ll be doing in the lab would warm her up.

“What’s your plan?!” DC called out from the aircraft in a curious tone, stopping her in her place.

“Doing something brave is much like saying something stupid,” She quoted, facing him with a smile, “You rarely plan on it happening.”

He huffed with a chuckle, shaking his head as he turned and went back to the bench; “Brandon Sanderson...”

They both knew she didn’t have a plan – she was just going to run from hall to hall and find Leon.

Making her way down to the lift, she froze a good three feet away from a soldier she recognized. His eyes peered up from his communication device, narrowing at the girl before he straightened up – Piers was standing right in front of the elevator.

So Ah could clearly see with the grip on his device and the other on his assault rifle that he was waiting for something; for someone. She assumed Chris must’ve ordered him to stay outside and hoped she didn’t have to try and convince Piers about letting her go. Chris was hard to convince – imagine Piers.

“He’s... He’s not picking up?” So Ah hesitantly asked, glancing down at the device then back up at Piers who glared at her before shaking his head.

“No, but I’m tracking him.” Piers answered, eyes returning to the moving green dot in his map. He finally looked back up at her, scanning her weapons and attire then resumed eye contact.

“Unless you’re going to be paying for the loss of those firearms, don’t let it all go to waste since all you do is run.”

She blinked at him and was going to retort but he moved away from the elevator, allowing her the way down. He stayed silent, not saying a word but his sharp stare spoke enough. She nodded slightly and pressed the button, waiting for the cart to come up.

Glancing at him from the corner of her eyes, she bit down her bottom lip nervously when the gates opened, the elevator letting out a small chime. She entered the elevator, watching him look down his device in worry.

“You know, you can come too.”

“I’ve got direct orders from the captain to stay here; unlike you, I listen to them.” Piers almost snapped but she could tell he wanted to disobey at least once.

“I think if it’s for the sake of Chris’s safety, you’re allowed to... Not listen... To them...” She pursed her lips, avoiding his disbelief filled eyes innocently.

“How would you know? You never worked in the field with him as much as I did – Hell, you barely know how to shoot a gun.” Piers countered, facing her completely with a raised eyebrow.

“You’re right about that.” She nodded before her cinnamons connected with his hazel ones in coy expectancy, “But I’m stubborn enough to still try.”

He blinked at her, especially when she took one slow step to the side – she gave him a spot to move in with her. Piers stood there, seemingly hesitant before looking down at the green dot that was moving slower now then back up at the waiting girl.

A toothy grin instantly made its way to her lips when Piers walked in, shoving his device into one of his pockets. He was fighting back a smile by forcing a scowl, pressing the button to go down.

“I’m not doing this because you convinced me to. I’m just a soldier checking up on his Captain.”

“Yeah, no, I understand.”

“What’s that smile for? You think this is funny?”

“Of course not.”

[sonoftatooine]

Hello! Lars AU and Zygerria AU for the WIP ask game? :)

Hi, thanks for the ask! :D

LARS AU

So the Lars AU is an AU where Anakin doesn't turn to the Dark Side during the events of ROTS, but is captured by Palpatine, who attempts to force him into becoming his Sith apprentice. Two years later, he manages to escape to Tatooine and is taken in by Owen and Beru, and in the process meets a young Luke, who was taken to the Lars by the Jedi after Padme's death. Here's a little snippet from a scene between Beru and Anakin:

“The Empire will come looking for me, and it's only a matter of time before it occurs to them to look here,” Anakin said, unable to stop the desperate, pleading tone from seeping into his voice at her words. He had to make her understand. She had to understand. “And if they find you harbouring me, Force knows what will happen to you. Or to Luke. And I couldn't— I can't let that happen. I have to—”

He had to, he had to— He thought of Luke—tiny little Luke with his soft blond hair and bright blue eyes and his wide, gummy smile that would have outshone the full power of Tatooine's twin suns if he had been inclined to compete with them. Luke who was young and innocent and gentle, and whom he loved more than anything else in the Galaxy already. Then he thought of Sidious, his self-styled master. Of that awful dark cell, of Sith lightning and torture and screams. He had been young and innocent once, and Sidious had seen that and sought to rip every ounce of that innocence out of him until there was nothing left but the perfect weapon for him to wield against the people of the Galaxy. If he found Luke— If he did that to Luke—

“You won't change my mind, Beru,” he said firmly—or rather, he tried to say firmly. The memories of his time with Sidious combined with the fear for his son had left a violent tremor in his voice that he could not hope to conceal despite his efforts. But he had to, he had to leave. He couldn't let his resolve be shaken, no matter how much her soft, sad expression threatened to wear him down. "This way is safer. For everyone. It's safer for everyone."

Beru frowned. She took a step forward and, unfolding her arms from across her chest, slowly reached out a hand to rest on his upper arm. The light brush of her fingertips was barely noticeable beneath the rough fabric of his cloak, but after so long imprisoned, alone in the dark, it seemed to him to burn like the pits of Mustafar. He shivered--nothing, this time, to do with the cold of the desert night--unable to turn away from her gaze. Her eyes shone too bright beneath the light of the three moons.

"Is it safer for you?" she asked.

ZYGERRIA AU

My Zygerria AU is a slight rewrite of TCW's Zygerria arc. It's mostly focused on the after effects of the mission, but there's several flashbacks of Anakin's time with the Zygerrian Queen. This is a little extract from one of them:

“I will not serve you” he snarled, but even to his own ears, it sounded false, and the Queen saw through his bluster with such ease that he might as well have stayed silent. She laughed—a cruel, self-satisfied sound that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end—and with that predatory grace that made him want to fight and flee and scream with frustration at his inability to do either, prowled to his side, too close, a long-fingered hand coming to rest with deceptive gentleness at his shoulder. The armour kept him from feeling the prick of her claws, but her light grip was like a vice nonetheless.

“Your heart is not in your words,” she said, circling around him so they were face to face. He refused to meet her golden eyes, alight with something that he didn't dare put a name to. “You will stand beside me—a testament to my power.”

“I shan't—”

“Oh, you shall,” Scintel interrupted him, and her voice was full of a dark promise that made his

throat close up as surely as if the hand on his shoulder were wrapped about his windpipe in a crushing grip. “If you will not stand willingly by me, I shall have you kneel instead.”

He wanted to defy her. He wanted to spit in her face, to seize the electro-whip from her belt and pull it about her throat until her neck snapped. Anything to get that horrible, hungry, triumphant gaze away from him. Anything to keep at bay the awful encroaching horror of what was happening to him, of what could not—should not—be happening to him, not again. But he could not move, neither to bend to her whim nor to disobey her. He was frozen in place, caught fast by his own panic, like a rat snared in a trap, and in that moment, he felt just as helpless.

“Kneel, Skywalker, or I hurt your friends!”

The order was hissed low and fierce, imperious and impatient. He felt the hand on his shoulder pushing down hard, but he barely noticed. All he could think of was them. Ahsoka, the little padawan too young to be in this war, that he had sworn, when the Council had thrust the responsibility of her care onto him, that he would keep safe, away from harm. Rex, the loyal captain who had never asked to fight this war, and who deserved so much more than the loss and pain that he and his brothers had endured. Obi-Wan, the man who had been both brother and father to him for so long, who, despite their issues, he could never wish to see hurt. All three of them, so precious to him, and all three of them in deadly danger in the hands of this woman who would not hesitate to make good on her word should he displease her. Their safety could only be bought with his obedience. The thought cut clean through his paralysis, searing and bright and scorching as the saber that had once sheared clean through the flesh and bone of his right arm, and he knew that there was only one choice he could possibly make.

Like a great tree felled at its roots, Anakin crashed to his knees.

ASK ME ABOUT MY WIPS

[afewmarvelousthoughts]

Falling Ch. 7

Master List: @afewmarvelousthoughtsadmin

Pairing: Bucky X Reader [and a few more to come]

Summary: For a moment you had something good, something wonderful. But moments pass. Now, left with nothing but the ashes of a life and a love you fought so hard for, you find yourself in a free fall. Who will you be once you hit the bottom? [Sequel to Only For A Moment but can be read independently.]

Warnings: Loss, grief, drug/alcohol abuse, violence 

A/N: Hello again! So this is another shorter chapter but there is a lot happening. I think you can expect shorter chapters for the most part as we roll forward with this story (along the lines of the majority of Only For A Moment) because that’s easier for me to maintain. 

There’s also some hints here about what we can expect from our reader in the future, lmk if you have thoughts! 

TAGS ARE OPEN

“Oh for fucks sake!” Rocket yelled as your comm cut out. It was just as likely that you were dead as it was that you turned it off. 

And if you weren’t dead he was tempted to fix that little problem. 

“Nebula, do you have eyes on Trouble,” he found that was a better name for you. 

“I’m a little busy!” She yells back. 

He massages his temples as he tries to keep himself from outright screaming. 

In moments like this, he actually misses the old you. At least when you spent your days in bed, drunk, silent, moving through the ship like some sad ghost he wasn’t worried you were going to get him killed. 

He really should have appreciated those weeks of peace more. Never should have taken you to Contraxia, never should have coaxed you out of bed. What he should have done was leave well enough alone and just make sure you didn’t drink yourself into a quiet death. 

But no. He just had to get involved. 

Now, he was going to have to get out of this pod and find you. That was not the plan. He was supposed to stay in the damn pod. He was the eye in the sky. 

But no. No, you had to go and make this complicated. 

“I got it!” You say, comms coming in clear, just as he’s about to head down. 

“What the fuck do you-”

“Did I stutter?” You huff, clearly running. “I got the payload and I’m heading to the drop point and-” Rocket can make out the sound of a large weapon behind you. “I’d really appreciate you being there right about now!”

“Neb-” He begins. 

“En route,” she cuts him off. 

He brings the pod down just as you and Nebula make it on the platform, behind you both a concerning amount of muscle in hot pursuit. 

“What happened to quiet in and out?!” He screams. 

“Just open the door rat!” Nebula yells. He notes that your arms were full of more than just the case you were all being paid to retrieve. 

Between you and Nebula, he was pretty sure he was headed toward a much earlier grave. Grumbling he lays down cover fire as he lowers enough for you both to board the pod. 

“Woo!” You exclaim as Rocket coaxes the pod as fast as it can go toward the Benetar. “Not too bad.” 

“You realize you’re bleeding profusely, yes?” Nebula asks. 

Rocket glances back. He’d assumed the blood on your face was from someone else. Now he can see a deep gash splitting the right side of your face from forehead to below your cheekbone. 

“Yeah,” you sigh. “Ca’al was aiming to take my head though, so I’d say I came out better than expected.” 

“Can’t imagine why he’d want your head,” Rocket rolls his eyes as he docks the pod. 

“It’s a mystery,” you say as the hatch opens.

“Wait…” Nebula says, hovering in the pod after the two of you have disembarked. 

“Ergons take honor pretty seriously,” Rocket says. “Which is why ‘not fucking the mark’s wife’ is high on the list of things not to do when you’re trying to keep a job low key.” 

“There was a list?” You quip, turning to face them, smiling despite the wound. 

“I’m beginning to think all Terrans are like this,” Nebula says low to him. 

“Possibly.” You drop the contents in your arms, kicking a case toward Rocket. “That’s what we came for. And I’ll split the rest if someone will help with this,” you gesture to your face.

“I’m tempted to let you bleed out,” Rocket says as he opens the case. Five tubes filled with glowing viscous liquid are nestled tightly inside. 

“Gonna have to wait for a bigger wound for that,” you say as you have a seat. 

“With your track record, Trouble, I don’t think I’ll have to wait long.”

You shrug, “I’m apparently like a cockroach.”

“What does that mean?” Nebula asks as she examines the cut.

“Very hard to get rid of,” you hiss the last word. 

“Are they formidable beasts?” 

“They’re Earth vermin,” Rocket says as he takes inventory of your haul. He hated to admit that it was impressive.  Whatever your shortcomings, you were an exceptional thief--he had to respect that at least. 

“Same thing,” you say standing. “I mean, look at you.”

“Very funny,” he smiles despite himself. 

“This is likely going to scar,” Nebula says. 

You shrug, “It’ll just enhance my roguish charm.”

“And piss off the Captain,” Rocket grumbles as he locks the case you’d all been paid to retrieve into one of the storage crates. 

“So you admit I’m charming?” He throws a sideways glance at you as Nebula forces your smirking face back to her. “Ow!”

“Who said you were charming?” Rocket asks. “I just don’t want any lectures about ethics and safety from Cap.”

“Which, Cap?” 

“Either.” He inspects a container of very high-grade ammo. “How’d you know where this shit was? No way it was just out in the open.”

You peek around an exasperated Nebula once more, “There are benefits to fucking the mark’s wife.”

“Stay still!” Nebula snaps. “You’re lucky you didn’t lose the eye.”

Rocket shakes his head. Lucky may be a better nickname than Trouble. 

The way you managed to walk a razor edge, never quite tipping one way or the other was impressive. And every job you’d been in on over the last eight months ended up in a payday at least twice what they’d bargained for. Still, there was an all too familiar air of self-destruction about everything you did. Like you wanted something to tip you, slide the scales just a bit past no return. 

When he looks back he notices the slightest tremor in your right hand. 

Back on earth, he’d seen it a few times, mainly when emotions were high. No one else seemed to notice it, how each time the air rippled just a bit as some of your hold on that insane telekinetic ability of yours slipped. 

These days, more often than not, it meant you needed a drink. 

“There,” Nebula declares. “That’s the best I can do.” 

When she stepped back he could see that Nebula’s best was actually pretty good. The gash had been reduced to a raised bright pink stripe bisecting your left brow, stopping in the middle of your cheek. 

“Thanks, Nebula,” you say sincerely. A whir comes from the main cabin as a bottle flies into your open right hand. 

“So, how much we got?” You ask as you open the bottle. 

“Can probably get 4,000 credits from the ammo alone,” he holds out his hand and you pass him the bottle. No reason he can’t benefit from your vices. 

“Hear that, Nebula? At least 2k each for the ammo.”

“Excuse me?” He passes the bottle back to you. 

“Did you help fix my face?” 

“My ship. I get a cut of everything, Trouble.” 

“I only helped because I was getting half,” Nebula manages something between a grimace and a smile. 

Rocket playfully rolls his eyes, “Then you can take her half.” 

“The disrespect,” you say on a sigh. “Bleed for your crew, then they cut you out.” 

“Yeah, yeah. Such a martyr,” he says over his shoulder as he heads toward the deck. “We’ll get the best deal on Paramatar. We’ll get paid for the case then head there.” 

-

Paramatar was a bad idea. A very, very bad idea. 

The money was too good and the distractions too plentiful. Not Contraxia levels of plentiful, but what it lacked in variety it made up for in cost. Everything save for information and ammo was cheap. 

He should have kept an eye on you. Or at least asked Nebula to since she couldn’t help but stay sober. 

Yes, luck seemed to favor you more times than not. You were also heartier then most humans from what he could tell and you’d picked up on how things worked out here quickly. Still, there were substances and situations you didn’t know were better left alone. 

Or maybe you did know and chose to ignore sense. 

Who could say? Because when Nebula found you half dead after two days there wasn’t anyone around who knew what happened. 

“We should take her home,” Nebula said after the medic left with assurances that you weren’t about to die. “They can help.” 

He doubted that. Still, he knew it was the best call. Plus, he could use some peace. 

-

Warm morning sun filtered in through the window, making the few silvery strands in Bucky’s hair shine. 

He sat between your legs on the living room floor with his back against the couch. As your fingers combed through the silky mass of hair, his fingers massaged your right calf, still sore from Okoye’s brutal training the day before. 

This had become your ritual most mornings. 

Usually Bucky was the first out of bed, proving that he was far more a morning person than you’d ever manage to become. He’d start coffee, put on some music, and slip back into bed to wake you before your alarm went off. 

It was the best way to begin your day.

Once up you’d down a cup of coffee, talk about nothing, then by cup two he’d be sitting just as he was now--humming along to whatever song played while you methodically sectioned off his hair to braid it back. 

The first morning you’d done it on a whim. You frequently found your fingers tangled in those beautiful dark locks and had just happened to put it in a french braid. 

That evening he’d casually mentioned how good it was to not have his hair in the face while he worked. 

You knew he’d never actually ask. He was constantly concerned he would somehow inconvenience you or be a burden as it was. So since then you’d just begun doing it, without coaxing or preamble. 

When you finished he let out a long content sigh, leaning his cheek against your bare thigh. 

“Thank you,” he placed a kiss on your knee. 

“Of course,” you leaned over, kissing the tender flesh just behind his ear. He hummed with satisfaction, turning his head to look up at you. The morning light turned his eyes a beautiful icy grey-blue.

“I love you, doll,” he says, eyes crinkling as he smiles. 

“I love-” you hiss in a breath as pain tears through your skull. 

He doesn’t react, doesn’t move, just sits between your legs smiling… Before he turns to dust. 

You try to call his name, scream, anything but the all-consuming thrum of your power prevents you from doing anything but sit in frozen agony. 

Like an angry beast it thrashes inside your skull, zinging down your spine, until every nerve ending in your body burns with it. 

Stop, you don’t know to whom or what you’re begging but it’s all you can manage. 

The edges of your vision begin to blur, your warm Wakandan living room fading to an endless swirl of colors and shapes before shadow crept in. Those shadows swelled consuming everything leaving you in an endless, familiar, void. 

By now, this place--realm, or whatever it was that your mind saw when your perception went beyond what you were capable of comprehending--was starting to feel familiar. When you last found yourself here, after a night of too much excess, you’d thought of it as The Nothing.

This time a different thought pushes its way in from somewhere in the abyss. 

Oblivion, it whispers. 

Yes. That felt right. The perfect word for this void that seemed to exist between all things. 

Absently, you wonder if you should feel fear rather than this strange sense of peace. Even the hunger that never left you, the howling need for power the stones planted in the marrow of your bones seemed sated, as though there was power enough hidden in the darkness.

Yes, that same whisper from nowhere and everywhere replies. 

Now, the fear comes. You will yourself back, forcing your mind to grasp for existence like a drowning man reaches for the surface.  

You shoot upright, gasping for air, squinting in the bright afternoon sun. 

Sun shone bright on your face. 

This was not your dim room on the Benatar.  

And… 

“About time,” Steve says groggily from a chair in the corner. 

“How?” You croak. 

He stands, stretching, and crosses the room to fill a glass of water from the decanter by your bed. You take it gratefully, though you feel the ache for something stronger. 

“Rocket and Nebula brought you back yesterday.” 

Yesterday.

Futility, you try to piece together a series of events. 

The three of you had landed on Paramatar, offloaded the haul, split the credits, and… Things got hazy after that. 

“Apparently, you’ve been unconscious for over three days,” he sat on the edge of the bed, looking you over. “You look like shit by the way.”

“Thanks,” you say, voice still rough. “You don’t look dewey either.” His hair had grown longer, his beard thick, the circles under his eyes spoke to too many sleepless nights. 

“Shocked you remember what I look like,” he snips. 

The shot hits its mark and guilt blooms in your chest. 

It had been at least 5 months since you’d spoken to him. Once you’d managed to make it back to something closer to a human you simply couldn’t stand the reminder that speaking to him brought, that you had to come back here eventually. You’d wanted to leave everything. Forget about everything you could manage to and become someone else. 

“Sorry,” you say, unable to look at him. 

“It’s ok,” his voice sounds distant. When you look at him his gaze is in the middle distance, elbows resting on his knees. “Maybe we all need space.” 

He sighs, “Clint left. We don’t know where he is.” 

“Natasha?”

“She’s hanging on. Tried to find him but didn’t have any luck.” 

“He’ll come back around,” you said with more conviction than you felt.  

“Yeah,” he plucks a non-existent piece of lint from his sweatpants. 

“I gotta head out soon, some kind of situation brewing in Brazil. Don’t know how long it’ll be,” he runs a hand over his face. “But I assume Rocket and Nebula won’t be hanging around too much longer since you’re up.”

So they had stuck around. More guilt bubbles up. 

“And I assume you’ll be going with them.” 

It isn’t a question but you answer anyway, “Yeah.” He nods, looking down at his hands. 

The silence hangs for several pregnant minutes. 

Your palms itch to reach out to him, your heart screams at you to say something, anything. But you just sit. 

“Y/N…” his voice almost makes you jump. “On the beach when we…” He clears his throat, “You told me I could go… If I needed to.” 

Your stomach drops and with it some of your control. 

You had said that. Told Steve that if he was too tired to keep fighting in this life that he had your blessing to leave. Your only request-

“But that I couldn’t go without saying goodbye.”

“Steve,” your voice trembles. 

He looks at you then, blue eyes unfathomably sad. Without hesitation you reach out for his hand. Gratitude floods you when he doesn’t pull away. 

“The same goes for you,” beneath his words is a barely contained flood of emotions. 

“This wasn’t-” 

“Don’t,” he shakes his head. Gently he touches the new scar by your eye.

You nod. This was one thing you knew you couldn’t hide from him no matter how hard you tried. It was a game he’d played for longer than you’d been alive. Tempting fate, daring it to kill him.

“Not without goodbye,” he says in almost a whisper. 

“Not without goodbye,” you promise and, begrudgingly, you mean it. 

He gives your hand a squeeze before he stands, places a kiss on top of your head, and turns to leave. 

“Oh and, Y/N…”

“Yeah?”

“Take a shower,” he turns and winks. 

“Fuck you, Rogers,” you smile despite everything. 

“Don’t die,” he says as he walks out. 

“You too.” 

With effort you drag your aching body from the bed and make your way to the bathroom. Under the bright light you groan. 

Steve had not been wrong. You did look like shit. 

The scar Ca’al had graced you with was still bright pink and puffy. Far from roguish or charming. Your cheek bones jutted out in sharp angles, lips pale and cracked. And your hair had grown long enough that the ends had started to curl, making you look like a tired crusty mop. 

Only after a minute do you even notice your eyes. They’d become a normal feature, whites shot through with bloody lightning cracks, the tear ducts an angry shade of red. 

As you observe yourself the mirror begins to tremble. 

“Fuck,” you groan, doubling over to press your forehead to the cool bathroom counter. 

Once you feel your control tighten just enough you head straight for your bag, praying that- 

Your fingers curl around a small smooth rectangular bottle and you let out a grateful breath. Rocket must have slipped it in. The Ciegrimitian liquor was strong, a touch bitter, and reminded you of roses. It was a favorite. 

After two swallows you feel the power inside you settle. 

You stare at the slightly iridescent golden pink liquid in the bottle shifting it so it swirls and catches the light. 

Maybe it was possible that you could re-learn to control your abilities, after all, you had gotten far more proficient through training with Bucky and later in Wakanda. But that was before the stones. 

If Shuri had been right, and she usually had been, your subconscious built barriers around your ability to protect you. While you could push those barriers by honing your ability, strengthening it like any muscle through time and focus, those barriers would and should always remain. The human mind could only be expected to process so much. 

Now, if you were right, those barriers were gone. You had no idea how to begin rebuilding them. If you did you weren’t sure you had the energy to care.

Maybe in time… 

Time. Weeks. Months. Years. All without Bucky. 

You’d rather lose yourself to that Oblivion than think about the stretch of life laid out before you.

As you lift the bottle to take another drink your fist closes on nothing. A few remaining inches of the bottom of the bottle clatter to the floor, spilling the contents. 

This wasn’t new, sometimes you lost your grip and your power… unmade something. This time though- 

A cry lodges itself in your throat, threatening to choke you. 

Around the edges of the piece on the floor and swirling in your hand between the glittering specks of dust--all that remains of the top of the bottle--is a deep undulating blackness. Not shadow, not darkness, a pure absence of everything. 

Oblivion, a whisper from somewhere far away calls in your mind. 

You bolt for the bathroom, slamming the door behind you, pressing your fist to your mouth to keep from screaming. 

It feels like hours before your heart stops trying to beat through your chest and you’re able to draw a full breath. Only then do you realize that, just like in that void, you don’t feel the hunger. Only then do you realize how silent your power is. 

The woman in the mirror stares at you with eyes that are less painfully bloodshot than before, the bruise-like hollows beneath them lighter. Her cheeks seem fractionally fuller.

The changes do not feel like an improvement. They feel like abomination. 

Demon. Maybe your mother’s husband and M’Baku had been on to something there. 

In the shower you decide to bury this. It was a fluke, or maybe even a hallucination. Maybe you were still recovering from the overdose, your body reacting poorly to another substance being put into it. That was it. 

“And she lives to make trouble another day!” Rocket calls out from in front of the TV as you make your way to the kitchen in the common area. 

“Much to your chagrin,” you say, opening a cabinet. 

“Coffee is in the one on the left,” Natasha pipes up. She takes a seat at the island. “I’ll take some too,” her wan smile doesn’t reach her own tired eyes. 

You open the can of Bustelo and breathe in the rich smell. It reminds you of better times--of bodega breakfasts before you knew there was such a thing as Hydra, of slow music-filled afternoons with Bucky. Quickly you blink away the tears threatening to fall. 

It was just coffee. 

For several minutes the only sound was the burble of the coffee pot and the drone of the flatscreen. The lack of conversation didn’t feel awkward so much as tired, everyone worn down by the grief and turmoil of the last 11 months. 

When the coffee was done you poured Natasha a cup, grabbing the half and half from the fridge, remembering her preference from when you’d been on the run with the fractured Avengers. She nodded her thanks, silently fixing her cup. 

Your own black brew sent a shiver of pleasure down your spine, a hum of satisfaction slipping free. 

“I mean it’s good but I don’t know if it’s that good,” Natasha teases. 

“Haven’t had coffee since I left,” you say savoring another sip. Her brows raise at that. Honestly, the fact that you’d hardly missed it was more concerning than your increased drinking habit. 

“Maybe we should bring some,” Rocket sniffs the air. “Smells nice.” 

You meet his gaze, relief flooding you. A part of you had been afraid that you wouldn’t be welcome back on the Benatar. Honestly, you wouldn’t have blamed them if that was the case. Rocket called you Trouble for a reason after all. 

“I will try it,” Nebula announces as she takes a seat beside Natasha. 

“Alright. You?” Rocket nods. 

You pour a small amount for Nebula and use an espresso cup for Rocket. 

Nebula downs her’s in one go, face crinkling. You can’t help but laugh. 

“Bitter but palatable,” she says. 

“Just like you,” you quip. 

Nebula almost smiles, “Is there more?” 

The next few hours feel almost normal. No one talked about grief or loss. Natasha complained about the foods that were in short supply, Rocket bitched about prices on contraband being low. You told Natasha the weirder things about space, funny things, like hurling when the ship lost gravity for a few hours. Just friends catching up over coffee. 

Except it wasn’t. And, by the end, that fact had left a bitter taste in your mouth. 

By the time you got on the Benatar the next afternoon, that bitterness had fermented into rage that no amount of drink was going to cool. 

You needed to hit something. Hard.

TAGS

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[the-unaligned-player]

New World of Darkness XY Splat AU Dream SMP Most Fitting Splat.

Dream: Dethroned Grace of Heart

He existed as the effective ruler of the lands settling disputes and fostering community in his land. He then had his life, history, and belief systematically torn apart followed by his nakama turning on him. Now he is a corruptive creature of despair that only exists to spread the misery that is his life to everyone around him. Learn from the mistakes that caused him else ye be doomed to repeat it, and end his suffering for there is no kindness that can ever reach the thrice burned.

Tommy: Gangrel Carthian

A somewhat domesticated but still very feral animal that as of recently seems to genuinely be trying to be a better person. Not prone to thinking things through, still goes by his heart but said heart seems more tempered. Would still fistfight god because he exists though, as long as he never truly breaks ‘rebellion for rebellions sake’ will always be a part of him. Would like for him to continue to improve.

Punz: Torn Bonepicker

If the betrayal was true this man is a true Viceful Bonepicker. A man endlessly grabbing at the wealth in front of him despite the fact that he already had more than enough secured. Now he is claimed by that rusted iron moss. I’d feel bad for him but it doesn’t seemed to have changed him much.

Schlatt: Daeva Invictus

A unsubtle tyrant who endlessly indulged in deeper and further into vices in a desperate bid to feel alive again while hurting everyone around him with his flexes of power, one whose final death was celebrated by everyone. A perfect fit for the Tempting Tyrants. Smart enough to want to stay dead.

Wilbur: Ventrue Invictus Masquerading as a Carthian

A man who started a country in a bid for power disguised as freedom. Desperate for control and importance, once deposed he swiftly spiraled out of control losing all grip on his touchstones and required final death as it was the only kindness that could be given to one so wracked with derangement as to appear Malkovian. Dumb enough to want to come back.

Tubbo: Fairest Dawn Courtsman

A doll, played with and treasured by everyone as one does a toy. Voice silent and never heard when that vow is broken. Both inaction and action have hurt those they care about and his grasp on reality has been slipping ever since. Loves, loves so so much but the love returned always leaves him feeling hollow and used when alone so he clings to anyone who will. A self perpetuating behavior but such is the pattern taught by the addicting Durances of The Fairest. Still, that earnest belief that things can get better can always bring a smile to the faces of those willing to listen.

Ranboo: Hollow Mekhet Ordo Dracul (VII?)

A supernatural creature of shadow with a part of himself that may be working for the antagonist, desperate to understand his condition and overcome it? It’s like this Splat was made for him. :)

The Unaligned Player: Dethroned Seeker of Diamonds

I desire to understand the world around me and it’s inhabitants, a desire born from the wish to spread knowledge to other that they may make fully informed decisions. As for the Dethroned part, ~I have crippling depression~, am innately evil, and have utterly wrecked my emotions in the process of staying sane and alive so despair, hate, fear, and general suffering have just become a part of me leaving me with an even more alien perspective than I should possess. If you end my suffering and there’s an afterwards I’ll thank you but I’ll fight you because I haven’t done enough for murder to be the solution yet.

Technoblade: Avenger (Unusually stable)

A man of rage and vengeance, laser focused on tyranny as the subject of his ire. He does not forgive, he does not forget, his hatred does not cease. Even after the sun has burned out there he will stand, cremating and destroying all tyranny he can find. Despite all of this, he is no monster, no beast to be murdered and corpse to be mounted or harvested. He is a man, empowered only by his devotion such that one could mistake him for a paladin and not be inaccurate.

Karl: Acanthus Guardian with a Minor in Scelesti

The man who travels through the thornbush of time, losing bits and pieces of himself along the way. He accepts the price and accepts the burden, knowing that every step he takes through the hedges could be his last, that every decision he makes has consequences far beyond him. The sights he beholds and the things he does are burned into his soul, but if it keeps everyone else alive, he’ll gladly give up all that makes him him.

Captain Puffy: Yuri’s Group

A mortal woman that makes the attempt to take care of and protect the souls of beings far greater than her. Doubles duty as one who actively attempts to prevent those that would hurt her charges from doing so. Maternal and caring, with the appropriate amount of badassery required to live in a World of Darkness with her chosen profession, I’d think of no better splat for the therapist knight than as a Hunter of Yuri’s Group.

Quackity: Mastigos Hegemon with a minor in Scelesti.

A man of words with no true bones for the physical matters in backing up his talk. Always vying for some semblance of power, making grandiose yet simultaneously dull plans and schemes that inevitably bite him in the ass. Standing for nothing but himself he does his best to make others stand below him, always clinging to hierarchy for protection and influence and inevitably dividing his faction into rats snapping at eachother and crabs keeping eachother trapped in a bucket. Poor Starscream, always a joke, always dissatisfied.

Ranbob: Obrimos Paternoster with a major in Scelesti

A lass who looked upon the quartz mask of our favorite despairing blob, and saw God. Fueled by their quiet zealotry, this humble bookkeeper saw fit to burn away the world that reviled them for their faith. Death to all who come to their temple of worship, for none would accept the one who worships the God who is as a Devil.

Awesamdude: Talassii Nemeses

A icon of fear that promotes the fear and suffering of their victim brought about by binding entrapment and confinement in response to transgression. An Iron Maiden, a burning cross, the c4 strapped to your chest, and a bear trap. The embodiment of Law as Punishment and the man who will bring the hammer down if you make a mockery of his domain.

Sapnap: Hero

The glory seeker, the tragedy, the Hero of their story. Desperate for a sense of some importance they turned to a universal icon of praise: Slaying monsters. Setting themselves up as the tragic hero who must put down their wayward friend, they make a mockery of history and hype themselves up far too much for how important they are. Claiming possession and protagonism of a story that was never truly theirs, no happy ending awaits them in the end. A fitting fate for a Hero.

[lurafita]

SIM Tony / Peter, part three

Read part one here

Read part two here

Tumblr is fucking with me right now. I’m not getting notifications from some of my posts. I hope this won’t happen with this one as well.

This chapter is a little different. It will likely seem a little confusing and kind of all over the place. I assure you, this is not because I wrote it while being drunk. :-)

The chapter is supposed be reflect on Peter mental and emotional state after rejecting Tony, and right now, Peter isn’t in a good place. There is a lot of self-loathing, as well as self-destructive behaviour.

As always, this wasn’t beta read, I’m not a nativ english speaker, and there might be mistakes or typos in this. Please point any you may find out to me, so I can correct them.

SIM!Tony/Peter

Part 3

24 muggings, 18 instances of battery, 11 cases of domestic violence, 7 attempted rapes, 5 house fires, 3 attempted kidnappings.

It had been a busy 6 days for Spiderman.

6 days since Peter had fled from the man he loved. The man who returned those feelings. The man who wanted to spend his life with him.

And Peter had run.

Like a coward.

6 days of almost non-stop heroism. 6 days of being Spiderman. 6 days of being someone who caught the bad guys, who protected the defenseless, who saved people!

It was such a fucking farce.

6 days of trying desperately to not be Peter Parker. Because Peter Parker was a fucking mess. Because Peter Parker couldn't deal with his fucking feelings and his fucking paranoia and his fucking life. Because Peter Parker was so scared that he was gonna lose someone else he loved, that he kept running away from them.

Just as he had done with Tony.

Aunt May had been easier.

He had moved into student housing together with Harry (before his then best friend had become a mutated, homicidal maniac), when he had started college. Slowly reducing their time together during his time as a student. First cutting down on the weekends he would visit her, then encouraging to go for that job she wanted (which included better working conditions and pay, but was based in California.)

Helping her move, promising to call often (which he did) and visit as much as he could (which he didn't).

He missed her every day, but at least she was safe. Safe from being collateral damage in Peter Parker's fucked up life.

Like Gwen, and MJ, and Harry, and Eddie.

Like Dr. Conners and Dr. Octaviuos and Captain Stacey.

Like uncle Ben.

And Peter should have fucking learned from all of this. He should have known to keep away from people. Keep his distance. Keep them safe.

But no.

No.

Because Peter was a selfish little prick and he just had to make friends, right?

Turning away from the people in his civilian life, had led him to forge deeper connections with the people in his hero life.

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

Spiderman and the Avengers had worked together a lot over the years. As had Spiderman and the Defenders.

And Peter just had to let himself grow attached, hadn't he?

Just had to insert himself into the two groups more an more. Talk them into team outings and movie nights and shared patrols.

Take off his mask and entrust them with his secret identity.

Endanger them.

And then take things even further and fall in love!

Selfish fucking moron!

But Tony was... he was just... everything.

Funny and smart and handsome and brave and sarcastic and kind.

Narcissistic and confident and charming and sexy.

But also shy, unsure and insecure.

Tony had his vices, and his flaws. Just like everyone else did. But Peter had fallen for the man anyway. He had fallen fast, hard, and completely in love with Anthony Edward Stark, Iron Man.

And for some crazy, ludicrous, abnormal reason, Tony returned those feelings.

Tony Stark, the man who could have anyone, wanted Peter Parker.

Selfish, cowardly, broken Peter Parker.

And how had Peter reacted to that?

By pretty much throwing Tony's love on the floor and trampling all over it on his way out the door.

Running away.

Coward!

6 days since he had last spoken to the genius. 6 days since he had even seen the man. 6 days of hiding behind his mask and swinging around in his suit and obsessively looking for anyone who might need his help.

As if it could balance out all the lives he had destroyed. As if it could erase the pain he had caused Tony.

6 days of running away from life as Peter Parker.

He had barely slept and hardly eaten anything. (He only took care to keep himself well hydrated. Though most of what he drank was some form of liquid caffeine, to keep himself awake)

Hadn't bothered to take care of the various injuries he had acquired.

The other heroes he came across were getting worried.

First Matt after Peter had been out as Spiderman for a full 18 hours, and just yesterday Steve. They had taken him aside, told him to go home. Rest up and take a break.

They shouldn't bother.

He deserved this.

The exhaustion and the hunger and the pain.

He deserved it all for being a fucking, useless mess who always ended up hurting the people he loved.

His knuckles were stinging and bloody as he drove his fist into the brick wall once more. His healing factor stretched thin after almost a week without proper rest and nourishment.

Good. This is your punishment. You deserve this.

He had no time for self-pity (he didn't deserve any, anyway)

It had been all over the news. A sudden power failure at the raft. Security systems crashing. Suspected cyber attack.

Two of the prisoners had escaped. Conners and Octavious. The Lizard and Doc Ock.

And as if that wasn't enough, Peter had overheard Steve on the phone with the director of Shield (after the good Captain had unsuccessfully tried to convince Spidey to take a break).

Venom was gone from the containment unit.

Three of his worst enemies were on the loose.

He had doubled his efforts since he had heard of it. No quick pit stops in his apartment. No short rests on the rooftops. Peter hadn't slept at all in the last 64 hours.

He still hadn't found them. No one had found them.

Eddie Brock was under 24 hour observation to make sure the symbiote couldn't attach itself to it's preferred host. (Another life that Peter had destroyed. Due to his bond with Venom, Eddie had been reduced to little more than the likes of a junkie. In a constant state of withdrawal, driven mad by his need for reunion with the alien. He would probably have to live out the rest of his life in the mental institution he currently resided in)

All your fault!

The Avengers and the Defenders likewise had been spotted all over New York, trying to find and recapture the escaped villains before they could cause any damage. They constantly tried to flag Spidey down, get him somewhere safe, or at least make him stay close to them. Everyone know that Conners, Octavious and Venom would be out for Peter's blood.

(The only one Peter hadn't seen since the news broke out was Iron Man, and he didn't know what to think about that)

Maybe he doesn't care about you anymore. Good! He shouldn't! They are your villains and therefore your problem! The other heroes shouldn't have to clean up your mess!

6 days since he had last been at work.

He was probably fired. He didn't care. He could hardly think straight.

He was exhausted and starving and in pain.

You deserve this.

Three of his most dangerous enemies were somewhere in the city, planning who knows what, and every hero in New York had to waste their time and energy looking for them.

All your fault! Always such a burden on everyone.

Tony probably hated him.

He should! He deserves so much better than you!

He was on his last two cartridges of webfluid, having depleted his whole supply swinging through the city, looking for any trace of the Lizard and Ock. He should go back. Make more webfluid. He would need it in the fight against the two villains. (Three, if Venom got a hold of Eddie.)

Peter needed to be prepared for this. But he couldn't stop now. He had to find and apprehend them, before they could hurt anyone! He couldn't stop, couldn't take a break.

You don't deserve a break.

He had to keep going.

He was so exhausted.

He still hadn't found them.

Everything hurt.

Where could they be?

Tony hated him.

You deserve this.

You deserve this.

You deserve this!

Danger!!!

His spidey-sense screamed and he veered left in his swing at the very last second, narrowly avoiding his former best friend on his deadly glider.

How could Peter have forgotten about Harry, The Green Goblin?

__________________________________________________________

to be continued. As always, people who comment on any part, are automatically added to the tag list. If you don’t want to be tagged, but still want to comment, just write ‘no tag, please’, or contact me via messaging. If I have forgotten to tag someone, please tell me so that I can update my list.

Tagging:

@kittycake574 @sthefystarkersworld @starkerparkerpony @momobaby227 @tsxpp @deliciousflapbanditfarm @gay-gym-rats @unicornpower5301 @bbalienbae @valiantthewriter

[afteriwake]

The Paths We Take, Glittering And Entwined (1/? - A “The Paths We Take, Glittering And Entwined” Story)

So this is going to be the start of a series with the same name because I love this title, but basically, this is going to set up for an AU Star Trek 2009. Spock is a Captain, Kirk is an Ensign who will end up the First Officer, and they’re soulmates. Fair warning: in this story, Kirk is addicted to a drug that kills any human attempting to go through withdrawal, but that’s something most humans don’t know. Spock is going to save his life and this is the only story where he’ll be an addict, but it is a prominent theme in this particular story. I hope @greenskyoverme will forgive me because apparently I had chapter 2 and 3 both finished and could have posted them last year. ::sheepish look:: Sorry!

The Paths We Take, Glittering And Entwined - Before the new ship the USS Enterprise is set to take its maiden voyage, it's new captain, Captain Spock, attempts to meet some of his crew on their "home turf." What he and Ensign James Kirk do not expect, however, is the rare connection that makes Kirk Spock's bonded t'hy'la. But Kirk is hiding a secret that is slowly killing him, and this unexpected connection leaves them both with problems: for Spock, it is how to remain unattached in the face of a personal crisis and for Kirk, it is how to remain alive with the secret he is keeping from both his captain and his best friend.

READ CHAPTER 1 | SERIES PAGE | HELP ME SURVIVE? | COMMISSION ME? | BUY ME A KOFI? | MY PATREON

“Stardate 2258.66. This is Captain Spock of the Starship Farragut. We are returning to port in San Francisco after a three-year voyage exploring the farthest reaches of the known galaxy. Starfleet Command has said that it is their wish to decommission this ship and reassign the crew to new ships in the fleet, and I will be given captainship of the newest ship in the fleet, the USS Enterprise. I am...unsure...how I feel about this situation. I must ponder it some more.”

Spock turned off the recording mechanism on which he did his logs and then looked at the place which he had called home for the last three years. Home was an unfamiliar concept to him; Vulcan was not home, and neither was earth. He was a child of two cultures, two planets, and as such fit wholly into neither. He had essentially turned his back on Vulcan by choosing to go to Starfleet Academy and had, within five years, become the youngest Captain on record, surprising absolutely no one, it had seemed. His mother had been pleased. His father, he had not been sure about.

He would rather have not told them, he thought, but it was proper. It was, he supposed, an honor to have the youngest Captain in history as your son, but then, Starfleet was not too aware of Vulcan culture, and only one-half of his family was human.

He had always done his work with due diligence. He knew he was not everyone’s favorite captain, but he had no need to be. What he cared most about was doing his job, and doing it within the rules set forth by the Prime Directive. He cared about keeping his crew safe. He cared about keeping his ship in one piece.

And he cared about his duties above all else, it seemed, even himself.

He had bonded with no one on his crew, and as such he would not be sorry to see any of them leave his command. Perhaps it would be best if he had an entirely new crew. Perhaps he could study in depth the last three years and see where improvements could be made. Learn and improve. That was always his way.

He reached over for the paper logs he also kept. While technology was a marvelous thing, he did not entirely trust it. There was some comfort to pen and paper. For three years he had dutifully recorded is thoughts, some of which had not made official logs, and he went to the ones which were the earliest from this voyage. There was some time until they arrived in San Francisco and he would have to supervise the deboarding. He could begin his process of revisiting the past and improving upon it.

---

“Bones, did you see? We both made the Enterprise crew!” James Kirk was nearly bouncing up and down with giddiness. Well, maybe not giddiness. It could be the aftereffect of his last bump of KCW. He usually felt pretty upbeat after he had some, and generally pretty shitty when he hadn’t. If it hadn’t been for that wonder drug he swore he never would have managed to make it through the Academy, not while trying to balance a social life and other responsibilities on top of it.

He’d tried for years to make his mom proud. For years to show her he wasn’t a screw-up, wasn’t a mistake. His dad had died when he was a baby, his brother had high-tailed it out of there when he was old enough to survive on his own, his uncle...well, the less said about him the better. And while his mom had gone off and traveled the stars Jim had stayed in Iowa and tried to just survive and be good for as long as he could, but eventually, he’d said to hell with it. And he’d made mistakes. Made more than he could remember until he’d been given the choice: jail or Starfleet.

It had only been because someone liked him he met Bones his first day. Leonard McCoy was no stranger to a crap life, and they’d bonded. Bones was more or less a straight arrow, though he had his vices, and he tried to guide Jim as best he could, with some moderate success. They’d made it through the Academy just in time to get placed on the newly commissioned Enterprise, under a returning Captain from one of the ships that was being decommissioned. He’d heard about the Captain, Spock. Supposed to be a tight-ass but fair. You didn’t mess around with him but he’d make sure you were okay.

Could be worse, he supposed.

Bones rolled his eyes. “Look, Jim, we gotta talk.” He grabbed Kirk’s arm mid bounce and pulled him to a shady grove of trees in the quad, looking around to make sure no one was nearby, and then pushed Kirk to something resembling a sitting position. “Just because that crank you take doesn’t show up on piss tests doesn’t mean I’m going to cover for you forever if you’re still taking it when this mission starts.”

“I can stop anytime I want,” Kirk said, with an indulgent shrug, but his fingers started tapping nervously against his leg. The very idea of quitting was just not appealing in the slightest, even though he knew this mission was five years in deep space and he had no idea if there was any way he could take that much KCW aboard or if he could get more once they left Federation space. The very thought of it all was making the euphoria of his hit ebb away like the water draining out of a tub.

“That’s bull and you know it,” Bones said, starting to pace. “You’ve been on this crap since day 1 when I met you. Do you even eat anymore? I mean really eat? I can’t think of the last time I saw you eat an actual meal of real food. And don’t think you’re going to have unlimited supplies of water like you do now, or get to take a bathroom break anytime you need. It’s not going to be like the Academy.” He shook his head. “I should rat you out. You know I should.”

“Don’t!” Kirk said, scrambling to his feet. “You know I need to go on this mission. I need to go out into space.” He reached over and put his hands on Bones’s shoulders. “You know it’s important.”

Bones stared into the eyes of his friend. “You need to get help, Jim,” he said, his voice soft but insistent. “You don’t kick this habit by the time the mission starts, I will tell the Captain. Got it?”

Kirk nodded, willing to agree to anything to get on that damn ship. “Fine. I’ll do it. Okay?” He could. He really could. He could kick the habit. He hadto, now. Bones wasn’t the type to make idle threats.

He just hoped it didn’t kill him in the process.

[hitchell-mope]

Mcu high school au featuring:

Scarlet America, pepperony, brutasha, iron dad and science sons, a bit of spideychelle a bit of parksborn, some Bucky/Pietro some Steve Sam some thorbruce and Loki being the shit that he is

So

Tony pepper pepperony Steve and Bucky. Well. Steve was adopted by Bucky’s parents after his parents died and then after their dad died their mother married Howard stark and they got Tony for a stepbrother. Poor Tony is very small so yeah Bucky is “that” brother who takes advantage of the height difference between him and tony. But never Steve no Steve’s his baby brother. Then Steve had a major growth spurt the summer before their senior year so Bucky tries to get to join in but Steve’s a good boy who would never make fun of Tony for his height. At least not on purpose. Tony met pepper after freshman year and they’ve been together ever since. Even when her dad becomes Howard’s EA. Steve is pretty obviously Howard’s favourite son. So when Steve asked if he could try out for cheerleading practice who was Howard to say no. It help that Bucky’s the school quarterback and if anyone one messes with Steve they have to answer to Bucky. Cause Steve’s the commitment type he doesn’t quit after puberty hit him like a truck. The only concession is that now he’s the pyramid base

Iron Dad and spider sons. Pepper convinces tony to sign up with the big brothers program at the school. He is called f course reluctant but does it anyway and before he knows it he got to scarily smart freshmen attached to his hip. Parker’s genuinely interested but Harley’s more of his own person and likes to prank people for which he turns to Loki. Literally nobody questions it when Tony gets to school and two tiny little freshmen are in the car with him and pepper. And if they do Steve just gives them the “I’m disappointed” look. It’s Bucky who’ll probably beat them up. Parker has a shall we say very “transparent” crush on Thor. Not helped in the least by this helping him with gym class (the ball sports are where he fails. Gymnastics is more his forte). And Thor’s basically a giant cuddly toy so trying to pick things to hate about him doesn’t work. Apart for one thing.

Brutasha scarlet America thorbruce. Natasha and the maximoff’s were adopted by the Barton’s. Pietro and Wanda are war orphans. Natasha’s mother betrayed the Russian mob. For which she was gunned down. Clint’s parents adopted them and their brother is very protective of them. Wanda is a bit of a goth. Pietro is on the track team. Natasha is the captain of the schools gymnastics team. Seconded only by Parker. Now Thor has people literally throwing themselves at him (Parker included) but the human golden retriever has his own highly transparent crush. Bruce. Banner. Nobody knows why. Nobody else knows why Natasha is dating Bruce. It’s next to know secret that the whole school thinks that Natasha and Thor should be together after all they’re “the jocks”. And Bruce is co captain of the science club (the other being Tony but of course no one makes fun of Tony because his daddy’s rich and his stepbrothers though younger are significantly taller than him and most of the student body. Steve is a sunshine boy and as mentioned Wanda is a bit of a goth. Not like death will be sweet release goth but like dresses in dark colours (red and black mostly) and has a more then healthy interest in magic. Nobody messes with her though. Her brothers and her sister make sure of it. But still bit of a shock when Steve Rogers-Barnes-Stark starts dating Wanda Maximoff-Romanov-Barton. After her mother died Natasha was sent to a mob owned orphanage (the same mob that killed her mother) so you can imagine how well that went for her. Bruce has a split personality that’s he’s terrified of manifesting itself as all his insecurities and failures that his rat bastard of a father revels in pointing out. Natasha has unresolved issues from the orphanage. It’s not pretty and neither of their problems have gotten better just because their in a relationship.

Spideychelle Sam/Steve Bucky/Pietro and parksborn. Harry’s a new student almost as rich as Howard and his family. He British and a bit moody and constantly tries to downplay his status. Michelle is also a new student and does not like it there. Neither of them do. Until they meet Parker. Who, like Steve is a sunshine boy. He’s actually a little like a more awkward version of Thor (if that’s even possible). So now the chain of crushes on the oblivious are: Michelle and Harry crushing on Peter. Peter crushing on Thor. Thor crushing on Bruce. Who is with Natasha. Harry’s the desperate one. Michelle is relatively more reined in. Mostly. And Harley and Loki in the background just laughing their devious heads off at the ridiculousness of it all. Sam is Steve’s best friend and much more of a Michelle then a Parker. Yes he’s got a crush on Steve. But he gets along my well enough with Wanda. Pietro would warm him off except he and Bucky have started spending a lot of time together.

Oh and there’s a rumour going around that Loki wormed his way into the will of this old eccentric nobody knows how or if it’s true or not. And frankly everybody’s too afraid to ask. Loki does nothing to prove or disprove the rumours.

Principal Thaddeus Ross. Is. A. Fckwit. He has an unfounded hatred of Bruce and Thor. Nobody likes Ross. Though everyone like the eyepatch wearing vice principal Nicholas Fury and his secretary miss Hill well enough. Ross yells when he thinks they’ve embarrassed him by being themselves. Fury yells when they’ve put themselves in unneeded danger. And Ross is a bit of a bigot. Oh he’s settled himself into the queen Osborn’s and the Stark’s back-pocket but he makes it abundantly clear to Peter and Michelle that if they weren’t affiliated with harry and Tony he’d kick them out of the school (Parker is bi. Michelle is black. Work it out). For the life of him he can’t figure out why Steve who’s built like a brick shit house stays on the cheerleading team. The one reason he can think of is the reason Fury punches him out for.

Then there’s a car crash and he dies instantly. And Fury is principal

There’s an urban legend of some kid called PJ Quill getting abducted by aliens in the 1980’s. Well that’s what half the people who are asked say. The other half say that his mother developed a brain tumour died and his father went postal. Most would prefer to believe the former.

[izumitate]

moonbound

kurodai week day 3: partners in crime

A space opera AU! Featuring scrappy Nekoma pirates, a decade long enemy-ship, and Daichi’s readiness to fight everybody in the galaxy. Content warning: contains mentions of violence and bodily harm.

Kuroo can feel his knuckles blanching white as he clutches at the armrest of Shibayama’s seat. His navigator is leaned so forward he looks like he might pitch right into the console at any moment, but Kuroo doesn’t want to disturb him while he’s calculating their best escape route with only his eyes, seconds before they need to make a decision. Ahead, the towering spires of Kamomedai’s financial sector stand jagged and crystalline, and will come away barely untouched when their ship finally collides with one of the armored glass walls and shatters into space debris.

“Lev, pull up! Pull up!” Kuroo hisses when he can’t take it anymore, but his pilot just laughs.

“It’s fine, captain! Not until Shibayama says so.” He turns them effortlessly around the next ‘spherescraper but continues his low course, skimming the skyline.

The only thing on their tail right now is the persistent first cruiser that caught them speeding out of the slums, but Kuroo knows from the klaxons sounding outside that it’s only a matter of minutes before an entire police battalion takes after them.

“Okay,” Shibayama finally says, pointing at the next monstrous crystal obtrusion on their right. The magnitude of its size is a step up from the others; must be a central bank for the planetside elite. “Lev, put on a burst of speed to get to the other side of that bank, and once you’re there, ascend as fast as possible. There’s a ton of floating condos up by the stratosphere, but you can handle it, right?”

“Of course I can!” Lev punches the accelerator and they shift violently forward, careening around and out of sight of their pursuer. He does exactly as Shibayama says, taking them almost vertical as he slams their ship up, up, up as fast as this engine can take them – which reminds Kuroo that they need to get a patch job done as soon as they’re back in the rogue quadrant – even as the sound of patrollers gathers behind them.

But Shibayama is right, as usual, and when Lev takes them into the overladen golden clusters of the floating apartments that only the richest can afford, their tiny ship flows through the maze of arches and gardens with ease, Lev’s skills weaving them without trouble out of the tangled airpark. They take the chance to finally put on the thrusters and break out of Kamomedai’s orbit while the police are mired in the gilded complex below.

Once free, Lev gives the rest of them a brief warning before putting on speed, so they’ll be well on their way to another star system by the time the police leave the planet. That, combined with the best cloaking system that underworld credits can buy, should keep them safe long enough to make it back to home base.

“We’re free and clear, team,” Kuroo calls to those below deck. By now Akane and Kai should’ve gotten Inuoka’s scrape taken care of; it was a minor injury, which means they don’t have to bother stopping by any outpost on their way back. “Headed home.”

“Sounds good, captain!” comes Akane’s voice echoing against the steel walls before she begins scolding Inuoka for getting up too quickly. Yaku’s voice joins the din and soon the whole ship is clattering with noise again, just the way Kuroo expects it to be.

Outside, the barren expanse of space between here and the safe haven of the unbound territories is comforting, as is the quiet. Nothing but stars to light their way back.

--

Nekoma calls the ramshackle colony of Spring Heights their home, though during most cycles their ship is home enough for the crew. Spring Heights is the most ironically named planetoid on this side of Andromeda, and it’s a hub of underworld activity. Kuroo rarely takes a job before first running it by his information network planetside, because who knows what kind of nonsense you could get embroiled in alone with some unknown party in the outer reaches. This is a lesson he learned long before he had his own people, when he was still a kid running jobs for some two-bit privateers who’d survived on luck instead of smarts. A broken leg, a crater canyon, and three gunfights later, Kuroo had realized he wasn’t working with anyone he hadn’t chosen himself anymore.

Nekoma is the team he built from the ground up with Kenma, who is the only thing more constant in Kuroo’s life than the call of the endless dark, the cosmic dust in his veins. He trusts them with everything, and it’s part of the reason why he never decides alone whether to take on a new job. This time around, he gets word from Johzenji that there’s a job specifically requesting to employ Nekoma; it comes down from Misaki, so Kuroo’s tempted to take it just on principle, but that’s the kind of messy thinking that gets people shipjacked even if she’s one of the most reliable info brokers he knows.

He agrees to meet the client out at Sumida Outpost, located on the outskirts of snake country because he knows that even though Daishou hates his guts, and even though he’s a dirty, thieving bastard, his territories are always well-defended and nominally hospitable toward others of their profession.

As usual, most of the crew stays behind under Kai’s command, busy with everyday tasks like sprucing up the ship and fencing their goods. Kuroo takes their secondary ship with Kenma, Yaku and Yamamoto, and they head off for the grungy, scorpion-ridden tavern Yaku favors at Sumida.

Even before they land Kuroo gets a weird feeling in the pit of his stomach, but it’s different from his flight instinct. There’s a spark of danger in the air, though he could also write that off as the dissatisfied static that always buzzes around dry, end of the road towns like this.

The tavern is dimly lit as always, and filled with the sounds of cards shuffling and deals being made. The smell of tobacco and ale and burnt meat hang heavy in the air, and it’s difficult to see through the veil of smog as they make their way toward their usual corner table next to the blown out window. The person seated there is staring out at the dunes that stretch on and on in gray and tan bands to the horizon. Kuroo can’t make out any details of their client’s face until he’s close enough to touch.

“Hello, captain. It’s been a while,” says the calm, terrifying voice of Imperial Vice Admiral Sawamura Daichi a split second before the air clears and Kuroo can make out more than his silhouette shrouded in tavern smoke. It doesn’t speak well to Kuroo’s preservation instincts that his first thought is damn, just as hot as I remembered and not danger!!

“Shit,” Yaku curses, hand jumping to his gun faster than Kuroo can say a word. At least one of them is still on it. Yamamoto shifts immediately in front of Kenma, fully prepared to shield him from any harm with his own body. But even though Kuroo’s body is reflexively poised to spring away, his heart remains steady. The Imperial Navy might be the scum on the bottom of a comet hopper’s shoe, but he’s known Sawamura for over a decacycle now, and he knows that the man would never initiate an attack against one of Kuroo’s subordinates unless he had made certain to kill Kuroo first. There’s a degree of integrity in him that most Imperial officers don’t possess.

Sawamura makes no move to stand or draw to fire; instead, he raises his hands in a gesture of surrender. Around them, activity in the tavern continues, no one disturbed by this turn of events the way Nekoma is, which Kuroo supposes either speaks well for the situation, or it means everyone in the building is going to die. Even out here in the boondocks, the name and face of one of New Miyagi’s best military commanders is known and feared, so why isn’t anyone else surprised to see him?

“If it helps put your mind at ease, Yaku-san, I came unarmed. You can check if you want.” And he looks down at his waist, folding his hands casually atop his head. Yaku wastes no time flipping open Sawamura’s coat and patting him down.

“He’s not lying,” Yaku says, but one hand remains at his holster and his eyes never leave Sawamura even as he backs away. “But I don’t trust him yet.”

“That’s fair. But I didn’t call you out here to hunt you down,” Sawamura tells him. He gestures at the bench on the other side of the table. “Please, make yourselves comfortable. I actually really do have a job for you.” No one moves.

“Forgive me if I find that a little unbelievable, vice admiral. Seeing as the last time we met you gave me a good bonk on the head for my troubles, and strafed most of the left side of my ship right off,” Kuroo says mildly. His eyes flick down to watch the way Sawamura’s mouth twitches into a quick smile before he tries to look neutral again.

“If I remember correctly, you gave me a nice parting gift too, Kuroo-san.” He reaches up to tug aside the right sleeve of his dusty tunic (and isn’t that a look, Sawamura Daichi out of that crisp uniform and dressed like a meteor rat like the rest of them) and bares the long sword burn Kuroo left him with two cycles ago, back on one of Tsubakihara’s lesser moons.

“It looks good on you?” Kuroo tries to sound remorseful, but it had been one hell of a fight that he probably would’ve been laughing his way through if his crew hadn’t been scrambling all over the deck, desperately putting up patch shields where they could. Even now he can remember with perfect clarity the taste of adrenaline and dust against his clenched teeth as he finally knocked Sawamura off the roof of their ship to be bubbled back to his own fleet. Crazy bastard hadn't let up on Kuroo for a second, even if it meant almost getting fried by one of his own ships’ artillery. Then again, Kuroo has no room to speak. He’d almost dragged them both down into a death marsh during a knife fight once. “Rugged. Everyone digs a good scar.”

“Yeah, my whole unit wolf-whistles every time I walk by,” Sawamura says with a roll of his eyes.

“Well, can you blame them? You’re too handsome to be wasted in your line of work. Come take a walk on the wild side. We’re prettier and we have more fun.”

Sawamura laughs when Kuroo winks at him. “I suppose one of those statements is true.”

Just like that they’re bantering again, the way they always do before one of them inevitably draws a weapon. Kuroo can sense Kenma’s sigh long before he hears it.

“What kind of job could you have for people like us?” Kenma asks, sliding back into view, even though Yamamoto still has an arm held protectively out in front of him. He watches Sawamura with what looks like a disinterested face, but Kuroo knows better. He’s intrigued, albeit still on his guard.

“Honestly, ‘people like you’ are the only ones I would trust with this. I need a certain skill set – one that Nekoma’s proven to excel at – and I need a group of people I can...I don’t know if trust is the right word, but let’s go with it for now.” Sawamura sits forward looking briefly at each of them in turn. “I know we have a long, volatile history, but it’s also exactly why I think you guys are the people I need to hire for this job. Because I know what your boundaries are, and I know I can count on you not to fuck me over where it counts.”

He looks directly at Kuroo when he says this, and there’s a plain honesty in his eyes that leads Kuroo to finally take a seat across from him, elbows up on the sticky tabletop.

“Alright, that’s enough buttering up. I’ll hear you out. What’s the job?”

“I need to get into Datekou. And I need your help to do it.”

He’s met with silence.

Probably because what he just proposed is beyond insane. The others must feel as shocked as Kuroo does, and it seems for a second that even the rest of the tavern conversation lulls when the name Datekou is spoken aloud. It’s a cursed shroud that settles over their table, instantly dampening the already tense mood.

“Wait- wait a second,” Yamamoto sputters first. “Are you telling me you want to hire us for a jailbreak? From the Iron Wall?”

“Yep. That is exactly what I want.”

“This is a setup,” Yaku announces. “You’re goading is into accepting your highly illegal mission then busting us once we get there. Now, what I’m confused about is why you didn’t pick something that wasn’t a blatant suicide mission.”

“That’s another fair assumption, but I give you my word that I’m completely serious. I didn’t come here to entrap you.” Sawamura flexes one hand, clenching and unclenching in an exercise of control, clearly trying to suppress some emotion as he keeps his voice even. His eyes are incandescent as he continues.

“They have four of my crew locked up in there, and I want them back.”

“Your crew? On what grounds? The Karasuno’s an Imperial ship,” Kuroo says in confusion. Not that the empire’s navy is in any way a stronghold of morality, but for government dogs, the crew of the Karasuno are better than most. Honorable where honor still counts. He can’t imagine they’d have done anything worth being court martialed for.

Sawamura’s laugh is pure bitterness. “The Karasuno was an Imperial ship. Now it’s being junked for scrap. Those of my crew that the court couldn’t frame for treason they reassigned to the outer rim fleet. The cloud skimmers. Ougiminami, Kakugawa. Chidoriyama. They scattered my team, my family, across the stars, and they locked up the rest behind the Iron Wall. I’m taking them back.”

Kuroo swallows down the parched itchiness in his throat at this news. It’s not like Nekoma could ever be friends with a naval crew, but there had always been a kind of mutual respect between themselves and the Karasuno, and this is nothing he ever would have wished on them.

“Well, shit, Sa’amura-san, what the fuck did you do to get your entire ship obliterated?”

“You know me,” Sawamura says, his smile vicious. “Stayed a little too honest. Didn’t look the other way when they insisted. I kept on pushing, kept on playing even after I should have folded.”

“But you never fold,” Kuroo says ruefully.

“No, I don’t,” and it might be the only time he’ll ever sound like he regrets it. “And I still don’t plan to.”

It’s not just simple posturing. After enough encounters, there are a few things Kuroo would say he and Sawamura can tell about each other. One fact is that they share the same tenacity, for better or worse.

This asshole really means it: he would walk right up to the Iron Wall armed with only his black market gun and military issue sword and it would still be Datekou’s mistake for standing in his way. But all logic says that despite Sawamura’s damnable perseverance, he’s dead if he tries whatever idiotic plan he’s come here to talk Nekoma into.

“That’s your prerogative, and I don’t expect any less of you, really, but. Fuck, Sawamura, you know we’re fucked if we take this on, don’t you? Everyone knows that Nekoma’s the best at infiltration that there is, but we’re thieves, not soldiers. We move cargo, not people. And we don’t take a job like this no matter how lucrative. I’m sorry, but I don’t think we can do this.”

Sawamura nods once, understanding. Then he sighs, sounding truly regretful.

“I was hoping that I wouldn’t have to do this, but I think I’m going to have to call in that favor.”

Yamamoto sucks in a harsh breath, and the others fall still. Kenma’s hand twitches at his side, resisting the urge to reach out to Kuroo’s arm. Kuroo himself just rests his hands together on the table and bites his lip once before nodding as well. He might have figured.

Out here, in the lawless territories, on the husk planets fit only for rogues and mercenaries, a life saved is a life owed. And Kuroo knew that when Sawamura inevitably cashed in on that favor he wouldn’t take it lightly, even if he wouldn’t demand outright that Kuroo sacrifice his life for him.

“You know that only promises my service, not that of Nekoma, correct?” Next to him, Kuroo can feel his crewmates tensing, but they all know better to say anything. They know they can’t talk him out of this one.

Sawamura brought Kuroo back from death’s edge once, at the cost of his own arm and half his jaw. Both parts had been grafted back on with the best medi-tech the empire could afford, but it’d been a total shitshow for a while there, the two of them stranded alone on the ice and iron hull of a downed Inarizaki starfighter. Kuroo only remembers fever-dream flashes of the event, too far gone on whatever the foxes had gassed him with as he shoved Alisa and Fukunaga into the last escape pod. Sawamura found him lying barely conscious on the stern of the ship, and rescued him from being slaughtered by one of Inarizaki’s automated guards. Fucking fox militants and their stupid fucking robots.

“C’mon now, Kuroo, I can’t you die at the hands of the Federation. You’re pirate scum, but you’re still an Imperial citizen,” Sawamura told him, hitching him higher on his back and trundling on through the blood and shrapnel splattered snow.

“Like fuck I am,” Kuroo mumbled out, too woozy to banter.

“Save your breath until you’ve got enough brainpower for a witty comeback.”

Sawamura carried his useless rag doll body all the way to the outpost where they could hunker down until help arrived. Kuroo thought they would be safe there: it was converted from a shrine to a makeshift waystation, all stone walls and steel fixtures, but it had been overrun with more Inarizaki infantry automatons. They fought off the droids at great cost, and the last memory Kuroo has of that desolate place before waking up under Kenma and Kai’s watchful guard is of Sawamura, his face a mess of jagged flesh and his left side drenched in blood, cutting down another advancing automaton before it could reach them.

Kai told him later that Sawamura hadn’t even bothered to send a perfunctory ship after them when they came to collect Kuroo. He’d simply waved them off, saying that Kuroo owed him now, and hobbled into the hold of his lieutenants to be rushed back to the medbay of the Karasuno. A full cycle passed before they met again, and they avoided the topic altogether, choosing to mock each other about overcompensating with their weapons, which of course led naturally into trying to shoot one another again.

But Kuroo has never forgotten that debt, and apparently, neither has Sawamura.

“I know. I would never ask you to risk them. Under any other circumstance I wouldn’t ask you to risk yourself either; you could say I’ve developed a strange interest in keeping you alive.” He offers Kuroo the slightest of smiles, and it almost makes him look sad. “But for my crew I would do anything.”

“Understatement of the centicycle. Alright, Sawamura-san, you have me at your disposal,” Kuroo says, finally leaning back in his seat to relax. If he’s going to die like this, then he might as well enjoy the time he has left in the universe. This is a fool’s errand, he knows, but on the one in a million chance they pull any of it off, well. It’ll be the adventure of a lifetime.

“If my captain is in, then so am I,” Yamamoto says quietly, and Kuroo looks sharply over at him.

“No, that’s not your decision to make. Nekoma isn’t a part of this deal.”

“Yeah, it is, Kuroo-san. If you’re in, then I’m in. That’s how it is.”

“Don’t be stupid, I’m not risking any of you for Sawamura’s death wish-”

“Do you like pretending to be an idiot, or did that bonk really knock some of your sense out of you?” Yaku says, an irritated line cutting into his forehead. “This is a job for Nekoma. You accepted it. Therefore, we’ve all accepted it. Kenma?”

Kenma, the usual voice of reason, just gives Kuroo a tired shrug. “Kuro, we’ll take the offer back to base to discuss, but you know you won’t get anywhere without the rest of us. Tora’s right. If you’re taking the job, then so are we. Is this acceptable?” he asks Sawamura.

“No complaints here. I came to hire Nekoma, after all, not just Kuroo. Though you personally occupy a special place in my life,” Sawamura says dryly, running a thumb across the graft scar running along his cheek.

“In your heart too, I would hope,” Kuroo says automatically, still hung up on the thought of getting his whole crew annihilated over a clearly impossible feat. But the conversation is already moving on without him.

“Before we commit to this, I wanna be sure we know what we’re really getting into,” Kenma says, sliding onto the bench next to Kuroo.

“Of course. Ask away.”

“Strategy, logistics, personnel – are you willing to leave it all up to us?”

“I trust you to do whatever needs doing, yes. And I’ll finance whatever you need me to, on top of your payment.”

“Okay. This will take some time to get together; they’re not on death row are they? Good. One last time, I need to check. Are you absolutely sure you want to do this? Even knowing you’re more than certain to die?”

Sawamura doesn’t waver in the slightest. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

“You’re already lucky your men are just imprisoned instead of up for execution,” Kenma warns. “But if you try this, they won’t pardon you again. Ignoring the fact that it’s virtually impossible to get into Datekou, let alone get back out – even if we somehow miraculously succeed, you’re dead the second any of you ever set foot on Imperial territory again. You’ll be worse off than even we are.”

“I know, and I don’t care. They lost me the moment they took my crew from me.”

“What happened to you?” Yaku asks abruptly. “They took your men, took your ship, but for someone like you- the less you have, the more dangerous you are. Why would they let you stay around?”

“Divine intervention, I guess you could call it. An old friend on the flagship Seijou pulled me for one of his smaller ships, and I’m too fucking decorated for the empire to just throw me to the wolves. They want me to waste a few years before they can reassign me to a frontline ship and hopefully get myself killed on some nameless moon in the middle of nowhere. I figured I would do them the favor of getting out of their hair before then.” He says it matter of factly, like he decided this life-changing course of action over tea one day.

“And cause an intergalactic riot in the process?” Kuroo asks, impressed by how far off the deep end Sawamura has decided to dive in one go.

“Why not? I’ve always been committed to justice, not order, captain. The empire has made it clear to me they do not value justice, so I’ll take it into my own hands.” There’s that shadow again, the one that lingers behind Sawamura’s brown eyes whenever he carries the weight of more than just himself. Kuroo can only see it when he’s really looking for it, but there’s something that lurks in the corners of Sawamura’s soul that’s just as dangerous as the rest of him, albeit in a different way.

“You know, I always thought you’d make one hell of a pirate. It’s good to know that assumption wasn’t misplaced.”

Sawamura laughs, some of the darkness in his gaze ebbing away. “Funny, I always thought you would have excelled in the navy. Odd how fate works sometimes, isn’t it?”

“I don’t think it was fate that brought you to us today. I think you just take a kind of sadistic pleasure in fucking up my plans for a carefree life, vice admiral.”

“I’m not going to lie to you by denying it, captain.”

It’s kind of fucked up that Kuroo missed this, the dance of words they’d perfected in between trying to stab each other. It’ll be strange, adapting to a new relationship built on more than banter and the chase, but if he’s being honest with himself, he’s always wondered what it might be like if they spent more than thirty heart-racing minutes with each other every time they met. Might as well find out before he dies.

With a grin, he extends his hand across the table, holding just a second too long after Sawamura accepts the handshake. “Alright, Sawamura-san, let’s get your team back.”

[khunvegas]

Stucky Feels!

I’ve always shipped them but it’s recently that I’ve been reading fics in this fandom and they are amazing. This is my collection of amazingness in words. My Stucky fanfic rec.

6:13 AM by @halerogers​

It was routine, getting on the train that early in the morning, and Steve had it down to a damn tee. It was tiring, waking up that early to catch a train to work, but it wasn't so bad.

Especially not after he started showing up.

He was the man with murder eyes and shockingly good looks despite the whole hobo vibe but with a soft center. Steve liked to call him the Human Impersonation of the Grumpy Cat in his head; Grumpy Cat for short when he whined about him to either Natasha or Sam.

OR – in which Steve falls in love with a stranger.

A Christmas Game by @that-girl​

Bucky loses his pet mouse and yells at his very hot neighbour to keep his cat away from his baby. And Natasha regrets the day she met Bucky. It's a fluff fest.

An Accident of Time by Pickitup

Boys weren’t omegas. Not outside of blue movies, or bluer songs, at least, the kind of anecdotes too ribald even for soldiers to tell. Girls were omegas, sometimes, but rarely, even in those days. Dying breeds, he guessed. When he was the asset it had stopped entirely, he had thought it all over: feels sick thinking of what they would have done to exploit him if he had suffered back then. But now, 2014, eating three meals a day, sleeping regularly in a safe bed, the old ghost has come back.

Bite Your Tongue by Avaaricious

AKA the "I work at a department store and if you take out and unfold a shirt and then leave it one more time I'm going to stuff it down your throat" AU

Captain Fantastic and the Pineapple King by @bucky-fucky-barnes

Shit. She hadn't noticed him yet. Maybe he could turn and leave without them noticing – Sam would understand. Sam was the most empathetic person he knew. He wouldn’t scold Steve for coming home spice-less to avoid an awkward encounter with an ex. Surely. They drew closer Fuck Please don't notice me, please don't notice me, please don't notice me... "Steve?" Fuck. In which Steve is saved from his ex in a grocery store, Bucky Barnes is Way Too Chill about absolutely everything, and Sam has had enough of all of these goddamn pineapples in his fucking house. Or: The five times Steve received a pineapple (and one Piña Colada) and the one time he didn't

Come On, Leave Me Breathless by @emphasisonem​

“Shit, I don’t want to talk to him,” Bucky huffs, running a hand through his hair and blurting out the first idea that comes to mind, “I really- would you make out with me real quick?”

“What?” the blond bleats, blue eyes wide as he stares at Bucky.

In which Bucky really doesn't want to talk to his ex and enlists the help of an attractive stranger to avoid him.

Cool Beans by @emphasisonem​

“Guy looks a little like a hobo,” Pietro smirks, and a whoosh of breath leaves the young man as his sister elbows him in the stomach.

“Be kind,” Wanda admonishes him. “He’s very handsome, Steve. He looks strong.”

“Don’t be gettin’ any ideas there, Wanda,” Steve smiles at his friend. “I’m doing just fine on my own. I have the shop to think about. I don’t need any romantic entanglements right now.”

“We’ll see,” Wanda’s lips turn up at the corners, and Steve can’t help but laugh at the mischief sparkling in her eyes.

In which Steve owns a coffee shop and Bucky is a carpenter who buys the property next door.

Did you really just ask....? by Kare

"I just want to sit on the couch with you, watch bad action movies, eat greasy pizza and marry you. Is that really that much to ask?"

Steve can deal with the first three wishes. He isn't really sure if he heard the fourth one correctly...

Well, only one way to find out... maybe...

Enjoy the Silence by neversaydie

Silence used to be peaceful for Bucky. These days it makes him feel like he's waiting for something, like he's listening for the warning sounds of predators approaching.

Now silence means he's waiting for the other shoe to drop.

He lives in a beautiful apartment with his husband-to-be and tells himself that everything is just fine. He doesn't sleep, he's scared of putting a foot wrong in case Brock snaps again, and he's desperately lonely, but he has everything he ever wants and that should be enough. It's not like he can complain about being taken care of, even if parts of it aren't exactly his choice.

Running into his childhood friend (literally) just might change everything. 'Just fine' doesn't seem like enough once Steve walks back into his life. The problem is, Bucky's been stuck in his cage for so long that he's not sure he can leave it on his own.

Filthy Things You Say by Limoncello_Bella

Bucky wanted to kiss him, kiss him and then press him against the wall or desk and do things to him that would leave them both as a pile of sexually sated human mush. Mentally, he swore, he didn’t even have a type, but spitfire twinks more stubborn than a mule were quickly becoming number one on the nonexistent list.

Or.

Steve is a cuddle-slut drunk and his latest victim is one Bucky Barnes.

For Who I've Not Yet Become by @thebestpersonherelovesbucky

Bucky Barnes -- powerful Wall Street tycoon -- has everything he needs. Money, good looks, a life in the fast lane. He's living on top of the world in a Park Avenue Penthouse in Manhattan, is the youngest vice president ever over at Stark Industries and might even be named Forbes Man of the Year -- again. Nothing can bring him down.

That is until Bucky has a strange encounter with a young man named Eli on Christmas Eve and wakes up Christmas morning married to his old college sweetheart, Steve Rogers.

With his entire world turned upside down, Bucky must find a way to navigate his way through marriage and fatherhood and suburbia. And maybe find the unique answer to the age old question... What if...?

Heat Wave by HandsAcrossTheSea

Sometimes, you just have to let nature take its course.

Hey, Bartender, Pour ‘Em Hot Tonight by @emphasisonem​

Steve looks down and catches sight of a bright pink drink in a hurricane glass. Moisture is beaded on the outside, and the cool feel of it is nice on Steve’s sweaty hand as he picks up the monstrosity Sam has ordered for him.

“What the hell is this?” Steve asks, a disbelieving smile on his face. “You couldn’t just order me a beer?”

“You said to surprise you,” Sam smirks. “And you made me wait.”

“But what is it?” Steve repeats, and is answered by a deep, unfamiliar voice.

“It’s a Singapore Sling,” the man behind the bar is smiling. “Not what you were expecting?”

In which Bucky is a bartender and Steve is immediately smitten. He's not the only one.

Honestly, I Just Came Out To Have A Good Time by @youngavengersfeels​

The first time Steve met Bucky, Bucky was jumping into a pond only a smidge less polluted than the from The Simpsons, butt naked. Things could really only go up from there.

I Get Knocked Down (But I Get Up Again) by @emphasisonem​

“You sure you’re ok?” the blond asks, and Bucky really appreciates the fact that the guy isn’t laughing, considering his friend can’t seem to help snickering at Sam’s outrageous display.

“I’m fine,” Bucky huffs with a smirk. “Pride’s a little bruised, and I’m guessing I look like a fuckin’ drowned rat, but no permanent damage.”

A slow- and frankly, evil- smile makes its way across the blond’s lips. There’s a flicker of uncertainty in those blue eyes, but it’s replaced with a nearly-predatory look that gives Bucky goosebumps.

“Shame,” the other man teases Bucky. “I’m pretty good at kissin’ things better.”

In which Bucky Barnes is a show off at the beach and pays the price.

I Need Coffee in an I.V. by @emphasisonem​

Bucky points at the counter, pouting. “They took my coffee maker.”

Steve looks like he wants to laugh, but Bucky thinks he does an admirable job of biting it back.

“Good god, how ever will you survive?” Steve asks, and Bucky usually kind of adores that sassy mouth of Steve’s, but he doesn’t fuck around when it comes to his coffee.

In which the office coffee maker breaks and Bucky is forced to rely on the kindness of an unknown coworker.

Is It Pretending If I Already Want You? By @ohcaptainmycaptain1918

Based on prompt: Pretend Boyfriends AU where one of their families is always wondering why they're never in a relationship, so the other offers to pretend to be their boyfriend for some family event"

Basic Steps to Getting Yourself In a Pickle With Both Your Family and The Guy You've Secretly Crushed On For Five Years (A Guide):

STEP 1: After being perpetually single and constantly making up excuses to your family, give in and lie about having a boyfriend. STEP 2: Agree to bring said boyfriend to the family cottage for a week so he can be your date to your parents' wedding anniversary party. STEP 3: Panic. STEP 4: Say 'yes' when your best friend and closet crush - who you're convinced isn't interested in you that way in the least - offers to be your pretend boyfriend. STEP 5: Try your best not to fall in love with them during the trip. STEP 6: Fail miserably.

Kinda Like the Way He Dips by @uhtredthepagan

‘Jesus, Bucky, are you wearing a mesh tank top?’ ‘Like it?’ ‘You look ridiculous.’ ‘Excuse me, this was a serious part of my teenage angst, Nat. I wore these boots to school.’

Let your heart be light by @relenafanel

Bucky looks like he’s had a difficult month, what with the eviction notice and all, but that’s not the reason Steve gives for allowing him to stay on his couch.

“You have somewhere to go?” Steve questioned, crossing his arms and attempting to look casual, not like he was worried for Bucky. He stepped into the apartment, ignoring how bare it was.

Bucky paused and gave him an exasperated look. “I’m not completely hopeless.”

A fic spanning from mid-November to early-February.

Of Broken Dreams and Mended Hearts by @thebestpersonherelovesbucky

When the House of Barnes is left in massive debt after the death of George Barnes, their oldest son and heir, Bucky, is forced to sacrifice his own hopes and dreams by entering an arranged married to Steve Rogers. Steve seems kind enough, has a prominent job in the government, and was even voted Society's Best Catch. But the House Rogers is significantly higher in status than Bucky's family, which means Bucky is marrying up in Society, and marrying up doesn't only come with rewards, it also comes with certain...expectations and losses--some of which Bucky might be willing to do anything to avoid. And those opportunities might come his way.

Unless, of course, he actually starts falling in love with his new husband...

One Way Or Another by @chiyume​ @rogersxbarnesx​

When Steve volunteers to help Tony launch Stark Tech’s new Military Prosthetics Project, the last person he expects to see as he walks into the lab is the same guy who had him shoved up against a wall in the back of a club the weekend before.

Back then he had just been Steve Rogers; a civilian looking for a good time just like everyone. Here, he’s Captain America; hero, justice, and patriotism personified. Bucky, however, is still the flirtatious devil he had been back at the club, and he’s obviously not going to let something as trivial as Steve’s occupation get in the way of what he wants.

Patches of Memory by LokiNeedsHugs1031

What if soldiers hadn't shown up at Bucky's apartment while he was in hiding. What if Steve found him instead and no attack followed. Steve finally gets the chance to trigger Bucky's memories and they re-discover their romantic past.

Slide to Answer by @relenafanel

Note: a series that explain you how a stranger gives you relationships advice and then becomes your boyfriend.

Telluride by @captain-winterdaddy​

Bucky's mom refuses to believe that he has nobody to bring to their annual Christmas family vacation. She also refuses to believe that he's gay, which in turn leads Bucky to tell her some maybe untruthful things.

Shenanigans ensue.

The artist and his coffee shop muse by Little_Lottie (tfwatson)

“Umm…” Steve glances up to find the waiter standing there with a smirk and a raised eyebrow looking expectant and arguably more delicious than the pastry. “I didn’t order this." “No,” the man says through a huff of laughter. “But technically, you didn’t order the coffee either.”

"Huh?"

Opposite him, the man slides into the booth, light bouncing off his shirt and drenching his eyes with even more blue.

Steve’s eyes dart left and right, looking for whatever it is he’s missed.

The Proposal by @steves-winter-boobear​

Steve Rogers works as an executive assistant for his demon of a boss James Barnes, at Pierce Publishing. Everyone HATES working with James Barnes, the epitome of Satan himself in every way possible. But when his Visa for immigration is denied, James quickly hatches a plan and drags Steve into a plot to thwart the United States Government into thinking they are engaged to avoid deportation. Thus follows the weekend from your wildest imagination as boss and employee learn about themselves and what it means to be truly happy.

The Super-Dick of Freedom by raeganrolland

Short story of a slight misunderstanding, underwear that doesn't fit, and the gosh darn Super-Dick.

The Winter Soldier vs. Twitter (hashtag BuckRogers) by @galwednesday​

“Remember what I said about internet trolls?”

“Don’t feed the trolls.”

“Exactly. Did I not say the same thing to Barnes?” Tony asked rhetorically. “Were those not my exact words? I could have sworn they were, and yet.”

“Bucky’s feeding the trolls?”

“He’s throwing a goddamn seven-course troll banquet. Every time someone on Twitter asks if your relationship announcement is real, he replies. Colorfully.”

Steve opened his mouth to ask what “colorfully” meant, then caught the gleam in Tony’s eye and put two and two together. He blushed. Colorfully. “Oh.”

(Steve and Bucky announce their relationship in a very dignified press conference. Bucky then replies to every goddamn tweet asking him to confirm it with a different dirty euphemism. Things escalate from there.)

These American Dreams (ain’t no white picket fences left for me) by @kariye

In which Bucky has a house, a dog, an herb garden, and a serious case of insomnia. Welcome to Havensport, Indiana (population 8,294), where Tom’s Neighborhood Grocer stays open all night, little old ladies call the car shop to get their refrigerators repaired, and the heat of summer days and the length of summer nights can make you think that this perfect world will last forever.

Thirty-Eight Days and Counting by @thecommodoresquid​

It didn’t escape him that Steve shared his assumed last name. “Are you gonna be my cousin?” Bucky asked dully.

Steve frowned. “Husband, actually,” he said easily, holding up his left hand to show a typical golden band.

Bucky scowled and closed the door.

AKA An AU in which Bucky is put in the witness protection program and Steve is the agent hired to protect him/pretend to be his husband.

Three Men in a VW by Slenderlock

Steve steps back into the car and closes the door, lips still tingling.

“You don’t like blondes,” Bucky says.

Sam chokes.

Worth It by @lesserknownhero​

While debating on going through with an ill advised hook-up Bucky is caught by his best friend Natasha. Forced to lie about his whereabouts and nightly activities he invents a fake past with a handsome stranger. Little does he know that once the lies begin they will be hard to stop.

Steve is out alone trying to force himself to be social and failing miserably. The only bright spot in his disappointing evening is comes when he inadvertently eavesdrops on the hot guy next to him as he blatantly lies to his nosy friend. The entertainment takes a turn for the bizarre when suddenly he's pulled into the lies and is forced to play along.

Yours for the Taking by @cookie-book-took​

Bucky really should not have got in the car. He shouldn't of stolen the mystery case. He shouldn't of lied about it. He shouldn't of thought he could outsmart everyone. Bucky did all of the above and is firmly on Steve Roger's radar.

But it's exciting and his bland life needs excitement...what's the worse that can happen...

[iamtooarealdoctor]

Diary 5.16.87

Everything has been happening very quickly.  L’anamelach is dead...or...something.  Taken care of, at least.  So far as Caladon is concerned.  It is probably time to leave.

Straf disappeared briefly last night.  He claims he was summoned back to Quintarra by Raven, who wanted her gloves returned.  That makes little sense to me, but he reappeared without them.  So - no more teleporting.  That will be good for Dyna’s headaches, but is even more reason to tarry as little as possible.  Fortunately Roseborough is only two days out from here, even on foot, and the season remains very pleasant.

The plan had been to take care of some business in town this morning, before proceeding into the sewers to beard the demon in its lair.  The party from Dernholm overnighted at the Sobbing Onion, which continues to hold Straf’s fascination for reasons which escape me.  Dyna and I rose early to call upon Maxim, leaving the elves to meet up with our allies at the Onion, on the hope that they would not have too much time or opportunity to get into really serious trouble.  In this we were wholly wrong, albeit in ways we could not conceivably have predicted.  Maxim is as scattered as ever, and sadly the photographs recovered from the wreck of the Zephyr have done less to repair his reputation than we had hoped, but he seems undeterred, which is good.  He was happy to let us use his workspace and materials to repair the damage to my guns.  I mean, I have plenty of guns, but when one is literally a divine relic, attempts should be made to take care of it.

We returned to the Onion to collect our party to find sheerest chaos - and in the midst of it Straf and another elf stabbing themselves repeatedly with a carving knife for some unknowable reason.  As far as I have been able to piece together, Straf and Wolf found the halfling thief Frondo - the one who had recovered the blade of Xerxes last night - engaged in a poorly thought out game of cards against the strange Elf.  Eventually he wagered, and subsequently lost, the blade itself to his opponent, who turned out to be none other than the demon L’anamelach himself!  If I had thought these adventurers fools last night, how much more imbecilic have they revealed themselves in the light of day.  It was at this point I gather, for reasons which remain entirely opaque to me, that Straf engaged the demon in a game of self-stabbing.  Perhaps his aim was to buy time, since both of them proved largely impervious to injury of this kind.  I have long since given up trying to decipher what passes for logic in the undifferentiated mass of salt that occupies the spaces usually reserved for a brain.

In any event, the patrons had given this scene a wide berth, and the party from Dernholm was blithely oblivious to the implications of what had transpired.  Not just imbeciles but useless as well.  I was able to get off a single futile shot at the demon before being forced to take equally futile cover.  I am now doubly grateful for Lloyd’s fireproofing, without which I would have fared much poorer.  It also saw fit to magickally seal my mouth, which was as uncomfortable as it was frustrating, but at least I was not transformed into a rat again.  I hate wizards.  And demons.  And demon wizards.  

Dyna, by contrast, made good use of the distraction to surreptitiously relieve the demon of its mortal blade.  It had had to set aside its winnings briefly to concentrate fully on Straf, and Dyna attempted to dispatch the abomination as we had been instructed.  Dyna is, sadly, not especially tall - had the demon’s stature been nearer her own, I am sure she would have struck home, but alas the heart is a small organ to hit from behind and below, and there was slightly too much impervious elf intervening for Dyna’s efforts to have quite the desired effect.  Nevertheless, I am confident that given time, and perhaps a stepladder, the day would ultimately have been hers.

Instead, that glory goes to Wolf, if it can safely be called that.  As best as I can understand, knowing the demon’s true name, she was able to summon it and bind it to herself, as she previously had with Dante.  And unlike Dante, her control over it seems absolute - I have only before seen that dead expression in Captain Wheeler’s eyes, when he released Straf from prison in Tarant.  She has renamed it Mephistopheles, and it is wholly hers now.  What implications this has for Dante, I do not know.  My hope is that  that one is safely returned to its infernal home, having been replaced by a more biddable minion, and has not simply been loosed unsupervised upon Arcanum.  L’anamelach’s erstwhile host, though, freed from its possessing essence, is quite dead, and will torment Caladon’s flesh markets no more.  Unless, I suppose, Wolf so wills it.  I...think we will not return the blade of Xerxes to our allies from Dernholm.  It is good to have some insurance against the demon in our midst.

But with that sudden end to an equally sudden confrontation, we are now Heroes of Caladon!  The good captain Henderson arrived to shower us with praise and writs for our reward, although the demons gambling winnings, now forfeit, have already done much to ease our financial situation.  This has been a mixed blessing, though, since our attempts to keep a low profile while in Caladon are now thoroughly undone.  For Henderson has at last recognized Dyna through an unwise word from Straf, despite her careful disguises, and the media presence that accompanied him recognized me, beard, lemon juice, and all, as the now notorious Pervert of Tarant... and while these might have been skillfully talked down, had any among us possessed such skill, among the gawkers at the Onion proved to be none other than Ristezze!

This proved too much for Dyna, who fled in a blind panic.  I managed to catch the newspaper man to try to save what is left of our reputations.  I find I get on very well with reporters.  I was able to convince him, I believe, that we are actors, hired by Sammie White to create disturbances in the normal humdrum of life, and I managed to keep Dyna’s name and role out of his stories at least.  He seemed impressed with my narrative of the earlier fight, which ought to both entertain his readers and give most of the attention to Frondo et al., while downplaying our own role and ultimately eliding the ultimate fate of the demon.  He may not be able to resist his “Pervert of Tarant becomes Hero of Caladon” angle, and I regret that he has my photograph as well, but my reputation is already tarnished beyond repair, and this may be salvaged into a distraction from our current aims and mission.  I also was able to convince him of the value of running a story on Maxim’s Flying Machines, and sold him a copy of the prints.  Perhaps skillful journalism will sway public opinion in despite of the ongoing skepticism of the Caladonian Council, and do some good for a friend, if not for us.

We tracked Dyna to the cemetary, where she had apparently made the acquaintance of the local gravedigger, and had regained some modicum of control over herself.  Norman seems to have imprinted on Ristezze and vice versa, and neither could be persuaded to come without the other.  Also Norman thinks he can fly...but as far as I can tell has only succeeded in jumping thus far.  Dyna was...not pleased at Ristezze’s presence, and Ristezze for his part, seems undeterred in his pursuit of her - although he may be the first person in all of Caladon to be taken in by the fake mustache, and seems to have renamed her “Dino.”  It has been a day for that.  We finally got rid of him with a bizarre scheme to romance the entire Moseley clan, and returned at long last to the Mushroom.

We depart for Roseborough at first light.  We sent out for supplies, and it should only be a few days journey.  I should like to be away before my face is plastered all over the front page of the newspaper.  Also it seems that the Thieves’ Underground has bounties out for us - and mine is insultingly low!  And also insultingly high, since I have never, to my knowledge, done anything to offend them, but folks these days seem no longer to require a reason.  Dyna has been very quiet all evening, but she never enjoys being confronted with her past, and this homecoming has been especially hard on her.  She did say something about Magnus - something about finding his lost clan of ditch diggers?  I don’t know, but I expect we shall find out.

I regret that we had no opportunity to visit the famous Caladonian Zoological Society, or work further with Maxim on guncraft, although I am not sorry that we were spared the inevitable whining from Straf that a trek through the sewers would have entailed.  But a great many questions should be answered in Roseborough - T’sen-Ang, the Black Spire, the Archeon, the Plain of Black Glass and the Great Wheel, and maybe an opportunity to speak privately with Elder Joachim.  And perhaps staying ahead of our enemies a little while longer.