#i finally put the letters of your url together

[nursc]

you smell nice.

snuggling deeper into his chest, christine wraps an arm around his middle, head fitting into his neck as if it was made for her.

sleeping on cold-hard ground is not a new experience for her. or him. they’ve been here before, a lifetime ago, it seems. another situation, a war, but the view outside their tent resembles j’gal too closely for comfort: rows of dark tents, a large structure looming in the middle, fear palpable in the air. starfleet will be here within the week to take these people to a safer planet, help them escape the looming threat of the gorn, but until then, enterprise is the one thing standing between two thousand people and a meeting with death.

without words, only the delicate touch of his hand against hers as they crossed each other after una gave them their marching orders, they’d agreed to continue the unspoken arrangement they have on the ship: a tent was set up for her, almost directly next to his, but she didn’t even glance in its direction, not bothering to pretend she had any plans to use it. she left her stuff next to his at the entrance, and as sunset, she’d followed him inside, falling into his chest almost immediately.

❛⠀⠀it’s the soap they make here, ⠀ ❜ ⠀ fingers play with the short blonde hair at the nape of his neck, soft words murmured against his skin. ⠀ ❛⠀⠀they have a waterfall not far. it’s nice. ⠀ ❜

PROMPTS FOR CARRYING/BEING CARRIED

[noys-boise]

Can you infodump to me about whatever youre currently obsessed with

can i? dude you're going to have to stop me with force i REALLY want to infodump I just never have the excuse to do it. I'll be nice enough to put it under a read more though because this is very long.

let me tell you about this little streaming service called dropout.tv because it has taken over my life. it was started by the people at collegehumor (idk if you know it, they made sketch comedy and that sort of videos for over a decade) when they got tired of having to conform to advertisers on sites like youtube or facebook. and also not long after dropout launched collegehumor's parent company tried to sell the brand since it wasn't profitable enough for them leading to Sam Reich, who's worked at collegehumor pretty much since the beginning, acquiring the rights. however he did have to lay off pretty much everyone except a skeleton crew plus Brennan Lee Mulligan who created the most popular series on the platform. but everyone else keeps working at dropout on a freelance basis so it's all good.

anyway with the launch of dropout they moved away from scripted comedy to really a wide variety of unscripted content. the series that got me into dropout is game changer, a game show where the contestants don't know what game it is they're going to play since the game changes (almost) every time. it is SO fun?? there's been so many insane concepts including lie detector that's secretly controlled by the contestants' significant others, selling useless shit like a keyboard that only has the letter p or a rubik's cube that's all green, murder mystery that's somehow both fictional and real at the same time (it's. really hard to explain this one it was really just to troll one specific contestant, a lot of episodes are made with specific people in mind since these people have worked together for a very long time), escape room but it's just locking these three people in a room and also there's some insane lore around it that people still make conspiracy theories about, an actual time loop and of course the multiple survivor parodies and the one batchelor parody (it's very bisexual). i could honestly rant about game changer forever. it really has that appeal of being able to get to know the contestants (a majority of whom are former collegehumor employees who appear in many episodes across all dropout shows) and that they're all professional comedians who know each other and the host very well. it has fun cozy vibes except when it actively breaks my mind (looking at you deja vu).

there are three shows that were spun off from game changer: make some noise, which is prompt based improv (sidenote, my icon and url are both referencing this show, specifically the original trio this series started with back when it was in game changer. the noise boys refer to Josh, Zac and Brennan who after doing four episodes of this game within game changer are also the contestants in every make some noise season premiere and finale), dirty laundry which is kind of based never have i ever as a game show and also Grant O'Brien is there as a bartender (Grant O'Brien is the tall bisexual theatre nerd i post quite a lot about), and play it by ear in which they improvise entire musicals, which i still haven't watched and I'm fully aware of how out of character that is for me. however i do really love the original game changer episode play it by ear is based on.

so.... here's the thing. i kind of lied. i said game changer is the first dropout show i got into but um, actually, i was into a dropout show before i really knew what dropout is. Um, actually is a game show where the host (originally Mike Trapp, now Ify Nwadiwe) says incorrect statements mostly about nerdy media which the contestants have to correct, but they have to start their corrections with the phrase "um, actually" or they don't get the point. they made two musical theatre themed episodes that i found back in 2022? i think? that were on youtube and then i got into Howard the duck which got me kind of into marvel comics which are referenced in a lot of episodes leading me to watching quite a lot of the episodes that were up on youtube (i think out of all dropout shows this one might have the most free on youtube content) and then i kind of forgot about it until this year's april when i started properly getting into dropout.

however the most popular and longest dropout show is dimension 20, which is a dungeons & dragons actual play. almost every season is a new setting and there's been a lot of different players though there is a main cast known as the intrepid heroes (Zac Oyama, Lou Wilson, Ally Beardsley, Siobhan Thompson, Emily Axford and Brian Murphy + Brennan Lee Mulligan as the dm). the first season that then got two continuations is fantasy high which is set in a more modern dnd setting but with the same fantasy races as the original game but there's been a lot of seasons that completely break away from all traditional dnd elements (some of them aren't actually dnd at all but different game systems) like the one I'm watching right now is a murder mystery with anthropomorphic animals.

there's sooo many more dropout shows i could talk about but this rant is already getting way too long. i love so many things about dropout. they make so much original, fresh content that no one else is making. there's so much diversity in such a natural way (to me especially seeing Ally Beardsley's transition is very special) and it's generally extremely progressive and ethical. idk what else to say, watching dropout makes me very happy, I'm very hyeprfixated on it, it's my main comfort thing right now and i can't recommend it enough (there's a bunch of stuff on youtube for free already but also imo it's absolutely worth 6 dollars a month)

I'm sorry for how long that rant turned out unfortunately i am very unnormal

[ourflagmeansgifts]

could you describe the event more fully for someone who has never done a fandom gift exchange? what's defaulting?

Sure!

AO3 has a very good system for fic exchanges. Participants can create a tagset together, which can then be used when you fill out your sign-up form.

The form basically consists of this, over and over.

Fandom: Just check the box.

Relationships: Pick up to five from the set. Don't worry, the approved ones will drop down when you click in the text box.

Additional Tags: Pick up to twenty that you want to associate with any of the specific relationships you picked in the previous field. You may also check the "Any Additional Tag" box, which means that you are fine with literally any of the tags being in play.

For Requests, you are putting in what you want to receive (so "Any Additional Tag" is probably not what you want to go with). You can make multiple requests, so it behooves you to be specific! For instance, you might want to make Ed/Stede the subject of one request, with the specific tags you'd like associated with a potential Ed/Stede fic you want to receive; then you might want another request for Anne Bonny/Mary Read with totally different tags. Please note that you are only guaranteed one fic that matches one request, and more specifically, one fic that matches one ship tag and one additional tag - multiple ships in one request mean "I am associating all of these ships with all of these tags", not "I want a fic that includes all of these relationships and all of these tags".

For Offers, you are putting in what you're willing to write for someone else. ("Any Additional Tag" is more suitable here.) Again, you can make multiple offers to relate different tags to different ships.

Letter URL and Description are in requests only. In Description, you can write more details about what you do and don't want to see. It's often helpful to include more detailed prompts than what might be indicated by the tags. If you have Do Not Wants - things you absolutely do not want to see in the fic you receive - it's important to list them here! You can also write up your thoughts at length somewhere else (this is called a "letter") and put a link to wherever you've done that in Letter URL.

---

Defaulting means dropping out on your assignment. In some exchanges, if you default at all or if you default after a certain deadline, you're not allowed to sign up the next year. I'm not remotely organized enough to manage that, and also I would rather have people default guiltlessly when they realize they need to than have people get anxious because they don't want to be booted and then finally default at the last minute.

You didn't ask about treating, but I also want to hit on that. A treat is a fic based on a request you weren't matched with. You can write a treat even if you're not in the exchange. I'll write more about that after matching happens, but it's just something for people to keep in mind!

[bumbleklee]

windblume confession(s)

masterlist | 1k prompt masterlist | pregnancy series

request: (@illusory-torrent) can i ask the meaning behind your url?? just curious. and could i also please request some kaeya and albedo getting competitive over the reader? reader can be gender neutral, i just wanna see my two best bois being competitive haha. thank you!

pairings: albedo x gn!reader, kaeya x gn!reader (love triangle)

warnings: none! (1.5k words)

a/n: soooo the meaning behind my url - it’s not that special lol. i wanted to make a genshin pun (klee = bee) and this is the first thing i came up with. also bea/bee, bumblebea/bumblebee, yktv

During the Windblume Festival, bouquets of flowers and letters were spilling off of your desk everyday. Despite knowing that most of the gifts came from anonymous senders, your heart still skipped a beat.

Part of you wondered if any of them were a prank. You didn’t see yourself as anything special, you weren’t as feminine and pretty as Barbara or muscular like Wagner, yet quite a few patrons found you good enough to pine over.

You skimmed through the gifts one day to see if you recognized any of the names. There was a letter from Bennett that was clearly addressed to Fischl so you tucked away the special note in a drawer with promises to deliver it later. You also found a letter from one of the Knight’s on your squad - but he was much younger than you and, frankly, the letter sounded like puppy love. Two contrasting bouquets of flowers sat side-by-side on the edge of your desk so you reached for them.

The first bouquet was about a dozen calla lilies tied together with a blue ribbon and the second was cecilia’s in a glass vase. The flowers piqued your interest, your mind already forming an idea about where they came from, and you read the attached cards.

“Meet me in the library,” You read aloud, your fingers tracing the edges of the cardstock. It wasn’t signed by anyone. The second one has a similar message, “Find me in the library.”

You wondered if the flowers were sent by the same person. But then why wouldn’t they state that? The questions made you wonder, again, if this was a trap. Could the flowers be from someone who wanted to mess with you? But despite your doubts, you grabbed your things and headed down the stairs to the library.

When you pushed open the door to the library, you realized you had no idea who or what you were looking for. The library was decorated beautifully, ribbon and flowers displayed on tables or breaks between the bookcases. The room itself smelled fresh, too, unlike its usual dusty aroma. While you glanced around the library, you saw Lisa sitting behind her desk and went to see if she knew what was going on.

“Happy Windblume Festival,” You smiled warmly at your coworker, “You’re not going to believe what I received.”

Lisa stopped reading her book to look up at you, the ghost of a smirk on her lips, “Hello, there. So many love-birds flew into your office this morning, I can only imagine what they brought you.”

You rolled your eyes, “Too many unrequited confessions.” She laughed softly at your joke, “Besides that, I received two bouquets of flowers that both told me to meet them here. Isn’t that strange?”

Lisa covered her mouth with a gloved hand and giggled again, “I think there’s something downstairs who would love to see you.”

You raised an eyebrow at Lisa but thanked her and took off down the stairs, careful not to slip on the wooden steps. As soon as your foot touched the floor, your sight met two men who had stopped bickering less than a moment ago. Kaeya and Albedo stood in front of a table, trying to put themselves back together in your presence.

“What’s going on?” You asked, realizing they were probably waiting for you. “Were the flowers from both of you?”

Kaeya and Albedo looked between each other, seemingly glaring dangers at each other. “I don’t know why he’s here,” Kaeya sneered, motioning to Albedo.

“Well, I don’t know why you’re here,” Albedo parroted, crossing his arms. You had never heard either of the men sound as ticked off as they were now.

“You both told me to meet you in the library,” You explained, confused. “That wasn’t planned?”

“No!” They said in unison.

You rubbed your temples, knowing that this wasn’t going to end easily. “I’m sorry,” You mumbled, “But can someone explain what’s going on.”

“Mr. Alberich overheard me planning to surprise you during the Windblume Festival and decided to ruin my plans,” Albedo said. When he spoke Kaeya’s name, there was nothing but venom in his tone.

Kaeya shrugged sarcastically, “I had no prior knowledge.”

“You used Klee to eavesdrop.”

“Did I, now?”

Albedo ran a hand through his hair, aggravated and annoyed. He had never liked Kaeya and this only fueled that fire. Kaeya wasn’t fond of Albedo either. He thought he was overrated in Mondstadt and that his admirers could do better.

“I mean,” Kaeya continued, giving Albedo the side eye, “Was it supposed to be a secret? You were awfully careless with the news.”

“My deepest apologies, I wasn’t aware I needed to broadcast my confession to all of Mondstadt before telling Y/N.”

“Your confession?” You wondered, “So the flowers weren’t a joke?”

Albedo looked at you with curious, and confused, eyes. “A joke? Of course not,” He said. A faint blush crept onto his cheeks, something you had never seen before, and Albedo fiddled with his gloved fingers nervously.

“I wanted to do that first,” Kaeya interjected, frowning slightly.

Kaeya’s words caught you off guard as well. “You like me, too?” He nodded in response and the three of you stood still for a while. Your mind was racing and your heart was beating out of your chest. You couldn’t believe not one but two of your coworkers had a crush on you and were confessing to you. But then the nerve-wracking decision came crashing down on you.

You had to pick one of them, right? The whole point of confessions was to find a possible suitor and here you had two options in front of you. Of course, you could reject both of them and run away but was that how you truly felt?

Albedo was soft and genuine. He often painted portraits of you and took you up to Dragonspine so could have snowball fights with Klee. He paid for dinner for you and recommended new books for you to read during your days off. At that moment, they seemed like friendly gestures. But looking back, you realized they were probably acts to one up Kaeya.

Likewise, Kaeya had his own plans to win you over. He spent exciting nights with you at the tavern and never complained about taking you home when you drank too much. Instead of buying you food, Kaeya bought you gifts like jewelry or artifacts. He often accompanied you on commissions, too.

“I need time to think this over,” You finally said. “Please, just agree not to kill each other in the meantime.”

Kaeya grumbled something under his breath, “Fine.”

“Why do you like me?” You asked, looking at Kaeya. “If you’re going to confess, then confess fully.”

The taller man thought for a moment before sending you his classic, cheeky grin. “I like having a challenge and you, my dear, proved to be that challenge.”

“What?” You asked, slightly offended.

“You play hard to get,” Kaeya continued, using his hands to accentuate his words, “I spoiled you for months and you still acted like we were nothing more than friends. Do friends buy each other gold necklaces in hopes they’ll realize you’ve fallen for them? You even have the necklace on to this day.” Instinctively, your fingers coiled around the dainty necklace around your neck that Kaeya had gifted to you weeks ago. When he gave it to you, you recognized it was a peculiar gift but played it off as Kaeya being extravagant. He sharpened his eyes, “Need I mention you’re the most exquisite looking person in Teyvat?”

Your voice caught in your throat and your cheeks burned with the compliment. You nervously played with the hem of your shirt and looked at Albedo for his answer.

“I just think you’re different,” He said simply, “You’re easy to get along with and I enjoy spending time with you. I feel like we’re compatible puzzle pieces.”

If possible, you blushed harder. Both men were darling and you felt like the luckiest person alive by being adored by both of them. As you glanced between the men, your stomach did a backflip. They were both looking at you with such intent and charisma, as if trying to enchant you. The idea of being with either of them made you feel butterflies.

But they are so drastically different, which made the decision that much harder. If you choose Kaeya, your relationship would be fiery and brand new all the time. He was full of adventure and flirting, favoring nightlife and excitement. And with Albedo, it would be calm and joyous. Your days would be spent in flower fields and underneath trees. Both sounded like a dream to you.

“I don’t know who to pick,” You admitted, holding back a sigh of defeat. “I never thought multiple people would like me at once, let alone you two. I just need more time.”

And with that, you turned on your heel and walked back up the stairs. Your head felt light and your mind was clouded with a million different scenarios. You felt guilty for leaving the men alone but until you could come up with a definite answer, they could wait.

[yostresswritinggirl]

Meister of the Stars

Genshin Impact College!AU but it’s in canon universe with canon elements

Otherwise: Hogwarts in Teyvat, Sumeru Academia

Welcome to Exiled’s first public domain post! What does that mean? Well that just means that this work is entirely repriseable and can be used by other authors for their own plots, fics, stories, or even AU characters. So long as you credit me appropriately by either tagging this post or just tagging my url hehe.

Why is this Public Domain? It’s too big and extensive of a plot for me to write alone and I’m sure other authors can do this plot justice than I do. Besides, with my schedule and writing manner, I won’t be delving into this plot anytime soon. Or at all.

Story Prologue Summary:

Sumeru Academia, the oasis of knowledge in the vast continent of Teyvat, is a constitution inhabiting scholars around the world. Within its walls harbors great minds and masters of elemental prowess and higher intelligence. Only select people can enter or even pass the trials of the scholars, some are gifted by invitation by the Headmaster and leader of the nation, the Dendro Archon.

When you had been gifted your Dendro Vision one day when you encountered and rejuvenated one of the many ley lines connecting the world together, it was guaranteed the next day that you were to receive a letter by a majestic hawk: within its claws it clutched a cured scroll, locked by a tie and the logo of Dendro, and the insignia of the famed Academia.

The Archon, shut and reserved as he may be, he knows and keeps close the gifted ones who received a sprinkle of his power.

Sumeru Academia does not value itself with how long you had been under scholarly guidance, students are not recognized by how many years they have been in the constitution, no. Instead the students are split into three different systems of prestige: elemental, mastery, and admission.

Elemental System separates students into different, well, elements corresponding to their Visions: Dendro, Pyro, Cryo, Hydro, Electro, Geo and Anemo. There are no titles do scholars who enter the Academia, but scholarly jargons had opted for either ‘awakening’ or ‘waiting shell’, because more often than not, many scholars had been blessed while inside the walls of the Academia, as well as the obvious fact that being blessed by a Vision comes at a natural time and age in your life.

Mastery System comes in four main hierarchies and two sub-categories, all of which are determined by the Trials of the Scholars upon being allowed admission into the Academia. The four main hierarchies are classified by prestige stars or which the amount you are allowed pinned on your Academian sash:

Six stars are those who come near the grace of Celestia’s understanding of the universe, very rarely are scholars placed into this category, and many scholars even dispute the existence of such a class. However, they do exist as they are honored by the God of Wisdom himself deeming them to carry the blessings of the wisdoms from the stars. A Six star only comes one in a generation, some say. Many speculations linked to this class are supernatural and absurd rumors.

Five stars are those who master the flow of their visions powered by their undeniable talents in their major scholarly interest, renowned as true geniuses of their professions, a lot of them turn into prodigies after leaving the Academia and even serving under ruling kingdoms with high roles.

Four stars are the base level a Vision-holder can reach and is the starting system for said Vision-holders; even tho this is the default level of Vision holders, wielders of Visions in Academia are not to be trifled with, as they are expected to exceed their mastery over Vision-holders residing outside the Academia.

Three stars are non-Vision scholars that have an adeptness in both academics and weapon mastery, they are proficient in combat prowess enough to par those who have basic grasp of their Visions outside of the Academia. Most three star scholars are also known to have a higher chance of receiving their Visions.

There has been no record of Two Stars or One Star scholars in the records of the Academia.

Sub-category of the Mastery System are reliant on physical properties of a scholar: Adepts are those with mixed blood with mystical beings of the continent, or simply put, scholars that are not just of mortal origins. Mortals are simply normal mortals. These sub-category, meaningless as it may seem, are actually used to observe patterns for research purposes regarding power and skill differences.

Admission System is the plainest and easiest judge for all scholars and is not that much given attention to unlike the other systems, except for the last one. Entrance Admission simply means you have taken the appropriate customary tests of the mind, body and element (if you are a Vision-wielder) and passed the marks to enter the Academia. Letter of Recommendation means that you were either transferred from another academy besides Sumeru or some prestigious bloodline convinced the headmasters of Sumeru to allow such easy admission. Meisters are those who wield Dendro Visions with full potential, invited by the Dendro Archon himself to join the ranks of the Academia.

During the Rite of Prominence in the main hall of the Academia, the Dendro Archon descends from his temple to hold this important annual event for new scholars, together with the Headmasters. Rite of Prominence is where new scholars are given their first prestige systems, and those who are convinced to have ascended gets their new titles.

Your knees almost buckled when your name echoed through the wide building, calling you upon the presence of the Headmasters to finally receive your classification. Your first friend and fellow newcomer Chongyun pats you in the back, urging you to approach the aisle that leads to the stage up front. His smile was enough to push your legs to a subtle tremble as you made your way through the carpeted path, standing before the Headmasters.

There was a beat of silence and unmoving, and then the Headmaster starts to raise his hand- before the Dendro Archon himself suddenly stands up from his large throne of a seat at the very back. The movement caused a series of gasps to erupt from the scholars and staff behind you, and you must have hallucinated one from the cloaked Headmasters, as the God of Wisdom made his way to stand in front of you.

His presence was both ethereal and overwhelming as his imposing figure looms over you. You politely raised your head to rest your view by the bridge of his nose, not wanting to offend by making direct contact. “Child,” he extends his large hand and you looked at it, “Your hand.” Your eyes fleet back to his with wary but his gaze softened in assurance. With a sharp inhale, you finally placed your hand into his-

And a burst of gold streams flew out from your connected hands, with enough force to send a pulse of a wave through the building. Hanging cloths were whisked by the elemental burst, flames of candles extinguished, as suddenly all the Visions in the building began glowing. You blinked the surge of nausea away, and it was only the Dendro Archon that noticed the golden glow that pulsed from your iris, and looked around in confusion.

“(Y/N) (L/N),” you felt the hand under your palm move away as six glowing rocks manifested and twirled around you. Scholars knowledgeable enough gasped once again at the sight. And you warily watched the glowing rocks forge themselves into star-shaped badges, slowing down as they descend in front of you and on to your palm. “Welcome to this new age, Six Stars Meister of the Stars.” And the hall blows into a series of thunderous claps.

(This area is a WIP)

In the back of the Ancient libraries of Sumeru Academia resides the domain of the record holder, and there upon are bookshelves of numerous records about every scholar that has been admitted into the Academia. Each book corresponds to a student and its first pages carry their basic information, however the pages after that are hexed with powerful lexical charms to make it unreadable to anyone that dare looks at the other pages:

Albedo: Geo Vision. A Five Star, Adept scholar who has been in the Academia for two years through a letter of recommendation. Albedo is a master of the sword too, but his expertise lies in his expert handling of the concept of Alchemy. Hailing from an unknown continent, Albedo aims to spread his knowledge and master it enough to become a Six Star, a prestige title his master once held before mysteriously disappearing. Upon your appearance, the master alchemist had been not so subtly observing and following you around whenever you were in the vicinity. You're not sure if you saw this right, but when you once had seen his passing look, you swore you saw a slight squint when he looks down at your sash.

Amber: Pyro Vision. A Four Star, Mortal hailing from Mondstadt. Her grandfather was an alumni of the Academia who mastered the arts of gliding, and was thus allowed the opportunity to accept his letter of recommendation for Amber when she reached the age of 15. She continued her grandfather's work in the Academia and carried the Outrider title, focusing on aerodynamics and her bow mastery. Seeing as she was around your age range but having been admitted years prior, Amber took it upon herself to tour you around the campus and also introduce you to her friends from Mond. During the weekends, you find yourself gliding over the university's towering buildings with her.

Baizhu

Beidou

Bennett

Chongyun: Cryo Vision. A Four Star, Mortal from Liyue with ties to the spiritual realm. His expertise in exorcism had earned him the title of Master of Spirits despite being a newcomer, and many of services are seeked out even in the new continent. With his mischievous Liyuean friends, he's seen roaming around the halls of the Academia during ungodly hours. Chongyun was your first friend in the Academia after you both rendezvous at the entrance as newcomers and finding solace with the company of each other. When you earned your Six Stars title, Chongyun had become protective of you yet still treated you as a normal friend, not wanting you to think he was only there for prestige. During random nights, you'd find yourself in the darkest and secluded areas of the Academia as he pulls you around with Xingqiu, hoping to find roaming spirits of scholars from years ago.

Collei

Cyno: Pyro Vision. A Five Star, Mortal that had been in the Sumeru Academia for years. He is one of the senior scholars and running for Headmaster after his graduation. In the Pyro Visions, he is one of the renowned masters of the element, and can usually be found tending the books of the ancient libraries of the Academia. As of Sumerian descent and strong ties with the Academia, under the buddy system Cyno became your senior buddy on your first year to make sure you do not incur a failing grade nor misunderstood the practices and customs of the Academia. Because of this, you meet with him daily for check-ups and tutoring.

Diluc

Fischl

Ganyu

Jean

Kaeya

Keqing

Lisa

Mona

Razor

Sucrose: Anemo Vision. A Four Star, Adept of an unknown cat species from Mondstadt. Master of Bio-Alchemy as renowned of her multiple contributions to the field, Sucrose made her way to Sumeru Academia at the news that it harbors the one and only Master of Alchemy in it. She passed the entrance exam with expected ease and has then exhausted the laboratories and resources of the Academia for her researches. You've ran into her once when you were lost in the halls of the large Academia, stumbling on her unsupervised experiments in one of the laboratories. Her cat ears caught your attention and had since then become engrossed in researching about it, with her next to you, you were both brought together into a friendship focused on nature and a thirst for discovery.

Tartaglia: Hydro Vision. A Five Star, Mortal that carried with him a different aura opposite of the stars. Childe entered the Academia after near perfecting all his scores in all the tests, before the Headmasters realized that he carried a letter of recommendation from the Tsaritsa, which was then useless by the time he revealed it. One of the few Masters of Hydro, Childe was more fond and known in the arts of combat, Warmonger was a title he was more confident in as he shows prowess in all weaponry he touches. When Childe heard about the existence of a Six Star, his first instinct was to test out the difference between him and the fabled child. But his mastery in combat alone was enough to show he was still ever more superior. Irked yet still curious of a hidden potential, Childe ended up tortur- tutoring you in mastering weapon proficiency. He manages to persuade you in his test spars (still looking for that six star glory) by a promise of an expensive dinner everytime. Damn rich people.

Venti: Anemo Vision. A Five Star, Adept that was personally invited by the Dendro Archon after his retirement from his position as archon of Mondstadt. Despite the idea being absolutely preposterous and against his principles, clearly he had nothing better to do, he was ultimately persuaded after hearing his fellow retired archon resided in the Academia as well. The Master of Winds and Weaver of Tales had become your partner in your Anemo classes, and what better way to teach you about Anemo than flinging you into the sky to 'feel the fresh air' up there? He'd always make sure that you were there everytime he performed for the Academia, and lingers around you whenever you were free just to loiter around before the next class.

Xiangling:

Xiao: Anemo Vision. Five Star, Adept that passed the examination in hopes to follow his master in search for the truth. Master of the Polearm is the title he boasts, and a lot of pupils under him are always devastated upon entering combat with him. Although he's only been there for a year, he has secretly been enjoying the new atmosphere. Xiao had noticed you during the Rite of Prominence when he felt the familiar touch of the Gods, and he had found that whenever you are near, there is a cleansing aura that silences the demonic whispers in his head. Ever since then he'd be found usually in your vicinity yet unapproaching, subtle. When Zhongli officially entrusted him of your safety during your stay in the Academia, he doesn't know whether to scuff or sigh in relief as he was finally introduced.

Xingqiu

Zhongli: Geo Vision. A Five Star Adept that was also invited by the God of Wisdom but was dependently persuaded by Venti. He carries with him 6000 years of knowledge and had since then assisted in collating those sacred years to be immortalized in the Academia's libraries. As the Wielder of Earth he prides himself with his elemental mastery despite the removal of his true power, and yet he is more known of his title as Historian of the Wars. Zhongli was no ordinary student, he carries himself like that of a Headmaster and yet he does not situate himself with matters of either scholar of staff interests. You encountered him during a nightly walk to calm yourself over the burden of your academics and Meister title, and his presence had been the best comfort. Ever since then you'd always find him when you need him, and he always helps you with any troubles, if you count a 500 words dialogue as such.

Storyline - Arcs

Arc Socrates : the foundation

i. Rite of Prominence - earning ones title

ii. Welcome to Sumeru Academia - the dormitories

iii. The Seven Majors - first classes for the seven corresponding elements

iv. Buddy System - newcomers are always paired with senior scholars on their first year in the Academia

v. Labyrinth - the libraries of Sumeru Academia is large and secretive, hence the perfect domain for treasure hunt exercises

vi. Combat Mastery - dive into the trials of weapons, another major

vii. Science Side of Sumeru (SSS) - numerous laboratories harbor different individuals and strands, from alchemy to biology to— wine-making?

ending. The Walk of Scholars - every midyear, scholars are entitled to a week long fieldtrip/vacation in the nation of Sumeru, beyond the walls of the Academia

Plato : the calling of the stars

i. The Midyear Examinations - annual exam to retest your standing in the Academia

ii. Divine Intervention - archonistic convention of a looming celestial presence

iii. The Leyline Disorder - a leyline in the Academia became corrupted, forcing a halt in the academics as malignous forces plague the Academia

iv. The First Miracle - as the Six Stars scholar with a touch blessed by the stars, you were the only one to succeed in repairing the problem

ending. Advancement of Medicine - after the First Miracle, the Six Star scholar was plagued with eternal sleep. With this new case, the Academia scrambles for medical intervention

*shrugs*

This is not a series I'll be working on, but may be referenced in oneshots in the future.

[angrylizardjacket]

fit by my side {Machine Gun Kelly}

@bitchylittleredhead said: Okay I hear your MGK x pastel!reader and I raise you MGK x Mother Nature!reader. Hella plants, strong love for animals, heckin soft, v kind, mom friend, sunshine child. (I just really really love soft paired with him, it’s so damn cute) also I love you I hope you are well 🧡 

Also This Concept

A/N: 3177 words. Gender Neutral Reader (they/them) ! im worried kells is OOC. also there’s no smut but it does get M rated, but there’s no genitals specified. gets quite sappy at times. also @url-under-construction i hope u like it and i hope its good.

----

When you meet Colson, he’s famous, but he’s not, you know, famous famous. You meet on the set of The Dirt; he’s one of the stars, you’re a production assistant and stand-in when they need it, and you don’t think for a second that he’ll even remember your name when this is all over. 

But he does; in rehearsals, you’re the one reading the lines for the characters they haven’t cast yet, and the first time the four main cast members see you, in your floaty, floral top, and your gentle aura, and then to hear you say, with absolute sincerity, ‘your mom’s a cunt’, it has them bursting out laughing. You smile, sweet and kind, and you step gently through the blocking that has the character you’re currently standing in for, stabbing Tommy - Colson - with a pen. 

Maybe the juxtaposition of you taking part in this whole production is what intrigues him.

When filming starts, you’re still around, and something about seeing you, amid this performance of debauchery, and yet you’re still sincere and gentle, your choice of attire making you stick out like a sore thumb amid the leather and grime. At first, he tries to play it off, that you look somewhat out of place and it’s eye-catching, but you bring the cast food and water and whatever they need, you go on coffee runs, and take a genuine interest in each of them, and by the time he realises that his mood lifts every time he walks on set and sees you there, he knows he can’t play it off as you catching his eye for completely platonic reasons.

He asks you out the week after Casie leaves from visiting set, having seen you interact with her, entertain her while Colson was in hair, treating her with just as much kindness and respect as you did everyone else on the production. It convinces him that your intentions are true, and he knows that he can’t finish this production without shooting his shot.

By the time the wrap party comes around, you’re calling him your boyfriend, at first tentative, looking to him for confirmation, but then you see the way he beams at how the words sound when you say them, and you grow more confident each time you say it.

It’s met with... confusion.

Really? 

It seems no-one saw that coming - if anyone, I would have expected Douglas - you hear, and frown. 

“What does that mean?” You ask; a frown is rare to see on your face, but you’re wearing it anyhow, and the woman your speaking to splutters her way around a sentence as she’s trying to backpeddle.

“I just- I mean, well, Kells - Colson - he’s so... Doulgas just seems more... refined? Not that Colson not, you know- you’re just -”

“I’m just what?” You ask, not accusing, more curious than anything else, and the woman’s voice dies in her throat as she looks you over; pale blue jeans and a pastel, patterned button-down that would have looked right at home in the eighties. 

“I’m just concerned for you,” she eventually says, laying her hand on yours like she’s trying to do you a favour, “Colson’s intense, I’m just worried you’ll get hurt.” You see what she’s trying to say, but her tone is so painfully condescending. 

“I’m an adult,” you tell her, tone understanding but firm, “and I appreciate your concern, but I promise I can take care of myself.”

The moment you can get out of the conversation, you find Colson, talking animatedly to one of the makeup artists, and you slot yourself into the space by his side. Automatically, without even stopping the conversation, he wraps his arm around you and pulls you close, and you gratefully take the moment to press your face against him, wrapping your arms around him without saying a word. It’s both strangely intimate and familiar, his thumb rubbing small circles against your side.

As he stops talking, there’s a lull, and you don’t have to look up to know the makeup artist is giving you both a strange look.

“Ignore me,” your voice is muffled against him, using one hand as if to waive off any last bits of hesitation. 

“They’re fine,” Colson assured, tapping you on the hip. He’s still oozing casual confidence

You’ve been together for almost half of filming, which isn’t exactly a short amount of time, but usually you try and keep things professional on set, so it’s nice to be able to be close to him in public. 

The rest of the cast know, of course, you’ve been out with them on several occasions, and they all have come to adore you just as much as you adore them. Something about hearing Daniel drunkenly assure you that if Colson ever hurts you, that there’d be a line of people ready to slap some sense into him. You try to brush him off, endeared by his drunken affection, but he turns suddenly to the rest of the cast.

“Hey, hey, hey - who’d throw down for Y/N?” He asks; without hesitation, Douglas, Iwan, and Colson raise their hands, eyes wide and alert, as if the offer needed to be acted upon immediately. The show of support has your heart swelling in your chest.

You find yourself fitting into his life back in LA easily; while beginning work as an assistant on a Netflix original series, you call into his house in the Hollywood Hills, delighted to be privy to demos and snippets from his next album. 

And you meet his friends, shake their hands and smile and chatter with them. They’re not sure what to make of you at first, no-one really is when you present yourself in conjunction with Colson, but soon they start to see what he sees in you. It’s endearingly genuine and thoughtful and honest and enthusiastic and -

“They’re like sunshine,” it’s Rook’s Instagram live, almost six months into your relationship with Colson, that really cements it to the public. Rook is smoking in Colson’s living room in the middle of the afternoon between recording sessions, and someone asked what your deal was. 

“I’m so sick of - and I know Kells is, and Y/N too, not that they’d ever say anything. ‘ve never heard them say a bad word ‘bout anyone, you know,” Rook hits the blunt again, his face scrunching up, “but everyone ‘round here’s so fuckin’ sick of people talkin’ shit ‘bout ‘em. For real, Y/N is sunshine, nicer than all of you motherfuckers put together,” and he laughs, but it’s clear he isn’t entirely joking, “- you know what?” He asked, eyes lighting up and standing abruptly, grabbing the phone.

“Baze, man, you seen Y/N?” He calls, and Baze responds from somewhere off-camera that you’re outside. The comments are going off, but he pays them no mind, heading out to the backyard, only to see you by the back fence, peering over into the trees, on your tip toes, one hand straining over the fence, in shorts and a singlet in sunshine yellow.

Rook calls your name.

You shush him loudly, and then, without looking at him, slowly wave him over.

As he approaches, he can hear the telltale sound of a bird chirping, and as soon as he gets close, he hears you whisper -

“I think they’re bluebirds,” you murmur, and finally look back at him, lowering yourself, surprised to see his phone held aloft. He tells you he’s live streaming, you wave awkwardly, which is when he sees the slice of banana you’re holding, “I’m not sure what they eat; do bluebirds eat banana?” You ask, a little helpless, looking at Rook, and then to his phone. 

After a moment, you step aside, and gesture for Rook to take a look over the fence, and sure enough there’s a nest with a single, rather sad looking bluebird with it’s wing bent at a strange angle, calling out pathetically, obscuring a few eggs, just out of arm’s reach. While he’s looking over the fence, also trying to reach them, and also trying to get the phone close enough to see if anyone watching the livestream could identify the bird or offer any suggestion, he hears your footsteps retreating.

“Stay there, I’m going to get Kells,” you call out to him, voice bright, “he’s got long arms!” And Rook bursts out laughing; you weren’t wrong. 

While waiting, he sits against the fence and answers a few more questions, until he looks up and sees you, expression concerned, and Colson uncharacteristically fond as he lets you lead him by the hand.

You show him the nest and ask for him to get it, worried the bird was hurt, and he obligingly reaches over the back fence to gently collect the bird nest, trying his best not to jostle the bird. The bird’s wing appeared to be broken, and Rook ends the live when you mention that you’re going to take the bird to the vet.

Already, the fandom is exploding from what had transpired. 

People are making suggestions as to what the birds should be named, people are claiming your caring and sweet personality is completely fake, people in the live managed to screenshot Colson’s expression as you’d lead him to the birds, how smitten he was with his hand in yours, and have started posting ‘get u a man who looks at u like kells looks at y/n’ all over twitter and tumblr.

“Bird update!” Several hours later, Colson posts a series of videos to his instagram story, “for those of y’all who don’t know, Y/N found a bird with a broken wing in a tree out the back of my place, we rescued it and it’s eggs, and took it to the vet,” and with that he flips the camera around, from a close up on his face, to show a large, cardboard box in the corner of the room. 

Peep Davidson was written in large, black letters on the side of the box.

The rest of the videos are outlining what the vet had told you all, and that the bird should only take about seven days to heal before you could put them all back into the wilderness. 

At that, he pauses.

“You worried about putting the birds back when you saw that cat the other day?” And he angles the camera to reveal you, laying with your head in his lap.

“The orange one?” You ask, voice heavy, as if he’d disturbed you when you’d been right about to fall asleep. You yawn, and he confirms, you give a little, lazy shrug and smile, “not sure where that cat is.”

“Fuckin’ hell, babe,” Colson laughs, “you gotta stop finding random animals in my backyard.”

“They find me,” you counter, and shift so you can press your face against his belly, humming contentedly as his free hand begins stroking your back. 

“Snow White-Cinderella-Pied Piper motherfucker,” how that is somehow the softest, most gentle words to ever leave his lips, is utterly baffling, but there’s so much love and adoration but you turn enough for the camera to catch your delighted little smile, “you’re-” he starts, “who’s that dude from that, that My Hero shit we were watching the other night?”

“Koji Koda, you weeb,” you tease him fondly, knowing exactly who he’s referring to, and that’s where the video ends.

That’s the day it’s confirmed for the rest of the world. There’s countless paparazzi photos, and hints, and speculation, but this is the first time he’d called you anything but your name, and they’d all seen you snuggling up to him, your head in his lap.

This also is the day the trend begins on his Instagram story of a photo of you, usually in his backyard, with whatever animal had decided to befriend you that day.

My partner. My backyard. No fucking idea who’s animal that is.

And he still goes out and gets fucked up, and sometimes you’re there, and sometimes you’re not. When you’re out together, it still doesn’t quite make sense; he’s hard partying and over the top, and it seems like it wouldn’t be your scene at all.

But then there’s photos of Colson and a few of his friends standing on the edge of a roof, announcing that they’re Kings, and you’re by his side, smiling and waving at the person taking the photograph. He manages to get himself injured pulling a stunt at a friend’s house party, but you’re in the back of some influencer’s vlog, straddling his lap with tissues in your hand, him holding you secure as you clean up the scrape on his forehead; it’s kind of sickening how in love he looks, as he watches the way you concentrate. When you notice his expression, your own softens, and you lean in to give him a kiss. 

And so you start to make sense, but people still ask why.

So when asked, you tell people that you support each other, and challenge each other, and yeah, that’s absolutely why you’re together, but it’s not the whole reason as to why you make sense.

Because no-one sees the way you hook your finger into his belt loop at the back of his pants at the house party, and you press a kiss between his shoulder blades, and he knows exactly what that means. He’s quick to make some flimsy excuse to leave as you step into place by his side, which everyone he’s speaking to immediately sees through. You play at being flustered, tucking your embarrassed expression against him as he slings his arm around your shoulders, and calls an Uber.

The drive back to his place has you both on edge with anticipation, his hands all over you in the back of the car while you try to hold a civil conversation with the driver. It’s killing you not to give in, but you know it’s worth it. 

“You’re such an idiot!” You announced, grinning from ear to ear the moment you get into the house, before the door’s even closed, and he slams it shut to press you against it. Kissing him feels like a cathartic release, but after a moment you shove him back, loudly admonishing him for taking part of a stunt that got him hurt.

“You could have been seriously hurt!” You keep poking him in the chest to punctuate your words, and he steps back each time, expression alight, pupils blown wide. He keeps reaching out, as if to touch you, to snag your clothes, like it’s a game when you smack his hand back every time. 

“Got a gnarly cut though,” he pointed out, as his ass hits the kitchen island. His legs open, making space for you, and you step into it.

“Gnarly cut,” you murmur, tone surprisingly derisive, and you reach up to push his hair back from his forehead. His head tips back, leaning into your touch, the look on his face almost dreamy even as you’ve got a hand on his hips, pushing him back on the counter. 

Then you’re in his lap on the counter, hand fisted in his hair, lips on his neck, leaving bruises and bite marks. He’s trying to get you naked, efficient and desperate, but the moment he gets your shirt off, you push the fruit bowl behind him onto the floor, and push him back against the granite countertop. 

“You were worried about me,” he smirks up at you, admiring you with your hands planted either side of his head. 

“Because you don’t worry about your damn self!”

“Ooh, breaking out damn tonight? Must be serious,” he teased, deliberately riling you up; he loved this side of you just as much as the sweetness. Instead of responding, you reach up under his shirt and rake your nails harshly down his chest and stomach, delighting in the way he arched up at the sudden sensation, eyes falling closed. 

With one hand still flat against his belly, the other comes up to cup his jaw, gentle at first, before your fingers move to caress his throat, and you press yourself against him. 

“If you get yourself killed, I’ll kick your ass,” you whisper, lips inches from his as you press firmer against his throat. He grins, and sighs, the sound content and syrupy and so fucking into it, leaning up, to meet your lips with his, to feel the pressure on his neck just a little more.

And you bite, and you scratch, and you ride him on the kitchen island. The location is new, but the situation isn’t; once he’d discovered the righteous, sexual fury you’d been bottling up, he’d been more than happy to let you unleash it on him. Not to say that he didn’t give as good as he got; there’s been several times he’s had you swearing a blue streak, seeing stars, desperate and blissed out in equal measure.

But then there’s your dominant moments, the mean streak, and the teasing, the sting of your nails and your teeth and the way you push him around, into the mattress, against the wall without hesitation, and that he covets. No-one else is allowed to see you like that. To be tied up or blindfolded or or punished or pushed around, at your mercy, it’s as close to Heaven as he’s ever felt on Earth, because he knows without a shadow of a doubt that your heart is kind, that you’d never really hurt him in a way he wouldn’t like.

You make him feel safe.

And it’s not just the sex, you’re never dismissive of ideas or suggestions, seemingly always ready to help if he ever needs it, rather than judgmental. It makes him want to be there for you too. 

He wants to be better for you.

Which is kind of terrifying to consider.

“I love you,” he tells you in the shower, in the afterglow, soft, pausing where he had been washing your back where you couldn’t reach. It wasn’t the first time he’d said it, but he felt like he needed you to hear them.

“Love you too,” you say around a yawn, though the words are as genuine as they’d always been coming from you, and you lean back against him, leaning your head against his cheek in a moment of quiet intimacy. You try to kiss him like this, but turns your face directly into the shower, and end up spluttering and breaking the moment.

Colson chuckles softly, stepping back and pulling you with him, out of the stream of water and into his arms so he could kiss you properly. You’re still giggling as you’re wiping the water from your eyes, looking at him with fond adoration. When you settle your arms around him, you quiet down and bask in the moment, his forehead coming to rest against yours, warm and safe in his embrace, sensing that, in that moment, he felt the exact same way.

[phoebe-delia]

Congratulations on 100 followers! Your writing is superb and more importantly, your taste in Taylor Swift is immaculate. I loved your drabble “Androgynous” because I’m a sucker for Draco as a Drag Queen so I would love to see something more in that universe, if you like! If not, how about “the old house” from your list? I love the stories about Draco and Harry turned Grimmauld/Potter Cottage into a home for them.

Hello my love! Thank you so much--it's wonderful to have a mutual with the same appreciation of Taylor's best songs, and a url that reflects it 😉. I'm so glad you loved Androgynous; it was so fun to write and it was meant to be a love letter to the found family; I was also excited to include just some of my own little found family in it. In that vein, I think the prompt you chose fits perfectly in that universe! So, without further rambling ado I give you, Drag Queen Draco, aka Tarasque, and Harry in Grimmauld Place! (P.S. You might recognize a few references to a Taylor song that I think fits perfectly.) Enjoy!

Draco's father would likely think it was rather gauche to still have the Christmas lights up after New Years, but then again he probably would leave them up all year-round if it meant Draco didn't dress in a wig, dress and heels every night.

But sod him. Draco was happy.

And this was one of his favorite parts of the night: getting into drag. He had a little extra time tonight, having decided to get ready at his and Harry's house rather than at the club.

Draco started on makeup, having already washed and prepped his face. He'd shaved his eyebrows soon after starting drag, and he'd always been hairless on his face, so it only took a quick cursory glance over his face to make sure he hadn't any hair to take care of.

Now was the fun part. And from the moment a makeup brush touched Draco's face, they became Tarasque.

They began with primer, smoothing their face and making it ready for the foundation, which came next to even their skin tone. They used the brush to blend the makeup, down their neck and chest and up to their temples.

Next, they picked up their favorite liquid contour, but they used it lightly. The first time they'd contoured their face, Cori'd laughed so hard they had tears in their eyes.

"Tarasque, love, you don't need to use so much," they'd said. "You have such amazing cheekbones already, just use it to emphasize them a little."

Draco chuckled a little at the memory, now sucking in their cheeks as they expertly applied the contour, remembering not for the first time how right their drag mother had been. They continued to contour around their jaw to give the appearance of a longer, thinner neck.

They continued their routine, but they let their eyes roam around the bedroom.

Draco and Harry had taken pains to renovate Grimmauld Place when they'd moved in together. The two of them stripped the house of its dreary and depressing decor, and Draco had been absolutely giddy to remove the nasty old portraits in the house, weeding out the ones they no longer cared for by completing the task in full drag. Any relatives that spared Draco anything more negative than a genuinely curious expression found themselves quickly stripped of their place on the wall.

Since then, they'd created something truly tasteful and modern out of the old, stuffy rubbish. Silver, Cori, and Claire had been instrumental in helping Draco and Harry find comfortable and beautiful furniture, while still paying some homage to the original design. They left the same dining room table since both Harry and Draco had to admit it was quite regal. They also kept the Black family tapestry, moving it to a room at the back of the house they used to store things they didn't care to look at every day but couldn't bear to throw or give away. Finally, the appliances were old but usable after some restoring spells, and now they were shiny and working perfectly.

They'd added a refrigerator and a few other Muggle touches to make it more accessible to Harry and surprisingly more convenient for Draco, including a television. When they'd first moved in, Harry'd had a hard time prying Draco from the television. And now, Grimmauld Place was the regular gathering spot for all Drag Race watch parties, which inevitably ended with everyone sleeping in the living room, drunk and giddy with laughter.

And Draco may or may not have cried when Harry put on "Paris is Burning" for the first time.

Harry'd insisted on keeping plenty of pictures, both magical and Muggle, around the house. There were moving pictures of all their friends and family--Ron, Hermione, the entire Weasley clan, Andromeda, Teddy, and Harry's parents. For Draco's part, there was Narcissa and his found family, Cori, Claire, Silver, Pansy, and Blaise.

Draco smiled at a picture of their friends, reminding them to continue their makeup process.

When they finished applying their makeup and setting it, they reached over and put their wig in a secure travel bag, ensuring that it would be safe during Apparation. They stepped into their outfit for the evening--a simple black dress--and cast a protection spell on it to keep it from any stains or damage.

Looking in the mirror, Draco assessed their outfit. The blue heels lengthened their legs, and the tight black dress emphasized the padding on their arse and the perfect sinch of their waist. Satisfied, they turned and were startled a little by a knock at the door.

"Draco? Can I come in?" Draco smiled softly. After all this time together, Harry was still so respectful of Draco's space when getting in and out of drag.

"Yes, love, I'm ready."

Harry entered the room, eyes widening when he saw Draco. "Merlin," he said breathily. "No matter how many times I see you as Tarasque, I don't know if I'll get over how incredibly sexy you look."

Draco smirked. "Developing a new kink are we?"

Harry looked at them with blazing eyes. "My kink is Draco Malfoy, in any way they look."

Draco's heart skipped a beat. They gave Harry a soft smile. "I love you."

Harry grinned. "I love you too. You leaving now?"

"The show's in a half-hour, so I've got to get to the club to put on my wig."

"I'll be there when it starts, sitting with Cori, Claire and Silver."

"Alright."

"Have a good show, love," Harry said as Draco stepped into the Floo.

Draco smiled. "Thank you, Harry. I'll see you soon."

Draco disappeared from their shared home in a swirl of green flames, knowing that Harry would follow them soon after.

[hvlloweens-a]

𝙷𝙴𝙰𝚃𝚂𝚃𝚁𝙾𝙺𝙴 and 𝖋𝖗𝖎𝖈𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓 are heading out on the road for the 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐑 .

      heatstroke has been an opening act on several tours, previously known as the band unfit for headlining. all it took was ONE song hitting mainstream radio for them to breakout, creating a large and devoted fanbase in the process. the band known for being the opening act have finally earned their spot as a headliner and will be spending their spring and summer months touring north and south america ! friction has always had an expansive, loyal fanbase but could never catch the attention of an executive who could catapult their career . a few months ago, the stars aligned and friction signed to the same label as heatstroke .

      rolling stone magazine is saying this has the potential to be the concert of the summer ( which likely helped tickets sell out in a matter of days ) . although the tour is guaranteed to rake in plenty of cash for the label, will both bands be able to survive a lengthy time on the road together ? or will the expectations from the label become too much ?

   did you score tickets ?? 

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲.

this is a discord only verse centered around 2 bands going on tour together . world-building and plotting inside the server will work out the rest of the details ( i.e. dynamics between members, possible career claims, genres, etc ) ! this will be a collaborative experience with mock tour dates and tasks . . . but also a place to gush over muses and make friends ooc with no set activity limit .

𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬.

very standard rules apply . we’re all adults here !

(1) no ooc drama ; if something is bothering you, come to me privately and we can handle it together . there will likely be a large amount of ic drama so please be able to distinguish between ic and ooc ! if you cause ooc drama, you’ll be removed from the group immediately .

( 2 ) no godmodding. no bubble roleplaying ( please don’t join if your only intention is to ship and nothing else ! it gets very cliquey and boring that way ! ) . no problematic, deceased or underage fcs . please follow a +4/-4 rule when age-bending . plot with one another and don’t leave anyone out .

( 3 ) mature themes are definitely going to be present in this verse . please censor possible triggering content and put smut in nsfw channels . you must be 18+ to join and your muses must be 21+ . there is a mun cap of 8 ( including myself ) and you’re allowed to play 1 muse . if the first week is successful, 2 muses will be permitted and more roles pertaining to the tour will be created to facilitate the expansion !

( 4 ) there is no activity limit but please try to do something ic every day , even if it’s just posting some musings and/or chatting in the ooc chat ! this is a small, collaborative verse and it can only be successful if the members are as committed as i am ! bi-weekly interest checks will be posted and if you don’t react to the post within 24 hours, your role will be reopened .

𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.

( fc , gender, pronouns ) hey ! is that FIRST LAST i saw coming off of the tour bus ? they’re an AGE IN LETTERS year old ZODIAC that plays INSTRUMENT in HEATSTROKE/FRICTION. tabloids say they should be called LABEL which makes sense given that they’re POSITIVE TRAIT and NEGATIVE TRAIT . their fans would describe them as THREE AESTHETICS . written by alias, pronouns, timezone, url.

please include something for me to get a feeling for your muse ! it could be a playlist, a pinterest board, a couple of hcs .,.,. since there’s only 5 spots open, i want to be sure that i’m accepting a committed group of muns and diverse group of muses !  some priority will be given to those that liked my original interest post ! please send your app through my submit ! < 3

𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐬.

spots in heatstroke :

lead singer - ( felix mallard , cis male, he/him ) hey ! is that JACKSON BAILEY i saw coming off of the tour bus ? they’re a TWENTY-FIVE year old SCORPIO that is the LEAD SINGER in HEATSTROKE. tabloids say they should be called THE INTANGIBLE CONCEPT which makes sense given that they’re MAGNETIC and RETICENT . their fans would describe them as GRINNING WHEN YOU CATCH A STRANGER’S EYES IN A CROWDED ROOM, THE NAGGING WEIGHT OF FEELING LIKE YOU’RE LIVING A DOUBLE LIFE AND DRINKING LIQUOR STRAIGHT OUT OF THE BOTTLE . written by jamie, she/they, est, stargczing.

bassist

lead guitarist

drummer

rhythm guitar - reserved ( charlie plummer ) !

spots in friction :

bassist - ( nailea devora , cis woman, she/her ) hey ! is that CAMILA SERRANO i saw coming off of the tour bus ? they’re a TWENTY-TWO year old GEMINI that plays the BASS in HEATSTROKE. tabloids say they should be called THE INCENDIARY which makes sense given that they’re ENDEARING and SHEISTY . their fans would describe them as BURNING OTHERS BEFORE THEY HAVE A CHANCE TO BURN YOU, THE ENERGY OF A CITY WHEN IT’S LATE AT NIGHT AND DOCUMENTING EVERY MOMENT OF YOUR LIFE ON SOCIAL MEDIA . written by jamie, she/they, est, stargczing.

lead singer

lead guitarist - reserved !

drummer - reserved ( khadijha red thunder ) !

keyboardist

app count 

3 x lead singer of friction ( sabrina carpenter, thomas doherty & sab zada ) 

2 x lead guitarist of heatstroke ( kathryn newton, sharon alexie ) 

2 x drummer of heatstroke ( charlotte d’alessio, serena motola ) 

3 x keyboardist of friction ( tashi rodriguez, harry styles, arata mackenyu )

3 x bassist of heatstroke ( sofia bryant, nana komatsu & sydney sweeney )

[joshslater]

Five Step Program

Similar stories and bonus material on my Patreon.

I stared at the contents of the envelope, a blue jockstrap, and a folded piece of paper. I hadn’t put much hope into this “miracle solution” to becoming a jock without any of the work. Of course there was a catch. “First 20 customers get their first shipment free of charge” was enough for me to fill out the form with my information. It wasn’t anything too revealing. Name, address, height, weight, age. A box where you could write what you hoped to achieve with this revolutionary five step program. That’s what they really were after, I guessed. Having people enter their dreams so that they can tailor their next scam better. I was even surprised I got anything in the mail at all, and now having opened it, it made even more sense.

I could see how sending a jockstrap to someone perhaps fulfills some legal requirement that the recipient could now look like a jock. It could be a way to avoid getting a federal fraud charge. But I hadn’t spent a dime on this, so it didn’t make any sense. The jockstrap looked like any other jockstrap, I guessed. I’d never owned one, nor worn one. The pouch was dark blue and made with two layers of some synthetic mesh material. The big waistband was light blue with the letters JOCK repeated in dark blue around it. There was a faint smell of synthetic material and detergent. I did a mental sigh and opened the folded letter.

Congratulation on becoming one of our first customers on the revolutionizing five step Jock Express program. As a thank you for signing up, this first part is totally free of charge. Should you wish to continue the program, as we are confident you will after having successfully completed the first session, simply use the URL at the bottom of this page to enter your credit card information and we’ll send you the next item as soon as the payment is confirmed. I’m happy to inform you that we can offer a reduced price for the entire program, should you chose to start it within five days. The price is only $100 for the next installment, and progressively higher as you advance in the program. There is no commitment to purchase so you can stop the program at any point. We’re confident you will want to complete all the five steps in the Jock Express program.

Fuck that! What morons sign up to this kind of shit?

Instructions: The Jock Express is the easiest and most user friendly fitness program ever developed. Simply drink a lot of water, put on the items included in each program step, as you normally would, and go to sleep.

I was even more confused. Why would that sway anyone to put out $100 for at best another piece of gym clothing? I put it all in my in-tray on my desk and let it slip from my mind. I had dinner, watched TV, answered some late emails and the usual Tuesday stuff. By bedtime I walked past my home office and had the sudden recollection that I had something waiting in the in-tray. Then I remembered what it was, and almost reluctantly decided to go ahead with wearing the damn thing. I was still convinced it was a scam, but was immensely curious to exactly how it would work. If nothing else I would get to feel what wearing a jockstrap feels like. I drank a glass of water, put on the jockstrap, and went to bed. The jockstrap was as comfortable as anything and I quickly went to sleep.

Apparently I slept through the first alarm, and jolted awake on hearing the more incessant buzz from the phone. I jumped out of bed and it wasn’t until halfway to the bathroom I realized I was naked. I wouldn’t say massive, as in cartoonish in any way, but my dick and balls were noticeably bigger than before. It took a few seconds for my still startled brain to put the pieces together. The jockstrap had disappeared and somehow affected the body. It hadn’t replaced any body parts, I could still recognize my dick, but it was for sure altered. Suddenly $100 felt like way too little money. I didn’t even put any pants on as I typed in the URL from the letter. Jock Express step #2  for $100 and express delivery for another $25. Annoyingly no option to order all four remaining steps as a package. I just wanted to have them all in my house as soon as possible.

By the time I had entered all my details, checked all the boxes, and clicked the final webshop button I was rocking a massive hard-on. The biggest one in my life so far, by far. I didn’t care right then if I would come late or call in sick, I just knew that I had to take my pre-cum leaking enhancement for a test drive, and slowly started to move my hand up and down the shaft. It felt better than ever, and lasted longer than I have ever before. I’m not really sure how long, because I zoned out a bit while wanking, and then exploded with an epic load of cum. I managed to tilt the chair back and catch it all on my body, but then I felt really spent and dozed off, only to be brought back with a text message from my boss. Sick day it is, I decided.

A more apt description would be a lewd day. I just cycled between laptop porn, wanking and showers, and combinations thereof. I loved the difference it made when wearing underwear. Even when flaccid you could tell here was action waiting, not just only wearing underwear, but while wearing jeans too. I took photos so I had progress photos to compare with.

The next day was a strange one. I worked all day in the glow of someone with confidence, as if somehow I had done some achievement. I kind of surprised myself with how much of a difference it made when dealing with the pileup of emails from yesterday. Big dick energy. I could make decisions so much faster than I was used to. I don’t know if I really had more confidence, or just didn’t care as much. I was for sure giddy with anticipation of what was yet to come by overnight delivery. I forced myself to stay until official end of office hours and then bolted and drove straight home.

Thank God there was a DHL box in my mailbox, or I don’t know what I would have done. I opened it on my way in, and it’s contents were similar to the first one. A folded letter and some folded cloth. Without opening the letter I unfolded the cloth, which turned out to be a plain, sleeveless, white cotton T-shirt. Had there been someone to high five, I would have done so. I’m not fat, but there is a bit of flabbiness I would love to get rid of, so I couldn’t wait for this part. I felt anticipation in my stomach and something else in my pants. I hadn’t had a wank since this morning.

Evening couldn’t come soon enough. The letter said basically the same as the last one. A new URL for the $400 Jock Express #3, which I immediately ordered, again with overnight shipping. Not really sure what to kill time with, I figured a jock would watch sport, so I just randomly put some football on. I hadn’t really paid any attention to sports before, so I wasn’t sure about who was who, what the series looked like, or really what happened on the field besides the obvious. I ended up masturbating to the football, which in my opinion made it better. By 9:30 I decided to drink a few glasses of water, strip, put on the sleeveless T-shirt, and go to bed. I tossed and turned in anticipation for quite a while. The T-shirt had a very loose fit, and the big holes for the arms made it even more mobile, though it was anchored by the crew neck. Finally at some point I managed to fall asleep.

I woke up before the alarm. It was dark enough that I knew I hadn’t slept through them all. Instead of getting up or turning on the light, I just slowly moved my hand to my chest under the sheet. My chest was about the same size, but felt firmer, I imagined. But more importantly I was naked and the shirt was gone. I moved my hand down and couldn’t contain my joy when I started to feel the faint square of abs. I jumped out of bed and ran into the bathroom to have a look in the mirror. The effect was better than I thought from just touch. My torso not only looked fit as a model, with abs and V and all, but younger and with better skin. Perhaps an illusion, but it almost looked like my dick was bigger as well.

Having woken up early, after a wank and a shower, I was one of the first in at the office and quickly got ahead on my tasks for the day. I still had the anticipation I felt yesterday, but today it was more like I knew what to expect. It wasn’t just a one-off or a fluke, this was legit and it was happening. As I started early I decided to flex out early and rush back home. I spent the drive home fantasizing about different types of clothing. I was kind of wishing for those sleeves they use in basket, to amp up my arms, but there might be some scientific reason why they changed the body parts in a specific order. Who was I kidding? This wasn’t science. This was magic.

I ripped open the familiar package as soon as I was inside the front door. This time it was white under armour legging of some sort, ending just below the knees. I was considering strip down fully naked and put on the leggings right then and there, and wear them until it was time to go to bed, but decided against it. Even though the descriptions were vague and didn’t really say you couldn’t do that, I didn’t want to risk fucking up the process. Instead I found some underwear in the same color as the jockstrap and took a pair of scissors to an old white T-shirt to make it look like the one I put on yesterday. Then I put on those, and nothing but, and sat myself in front of the TV, determined to actually try to follow the game this time, whichever game I happened to see.

It might be I imagined it, perhaps because I’ve never really seen myself in a sleeveless T-shirt before, but it looked to me like my arms were a bit more defined than yesterday. I realized that I had just assumed only the parts under the clothes are affected, but that’s just something I made up. It could be that it just primarily acts under the clothes, or perhaps it was just a coincidence and the clothes really could change anything. In the end I let it go. It didn’t matter, I couldn’t prove it either way, and I couldn’t watch a game, have deep thoughts and masturbate all at the same time anyway. I was so into it I almost forgot to order the next package. A steep $1000 for whatever the next item was, but so far it was fucking worth it.

I really liked how I looked in the 3/4 leggings or whatever the fuck they are called. Just imagining how much better I would look the morning after made me go to bed with a big boner, despite being thoroughly wanked. I tried to calm myself by thinking of the last game I watched, and not give Jock Express a thought, and it kind of worked. I know I fell asleep pretty quickly and dreamt of football until the alarm woke me up.

“Fuck yeah!” was the first I could think when I saw myself. The thighs were about as large as before, but the line going down them made it obvious they were muscles and not jiggle matter. It even felt different just standing. I’m almost positive my dick had grown even more. Who the hell wouldn’t dish out $400 or whatever for this shit?

While the day started great it quickly became frustrating with all the corporate bullshit. I knew how to do my job. There were just so many fucking rules in the way of doing it in the best way. Perhaps the anticipation of the second to last package made me be in a bad mood. Whatever. I bolted as soon as I could, cranked up the volume in the car, trying to not think of anything until I got home. I almost punched something when I opened the mailbox and didn’t find an envelope. Instead it was just a note about DHL attempted to deliver while I wasn’t home. I could either call them to deliver tomorrow or drive to a pickup point. Like fuck I would wait another full fucking day.

I was furious when I got back into the car, blasting music as loud as I could, but I quickly calmed down. Perhaps this was a good thing? It might be a box with shoulder pads from football or hockey or lacrosse or whatever the fuck else looks hot. You know what else is hot? Michael at the DHL pickup point. I mean, I’m not homo or anything, I’m just saying he was a good looking dude.

The packet he gave me was a bit disappointing though. No way it could contain anything as large as shoulder pads. I didn’t want to fuck with my mojo, so I kept the same routine as before and didn’t open it until back home. Fucking cleats and socks. Another fucking leg day. And they smelled bad too, like distilled vinegar or some shit. As I entered the URL from the letter on my phone I got two more shocks. The price of the last package was ten thousand fucking dollars! And even worse, the delivery wouldn’t arrive until Monday. Two fucking days away. “This is bullshit” I shouted at nobody and threw the empty cardboard box into the wall to no damage to either.

I was still furious and went straight to the fridge, pulled out a cold can of beer, opened it, and downed half of it. It felt better, but I was still upset on the world in general. I looked at the phone screen again. $10k is a fuckton of money. There wasn’t a rush to buy it right now either, if they didn’t do overnight delivery during weekends. I emptied the can and crushed it against the countertop. It hurt my hand, which just added to my anger for being such a weakling. I pulled the rest of the six-pack out of the fridge and threw it in the living room couch on my way to the bedroom. I needed to get out of these stuffy office clothes and cool down with a cold one, or four.

I ripped off the tie and started to unbutton the shirt on my way into the bedroom, and once there opened the door to my wardrobe. I felt like a girl, not knowing what to wear. I hated everything my eyes fell on, and I hated feeling like that. I bunched the shirt into a ball and threw it into a corner, together with the tie. I climbed out of the pants as quickly as I could and threw them there as well. Then I stopped myself.

Everything I saw I really liked, I realized. The pecs, the abs, the thighs, and the generous bulge in the boxer briefs.I yanked off my socks and more deliberately lowered my boxers to let the dick and balls loose. I knew what I wanted from this junk selection of clothes, and opened a drawer with my athletic clothes and pulled out a pair of grey sweatpants. It was Friday and my dick and balls deserved some freedom, I thought, as I put on the sweats without any underwear. I picked up the sleeveless T-shirt from the floor by the bed and put that on as well. I felt so much better. A few beers, whatever game was on, and some more wanking, and perhaps this could turn into a good evening after all.

After two more beers, cum stains on sweatpants, T-shirt and the couch, and fuck knows how many games I zapped through I couldn’t wait any longer. Whatever bullshit the cleats and sock did, the sooner it was over with, the sooner I could move on with the final package. $10k was still a lot, but if I sold all shares I could buy it, keeping both house and car.

The socks went almost up to the knees, but weren’t any real soccer socks or anything like that. The looked more like something someone might have to the gym, or something a skater would wear. Skater was perhaps right, because they smelled like that vinegary acidic smell of really sweaty skater shoes. The socks were white with a wide black band around it near the top, and were a bit off-white on contact surfaces around the foot, as if they had been used in black shoes by someone. As if I would fucking care. I pulled up both legs of the sweats over the knees and put on both socks, pulling them as high as possible. The cleats were black and a bit banged up, but fit perfectly on my feet. I didn’t even remember having given out my shoe size. I was unsure how tight to tie them, so I went with comfortable without being loose.

It felt weird walking with them, like the shoes were pushing your forward. Not at all like my much flatter leather shoes. Somehow my test walking ended up by the fridge, so I grabbed another six-pack and returned to the couch for some more ESPN or whatever.

I had no idea what sport it was on the screen, but glancing out the window I could see that it wasn’t evening anymore. I must have fallen asleep, I realized, but I felt way better than I ought to, given the pile of crushed beer cans around me. I walked to the toilet to have a piss, and it wasn’t until I lowered the front of my sweatpants to grab my morning semi-stiff snake I realized I was barefoot. I was pissing for probably a good minute, aiming down with one hand. Holy fuck so much I’ve kept in while sleeping. I was pretty sure I had cleats and socks on when I fell asleep. I did a few bounces on the balls of the feet. It felt fucking great, and shook loose the last drops of piss from my dick. I dropped it back into the sweatpants, and broke into a smile from how fucking huge of a tent it made, despite being just a semi. I did a few more jumps, looking at how the flagpole in my front swung up and down. I really didn’t deserve to feel this great after yesterday, but I’d fucking take it. I felt so full of energy I felt I could do anything. I wanted to run just to see how it would feel.

I dashed into my bedroom and emptied the rest of the athletic clothes drawer on the floor. Some T-shirts, a pair of basket shorts, white socks and wiped down indoor and outdoor shoes. All of it was underwhelming, outright disappointing. And why the fuck did I keep the shoes here and not by the door? I grabbed the outdoor shoes and without bothering with socks started to mash my foot into it. It was clearly at least one size too small, perhaps several. Who the fucks know how shoe sizes work. I threw both shoes into the wall above my pile of office clothes. Fucking hell. Why do all days start out great and then go downhill so fast, I wondered.

I grabbed a pair of flip flops, the car keys, and pulled the credit card out of the wallet and walked out to the car. The car stereo startled me when I turned the ignition key, as it blared out some hip hop at max volume. I reached to turn it down, but changed my mind. It felt like my mood, as I was driving to my closest mall almost below speed limit. There wasn’t much traffic out anyway on a Saturday morning. As I turned into the almost empty parking lot in front of the mall I realized the fucking God damn shit mall would open for another 40-something fucking minutes. I wished I could turn up the music louder.

As I looked down on the cum stains on my shirt and tenting sweats I decided why the fuck not, and started to beat off in sync with the music.

40-something fucking minutes later I entered the sporting goods store in the mall. Johnson’s or Dick’s or Willy’s or whatever, I don’t care. I picked up some proper compression clothes, like the leggings I had earlier with a matching top. I got myself some outdoor Nike’s, a few proper tanks, some jocks, boxer shorts and socks, new flip flops, and a snapback cap. On the way to the cashier I decided to pick up a wooden baseball bat and a regulation size football as well. Back in the car I ripped off all the stickers and shit and put on something I could run in. The sneakers, jockstrap and shorts, a tank top, and the snapback. I left the car and just ran.

It was a revelation. The first time I tasted ice cream or coca cola, or the first time I discovered I could do something else with my dick besides peeing and hitting it too hard. I felt like a good damn terminator. Like as long as I kept the pace below sprinting I could run for hours. Trickles of sweat running down my face, my arms, my back, wetting the fabric of my clothes where it could, cooling the skin with the breeze my motion generated where it couldn’t. I have no fucking idea how long I actually run. When I finally ended up back in the car I was steaming and real fucking hungry.

I felt like a shower was in order, but I was too hungry to do that first. I went by Five Guys and had a bacon cheeseburger with fries and a peanut butter milkshake. As I started eating I realized I wasn’t anywhere near tired. It was probably enough running for today, but I wanted to do more. Halfway through the meal I decided I would visit the gym we had a company membership at. I had only been there a few times since the introduction walkthrough. I wasn’t even sure I had the card in my wallet anymore, or if it was in the bowl of stuff in the kitchen.

I made a quick stop at home, unloaded my car, found the card, and set off to the Pacific Wellness Center. The dude in the lobby had a pissy attitude and asked me if I was wearing indoor shoes. I asked him what they looked like, and he let me in. Such a shame, because he was kind of good looking.

Inside the gym the results were mixed. Squats, lunges, planking, and abductor machine all went excellent. It was fun, even. But everything involving arms went miserably. I could only lift a pathetic load, and after a few reps I would be tired. I even embarrassed myself in front of two massive gym buddies. One of them had amazing arms. You could see how strong they were even when he wasn’t lifting, but fuck me what beautiful ‘ceps when loaded. And tanned too. It was lucky I had the jockstrap on, because that body was smoking hot.

I could only stand a few more failures after that and then sped back home, still with hip hop at max, in a mix of emotions. I got naked on the way to the bathroom, and there I spent perhaps an hour in the shower, getting the grime and sweat off me, and wanking twice, thinking of the arms of the hot dude. As I dried myself on a towel I knew I had to buy the last package. Ten fucking thousand fucking dollars. I had to use the laptop to access my bank, and once I had put in the sell order for my stock portfolio I saw the pornhub tabs I hadn’t looked at since Wednesday.

The big-busted bimbos I had wanked my way through the Wednesday suddenly didn’t seem as interesting. I clicked around a bit until I found a muscle stud fucking a Latino girl. How quickly the taste can change, but except for pathetic arms, I’m was now the muscle stud. I quickly entered the URL from the Jock Express #4 box and ordered the last package. The delivery date was still Monday, so come Tuesday the muscle stud would be me. Only one fucking week.

Since I was out of beer I threw on my old shorts and a T-shirt, and had a walk to my nearest convenience store and bought one six-pack for each hand. I was feeling a bit stiff from the training, but it was much better than it ought to be.

As I opened the door back at home the warm smell of gym clothes, sweat, and feet hit me. I did the responsible thing and threw everything in the washing machine, opened a beer, and started to watch whatever was on.

Sunday was just a boring-ass filler day. I woke up at a decent time, had a long run. I passed through the park, but didn’t engage with any of the groups playing football or beach volley there. I could wait two more days to get my arms sorted. I did some cleaning up and domestic shit back home. Then I went to the gym again, but this time I pretended it was leg day, so I didn’t have to embarrass myself. After dinner I had an evening jog as well, and only had a few beers before bedtime.

Same thing on Monday. Woke up pretty early and went for a long run. When I was almost back home I got a text message from my boss, saying we needed to talk about my performance over the last few days. My answer “Suck my balls” probably summed up the conversation much better than any in-person meeting. I found that the best way to find porn with muscle studs in them was to search in the gay section. Just because you like to watch big arms and strong backs doesn’t make you homo. I jacked off to the videos until it was time to eat lunch. By 2 pm I was climbing on the fucking walls in anticipation, and every minute felt like too long. Perhaps it wouldn’t arrive today at all? I heard the mailman at 2:18 and rushed out wearing only shorts and snapback.

The mailbox was stuffed full with a big, soft envelope. I tore it open on my way back inside, kicked the door shut, and emptied the contents on my kitchen table. A big black something fell out, as well as something small that rattled across the table. Ignoring the letters, as usual, I unfolded the cloth. It was a big, black hoodie in sweatshirt material, with the print “STRONG” on the front. Finally arms! I picked up the small plastic box that almost fell off the table and opened it. It contained some sort of advanced mouthguard mad in blue, white, and transparent plastic of different hardness and flex. The kind that football players use.

Not knowing what to do next, I went to the gym and spent a few hours just randomly doing low weight, high rep stuff. I was trying to catch a glimpse of everyone else who worked out to see what their arms and legs looked like. Once I felt it was too obvious I wasn’t doing anything serious I drove home, but instead of going inside I started to walk and walked for hours just looking. It felt good just to be in motion. I didn’t return back until the sun started to set, and it was almost fully dark when I walked through the door.

I decided to just go ahead with the last piece of transformation. I stepped out of my sneakers and pulled off my damp socks. It didn’t smell of strawberries. I pulled off the T-shirt and stepped out of the basket shorts, but kept the compression shorts on. I grabbed the hoodie from the table and put it over my head. Perhaps it was me, but it smelled of musky sweat inside while I put it on. I poured myself a big glass of water and downed it.

I walked with the small plastic box to the bathroom and had a look in the mirror. I didn’t really look that different. The big hoodie hid my newly athletic front. The legs and feet looked strong, but who ever notices that? My big bulge in the compression pants was however a change from the past week that couldn’t easily be hidden. I opened the box and put the mouthguard into my mouth. It fit snugly and didn’t change my appearance much either. Not knowing what to do with the hoodie I put it up over my head and pulled it tighter with the drawstrings so all but my face was gone. Then I turned off all the lights and went to bed.

It was still dark when I woke up. Instantly I knew it had worked, because I couldn’t feel the mouthguard in my mouth, though it felt different. As if the ghost of the mouthguard was still there, prying my mouth open. I felt some sort of pressure on my head, as if I was wearing a hat or a beanie or something. I was about to feel my head when I realized moving my arm felt different. Not wanting to fuck around any longer I went straight to the bathroom again to have a look in the mirror. I stared at my reflection with open mouth. The difference was breathtaking.

First of all I wasn’t wearing any top, so my abs and pecs were on full display, but they were also bigger than before. Everything was bigger. My shoulders were much bigger, my entire upper body looked wider than before, and everything about the arms were huge. My face was still my face, but there were lots of small changes. “Fucking dope” I said with a much deeper voice than what I had before. I smiled a smirk and flexed the arms in different poses. I couldn't wait to show up at the gym doing an arm day. I just needed to have another shower. My dick needed service, and I felt sluggish, as if I hadn't really wakened up yet.

[gstqaobc]

FROM THE MONARCHIST LEAGUE OF CANADA

As this Ecomm went to publication, we received word of the death, at the great age of 96, of Bill Silver, a significant benefactor of the League from its early days, and for many years a pillar of our Ottawa Branch.  We wished to remember him here: his ebullient spirit, fierce loyalty spoken gently, innate modesty and kindness.  Indeed Chaucer might have had forethought of Bill in describing one of his characters as a “very parfitt gentle knight.” May his ardent spirit rest in peace, and his memory be a blessing and example to us all.   LEAGUE ISSUES NEW FLYER: THE CASE FOR THE CROWN The League thought it timely and useful to issue, offer in its advertising and distribute as widely as possible - both via the website and in printed form - a new flyer which will give you, our members, ammunition to argue logically the case for the Crown in conversation with others, and, we hope, to distribute strategically. One never knows when such an item, left on a waiting room table at the doctor or dentist’s office, affixed to a supermarket or other community bulletin board, put through neighbours’ mail slots - the possibilities are many - will do good work for our cause. We hope you will both enjoy and profit from this item, and that many thousands will be distributed across the country. See item one in the WHAT CAN I DO FOR THE CANADIAN CROWN? section of this Ecomm, below, to read online and request printed copies.   And special thanks to our wonderful team of no less than seven translators, all francophones from La Belle Province, who so kindly volunteered to make the French version one that is accurate in expression and eloquent in its prose.                     WHAT CAN I DO FOR THE CANADIAN CROWN? Some suggestions for member activity during these times. We invite members to send additional ideas by return of email. 1.    How about asking the League to send you several print copies of our new flyer:  THE CASE FOR THE CROWN, or print them on your home computer:  https://www.monarchist.ca/index.php/publications and give them to others who may be unaware or sceptical of the importance of Canada’s constitutional monarchy, or even hostile to it. School teachers could be encouraged to read the League’s educational booklets, also available both online and in print at the same URL, or even to request a class set.   2.    When you read an editorial, opinion column or letter to the editor in a newspaper, or a tweet or Facebook post, critical of the Crown, don’t get mad - get even! In other words, use a temperate tone and logical argument to refute the writer’s attack.  Keep it brief: focus on the obvious flaws in reasoning, mis-statements of fact or name-calling substituting for logic.  Same goes for radio talk shows. In the long run, on all media, whatever the provocation, whatever the momentary satisfaction of ”giving them a piece of my mind” - an old adage remains true: “You catch more flies with honey.” 3.    Write your elected representative at the federal level to re-state briefly the reasons you support constitutional monarchy as our system of government,  and asking the MP whether not your view is shared. 4.    Once pandemic restrictions ease, try to make sure that Royal events - such as the upcoming 95th birthday of our Queen, 10th Wedding Anniversary of William and Catherine or 100th birthday of Prince Philip are celebrated both in your home but also among your wider family, your friends, your colleagues at the office,  your place of worship/faith community or service club. The League generally sends you some ideas to mark these celebrations. Remember, as they are incorporated into family life and public life, the     Crown becomes further embedded in the heart of the nation, and truly represents The Queen’s wish that it ”reflects all that is best and most admired in the Canadian ideal.” This is especially true when you go out of your way to include in your observance the newest members of our Canadian family, who generally are eager to participate in the traditions of their new homeland, and in turn to share their own traditions with the wider community. 5.    Always use a Queen stamp when you write a letter or pay a bill by mail. 6.     At events of ceremony, whether a Council meeting, a graduation, a civic celebration - whatever - make sure that the Royal Anthem is sung as well as the National Anthem. To the extent you can, discourage event organizers from having a soloist “perform” them. Far more pride and         learning develop from the untrained voices of loyal folk singing together. In that way, the Anthems are sung “with heart and voice” and not merely listened to.   A FINAL IDEA: AN ACT OF LOVING SUPPORT & THANKS Apart from the above, we think it would be enormously comforting and supportive for every one of us to  write a kind letter to The Queen, expressing your thoughts at a difficult time: her beloved husband ailing, a grand-child chiding other family members via sensational television, the drumbeat of the tabloids and the restrictions on her busy life caused by the pandemic.  A selection of letters, especially those from Commonwealth Realms, are indeed seen by The Queen - and their number and tone are summarized to Her Majesty. The address is - Her Majesty The Queen, Buckingham Palace, London SW1A 1AA, UK Theoretically you don’t need postage to write the Sovereign; in practice, it is safer to affix the international airmail stamp available from your local Canada Post outlet.   AN INTERESTING OPINION PIECE FROM TODAY’S DAILY TELEGRAPHWe thought you might be interested to see the following strongly-worded opinion piece, reflecting a good deal of the tone of recent British public opinion, rather different from much of the Canadian and US commentary. Meghan’s fake interview has real-world effects The Sussexes’ claims have undermined the monarchy and done lasting damage to the Commonwealth by Tim Stanley, March 15, 2021 Two headlines appeared on the BBC News website on the same day. At the top: “Harry and Meghan rattle monarchy’s gilded cage”. At the bottom: “The kidnapped woman who defied Boko Haram”. Well, that puts the Sussexes' problems in perspective, doesn’t it? Yet across Africa, one reads, the Duchess’s story has revived memories of colonial racism, tarnishing the UK’s reputation, and has even lent weight to the campaign in some countries to drop the Queen as head of state. The only nation that seems to think a lot of nonsense was spoken is Britain. In the wake of an interview that Joe Biden’s administration called courageous, British popular opinion of Harry and Meghan fell to an all-time low, and the American format had a lot to do with it. Oprah Winfrey is not our idea of an interviewer. She flattered, fawned and displayed utter credulity. Imagine if it had been her, not Emily Maitlis, who interviewed Prince Andrew over the Jeffrey Epstein allegations. “You were in a Pizza Express that day? Oh my God, you MUST be innocent! Tell me, in all honesty, though...did you have the dough balls?” This wasn’t an interview, it was a commercial for a brand called Sussex, a pair of eco-friendly aristo-dolls that, if you pull the string, tell their truth – which isn’t the truth, because no one can entirely know that, but truth as they perceive it. “Life is about storytelling,” explained Meghan, “about the stories we tell ourselves, the stories we’re told, what we buy into.” Meghan is a postmodernist. Just as Jean Baudrillard said the Gulf War never happened, but was choreographed by the US media, so the Royal narrative she was forced to live was fake, her public happiness was fake and, following that logic, this interview might involve an element of performance, too. People have challenged her claims, alleging contradictions and improbabilities, but one of the malign effects of wokeness is that you have got to be very careful about pointing this out. Why? Because wokery insists on treating a subjective view as objective truth, or even as superior, because it’s based upon “lived experience”. To contradict that personal perspective is perceived as cruel, elitist and, in Meghan’s case, potentially racist, so it’s best to wait a few weeks to a year before applying a fact check. In the meantime, affect sympathy. People would rather you lied to their face than tell them what they don’t want to hear. The result is profoundly dishonest, for I have never known an event over which there is such a gulf between the official reception, as endorsed by the media and politics, and the reaction of average citizens, who are wisely keeping it to themselves. Into that vacuum of silence steps not the voice of reason but bullies and showmen – like Piers Morgan, who said some brash stuff about Meghan’s honesty and, after an unseemly row on Good Morning Britain, felt obliged to resign from his job.  “If you’d like to show your support for me,” he wrote afterwards, “please order a copy of my book.” Dear Lord, was this row fake, too? I can no longer be sure, though I despised Good Morning Britain before and still do: it embodies the cynical confusion of emotion and fact, a show made for clicks, where even the weatherman has an opinion. So what is real in 2021? The Commonwealth, which does a lot of good in a divided world. The monarchy, which has been at its best during the pandemic, doing the boring stuff of cutting ribbons and thanking workers that, one suspects, Meghan never grew into (can you imagine her opening a supermarket in Beccles?). It contains flawed people, but that only adds to its realness, and they can adapt faster than you might think. Prince William got the ball rolling by telling reporters, who he is trained to ignore, that his family is not racist. His wife paid her respects to the murder victim Sarah Everard, demonstrating that she is neither cold nor silenced. I’d wager Kate does her duty, day after day, no complaint, not because she is “trapped”, as Harry uncharitably put it, but because she loves her family and believes in public service. Meghan and Harry have indeed prompted the Royal family to change: not in order to endorse their criticisms, however, but to answer them.

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦🇬🇧🇦🇺🇳🇿

[thedeviltohisangel]

When The Day Met The Night//1

There was a gentle, almost timid, knock on the door and it silenced all the women instantly. They were all in their nightgowns, some with curlers they had pilfered from the Austrian homes, and all of them passing around the most delectable red wine they’d ever been in the presence of. It felt like what they were used to. Giggles and blushing and whispering about the men that were in the houses around them.

masterlist is my url/writing

accepting requests for this pairing

this is dedicated to @softspeirs​ for showing me the first twenty times i watch BoB i didn’t pay enough attention to ron

There was a gentle, almost timid, knock on the door and it silenced all the women instantly. They were all in their nightgowns, some with curlers they had pilfered from the Austrian homes, and all of them passing around the most delectable red wine they’d ever been in the presence of. It felt like what they were used to. Giggles and blushing and whispering about the men that were in the houses around them. It was in the middle of Barbara’s story about the Sergeant in Able Company that the knock sounded.

“Maybe it’s him!” They all huddled together as Barbara stood and opened the door, the sly smirk on her face faltering once she did.

“Sir! Did someone get hurt?” They all craned their necks to try and catch a glimpse of the officer that was standing there.

“No, I was wondering if Violet was around.” 

“One moment. I’ll check.” Barbara shut the door carefully and turned to face the group. “It’s Captain Spiers,” she whispered. They all turned to look at Violet, giddy smiles spreading across their faces. Her own followed suit. 

“How do I look?” She stood quickly and spun as the women came closer to inspect her.

“Beautiful! But you need a robe!” It would be quite the scandal for a man to see her skin in the way the nightgown exposed it. On the other side of the door, Ron was wondering if he had come at a bad time. If he had interrupted...well whatever it was that a group of women would be during right now. Talking? Casting spells? Just as he was opening his mouth to announce he’d come back another time, the door creaked open.

“Hi.” Well, everything felt better just like that.

“Hi,” he whispered back. Just her face was showing through the crack of the door, a robe haphazardly thrown around her shoulders was slipping just enough that his mouth ran dry with the possibilities of touching her skin where he shouldn’t.

“Everyone is fleeing into their rooms, then I can let you in.” His eyes flickered above her head where the blurry shapes of bodies were flying past.

“Fleeing?”

“To give us our privacy,” she teased. Privacy. That was something neither had truly had since before Pearl Harbor. Since before enlisting. Since before basic and Normandy and Holland and all the other hell holes they had marched into.

“I don’t know what that is anymore,” he mused. Violet found it hard to stay standing anytime he looked at her. The way his eyes zeroed in like she was an oasis in the desert. She turned to see a thumbs up from the last nurse slipping into her room, the door finally opening up to Ron fully.

“Well, me having my own room is as close as we can get.” He stepped into the apartment that had been given to the women for their time in Austria. Everyone had agreed keeping them sequestered was the appropriate move. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t go if he was invited to. She led him down the hall and into a room that looked like he imagined it would. In the back of his mind on the cold nights in his foxhole when he told himself deliriousness really was sinking in if he was thinking about the future. Thinking about a future with her in it. Why would he be deserving of such a thing? Why would he be selfish enough to drag her down with him?

“What’s this?” he inquired pointing towards the rifle that was propped against her nightstand.

“If the men are getting drunk enough to run over each other, imagine what they’d do to us. To me.” There had been plenty of comments and looks thrown her way over the years that made her skin crawl. That almost made her quit and return home. No matter how tired and cold they all were, no matter how many of them she had stitched back together, she would always be lesser than them. A girl playing dress up. A girl who’d get put in her place if she tried to find a spot in this world.

“I’d kill them before they got the chance to even think about it.” There was nothing playful in his tone nor his eyes. And she knew he was right.

“I know,” she whispered as she closed the distance between them and cupped the back of his head. Ron was already reserving himself to standing outside her door every night to make sure of it. “Don’t let those thoughts ruin tonight.” Throughout the entire war, since the moment they met even before it turned into what it was, they had sought each other for comfort. The moment they locked eyes the world stopped and stilled. It grew peaceful and content and warm and safe. She didn’t want anything to ruin that. Ruin the sacred place between them that they had built.

“It gets harder everyday to compartmentalize. Gets harder everyday to pretend I’m not screaming inside. That you aren’t the only thing that can soothe my soul.” Everyone knew about them but no one spoke about it. The boys of Easy, who she had been with since the beginning, wanted nothing for her but happiness. And if that came in the form of Speirs, then so be it. If anyone deserved a smile on their face, it was Violet.

“Then talk to me about happy things. Like Boston.” He huffed out a laugh.

“Like Boston.” 

“Yeah. I’ve only been once. Tell me how it looks through your eyes.” Unconsciously, they had begun swaying like they were at a dance. It was a beat only the two of them could hear. A beat they had created with their hearts.

“Well, I used to love when it snowed. Not sure if I will anymore. Me and some other boys used to play hockey on the pond. I remember, even though it was so cold, I couldn’t feel it. I was so excited to be with them and playing and…” She let his words sit between them without a response. She knew what he was going through. The danger of remembering a simpler time. The danger of letting oneself be happy and let their guard down.

“You’ll learn to love snow again, Ron. I promise.” He didn’t respond, instead leaning down to kiss her. It had always been easier for him to get his emotions across through actions. Whether it was anger through killing Germans or love by touching her softly and kissing her hungrily. She sighed into his lips and relaxed against him, letting him absorb her fully. 

“Did you like Boston? The one time you went?”

“I did. We stayed right by the harbor. And ate the most delicious food. If only I had known there were such handsome men…”

“And none of them are worthy of you. Never will be.” There was complete sincerity in his tone. And she knew he was referring to himself as well. She didn’t need to ask.

“Is that where you’re going to go once this is all over? Back to Boston?” 

“Where are you going to go?” She thinks he was deflecting but she didn’t push.

“I got a letter that the theater is willing to accept me back when I get home. I’ll be back in New York.” Her mother would no doubt be thrilled to hear it. That her daughter, tarnishing the society image by covering herself in blood and mud and associating with foul-mouthed men, would return home and be welcomed back as a ballerina. One people paid good money to see.

“That’s where you belong,” he said quietly. And Ron knew what he said was true. People didn’t shine the way she did just to retreat to the background. They didn’t change every life they touched just to have their names resigned. They weren’t born to live in foxholes and never know stability. She deserved the prosperous, golden life that New York could give her. That he couldn’t. Not in Boston, not anywhere. He was abrasive and temperamental and didn’t know how to be careful with anything let alone something so beautiful in it’s delicacy.

“You’re staying with the men?” She figured Ron was never going to have the courage to break her heart. She would do it for him.

“Easy, they’re a special group. I wouldn’t want someone ruining them. Getting them killed over in Japan.”

“Of course,” she nodded as if she agreed. As if she understood. As if she expected Ron to change who he was for her. 

“Otherwise I’d…I’d…” He wanted to say he’d be in New York. That if he wasn’t so good at being a monster he’d be with her. He’d try to fit in. For her. Only for her.

“I know,” she whispered with tears shining in her eyes. “We have to leave a lot of things behind.” But she knew she wouldn’t. Couldn’t leave him behind.

“I didn’t come here tonight to do this, Violet, I promise.” Ron stepped back from her embrace and ran his hand roughly down his face trying to wake himself up from this nightmare.

“You don’t owe me anything, Ron. You’ve given me more than I ever hoped for.” He looked away from her. All of a sudden he couldn’t breathe. His chest was heaving and the world was spinning. She was crying and it was his fault and he was committing to a life without her. The only thing Ron Speirs had been afraid of since the aid station in Carentan. 

“I love you. I love you so much and it paralyzes me sometimes. I love you and I don’t know how to be in love. I don’t know how to be someone you can rely on. I don’t know how to be a stabilizing presence in anyone’s life and I sure as hell don’t know what to do with peace.”

“So stay. Stay with Easy and jump into Tokyo. I’ll go to New York and I’ll wait for you. I’ll go wherever Ike tells you to go afterwards. I don’t know how to be in love either, Ron, but I know it’s not something you’re meant to figure out on your own. It’s not supposed to be easy if it’s worth it. You may not think so but you’re fucking worth it. You’re worth it.” In two strides he was wrapped around her again. He crushed her against him with a ferocity that could only be described as carnal. Ronald Speirs prided himself in never behaving like a fool but he felt like trying to live a life without her and her love would have been the most foolish act of all.

“I can’t live without you,” he gasped as the robe slipped off her frame completely. As more of her was exposed to him than ever before. “I can’t be a good leader, a good man, without you.”

“You have me, you have me, you have me,” she chanted as she held him against her like she would a life raft in the ocean. He kissed down her neck and across her collarbone, his hands moving to grip under her thighs. They didn’t need words, her little jump just enough for him to lift her and her legs to come around his waist. Her back landed on the bed, their lips never breaking as he settled over her. 

“I want you so bad,” he whispered as he body took over, trailing kisses over her nightgown and down her stomach. “But not like this.” The first time they were intimate together was not going to be in a boarding house in Austria on the eve of the Japanese invasion. She deserved better. He would give her better. Violet whined and he chuckled.

“You’ve gotten me all worked up for nothing.”

“You’re not used to it by now?” She slapped his arm playfully. 

“I’m going to miss it. You and all the others not tiptoeing around me. Not judging me when I make a crude joke.” He chuckled around the cigarette he had just put into his mouth. “I’m worried I won’t fit in back home anymore. That high society won’t have me. That my mother’s opinion of me is damaged beyond repair.”

“Fuck her.”

“Ronald!”

“I mean it. Fuck her, fuck high society. Fuck all of it. No one should make you feel ashamed for what you’ve done over here. For having the courage to do it in the first place. They should consider themselves lucky to know you.” He knows he did.

“You know, if you say all that to her it won’t make a good first impression.” She rolled over so she was on top of him now. Her smile was devious but also pure happiness. Ron and her would be together even after this place. They’d always be.

“What if you go home and have a ring on your finger?” She froze. He thinks the whole world did. “Marry me, Violet. It’s going to happen one day so why not now? Why not go our separate ways tied to each other?” If Ron was going to die in Japan, he wanted to die belonging to her. Maybe that way he’d see her again once it was all over. She just giggled.

“You mean that?”

“I don’t say things I don’t mean.”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes!” she screamed as he snuffed out the cigarette and wiggled his fingers into her side, her laughter waking the whole house if they weren’t up eavesdropping already. “Stop! Stop that tickles!” He relented with a final kiss, her breathlessness and flushed cheeks making her look like her life had not been touched by the tragedy it had.

“Mrs. Speirs,” he whispered as he smoothed her hair back from her face.

“Sounds like it’s meant to be,” she replied just as softly and with as much conviction as she had ever said anything. Life was good. But like anything in Europe, it never was for long.

[buckyreaderrecs]

It’s Been A Long Long Time

Summary: Bucky and Steve went to war. When they came back, you were gone. But, you know, maybe you're a lot like them, and will show up years later all not-dead and on-ice. 

Words: 3,405 Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Reader Characters: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, Peggy Carter, Sam Wilson, F.R.I.D.A.Y., T'Challa, Tony Stark, Shuri Additional tags: mostly canon compliant (Infinity War and Endgame never happened), Stark Tower is still a thing, technically a song fic, angst, sad Bucky, Nat and Howard are mentioned but not in scenes, how shit are Hydra though, happy ending, she/her pronouns Warnings: references to canon-typical violence but no violent scenes, discussion of Hydra/Nazis

Note: This is written for @maarrvveell's challenge. My prompt was the song It's Been A Long Long Time (Harry James and Kitty Kallen version, 1945), but I also used the song I Concentrate On You (1940) in a couple scenes. Roz, I hope ya love it!

Tag list (open): @browngirlmagic @lookalivefrosty @aynaraxas (not sure if you want to be tagged in new fics @animegirlgeeky?) (the tumblr formally known as @darlingtholland - where did you go? what’s your URL now?!)

EDIT: Accidentally had all the Y/N replaced with my name because of the Chrome extension. Hopefully fixed, but if you see Rhiannon pop up, please let me know so I can edit. Embarrassing lol. 

It’s Been A Long Long Time

1942

The man has a German accent and that reassures you. Steve had said Erskine was European, but was it German? You can't remember, but either way, the man holding the clipboard has a strange kindness to his face. He doesn't look like he could hurt a fly, small and pink.

"I just want to do my part," you tell him, answering why you had responded to the flyer posted around Brooklyn. "It's war, ya know? Everyone is doing something…"

Despite what he had done, you knew Steve would have never let you volunteer for this. However, Steve isn't here to stop you. He had let you cry on his shoulder for days following Bucky's departure. He had said you would at least have him. And then, he left too. So, fuck Steve Rogers.

Fuck Bucky Barnes and his parting kiss to the lips and promises of love letters in the mail.

Fuck Hitler and his psychopathy and war starting bullshit.

You were going to help, even if it meant like this. The boys could yell at you when it was all over.

…

2019, December

Bucky watches the flames lick up and around the journal. He times how long it takes to burn down to ash. Opening the fresh book in his lap, he begins by recording that time. Each journal begins like this. Bucky doesn't know why he does it. Although, his general preoccupation with the concept of time is a little easier to explain. Bucky Barnes is one of the few people on Earth that has a very personal and turbulent relationship with time. It does not pass for him like it does everyone else. It doesn't age him like everyone else. He isn't even sure it properly exists like everyone else does. It is only natural therefore, that Bucky thinks about time a lot. It is easy to get lost in the past.

Don't get him wrong though - Bucky does not want to return to anything behind him. He doesn't miss it. Not Hydra. Not Nazis. Not the Great Depression. There's only one thing that keeps pulling him in reverse.

You.

He dreams of you most nights. Sometimes they are heavenly trips into the best days he'd had with you. Sometimes they are hollow nightmares with teeth falling out and black blood. Sleep feels empty if you are not there. Sleep has been empty since the news had been delivered years and years ago.

After being rescued and then recruited into The Howling Commandoes, Bucky could see that Steve wasn't telling him everything. And there was so much to tell. "What is it, Stevie?" he asked, turning his empty shot glass upside down on the bar and looking at Steve. (Bucky kept accidentally looking down at Steve, forgetting his eyes were waaayyy up there.)

"It's… It's Y/N, Buck…"

Bucky felt his blood run cold. He thought the worst had happened. Steve had changed. He'd been tortured. The worst… You were meant to be safe at home. But you were too much like Steve.

When he was sure he was alone, Bucky cried and cried and cried until there was only an emptiness left in him. It made him a better soldier, he told himself.

F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s voice pulls Bucky from the memory of you. Something has been going on in the tower; people have been buzzing around all day, all hush hush. They avoid eye contact with him, but that's pretty standard. To get away from it all, he climbed to his secret little spot on the roof. Just enough room for a metal bin to burn things in, and an old office chair with a broken wheel that he found discarded in a hallway.

Bucky's surprised to learn that F.R.I.D.A.Y. could even find him here. He pulls his headphones from his ears, pausing Harry James and Kitty Kallen and sighing.

"I'm so sorry to disturb you, Sergeant Barnes, but this does qualify as an emergency," F.R.I.D.A.Y. says. Where the hell is her voice even coming from?

"Tell 'em I'm on my way," Bucky replies.

Bucky navigates his way to a room in which everyone knows what is happening. All eyes are on him as he enters the room. Without needing to overtly look around, Bucky clocks most of the Avengers as being present, as well as some other agents. He takes a seat in the chair clearly meant for him; Sam and Steve flank his sides. As he sits, most of the room empties. It's disconcerting at best.

For only a second, Bucky considers playing along. He's tired though. He needs to be alone.

"What is it?" he asks, his voice the saddest Steve has heard in a while.

"Ah, as you know.. Last week we sent scouts to recon the potential Hydra base… the one under Baltimore," Steve begins.

As soon as the word Hydra hits the air Bucky knows it means they found something. And something is never good. Possible items include files documenting the graphic nature of The Winter Soldier's breaking in, training, and treatment; evidence of the crimes committed by The Winter Soldier; or worse, video footage of any of the above.

"It definitely was Hydra. It was part of their science division. From the looks of what's there, they left in a hurry. Most of it is caved in. Not sure how that happened yet… There were no S.H.I.E.L.D. records of the place,"

"Get to the point, Steve," Bucky says, impatient. Hydra cells are everywhere; the ghosts of them pop up semi-regularly. Empty buildings with blood on the walls and stories to tell.

"They were studying Erskine… or, or the serum. Trying to replicate it…"

"We know that already,"

"Yeah. But… This place, they were close enough to… us, to New York, Brooklyn, to use the 'Captain America' story," Steve is starting to struggle. He uses air quotes for Captain America, disenfranchised. Whatever they found, Bucky thinks, it's bad. "They used it to… lure people… It's, it's where they experimented on people, Buck. But, ah, it's… It's where they worked out how to freeze people and keep them alive… They were preparing for-"

"Me… Working out how to freeze me?"

"Not you, exactly. There's no files on you. Just the Wint-" Steve tries but fails.

"It's the same thing, Steve. So… what? There were some files and some skeletons? What's-"

"They're still there," Steve interrupts, answering the question before Bucky can ask. "Three people still in cryo. Alive."

…

1944

"The resources have… been exhausted. We've searched everywhere, Sergeant. I'm afraid-"

"I got it. She's dead. Ain't coming back," Bucky interrupts Peggy before she can deliver what would be Bucky's final blow.

"Buck-"

"Don't. Don't say anything, Steve."

Steve thinks if he'd just stayed home, you'd probably be home too. He wonders if Bucky is thinking the same thing. "Everyone said you were gone and I found you," he offers, tries for logic.

"I wasn't missing for years. I didn't disappear into thin fuckin' air. You knew where I was… We have no idea where Y/N is. No idea when… when she… left or… was taken or-Christ! We don't know shit, Steve. 'Cept that she's gone."

Steve knows Bucky well enough to usher Peggy from the tent, leave his heartbroken best friend to scream into a pillow until he's taken by restless sleep in the gloaming. Until then, Bucky goes over it all again and again. He doesn't blame Peggy; she's spent so much time stealing manpower and resources from Stark and the government and whoever in an attempt to find you. He doesn't blame Steve; there's just no guarantee that if he had stayed in Brooklyn he would have been able to protect you.

Protect you.

Protect you from what?

There are a million and one scenarios in Bucky's head. Murderers. Nazis. Nightmares. All of them, nightmares. What happened to you? Where did you go?

…

2019, December

Bucky shakes his head. Something in him is putting the pieces together, informing his central nervous system to prepare for fight or flight. That something is deep down though, ignored. He crosses his arms over his chest and holds his breath.

"There are other cryo chambers… but they were damaged in the cave in, we figure. They're still trying to work out how they've been powered this long. There's all sorts of tech we've never seen. Tony's having a field day." Steve doesn't know he's rambling, getting side tracked.

"Wait. Stop. Go back. What do you mean lure people? What people?" Bucky asks, the questioning coming from that deep down something. He's trying to keep it buried, but it's bubbling, boiling.

Steve's eyes flick over to Sam, behind Bucky. It annoys Bucky, and the sharp intake of breath through his nose lets Steve know it.

Sam says, "Hydra, Buck. They told people they were like Stark… the first one, and Agent Carter… also the first one." Bucky swings his chair around. "They told people they were the good guys tryin' to make more Captain Americas… Regular people signed up."

Boiling. Bubbling.

Bucky can feel it rising. It's in his spine, climbing up the vertebra. It reaches the back of his neck, and goes cold. Prickly. Boiling. Hot. Now it's in his head and he can't get it out. He knows. The thought is right there, smack bang in the middle of his brain. He knows where you are.

He is up, the chair knocked over, before Sam and Steve can even begin to reach for him. Sam stays seated, knowing what usually spooks triggered soldiers. Steve stands, but stops when Bucky does. And, Bucky does stop himself from running, even though he wants to just fucking bolt. Instead, he's in the corner of the room, back to wall and head pounding. Steve is a couple steps away.

"We're transporting them now, to Wakanda. Shuri and Stark are our best bet at pulling them out alive," Steve says, hoping information will help. "We know who… who one of the men is. Nat is good at finding people…" When Bucky says nothing, does nothing, Steve continues. "And, ah, the other man is a John Doe… still seeing if…" There's no point. Steve gives up, drops to crouch in front of Bucky.

"It's her, Buck. It's Y/N… Don't know what the odds of that are…" he whispers.

"When you said she was too much like Steve, didn't think you meant turns up decades later frozen," Sam risks. Both Bucky and Steve look up at him. He shrugs. "I know this is a lot, man," he says to Bucky. "But this is good. At the very least, it's closure. You know where she is,"

"I know where she is," Bucky repeats, his voice so low is barely audible. He looks at Steve, blue eyes glossed over and so, so hurt. "I know where she is, Steve."

…

1940

"It's not going to stop, Buck," you say, the dread in your stomach sticky.

"Darlin'…"

"No! Don't 'darling' me. It's not going to stop and it's going to come here and they're going to send you to war."

The end of your sentence coincides with the end of the song. The record is silent, save for the crackling intermission. Music is always playing in the small apartment you share with Bucky and Steve. It keeps you all sane.

For only a second, you see the same dread you feel flash across Bucky's beautiful face. It's gone so fast though. He holds a hand out to you, and you feel compelled to take it. The next song begins.

"Y/N, I promise ya, everything is gonna be fine… And… And if war comes, and they make me go, I will come back. Can't get rid of me that easy,"

"You can't promise that,"

"I can do what I want. I'm a free man. Got a beautiful girl. Got my health. Got music," Bucky says, and he's not sure if he's trying to convince only you.

Bucky leads the slow dance, half singing along. The song is new, but it resonates. Whenever skies look grey to me, and trouble begins to brew… Whenever the winter winds become too strong, I concentrate on you.

"I love you, James Buchanan Barnes,"

"I fuckin' love you too."

When fortune cries 'Nay! Nay!' to me, and people declare 'You're through!' Whenever the blues become my only song… I concentrate on you.

…

2020, January

Steve and Sam stand on a balcony and watch as Bucky crosses a field. He disappears into trees, his arrival prompting birds to squawk and fly away, disturbed at the loud intrusion.

"He used to go into those woods, when we hosted him," T'Challa says, appearing behind them. "It's where the White Wolf was born. The children heard a howling, but only a man would emerge."

The men return to the lab, debrief with Shuri and Tony.

"His cells weren't stable," Shuri says.

"He basically turned to soup," Tony adds.

"Who do we tell?" Sam asks. The room look to him, confused. "Don't we have to tell someone…? That we found a man… and turned him to-"

"Soup," Tony finishes. "Nobody cares what we do," he says too casually.

"Bucky cares," Steve corrects, harshly but not unnecessarily so. "This isn't a game, Tony. We don't know who he was, but we know the others. We know Y/N. We have to try harder."

…

2020, March

"He looks…" but Steve isn't sure how to describe the man sitting on the bed in the room in front of him.

On Steve's left is Sam, then Bucky. They both have their arms folded across their chests, stances identical. On Steve's right is Shuri, then Tony. All five of them are watching the man through a two-way mirror; he's not moved in an hour. He's barely moved all day.

"Like a zombie?" Sam suggests.

"At least he's not soup," Tony offers cheerfully.

"Go do your sad boy whispering," Shuri calls over to Sam, who shoots her a look.

"I'm not a damn therapist. You're the white boy fixer," he quips. They share a grin.

"There's nothing wrong though? He's brain is fried or anything?" Bucky asks, his tone serious and his gaze not moving from the man. The very alive man that represents more hope than he's ever had about anything. He's fucking terrified.

"Nothing wrong with his brain," Tony confirms. "Just needs to talk it out. Get some help." And with that, he walks from the room. Shuri follows, glancing at Bucky, hoping he's alright.

Team Cap stays quiet for a little longer, then Sam sighs and shakes out his arms and legs. "Alright. Well… That's it then. We can wake her up,"

"Not yet," Bucky says quickly.

Sam looks at Steve, who gives Bucky a sympathetic look.

"I'm not bringing her back if something's gonna happen… Not bringing her back yet."

Nobody argues.

Everybody will wait as long as Bucky needs.

…

2020, May

Never thought you would be standing here so close to me.

Noise cancelling headphones are one of Bucky's many favourite things about the future, about now. He can drown out the rest of the world. Of course, he'd never be as bold as to say digital was better than a crackling record, but fuuuuck, this sound is crystal clear.

There's so much I feel I should say, but words can wait until some other day.

Bucky holds vigil next to the cryo chamber you're still dead to the world in. He sits, headphones on, almost as still as you. He studies your face, proud that he hasn’t forgotten a single detail of you.

A tap on the shoulder startles him, he's up and in a defensive position in a split second. Steve doesn't know where Buck pulled the knife from, but he's not surprised to see it. Bucky relaxes, pushes his headphones off to sit around his neck.

"Will's been home a while, Buck. Regular check-ups. He's fine…"

Bucky doesn't reply, just sits back down and returns to watching you. Steve pulls up a chair next to him. He thinks that you look peaceful. He hopes, hopes to fucking God, that you were treated well.

When William came to and found his mind again, he was almost more shocked to hear the people that put him in the chamber were the bad guys than he was to hear it was 2020. "They were nothin' but gentlemen," he said, a thick Brooklyn accent straight from Steve and Bucky's past. He didn't recognise your picture though. "Ain't seen a single dame. Must've separated the ladies," he said with a shrug, then went back to fawning over Captain America.

Bucky didn't recognise the version of Hydra that William knew.

"Shuri says-"

"I know," Bucky interrupts. "She told me. More dangerous keepin' her like this… Just… one more day, okay?" Bucky puts his headphones back on before he gets an answer.

Kiss me once, then kiss me twice. Then kiss me again.

…

2020, May, three days later

Your hand is warm in Bucky's. He rubs his thumb over your wrist, feeling your pulse. He knows where you are, and you are here.

Slowly, you wake. The first sign is your eyes opening, focusing on the bright room. Confusion is written all over your face. Then, as you move your head to the side, you see him. The confusion switches to recognition, but back to confusion just as quickly. 

Bucky. It's Bucky. But he's... different. His hair is long, pulled into a bun on his head. Imagine what everyone will be saying about that! He's bigger too, more stocky. His clothes are strange and the look on his face is something you've not ever seen... It's not a look you've known on him or anybody else. 

"Bucky?" you say, but your voice is dry and croaky. "What... What are you doing here?" 

He sucks his lip in and you watch his eyes begin to water. 

….

2021

"It's all so… loud…" you say, frowning in a way that shouldn't be cute to Bucky, but it definitely is.

"I know. But trust me on this one," Bucky promises, searching through his Spotify app.

"Does it have our song?"

When Bucky looks up at you, expression blank, you think he doesn't remember. Then, he speaks. "I… I haven't… haven't looked." He remembers. He remembers dancing with you in the kitchen, singing about grey skies and brewing trouble. Bucky hadn't let himself think about it. It was too heavy with foreshadowing and it was a moment too perfect to have let himself think of as real. "But… this one is from '45, so… end of the war. And… ah, it's… You'll like it… Found it!"

You take the headphones being offered and carefully sit them on your head, still convinced you look ridiculous. How can everyone walk around with these giant things on their head? Then, the song starts. And, of course, Bucky's right; it isn't too loud or too fast. It's born of the same time as you.

It's been a long, long time. Haven't felt like this, my dear, since I can't remember when.

Bucky watches you listening. You watch him back.

You'll never know how many dreams I've dreamed about you. Or just how empty they all seemed without you.

"Is this our song now?" you ask him.

"I listen to it a lot,"

"It's sad," you reply.

Bucky shrugs. "Nah, darling. It's a happy ending. Come 'ere." He pulls you into a hug, smothering you between his arms and hair and everything. He's a mess. He's been a mess for a while, apparently.

Worming your way back into fresh air, you look up at him. He's smiling, and it makes you smile.

"I love you," you tell him, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of his nose.

So kiss me once. Then kiss me twice.

"I love you too."

He presses his forehead to yours and leans in, rubbing his nose along yours. It's painful, you know. While you were sleeping, Bucky had lived too many lives. You'd been missing him for a few months, he's been missing you for what felt like forever.

Bucky repeats himself. "I love you, so, so much."

His kisses taste the same.

Then kiss me once again. It's been a long, long time.

[jonathan-byers-remade]

My Thoughts on the Supernatural Finale

My thoughts on 15x20 of Supernatural, aka the series finale. Warning for spoilers so my thoughts will be under cut.

I’ve been watching Supernatural since 2012, I was 13 years old. I just joined Tumblr to blog about my love for anime but I was introduced to shows like Doctor Who, Sherlock and of course, Supernatural. The concept of the show is what drew me in. I have a love for ghost stories, folklore and fantasy monsters. I looked up the show on Netflix and there it was. I fell in love at first episode. I continuously watched the show every week, I followed Jared, Jensen and Misha on everything, I watched con and fan videos on YouTube, had merch, I even read fanfiction. I loved the show so much that I wanted to go to a Supernatural con and loved that they always came to the Opryland Hotel in Nashville. I was such a diehard Sam girl that I proudly had it on my blog during it’s early days and even had Supernatural URLS. Safe to say, I loved the show. By the time I started college in 2018, I didn’t pay much attention to the show. I didn’t grow out of it. I didn’t hate it. I just didn’t catch up with it like I did with shows like Criminal Minds and Netflix shows that I loved deeply at the time. But I did pay attention to it. I still loved it. It holds a special place in my heart. So when it was announced that season 15 would be it’s final, I did feel sad. I couldn’t imagine saying goodbye to Supernatural yet. Yes, I criticized the show a lot after s10 (especially after s5), but a part of me didn’t want it to go. I had thoughts of how it would end with what I knew. Sam and Dean kicking God/Chuck’s ass with Cas and Jack. Then the four go home sharing beer together and smiling. But, oh boy, I was wrong.

I am conflicted with how it ended. The first half of the episode I enjoyed in a way. It reminded a lot of early Supernatural; Sam and Dean saving people, hunting things, the family business. I liked how near nostalgic it was. A big part of me was missing Cas and Jack. I was hoping they’d talk about Cas more. I was hoping Dean would talk about his feelings about Cas, whether they were romantic or not. I wanted to know his feelings. I wanted Jack to still be around Sam and Dean even after he became the new God. Like, they raised him. They were family. But, I understand that in it’s core, Supernatural was about the brothers. 

Then the nail scene. I was waiting for them to say sike. I thought it was a joke until I saw Sam burn Dean’s body. I know a lot of people say that this scene was borderline incest, but I didn’t see it that way. Sam and Dean have always been close (NOT THAT CLOSE). It’d make sense to me to see Sam put his forehead to Dean’s while saying goodbye. Did y’all forget when Dean was killed by Metatron and Sam hugged him and cried in his arms? They deeply care for each other and have always been on each other’s side. I can imagine how painful it was for Sam. Now, I feel like Dean’s death was very unrealistic. Like. Come on. That man has LITTERALLY been through hell and back and he gets killed by the nail to the back? Bad characterization and writing was done dirty on Dean. I think killing him off was already a bad idea, but his death was terrible. He deserved a better ending. A happy one. 

I like Dean reuniting with Bobby in heaven. Bobby was a big part of the show and to the brothers; bringing him back in the finale I thought was good. I like how they explained that Jack has rebuilt heaven. I liked that John and Mary had a tiny mention. I liked that we saw the roadhouse again after so many years. I wish they had Ellen and Jo though if they had pulled that off right. And I wish Castiel was there. I wish him and Dean had a moment together. I get that he didn’t come until season 4, but Cas is the heart of Supernatural. I wish he didn’t go the way that he did. I wish he didn’t go into the Empty. I know that’s where the angels go once dead, but I feel like Jack would have pulled some strings for his father figure. I mean, they did say Cas helped with this new heaven. If so, why not show it? Why not have Cas in heaven with them? Where is he? If they really wanted to showcase this scene, they should have made it more of a love letter to the show. Bring back many old faces that have died and reunite together. 

Not gonna lie, the between Dean’s heaven drive in Baby with her og tags and Sam having a family made me sob. I liked that Sam in reality wasn’t alone and got to have a family in the end (his wife is Elieen I don’t care what y’all say). I think me being a Sam girl liked it, but damn I wish Dean was alive too. I wish they both lived in the end. I wanted them to be happy. They did old!Sam dirty though. Very bad costume design and makeup.

Then the final shot after Sam’s death and being reunited with Dean, again made me cry. They got to be together again as brothers. It was always them in the end. I just wish that they didn’t get the cheap way out. the final shot was beautiful, but it shouldn’t have been the final shot. Killing off the main three was a cheap and bad idea. Killing off your lgbt-coded character after confessing his love was bad. Killing off your other lgbt-coed character who doesn’t unknowledge the other’s confession, and who was a known badass who got killed by a nail to the back was bad. Killing off your last main just to show that Supernatural was about family in the end was bad. All in all, Sam, Dean and Castiel shouldn’t have been killed off. 

To wrap up, the Supernatural series finale was not good. It had it’s moments, but the writing was what killed it. It was not good for the fans. It didn’t really wrap up much. We thought the final battle would be the boys against God/Chuck, when in reality it was Dean and a rusty nail and Jared in a bad wig. 

I know that Supernatural was meant to end by season 5. Swan Song had a much better wrap up than this episode and we got 10 more seasons after that episode. I feel sorry for Jared, Jensen and Misha. I know how much they cared about this show and the fans. I bet they wanted their boys to have a better ending just like the rest of us. 

I still don’t hate Supernatural. Hell, I have some comfort episodes and the show will and forever be special to me. But I’ll ignore season 15 as canon. 

[windup-themis]

NOW THAT I’M FINALLY FREE I CAN FINALLY POST THIS TOO:

rules: spell out your url with a song for each letter, and tag ten people nobody tagged me this time, i’m starting a new one i guess :]

s - sunshine riptide (fall out boy) k - knock four times (chameleon circuit) a - anniversary (autoheart) r - roller skate king (steam powered giraffe) o - ok ok? (half*alive) s - soft!!!!!! (glass beach) i - in space (ludo) a - ark 1 (paul shapera) n - nice house (joywave)

here’s a playlist i put together with these songs!

i’ll tag @arkfeather and @crayyola, @robco-official, @arcosian (whenever you’re back), @entercards, @htff, @stupidghoul, @scavengerz, @wolfswoods and @arcadecore ! if i didn’t tag you and you wanna do it, feel free to @ me!!

[themaskedwriter]

To Bucky With Love

Clues

Despite considering Marvel one of my main fandoms, my url was based on a certain show about two brothers hunting supernatural creatures for a long time.

My first language is not English and I’ve only been writing on here for a bit over two years.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Finding yourself travelling back to all the places your relationship with Bucky went through big changes, you send letters to the one you love, reminiscing in everything you went through together.

Warnings: Guns, injuries, a bit of blood and cursing. Cursive is the letter, the rest is the flashback.This is also the first part of a new series which will be continued on my account :)

Word Count: 2772

Dear Bucky, it’s been about a week since I left home. My first destination had to be the place where we met for the first time…well, the place where we were forced to spend time together. I remember the mission like it just happened yesterday, the way our eyes met during the fight, the way your body shielded mine and the way I dragged you through the streets of Jujuy. I hate you so much back then, I hated the fact that you single-handedly ruined my mission just to prove yourself. God, how much I wanted to kill you back then…

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Barnes. What the hell are you doing here?” you snapped at the brunette man that stood across from you, a dangerous twinkle in his eyes as his face was illuminated by the computer screens that covered the wall next to you.

“I’m doing my job, doll, just as you should be doing,” he replied, raising his brows in challenge.

As you were about to open your mouth to reply to the agent in front of you, you heard a low moan coming from your right, seeing the man on the ground reach for his gun. Without hesitation both Bucky and you raised your guns, your bullets hitting the centre of his head before he slumped backwards, finally out cold.

Huffing you strapped your gun back into its holster, “What even is your mission? What could possibly be more important than blowing this base into pieces?”

“I’m looking for a man. Drug-dealer, high risk. Has been killing everyone that got in his way for the last 20 years. Eduardo Lòpez, ever heard of him?”

You quickly nodded your head as your eyes scanned the room before settling on the man in front of you, “You are aware of the fact that he’s not in Argentina right now, yes?”

Bucky’s expression wavered, his lips pursing as he reached up to scratch his jaw, his eyes flickering away from you.

“I can’t believe it. You’re manipulating my entire mission, risking my life while you’re at it just for a single person that’s not even in this goddamn country! Low blow, Barnes, low blow. If you have a problem with me, you better say it now before I accidentally shot you and leave you in this facility before I blow it up,” you jabbed your finger into his firm chest, your anger rising with every passing second, the smug smile that returned onto Bucky’s face only aggravating you even more.

Before Bucky got to send another comeback into your direction the door to the monitoring room flew open, revealing several agents with their guns pointed at you.

“Lower your weapons and raise your hands, now,” the broad-shouldered man in front yelled at you in Spanish.

Raising your hands you slowly reached for your gun, pulling out of its holster and getting ready to place it on the floor in front of you. Glancing over to Bucky you met his eyes, nodding your head ever so slightly before quickly aiming your gun at the men, shooting two of them before kicking a chair in their direction to throw them off guard. Dropping beneath one of the many tables you crawled towards the door, hoping the guards would run towards you, which, luckily, they did, allowing you to shot them from close distance before you hurried through the door, Bucky leaning against the wall opposite of it, his hand pressed against his side, blood seeping through the space between his fingers. Once you were through the metal door you quickly kicked it shut, lifting the chair you had previously kicked in the direction of it against the door, locking the remaining guards inside and hopefully giving you at least some time to get out of the hallway and into a safer part of the facility.

“You okay?” you panted, pressing your hands to your knees as you leaned against the wall to catch your breath.

“Could be better,” Bucky huffed before removing his hand from the bullet wound on his side, taking a look at it just to press his hand back against it.

Looking left and right you made sure no one was entering the hallway you were in as you took a few steps towards the agent that had successfully ruined your mission, “We need to get you to a doctor. Come, I know a way out of here.”

“Well…that didn’t go as smoothly as I planned,” you tried to chuckle but all that came out were raspy breaths and your squeaky voice as you pressed yourself against the white wall of the hallway, bullet firing against the wall opposite of you, coming from where you were just standing a few seconds ago.

“Oh, you don’t say?” Bucky glanced at you from the other side of the stream of bullets flying your way.

You tried to fire your gun at the approaching guards but all you managed to do was hit the walls and floor, not having any sight on your targets.

“Do you have one of those explosives left?”

Patting down your body you soon found the device, pulling it out you held it up for Bucky to see, “Yeah, but I was planning to save this for getting us out of here.”

“To get out of here we need to survive first, doll, this might be our only way,” he yelled as the sounds of guns grew louder, the guards getting closer and closer to you by the second.

“Ugh, fine,” you groaned as you got ready to toss the explosive in the hallway to your right.

“Ready?”

You waited for Bucky to nod before you threw the little device as far as you could without properly aiming, hoping and praying to every divine force that it wouldn’t miss its mark. Crossing your fingers you began counting in your head.

One.

Two.

Three.

BOOM.

The red emergency light immediately went off, the alarm loud and shrill in your ears as you risked a glance into the hallway you threw the explosive into only to be greeted by the sight of bloodied and hurt guards laying scattered on the floor, rubble and debris covering most of the floor, leading to the gaping hole in the wall.

“Let’s go.”

Before you could react Bucky took your hand into his, dragging you towards your way outside of this hellhole, climbing over the guards and rubble in your way until you finally felt the warm breeze from outside brush against your dusty face.

“Finally,” you mumbled to yourself as your feet hit the green grass outside of the facility, casting a glance upwards to wait for Bucky to drop down beside you.

As soon as you heard the low thud of his feet colliding with the ground you began moving, eager to get out of this godforsaken place and away from the agent that ruined your mission. Just as you wanted to tell him to hurry up you felt his body colliding with yours, “Watch out!”

You heard the sound of the gunshot even before your body hit the ground, Bucky falling down somewhere beside you as you reached for one of your guns, firing it in the direction of the shots while hoping your bullet wouldn’t miss.

Risking a look you saw the machine gun slip from the guards hands, his body collapsing and falling out of the whole you had crawled through just a few moments before, allowing you to stand back up, brushing the dust from your pants while keeping your gun firmly in your hand in case of another unfortunate mishap.

“Alright, Barnes. Ready to get-“

The words you wanted to say got stuck in your mouth once you saw Bucky laying on the ground beside you, blood pooling around his thigh as he clutched his hand to the wound on his side.

“No. No, no, no. Goddammit, Barnes!”

“Come on, Barnes, we gotta get moving. I’m not letting you die in the middle of the street,” you hissed as you dragged the agent with you, one of his arms slung across your shoulders while the other continued to press against the bullet wound on his side.

“Oh, but you’re willing to let me die anywhere else?” he grunted out, his feet dragging over the uneven and bumpy pavement beneath you, stumbling over a loose stone.

Speeding up your steps you silently cursed him out, “Continue talking like that and I might just leave you right here.”

“You wouldn’t, doll, try explaining that to everyone back home.”

“Oh…for fuck’s sake. Just shut up,” you groaned, completely fed up with him.

First, he decided to ruin your mission, which was going perfectly smooth until he came crashing through the door, guns blazing, causing all sorts of hell to break loose and then he had the audacity to get shot, forcing you to ditch any sort of plan you had and improvise your way out. Your mission was supposed to be easy, sneak in, get the data, plant the explosives and get back out. But no, Mister Metal Arm had to ruin it for you. And then he even dared to push you to put of harm’s way, leaving you to drag him through the abandoned streets of the outskirts of San Salvador de Jujuy, your broken phone clutched in one hand while you were desperately looking for a way to get Bucky patched up.

Every house you passed seemed abandoned, the windows barricaded and dust collecting on their sills when you finally saw a single person at the end of the road, the woman idly sweeping the dirt and dust off her entrance, the windows of her house open and inviting. Letting out a sigh in relief at the sight of her you sped up your steps, Bucky barely being able to keep up with you but that didn’t matter to you in that moment, desperate to get off the street and take care of his wounds.

“Excuse me, señora? Please, we need help,” you asked in Spanish, not wanting to force her to adjust to a foreigner.

The woman looked up at you, her eyes widening at the sight of two beaten up agents at her doorsteps, before she quickly opened the door for you, ushering you inside as she locked the door and closed the curtains.

“Gracías.”

Dropping Bucky on the floor you took off your heavy gear, kneeling down beside him to take a look at the damage in front of you. Carefully you ripped off Bucky’s shirt, your hands hovering over the bullet wound before you collected yourself, your training reminding you of what to do in a situation like this.

“Could we get-“

Before you could finish your question she kneeled down beside you with a wet towel in her hands, holding it for you to take. Throwing a quick smile in her direction you took it out of her hands and began wiping away the blood that coated Bucky’s skin. Just as you wanted to ask for a needle and a threat the woman in front of you offered to you just what you needed. With shaking hands you tried to stitch up the wound on his side but as the adrenaline slowly wore off you couldn’t help but feel the effect of the past few hours get to you. A hand on your shoulder ripped you out of your thoughts, the woman whose place you crashed gently pushing you aside and taking the utensils from your hands, getting to work on Bucky’s injury, the man grunting slightly as the needle pierced through his skin.

“I-We’re sorry for barging in on you…”

“Maria, my name’s Maria. And you’re more than welcome here, child,” she said while quickly finishing the stitches.

Hours later you were both sitting on Maria’s couch, Bucky more slouched against the back to go easy on his treated wounds, both of you eating Empanadas while you explained your situation to her. You were left in a country you weren’t familiar with, no backup on their way to get you out of the small town and no way of contacting them since your communication devices got destroyed in the fight. Fortunately for you, Maria was familiar with injured people crashing at her place, whether it was kids that scraped their knees or adults with serious problems, she was the one everyone consulted first; that was until people started to move away due to the treat of Eduardo Lòpez and his gang as well as the Hydra base close by.

“You need to rest before you’re going anywhere on your own,” Maria scolded you both as you bought up the topic of getting back home, her eyes lingering especially on Bucky who was trying to stay awake, not showing in how much pain he was in.

“Do you have a phone I could borrow, so I can contact a friend to pick us up?” you asked, worried about your fellow agent, even if you never worked with him before, him basically behind a stranger to you, you still cared about him. He saved your life after all, and he seemed nice enough, the fact that he wasn’t bad to look at was only another nice extra.

“Sure, follow me.”

Maria led you into her kitchen, handing you her phone before grabbing a glass of water and some painkillers to give to Bucky before heading back into the living room, leaving you alone in her kitchen.

You dialled the number you knew like the back of your hand, tapping your foot as you waited for the person on the other end to pick up the phone.

“Romanov.”

“Oh, thank god, Nat. We’re stranded in Jujuy in Argentina and I can’t make contact with anyone else since my phone got hit. Can you get us out of here?”

“Wait, wait, who’s ‘us’? I thought you went on a solo mission,” your close friend and mentor asked at the other end of the line.

Sighing you ran a hand over your face, “Bucky Barnes. He…kinda ruined my mission and got shot in the process. We found shelter at the place of a local but we don’t wanna bother her too much.”

You could hear some papers being moved around, the clicking of a keyboard and Natasha speaking to someone through the phone before she picked it back up, “Alright, I’ll see what I can do. Do you have your coordinates? I’ll try to get to you as soon as possible.”


“Thank you, Nat,” you sighed in relief, happy someone would get you back home soon.

“No problem. Oh, and (Y/N)?”

“Yes?”

“Do me a favour and punch Barnes for me. Also, tell him to get his shit together, he’ll know what that means,” Natasha chuckled slightly before saying her goodbye, prompting you to hang up the phone and give it back to Maria who was leaning against the doorframe to her living room.

“You are more than welcome to stay until your friend picks you up,” she smiled at you.

After heading back to the living room you let yourself fall onto the sofa next to Bucky, softly punching his arm.

“Hey! What’s that for?”

You shrugged as you leaned back against the back of the couch, tugging your feet underneath you, “From Natasha. She also told me to tell you to, and I’m quoting her here, ‘get your shit together’. Apparently, you’ll know what that means.”

I didn’t thank you enough for what you did back then because even though you ultimately ruined my mission you also saved my life, and made it less miserable by stepping into it. For all I know, it was Nat who just set it up but even if it was all her planning, I’m happy things went the way they did. You were willing to sacrifice your life for me without even knowing me and for that, I will be grateful until the day I die.

I’m gonna stay with Maria these next few days, her arms have welcomed me once again. She was beyond sad to hear that you wouldn’t be making it but she gave me some Empanadas for me to take back home.

Home. I won’t be home for some time.

Anyways, I’m gonna write you another letter from my next destination, the city we had our first date in. Oh, I still remember how nervous I was. But that’s for the next letter.

I love you and I can’t wait to see you again, (Y/N)