#james lance just doing The Most as usual

[vivwritesfics]

Electric Dream Machine

Electric Dream Machine is just opening for Papaya until the release of their first album. Logan just enjoys being around Papayas guitarist

Viv's AUgust Event

(Banner by @nurse-floyd )

It was a temporary arrangement, something they had to do before they made it big themselves. Just while their album was being made.

The tour with Papaya wasn't all bad. He'd grown up alongside their bassist, Oscar, and Lando wasn't all that bad once you got to know him. Carlos was an interesting guy, a lot to deal with when he and Lando were together. Their guitarist was Logan's favourite, but he'd never admit to that. It didn't help that she was pretty.

Electric Dream Machine was a stupid band name. When their manager, James, had approached the four of them, they'd protested. But it was Electric Dream Machine or hit the road.

The music was theirs, and that was all that mattered. The name might have sucked, but the music spoke for itself. Lance's dad was helping fund the creation of the album and paying for them to follow Papaya on tour, opening for them.

The perks of having a ultra rich drummer.

Logan wasn't the most social person in the world. He wasn't rude by any means, but he wasn't the best with people. Shy, the was it. He was shy. Even on the Papaya bus, he sat on his own as Alex, George and Lance sat with Lando, Carlos and Oscar.

The Papaya guitarist was somewhere on the bus, Logan didn't know where. He tried not to make it look like he was looking around for her, but he couldn't help it. She was always kind to him, always going out of her way to include him in conversations.

"Hey."

When had she sat down next to him? A blush covered his cheeks as he slightly turned his head towards her. He couldn't look her in the eye as she sat back, legs stretched out in front of her, crossed at the ankle. "Why aren't you over there?"

Logan shrugged his shoulders. "Didn't feel like it," he answered and copied her pose. Legs stretched out, crossed at the ankle.

She gave a nod. "How is the album coming along?" She asked him, voice sincere.

Logan gave her a small smile. The album. It was a topic he loved talking above more than anything. So many of the songs on the album were his. Don't Stop, Greenlight, Wherever You Are, Never Be, Lost Boy, they were all his.

He was actually animated as he spoke. It was lovely to see, had her grinning as she listened. Seeing Logan like this made a nice change to his usual demeanour.

"I can't wait to hear it," she said when he was done.

His blush deepened. "You wanna listen to it?"

The scoff she released had him worried for a second, but she punched him in the shoulder in that comforting way. "Hell yeah I wanna listen to it! You guys are great!" She insisted. Her smile was so damn sincere, Logan couldn't get enough of it.

The conversation went on. She asked about the name, Electric Dream Machine, and Logan didn't blame her for that. He knew the name sucked, too.

"You guys got any merch yet?" She asked, looking around as they pulled into the venue. Logan gave a nod. "Brilliant, I want a shirt," she said and stood up.

Their shirts were embarrassing. The four of them stood with their instruments with 'Electric Dream Machine' printed behind them. But she wanted it, so Logan gave it to her.

***

"You're not seriously wearing that tonight, are you?" He asked as he followed Lance, George and Alex off stage. He placed his guitar on the stand and looked around.

There she was, wearing the Electric Dream Machine shirt Logan had given her before the set. When he'd given it to her, it had been white. But there was a lipstick stain just above Logans head. His breath caught in his throat.

"Go away, Carlos," she said with a sickly sweet smile as she picked up her guitar.

She went out on stage with the Electric Dream Machine shirt covering her body. It was quite a sight, and it had Logan unable to take his eyes off of her.

It wasn't right for them to be together on the tour, was it? Her band was so much more successful than his, and Logan didn't want her to think he was using her.

As the tour went on, she got flirtier with him. But Logan kept his distance. He liked her, obviously he liked her, but refused to do anything about it.

The remainder of the tour was miserable for the both of them. Hopeless pining that would never be anything more.

[nico-di-genova]

pleaseee share any pato/alex headcanons for alib? i miss them an unhealthy amount

I miss them, and I’m the one creating them. My brain when I think about ALiB Palex is honestly just this:

Which makes it hard to have cohesive thoughts about them most the time. But have this random headcanon dump:

They have a method when it comes to chores. Pato does the laundry, but Alex folds and puts it away. Alex cleans the kitchen, but Pato organizes/cleans out the fridge (and also washes the dishes because Alex hates touching wet food). They work around each other, basically in synchrony. If Lance and Fernando are ever over for dinner and they stay to try to help clean they usually just find themselves standing off to the side kind of watching Alex and Pato work together effortlessly.

They love beach days. Usually if they’re going to the beach it is a full day affair. Sometimes they rent a whole beach house because they need to get away from work and regular life for a bit. Pato has a favorite one at Anna Maria island that Alex is always sure to get if they’re looking to leave the Fort Myers area for the weekend. The dogs also love the beach, so there’s long walks along the shoreline in the morning and afternoon with pauses for Norbi and Nala to play and chase each other. They rent jet skis and race each other with no real finish line set. Afternoons are spent watching the sunset and lounging on a blanket, pato resting his head on Alex’s chest and starting to doze off to the sound of heartbeat. Pato always gets sunburnt, because he’s insistent on layering sunscreen on Alex’s back but usually forgoes his own. He’ll insist he doesn’t need it but then ends the weekend looking like this:

Alex learns to start stocking up on aloe Vera when they stop at the grocery story for sandwiches and snacks in the morning. Pato is always very grateful for it come nighttime when he’s laying in bed with overly warm skin.

Their wedding is perhaps a beach wedding at the beach house. The dogs are the ring bearers ofc 😌. Lance is Pato’s best man, James is Alex’s. Esteban actually gets certified so he can officiate the wedding.

They adopt a third dog after their honeymoon, because Brunner needs to be apart of alib, obviously.

They’re both super active. Alex because he likes the routine of working out, the consistency of it, and because it’s really good for his mental health. Pato for the same reasons, but also because he’s just really passionate about it, about taking care of his body (but he also maybe goes overboard occasionally). So they workout together sometimes, not all the time, they like having their space. When Pato wants to do intense lifting Alex is usually his spotter.

They buy insane amounts of dog toys, and Alex spends an equally insane amount of time trying to organize them.

Arguments over who’s going to drive are common, they both hate being the passenger because they both hate not having control of the car. Usually this is settled with rock paper scissors, sometimes they get inventive.

Alex is always going all out for Pato’s birthday, but he hates the same attention in return. Pato’s learned he’s more comfortable doing things when it’s just the two of them, or a close group of friends. One year he takes Alex horseback riding, calls around until he can find the best place with the most secluded trails. He makes sure it’s not all flat land and empty fields, tries to find a place that has towering pine trees because he knows Alex likes the woods. It ends up being one of Alex’s favorite birthdays.

Before they started dating, when they were in the extended friends with flirty vibes zone and Pato would spend the night a lot, they got really into Mario kart. Alex is always insisting they play the N64 version, ‘the real one’ as he calls it. He consistently beats Pato in every race until one day Pato starts coming over and just kicking his ass out of nowhere. Turns out he bought his own console and game and had been playing with Esteban and Lance until he eventually got good enough to beat Alex. He was training, as he likes to call it, though Alex is still trying to figure out ways he could have been cheating.

There was a massive hurricane that hit the area during Pato’s senior year, he rode the storm out at Alex’s place. This is how he finds out Alex has a fear of storms, and also how they both find out Norbi and Nala share this trait. Pato isn’t necessarily cool with them, but he ends up playing the cool and collected one by default.

The first time Pato kisses Alex he’s a little drunk, and it’s impulsive. Alex doesn’t kiss him back, because he doesn’t want Pato to feel like he’s taking advantage of him. Instead, he waits until he’s sober and then kisses him properly.

[adobedragon]

Pidge skated a tongue over Lance’s lower lip and muttered, “Is that coconut?

His breath hot against her mouth, he laughed softly. “Coconut lip balm. Like it?”

Her fingers wound around the hair at the nape of his neck and she pulled his mouth to hers. “Uh-huh.” They were on the little couch in the Atlas’ junior officers’ lounge, taking a small break from a long day of running through survey logs for this sector of the universe, searching for any trace of Honerva and her robeasts.

But two Paladins, in the throes of new love, left alone in a quiet corner of the Earth’s most advanced battleship, were like powerful magnets, unable to resist each other’s pull. She’d gone from sitting primly at his side, sipping coffee, to sitting on his lap and exploring the different ways that one could kiss someone. They were both wearing their Voltron Garrison uniforms, and she was finding that sitting on someone’s lap while wearing boots was light years from comfortable. This, however, was a small sacrifice in the service of science. Pidge, always the consummate researcher, was taking the study of Lance’s mouth very seriously.

“Oh, no,” said a voice behind them. “Get a room, you two. Or go make out in a Lion.”

Pidge squeaked in surprise and her teeth banged against Lance’s. Turning, she found Hunk standing in the lounge’s doorway, a coffee mug in hand and a surprisingly sour expression on the usually cheerful Paladin’s broad face.

“If I’m not stumbling over you two going at it, I’m tripping over Keith and Shiro.” His boots thumped on the floor as he went to the coffee machine and poured himself a hot cup of java. “It’s like Paladin mating season around here.”

“Somebody got up on the wrong side of the bed,” said Lance. “Go call Shay. That’ll make you less salty.”

Hunk’s face was structured for cheer and the gloom that lengthened his genial visage startled Pidge. Realizing she was still on Lance’s lap, not the best position to address a friend’s distress, she reseated herself on the couch beside him.

A little smile twitched her lips as Lance tugged at the bottom of his uniform’s shirt, covering his obvious arousal. A reminder that she needed to visit the Atlas’ infirmary for birth control. So far, they’d managed to restrain themselves from going that far, both hoping for a more romantic locale for their first time together, something other than a cramped bunk on the Atlas or a Lion’s cockpit.

Lance, ever the consummate romantic, had a plan. “My brother told me about a B&B in Matanzas, back home. The perfect romantic getaway.”

At the rate this war was going, she’d be eighty years old before it ended, though, so better to prepare in the event they lost control.

Lance’s arm looped around her shoulders and she snuggled against him, eyes on Hunk.

“What’s up, buddy?” asked Lance. “Trouble in paradise?”

“I just got off a vid-call with Shay,” Hunk said. “She says her grandmother is planning her…” Hunk reached to his head and fiddled with the ends of his yellowy-orange headband. “I can’t remember the word, but it’s a Balmeran coming-of-age ceremony. At the conclusion of this ceremony, she will be considered an official adult and able to be courted by eligible Balmeran males.”

“Well, there you go, pal,” said Lance. “That’s your opening. You can finally tell her how you feel and do some courting.”

Hunk’s face somehow lengthened even more. “Balmerans, guys. I’m not Balmeran.”

“That does present a problem,” agreed Pidge.

“No,” said Lance. “Love is love and you two are definitely into each other.”

Mouth set in a sad curve, Hunk stared at them with worry in his dark eyes. “But—”

“Nope,” Lance cut him off. “No ‘buts.’ Look at me. If I hadn’t made my move, it might have been James Griffin sitting here next to the prettiest girl genius in the universe.”

“What?” said Pidge. “James Griffin?”

“Yeah, him.” Lance shrugged. “He was always asking me, ‘Is Pidge seeing anyone?’”

“Get out!” Pidge smacked him on the leg. “How come you never told me?”

“Right. Like I’m going to tell you the competition is into you.” He pointed at her face. “And you don’t have to seem so thrilled to know this.”

Feeling mischievous, she smirked. “Well, he is cute and an MFE pilot.”

“I’m a Paladin of Voltron!” Lance’s voice squeaked at a frequency that probably made dogs howl. “That’s better than an MFE pilot. Tell her, Hunk. Tell her that’s better.”

Hunk held out his hands, palms out. “I, uh, this is getting messy. I need to bake something. Cooking therapy.” With that he sidled quickly out of the lounge.

Aside from the clomp of Hunk’s boot-heels on the floor, no sounds of nearby interrupting people could be heard, so Pidge turned and climbed back into Lance’s lap, only to find him staring sullenly at anything but her.

“What?” she said, setting her hands on his shoulders and giving him a firm shake.

“You were into James Griffin?”

She swept her gaze up and down the contours of his angular face, taking in every familiar detail, every line that made up his face, calculating, and coming to a strange conclusion, though she might be wrong. Her calculations regarding the human equation often were.

“You’re jealous of James Griffin.”

“‘Well, he is cute and an MFE pilot.’” Lance quoted, his voice pitched to match hers.

Her view of him shrank in her narrowed eyes. “Years,” she said, giving him a shove with both her hands. “For years I’ve watched you flirt with every girl who entered your radius.”

His mouth quirked in a nervous combination of frown and smile. “That was different. They were nobody. I didn’t know or respect them.”

He shrank to a thin band of brown skin and blue eyes as her gaze narrowed with more irritation. “You flirted with Allura. Endlessly. You went on a date with Allura.”

“I, erm.” He rubbed the back of his head. “I did. That date, Allura shooting down any romance between her and me, was one of the best things that ever happened to me.”

“Oh?” Really? Now? After months of showing real interest in her, calling her beautiful, now he was going to admit she was just a rebound, a second choice? Her heart lurched with disappointment.

“If I hadn’t gone on that date, I might not have acknowledged how I felt about you. If I hadn’t gone on that date, Allura wouldn’t have told me you loved me and I wouldn’t have had the courage to take a chance with a girl so out of my league.”

“She said what?”

Lance’s extremely mobile face moved from sweetly melancholic to entirely too smug. “She said you love me. That’s why you bought Allura a dress. Bartered a rare video game for it.”

“That was an awesome game.” Pidge sighed.

He reached to her face and gave her nose a little tweak. “When this is over, when we’re back on Earth, I’m going to find you a copy and we’re going to play it. Maybe at the B&B that Luis suggested.”

“I think,” said Pidge, running her fingers along his jawline from pointy chin to his ears, “we’ll be doing a lot more than playing video games.” And she got back to her comprehensive study of his lips.

~~~~~~~~

A quicky sequel to "Turn Over a New Leaf."

[sitzfleischh]

Ok I only just caught up on Ted Lasso & plunged into the online hyperfixation/deep-diving two days ago so apologies if other people have already said this but-- so far I've been seeing a lot of people being like "oh Ted is going to go back to Kansas at the end blabla Rebecca endgame" and sure, Ted/Rebecca endgame is realistic but like... We know they're not ending up in Kansas, right? We have two episodes left, this show's whole thing is "Rom Communism." They will be using them to confirm to classic romcom structure where the penultimate ep is about everyone making the wrong choices and everything going to shit, so that they can have big realizations and make the right choices in the finale.

So, my official predictions are:

Penultimate episode

Man city faceoff, total football comes together and they win, hooray! Everyone is cheering but Ted feels out of it, feels like they don't need him anymore. This ep being called "mom city" also makes me think they're going to bring in Jamie's mom as a foil to his dad and start talking about mom stuff, maybe giving us some perspective from mother characters about their side of parenthood (maybe if we're lucky we get more of Roy's sister!) and continuing the motherhood theme for Rebecca

Maybe there's some kind of tie-in with Michelle and Jake, I feel like they were setting up that those two are actually breaking up, which is going to make Ted feel like he should get back with Michelle, even though that's obviously the wrong choice. Part of me thinks the "unexpected guest [that] has Ted on edge" could be Michelle, post-breakup? Maybe him getting distracted means the other coaches step up and win the game without much help from him, which ties into him feeling un-needed.

The tying up of loose-ends with other characters' plotlines leads to Ted deciding he isn't needed here anymore and should go back to Kansas, episode ends on his return

Final Episode

Called "no place like home"

Trent wears James Lance's Dorothy shoes T Shirt

There's some kind of extended wizard of oz homage, probably someone makes a joke about Jamie not having a brain

Ted is back in the states but he's not feeling it, keeps seeing things that remind him of Richmond

Trent Crimm's book gets published, or maybe he emails a draft of it to Ted or something for approval-- either way the writers get to do a Trent Crimm as mouthpiece thing where he narrates from his book while we see shots of characters / Ted doing stuff and having realizations

Prompted by reading Crimm's book, Ted realizes that there IS no place like home, but his home is Richmond now and he needs to go back-- not because the team needs him, but because he needs the team. Ted's character arc comes to a close with him finally asking for help and taking the support of his found family in Richmond, letting them use the Ted Lasso Way back at him.

Maybe Rebecca and Ted get together, or maybe (in my ideal scenario) Rebecca adopts a kid or something of that sort and becomes a single mother-- she realizes she doesn't need anyone else's permission / won't be completed by love

This one is also more of a dream scenario but I like the idea that they would lean into the "single parents are valid" theme that seems to have been set up, and have Ted, Trent, Roy and Roy's sister, and Rebecca all together in a scene with their kids, supporting each other

Obviously there's still a lot I haven't covered here, like what happens with Nate, with Colin (& what happens with Trent beyond like.. he writes his book lol), with Keeley and Roy (I don't think they're endgame either), etc. But these are the most solid predictions I have about what's going on structurally and thematically. I have hopes and dreams for stuff (mostly more Trent content because I love him and just want to watch a show with him as the main character lol) but I don't want to jinx anything so I'm just assuming we get some good background content like usual, and probably a great book-reading narration.

[iamstartraveller776]

I’m not gonna go looking for the emojis because I’m terrible at finding them, so I’ll do this…

The sunflower, blue diamond, and

💌share something with us about an up-and-coming work (WIP) that has you excited!

😜 that last one was copied and pasted…

Nothing wrong with copy-and-paste! LOL

🌻what makes you want to give up on writing? what makes you keep going?

The hard work, particularly the research needed. Sometimes I just want the story to appear magically so I can read it, lol. It usually takes months, sometimes years, after I finish a story before I can appreciate what I created—where I finally get to read it the way I want to.

So many things (aside from the demon exorcising) keep me going, though. My own work. The work of others. The writing community. The readers. These all propel me on.

💎why is writing important to you?

Writing is how I make sense of the world. It's the escape I need when life is battering me down. It's the clarity I need in the midst of turmoil. It's the outlet my feral creativity needs (else it comes out in nightmares). It's like breathing for me.

💌share something with us about an up-and-coming work (WIP) that has you excited!

I have several irons in the fire at the moment, but my biggest project is my entry for the Captain Swan Supernatural Summer. I'm excited—and a little intimated. I haven't written a plot-heavy multichapter in some time. Here's a excerpt from the prologue:

“Another one, mate?” The barkeep stood before him, tattooed arms crossed over his broad chest, rag draped over a shoulder. 

Killian breathed in sulfurous energy, and the illusion of humanity fled, taking with it the stiffness in his muscles, the pervasive exhaustion. The scabbed-over cut in his hand knit together without a scar. Hale and hearty once more, he studied the other man with a lancing gaze. It wouldn’t be long before the Dark One’s bootlickers came calling, but Killian might as well attend to business while he waited.

He bore his teeth in a broad grin and flipped a doubloon to the barkeep. The other man caught the archaic coin, frowning as he held it up to the light.

“What’s this?” he asked in a gruff tone.

“Look closer, mate,” Killian encouraged. His smile stretched wider as the barkeep’s eyes rounded.

Time paused. The few other patrons in the establishment suddenly froze like mannequins, and ambient noise dissipated into an unnatural stillness. Killian watched his mark experience two lifetimes between one breath and the next. The first would be his fate should he continue on his path unaided. The second showed possibilities he’d only dreamt of—if he were to entertain a mutually beneficial arrangement.

James O’Leary wanted many things, but most of all, he craved revenge for his brother’s death at the hands of the criminal outfit that ran the shipyards. And vengeance was Killian’s stock and trade.

“How?” James glanced around the small pub, mouth falling open. He looked at Killian, shrinking back. “What are you?” His question was hoarse, laced with mounting terror.

“You needn’t fear me,” Killian said with a wink. “I’m here to answer your prayers.”

James shook his head slowly. “If you’re an angel, I’m the king of England.”

Killian grinned at the retort and leaned forward. “But what you want isn’t angelic, is it, James O’Leary? It’s a black, festering desire, and I find that I’m inclined to grant it for you.” He waved his hand. “For a price, of course.”

Thank you so much, my friend!!

(x)

[crimmcast]

I love this episode, especially the mention of “princess Diaries” and Trent saying “he’s so tall”! I love him even more than usual this season, but that’s only 3 episodes so far.

I know someone who has similar hair to James Lance and honestly it makes both of them so much hotter in a way I can’t explain. My friend and i both find this guy really hot.

When he said the thing about Julie Andrews, it just cemented him being gay. I know this isn’t proof but that movie isn’t suitable for his daughter.

Trent really gets his moments to shine this season, doesn't he? we can't wait to see more of him in every coming episode (and hopefully another Emmy nomination for James Lance because that man is really doing the most with the role he's given)

James Lance's hair is really hot, so true.

And as for the princess diaries, it is a g-rated movie, so it's completely plausible that Trent has watched it with his daughter. It is also, however, plausible that he just watches it by himself simply because he enjoys it. It is a fun movie!

[ldknightshade]

pop culture (mantis + chester)

under a cut for length; from this post

1. Was your OC influenced or inspired by any particular fictional character(s) when you made them?

mantis: not really-

chester: he is literally a question parody.

2. What genre (not counting the one they’re in) would your OC thrive in?

mantis: horror? maybe a bit too hardened for regular comedy but could do a black comedy. actually, horror-comedy sounds about right for them.

chester: he’s both so pathetic as well as eccentric to a near-repulsive degree (for those that can’t handle it, anyway… which is most people), that the only option is fantasy. his only option is to be a wizard in some tower rambling about tomes.

3. What genre would your OC do badly in but it would be hilarious or interesting to watch?

mantis: romance/drama/fantasy

chester: LITERALLY all of them but romance/drama takes the cake.

4. What media does your character enjoy? (For characters in settings that aren’t modern Earth, could be media from their home setting or what they’d like in a modern Earth AU)

mantis: within canon, doesn’t really partake in much outside radio new vegas, except for having read the occasional classic. in a modern au, would enjoy classic lit + 80s horror!

chester: COMICS, my god does he love comics. no time for video games, nor much tv. however he does enjoy a good 70s/80s film every once in a while.

5. What song(s) do you associate with your OC?

mantis: dani california - red hot chili peppers, lay down - priestess, got me under pressure - zz top, cold as ice - foreigner, bad company - bad company, you’re gonna go far, kid - the offspring, one little slip - barenaked ladies

chester: super freak - rick james, private eyes - hall & oates, break my stride - matthew wilder, another brick in the wall pt 2 - pink floyd, make your own kind of music - cass elliot, every breath you take - the police, kiss - prince

6. Alternatively, do you have any OCs you associate with the song(s) I just sent you?

not applicable

7. If your OC had to cosplay as a fictional character, who would they choose?

mantis: assuming modern au… bride of frankenstein, maybe.

chester: you’d think it’d be the question or rorschach or even mr. a but NO, it’s discowing.

8. Has your OC ever had a crush on a fictional (to them) character?

mantis: no.

chester: yes. his comic crushes are dinah lance/black canary, ororo munroe/storm, wanda maximoff/scarlet witch…

9. If your OC wrote fanfiction (or if they already do), what type? (fix fic, ship, crossovers, AUs, smut, etc.)

mantis: probably fix-it fic? occasional crack, smut only if it’s crack or to piss a friend off

chester: he writes the most DEVIANT smut (within ethical reason) KNOWN TO MAN

10. How would your OC do in the last book/movie/tv show/game/etc. you read/watched/played?

mantis: in disco elysium… i mean they would the amnesia side, actual investigation, and politics alright but i think may struggle with that world’s strong personalities. like, would probably have a very hard time playing nice with other folks. which could be for better or for worse, considering the game. i haven’t finished the game, though, so take this with a grain of salt.

chester: in disco elysium, he’d probably care less about the amnesia and just focus on the investigation but would succumb to, uh, crazier thoughts. he would be so repulsively eccentric, he’d probably get his job done in record timing. i haven’t finished the game, though, so take this with a grain of salt.

11. If your OC was a superhero, what would they be like? (powers, title, general vibe, etc.)

mantis: they would have the power of sound manipulation, likely calling themself “soundwave.” as this persona, they would play it more cool than usual; perhaps to terrifying ends, inciting something strange and cold within them. or, more explicitly: they’d have the safety of the physical mask in order to completely drop the social masks and be unabashedly narcissistic. anti-hero.

chester: technically he… kind of already is one? he has no powers, he’s in the venture household’s vents, he wears a rainbow mask and goes by “god molecule” because he was mid-DMT breakthrough when he got the idea to investigate the activity in the area and try to assassinate Rusty… BUT if we mean a classic dc/marvel hero? he’d have the same name and the same crazy-ass vibe, but be a bit quieter due to the fact he’d have the power of telepathy! instead of calling himself “god molecule” because of a DMT breakthrough making him have this batshit revelation, it instead unlocks a part of his brain that dulls hearing others’ thoughts, so long as he’s under the influence of something. that said, this iteration of him would be perpetually stoned as a civilian and only sober in as “god molecule.” however, due to years of hearing others’ thoughts impacting his mental health, he’s still a bit off his rocker when sober. anti-hero.

12. What animal would your OC have as their His Dark Materials daemon?

mantis: either a mantis (obviously), fox, raccoon, spider, or snake

chester: either a squirrel, hare, peacock, goose, or grasshopper

13. What Pokémon would be on your OC’s team and/or what would be their preferred type?

okay so i don’t know many pokémon BUT this is from looking them up

mantis: their poison/fire/steel/bug team is salazzle, revavroom, heatran, scolipede, scizor, and centiskorch

chester: his electric/ice/fairy/bug team is arctozolt, frosmoth, dedenne, clefable, galvantula, and ribombee

14. If your OC was a Dungeons and Dragons character, what would their class be? And/or: If they were playing D&D, what kind of character might they play? (these aren’t necessarily the same thing)

mantis: would be a changeling warlock, acolyte background.

chester: would be a kenku ranger, urchin background.

15. How well would your OC do in a standard slasher movie?

mantis: luck 10!! final girl!! alternatively, survives because they decided to avoid the situation entirely, likely on a gut feeling.

chester: dies first, no question. wouldn’t even try to avoid the situation, probably dies for being too nosy.

16. What stock character would your OC be stuck as in a sitcom?

mantis: the wisecracker

chester: the goofball

17. Who would your OC main in Super Smash Bros?

mantis: samus

chester: sonic

18. Who would your OC play in Mario Kart?

mantis: toad

chester: waluigi

19. If your OC was in Star Trek’s Starfleet, what would be their role/position? Or, if that doesn’t really fit your OC: why would they get kicked out of Starfleet?

mantis: would not manage to be in starfleet and/or get kicked, more likely to be a part of the maquis resistance

chester: would not manage to be in starfleet and/or get kicked, more likely to be a part of the maquis resistance

20. What role would your OC play in a heist story?

mantis: the conman/the distraction

chester: the safe-cracker

21. What kind of classic horror monster (vampire, werewolf, alien, etc.) would your OC be?

mantis: frankenstein’s monster

chester: alien

22. What type of Avatar The Last Airbender-type bender (or non-bender) would your OC be? Any bending specialties?

mantis: waterbender; if able to learn blood bending, they would.

chester: airbender or non-bender with no specialties.

23. Your OC gets isekai’d to a bog-standard fantasy world. What does your OC do and how badly does it go for that world?

mantis: immediately ensures they’ve got food/water/shelter, starts seeing how to get involved with local politics, gets involved with adventuring. they’ve got opinions, and they will make them known. but at the same time, a guy’s gotta stay on the road.

chester: immediately gets into magic, becomes a wizard, gets so wrapped up in learning magic he forgets everything else for decades until he resurfaces and decides the fantasy version of the hatman (probably some type of old one or whatever) charged him with taking over the world.

24. In the Muppet version of your story, is this particular OC a Muppet or the one human?

mantis: human.

chester: muppet.

25. What would be your OC’s My Little Pony cutie mark?

mantis: a mirror

chester: red string

26. Your OC is stuck in a musical episode. What song(s) do they sing? (And how thrilled or annoyed are they about being stuck in a musical?

mantis: i think i’m going to kill myself - elton john; is very pissed about the random musical episode

chester: psycho killer - the talking heads; is only upset when he starts singing in the vents and gives away that he’s there

27. In a murder mystery, what role would your OC play? (e.g. detective, sidekick, wacky suspect, rival investigator who gets in thew way, red herring, true culprit)

mantis: sidekick that may or may not get promoted to lead detective, red herring, or true culprit

chester: detective, wacky suspect, or rival investigator who wasn’t even hired he’s just doing it for fun-

28. What is your OC’s Warrior Cats name?

mantis: mudfang (shadowclan)

chester: squirrelbark (windclan)

29. Gun to their head, what is your OC’s fursona?

mantis: ironically, a fox, as much as they’d hate it. luckily for them, vulpes is more of caesar’s dog, so while he may be a fox in name, he’s more like a really intelligent husky in practice… meaning the animal is theirs for the taking. i don’t think they perceive themself as much of a mantis, despite the name.

chester: sparkledog! but in a 70s/80s way-

[mickcedesagenda]

18.03.2023 | JEDDAH FP3 & QUALIFYING

FP3

FUCK YEAH NICO ROSBERG AGAIN. I said what I said, I love hearing Nico's commentary. Anyway, last free practice…

RED BULL

Max showed good pace throughout the session, of course, and it always amazes me to see him improve his own time over and over again during a single session. Max finished P1.

Checo also did incredible, having the fastest lap at certain points. He has good pace for this weekend and he’s good on street circuits, so I don't rule him out entirely of a pole position. Checo finished P2 with a +0.613s gap.

ASTON MARTIN

It makes me laugh to think that hell for some people is Nico Rosberg supporting Fernando Alonso, he’s like me fr. I feel like there was more traffic today than yesterday, so Fernando's laps were fast but not as close as yesterday. Both Aston Martins were quite down almost to the end, but they improved their times which I love to see it. Nando finished P3 with a +0.998s gap.

Lance's laps weren't as ideal but they were still good and I feel like it could be a good weekend for him. Lance finished P4 with a +1.024s gap (+0.026s from his teammate).

FERRARI

The Ferraris do worry me now and I really don't want to be negative and dig too deep into this, but it seems to me that Charles has minor problems with his car again. Nico commented on how teams have to learn based on what their drivers say and that’s so true for Ferrari. Charles finished P6 with a +1.103s gap.

Carlos wasn't amazing either. Both of them were held up quite a bit by traffic but their pace was still meh even when they improved. Carlos finished P10 with a +1.276s gap (+0.173s from his teammate).

MERCEDES

The Mercedes were particularly slow, which surprised me a lot because by the standard of a team like this their speed was way below my expectations.

I didn't like Lewis' speed at all. He was able to pick up more speed at the end and will most likely qualify P5 or something like that again. Lewis finished P5 with a +1.083s gap.

George got better later but he's not perfect. George finished P11 with a +1.326s gap (+0.243s from his teammate).

In other news: Toto + Mick cam!!!

ALFA ROMEO

I don't have much to say about them, just noticed Guanyu was slower due to traffic and that they didn't show Valtteri that much, who I hope has a better time in Qualifying.

Guanyu finished P12 with a +1.432s gap.

Val finished P18 with a +1.832s gap (+0.400s from his teammate).

ALPINE

Regarding Alpine, Pierre has been relatively consistent over the weekend and I see him in the points again. Pierre finished P9 with a +1.216s gap.

Although Estaban's times are not perfect, I can also imagine him getting into the points, the same way it happened with Pierre in Bahrain. Estie Bestie finished P14 with a +1.468s gap (+0.252s from his teammate).

WILLIAMS

Alex's laps weren't perfect but good by Williams standards, especially compared to Logan's. Alex can get a lot out of this car and I can see him earning points this weekend. Alex finished P15 with a +1.498s gap.

The Williams has potential and it's understandable if a rookie like Logan can't find it in the first few races so I don't worry about it. Even so, he is close to Alex and I’ll have to see it in Qualifying. Logan finished P16 with a +1.550s gap (+0.052s from his teammate).

In other news: James cam!

ALPHATAURI

I don't have much to say about AlphaTauri, only that Nyck's power unit issues are worrying because if they continue for Sunday like this, he can easily DNF.

Yuki finished P19, last, with a +2.312s gap.

HAAS

Haas’s laps didn't get me very excited, sorry (sorry Kev). It seems to me that Haas is going to be inconsistent – as they usually are. I feel like they can put in good laps and then finish last and then be in the midfield and I want to see how qualifying turns out but I don't think it will explain how they’ll do this season due to inconsistency.

Hülkenberg finished P13 with a +1.448s gap.

Kevin finished P17 with a +1.646s gap (+0.198s from his teammate).

MCLAREN

I don't trust the McLarens, nor Lando Norris saying that they’re not in a crisis. P7 seems to be Lando's best this weekend but I want to see if he does well in qualifying and can make it to Q3 this time. Lando finished P7 with a +1.205s gap.

Now Oscar, glad to see my baby P8, considering he's a rookie! Even so, my hopes with him are at least Q2 and I would love Q3, but realistically, I don't know if the car is that good (with a rookie like him). Oscar finished P8 with a +1.213s gap (+0.008s from his teammate).

QUALIFYING

Q1

Fernando and Lance made me nervous by not having time set in Q1 but I'm glad they went up and were safe.

I really thought Alex was going to do better, whereas Logan's position was what I expected. Alex finished P17 (1:29.994).

Logan's spin did scare me a bit, and obviously made him miss his lap. Logan couldn't get a qualifying time, being then the worst rookie.

I can’t believe both AlphaTauri were eliminated, especially Yuki, but again, I already assumed that the qualifying battle was going to be much closer. Yuki finished P16 (1:29.939).

Nyck was also eliminated early, he also had a spin and finished P18 (1:30.244) with a +0.305s gap from his teammate.

LANDO WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE. I can't believe Lando got knocked out in Q1. God. Obviously it was the mistake of hitting the wall which we've seen before in Jeddah, but a big mistake you can't afford during the race. He finished P19 (1:30.447) with a +0.741s gap from his teammate!!!

Q2

The issue with Max's car was the biggest surprise and it makes me laugh that everyone came together to celebrate it. Look, I don't hate Max and I like to see him succeed, but I also like to see others succeed and when he dominates it's impossible for others. Also, Jos Verstappen upset on my screen is the worst thing in the world, disgusting. I'm not worried about Max because we know he's very capable of winning a race from P15. Max finished P15 (1:49.953) with a 21.318s gap from his teammate.

I loved seeing Fernando first and for a moment I thought he was going to take pole but oh well. He was great.

Carlos at risk is rare to see but so stressful. Luckily he went to Q3.

It's a shame both Alfa Romeo stayed in Q2 but I know that at least Valtteri can get to the points, even if the weekend was not ideal for them. Guanyu finished P12 (1:29.461) while Val finished P14 (1:29.668), with a +0.207s gap between them.

Both Haas out in Q2 doesn’t surprise me. Actually, Q2 is good for Haas because I can't see them in Q3 at this point. Hülkenberg finished P11 (1:29.451) while Kevin finished P13 (1:29.634), they end up with a +0.183s gap

Q3

Checo really is a beast when it comes to street circuits and I'm happy for him (although Nando…). I hope he does well tomorrow but I wonder how he will do with Fernando breathing down his neck. He earned pole position with a time of 1:28.265.

FERNANDO 2023 WDC. But now seriously, that 3 is promising. I genuinely think he could do excellently in the race and I don't rule him out of a win, much less a podium. He’s going to start in the front row and that makes me very happy. He finished P3 (1:28.730) but will start P2.

Okay Lance was good compared to the previous year. He finished P6 (1:28.945) with a +0.215s gap from his teammate, and will start P5.

Charles did well which I'm glad after a not very promising weekend but he has the penalty. I know Charles is good and he can move up relatively quickly, but Ferrari will always be Ferrari… finished P2 (1:28.420)

Carlos did stress me out a bit, but finished P5 (1:28.931) with a +0.511s gap from his teammate and will start P4. But he’ll start next to George…

Although I am surprised that George outqualified Lewis, I hope he does well and doesn't crash anyone this weekend. I'll admit that Lewis’ was underwhelming and I don't like this feeling at all, I know he's going to move up because he's good at overtaking but the W14 is driving me crazy. George finished P4 (1:28.857) while Lewis finished P8 (1:29.223) with a +0.366s gap between them, they will start P3 and P7 respectively.

Both Alpine in Q3 are great. Esteban finished P7 (1:29.078) and will start P6, while Pierre finished P10 (1:29.357) with a +0.279s gap between them and will start P9.

MY BABY IN P9 IS SO HAPPY I'M GOING TO CRY. Oscar is the first rookie in Q3 and not only that, he outqualified his teammate!!! I’m really happy for him and pray that he does well in the race. He finished P9 (1:29.243) but he will start P8!!!

[tharros-auris-black-asimi]

Warmth

Pairing: Alpha Beefy Bucky x Female Mutant Reader

Summary: Being paired off with Bucky Barnes on a mission was hard enough. Hell, the two of you being a part of Hydra a long time ago was already hard enough. But when the two of you are forced to seek shelter in an Avengers safehouse, it gets even worse.

Because there's only one freaking bed.

Will you survive the night with the grumpy Alpha by your side? Or will you rip your hair out?

Who knows. The nights are unpredictable.

What you do know is, is that Bucky Barnes is too fucking hot for his damn good.

Maybe you just might pull your hair out.

Warnings: Heavy A/B/O dynamics. Mentions of past torture from Hydra for both Bucky and the Reader. This Bucky is sort of a mix between CW!Bucky, (hence the beefy!Bucky), but also TFATWS!Bucky bc I love grumpy old man, sassy Bucky. Some angst/hurt/comfort, because I'm a hoe for angst. No heats/ruts in this lil fic, just good ole rough smut. Some biting and some mild blood too. This sex would be considered unprotected irl, but in the a/b/o verse, I don't think you'd need protection??? Who knows. Italics are for when Bucky and the Reader are talking in Russian. The Reader also has a nightmare, which ties back in with the whole mention of past torture from Hydra. If I missed any other warnings in this, let me know and I'll make sure to add them!

Additional Notes: This was written for @agentofbarnes's writing challenge! Congrats on 7k, Zee! I'm sorry this took so long. I started writing this in July, and let it marinate for far too long. But it's here now. I hope you enjoy!

All writing mistakes in this fic are mine, as usual.

Word Count: 4,602

Hell.

This was absolute pure fucking hell.

As you and the former Winter Soldier, James "Bucky" Barnes himself stared at the front door of one of the safehouses for the Avengers in case of emergencies, you couldn't help make eye contact with him.

Great. This was just great.

No one, not even Clint had told you that it would be snowing in freaking January in rural Ohio, of all places.

Then again, you had faintly remembered doing gymnastics before you had been taken by Hydra with some arrogant Alpha guy named Lance. He had been a real pain in your ass and you remembered you had made him cry once. After you had escaped from Hydra, you had bumped into him again. Funnily enough, he was still just as scared of you as he was all those years ago. Which, you know, was nice.

But what was not nice was the Alpha that was currently looking back at you. James Buchanan Barnes, Bucky, Buck, White Panther, Jesus, Bionic Staring Machine- (the last three nicknames, all given to him by the Alpha Sam Wilson himself), scowled at you. His blue eyes even narrowed at you.

You wouldn't call what you and Bucky had a friendship. You two weren't even enemies. Heck, colleagues? Teammates? That was just putting it lightly, the relationship you had with the Alpha. Even when you had been captured and brainwashed into serving Hydra, the two of you had never crossed paths. It had been only after Hydra had fallen, did the two of you actually meet in person. Other than that, nothing. Nada. Nope. No with a capital N.O.

"Come on, let's go." Bucky all but grumbled. Realizing he didn't have the key to get inside, he looked at you. Like you had the key or something.

"James, I don't have the key." Bucky groaned. "Do you have a bobby pin, Omega? Something?" He asked in Russian. You plucked a bobby pin from your hair. A stray piece of hair fell. Putting the flat side in, you managed to unlock the door. You turned to look at him, giving him a toothy grin.

"Learned that from Pit Pocketing for Dummies, 101."

Bucky rolled his eyes at that. You just sniggered as you opened the door, greeted by cool air smacking against your face.

It made you shiver.

Because, unlike Bucky, you did not have any of that good ole supersoldier serum in your veins.

You were a mutant that could control water. Sometimes, you wished that you had the ability to control fire, because then, at least you could be warm in such dire situations such as these.

Taking your shoes off and putting them at the door, you surveyed the place.

It was a small house. Like a cozy little cottage. Probably only had at least two rooms at the max. It certainly gave off that vibe. There was a fireplace in the living room. A fully furnished kitchen, complete with a little wooden table with benches instead of individual chairs near the window.

Your grip on your bag of clothes became tighter as you realized that you needed to take a shower. Your stomach grumbled, alerting Bucky that you were hungry. Your comms had died. The two of you could contact no one until you charged them.

Which meant for at least tonight, or whenever the snowstorm outside stopped, you only had Bucky Barnes for company.

Well. That certainly would be pleasant.

"Go and shower first. I'll make dinner."

***

After your shower, you walked back into the kitchen, your sweet smell that reminded Bucky of deserts that his Ma used to make for him and his younger sisters back in Brooklyn drifted towards his nose. Thanks to the serum, he had already smelled it a mile away.

Cinamon rolls. Apple turnovers. Apple pies. Pumpkin pies. Bucky felt his Alpha rumble at the smell. Even Winter stirred at the familiar scent he loved so much.

When Bucky had gotten the trigger words wiped away from him due to Princess Shuri's genius, the Winter Soldier hadn't gone away from him. Rather, Winter had become a part of Bucky. Winter had been what Bucky became to survive Hydra. Winter was Bucky, only darker. More possessive. The deepest, darkest thing of him that the Wakandan Elders had helped him find again and reconcile with.

It was during times like this, making dinner in the kitchen that reminded him so much of his time back in Wakanda. Taking care of his farm and his pet goats, (that he sadly couldn't bring back with him when coming back to America), that he missed the most. It was domestic, in a way. He could almost feed into the fantasy, the thought that you were his Omega, his Bondmate, and that he was just making dinner for you.

From an outsider's perspective, it might've looked like Bucky didn't like you. That he just tolerated you. Treated you like how he treated everyone else in his life.

But it was the contrary.

He liked you.

He liked you very, very much. Other than Steve, Natalia, and heck, even the winged pigeon- you were one of the only people to truly understand him. You were probably even on the same playing field as Natalia, because you knew what it was like to be controlled by the Russian government. You held him at an arm's length at most, and you never treated him like he was some fragile, broken man. When you treated his wounds, you never fretted like other Omega's. Nor did you dottle. Ask him if he was okay every five seconds. It was disappointing in a way.

Bucky turned his head, just as you hopped yourself onto the counter, away from the conduction stove.

The smell of butter pasta was filling your nose. You watched with rapt attention as Bucky shut off the stove, grabbed the freshly grated cheese, and dumping it in. To hell with calories. Stirring quickly for a few seconds, he stopped. Turning his head to look at you, he gave you a low smirk. His scent of something sandalwood, oceany filling your nose. It made your Omega preen.

"Get some bowls, will ya doll? And forks too." Hopping off of the countertops, he heard a chirping, yet sarcastic reply.

"Yes, Sarge."

He felt his pants tighten at the thought. Hearing you grab all of the stuff, he swallowed.

Not that he would tell you that.

No.

Never.

***

"Oh, you've gotta be fucking with me."

So, as luck would have it. There weren't two bedrooms.

Nope.

There was only one.

Not only that, the entire room was fully furnished. A closet was on the left side of the door, against the wall. There was a window and just a bit to right, in the middle of the room, was a queen-sized bed, all made up with all the fluffiest blankets, comforters, and pillows imaginable.

"And you're sure this is the only room?" Bucky said. "Yeah! It's the only one, James. It's either this or the couch. And I'm not sleeping on the couch. It's too cold. Whoever built this safehouse didn't have any heaters built in either. Fuck, is this how I die? Freezing to death?" Your voice was getting higher with concern.

Bucky just rolled his eyes.

"No, doll. You're not to freeze to death. We're going to share that bed."

You turned your head towards him like he had just grown a second head. "What?" you exclaimed. "No. No, no, no. Noooo. James. Nu-uh. Uh-uh. I'm not going to sleep with you in my tank top and underwear. the least you've seen me in is a pair of short shorts and a tank top."

Bucky inhaled deeply through his nostrils.

Get yourself together Barnes.

Don't throw her over your shoulder.

Don't do that.

"You're a water mutant, doll. You're not a fire mutant. You aren't a supersoldier either. I'm not letting you freeze to death. I'll keep you warm all night. Better yet, don't sleep in your tank top and shorts. Our body heats will do just fine." Bucky snapped at you. You were still trying to collect your thoughts.

And then the realization, the reality of your situation, smacked you right across the face.

Bucky was asking you to sleep naked.

With him.

In the same frigging bed together.

Oh you were going to die. You were going to die and go up to wherever other spirits went to after they died. You weren't really all that religious nor spiritual.

But tonight though?

Yeah. Maybe you believed. Maybe a little.

Just the slightest bit.

"Okay, okay," you grumbled, "I won't wear any clothes. Better yet, I'll even give you a show. That'll even out the odds, James."

***

Warm.

He was just oh so warm.

Your back was flush against his front, feeling skin-on-skin.

You had stopped shivering about an hour ago.

Bucky had scouted the safehouse, to see if there was actually a heater, in case you had missed anything.

Nope.

There were no heaters in the safehouse.

Absolutely none.

Not to mention, all of the blankets weren't as thick. From what Bucky had observed a few hours ago after dinner while you had tackled the task of doing the dishes, was that the safe house had been abandoned for a while. It was either that, or nobody had stocked this place up for a while.

He had chosen the latter.

With his strong arms wrapped around your stomach, he pulled you close. You were asleep. Dead asleep. Bucky felt and saw your body rise up and down as you slept, your breaths all evened out.

It was nice, almost. Outside was quiet. Bucky could hear other than your breathing only the soft wind blowing due to the snowstorm outside.

For a moment, Bucky was lulled into a sense of calm. His mind was clear. His Alpha and Winter were quiet. He didn't have to fret. Or look over his shoulder. Didn't have to second guess himself or his actions anymore.

And then he heard it.

Soft whimpers coming from the sweet-smelling Omega that he was currently holding in his arms. You had begun to squirm, arms thrashing out. Your legs smacked on his knees, trying to desperately claw yourself free from his tightening grip on you.

"... I'll be good... just don't chuck me in the freezer again... please sir... I hate it there... please don't chuck me in the freezer, please..." you were sobbing in your sleep. You started to blubber, continually trying to claw yourself out of Bucky's grip. The metal plates of his Vibrainum arm shifted as his metal fingers tightened around your stomach. Bucky knew not to apply too much pressure on you- you weren't like him, Steve, or Natalia. You didn't have the serum in you.

"Doll? Hey, doll. C'mon, wake up. It's not real." Bucky tried shaking you awake to no avail. You had continued to thrash in his arms.

Sniffling loudly, your Omega was thrashing in her cage, in the confines of your mind. She was whispering, yelling at you to wake up.

"Omega. Wake up."

Bucky didn't mean to use his Tone. But you were being so hysterical, shaking, and crying to the point where it was beginning to worry him. Your sweet scent had begun to twist and turn into something more burnt. Singed. It made his eyes water.

You stopped thrashing in his grip. Your body froze up at his use of his Tone. Your Omega stopped throwing her temper tantrum too. She had paused for a second.

Her Alpha had given her a Command.

So why wouldn't she listen?

Peering from her cage in the confines of your mind, she sighed happily.

Alpha. Alpha cares about us. She whispered in your ear.

Slowly returning to consciousness, you struggled to know where you were for a second.

You had been having a nightmare.

A full-fledged nightmare.

You hadn't had one of those in a while.

"... Where am I?" Your voice was gentle but confused.

You still didn't know if you were still in that godforsaken Hydra facility or not. But you just wanted to make sure.

"Here, doll. You're here with me. We're in Ohio, remember? Sharin' one bed together cause I don't wanna be a bad Alpha and letcha freeze to death." Bucky said.

You couldn't help it. You snuggled into him, hearing a deep rumble coming from his chest. Bucky's Alpha was pleased. Very pleased. Winter was quiet. Which surprised Bucky. The little shit was usually more vocal about his own needs these days.

For a moment, it felt okay. You felt that weird fog lifting. Your brain slowly settling in your current surroundings. Your sweet, filling scent that had twisted and burnt into something smoky and burnt was slowly wearing off.

You were still a little shaken up. You could still hear your screaming echoing in your head. Your voice trembling, and because you didn't know if you were still stuck in the facility, "How long?"

"Not long."

Bucky watched as you lifted your head up, blinking once. And then twice. And then again, just to be sure.

Your body felt like it still wasn't physically here. Your body still felt like it was back in the cryo chamber, stuck in that damn freezer. Bucky watched your chest heave up and down. Taking in deep breaths.

Then you flopped right back into your previous spot, your back facing his front. Bucky pulled you back with his metal arm. You heard the metal plates in his arm readjust and move. You couldn't help it. Your vagina throbbed at the sound. Chewing on your bottom lip, you wiggled a little bit.

A deep rumble had come from Bucky.

The metal-armed Alpha had pushed a little bit of his weight down on you. Making you feel all warm and safe with the sandalwood and salty scent wrapped all around you like a cocoon.

You wiggled up against him again, trying to get comfortable. Your eyes closed.

A deep groan came from Bucky.

Was he asleep?

You stopped moving.

Another groan came from Bucky. His arms were wrapped around you. Not tightly, but still. It was kinda nice in a way. You could feel every muscle on his broad chest against your back.

Maybe Bucky had the right idea to sleep naked after all.

You shifted again. Trying to wiggle out a little out of the embrace.

A deep growl rumbled from Bucky. His grip on you tightened. You squirmed against him again.

Voice gravelly, "Stop moving."

Your eyes flew open.

He was awake.

And you had been-

Letting out a hiss, Bucky pushed his entire weight onto you and grinded his half-hard cock against your ass cheeks. Not even caring about if his entire weight would crush you, because of the serum.

He saw red.

Pure absolute red.

You choked. A needy little whimper filled the room.

Bucky's metal hand traveled down, all the way down to your pussy, his knee pushing your legs apart. You were panting in anticipation, eyes wide as saucers. His metal fingers were shoved deep, all the way to the knuckles. A pitiful whine left your lips. A needy whine too.

When he entered you, a choked sob escaped from your lips. Your hands curled into fists, eyes rolling into the back of your head as the formerly brainwashed assassin let out a growl.

"So sick and tired of you teasin' me," was what the former Winter Soldier growled under his breath, hissing at the way your cunt wrapped around him. Slick was smeared around your inner thighs, and you couldn't help but sob at the feeling of being so full.

Bucky was groaning above you, his hands nearing shaking.

Never had he ever thought he could ever get to do this again.

Because Bucky very much still liked sex. He very much so was a sexual creature. Being inside you gave him flashes of his life before Hydra. It made him remember a much skinner, smaller Steve. A much duller, war-stricken Brooklyn. It made him remember the giggles of Omegas. It made him remember his Ma's cooking growing up. Rebecca's giggles in his ears. Just like the old times.

Not for the first time in his life, he didn't feel trapped.

He felt free.

This was freeing to him.

And when he began to move, position his hips against your back, smacking roughly. Good enough to leave marks in the morning.

Wet, squishing noise echoed noisily every time he bottomed out of you. Every thrust in, filling you, completing you. It sent you gasping and crying out into the pillows. His hands- both metal and flesh, reached under you, to grab ahold of your breasts in a tight grip that only made you sob for more.

"More, more, more, please James, please-"

Something snapped in him.

Broke.

Bucky had never felt this feral before. The last time he felt this feral had been the hours when he first presented.

You whined loudly when he slid out of you, crying out at the empty feeling. Your Omega screeched in alarm.

Why had her Alpha stopped? Why?

Grabbing ahold of your legs, he lifted them up. Before he thrusted back in again, filling you up to the brim. It was deeper than last time, and his cock hit that spongy part. Hit your g-spot so good that you screamed into the pillows.

You were coming. You were coming so fast, that deep coil inside you snapping like a bomb wire being cut that you never got the chance to feel your programs. Your body jolted, spasmed. Your legs lifted off of the bed or at least tried to. Bucky's body weight was still keeping you down. So all you could do was grip the bedsheets when Bucky started to pound into you again, taking all he could.

You couldn't help yourself. You glanced back, just to take a glimpse of him.

James Buchanan Barnes looked downright feral and your pussy clenched around him deeper at the sight. as if she knew.

Every thrust made him go deeper, hitting your cervix every time. It made your second orgasm piggyback off of your first one, sobbing into the pillows. It was only when your second orgasm came, your walls clenching down onto his cock that Bucky's teeth sank into your shoulder, shattering, breaking the skin there. The taste of copper filling his mouth. Bucky let out a grunt as he came. Filling you up with so much of his jizz that he was sure it would drip from you tomorrow morning.

Bucky lifted his mouth from your shoulder.

Pants filled the room as the two of you tried to regain yourselves.

Bucky shifted, moving off of you and lying beside you. His eyes weren't black anymore. They were back to their normal blue. They reminded you of the sea in the morning on a peaceful day.

Your hand came to touch his face. Your hand faltered, trembled though. Because you were nervous.

"It's okay," his voice was deeper, huskier. It made your pussy throb. "You can touch me. It's okay."

Your hands came to touch, cup his jaw. You leaned in, pressing your lips against his. His lips were soft. Your lips moved together, his tongue slipping into your mouth. The kiss became deeper. You hadn't expected it to become deeper. You had been just going for an innocent kiss.

You swore.

Like- you really did.

You didn't expect to be fully making out with James Buchanan Barnes.

But it wasn't like you were complaining though.

Because you weren't.

Bucky was the first one to pull away. He could see how red, bruised your lips looked. He didn't recoil from your gentle touch on his face. He welcomed it. He truly did. Hands holding your hips, he looked at you.

His lips traveled down to your mating gland. He touched over it with his tongue, giving it a broad lick. His teeth sank in, piercing the skin.

Your ears popped. You cried out. His grip on your hips didn't falter.

"Yes, yes, yes," you gasped. Bucky lifted his mouth up from your gland, before sinking his teeth back in and biting again. Making his mark all that deeper.

It was only when he lifted his mouth from your gland, wiped your blood off of him with the blanket did you come at him, sinking your teeth into his gland. It made him grunt, even groan. His flesh hand came to your head, pushing your head down, making you sink your teeth even deeper into his gland.

"Yesss," hissed Bucky, his flesh hand sinking into your hair, gripping it. "Deeper, doll. Go deeper."

Winter and his Alpha completely agreed.

Theirs.

You were theirs.

After what seemed an eternity, you lifted your head up. Wiping your mouth on the blanket, you spoke.

"I missed you. What did you do to get us paired on this mission? I thought I was going with Sam," you said to your Alpha. A smirk stretched over Bucky's lips. "Ah," your Alpha said, still smirking, "I might've put something in his drink to make him vomit his guts out. He got sick."

A noise came from you.

"You gave him food poisoning? James!" You scolded him. Bucky leaned back against the headboard. "Don't worry doll, it'll wear off when we come back to the Compound. Bird Brain won't even know what hit him."

You shook your head in disbelief.

"You're unbelievable, Sasha. Did you teach Natalia that trick, too? Hmm? She and all of your Widow students?"

Bucky was still grinning ear to ear at you when he responded back.

"Well little bird, someone had to teach them. After all, I was their teacher. They all called me Yasha. Speaking of my Widow students..." he trailed off in Russian. You looked at him.

"You've contacted one of the KBG? About that leaked Russian tape with the orange man that is, unfortunately, our President?" He asked you. You nodded. "Yeah, Sasha. Everything's going as planned. Although, I think assassinating the orange man would've been a much better option. We would've gone in there and made it a done deal by now! Fuckin' Steve and his righteous self." You grumbled unhappily.

"Hmm. It would've been great as a date night. Don't you think, doll?" Bucky drawled. You gave a serious nod.

"Although... seeing him freak out on Twitter is much, much better. The tea is better when it's hot." You grinned. Bucky just let out a sigh.

"I'm restricting your phone privileges. And your TV privileges. You need to stop watching those drama channels, Mega."

A noise of deep discomfort came from you.

"Sasha!" you whined, "then what will I do while you're gone on missions?"

"Wait for me to come back?" Bucky suggested. You just sighed. Even shook your head in fondest. You happily snuggled up to your Alpha, your nose rubbing up against your Mate's gland. "I always wait for you to come back, Sasha. I wait and I worry. I love you, James."

A deep rumble came from your Mate.

"I love you too, Little Omega."

Your head peeked up.

"So, can we tell the rest of the team when I leak the tape?" You asked, your eyes glimmering with mischief.

Bucky burst out laughing.

"Yes, yes, yes. We can tell them once you've wreaked havoc, Omega."

"Good." You were nodding seriously, in complete agreement. "It'll be fun. And... also, I forgot to tell you."

The joyful expression on Bucky's face was suddenly replaced with one of worry.

"What? What is it?" He asked gently. "When you were gone for your last mission two months ago... I... I came off of my suppressants. I'm ready, James. I want a family with you."

Shock flickered over Bucky's face. And then he was shoving you back into the bed with a shriek coming from you.

"When's your pre-heat?" He demanded.

You felt it. A cramp. It made you whimper.

"N-Now, James. Now," you stammered. Your Alpha pulled your legs apart roughly before he thrusted back into you, making you gasp.

"Say it," he hissed. "Say you want it. Say you want my knot. Say you want my pups."

"I want it, James." Your voice was a low whisper, even staggering a little bit. "I want your knot. I want your pups. Please. Please, Sasha."

His hands, both metal, and flesh gripped your shoulder tight as that vein of his neck nearly popped. His eyes were black with want. Soon, his Rut would be upon him and he'd breed you. Put his pup in you. You'd carry his pup. He'd have the pack that Winter and his Alpha desperately wanted after all these years.

A whine came from you when he pulled out, only to let out a scream when he thrusted back in. Hitting that part of you that made your eyes roll into the back of your head. Your mouth fell open, but no words came out.

His pace was brutal, not even letting you hold onto him. Your hands were left to grip the bedsheets again. You gripped them so tight that your knuckles turned white and you thought that they were going to pop.

Bucky continued to push, continued to shove his ejaculate deeper and deeper inside of you. A mixture of your slick and his ejaculate smeared all over your thighs and trickled down your legs, and you just didn't know what was happening. Your hindbrain was telling you that this was what was needed. That your designation wanted, nay, demanded this. After all the shit you had gone through, your Omega had found her Alpha and now, now she was determined to have a family. Have the pack she desperately desired.

"Mine."

A harsh thrust made you sob.

"You're mine now. I waited for you for so long. Wanted you for so long. You're mine now. Got my Mark. Got my clothes in your nest. Gonna give you my name. Gonna give you my pups. You're mine. All mine. Say you're mine. Say it!"

You came screaming. Your orgasm making you see white. Bucky continued slamming into you, the wet, squishing noises coming from your pussy becoming louder and louder the more he pushed in. Your teeth sank into his flesh shoulder, shattering and piercing the skin there. You tasted copper in your mouth.

Bucky came with a shout. He shoved you back completely, making you shriek. And then he was leaning in again, sinking his teeth into your gland. Making another deep mark. It made you fall limp into the bed as his knot swelled, locking the two of you in place.

He lifted his head.

Being inside you... knotted inside of you... it was bliss. It was just as good as cockwarming. His cock all nestled deep inside of you whenever you two would sneak off to sleep together.

"Bite me again. Give me your mark, Omega." he panted. Slowly, your head went up, you slowly sat up, before taking in a deep breath and sinking your teeth back into his gland.

Home.

You had brought Bucky home. He held you tight, whispering in your ear how much he loved you and how much of a good Omega you were.

"I love you Omega." His voice was rough.

Lifting your head from his gland. Blood still trickling down the corners of your mouth. You offered him a smile. A genuine one. One that made his stomach all fluttery.

"I love you too, Alpha."

[mindofharry]

In which mafia!bucky had a hard day and you know just the thing to help.

mafia!bucky is here!! ahh!! i’m so obsessed with the mafia!bucky concept, i think it fits his character so well. smut, bucky having a hard day (and penis) and you being an absolute sweetheart! happy reading, loves <3

James buchanan barnes is having a hard day.

He’s having a hard day without you. You both met in high school when james, known to you as bucky, was just starting out and taking over his fathers ��business’. You started off as the best of friends, but everyone knew that you were buckys, and buckys was yours. What you knew of the barnes family business, was that it was a restaurant and the oldest child in the family would take over. What you didn’t know until you and bucky started dating was that it was all a front. The restaurant is real, people in the family are employed as chefs and waiters. But bucky isn’t just the boss of the restaurant, he’s all the boss of a gang. The biggest gang in brooklyn.

Of course you were shocked, you had met just about every person in buckys family and none of them gave you a bad vibe. Looking back, you probably should’ve noticed. It was a shock, it did take you a couple of weeks to digest and get over. But you understood why bucky couldn’t tell you. Maybe you were too naive, but you loved bucky, and you were going to let him go over this. He was trained for this and you know he wouldn’t let anything happen to you. You trust him with your life.

From then, you’ve both been inseparable. Everyone knew that you would be married in couple years, so you knowing about the family business didn’t bother them. And buckys parents had known you since you were a little girl, they trust you just as much as you trust them.

Bucky was in a meeting with his right hand man, steve rodgers. They had met a couple years back on a job and had basically been brothers ever since. Steve was in the business with his dad, but he wasn’t too interested in the drugs side of things. He liked business, he liked numbers and helping out, so when bucky found out he wanted out of his dads gang, he immediately offered him a job as manger of the restaurant. Steve would still have to take care of some seriously, illegal shit, but it was better than what he used to be doing.

The meeting was on opening another restaurant in another state, but bucky wasn’t too sold on the idea. Not only did he grow up here, you grew up here too. If he was moving locations, he’d have to move everything. And the only normalcy you have is your family.

And there’s way too many memories here. Bucky likes how close the two families are, and moving to a new state and having to start from scratch would make the restaurant lose its momentum.

Bucky and Steve both looked at each other, knowing the answer was no. But they had to sit in on the meeting as bucky didn’t want to start anything.

Although these men have a lot of respect for the brooklyn gang, they wouldn’t hesitate to shoot.

So bucky will sit here all day if it means both him and steve can leave alive and in one piece.

Buckys phone went off with a small ding, the other men didn’t seem to nice - even if they did, bucky still would’ve checked it. It was a text from you, he softly smiled seeing your name pop up on his screen. God, it had only been three hours but he missed you so much. You’re both each other’s soulmates, that’s what everyone says when they meet or see you both. Can’t keep your hands off each other, know everything about one and another, it’s a fresh of breath air for your side of the family as everyone you know is divorced or separated.

angel; missing you 🥺.

That simple text made bucky want to get up and leave the office and go back home to you. You both live in an apartment, just 15 minutes away from the restaurant and 20 minutes away from both of your parents. Your mother wouldn’t have it any other way. But even with a short 15 minute drive home, bucky would still get a ticket. He just can’t go long without seeing his baby. Usually you drop into the restaurant before and after work, there’s some new members, wives and husbands. You like to make them comfortable, like other people in the family treated you. You know how overwhelming everything can be, so you want everyone to know you’re there and ready to listen. And bucky likes having you around in the restaurants and offices. He likes having something nice to look at while working.

Steve hit his leg, making bucky clear his throat. The men had stopped talking and were waiting on answer. Bucky leaned back in his chair, dropping his phone back on the table.

“Steve and I will get back to on this. Great presentation fellas” Bucky said standing shaking their hands. Steve shook their hands too, just as eager as bucky to get out of this god for saken office and home to his partner.

They quickly rushed out of the office, body guards following them as they walked to the car. The drivers were in there already, bucky sighed remembering he hadn’t told the drivers they wouldn’t be needed.

“Lance, you can drive yourself home in the porsche. You’re not needed for the rest of the day” Bucky said waving him off and throwing the keys and the driver, lance. Lance nearly choked on air, but didn’t hesitate quickly walking off to the porsche.

Steve chuckled to himself getting in his car. “See you tomorrow, buck” Steve said waving as he drove off in his car.

Finally, peace and quiet. This day had been so hard and hectic. A busy day, was not unusual but usually bucky could handle it. Maybe everything was finally catching up with him. This morning started off great, morning sex and breakfast in bed. Then the phone rang and before you knew it bucky was out of the bed dressed and out the door. Traffic was exceptionally bad and he had ran out of gas just 10 minutes into the drive. So bucky got gas and had to stand outside as there was huge line coming out of the gas station, he didn’t know why and he was not going to ask. It’s started to pour rain so when he got into the office he was soaked and had to change. Then that boring, presentation had begun.

Bucky could feel the headache coming on already.

It was like you could sense bucky was having a hard day. You ordered some chinese and opened up a bottle of wine for dinner, then you opened up your victoria’s secret bag. You had bought this when you were out with one of your friends from work, wanda. She had recently just had twins, and needed to get out and have a girls day. You had offered to go out as you needed some new bits, so you made a day out of it. Went for lunch and shopped till you dropped. You had bought some lingerie, red buckys favourite colour on you. It was lacy and tight in just the right places. You felt amazing in it, so you thought today would be the best day to break it out and surprise your husband.

The drive home was the worst. The music was bad, buckys phone had died and the rain was really pouring down again. He needed you so badly.

Bucky just needed a taste of you and he’d been all good again.

You showered, shaved and did all the bits you wanted and needed to do. After putting the lingerie on, you changed into a black dress and then got the plates out for the chinese. It hadn’t arrived yet, but you didn’t want to be rushing around when know bucky is properly very hungry and tired.

Bucky was home soon enough and almost whimpered at the sight of the apartment complex. He parked in the garage, and ran to the elevator putting in the number to the floor of your shared apartment.

“Baby, i’m home” Bucky called out after opening up the front door. He could smell the take out and his stomach grumbled at the most devine smell. His favourite. He married the right woman. You always knew how to cheer him up.

He walked into the kitchen, putting his keys, phone and wallet on the counter. The dinner table was all done up, candles, special plates the whole nine. He grinned as heard you running down the hall. He looked over towards the kitchen door and there you were, his honey. You stood tall, in red heels and a short tight black dress that made your curves shine. Fuck, you looked so good. Bucky wanted to push everything off the table and fuck you right then and there. Bucky brought a hand to cover his mouth as he looked you up and down. You blushed and giggled placing you hands on your hips.

“You’re so beautiful” Bucky said, walking over to you and placing his hands on your hips. Bucky couldn’t get over you. Everything about you is beautiful, gorgeous even. He got so lucky. Gorgeous, smart, kind.

“James” You whined as he kissed down your lips. “Want to eat first, ok?” You said and bucky nodded with a smirk.

“Wanted to eat too” He murmured kissing behind your ear. You laughed pushing him away, and walking over to your seat at the dinner table. “Eat. Then we can do whatever you want” You said biting your lip and bucky sighed fixing himself, you were teasing. He kind of liked it though.

“How was your day?” You asked picking up your fork. Bucky sighed placing some food in his mouth.

“Better now i’m with you”

Dinner was slow, but good. Just what bucky needed, you, some food and a nice chat. But by the end of it he was getting antsy. He needed you, no he needed to be in you. You could tell because he was giving you those eyes. You smirked and brought the dishes over to the sink and placed them in there getting ready to clean up, bucky jumped out his seat and stood behind you, his hands on your hips and his boner pressing into you. You whimpered as buckys cheek made contact with the top of your head.

“Thought we could do whatever i wanted?” He asked, and you nodded turning around. “I did say that, didn’t i?” You said, your hands running up and down his chest.

“Well, i want you down on your knees. Naked”

You raised an eyebrow, before unbuttoning your dress, keeping eye contact with bucky. Bucky stepped back, watching the dress fall to the ground. His eyes widened as he saw the lingerie, your breasts pushed together and your curves extenuated. You’re so perfect, so beautiful. You blushed as buckys eyes ran over you, he bit his lip and placed a hand on your cheek softly caressing it. He didn’t speak, but you knew. You took off your heels and got to the ground, kneeling down. You unbuckled his belt and pulled down his pants quickly, seeing the outline of his boner.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful” Bucky muttered taking you hair into his hand, and putting it into a make shift pony tail.

Bucky looks down at you and moans at the sight, gripping your hair tighter as you grip the base of his cock. A throat moan escapes him as you wrap your hand around his member.

“Want my mouth?” You asked and he nodded quickly. “Please, baby. Need it so bad” He whimpered, pulling at your hair. You smiled, leaning in and placing your lips over the tip of his cock. Bucky moaned loudly, pushing into your mouth and gripping your hair tighter. He tasted so good and you never wanted to stop making him feel good. You grip his hips as bucky pushes more of his cock into your mouth, you moan as you feel him in the back of your throat. Your moan sends vibrations through buckys body, he moans in pleasure.

Bucky is a complete and utter mess looking down at you. You looked up, your eyes wide and full of tears as bucky fucked your mouth with no mercy.

You grip the base of his cock, knowing how that gets bucky worked up. Bucky pulled at your hair making you choke on his cock. If you needed to stop, you would tap his thigh twice, but you would never. His cock felt too good in your mouth.

“So good to me” He whimpered, making you speed your pace up a little more, edging him closer to his climax. This might be the quickest he’s ever cum. Your mouth is a like a gift from god, you could definitely say the same thing about his cock that’s for sure.

Buckys moans get louder and his pace gets slower and sloppier. You know he’s getting very close. You make eye contact with him one more time and that’s when he loses it, he wants to pull out and cum all over your face, but you grip his penis hard swallowing every last bit of his cum.

“Fuck me” He moaned his head rolling back. You licked your lips and kissed up his torso pecking his lips.

“My turn!”

[viperbarnes]

The Tie That Binds – [One of Eight]

[B. Barnes, Soulmate AU]

Summary: HYDRA took everything from you, your life, your future, they even burned off your soulmark to make sure nobody would go looking for you. Now the man they forced you to fix reappears in your life, to make amends and to be ‘of service’.

You know that they made him do all those things, that James 'Bucky’ Barnes is not The Winter Soldier, that he’s innocent. You don’t blame him. But that doesn’t make seeing him again any easier.

Warnings: Panic attacks, language, talk and depiction of home invasion and abduction, canon level violence, HYDRA levels of torture, angst, fluff, slow-ish burn, friends to lovers.

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Nothing felt real until you saw him again.

It was as if ever since 2015, you’d been living your life in some kind of limbo, nothing mattered, the same old routine day in and day out. The world seems to move in slow motion around you, everything slightly lagging behind.

Like you can only see in black and white.

Like you were numb.

And then all of a sudden, in one brilliant flash of light everything speeds up, colour blinds you and the numbness disappears, replaced instead by pure, unadulterated fear.

He walks slowly down the hallway of doors, his eyes locked on yours like he knew you’d be here, knew exactly when to catch you. That in itself sets off a million other fears in your brain, and no matter how many times you’d gone through this scenario in your head, how many times you’d stayed up formulating a plan for escape, you can’t seem to move. Your body is frozen in place, the only movement available to you is the shake in your hands as he gets closer and closer.

You can’t even seem to cry.

He stops several feet away, looking for all the world like he wanted to be anywhere but here, but he squares his shoulders anyway and takes a deep breath.

“Hi.” He greets grimly, voice more nervous than you’d imagined, though deep and distinctly tainted by a Brooklyn accent you might’ve found endearing if not for everything else.

You realise suddenly that you’ve never heard him speak before.

You only stare, unblinking. He takes another deep breath and continues.

“My name is James Bucky Barnes. I am no longer the Winter Soldier–”

The mention of him, the name itself, makes you drop the thick set of keys and the small stack of letters you hold, sending them clattering to the floor. He stops speaking and blinks down at them, then back at you, before he crouches down to collect them.

“… And I’m here to make amends.” He stands slowly and holds out your keys and letters, lips pursed tightly as he waits for you to say something, or react at all. But you’re still staring at him, still unable to tear your eyes away until he waves the items, making your keys jingle a bit, and you snap out of it.

“I’m sorry.” He says, seemingly sincerely, but your voice is gone, and you can only nod as you carefully, hesitantly, take your things back from him, thankful when he steps back again. He stares at you with a sad frown, and you want so desperately to open your mouth and to say something, anything, but you just can’t.

He shoves his hands in his pockets and takes another step back.

“I’m… I’m going to go home now.” He tells you pointedly, and you can only nod once more. He turns his back and begins to walk.

You take that moment to shakily shove your key into the lock, quickly heaping yourself inside and slamming closed the door.

Making sure you lock your door once again, you can’t stop the sobs that wrack your body, sliding down the heavy wood and curling yourself into a ball.

You don’t hear him stop at the end of the hallway, you don’t hear the way he curses under his breath.

-

You laugh wildly and wave off your friends, shaking your head as you enter your apartment building. Even as the doors shut you can still hear them talking and laughing loudly as they return to their own buildings, but let the first peaceful sounds of quiet hit you as you jab the button for the elevator and make your way up to your place.

The alcohol buzzing through your veins amplifies reality and you ponder what an odd sensation it is to be so cognisant of yourself when you’re finally alone after a night of being surrounded by others. You lean heavily against the elevator wall and pull your graduation cap from your head when you realise you’re still wearing it.

It wasn’t the first time you’d graduated, but it was the last.

Excitement bubbles in you once again as you exit the lift onto your floor, all the possibilities and futures that lay before you making you feel unstoppable. You were going to be big, the things you were going to do were going to be big and now that you were fully and properly accredited, you couldn’t wait to prove to the world what you could do.

You unlock your apartment door on the third try, and stumble as you throw your cap and purse on the counter. Tomorrow you would call back Stark Industries and formally accept their offer, but for now, you needed water, a shower and bed. In that order.

You don’t bother turning on the lights in your apartment as you stumble through it, moving for your bathroom, however, when you reach the main hallways that lead to your bedroom, you pause and frown, switching the light next to you on as you stare down the passage.

You could have sworn you’d shut your bedroom door… In fact, you’d made a point of it before you’d left that morning… but here it was, wide open, and even swinging slightly like it were caught in a breeze.

In your drunken haze, you only frown deeper and move further down the hall, tiptoeing as quietly as you could, as if you were going to catch a ghost or an intruder off guard, but when you reach the doorway and switch the light on, you’re greeted by nothing.

A breath of anxiety leaves your lungs. It had been a busy morning, you could have easily forgotten that you’d gone back in after you’d shut it.

You relax, and kick it open further, shuffling forward before closing it behind you, but it stalls, refusing to click into place. A little frustrated now, you push on it harder, looking down at your floor to make sure there was nothing stopping it from shutting, but everything was clear. With an annoyed growl, you tear the door open again, intending to inspect the door frame itself, but you’re stunned frozen.

A man stands before you, completed shadowed in black, all but his eyes covered. You don’t even have time to react, you open your mouth to scream, but his hand shoots out, grabbing your jaw, the noise dying out before you can even make it.

Your body trembles, tries to back away, tries to run but he already has you, a grip stronger than what seemed real pulling you by where he holds you.

“Pack only essentials.” His voice is monotone and dark, and from his free hand, he throws a black duffle bag at your feet between you. His words left no room for argument, no terms for negotiation and yet your inebriated mind throws this out the window. You manage to latch onto the nearest item, a small lamp on the cupboard next to you, and with strength you didn’t know you had, you smash the thing into the side of the man’s head.

He releases you, hissing, and you run, somehow past him, your sloppy, drunken movements tamed somewhat by the adrenaline coursing through you.

You make it to your kitchen, to your purse and your phone, but then he’s there, hand grabbing yours and squeezing so hard your phone breaks under his grip. Intense and unrivalled pain lances through your fingers and palm, joined by a strange burning sensation. You become acutely aware of the snapping sound of bones until he lets go.

“Do not run.” He warns, though it sounds more like a threat, and with his body now bearing down over yours, and the pain in your hand, you lash out with your other, trying to push him away, maybe injure his eyes. Your fingers catch on something hard though, and you only manage to dislodge his mask, revealing his full face to you.

You don’t know or recognise him, and there was something so cold and unfeeling about his expression despite the situation you were in that makes your skin crawl. It was like the lights were on but nobody was home, like his brain was completely disconnected from his body and actions, right up until his eyes narrow, and he lifts a fist.

You can’t help but glance at the appendage before it crashes into your face, something catching your eye about it as the moonlight pouring in from your living room window hits it, and you realise, it was silver.

The last thing you remember before he knocks you out is the strange, but all-too-familiar whirring of a mechanical arm.

You wake up with a start, air trying to claw its way out of your lungs desperately. Your wide eyes search the room, and momentarily you see nothing but four grey walls, slowly closing in on you, before your senses begin to return, and your familiar bedroom fades through the nightmarish vision.

Sounds of the city waking up outside serve to ground you, and you slump back against your pillows for a few seconds, allowing your breathing and heart rate to calm down before you peel yourself out of bed slowly, cringing at the way your hair sticks to your clammy, sweaty skin.

The cold Brooklyn morning is comforting to you, and although you’d usually sleep longer than this on a work night, you know you won’t be going back to bed any time soon. You make your way to your small, cramped bathroom and switch the lights on, quickly discarding your clothes.

When you reach for the tap, you pause, eyes fixated on your hand, the one you hand remember clear as day being all but crushed in his grip. It had healed, but the broken bones weren’t the worst of it.

They’d taken your soulmark.

You don’t know why they did, you guess it had something to do with making sure there were no loose ends as far as your abduction went. They’d cut the mark from your hand, burned the wound, until it healed into just a lump of scarred, white skin.

Out of all the things they’d taken from you, it was this that hurt the most. They’d taken everything and left you with nothing, not even that which you were fated for. Knowing that somewhere out there, your soulmate would be waiting, wondering where you were, but you’d never be able to find them, never be able to know for sure if they were the one...

The first blasts of cold water shock the thoughts from your mind, and you immerse yourself, basking in the feeling against your hot skin, before the water finally begins heating, fogging up the room.

You take a deep breath and force yourself to close your eyes, leaning your forehead against the white tile.

“They’re gone. You’re free, and they’re gone…” You begin repeating softly, the familiar mantra only just audible over the running water.

You hadn’t had a nightmare in months, not one so vivid anyway, not one that made sense, that was more a memory playing itself back than a dream. You didn’t sleep well as a rule, but normally your bad dreams consisted of other things.

You know it’s not a coincidence, not when he’d shown up at your door a week ago.

You knew he was innocent. You knew that. He’d been brainwashed and tortured and he was innocent… But that didn’t make everything you’d experienced less real. Coming to terms with the fact he wasn’t some monster was hard when all you wanted was someone to hate.

You suppose you just never thought you’d ever see him again in the flesh.

It was easier to fear the memory of something, but when it showed up at your door, apologising and wishing to make amends…

Despite your best efforts, you can’t stop thinking about him. What had he meant about making amends? Why had he sought you out after so long? What did he want?

Maybe that’s why when he shows up at your door again, you aren’t so terrified.

He definitely gives you a fright, but no more than anyone would seeing as you’d opened your front door just as he’d raised a fist to knock on it. A momentary flash of fear makes your eyes widen, but you’re rather surprised when it seems to pass over you, settling down into something more like unease.

For his part, Barnes looks a little bewildered, like he’d been caught out, and you wonder briefly, with no small amount of discomfort, how long he’d been standing there.

You both stare at each other, until he finally forces open his mouth and speaks.

“I can go, if you want,” He blurts, eyes darting over your features quickly, but always returning to your eyes.

“But I just came to ask if there’s anything I can do for you?” He nods slightly after speaking, as if he’d been practising the words and had delivered them just as intended.

You blink at him, completely taken aback, but somehow managing to find your voice this time. Is this what he’d meant by ‘making amends’?.

“I… I don’t know…?” You shuffle from one foot to the other.

“My… My friend told me that I should seek out people I hurt… to be ‘of service’.” He tells you quickly, as if he suddenly felt the need to explain himself. Honestly, it’s helpful, helping you put together more pieces of whatever the hell this puzzle was.

“You didn’t hurt me.” You say carefully, trying not to sound like you’d been practicing. You see his brow furrow, and his lips pull into a thin line.

“HYD– They were the ones who did it…” You take a deep breath, adjusting your hold on your reusable shopping bags. His eyes flicker to them briefly, but are back on your face in a blink.

“I read about you… after, I mean… I know you weren’t…” You lift a hand and tap your temple, though immediately cringe.

Barnes lips quirk, but any semblance of a smile disappears soon after, his eyes turning strangely soulful. With his haircut and altogether more well-kept look, it was hard to see why you’d been so scared of him the other day… he didn’t even look like the same person anymore.

“Sure. But I still did those things… I still owe you.”

You stare at each other again for a long while, almost like you were both just reacquainting yourselves with what you looked like. You weren’t exactly put-together yourself right now, but you can’t imagine you look any worse than when you were a literally prisoner of HYDRA.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” He asks again a moment later, and you suddenly remember that you were standing in your doorway, disrupted in your task.

“I– I don’t know, I’m sorry, I have to go,” You shake your head, and attempt to dismiss him for now. The store was only open for another hour before your shift started.

“I need to get my groceries before the shop closes.”

Barnes steps back, gives you plenty of room as you pull your door shut behind you, locking it securely. But when you turn back to him, his face seems to have perked up. It’s odd to see on him, honestly.

“I can carry them for you.”

You stare at one another again, and you find for some reason you can’t say no.

Perhaps you just wanted to see the former Winter Soldier carry your groceries.

The thought almost makes you laugh.

Not as much as seeing him trail behind you in the aisles does. You wonder if your sudden ease at his presence is similar to the ease you have when there’s a spider in your bathroom… You don’t want it around exactly, but if you’ve got your eyes on it, at least you know where it is.

You keep to your short list of needs, mostly trying to ignore the fact that this was very, very strange all things considered, and when you’ve finished and gone through the checkout, he grabs all six of your bags and waits for you to lead the way.

“Do you… do you live in the city?” You can’t help but ask him on the walk back. He looks at you, almost surprised, but nods, and averts his gaze again.

“In Bed-Stuy.”

It’s your turn to be surprised.

“That’s only a couple of blocks. I’ve never seen you around before.” You marvel. He doesn’t look at you, keeping his eyes trained to the pavement.

“I know.”

Silence falls between you again, and prevails until you reach your building.

“Thanks. This has been… weird.” You tell him truthfully, watching how his lips quirk in that almost-smile again. He hands you your bags of groceries and then looks about.

“You do this every Thursday?” He asks, and you shake your head.

“No, I just forgot all week, and I really needed milk.”

He hums under his breath, frowning slightly again as he digs into his pocket and pulls out a small notepad. You watch him scribble something on a page, before he rips it out and holds it out to you.

“That’s my number… if you ever need anything, call me. I’ll come.” Barnes says seriously. Nodding, you reach out to gingerly pluck the paper from his fingers, but he keeps a hold of it for a moment longer, locking eyes with you.

“Anything.” He reiterates. Swallowing, you nod again, and he releases the page.

“Thanks, uh–”

“–Bucky… Please just call me Bucky.”

You watch him with a strange feeling filling your chest as he shoves his hands deep in his pockets and steps away from you. It takes you a few seconds to build up the courage to actually say his name.

“Thanks, Bucky.”

---

Bucky waits until you’ve disappeared inside your apartment building before he quickly pulls his hands from his pockets, hissing in discomfort as he finally attends to the searing, itching burn that had suddenly begun attacking his soulmark.

A few good scratches does the trick, but it leaves him with an entirely different sensation.

Bucky stares up at your apartment building, despair and dread settling deep in his belly. Realisation spurns on a hundred memories, a hundred memories now with a new context, a worse context, and Bucky feels completely nauseous.

You were his soulmate.

And HYDRA had made you afraid of him.

If you enjoyed, a comment or reblog would be greatly appreciated! Thank you for reading!

[kakairu-rocks]

We are excited to introduce our next shining star for the Creator Spotlight…@13bella-bell!

This is a member’s only activity where we reach out to one of the talented people in our community each month to find out all about them and their kakairu creations, and then show them off to the world!

We hope you enjoy learning about Bella & her creations as much as we did. Please give her some love ❤️  

Pronouns: She/Her

Type of Creator: Artist

Where to find her:

Tumblr

Twitter

Read the exciting interview below the cut, or on the forum!

If you would like a chance to be in the spotlight too, the only thing you have to do is be a member of the kakairu rocks forum, and be a creator; and we will contact you, ourselves!

1. How long have you been creating KakaIru fanworks?

I just started again around November or December of 2021 but I have some works from 2013-ish 😆 It has been so long 💖

2. What are you working on right now?

I always have several different things that I’m working on at any given time. A few of them are the Kakalru Reverse Bang, kinktober, and the KakaIru Maze Challenge 💖 and side projects like my stray kids au

3. What is your favourite trope to create for?

Hmm that’s a hard question… but if I have to choose… I don’t even know, I have so many… 😆 school au?! 😆 Like this, or this, or this?

4. Which of your creations is your favourite, and why?

A long time ago when I was in the Voltron fandom, I made this one piece with Lance, and I don’t remember much about why I did it… but I do remember that I was so happy because it turned out so well; and it was my wallpaper for so long.

5. Do you have any WIPs you’re excited about?

Yes! But I have so many that I can get lost for hours. It’s a bit overwhelming…😆✨ One is my race car au mwahaha I have several plans for it.

6. Do you have any original characters? If so, tell us about them!

I do have original characters but I have so many of them that they usually get abandoned until I rejoin whatever fandom inspired them, so they’re somewhere enjoying an extended vacation… I’ll share one, though. Ta-da! I forgot his name. I have a special book with everything in it back home - let’s call him James for now 💖

7. What was your hardest piece to create, and why?

Any of my multi panel artworks were hard to make, but there’s one in particular that really kicked my butt. It was my Endeavor Hawks one, and it was hard because it was one of my first really detailed ones.

8. Do you have any favourite scenes from something you’ve created?

Yes! I love my Kakashi hugging Iruka and Naruto in their pajamas one, it’s so cute✨

9. Where does your inspiration come from?

Randomly. Sometimes I look online for cute stuff, and I really like those monthly challenge lists, like 30 day prompts stuff. I have a whole bunch of those saved up and I just randomly roll the dice and see what it chooses that day. Another thing that I like is the discord sprint bot - it can give dares, and that helps 😆 or people’s requests, too 💖

10. Which of your creations is the most meaningful to you, and why?

My witch Lance one. It was the first time I realized I could make something I liked for myself.

[chiseler]

Hero of Our Nation

I first encountered Roger Ramjet on a Chicago public access station in 1983. It was part of an early morning show apparently aimed at stoner insomniacs. The show came on at five and also included episodes of Lancelot Link, Secret Chimp, that awful Beatles cartoon, and a weather report clarified by some appropriate pop song (“Here Comes the Sun” or “Here Comes the Rain Again”). I was usually up and around that early for some godforsaken reason, and originally started watching on account of Lancelot Link. Always did love that Lancelot Link. But Roger Ramjet was, well, let’s just say it was a revelation.

Roger Ramjet, “ that All-American good guy and devil may care flying fool” (as he compulsively introduces himself) was a none too bright and none too coordinated drug-dependent space age superhero in an ongoing battle against the assorted forces of evil (or more specifically, N.A.S.T.Y.) to preserve the American Way of Life. He was square-jawed, straight-laced, straight-faced, and True Blue if little else, so hyper-patriotic that nearly every time his name is spoken aloud an American flag, a bald eagle, or a rotating ring of stars appears on the screen. After catching one or two episodes, I forgot all about Lancelot Link.

The show was easy to overlook, especially when squeezed between the Beatles and some secret agent chimps with a psychedelic band. The episodes were only five minutes long (maybe seven with the abrasive theme song filling out the opening and closing credits), and were so crudely drawn and animated it might at a glance seem like something a couple of junior high school kids threw together in their basement one weekend. The shows were so primitive they hardly bothered with niceties like “backgrounds” satisfied instead to settle for rudimentary suggestions of a setting. But the writing was so sharp and the voice talent so good what it really felt like, if you paid attention, was a spoof of a ‘40s radio serial like Sky King or Gangbusters, complete with a soap opera organ and illustrated by a handful of jerky drawings scratched out by someone’s kid. People who thought Jay Ward’s Bullwinkle and Dudley Do-Right were crude when compared with the output from Disney or Warner Brothers had no idea what “crude” meant. 

Looking at it today what it reminds me of more than anything are the paper cutout animations of the earliest episodes of South Park, before they upgraded to Flash. Along with the lo-fi stylistics, the humor was clearly aimed at an adult audience while pretending otherwise.  You may not find any child molestation jokes or crass religious cracks in Roger Ramjet, but for 1965 the lightning-fast humor was pretty hepcat and sophisticated, with undisguised satirical references to the Cold War, Central American turmoil, and the  Vietnam War (“Hey kids, this is Roger Ramjet,” demanding that you stay tuned to this station to see my next adventure,” Roger announces in his commanding superhero baritone. “Or I’ll see to it that all you little rascals are drafted.”) . Mixed in with the topical jokes we also get some highly unlikely name drops, from Noel Coward and Henry Cabot Lodge to James Joyce and bawdy nightclub performer Rusty Warren, as well as film parodies and  literary nods to the likes of Catch-22 and Catcher in the Rye.  It’s also a little less than what you might call racially sensitive by modern standards (consider Mexican revolutionaries The Enchilada Brothers, Beef and Chicken).

While a lot of the more timely jokes might be lost in the murk of the over 50 years since it first aired, there’s plenty of rapid-fire absurdity that’s timeless, from the misspelled title cards punctuating the narration to the self-consciously dumb coked-up adventures.

Bullwinkle aired from ‘61 to ‘64. Roger Ramjet came along a year later and Jay Ward’s influence is undeniable. The difference was Roger Ramjet crammed the equivalent number of bad jokes, references, and plot twists of a typical 8-part Bullwinkle serial into each five-minute episode, both mirroring the rapid-fire screwball dialogue of the ‘30s and the frenetic quick-cut comedy to come along a year or two later in shows like The Monkees and Laugh-In.

The episodes were produced with essentially no budget and were cranked out very quickly by a small team of writers, voiceover artists and animators with solid day jobs in radio and TV. They were all seasoned pros, some dating back to the days of classic radio, who worked on the show after hours as a way of letting off a little steam and tossing around a few cynical, subversive  cultural jabs their day jobs wouldn’t allow. The show was created originally by animator Fred Crippen  (who went on to work on some pretty dreadful crap like the Extreme Ghostbusters  and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles) and Ken Snyder, an ad exec who moved over into producing cartoons. They brought in a remarkable team of voice talent and comedy writers, including Gene Moss (the voice of Smokey the Bear) Jim Thurmam (who did a lot of kids shows including Sesame Street), Dick Beals (the original voice of Gumby), and the great Gary Owens, a drive-time deejay in LA who would get national recognition soon enough as the on-screen announcer for Laugh-In. Although they would all get specific credits in the end (Crippen as director, Moss as a writer) it was a communal effort, in which everyone contributed to the writing, and everyone, even the executive producer, did a few of the voices. Apart from the regular crew, careful listeners might also catch a few uncredited guest appearances by some surprisingly big names (I’m told Sinatra and Dean Martin appear in an episode, but I’m still looking for that one). Owens was the star, though, as his ability to read the most ridiculous lines in a dramatic deadpan made him the perfect Roger Ramjet. Together they made 156 episodes (about 150 still exist), which were sold directly into syndication in ‘65 as half hour shows, each containing three unconnected adventures. I can’t say as I’m exactly sure who they thought their target audience was at the time, except maybe each other.

Much like William Conrad in Bullwinkle, each show opened with our narrator, Steve Allen alum Dave Ketchum, setting the mood and the scene (“In today’s depressing episode,” he’d begin with dramatic enthusiasm, or maybe it was an “existentialist episode,” “phlegmatic episode,” “rickety episode,”  “hairy episode,” or “ethnic episode”). Then we’re out of the gate at a breakneck pace, with a flurry of gags coming from every direction. “Ramjet rode into Boot Hill,” we’re told,  “where the men were men and the women were men, which can get pretty old after awhile.”

While none of the shows are connected, there are a few recurring characters and locations worth remembering: Roger hails from Lompoc, an actual California town (“where nothing ever happens, and seldom does”) and  takes his orders from General G.I. Brassbottom, a no nonsense military man who “hadn’t had an original idea since he was a civilian.” He’s also assisted by Yank, Doodle, Dan, and Dee, the unusually chubby  kids who make up the American Eagle squadron. Like Roger, all the members of the squadron wear their white jumpsuits and flight helmets at all times (Roger even wears his helmet on dates), and in true superhero sidekick fashion, their primary job is to get Roger out of scrapes and make sure his drugs are handy. 

That’s one little detail more than a few casual viewers have taken umbrage with. Roger, see, is a pretty hapless character most of the time, but he repeatedly saves the world thanks to a little help from his Proton Energy Pills (PEP), which take five seconds to kick in, then give him the strength of 20 A-Bombs for 20 seconds. Modern viewers seem a little uncomfortable with the idea of a superhero gulping amphetamines in order to function, but all I can say is, well, it was a different time, and hey, it worked for Roger and Elvis both.

The proton energy pills come in handy when dealing with his arch-nemesis Noodles Romanoff, the short, trench coat and fedora wearing head of N.A.S.T.Y. (the National Association of Spies, Traitors, and Yahoos). Romanoff may not have a Natasha, but he does have a gang of cronies and thugs who all mumble in unison (save for one, who can’t seem to get the rhythm). 

Along with Romanoff and his gang, Roger also has to contend with some lanky alien robots, the Solenoids (voiced by executive priducer Ken Snyder), and their repeated efforts to invade the planet in assorted ridiculous ways (in one episode, they begin kidnapping all the Miss America contestants, who “were disappearing faster than co-eds at a Dartmouth weekend.”)

When not saving the world, Roger found himself competing with the smarmy hotshot test pilot Lance Crossfire (who sounds an awful lot like burt Lancaster) for the affections of Lotta Love, the fickle Southern belle with a taste for the finer things in life.

Then there are the adventures themselves. Some seem standard superhero fare, but only to a point. Earth is besieged by flying saucer attacks (sort of). Roger’s hometown is terrorized by a werewolf (sort of). Roger plays tennis with a kangaroo, or becomes the first man to surf in space,  or, in a personal favorite, attempts to stop the flow of bootleg comic books into America’s drug stores.

Actually, there’s an interesting moment in that one that revealed just how subtle you could be even with animation this unsophisticated. Okay, so Noodles Romanoff, see, is replacing real comics in drug store racks with bootlegs in which popular superheroes are humiliated, all in an effort to destroy the morale of America’s children. After Brassbottom shows Roger a few examples (the issues include “Superman Gets Beat Up by a Chicken!” and “Ratman Stubs His Toe!”) he explains that if this sort of thing continues, “America’s kids won’t have anyone to look up to except YOU, Ramjet.” Then, for just an instant in that crude and jerky style, Roger cuts his eyes toward the camera, revealing in that moment everything we needed to know, namely that it’s what he’s always wanted.

Thirty years on and that still sticks with me.

In the end, though, the characters and storylines are secondary at best In Roger Ramjet. At heart it’s  a matter of trying to keep up with all the lightning-quick  jokes and wordplay, the non-sequiturs and references. In the five minute span of one cowboy-themed episode I counted nods to at least seven classic Western films, from High Noon to She Wore a Yellow Ribbon, and I suspect I missed a few. It really is such a dizzying blur of dialogue and bad puns and cultural references, sometimes, christ, even just references to old jokes that take the form of bad puns (“Waiter, there’s a spy in my soup” or “how many angels can swim in the head of a beer?”), that absurd as it all is, repeated viewings are a necessity to catch everything. It’s a bit like having the complete contents of an issue of MAD magazine jammed onto a single page. It can make your head hurt after a while, but it’s worth it. Whether the density and the pace make it better or worse for stoner viewing is something, I guess, each stoner will need to answer for him or herself. Lots of bright colors, though.

In 1965 there was nothing new about making cartoons with adult sensibilities in mind. Betty Boop and Bugs Bunny were made to be shown as short subjects to largely adult audiences. Jay Ward’s cartoons a few decades down the line were near-revolutionary for smuggling hip, subversive political humor into what had become an exclusively child-friendly format. What made Roger Ramjet so radical was it’s blend of ‘30s radio style with mid-’60s cynicism, as well as its foreshadowing of our shrinking attention spans, a hyper-condensed proton pill of comedy and commentary disguised as just another dumb, low-rent superhero cartoon. Although it’s barely remembered today, its influence is still evident in most any subversive animated show you can name, even if they’ve slowed things down a bit.

by Jim Knipfel

[cowperviolet]

A GUIDE TO MEDIEVAL TOURNAMENTS

Do you have a dynastic wedding to celebrate? A diplomatic visit to spice up? An axe to grind with a neighbour whose pageantry is eclipsing yours? Organize a tournament. It’s always the answer. A tournament of the greatest knights of the realm cannot go wrong.

Of course, it’s also a great and complex undertaking; but, thankfully, this step-by-step handbook should guide you through the process with only minimal pain and no injury

Obtain permission.

In England in France at least, organizing tourneys had become mostly a royal and ducal prerogative after 1340 – if you are not lucky enough to belong to one of those miniscule categories of the population, you would have to seek a special license. Obtaining it shouldn’t be a problem… unless, of course, there is a war on. In that case, you’d better check the latest royal proclamations – it’s more than possible that one of them contains a temporary ban on all tournaments while men of fighting age might have to risk their lives and limbs against an actual enemy. If this is true, it would be prudent of you to postpone your plans for a few months (or years, depending on how the war is going) – you wouldn’t want to content yourself with the kind of furtive affair that was the Le Hem tournament of 1278. It was hastily staged in direct violation of Louis IX ’s prohibition of tournaments because of the ongoing war, and as a result had to even dispense with the mêlée on the third day.

(If you think the prohibition overbearing and unfair, plenty of people would agree with you – and not just the kind of people who can afford swords and horses. The poet Sarrasin criticized the king in his Le Roman du Hem for bankrupting the heralds, armourers, saddlers and provisioners of France with his tournament ban).

2. Consider the time and place.

Most tourneys run from Monday to Sunday, with Friday being the rest day. You would need a spacious marketplace to divide into lists, too.

A lot depends on what kind of tournament you want to host. A general mêlée whose absence so disappointed the spectators in Le Hem would need more space than a contained joust; on the other hand, mêlée combat has been steadily losing its popularity as of late in favour of one-on-one jousts.

Of course, some people grumble that the old days when horsemen smashing into enemy in massed formations were the fixture of any tournament where the days when men were still men. But we are modern, fifteenth-century people, and we understand the importance of ensuring safety both for the participants and the spectators – hence the barriers down the centre of each list to prevent the knights from actually colliding with each other, and fenced enclosures to keep the audience strictly away from the danger. Which brings us to…

3. Decide on the rules.

The traditional rules of joust are the following: the knights are divided into two teams, those ‘within’ and those ‘without’ – or, in other words, the ‘defenders’ and the ‘attackers’. The space is, in turn, divided into three lists, each separated from the other by high barriers. The courses – the charges by two opposing knights – are going to be run down each, towards the spectacular splintering of lances. Each day, a prize, usually in the form of a small jewel or a golden chain, should be given to the best-performing knight and squire from each team.

You can, however, add or tweak a few details in order to make the sport safer for the participants – or more exhilarating for the audience. For example, you could take a page out of Maximillian I’s book and provide the knights with special spring-loaded shields that would flow apart if struck in the right place. You could also follow King Edward of England’s example and model your tournament after the béhourd he sponsored in Windsor in 1278: he specified, among other things, that the participants would have to wear cuir bouilli – a type of leather boiled until it was almost as hard as metal – and use wooden shields and whalebone swords.

If you scoff at the lightweight kind of tourneys popular these days, and especially if you care little for pageantry, then a different kind of joust might be more up your alley. The so-called passage of arms, or pas d’armes, is an undertaking to defend a certain place (usually a bridge or a gate) from all comers. It was inspired by various episodes from Arthurian romances, such as the Romance of Yvain by Chrétien de Troyes. In fiction, the knights undertook the defend a bridge, a gate, or a ford in single combat, and, if they were defeated, the winner took their place. Naturally, a real passage of arms plays out somewhat differently – for one thing, the defense only lasts a specified period of time (rarely longer than two weeks), and one defeat in a particular joust does not mean surrender. The most famous example of any knights attempting this kind of endeavor is probably the pas d’armes that Suero de Quinones organized at the Orbigo Bridge in northern Spain for two weeks until the St. James’ Day of 1434. They claimed a plan of breaking 300 lances in total – if they failed, the organizers promised, they would remain there for a further fortnight. They fulfilled that promise, and ended up withdrawing only on the 9th of August – but even with that extra time, they’ve only managed to break 178 lances in total. It’s no mean result, of course – plenty of minor conventional tourneys end in mighty disappointment for the spectators with not a single lance ending up broken at all.

It must be said that, although a passage of arms is a grandiose undertaking, jousting proper usually only takes a couple of hours a day there – in other words, the spectators are likely to be disappointed anyway. Your fellow knights, however, are going to be delighted by the concept – if, of course, they are true connoisseurs of tourneys just like you.

4. Think of the logistics.

The matter might begin with the rules of fighting itself, but it doesn’t end there. If you are in a position to organize a tournament out of your own purse in the first place, you must be the master of the lands where it’s going to be held, so make sure your subjects don’t suffer as a result of the soaring prices that usually accompany such events, not to mention the influx of professional warriors. Fix the prices firmly for the duration of the tournament, especially the prices on bread, fish, and meat; stipulate that no spectators or unarmed persons are to mix with the participants; make sure each gate of the city is manned by about twelve armed men, and station at least five hundred guards around the setting of the tournament itself.

5. Send out invitations.

Sending letters of invite seems to be the most logical course – however, it is also the most excruciating one, given the number of noblemen of fighting age who would be eligible for participation. In your situation, it would be better to contact the organizer of the tourney closest to yours and ask him to have your upcoming event announced there.

You would also do well to contact the tournament societies in your region – if you live in Germany, it’s going to be particularly easy: the whole concept, after all, originated in Bavaria. Tournament societies are essentially permanent tournament teams from different regions. Instead of laboriously summoning individual knights, one could simply issue a challenge from one society to another. Moreover, some societies’ rules even specify that the members have to meet annually at a tournament -it might as well be yours!

6. Think of the theme.

Of course, you don’t have to have a theme – you might want your tournament to simply be a bit of rough, honest fun it used to be in William Marshall’s days. We don’t live in William Marshall’s days anymore, though, and I suspect you wouldn’t want to be outdone by your neighbours.

The most go-to theme are Arthurian legends. It’s the kind of oldie-but-goldie you cannot go wrong with. The fashion was arguably started by Edward I of England, who set out a round table and acted out a number of Arthurian romances with the other noblemen at the feast after the tournament in honour of his daughter’s wedding. That was a far cry from the spectacular Arthurian festival arranged across the Channel by the lords Longueval and Bazentin in Picardy: they had the tournament presided over by ‘Queen Guinevere’, and stipulated that all the attendant knights had to bring a damsel with them. Another member of the theatricals was named as Chevalier au Lyon, who supposedly ‘rescued’ the ladies in ‘Guinevere’s retinue, and even had a real lion with him.

If this is all a bit too out there for you (or, the other way around, too pedestrian – everyone does the Round Table these days!), you could organize the pageantry of the tournament around your heroic ancestor or your sigil – possibly both. For example, the joust that Adolf of Cleves staged in Lille had been inspired by the story of the Cleves’ progenitor, a knight who was miraculously led along the Rhine by a swan and ended up marrying the local princess. During the joust, the ‘Knight of the Swan’ was to take on all challengers.

The procession, to quote the words of a contemporary, included

‘…drummers; and after them a pursuivant of arms dressed in a coat of arms full of swans; after him came a large swan, marvellously and skilfully made, with a crown of gold around its neck, from which hung a shield of the full arms of Cleves; and from this crown hung a golden chain on which, from one end, there hung the shield of the knight; and this swan was flanked by two very well made centaurs who had bows and arrows in their hands, and made as though to shoot at anyone who tried to approach the swan’.

7. Plan the banquet.

Nothing can sour the impression of a great tourney as a meagre banquet afterwards. The need for a generous display of food is self-explanatory – roebucks, suckling pigs, silvered eels, gilded bread, almond soup, kid goats, and the like – however, this is sadly not enough. You also have to think about the entremets.

What are the entremets? To put it simply, everything that is a part of the banquet, but is not edible. I’m not simply talking about straightforward entertainments like music, theatre pieces, or juggling. Entremets can also be elaborate installations for your guests to admire, such as a mini-carrack, exquisitely executed up to the last rope and laden with goods, or a mechanical forest full of strange, if thankfully unmoving, beasts. Even vessels sometimes count – you could have the sweets be contained in little chariots decorated with gold and azure. If you prefer to walk on the wild side, take a page out of Taillevent’s book (quite literally – it’s called Viandier) and construct a fake lion equipped to spout flame: ‘make it with a brass-lined mouth and a thin brass tongue, and with paper teeth glued in the mouth; and put camphor and a little cotton in the mouth and, when it is about to be served before the lords, set fire to this’.

Just don’t do what they did for the Feast of the Pheasant when they’ve made a statue of a naked woman in a large hat who spouted sweetened wine from her breasts for the duration of the dinner. Please.

Sources:

Normore, Christina. A Feast for the Eyes.

Andrew Brown and Graeme Small, Court and Civic Society in the Burgundian Low Countries c. 1420–1530.

Kelcey Wilson-Lee, Daughters of Chivalry: The Forgotten Children of Edward I.

[aleator]

day 09 - royalty au (thor/tony)

Once every ten years, Ironfell hosts a grand tournament, and knights come from all over the kingdom to get a chance to face off against one another. It is a great honor to simply compete in this tournament, but for the lucky and talented knight who wins, he is permitted one wish he may ask the king to grant him.

Most winners wish to be granted a position in the royal guard, while others wish for a title and a plot of land, or for some fair lady’s hand in marriage. Tony has only presided over this tournament once, a few years into his reign as king, but he witnessed it several times prior under the rule of his father, King Howard.

Now it’s Tony’s turn again ten years later and the whole city is a flurry of activity and excitement. The tournament lasts for a week and many people come from far off to watch as well, not just to compete.

Which leaves Tony a very busy man in the weeks leading up to the tournament. Thankfully he has his council and advisors to help, but most importantly he has Thor, his favorite knight. Not that he plays favorites with the royal guard, of course. That wouldn’t look good for him and his attempt to be a fair and just ruler.

“You should have worn the red cloak,” Thor says first thing upon seeing Tony the morning of the start of the tournament. “Makes you look more regal.”

“Good morning to you too,” Tony replies, tugging at the clasp on his dark blue cloak. “How’s the crowd out there?”

“Excitable. It’s been a long year. The people could use some proper entertainment.”

Tony adjusts his clasp again, frowning at his reflection in a nearby mirror. “Then we’ll have to keep them entertained.”

Thor reaches out and gently takes Tony’s hand away from his cloak, then adjusts the clasp for him. Tony stands still while Thor does that, then looks at himself in the mirror again.

“Thank you.”

“Still would be better in red.”

Tony laughs and motions for Thor to follow him down to the main hall so they can get the celebration started.

The king traditionally gives a speech at the opening ceremony, so Tony opens the first day of the tournament with a rousing speech about honor and good fortune and courage, all the usual stuff the crowd likes to hear before they watch people do fancy tricks and hit each other with sticks. Then he’s led to his special box seat at the arena. With both parents now passed away, it’s just him and the head of his guard, Sir James, in the royal box with a few important dignitaries from neighboring kingdoms.

The tournament begins with much cheering and fanfare as the knights are introduced to Tony and the crowd. Some he knows are from nearby, others are from the outer edges of the kingdom, but there’s one knight he doesn’t recognize at all, a man in red armor on a pure white horse, whose only name given is the Lionheart.

The crowd is instantly abuzz with speculation on the secret identity of this mysterious knight, but the tournament does not stop even for gossip. The first day of challenges are mostly archery displays, with knights showing off tricks and skills more suited for showmanship than battle.

A feast for all ends each day of the tournament, so by the end of the first day the crowd is well enthused for its continuation. Tony does his duty as host in the main hall of the castle, though he can’t help looking around for the mysterious Lionheart, who does not seem to be in attendance.

“Who could this Lionheart be, do you think?” Tony asks Thor as his knight walks with him through the halls of the castle up to his chambers after the feast. “He seems skilled with the bow, but I’ve never heard of him before.”

“Perhaps he is foreign,” Thor offers, and Tony hums thoughtfully. While there is no rule banning foreign competitors, the few foreign knights who do join usually announce their presence, not hide behind a mask and a false name.

“He must not have a noble patron backing him,” Tony decides after a few moments consideration. “Why else would he not share such information?”

“Perhaps,” Thor says again, though Tony remains too caught up in his thoughts to pay him much mind.

“I suppose we will see how he does in the rest of the tournament,” Tony says at last. He nods to Thor as they reach the door to his chambers, and Thor nods back. “Good night, Thor.”

“Sleep well, Your Majesty,” Thor says, as he always says every night before Tony retires for bed.

The next few days were reserved for jousting matches, both individual performances against wooden dummies and one-on-one matches between knights. The real winner of the tournament would be the knight who triumphed in the melee on the last day, but lesser prizes would be given out to those who performed well in the jousts.

Despite the impressive display of skill from all involved, Tony can’t help being mesmerized by the red knight’s performance. Like with his archery, his talents on horseback and skill with the javelin and lance are seemingly unmatched. Much of the crowd seems taken with this mysterious knight, and Tony wonders if he’ll be the one to win the tournament overall.

“I would have thought your favor would be with Sir Steven,” Thor replies when Tony says as much the evening before the final day of competition. “He is one of your own knights.”

“Of course,” Tony says with a flippant wave of his hand. “But he’s curious, is he not? He disappears before every feast and only reappears at the start of the next day’s tournament. Why not join in the celebration?”

“Keeping his identity a secret must be more important,” Thor suggests.

“Well, if he does win the tournament, he’ll have to reveal himself,” Tony says with an un-kingly huff. Just one more reason he’s maybe secretly hoping that the red knight wins.

The next morning, as the knights prepare for the grand melee, Tony decides to hell with it and puts on his red cloak. Yet Thor is nowhere to be seen, and Tony walks down to the main hall alone that morning.

For the final day of the tournament, all the knights battle it out in the arena on foot with their preferred choice in weapon. Though it’s a free-for-all, the rules of chivalry still stand, and all weapons must be modified to prevent fatalities. Knights who have been defeated must bow out until there is only one man remaining--the true tournament victor.

The red knight strides into the ring with a simple war hammer in hand, which is a curious choice, in Tony’s opinion. A war hammer can do a lot of damage in battle, but it’s small and unimpressive for such a spectacle as this.

That doesn’t seem to slow the red knight down at all, for as soon as the battle begins he takes down his first opponent with ease. As the knights clash against one another and the crowd cheers, Tony only has eyes for the red knight, hands gripping the arms of his chair tightly with each close call the red knight has.

When the dust clears at the end of the battle, the last man remaining is none other than the red knight, Lionheart.

The crowd goes wild, everyone thoroughly taken by this mysterious challenger who appeared out of nowhere and swept the tournament. Tony stands and approaches the railing of his box as the red knight crosses the arena to kneel in the dirt before Tony.

“Rise, Lionheart, for you have proven yourself worthy on this day,” Tony says imperiously for all to hear. “Remove your helm and speak what you wish bestowed upon you as a prize.”

The red knight does not stand, nor does he remove his helmet. Instead, in his deep voice he says,

“I wish for your hand in marriage, Your Majesty.”

The sudden murmur of the crowd is so loud that Tony almost doesn’t think he heard the request right. Nobody has ever asked for anything like this before. It’s not as if he’s some poor nobleman’s daughter to be offered up in exchange for good standing. He’s a king! Such impertinence from someone who refuses to even share his real name.

Frowning, he motions for the knight to remove his helmet once more. “If that is your wish, then I bid you again, reveal yourself.”

This time the knight does stand, and the crowd seems to collectively hold its breath as he reaches up to remove his helmet. Instead of the mysterious red knight, now only Thor stands in his place, knight of the Ironfell royal guard.

“I told you red’s your color,” Thor says to him, and Tony lets out a surprised exclamation, gripping the railing of the royal box before he collapses from shock.

“I fear you might be right,” Tony replies, his laughter disbelieving but his smile wide. “I hope it’s your color too, since you’ll be wearing it a lot more soon.”

“Your Majesty?” Thor says, looking hopefully up at him.

“You won the tournament fair and square, and thus your wish will be granted.”

In yet another unkingly move, Tony hops the short railing of his spectator box and jumps down from the low platform his box sits upon, stumbling a bit on the landing. As is chivalrous, Thor immediately drops his helmet and hammer to go and catch Tony before he falls in the dirt. Then, somewhat less chivalrously, Thor kisses him soundly, all of the background noise of the tournament fading away as Tony loops his arms around Thor’s neck and kisses him back.

Perhaps, Tony thinks, the final day’s feast can double as a wedding.

[chilling-seavey]

Passchendaele WW2 Extension - When the Angels Cry

T/W Descriptions of death and bodies, grief, funerals, child loss/loss, war trauma, etc.

September 30, 1945

Corbyn paid for Richard’s body to be brought back home. He was returned home to England on a cloudy autumn Sunday. Most of the fallen soldiers – especially those who were unrecognizable or unnamed – were simply buried in rows just off the battlefields but when the war was over, families could either allow their sons and brothers to be buried in a British cemetery overseas or brought home for an official funeral and burial. Corbyn wanted his boy home.

Richard’s body was brought back to England on a ship with dozens of other fallen men all in simply wooden caskets nailed shut after almost a year of the bodies being buried. The families were not permitted to open them – most likely to avoid seeing their son or brother or loved one’s decomposing. The loss was painful enough. Corbyn and Christine went to the harbour to meet the ship along with the other parents or relatives of the fallen.

The sky was grey. The crowd was donned in black.

As the ship anchored and the gangplank was set up for the crew to start to empty the coffins onto the tarmac, mother’s shed tears. Each wooden box looked the same and, in a way, Corbyn felt guilty he couldn’t tell which one was his son. He was always so good at picking Richie out of a crowd – especially since he was always a little smaller than his peers during elementary school. He held onto Christine’s gloved hand tightly and she kept her head bowed as the crew worked quietly. The weeping mothers around them didn’t make it any easier.

The officer of the ship had the list of the fallen in his hand that corresponded with plates on the coffins and stepped up on the end of the gangplank to address the crowd. He offered brief general sympathies but got right to work, calling out each soldier’s name alphabetically by last name. One of the first couples to be called to retrieve their son was in near hysterics and the mother threw herself on the coffin and sobbed until she nearly fainted. Corbyn looked away flatly.

“Lance Corporal Richard Z. Besson.”

Corbyn glanced at his wife who held her handkerchief over her mouth and he set a hand on her back, “Come on.”

They walked quietly across the dock to the rows of wooden coffins and a few of the crewmen offered their quiet condolences. Corbyn set a gentle hand on the edge of the box and swallowed back his tears but anyone could see them shimmering in his light eyes. Four crewmen helped to carry the body to the motorcar waiting in the parking lot behind one of the buildings and Corbyn and Christine walked silently behind it, the quietest of the couples that day.

They were finally able to welcome their son home…to meet him at the docks…but not in the way they had hoped.

It wasn’t until the crewmen offered well-wishes to the couple and blandly told them that their son died a hero and walked back off towards the ship that Christine broke into tears. With the wooden coffin resting in the back of their family car to head right to the church for the funeral, it felt much more real now. Corbyn held his wife for a moment, each of his breaths shuttering in his chest as he tried to breathe.

When they finally got themselves into the front seat, they took a moment to just stare out the windshield in the grey weather surrounding them. It was a lot to take in. It wasn’t raining yet – although the clouds seriously threatened it – but Corbyn’s silent tears that fell down his cheeks made up for it, streaking down his flushed skin and dripping onto the black fabric of his dress pants and suit jacket. He turned slowly over his shoulder to the backseat, the wooden box blurred slightly through his tears.

September 2, 1923

Corbyn glanced over his shoulder to the backseat, catching a glimpse of his son sitting there quietly and staring out the window at the rain. It had been a quiet few moments at the beginning of the car ride…usually five-year-old Richard was quite talkative to his father, going on about whatever little stories were playing in his head. He held a small toy plane in his hands, rolling it against his thigh lazily although his wide eyes followed each tree they passed.

“What are you thinking about, Richie?” Corbyn asked, looking back to the road.

“Why does it rain, Daddy?” Richard asked quietly, leaning closer to the window to look up to the grey sky.

Corbyn cracked a small smile at the sweet innocence of his son, “Because an angel’s crying.”

“Crying?” Richie gasped, looking to his father in concern. “Why?”

“Not sure, little man. That’s just what my Mama used to tell me when I was a boy. Why do you think they’re crying?”

Richie hummed quietly in thought and leaned his head against the window, bumping slightly against the glass as they navigated over the bumpy roads of their town. Corbyn glanced back at him again, watching as he traced a raindrop down the window with a small finger.

“Maybe they’re crying happy tears, Daddy.” Richie mumbled.

“Maybe so, Rich.” Corbyn agreed.

“Maybe God made a chocolate cake for them and they were so happy.”

“With ice cream?”

“Yes.” Richard smiled, resting back against the seat.

There was a pause in conversation and Corbyn drove on over the dirt road, the two Besson boys just listening to the rain pattering down on the roof and windows of the car. Richard looked so cute in his school uniform and he kicked his little lace up boots against the seat in front of him lazily. His chubby cheek that was still proof of his youth was squished up against the window and he puffed out a bit of air to steam up the glass and he ran his finger through it in a squiggle.

“Daddy?”

“Yeah, buddy?”

“Will God make me a chocolate cake one day?”

Corbyn’s hands tightened slightly on the steering wheel, and he replied with a gentle but serious, “Don’t say that, Richie.”

“Why?” Richie pouted. “I’m a good boy.”

“You’re a very good boy, Rich. But you do not have to worry about God’s baking skills for a long, long time, alright?”

“Alright.” Richard nodded with a sigh and raised his eyes back up to the grey clouds. His hand pressed flatly against the window and he tapped his fingers there gently, “They sure are cryin’ up there, Dad.”

He held up his toy plane and closed one eye so it could look like his plane was flying through the grey skies along with the car. Corbyn took a second to admire his son and his pure innocence that always made his heart warm. It was refreshing. He was born near the end of the Great War, Corbyn’s very own peace offering after months and years of hell, and there was no one gentler than Richard. No one who deserved a life of happiness more than Richard.

Corbyn didn’t know how he got to the church but soon he was staring up at the white paneled chapel with his once little boy laying in a box in the backseat. The funeral was to be a small event for just the Besson’s and the Seavey’s – including Corbyn’s brother and sister and a bit of their extended family.

They all wore black. The grey sky held off the rain.

The first while was a bit hazy as Corbyn and Christine got out of the car and greeted their family with hugs and kisses and handshakes and the priest joined the group in his robes with a bible in hand. He offered the usual condolences and invited the procession to follow him to the cemetery where the grave had been dug early that morning.

The plain wooden coffin was taken from the Besson’s car and carried slowly to the cemetery by Charlie, Daniel, Corbyn’s brother, Jordan, and Christine’s brother, James. Corbyn walked behind it with his wife and daughter followed by the rest of their family. When they reached the plot, the two gravediggers helped to lower the coffin into the six-foot-deep hole and the priest began the funeral.

Daniel found his spot beside Elizabeth and she tucked her arm in his and rested her head on his shoulder gently. Evelyn did the same with Charlie.

Corbyn didn’t process anything the priest said although he tried to pay attention the best he could. He stood between his wife and his daughter and stared at the sealed wooden box laying underground. Part of him yearned to open it. Part of him dreaded the thought of opening it.

The last time he saw his son was six-and-a-half years prior. The last time he looked at him Richie was barely twenty-one. He left as barely more than a boy and he was now laying underground as a man. Corbyn never got to see his son grow into a man. He didn’t even have a good photograph of him from his time in the air force. He felt like he was burying a stranger but it also felt like the sickening exaggerated reality that he was buying his infant son.

When the prayers coming to a conclusion, the immediate family was given the opportunity to throw in the first handfuls of soil. Christine went first with Corbyn’s protective hand on her back, tossing down a sprinkle of dark soil onto the top of the casket. Frances was next and she had tears streaking down her cheeks as she threw in her handful. Corbyn hesitated a moment, staring down at the two small piles of dirt sprinkled on top of the wooden box below ground and he turned behind him slightly and locked eyes with Charlie.

Corbyn nodded him over.

“Have your closure.” Corbyn whispered just to him.

Charlie nodded thankfully and bent down to take a handful of soil from the pile beside the grave. He stayed crouched, eyeing the unfamiliar wooden coffin below him, still hearing the agonizing cries of Richard’s final minutes as he tried to pull him from the plane. He was now silent. Charlie stumbled over his breath as he tried to keep himself from crying and held out his hand over the deep hole that now housed his brother.

“Alright, Richie.” he breathed and let the soil fall.

Then it was Corbyn’s turn. He took his handful of soil and stood at the side of the grave, staring down at the last of his son. He said a quiet prayer, kissed his hand, and then tossed the handful onto the top of the wooden coffin.

Corbyn stood a few metres away as the family members started to leave and the gravediggers filled in the hole. The sound of the metal shovels in the mound of dirt and the sound of it dropping dully onto the wood almost made Corbyn sick. But still, he stood and watched his son be buried until the grey sky finally opened up and angles wept down onto them.

Corbyn only hoped Richie got his chocolate cake.