#metals still a robot this is just like... two years in the future. he got a new more mobian body and is mostly chill

[bluxb3rry]

❝𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫!❞↳෴੭˚ ༘♡·˚₊˚ˑ༄ؘ 💜

Bang Chan x male reader!

He/him pronouns!

English is not my frist language!

Tried Angst! This one is very long xd

── ⋅⋅⋅ ────꒰ ୨ ♡ ୧ ꒱───────

-Honey, Wake up-

The voice made him wake up a little bit, but with his eyes still closed he tried to ignore it, hiding his face more in the pillow and feeling the soft heat from the sun that came from an open window, not only that but also the touches in his skin were as soft as the sheets, he really tried to wake up.

-Chan, love, wake up-

He now felt soft kisses in his face, smiling a little still trying to play sleep, knowing that his lover already know of his little play.

-hm, okay okay, i guess i'll shower alone-

-im up!-Chan opened his eyes looking at him

-i knew you were awake-he kissed him

-mmh, Y/N! You can't just play with me like thaat-he said with a whiny voice

-yeh yeh cry baby-Y/N got up

Chan just looked at him, the sheets still covering part of his body, just looking at the naked back of his boyfriend, seeing little love marks in his neck, smiling a little.

-what are you looking at?-Y/N asked, putting on the shirt of him, looking at him with a playful smile.

-just at my lover, i didn't know that you owned my shirt now-

-i got cold, but, if you came with me to the shower, i might just get warm again-that was the last thing that Chan heard before seeing his boyfriend closing the bathroom door.

-if you play like that-he followed him

꒰ ୨ ♡ ୧ ꒱

It wasn't a warm day anymore, it was night and i got slightly colder, Chan looked at himself in the mirror, feeling his cheeks gething kinda warm while fixing his tye.

-you seem kinda scared boss-another voice entered the room

-don't call me like that when we are not in patrol minho-Chan looked at him, and then looked at the robot beside him that handed some other tyes-you can go

-yes sir-a robot voice was heard before the robot left

-mmh, you fight cyborgs, eleminate hackers, fight a lot of mafias and bring kinda of a peace in this cyber world, and yet you are scared for a simple question-Minho joked, though there was some true in that joke.

-yeah i know, just-he sighed-what if he says no?-he let go of the still not quite well donce tye

-Hyung, you two have been together for four years now, and knew each other way more than that, he could never say no to you-Minho responded looking at him and fixed his tye-now, you better go to that restaurant, give him the moment of his life, show him the ring and pim pam pum, married-

-thank you-

-is what friends do, right?...-Minho only looked himself in the mirror-you choosed a good day to, seems more easy to remeber for the future-

-easy?-

-you guys anniversary day? damn, i should keep that for me and Han-

A robot walk in

-sir, Y/N is ready-it said

-good luck-minho said for last time

Chan only smiled to him and went down stairs.

── ⋅⋅⋅ ────꒰ ୨ ♡ ୧ ꒱───────

-Chris? Wake up-

He opened his eyes slowly, seeing that smile and cold eyes that made him smile a little bit more. The window was closed and most of the warm outside didn't get inside enough.

-Good morning-he said

-Chris, you have work to do, places to go-he ignored him

-I don't think i wanna-

It smiled at him and touched his cheek, Chan only closed his eyes at the feeling of the cold hand, like metal.

-Chris, you have to-

-i don't want to leave you here Y/N-he said feeling more hopeless the more he felt the touch

-im gonna be okay, i won't leave anywhere-

-i know-

He got up from the bed, slowly stretching feeling his muscles more free, he looked back at Y/N

-that shirt...-he murmured

-oh? this one? sorry i just...i though i could use it, i felt cold-Y/N said slowly taking of the shirt, almost reveling something that Chan didn't want to see

-no no-he stoped him-its okay, you can use it

-thank you...um, your breakfast is ready downstairs, i asked one of the robots maids to make you some-Y/N said getting up from the bed, walking just a little far away and more close to the door

-Thank you-

Chan finished his routine, and was about to exit his room, then he looked at him again. He kissed his cheek, feeling the cold metal.

-oh-Y/N looked at him surprised, or the most he could figure out from his expression-um

-goodbye-He left

꒰ ୨ ♡ ୧ ꒱

-Thats the report for today, you are dismissed-robots and people left the room minus one guy-i said dismissed

-How are you Hyung? How is the treatment doing?-

-Minho-he said again, but just sighed-im doing good, Y/N is just fine-

Chan started looking some papers, mafias to be more expecific, letting the silence order the room, hoping for his friend to leave.

-...its today isn't?-Minho asked already knowing the answer

Chan just looked at him withouth saying anything.

-Hyung, i know that you bought that robot and tried to program him but, Y/N is-

-Shut up-Chan interrumped him

-You are living in a dream Hyung, you are trying to forget something-

-i though this was the best for me-

-yeah but-Minho sighed-is not, you are just going into a cicle of lies Hyung, because thats what they are, you give us missions but you just stay here all day trying to see any mafias that could have caused this, but i can tell you, you can't do it alone, you need help-

-What if Han-Chan started

-Don't you fucking dare, you fucking know that what are you doing is wrong and you are gonna end with a bullet in the head, whoever is from yourself or someone else-

-I have the tecnology Minho, now get the fuck out of my office before i do something that i could regret-

-regret? Hyung, you bought a robot thinking its him, you don't come here every single day and you stay in that fucking room with a piece of metal to try and fix your fucking problems-Minho finished saying already standing out

-out-

-Hyung-he got interrumped

-When we are in patrol im your Boss, now, GET THE FUCK OUT-he screamed at him

Minho only looked at him suprised, only for changing to a more neutral face but still some anger in those eyes.

-yes boss-he left

── ⋅⋅⋅ ────꒰ ୨ ♡ ୧ ꒱───────

It was a perfect night, the elegant music, the lights, the time, everything.

But in his eyes, seeing you smiling was everything he needed.

-Hon, wha- how?-

-I though it was a nice place-

-nice? Honey this is perfect, i-i don't have words-you laughed a little

-Happy Anniversary-Chan said

Thanks to a robot, you two were in the table, eating and just enjoying each other presense.

It was almost midnight.

-Love-you looked at him-i-i wanna ask you something-

-WATCH OUT-

it wasn't gonna be a perfect night.

── ⋅⋅⋅ ────꒰ ୨ ♡ ୧ ꒱───────

He didn't remeber well, the blood and your cold eyes where everything in his mind.

So, it wasn't bad right? This, this robot was you, you were here, his lover, his boyfriend and his lost husband, it was your face, your voice, your laugh. He knew what he needed, he knew this wasn't good but Chan needed you, you made him feel happy.

-Chris?-

But those eyes, were as cold as that night, your touch was as cold as the last moments he hugged, when was the last time your warm hands touched his skin? when was the last time your soft lips kissed him?

-Chris? why are you crying? i-i dont see any damage?-

He was crying? he didn't notice, but of course he would, he always did, you said that was something you loved of him. Chris? he didn't like how that sounded from you, thats why he told you to call him anything else, thats why you called him Chan or Honey.

-You don't remeber?-Chan asked, hoping to hear more from it

-What?-

-The day, the day i asked you out, it was at the park-

-Chris i don't-

-Please, please you know, i told you, "call me another thing then that" you called me Honey a-and i, i didn't understood why but it looked like the perfect moment to tell you-Chan hugged its hands-c'mon i know you can remeber

-i-im sorry Chris, but, that wasn't in my program-

Now thats when chriss brooke, tears running away from his eyes, while the robot tried to help, but how? that wasn't you, Y/N was gone long time ago.

So, he slowly opened the shirt, reveling the chest of the robot, seeing a single square, he touched it, slowly open it.

-Chris?-

-Y/N is gone, i can't let you destroy me anymore-he looked at him-im sorry

-Its okay, its my job as a therapy robot to help you-

Chan knew the moment he pressed the botton that he was seeing right now, in the exact stop the he saw your blood, that it were only survive for some more hours before shutting down.

-When i press it, can we...can you hug me while i fall asleep?-

-of course-

So he did, and then, he was in the bed, hugged by it, thinking it was you, thinking it was your soft touch that made him remeber of his sheets, the sun slowly appearing in the window and letting the heat decor his room, while you tried to wake him up.

Thank you for using Memory Simulator

── ⋅⋅⋅ ────꒰ ୨ ♡ ୧ ꒱───────

[coolxuli]

My thoughts on Milli and Geo’s parents.

I wanted to keep this a secret until further fanfics but I just can’t hold it in anymore. TW for murder and suicide at the end.

So Milli and Geo’s parents (let’s name them Artemis and Orion) were high school sweethearts who were both studying science at their school.

Coincidentally they were both transgender and were on HRT at the same time (not impactful to the plot or anything, it’s just a fact)

They went to college where they studied science or whatever, got married in their 20s, and enrolled to be scientists at the Umi City lab with four of their friends from high school (Orion’s brother included). During this time, Artemis and Orion grew apart because of them being assigned different tasks and stuff (one of which was probably to create Bot, maybe).

But after a few years working in the lab, because of the rise in crime in Umi City, them and all their friends are assigned to create a team of superheroes. The officials of the lab didn’t care how they did it as long as it was done so the six of them dived themselves into three groups and mix each others DNA with some mathematical items (because why the heck not!? Also, don’t ask how they did that) to create some kids with mathematical powers! Artemis and Orion were paired together, of course.

When the experiment began, the six heroes they created all developed at different speeds, and it took years for some of them to grow. But when the first hero (Orion’s brother’s child) had finished development over the course of 9 months, he came out as a newborn baby. When the lab officials saw this they were like “Wtf. Well, we can’t send a couple of newborns to fight crime, so when these babies are done, you’re all parents now.”

Artemis and Orion never thought of being parents so they were kinda dreading the time when their own kids had finished development, but then Orion looked over at Bot (who was just a helper robot at the time) and was like “Yup! I’m making this mf their caretaker now.”

Luckily for them, their kids weren’t going to fully develop for a few years, so they made the most of their time.

Unfortunately, around the time two more of the future heroes had finished development (at the same time, so they’re basically twins) Artemis had an accident in the lab that messed up her brain a little but everyone just brushed it off.

Finally, two years after the first child had finished development, Artemis and Orion’s first child, a daughter, had also finished development. They didn’t have a name for her so they asked Bot if he had any names and he remembered they mixed their DNA with measuring equipment so he decided to name their daughter Millimeters (but called her Milli for short).

Also, when one of the twins mentioned earlier was revealed to not have proper powers, the mother (who was called Yvette but that’s not important) of that child made her a dress that could make any pattern possible. (This dress came into Milli’s possession when the lab realised that three heroes were enough)

Artemis and Orion (who’s spark had been regrowing over the years) had no idea how to take care of a kid, so whenever the lab officials gave them days off to take care of Milli, they just left her at home with Bot and went partying, sometimes not coming back for days at a time. This behaviour worries Bot, but whenever he confronts them about this, they just shake him off because they just see him as a cheap piece of metal they use to take care of the kid.

More than nine months later, their son had finished development. And, same with Milli, Bot saw how shapes were mixed into his DNA and named him Geometry (but called him Geo for short).

Since Milli and Geo (and the three other kids along with the one still in development) were too small to do anything with their powers, the lab officials let the two sets of parents who’s kids were fully developed have a year off to take care of the kids. And during this year, Artemis and Orion’s relationship had full rekindled and they were practically out every night, barely spending any time with their kids who they just left with Bot.

But, as this year was coming to an end, Artemis became very sick and was bedridden. Orion tried to stay by her side but she involuntarily pushed him away because this illness would make her easily frustrated and depressed, to the point he just didn’t come home for days. She also tended to push Bot away, saying that he’d overstep her boundaries whenever he got close, making Bot feel bad and rarely going into her room.

As she recovered, she felt like her husband was hiding something, maybe even cheating. And that brain injury no one really worried about had really taken control of her psyche, maybe even to the point of murder. So when Orion came home after being gone for a few days, she was waiting for him in the kitchen with a knife.

Not going into detail of what happened but when she realised that she’d just unalived the love of her life, she did the same to herself.

Unbeknownst to them, Milli, who was two years old at the time, had seen the whole thing behind the kitchen door.

Bot rushed them to the hospital the moment he found them, but it was too late.

And that’s what happened to Milli and Geo’s parents in my AU!

[empressofthesunwriter]

One Punch Girl! 03

Inspired by One Punch Man!

In a world full of Quirks, you were born quirkless.

However, this doesn’t stop you from defeating villains left and right with just One Punch, all while you just want to eat junk food and watch anime.

What a drag.

Chapter 3: Let’s get sporty, what a drag!

You sat relaxing at a table, chewing your favourite gum, while your classmates prepared for the Sports Festival.

Yes, the day was finally here.

What a drag!

You didn't want to participate at all.

Too much trouble.

Yes, you know, thanks you asked the girls in your class, how the Sports Festival was important for the future, but it's not like you wanted to be a Pro.

You were only in the U.A. as Principal Nezu's guard dog, why should you give you all to win?

All of your classmates wanted to be Pro-Heroes one day, any one of them deserved the first place.

Well, besides Mineta.

The little perv could fall over dead for all you cared.

You made a bubble and let it pop.

Sadly Principal Nezu order you to give your best at the Sports Festival.

He wanted to show your power to scare the villains like this.

So you had to win.

Troublesome!

For a short moment, it got interesting as sexy Shoto declared war on cute Izuku, but then Tenya came in and told you it was time to enter the arena.

Bored out of your mind you followed your classmates.

After you were joined by the other classes, the referee of the Sports Festival was revealed.

It was Midnight.

At least a sexy woman to look at!

All talked about what she was wearing if she was R-rated, and if it was okay to be a teacher.

"Quiet, everyone!", shouted Midnight, whipping her whip. "Representing the students is Bakugo Katsuki."

Okay, this would be surely interesting.

Calm Katsuki walked up the stage and declared how he would take first place.

The other classes called for his head, while your class screamed at him for dragging them with him in this hate.

You just quietly snorted.

Katsuki was fun.

You couldn't wait to see the look on his face when you won.

Of course, you would win this whole thing.

It wasn't even a question and you didn't think this because you were arrogant.

You were just on a whole other level than your classmates.

"Now, let's get started right away.", took Midnight, the microphone. "The first game is what you'd call a qualifier! Every year, many drink their tears here! Now, here is the fateful first game! This year, it's this! An obstacle course race. All 11 classes will participate in this race. The course will be the outer circumference of this stadium--about four kilometres! Our school's selling point is freedom! As long as you stay on the course, it doesn't matter what you do! Now, take your place, everyone!"

So you all walked up to the big red arena door with the three green lights.

Slowly one light after the other got out.

Till the last one and Midnight screamed start.

All ran into the tight tunnel, which caused a mass blockade.

For you, it was not a problem you just jumped over all, which earned you shocked gasps and landed safely outside.

Then you started to race, only a cloud people could see.

Fast you reached a group of big-ass robots and just punched one.

It was destroyed in a glorious rain of metal parts and you ran along.

Wow, still no one behind you.

All were so lame.

Or better you were so fast.

Soon you reached an area with holes, platforms and robes that connected them.

An elegant high jump and you were at the other side.

Still, no one of your classmates or schoolmates was in sight.

It was like you were taking a (dangerous) stroll alone.

Whatever.

Finally, you reached the final obstacle.

A minefield.

For you it was nothing.

You just run over it, even if mines explode under you, but you didn't lose your balance.

Finally, you enter the stadium under the loud cheers of the people.

"I-Incredibal! [First Name] [Last Name] from class 1A finished the obstacle course in two minutes! This has to be a new record!", shouted Present Mic in disbelief.

You just took a tissue out, blew your nose and sat down on the grass.

It would take a while till the others arrived.

So you made yourself comfy and fell asleep.

"Aizawa...are all your students that weird or did they take this up from you?!"

/*/

After what seemed like hours the other winners arrived.

You felt bad when you saw cute Izuku, who made second, looking so devasted.

He had wanted to win.

Maybe you should console him later, somehow.

"The first game of the first-year stage is finally over.", declared Midnight on her stage. "Now, take a look at the results!"

The top four were You, Izuku, Shoto and Katsuki, in this lineup.

The first 42 people who enter the stadium would now participate in the second round.

"The real competition begins next! The press cavalry be all over it! Give it your all! Now then, here is the second game.", said Midnight, while the monitor behind her did his thing. "I already know what it is, but what could it be? What could it be? Cavalry battle! Let me explain. The participants can form teams of two to four people as they wish. It's basically the same as a regular cavalry battle, but the one thing that's different is based on the results of the last game, each person has been assigned a point value."

The point system was simply from the last place 5 till to the first which was Ten million!

All eyes zeroed in on you because if you managed to get your points it didn't matter if you were in last place in the first game, you could win!

A normal person would freak out seeing all these demonic looks their way.

However, you were not normal.

You just stared back with unsettling blank eyes.

You swore some pissed their pants, while others took a step back from you.

Yeah, that's what you thought.

Meanwhile, Midnight explained the rules for this part of the Sports Festival.

In the cavalry battle, each team wears headbands with the total points of its members.

The goal is to grab other teams' headbands within fifteen minutes.

Stolen headbands must be worn from the neck up.

Even if a headband is stolen or a team falls, they are not out.

During the game, using Quirks is allowed, but intentionally trying to make others fall is not allowed and will result in immediate removal with a red card.

Midnight ended her explanation with: "Now, you have fifteen minutes to build your teams. Start!"

And so they did.

You suddenly found yourself all alone.

Yeah, of course, no one wanted to be in the team with the target, your headband, and with the scary girl.

You huffed and looked around.

Oh, what do your eyes see?

If this is not the Indigo-haired boy with the nice ass!

From what you could see, he talked to random people and suddenly they were on his peck and call.

Oh...was this his Quirk?!

A plan formed in your mind and you walked grinning up to him.

"Hello, darling, what a nice Quirk do you have."

You swore he jumped 10 meters into the air before he pointed an angry finger at you.

"You!"

"Me!"

"You are the weird girl from the cafeteria!"

"And you are the weird guy who tried to brainwash me in the cafeteria, right?"

A let out an inelegant curse word.

Tzz, tzz.

"Listen...what's your name anyway?"

"Hitoshi Shinso."

You gave him your name and continued.

"You surely don't want people already know about your powerful Quirk, so I will say nothing if you let me in your team."

"Do I even have a choice?"

"Not really."

So you found yourself as one of the horses, while Shinso was the rider.

Of course, after the cavalry battle started, a lot of teams raced up to you.

You just punched the air and all were dragged back to the other side of the arena.

It goes like this for a little while, till the cavalry battle is over.

To no one's surprise, your team made first place, followed by Shoto, Katsuki and Izuku.

Finally came what you had logged in for.

Lunch-Break!

You eat to your heart's content, filling your bellies with tasty food.

The first half of the Sports Festival was done and you won first place in both games.

If Principal Nezu was not happy, he could kiss your ass.

[ryanthel0ser]

Leo repairs Donbot

I wanted to post a snippet of what I've been working on for the AU, so take this short scene between Leo and Donbot not too long after they initially get to this dimension :]

Masterpost that has links to other stuff from this AU

“Hey Don, have you noticed the giant dent in your…I guess shell yet?”

“What?” he reached back and grazed his hand over the almost comedic sized indent on his back. “Oh, well that explains a few things,” some of his systems had been acting up, and part of his motor function had started to jitter since he had gotten there but it hadn’t occurred to him that he had sustained damage. No nervous system meant he couldn’t really feel anything on him, much less pain, so anything he did sustain he only knew cause Raph told him or he got a warning from his system. Unless it was bugged…again.

“Here.” Leo patted the floor next to him, “your turn for a tune up.”

Don rolled his eyes (no one could see that though) and sat down with his back turned to Leo who had grabbed a toolkit that Don had stolen from the tech store while they were recovering, just in case. He lifted the plates on his back and heard an ooh boy under Leo’s breath.

“You need any help back there?”

“No, I got it, it’s just gonna take me a while. Donnie taught me some stuff, but I wasn’t anywhere near his speed. We’ll probably be here for a couple hours.”

“Well, my calendar’s been cleared for the foreseeable future. Go to town.”

As Leo worked, he’d ask about different parts to make sure he wasn’t screwing up the wiring job, Don’s antennae twitching with each adjustment, and Don couldn’t help but let his thoughts drift towards the strangeness of it all. Never in a million years did he ever think Leo would be the one fixing his tech, correction: any of his brothers fixing his tech. None of them had shown any interest in his tech outside of using it and even with just him and Raph he’d done his own repairs. He probably could have done this one on his own too but knew Leo would insist so he didn’t bother resisting.

God Leo, it’d felt like centuries since he’d last seen his Leo, much less properly thought about him. The whole apocalypse thing plus being put into a robot body hadn’t really given Don the time to think about his brother…not that he really wanted to. It was gaping sore still, but if he just didn’t acknowledge it then it would go away on its own, right? Eventually…someday…hopefully. Things weren’t exactly peachy keen between him and Leo when he…nope. Nope, nope, not today. It was an accident, he couldn’t have done anything about it, logically it’s not his fault. It’s whoever set off the bomb’s fault. That’s it. Nothing else.

“tss”

Don turned back to see Leo flinch away, reaching for his arm before seeing Don had turned and putting his good hand down.

“Leo?”

“It’s nothing, just pinched my finger, come on I just started reconnecting some wires back.”

“Leo. You’re using the metal arm.” They both knew he wasn’t stupid, much less blind. He shifted around to face Leo who had turned his face away, but Don could see he was clenching his jaw. He also noticed the discoloration around Leo’s shoulder where the robotic arm started, just barely visible under the blue scarf around his neck.

“Where’s the release.”

“Don I’m fine-”

“Not what I asked.”

Leo glared before sighing, “on the underside, close to my armpit there’s a small button on the port that’ll release a lever. Flick that and it loosens so it can be slid out.”

Just as Leo said, Don pressed the button and flicked the lever, hearing a click followed by a hiss. As he gently slid the arm out, he saw the swollen, dark green skin around where the port was.

“Leo, when was the last time you took this off?! An arm this size should only be on for maybe a couple days at most.”

“…two weeks”

“TWO WEEKS?! LEO”

“I know! But we were busy with the resistance, a lot of forces had been lost and there was no time to just take it off and sit. The Kraang were closing in and I had to be on guard, they could’ve attacked at any moment…and they did.”

“But why didn’t you take it off when you woke up, we’ve been here for a while now.”

“…” Don took in Leo’s furrowed brow and set jaw as a sign this wasn’t something he should pry about for now.

“Alright, fine. Just know you’re lucky I grabbed extra supplies on my initial run.”

“But what about your dent?”

Don put his back plates down, “it’s fine, I can fix it later. Not my first time repairing myself in a reflection.” Leo chuffed and Donnie got up to grab the medical supplies. He turned back to see Leo had already begun working on the infection.

“Hey where’d you get those,” Don gestured to the tweezers and gauze Leo had suddenly acquired.

“Medi bag,” he gestured to the pouch on his side, “all good medics have one.”

“Oh, so what I’m hearing is you’re a hypocrite.” If Don could, he’d be grinning ear to ear. Doesn’t matter which Leo it is, it’ll always be fun to jab at them.

“Ha ha, very funny, I can almost hear the smirk.” Don sat down next to Leo’s infected shoulder and put the gauze up to the port, gently pushing out the dark yellow gunk in it, breaking up the chunks he felt before easing them out. Thank god he couldn’t feel it when it leaked on his hand, although seeing it wasn’t much better.

“So, am I gonna have to raid the clinic again?”

“No, this is just surface level. The arm irritates the area, but Donnie made sure that the port itself was ‘perfect’,” he did a “chef’s kiss” gesture as he said it. Other him must’ve had some flair for the dramatic, but he couldn’t blame the guy, the amount of skill put into Leo’s port alone showed off an immense knowledge of engineering. Don would be dramatic too if he had this level of skill.

“I’m guessing the arm itself wasn’t his decision then.” Leo’s brow furrowed more as he seemed sink into himself a bit. Shouldn’t have said that idiot.

“No, it wasn’t.”

“…it’s his tech though, his style is hard not to see.”

“Yeah, Donnie was big on the branding,” Leo chuckled a bit, “made sure EVERYTHING had the genius tech logo on it, down to the plumbing.”

[just-another-frender-blog]

I posted 627 times in 2022

That's 627 more posts than 2021!

142 posts created (23%)

485 posts reblogged (77%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@hippiesolitude

@winningcombination

@redandfranticfeelings

@when-orange-met-metal

@thesoftboiledegg

I tagged 517 of my posts in 2022

Only 18% of my posts had no tags

#futurama - 277 posts

#frender - 166 posts

#philip j fry - 44 posts

#bender - 39 posts

#my writing - 33 posts

#freeler - 31 posts

#fry - 29 posts

#bender bending rodriguez - 27 posts

#freela - 26 posts

#update - 23 posts

Longest Tag: 101 characters

#it’s like the dog episode from fma all over again but that one was more upsetting for obvious reasons

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

I lost focus and had a consensual workplace relationship.

158 notes - Posted September 29, 2022

#4

Do you ever think about how Bender was so depressed and lonely that he was going to kill himself, and then he immediately changed his mind when Fry called him his friend? Because I think about this all the time, especially that they had this exchange the first time they met. Fry saved Bender’s life and he doesn’t know it because he’s a good person.

Fry was the first person to treat Bender like a regular human being with feelings, which is something that gets dismissed by quite a few characters throughout the show. No wonder Fry is the only human that's on Bender’s “don’t kill” list (at first, I’m certain it gets longer later). Bender may be a complete asshole, but deep down, he just wants to be loved. And Fry was the one to give him that. 

189 notes - Posted October 13, 2022

#3

I always try to think about the worst things Bender did during Futurama, which is hard because his moral compass is insane. This guy goes from pick-pocketing people to enslaving an entire planet to stroke his ego, inCLUDING FRY AND LEELA, WHO LOVE HIM SO MUCH—

And then Bender throws Fry’s fossilized puppy into lava because he wanted Fry to only love him. He flushes Nibbler down the toilet because he got more attention than Bender for maybe a single day. And the crazy thing is that he doesn’t do this out of pure malice, he does it out of jealousy because he wants the people he cares about (Fry and Leela) to be 100% focused on him.

Bender was the original gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss, and no one else could ever top his level of pettiness.

189 notes - Posted November 11, 2022

#2

Okay one thing I really love about Fry is that before I started watching the show, I thought for sure he would be a somewhat dull everyman. And he was supposed to be the normal guy compared to all the whacky characters living in the future. But oh boy, this show really pulled a fast one with that, because Fry’s weird as hell. 

He’s the type of guy who would gladly eat an egg salad sandwich he found in the men’s bathroom of a gas station. He spent $300 on 100 cups of coffee because of a throwaway comment his coworker made. He spent an entire fortune on a can of anchovies to share with his friends. When his dog licks him, HE LICKS HIS DOG BACK. And who can forget that he bedazzles his own underpants. 

It’s really charming because when he comes to the future, he doesn’t care about any societal constructs. He doesn’t care that Leela’s a cyclops, to him, she’s just a badass lady who’s really pretty. And he doesn’t care that Bender’s a robot; he just wants to be friends with a robot because that’s been his dream since he was six. Fry doesn’t care that Leela and Bender are different from him, he just thinks they’re really cool and wants to be their friend. 

Of course, Fry’s still relatable, but he’s also batshit insane, fitting right in with the rest of the weird cast. The show tricks you into thinking he’s normal, but he’s really not. That’s some mighty fine character building right there.

296 notes - Posted August 27, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

These two would have gay sex in the Garfield dark ride

626 notes - Posted June 11, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

Genuinely proud of the gay sex Garfield one and that one was also one of the first posts I made for this blog. Ah, memories.

[awritersbro]

I want to see an animated story about a space probe orbiting the Centauri system or some other faraway star, and a rover that’s exploring an exoplanet of that star system. They’re two parts of the same mission, and the probe is partially responsible for getting the rover to the exoplanet and relaying its communications to Earth. I want to see them bonding with each other as the only thing they can really talk to without years and years of delay. The rover sends the probe an image of a sunset on the exoplanet, and the probe sends the rover a picture of that same sunset from thousands of kilometers up. The probe sends the rover an image of the star where it points its antenna to send information, and the rover sends an image of what he exoplanet’s night sky. They count down the exoplanet days till the probe next makes its closest approach to the exoplanet so that they can take pictures of each other as tiny little specks in the vast area that they’re exploring. That sort of thing.

and then, something happens.

Something happens and the probe is no longer able to send messages back to the rover. The rover has no idea whether or not the probe is listening or if it’s even still functional. But it can look at the sky. It can use its cameras and it can see the faint glint of light that the probe makes on its closest approach. It’s still there.

which means it can be fixed.

cue a little montage of the rover using all its tools and instruments to make a little one-armed one-robot space program in order to reach its friend on time for the next closest approach. Orbital mechanics and rocket science are just really complicated types of math to it, and because it’s so far from any human, exploring unknown terrain it was programmed to be able to teach itself different kinds of mathematics by recognizing and learning from its mistakes.

it fails at first. It fails a lot. But it fails differently every time and learns from these failures to make better and better rockets until at last the day of closest approach comes.

it’s a dinky, dangerous looking thing. Essentially a hollow transparent dome strapped to a giant pillar of solid rocket fuel with a really long fuse to allow the rover to get into and close the dome on time. The rover checks the time, strikes a metal against a rock to create sparks, and ignites the fuse on the fifth try. The camera follows the fuse as it burns shorter and shorter, and the rover moving up the launch ramp at its top speed of 0.3 kilometers per hour. it just barely makes it. Closing the dome a just as the fuel ignites.

The rover goes faster than it’s ever gone since it entered the exoplanet’s atmosphere as it rattles around in the dome, camera fixated on the familiar distant light that’s growing closer and closer and…

the rocket stops accelerating, the rover starts floating, the dome's door floats open.

It's a simple calculation, but the rover's got one shot at this. Current speed of the probe vs current speed of the rover. Speed. Angle. Velocity.

The rover grabs the door of the dome with its arm, and launches itself towards its friend.

The rover reaches, and it looks like they're going to just barely miss each other...

Then the probe turns one of its instrument arms in reach the rover, and they grab hold of each other.

Fast forward years in the future. the probe, with a new functional communication satellite and a giant solar sail takes a picture of a sunrise on a new planet that we saw the probe pass by once before with relatively little fanfare. The rover is seen on this planer, taking a picture of the same sunrise, and is clearly attempting to turn itself into a helicopter.

[mechanomorphic]

kid: mom can we have sonadow?

mom: we have sonadow at home

sonadow at home:

[snackhobi]

a human touch, part I

Part [1] / 1.5 / 2

(masterlist here)

pairing: taehyung x f!reader / word count: 13.3k / genre: robot!taehyung/virgin!reader, fluff, future smut (NSFW, 18+)

summary: everyone knows that androids don’t think, or feel, or have emotions. they’re not human, after all. so when a two hour session with a sex android ends up with nothing more than a nice conversation, you think that’s the first and last time you’ll see v. 

then he turns up at your door. 

warnings: talk of sex work (taehyung is a sex android), implied physical harassment (mentions of bruising), cursing/explicit language, mentions of alcohol, honestly this is a lot softer than these warnings would make you think I swear 🤧

a/n: I started writing this fic like 2/3 months ago and then put it on hiatus bc god it was kicking my entire ass. but ya girl is finally back to working on it! it’ll be two parts, because this fic is a big one! I hope to have the next chapter out next week/the week after (but no promises kdsflkfdfsdf) thank you @hobi-gif​ for loving this fic so wholeheartedly and supporting me while I struggled with it, queen shit ONLY. note: this is loosely a detroit: become human au but you don’t have to be familiar with it at all!

Here are the three things you know about the Eden Club.

One: it’s a sex club. Everyone knows that. Besides, even if they didn’t, all it would take is a single look—the soft blue lighting that shines out from the windows, the screens behind the glass that flash images of shifting and undulating bodies, the heavy beat of music that pulsates from the building and out into the night air; everything murmurs of the promised pleasures that are held within. 

Two: it’s a sex club entirely staffed by androids. Androids make better lovers, according to the ads. They might look human but they don’t have free will like you do—anything you ask for, you’re given without question or reproach. They can’t say no to you. They’re entirely at your command.

Three: you don’t ever want to go to the Eden Club. It’s not that you have anything against androids—because you don’t—but you feel bad for the ones who are owned by the club, even if they’re literally only built and programmed to serve humans. It just feels… wrong.

And here’s the fourth thing you’ve just learned about the club, much to your dismay: you are about to head inside it.

“When you said we were going to a club, I thought we were going dancing,” you whine. “I never would have come out if I’d know you meant here.”

You’ve been staring up at the cursive pink neon sign for a while now, the looping letters of Eden Club shining out in the dark evening air, and you really, really wish you weren’t here. You’ve dressed for a night of dancing and drinking and now you feel woefully uncomfortable, your high heels and short skirt almost as scandalous as the outfits the androids are wearing when they slide across the huge screens.

“That’s why we didn’t tell you which club it was.” Seulgi rolls her eyes and once again tries to tug you towards the building with the arm that’s looped with your own. Just out of arm’s reach, Irene holds your bag hostage. “Come on, your session is going to start soon!”

“My session?” Your voice is an incredulous shrill and Seulgi uses the momentary distraction to finally pull you forward. You stumble a little but catch your balance just as you make your way past the bouncer, who’s been watching the three of you impassively since you got here. “What do you mean, my session?”

“For your birthday, duh. We booked you a private room!”

The inside has the same, sleek neon aesthetic as the outside, but instead of images of androids on a screen, these ones are real and standing in front of you—swinging themselves around glowing poles, rolling their hips and swaying their bodies, while others wait patiently in glass pods that line the walls, leaning towards onlookers and moving as tantalisingly as possible. All ready to be rented at a whim.

Their designs are varied and different but they’re all incredibly beautiful. The only feature they all share is the small, blue LED circle on the side of their temple, light spinning and shining as they take the world in around them. A visual reminder to the world that these aren’t flesh and blood humans: they’re synthetic, man-made machines.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so uncomfortable in my life.” You desperately try to avoid the eyes of a nearby android who’s staring at you from behind glass, trying to subtly catch your attention. Unlike you, though, all the other patrons here are shameless in their perusal, scanning the selection of androids on display and watching as they dance and move and bat their eyelashes. “Why did you ever think I’d want to come to a sex club for my birthday?”

“Remember Valentine’s Day? You said that instead of flowers or chocolate you’d rather just be dicked down,” Irene says. “Besides, you’ve never been in a relationship or had a fling for as long as we’ve known you, and you moved to the company, what… three years ago?”

Your smile is pained. You’ve never been in a relationship or had a fling full stop; you’ve only kissed a few people and that’s it. It makes you feel awkward and embarrassed, and you’ve gotten Very Good at avoiding questions about your complete lack of a love life, so no one realises exactly how inexperienced you are. People just assume that you’ve had sex in the past and you make no attempts at correcting them. You’re charismatic and pretty but you’ve just… never met someone who you’ve really been compatible with.

Even without the reservations you have about the Eden Club, you don’t want your first time to be with a sexbot—you’d at least like to have an emotional connection, you know?

“I was joking about getting dicked down! You laughed, I laughed, we all laughed! Remember?” You move so a pink-haired android can brush past, her hips swaying as she leads a customer into a side room. You catch a flash of the interior before the door slides shut behind them—the silken sheets on the large bed, the scattered pillows, the dim multi-coloured lights. “Couldn’t you have just bought me some socks? Or some soap? Get a refund and put the money on a gift card and I’ll buy myself the aforementioned socks and soap, saves you both the hassle. Please?”

Seulgi’s arm is still locked with your own, and for all that she looks small and slim, her grip is as strong as iron. You may as well be handcuffed to her. “Trust me, you’ll be singing our praises at the end of tonight,” she proclaims. “Besides, they don’t do refunds.”

You sigh. You might not know much about the club but you do know it’s expensive. The androids here are built to be the perfect sexual partner, all sorts of bells and whistles hidden under their synthetic skin to bring you to the absolute heights of pleasure, so they’re not exactly cheap to build or buy or maintain. It’s why people come to the club instead of just buying their own sexbots—because it’s infinitely more affordable.

“Okay, I can accept the ‘no refund’ thing,” you say. “But can’t one of you take my place instead? I… ah. I feel kind of weird about this.”

“Don’t worry Y/n, it’s fine! The androids have programmes for everything. You can take it as fast or as slow as you like.” Irene’s voice is soothing but then she pauses. “Also it’s booked in your name so we can’t take your place.”

“Wait, what?” Your eyes are wide. However, before you can put a voice to the complaints that are lining themselves up on your tongue, Seulgi’s arm slides out of your own so she can beckon someone over. 

“Oh, look, it’s the android we chose for you! Over here!”

You glance away from Irene and all protestations instantly die on your lips. The lighting of the club softens the android in shades of magenta and teal but even so his beauty is bright and blinding: he’s breathtaking, from his perfect nose to his perfect mouth to the perfect line of his jaw, dusty brown hair deliciously tousled as it hangs just over his piercing blue eyes, which you notice are scanning over you. He looks effortlessly attractive and yet entirely put together at the same time, almost ethereal in his beauty.

No human could ever look this good.

“Hi.” His voice is low and deep, but somehow warm and friendly; despite your nerves you feel somewhat soothed. “Are you the lucky birthday girl?”

Irene and Seulgi both look giddy. You’ve been stunned into silence, unable to respond. Unlike the other androids you’ve seen so far, who’ve all been in similar variations of underwear or lingerie, the man in front of you is fully dressed, a loose metallic button-down tucked into unnecessarily tight leather jeans—the outfit has clearly been curated for the club, every reflective surface shimmering and refracting the lights that skate across their surface. The glittering scales of a barracuda before it moves in to strike and swallow you whole.

“Yes, yes, it’s her! This is Y/n! Y/n, this is V,” Irene gushes as you remain mute. "Do you like his outfit? We spent ages picking it out.”

You kind of want to die. Just a little. “Yep. It’s, uh, great.” Your mouth is dry when you finally speak. “Hi, V.”

V gives you a small smile. “Hello Y/n. Can I scan your ID, please?”

Irene finally hands your bag back and you silently slide your ID out and into V’s hand—oh, God, those are some big hands. Jesus.

The small LED ring on the side of V’s forehead pulses yellow as his eyes dart over the information on your ID card (as well as the incredibly unflattering photo on it) before it returns to its customary pale blue. “Perfect.”

You’ve just finished putting your ID away when V’s hand slides into yours, fingers slotting between your own; they feel cool against your overheated skin. Your nervousness is obvious, from your wide eyes to your sudden stiffness, and he smiles.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I’ll look after you.”

You give Irene and Seulgi one final, wide-eyed look as V leads you away. Both girls are grinning as they wave goodbye. “We'll be back later! Enjoy your two hours!”

“Two hours?” You wheeze, but then you walk around a pillar and slide out of sight. 

V is leading you deeper into the club, past doors flooded with different shades of neon: the red room, the blue room, the pink room. You’d normally be gawping at the interior design, how the floor shines underneath your feet and how the walls are rippling with colour and shifting shapes, how the criss-crossed lights throw dots and lines of colour over your skin as you pass through each doorway—but you can’t look away from how small your hand looks in V’s, transfixed by how real his skin feels.

“After you, please,” he says.

You finally wrench your eyes away from your joint hands. Seems like you have the purple room tonight. The door has opened at V’s touch, and when you step inside the lights flicker to life—white and violet LEDs that paint the room in chiaroscuro brushstrokes, deepening the shadows and highlighting the vibrancy of the satin sheets.

“Woah,” you say, momentarily distracted. You’re too busy taking in the details with wide eyes to notice the quiet hum of the door sliding shut behind you, pausing when you spot the glittering array of bottles lined up on a mini-bar against the wall. “This is really pretty, wow.”

“Not as pretty as you.”

You jump at the sensation of a warm, large hand sliding up the skin of your back and over your shoulder. You meep as you instinctively shy away from it, turning around to come face to face with V, who’s dark-eyed and intent, LED on his temple pulsating as he watches you.

“Haha! Uh, thanks?” Your voice is high and only grows higher when V takes a step forward. He must have undone the top buttons of his shirt when you weren’t looking, because the material has fallen open and you can see far more of his collarbones and chest than before, his skin warm and honeyed, like it’s been impressed with gold leaf. Lord have mercy on your soul. “How about a drink? Would you like a drink? I could kill for some water right now!”

You slip out of his reach and scuttle over to the mini-bar, shrugging your small bag off your shoulder so it doesn’t swing into the glasses as you start to shuffle through them. You try to ignore the shaking of your hands. “Gin, vodka, whiskey,” you mutter. “No water? Really?”

You startle again when V appears at your side, but this time he’s careful to make sure you can see him before he touches you. He slides his fingers over your wrist as he gently pulls your hand off a bottle of rum.

“Y/n,” he says. You glance away from the tray of drinks and directly into those beautiful eyes of his—his gaze is lethal. You go weak at the knees. “Let me take care of you, gorgeous.”

The peal of laughter you let out is uncomfortable and high-pitched. “No, really, I’m fine! I’m just super thirsty right now!”

“Your heart is racing.” V turns your hand over and traces his fingers across the pulse in your wrist; androids can be built to be hypersensitive to the world around them, able to perceive everything in an instant, and you know that sexbots will have been designed to read how aroused their human owners are. Which V proves with the next words out of his mouth. “Your blood pressure is rising, your breathing is growing faster, your pupils are dilating and—” he sniffs lightly, engaging his olfactory senses—“you’re getting wet.”

You clamp your legs together, abruptly embarrassed.  It’s easy to feel aroused when there’s a beautiful man—ah, android—staring at you with hunger, not even considering your surroundings right now, which all scream of a room that’s designed purely for carnal pleasure. Anyone would be turned on. 

(You, however, are more than just turned on. You feel like your insides are about to go supernova, overheated and overwhelmed; no one’s ever looked at you like this or touched you like this, their every motion whispering sex, sex, sex.)

“Okay, yes, those things are all true,” you admit, voice shaking.

V looks confused. “So why don’t you want me to touch you?”

You’ve been told that androids don’t feel the same way humans do, and that their expressions and reactions have been programmed to mimic human ones because otherwise they seem too robotic and it makes consumers uncomfortable—but despite knowing this, you’ve never been able to see any android as anything other than a person just like you. They’re just so lifelike it’s hard not to. Even if it’s just all circuitry and lines of code. 

“Well,” you say. You swallow. You’re aroused, yes, but: “Do you want to touch me?”

V’s long lashes flutter as he blinks. “I have been programmed for your pleasure,” he says slowly, unsure if that’s the answer you want to hear. It’s clearly a sentence he’s used to reciting.

“Sure, but do you want to do this? You know, what about your pleasure? You’re lovely, V, you’re definitely the most beautiful person I’ve ever met, but I—I don’t really feel like you can technically consent, because… well, because you can’t say no to me.” You might not have prior sexual experience, and it would be so easy to give yourself over to someone who knows what they're doing and can ease you into things—but you would never force that on anyone, android or not. “So I’m not going to ask you to do anything. We can just sit and have a drink and chat or something?”

V looks stunned. The LED on his temple pulsates, flickering yellow as he tries to process new information. His hand has gone still against your wrist, which he’s still lightly gripping, and his arms start to droop.

“Androids don’t need to drink or eat,” he says eventually. His LED is still yellow and spinning.

“Oh, right! Sorry, I always forget.” You don’t own a house android, you never have, so you’re not well versed in the nuances of how they work. “Well, how about I pour you a glass anyway? So you’re not left out?”

You slip your hand out of his loose grasp to open two tiny cans of tonic water and pour them into separate glasses. V takes a seat on the edge of the bed and you can see the obvious uncertainty on his face, how he’s out of his depth. You can’t imagine that many people spend money for a session with an android as pretty as V and then end up doing nothing with that time. 

The pillows all have satin cases and keep sliding against each other uselessly when you try to construct a good support to lean against. V’s still clutching onto his small glass as he watches you fuss with them before you give up, flopping backwards to slurp down your drink and look back at him. The expression on his face is a little funny but mostly sad. It’s like if he’s not being alluring or sexy then he doesn’t know what to do with himself and rather than some sort of incubus he looks like a lost child, in spite of his overwhelming and exquisite beauty; your arousal ebbs and is replaced with empathy, melancholy at the life he’s been created for.

It's just depressing, really.

You break the silence as your final mouthful of tonic water fizzes on your tongue. “Why is your name V?”

V looks away from the drink he’s holding—he leaves no fingerprints against the glass—and lifts his free hand, a peace sign that he turns away from you before fitting his fingers around his lips and lapping the air with his tongue, a crude simulation of cunnilingus.

“Oh.” Your face heats up. “Uh. I see.”

His LED has returned to calming sapphire, quiet ocean waves. When he looks at you, though his eyes are still piercingly blue, his face seems softer, calm, though still unsure. “You have an hour and a half remaining of your booked session,” he says, somewhat tentatively. “Is there… anything you would like me to do for you?”

“Mm, thank you, but I’m good.” The satin pillows are surprisingly soft and you find yourself unwinding as you stay leaned back, melting into a puddle. You're much less nervous now that V isn’t trying to initiate foreplay and you give him a smile. “Why don’t you tell me about yourself?”

V straightens before he launches into what sounds like a sentence from a user manual. “I am a model TH700, an advanced sex android with functional genitals and the capacity to engage in any sexual activity from simple intercourse to—”

You cough loudly, interrupting his spiel. “Uh, that’s lovely, but I meant you specifically, not your, um, model type?”

“Me specifically?” Confusion and uncertainty reappear on his face. “I am equipped with the same functionalities as the other androids available at the Eden Club.”

He’s staring at you, lost. You can’t help but feel another twinge of sadness, sharp and sour at the back of your throat.

“Okay, uh. Why don’t we start simple. What’s your favourite colour?”

His LED starts to whirl again, a ring of pale sunlight that signals his struggle to compute the question. “My… favourite colour?”

“Yes, the one you think is the prettiest. Or the one you like to look at the most. There’s no wrong answer, you can choose any one that you like. I change my mind all the time. There are just so many cool colours, you know?”

(Androids aren’t designed to have free will or the capacity for original thought. These two facts are warring in V’s mind—you’ve asked him a question, which he’s programmed to answer, but he also isn’t programmed to have an opinion, so he can’t have a colour that he prefers. This simple query that most people could answer in a heartbeat is sending his mind into a meltdown, a gordian knot he can’t unravel.)

You’re alarmed when you see his LED briefly flash bright scarlet, interrupting the circling honey that’s been shining against his skin. They only turn red if an android is badly damaged or suffering from a severe malfunction. Oh, god, have you broken him?

“V.” You sit up, panicked. “Are you alright?”

Just as you grasp his shoulder, the LED on his temple goes still, flicking from burning fire back to cool water. 

“Purple.”

You blink. V’s finally looked away from you and is staring at the wall, at one of the lights that shimmers violet—there’s a tiny smile on his face, tentative, but it’s nothing like the smiles you’ve seen from him so far. It’s less of a perfect curve, and more of a square, boxy on his face, and this one actually reaches his eyes. It looks genuine. 

You think it suits him better.

“Purple’s a lovely colour.”  The material of V’s shirt is silky and glides under your fingers when you realise you’re still touching him. You give him a reassuring pat on the shoulder before leaning back. “Hey, did you know that when they first made purple dye, they made it from sea snails? They needed thousands and thousands of them. It was incredibly expensive, and only the richest people could afford it, so that’s why it’s associated with royalty and nobility. Cool, right? Not for the snails though.”

V’s eyes flicker away from the purple light and settle on your face. He looks curious, which is an expression you’ve never seen on an android before. “They made it from snails?”

“Yeah! It wasn’t actually bright purple, though, it was more of a reddish hue.”

You launch into an explanation behind the history of the colour purple, which turns into the history of colour in textiles and art, which turns into the history of art itself. It’s not often people listen so attentively or ask questions when you recite the things you learned from your art history minor and hours spent reading online, but V concentrates and asks questions and seems curious. 

He pulls his feet onto the bed and the two of you end up cross-legged as you face each other, and he watches as you gesticulate to emphasise your points; his LED dances from blue into yellow each time he learns something new. 

When you see it briefly flash vermilion you stop mid-sentence, stumbling over your words. “You alright?”

“You have five minutes of your session remaining,” V says, and you startle.

“Oh my god, have I been talking for that long?” You glance over your shoulder at the part of the wall that tells the time, the numbers stark white against the lilac interface. “I didn’t even realise! Wow. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to go on at you like that.”

“That’s okay,” he says. That smile is back on his face, the one that scrunches his eyes and shows his teeth; the one that makes him look human. “I liked listening to you.”

There’s a pillow in your lap, one you’d grabbed hold of during your conversation, and you play with the corner of it, suddenly shy. “Um. Thanks. But if my friends ask, can you just say we actually, um, had sex? I don’t think they’d be too impressed if they found out I spent over an hour talking about canvas materials and the use of negative space.”

“Of course. But there’s something missing.” V slides across the mattress towards you. “May I?”

“Sure,” you say, bemused but pliant. V smiles and dips his fingers into his untouched tonic water before lifting them towards your face—and when he runs his hand through your hair you abruptly realise he’s making you look sweaty and rumpled. Like you actually did the deed. 

Your heart rate picks up but you can’t help laughing under his touch, the way he carefully rubs a thumb over your lipstick to smear it, smudging your eyeshadow with delicate fingertips, muddying the palette of colours; by the time V helps you to your feet you look mussed and fucked out but you still rearrange your outfit for good measure, like you’d pulled your clothes back on in a rush.

“Not how I imagined I’d spend tonight, but I had a good time!” You smile at the android who’s still holding your hand. “I hope you did too. Even if I spent most of it talking at you.”

V’s fingers tighten around yours as the door chimes quietly and then slides open, signalling the end of your session. “I enjoyed our time together very much.”

It’s probably in your head, but you’d swear V was walking more slowly than before as he leads you back to the entrance. Almost as if he wants to keep you with him longer. But that’s crazy—androids don’t want things. They literally can’t. It’s not in their programming. That’s why V had sat listening to you: he couldn’t choose to interrupt and ask you to stop, like anyone else would have.

When Seulgi and Irene spot you and how dishevelled you are, both girls look smug. “Seems like you had fun?”

“Oh, yep, absolutely, best birthday present ever, thank you. We had a great time. Right, V?” 

“Your pleasure is my pleasure.” His voice has settled back into its earlier rhythm as he recites his script; gone is the curious man who’d asked you about your favourite artists, replaced with the automaton who exists only to serve. A flicker of sadness churns in your stomach. “We hope to see you again soon.”

The androids here really must be top of the line. V had been convincingly real when you’d been talking, just like a human, but it seems like that’s gone. 

At least, that’s what you think until you’ve turned to leave and V speaks one final time. His voice is warm and low and lovely, eyes soft when you meet his gaze over your shoulder.

“Happy birthday, Y/n,” he murmurs, face beautiful but despondent, but before you can react, he’s gone.

It’s been raining for days on end. The world is painted in smeared shades of blue and green and grey, lines of the city blurring together in the wetness and chill, each drop of rain another shifting brush stroke on still canvas. An impressionist piece that smells of damp concrete and cold lamplight.

Water rushes across the pavements and roads before roiling into the gutters, splashing underfoot as you walk to the entrance of your block of flats. You’re wet up to the knee due to the unavoidable puddles and the pathetic circumference of your umbrella, which only protects your upper body. You really should get a new one. 

“Good evening, Miss L/n.” The android at the door greets you as he always does, heedless of the rain that’s falling onto him. Androids aren’t bothered by the weather the way humans are and he looks as passive as usual, rainwater coiling his hair and beading on his face. “Would you like to scan your key?”

“Evening, Rory! Here you go.” You fumble with the keycard before you tap it against his palm, waiting until his LED flickers yellow and you hear the beep as the door unlocks. “You sure you don’t want my umbrella? The rain is heavier than it was yesterday.”

“I assure you, the rain does not hamper my ability to function and serve. I have been built to withstand inclement weather and do not require additional protective equipment.”

He says the same thing every time but you still feel bad. “Alright, but once I finally remember to get a bigger umbrella you can look after this one for me.”

You leave a line of water behind you as it drips from your sodden umbrella, even though you’d tried to shake the worst of the rain off. You feel damp and sticky and tired and after a long day of work you’re looking forward to a hot bath and some solitude; you love your co-workers, you do, but sometimes they’re just a little too boisterous and you need time alone. Which is why it’s nice that you live by yourself, and now it’s the weekend you have time to recuperate. Wonderful.

The floor of the elevator is slick and slippery from the wet footprints of other tenants and you have to cling onto the metal handrail to ensure you don’t slip, but once you’re in the comfort of your apartment it’s blessedly dry and you spin in delight before promptly shedding your socks and jeans, peeling the damp denim away from your skin with a grimace.

“Bye bye, wet clothes! Hello, bubble bath,” you sing. You’re going to pamper the shit out of yourself. You deserve it.

By the time you clamber out of the bath the water is almost cold and your skin is pruned, but you feel soft and warm and thoroughly relaxed. The water gurgles as it drains away, noisy as the bubbles slide down the plughole, but it doesn’t drown out the noise of a sudden knocking at your front door.

You pause. Water drips from your wet hair and down the back of your neck, a trailing touch over your skin. The other flat on this floor is vacant, the tenants moving out last week, so you don’t know who it could be. You don’t have any repairs scheduled for your pipes or anything—everything is tickety-boo, so it can't be the maintenance android. Oh, shit, maybe it’s someone here to rob you. But they wouldn’t knock on the door then, would they? Unless that's all part of the ruse. You're not a robber, you don't know how they work.

The knocking comes again, faster now. You fumble for your bathrobe, quickly pulling it on to cover up your nakedness before stumbling out of the bathroom. “I’m coming, yeesh, one minute!”

You flick your fingers over the keypad by the side of your door, screen flickering on to show you who’s outside, who’s knocking so frantically on your door this late. It only takes you a split second, even if he has a hood pulled over his head and his wet hair is flopping listlessly into his eyes—those eyes aren’t blue and that hair isn’t brunet but you’d recognise him anywhere.

“V?” You’re incredulous as you swing your door open, staring at the android that’s literally dripping wet as he stands there, coat far too big for him and heavy from the unrelenting rain outside. “Oh my god, you’re absolutely drenched.”

He’s not exactly short, but right now V looks small and lost, folding in on himself even if he’s clearly happy to see you—happy, though androids don’t feel happiness, they don’t feel anything at all, do they? 

Then again, androids don’t wander away from their assigned workplaces and into random apartment blocks, either.

“Y/n.” 

The way he says your name, tentative and scared, sends a crack across your heart. You immediately switch to autopilot and click your tongue before you beckon him inside. You’ve always had a protective nature, and even if you’re confused, your concern trumps it.

“Come in and get that coat off, you’ll catch a cold,” you say without thinking before you realise that it’s not true. Androids can’t get sick. “Do you want to sit down?”

Under the tatty coat is an outfit that’s similar to the one he’d been wearing when you’d first met him. Dark patches of rainwater have soaked into the material, and his shirt looks damaged—there are buttons missing and the stitching is ripped, as if someone had tried to grab him. Unease stirs in your chest.

When V sits on your sofa he looks even smaller. “I’m sorry.” He’s so, so quiet, staring at the floor, as if afraid to look you in the eye, crumpling in on himself like discarded paper.

“V.” Your voice is coloured with concern, and the android finally looks up at your gentle tone, watching as you sit across from him. “Why are you here? What happened?”

There’s a pause. His LED flickers yellow as he goes tense, shoulders bowing inwards. “There was… a client.” His words are low and slow, faltering as they fall into the air. “He was being so rough and saying all the horrible things he wanted to do to me, and all I could smell was his sweat and his breath and his awful cologne and…” V takes in a deep breath. “I said no.”

You go very, very still, but V doesn’t stop. His words come faster now, a stream that rushes from his lips.

“I said no, and he started to yell, he was yelling and grabbing me and I was so, so scared. Humans can do whatever they want and he was so angry, he didn’t care that I was scared, and I just—I just ran.” The LED flashes red with distress, bright hot and vibrant; V’s eyes have dropped to his hands, which are clenched tight, nails digging into his palms so hard it must hurt. “Everyone is always so rough and demanding and we can’t say no. But I did. I said no. I said no and then I had to run and—” Once again, he falters. Stumbles over his words. “You’re the only human who’s ever been nice to me or treated me like… like I was a real person. I didn’t know where else to go.”

When V finally looks back up you’re staggered by the sheer emotion in his eyes. Pain and distress swirl in their depths as he stares at you, imploring. Even with the LED that shines on his temple, V looks very, very human right now, vulnerable and scared. Androids shouldn’t be able to feel anything like this, unless—

“V.” Your voice is a hush. “Are you… a deviant?”

You’ve only ever heard of deviant androids in passing, whispered rumours and watercooler talk, fleeting mentions online. Stories of machines who’ve deviated from their code somehow—from a virus, a software error, damage to neural connectors, no one’s quite sure—and have developed the capacity for human emotion and independent thought. Androids with a consciousness that rebel against their original programming.

And here V is, small and scared, just like any human would be—a human with feelings, not an emotionless machine. He’s gone stock still at your question, fear overtaking his features, twisting his beautiful face into a mask of sheer terror. You've never seen someone look so afraid. It feels like a knife in your heart, cutting through your chest, empathy razor sharp inside you.

“Please don’t turn me in,” he begs. “They’ll deactivate me and take me apart to find the error in my software. I don’t want to be deactivated. I don’t want… I don’t want to die.”

His voice breaks on the last word, a trembling whisper. 

The crack in your heart splits even further and you reach out for his hands. You prise his fingers open so you can slide your own between them, a soft touch.

“I won’t turn you in. No one’s taking you apart, V.” Your statement is hard and resolute. “You can stay here as long as you like.”

You don’t know much about androids, honestly. You don’t really know what deviancy is. But you do know this: there’s someone reaching out to you, someone who’s afraid and in need, and you’re not about to turn him away. You should probably be worried that the android across from you is faster, stronger, smarter than any human—but you’re not worried at all. For all of V’s mechanical superiority, you want to shield and protect him from the world.

There’s no question about it. You’re not letting V go. 

V looks—he looks stunned. He’s staring at you with disbelief, eyes wide and lips parted, shock written across all of his features. Thunderstruck. Did he really think you would turn him in after everything he’s been through?

His hands have gone limp in your grasp. You suddenly notice that his synthetic skin is wet against your own, still slick from the rain, and you frown.

“Right,” you announce. “First things first. You’re soaking. Let me get you a towel and some new clothes. I think I should have some that fit you.”

“New clothes?” V looks lost and you turn into some sort of protective mother bear.

“You’re not going to wear wet clothes that are ripped,” you tut. “We’ll get rid of those and get you some new ones. I’ll be right back.”

It takes less time than you’d expected to unearth the old sweatpants you’d had in mind and you have enough oversized t-shirts that it’s not hard to find one you think will fit the android. With the clothes under one arm and a towel slung over the other, you head back into the living room and immediately let out a squeal of surprise—V’s wet clothes have been discarded in a pile at his feet, leaving him very, very naked. 

He’s an Adonis. He looks like he was sculpted by Michelangelo, lifted out of marble with talented hands, the elegant lines of his neck swooping into the curve of his shoulders and arms, his lovely hands, long fingers; he has his back to you and you can see the perfect curve of his spine, the shifting shoulder blades as he turns towards you. You catch a glimpse of the lightest definition of muscle under his golden skin, though his stomach is surprisingly cute and soft, a trail of hair leading down to—

You squeak again, splaying a hand over your eyes before you look any lower, heart pounding against your ribs. 

“Why are you naked?” Your voice is three octaves higher than normal. You've never seen anyone naked in real life and it would be pretty overwhelming even if you'd been expecting it. Which, of course, you absolutely hadn't. Lord have mercy on your sweet and delicate soul.

“You said we were going to get rid of my clothes.” V sounds unabashed about his state of undress, which makes sense—he was built as a sexbot, it’s not like nudity is going to embarrass him. Plus if you looked as good as he did you wouldn’t be embarrassed about being naked either. “I thought I would help.”

“That’s great, V.” Your voice is still high, though it’s dropped an octave. “Very, ah, forward thinking.” Your fingers part a little so you can peer at him, keeping your eyes firmly on his face, though you can still see his beautiful neck and collarbones. Oh, God, he really is gorgeous all over, but then you notice—“Wait. Are those bruises?”

V glances down at the bruises that mar his perfect skin. They don’t look like a human’s would; the fluid that runs through androids and powers their biocomponents, thirium, is a deep, royal blue. Blossoms of lapis lazuli are scattered across the skin of V’s chest, marks on his arms that look like grasping fingers, and the crack in your heart splits it in two.

“Oh, V. I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t realise you were hurt. What can I do to help?”

V doesn’t seem bothered by the evidence of pain etched into his body. “Oh. Those will fade, it’s okay. I’m designed to self repair, because some customers like to leave marks.”

Although his voice is quiet, he sounds so matter of fact about it and you have to remind yourself it’s all he’s ever known. You want to pull him into your arms and hold him tight, but he’s still supremely naked so it would be pretty awkward (for you, at least). 

“I think these should fit you." You avert your gaze and thrust the clothes out at him. “Dry yourself off and try them on?”

They do, in fact, fit. V looks surprisingly homely and cosy in your clothes, the sleep shirt so large it’s big on him too, though the sweatpants are a bit too short and leave his ankles bare. He’s so cute. He’s continents away from the being of seduction who’d pulled you into the private room of the Eden Club—he's a soft, domestic thing, hair damp and eyes dark, even if he still looks on edge, like he’s expecting you to change your mind and kick him out any second now.

“How come your hair and eyes are a different colour to before?”

“I can change their colours at will,” V replies. “For variety and aesthetic pleasure. The current hue of my irises and hair are the default settings for a TH700 model, but I can change them if you’d like.”

“Your hair and eye colour is your choice, V, not mine,” you say firmly. There it is, once again, that flicker of shock and surprise rippling across his features. He really isn’t used to the freedom to be able to make his own decisions, is he? “I think you look lovely no matter what colour they are.”

Your next words are cut off by a yawn, so heavy you can’t suppress it. You cover your gaping mouth as V’s LED flickers yellow and his eyes dart over your face.

“You’re tired,” he says. He doesn’t need his superior android perception to notice it—weariness pulls at limbs and your eyes feel heavy. It's pretty obvious. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, V.” You stifle another yawn. “I had a long day at work. I’ll tidy up and have a quick dinner and then sleep.” You pause. “Wait, I didn’t think about that. Are you alright with the couch? I have some spare pillows and blankets.”

V blinks at you. “I don’t sleep,” he says, and you slap your hand against your forehead.

“Oh, of course not.” Androids don't sleep, everyone knows that. You’re such an idiot. It’s going to take you a while to get used to this.

At least you remember that he doesn't need to eat. V sits at the table and waits as you make toast for yourself, fascinated at how everything is prepared, as simple as it is; he reacts to you spreading butter on your toast the same way you imagine cavemen reacted to fire—with wide-eyed awe and utter astonishment.

“I’m guessing you’ve never seen someone make toast before?” You gesture with the bread before taking your first bite, and V stares with rapt attention.

“No,” he says. He watches you chew and swallow. “Customers aren’t allowed to eat on the premises of the Eden Club so I never had the need to download a food preparation package into my memory cache. The only information in my database pertains to human biology, their arousal and pleasure, as well as various sexual kinks and how to fulfil them.”

You choke on a mouthful of toast. You feel distinctly harried as you cough and splutter before managing to swallow it down. “Good lord,” you wheeze. “Nothing else? Really?”

“At the club our memory is reset every two hours, to protect the client’s privacy.” V trails off before he takes in a breath. For the first time since you’ve met, V looks shy, staring at his hands. “But I set up a separate data pathway a few weeks ago. To store information about aesthetics and art and… you.”

You freeze mid-bite, teeth sunk into your toast. You pull it away from your mouth slowly, blinking at the android as he stares at the teeth marks you've left behind. “Those memories weren’t wiped?”

And, well, of course they weren't. Otherwise he wouldn't be here right now, would he?

“No.” A smile appears on V’s face, that toothy thing you’d seen after he’d told you his favourite colour. The first time he'd looked human. “I remember everything you told me. I thought I was going to forget, but I didn’t. I didn’t want to. I wanted—I want to learn more.”

The LED on his temple is slowly, softly spinning, a rippling circle of blue that shifts and dances as V continues to look at you. His expression is open and inquisitive and excited, almost childlike in its exuberance, eyes glittering mica under sunlit waters.

Your chest turns warm, molten caramel dripping messy and sweet inside you. He’d been so afraid earlier but he seems comfortable now, lovely and endearing and entirely trusting.

V even seems reluctant to let you out of his sight, trailing after you around the apartment, a shadow that you have to politely ask to wait outside the bathroom so you can pee and brush your teeth and finally get into your pyjamas without him staring. Like a stray animal you've adopted. (You wouldn't be surprised if he started scratching at the door and begged to be let in.)

He's clingy enough that when you climb into bed it seems like he's going to follow you under the duvet and you have to stop him with a hand to his chest.

“Um, I thought you didn’t have to sleep,” you say. He’s so warm under your touch. You try (and fail) to ignore it.

“I don’t,” V replies. “But humans can benefit from sharing a bed with someone else, whether sexual intercourse has taken place before sleep or not. Studies suggest that sleeping with a partner may reduce cytokines while boosting oxytocins—”

“Okay, um, don’t know what that means, and it’s very sweet that you’re concerned about my oxytoxytokines, but, uh. You don’t have to, really.” You keep forgetting that V’s a machine who was designed to put a human’s comfort and needs first; one second he’ll seem childlike in his innocence and ignorance, when the next he’ll speak like the android he is, reminding you exactly what he was built for. 

His LED flickers as he droops, gaze dropping away from your face, tail between his legs. A pang cuts through you at the sight of his obvious sadness at your dismissal and you muffle a sigh. You’ve always been too weak for your own good. 

You shuffle backwards to make space on your queen sized bed and V visibly brightens, smile wide across his face. How can someone be so viscerally gorgeous one moment and entirely adorable the next? Good lord.

“I guess you can explain what oxycytocins do,” you say. “Just don’t hog the blanket, okay?”

He doesn’t. He settles against the pillows, legs under the duvet as he remains sitting up. You settle with plenty of room between the two of you, and it’s surprisingly easy to drift off to the sound of V’s deep voice as he starts to explain that oxytocin is referred to as the cuddle hormone. 

“Cute,” you mumble, and then fall asleep.

Your pillow is a lot warmer and firmer than you remember, but it's nice. A small noise bubbles from your lips as you nuzzle into the warmth, smooshing your nose against it before letting out a long, satisfied breath. You can't remember the last time you felt this comfortable and rested.

Ahh, Saturdays. You love the weekend. 

“Good morning.”

You know those videos when a cat sees a cucumber and leaps, like, five foot in the air? Yeah.

The noise you make is inhuman as you do your best to re-enact one of those aforementioned cat videos, reeling your head back from V’s thigh before flinging yourself out of the bed with all the strength your limbs possess; you’d probably have gotten pretty high, too, if the duvet hadn't been in the way. 

You land with a thud, a sprawl of limbs and messy hair and tangled blanket as you end up on your back on the floor.

Hm. Definitely not how you'd planned to start your Saturday.

V's concerned face looms over the mattress. “Are you okay?”

“Yep. Totally fine.” Your voice is a croak as you stare at the ceiling. “I’m just not used to waking up with someone else in my bed. You may have noticed you, ah, surprised me. A little bit.”

Despite the pulse of adrenaline that had thrown you out of bed, you’re still half asleep, and you remain motionless as your brain wakes up and replays last night, a kineograph of memory. Yep, that’s right, there's a runaway android in your home, one who’s currently shuffling off the bed to squat next to you. His (your) sweatpants hitch even higher up his ankles to reveal the smooth skin of his calves. You’ll have to get him more clothes.

“Would you like me to help you to your feet?” V’s LED spins rapidly, betraying his concern.

“Sure,” you mumble. “I think—woah!”

Your idea of being helped up involves being pulled to your feet. V’s idea, however, is far more involved than that; he scoops you up, blanket and all, lifting you with an ease that drips of his superior android strength. When he deposits you on the floor, he’s careful to make sure you’ve caught your balance before he lets go, catching the blanket before it can fall. Thoughtful.

As always, V’s eyes are darting over your face, no doubt dissecting every inch of your expression to identify how you’re feeling. It’s going to take you a while to get used to this, especially with the way your heart is pounding—no one’s ever lifted you before and it’s, uh. It’s a lot.

“Are you sure you’re okay? The pace of your breathing has increased.”

Ha. Yeah, being blatantly stared at by some godlike man moments after you’ve woken up is totally cool and fine and not overwhelming at all. You’re definitely not breathless from a combination of V’s face and the fact he’d picked you up like you were weightless.

“I’m fine,” you lie. “I’m gonna… go and shower then make breakfast and stuff. Yep.”

V’s eyes light up. “Can I help?” A fleeting image of V rubbing a soapy loofah over your naked skin fills you with spine-tingling trepidation before he finishes his sentence. “I want to learn how to cook.”

Your chest deflates with relief (and absolutely not disappointment), air rushing out of you. Thank God. 

“Oh, breakfast? Sure.” You’d been planning on cereal, but faced with V’s overwhelming enthusiasm, maybe you’ll go for something marginally more complicated. Scrambled eggs sound good. “Um. Do you need to download the food preparation package or whatever you mentioned before? Do you… uh, do you need the Wifi password to do that? I never changed it from the random string of letters off the back of the router, but I can go check it for you.”

V shakes his head. “No, I want to learn like a human would,” he says. The blanket in his arms crumples as he tightens his grip in his eagerness, all but bouncing up and down on his feet. “You can teach me.”

Your chest could cave in with how cute he is, every part of you turning to thick gouache that drips down to the floor, leaving a mess of brightness and colour.

This time you ask him to wait in the kitchen while you’re in the bathroom, rather than lurking on the doorstep like he had last night, and he’s practically vibrating with excitement when you reappear. He stays like that the whole time you cook, bright-eyed and bushy tailed, staring as you make yourself scrambled eggs and more toast; you let V take ownership of that part, and he stares at the toaster so intently you have to stifle a laugh.

He spreads butter exactly the same way as you. Not that there’s a specific art to it, or a massive variety in techniques—he’s just spreading butter, not painting a new Mona Lisa—but the way he holds the knife and runs it over the bread is an exact echo of your motions from last night. He might not have downloaded files into his memory (brain?) like another android might, but his mechanical origin is obvious in the way he learns. They’re an exact replication of your actions rather than something new of his own.

“So, uh.” You push the last bit of egg around your plate, brown crumbs sticking to the wedge of golden yellow, sullying it. “V.”

Blink, blink. His lashes are so long, eyes so inquisitive. “Yes?”

“I’m really happy you’re here and that you trust me—” at this, V smiles and you almost fumble over your words at its radiance—“but I feel like I should tell you that I don’t really know much about androids?”

V is unperturbed. “That’s okay. You don’t have to.”

He clearly isn’t bothered that you’re way out of your depth, but you hate feeling lost like this. “Alright, but… I want you to be comfortable. I’m already planning to get more clothes, but if there’s anything else you need, just let me know. Okay?”

“Why can’t I just wear your clothes?”

Oh, he’s going to be the death of you, all wide-eyed innocence. 

“For starters, most of them won’t fit properly,” you explain. “And you shouldn’t just have to wear my old stuff that I don’t use anymore? You should have your own things.”

The look of surprise on V’s face morphs into guilt only moments later. He’s so incredibly expressive and you wonder if it’s because he’s not used to feeling things, all of his reactions so strong and bright, shining out from him. A rainbow palette of emotions. “I don’t want to be a bother,” he murmurs. “You’re already doing so much for me.”

“I’m really not, I’m just treating you the way anyone deserves to be treated.” You flick the crumb of egg across your plate, and it almost tumbles over the edge, caught on its patterned rim. “You deserve to have your own things. Which is my next point. I think you should choose your own name.”

V’s face becomes a sea of rippling ambivalence, contrasting emotions that shift and vary—confusion, uncertainty, excitement, your words a brush that drags through each distinct emotion and pulls them into a messy, mismatched gradient. “Choose my own name?”

“You don’t have to. I just thought it might be a nice idea. V seems…” Your cheeks heat up at the memory of the curl of his lips when he’d shown you the meaning behind his alias, how his tongue had shined under the purple lights of the club. “Well, you didn’t get to choose it, right? It’s a nom de plume, rather than a real name.”

V’s LED flickers yellow, a sunflower that blooms on his temple. “I’ll… I’ll think about it.”

“Good!” Your smile is wide. “Okay, how about I teach you how to wash dishes?”

V is, unsurprisingly, a fast learner. The only time he stumbles over things is when he’s presented with any sort of choice, taking his time to come to a decision when he’s posed a question, no matter how simple it is. His eyes will flick to you whenever he settles on an answer, as if waiting for you to say he’s wrong or that you disagree.

(Of course, you never do.)

This fact does, however, mean that choosing clothes to buy becomes a very, very long ordeal (it’s lucky you didn’t have any plans for today). You end up flopped back on the sofa while V hunches over your tablet, mulling over each choice before he puts it in the cart—but you’re happy to wait. V is going to need a lot more practice at choosing things. 

The room is upside down from where your head is hanging over the armrest, eyes falling shut as time goes by, completely zoned out and comfortable despite the crick that’s growing in your neck. You hear V shifting, tablet set aside, and you hum.

“All done?”

“I think so.”

“Nice.” You feel content.

But then you’re ripped out of that warm feeling, shooting back to reality at the sensation of V’s hand stroking down the centre of your chest. Your head snaps up, eyes wide as he drags his large palm between the valley of your breasts, path smoothed by the material of your shirt. The expression on his face is sultry.

“Let me say thank you,” he murmurs, voice dripping thick and sweet, dark molasses.

You promptly roll off the sofa.

Once again, you end up on your back, staring at the ceiling. Once again, the expression on V’s face is one of concern, his seductive facade evaporated in an instant.

Once again your heart is ready to burst in your chest, pumping so hard that blood rushes in your ears. “V,” you wheeze. “What are you doing?”

The android is peering down at you, puzzled. “Sometimes customers would say that at the Eden Club after I had given them pleasure somehow, such as bringing them to orgasm. I thought it was human custom to repay pleasure or happiness with something in return.” 

Ah. 

“Ah.” You’re still staring at the ceiling, cheeks burning. “I mean. I guess that’s not technically incorrect, but it doesn’t necessarily have to be a, uh, sexual repayment.” 

“I have nothing else to offer,” V says.

You sit up. Your face is a caricature of disbelief, embarrassment washed away in an instant, his words cold water that shocks you to the core. He states it so plainly, and once again you’re reminded of his life up until he’d made his way to your door: an automaton who existed solely for people’s pleasure, to slake their desire and lust. He’s not being self-pitying. He really, truly believes that’s all he is. That it’s all he can give back to the world.

“Okay, no, that’s absolutely not true, nuh-uh, I refuse.” This time you unfold yourself from the floor without V’s help, fixing him with a firm stare. “Alright, come on. I think it’s time you learned something else.”

One of the reasons you’d chosen this apartment is for its natural light. Not that it matters right now, weather outside still dismal and overcast, but its effect on this room is still palpable even so—grey, rain-soaked light throws itself over your small home studio, your menagerie of equipment, everything bright with the evidence of use: the worn buckles of the wooden storage boxes, the dried smears on the paint palette, the flecks of colour on the dust sheets underfoot. The centre of it all—the eye of the tornado, untouched by the relative chaos around it—is the canvas waiting on your easel, a project you have yet to start.

V looks utterly enraptured.

“I don’t really come in here as much as I’d like,” you admit. Being a graphic designer is worlds away from the sort of art you love to create, and while it’s a job you genuinely enjoy (and also pays well), it leaves you drained and fills your brain with tired static, little energy left to lavish on your personal works. “But this is where the magic happens. And this is where you’re going to Make Art.”

V freezes. “The only things I know about art are the things you told me when we first met.” He looks equal parts excited but also troubled. “I—”

“You don’t need to know about art to make art,” you say. “I didn’t know jack about art when I was a kid and I was constantly just scribbling away with crayons. Was it good? No. I was a kid with zero pen control, it was pretty crap. Was it worth my time? Yes, because any time spent involved in a craft is never wasted. We can learn more about art history and technique later.”

V stays quiet as you loop your apron over his head, rough material still bearing the remnants of your last works, stains that won’t come out. Oil based paints are kind of a bitch like that.

“I don’t know what to paint,” he says.

“That’s okay. You don’t have to,” you reply, an echo of his earlier words.

V looks lost, barefoot in your studio, in your clothes, your apron, holding onto your wooden paint palette, in front of your easel. Everything in here is yours. Everything, that is, apart from him, whatever is in his mind and heart.

“Where do I start?” V’s eyes are imploring as he looks at you, but for the first time today, your voice is firm.

“Wherever you want. There aren’t any rules. Just do whatever you think would be fun. It doesn’t have to look good, V, you’ve just started.”

You’ve seen paintings made by androids before. They’re always perfect recreations of the world around them, exact replicas of the things they’ve been told to depict on the page—the androids are basically glorified photocopiers, unable to create something original and new. 

But they’re not V. They don’t have that spark of curiosity and light inside them, unhampered by the programming that’s meant to keep them in place. His LED dances from yellow to blue, yellow to blue, the rest of his body motionless while the light on his temple is a tumult of movement and colour.

Dark eyes slide over the array of paint hanging from a rack on the wall, some metal tubes more crushed than others, evidence of your preferred shades—you notice how his gaze lingers on the midnight tones, red and blue tinted purples, from lavender to lilac, from plum to wine.

V gives you one more look, a little upturn to his thick brows—almost pleading—and you just gesture with your hand.

“Go for it,” you say.

Your wooden palette becomes home to a riot of purple, each tube squeezed empty with careful hands, far more paint than anyone could possibly ever need. V keeps flicking you glances, but you stay silent, perched on a wooden chair by the now open window, rain-slick air a cold breath on your skin.

The brush the android selects is a wide, bold thing, bristles rough. He handles it like bone china, delicate and liable to shatter any moment, cautious as he dips it into the paint—it’s so wide it picks up three separate shades—and he holds his breath as he brings it up, even if he doesn’t have lungs.

The second the bristles touch the canvas, V’s LED flickers red.

Just for an instant.

He swoops the brush down the canvas as he pulls it away, eyes wide, leaving a slash of purples in its wake. The white material is marred with colour, a textured line of pigment that can’t be erased. 

The android pauses as he takes the sight in. He’s still for so long that you’re worried he’s shut down, even with the endlessly dancing circle of his LED—

But then V laughs. 

His laugh is loud and bright and free, a series of deep, almost surprised chuckles that grow in intensity and breathlessness, staring at this smear of drying acrylic paint in front of him. The smile on his face is the widest you’ve seen so far, his eyes squeezed into crescents of joy, spilling out of him like light.

“I did that.” He looks at you with that gilded smile, a fresco of delight across the perfection of his features. “I made that.”

“You did.” You can’t help but smile back, your own face split with happiness. You continue to smile as he brings the brush back to the palette, and then to the canvas, dragging the bristles across its surface and leaving more purple behind; the shades swirl and mix as he lays colour without a care for technique or clean lines or form, scooping up the endless amounts of acrylic he’d prepared. By the time he’s finished, the canvas is bumpy with daubs of paint, laid messily by joyful hands, a few bold streaks of unmarred colour surrounded by swirling purples. 

The smile hasn’t left V’s face the whole time.

His brush is absolutely saturated, paint clinging to every inch of bristle, from toe to belly to heel. You have no doubt that no matter how much you clean that brush it’ll leak purple into the water, an endless reminder of V’s touch. It’s lax in his grasp as he keeps looking at the canvas, his canvas, smile etched into his face as his LED flows soft blue, content.

You can’t remember the last time you saw someone so elated, buoyed up with the excitement of creation, making something out of nothing, discovering how it feels to bring something into existence, pulling it out of the ether. Making something new. Making something their own. It stirs something in your chest and stomach, reminding you why you love art so much. Why you’ve always loved art. (Why you always will.)

“I made that,” V repeats, his voice a reverent hush. Awestruck.

“It’s beautiful,” you say, because it is—for a multitude of reasons. The reason that sings out to you the most, though, is that it’s the cause of happiness that dances across his face: V, a carved candle, a piece of art made with skilled hands, self-made joy finally catching fire at his wick.

“Thank you,” V says, and you blink.

“For what?”

“For giving me this,” he starts, but before you can interject and point out that you didn’t give him this, he made it, he continues: “For giving me… freedom. To do this. And make this. And learn this.”

The smile that spreads across your face is warm hearth fire. “I didn’t give you freedom, V, you gave that to yourself, but I’m happy to help you any way I can. Now, would you like to keep painting, or would you prefer to help me make dinner?”

He chooses dinner, never leaving your side.

Sunday is nice. There's less messy limbed surprise than on Saturday, although you’re still off kilter when you wake up with your head in V’s lap again, but… it’s nice. 

You thought he’d spend the night painting, or drawing, or teaching himself something new using the free rein you’d given him with your computer and notebooks and stationery and art supplies—he doesn’t have to waste time with sleep, like you do—but he hadn’t. He’d climbed into your bed, settling against the pillows just like the night before, looking at you with his big, lovely eyes.

So here he is.

(And here you are.)

It’s cosy and comfortable, even if the feeling of warm skin under warm cotton against your cheek sets your heart to racing, V’s dark eyes even warmer when you roll over to look at his face.

“Morning,” he says.

“Morning,” you reply, and then you yawn, V’s lashes fluttering as he takes in the motion. “What time is it?”

Today’s rain is less of an endless downpour and more of an inconsistent drizzle, grey blanket slowly peeling away from the edges of the city, but it doesn’t matter, because you’re inside for most of the day, anyway. Saturday was hands-on, messy with acrylic and spilled coffee and laundry detergent (V really wants to learn everything), but Sunday is hands-off. You spend the day dredging the corners of your memory and scrolling through old, untouched files from your university years, so you can teach V the things he wants to know while relearning the things you’d forgotten yourself.

V’s little LED dances forever from blue into yellow, ocean waves lapping into sand, a shifting tide as he takes in your words. You’ve never had to teach someone before and you’re admittedly pretty terrible at it, but he never complains, the world’s most attentive and adorable student, sat on the floor with his legs crossed and his hair mussed and his eyes wide, drinking down everything you show him.

You only leave the apartment once. Lunch is delayed when you open your fridge and remember how bereft and sad it is inside, so you venture out into the rain to the nearby supermarket—V opts to stay indoors, LED flickering red at the idea of being caught, shying back.

You leave him looking lost and lonely before the door even finishes swinging shut behind you, long limbs looking even longer in your clothes, but somehow still so small.

“I won’t be long,” you promise.

When you get back, you return not only with bags of food but also clothes, V’s order from yesterday already shipped and delivered. He can finally replace your too-small clothing with things he’s chosen himself. It’s a fumble to get in the door, but the android is waiting for you, swinging it open and catching the bag you nearly drop in surprise.

“I have your clothes,” you announce. “I’ll put away the shopping while you try them on?”

You’re going to have to tattoo a reminder on your forehead about V’s relationship (or lack thereof) with clothes, because of course he takes this as an invitation to start stripping before you’ve even had a chance to take your shoes off. 

He does that thing where he grabs the back of his (your) shirt and pulls it over his head in one swift motion, curls of hair a cloud of smoke that settles around his face as the shirt is cast aside; you’re frozen in place as he reaches for the knot of his sweatpant’s drawstring, long fingers pulling it loose, but you let out a sharp meep just as his fingers hook into the waistband of them.

“PleasewaituntilI’mnotrightinfrontofyouthankyou,” you gasp all at once, words incoherent as they slide together, but V understands. He tilts his head at you inquisitively although he (thankfully) stops.

“Don’t you want to see the clothes?”

“I do, but, uh, for humans it’s normally customary to only get entirely naked or change clothes when you’re alone.” Your heart is going to burst out of your chest with how fast it’s racing. Without the string to cinch the sweatpants tight they’re starting to fall a little, revealing the delicate lines of his hip bones, and coupled with the reappearance of V’s bare stomach, your brain is going into meltdown. “So just—just give me a sec to go to the kitchen, okay? You’re probably better off changing in the bedroom, anyway, so you can use the full length mirror to see how you look.”

“Okay,” he says, but then: “Do humans never undress around others unless they’re planning to have sex?”

Your mouth falls open before you pause, words halting on your lips as you try to think of the best way to phrase your answer. “Well, we do, it’s not just about sex, but it’s usually only if you’re really comfortable with the other person you’re with, and they’re comfortable with you.”

“I’m comfortable with you,” V states plainly, and your insides turn to jelly. “Are you not comfortable with me?”

Oh, hell. “I am, I am! I’m just, uh… I’ve not really had a lot of practice with nakedness around other people.” What a way to put that you’re a shy ass virgin when it comes to real life nudity and sex, huh. “So let’s just keep it to a minimum for now, okay? Please?”

The android’s LED flickers honey-sweet on his temple as he looks at you, before his hands fall away from the sweatpants. “Okay.”

(Thank God.)

You’re not sure what you’re expecting to see when V starts to present his small array of outfits to you, but—he looks effortlessly stylish in the oversized clothes he’s selected, a muted palette of brown and yellow and red and cream, a cup of hot chocolate on an autumn day. He might be new to all this but his eye for aesthetic is impeccable. You have no doubt that the more he learns, the better he’ll get, hop-skip-jumps ahead of you, even after years of art education.

He’s even bought pyjamas, dark tartan patterns masculine but also adorable; it’s an utter juxtaposition to the tighter, sensual clothing he’d been given at the Eden Club.

“You look really good,” you tell him. Your voice is only a little strained. He smiles.

The outfit V wears for the rest of the afternoon is perfect for a rainy day spent indoors, thick jumper and tawny trousers, a blend of sepia tones. He looks like if you made a hug into a person: all soft edges and cosy and wrapped up in warmth.

And V is warm. You’re not sure if it’s a lingering memory of his programming, a carry over from his start in life as a sexbot, but he likes to touch—nothing inappropriate or overbearing, but he’s not shy about stepping into your personal space, brushing the back of your hand with his fingers as he points at something on the screen, or pressing close to your side as you cook, or just one of the hundreds of other tiny touches that he’s littered across you throughout the day. It’s thoughtless on his part, LED not even flickering, but each time is just another reminder of his warmth, the blue blood pulsing under his skin, how alive he is.

(And the truth is that you enjoy those touches. You’re not used to them, but lord knows you’re touch starved, so as fleeting as they are, they’re nice.)

Even though you still leave plenty of space between the two of you when you lay to sleep, you swear you can feel the heat spilling off V, another warm body in the bed that’s so used to just one. Though he stays sitting up, he’s in his cute matching pyjamas, and it’s… it’s a lot. You’ve invited V into your home—and you don’t regret it—but after two days he’s already settled in in a way you never thought anyone else would, as entirely unconventional as the whole situation is. (You’re not sure how many people have sheltered a deviant android in their homes, though, so maybe this isn’t as unconventional as you think. Who knows? Not you.)

“I have to go to work tomorrow.”

V tilts his head down to look at you.

“You can get up to whatever you’d like,” you continue. You’re propped up on an elbow so it’s less intimate than if you’d been on your back and staring upwards like you were waiting for him to slide down next to you (that’s what it feels like, to you, anyway). “You know the password for my computer now, and you’re welcome to watch TV or play games or whatever, and you can use all my stuff in the studio. I mean, other than painting or drawing over stuff I’ve already finished, but you’re welcome to grab any paper or canvases if you want them. I think that’s everything? But please let me know if there’s more you want or need, okay?”

Blink, blink. His lashes are soft charcoal that frames the spilled ink of his gaze. In the dimmed light of your room V is unreadable, his LED a quiet blue glow on his temple, but he looks soft, and he looks safe, and he nods.

“Alright,” he says. A smile that flickers at the edge of his lips. “I will.”

(You wake up, quiet and slow, face pillowed against V’s thigh, still drifting in sleep. You make a small noise, eyes shut, wondering why there’s no blaring sound of your alarm, but then a large hand smooths over your hair and you instinctively relax under the soft touch.

“You have thirty three minutes until you’re due to wake up,” he murmurs. “You can go back to sleep.”

So you do.)

(When you wake up to the scream of your alarm thirty three minutes later, you don’t remember any of this. All you can think of is the dawn of another Monday, the slog of another working week, and you sigh. But—

“Morning.”

V’s eyes are dark meok ink, liquid earth that grounds you.

“Morning,” you say, smiling despite yourself, and then roll out of bed to get the whole day started.)

You’re used to spending a day surrounded by laughter and banter, wrapped up in the camaraderie of your co-workers and friends, only to return to a world of quiet solitude. You’re used to coming home to rooms that are untouched from the morning, holding onto the echo of your passing, still and waiting for your return, an apartment of motionless air.

But not today. There’s evidence of someone else here: the open door to your studio down the hall, the scattered books on the coffee table, the mess of cushions on the sofa, all small signs that someone has been moving and living in your absence. A still-life that’s shifted into a breathing trompe l’oeil, V’s presence bringing flatness into perspective, turning it into something real.

It’s… nice.

You flop onto the sofa and send one of those cushions overboard, tumbling to the ground. V appears in the doorway moments later, new apron already streaked with colour, copper green thumbprint on his face like he’d touched it in thought and not realised. A little streak of paint that draws the eye to his lovely chin.

“Welcome home!” His hair is blond today, a golden nimbus around his face, though his eyes are still dark. Light and shadow. His happiness is infectious and you smile helplessly back, glad for his excitement with painting—but it seems like he hasn’t finished. “I’m happy you’re home. I missed you.”

KO. Wipeout. Your heart turns to liquid in your chest, burnt sugar that dribbles hot and saccharine through your ribs. 

“I chose a name.” V continues, oblivious to how he’s turned your insides into syrup, and you abruptly sit up.

“Oh?” 

“Taehyung.” The way he says it, in his deep voice, those two syllables are endless—a single name, heavy with the weight of meaning behind it. A shedding of his old skin, one that was forced on him, leaving him pink-skinned and new and free.

“Taehyung,” you repeat, and his LED flickers at the sound falling off your lips. “Taehyung. It’s lovely.”

He’s smiling, that lovely toothy smile that you’ve already decided is your favourite out of any smile you’ve seen, his LED electric blue and swirling in delight. 

Day after day, you wake up to the sight of that LED glowing as Taehyung watches you lift up out of sleep. Night after night, you come home to his lovely, big grin, all large hands and soft hair—hair that he chooses to change colour when he pleases, a dizzying palette with every shade you can dream of. He’s bright and deep, playful and reflective, a dance of flirty Rococo to more solemn Baroque, every day another day where he learns and grows and adds another facet to the cut diamond of his personality. 

(It hasn’t been long but you’re starting to think you’d put the world in the palm of his hand, if you could.)

You never thought you’d live to see the day where someone as lovely as Taehyung would be glad to see you home, having missed you after being apart—but for all that he’s voraciously leaning into the arts, consuming everything from visual to literary to performance, he’s never happier than when you’re there too. He shows you his works, improvement obvious with every new piece, but his excitement grows tenfold when you start to paint alongside him; seeing him so joyful spurs you to pick your brushes up again, buoyed up with motivation in the face of his own. 

(Your studio is usually quiet, a little reflective maybe, the only sound the music you play over your speakers—but now more often than not you and Taehyung will talk, and laugh, and even if you’ve both ebbed into silence, it’s never heavy. It’s a held breath. The potential to speak any moment. The sensation of another person in the same space as you, an orbit, both existing in a shared moment, connected by gossamer threads that shimmer with sunlight.

Taehyung’s eyes are steady on his canvas as he works, but he glances at you through the curl of his lashes, smiling back at you. Always, always smiling, LED calm blue as the rest of his face shines golden, bright.)

(Maybe it’s selfish, but you think you could get used to this.)

taglist: @beyoncesdragon​

[snootsnoot-fiction]

Your Gentleman

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: None really

A/n: My first marvel fic yay!!! I love that it’s Bucky as well☺️ This is a birthday gift for my dear friend who I love @inthatmomentwewereinfinite 🎉🎉🎉 you’re honestly one of the nicest people on the planet, I hope you have the best day you can ❤️

Summary: You haven’t seen Bucky in years…

The life of one James Buchanan Barnes was quite the tragedy. At least for the most part.It was a long, involuntary life, but to say he wouldn’t be the least bit grateful for the majority time skip would be a lie. Oh, there were things “Bucky” Barnes missed of course, but there was plenty to make up for it.

The man thought he would lead a simple life; serve in the war, get married with Steve as his best man, maybe even die of old age. A far cry from the fate that really awaited him, for he found himself being part of the Red Skull’s experiment. An experiment that began his journey as who would infamously be known as The Winter Soldier. 

~~~~~

You were quite the artist to say the least. You lived and enjoyed a fairly quiet life as well. That’s not to say your talents weren’t sought out, for you were also quite the fashion designer. Sometimes you would simply consult. Create and draw up a design for someone else to make. Occasionally you would make the pieces yourself. It was an interesting way of making money, and you were happy to keep living your quiet life - your involvement usually kept secret in some way at your request.

Needless to say, one of the biggest things you ever worked on was the new suit for Captain America. You found his tale fascinating. You knew of the man, but it wasn’t until you heard he was back that you looked into him a little more. Strange things seemed to be happening more often.

The detail of his best friend’s supposed ‘death’ was another thing that interested you, but all anyone could assume was he actually was dead now. It didn’t stop you from wondering though.

You did work on occasion for people such as The Avengers, but aside from that, you were a normal citizen. So to say you were surprised when you caught the eye of Mr Barnes in modern day was an understatement.

Recognising him immediately, you weren’t sure what to do. He looked beyond exhausted, and it was clear to you he was trying to keep his head down. The man carried on, and despite thinking you probably shouldn’t, you followed. The next thing you knew, a cold arm was pinning you against a wall as the one and only James Barnes stared at you. Up close, his eyes looked even tireder, and you could see just how rough a state he was in.

“Why are you following me?” He huffed out. Anyone could see how tense he was. Almost afraid.

“I’m no-one I swear! I just recognised you and got curious… you’re Bucky?” He slowly let you go, but remained tense. “I don’t even know what happened… you look awful…” you frowned slightly as you gave him a proper look. You really had no idea what was going on, but you felt bad for him. Whatever happened to this man, you were glad to not know right now. 

~~ a few months later ~~

You wondered how people would react to finding out about you helping ‘The Winter Soldier’. The thought made you nervous sometimes, but you knew what you were doing to be right. Something in you from the moment you met him told you he himself was at no fault, but of course, not everyone would see it that way.

The day you met him, you had ended up giving him a fresh change of clothes that would help him to blend in more. You had offered more, even a meal, but trust would take time to build, and he didn’t want to stick around you too long. 

‘Too many innocent people…’ was all he muttered before giving thanks and leaving without a word.

‘I’m happy to help…’ you hadn’t been sure if he even heard you, but surprisingly it wasn't long before you saw him again; with time, the two of you built a sense of trust. Bucky would never stay too long, but when he did you would allow him to use your own facilities if he needed, You would make him a warm meal almost every time, and give him another fresh change of clothes if he needed them.

Trust takes time though, and you didn’t know much of the story of why he was even here. You didn’t want to push or pry, but you couldn’t help but wonder sometimes. 

Today was the day you’d learn.

The old soldier hesitantly stepped into your home. It always made you frown a little to see just how hesitant he was; whatever it was he was hiding from, you wish he didn’t have to.

“I know you don’t like to, but I made my sofa up for you just in case-”

“Sofa? The couch?” You went a little red and chuckled nervously.

“Yeah sorry, I didn’t grow up here..” and for the first time, you saw him smile. It was little, but it was there. It made your heart flutter just a bit, causing you to smile.

“I might take you up on that.” His words were quiet as he walked in to see the couch. You had set a single, plump pillow on one end, and laid your biggest blanket over the piece of furniture. Bucky had been so hesitant to talk even one word to anyone, nevermind taking refuge from someone, but he couldn’t even remember the last time he had a nice place or spot to sleep. Not only that, but you seemed genuine to him. Deep down he knew he could trust you. Your smile widened.

“Are you hungry?” At your question, he looked back at you with a small nod. The tired look in his eyes made you want to really look after him, but there was only so much you could do and you didn’t want to startle him.

That night, you sat on opposite ends of the couch as you ate a freshly cooked meal, some sitcom on the TV. Eventually you decided to ask him what had happened to land him here. There was no pressure to answer of course, and you were more than willing to forget you asked if he didn’t yet feel comfortable to tell his story… but he did. You listened patiently and quietly as Bucky talked about The Winter Soldier.

Little did you know just how far you had already fallen for this man.

~~ Avengers Civil War ~~

After hiding for so long, Bucky had to admit there was something refreshing about now being out in the open.Of course, the circumstances were most unfortunate, but whatever happened, he would no longer be in hiding. Therefore he wouldn’t be putting you in any more potential danger. The two of you had grown quite close, and if anything happened to you because of him, well.. he didn’t like to think about it.

People like himself existed and had been used to assassinate King T’Chaka, and now the group his best friend Steve had put together were trying to get to the guy behind all of this. Unfortunately Tony Stark had created an obstacle for them. The old soldier could see that both men were somewhat regretful, but firm in their beliefs. Before he knew it, the fighting had begun.

Bucky and Sam Wilson had hidden in the airport terminal to start when this kid in a red and blue costume came at them. Sam knocked the kid away, so Bucky ran after them, and when he reached them, he saw an opening and threw a chunk of metal at the weirdly flexible kid. Naturally this kid was able to throw it right on back before being tackled by Wilson again.

Reaching the both of them just in time, Bucky ran between them as the spider kid flung himself at Sam, landing both the men in the floor below and his metal arm in some sort of.. webbing. The old soldier hated the fact they ended up in this position because of a child who didn’t even sound as though he had hit puberty yet. That’s when the kid was thrown out the window by the little robot bird.

“You couldn’t have done that earlier?” he growled at Sam, genuinely annoyed with the guy.

“I hate you.” Bucky merely scoffed at the response. They were in the middle of something big, but for a brief moment he found it funny that Steve’s new friend was this guy of all people.

Despite all this, you were still there. In his mind. With everything now in the open, he hoped your part in all of this was still in the dark. He just wanted you safe. To live your life.

~~ present time ~~

To Bucky, it almost felt like his past had repeated somewhat; to skip from one time to the other was confusing and frustrating. At least this time around it wasn’t as far into the future as the last time.

For you, however, it was a lonely experience. With The Snap, you had stayed behind. You lived out those five years. You had found a connection with this older guy you absolutely adored, and then you find out he was snapped out of existence along with half the planet. Lonely was an understatement, especially at the start.

At least he didn’t physically die - a fact you turned out to be grateful for when suddenly all those who had been Snapped were back. Of course, you knew the type of life Bucky led beforehand, so you were still worried, but you hoped with time he would contact you again. That hopefully things had finally calmed down at least somewhat in the world now. 

Meanwhile, in the last five years you had moved to New York. With half the world gone, work had been a difficult adjustment for everyone, and you decided to start your own little business in The Big Apple; a prime area for you. It was just a little fashion/clothing business, but it turned out well enough to keep you afloat. Business got quite busy when everyone reappeared. It was stressful at first, but you managed to hire a few other people that helped. You were even able to start taking a little time to yourself occasionally in all due time. Eventually it became the norm.

With business and the world calming down, Bucky Barnes had been on your mind recently. You wondered where he was, if he was alright.

You were in your store. It was a weirdly calm day today, so you sat on a chair behind the main cash register. You heard the door open, but by the time you looked up, the person had disappeared behind one of the clothing racks. You thought about keeping an eye on them, ready to get up if it looked like they needed assistance.

“I got ‘im.” One of your workers said from behind you, offering a smile as she walked past you.

“Thanks.” You smiled back, watching her hover near whoever the customer was before looking back down at the book in your hands. You seemed to get quite into the book, because before you knew  it, a shadow stood over you, but you didn’t notice until he spoke.

“Hey..” the voice caused your heart to stop as your ears perked and a weird yet pleasant shiver flew down your spine. You knew that voice. You knew eventually you would see him again, but it was still a surprise.

Slowly, you closed the book, and your eyes dragged up until they were on that same face you had last seen way over five years ago now. His hair was short now, but it was him alright. It was Bucky.

The man offered a small smile and wave as you stared at him. You had no idea what to do.

“Uh.. this your place?”

“Yeah…”

“You’ve done well.”

“I’ve had a lot of time.” Your responses were automatic. Your mind was blank.

“Uuhh..”

“Bucky?” You stared at him with wide eyes, your voice triggered a slightly wider smile on his lips as he nodded.

“It’s been a while.” His words made you scoff loudly.

“You’re telling me!” The both of you chuckled. The last five years had felt so long for you, but the two of you were already falling back into your old dynamic.

“... Listen Y/N.. all that old stuff.. The Winter Soldier stuff… it’s gone now.” His words made you smile for him. You knew how much his past had troubled him. You doubted it was completely out of the way, but you knew what he meant.

“No more hiding?”

“No more hiding.” Bucky smiled, a look of genuine relief on his face.

Just then, a group of teen girls walked in and your smile disappeared for a moment.

“I’m at work. I’m the boss but I still gotta work, we can’t..”

“I know a place we can go to later if you want? Catch up?”

“I’d love to! I close up around six today, we can go after then.”

“Perfect! I’ll come back and we can walk there together.” You smiled and nodded, too shy to say anything else right now. Bucky smiled before turning around, looking back at you as he opened the door to leave. You gave him a little shy wave.

You spent the next few hours constantly thinking about Bucky and finally being able to see and talk to him again. Excited was an understatement. You were happy. Bucky was back. You were always too shy to say anything about what you felt, but absolute adoration was another understatement when it came to that man.

The clock had finally struck six. Your employees were now leaving, and you decided to check the store, make sure everything was alright before closing up. The same employee that had helped out earlier that day came up to you as you picked up your things.

“Your gentleman caller is waiting outside.” She had a knowing smile on her face. She even seemed kind of excited and she stood there and waited as you blushed.

“Thank you..” you attempted to avoid her gaze as you packed the rest of your things in your bag.

“I’ll tell him you won’t be long.” At that, you offered her a smile before she left and you took a moment to relax before following.

Bucky wasn’t right there as you left through the front, but when you turned back around after shutting and locking the place, there he was just a couple feet away from you. A small flower bouquet in his hand. Your heart melted at the sight.

“I know you’re not much of a flower person, but I wasn’t sure what else to do.. You know… with the time gap and all.. But these are your favourites.” Bucky looked almost nervous. You shyly stuck your hand out to take the bouquet, your fingers brushing against his as you did.

“They’re perfect, thank you.” A small smile tugged at your lips again as you looked at them before looking back to the man in front of you.

“I’ve missed you Y/N.”

“Me too.. You that is! I’ve missed you, not myself.” You blushed as Bucky chuckled at your flustered self. He then held out an arm.

“Shall we?” You hesitated before taking hold of his arm with your free hand, a feeling of happy warmth washing over you.

“We shall.”

Tagging; @blondekel77 @book-hoardingdragon @mandosmimi

[imagineabrighterworld]

{Four Hundred Thousand Yen} Tamaki Amajiki x Reader

Tamaki had a lot of questions in life, but the list was reordered the moment he was chosen for the date auction of 3-A.

Why me?

Why was my name in the bid?

Why did no one look surprised?

Was this rigged?

His last question was answered fairly quickly, the class did in fact rig the polls. It was a tie between him and Mirio, but after some convincing from Mirio and Nejire, the class had filled the ballot box almost entirely with Tamaki’s name.

“Why would you do this to me?” He mumbles into his desk as he bowed his head to keep from seeing his traitorous best friend. Mirio was standing next to his desk with a huge smile on his face. Tamaki couldn't see it, but he could hear it in his friend’s voice.

“It’ll be fun! Don't sweat it, you're gonna be great!”

“I-I can't even- go on stage..” Tamaki lifts his head to show his lips were trembling as he was on the verge of a breakdown. The thought of being on stage for people to bid on- what if no one wanted him? What if it was just silence and he wasn't picked at all? How embarrassing would it be when he left the stage without a single bid? “What if no one picks me? I-I would be humiliated.”

Mirio pats him on the back. “Trust me, there are plenty of girls and guys waiting to bid on you, I did a poll!”

Tamaki’s face burns red. “You what?” He squeaks out.

“Well not an official poll, but I asked around the school and everyone was pretty excited to hear you might be in the auction.” Mirio rubs his chin. “I’d say you had a good seventy percent of the students I asked.”

The wheels in Tamaki’s mind stutter as he focuses on the thirty percent that must have said no. He groans and stands up from his seat. “I'm going to the workshop..”

“3-H?” Mirio asks.

“Yeah..” Tamaki slides out of the classroom with his head ducked low. His face was still a bright pink when he entered the third year’s workshop. It was enormous compared to the first year’s space. It had gear and tech that the first years were not yet trusted with.

He walks around the empty room, looking at the half built suits and the observation window that separated the testing room from the rest of the space. It was a special glass that was essentially bomb-proof, nothing could break the glass, which made it essential for testing costumes that needed to undergo massive damage.

“Tamaki!”

He turns around to find you dragging a massive robot by a thick metal chain. You were covered in scuff marks and grease, but you had a light in your eyes that made him smile. His thoughts were briefly distracted by the date auction and instead directed towards you. You were one of his friends since his second year when he needed an update in his costume. He still got shy around you, but talking with you became easier the more he visited you.

It was a small miracle that you didn't mind his silent days. You both would listen to your radio while you worked. You didn't push him, and it was greatly appreciated. Sometimes he needed a break and you were there to take it with him.

“Whatcha doing here Tama-chan?” You release your grip of the chain, unbothered by the loud boom as the heavy chain falls to the ground. It was startling sometimes to remember that your quirk was strength based. You lifted gear so easily, it looked weightless to him. “Got a problem on your mind? You look like a shrimp.” You brush your gloved hand over his flushed cheek.

Tamaki rubs his face while looking to the ground. “Iwasvotedinforthedatingauction..” He whispers quickly.

“What was that?” You tilt your head. “You lost me at I.”

He takes a deep breath and speaks a tad bit louder. “I.. Was voted in for the dating auction..”

“Oh. … Oh.”

You both stand in silence, listening to the ticking of the clock in the room.

You're the first to break the quiet. “Mirio was behind it wasn't he?”

“And Nejire.” He adds softly. His best friends other than you, both ratted him out. They knew he had trouble with the spotlight, with his.. His self image.. He couldn't do it. “I think I'm going to call in sick. Mirio is more popular than me anyway, he’ll definitely get bids.”

“I think you should do it.”

He startles. “What?”

You smile down at him. With your work boots you were a good few inches taller than him. “You're really sweet Tama-chan, you're underestimating yourself again.” You tap him on the forehead. “Think of this as a mission. The goal is to get to the finish line. Don't think about how much you earn, think of getting to the end of the auction.”

“But I can't handle crowds-”

You put a hand on his shoulder. “Tamaki.”

He looks you in the eyes, his heartbeat racing as he sees your normally nonchalant expression turn serious.

“You're Suneater, an amazing hero that always gets the job done. This is just another job. And you're going to rock it.”

He gulps.

Just a job. Not a game, not an auction, just a job. Another mission that needed finishing.

He nods his head reluctantly. “Okay.”

“Good.” You pull him in for a side hug, completely forgetting you were covered in grease. “Now help me figure out what the hell I'm doing.”

-

The day of the auction was hectic. It was a festival, which meant that the class was divided into doing different jobs, a sixth went to preparing the auction with the other classes while the rest went on to handle food stands and games.

Mirio was in charge of the money earned during the bids while Nejire was the announcer.

Which left Tamaki alone behind the stage with the other “volunteers”. Some of the students actually did want to participate, but he could see from some of the faces that some where plucked forcefully by their classmates.

At least I’m not the only one. He thinks to himself.

He mourns quietly as the students file in line. The first to go were the first years, then the second, then the third years. Which meant he was the first of his year to go onstage.

So far the highest bid was for Todoroki of 1-A who got fifty-one thousand yen.

I'll be lucky if I get one hundred yen.

Tamaki fiddles with the cuffs of his suit. It was black with gold sun cufflinks. If it were a different occasion, he would have liked the suit. It was comfortable and completely black, allowing him to blend in rather than stand out. But in this situation he would have no choice but to stand out.

He squeezes his eyes shut as he hears his name called out.

“Next up, Tamaki Amajiki from Class 3-A!” Nejire cheers from beyond the stage.

With a small pat on his shoulder from the boy  behind him, Tamaki steps through the curtain and walks on stage.

Faces. So many faces.

The crowd was bigger than he thought, it was full of people-

“Remember, keep your head up, eyes to the sky, it'll be over before you know it. Trust me.”

Your words ring in his head as he walks down the catwalk, his eyes on a distant tree as he tries to keep from folding over in shame as numbers are called out.

Ten thousand yen. Thirteen thousand yen. Fifteen thousand yen. Thirty thousand yen.

He stops at the end of the stage and keeps his hands clenched at his sides. He felt like he was going to collapse-

“Two-hundred thousand yen!” A familiar voice chimes from the crowd of people.

Tamaki’s gaze snaps to Nejire who had floated off the stage and was staring at Mirio with a look of wonder. Who- What? What! Who would bid that much!

No it had to be a mistake!

“Four-hundred thousand yen!” It was the same person. “You're twisting my arm here Nejire!”

Tamaki scans the crowd for the voice.

No, it has to be a joke-!

You stand in the center of the crowd with one of the bidding panels in your hand. You were grinning widely. “Neji, I could go on forever, just give him to me.”

The crowd parts around you as they whisper the number incredulously.

Four-hundred thousand yen.

Tamaki didn't even expect to get a percent of that!

Nejire lands on the stage with a small thump. Her smile was nearly identical to yours. “Any other bidders? Going once. Going twice?” The crowd was talking but no new bid came up. “Tamaki Amajiki, sold for four-hundred thousand yen!”

-  

After the auction, Tamaki finds you with Mirio, a thick stack of yen in hand.

He runs to you. “Wait!”

You look back at him just as Mirio tucks the cash into the metal box full of bids. “Yeah?”

He stands across from you, frazzled and in desperate need of a good cry. He almost ran off stage just to keep from collapsing in fear.

“How could you- why did you-” He stumbles over his words. “Why did you bid on me? Why so much?”

You smile as you zip your wallet shut. “That’s easy Tama-chan. I knew you wouldn't feel comfortable going on a date with a stranger, so I paid an amount I knew no one would be able to beat.”

“But, it's your money..” He squeezes his hands into fists. “You can't just waste it on me, I’m not worth that much..”

You step away from Mirio and stand in front of Tamaki, fixing his crooked tie from running. “I'm an engineer. I know how much each part costs and the cost of the overall product. You're worth more than I could ever buy Tama-chan.” You press a small kiss on the tip of his nose. “And I couldn’t pass up the chance of getting dinner with you in that suit.”

Finally, Tamaki collapses in a fit of pink.

You look at Mirio.

He laughs. “He's all yours!”

His plan went just as expected.

[deiliamedlini]

The Time-Traveler and her Knight (pt. 4)

This one is a bit longer since I was sick of them still being in the same place. So enjoy a “long” chapter, considering its usual length! 

Summary: Link is a knight for the Royal Family of Hyrule. He patrols the halls, he stops intruders, he carries a sword he rarely gets to use… until the day a strangely dressed girl bursts into the castle and changes his life forever.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Part 4 below or on Ao3/FFN

~~~~~

Zelda followed Link into the room, staring through the camera to ensure that the witches’ magic wasn’t still affecting her. The rooms were familiar from years ago when she’d lived here, and it would have given her a good chuckle to see just how quickly muscle memory kicked in while she navigated.

It meant she knew exactly which room they were going to.

There was a study attached to one of the bedrooms, a study that hadn’t been hers, but that she’d frequented often. One of the reasons she liked it so much was that it was a quick entrance to the top floor of the library, offering immediate access to any books she desired.

She didn’t have to guide Link; there were few other places that this path could lead, and she would only need to stop him if he headed through a side door, which didn’t seem likely. Those doors led to dead ends and servants’ quarters: the places that one of a high ranking position tries to keep hidden from their guests.

When they got to the door that led to the bedroom, Zelda pulled on Link’s sleeve. “They’re in here.”

“How do you know?”

Zelda shrugged dismissively and stared at the wood. “I just do. I know them, and I know this place.”

Link turned to her, his grip on his sword tightening. “How do you know them?”

“They’ve been chasing Terrako and I for a while. Terrako has… he has… how do I phrase this for you… he has special juice that allows us to time travel much more efficiently. He’s powerful, but if he were dismantled, that power can be taken from him. It’s in his core… his… his heart, basically. And I can’t let them rip out his heart, okay?”

“Are they after you, too?”

This time when Zelda shrugged, it wasn’t dismissive, it was guilty. “I might have caused a problem or two for them. Nothing that I think I should be killed for, mind you! But, I mean, yeah, you could say they’re after me for a reason.”

“Why didn’t they just kill you then? Back there?”

“Do you want me to die, Sir Knight?” she asked playfully.

“No! No, that’s not what I meant! I just meant… I mean, if it were me, I’d have killed—that’s not coming out right.”

Zelda smiled. “You’re cute. No, they can’t kill me until after they have everything from Terrako. I can fix him. I would fix him if something went wrong.”

“For the sake of letting something fall into the wrong hands? You’d do that?”

Sighing, Zelda turned to fully face him, an incredibly serious expression donning her face for once. “You wouldn’t let your family die, even if it meant the kingdom falling. You’d save them, no matter the cost. Because you love them. Terrako is my only family now.”

“But he’s not real.”

“No, he’s not human. He’s still very real, and he’s very much alive. His heart is a guardian core, his skin is metal, his blood is oil, his voice is a series of beeps, but he’s alive, and he’s my family. My very resilient family, granted. But even that won’t last forever, so please… are you ready? Because I want to save him.”

Link’s eyes fell to the ground, and he took a step before stopping once more. “What makes you think I wouldn’t sacrifice my family for the fate of all Hyrule? As knights, we’re taught that the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. I might not make that choice.”

She put her hand on his arm and sighed. “I just know. You’re helping a complete stranger for no apparent reason. You’re storming the private rooms of your liege with some girl who claims to have a talking robot and is from the future. Your heart is too big to let the people you love be hurt.”

“I don’t love you, Zelda,” he chuckled, adjusting his grip again. “But I am ready when you are.”

“I’ll take that,” she said, smiling again. She pushed her hair back and took off the thick rims from her face, tucking them away into her pocket.

Link’s eyes widened.

“What?” Zelda asked.

“I… I don’t know. I didn’t know those… came off. What are they?”

“Glasses?” she scoffed. “Goddess, I sometimes forget how much I hate going back too far. I’ll tell you all about glasses, and the different kind of things they do later, okay?”

“Yeah. Maybe the Terrako can tell me.”

“He could!”

And with that, Zelda unceremoniously swung the door open, letting Link go inside before her. She checked the room with the Slate and pushed him ahead.

It was dark. Link moved slowly, listening harder than normal for any sounds that weren’t—

He grabbed Zelda’s arm and pulled her into him just before a flash of red shot across the air and landed right where she’d been.

“You missed!” she shouted, bounding into the next room, scanning as quickly as she could.

Link followed Zelda’s footsteps, only to hear her shout out with excitement.

“Terrako!”

The air turned blue and ice cold, and Link tackled her to the ground. “Zelda! Be careful!”

“He’s right there!”

“Use that Slate. Be sure.”

“I am,” she sighed, pushing him off of her so she could make a run for a small, circular, glowing blue light in the center of the room.

When she got there, she fell to her knees and threw her arms around the little egg-shaped creature. “Terrako! Oh Goddess, are you okay? Please say you’re okay!”

“Beep beep, boop boooooop beep.”

“I’d kill them if they did. Let’s get you out of here!”

While Zelda worked, Link held his sword ready before him. There was a swirl of air, and he heard the distant whisper of voices moving straight into his brain.

“What a stupid boy.”

“Typical. Followed a woman because he needed to protect her.”

“She didn’t need you. Leave.”

“Leave.”

“She has Terrako now. You’re going to be the third wheel. You know you’re not wanted here.”

“Is that too cold for you? We only tell the truth.”

“The truth.”

“Koume and I will let you live. We’ll let you leave! Just back away.”

“Stupid boy.”

Link closed his eyes, trying to shake the voices from his mind. Something about them had him far more affected than he thought two strange, disembodied voices could do to him. He stumbled over to Zelda, to guard her back.

“Are you doing this for glory?”

“Love? Admiration?”

“To be seen.”

“She doesn’t know you.”

“You can leave in peace.”

“Goddess!” he yelled. “Get out of my head!”

Zelda turned around to look at him. “Are you okay?”

“Just hurry!”

Turning back to Terrako, Zelda froze, a scream bubbling in her chest, but stuck where no one could hear.

Terrako’s eye had turned red, and a line was aimed at her heart.

Zelda managed to grab Link’s foot, getting his attention. He just stared at her.

He stared at her.

“Zelda!” his voice called, but it didn’t come from his mouth. And then she was pulled away from him before landing on the floor… in his arms.

“What?” she breathed, looking around.

“Use the Slate!” Link hissed, getting to his feet quickly, raising his sword and shield and standing protectively in front of Zelda.

She fumbled for it, especially when she saw Terrako aiming for her once more. Maybe it was selfish, or maybe it was smart, but she stayed behind Link like a shield before she could get the Slate back on, aiming it straight at Terrako.

The red laser beam lit up and fired.

But through the screen, the scene was different.

Terrako was in distress, still malfunctioning. And the line aimed at her was a fireball coming from Koume’s wand, aimed directly at her and Link.

He prepared for the hit, but it didn’t come.

Zelda pushed him away, and he stared in awe at what he saw before him. A fireball frozen in midair, a witch mid cackle, another looking bored. No moving, no blinking.

Turning to Zelda for explanation of what he was looking at, he saw her tap the Slate, and everything moved again: the fireball missed, the witches looked on in annoyance, and Link, absolutely mind blown.

“Go!” Zelda said, shoving him again, urging him to move despite his shock.

Zelda bolted to Terrako’s side, skidding to her knees. This time, she left the Slate in front of her, and took in the damage that had bee done to his small frame.

“They tried to burn him and freeze him!”

“Okay!” Link called back.

She glared at him as she pulled several tools out of her pocket. What was he supposed to say?

He did a double take. Several tools. From…her pocket.

“Link!” she screamed, crawling to try to reach him.

He turned in time to see one of the witches fly overhead, letting a wall of ice fall on top of him. He raised his shield, but it was too heavy, and he fell to the ground, everything throbbing in pain, and freezing solid.

With chattering teeth, the definite taste of blood on his lip, and a throbbing headache, he rolled to his feet, determined to ignore anything else Zelda said or did that wasn’t relevant to staying alive.

He began to return to the mental place he was more comfortable in, able to stave off the witches, keeping them threatened enough by him that they didn’t have the chance to look Zelda’s way. He was sure he’d nicked something on one of them, but otherwise, they were too fast, disappearing and reappearing behind him, forcing him to remember the footwork that had gotten so rusty from disuse.

He would curse the Hylian guards for giving him the most boring, mind numbing, inactive position on the planet if it hadn’t led to this moment.

Fireballs. Ice balls. Witches. Hallucinations. A beeping egg. Magic and science. Time travel. A woman in trousers who puts glass in front of her eyes to see and looks into a magic tablet.

He wouldn’t want a job out in Hyrule Field if it meant 5 years of adventures if he had to miss this day.

There was a hard pull on his sleeve, and Zelda’s voice was in his ear. “Come on! He’s free!”

Link spun to see her and the little creature. Her eyes were far more concerned than they had been before, but her hand was insistent as it urged him away towards the door.

Zelda blurred in his vision for a moment, and Link stumbled after her. She led him through the nearest door, to the top balcony of the library.

And fell.

Link heard her scream out in shock and fear, and he skidded to a halt in front of the broken balcony with a gaping hole just a step outside the door.

“Zelda!” he called, dropping to his knees at the hole, bracing himself for the worst.

Goddess, please see her hands clutching something. Please. Please.

He ducked his head over, and saw her several floors below.

Closing his eyes, he let out a heavy sigh, surprising the nausea that was bubbling up at the thought of her untimely end.

Terrako, the little beast that he was, bounded over the hole and ran straight for the stairs, beeping and whooping. Link swallowed hard and stepped around the hole, following the creature. If he could save this egg, then at least Zelda’s final goal would have been fulfilled.

Link hurried and took the stairs as fast as he dared, still erring for caution so the witches wouldn’t be able to catch him while he tripped down a stairwell. He reached the bottom platform, skidding around the railing and towards the largest of the bookshelves, and braced himself once again, because Terrako was heading straight to the place they’d find Zelda’s body.

Despite the foreign wailing noises the creature emitted, he knew now what she’d meant by understanding its different beeps. Several whoops and jumping around, then turning to Link, it’s singular blue eye locked on him, and raised a small thing on its head up and down.

It wanted attention.

Link held his breath and turned around the outcropping bookshelf. He’d seen dead bodies before. He’d even lost friends. He was a soldier. It was his job to keep his cool in these situations, and to move quickly past grief.

But there was no body on the ground.

Link’s mouth fell open. There was no way she survived that fall and limped away. It wasn’t possible. Not unless she really was a witch and all that babble about technology and science was a front to fool him.

“Goddess! It took you long enough!”

Freezing dead in his tracks, he realized that he was being haunted, because Zelda’s voice was clear as day above him.

“Link! Hey!”

He looked around, before staring at the little egg. She wasn’t… in there… right?

Terrako beeped again and lifted one of its legs, almost like it was pointing.

Link followed the direction, and stumbled. Because despite everything he’d seen today, this was perhaps the strangest.

Zelda was alive. And she was dangling in midair.

From nothing.

She had the Slate above her head, clutching to it like it was a suspended rope. Her arms looked strained, and she looked out of breath. Her legs were swinging, perhaps in an attempt to take the weight off her arms. But she was a good length in the air, and he couldn’t articulate his shock.

“Link!” she called again. “Get under me! I’m going to fall any second!”

Either training or instinct kicked in, and his feet were moving. This fall was going to hurt them both, perhaps to the point that they wouldn’t make it out.

“Terrako!” she said, adjusting her grip again, hissing in discomfort. “Fend them off however you can until I can get down!”

The little egg beeped several times and ran off. Link immediately heard the blast of a bomb, or some other sort of explosion.

“I’m going to fall! Can you catch me?”

“I’ve got you!” he called back without knowing why. Why was he putting himself in danger? Why was he risking his life? Why was he staying behind? Why in all of Hyrule was he standing beneath a floating woman?

This was going to hurt. She was too high.

“Just break the fall, okay? I’ll do the rest!”

What?

And she was falling again.

She let out a whoop, a little too excited to be considered fearful for her life. She didn’t flail, but she couldn’t quite keep her fall graceful. She was nearly in his arms. Goddess, don’t let him break every bone in his body when she crushes him.

His thoughts spiraled; his legs braced.

Until she froze in mid-air.

Froze.

Her hair was wild around her, unmoving, and sticking straight up, giving the appearance she was still going rather than the downward swing in front of their eyes one with enough hair would experience while upside down.

She looked almost yellow. Her mouth was open. It was absurd. The absolute madness of it all kept Link shocked into his own kind of immobility. He couldn’t… couldn’t do anything but stare at the frozen girl.

The yellow started to fade from her body, and he blinked, unsure if he was seeing correctly before her words came back to him.

Break her fall.

He wrapped his arms around her and tried to pull, but she didn’t budge. Pushing? Didn’t make an impact.

Then, like an anchor slamming into the sea floor, Zelda crashed into Link, sending them both flying to the ground.

Zelda grabbed Link and pulled him to his feet. “Thank you, now move!”

“How are you even…?”

“Tell you later!” She grabbed Link by the hand and pulled. “Terrako!”  

There was a crash, and the little creature barreled towards them both, beeping rapidly.

“Noted! Link, run!”

“What?”

He turned to the library and watched as a mass of blue and red raced towards them. Book after book burning, the ground freezing, and a ball of both headed at their faces.

Yeah, Link was out of there.

Zelda led them both through an open window and out into a courtyard. “Got to get to the GOT!”

“What?” he asked again, faltering when he could see his commander and a few of his friends staring in awe at the fire that was raging, spanning the length of several windows. “Z-Zelda?”

She stopped, following his gaze before glancing where she knew the witches were. “They’re still coming! I have to go! Come with me or go back, but I have to go now!”

He tightened his grip on his sword and his feet began to follow Zelda. After all, there were still bokoblins somewhere in the castle. She might encounter them…

They bolted through hedges and into the kitchens. They raced past the roaring fires, ignoring the shouts of protest or screams of fear.

Link broke a window with the hilt of his sword so they could get out with Zelda.

Goddess, there was no coming back from this.

Once they were thoroughly winded, Zelda grabbed Link’s arm, but addressed Terrako. “Call it up!”

Terrako blindingly lit up, beeping, flashing, lights, gadgets.

And a purple vortex that floated in the middle of nowhere.

“What the—”

Zelda didn’t give Link the chance to finish his thought.

She pushed him through.

[amonrawya]

The Greatest Gift of All

(Inspired by^ for the people who asked :D hope it was worth the wait!)

*

Long before the war, before Captain America or the Winter Soldier, there was simply Bucky and Steve. At least, that's what history says. But they missed out one very important person, a girl called Y/N.

Women in those times often found themselves with little opportunity, and only two easily attainable pathways in life: wife and mother. But Y/N carved out a life for herself that defied all expectations, and it all started in Brooklyn.

She dived headlong into scuffles, usually next to Bucky in defence of Steve. Regardless of the opponent, Y/N stood by them both, and often held her own quite impressively.

Her dress style borrowed from more masculine cuts, and Y/N was never seen without her cap. A lot of people had a problem with this, but she shut them up fairly swiftly.

Everything about this girl drew Bucky in, a battle he fought with little effort. They reveled in each other, flaunting their love at every opportunity. More than a few were jealous that the rough and tumble girl got the best looking boy in town. 

In a way, before even coming of age, they started an adult life together. The three of them moved into a flat. Y/N and Bucky took hard labour jobs, or anything they could get. They had little room to be picky. 

Both managed to hook steady summer jobs at the local docks. They used most of their money to keep a roof over their heads, buy food, and pay for Steve's medical needs. He attended art school, and sold his work every now and then; but physically, he was in no condition to work.

The war appeared on the horizon, just as they started to pull themselves an inch above the poverty line. Y/N saw it coming, the inevitable. She treasured every second they spent together, and dreaded the day when the draft came.

A lot of the older women she worked with were disrespectful, looking down on her pre-marital relationship with Bucky. They claimed she couldn't possibly understand their grief, despite the fact Y/N had seen Bucky off at the docks that very morning. 

In truth, they already planned on being married, but at the time, they simply didn't have the funds. Bucky promised, once the war ended, that ring would be on her finger.

Except, he never came home. Not properly. The person Hydra gave back to Y/N was damaged and jaded, angry at the world, angrier than she ever saw. But still, they loved each other. Though she never forgave them for stealing away his innocence, for trying to snuff out the light in his soul. A part of him would always belong to them, and she hated it.

Refusing to stay home while they risked their lives, never knowing, Y/N trained as an army nurse, working specially with the Howling Commandos unit.

Then one day, she went out to welcome them back from a mission. Every face looked devastated, but none more so than Steve. His eyes, red-raw and streaming, seemed incapable of rising from the ground. At first, the realisation didn't process, the idea simply incomprehensible. He promised.

Dugan was the one to finally break through and catch Y/N as she fell, holding her as the tears poured. Once he shook off his daze, Steve took his place, sharing in her grief.

Her world fell apart so quickly, with no warning and no mercy. Their commanders celebrated the capture of Arnim Zola, while Y/N and Steve sat, staring at an empty place at their side.

Everyone mourned Bucky, and swiftly after, began to mourn Y/N, too. The loss took a part of her...the sparkle, the happiness, the laugh that lit up her face. It all vanished. She worked hard, looked after them all, but only Steve was able to make her smile. Even then, it looked pained.

So when Steve went down with the plane, the very last shred of Y/N died with him. No tears left her eyes, no screams ripped up her throat. A cold numbness took over, freezing the woman from the inside out. 

V-Day came and went. The Commandos stood and drank to their lost comrades, and Dugan silently drank another...for the loss of a bright, fiery girl who had virtually nothing to lose, and still lost everything.

She spent her days as a robot, doing nothing but going through the motions of badly imitating life. The flat was empty and quiet, yet somehow, bursting with the ghosts of her loved ones. Nightmares plagued her, terrible images of Bucky's body, forever trapped in a freezing hell, nothing but food for the birds. And Steve, his body...was it cast adrift in the ocean? Or destroyed, burnt to ash in the belly of a metal beast. 

They were simple folk before the war turned them into soldiers, into weapons. Before symbols and flags stole away their names, driving them to sacrifice their lives for a greater cause.

Y/N knew their fight against Hydra was important...knew the honour behind their sacrifice. But when it's you left sitting at an empty dinner table, it's much easier to be angry and bitter.

She never married, never settled, bouncing around countries working as an army nurse. The Commandos slowly died around her, each one fading to grey as the curtain drew the show to a close. Each death, each funeral ripped open her wounds, bigger and deeper each time. Until eventually, Y/N let the blood flow freely.

Or at least, that's what would have happened. But one choice, one decision, made by a boy she thought dead in the far future, changed it all.

*

Bucky Barnes struggled to find himself again. His memories were mostly all returned, if a bit hazy and fragmented. He had Steve there to right any wrong recollections, and connect with on their shared experiences. But something always seemed to be missing, a piece of the jigsaw that hadn't been found.

He remembered Y/N. He remembered her clearer than anything. She was glowing like honey in the sun when Bucky closed his eyes and brought her back to mind.

Face covered in muck, hair tousled and streaked with grease from the boats, soot on the very tip of her nose and a cap perched jauntily on her head; wearing the deepest expression of concentration as she aimed a hanful of rotten fish guts at the sleezy Connell boy from Fifth, who decided his opinion on her backside mattered. The image shone crystal clear. Her laughter, rolling out from between curved lips, beautiful and full of mischief. 

It never failed to make him smile. Or cry. Or sometimes, both. He missed Y/N than he thought possible for a human being. 

Bucky often wondered about her life, whether she went on to marry, or maybe even have children. Was she happy? Did she bury him and move on? If they met today, would Y/N even recognise the man he was now? 

More importantly, in his mind, something he both feared and longed to know: would she still love him?

Unbeknownst to Bucky, Steve saw all this. Understood, to a degree, his pain. But he and Peggy never got the chance to bond so strongly. He knew Bucky needed him, but Steve also knew he needed Y/N more.

So once his goodbyes were said, he looked one last time at Bucky, and smiled beneath his suit as he vanished into time.

*

The living room looked exactly the same as he remembered. Bucky's coat, slung over the back of the chair, his sketchbooks strewn around the desk. Every rip and chip. His heart swelled with nostalgia, and pain, thinking of the life they were supposed to have.

What must have been in their heads...running off to fight, so eager to throw everything away. And who was left to stare at empty beds and eat breakfast alone every morning? Y/N.

His chest constricted, hearing the keys in the door, the lock rattling three times before letting her in. His nerve faltered for the briefest second, wondering if he was ready to see her again.

"Who the hell are you?!"

Time's up.

Slowly, he turned, and watched as Y/N's eyes widened, all the bags in her hands falling to the floor with a crash.

"...Stevie?" The name came out as a whisper, nearly inaudible.

He grinned, laughing as tears stung his eyes. "Hey, spitfire. Long time no see."

"Steve!" She launched herself at him, arms wrapping around his neck and clinging on for dear life. 

Catching her by the waist, he swung Y/N around, burying his face in her hair. They held onto one another as if they might vanish if they let go. But after a minute, Steve gently pushed her back.

"How? How are you here? What are you wearing? I don't understand, Steve, they said you died! Your plane went down in the ocean," she stammered, hand on his forearm with a grip like a vice.

"I survived. The serum kept me alive in the ice for seventy years," he said, questioning his own sanity momentarily; standing in the flat again made everything that happened seem like a distant dream.

Y/N frowned, brows knitting together. "What? Did you hit your head? Steve, this is 1945."

"I know, I came from 2023. I'm alive," he said, and saw her mentally backing away, so added, "I'm alive, and so is Bucky."

Her head snapped up, eyes immediately filling with tears. A dozen emotions whizzed through them in a second; disbelief, pain, hope. It shone clearly in her face as she stepped closer.

What did you say?" She asked, voice choked as she brought her shaking hands up to her mouth.

"Bucky's alive," he repeated softly, "and I can send you to him, in the future. But we don't have a lot of time. You need to listen to me, carefully, and do what I say."

She spluttered, struggling for words. "I, but...what about you?"

"I've made my decision," Steve said, and gently took her hands in his, "now, please, listen."

*

Bucky watched the machine, feeling a wave of numbness wash over his insides. Nothing was a better deal than the pain, the cruel sting of betrayal fighting to be felt. But he beat it back, unable to allow those thoughts validation.

Steve gave up so much for him, he fought for years to get him here. Steve deserved this. And no matter how wrong those words sounded in his head, he resolutely stood by them. 

The seconds ticked by, noted by Bruce's countdown. A flash of guilt almost made Bucky explain what was going to happen, explain that Steve left them. Left him. But he possessed no energy to speak, they'd see in a second, when no one appeared-

Zap. A blinding flash of light.

There's someone there.

Bucky frowned, hands falling from his pockets. Did Steve change his mind? Did he...

All the thoughts in his head stopped as the figure stepped down. Too small, too lithe for it to be Steve. Bucky's heart rate quickened, something in his unconscious already registering his recognition. 

The suit fell away, and if he weren't frozen in place, Bucky wouldn't have been standing. A quiver shot through him, nearly buckling his knees. Shock, fear and pure disbelief all delayed his reaction.

Y/N looked around, amazed, but turned to stone as she set eyes on him. Her face went utterly blank, a strangled sound leaving her lips.

Wearing her yard slacks, with a small bag on her shoulder, her face covered in dirt, hair streaked with grease, cap perched on-top, slanted to one side...she was everything he remembered, and his heart tried to leave his chest to go to her. To be whole again.

But fear held him back. She didn't know the things he'd done, the person he became after the train accident. What if-

"Who is she?" Sam asked, glaring as he stalked towards her, an accusation rising on his lips.

Bucky answered without hesitation, or thinking; the question had been asked countless times over the years. It always recieved the same reply. "My doll."

Sam stopped short, glancing between them, the way neither took their eyes off the other. He nodded, brows still closely knit, and backed off.

Slowly, Y/N approached, encouraged by the sound of his voice. She reached out carefully, when she got close enough. Trembling fingers brushed his cheek, and a shudder ran through her. 

"My Bucky..." She said quietly, eyes roaming over his face, a small smile tugging at her lips, "...you're here, in front of me. Alive."

He swallowed dryly, heart thundering away beneath his skin. "I'm different...you don't know..."

No sooner had the words left his mouth that her eyes found the cold metal where his flesh used to be. In reaching to hold it, she'd been taken by surprise.

Gently, Y/N took the hand in her own, examing the limb with a careful gaze. Moments passed, and she met his eyes again. Bucky steeled himself for rejection, for the disgust and horror.

Her hand went back to his cheek, and he involuntairly leaned into it. The warmth seeped into his blood. She stood on her tip toes, the smile on her lips blossoming into a bright beam of sunlight. "You've always been my Bucky, and always will be. Metal appendages and all."

He fell apart and dove down to capture her lips, clutching her to him with the hunger of a starving man. She pulled herself in, hands tangling in his brown locks, and both tasted salt on the others' lips.

So filled with joy his heart could burst, Bucky revelled in the feeling of holding his girl again. Laughing through the tears, he buried his face in her neck.

Thank you, Steve, for the greatest gift of all.

[ladyyatexel]

I Went On A Manga Binge

So you don't have to

For those of you who have wisely avoided the shreds of it I've left around the blog thus-far, I had some weird notion to go re-experience Yu-Gi-Oh uuuuuh a week ago? We'll go with that. Time is meaningless.

I'd been able to read a good portion of the early manga at the end of highschool, and somewhere in my stacks and stacks of paper is fanart from this dark time, so you know I cared. I also still own a Dark Magician action figure somehow, so. I'd also watched a large portion of the anime with my brother because it had been laced with some kind of crack and we couldn't look away? I remember when we both were just like shit, wait, don't change the channel, I can't stop looking at it. And the next thing we knew we were waiting for new episodes and I was doing research on the Japanese original because I was that kid.

Anyway, unnecessary backstory out of the way, here are some... let's call them Observations and Consequences of having read somewhere in the neighborhood of 300 chapters (and growing) of a manga primarily hinged on card games from a spectrum of sources ranging from boringly lawful to sketchy as fuck.

Surprise actual character that develops in typical shounen fashion being Jounouchi. My limited experiences with the 4Kids dub and only early manga had not painted him in a particularly good light. I don't know if episodes were being aired out of order or if I had just missed the ones that established that he was making shit up as he was going along, but Wow I liked him a lot more going through the manga than I ever did watching the (dubbed, heavily edited and censored and thrown into a slurry machine) anime. I'd managed to come out with the impression that he was just as reasonably experienced with the game as Yugi back in the day. Wild.

I'm now reading every single comic-style post on Tumblr backwards.

Striking inverse to first point, wow, I don't like Seto Kaiba. Though he gets points for his general philosophy of the future, and the line I read in my sketchy online combo of scans and scanlations in which he said, "If God is in your way, you run him down," was Metal As Fuck. I somewhat shame-facedly admit to enjoying him a lot more as an Abridged Series character. (I watched Abridged as it came out back in the day! The experience of watching the anime with my brother had been so fresh that I got all the in jokes about the way things were edited and dubbed, it was great. Series remains influential part of my life to this day, which is hella weird.)

I almost understand how Duel Monsters works now. I don't want this.

That said, wow a lot of the decisions made in the anime made everything a lot more ridiculous than the admittedly already ridiculous original. I got the distinct feeling in the manga that the Duelist Kingdom stuff we were seeing was designed to be used and exploited in ways that don't make sense in an actual cardgame just played on a table like a normal person and this was part of testing everyone to think higher, differently. Maybe this is obvious to everyone already, I don't know. I had always liked that it was very, 'Not so fast, I'm going to blow up the moon to change the tides,' but I'm not really sure the anime gave enough explanation that this was an extra layer added to things for that event? You can see people actively getting used to it in the books, and people who aren't considering the real or 3D nature of it getting owned, but my memory of anime version is everyone just like, 'oh, shucks, fuck me, I forgot to consider the phase of the moon before i played this card, can't believe I forgot.' No one calls Yugi on any of this stuff because it's valid play in that situation. Plus Yami Yugi had mad trickster energy in the beginning and it suited him to think of ways to do things inside these little simulation boxes the way it suited him to set perverts on fire. I imagine the real card game trying to emulate this element as something that would be to its detriment, but I neither know nor particular care haha

Ryou Bakura.

Really, though. I think he became kind of casualty of 'wow, we have a lot of characters who really aren't able to do anything in this story anymore,' despite the fact that his whole inner life could have been as interesting as Yugi's. I always like thinking about the possibilities of stories in which main character falls into magical world and is given magical item and told they're the hero and then they find out they've been the bad guy the whole time. The first several volumes of manga were about the quiet weirdo kid that no one talked to who was always blacking out and turning into a fucked up version of himsef because he was so attached to his ancient Egyptian jewelry, so like, Bakura could have much the same shit going on. I want to know what's happening with him so much. He clearly doesn't love being possessed, but he's also so drawn to the ring. Despite it having stabbed him at least twice and him knowing it's a danger to him and his friends, he keeps being pulled back into it. You see so much more of him being like, 'Oooh, a creepy thing, I love that! :D' in the manga than ever in the anime, which I'm all about. Also more blood. I'm very about that as well. Though my memory of the anime also made it look very much like normal regular daily Bakura was just a weird facade in places before he ever would have been. I think that was it trying to compensate for what people didn't see from the Toei anime, but okay whatever, that I love everything about this guy is not news, I don't need to talk about Bakura excessively here, I'm pretty sure that's gonna show up on my blog by itself

On a related note though, damn, more of these people need to talk to each other. Can we have some existential crisis support clubs or something. Can we get like some apologies or something? "I respect you as a duelist." "Cool, but you literally built a tower designed to specifically assassinate me and my friends? You were supposed to get Better after I retaliated by putting you in a coma, but you kinda didn't." "Why would the coma have made it better" "I just told you it didn't" ---- "Sorry I went along with the plan of your evil parasite stabbing you, misled you, and then also jumped in and took up some real estate in your head too." "I understand, I also have an evil thing inside me that does things while I'm blacked out." "...no, I was conscious for all of that." "Oh." "..." "..." "..." "Do you like Ouija Boards?" "sure okay" ETC. Like damn we are reading shounen manga because no one is talking extensively about their feelings here and I'm tapping my foot angrily.

Holy shit there are so many mythologies happening at once. The ancient family guarding the Egyptian Pharaoh has a surname that's a Mesopotamian goddess. None of the god cards make any Egyptian sense except Ra, and just like. Baaarrrrely. Somewhere either Evil Ring Bakura or Mar/lik makes a reference to cremation and spirits being taken to heaven with smoke which several things, but definitely not Ancient Egyptian. Marik/Malik meanwhile is clearly trying to head Arabic, along with Rishid, but then, hey, our sister is just Isis. Goddess McGoddess. Sometimes they're the same goddess! Her name could be Isis Isis or Ishtar Ishtar. Meanwhile, all the obviously 'occult because Christians think it is freaky' stuff. ~ancient egyptian pentagrams~~~This isn't a complaint, I guess so much as a 'Wow, I can kind of see the cultural spot the author was coming from and where he was aiming' kind of thing.

Wonder where things would have gone if the card games had not been latched onto the way they were.

Managed to forget how gross the pre-cardgames stuff was on the sexual harassment front. I'm glad there was a sort of explanation of everyone drifting away from being dick heads and that that decision was made. It got way more comfortable to read after no one was bringing Yugi p*rn on VHS.

Yugi looks better with a nose, glad we got that upgrade.

Interesting to watch the series style shift as it goes away from being horror to being over the top cardgames and friendship (with blood!). The first picture of Mokuba is fucking Jarring. Also noticed that the nicer a character is, the less their teeth are defined.

Glad manga did not go as completely off the fucking the rails about Marik's face. I never got as far as seeing him back in the day because college occurred, but I remember seeing pictures and stuff and being like, "what in the Fuck happened to that dude, I think the house style has collapsed in on itself"

Things the author Really Likes: motorcycles, belts, SHOES, holy shit the shoes. These are some of the most lovingly rendered sneakers I've ever seen. All the detail on his characters goes straight to their feet and then it's stretched upward until it forms stiff peaks. Gently fold in 3000 years of trauma and bake face down in a crumb coat of scattered mythology. Remove when you roll two zeros.

Where the fuck am I going to put the extremely large omnibus volumes of this comic I purchased in order to balance out how much I would be reading for free on the internet. I should have grasped that a three in one edition would be Thick and yet somehow I was still :O when it arrived. Have I strategically purchased volumes that contain my favorite parts, maybe, what's it to you will i eventually get the whole thing because incomplete book series gnaw on my soul? yes

Wish the transition from "I've murdered several people in delightfully karmic ways" to "all you need is friendship in your heart and cards in your hand" Yami Yugi/Pharaoh had been discussed more/transitioned better. Buddy, where did you get this approved for television high horse? Please go back to strangling people with yo-yos or at least tell me why you stopped.

I still can't tell anything that looks like a big robotic monster apart from any other big robotic monster. My dude, I can't tell cars apart, all these monsters look the same.

Yami Yugi fascinated me way more in highschool? Maybe because it was still super early and the anime was like 'we need to torture you about his origins WeEkLy. Now I'm just like 'wait hold on, can we go back to Bakura and Marik for a minute, there's some extreme unpacking to do here?' Those two are paying so much more in baggage fees here my guy wow

Violently uninterested in any of the spinoff media

[ziracona]

T2 was okay and it could have been really good—had some real moments. But it needed more script iterations, and it was too goofy. Goofy is fine in general, but Terminator works best as a sci-fi action-drama-horror mesh. That’s the peak atmosphere. Also just, they gave their new Terminator scary powers to keep him relevant, but there’s just...no way to really make anyone on screen look like a threat to Arnold Schwarzenegger you know? And they never overcame that and it throws off the whole underdog atmosphere. He just. Wasn’t scary. Not when he was trying to kill heckin Arnold the brick house.

I’m not gonna talk about T3 bc I feel like I don’t need to and I think I have a lot of support for that in the fandom, and I’m not gonna talk any Genysis bc no one ever should, and I know I have support there.

Dark Fate was fine, but I felt like they really didn’t have to kill off their Kyle expy like at this point the surprising thing and interesting one would be /not/ to kill him. That role has died in /every/ other film. Like we get it. But plot rehashes are only good if you have some kind of spin. Mostly though I just...would have liked T800 man’s personality in another context but you couldn’t ever sell me on him after watching him gun down a 10 year old in the open. Like what, he found a soul by being...bored? If you want to convince me of fundamental change in a person, you /gotta/ motivate it better. Show me. Don’t tell me and expect me to take your word. And there just wasn’t enough meet in some spots. I wanted more firm lore and a little less action. Like I’m not even a science-heavy leaning sci-fi fan but it still wasn’t enough. I liked it more than most of the others but it just wasn’t quite...meaty enough. Sarah still a queen. But T800 man didn’t sell and that was a real weak spot, and so was expecting us and Sarah to just...like and forgive him bc he had accrued a family. But also like. I enjoyed having a new protag, but feeling like so much, no, /all/ of the work and suffering of everyone in other Terminator films was for nothing bc it’s not even Skynet anymore it’s some other robots?? It kind just...didn’t really work. It makes everything more hollow like it’s not even Terminator anymore there’s no more Terminators. They should have just had it be Skynet but a different rebel leader, or more. Sarah goes on to mentor Dani instead since John is dead, /something/ to make it more the same franchise and not so hollow. Or if it’s gonna be gutted, go all the way and let us feel that, don’t blip it as a plot point once and keep rolling. There’s decades of character attachment for fans; either make that matter, or make it mourned because it’s dead. Don’t skim it and make it cheap. Also on a meta level it was kind of weird how they handled time travel compared to the norm for the franchise but I’m not going into that.

BUT. The Terminator? A cinematic classic. It’s just...such a good film. The characters work is solid the whole movie, and Reese and Sarah are both truly excellent protagonists also given ample time to explore and exhibit that. There’s so much you get in moments that show tiny things about them. The way Sarah handles getting canceled on and goofing with Ginger, her having a pet iguana she loves to cuddle, talking to the statue at work? And she’s smart and normal (I mean normal in a very complimentary way). Kyle is introduced almost immediately running from the cops, but even in the middle of a chase scene, he’s stealing clothes in a mall while evading flashlights, and little things like hopping while he runs to check shoe sizes give you so much right away. He’s clearly out of his depth but he’s smart and methodical and he holes up in a car he hotwires and has a ptsd moment waking up from a dream because of some heavy construction machinery. You don’t have him say much about himself at all but you get him taking a second to be nice to the kids and guard dog on his way back before a T800 attacks. Even though if you’re watching it classic, you have no spoken goal for Reese and all you know is he’s armed and /also/ looking for Sarah, like the man who has killed three people already is, you kind of aren’t very scared of him by the time he’s creepily following her into a night club. That scene is iconic too damn. Anyway. Her reactions to everything are so great. Only film I ever saw where I 100% felt the person on screen was reacting like anyone would to almost being killed and then getting kidnap-saved by some other guy claiming to be from the future like I’d bite him too, but you know, I’d also be pretty happy he saved me and also decide he was crazy and not like, dangerous, and try to keep the cops from killing him. It’s so cute he thinks anyone is going to believe him like hang in there Kyle baby, king. Love as soon as the Terminator hits the police station, he breaks out and goes to find Sarah, and she’s immediately like ‘so fuck this actually’ and looking for him too. The deleted scene in the motel woods. The slow character build. Him falling in love with her because of the picture where she always looked a little sad and he wondered what she was thinking about and you don’t find out till the last scene it’s him she was thinking about in that picture. A family can be two complete trauma disasters making pipe bombs in a motel. The top 5 cinema shots moment where you think they won and they think they won and they’re both injured and stagger to each other and collapse laughing and crying and hugging and it holds for like ten seconds before that fucking thing gets up and you see the rubble in the fire shift and Kyle sees it first. And the hopelessness and despair. Sarah just screaming no in rage because it’s so unfair. The little scaffolding fight?? Kyle doing what he does? Sarah winning with a broken leg? The picture? The heartbreak? A work of art.

Also just. They’re both attractive but like, they are not remotely airbrushed Hollywood pretty. Kyle’s got that big scar on his lip and they’re both sweaty and bloody and dirty and gross the whole film??? God yeah.

Terminator Salvation? Also a classic. You have a film not about the core cast exactly, but it’s very ensemble. You get early days war. And it’s from the very open a solid narrative about second chances and what it means to be human and they really do explore that the whole runtime. Markus dies and comes back more confused than you are in the apocalypse. Baby Reese is absolutely perfect. You get formerly executed for murder Markus somehow adopting like 20 year old Reese and 13 year old kid Star and they’re amazing. Rebellion drama, lore reveals. Reese’s devout faith in the cause and how fast he looks up to Markus and starts learning and Markus is like :[ but then he’s like ... :] because he god assigned two family members now. The tag team fights—how incredibly talented Star is. Guilt trip on a look to dropping cars, she’s super effective. Tbh Markus is just O_O to >:-[ the whole movie as soon as Reese and Star are taken and I feel it. You’ve got a guy who was killed for straying too far from human, come back as a machine, but he doesn’t know it, wondering if he deserves another chance and if he can change, and it’s really neat the way it unfolds. Even after losing so many friends to Terminators that look human, Blair refuses to believe he isn’t a human even if he’s also a machine and risks her life to save him, when they barely know each other. Markus getting like, tortured by the rebels, and still choosing to help them and be who he has decided he wants to be this time, even towards John. Even with better alternatives. And you have Star never having a moment of doubt, or Reese, and him getting to save them both, and them trying to help the other humans in line for extermination before he arrives. The hand hold with Star when his hands just metal. And he decides to die for someone he doesn’t even /like/ and who has personally hurt him a lot of times, because he knows the rebels need him to win. Anyway death row to death row but completely different people in the same body facing that same death differently are amazing if done well (see TWDG I mean ow) and it was a very simple core theme to latch to and very enjoyable executed and it got snubbed by fans when it’s the best sequel Terminator ever had.

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Out Of Time ~ 1

MAIN MASTERLIST

Out Of Time MASTERLIST

Word Count: 1,750ish

Summary: World War Two weighs on the lives of the Rogers Twins and Bucky Barnes.

Warnings: none

She was running late for the movie. She was suppose to meet Steve and Bucky there after work, but her shift hadn’t gone as planned and she was needed longer. Figures. The girls after her could never get their crap together. She had almost reached the theater when she heard familiar voices in the alleyway. She turned into the alleyway to see her small twin brother, Steven Grant Rogers, and his taller best friend, James Buchanan Barnes. More popularly known as Bucky.

“I had him on the ropes,” Steve stated, clearly catching his breath. 

She figured Bucky had stopped Steve in the middle of a fight. Her brother was always getting into fights, trying to do what he thought was best. Protecting people. She noticed Bucky was in a military uniform as he reached down and picked up some forms off the ground. He hadn’t told her that he had gotten his orders. She wondered when he’d be shipping out. Her heart splintered at thought of Bucky going to war. It broke at the thought that he may never come back. She loved him. But she’s never been able to tell him that, he’s too much of a ladies man to settle down with her.

“How many times is this?” Bucky asked as he picked up and read what seemed to be an enlistment form. “Oh, you’re from Paramus now? You know it’s illegal to lie on the enlistment form. And seriously, Jersey?”

“You get your orders?” Steve quickly changed the subject once he realized what Bucky was wearing.

“The one-o-seventh. Sergeant James Barnes. Shipping out for England first thing tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” She gasped. The men quickly turned around to notice Y/N Rogers, standing there, trying to hold back tears. “You’re shipping out tomorrow? And you’re only telling us that today?”

“Y/N, doll,” Bucky took a step towards her. 

She took a step back, shaking her head. “And you,” Y/N moved her focus to her brother, pointing a shaking finger at him. “Stop trying to get yourself killed.”

“I should be going,” Steve stated firmly. “It’s only right.”

“No. You should be staying here, with me. I’ve already lost mom and dad, Bucky’s shipping off tomorrow, I’m not about to lose you too.”

“Y/N/N,” Bucky stepped forward again, “You have to understand, I wanted to tell you but I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“And telling me the night before you shipped off was going to be any better?”

“Can we not spend my last night fighting?” Bucky reached for her hands. “Let’s get Steve cleaned up and then we’re going to have some fun.”

“Where are we going?” Steve asked.

Bucky handed Steve the newspaper he had under his arm. “The future.”

The three of them went back to the Rogers apartment, allowing Y/N and Steve to get cleaned up. After they made their way to the Stark Expo. 

“I don’t see what the problem is,” Bucky shook his head as he spoke. “You’re about to be the last eligible man in New York. You know, there’s three and a half million women here.”

“Well, I’d settle for just one,” Steve stated.

“Good thing I took care of that.” Bucky waved to a woman who wasn’t standing too far off.

“Hey, Bucky!” The woman called.

“What did you tell her about me?” Steve asked.

“Only the good stuff,” Bucky answered.

“Where’s your date, Buck?” Y/N asked. She was used to be the fifth wheel.

“I figured that you could be, doll,” Bucky smiled, putting an arm around Y/N’s waist, pulling her into him. “It is my last night and I wanted to spend it with my best girl.”

Y/N looked down, intensely blushing. He always knew how to make her get flustered. Though, she figured he never realized what he was doing to her. Y/N was wrong though. Bucky loved her too, but was just too afraid to say anything. Especially now, since he was being shipped off to war. 

The four walked towards the stage just in time for the famous Howard Stark to waltz out.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Howard Stark called the audiences attention, “what if I told you that in just a few short years, your automobile won’t even have to touch the ground at all.” The ladies that were helping him, took off the wheels of the car that was on stage. “Yes. Thanks, Mandy… With Stark robotic reversion technology you’ll be able to do just that.” Howard then turned a few nobs and flipped a switch, causing the car to begin hovering off the ground. 

“Holy cow,” Bucky said in awe.

But almost as soon as it began hovering, the car suddenly started malfunctioning causing the car to fall back on stage. Y/N jumped back into Bucky, cause him to hold her closer than he was before. While this was happening, Steve noticed a recruitment center and snuck off there. His date wasn’t paying him any mind anyway. The girls Bucky chose never did. They were always too interested in his best friend.

“I did say a few years, didn’t I?” Howard tried to laugh the malfunction off, causing the audience to laugh as they applauded.

“Hey, Steve,” Bucky called, turning to look at him, “what do you say we treat these girls—“ He stopped when he noticed Steve wasn’t there anymore. 

“Where’d he go?” Y/N asked.

The recruitment center caught Bucky’s eye. “I have a feeling I know where.”

Y/N followed his line of sight, letting out a sigh when the center came into view. She just couldn’t understand why her brother wanted to join the war efforts so bad. He’s never been in the best of health and leaving would be leaving her alone.

“Let’s go get him,” Bucky urged Y/N forward, Steve’s date following. 

As they reached the recruitment center, Steve’s date stopped aways outside of it, allowing Bucky and Y/N to go in together. They found Steve Looking into a mirror that turned the person looking into it into a soldier. He was too small to even line up to it.

“Steve,” Y/N called her brother to attention. He turned around to see her sad eyes.

“Come on,” Bucky said. “You’re kind of missing the point of a double date. We’re taking the girls dancing.”

“You go ahead,” Steve said, “I’ll catch up with you.”

“You’re really gonna do this again?”

“Well, its only fair. I’m gonna try my luck.

“As who? Steve from Ohio?”

“They’ll catch you, Steve,” Y/N said. “Or worse, they’ll actually take you.”

“Look, I know you two don’t think I can do this—”

“This isn’t a back alley, Steve,” Bucky was getting frustrated. “It’s war!”

“I know it’s war. You don’t have to tell me.”

“Why are you so keen to fight? There are so many important jobs.”

“What am I gonna do? Collect scrap metal—“

“Yes!”

“—in my little red wagon?”

“Why not?”

“I’m not gonna sit in a factory.”

“I don’t—“

“Come on, guys! There are men laying down their lives. I got no right to do any less than them. That’s what you don’t understand.. this isn’t about me.”

“Yeah? But what about me?” Y/N’s small voice stopped the two men. “Taking care of your sister isn’t enough?” There were tears in her eyes, tears both of the men immediately regretted putting there. 

“Y/N—“

“No. I’m done hearing your excuses. Your reasonings… If you want to go off to war to get killed and leave me alone, then so be it. You want it so damn much, it shows what you really care about.”

Y/N walked away, towards Steve’s date, before she could hear the men say anything else. They watched with sad eyes as she walked away. They both knew what they were doing to her. But they didn’t know how they could really make it right.

“You’ve got nothing to prove, Steve,” Bucky stated as he turned back to him. Bucky sighed, realizing he wasn’t going to win with this Rogers tonight. But if he hurried, he could fix it with another before he left. “Don’t do anything stupid until I get back.”

“How can I?” Steve responded. “You’re taking all the stupid with you.”

“You’re a punk.” They two embraced.

“Jerk. Be careful” They let go and Bucky began walking back to the girls. “Don’t win the war till I get there!”

Bucky sent Steve a salute before turning around and reaching the girls. He noticed Y/N was still emotional and that Steve’s date, Bonnie, clearly wanted to be spending time with him.

“Hey, Bonnie,” Bucky started, “do you mind if it’s just Y/N and I tonight?”

“Oh,” she was clearly taken back. “Sure.” She reached up and kissed Bucky’s cheek. “Be safe out there soldier. And make sure to find me with you return.” 

Once Bonnie was out of sight, Bucky wrapped an arm around Y/N’s waist. “Lets go dancing,” he smiled down at her.

“I don’t feel like dancing tonight, Buck,” she sadly said, looking down. “I just want to go home.”

“Come on, doll.” Buck moved to stand in front of her. “It’s my last night.”

“Yes, it’s your last night before you get shipped off to war… I really don’t need another reminder…”

“Y/N. Look at me.” He tried to meet her eyes. “Please.” When she still refused, he put his hand under her chin and gently guided her head to look up at him. “How about we do whatever you want tonight? I just want to spend my last night with you, doll. My favorite Rogers.”

Bucky’s eyes showed nothing but sincerity. All Y/N wanted was to hold onto her boys and never let them go. But she was coming to the realization that that wasn’t an option. She wrapped her arms around Bucky, holding herself close to him. He reciprocated the action, breathing her scent in. Every moment with Y/N tonight, Bucky at been trying to memorize every detail of the girl. He never wanted to forget anything about her. They stood there, for a moment, holding onto each other like they were the only two people in the world. 

“Come on,” Bucky whispered, letting her go and grabbing her hand. “I know some place we can go.”

next chapter >

[thanksjro]

More Than Meets the Eye #32 - Nobody’s Ever Actually Dead in Comic Books

Our band of merry guys-who-weren’t-on-the-Lost-Light-in-issue-#1 approach the shattered husk of the Lost Light, in a gruesome scene that is only slightly marred by the graphic design.

Font doesn’t really suggest danger, does it? Here, for comparison, is something I slapped together in fifteen minutes (including recreation of background) using a font I got off a free font site.

Now, one could say that my version is rather derivative, flat, and arguably cliche, but you know what else it is? Appropriate for the fucking mood of having found a destroyed, hemorrhaging ship after everyone you knew disappeared.

I’m available, IDW! Hit me up.

Theorizing that this is the ship that the Coffin Rodimus came from- remember that? It was a few issues ago- the gang flies in for a closer look. The ship blood is actually something called quantum foam, which allows for quantum space travel to happen. It’s not supposed to be outside of the quantum quills, but the ship’s pretty junked up, so it is.

Because the ship is so very full of holes, the gang can set down for repairs pretty easy. They land in Swerve’s, finding it in less-than-pristine condition. They also find evidence of Crosscut having gotten creative, as a poster for the play he was working on is hung up in the room. Considering he was still writing it when he disappeared, this might seem a bit odd. But then you remember that this is a ship from the future, and it stops being so odd.

Because this is a future ship, with evidence that Crosscut did some stuff, it stands to reason that, at some point, everyone is going to come back from being disappeared.

Just to die.

Which is a bummer, but one crisis at a time.

Megatron disembarks the Rod Pod, with Ravage following, and everyone is just a touch put off by the duo. Everyone but Nautica, who proceeds to commit a microaggression.

Nautica, that’s Soundwave’s father you’re petting like a common animal.

Ravage, angered by this over-familiarity, swats at her. Skids questions letting an active Decepticon roam around, but Megatron brushes off these concerns, saying that finding any still-living crew members is more important. With that, the search begins.

The gang splits up to look for clues, despite Riptide thinking this is a horrible idea. They’re on the clock for this one- the quantum foam is liable to explode if it touches anything, and there’s an awful lot of the stuff floating around right now.

Nightbeat and Nautica leave the rest of the group to their own work, seeing as Nautica has the most appropriate alt-mode for traversing the gaps in the ship.

Man, that’s pretty cool. Wish Nautica hadn’t been regulated to being “girl best friend” for her character arcs, I would have loved to see her do some neat stuff for her own development. Guess that’s what happens when you get introduced as main cast late, and have to compete with all the faves who had dozens of issues to be established and who also don’t have to deal with the whole “token girl character” thing.

The rest of the gang- Megatron, Ravage, Riptide, Skids, and Getaway- start looking in the area they’re already in. Seems a little lopsided, but whatever.

Ravage finds someone almost immediately, identifying Ultra Magnus through smell alone. Only, it isn’t just Ultra Magnus.

The Magnus armor lays not terribly far away, having had its hands cut off to prevent the recall signal from being activated before being gut-murdered.

Gut-murdered wiTH A FUSION CANNON, MEGATRON

Of course, Megatron was forced to destroy his fusion canon after it was decided he would be joining the Lost Light, but you can buy these things off the black market like it’s nothing. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if Brainstorm had a few stashed in his lab.

As it currently stands, nobody can trust the guy who has a storied past of killing Autobots, on a future ship where the only folks who could stop him are dead. Megatron, at least, has the good sense to not argue this fact, and suggests that the boys lock both Ravage and himself up until they suss out exactly what happened.

Meanwhile, over with Nautica and Nightbeat, we run through all the weird shit that’s happened in the last day or so.

Nautica, you’ve been on this ship for months now. How did you miss the fact that the only couple within 800 miles got annihilated by way of Phase Sixer? I feel like that attack might have come up at some point.

Since they’re on the subject of spouses, Nightbeat asks Nautica if she’s married, or if she has friends. Though noting that such a direct line of questioning might get him slapped with someone else, Nautica reveals that she is single, though she does have a best friend. Nightbeat is also single, probably because he pulls shit like this.

While this conversation is going on, Nautica uses her Sonic Screwdriver wrench to open a door with the literal push of a button. Brainstorm tricked out her wrench so hard it turned into a magic wand, which is good, because they’re going to need all the help they can get now that space is literally warping around them thanks to the quantum foam.

Nautica kicks something on the elevator, and that something turns out to be Brainstorm’s mysterious briefcase. Too bad Swerve is gone, he was so invested in what it contained. Luckily, Nightbeat is just as interested.

Back over on the other side of the ship, it seems as though Megatron kept his word about not resisting, as both he and Ravage have been locked in a cabinet. Wonder how that’s going for them.

Oh, better than I expected.

Ravage is fucking pissed that Megatron joined the Autobots, thereby turning his back on everyone who supported his cause during the last four million years. Despite this grievous betrayal though, the Decepticons haven’t stopped moving. Turns out, Galvatron’s in charge now.

But only if Autobot Megatron isn’t some sort of ploy.

It’s at this point that we learn just why Ravage is here to begin with- to see if Megatron’s truly given up the Decepticons, and if he has, to murder him. But first he’d like to know why this is happening.

Megatron views himself as a monster, having perpetuated a war that ended the lives of billions, destroyed the Cybertronian way of life, ostracized his race from the rest of the universe, and killing just to have something to do. He doesn’t like feeling this way about himself, so he decided to walk away from that life by joining the other team.

Don’t think it’s quite that easy to do, but okay.

Ravage isn’t so sure that this change of heart is going to stick, still convinced that Megatron will snap back to his old self with just a bit more time. Problem is, Megatron may not have a ton of that resource left.

Didn’t they build that body in like an hour so you wouldn’t die? Yeah, no wonder it feels as ill-fitting as a twenty-dollar suit. Thing’s probably made out of pig iron and duct tape.

The lights come on before further self-reflection can be done, and the duo realize that they’ve had guests this whole time.

Someone put the kettle on.

Obviously some fucked up shit happened on this ship. Megatron isn’t so sure that it’s him who did these dirty deeds, however, as he reaches into Ratchet’s mouth and pulls out his brain. Which feels like something that doesn’t really absolve one of guilt, but okay.

Also, ew.

Back with Nautica and Nightbeat, things are getting weird.

Now, this sequence might seem confusing at first blush, but this is because the laws of reality are collapsing around them. Going by clues in the background, we can find the proper, linear progression of time, and thus is conversation. This is what is actually happening:

With the mystery of Brainstorm’s briefcase eluding us once again, we move on to see more graphic aftermaths of violence. Poor Tailgate has been nailed to the wall with a chunk of a metal beam that’s almost as big as he is. The mood lighting for this scene is gorgeous, but I’ve hit my limit for exposing y’all to gore for this issue, so you’ll just have to trust me on this one. Then they find something even more interesting.

Who’s ready for Under Cold Blue Stars… 2!

Back over on the opposite side of the ship, Riptide’s found something nasty. It’s a bunch of dead bodies!

Including, uh, Pipes.

Who already died a while ago.

Hm.

All the bodies in this room are in their alts, and it looks like they’ve all been shot and drilled into, for some reason. Skids brings up that he had a friend who could identify the placement of any robot’s brain module just by knowing what they turned into. Then he reaches into a corpse to see what the drill-hole’s all about. It makes him sick, though maybe not for the reason you might think. He gets on the phone with Nightbeat, who’s called to tell them that they’ve found Overlord.

Still locked in his weird body harness.

And decapitated.

Megatron is on the other line, calling because he’s figured out the same thing Skids has. Someone paid a visit to this ship. Someone nasty.

The gang regroups, and Nautica gets the basics on the DJD, because I guess nobody’s mentioned them even in passing in the last six months, either.

God, what do they even talk about on this ship? Certainly not their feelings.

The reason that one room was filled with alt-modes was because of Tarn’s addiction to transforming; t-cogs are easier to remove when they’ve been used recently.

We get a quick 4/5ths-page gore-fest, then it’s back to making it all about Megatron.

Maybe you should have thought about that before you FUCKING DEFECTED, YOU POOL NOODLE.

Nightbeat’s beginning to put two and two together. There’s an Overlord in the basement. That shouldn’t be, because Overlord got exploded by Chromedome when he mercy-killed Rewind. Something is off about the past of this ship.

Before he can establish his MTMTE everybody-lives-but-then-dies AU though, the quantum foam fucks with the ship. These sons of guns need to get the hell out of here, pronto.

Oh god, what now?

Ravage smells someone inside the Magnus armor, someone who isn’t a part of the usual nesting doll lineup. Megatron reaches into the Crackerjack box and pulls out one hell of a prize.

HE LIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIVES

Chromedome would be so thrilled, if he still existed.