#this post was prompted by a post that said ‘let’s cuddle and listen to metal’ bc I was like me and who

[binders-and-beanies]

Not to make it deep bc I do love having my own music taste but like. Listening to music that most people don’t like means you have to listen to music you don’t like during sexual/romantic moments, while you’re on adventures, while you work and study, any time you’re in public. Your happiest times are narrated by something that doesn’t feel like it’s for you and your most stressful times are almost mocked by the background music lol. Like not to be a bitch about it bc we all have to experience things that aren’t our favorite but I wish the world made it easier for me to like feel included in my own life. I wouldn’t mind other types of music at all if it weren’t an automatic expectation that I’ll like it and never want to show anyone what *i* consider to be A Vibe

[panna-acida]

I posted 12.267 times in 2021

77 posts created (1%)

12190 posts reblogged (99%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 158.3 posts.

I added 18.120 tags in 2021

#art by op - 3711 posts

#♥ - 3183 posts

#the witcher - 2548 posts

#jaskier - 1554 posts

#geralt of rivia - 1506 posts

#marvel - 1492 posts

#tony stark - 1247 posts

#geraskier - 1021 posts

#♥♥♥ - 948 posts

#steve rogers - 910 posts

Longest Tag: 99 characters

#my brain while i'm fuckn driving: yeah let's build this world for your ship let's see where it goes

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

Geralt: what is this?

Jaskier: A shirt? What do you think it is?

Geralt: I know it's a shirt, but why this... *points at words on shirt*

Jaskier: Well, let's just say it's appropriate.

Geralt: Jaskier... "#knot all men"? Really?

Jaskier: What can I say, I love you and your knot. *kissy face*

Geralt: *groans and moves away, while taking with him the shirt*

30 notes • Posted 2021-03-08 22:04:03 GMT

#4

(prompt?) “There’s no I in team, but there is one in pizza” // “…so, you’re not gonna share?” // “Absolutely not” (have your pick on who 💕)

It took me a month, and a new lockdown here in Italy to actually write this, but in the end I did it!

“Are you going to stare at my pizza longer?” Bucky asked raising a eyebrow, before going back to eat the pizza in front of him.

“Well” Tony started “Are you going to share? We are a team after all…” Tony ended hopeful, looking at his empty plate, and back at Bucky pizza.

“There’s no I in team, but there is one in pizza” bucky stated, eating another slice.

“…so, you’re not gonna share?” Tony asked again, hopeful.

“Absolutely not.” Bucky ended going to take the last slice, raising it slowly in front of him staring at Tony, before smirking and going to shovel the entire slice inside his mouth, leaving a gaping Tony to stare back.

“You…” Tony blurted out after few second of complete silence, pointing a finger at Bucky. “You are going to know what vengeance is.” Tony announced before, raising from his chair and moving away and toward his workshop, leaving a smirking Bucky behind.

From that day on Bucky week of hell started.

It began with the Cyberman theme song, everytime Bucky entered a room. It continued with magnets, of various size placed around the tower in strategic place, and different every time so Bucky found his arm found his metal arm literally covered in magnet. Tony ignored him, changing direction everytime Bucky moved toward him, never listening to him, never kissing him, never sleeping with him… and that was the last drop that made Bucky snap one morning, after a mission.

“I’m sorry, I should have shared the pizza, I’m sorry, I’m going to buy you a pizza right now but please let me hug you…” Bucky whispered, near Tony that stared at him, while drinking his coffee.

“Come here.” Tony said, with a little smile on his lips, before putting on the table his cup and opening his arms, letting like that Bucky fall and hug him. “I already forgave you, but don’t do that ever again with pizza or coffee, you ear me?” Tony whispered in Bucky ears, making the man shiver, and tuk his head in between Tony shoulder and neck, leaving little kiss.

“Yeah...” Bucky said, going to scoop up Tony in his arms, and moving toward their bedroom and some fun activity. He needed to make up for the lost week in cuddle and sex, but mostly in Tony in his arms. “Never again…” Ended closing the door behind him, with a little smile forming on his lips.

32 notes • Posted 2021-03-18 16:16:08 GMT

#3

Ops (Geraskier)

"STOP TALKING SHIT ABOUT GERALT YOU BASTARD!!!" Jaskier screamed, while held by Geralt arms. “YOU CAN’T TALK LIKE THAT ABOUT A PERSON THAT JUST SAVE YOUR DAMN ASS!!!”

"Put that knife down Jaskier." Geralt sighed, maneuvering the bard in his arms, just to have a better grip on the feral man in his hold.

"Not until they say sorry, and take back every words they said against you!" Jaskier hissed, while glaring dagger at the man on the other side of the Inn and at the same time trying to escape from Geralt firm hold.

"Put me down Geralt, I need only to say few words to that gentleman. Just few gentle word" Jaskier hissed again, with a little evil smile on his lips.

"Hm, hm." Geralt mumbled never letting go his firm grip on Jaskier middle, just to raise the bard from the floor and tuck him under his arms and move like that back toward their quiet room.

"Geralt pleeeeeeeease." Jaskier whined, when all of his efforts to free himself died.

"No."

"Just few second, I'm really fast you know?"

"I know." Geralt announced, while starting to walk up the stairs toward the safety and absolute calm of their rented room for the night. "That's why you stay here in my arms. I don't want to deal with all the chaos you leave behind, like in the last town."

"I did nothing wrong in the last town, just few chairs broken..." Jaskier pouted, letting the knife he still held in his hand fall on the floor just inside of their room.

"Oh right few broken chair. They just didn’t chase us out if the town because you destroyed the Inn, broke the major nose..."

"He didn't want to pay you what he told you!"

"Let all the horses run away, Jaskier... horses, not one, not two, but all the horse in the village... and lest but not last you stabbed the Inn keeper."

"As I said, nothing serious."

Geralt groaned and literally trow Jaskier on the bed while taking off his boots, before dropping his whole body on Jaskier and trapping like that the bard on the bed.

"Yes, nothing serious. But now just sleep and forget."

"I can't!" Jaskier whispered letting his arms circle Geralt’s back and hug the man on top of him. "Because I love you too much."

"Hm, hm." Geralt mumbled, with a little smile on his lips, before leaving a tiny kiss on Jaskier neck. "Now sleep, tomorrow early raising, we need to move before the path close with too much snow"

"Yes my love, but I need you to move, so I can change."

"No." Geralt whispered.

"...?"

"Sleep Jaskier. Sleep." With that Geralt just closed his eyes, letting the day wash over him and the steady heartbeat under him lull him in a peaceful sleep, followed by muffled laugh and a tender kiss left on his temple.

Because everything was perfect, until it wasn’t anymore.

---

“JASKIER” Geralt screamed and reality washed over him. A dream, only a dream.

Just a dream.

48 notes • Posted 2021-03-21 21:48:18 GMT

#2

(you asked for a prompt?) road trip? and bucky is totally and appropriately prepared but- oh boy does he have words for tony's dress choices?

Dunno if this is hat you had in mind, but I couldn’t let this image of Tony from my mind so... also let’s say they are both young and with no power.

Bucky just stared, and stared, and stared making Tony squirm under the scrutiny.

“What?” Tony asked after few minutes of silence, playing with the car keys in his hands.

“Well” Bucky started, with a little smile forming on his lips. “You understand that we are going to be on a really long road trip, right?” bucky continued looking up and down Tony squirming form.

“Yes?”

“Just asking because…” Bucky took a deep breath pointing at Tony clothes before starting to laugh, and nearly sliding on the frozen pathway leading to Tony’s apartment.

“WHY ARE YOU LAUGHING?” Tony shouted, going to smack Bucky on the prosthetic arm, after reaching the other man, down the stairs.

“We are going to the mountain not at the beach!” Bucky finally said, pointing at Tony hawaiian shirt, bright pink pants and yellow shoes.

“I know!” Tony retorted, pouting and crossing his arms over his chest, looking sideways before whispering. “I just like colours, also the shirt is really warm even if it doesn’t look like.”

“Oh” Bucky sobered up a little after earing Tony little voice. “I’m sorry sweetheart, I didn’t mean to sound mean, but it really looks like you are ready for the beach, not that I would have anything to say about that…” Bucky at that just stopped, a smile spreading again on his lips. “Let’s move our road trip to somewhere warm, and go to the beach. Ok?” After the change of program from Bucky, Tony just stared with his mouth slightly ajar at the other man, cheeks going pinker for the cold and a smile growing and growing, before shouting with all of his voice.

“YES” and jumping on Bucky, nearly knocking the man with his ass on the hard ground. “I love this idea, also warm is way better, less clothes and more fun…” Tony wiggled his eyebrows, before planting a wet kiss on his favourite man on heart.

“Happy Valentine’s day sweetheart.”

“Happy Valentine’s day Buckaroo.”

50 notes • Posted 2021-02-14 14:52:34 GMT

#1

Jaskier: *beat the shit out of someone because they insulted Geralt*

Geralt: geralt.exe stopped working to reboot your witcher please kiss him on a cheek. If doesn't work, the a gay bug is stronger then anticipated, please wait and kiss him on the lips. Now it should work again. Thank you.

60 notes • Posted 2021-01-31 20:30:10 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

[ascottywrites]

Best...Friends?

That Bad Friend Scott McCall tag really gets to me sometimes because even though the fandom kind of pushes it to an extreme, even before the whole Donovan and Theo business I can see how much of a suck-ass friend Scott could be. Like I don’t mean that friends should be up in each-others assholes during every given moment of the day but it is a horrible feeling to be cast aside like so much trash or easily forgotten and in cannon that happened more often than it should have for two people who call one another ‘family’. 

And I know, extenuating circumstances, storytelling, ‘poor story telling’...yada yada, but I’m also a petty ass and sometimes I need to consume the distortion in the fandom to thrive. 

**Also, lets be honest, sometimes the fanfiction is truer to the characters portrayed than the actual cannon. ijs 

This whole post is also known as “I’m a petty asshole who lives in the south so doesn’t get enough opportunities to actually be a petty asshole.” 

Anyway! On with the list! : 

Steter: 

On Edge by Bunnywest (Complete: 8/8| 23,707) 

“What do you mean, Stiles is missing?” Peter demands, scowling at the phone. "Missing, Hale! Can you help find him or not?" The sheriff's voice cracks, and Peter can tell he's out of his mind with worry. Peter doesn't blame him.

In which Stiles gets bitten by a rogue alpha and bolts into the preserve, terrified and out of control. Peter's the one best qualified to find him, because Stiles is Peter's mate. Peter maybe hasn't quite gotten around to telling him that part yet, but Stiles is his, and he's damned if he's going to lose him to some feral alpha. He's going to find his boy, bring him home, and as for the rest? Well, Peter has a plan. It's Peter. He always has a plan.

pack of two by ScarSacrifices (one-shot| 1,735) 

“You’ll be alright. No one can hurt you now,” Peter breathed out clutched the sobbing boy to his chest. Peter took a shaky breath and smoothed his hand down the boy’s hair making low shushing sounds as he did so. “Just listen to my heartbeat sweetheart, I’m here. You’re not alone,” he clutched him tighter, “not anymore.”

A Blowtorch? Really? by MysticMusic (Complete: 2/2| 4,757) 

“He’s homicidal,” she sputtered.

“No, Allison. The witches are homicidal. He’s smart,” Stiles hissed, “and if you took your narcissistic head out of your ass for five minutes, you’d see something called self-preservation instincts. Seriously what the hell is wrong with you? A blowtorch? Really? How fucking stupid are you?”

Or, Stiles defends Peter when Allison attacks him with a blowtorch like a lunatic.

I'm Only Heard During the Silence Between My Screams by Irukashi_Narukib (wip: 42/?| 52,721) 

Stiles thinks no one is listening, so he just... stops talking. It's just like that asshole Peter to refuse to take the hint.

Infinite Space by DiscontentedWinter (Complete: 13/13| 32,124) 

Stiles needs Peter's expertise to help stop the latest threat to Beacon Hills. And, as the pack falls apart around him, he might even need Peter for more than that.

Black Fire by Green (one-shot| 10,934) 

Deaton is all about the balance of the universe, about order. Stiles's new magic - gifted to him from the Nogitsune - is the complete opposite of that. Deaton calls Stiles's magic "dark" and seeks to imprison him in Eichen where he's no threat to the balance. Peter and Stiles go on the run - but they can't run forever.

The Only Sound by Elpie (Horribibble) (one-shot| 4,407) 

Stiles becomes acutely aware of the weight and vibration of his voice in his throat. He knows what volume feels like, and understands the intricacies of modulating it through context clues. If his voice shakes at first, no one seems to notice much.

Except Peter.

What It Takes To Not Be Broken by Whispering_Sumire (one-shot| 17,410) 

He's pretty sure Death is nipping at his heels at this point.

But he has to stay awake, has to keep Gerard away from Erica and Boyd, the two Betas still tied up with mountain ash and electricity on the other side of the room, and it looks like they're trying to scream through their duct-tape, still, but he can't hear it, not anymore.

The terrible, all-consuming, staticky silence had over taken him after about the third time Gerard's lackey- Ben, he thinks his name was- had stuck a military grade taser to his ear, a low enough voltage not to cause brain damage, he'd said, because the point of this was for him to talk.

[Or: The one where Stiles is kidnapped and tortured by Gerard, and his injuries lead to a complete loss of hearing, among other things.]

Sterek: 

Something With a T by Futureworldruler (wip: 10/?| 22,723)  

It started when Derek showed up at his house with a car full of plants.

Or Derek gets help, moves in with the Stilinskis, and slowly builds a new life for himself

Alpha, Mage, Pack by Foxfire2018 (wip: 36?/| 401,116)   

Set at the end of Season 2. Stiles was kidnapped and tortured for hours. Yet no one came for him. Hurt and cast out of the pack by people he thought cared for him, what is he to do? He finds himself accompanied by someone he never expected and someone he is eternally grateful for. Derek feels betrayed and foolish for what he allowed to happen. Out of anger and hurt he forced a valuable member he really started to care for out of his pack. With the pack scattered and people hurt, what will come of them? Will they bond together again in time for the next big bad?

User Error by Poison_Love_Words (wip: 10/?| 37,767) 

Given enough coffee and a few flirty texts from Mr.Bookish, Stiles could rule the world from his basement office at Triple S. That is until the day his best friend stabs him in the back for a pretty face and the (false) promise of fame and fortune.

Based on the Prompt: Omega Stiles is the real brain behind the up and coming tech company but Scott the public “face” starts to believe his own press and falls in with his new girlfriends bigoted family. He lets them talk him into kicking Stiles out of the company. And then Stiles gets revenge by going to work for the Hales.

I'll Bare My Back (If You Hold The Whip) by Kinkubus (wip: 5/?| 16,435) 

After the fiasco with the Nogistune, which Allison barely survived, Stiles is pushed to the fringes of the pack. Alienated from his previous friends and abandoned by the Sheriff who can't deal with his broken son, Stiles slips further and further into a pit of despair. That is until he finds someone even more desperate than he is, and together they forge a bond that will revitalise both their lives and the lives of Scott's crumbling pack.

So this is my first fic and it's unbeta'd so any mistakes, please feel free to correct me. That being said, I have not paid attention to canon at all in this story. Allison lives. Gerard is dead, and so is Victoria but the Alpha pack hasn't arrived yet and to be honest the timeline is shot to pieces. Therefore please suspend your disbelief. This is primarily a story about Stiles fighting through all the odds to adopt the entire pack and cuddle them to death, whilst also feeding them healthy food because yes I know you've got werewolf metabolisms Peter but good eating habits are still important ok!

Choose! by Skeleton_Wolf (one-shot| 1,437) 

Scott made him pick between his best friend and the pack that treats him like family. Is he really his best friend if he makes him pick? Can Stiles choose?

Thunderstorms & Polish Lullabies by Whispering_Sumire (one-shot| 10,057) 

Boyd is there, hovering over his claws, Isaac looks devastated, Jennifer looks bewildered and concerned and horrified, Kali looks smug, the twins are carefully keeping their faces blank but they're playing along, and- Gods, he's really going to be forced to do this, isn't he? Pack, his Pack, the make-shift family he'd all but accidentally gathered is going to die by his hand, and even if it's forced, it'll still be his fault, for wanting them, for needing them, for biting them.

Loving them.

He wants to close his eyes but he owes Boyd more than that.

And then, abruptly, in this saturated technicolor still-picture moment of chaos and violence- the eye of the storm- the door to the loft crashes open. With the water and the metal and the force of it, the sound is almost guttural, and far too loud- even Kali seems startled.

[Or, the one where Stiles time-travels just in time to save Boyd and Derek from the Alphas, and manages to heal everyone, including himself, just a little in the process.]

The One You Choose by Livinginfictions (Complete: 7/7| 13,440)  

Stiles hadn’t seen Scott in over a week, except for glances he caught during school hours.

Not Too Late to Learn by bubblessunshinedelight (wip: 20/?| 30,596)  

After 14 years Stiles realizes Scott doesn't really know him.

or Scott finds out Derek and Stiles are dating and is a dick about it...for a while.

You Belong with Me by halcyon1993 (Complete: 4/4| 19,656) 

Derek is tired of watching Stiles get treated like crap by his so-called friends. When both the Hale Pack and the McCall Pack end up in the same nightclub, Derek decides it's finally time to convince Stiles that he'd be better off with him as his Alpha.

That thin line between right or wrong by orphan_account (Complete: 7/7| 15,718) 

An AU based on the Donovan-storyline from Season 5A. After Stiles is attacked at the library and accidentally kills Donovan, he’s in shock, panics and runs. Hurt, confused, ridden with guilt and depressed, he wonders how it ever came to this point where nothing will ever feel right again. So, he decides to call the one man who knows won’t judge him. But will Derek arrive on time to save Stiles’ life?

This story basically alternates from most of Season 5, ignoring the rest of the series. Since I hated what they did with Stiles’ character after Donovan’s attack, I decided to change it all. This story is completely written from Stiles’ POV.

A Heavy Price by Estellestafford (one-shot| 4,202) 

Every Emissary wants to work for the Hale Pack, Stiles just wanted to be Scott's but then Allison happened to get some magic so that was out the window and now he finds himself in office with some hot guy offering to make him an Emissary in exchange for fulfilling his desires.

Go Away, Scott by HelloWhyTheFuckAmIHere (Complete: 45/45| 66,227) 

After the incident at the warehouse, Stiles is fed up with Scott. He finds himself drawn into Derek’s pack and in the process, drawn to Derek himself.

With the Alpha Pack closing in, Derek needs to learn how to trust his pack and those around him. And who better to help him than Stiles?

A Healing Silence by HelloWhyTheFuckAmIHere (Complete: 28/28| 36,329) 

Stiles is slowly pushed out of the pack following his fight with Scott about Donovan's death. After receiving a phone number from an old friend, Stiles is surprised to find that it belongs to the one person who may be able to bring him back to himself.

[emocean-is-trash]

hey!! i was really excited to post this oneshot for the prompt “Time Passing” today. i worked super hard on this one and i’m very proud of how it turned out.

you can also find this on my ao3 @emocean_is_trash

if you’d like to request a prompt (the list is on ao3 in chapter 1) you can send me a comment there or message me here~ :) i’ll get to your prompts as soon as i can. thanks!!

~~~~~~~

“Alright children, it’s time for recess.”

A chorus of cheers erupted from the several young children sitting in their desks as they stood up and raced towards the classroom door. One of the students in that frenzy was Yang Xiao Long, who was definitely one of the more “fearless” kids in her elementary school. She was the kind of child who would stand up for anyone, sometimes getting into fights if she had to. She always wore her heart on her sleeve and fought for what she deemed right.

But today wasn’t one of those days. The usual bullies in her school weren’t giving anyone a hard time. It was a nice change of pace. Her teacher, Ms. Glynda, led her class to the playground, opening the metal doors and letting the kids enjoy their hour of free time. Yang grinned from ear to ear and sprinted towards the jungle gym, her pigtails getting rustled from the physical activity. As soon as she reached the top of the structure, she pretended to be looking through a telephone and scanned the rest of the playground to see what everyone else was doing.

Cardin and Sky were playing tag with each other and running in the grass instead of picking on other kids. Weiss was sitting on the bench singing to herself; she never was very social. Ren and Nora were playing hide and seek, Nora stomping around the wood chips while Ren managed to hide under the slide. Jaune was crying like usual, the reasoning not important in the slightest.

But as Yang’s gaze passed over the swing-sets, she realized that there was a girl that she didn’t recognize. And she was crying! Yang immediately climbed down the jungle gym and rushed over to the dark-haired girl who was sitting on the ground next to the swing, clutching a scraped knee.

“Are you okay? Here, I have a bandaid you can use!” Yang grinned and held out the bandage for the girl to take. The girl sniffled and took it from Yang, putting it on and smiling back at her.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome! I’m Yang! What’s your name? Are you new?”

“I’m Blake, I moved here from Menagerie. You talk a lot.” Blake replied bluntly and looked up at Yang.

“Yeah, that’s what my mom and dad say! It’s nice to meet you! Wanna be friends?” Yang giggled as she held out her hand for Blake to take.

“Okay.” Blake replied as she took Yang’s hand and stood up, dusting the wood chips off of her legs.

From that day forward, they were practically inseparable.

~~~~~

“Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“Aw come on, that’s boring Blakey!” Yang hollered as she turned to look at Blake, who was braiding Yang’s hair. She was the only person who was allowed to touch it, and honestly the only person Yang wanted to touch her hair besides her dad and sister.

“You know that I’m boring, Yang.” Blake responded as she finished Yang’s hair off with two hair ties and moved to sit on Yang’s bed next to her.

“Of course you’re not boring, you’re my best friend. Oh! I have a good question. Do you have a crush on anyone at Signal?”

“Oh, well I guess that Adam kid is pretty cool.” Blake admitted as she looked out the window into Yang’s backyard and blushed slightly.

“Ohhhh, Blake has a crush! Blake has a crush!” Yang teased as she made a silly face and ran around the room.

“Stop it!” Blake shouted as she chased Yang around the room before they both fell on the floor laughing hysterically.

“What about you Yang? That guy Junior seems to like you..” Blake asked after catching her breath, turning over and looking into Yang’s eyes.

“Junior? Nah, he’s just a friend. I don’t...I don’t really like anyone.” Yang hesitated and stared up at the ceiling.

“I always know when you’re lying, silly. Who do you like?”

“Ugh fine, I’ll tell you. The truth is...I’ve never really liked boys. I think I like girls.” Yang sighed and felt her face heating up. She wasn’t sure how Blake was going to respond to this revelation. She’d known for a few months, but wasn’t sure how to bring it up to her.

“Oh really? I think that’s cool. Adam is really handsome, but Pyrrha is also very pretty.” Blake smiled at Yang and grabbed her hand, squeezing lightly.

“Ah, the transfer girl from Argus Middle School? Yeah, I guess so. Wait what did you just say?” Yang sat up and looked at Blake. She stared down at Blake’s hand and squeezed back, grinning at the dark-haired girl next to her.

“I understand Yang. We might only be 13 years old, but this is when we figure out who we are. I’ll always support you.” Blake smiled gently and wrapped Yang in a hug.

“I’ll always be here for you too.”

~~~~~

“He broke up with me.”

“Oh Blake, come here.”

Outside of Yang’s home was a teary-eyed Blake shivering in the cold. Yang pulled Blake inside and wrapped the girl in a tight hug. Blake sobbed into Yang’s shoulder for what seemed to be hours until she was finally calm enough to talk in full sentences.

“Do you want to go up to my room?”

Blake nodded. Yang grabbed Blake’s hand and took her upstairs into her room, closing the door and locking it. They sat down on Yang’s bed and continued to hold hands. Blake clearly wanted reassurance that Yang would stay.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

“There..isn’t much to say. He texted me saying that he wanted a break this morning. Adam was never one for confrontation unless it really mattered, so I guess that I was never that important to him in the first place.” Blake sighed as she looked at the ground.

“Of course you're important Blake. You’re the most important person to me out of anyone. Well, you and Ruby are tied, but you know what I mean. Adam was always a piece of shit.” Yang responded by wrapping her arm around Blake’s shoulders and looking her in the eyes. She wiped away the tears on Blake’s cheeks with her thumb and smiled at her.

“Oh..thank you. Yang...I—” Blake started before pausing and cutting off her train of thought. No, this wasn’t right. They were in high school together, and they were best friends, but that’s all that they could ever be. Wishing for something more was pure stupidity.

“What is it Blakey? Do you need something from me?”

“Yang…” Blake shook her head and decided that actions were better than words in this moment. Before she could seriously think it through, Blake caressed Yang’s cheek and placed her hand on the side of Yang’s jaw, pulling her in for a kiss.

After the immediate shock of the situation wore off, Yang put her arms around Blake’s neck and kissed her back gently. Embers crackled to life in Yang’s chest, her heart beating incredibly fast and her stomach filling with butterflies. It was as if their two souls had melded into one during that raw, exposed moment. Running her hand through Blake’s hair, Yang sighed and kissed Blake again like it was the last thing she would ever do.

It was Blake. It had always been Blake. Blake was the one she was meant to be with. Adam was just some obstacle that had stood in the way of what was real.

It was after a few minutes of lapsed judgement that Yang finally pulled away, leaning her forehead against Blake’s and catching her breath.

“Blake...That was...wow.”

“Yeah.”

“I just…” Yang started, inhaling and exhaling a few times while deciding upon what needed to be said.

“Listen Blake. You’re really vulnerable right now, and I’m so sorry that I took advantage of you like that. If this is...If this is what you really want, then in three weeks, come talk to me. I’ll be waiting for you.”

Blake looked into Yang’s eyes and nodded after a minute of silence.

“Yeah. Yeah okay.”

A few minutes later, Blake left Yang’s house and Yang finally exited her bedroom, plopping onto the couch and staring out the window in solace. When she heard Ruby padding around the kitchen most likely looking for some cookies, she turned to face her with a solemn look on her face.

“You love her don’t you? You’re in love with Blake.”

“Ruby I...It’s complicated. You and Weiss were able to figure things out, and now you’re dating. Blake isn’t there yet. She might not ever get there. But yeah, I think..I think I do. Love her.”

Ruby walked over to Yang and wrapped her into a hug.

~~~~~

“Honey, I’m home!”

“Do you really have to do that every time you walk into our apartment?”

“Of course I do! What do you take me for?” Yang responded lightheartedly and walked over to her girlfriend who was standing in the doorway of their bedroom, grasping her face and giving her a swift kiss on the lips.

“You know you love me Blakey.”

“Yes, unfortunately I do.” Blake sighed sarcastically and wrapped Yang in a hug, nuzzling against her collarbone.

“I missed you.”

“Aw, I missed you too baby. Ruby and Weiss are taking extra long to decide on what movie to bring, but they should be here soon.”

“Can’t we just cancel? I wanna spend time with you.” Blake mumbled as she inhaled Yang’s calming scent of citrus and firewood.

“It’s so adorable when you’re clingy. Sorry kitten, it’s too late to cancel now. They‘re probably on their way by now.” Yang whispered as she kissed Blake on the top of the head and hugged her closer.

“I am not clingy. But can we at least cuddle during the movie?”

“Yes you are.” Yang chuckled to herself. “And of course we can snuggle, it’s one of the best things to do during a movie!”

“Oh? And what exactly is better than that?”

“Pranking Ruby and the Ice Queen of course! They fall asleep almost every time, I have so many pictures to blackmail them with.”

“I can’t believe you still call her that.”

“Watching Weiss get annoyed by something so unimportant never grows old.”

“You’re such a dork.”

“Yeah, but I’m your dork.”

The doorbell rang and Ruby and Weiss walked into the apartment, interrupting their train of thought. Ruby ran straight to the living room and popped the movie into the DVD player while Weiss followed behind her, setting her things next to the coffee table.

“What’s up Rubes? Ice queen. Good to see you.”

“Hey! Stop calling me that!”

“Hi Yang! Hey Blake! I brought Nightmare Zombie Town 5!”

“Haven’t we watched this movie like twenty times?” Yang asked as she and her girlfriend moved towards the living room, still holding hands. After Yang gave Ruby her usual noogie, her and Blake sat on the couch and huddled close to each other, the two of them almost constantly inhabiting the same space.

“That’s what I told her, but Ruby insisted.” Weiss sighed as she grabbed Ruby’s hand. “She can be quite persuasive though.”

Yang purposely pretended to gag at Weiss’ admission and kissed Blake’s cheek, settling in to watch the film for the hundredth time.

“How are your classes going Weiss? Have you made any progress on your thesis?” Blake asked Weiss genuinely; she did like hearing about how her friends were doing.

“Classes are fine. My thesis is almost complete, but I need to send it to Ozpin for his approval. What about you two? How are things?” Weiss replied with the utmost sincerity she could give.

“Being an engineering major is rough!” Yang interrupted and laid her hand on Blake’s thigh.

“Yes Yang, engineering is difficult when you sleep in class every day. Anyway, literature has been really enjoyable lately. We’re writing a short story this week.” Blake continued, placing her hand on top of Yang’s. Yang scoffed at her and pretended to pout.

“That’s good to hear. Well, shall we get started?” Weiss offered as she wrapped an arm around Ruby on the floor.

“Yes finally! I’ve been looking forward to this for hours!” Ruby announced, moving closer to Weiss and grinning from ear to ear.

A few hours had passed when Blake finally spoke again, despite Yang’s goofy comments and constant touching throughout the entire movie. Ruby and Weiss had passed out on the floor together, surrounded by a pile of blankets and pillows. However, Blake and Yang were still awake, holding each other closely.

“You know, I’m so glad that you offered to help me that day when we were kids. If not, then I never would’ve met you. I never would’ve fallen for you. You’re my best friend, the one person I would dare to call my soulmate even. I’m so happy that I met you.” Blake whispered, a genuine smile on her face.

“Me too Blake. If it weren’t for you, I may have lived my whole life thinking I was happy. But now I know the truth. You make me feel at home. And that will never change.” Yang whispered in Blake’s ear, bringing her girlfriend into a slow intoxicating kiss that was completely different from every single one before then. This one screamed pure love and adoration, stronger than ever before.

Many more words could’ve been exchanged in that moment, but all that mattered was that they were here, together. Their entire lives had led up to this very moment, hearts beating as one, emotions raw and real. Yang knew that Blake would always be with her. No one needed to tell her that. Blake knew that Yang was the one all along. No one needed to tell her that either. They may not ever get to have a moment like this again, huddled close together with their true emotions revealed and their hearts bared on their chests.

They were okay with that.

[that-damn-girl]

New Nicknames

(Oneshot)

Pairing: Stucky (Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers) (MCU)

Second part of my collection of oneshots/drabbles for Stucky in the same universe in chronological order - His. Could be read as a STAND ALONE drabble since ‘His’ is NOT a series.

Type: Fluff, cuddling.

Words: 1250+

Summary: Steve comforts Bucky as they give nicknames to each other.

Warning: Ignore any sad endings in 'Avengers: Endgame'.

A/N: This is my submission for @writingsoftheloser 's 1.5K Writing Challenge. Congratulations honey, and thank you for letting me participate! My prompt was 'Lady's mantle - Comfort'. I am so sorry I asked for an extension of 2 days and posted this nearly 2 weeks later. Hope you like it.

A/N[2]: I heartily thank @mysiepereira for letting me use their fanart (below, NOT MINE) for this fic. Please go checkout their account which has multiple such cute artworks. Tell me if they don't melt your heart.

Life had become beautiful for Bucky with Steve by his side as not only his best friend but also a loving boyfriend. It was a promotion he knew he'd remain grateful for the rest of his life.

Steve was sketching in his notebook on his bed, his legs crossed in front of him, under the slanting rays of the sun through his window when Bucky knocked and entered his room, closing the door quietly behind him.

Smiling gleefully at his secret lovely boyfriend - he loved calling him that, Steve put his notebook down and sat up straighter as Bucky neared his side of the bed. Clutching Steve's face, Bucky leaned down to kiss Steve's pink lips softly at first, but when Steve grabbed his butt and pulled him nearer, the kiss was anything but that.

Bucky parted with a peck to Steve's nose and forehead before making Steve lay on the bed, "Hey Buck, what are you doing?"

Bucky didn't answer until he climbed Steve halfway through, "Hey Stevie, your pecs are my new pillow." He placed his head down on Steve's voluminous left pec and hugged him close.

Like a golden retriever, Steve barked out a laugh, "Guess I'd have to sign up as your human pillow now, huh?"

Bucky smiled, "The best." He pecked his pecs before resuming his position. He listened to Steve's heartbeat, calming himself down.

It had been difficult hiding their relationship from the team. Though they had admitted it to themselves, it had been difficult just thinking about being open to others about something which despite being legal was considered scandalous in the eyes of many still.

They weren't ashamed of themselves. Why should they be anyway? But it wasn't easy to overcome the fear of society instilled in their brains from back in the day about same sex relationships.

The team hadn't suspected anything as of yet. Ever since the "bliped" had returned, Bucky and Steve were practically joined at the hip. Sometimes Sam and Nat would be an addition too. They had anyways spent most of their time together before the start of their relationship. Once they were together, the team didn't even bat an eye at them always hanging out together, which made it much more easier for the pair of super soldiers helplessly in love. It was ordinary for the team and the staff. For them, pure bliss.

Behind closed doors, they'd find their solace in either Bucky's or Steve's room. For them, any place would work, really. They just needed to be in the company of each other to make a mundane moment magical. Somedays tough, it was a necessity.

Even with the help of the generous Wakandans and all the others who helped him recover after being free from HYDRA, Bucky couldn't revert back to his old self in the blink of an eye. Getting all those things he wasn't subjected to for decades - the freedom, the love, it overwhelmed him.

He still had trouble speaking and voicing his opinions, no matter how small or big they were. Everytime he thought of saying something, he unconsciously expected to be punished for speaking out of turn. Somedays, he had trouble forming words to express himself. Not that he didn't know vocabulary, but he couldn't translate his feelings into words.

Never having been taken away the basic right of speech before, Steve couldn't fully understand the reality of the torture Bucky had gone through if he were to be honest. But he tried. He had promised himself that he'd try to be there for Bucky, to support him, comfort him, be there for him anyway he could, anyway Bucky wanted or needed him. He would be the sun or the moon if the need be.

Because it was Bucky.

His Bucky.

He'd be damned if he let his lovely boyfriend let down ever again.

"How are you feeling, Buck?" Steve asked like a mother would to their child. He rubbed soft circles on Bucky's back.

Bucky wanted to say he was fine, but he wasn't. That day he woke up feeling not as good as usual. Steve had made Bucky promise to voice out whatever whenever he wanted without any hesitation, so he said, "Down."

"Thank you," Steve kissed the top of his head and pulled the both of them under his blanket. Steve understood it was hard for Bucky to say how he felt. To encourage it, he always thanked Bucky for not shutting him out and communicating with him even when he might not want to talk to anyone.

"You?" Bucky asked him. Grinning, he said, "As good as a human pillow could feel." Bucky chuckled.

"You remember that day we were training those agents?" Steve asked, combing Bucky's hair through his fingers. He hummed in response.

"I saw a few of those dames fawn endlessly over you, specially when they got a look of your backside. Some lads too. Made me so jealous."

Bucky furrowed his eyebrows, afraid Steve would become insecure, "Of me?"

"No," Steve replied, "of those who got to admire your beauty while I couldn't."

Bucky sheepishly grinned at Steve, "Oh, is that so?"

Steve hummed, "Everybody wants to have a look at my beautiful boyfriend."

Bucky laughed, "I like that."

Steve thought for a second, "What, 'beautiful boyfriend'?"

"Yeah. I - uh, I love it when you call me your boyfriend in general, and that has a nice ring to it. I like it." Bucky said, hiding his face in Steve's chest.

Steve grinned impossibly wide, "My beautiful boyfriend, Bucky." He wrapped his arms around the metal armed marshmallow who melted atop him.

"What would you like me to call you, handsome hunk?" Bucky asked in a teasing tone.

Steve chuckled, pausing for a second, "I don't know if you'll be okay with it..."

"You don't gotta worry about that, Stevie. It could be anything as long as you are mine." Bucky reassured him, absent mindedly drawing patterns on Steve's chest.

"Uh..." Steve began, unsure how to bring it up.

Bucky whispered, "Anything, Stevie."

Taking a deep breath, Steve continued without much confidence, "You - uh, remember what you called the girls you used to date back in the day?"

Taking a moment, he said, "I think I remember," Bucky lifted his head to look up at the love of his life, "doll."

Bucky would never forget how fast Steve changed colour, "Yeah, that..." He tried looking elsewhere, embarrassment clouding his demeanor.

Bucky was having none of that. He reached out to bring Steve's face towards himself and kissed him slowly, biting his lip gently at the end, "I'd loved to call you that." He hugged Steve tighter this time as he lay on top of him, "My doll."

Steve was thankful Bucky didn't face him this time, since he swore his face must have become as red as the henly Bucky wore.

Laying on top of him, Bucky felt Steve's heartbeat quicken when he called him that. He snuggled further into his chest, relishing the love and warmth he received.

Yeah, life had become very, very beautiful for the beautiful boyfriend and his doll.

~~~

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[themarauderstheoutsidersandpeggy]

I literally just thought of this but what if Bucky’s girlfriend was pregnant before the snap and when he comes back he meets their daughter 😭 I’m soft

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Caroline’s small, chubby hand wrapped around the pendant on your necklace, and as cliche as it sounds, it was actually one of Bucky’s old dog tags. He had a few of them from what was left of his old life and you’d managed to snag one. She stared at the weathered silver, tracing a little finger over her father’s name and smiling. 

“Mama? When ‘m I meetin’ Papa?”

“Soon sweetheart. I got a message saying he was on his way. Do you remember what I told you? That Papa doesn’t know that you’re here, everything happened before we knew you were in my tummy. And I never told him, I wanted him to see you for the first time himself. So I’m gonna hide you when he comes inside, then you can come out and you can meet him, okay?”

She nodded, wriggling out of your hold and running off to go play with some of her toys in her room. She was a little over four years old, having been conceived only days before the snap. Before you’d lost everything you’d had. But, you supposed, you gained something too, little Caroline. 

Explaining to her why her Papa wasn’t around was hard, but the norm around the world as Thanos had destroyed families worldwide. But just earlier today, you’d been at the supermarket with Caroline, trying to control her four year old, out of control attitude to grocery shopping. While putting three boxes of pure sugar away, your phone had rung. Only one person had that ringtone, and only one person had that contact name.

(@3dollarminyoongi​ this is what happens when we listen to the ocean together) 

Cowabucky: Incoming Call

You tried to quell the terror and thrill that rose at the same time, hesitantly sliding the accept button over and raising the phone to your ear.

“…Hello?”

“Y/N?”

There seemed to be a weight crushing your chest while another one was lifted a the same time, you were in such shock that you couldn’t breathe, but you had to, you had to talk to him, it was really him, it was him, he’s back, it was him.

You’d excitedly agreed when he asked if he could come over, reminding him that it was his home too, even if he hadn’t been there in five years. That was twenty minutes ago, he should be here any minute now.

Right on cue, feet thudded up to the front door and you made sure Caroline’s door was shut and that she was ready before you ran and opened it. You launched yourself out at Bucky but he did the same to you, so you met in the middle, collided in a mass of broken hearts being stitched by the second, and previous helplessness being replaced with a sense of purpose again. Not that Caroline wasn’t your purpose, but without her father, it was harder than you could ever imagine. 

After a moment of teary embraces you broke apart, welcoming Bucky back and leading him inside. You brought him through each room under the guise of showing off new decor but you got to your little girl’s room and could hardly contain your smile.

“And this room, has definitely my favorite new addition to the house since you’ve been gone. I can’t want for you to see h-uh, it.” You slowly swung the door open, revealing the little brunette on the rug, hair in bouncy pigtails and hands clutching toy princesses. 

“Papa! I’ve seen pictures of you! Mama said you were comin’ home today and you did! ‘M Caroline, Mama said you didn’t know that I was in her tummy when you left, but I’m here!”

Bucky’s eyes were widened in shock, mouth opening and closing like a fish before he finally let out a strangled cry, dropping to his knees and beckoning Caroline to him. The little girl ran towards her father and he scooped her up, cradling the back of her head with his metal hand. He kissed her little forehead, eyes glancing up and down, up and down, up and down, all over the little girl and matching each of her features to either yours or his. Your eyes, his nose, his hair, your lips. 

She located the chain around his neck, pulling it out with a soft gasp,

“Mama! Papa! You match!”

“Yeah, we do! They’re both Papa’s, that’s why.”

Caroline nodded, tracing her finger again over the letters James Buchanan Barnes. Before, they were just letters that made up a name, Now they were the letters that made up the name of her Papa, her Papa. 

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[frickfracksnatchisback]

( meeps back into existence) I have the hurt comfort sad moon in submits for you....Also, 1: I LOVE THE STEAMPUNK AND PLS TURN IT INTO A REAL AU and 2: the next prompt could be....Metallic and affectionate! ( I'm failing at being sneaking. I just really want more insight on steamjumper) - Silver

((Already posted the other two things, just using this ask for the prompt)) Alright, I’ve got the new prompt for you as well! Robotic (as in the AGIT AU) and Anger. I feel like we need more angry Moonbot in our lives, so why not?

Here we go again with Steam Punk Hat AU!

***

“YOUDID WHAT?!”

Moonjumpercringed at the shouting, knowing very well who it belonged to. He washiding behind the basement door, having cracked it just enough so hecould listen in on the conversation.

Hattiehad been visiting him for the past couple days after she had freedhim. At first, Moonjumper planned “fix” her so she could be withhim forever and later they could make their escape. But after a bitof negotiation, Hattie had somehow convinced him to go with a betterplan. To instead, live with her and her family and not turnher into a robot. (She had told him over and over that she wasperfectly fine with being human, though he didn’t quite understandwhy)

Hattiehad told him to stay in the basement until she talked things overwith her father. But Moonjumper was pretty sure he knew what kind of“father” she was dealing with. And an inkling feeling in his veryCore told him that this plan wasn’t going to work at all.

“Pleasedon’t be mad at me! I just wanted to-”

“Itold you not to go down there! Do you have any idea whatcould’ve happened to you?!” the shouting returned, cutting offthe little girl’s words abruptly. “You could’ve been hurt or-”

“Orwhat?! Find the robot in the basement that you locked up?!”Moonjumper felt himself gasp at Hattie’s words. Had it been underdifferent circumstances, he would have found her retorts ratherhumerus. But the atmosphere was extremely tense, with his fate beingon the line. Would she even be able to convince her traitor of afather to let him be free?

Moonjumperleaned closer, listening intently as there was a short period ofsilence.

“H-howdid you-?” the creator spoke, clearly phased. But the disbeliefonly lasted for so long. “Listen, I know it looks bad. But trustme, there’s a good reason for why I-”

“Nothere isn’t! You locked him down there without even giving him achance!”

“Thatthing down there isn’t a ‘he’. It’s just a machine-”

“Nohe ISN’T!” Moonjumper startled at Hattie’s angryscreams. “He’s a person and his name is Moony! And he told methat you-”

“HarrietJeannette Tyme, that is enough!” Moonjumper could feel achill in the air after those words were spoken. He felt incrediblynervous. With such an authoritative parent like that, how on earthcould Hattie get through with this plan? But he also felt incrediblyfurious. How dare his creator call him a“thing”! He barely had any room to talk, treating him like just amindless “machine”! He had feelings, and at least Hattieunderstood that he-

“Youknow what? I’m not going to tolerate this any longer.” Moonjumperwas immediately snapped out of his thoughts, as he heard footstepsquickly approaching.

“Daddy…?Daddy where are you going?” littler steps followed, and Hattie’svoice clearly sounded panicked.

“Ishould have lock that door up when I left that monster downthere.” the footsteps continued to get closer and closer, until hiscreator was right at the foot of the door. He heard the clinking ofkeys after, which almost sent a shock through his system.

“NO!DADDY PLEASE DON’T-”

HearingHattie’s pleads was enough to send Moonjumper over the edge. Andwith incredible force, he burst through the door. He could hear a cryof surprise, as his creator lost his bearings and fell to the floor.The keys hit also hit the floor with a clank, right in frontof Moonjumper’s wheel.

Moonjumper’seyes were bright red, and full of rage. He looked down at hiscreator, who was laying on the floor and looking up at him in fear.His eyes switched from his creator, to the keys on the floor. Thecreator noticed this, and before he could make to grab the keys back-

Moonjumpersnatched the keys from off the floor. He made his creator watch,horrified, as he crushed the keys in his metal grasp. With horriblecrunching noises, Moonjumper destroyed the keys until they werepractically unusable. He then dropped the mangled and bent keys,letting them fall to the ground once more. His creator simply watchedas Moonjumper towered over him, his large shadow looming over thefloor.

“N-n-not…apri…soner…” Moonjumper growled, his clawed handsoutstretched above his head. “W-w-won’t lo…ck me a…way!”he yelled, ready to pouch on his creator and-

Moonjumperfroze, as he finally heard the sobs of a child.

Heturned his gaze away from his creator, only to see Hattie huddled inthe corner. And she was crying, her face in her hands. Moonjumper’sarms fell to his sides, his eyes turning back to yellow.

“H-H-Hattie?A-a-are you o…kay?”Moonjumper called to her, in a softer and much gentler tone. He startto roll away from his targeton the floor andtowards her instead.

“No!You stay away from her you-” Thorcalled out to him, readyinghimself to jump up off the floor and intervene. Fearfulfor what his creation would do to his only daughter, he made to stopMoonjumper.

Buthewas too late, as his creation was right above his poor, defenselessdaughter. Thorfroze,as he saw Moonjumperleaningcloser to her and-

…huggedher?

“S-s-shhh…It’so…kay…”Moonjumper tried to soothe her, rubbing her back and holding hertighter.

Thorstood there, dumbfounded, as his creation begantocuddlehis daughter. And his daughter returned the affection, holdingMoonjumpercloserand crying into his metal body. Thorsimply watched, feeling a mix of dread, guilt, and confusion buildingup inside him.He was still afraid of what his creation was doing, andwhywouldn’t he be? But seeing his daughter cry like that…while hecreation was the only one calming her down. Well, that made him feellike he made a big mistake as father. But at the same time, why washis creation being so…nice? And emotional?

“I’m…I’mso s-sorry, Moony!” Hattie sobbed, hiccuping in between her words.“I d-didn’t…I just w-wanted to help-”

“I-i-it’salright…you…r fine…”Moonjumper kept on, starting to cradle Hattie in his arms. As Hattiewasn’t looking, he took a moment to glare at Thor. Pure hate was inhis eyes, with them slightly turning red before going back to yellow.

Thorfelt a deep jealously growing in his heart. Hewas supposed to be the one caring for his daughter. And instead, thisrobot was the one drying her tears and comforting her. It shouldn’teven have emotions! And yet…

Yet…

Therealization struck Thor. It didhave emotion. Actual, human emotion. Could it be? Did the “Core”piece really bring his creation to life? Tim had warned him about it,but it’s not like he believed in all that magical mumbo-jumbo atthe time. He’d just thought of it as a power source and nothingmore. But now, he finally realized the truth. And there wasirrefutable proof, right in front of him, to prove it.

“I…”Thor felt himself speak up, grabbing both Moonjumper’sand his daughter’s attention. “…I’mso sorry.” he tried to apologize, recalling all the things he hadsaid or done. Moonjumper gave him a skeptical look, but he kept on.“I had no clue that you were really alive. I just…thought thatyou were-”

“A-a-amind…less ma…chine?”Moonjumper frowned at Thor, still holding Hattie close to him. Thorfelt slight anger at that response, but it was true.

“Isthere any way thatyou can forgive me?” Thor asked, still feeling guilty. Thatis, until he realized his mistake. Once he uttered those words,Moonjumper and Hattie beamed at him with excitement. AlbeitMoonjumper’s smile was a bit more malicious that Hattie’s, whichThor quickly noticed.

“CanMoony stay with us then?!” Hattie said rather excitedly, hoppingup and down in Moonjumper’s grasp.

“Y-y-yes…S-s-stayhe…re?”Moonjumper added in malevolently,that devilish smirkstillon his face.

Thorfelt extremely reluctant, not liking the look on Moonjumper’s faceone bit.Butif it would really make his daughter happy…

“Alright,he can stay.” Thor gave in, letting out a defeated sigh.

Hattieand Moonjumper looked at each other in surprise and glee. AndHattie started to giggle, as Moonjumper lifted her off the ground andinto his arms. He spun around, making both him and Hattie laughwith childish glee.

“Hey!Be careful with her!” Thor fussed, still not trusting Moonjumperwithin an inch of his life. And Moonjumper did stop, with Hat Kidstill laughing in his arms.

“Again!Again!” she clapped her hands together. But, to Thor’s surprise,Moonjumper shook his head.

“N-n-no,no…H-h-have to…be care…ful!”Moonjumper told her, mocking Thor with his tone of voice.

“Awww…”Hattie faked her disappointment, snuggling back into Moonjumper. AndMoonjumper rested his head on top of hers, givingThor a smug look that Hattie didn’t even notice. But Thor did, andMoonjumper had wanted him to see it. Finally, little Hattie was allhis! Well…sort of, but he could work that out later. He chuckled tohimself, as Thor shook his head at them and turned to leave.Moonjumper pretended not to notice, sighing as he cuddled his Hattiewithout a care in the-

“Ihope you realize there are other robots living here! You’ll have toshare!” Thor called back, before he disappeared out of sight.Presumably back to his workshop. Moonjumper eyes snapped open insurprise.

“Ohyeah! You haven’t met Mu and Snatcher yet!” Hattie exclaimed, asMoonjumper had lifted his head up to look at her confusedly. Hestared at her for a few minutes, until a nervous grin spread acrosshis face.

“S-s-share?W-w-with fri…ends?”Moonjumper asked her, slightly cocking his head in question. AndHattie nodded at him.

“Mhm!I think you really like Snatcher! He’s really funny, like you!”Hattie smiled at him. Although Moonjumper was trying to figure out ifthat was a compliment or not. He was too busy trying to process allof this, anyways. Otherrobots? As is other robots he had to sharehis Hattie with? Moonjumper thought deeply about this, as Hattiesnuggled into him once more.

Thatmight be a problem…

[fandom-susceptible]

It’s Okay That You’re Not What You Expected

Soon to be cross-posted on AO3, a Loganbucky (Wolverine/Winter Soldier) fanfiction for the LoganBucky Fest 2018 prompt: Established Relationship.

@hellyeahloganbucky

Synopsis: Bucky has a night terror, and Logan doesn’t respond fast enough, but he manages the aftermath with obvious practice. 

Contains canon-typical but not overly graphic violence.

    Logan didn’t sleep anymore.  Not very much, anyway; his healing factor took care of restoring everything that sleep did, so he didn’t really need it except to clear and reset his mind.  He tended to put it off as long as possible, since he … really hated how he usually woke up. His bed at the X-Mansion had gone unused for years now; usually every few months when he wanted to sleep, he left, to stay here, at Avengers Mansion, where there were trained adults who knew how to handle him and who he could blame for stupidity and not simple ignorance if and when he harmed them.

    He wasn’t sleeping tonight.  He’d planned to, but he just couldn’t seem to drift off, even curled up to Bucky’s back, holding the man close with his sharp nose pressed into his neck where his scent was concentrated. Bucky was cuddling his hands and using his arm as a pillow, and he wouldn’t have moved for the world.

    That was, until Bucky’s heart rate started to rise.  It took him a minute to recognize the noise; he didn’t usually take notice of heartbeats, but in the nearly silent room, that and his love’s quickening breath was all he could hear.  Muscles slowly tensed under him and his scent began to shift as adrenaline started pumping from a building night terror.

    Logan pressed his nose harder into his love’s neck and murmured, “Shh.  Bucky. I’m here.  It’s okay, darlin’.  It’s not real.” Sometimes, when he caught the dreams early enough, that was enough.

    Bucky flexed in his arms and the metal of his left hand suddenly clenched hard enough to tear the tendons and cartilage in Logan’s wrist, making him snarl with pain, trying and failing to pull his hand away. “Bucky! James, kid, love, darlin’, I’m here,” He ran through as many names as he could think of, trying to find one that could penetrate the haze. “Bucky, it’s me, it’s Logan, fuck.” He grimaced.

     Bucky threw him out of the bed and was pinning him to the floor the next second, eyes wide and blank and face pulled into a wide grimace of a snarl.  He didn’t speak- he never spoke during terrors like this, just reached for his hunting knife.

    Logan grimaced.  His wrist had already healed, so he had two choices.  Throw Bucky off him and continue the fight until he got in an impact that stunned him until he woke up, or let him ‘kill’ him and snap Bucky out of it by the sight of his not-death.  He wryly thought he was getting too old for this shit as he just went limp and let the knife slash his throat, making a gargled shriek that never quite cut off.  His healing was too quick for a throat wound to kill him.  Well then.  He sort of preferred it when he actually died- it was less painful.  But the spurt of blood was enough to get through to Bucky.

    By the time Logan’s throat had knitted itself back together and he was sitting up, coughing up the remaining blood and spitting it out into the mess, Bucky was back against the bed, head in his hands and knees pulled up. “I’m so sorry.”

    Logan grunted softly and pulled a black towel out of their nightstand nearby to wipe the worst of the blood off him.  Well, there went that shirt . . . he was never gonna get the smell out.  He pulled it off and left it balled up on the towel when he made his way over to Bucky’s side and put a firm hand on his knee. “I’m fine, kid.”

    “Don’t call me that.” Bucky didn’t look up but his grimace was audible. “I hate it when you call me that.”

    “Because it’s what Steve calls you.” Logan guessed, mostly to get him talking.

    “No, because-“ Bucky dropped his hands with a frustrated groan. “Because it reminds me how fucking old you are.”

    Logan rolled his eyes. “Hey.  We’ve been through that.” He bumped his shoulder against Bucky’s and sighed when his lover pulled away. “Bucky.”

    “How did it end up like this?” Bucky whispered, staring at the blood soaked towel. “All I ever really wanted was to live a calm, normal life. Maybe get a job at Stark Industries.  Have a lover to hold me when the nights got cold and the heating was out.  Someone to care for, who’d do the same for me.” He dropped his head again. “How did I end up a hundred years old, still looking thirty, slitting my fiance’s throat in the middle of the night?”

    Logan sighed and gripped him, pulling him closer to cuddle. Bucky fought halfheartedly, but he was a cuddler under all his conditioning and he ended up relaxing when he realized Logan wasn’t letting go.  Despite being a supersoldier, he still wasn’t quite as strong as his mutant lover when it came down to sheer brute strength in close quarters.

    “Bucky.” Logan said after a minute, and Bucky twitched. “I want you to listen close to me, darlin’.  I love you.  It’s okay that you’re not who you thought you’d be.  It’s okay that things didn’t turn out the way you planned.” He ducked his head to nuzzle Bucky’s hair, sighing softly. “Can you honestly tell me you’d have been happier hiding away in Brooklyn, taking stolen moments with someone you can’t tell anyone about, if that, than you are here, with a group of friends and partners who would defend you with every ounce of strength they have if someone threatened you for who you love?”

    Bucky shifted to get more comfortable against him and his flesh hand unclenched to come to rest on one of Logan’s. “And with you.  If that hadn’t happened … I never could’ve stayed with you.” Then he grimaced again. “But god, I don’t deserve to.  I tried to kill you.  I might have killed your wife.”

    “No.” Logan dragged him up to look him in the eye harshly. “Don’t you ever say that again.  Don’t you ever insult my ability to recognize the scent of the man I loved, even masked in blood. I know that man wasn’t you.  He may have trained you, but he was not you.  Never, ever you.” He rested his head on Bucky’s forehead, holding him there as Bucky struggled slightly. “What can I say to help you tonight?” He asked after a moment, letting him go somewhat but keeping him from leaving with a firm hand on his wrist.

    Bucky looked down at their hands and then up at Logan’s face, eyes trailing down his neck. “I don’t know.” He said softly. “I just …” He looked down at his left shoulder and his face twisted.  He reached up and started to unlatch the metal arm.

    Logan let him, until he began to struggle, unable to reach all the locking mechanisms by himself.  Even then, he waited until Bucky was nearly in tears with frustration to quietly lean forward and get the last few catches himself.  The arm was left harmless on the floor and he helped Bucky up by the other hand, pulling him back to the bed.

    There, Logan shifted over him and tilted his head up to bare his throat. “See?  I’m okay.” He bent again to kiss Bucky softly, which Bucky shakily returned after a moment when it sank in. “I’m okay.  You will be, and it’s okay that you aren’t.  I’m gonna be here.”

    Bucky shut his eyes, not really believing it but quiet now. Logan settled with an arm over him, tucked this time against his side with his head tucked to the remains of Bucky’s metal shoulder. “I’m here, darlin’.  I’ll always be here.”

[a-splash-of-stucky]

Operation Soulmate | Eight

Pairings: Steve x Reader || Bucky x Reader || Steve x Bucky || Bucky x Nat

Summary: A brush with death.

Warnings: Blood, violence and severe injuries. Talk of depression. Language

Notes: For @marvelous-fvcks‘ writing challenge, with the prompt: Heart. Guys, the angst is almost over, but before that happens, I just gotta hurt you one more time (in the literal sense).

Operation Soulmate Masterlist

“Hey, are you…doing okay?” Sam asks.

“I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be fine?” you reply, voice coming out more terse than you’d like it to.

Sam makes a thoughtful humming noise. “You need to take it easy, y’know?”

“Don’t wanna talk about that right now,” you snap.

The two of you are on a mission in Cape Town, accompanying four of Fury’s boys. Your objective is to prevent a weapons deal from taking place. You and Sam are posted on the roof of the building opposite the warehouse where the trade is supposed to happen, keeping an eye on the roads and surrounding areas. Fury’s men are leading the mission, but the two of you are standing by, ready to intervene if things get messy.

“We’re not talkin’,” Sam drawls, “I’m just speaking to myself, and you just happen to be listening,”.

You snort, rolling your eyes in annoyance.

“Look, I’m just gonna say what I’ve been noticing lately, okay? You don’t have to say anything, just hear me out,”.

“Fine,” you grumble, shifting your stance so that you can look at Sam, whilst still keeping one eye trained on the warehouse.

“So here’s some things I’ve been noticing about you. You’ve been restless, constantly going off on missions—,”

“That’s not—,”

“Hey!” Sam protests. “I said just listen, alright? Restlessness, one. Number two,” he continues, ticking the numbers off his fingers, “You’ve been feeling persistently sad and empty. Got that one from Wanda. Three, you’ve been losing weight, Y/N. I can see it, so don’t you try and deny that one,”.

“Anything else?” you mutter.

Sam turns so that he’s looking at you dead-on. It’s dark, so you can’t really make out his features, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that the sincerity in his expression is genuine. “You’re not doing the things you used to do anymore,” he says quietly, “When was the last time you read a book for pleasure, huh? Or watched a movie? Or went outside the compound with Nat and Wanda?”. Sam pauses, putting his hands on his hips and casting his eyes downwards. “You been experiencing migraines, lately?”

“Maybe,” you reply curtly, not wanting to admit to the fact that you wake up with one nearly everyday, or that the ache in your head only gets more persistent as the day wears on. In the past week, the pains have been getting more intense, manifesting as a relentless throbbing in the base of your skull that’s really messing with your ability to think logically and tactically during missions.

Sam hums, nodding thoughtfully and crossing his arms over his chest. Though he’s looking at the building across the road, he speaks to you. “You know what all this leads me to conclude?”

You get the feeling that it’s a rhetorical question, but you grunt out a sullen, “What?” nonetheless.

“That you’ve got some form of depression,”, he says seriously.

You bark out a harsh laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous,” you scoff.

Sam shrugs. “Worked in the VA a long time, Y/N. I know what it looks like. You ever need to talk about it to somebody, I can set you up,”.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” you say dryly.

He places his hand on your shoulder, and you have to resist the urge to shrug it off. “Don’t brush this off so lightly, Y/N. You need to look out for yourself, okay? I won’t bring this up again unless you ask me to, if you promise to take it easy with the missions, alright?”

“Sure thing, dad,” you drawl, rolling your eyes sarcastically. Sam shakes his head, before turning his attention back to the warehouse, rolling his shoulders and dropping into a loose defensive stance. You’re grateful that he stays true to his word of dropping the subject.

——————————

“Seriously? Nothing at all?” you ask incredulously.

“Nothing,” Fury repeats firmly, “You and my boys seem to have taken care of the bad guys pretty good. I’ll let you know if something pops up, though,”.

“You do that,” you mutter.

The line goes dead.

With a resigned sigh, you toss your phone onto the bed and head into your bathroom to change into your workout gear, deciding that going to the gym to burn off some steam will probably do you good. The dearth of missions is suspicious. If you didn’t know better, you’d think that Sam and Wanda are conspiring against you, maybe talking to Fury behind your back and forbidding him from sending you out.

On your way to the gym, you pass by the common room, where you see Natasha cuddled up with Bucky as they watch something on the TV. He’s sprawled out on the couch, legs parted so that Nat can lie between them. Her cheek is pillowed on Bucky’s chest and his chin rests on top of her head. His metal arm is drawing gentle swirls up and down her back, and their lips move with murmured conversation.

It’s a heartbreakingly cute picture; mundane and domestic and unremarkable, but at the same time everything you could ever want to have with your partner.

The image sends an agonising flare of pain through your chest that is severe enough to make you gasp sharply and clutch the wall for support. Without warning, your vision turns hazy, and a nauseating feeling crawls its way up the back of your throat. Your muscles feel weak all of a sudden, and your knees feel like they’re going to give out on you at any minute.

“Y/N?” Bucky asks, craning his head around to look at you. “What’s wrong? Are you alright?”

You flap your hand at him weakly. “Fine,” you croak, “Just uh…stubbed my toe,”.

Bucky opens his mouth, about to say something else, but is interrupted by FRIDAY’s smooth voice coming through the overhead speakers. “Agent Romanoff, Sergeant Barnes, Agent Y/N, your presence is required in meeting room one immediately,”.

——————————

Sam, Tony, Wanda, Bruce and Steve are already sat around the oval conference table by the time the three of you arrive. Steve catches your eye as you come in, but quickly averts his gaze, snapping his attention to the screen.

“What’s going on?” Bucky asks, taking the seat beside Steve, Nat sitting on Bucky’s other side. You sink into the unoccupied chair beside Wanda — the farthest seat possible from Steve — and focus on keeping your breathing as steady as possible. Unlike the other times where your chest has flared with pain, the searing agony behind your sternum seems to be persisting this time, though thankfully, it’s not as intense as it was in the common room. Wanda, noticing your strained posture, gives you a suspicious side-eye, but makes no comment.

“Alright everyone, we’ve got a situation in Manhattan, Upper West Side,” Steve says brusquely. The screen on the wall comes to life, displaying news clips that depict robots storming the streets of the city as terrified civilians run amok. “Robots of unknown origin, no entry portal or mothership to speak of. They seem to be crawling out of the Hudson,”.

“What do they want?” Sam asks.

“Unclear,” Steve replies, shrugging apologetically. “For now, they seem to be ransacking buildings with no clear pattern as to what buildings they attack,”.

“So what’s the plan, Cap?” Natasha questions.

“Stark, your suits are waterproof, right?”

Tony snorts indignantly. “Are my suits waterproof? Who d’you think I am?”

A strained smile graces Steve’s lips. Trust Tony to provide some comic relief in an otherwise grim situation. “Alright, I want you going into the Hudson. Try to figure where they’re coming from and report back,”.

“Got it,” Tony says, nodding firmly.

Steve begins to make his way around the table, assigning each individual a role. “Bucky, sniper. Set yourself up on a building somewhere in the middle of all the action and fire away. Sam — air support. I need you to be my eyes in the sky. You see a cluster of robots, you send somebody there…”.

When he finally gets to you and Wanda, at the end of the line, he hesitates. You wait with baited breath, wondering if Steve is even going to let you go on this one. As your commanding officer, if Steve believes that the tension between you two could threaten the success of the mission, he has the power to keep you in the compound, or force you to stay on the quinjet. You don’t think that Steve’s petty enough to resort to those lengths, but it would indeed be the cruelest form of punishment — allowing you to help in battle, without taking part in the action.

In the end, your fears are unfounded. Steve turns to Wanda, speaking to her directly; you might as well not exist, what with the way he’s scorning you. “Wanda, I want you to take Y/N to cover the upper right quadrant. I know you two have been training together lately,”.

You wince at his coldness, unable to ignore the twinge of sorrow in your heart at his rejection. Or maybe, that’s your chest pain acting up again. At this point, you can’t tell the difference anymore.

“Sure thing, Steve,” Wanda replies smoothly, chancing a glance at you and quirking her eyebrows up as a form of apology. You shrug indifferently — if Steve can’t put aside his differences to address you personally, that’s his problem.

“I don’t think Y/N should go on this one,” Sam says abruptly. Enraged, you whirl on him, narrowing your eyes in fury.

“What? Why not?” you snap.

Steve is staring at Sam with an expression of curiosity on his face. Sam sighs, turning to look at the Cap. “I’ve read the mission reports from Fury’s team. There’s mention of her experiencing acute chest pains and faint spells whilst in pursuit, not to mention poor judgement calls in high-stress situations,”.

“You had no business reading them, Sam,” you hiss.

“Wait—is that what that was just now?” Bucky interjects, shifting his gaze to you. “Back in the common room, you looked like you had trouble breathing,”. Concern is written all over his features, which in turn causes waves of pain to radiate through your chest. You grit your teeth and clench your fists, schooling your face to remain neutral, so as to not betray the hurt you feel inside.

“I am fine,” you growl menacingly. “You need as many people as you can get on this mission. Let me come with you,”.

Steve sighs impatiently, crossing his arms over his chest. His eyes meet yours and your breath catches; this will be the first time that Steve’s said more than three words to you in a single sitting since that confrontation in the gym. “Y/N,” he says sternly, “Are you fit enough to go on this mission? I can’t have you jeopardising the safety of the rest of the team,”.

You nod firmly, not breaking eye contact with him. “I’m in perfect health, Cap. Let’s go,”. From the corner of your eye, you can see Sam shaking his head in disapproval, and by your side, you can feel Wanda’s raging stare practically drilling a hole through your skull.

“Alright,” Steve replies, tone holding a note of finality in it. He turns off the projector and gives one last cursory glance over the group. “Suit up everyone, wheels up in ten,”.

——————————

“Wanda, behind you!” you scream, as you fend of yet another bot with a canon-blast of air. You watch as Wanda whirls around, right fist beginning to glow red. She thrusts her hand forward, sending tendrils of scarlet curling around the torso of a robot launching itself towards her, using them to slam the bot into the street and severe its head.

“Thanks!” she calls, immediately turning her attention to another pair of bots creeping up on her right side.

Sam’s voice crackles through the comm unit in your ear. “Wanda, Y/N, you got a group of roughly twenty bots, two blocks east,” he says. Behind the shrill wail of sirens and the general racket of screaming civilians, you can make out the whoosh of his wings as he flies above you.

“Thanks, Sam,” you say, making your way over to Wanda, who has eliminated the robots with ease. They resemble gleaming silver skeletons, more than anything else. Their limbs are scrawny sticks, but the hands have in-built laser beams that pack a nasty punch. The only reinforced part of their body seems to be the torso; any bullets you land there simply ricochet off. You’ve discovered that the most effective way to dispose of them is to simply rip their head off, either using brute force, or via a strong gust of wind.

The battle does not seem to be ending anytime soon. As Steve mentioned during your briefing, the robots seem to have no goal besides wreaking havoc in Manhattan, smashing through windows and generally destroying the area. Though the team is trying to figure out what their objective is, thus far, no clues have cropped up.

Wanda and you start to jog east, heading towards the robot cluster that Sam detected.

“Fuck,” you hiss, doubling over with your hands on your knees, as an agonising spear of pain shoots through your chest, stealing your breath with its intensity. You register Wanda rushing to your side and putting her hands on your shoulders. She’s talking to you, but you can’t make out what she’s saying, because the only thing you can focus on is the feeling of your heart trying to rip itself apart. You force yourself to take in deep lungfuls of air, hoping that the discomfort will go away soon.

“Y/N? Talk to me, what’s happening?” Wanda asks, her voice sounding warped and garbled in your head.

“Just a cramp,” you gasp out. You realise that you’re leaning heavily against her and in response, push her away, wanting to stand on your own. The jarring action only serves to make you dizzier.

“Hey, take it easy,” Wanda says gently, “You wanna go back to the quinjet?”

“Nah,” you say, shaking your head adamantly.

“Y/N, come on—,”.

“I ain’t gonna let you have all the fun out here,”, you say, trying to inject as much humour into your voice as you can. “Really, I’m fine now, I—,”.

“Wanda? Y/N? What’s going on?” says Steve in your ear.

“Y/N has just—,”.

“Everything’s fine, Steve,” you interrupt, “Wanda and I are going to tackle a group of robots that Sam’s spotted,”.

“Copy that,”.

Wanda shoots you an unamused glare, but you stalk ahead of her before she can say anything else. On the bright side of things, the searing ache in your chest has largely dissipated, replaced by an unrelenting throb. Mercifully, the discomfort is at least at a bearable level. In more depressing news, the constant ache prevents you from pouring all your concentration into the fight, therefore making you more vulnerable. Wanda keeps pace by your side, the two of you walking in silence at a brisk pace.  

When the group of robots loom on the horizon, you and Wanda duck behind an overturned bus to avoid being seen. You observe them for a while, noting how the bots standing in a loose huddle formation in the middle of the street, looking around as if awaiting orders.

“Hey, you wanna try out the False Target move we’ve been practicing?” you whisper. Though you’ve done the manoeuvre countless times during your training sessions, you and Wanda have yet to use it in a combat situation. Now seems like the perfect opportunity to test out its effectiveness.

Wanda cocks her head to the side and casts her eyes over the area, assessing the surroundings. “Looks like a good place to do it in. I think I can use that car over there,” she murmurs, gesturing towards the abandoned black sedan on her right.

“Great. You stay here and I’ll go around. Once I’m in position, you go for it, okay?”

“Got it,”.

You sneak out around the back of the bus, then sprint for the next vehicle along — a banged-up pickup truck. You stealthily creep around the huddle of robots by repeating this process; hiding yourself behind vehicles and blocks of concrete, then risking a run out in the open when you’re sure the bots aren’t looking. Slowly, you make your way to the other end of the road, approximately two hundred metres away from Wanda. You crouch behind an abandoned car, ready to leap up when Wanda sends the chosen projectile soaring through the sky.

The persistent throbbing in your chest has started to pick up. You send a mental prayer to any god that’s listening — this is not a good time for you to collapse.

“In position,” you breathe.

“Copy that. Sending it over now,” Wanda replies.

When you see a crimson glow in the distance, you straighten up, spreading your legs and bracing yourself for the inevitable kick-back that comes with blasting such a concentrated gust of air. Thankfully, the robots haven’t caught sight of you.

Without warning, an excruciating cramp explodes in your chest, making your lungs seize up and your knees buckle. Your heart feels like it’s being squeezed too tight and your pulse roars in your ears, drowning out nearly every other sound.

In the distance, you can see Wanda lifting the sedan into the air, getting ready to throw it in your direction. The robots have started to chatter and squeal amongst themselves, but, by sheer stroke of luck, they haven’t scattered yet.  

Your movements have become sluggish. You’re commanding your hands to get into the position you need them to be in, yet it takes an eternity for your muscles to respond — it’s like your bodily circuits are malfunctioning, due to the pain spreading through you. You growl frustratedly, willing your arms to hold themselves steady, and your hands to feel for the spaces in the air. Your vision swims, making everything go hazy around the edges for a moment.

The car is sailing towards you now and this is the crucial moment. Timing is key, precision is everything. You push past the nausea in your throat, the pounding in your skull, the debilitating pain in your chest. Breathing deeply through your nose, you manage to still the tremble in your fingers, allowing you get a good grip on the air so that you can push.

Just get through this, you tell yourself, just get through this and then you can sit down, catch a break.

Another wave of agony courses through your body, making you totter unsteadily on your feet. You cry out in pain as the vice around your heart tightens even further, gripping the muscle so hard you think that it’s going to burst out of your chest. You can’t manage anything more than shallow, wheezing breaths now, and the lack of oxygen supply is not helping your brain at all. The discomfort is torturous, stealing all of your concentration—

The car draws nearer.

You need to focus, dammit, so you grit your teeth and focus on the feel of the air against your palms, seeking out the joints within it. You lock onto an air pocket and steel yourself to deliver an almighty gust of wind.

Wanda’s voice rings loud in your comms uint, somehow managing to cut through the deafening cacophony in your brain. “Now, Y/N, now!”

You snap your palms forward, expecting to feel the air rippling around you as it billows outward.

Except…nothing happens.

You frown in confusion. There’s a piercing pain starting up in your temple, preventing you from thinking straight, so you just try again, more forcefully this time.

Still, nothing.

“What are you waiting for?” Wanda shouts.

The car gets even closer.

Your entire body is giving out on you, at this point. Your muscles are no longer responding because they’re crippled by pain, and the excruciating discomfort in your chest has kicked up a notch, setting every nerve ending in your body alight.

You thrust your palm forward again and want to scream in irritation, because nothing fucking happens. Why won’t the air move, damn it? Why can’t you feel it properly? In desperation, you yank your right glove off — swallowing back the queasiness accompanying the sudden action — and try to search for the air pockets with your bare skin. You manage to locate one and push your hand against it, but the gust of wind you generate is barely more than a tickling breeze.

“Y/N, move!”, Wanda screams, terror rife in her tone.

Ignoring her, you continue feeling for the joints and spaces in the air. There. You find another air pocket, this one slightly larger than the last, and channel what little energy you have left into the shove, pushing both hands forwards forcefully—

The car is almost upon you.

A wretched sob rips free of your throat, as the constricting feeling around your chest becomes more acute. Your ribs feel like they’re collapsing on each other. Your heart feels like it’s going a million miles an hour, beating so fast that the thud-thud sounds more like a continuous note. Your harsh pants grate against your eardrums. Blackness lurks around the periphery of your increasingly blurry vision.

“Y/N!” Wanda shrieks desperately. Distantly, you register other voices in your earpiece, adding to the clamour in your mind.

Your brain belatedly realises that your power have, for whatever reason, failed you. Your instincts are screeching at you, telling you to move, but you’re paralysed, caught like a deer in the headlights. Out of the corner of your eye, you see a glint of red and gold mental swooping in — Tony. But he’s too far away, he’s never going to make it in time. People are shouting at you, voices are screaming in your ear—

The car crashes into you.

The world is just a series of flashes after that.

When the car slams into you, you’re thrown backwards, colliding with an abandoned truck at full force. You crumple to the ground, pain spreading through every nerve in your body. Everything feels like it’s on fire — your skin, your nerves, your muscles — but you know, somehow, that the agony is not just because you’ve just been hit by a four thousand pound vehicle. The pain is not only a result of your physical injuries; it’s originating from a place deep within your core.

The sharp, metallic tang of blood fills your nostrils, and you feel wetness trickling down your cheek and into your mouth. You register several broken bones, possibly a couple of fractured ribs. Something inside your torso twists painfully when you try to adjust yourself. Your throat feels scratchy and you realise that you’re screaming, though you can’t hear a sound. The edges of your vision are hazy and steadily darkening. That damn tightening in your chest has intensified tenfold, morphing into a pain so indescribable that your heartbeat is beginning to stutter, as your heart is unable to beat properly.

Bright flashes of red soar across your line of sight. Seconds later, Wanda’s face appears in front of you, her cheek grimy with soot and blood trickling from a cut on her lip. Her eyes are wide and panicked, horror written all over her face. You can see her mouthing your name, but you can’t hear the sound that accompanies it.

Wanda cups your chin with both hands — she’s saying something to you, but the pain is too much now, and you can’t, you can’t focus on anything besides it. Blackness is cloaking your gaze, blocking out her face. Dimly, you register Wanda shaking your shoulders and you wince as the action jars you. Using your last remain dregs of energy, you try to croak out some words to her, but the only noises coming out of your mouth are rasping gasps.

Black spots bloom across your vision.

Oh, that darkness seems so welcoming, so easy, beckoning you towards it with promises of calming peace. There’s no pain there, physical or otherwise. You’re so tired. You’ve been fighting for so long. Your burden has become so heavy. What have you got that’s worth fighting for, anyway? It’d be so easy to let go; the darkness is right there, waiting for you. All you have to do is let yourself fall into it.

The last thing you see before blackness consumes you is the gleam of Tony’s armour as he leans down to scoop you into his arms.

It’s blissful silence after that.

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[deprough]

Exposure and Expectations

12/16/2020 Dincember prompt: Blankets

NSFW

My Dincember prompts are part of a serial story I’m telling. This is the eighth part of the story. This post won’t make sense without reading the others.

Part 1: Snowballs and Saviors Part 2: Dreams and Dangers (nsfw) Part 3: Heat and Harassment Part 4:  Fire and Fatality (depictions of violence and death) Part 5: Wood and Worry Part 6: Searches and Scarves Part 7: Talks and Tricks

Note: Sorry to be late -- I was sick the last couple of days. Please note that the first couple of paragraphs contain a TW for drowning. The last half is mildly explicit and all below the cut.

Her lungs aching, Corrie fought to swim up, but it was cold, and everything got harder and harder to do. Knowing it was hypothermia didn’t stop it from affecting her, and she summoned her energy for one last desperate grab.

Something caught her and pulled, and she surfaced into the air, coughing weakly. Mando hung upside down from a tree, hauling her out of the water. Corrie tried to help him, but all she could manage was a body-wracking shiver. “I’ve got you,” Mando said, swinging upright and pulling her against his body in one move. “No, don’t put your face against my beskar, not while it's wet.” She’d freeze to it, like her clothing was trying to do already, and she nodded understanding shakily. 

“Hold on, it’s gonna get cold,” he warned, and her teeth were chattering too hard to tell him it was already cold. His jet pack roared, louder than normal, and they shot into the air. He was right -- it was cold as the wind slapped at her frozen skin. She whimpered but he was already landing in front of a small cabin. She staggered away from him, feeling her clothing catch and pull on his armor.

He started to knock, but she pushed the door open. “Hu-u-u-u-nt-t-t-t-ter’s c-c-c-cabin,” she stuttered out. It was a single room with a small cot, a table, and a fireplace. 

Mando pushed her inside and got a fire started in seconds, cheating with his weaponry again. Connie didn’t mind nearly as much this time. “Strip,” he commanded, and left the building. 

It was a choice between dignity and life, and Corrie started to pull off her wet clothing. Her fingers didn’t work quite right, and it made the process of disrobing slower. He returned as she was naked from the waist up, but struggling to get her pants open. 

Setting the supplies he’d gathered from their mounts on the table, he came over and helped, opening her pants and pushing them down with her underwear. She felt a little warmer in the cabin already, but he pushed one of the wool blankets into her hands and said, “Get in.”

“Th-th-the ggggg-urts,” she chattered as she shrugged on the blanket.

His shoulders slumped a little. “You’re not going to stop until I make sure they’re okay, are you?” She shook her head and he sighed. “Stay in that blanket. I’ll be back soon.”

Corrie pulled the blanket tighter and crept as close to the fire as she dared. A gurtskin had been left on the floor in front of the hearth, and she laid down, cuddling into the soft texture. The heat was a blessed warmth, and she pulled the pillow off the cot and tucked it under her wet hair. Despite how hard the floor was, she fell asleep almost immediately. 

“No! Wake up!” Some gurt-kriffer was shaking her, and Corrie pushed at the hands holding her. “Shab!”

“Go’way,” she mumbled. 

Someone pulled her up and slapped her across the face, a teeth-rattling smack that jerked her into awareness. Corrie opened her eyes to focus on the bounty hunter. “Ow,” she said. “You hit me.”

“Just be glad I took my glove off first,” he growled. “I need you to wear a blindfold.”

“You’re rude,” she muttered, trying to make sense of what he was saying. 

“I’m trying to save you from hypothermia.” He took a bandage and tied it around her eyes. “Listen to me, this is important. Don’t take that bandage off.”

She’d already touched it but she pulled her hands away and frowned at him. “Why?”

“Because this is already going to be awkward enough without you violating my Creed.” Something hard and metal hit the floor, followed by the jangle of a belt.

“Are you taking off clothing?” she asked.

“My dilemma is this: you need an external heat source and even my underarmor covering has thermal protection. So if you’re to gain any benefit from this, it’s skin to skin.” Another blanket dropped on top of her, then a third, which she guessed was all the blankets available. “You lay closer to the fire,” he ordered and she shifted on the rug until the heat of the fire pressed at her. 

A body slid in behind her, male and muscled and not too far from her imagining of his physique. He pressed against her, and she groaned as the delicious heat of his body suffused her back and ass. He hissed sharply at the contact with her chilled skin, then growled, “Don’t make that noise.”

“You’re warm, I’m human,” she said, wishing she could wrap herself in his body and the fire. Both burned against her skin, but she embraced the heat. She pushed against him instinctively, needing the warmth he was giving. He didn’t pull away, though she almost did when she felt his erection. The need for warmth won out over embarrassment, and she didn’t pull away either, snuggling as close as she could.

“Please stop wiggling against me,” he said, and she realized two things: she could hear his unmodulated voice, and he was gritting his teeth as he spoke. 

“Sorry,” she said. “I’m doing my best.”

“Tell me about your husband.” A bare hand rested on her arm, oddly respectfully given the circumstances.

Shock stole her voice for a moment. “You schiehole,” she growled. “Why?”

She felt him shift a little and warm air stirred her hair. “Because you need to think about something else, and it’ll help you keep awake.” 

He was right, not that it made her feel any better to be talking about Loren while snuggling naked with another man. “He’s not from Libu or even Zalzus. He was with a crew of miners looking to see if we had rare metals to extract. When they found we didn’t, they left, and he stayed with me.

“People thought I was nuts for marrying an off-worlder,” she continued, relaxing into the story. “He didn’t know about how to survive in a snowstorm, or how to shear a sheep, or card wool. He wasn’t in touch with his family anymore, and I think he was always surprised at how close I was with mine. 

“But he was a good man, and people loved him,” Corrie said softly, feeling tears sting. 

“Did he leave?” Mando asked softly. 

“I’ve told you he died,” she snapped. The topic made this both more awkward and more bearable. “You’re being obtuse on purpose, aren’t you?”

“Is it helping?”

“Loren was a good man, but he’d lived a rugged life, and he could take care of himself,” Corrie continued, ignoring the question and staring at the darkness on the inside of her blindfold. “He didn’t listen to us when we told him that he couldn’t handle a digger alone.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a predator that lives underground,” Corrie said, grief coloring her voice. She felt the hand on her arm squeeze gently. “I’d told him over and over that no one deals with it alone, but he didn’t get help. He tried to burn it out like we said to, but he did it alone. So it killed him. Koda and I figured out where he’d gone missing, and burned it out together, found his body.”

Silence fell over the cabin. “My parents died of a droid attack,” Mando said without preamble. She turned toward him instinctively. He paused to tug the blanket up over her shoulders. “The Mandalorians took me in and adopted me. But I still remember the attack, and my parents hiding me, and the fear.” 

“Did you lose the kid’s mother, too?” Corrie asked. If he was going to hit her with personal questions, she was damn well returning the favor. Besides, she needed a distraction from the hardness against her ass.

“No, I rescued him from Imperials.” He sighed. “I can’t settle down, Corrie. I want to be clear that this isn’t about me making any kind of--” He stopped as her shoulders started to shake. “Oh, um, don’t cry. It’s not you--” Corrie couldn’t hold it in any longer; her peals of laughter filled the small building. “What-- Why are you laughing?”

“I don’t recall asking you to settle down,” she retorted when she could talk again. 

“But… I’ve seen the way you watch me.” He sounded confused and she almost lost it again. 

“Mando, I’m sure you have wonderful and quite masculine reasons why you can’t be in the family way,” Corrie said sardonically, “but I assure you, what I feel for you is just lust.”

“You don’t even know what I look like!” He sounded outraged, and she had to choke back another bout of laughter.

“I don’t kriff your face,” she said bluntly. “And your body is more than acceptable for that. Has every person after you wanted a union and a farmstead and kids?”

“Well, no, but the ones who already had a farmstead did want something more permanent.” He paused and she let him think as she waited patiently. “You’re not like the ones who didn’t.”

“People come in all kinds,” she said. “I love Loren still, and I’m not looking for another husband. I don’t need someone for companionship, I don’t need anyone trying to be a father to my kids, and I definitely don’t need anyone worrying about me out doing my job. Sometimes, I like to have some fun, though.”

Mando didn’t reply, and Corrie relaxed into the warmth of the piled blankets and the heat of the fire. “Where's the kid?” she muttered sleepily.

“Closed in his bassinet.” His hand slid down her arm and came to rest on her belly. Sleep stopping being a problem in the space of two seconds. “I think your core temperature is back in safe ranges. Take a nap. I’ll keep watch, and we can go back when you feel ready.”

Then he left the cocoon of blankets, and Corrie sighed. Oh well, she thought, woulda been fun.

For a second, there was only the sound of him dressing. “You can take off the blindfold.” Corrie sat up and pulled it away, blinking in the rosy light of the fire. He had his pants and helmet on, and it should have looked silly, but her eyes were caught on the exposed expanse of lean, brown skin. A tattoo, some kind of animal skull, had been inked over his heart, and another, smaller one was on his shoulder where the same skull was embossed on his pauldron. She was so entranced watching him that she almost missed his question. “Tonight, can I come to your room?”

“My room?” she asked.

“Sometimes, I like to have some fun, too.” He pulled his shirt on and zipped it shut, and he realized he’d very intentionally left it off to show off his body. 

Corrie blinked and then nodded. “Sure. Stop on by. I’ll be up.”

He snorted and said, “Isn’t that my line?”

“You can have it if you come pick it up tonight,” Corrie said playfully, watching him dress. When he was done, he opened up the bassinet and the alien kid blinked at the light. “Hey,” she said, remembering her pack had been on Slobber. “I have spare clothing. If you bring in my saddle bags, I can get dressed too.”

He nodded and left. As his son dropped out of his bassinet and began to pet the gurtskin, Corrie started to grin. Now that’s what I call an early Lifeday gift.

[ptw30]

Just watched s3 and feel the same way - sad and underwhelmed - s4 will literally decide if I continue to follow the series tbqh. But here's a Blades!Shiro prompt related to the s3 clone theory: assuming there's a Shiro clone project going on in the Galra Empire that I guess would've been around since Shiro's fun year. How would Sendak react to finding out about it? Visit it? Destroy it? Love it? Hate it? (I realize you may not wish to follow canon for Blades!Shiro, but I was just curious.)

*hugs* I watched the two-part season two finale today, and I just - God, that story was awesome. I really, really miss that series. But I agree. Season 4 will really make it or break it for me. But I had another thought today about the clone regarding the Leak That Shall Be Forgotten, so if you want to know my thought, hit me up in a message. I know we don’t talk about that leak publically, which is why I’m not posting my thought on my blog. 

As for Sendak and Operation Kuron - Sendak would have a harem of Shiro clones. He’d collect them all - garrison!Shiro, anime-haired!Shiro, gladiator!Shiro, paladin!Shiro, clone!Shiro, and they’d just cuddle in bed all day. Seriously. 

…or this -

Warning: Mention of prostitution and non-consensual marking; violence

Also, spoilers for Blade!Shiro. There’s a major one in here that I’ve been keeping close to the vest, and I took off the vest for this story. 

“Perhaps my brother finally decided to dump your quiznakingtail,” Keith spat, arms crossed and eyes narrowed as he glowered at the consolescreen.

Sendak stared back, face neutral and grave, though somethingin his eyes alarmed Keith. Concern? No, it was barely masked fear.

“Keith, you were there the last time I saw your brother. Didhe appear as if he wished to part ways?”

No. As per Kolivan’s request, someone on the Castle of Lionswas always to accompany Takashi when Sendak left to return to his post as acommander in the Galra Empire. The duty fell to Keith most of the time as Takashi’sbrother and fellow Blade, though he avoided it when possible. Watching hisstrong, enduring older brother become a solicitous, catering mate alwaysunnerved Keith. Sendak didn’t deserve such affection from Takashi. The soonerhis brother recognized that, the sooner they could leave Sendak where hebelonged – in a Galra prison, branded as a traitor.  

But Keith’s hopes weren’t realized yet. The last time Sendakand Takashi said their good-byes, following one of Sendak’s furloughs fromLotor’s command, Keith had watched Takashi lean into Sendak’s embrace, pushing ontohis toes to nuzzle along the commander’s jaw and neck. There had been murmuredadmissions and breathless promises, and certainly no indication of cuttingemotional ties.

“Did something happen in the last two movements?” Sendakasked, breaking Keith out his reverie.

A million thoughts came to mind – Takashi’s new haircut, hismeasured words, his never-ending headache – but Keith just growled, “If mybrother wanted you to know, he would have told you.”

“Keith.”Exasperation filled Sendak’s voice, but pain, too, and uncertainty. “Yourbrother has never gone more than a few quintaints without sending me a codedtransmission. Two full movements is disconcerting. It should be to you aswell.”

No, Keith really didn’t care if his brother had stoppedsending love notes to Sendak. In fact, he could have gone the rest of his lifewithout knowing that Takashi had sent them, but for the sake of his brother’shealth and mental well-being, he would admit, albeit begrudgingly, that Sendak hada point.

Keith relented, dropping his arms to his side with a slap. “TheBlack Lion. He won’t respond to Takashi anymore.”

Sendak’s eyes shot wide.

“Takashi’s been pretty devastated,” Keith continued,crossing his arms and glowering, “and – and he made me fly Black. And Lance isnow in Red, and it’s just – ”

“Does your brother have his inking?” Sendak demanded, almostmanic.

“Huh?” What did that have to do with anything?

“His skin inking – the one that deems him Galra,” Sendaksnapped. He leaned toward the camera like he could jump out through the screen.“Have you seen it?”

“I don’t know. It’s not like he goes around showing it –”

“Keith!”

“I-I don’t know…maybe?” Keith shook his head, opening hismouth only to click it shut. No, he hadn’t seen it in quite some time, beforethe Black Lion shut Takashi out for sure. Every time they trained, Takashiretired to his quarters to shower and change, not using the training deck lockerroom like he had done before.

“No,” Keith affirmed, hands curling fists, shouldersbunching as he glared at the door. “He’s been avoiding showing us his shoulder.”

Sendak’s uncertain expression glazed over with the fury ofan inferno. “When your brother was detained by Haggar, there was a project.Operation Kuron. Ulaz worked closely with the witch. I was not privy to thedetails at the time.”

“Oh-kay? Do youhave a point or – ”

“Cloning. Your brother must have been captured during one ofyour missions and – Keith! Where are you going? Don’t confront the clone. Wemust devise a strategy to – Keith!”

But Keith stopped listening the moment he heard “clone,”activating his bayard and launching himself onto the training deck. There,“Shiro” gave pointers to a rather crestfallen Lance, and Keith saw it now – thesimilar but slightly different contours of this being’s face, the way he spokedown to Lance, to all of them. Keith’s claws gripped his swords – his bayardand his blade – until they trembled.

That first night Black failed to react, “Shiro” had uncurledKeith’s tail from his thigh. Keith should have known then.

The devastating thought waned as pure fury raced throughKeith with the intensity of the Red Lion. If he focused hard enough, he couldfeel the underlying menace radiating off the Black Lion, too. One thoughtdominated Keith’s mind, and as he tore forward, swords out to slice, to maim,to kill, he roared, “Where’s mybrother?”

The clone’s head perked up, uncertainty flashing through itsgaze, but it never moved to attack Keith. Instead, it dodged his blows, parriedhis thrusts, and tried to reason with him.

“Keith! What are you doing? Keith! Stop!”

Lance, too, bellowed, “Keith. Dude. It’s Shiro!”

But it wasn’t, for once Keith landed a hit, the clonefaltered, and it allowed him to slice through the clone’s right sleeve. As itfell away, Takashi’s scarred skin came into view.

HIs scarred but not glistening skin. He was missing Takashi’sinking.

This person – this thing– was not his brother.  

Only a beat passed before the clone charged forward, nolonger able to hide its identity, and with an animalistic roar, it launcheditself at Keith – only to be met with a blast by Lance’s blaster. Keithfollowed through, kicking, punching, attacking the clone with everything he haduntil he managed to bury his bayard in the clone’s left shoulder, pinning it tothe wall. Swiveling, he put all his effort behind a thrust of his Marmora bladeand ran through the clone’s right bicep.

“Where is my brother?” he demanded again.

The clone remained tight-lipped. Though Keith’s heartphysically ached to see his brother’s struggling face, emotion so rich andthick it threatened to curb his anger, Keith refused to let it. Twisting hisbayard until the clone screamed, Keith shrieked, “Where the quiznak is my brother?”

Though shallow breaths and large gulps, the clone stillrefused to answer until suddenly, his expression went slack. In a measured,blank tone, he revealed, “Trexal Base, in the Thanos Quadrant.”

Keith swiveled to see Pidge standing next to Lance, fingersdancing across her gauntlet screen. “Apparently, it’s part android, too.”

Lance’s face remained tense and unrelenting, this bayardtrained upon their fake leader. “If he moves, I’ll shoot him.”

Keith cracked as close to a smile as he could concerning thecircumstances, then opened a communication channel on his gauntlet. “Sendak, Ihave a location. I’m going to need the codes to neutralize the base’sdefenses.”

They came less than a varga later, and the castle-ship madea jump quickly thereafter.  

Coran tried to dissuade Keith from joining the team on therecovery mission. “I know you’re protective of your brother, Keith, but we justdon’t know what we’ll find. And you tend to fly off the…ahem, bayard, if you will, when it comes toShiro.”

Keith would have none of it, and he wouldn’t rest until heheld his brother safe within his tail. So he hardened his resolve, swallowedwhatever fear tried to overrun him, and forged ahead into the base. No amountof bracing, however, could spare him for when his eyes set upon the small tankthat held Takashi.

A glorified test tube, the tank barely reached beyond Takashi’sfeet and head and bubbled to the brim with a thick, pink liquid. A metal maskdescended from the roof of the confinement to cover Takashi’s nose and mouth,like a muzzle, while the rest of him remained unrestrained. Tight, black briefscovered only the essential private areas, allowing the team to digest all of Takashi’sinjuries and markings – his Galra arm, his glowing inking, and his scars fromhis time in the gladiatorial arena. A band about his bicep prevented him fromactivating his weaponized hand and escaping.  

Takashi looked so much older than twenty-seven, eyes lightlyshut, hair slightly longer and ragged from his time away from the team, thoughit certainly hadn’t reached the clone’s length. And he was unconscious, bodyfloating limply in the tank.

Did he even know he’d been captured? Somehow, that seemedlike the better of two options. Keith didn’t want to think of any situationwhere his brother had been tortured – again.

Keith approached the tank in a slow, demoralized stride,attempting and failing to gather any and all of his bearings. Takashi looked sobroken, so defeated, so lifeless. Keith wanted nothing more than shatter theglass coffin and reclaim his brother, but Pidge was already typing away on hertransparent console. “I’m going to have to wake him before we drain the tank.You’re the only thing that can keep him calm, Keith.”

Which was true. Though the others slowly began to understandand help Takashi through a panic attack, Thace had taught Keith the properbreathing exercises and soothing words to bring Takashi back from his troubledpast.

When Takashi’s eyes fluttered open and he began to thrashinside the tank, Keith waved a hand in front of his brother’s eyes and suckedin a deep breath, holding it for three seconds and then releasing it throughpursed lips.

He repeated the process, tail waving behind him with eachbreath, eyes locked with his brother’s, not allowing Takashi’s wide andfrightened ones reprieve. After another slow inhale, Keith held his breath forthree seconds and released.

It’s okay, hesaid, wordless. I’m here. I came. You’resafe.  

And Takashi breathed.

Eventually, the tank drained of its offensively pink liquid,and Takashi’s unsteady feet touched the bottom grate. When the glass lifted,Keith caught Takashi and subsequently fell, dragged down by his brother’soverwhelming weight. Takashi gripped him haphazardly about the shoulders andtorso, refusing to let go, holding on to Keith like the anchor he was inTakashi’s life.

Keith clutched him just as fiercely, the sentiment wholeheartedlyechoed.

It was Lance who unhooked the mask and Hunk who covered Takashiwith a blanket. They brought his Black Paladin armor, too, but waited untillthe shaking, the panting, and the silent tears stopped completely. Takashi’srecovery couldn’t come fast enough, and Pidge informed them of company. Takashimanaged to collect himself then – his team needed him, and more importantly,his family was in danger.

Having only took one lion, the team huddled in Green theentire way, Takashi gripping the back of Pidge’s chair. They surrounded theBlack Paladin, everyone pressing against him, and it equally reassured the teamand their reclaimed leader that they’d survived yet another ordeal.

Keith managed to swallow his lingering fear and wrap histail around Takashi’s thigh. His brother smiled a tearful grin and tucked himunder his arm, never making a move to undo the tether between them.

Despite Coran’s assurance that the castle crew could handle Takashi’srecovery, Ulaz arrived to run a full work-up on Takashi  –  and tosmother him to no end, of course. Antok, Thace, and Kolivan also found theirway onto the castle-ship in record time, though Kolivan arrived last due to amission in the Faraway Systems.

Sendak came a full three days later. He approachedsilently but expectantly, gentle hands rising to cradle Takashi’s cheeks like aprecious gift, and then caressed Takashi’s forehead in what was the Galraequivalent of a chaste kiss.  

Keith and the Blades offered them privacy, though Keith foundSendak sometime later on the floor next to his brother’s bed, his front facingthe door to protect his mate from any attacks. Takashi still slept soundly dueto the medicine Ulaz gave him to counteract any diseases he might havecontracted on the Galra cruiser.

Sendak acknowledged Keith with a simple nod before returninghis attention to the datapad upon his knee. He froze when Keith muttered,“Thank you…for saving my brother.”

After a moment of thought, Sendak resumed scrolling, “I didnot do it for your gratitude.”

Right. He kept forgetting what a tail Sendak could be. “Idon’t know why my brother puts up with you.”

The answer came swift, unexpected, and rather hostile. “Whetheryou wish to acknowledge it, I was the only person who cared about you and yourbrother for quite some time.”

Keith reached for his bayard as Sendak raised his eyes,stunning Keith with a rather open albeit unfriendly expression. “AnytimeTakashi or you needed something – food, a place to stay, medical treatment – Iwelcomed you into my quarters at Drule Central.”

“F-For – For a price!” Keith practically shrieked. “Y-Youpaid my brother for – for –”

“Yes, I did, but I also took care of him – and you. Takashi knew when he came tome, he’d be all right. I made him – and makehim – feel safe.”

“Then why did we always leave?” Keith demanded in a cruelwhisper. “Why did Takashi keep running away from you if you cared so freakingmuch?”

The honesty remained, even if Sendak fought the wince thatthreatened to envelop his features. “Because I treated him like a lowerlifeform. I was the highest-ranking commander in the Galra Empire, and myposition afforded me many things. I believed it should afford the affection andthe devotion of a lower lifeform mate – or at the very least, that of a whore.”

Now Keith activated his bayard, which grew to its fulllength. “You fucking – ”

“Every time Takashi came to me, I told him he would never beable to survive without my help. I told him I would take care of him – and you– and that he would never want for anything, but he had to surrender to mecompletely. He had to be mine and only mine, and he could never leave.”

Disgust slammed hard into Keith and wormed its way into hisgut.

Still Sendak continued, undeterred and callously honest, “Butyour brother is proud and he refused my offer. When he killed a Galran lieutenant,he beckoned me. I feared for him – and for myself. I – I thought I could losehim to any number of vile creatures in Drule Central, and it was a thought Icould not bear. You are young, a cub. I will not ask you to imagine a lifewithout your chosen mate because I do not think you are capable of it yet.”

Keith flinched as if physical hit, a heavy clump of ice settledin his gut at the simple thought of the Blue Lion and its paladin being lost ina fight. He quickly dismissed the petrifying thought, neither having the will norwant to entertain it.

“So I scarred Takashi’s face,” Sendak continued. “That way, hewould stay with me. That way, he couldonly stay with me.”

“You don’t deserve him,” Keith hissed, hand tightening abouthis bayard’s hilt. He wanted so badly to plunge it into Sendak’s chest andcarve out his heart for all the pain he caused Takashi.

“No, I do not,” Sendak admitted, “but your brother is toogenerous. He afforded me a second chance, even after my transgressions againsthim. I will not allow any harm to come to him – by my own claw or any other.That is my solemn vow to you, Keith – and to myself. And if such a time comesthat I fail, you will have no need for your bayard.”

Sendak would take care of the issue himself.

“What changed your mind? About Takashi and his status in theempire?” Keith questioned, barely able to keep his weapons to himself. Nodoubt, Takashi would have run Sendak through with his own blade if thecommander still revered him as a lower lifeform.

Sendak sighed, shoulders pressing back against Takashi’sbunk. With dark circles under his eyes and a raw, broken expression maiming hisface, Keith navigated around the once impenetrable level of confidence anddeceit to find Sendak’s troubled soul.

“You do not understand the anguish and torment I sufferedthe last eight years believing to have lost your brother, and not because ofhis profession but because of my arrogance.” A pregnant pause before – “Takashifelt…something for me, all those annualsago, if not love than at least lust. He would have stayed, Keith. He would havestayed any number of times I’d asked if only I had approached him as a partneror a mate and not as a keeper.

“It is a mistake for which I cannot repent and one that I regretevery quintaint.”

Before Keith could reply, Takashi groaned and shifted inbed, his half-lidded eyes finding Keith instinctively. He smiled, tired butaffectionate, before shifting closer to Sendak and nuzzling against the olderGalran’s neck. He ended up with his head propped up on Sendak’s shoulder, noseburied in the commander’s silken fur.

His breathing evened out within moments.

Keith still barely reigned in his bristling anger and onlymanaged to do so thanks to the soothing presence of the Black Lion in the backof his mind. Despite what Keith felt for the Galra commander, Takashi loved Sendak and trusted him with notonly the most intimate secrets of the paladins but also their lives. There wasno greater honor that Takashi could bestow upon another.

And Sendak had just saved his brother – again. For that, Keith would always be grateful.

Heaving a great sigh, Keith stomped out of the room only toreturn a few moments later, carrying two glasses of nunvil and a few cookies Hunkmade to celebrate Takashi’s return. Keith might never forgive Sendak forharming his brother, in more ways than one, but he would respect his brother’schoice in a mate, especially one that shared Keith’s mantra in life – to neverlet Takashi be hurt again.

When Sendak accepted the cookies and drink, Keith encircledthe commander’s wrist with his tail. And though he might have imagined it, hethought he saw Sendak smile.

More from the Blade!Shiro series

[samingtonwilson]

Approximately This Big (Bones x Reader)

Title: Approximately This Big (which refers to something reader says whilst motioning. it’ll make sense if you read it)

Prompt: does watching what to expect when you’re expecting count as a prompt?

Word count: 2,688 (good god)

Warnings: language, pregnancy, vomiting

A/N: I was watching what to expect when you’re expecting (as i just said) and for some reason felt like writing something. Bones came to mind before anyone else could and i feel like it’d be interesting to be married to him, so here’s something that i wrote in the middle of the night that likely sucks! (tell me what you think, though) ENJOY IT (or try to, at least)

With each passing second, the room seemed to be growing colder. Despite the thickness of the blankets draped over and tucked under you, you had to use all of your strength to prevent violent shivers from rattling your bed and body. You didn’t have any sort of desire to wake the sleeping man beside you— being the Chief Medical Officer, he needed plenty of sleep to handle any sort of illness and injury that came through the medbay doors. And you needed him to sleep so you didn’t have to handle any bit of moody-broody-Leonard.

It wasn’t that moody-broody-Leonard was more of a pain for you than his exhaustion was for himself. But if you had to watch him take his aggression out on another mediocre, replicator-produced meal, he would find himself back in the medbay— except it would be to sleep on a biobed.

For the coming three hours, the chill that seeped through the blanket and bit at your skin didn’t cease no matter how much fatigue weighed against your eyelids and no matter what actions you took. You pulled the bulky blanket around yourself tighter, you blew your warm breath onto your hands, you cuddled into your husband’s chest further, you prayed to the gods of space and took the name of the USS Enterprise’s lord and savior, Jim Kirk. Nothing helped— least of all Leonard pulling on the blanket so he hoarded more than half of it. It was actually increasing— the cold and the subsequent physiological reactions, that is.

You felt your stomach flip uncomfortably and your ice-like fingertips pressed against your pursed lips. The feeling of bile rising in your throat and air constricting in your lungs had your eyes opening wide enough for all fatigue to be lifted and a heavy dose of nervousness to practically tape your eyelids to your eyebrows. You squeezed your eyes shut with great force and increased the pressure of your fingertips, taking a long and slow breath through your nose.

When another chill that traveled up your spine had your shoulders quaking and your stomach hitting your pelvic bones, you decided you’d had enough. You tore the should-have-been warm fabric from yourself and climbed out of bed. Had your knowledge and affinity for the medical field been greater, you would’ve taken note of the weakness in your legs and the spinning of your light head.

It felt as if every sense in your body had been heightened— an unwelcome phenomenon that would have been welcome under circumstances such as wine tasting and chocolate eating. You wanted to drag your feet against the floor but the urgency of the upcoming bodily tragedy forced your legs to move faster in spite of the burning of your muscles.

Finally in the bathroom, you threw the toilet seat up and emptied the contents of the stomach you were unaware could hold so much. You combed your fingers through your hair and squeezed your eyes shut again as another wave of nausea weakened your reddening knees and aching sides.

Though the door shielding the rest of the quarters from the bathroom was quite thick and didn’t often allow noise leaks, you tried to make as little sounds as possible— moody-broody-Leonard haunted your thoughts even in such a condition.

Your efforts went to waste, however, as a series of knocks emitted from the metallic door. You groaned to yourself and cleared your throat before speaking, “Yes?”

“Is everything okay?” His voice was beautifully heavy, deeper than usual and created a higher amount of comforting vibrations— even after so many years of hearing it, your heartbeat still picked up pace at the augmenting of his Southern drawl. In this situation, though, it calmed your heart from a hummingbird pace to a post-cardio-workout pace.

You dragged the back of your hand over your lips and pushed off the ground, sighing at the soft sting in your knees. Once you were standing, you cleared your throat again as you flushed the toilet. “Yes, it’s all fine.”

“Didn’t sound fine.”

“I know ‘what’s mine is yours’ and ‘in marriage you share everything,’” you began, placing your hands under the gushing water of the tap and waiting for it to warm, “but I’d really like it if we drew the line at listening to what happens in here.”

You heard him snort. “Speaking as your husband, I’m on board. But speaking as your physician, there are no lines when it comes to your health.”

You smeared toothpaste onto your brush once you’d rinsed your mouth and were unsatisfied with the ever-present stink of vomit, leaning your hip against the counter and holding your brush inches from your lips. “You sound sexy when you’re sleepy. Speak more.”

Before he could speak and before you could actually scrub your teeth, you paused. “Not about medical things. Or what you heard.”

He let a few beats of silence pass. “You’re a damn blanket hog.”

You smiled as you did your best to rid your mouth of the disgusting, acrid taste of upchuck. You only hummed an offended sound in response.

“We’re equal in this relationship, so I expect the blanket to be divided evenly, too.”

You spit the foam from your mouth and rinsed quickly, finally feeling clean. You smiled to yourself. “What happened to ‘marriage is based on compromise’? ‘Give a little, take a little.’”

“So give a little, sweetheart.”

You glanced at your reflection and had to stop yourself from grumbling. Your eyes were bloodshot and watery, the lines under them dark and deep, and your lips appeared and felt swollen.

Your stomach flipped once more but you swallowed thickly and nodded to yourself, allowing the door to open. Immediately, you slapped your hand over your eyes and hissed. “Why are all of the lights on?”

Leonard placed his hand on top of yours, his skin comforting and much warmer. He called for the lights to dim a bit and pulled your hand from your eyes. “It’s safe. Open your eyes.”

You opened them one at a time, pulling a soft laugh from him. “Why are you up?”

“Question after question. My shift starts in a little over an hour,” he said, stifling a yawn and shaking his head as he glanced at the time. “As does yours.”

You shut your eyes again and your body slumped into his chest, his arms going around you instantly. “I barely slept.”

“Yeah, you look it.”

You pushed at his abdomen and clicked your tongue. “Husband of the year.”

His chest against your back, arms around your waist, and chin set on your shoulder, he sighed out. “I’m sorry. Forgive me?”

Your eyes shut again and your posture relaxed a little as he pressed his lips to your shoulder blade and let one of his hands duck under the hem of your loose shirt. His fingers splayed out against your skin and you shook my head. “It's not that easy.”

His hand then held your hip, turning your body to face him. His pupils were blown to their furthest extent and his lip parted as he breathed evenly. He watched every movement of your eyes and leaned forward just to stop a centimeter or two from your lips. “You brushed after throwing up, right?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Yes.”

“Just checking, darlin’.”

When he finally kissed you— deeply, so you could feel it even in your toes— his arm encircled your waist to eliminate the distance between your bodies. There was no impatience in his lips as he moved slowly and with great intent to steal as much of your time and breath as possible.

As his lips pressed against your neck after you’d pulled away to breathe, he spoke so the vibrations of his voice coursed through your body. “If you want, we could get into the shower… I could make it up to you. Over and over.”

Under normal conditions, you wouldn’t have waited to say yes. But the subtle shaking of your limbs and uneasiness of your stomach forced you to say no with a shake of your head and a sorry excuse for an excuse.

Throughout the workday the churning of your stomach subsided while the tiredness of your limbs remained— that is, until you smelled anything and everything that was being eaten in the mess during lunch. You were forced to excuse yourself and eventually took refuge in the deserted botany laboratory. In your mind, you continued to reiterate the normalcy of your symptoms and repeatedly attributed it to something you must have eaten.

It wasn’t until a cramp pulled your posture askew that you took the advice of a concerned ensign and rode the turbolift to the medbay. You did your best to avoid the exam rooms as you knew Leonard had several quarter-yearly physicals scheduled and calmly asked a nurse for Dr. Sirleaf— the only physician you trusted not to give into Leonard’s potential interrogations following the spur-of-the-moment appointment.

You sat on the biobed swinging your legs and toyed with the hem of your blue Starfleet issued uniform. You watched Sirleaf tap at the screen of her PADD and carry on making the faces she began making the moment her tricorder whirred over your torso. She had only asked you for a list of your symptoms since then.

“With all due respect, Doctor, you’re freaking me out.”

She smiled down at her screen, then looked back at you with a compassionate expression. “You’re healthy, there’s no need to worry about that.”

“So then what’s wrong?”

She pulled the stool from beside the sink to place it before the bed, sitting down as she set her PADD aside. She took a breath and covered your hands with hers. “I’ll just get right to it. You are pregnant— few weeks along which is why you’re cramping, excessively tired, and restless.”

You blinked.

You couldn’t find a reaction aside from widening your eyes and staring at the doctor in front of you. If you’d thought the flipping of your stomach was uncomfortable before, you were on a completely different level of distress now.

She read the panic on your features. “You do have options and, since you’re healthy, there’s minimal risk if you choose to termin—”

“No, no,” you managed to say in a volume soft enough to barely be heard. You chewed on your bottom lip for a few seconds. “That’s not— I have to talk to—” you stopped talking and shook your head. “Leo, I have to talk to Leo.”

She nodded and clasped her hands around yours tighter. She smiled so her dark skin creased with deep laugh lines. “Of course. As long as you know that at the end of the day, the decision is yours.”

“Yeah, I know. I just— I don’t know,”  you cleared your throat. “It’s not about our marr—” you sighed for what felt like the seventeenth time in ten seconds. “He’s— He’s my best friend, I have to tell my best friend. I mean, who else do you tell?”

Once she had completed rattling off a set of instructions and recommendations for appointment frequency and obstetrician options, she asked if you had any questions and you shook your head. She wasn’t the one you wanted answering your questions.

You didn’t have to ask her twice to call Leonard and, in waiting, you tore at the skin of your bottom lip until you tasted copper against your tongue. You then resorted to biting your fingernails, counting the seconds until Leonard appeared on the other side of the door— seconds of which there weren’t many.

He was frowning when he saw you, his lips turned down and agape in a deep scowl. The sight you must have been with tears streaming down your cheeks and your fingertips pressed to your lips.

He took quick steps towards you and placed his hands on your upper arms. He was searching your widened eyes. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

You couldn’t find words aside from a stammered, “I-I’m.”

The worry in his eyes, in his grimace, in his grip on your arms was evident. You thought he must have been mirroring your fear, your anxiousness perfectly. “Darlin’, you’re killing me here. Please talk to me.”

You cleared your throat and gathered whatever residual courage sat in the back of your mind. You wet your raw lips and tried not to lose your train of thought as he leant his forehead against yours. “Leo, could you—” you clicked your tongue. “For a minute, could you just be my best friend? Not my husband, not my doctor— just my best friend.”

He lifted his head and nodded quickly. “Yes, yeah. Anything you need.”

“It’s nothing bad— not in my eyes, I don’t think.”

A relieved breath left his lips. His hazel eyes were still worried. “Okay.”

The floodgates opened. “But it’s not just about me. And it’s still early— in the marriage, in this five year mission. It’s still so early. But there’s never a perfect time for anything— there’s no such thing as perfect timing. Space’s emptiness just feels so far from being a perfect place for this. Fuck, I feel like… Like I want to scream, and cry, and yell but I’m also—”

You finally looked at Leonard and felt yourself smile a little as you traced his features— the slope of his nose, the width of his eyes, the shape of his lips. You used the heel of your hand to wipe your cheeks. “I think I’m happy— a little.”

He laughed a bit shakily. “You know, you're really throwin’ me for a loop.”

“I have no reason to be afraid, right?” you pinched the fabric of his shirt that matched yours in color. “Of your reaction, I mean. No reason to be nervous?”

His palm sat against your cheek so his thumb could glide over your cheekbone. “Why would you ever need to be afraid of how I’d react to something?”

“Because it’s— Because it’s big.”

“How big?”

You held your hands up about a foot from one another. You shook your head and widened the gap so the space between your hands was near your full wingspan. “Approximately this big.”

He snorted and shoved your shoulder. “(Y/N), seriously. What’s going on?”

You took a deep breath— in through the nose, out through the mouth. “I am pregnant.” A few seconds later, when Leonard only stared at you, you inhaled deeply again. “With a baby. It’s yours— which I hope is obvious.”

“Pregnant?”

You nodded. “I wasn’t... sure about it when Sirleaf told me. Well, I wasn’t sure about it until, maybe, two minutes ago. But I think it could be a good thing. I mean, you know what all of this is about from experience with Joanna and having a spouse that’s a doctor can only help.”

You looked over his features that stayed frozen. You felt your smile fade. “But if you don’t— If you don’t want it, we can—”

“I say this with as much love as possible— are you out of your damn mind?”

“I hope not.”

“You were afraid to tell me you’re pregnant.” He shook his head once and looked away from you. “I don’t— It is early, in the marriage and in the mission. But none of that matters. We’re having a baby, why should anything else matter?”

“Yeah?”

He nodded and pressed his lips to your forehead prior to meeting your eyes again. “I love you— God, I love you so much. You should never be afraid to tell me anything. ‘Share everything,’ remember?”

You smiled at him, biting down on your bottom lip and reaching up to brush his dark hair back and out of his forehead.

When he hugged you tightly to his body, you spoke against his chest, “This doesn’t change the line I’ve drawn in regards to the happenings of the bathroom.”

You could picture him roll his eyes. “Oh, darlin’, this definitely changes it.”

“I’m the mother of your child, McCoy. You should pay heed to my needs.”

“You drive a hard bargain, other McCoy— but no.”

[dancing-the-hellfire-rumba]

Smile

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: MAJOR ANGST, TRIGGERS, tiny bit of fluff, terrible writing

Summary: At this point idefk

Word Count: 1.6K

Prompt/ Challenge/ Host: This is for the 1K celebration challenge of @jpadjackles​ (here is the original post) My Prompt was “Smile” by R5 

Majorly inspired by this: Hereisavideo (please watch it if you’re interested in the subject. It’s a good friggin speech)

A/N: I am so not happy with this. I pressured myself to do it because I had no inspiration up until like 4-5 days earlier but when I attempted to make my idea work it didn’t. I have no time to re-make this and I’m afraid it doesn’t really serve the prompt. I’m so sorry for this. Also sorry for the angst. IT’s been a rough couple of days. This A/n is too long. Have some pain:

Two hundred and fifty three days earlier

It felt strange to have control over my life for once. Liberating. Knowing it was my choice and my choice only if it was to end. It was my choice if I would let the railing go, my choice if I would close my eyes and become one with the ground, my choice if I would give up or hold on, keep going. In that moment I was the one calling the shots. I was the one that decided. And I loved it.

The railing was cold and sharp, the rust scratching my skin. My arms were holding on, slowly stretching to only my fingers while the wind slapped my cheeks violently. I shivered furiously at the freezing bite of air through my thin choice of clothing and the metal pressing up against my back.

Everything felt numb.

My heartbeat was surprisingly slow and my mind surprisingly still. When I had thought over this moment again and again, multiple times in the past, I believed the thoughts in my head would be screaming and howling, running around and scratching the inside of my skull. But they weren’t.

Below the overpass was, fifty or so feet down, a rusty chain-linked fence topped with three strings of barbed wire. So the only thing I was thinking with my collapsing perception was how far out I had to jump so I won’t fall on the fence ‘cause I just didn’t want anything to hurt anymore.

Should I hang in there for just one more day?

It always comes to that, doesn’t it? That one sliver of hope, etched inside of me. For what? To be the crazy one? I’ve held on for this long, why would I keep trying what hasn’t been working? But what if my chance is tomorrow? What if tomorrow is the day that I escape from this turmoil?

Having agency over my life for a change was a satisfying feeling. So I stood there, with my eyes closed, and drowned in it.

I can’t tell you how long I stayed there.

What I can tell you is that, at some point flashing lights appeared from my right, and that’s where my decision was made.

Slowly my arms became weightless. I felt them lift up and my body torturously, at a snail’s pace, tip forward. The air wafted past my limbs and blew through my hair. It felt good. It felt free. I tilted further.

Suddenly, a strong arm pulled me back on the railing.

One hundred and ninety four days earlier

“DEAN!” I screamed, squirming around.

“I can’t hear ya sweetheart” he smirked evilly and straddled my legs. “You gonna give in yet?” He let his fingers dance along my clothed belly

“NEVER!” I laughed, trying to push the asshole off of me.

“Whatever you say” He shrugged and continued torturing me. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t pry them off and he knew it. I was no match in strength with the cocky bastard.

“OKAY, okay!” He paused and looked at me expectantly. His fingers lingered on my sides, a subtle threat. “I mean you’re eh looking” I smirked. He started, once again, tickling me, making me scream in laughter and try to wiggle away from him. It didn’t work. “FINE, FINE, YOU’RE HOT AS FUCK”I yelled and he stopped, laughing at me

“I knew you had the hots for me” Even his eyes were laughing and I freaking loved it. The way they crinkled in the corners when he was grinning at me or his brother.

We stayed like that for God knows how long, simply staring at each other. I think Dean started leaning towards me at some point, but I didn’t pay attention to it until he was between my legs, supporting his weight on his elbows, his face barely inches from mine.

“God, what can I do to make you smile like that” he let the heavy question linger in the air like a weightless cloud

Suddenly the playful mood dropped.

I stared at his beautiful green-apple-colored eyes for a while.

“Stay with me” I placed my hands on his cheeks and smiled again “just stay with me”

Ninety days earlier

His finger burned a torturously slow path on the bare skin of my arm trailing to my hip and back. I shivered.

He had been nothing but gentle. This entire time I had spent with him, he was nothing but caring and sweet and my support. Additionally, I was his. But nothing I could do would be enough. I owed him everything.

My arm was wrapped around his waist semi-tightly and I was cuddled as close to him as humanly possible, snuggled on the crook of his arm with my head under his chin.

“Dean? I asked softly in the air. He hummed a deep sound I more felt than heard, as it rumbled from his chest. His fingers didn’t stop. “I…” I hesitated, not thinking if it was a good idea to put my heart and mind out to words.

“What is it, sweetheart?” he tilted his head to catch a glimpse of me. I let my thumb stroke the naked skin of his hip lightly, savoring the feeling of being wrapped around his warmth. I nuzzled my nose in his neck.

“I… I just wanted to… to thank you” I stopped. I didn’t need to explain, truthfully, despite the fact I did, and he didn’t need to acknowledge what I was saying in words. He simply rested his chin on my head and breathed deeply, not bothering to stop me in spite of probably not wanting any gratitude. He knew I had to get this off my chest. “You…” I sighed.

“You didn’t know me that day. You didn’t know me and yet you saved my life. You helped me, pulled me back, cared for me. You made me feel enough. You gave me family. You gave me a home and I honestly cannot thank you enough for it” My arm subconsciously tightened around him and I nuzzled closer. “Thank you”

Dean was broken, battered, hurt, scarred and with the, at the moment forgotten, red threat on his left arm lingering there as a promise of something bigger and worse, something that he would definitely regret for the rest of his life, but I loved him. God knows I did. I loved him with all my heart and soul, with every fiber of my being as I threw myself into his fire letting his welcoming warm flames engulf me.

That day

No, no, no, no. This is not happening. This is NOT happening.

“DEAN!”

The subtle ‘gungh’ and the sigh, the panicked look in his eyes, all of it absolutely destroyed me.

“NO!” Sam and I screamed together. Dean’s head turned to us and when he saw me his head fell to the concrete wall as he struggled to breathe with a hole in his chest. His body tilted to the side, ready to fall. I ran past every object and jumped over every obstacle, catching his limp body, just like he had caught me.

A sudden rattle shook everything, the walls, the earth the things on the shelves. Sam got up and tried stabbing Metatron, who, instead, disappeared into thin air.

“Y/n” he gasped “y-you gotta get outta here before h- he comes back” that was Dean for you. Stabbed, bleeding to death and still caring only for his family.

“Sh-sh shut up” I said and grabbed the cloth from my back pocket, pressing it in his hand and on his wound “Hold it there.” He groaned from the pressure. I fought to keep my cool trying to figure something to do

“W-we’ll stop the bleeding, w-we’ll f-find a doctor, w-“ Sam was panicking and you honestly could not blame him, nor were far from the feeling, yourself. Your hands were shaking, fumbling with his jacket, with your pockets trying to find something- anything- to help him.

“Sammy- Y/n/n, listen to me” He said, stilling your hands in his. “I-it’s better this way” he gasped. Oh no. He- he would say it wouldn’t he. He was about to say it.

“What?!”

“T-the mark. It’s making me something I don’t want to be”

He wanted to die, you realized. He wanted his life to end.

He was you, just a year ago. Hurting. In pain. In a battle with himself.

“Don’t fucking worry about the mark, right now! We’ll figure that out later! C’mon, Sam, help me” I put his arm over and around my shoulders as Sam did the same, we lifted him up with him grunting and groaning. It physically pained me to see him hurt.

We managed to walk him for a minute or two before his weight fell on me as he tried to stop our movements

“W-hold up” he wheezed

“What, what is it?” I let him lean against the nearest pile of wooden boxes. He turned to Sam.

“I-“ he let out an ‘ungh’ “I’m proud of us” he slapped his hand on his brother’s cheek, before grabbing your hand and turning to you “And y-you. I wanna s-see you smi-“ wheeze “smile” He squeezed your hand and his eyelids dropped. His limp, lifeless body fell on me.

“Oh no no no” That’s when true panic washed over my entire being as I pulled him back with Sam shaking his shoulder. “No no you’re not- you- He’s” I started sobbing as both me and Sam hugged him to ourselves, clinging to each other.

Dean’s flame burnt out and I was left in the cold

And now what?

Tags: (Sorry this was so terrible)

@jpadjackles @chaos-and-the-calm67 @oriona75 @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @impala-dreamer  @babypieandwhiskey

[healthcaretipsblog]

Black Level

Not too long ago, a colleague chastised me, blind-item style, for writing about a film festival based on the use of screeners instead of going to the festival and attending the event in person. (In current parlance, I was “subtweeted,” although not on Twitter.) The argument was that by conducting my film criticism in “armchair mode,” I was missing out on lively discussion, camaraderie, and a good deal of atmospheric context that makes a festival more than just a collection of individual films. (Whether or not any given film is necessarily improved by having a discussion with its maker, particularly if critics are supposed to remain relatively objective in our evaluations, is an open question.) 

However, it occurred to me that, before any given film exhibition or festival, the works contained therein exist as precisely that: just a collection of individual films. It’s only through selection and programming choices that they are expected to stand for anything other than themselves. And I also began to think about the incredible faith we place in programmers, to sift through hundreds upon hundred of films made every year. We trust them (and a host of unsung pre-screeners) to separate the wheat from the chaff, to set the agenda for the year in cinema by their inclusions and exclusions. For the most part, we go along with their decisions, and as critics we make our own judgments as a subset of theirs. 

But we know full well that taste is nebulous and fallible, prone to the vagaries of history and fashion. How many worthy films slip through the cracks each year, each decade? This question prompted me to embark on an experiment.

The online screener service Festival Scope is filled with thousands of films, from the well-known and –travelled to the utterly obscure. Mostly I have used the service to catch up with festival films I’ve missed along the way. But I got an idea. What about all those films I’d never even heard of? Could there be major discoveries right there for the taking? So I devised a system whereby I could sample some of those films by random selection. I chose twelve films by this method, which had to do with randomizing the number of pages in Festival Scope’s 2017 features listing, and the number of films per page. I decided to call it the 2018 Random Film Festival. 

Granted, this was not a “film festival” as such. I was watching a collection of screeners from home, so a lot of the pleasures of attending an actual festival—meeting up with friends, post-film discussions, hustling from venue to venue, last-minute schedule changes, and of course, the big screen experience—were all missing here. Then of course, so were the random diet, sleep deprivation, and the exorbitant cost of attendance. But it’s often said the certain films look better (or worse) in a festival context, and that element was not in play here. I was watching about two films a day, not four or five, so I had the chance to let things percolate in my mind a bit more than usual. As you’ll see, that didn’t necessarily help.

That’s because what I found is that most films are simply average, regardless of where they come from. Take a film like Nobody Sleep by Spanish documentarian Mateo Cabeza. It starts out promisingly enough, showing us in meticulous detail how four men set about building a dance piece from extended rehearsals, movement by movement and gesture by gesture. The fact that two of the dancers are men with Down syndrome is an interesting element, but one that is pointedly not remarked upon. But then, Cabeza stops his observational mode to “widen the frame,” telling us that the work is part of an arts initiative for individuals with Downs and emphasizing that, yes, these are people who should be treated like everyone else. This is of course a worthy message. However, prior to the film making that message so explicit, Nobody Sleep was embodying it by simply showing the four men dancing. Cabeza chooses to deliver a moral when an object lesson is what’s called for. Likewise, Pedro Neves’ documentary Tarrafal is essentially a Pedro Costa film without any of the mastery or aesthetic value, choosing instead to provide endless, redundant interviews with former residents of the bulldozed low-income neighborhood in Porto, Portugal. In the interest of “giving voice,” Neves makes a film that is lifeless and near-impossible to listen to.

Somewhat more compelling, and likely to pop up on the festival circuit, were two slightly flawed entries that nevertheless fit squarely into the usual mode of festival filmmaking. February, by South Korea’s Kim Joonghyun, is a kind of existentialist mood piece, vaguely in the mold of Agnès Varda’s Vagabond. It focuses on Minkyung (Minkyung Jo), an attractive but affectless young woman in desperate straits. Her father is in prison and has bankrupted her with legal liability claims. She wants to take a social service exam but cannot afford the review classes. And, now four months behind on her rent, she has been forced to take up residence in a metal shipping container. Minkyung goes out of her way to destroy every situation in which someone shows her any goodwill, determined to self-destruct in grand style. Despite its comically hateful protagonist, February seems a bit rote, especially in the context of recent Korean cinema. Similarly, even though Valentyn Vasyanovych’s Black Level is highly original on its face—a portrait of a depressive wedding photographer in Kiev, a film in which no one ever utters a word—there’s something eerily familiar in its dark humor and meticulous staging—a little Ulrich Seidl here, a little Roy Andersson there.

Other films are just average examples of their type, and it’s easy to see why festival programmers might pass on them for better examples, since they’re plentiful. The Albanian film Daybreak is about a domestic worker with a young child who has to make questionably ethical choices to survive. The Dardennes influence is obvious. The grandiloquently titled Denmark is a kind of troubled-youth film that gradually morphs into unlikely humanism, starting out in scuzzy Larry Clark partyville and ending up like a Lukas Moodysson cuddle. And Law of the Land, starring veteran Finnish actor Ville Vertanen, is a snowmobile-Western, not exactly festival fare to begin with. It could easily be remade by Liam Neeson and Jaume Collet-Serra for release during next year’s January doldrums. 

Since most films fall somewhere in that soft middle-zone of “nothing special, but not a complete waste of time,” it seems only fitting that the major discoveries from the Random Film Festival were films on either side of the equation: something very special, and an utter, utter waste of time. From the Good Place: Annika Berg’s Team Hurricane, from Denmark (which played Critics’ Week at Venice). A film with so much color and energy that the screen can barely contain it, Team Hurricane is a blast of direct address filtered through a searing high-key video aesthetic that achieves a stark, unexpected beauty and juices the nerve centers like a sunlamp.  

Berg somehow remains true to the lifeworld of the eight teen girls who are the focus of Team Hurricane, partly by allowing them to shoot a lot of the footage themselves on their phones. But it’s also in the jumpy, anything-goes editing style, which partakes easily of the dominant modes of YouTube vlogs and teen video diaries without the slightest hint of condescension. But mostly this is a hanging-out movie, with cutaways zeroing in on the inner lives on individual girls, spoken to the camera in Sadie Benning-like autobiographical art-video interludes. These are girls who are bright, funny, imperfect, sad, and vital. This is a film for now.

From the Bad Place: Ideka Akira’s Ambiguous Places. Sometimes Random hurts. I thought that the Fickle Finger of Fate had picked me a winner once I discovered that Ambiguous Places had been selected for the Bright Future section of this year’s International Film Festival Rotterdam. Had a randomly stumbled upon a significant new voice in cinema? Well, I will say this for Akira—he is doggedly pursuing his own vision. Ambiguous Places is his second feature, and it bears all the excruciating hallmarks of a film convinced of its own future cult status. It makes no sense from scene to scene, even though particular “characters” carry through the entire thing like semi-human running gags.  

The closest parallel I can draw is to the leaden pseudo-Surrealism of Quentin Dupieux’s post-Rubber output. Someone has a sea bug stuck in her head. She has to go to a barber to get it removed. But the barber is an udon shop. Meanwhile, the pharmacist and his wife are expecting, so as per custom, they need to make celebratory gloves. Akira seems to think that just throwing any silly idea into the film, and then calling it back every ten minutes or so, equals comedy gold. He also deploys an equally grating verbal style. Every other interaction devolves into two deadpan performers monotone-arguing the same lines of dialogue back and forth to each other. “You’re troublesome.” “I’m sorry.” “You’re troublesome.” “I’m sorry.” Five more times. (I have to wonder whether this kind of broken-record nonsense has a particular comic valence in the Japanese language, the nuance of which is nails-on-the-chalkboard lost in English.) 

It’s a given that something this aggressively weird will have its fans. But I venture to say that for most people, watching Ambiguous Places will feel like being the only guy at the party who didn’t take the mushrooms. You’re all ostensibly in the same place, but clearly the others are somewhere else.

So in the end, the Random Film Festival is a success, depending on how you look at it. I saw one great film for my trouble, and two fairly interesting ones—three if you count Ambiguous Spaces, which is certainly “interesting.” This batting average doesn’t seem that far off from a festival like Toronto, with its sprawling collection of unknown quantities. (And I didn’t have to fly anywhere or pay for lodging.) By the same token, I have a new appreciation for the job of pre-screeners, who have to sift through the dross only to find one or two fairly decent entries. (With my innate curiosity and sense that “everything is kind of worthwhile,” I think that’s a job I’d be good at.)

The verdict: festivals generally work, but critics need to supplement our viewing with spadework of our own. Why just be passengers when we can drive?

from The Daily Notebook http://ift.tt/2G6u5YX

[themarauderstheoutsidersandpeggy]

I saw you did the Alphabet with Peter, could you do it with Bucky as well? I love you so much 💗 thank youu 💗💗

This is Day 1 of my week long 700 follower celebration! We are having a week of themed night and Bucky Barnes is the theme of Day 1! Send in things for Bucky!

Masterlist

Join my Taglist

Prompt lists

Also requested: Can you do the fluffy/cute alphabet for Bucky Barnes please! 💓 and COULD THERE BE A BUCKY BARNES ADORABLE ALPHABET THING PLEASE THX

A = Attractive (What do they find attractive about the other?)

Da booty lmfao 

Nah he likes your eyes but dat booty catches his eye every time

B = Baby (Do they want a family? Why/Why not?)

He’s real sacred of hurting everyone so he’s torn. He wants to see you as a mother, but he doesn’t want to hurt the child

C = Cuddle (How do they cuddle?)

You usually initiate it, he’s very cautious when showing affection so it’s up to you if you wanna snuggle

D = Dates (What are dates with them like?)

He takes you out to the lil trolley rides and like picnics and those old-fashioned ways to hang out with you

E = Everything (You are my ____ (e.g. my life, my world…))

“You are my tour guide” - doesn’t sound romantic but he also means this in the relationship sense it’s been a while he’s a little rusty

F = Feelings (When did they know they were in love?)

He’s very paranoid of being double crossed or tricked so it takes him a while to admit to himself that he loves you - it was about a year and a half after you two started dating.

G = Gentle (Are they gentle? If so, how?)

He is the most gentle boi?! Like he’s realllllly gentle he really takes it into his head that he might be able to hurt you somehow :’(

H = Hands (How do they like to hold hands?)

At the start of the relationship he only held your hand with his regular arm, he slowly began getting more and more comfortable with his metal arm around you.

I = Impression (What was their first impression?)

He didn’t really become attracted to you until he got comfortable with people, and you actually met him almost right after he was saved from Hydra so he actually didn’t really like you at first

J = Jealousy (Do they get jealous?)

Yes, but he doesn’t act on it, and he only gets jealous bc he’s self-conscious about his own relationship skills  

K = Kiss (How do they kiss? Who initiated the first kiss?)

You had to initiate it, but once you assure him that he’s allowed to, he does it a lot :’) He kisses really soft aaaaaa

L = Love (Who says ‘I love you’ first?)

He does, you knew that he had to first, bc you didn’t want him to think he HAD to say it back if you said it. you waited for him to say it and said it back when he did :’)

M = Memory (What’s their favourite memory together?)

Oof that’s gonna be the memory of when he took you to the beach and you guys watched the sun come up (no this is not one of my own fics that I’m promoting how dare you)

N = Nickel (Do they spoil? Do they buy the person they love everything?)

No, he spoils you emotionally bc he thinks that that’s better than material goods

O = Orange (What colour reminds them of their other half?)

A mix of orange and pink bc you guys watch the sunset really frequently :’)

P = Pet names (What pet names do they use?)

So in every single fic ever written he calls the reader doll and who tf am I to contradict that?  also love and babe tho

Q = Quaint (What is their favourite non-modern thing?)

He really isn’t in tune to modern things so anything he does is really ‘non-modern’

I’d say a lazy sunday would always make him smile :)

R = Rainy Day (What do they like to do on a rainy day?)

Stay inside and snuggle up with you and some hot chocolate

You guys take turns reading to each other :’)

S = Sad (How do they cheer themselves/others up?)

To cheer himself up he relies completely on you, you really are his person :’)

To cheer you up he just snuggles with you 

To cheer others up (really just Steve) he just lets them talk and really actually listens

T = Talking (What do they like to talk about?)

He likes to talk about you!!! Even to you he will just talk about his favorite things you do, aaaaa

U = Unencumbered (What helps them relax?)

A tub of ice cream, come blankets, and youuuuu

V = Vaunt (What do they like to show off? What are they proud of?)

He’s proud of you, he shows you off, he really doesn’t like himself argh I’m gonna cry

W = Wedding (When, how, where do they propose?)

He proposed six years after you guys started dating, he proposes by taking you on a ferris wheel and doing it there so that it was absolutely private and you couldn’t escape :’)

X = Xylophone (What’s their song?)

His song is demons by imagine dragons bc he really loves you but he’s scared that if you get to close to him that he’s gonna hurt you :’(

Y = Yes (Do they ever think of getting married/proposing?)

Yes, only after the five years of dating, he proposes after six years 

Z = Zebra (If they wanted a pet, what would they get?)

Like just a dog or a cat this boy needs some simple lovin

Taglist: @peachybabykxo @5aftermidnight @Spideyyypeter @book-wyrm-snacks @loki-sharpe-hiddleston-imagines @set-phasers-to-cuddle @thecurlyhairedwinchester @lou-la-lou @ilostcount-helpme @snazzy-posts @meisiisem @stevieboyharrington @clean-and-claire @peter-null @embrace-themagic @yafriendlyfangirl @fandomnerdsarecool @ellen_emb @soniaxmsj @avngersunite @m4shtyx @sparkling-gayyy @nervous-shawn @americaswritings @robinkat3 @buckybabyy @mrsstarkstrange @servamp-addict @Darkworld-Student @alexiamiky2003 @freightcarcap @dumbasscorn @cordelia-sagewright @multifandomshitblog @snoploop @johnnycadeissocute @all-thegayships @briisasinamonroll @bonjouritsellaa @ardentmuse @blueivysuniverse @dark-night-sky99 @ilovetvshowsblog @s0cial-retard @lady-of-lies