#tweety pie and grumpy cat

[anactorya]

Honestly, as places to get stranded on a mission go, this isn’t bad.

The cabin is tucked into the lee of a snow-covered hill, surrounded by pines whose spindly trunks give way to shocks of green. The snow glitters in the rays of the setting sun, and Sam half-expects to see Santa and a troupe of reindeer sled into view at any moment. Under other circumstances, it might actually be kind of romantic.

Unfortunately for Sam, their circumstances are these: only road out of the mountains impassable, thanks to a combination of snow and some rampaging rock monsters that were a real pain in the ass to take care of; wings out of commission, also thanks to said rock monsters; a bruised shoulder that promises to ache bone-deep for days; and Bucky hasn’t said two words to him in the past two hours.

(Or: Sam and Bucky haven't been dating long, and they still have some teething problems to work through when it comes to seeing each other in danger. Getting stranded on a snowbound mountain in the middle of said problems is just their luck.)

-

Here’s my @sambuckysecretsanta fic, written for @arrowsshootyouforwards‘s prompt, Mission fic where they're trapped for days until back-up arrives and they just had a fight before the mission. Happy holidays, and I hope you enjoy it!

[anactorya]

The guy stepped forward into the light, and the vague suspicion that had been forming in the back of Sam’s mind crystallized into reality.

There was a slightly faded quality about him, like a sepia photograph, and when he moved, his feet made no sound on the polished wood floorboards. In the light, Sam could see that the fold of the guy’s left sleeve was dark and wet, and as he watched, a droplet of blood fell away from the fabric, vanishing into thin air before it hit the floor.

“Huh,” Sam said. “You’re the ghost.”

Honestly, not what he’d been expecting. Most poltergeists couldn’t even manifest in human form. They were little more than remnants of rage and sorrow, barely remembering the people they’d been. Even your standard lost spirit tended to be a little fuzzy around the edges, fading out of existence after a moment or two, no more substantial than an image on a broken TV.

But this guy—it was like he was really here. Sam could see the stitching in his uniform, the curl of dark hair that flopped onto his forehead, the hint of something almost familiar in the curve of his mouth. The precise grey-blue shade of his eyes and the little furrow that appeared between them when he frowned.

Which he was doing right now, crossing his right arm over his chest and looking at Sam as if he was the weirdo here. “And you’re… not reacting like most people.”

Despite everything, Sam felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, well, I’m not most people.”

-

A Candle Still Burning, written for the MYSU Secret Santa, for APestForWrens’ prompt, Occultist Sam moves into a house haunted by a very pretty and very grumpy WW2 ghost.

Also fills the “photograph” square for my @winterfalconevents bingo card.

Read on AO3.

[anactorya]

As they circle the lake, some of the low night noises resolve themselves into laughter, soft murmurs of conversation. They pass one couple with a picnic basket, another laying back in the grass and watching the stars.

“Popular spot,” Bucky says.

“It worked for me.” Ayo shrugs. “You should bring your friend up here.”

He squints at her. “Steve? He’s like my brother, that’d be weird.”

“No, the handsome one.”

“Sam?” Bucky blinks at her. “What, no, that isn’t, we’re not--” He breaks off, not completely sure what he was about to say. Not like that, probably, or maybe not friends, which stings oddly when he thinks about it.

(Or, five times Bucky didn't ask Sam out, and one time Sam beat him to it.)

[anactorya]

I really wanna know about “never had it (so good)” but I am also super intrigued by “vamp 1” - does that imply there is a vamp 2???

So, this one started life as a response to a prompt on FFA, which in turn was inspired by @helens78's amazing There Is Nothing Wrong With Me (Loving You) (which, if you haven't read it, go do that now, you can thank me later). The TFATWS threads there seem to have died off now, though, so I'll probably just keep picking at it occasionally and see if I come up with something postable. It's a virgin!Bucky fic, which granted is kind of an unlikely premise, but hey, if someone could make virgin!Sam convincing, why not? If nothing else, it's a good excuse for lots of horny pining followed by lots of smut. *g*

-

It comes as kind of a surprise, because they've known each other for literal, non-Blipped years by now. Bucky can see, so it isn’t like he never noticed before that Sam has cheekbones that could cut glass and the eyes of a Disney princess and an ass hand-sculpted by God Himself. It isn’t like he never noticed the reckless courage, or the loyalty, or the fact that maybe 10% of Sam’s smartass comments are genuinely, kind-of-adorably funny, not that he'd ever admit it where the guy could hear.

It's just the little things piling up on top of each other. Sam’s hand on his arm in the bar in Madripoor, his low, “You good?” despite the way they’ve been sniping at each other for days. His pensive face on the plane afterwards, and the fact that it’s all the shit that happened to Sharon getting to him, over any of their more pressing problems. The steel-wired determination that seems to run through him when it becomes clear they can’t let Walker hang onto the shield a minute longer, and the quiet sorrow that overtakes him afterward, and that a part of Bucky wants to reach out and wipe away with his hands--only he can’t find the words or a way past the guilt starting to gnaw at him, so he turns and walks out instead.

There’s the other side of Sam he gets to see down in Delacroix, surrounded by people that love him. Still laughing and cracking jokes, but there’s a defensive layer that isn’t there anymore, a weight that seems to have lifted off him. The sun-warmed presence of him as they move around each other on the boat, steady and determined and with so much care in everything he does, even when he’s fucking it up. And he accepts Bucky’s apology, accepts whatever help he’s able to give, smiles up at him and says, “The people here are the most accepting in the world,” and makes it sound like, “You could stay.”

All those things pile up on top of each other, filling an empty space in Bucky that he didn’t know was there. Even still, he’s too fucking oblivious to realise what’s going on until Sam slings an arm around his shoulders at the cookout, and he’s right there, close enough their faces almost touch. Bucky can smell the smoke clinging to Sam’s clothes and the salt of. his skin and a hint of cocoa butter, can feel the warmth of him, the brush of his fingertips against exposed skin, and want swoops down out of the sky and kicks him in the chest.

He wants to kiss Sam. Maybe other things, too.

And he doesn’t really know what to do with that, so he just turns the thought over, a weird fossil dug up from some neglected, muddy part of his brain, not even noticing he’s zoned out until Sam gives his shoulder a squeeze and says, “Hey, you okay?”

Bucky smiles back at him and it’s no effort at all, which he’s still getting used to. “I’m good,” he says, and means it. “Awesome party. People appreciated my cake.”

Sam shakes his head, picking up the argument they’ve been kicking back and forth all afternoon. “I told you, they were being polite. Those old ladies are gonna roast me the second you’re not around to hear it.”

-

"vamp 1" is Bucky having been made into a vampire by HYDRA, and Sam trying very hard to pretend he's not super horny to get bitten and attempting to deal with it via dodgy vampire porn. Which is all fun and games until Bucky asks to borrow his laptop. (I did toy with the idea of a vampire!Sam one too, hence "vamp 1" but that one's even less formed than this.)

-

It's a nice morning. Quiet, sunlight filtering in the kitchen window. Sam has his coffee, his book, the prospect of not a whole lot to do, for once. He feels peaceful.

So when Bucky pads into the kitchen, scowling at the sunlight, grabs a bag of blood out the fridge and says, "Hey, can I use your laptop?" it doesn't even occur to him to say no.

It's only about ten minutes later that Sam has the horrific, slow-motion-noooo realisation that he doesn't remember clearing his browser history. His pulse kicks up, and he wills it to stop, because vampires can probably sense that shit or something.

Bucky doesn't say anything, though. Doesn't frown or look confused or, worse, disgusted.

Maybe Sam did clear his history after all. Or maybe Bucky doesn't understand how autofill works; he doesn't exactly spend a lot of time surfing the web. (Probably wise, when you're the subject of a hundred online conspiracy theories.)

Sam almost convinces himself. He half-believes it right up until Bucky closes the laptop, hands it back, and says, "You know that stuff is unrealistic as fuck, right?"

[anactorya]

Thank you kindly for your assistance, @jules-of-the-crown. ;)

This was just supposed to be some quick’n’dirty suit porn (inspired by this gorgeous fanart from Amberdreams, who I don’t think is on Tumblr), but it’s been languishing in my WIPs as I overthink Sam’s relationship with clothes.

-

“No way in hell am I wearing that.” Sam Wilson, Captain America, currently dressed only in boxers and a sleeveless white undershirt, crossed his arms over his chest and actually, honest-to-God pouted, like he was five years old and had just found out he was going to the dentist instead of for ice cream.

Bucky tried very hard not to think it was kind of adorable, actually. He also tried not to get distracted by the bulge of Sam’s biceps, or the thick muscles of his thighs, or the curl of his eyelashes, and to concentrate on the job at hand. Which, right now, was getting his partner, pain-in-the-ass, love-of-his-life, best-thing-in-the-godforsaken-world, whatever the hell they were right now, into a fancy suit. Twelve different boxes from high-end menswear brands, the contents of each probably worth more than a month’s rent on their place in Delacroix, had shown up at the house when it got out that Sam had agreed to speak at this latest fundraiser for the displaced, and Sam had ignored all of them and gone straight for this funereal, navy-blue thing from the back of his closet.

Which, as far as Bucky was concerned, was a fucking tragedy that couldn’t be allowed to happen.

He wiggled the coathanger. “What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s red! You want me showing up there looking like Santa Claus?”

“It isn’t Santa red, it’s classy red! Like wine. You like wine.”

Sam groaned and scrubbed a hand down his face. “Man, much more of this and I’m gonna need a way stiffer drink.”

This time, there was a flicker of genuine unhappiness in his eyes, and Bucky set the hanger down on the bed and closed the space between them. His hands came to rest lightly on Sam’s shoulders. “Hey. You okay?”

-

I already posted some of the alien sex cabin here, but in the interests of procrastination, here’s another teeny snippet.

-

Sam hit the button again. It did nothing. “See?”

Bucky pressed the button himself, like Sam had just been doing it wrong, which predictably had no effect. He contemplated the control panel for a moment longer--and then, without asking Sam’s permission, punched it with his left hand.

There were sparks. A faint smell of burning. Sam opened his mouth to ask what the fuck?, but before he could get the words out, the bed finally, mercifully, stopped vibrating.

Sam heaved himself up off the mattress. “I’ll take the couch,” he declared. “You can sleep on the vibrating sex bed.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “About that.”

Sam already knew he was gonna regret asking. “What?”

“Pretty sure it’s also a vibrating sex couch.”

[anactorya]

i'd never forgive myself if i didn't ask about ALIEN SEX CABIN

I am glad somebody was enticed by that, haha! <33

Context: this is another "Guardians rope them into doing a space favour" fic, where Sam & Bucky are undercover as a couple on a honeymoon cruise IN SPAAAACE. Unfortunately (...or not?) everything in their cabin appears to be some kind of alien sex toy.

-

There was an honest-to-God yelp from the bathroom, followed by a thud, and Sam was on his feet and through the door before his brain could kick in and remind him what he might find.

Which was: a wet and very naked Bucky, pressed into the corner beside the door and glaring daggers across the room at something on the shower floor.

Sam averted his eyes, like a man who'd never spent a single minute of his life thinking about the possible intersections of supersoldier strength and shower sex. He deserved a goddamn medal.

"What the hell is going on in here?" he asked, and then frowned at... whatever was lying in the shower. It looked kind of like a loofah. "What's that thing?"

"I thought it was for scrubbing your back!" Bucky said. "Then it sprouted tentacles and started... writhing."

Sam blinked, but banished the mental images as fast as he could. "So get rid of it! Throw it in the trashcan or the cupboard under the sink or... something."

Bucky was still eyeing the definitely-not-a-loofah like it might bite him. "I think it's touch-activated."

"So use your metal arm!" Sam paused. "And grab a towel, Jesus."

(From this ask game.)

[anactorya]

Numbers 6 and 10 please for the fic ask meme!

6. What’s your favourite piece of dialogue you wrote this year?

“Hey.” Sam makes his way down to the water’s edge to stand beside Bucky. “I interrupt you communing with the lake fairies?”

“Yeah,” he says. “They told me to be careful, there’s a rare kind of bird likes to come out here about this time.”

Sam shuffles closer to the water’s edge. “Rare, huh?”

“Endangered species, they can never find anybody to reproduce with them because they all think they’re fucking comedians-- hey!”

(From Rare Birds)

Honestly, snarky banter has never really been my forte, so this ship has uncovered a side I never knew I had. It's fun!

10. What, if anything, are you going to try to do differently in your writing in the new year?

I've spent a lot of time doing exchanges this year, which has been great, but does mean my own ideas have fallen by the wayside a bit. So next year I'll try to cool off on them and only do one or two.

(Ask game here.)

[anactorya]

“This stuff is definitely alien. The SWORD researchers confirmed it.” Sam crossed his arms over his chest, regarding the shelf of golden figurines they’d found stashed away in the latest former HYDRA base.

Bucky scowled at the collection hard, which Sam suspected meant he was actually trying not to laugh. “Then why do they look like--”

“Maybe it means something different on Planet Wherever,” Sam interrupted, as though he had any hope of stopping Bucky finishing his sentence. “Maybe they don’t even have the same anatomy as humans.”

“--dicks,” Bucky finished. “They look like dicks.”

Sam sighed and hoped they weren’t grossly insulting any alien cultures. “Yeah, I guess they kind of do.”

(Or, the story of how "No touching the alien artefacts, BUCKY THAT MEANS YOU" got added to Team Cap's mission guidelines.)

[anactorya]

‘Twas the morning of Christmas And all through the house Not a creature was stirring Not even a mouse.

Or a grouchy supersoldier.

Which was annoying, because Sam had been naked under the Christmas tree for almost an hour now and he had pine needles stuck to his ass.

Here, have some extremely silly Christmas smut, written for the Morning Sex square on my @winterfalconevents​ bingo card! No warnings, just dorks, dorking.

(This was also the 69th work in the AO3 collection, which I feel deserves some kind of award.)

[anactorya]

<33 @cyclogenesis​

This is probably the closest to being an actual fic of anything on the list. I started writing it for an exchange, but realised there was no way I was going to finish it by the deadline, so put it aside to work once I’d done the assignment. But that’s fine, because no deadline means I can squeeze in WAY MORE PINING.

-

Everything felt a little different when they landed into the chill of a New York evening, colder and realer and a whole lot fucking weirder too.

(“We can’t be naive enough to think there’s no surveillance on us,” Sam had pointed out. “We wanna make this convincing, we’re gonna have to spend some actual time together.” He hadn’t exactly sounded enthusiastic, but he hadn’t sounded like it was a life sentence, either, so.

“Okay. You got a place back in DC now, or…?”

“No.” There had been something behind the finality with which Sam said it, and Bucky had remembered that he’d lost a whole life already before the Blip, one that Bucky knew almost nothing about.

Sam hadn’t elaborated, so Bucky had shrugged and said, “New York’s only about an hour by plane these days,” which was as close to being hospitable as he ever got.)

When Bucky let them into his apartment, Sam didn’t say anything for a long moment, just cast a long glance around the bare space, taking in the unadorned walls, the sad sole armchair, the nest of blankets on the floor that Bucky hadn’t bothered to clear up before he left. Bucky tried to force his shoulders down from around his ears, suddenly conscious of the fact he didn’t even have a table or a desk to toss his mail onto.

He set it down on the kitchen counter instead, glancing at Sam through narrowed eyes. “What?”

“Just wondering where the break-in was. Some asshole stole all your furniture.”

“Hilarious,” Bucky said in a monotone. “You oughta be in pictures.”

“Okay, but seriously. How long you been here?”

“A month, I guess?” He saw Sam’s eyes skate over the pile of blankets. “There’s a mattress in the bedroom. You can take that, I’ll sleep out here.” Bucky fought back the urge to explain himself, but apparently he didn’t need to.

“I get it,” Sam said, quietly. “Took me a while to get used to my bed after I got discharged, too.” A pause, and he let the corner of his mouth quirk up as he nodded at the armchair. “But as your loving husband, I am gonna have to insist on a couch. I’m not squeezing onto that thing with you.”

(From this ask game.)

[anactorya]

Ahh, ty for the mention. 💜

@helens78 did not rec herself so let me fix that right now. So much smut that's full of love and joyous self-discovery.

I don't think I see @cyclogenesis mentioned yet either? Which a crime. Absolutely everything I've read by them has left me grinning like a fool.

Ooh, and also @burn-thatbridge, whose fic is sweet and hilarious.

Ah, yes, it’s WRITER WEDNESDAY!

It’s time to appreciate your fellow or favorite writers! Whether they may be new or old, iconic, or hidden gems, give them a shout or share their works with us!

Reblog the links and love notes under this post or send them an ask about how wonderful they are and are needed in this fandom! We track your posts with #fysbwednesday and #fysambuckyweek 

We’d like to promote reblogging and making author rec lists by our consumers! We need to appreciate the fact that writers provide content for free, and so we must show our love wholeheartedly. 

[anactorya]

TVA agent Aran's new assignment looks like a piece of cake. 'Prevent Samuel Wilson and James Buchanan Barnes from kissing'? How hard can it be?

~

The headache-inducing orange-red light of the Risk Proximity Alert—which Aran had privately christened the Sexual Tension Alarm—flashed whenever it detected an imminent irregularity in the timeline, accompanied by an insistent beeping noise that would continue until Aran dispatched a minuteman or two to avert the impending crisis and punched the button beneath the RPA to indicate things were back on track. And it happened a lot.

At first, there seemed to be no rhyme or reason to the alerts. The light would flash while Aran's charges were mid-argument, Wilson's sharply beautiful features pinched with frustration, Barnes' big blue eyes shadowed with a thundercloud scowl. There seemed more chance of them coming to blows than kissing, and Aran wondered if the thing was malfunctioning, but dutifully sent a minuteman in to defuse the moment each time anyway. The minuteman would invisibly engineer some interruption, some new minor crisis to be attended to, and Wilson and Barnes would stop staring at one another's mouths and break off their argument, and Aran could finally hit that infernal button

[anactorya]

There was a keychain with a Funko Pop-style miniature Sam, wings spread, dangling from Bucky’s belt loop.

After that it was a letter jacket with the words TEAM CAP on the back, and Sam entertained a totally inappropriate fantasy of them dry-humping in the truck at his old high school makeout spot for a couple seconds before Bucky caught him looking and he had to cough and turn away.

Then it was a knock-off t-shirt with a giant photo of Sam’s face printed on it. God knows where Bucky had even got the thing, it was tacky as hell and such shitty quality that Bucky’s nipples were practically visible through the thin white fabric, and Sam tried, unsuccessfully, not to think about putting his mouth on them.

This was becoming a problem.

(Or: Bucky gets heavily into Captain America merchandise, and Sam is in trouble.)

[anactorya]

Thanks, @logicheartsoul​!

Well, you can probably blame True Blood for this one, but I’m a huge sucker for that trope where one character is psychic and constantly bombarded with other people’s emotions/inner monologues, and their love interest is the only person whose thoughts they can’t hear, so they can finally get some peace.

-

(For context: post-TWS while Sam is looking for Bucky.)

Being a sensitive means a lot of things. It means being privy to the brief ohshit that ran through that nice white lady’s head before she smiled at him. It means knowing that his mom’s very first, unvoiced thought when he came out was a plaintive, Oh, no grandchildren?

It also means dealing with the non-zero percentage of people whose instinctive reaction, on learning they’re talking to a sensitive, is to shamefully revisit the freakiest shit they’ve ever whacked off to.

All of which means Sam is very, very good at maintaining a neutral expression. He holds it as Barnes steps out of the shadows. “How’d you sneak up on me?”

But his brain is putting it together even as he asks. Any high-level security op worth its salt employs a sensitive or two as standard. Of course shielding would’ve been one of the first things HYDRA taught Barnes.

He waits for Barnes to let it go, braces for the onslaught, but it doesn’t come. Barnes just tilts his head, says, “Oh, you’re a sensitive,” like something finally makes sense. “Huh.”

And the inside of Sam’s head remains utterly, blissfully silent.

(From this ask game.)

[anactorya]

1 and 3!

1. What’s your personal favourite thing you wrote this year?

Answered here. :)

3. Which of your fics was most different from what you usually write?

Probably Stealing Sunshine. I didn't imagine I'd ever write an omagaverse fic, but the exchange came up and it seemed like it might be fun to step outside of my comfort zone, so I did. And I think it went okay? At least, my recipient liked it so I'm pleased.

(Ask game here.)

[anactorya]

1 and 7 for the fic writing meme! 😘

1. What’s your personal favourite thing you wrote this year?

Either Tryin' to Hold Back This Feeling or Risk Point #325, both of which are among my least popular fics, hah.

7. What’s your favourite piece of description or narration?

... and after a moment, Sam tastes only oranges.

(From What Doesn't Kill You.) It's one of those lines that only works in context, but was also a, "Phew, I can still do creepy and haven't completely lost myself to fluff" moment. 😅