#yay i wrote something

[archangelgabriellives]

Obligatory eclipse ask! I think maybe he needs to take Sam on a fabulous date to the best view possible

*april 9 2024*

there is no way that gabriel would let sam watch this eclipse in any other way than 1000% over the top. sitting on the hood of a car? wearing those little paper glasses?? no. that is how the rest of the populus can “enjoy” this eclipse. sam is dating an angel. a freakin ARCHANGEL! Gabriel is going all out. jusst a touch of his grace and sam is the only human on the planet who doesn't need flimsy cardboard glasses to see the moon move across the sun. a snap of his fingers and sam is being hand fed his favorite snacks. by gabriel of course. a flap of his wings and they can watch the eclipse from any place they want. and no sam. you're not going to the civic center in lebanon. i don't care how many of the old ladies in town invite you to bingo. you don't owe them your gorgeous face. let your boyfriend spoil you. theres a secluded cabin in the smokey mountains that has his name all over it. there isn't another human for miles. the view is unobstrucked and the clouds have mysteriously blown overto reveal the bluest spring sky of the year. 

there is a blink and you'd miss it moment where gabriel thinks sam has a bit of panic during totality. when the sun vnishes behind the moon it gets dark. unnaturally dark. the cold rolls up fast and its like you're in another world. gabriel can see sams face pinch at the edges, fear creeping in like the ice cold of the cage, and the faint cackle of archangels rattling around in his mind. it takes only a touch to pull him back, warm grace covering sam like a blanket. protecting sam from the things that haunt him. the hunter sighs, fingers intertwining with gabriels. it only takes another moment for the light to start to return. for sam to loosen his grip slightly and tug gabriel into his lap. he takes advantage of the mock twilight and their lips meet in a tender kiss. 

[mcfiddlestan]

Staying the Night Prompts

❝ i don’t have nightmares when you’re there. ❞ (Loki/Bucky)

“We should probably get some rest.”

Bucky managed a lazy grin and an equally lazy nod at Steve’s words, but made no effort to rise from the long sofa in Stark’s penthouse lounge. The tower wasn’t exactly home, but it was the place everyone came to recuperate and get a warm meal, especially after returning from a mission. Bucky and Steve had only come back a few hours ago from their latest mission, providing some not necessarily needed support for Shuri and the Wakandans. Who knew stopping human traffickers could cause so many body aches. A slight shift on the seat to sit up and he knew there was definitely a bruised rib somewhere. 

“I’ll head back in a bit.” He said with a soft groan, falling back against the cushions.

“Aren’t you tired?” Steve questioned from beside him. When he frowned the cut above his eyebrow stung and he tapped a finger to it a few times, pulling his hand back to look at it. Not bleeding anymore. 

Bucky nodded even as he verbally answered, “Yeah, exhausted. I just wanna finish my beer.” He gave the bottle a little shake. “It’s nice to be back within four solid walls though.” And to sit in front of a fire he didn’t have to start or worry about putting out, he thought, as he stared at the flames in the hearth before them.

“Sure is. No rough blankets on the ground tonight. Well,” Steve sighed after a moment. He reached out and clapped a hand to Bucky’s shoulder. “Thanks for covering me out there. You saved my ass.” Bucky lifted bright blue eyes to his, narrowed an eye. “Again,” Steve conceded with that boyish smirk.

Bucky chuckled, nodded, and wished Steve a good night as he brought the Budweiser bottle to his lips. Steve slowly rose with a groan and walked directly into the waiting elevator.

It still amazed Bucky that Stark willingly allowed this ragtag group of vigilantes, spies, a former winter soldier, and others to freely come and go from his tower, using it as a makeshift Avengers Hotel. The billionaire himself kept a small apartment among the smaller bungalows at the place he’d once used as a homebase for his company, but, for the most part, Stark slept in a room off his lab, never too far away from his work — if he slept at all. But everyone left that to Bruce and Rhodey to deal with.

Finishing off his beer, Bucky pushed himself to his feet, careful not to strain any more muscles than he already had, and after rinsing it out, deposited the bottle into the recycle bin. Judging by its nearly full capacity, the tower’s rooms must’ve been equally full tonight. Too wiped to think about who might be milling around in the morning, Bucky headed for the elevator, stifling a yawn. He watched the numbers slowly descend to his floor — the same as Steve’s, but on the other opposite side of the building — contemplating how long he might let himself sleep before he got started on his report the next day.

He was planning it all out as he walked to his door, absently pulling out the key, and unlocking the door. The moment he stepped inside he sensed something was different than when he left it. The apartment assigned to him was larger than the one he kept in Brooklyn, but it was just as sparsely decorated. In his line of business, it wasn’t exactly ideal to plant roots or get attached to anything. The room here and now was lit only by the pale blue moonlight streaming through the tall, wide windows displaying the city and off in the distance, the Brooklyn Bridge.

Bucky wondered if he should’ve just gone home as he scanned the room and moved silently to the bedroom door. It was less than a half hour by subway. Pulling his gun from its strap, safety off, Bucky listened for any sounds even as his eyes scanned the area before pushing the door open and aiming the gun at his bed. 

Seeing the hint of pale fingers rising in a surrender gesture in the shadows of one corner, Bucky locked and re-holstered the gun with an exasperated noise. 

“What the fuck, Loki?”

Dressed in his usual casual outfit of a green tunic and black pants, Loki emerged from the corner and crossed his arms. “I was only awaiting your return. I didn’t realize you’d come in guns a-blazing like — what do they call them? Cowboys?”

Bucky scoffed and began to remove his gear, dumping it on the dark tufted chair beside his dresser. “What are you doing here? How’d you even get in?”

It was Loki’s turn to scoff. “Hello? I’m a god, remember? I can go anywhere I please. Your human locks are like Odin’s fatherly approval to me: nonexistent.”

Bucky jerked his head back. “Well, that got dark fast,” he muttered, finally dropping the last of his weapons. He gripped his shirt, tugging it free from his pants, then reached for his belt. “Is there something you need? ‘Cause I just got back from—”

“A mission in Wakanda, I know,” Loki finished, his voice lowered. “How is Shuri? I’ve missed…talking shop with her. Her technology is impressive. Even to an As—well, a former Asgardian.”

Bucky kicked off his second boot and stopped, watching Loki with more focused eyes. “What’s wrong?”

Loki raised his head, lifting a brow. “Must something be wrong? Are we not friends? Can’t I simply wish to welcome you—“

“Lokes.”

Loki took a long beat before he smirked, chuckling a little, and lowered to the foot of the bed. “Nothing’s wrong. Honestly. I was just…eager to say hello. Thought you might want to talk. Maybe shake off the mission. You must be hurt. I can hear you trying not to groan with every movement.”

Bucky went still then, realizing Loki was right, he moaned a little as he let out the breath he’d been holding. He was really feeling the aches now. As if his body knew the bed was so close. “I’m fine, Loki. It’s just taking a little longer for me to heal, that’s all. But, really, I’m just looking forward to collapsing into bed.” He moved to the dresser behind him to grab a pair of sweatpants and a fresh shirt from the drawers. 

“Oh, well, don’t let me get in your way.” Loki crossed one leg over the other, seemingly planting himself in that spot.

Bucky, with his back turned to Loki, grinned a little to himself, unbuttoning his pants and kicking them aside once they dropped. “We said we were gonna stop,” he said as he slipped on the sweatpants.

The silence was blaring behind him. To give Loki whatever time he needed, Bucky stripped off his shirt and slipped a clean one over his head, and piled his soiled clothes in the corner along with his socks.

“I know what we said,” came the reply finally. 

Tying the drawstring on his pants, Bucky turned to face Loki. He noted how Loki wouldn’t meet his eyes, turning his face away, toward the windows. The moon shone brighter at this angle, lighting up the part of Bucky’s room open to the windows. And Bucky could see Loki’s face now, that it was paler than usual, with dark circles under his eyes and his cheeks a little hollower than usual. 

Sensing his appointment with sleep was about to be delayed, Bucky crossed over to sit beside Loki on the bed. “So what’d you get up to while I was gone?” he asked casually.

“Not much,” Loki answered with a shrug, still looking out the window. “Worked on some spells, conjured up some new tinctures. Avoided Thor.”

Bucky laughed quietly, the bed shaking with the movement. “He was here?”

“Only for a few hours, Hail Frigga,” Loki said with a dry laugh that grew more genuine when Bucky chuckled too. 

“Loki,” Bucky murmured after their laughter died down.

Loki’s smile faded, and he lowered his eyes. “Please,” he all but whispered. 

Bucky grinned lopsidedly, but bit his lip. “You said no more.”

“I know. I lied.”

Bucky snickered and dropped his head on Loki’s shoulder. He was just so tired. “You told me not to let you anymore,” he whispered.

Loki turned his head, nuzzling his cheek against Bucky’s nose. “You shouldn’t listen to me. I’m an idiot.”

“Lokes,” he snorted. Bucky slipped his hand into Loki’s, felt his cold skin cool against his warm palm. “You’re not an idiot. And I wouldn’t be a very good friend if I didn’t listen to you.”

Loki nudged him with his elbow. Bucky only groaned softly and closed his heavy eyes, comfortable enough in Loki’s presence to let his guard down. 

“I’m barely hanging on here, babe. You should probably go back to your room.”

Loki turned his body toward Bucky’s, clutching his hand tightly between his own in his lap. “I don’t want to. Just one more night, James. Please? I know what I’m asking…”

“Do you?” Bucky sat up and released Loki’s hand, so he could balance himself.

For the first time that night, Loki met Bucky’s gaze. Even through his tiredness and the pale moonlight, Bucky could see Loki was equally as exhausted as he. He hasn’t slept, he realized with a spark of concern. Hard as he tried, Bucky couldn’t stop himself from worrying about Loki.

“Look, Loki—”

He held up a hand to cut Bucky off. “No, I know. I know I don’t make this any easier for you.” He uncrossed his legs and turned away from Bucky. “I don’t mean to be selfish, you know. I don’t mean to hurt you. It’s just that…”

Bucky waited for the answer, but none came. “What?” he urged, nudging Loki’s arm with his fingers.

Loki inhaled deeply and turned his eyes to Bucky’s again, and with a quiver to his voice, he said, “I don’t have nightmares when you’re there.”

Bucky swallowed thickly. “Oh.” The revelation was one thing. They’d initially bonded over their shared experiences with torture and brainwashing. Few, if any, of the others could relate. But the tears clinging to Loki’s long black lashes was quite another. Bucky hadn’t seen Loki so vulnerable before. He wasn’t at all sure what to do, but to scratch at his head with the metal fingers, searching for the right words. “Um…”

Loki shifted and Bucky saw the moment he shut down and that cool mask slid into place. His dark emerald green eyes cleared instantly, his lips, already thin, thinned even further. “Forget it. Forget I said anything. Forget this ever happened. I’ll go.”

“No!” Bucky shouted the word, grasping for Loki’s arm as he rose and tugging so hard, the sleeve of his tunic ripping cut into the silence between them. “Shit!” Bucky shot up to his feet, but only stammered out an apology and held out the torn piece of his tunic to Loki.

Loki took it and clenched his jaw. “James, I’m getting rather mixed signals from you.” In one long sweep of his hand, Loki’s tunic was repaired and the ripped piece disappeared. “You won’t allow me to have a restful night’s sleep in your bed, yet you seem eager to quite literally rip my clothes off.”

Bucky slapped the non-metal palm to his face. “I swear, I didn’t mean to do that. And I was going to tell you that it’s fine, you can stay here. I just got a little thrown off by the tears in your eyes.” He started to turn away, but decided he had more to say. “And you know what? Speaking of mixed signals, what kind are you sending to me exactly? I mean, you know very well how I feel about you and you continuously torture me by coming to my room and begging to sleep — just sleep! — in my bed, beside me, all long legs and silky hair, and I’m doing my damndest to be a gentleman and be understanding because we are friends, but it’s fucking killing me when I wake up and there you are, just causally wrapped around my—“

It took Bucky’s brain a good five seconds to compute that his epic rant had been cut short by Loki, and that he was now currently being lovingly and tenderly kissed by the longtime object of his affection. As Loki’s lips pressed against his, Bucky slowly sank into the kiss, taking the opportunity to deepen it and pull Loki’s body against his.

Needing the air to breathe, and realizing what he was doing, Bucky took one giant step back. 

“What is happening right now?”

Loki swiped a finger across his bottom lip. “Well, something that was a long time coming, I think. Don’t you?”

Bucky relaxed, glared. “Don’t be a dick.” Loki cocked a brow, this time in confusion, and Bucky scoffed. “Don’t act like you don’t know what I mean. You’re practically BFFs with Stark and he’s the sassiest bitch in this place. So I know you’re learning some shit.” He looked up and caught the smile lighting up Loki’s face. “What does this mean?”

Loki’s expression turned thoughtful as he closed the distance between them and ran his hands up Bucky’s chest to wrap around his neck underneath the dark brown strands of his hair. “I think what it means, darling, is that your love is no longer unrequited.”

Bucky gawked at Loki. “Really?” he asked, his voice soft. Loki nodded and leaned in to kiss him again. But just as their lips touched Bucky sprang back. “Is this just because of the nightmares?”

Loki laughed, throwing his head back. “No. Well, not entirely.” He breathed out a sigh, as if a weight had been lifted from him, and kept his hands at Bucky’s chest. “I suppose it took me a little while to realize how stupid I would be to keep denying what I was feeling.”

Their eyes met and Bucky felt his stomach flip at the expression in Loki’s gaze. “But why—?”

“I’m not very good at this, James. Physically, it’s not difficult to navigate. But everything else that goes with it…” Loki turned his face again and nearly stepped away from Bucky. But Bucky was there, keeping a tight grip on him. “I ruined whatever it was between Fandral and I, and I—I ruined him. He can barely stand the sight of me now. I don’t want that to happen with you.”

“It won’t.” Loki skeptically angled his head and Bucky grinned. “I’m not great at this either, okay? Back in my day, I couldn’t do this. Not without major consequences. And I never really knew anyone I was willing to risk it with. Until you.”

“How romantic of you,” Loki murmured with his signature facetiousness.

“Shut up, Mischief. I’m saying, we don’t have to sneak around anymore, right? We also don’t have to rush into anything neither of us isn’t ready for. So…” He ran a finger down the side of Loki’s face. “How ‘bout we just see where it goes, okay, doll?”

Loki fluttered his lashes, swooning. “I do love it when you call me that.”

This time, Bucky let the kiss happen, wrapping both of his arms around Loki and holding him tight. He laughed against Loki’s mouth when the nimble god leapt up and wrapped his legs around Bucky’s waist.

“Um, off to bed then?”

“Hm, I thought you were tired?”

Bucky let out a low growl, near purr, at Loki’s fingers carding through his hair. “I might’ve gotten a second wind.”

---------------------------------------------------------------

Sorry that took a minute. I had the idea as soon as you sent the ask, I just wasn't able to get it down until last night (Wednesday) and I didn't get to read what I wrote at three o'clock in the morning and edit until tonight (Thursday). Felt kinda nice to write some WinterFrost again!

LMK if y'all want me to post this on AO3. Then I might have at least one fic posted this year, lol.

xoxo

[gumnut-logic]

Doubts

I wrote something! Many thanks to @onereyofstarlight for sending an ask from the Little Whump List. Her request was 'sore feet'. And I also owe her thanks for reading it through for a sanity check :D

It didn't stay little, though, and there are warnings for submersion in turbulent water and poor Johnny having a bad day, but hey, fic! 2000 words worth :D Yeah, I got that from 'sore feet'. I'm a basket case, obviously :D

So a little whump!John fic (yes, I wrote John, its a shocker). I hope you enjoy it anyway.

-o-o-o-

John had doubts.

Doubts about himself.

Doubts that if he mentioned them to his brothers they would be shouted down with buckets of reassurance.

But they were doubts nonetheless.

He was good at his job. In space, if he was honest, he could probably rate as one of the most experienced astronauts on the planet. He knew he was smart. He knew he had what it took to do what he did far above the sky of his planet.

But his doubts didn’t lie there.

They were solid and terra firma doubts that woke him in the night.

He watched his brothers save lives every day. Heroes, every one of them. John’s part was crucial and he had his own challenges that he had confidence to meet.

But every now and again, and possibly more often if his brothers could wrangle it, he had to return to Earth.

And he would join his brothers in those hands-on rescues.

He was good. He was fully trained and had the experience. He was as much a member of International Rescue as any of his brothers.

But down in the thick of things, he sometimes had doubts he could live up to their example. Be as good as Scott, Virgil and Gordon who tackled this stuff every day while John floated far above and kept his hands clean.

He was physically adept, despite the jokes about gravity and clumsiness. Once acclimated to Earth, he was well muscled and had a brain that could run circles around the majority of the planet.

Yet, still, in the depths of his soul, those doubts sat and nibbled at his confidence.

It was stupid and it annoyed him, but they were there. Perhaps remnants of a time in his past where the school bullies had said so many things until an older brother or two shut them up permanently.

Whatever. He hated the doubt, but had to acknowledge its existence.

So when his foot got caught in the disintegrating floorboards of a collapsing house, all those doubts came out and celebrated being right.

The shock on Virgil’s face as his brother spun as John was swallowed by under-mined timber and dragged into a flooded river, was enough to imprint on John’s mind before grey and dark muck swallowed him whole.

Japan. Typhoon aftermath. A dull day full of roaring river and undermined banks. Evacuating a whole town perched on the edge of oblivion. John had been helping Virgil and an elderly couple who had become trapped by floodwaters. They got them out. But John was too slow, stepped wrong and now he was in the river.

Dark and bruising, his world was a tumultuous mess and for a moment all his breath was stolen from him, panic rearing its ugly head.

This was it. This was proof he really didn’t have what was needed on the ground. Now he needed rescuing, further complicating the job.

But he had training. Tumultuous was nothing new. It usually didn’t involve water, but the mechanics were the same.

Calm.

Assess.

Act.

It became clear that his foot was still caught in whatever had snagged it in the first place and there was pain. He shunted it aside as less important and focussed more on steadying his motion.

He couldn’t see a thing. Though he could feel the flotsam all around, hitting him, herding him…but his helmet and uniform were designed to take it. He was still dry.

Still breathing.

“Thunderbird Five, report!” Scott’s voice had every ounce of command his brother possessed, and it wasn’t until then that John realised his brothers had been calling him through the roar of angry floodwaters.

“Uh-“

Something hit him in the stomach and knocked all the air out of his lungs.

“John, I’m coming to get you. Hang on.”

John unclenched his eyes and finally sucked in a breath at Gordon’s voice. He was in the water, of course it would be Gordon.

Time spun away for a moment, along with his trajectory, bouncing off so many hard things. He forced himself to focus.

Calm.

Calm brought clarity to the chaos.

Assess.

He noted the direction he was travelling - in the majority - this had to be the current. He curled himself up and tried to put himself feet first, floorboards and all, into the current to protect his head and body as much as possible.

Surface. He had to locate up and down.

Space did not have up and down, but it did have direction. In this case gravity was hard to identify between the current and the churning, but there were moments enough, heart in his mouth, teeth clenched to keep it safe, to give him a hint of the right direction.

But he was still snagged, tied to the remains of a wooden floor of the house travelling with him.

The horror on Virgil’s face flashed across his mind again.

Doubt and panic loomed.

But something snagged his baldric and he was being dragged against the current. His foot screamed and he yelled.

“Sorry, sorry! Virgil, get down here! We need your heavy lifting!”

“FAB.”

He barely heard his brothers above the roar. But for a split second, the murk cleared and grey sky lit up his helmet. A glimpse of Thunderbird One, a cable and Gordon in all his glorious blue and yellow perched on wooden remains as if surfing.

That was more a Scott trademark move, wasn’t it?

But then the murk swallowed him up again and Gordon was swearing through his comms.

Ironically, his brother’s voice, no matter how strained, was enough for John to focus on and keep his sanity.

“Thunderbird One, just nudge it slowly. Over there out of the main current.” He could hear his brother’s breathing. Whatever Gordon had snagged him with, it was still tugging at his baldric. But something else was also at work, because the current calmed, the world righted until he was able to float easier and the chaos started to calm.

“Thunderbird Two, get this house off him. I’ll get in there and detach the major stress points so you can lift it off.”

Virgil’s baritone confirmation was lost in the roar of Thunderbird and water.

It took forever, but the entire time, Gordon was speaking to him, his tone light, almost cheery.

“Johnny, you have officially joined the BUB Club. ‘Brother Under Building’ Club. Thought you would escape that one. Scott has had at least three buildings land on him-“

“Keep it sharp, Thunderbird Four.”

“Sure, Thunderbird One. Sharp and to the point, sir.” And he kept talking, totally ignoring the command. “Virgil is the Big BUB, though, with no less than six heart attack inducing buildings landing on our heavy lifting bro. Pissed Scott right off, every time.”

“Gordon!” That was definitely an annoyed baritone.

“Hey, it comes with the job. You lift and sometimes get buried. We pull you out every time. Frequent burial points should be a thing.” There was silence for a moment and then…”Okay, Thunderbird Two, lift it off our brother.”

And there was suddenly light and the blurry outlines of green and silver, quickly followed by blue and yellow.

“Heya, Johnny. You’re a bit stuck.” Their helmets touched. “Hang in there, big bro, just a little longer and we’ll have you out.”

Gordon disappeared behind him and John twisted to follow.

“Hey, don’t move. I’ve got this. You’ll be smotherhenned in no time.”

The distraction worked. Oh god, his foot was probably going to have him off his feet and on the ground for who knows how long with two big brothers hovering…and Grandma. His eyes widened. Oh, hell.

But he was suddenly floating free. Gordon appeared beside him and wrapped an arm around his waist, pushing the both of them towards the surface. “I gotcha, Johnny.” I was said softly and with heart.

Then followed the expected hauling up into Two and that frown on Virgil’s face that was always there when a brother was hurt.

The diagnosis was lots of bruising and a hairline fracture in his right foot.

He wouldn’t be going anywhere near space anytime soon.

He didn’t have enough expletives in any language to fully express his reaction to that news.

“I should have stayed in space.” He was sitting up in bed in the infirmary, watching Virgil fasten a splint on his aching foot.

A dark eyebrow arched in his direction. “And let all those people die in that river?”

“You had that all well under control whether I was there or not.”

Virgil straightened and stared at him. “John?”

It was as if his brother had a radar that picked up on what family wanted to hide.

“What?” Okay, it was a touch petulant. Maybe Eos was rubbing off on him.

“You did a good job today.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Uh, no. We saved an entire town and I know you know that. You were there.”

“I fell in the river!”

“And we pulled you out. It happens.” Virgil turned back to securing the splint. “You did good. We did good. Shit happens. We deal with it.”

“You sound like Gordon.”

Virgil snorted. “Funny about that. Could be because we’re related.”

“Ooh, did I just here an acknowledgement of siblinghood? Didn’t know you had it in you, Virg.” Gordon waltzed into the room and tapped Virgil on the back, not enough to disturb what he was doing but enough to drive his comment home.

Virgil grunted and turned away as if to deny any relationship to the fish in the room.

“Hey, Johnny.” Gordon continued his waltz around the bed and dumped himself lightly beside John. “How goes the bruises? Virg driven you insane yet?”

“Don’t call me Johnny.”

“Oooh, wow, that’s a definite sign of improvement. The snark is back. Eos will be happy to hear.”

John blinked. He hadn’t heard from Eos since before the…accident. “Eos?”

“Ohh, she’s speaking with Scott. We had to kill her access to your comms when you went down.” Gordon wasn’t looking at him.

John straightened where he sat, only to shift his foot enough for it to protest. “Why?”

“Uh, she was worried. But don’t you worry, Scott talked her down. In fact, they are still chatting.”

Gordon’s nonchalance only tightened the sudden knot in John’s belly.

“I want to speak with her.”

“She’s fine. She and Scotty finally hit it off. You might regret that in the long run, but its good. Things are good.”

“Gordon-“

But it was Virgil who interceded. “Eos is okay, John. She has agreed to wait to speak to you until I say so. And I won’t say so until I’m finished here. I won’t be long.”

John stared at him a moment but couldn’t find any words that might work. Gordon yes, Virgil…might as well try to persuade a brick wall.

Fine.

“You did good today.”

Now Gordon was sounding like Virgil. Those two spent far too much time together.

John grunted.

“No, I mean it. You did good in the water. We tracked you, you know. I could see your reaction and I can say from experience that you did good. That was no small accident. Water can kill as much as space, if not more. You reacted in the best way possible.”

John looked up at his little brother. Really?

“Don’t look at me like that. I know it’s not often you get to play in my bathtub, but I was proud of you today.”

Again with the softly and all the heart.

Virgil had stopped working and was staring at him, his expression agreeing with Gordon’s words.

John cleared his throat. “Really?”

Gordon snorted and grinned. “Really. And now we have one extra person on the housework roster.”

“Hey, I’m injured.” It was weak, but he wasn’t at his snarky best apparently.

“You can still do dishes on one leg.” Gordon’s grin widened.

“Gordon, get out of here.” Virgil, ever the sanctuary of sanity.

“No, I’m hanging with Johnny who is down from orbit for some brotherly housework time.”

Virgil rolled his eyes as Gordon snuggled into John’s side like the cephalopod he was.

John found himself smiling.

And as Virgil smirked and winked in his direction, he realised that was the entire aim of everything.

No doubt at all.

-o-o-o-

[diluviium]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ @solere submitted an inquiry ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ❝ i will not say that you are welcome. nor will i deny that i have hoped that you might come. ❞

❛ You do get quite the joy out of speaking in rather roundabout ways, Don't you? ❜ A lofty sigh comes from you as he spoke those words. Ever the difficult man; not wishing to just clearly say "I am happy to see you, thank you for coming!". Not that you would say that either if they roles were reversed. You three are never ones to be clear cut, or simple. If you are, the situation is usually one that had been dire. Have you ever been in such a dire situation that called for any of you to say something like "I am glad you are alright" or "Thank goodness you are here"...?

Well, it's certainly something you can envision happening, but you can't recall a time it has happened.

❛ Well, unlike someone, I can speak clearly~ I am happy to see you and I am glad that I came at such a time where we could meet~ ❜ You say this as if you are proud of yourself. A smile on your features as you look at him confidently. ❛ Now, since we are here together, I do hope that you will come to admit you had hoped I'd arrive. It is rather cute when you avert your eyes when you confess something you deem "embarrassing". ❜

[slushfaerie]

you and art were invited to his grandma's friend's holiday party. you really don’t want to go.

art donaldson x introverted!fem reader (or fem reader that would just rather stay home and have her way with loverboy art and vice versa..bc like...) incredibly self-indulgent and hastily written. inspired by my desire to stay home and also my desire for art donaldson. nsfw elements! way steamier than what i've written before. happy holidays and/or happy wednesday <33

it was almost time to leave and you'd put off getting ready for as long as you possibly could.

art looks up from his spot lounging on the couch with bated breath as you emerge from the bathroom, steam billowing through your hotel room.

his mouth all but hangs open as he sees you, cheek resting against his hand as he takes you in, probably wrinkling his pressed collared shirt he’s chosen to wear, sleeves rolled up to his forearms.

there you stood like some sort of angel - wrapped in a silky white robe, still-damp locks of hair framing your face. he would stare at you forever if he could. 

art’s attuned to you as you let out a soft sigh, your gaze a million miles away. holiday gatherings - gatherings in general - weren’t your most favorite thing. but you’d at least have art to buoy you through the evening, trying to make you laugh with aptly timed snide comments whispered in your ear at the expense of other partygoers. he'd reach his hand beneath the dinner table, thumb caressing your thigh acting as a life preserver. anything for you. 

art was agreeable, malleable in social situations, but he could think of a thousand other places he’d rather be - almost all of them having to do with you wrapped around him in some way. 

as you reach for your moisturizer on the dresser, art’s hand covers yours before intertwining your fingers. you melt against him as he slots his body behind yours, kissing the sensitive spot behind your ear, leaving a trail of kisses down your neck. he has to hold back a moan as he inhales the scent of your shampoo, of you. 

art undoes the tie of your robe, peeling it off and putting you on display to him, only in your cute bra and panties. you watch as he grabs the tub of moisturizer himself and unscrews the lid with diligent fingers, warming some between his hands. 

the way art massages your shoulders, it's as if he hopes to melt away your nerves and tension, leaving kisses in their wake. he hums approvingly as he feels you exhale.

you turn around to face him, your robe a silky pool at your feet, a look of momentary bliss on your face from his ministrations. he turns his head to press a gentle kiss to your palm as you cup his cheek with your hand.

art lets out a gasp as you lace your fingers in his hair, pulling his lips to yours. he kisses you back in earnest, licking into your mouth as his warm hands wander down to palm your ass, massaging with as much devotion as he'd given the rest of you, pulling you against him. he'd drown in you if you'd let him.

art lays you down on the bed as he continues to massage the moisturizer into your arms, pressing kisses and giving attention to each hand, each individual finger. looking down to meet his gaze, you see his pupils dwarfing the depths of his blue eyes with that little kiss of brown.

you can't hold back your moans as art leaves lingering kisses on the tops of your breasts - he's all lips and tongue and gentle nips, teasing the hardening buds of your nipples through your bra, trailing his way down your stomach. 

art’s lashes flutter shut as he licks the sensitive skin around your navel, tracing teasing shapes with his tongue right above the cute little bow at the top of your panties. god, you tasted so sweet.

art gives you a crooked grin as you squirm, cheeks flushing, breath now coming out in sweet, shallow pants.

"y'know, you're making me wanna keep you here all to myself."

you mumble with weak protest something about being worried about being late, about making a good impression on his grandmother. art chuckles and rolls his eyes with resignation.

"okay, if you say so." he crawls up your body, giving your cheek a tender caress with his thumb as he leans in closer.

"just wait until i get you back here," the words of encouragement more for himself than you at this point as art pulls himself away and goes to retrieve his sweater from the hotel dresser.

a little motivation to get you both through the night never hurt anyone.

[transformers-spike]

Knockout x Reader x Breakdown nsfw. Come on, I know you wanna

I will never recover from the predator/prey fic so here have something wholesome for once

“Fuck,” you hiss under your breath, barely taking in Breakdown’s spike. From sheer size alone, it feels like marching into a sex shop and demanding the giant dildo they use to attract tourists. Knock Out, cunty as ever, already has his far-too-soft-for-metal lips against your collarbone. If you were a sensible person, you would have shot down the mere mention of a threesome. Alas, the notion of trying this new thing called “mass displacement” called to you like a kid at a candy store. If you didn’t have the audacity to say yes, you would have missed the suppleness of Knock Out’s tongue and the unexpected gentleness of Breakdown’s fingers working you up. You love these guys enough to put up with their strange antiques and deal with their unusually-high-for-their-kind sex drive (or interface drive as Breakdown kindly pointed out before Knock Out immediately adopted the human lingo). They must have watched human porn, there’s just no way they haven’t – not with the way they stroke your body like frat boys finally getting their groove on after years of studying up on the sex. If you had the energy, you would be currently exploring the seams in their anatomy and dragging your fingers dangerously close to the openings in their frames, but there’s very little you can do when you’re busy getting plowed by two giant alien lifeforms. Knock Out, after having given you the most mind-blowing orgasm with his tongue alone, has fucked you so thoroughly you were practically on your own intergalactic voyage through space as Breakdown held you against his frame, having taken the brunt of his partner’s sexual frustration before they even dared to involve your squishy human insides. Dripping with two kinds of transfluids (the valve and the spike kind) you were gazing at them all blearily, looking unsexy as hell like you just got out of a car crash (minus the blood and with more alien cum). The warmth in their optics felt surreal and welcoming. You were small and fleshy against two titans who have witnessed more beauty than you ever will in your entire human life, but it was as though you were the center of their universe. If you hadn’t been crying from getting the best orgasms of your life, you would have teared up. Now, passed over to Knock Out – whose chassis you’ve grown accustomed to enough to relegate any sadness caused by watching his shiny plating be smudged by your natural oils to the back of your mind – you whimper and steer as his far too competent tongue drags across your neck, servos holding your ass still while Breakdown continues at a steady pace. “Holy shit-” you mumble, words cut short as the holder of the biggest dick you’ve ever had cups your cheek and kisses the side of your mouth. For all his eagerness, he’s softer than Knock Out, especially for a bot as big as him who looks like he crushes cars between his servos (which may actually be true considering the hammers he can summon to for melee). Another climax rolls through you, harder than the last one, inciting a pathetic high pitched anime girl mewl from your part. Breakdown grunts against your ear, metal whirring underneath his frame and against your back as your walls clamp down on him hard enough to drag out his long-overdue overload. His noises only serve to excite Knock Out who captures your lips with his and grinds his still-pressurized spike against the sensitive cluster of nerves between your legs. You come out of your trance having experienced your own death and resurrection, eyes misty and perpetually confused as you wake on the doctor’s slightly softer than steel berth with him hovering over you like a predator. It doesn’t take long for you to notice Breakdown’s fingers stroking your cheek, and once he knows he has your attention, he slips one of his massive digits between your thighs to begin rubbing against the long abused and overused sweet spot. Looking down at Knock Out’s gorgeous spike, you whisper a prayer to Primus Himself as you’re once again assailed by inhumane pleasure.

[arsenicflame]

It's a time-honoured tradition- every time Sam comes across Izzy (and Ed) in their travels, he asks Izzy to marry him. And every time, Izzy turns him down.

At this point, Sam is asking more for the sake of it than any belief Izzy will ever say yes, a remnant of childhood dedication touched with 30 years of heartbreak and regret- though even now, a small part of him still holds out hope. Sam's promises have only got more extravagant over the years, from a job as his first mate, to a captaincy, a fleet at his command, a whole fucking island if that's what Izzy wants- but he knows it isn't though, not really. If Izzy was ever going to agree to marry him, to leave his life and go with Sam, it wouldn't be for anything Sam could offer him. Izzy never did care for flashy shows of wealth, for a ship or to be captain. The only thing that ever mattered to him was loyalty given, and loyalty shown in return. 

It all comes to a head after Stede left and came back, after Izzy lost a toe, lost his leg. Sam hasn't seen him since before things with Ed started to really slide off the rails, before stress permanently set into the lines of Izzy’s face. So, when he sees a dishevelled man with a hoof for a leg in a no-name port, he doesn't even consider the idea that he might know him. It's only when he turns towards him, and Sam catches a glance at those oh too familiar tattoos, he realises this is Izzy, his Izzy, that stands before him.

Knowing Izzy's discomfort with pity, he doesn't treat him any differently than he would in years gone by, positioning himself in Izzy's line of sight before approaching and sweeping him up into a bone crushing hug. 

“Israel-goddamn-Hands!” he exclaims, as Izzy grumbles back a begrudging “Samuel-fucking-Bellamy”, a tradition almost as old as their friendship itself. Izzy might not hug him back, but he can’t keep the corner of his mouth from twitching, just for a second.

(If Sam holds Izzy a little tighter and a little longer than usual, well. That's his business)

By the time Sam lets go, most of the crew has appeared in the town square, drawn in by the commotion. They may have given Izzy his leg and welcomed him as one of them, but still there’s an underlying tension, with nobody quite ready to set aside everything that happened before the Kraken. Seeing him cosying up to an unknown man sets everyone on edge, unsure whether to come to their first mate’s aid, or to assume that they've been betrayed once again.

When Ed sees that the yelling was Sam, his hand goes tense where it's held in Stede's. He knows the routine, has seen it more times than he can count, but as he watches them part he realises that this is the first time in a long time he's unsure of what Izzy's response will be.

Knowing that something’s different, knowing that Izzy's feeling vulnerable already, Sam doesn't go for the same flashy proposal he’s been giving for years. He doesn't promise Izzy the world, he doesn't cause a scene (or, any more of a scene than he already has, anyway). He looks at the fractured man in front of him, takes his face in his hands, and says the exact same thing to him he said when they were little more than boys. “Israel, I have to ask you. I know what you'll say, but I have to try. Come with me. Marry me and sail away with me. I'll keep you safe”

And Izzy… hesitates. He glances over at Ed, at Stede, and says to Sam “...We’re staying in port for a week. Ask me again then”

That's the moment Sam knows there is something deeply, horribly, wrong. He's not just looking at an Izzy who got seriously injured in a fight and is struggling to cope, this is something so much bigger than that- and that Ed has something to do with it. Izzy wouldn't even be considering leaving if he didn't. Whether it was negligence or something more sinister, Sam doesn't yet know, but he intends to find out.

[calmbigdipper]

What you mean to me

[bluewolfangel01]

Man, there's so much that I want! But most of all, I wanna hear you say "Happy birthday." C'mon, I'm waitin'. Whenever you're ready. -Mammon's birthday notification

Context: Mammon and Mc are in Mc's room watching a movie Mammon picked, while he lays his head in their lap while on their bed

Mc:"Hey Mammon..."

Mammon:"Yeah?" He says while looking up towards Mc's face

Mc: leans down close to his head with a soft smile on their face "Happy Birthday" then kisses Mammon on his forehead

Mammon: silent for a moment but afterwards gently guides Mc so he can cuddle and be the big spoon

Mammon: "y-yeah yeah, just watch the movie."

...

Mammon: "thanks"

Mammon then holds Mc even closer, kisses their shoulder, and the pair continue to watch the movie till they fall asleep.

Happy semi-late B-day Mams🎉

Credit to @sister-lucifer for divider

[kittylittersmoothie]

Behold, more garbage artwork:

[too-damn-good-for-growing-old]

Dallas Winston looks Ponyboy Curtis and Johnny Cade in the eyes and tells them that he loves them.

Those are not the words he uses. Of course they aren’t. His words are rougher around the edges — Dally knows he’s the furthest thing from articulate and that’s just fine with him — but it seems like the kids get what he’s saying. He hopes they do, at least, because Dally doesn’t think he’s ever going to be able to say it again.

But he has to say it once, because Pony and Johnny deserve to know.

Darrel is the one to help him realize it, oddly enough. How he feels about them. How much they actually mean to him. It isn’t until the eldest Curtis stands inches away from his face and outright accuses him of not giving a shit that it occurs to Dally that he actually does.

It’s why he gave Johnny that blade. Came back to bite him in the ass, since no good deed goes unpunished, but he’d wanted to protect the kid. And give him the ability to protect himself. Dallas showed little Johnny Cade how to kill a man because he loves him. More than anything.

Ponyboy, too. Baby Curtis the smartypants, Dally loves him. Pipsqueak’s somehow both too intelligent for his own good and needs to get his head out of the clouds at the same time; it’s almost impressive. If anything happened to that kid, Dallas would never forgive himself. He knows Darrel would never forgive him either.

So he understands why Darrel says what he does. He’s an asshole, but he just wants what’s best for his kid brother. In that way, he’s not different from Dallas at all. It’s about time someone told him so.

And if Darrel Curtis gets to know that Dally has a beating heart underneath all his worn leather and concrete bones and wolfish smile, then hell. The people it beats for should know too.

They both smile when he tells them. Johnny’s is small and grateful, just like him, while Pony’s is surprised and proud. The expression flickers on and off of their faces quickly, because the circumstances ain’t exactly fit for sunshine and rainbows, but Dally sees the way they smile. He supposes it means they’re okay with it, then. Being his little brothers. It’s a relief.

Dallas Winston has loved Ponyboy Curtis and Johnny Cade like they were his own for a long time. It just never seemed important to tell them til now, is all. He’s always assumed the mushy stuff went without saying. But then they both almost got killed (glory, they almost got killed) and the only thing Dally can think while King Shit Curtis practically spits in his face is that he could’ve lost them. They almost went six feet under without ever knowing that they’re the closest thing to family Dally’s ever had.

No one’s ever told Dallas that they love him. He could give a rat’s ass. But Pony and Johnny are loved, and they should know. Especially Johnnycakes, because Dallas would be willing to bet everything he’d win at the rodeo that no one’s ever said it to him either. And unlike Dally, Johnny actually does want to know that someone cares.

So screw Darrel and his holier-than-thou crap, and screw being made of stone, and screw waiting til later because later might not come.

Dallas tells the kids that he loves them. He tells them in his own way, and he doesn’t expect anything in return.

But when Johnny says, “We think of you the same way, Dally, ain’t it, Ponyboy?” and Ponyboy says, “Heck yes.”

Dally hears the “we love you too” loud and clear.

[necrotic-nephilim]

What's so fun about BruJay as a ship is Jason's sheer obsessive devotion to Bruce. Jason is possessive over Bruce, to the point he doesn't care about the deaths of others so long as he has Bruce's attention. A part of the UTRH arc this isn't talked about enough is that Bludhaven fucking explodes mid-way and Jason won't let Bruce see if Dick is alive.

batman (1940) #650

A lot of discussion about UTRH paints Jason as this anger-driven cold, calculating machine up against Bruce when it's so clear that his love for Bruce is what drives him at his root, even if he won't acknowledge it. He says it himself, he would've done anything if it was Bruce who'd died instead of him and his anger is rooted in that possessive devotion not being reciprocated.

batman (194) #650

BruJay as a ship always to be, to some level, unrequited. Even if Bruce loves Jason back in that way, he'll never be that obsessed with Jason. Jason will always view Bruce's love for Dick or Tim to be a distraction, proof that Bruce isn't dedicated enough to him. Jason has the need to always have Bruce's attention, even when it could come at the cost of Bruce's other loved ones. Something something cannibalism as a metaphor for love in how Jason wants to consume Bruce's whole existence. He can't let Bruce leave him again, can't let Bruce love or grieve anyone else. Forcing Bruce to choose between Jason and the Joker isn't just about confronting Jason's killer, it's about confronting the other person who exists as this duality with Bruce and consumes so much of Bruce's life. That's the role Jason wants to fill, calling himself Red Hood and forcing Bruce to look at what he's become. But still loving Bruce and wanting more than anything for Bruce to reciprocate that love in the way that Jason understands. I just think it's good soup and rife with Dynamics that are underexplored with them.

[fortune-maiden]

@cypherptqueer the peishui + hx scenario you described earlier has fogged up my mind as well and inspired... whatever this is ahaha

Thank you ;w;

-

In the eternal broad daylight of Heaven, in the large open gardens of the Wind and Water Palace, the last thing He Xuan expects to see is the Water Master fooling around.

Shi Wudu is not the type. He is stoic to the point of arrogance, as strict with himself as he is with others. Even in the comfort of his own home, he is not someone who can openly relax. Any softer side he bears is reserved solely for private moments with his brother, moments He Xuan often hears about, but would never be allowed to witness.

And yet, it’s his voice, loud and spirited, He Xuan hears from the garden as he trails after Shi Qingxuan down familiar halls. White robes come into view, alongside golden armor, their respective figures oblivious to the rest of the world.

Pei Ming’s arms are wrapped tight around Shi Wudu’s waist. He brazenly kisses the back of his neck as he lifts him up and holds him over the koi pond. Shi Wudu screams out threats at him, but he does so laughing, his cheeks dusted pink with a rare dimpled smile across his face.

It shouldn’t be possible for Shi Wudu to make a face like that, He Xuan thinks, a knot forming in his stomach as he stops to watch the intimate scene. To look so happy, boyish even, to gaze upon someone without any of the contempt that defines him.

This isn’t how Shi Wudu is supposed to be. This isn’t how He Xuan wants to see him.

“Ming-xiong, let’s go,” Shi Qingxuan calls out, walking straight ahead, and looking straight ahead too.

“Isn’t that your brother?”

“Nope. Not at all. Just some palace attendants fooling around.”

“That is definitely your brother. And General Pei.”

Shi Qingxuan stops. “Ugh, look, you need to meet me halfway, okay? There are some things a little brother isn’t supposed to see, okay?” But it’s already too late – the splash as the two go tumbling into the pond is hard not to turn towards. Shi Qingxuan and He Xuan are treated to a show of swearing and shoving, and then shameless laughter as the great General Pei suddenly declares he can’t swim and clings to an exasperated Shi Wudu for rescue. Shi Qingxuan grimaces, lip curling in disgust, before he grabs He Xuan’s wrist and forcefully pulls him away.

When they’re safe inside Shi Qingxuan’s rooms, and the echoes of laughter stop replaying in his head, He Xuan remarks, “Your brother is certainly bold.” He’s not so crass as to rub the relationship into Shi Qingxuan’s face, especially when he’d equally like to forget what they’d just witnessed. “What a nice smile.”

His voice sounds as cold as he feels. Shi Qingxuan only sighs.

“Ge’s smiles are always nice,” he mutters. “But that side of him… that’s only for General Pei.”

There’s no one else in the world who can make Shi Wudu feel so secure and happy.

Neither of them likes it.

[i-swear-its-only-ironical]

I posted my first fanfic today! It's called "Mr.Sunshine and the Prince of Death"

Summary:

It seems as though everyone around Will dies. Angry at the Gods and full of sorrow for the lives he couldn't save, he cries himself to sleep over way too many death certificates.

When he wakes up, he finds himself trapped in the underworld in the domain of a god he never heard of before: Nico di Angelo - The God of Justice in Death. What is he doing here? He should be dead, it was Wills fault! Together they look for a way out of the underworld to bring Will back to the living, where he belongs.

The story of a love that died before it could live.

~

Or: Nico is a god and Will somehow ends up in his throne room.

[numbuh424]

I'm the one that you loathe

Mature | 3,380 words | read on AO3

Light wants satisfaction. There’s an easy fix for that; he could simply pick any person he wants among the many who want him and take them without even thinking. But that's too easy. It's all too easy. He wants a challenge. He wants L. And L is dead. In the midst of picturing L's hands on him, the thought of his latest adversary comes to mind. He refused to humor Light before; maybe he'll humor him now. Fuck it. Light decides to give him a call.

Took me a while to take this off anon 🫡 Read my fic where Light spends the night before the warehouse meetup missing L, deciding to call Near, and quickly realizing they're not the same. But enjoying it anyway 👍

[cherlawa-panna]

Barney Barton and his horrible (ugly) hair

I'm in the middle of finishing my meta post about Barney's reasons for leaving the circus, but I saw this ask and had to answer it immediately!

I’d never considered that Barney’s hair might change based on how he’s portrayed, but it’s honestly hilarious—and, in a way, it makes sense.

So, naturally, I’m about to rant about Barney’s hair now, lmao.

Let's start with basics. Barney most of time is shown in memories with specific color schemes, which means he doesn’t get the chance to be shown as a ginger. We can see this in Hawkeye (2003), All-New Hawkeye, and Fraction’s Hawkeye #12 issue (Issue #12 is drawn by a different artist—Francesco Francavilla, who also illustrated issue #10. His art is full of colors and I highly recommend checking out his work <3)

The only exception is in Hawkeye: Blindspot, where he has brown hair due to the brown-yellow, dull color scheme of memories:

In the other issues of Fraction's Hawkeye, Barney's hair in David Aja's art alternates between shades of brown and reddish-brown. It influenced by the color scheme and lighting.

As you pointed out, his hair isn’t entirely ginger and this is probably because from the fact that a bright ginger tone might not fit the overall aesthetic. Similarly, Natasha’s hair is depicted as red too rather than a vibrant ginger. So, this is more like an artistic choice.

To be fair, I can count on one hand the times he’s actually shown as a ginger. Which are: Avengers (1963), Solo Avengers (1987), Hawkeye: Blindspot, and New Avengers (2010).

Your observation about Barney being ginger when he's unsympathetic is right so far, because:

Avengers (1963): Barney is portrayed as a criminal involved with the mob/mafia.

Solo Avengers (1987): Barney is furious that Clint refused Jacques’ offer of money, completely disregarding the fact that Jacques nearly killed Clint. After that, he leaves Clint alone in abusive environment, because he was fed up with circus life. So he was an asshole here.

Hawkeye Blindspot: Barney returns from the dead to kill Clint (I don't need to explain more).

New Avengers (2010): Barney joins the Dark Avengers and acts like an idiot and asshole all the time.

So yes, the pattern is clear—Barney only seems to be depicted as a ginger when he’s shown in a negative light. BUT there's an exception in Dark Avengers (2012)-

- because his hair is brown.

Dark Avenger!Barney is the most stupid and the most asshole Barney that ever existed. So this pattern breaks here.

And his color change frequently, almost like if he was a heartbroken teenager girl post-breakup lol. It ranges from brown to light brown and even blonde at times.

And in #182-194 he has a pink hair.

With a brief exception in issue #186, where it reverts to brown for few panels. But after that, he consistently has pink hair, with a few exceptions where he’s randomly depicted as either ginger or blonde.

(Yes, punching Barney in Dark Avengers is a very popular thing like you can see lmao).

These constant changes happens only to him for some unknown reasons. Satana and Tigra also appear in Dark Avengers but they have ginger hair all the time. Maybe the artists doesn't care about Barney since usually nobody cares about him lmao.

So the hair color really depends only on artists whims. With the exception of Avengers (1963), because I think they made him ginger to show that he's a bastard and bad version of Clint. And, well, stereotypically gingers are bastards.

Interestingly, Barney's second appearance after Avengers (1963) is in Hawkeye (1983), where he’s showed with black hair. I’ve seen a cleaner version of this panel on the internet where his hair looks more brown, but unfortunately, I can’t find it right now.

We don't know why he's not ginger here but maybe artist didn't want to waste a red/orange ink on him? Or simply forgot about his hair color?

ANYWAY! Barney last appeared in All-New Hawkeye (2016), where he had brown hair. In fact, in both the 2015 and 2016 All-New Hawkeye, his present self is consistently shown with brown hair - regardless of lighting. After 2016, we have nothing with him.

So yeah - our ginger asshole is in fact an brunet asshole.

Conclusion:

His changes of colors are largely due to the whims of the artists, like I said before, but he's most often depicted with brown hair rather than ginger. In fact, Barney tends to have ginger hair when portrayed as an asshole (with the exception of Fraction's Hawkeye, where his characterization leans more towards a gray area than a traditional villain) and everywhere else, he has brown hair. Dark Avengers is of couse an outlier, as the artists there seemed to do whatever they wanted with his hair.

What do I personally think? Well, I once came across a Tumblr RP blog (unfortunately, I couldn't find the @ right now ;_;) that had a headcanon that Barney dyed his hair many times throughout his life, and I treat that as canon. Maybe he dyed it to avoid looking like his father and when he was in FBI he stopped (maybe because he was forced to stop in military). And later he returned to dyeing it again.

And that's it. Thank you for ask :D you can send me more if you want. I'm sorry for answering so late.

BTW despite the fact that I dislike Dark Avengers, I kinda like Barney in pink. He's a cutie pie.