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mmmm, *chef’s kiss*

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Heat Pads for the Fearsome Arm

Fandom: Marvel, Captain America, Bucky

Concept: Bucky seems to be having no luck putting the baby to sleep, so we get creative with our solutions.

Warnings: Mention of baby spit up

Word Count: 1590

Author’s Note: Requests are open!

I woke up to crying.

No different from any other night has been in the 2 months Abby's been home with us but nonetheless I sighed, rolled to the edge of the bed and prepared myself mentally to leave the warmth of the duvet. As I did so, I noticed someone shifting beside me.

"I've got it baby," a groggy moan fell from Bucky's lips as he pushed himself out of the bed. Not one to protest, I hummed my thanks and rolled back towards the impression left by our previously sleeping forms and shut my eyes.

Not twenty minutes later, I was awoken with a fresh bought of crying. I reached in the general direction of my husband only to find the sheets next to me empty and cold. Figuring I was alone, I gathered myself off the bed and padded to my daughter's room, yawning and rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

I entered the room to discover Bucky was already there, our daughter wailing in his arms.

"What do you want Abby?" he whispered to her desperately, oscillating and bouncing lightly on his feet, clearly trying to soothe her. I approached quietly and addressed him,

"Did you feed her?" He nodded slowly as though weighed down with fatigue.

"I changed her, I gave her a pacifier, I checked her temperature, I sang to her, I've been doing this," he gestured with his eyes at the constant movement he was creating with his legs, "for hours. Nothing is working and I can't understand it." I slid in next to him, seeing he was getting close to tears of exasperation and frustration. He shifted slightly, letting me pluck our daughter from his arms.

"Shhh, it's ok sweetheart, mummy and daddy are here," I cooed to her softly. This seemed to satisfy her and she fell quiet for a couple minutes before my suspicions were confirmed and tiny snores told me she was asleep.

"I don’t get it," Bucky whispered, his eyebrows knitted as he watched me do everything he had done previously take full effect.

"Me either, my love. Will you hold her a second while I fix the sheet on her bed?" He nodded again and reached over to envelop Abby into his arms. Just as I turned away to fuss over her crib, my ears were met with a small cough and then a sudden cascade of wails. "What happened?" I turned to see Bucky's face of confusion and complete surrender as our daughter awoke in his arms.

"Nothing, I was really careful and quiet!" he all but whined. I sighed, taking Abby from him and smiling as softly as I could.

"It's ok, just go to bed, I'll be there in a minute," I leaned over to kiss him quickly before he turned away and slipped out of the room. "You're being really rather fussy, mi cielo," I spoke to Abby as I lay her down. She yawned in response. "Now don't you answer back to me, you're upsetting your father," but she was asleep, far beyond caring.

When I had returned to our bedroom, I found Bucky sat up, leaning against the headboard of our bed.

"Is she asleep?" He asked warily. I padded across the room and sank down into my side of the bed, interlocking my fingers with his.

"Yes, my love. Why aren't you?" He sighed, squeezing my fingers gently and staring down at them,

"Does my daughter not love me?" I paled, sitting up at the question. Scooting closer to him, I used my free hand to pull his gaze to mine.

"What a ridiculous thing to say!" He pulled my head onto his shoulder and rested his on top of mine gently.

"It's just that she always cries when I hold her at night and I don't understand why that's any different from daytime." I hummed my understanding.

"My love, our daughter loves you every bit as much as you do her but you know you sometimes forget to watch your strength when you're tiered, perhaps you just need to be a bit more careful," No response. I lifted my head so I could look into his eyes, "How about this, for now we get some sleep, and tomorrow I promise we can try and figure out what's going on, ok?" He thought about this for a minute before nodding. I smiled in response and lifted the duvet slightly so we could slide down into the bed. Humming gently, he wrapped his metal arm around me gently. As I went to rest my arm against his, I jumped back slightly. Startled, he tensed but didn't move, unsure of what he'd done.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked in a soft panicked voice. I shook my head quickly and he visibly relaxed, breathing a sigh of relief. I pressed my hand against his arm again,

"Your arm is frozen, my love," he pulled his hand from my fingers and ran it over his metal flesh.

"You’re right, I'm sorry," he trailed off, shifting his arms as though choreographing something.

"What's wrong?" I questioned.

"I was holding Abby with this arm," he indicated his metal one, lifting it to look at it in the dim light of outside's dawn. I caught on to his realisation.

"That would make sense, when you hold her during the day-"

"-I wear shirts with sleeves so no one asks," he substituted for my words. He sighed, "But I tear through them if I sleep in them… there has to be a better solution," I nodded, yawning,

"I might have one, you're not going to like it though," I barely registered him raising an eyebrow.

"Tomorrow you're going to expand on that." I nodded sleepily as he wrapped his arms around me, his metal one above the duvet, and pulled me close as we both dozed off.

When you're a parent, you don't need an alarm clock. That's what your baby is for.

We were up by 7am, cooking breakfast and feeding our baby, wiping our faces with increasing intensity, trying to wipe the bleariness from our eyes.

I nursed Abby, humming to her as I watched Bucky moving around our little kitchen, pouring oil into a frying pan in preparation for our eggs. Once Abby had her fill, I went through our usual routine of burping her. Unfortunately, today it seemed that she wanted to add in the part where I have to go change because she spits up on me. I huffed and set her down gently, making a run for the stairs and peeling my sleep shirt off, carefully avoiding getting the white goo anywhere else. Just as I stashed the soiled shirt in the hamper, I heard a shout from downstairs.

My heart stopped and I practically jumped all the way down the stairs, racing into the kitchen to find Bucky covered in boiling oil.

He stood in the centre of the room, motionless and seething. The look on his still face sent shivers down my spine.

"Sweetheart?" I asked quietly, approaching slowly and carefully, "Take the shirt off?" He jolted to life, peeling the fabric off, still staring at the mess on the floor. "Bucky, just back up and walk away, ok? Go check on Abby and make sure she's not spit up in her play pen, please?" I got no response but he shook his head and made his way to our daughter. I sighed in relief and stooped to start cleaning up the pan and the still hot oil off the floor. Just as I went to wring out the cloth, I heard a soft wailing from the next room. I sighed and set the pan in the sink, rushing out of the kitchen to see what was happening.

Bucky looked sheepish, Abby resting on his metal arm. I giggled slightly at the look on his face and at the disgruntled look our tiny daughter was somehow pulling off.

"It happened again…" He whined, sulking as he noticed me.

"Just give me a minute, ok?" I took him narrowing his eyes as a protest but ignored it, dashing off to the bathroom quickly.

Once I had finished fishing through the cabinets and found what I wanted, I put everything back in its place before making my way back to my family, the smaller of which was fussing as her father struggled to hold her. I wormed my way into his arms, sliding my arms around my daughter who promptly quieted. Wordlessly, I handed him the packet I had found. His eyes narrowed and he cocked his head,

"Heat pads?" I nodded,

"Just like the ones you put on my back when I was pregnant, except now you can put them on your arm and it'll be warm for her!" He shrugged,

"Well I'm out of ideas and you're a weirdo so sure, why not…" I smirked and watched him stick the little cotton patches to his fearsome arm, the look of annoyance growing the more I tried not to giggle. When he was done, I reached out to feel his arm.

"Nice and warm, let's see what the jury says." I passed our daughter to him and he cradled her gently. She shuffled cautiously before settling down. Bucky's face lit up like a Christmas tree. I giggled and winked, telling him to shush, guiding him to the sofa and curling up next to him.

And there we sat until the grumbling in our stomachs reminded us that breakfast needed making.

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“I punched you, I can handle the awkward.”

Concept: I was just working out at the S.H.I.E.L.D gym when someone snuck up on me. So I punched him. This was not a request, but requests are open!

Warning: none :)

Word Count: 897

Author’s Note: I’m baaaaack! 

Requests are open!

Hey, you on your way? (read 13:41)

Natasha is typing

Sorry Eva, I have to finish this report, I won't be able to make it today…

I sighed and switched off my screen, tossing it into my gym bag. Now that I knew my friend wasn't coming to work out with me, I could stop waiting and just get to it.

I sat down on the bench and pulled my shoes and jeans off. I replaced my black denim with sweatpants of the same shade. I removed my shirt and dug around through my bag for my shirt and sports bra.

My heart stopped with realisation.

"Stupid!" I cursed myself, tugging my sports bra on with a huff and discarding my regular one.

Having come to the realisation that I had forgotten to pack a shirt, I walked over to the mirror, looking over my body critically. My bright pink sports bra stood out against my skin, but it covered well and I wasn't about to ruin my blouse, so I shrugged, finished pulling my hair back, grabbed my water bottle and phone, set my favourite music, and marched out of the changing room and into the gym.

It was a quiet day, by which I mean there was no one there. There wasn't usually, that's why Natasha and I always picked this time. With a sigh, I plugged in my headphones and strapped my hands up, doing some jump roping as a warm up.

Once I was feeling the heat, I made my way over to the punching bag and lost myself in the blaring music being broadcast directly to my ears. I set a rhythm kept to it, rotating my exercises in sets without pause.

By the time I was 7 songs into my playlist, I was getting tired. My breathing was getting heavy, and I could feel the sweat dripping down my face, back, and chest. I kept pushing though, using the anger from the rapper's lyrics to my advantage. I stayed in the zone until about half way through the song when there was a tap on my shoulder.

In a blind reaction, I turned and took a swing at my unknown attacker. My headphones were knocked off my head by the action, so I heard the soft 'oof' before I could register who I'd just hit.

"Oh my gods, I'm so sorry," I fretted, offering my gloved hand to Captain Steve Rogers, who sat awkwardly on the ground, rubbing his back slightly.

"Don't worry about it," he answered, accepting my help and standing, "Nice hit by the way." I laughed.

"Thanks," I grinned and started unstrapping my gloves, walking towards the bench where I had left my water bottle. Setting my gloves down and taking a swig of water, I turned back to the Avenger.

I had met him once before, at a formal event I had gone to with Natasha. Being a tactics officer meant I didn't see much action, I was more into advising and planning operations to ensure SHIELD doesn't break any laws or offend any countries.

"You must be Eva," he stated approaching slowly, "Natasha talks about you a lot." I grinned.

"I should hope so, I've saved her ass god knows how many times… She ever tell you about Budapest?" He shook his head, "Well let's just say I speak fluent Hungarian now," I flashed him a grin. He blushed, looking down slightly. I raised an eyebrow. He blushed and even deeper red.

"I… um… I apologize for staring…I don't mean to make you uncomfortable," he looked away from me, awkwardly scratching his neck.

"Don't worry about it, I punched you, I can handle the awkward." He laughed, "Though, out of interest, what exactly are you staring at?" I questioned him, sitting down on the bench. He blushed deep red once more.

"You… um… You're not… Well, you're not wearing a shirt," he remarked. I looked down in surprise then mentally facepalmed.

"Oh… right… Sorry about that, it's just I forgot my shirt, and I only have a blouse that I have to wear all day…" I mumbled, getting flustered. I reached over to my jacket and began to pull it on. His eyes went wide.

"Oh, no, please don't put that on for my sake, you look great. I mean, your body is amazing, I mean… I just…" he trailed off, his cheeks now redder than his damn shield. I laughed, blushing slightly, pulling the jacket on but not zipping it up.

I took another swig of water as he continued to drown in his awkward silence.

Suddenly, my phone buzzed. I reached over to check the screen for notifications and found it was Coulson, asking for some help translating.

"Damnit," I cursed under my breath. The Captain snapped out of his embarrassed trance and looked at me. "Duty calls," I declared, grabbing my things.

"Wait!" He called after me. I turned on my heels as he jogged over to me. "Do you want to maybe… um… I don't know… um…" He trailed off. I grinned and reached over to the breast pocket of his training jacket and plucked his pen out. Grabbing his hand, I scrawled my number onto his flesh in blue ink. I capped the pen and flashed him one last smile.

"Call me!" I called back over my shoulder.

And he did.

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Reblogging for “ The Cretaceous period...” 

An Apple A Day

Summary: Leonard McCoy x Reader. An unexpected encounter with Leonard McCoy at the Academy leaves you with a poor impression. Will he manage to redeem himself when you encounter him again years later?

Word Count: 6,000

Warnings: Little bit of swearing, and a tiny bit of angst. Incidental o/c death.

A/N: My entry into @thefanficfaerie’s West Wing Challenge! I LOVE The West Wing and it has some really quotable lines. I chose “Nature, like a woman, will seduce you with its sights and its scents and its touch, and then it breaks your ankle, also like a woman.” It screamed cynical post-divorce Bones to me… This is the first thing I have written to completion in a long-while - I hope you enjoy it!

……….

Your training as a cadet is intended to prepare you for the unexpected and unexplained. After all, there’s so much out there in deep space that cannot be predicted. However, you’re more than a little startled by the man lurching out of the bushes with a shout, as you take your usual shortcut across the Academy grounds from the botany lab back to the dorms.

You find yourself assuming a defensive stance, noting with detached surprise that Lt Commander Ono’s persistence in teaching you basic combat skills has actually paid off. Still, it’s a relief when you don’t have to test your tenuous muscle memory further, as the man — another cadet judging by the reds — simply grunts a string of inventive obscenities and sits heavily on the path in front of you clutching a tree branch.

He’s most likely drunk, but, just as you’re thinking you should really check, you realise that you actually know him.

“Cadet McCoy? Is that you? You, uh, startled me.” You crouch down beside him and he squints at you, a little unfocussed in his gaze. You gesture towards yourself. “Cadet Y/L/N? We have an advanced xenobiology class together?”

Keep reading

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About

The Challenge: Comment on every fanfic you read and enjoy in the month of January.

Every chapter. Every one shot. Every drabble. Every ficlet. Whether it’s on a personal website, a blog, or an archive. Whether you’ve read it a hundred times before or you’re reading it for the first time. Whether the fic was posted years ago or minutes ago. Whether you sign your name or leave your thoughts anonymously. Whether your comment is paragraphs in length or a few short words. Comment on every fanfic you read and enjoy in the month of January.

The Philosophy: Comments are what keep a fandom thriving and growing.

We don’t see comments as a transaction. They’re not a price paid for reading a fic. Comments are simply one half of an interaction.

Fandom is a relationship between individuals—hundreds, thousands, maybe millions of individuals in some cases, but still individuals. For the greater fandom relationship to function, individuals within the fandom must interact with one another—ideally in a positive manner. One way to interact is by writing and reading fanfic. A writer prompts an interaction by posting their work; it is up to the reader to then acknowledge (or not acknowledge) the interaction in one of three ways.

If a reader reads to the end of a fanfic and enjoyed the fic, they should acknowledge the positive interaction with a comment. (As well as give the fic a like or kudo.)

If a reader reads to the end of a fanfic and didn’t particularly enjoy the fic, they should acknowledge the interaction with a like or kudo.

If a reader does not read to the end of a fic because they didn’t enjoy the fic. They should close the browser tab and seek out a different fic.

All fanfics are read voluntarily. It is up to the reader to determine their fandom experience. As our fandom forbears were fond of saying, “Don’t like, don’t read.”

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Fanfiction is a form of literary criticism. It is valid.

Repeat after me, kids: 

Fanfiction is not now nor ever will be a waste of time, uncreative, or automatically inferior to canon. 

It is an invaluable tool that enriches fandom and allows authors to build their creative chops in a setting that encourages feedback and communal discussion. 

In some cases, fandoms with disappointing canon material can be kept alive solely through the work of dedicated fan-authors, fan-artists, and other content creators.

Do not let anyone suggest that fan-work is without value. 

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I just wanna let y’all know that you do fanfic tropes all of the time, we just don’t describe them like beginning writers do. You:

Push your shoes off with your toes or with the tip of your shoe, most likely. Props for drama if you yank your converse or your vans or your boots off like a soldier in a scyfi drama, but otherwise, you’re “toeing your shoes off”

Humans are much better at dissecting scents than we give ourselves credit for. If you sit there long enough, you could dissect how your friend smells. I smell like “old, beat up cars, the sour citrus he isn’t supposed to have, and something musty and natural and unique to him that clings to all of his clothes.” In order that’s old flannel, three day old hair mousse, and fish tank water. Smells like cigarettes and oils cling to your clothes, stuff like fishtanks and the food in your kitchen seeps into your belongings. Don’t feel bad about describing scents, people carry our houses with us everywhere. 

Have you ever pet someone else’s hair? That’s “carding your fingers through.” That’s it. It’s the same thing.

Ever walked around barefoot? Its three am and you’re trying to make Dark Lunch? You’ve padded around. You signal to other people nonverbally whether its coughing or sighing that you’re there so that you don’t scare them. 

Smirking is a thing most of us do with our face. Grinning, looking cheeky, and raising our eyebrows are also all things your face does. Sorry :/

You might not get this if you’re a straight girl whose never had sex, but sometimes that little strip of skin between ya shirt and ya hips? The mouth can go there. That’s an intimate place to touch and its a vulnerable place to be exposed. Overused maybe, but a valid way to show a shift in the situation. 

We all sigh!! Are some of y’all really saying that sighing isn’t a thing you do ten thousand times a week?? You don’t sigh when someone says something stupid as shit?? You don’t sigh when you gotta get up?? 

SAID IS A VALID WORD

Everything on your face casts shadows, I’m sorry you have weak eyelashes, or that somehow your brows are flat with your eyeballs

People laugh silently! I’m sorry you’ve never laughed that hard!! People giggle! People snort! People double over and move and flail! Have you ever fucking laughed?

For that matter how do y’all not blush and can you teach me

I’d also like to say sorry if: your heart has never skipped a beat reading something terrible, or when you saw someone you liked even platonically, or if you’ve never been so surprised all you could do was blink, that you never looked at someone like you loved them, and that you somehow never fucking show any emotion in your voice or your posture at all

Tl;Dr: Some of y’all are dragging people for shit you don’t know how to describe and damn if you ain’t still reading things and then telling beginning writers that they’re describing impossible things and writing weirdly when y’all don’t even write shit, its obnoxious as hell. To y’all that do write and are aggressively against this post, I bet you sure as hell use EPITHETS INAPPROPRIATELY ANYWAY, DON’T YA?

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ready to comply.

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A Calming Hand

Concept: Whilst visiting my friend we shared a bed. She was having a hard time with life in general and the stress bled into her sleep. Sometimes it’s just the little things that help <3 This was not a request, but requests are open!

Warning: None, it’s just fluff.

Word Count: 535

Author’s Note: I wrote a thing! Hope you enjoy this little fluff :)

Requests are open!

I awoke to a whimper. Not my own, that of the person asleep next to me.

One tends to assume that sleep is a state of quiet, of motionless thought. Either that is wrong, or she was not, in fact, sleeping.

You see, as my best friend lay next to me, surely asleep, she was writhing against her sheets. Her legs didn't kick out, mercifully, only because she had so fully entangled herself in her duvet. She mumbled incoherent words, whimpering them as if she was in pain, as if she was experiencing acute fear. I could think of nothing better to do; I whispered to her.

I knew she had been having a rough few months. Her relationship had ended a few days prior and she had since been struggling with the sudden absence of the man who had once accompanied at almost every hour of the day. Her school work was taxing to her, entrapping. She was never quite sure what to try to improve, but whatever it was she tried, it seemed, did not work. She had been struggling with her self-image, as many do, she wondered if she was beautiful enough, if she was personable enough, if she was lovable enough. She feared she wouldn't make it where she wanted to go in life. She feared she would never be truly happy.

So I whispered to her as she slept, everything I would have said if she were awake to hear it.

I told her that her hard work would pay off, that it'd make sense. I told her she is beautiful and that someday soon she'd have the pick of whatever future one could possibly imagine. I told her that she would pick the best one and that it would challenge and delight her in all the ways she wanted. I told her that when she could surround herself with like-minded people that she would understand belonging, she would not have to fear being alone. But you see, words are an empty promise to those who suffer. And so my words, as much as I believed them, did nothing to quiet her unconscious weeping.

I will admit to being less persistent than I might have wanted. It was, after all, 3am following a night of soirees so it is one of my deepest wishes that she might understand. So, after repeating everything I could think of saying in my half-awake, likely still intoxicated state, I sighed and settled down next to her as I had been before and I drifted off.

I am uncertain how long after this is, but as I teetered on the line between consciousness and bliss, I felt a soft pressure grip my hand. And on instinct, I squeezed.

As the pressure passed from my hand to hers, I felt her sag into the bed, her thrashing ceasing and her breathing even.

When we awoke once more, our hands were long separated. To this day, I do not know if she was aware of what happened that night. What I know is what I have learned.

What I have learned is that when a friend says they need a helping hand, perhaps they mean it literally. 

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Roses are red, that much is true, but violets are purple, not fucking blue.

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the word lover is so infinitely soft. So universal. So timeless. Two girls with awkward, hungry hands. A boy and a girl in the dark. Two men in empty light. A marriage of 40 years. Letters over eons. Sappho’s poems. The corner of a mouth. Lovers, lovers, lovers.

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Easily distracted. #catanacomics

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“Human biologist, my soldiers are travelling, tell me what I must beware of and leave nothing out, we will not tolerate further casualties.” The human creature takes a second of thought before its eyes go wide in fear. The commander shudders, awaiting the no doubt gruesome truth.

“In this area there are... Sloths,” the human trails off, shivering in recollection.

“Tell me more, human” the commander demands, feigning calm.

“The sloth is a master of misdirection. They appear slow, but once the back is turned, they move faster than Cheetahs. They appear adorable but truly will not hesitate to use their monstrous talons to gut you like a fish! You never see a sloth, the sloth sees you, and if he does... well sir the outcome is unpleasant.” The commander pales, shrinking back, the exhaustion that comes with months of constant horror at the beings of this planet weighing down on them. They take a moment to recollect themselves before asking an ominous question, voice tinged with wariness.

“Human biologist, what is a fish?”

I really want a science fiction story where aliens come to invade earth and effortlessly wipe out humanity, only to be fought off by the wildlife.

They were expecting military resistance. They weren’t counting on bears.

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Me writing fanfic:

Too, many, commas,,, 

Is this ooc?? 

I used that word already 

Do people even blush this much?? 

*squints* Is that canon?

Tropes

 *cries while writing death scene* 

Wait what happened last chapter? 

I wrote like a thousan- 354 words!? 

*googles the lifespan of a tropical fish* 

have I spelt his name wrong all this time? 

Would they say that tho? 

Changes plot 539932 times 

Loses inspiration, goes back to tumblr

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HELP FIND A FIC

Hi, I’m doing an academic study of characterization in fan fiction and the Original Media. It would be really helpful if you could share any Captain America fic with me. It can be your own or someone else’s, the only conditions I have are:

-No oneshots, I need plenty of text to work from

-Must be well written, as in good grammar (but idc about typos or anything like that), solid plot, and well written details

-Not so much a condition, but I’d prefer it to be completed or at least not change much

This study will likely be the first contact many of the scholars I work with will have with fan fiction, so lets try make it a good one please, signal boost if you can and thanks so much for your help!

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Calling out fanfic Writers

No one “chuckles” in real life anymore

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What goes through a writer’s head, ft. me- a writer.

Full video here!