#“Thank God for the Atom Bomb”

[denimbex1986]

'The logical reason that Christopher Nolan’s new movie Oppenheimer does not depict the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki that were the fruit of title character J. Robert Oppenheimer’s secret operations at Los Alamos and elsewhere is that the movie sticks hard to its title character. A man who heard about the bombings on the radio just like everybody else in the United States did. Nolan’s movie gives the viewer the world through Oppenheimer’s eyes — while the movie does depart from the character’s perspective to move its frame story forward, it’s never directly about anything but the man and, more importantly, what he did.

For some this puts the movie at a disadvantage…but in terms of what? In terms of spectacle? If any filmmaker could get financing and summon the technical wherewithal to actually depict fiery carnage on a scale of Hiroshima’s, it’s certainly Nolan. And while the filmmaker himself hasn’t cited moral or ethical concerns when discussing his withholding of these sights from his movie, such issues are summoned and given a thorough albeit indirect airing out in two films by the French director Alain Resnais.

The first, and most obvious, is, well, Hiroshima, Mon Amour, Resnais’s first feature, directed after he made a decade’s worth of innovative non-fiction short films. The 1959 fiction film was written by Marguerite Duras, the groundbreaking French writer whose experimental fictions were rife with philosophical and intellectual challenges. The subject of Hiroshima, Mon Amour is of trauma, historical and personal.

The movie, in black and white and Academy aspect ratio, opens with a negative image of a plant growing, perhaps, as we’ll infer later, a mutated, irradiated one. Then we see naked limbs and flanks, components of a couple in embrace. Sand pours on to their bodies. Soon it starts to glow; is it sand, or a form or radioactive dust. A man’s voice says “You saw nothing in Hiroshima. Nothing.” 'A woman’s voice insists that she has seen Hiroshima. She’s been to its hospital: “The hospital in Hiroshima exists. How could I not have seen it?”

She describes, and the camera echoes with physical evidence, what she’s seen: The Hiroshima museum, with its “bouquets of bottle caps” — objects fused together in the nuclear fire of the explosion — and the hair that fell out of the heads of those who weren’t killed in the vicinity that day, and the photos of actual burn victims. But the man insists: you saw nothing. She says “The reconstructions were as authentic as possible. The films were as authentic as possible.” And again, Resnais shows simulations of the survivors of the blast (a couple of briskly moving tracking shots of fake burn victims), and then puts in actual documentary footage of people with missing eyes, twisted limbs, and more.

“As authentic as possible?” Exactly. What, in these circumstances, does authentic even mean? To what extent does the information we are being given correspond to the reality of what happened? Hiroshima, mon amour strongly suggests that such films, however “accurate” or “authentic” (two entirely different categories of course), have nothing really to do with direct experience of trauma. And that such documents are perhaps the akin to the graven images that Mosaic law prohibits, in that there is the possibility that we might elevate them in a vain attempt to transcend or ameliorate trauma.

“The illusion is so perfect that tourists weep. What else can tourists do,” the woman says near the end of an over ten-minute sequence on the question. “What else was there to weep over,” the man asks, and eventually the movie tells us. The woman (Emmanuelle Riva) is French, the man (Eiji Okada) is Japanese, and neither is named in the film. Not naming your characters was a thing in arty postmodern literature and film at this time (the same thing happens in Resnais’ next film, Last Year At Marienbad, another study of reality, memory, and what can be known, albeit a much more abstracted treatment), but here it’s crucial to the movie’s final point, delivered in its last lines. In any event, their love story began with a bar pickup in a post-war Hiroshima, where she, an actress, is playing a nurse in a fictional movie about the bombing’s aftermath. “It’s about peace,” she shrugs when the man meets her on the set. “Here in Hiroshima we don’t make fun of films about peace,” he says. A few extras pass them, carrying signs bearing enlarged photos of burn victims. The couple is obscured but are laughing when they’re revealed again.

This feels insane — how can we behave as we do, with images of such suffering being paraded before us? In part it’s because those images cannot make us know suffering.

The movie’s larger question outside its historical context has to do with the possibility of love, and what love can achieve for both individuals and humankind, if anything at all. While it may seem so at first, the movie doesn’t abandon Hiroshima to tell the story of the female character and her own personal World War II trauma; it tells that story to demonstrate what she carries, and to demonstrate that what we all carry is inextricably tied up with our ability to empathize, as far as it goes, and the film insists that it can only go so far.

Throughout the film, we distinguish between recreations, acted drama, and footage of real events, and unconsciously assess the weight of each form as we’re also processing the narrative of the love story.

“The whole world rejoiced. And you rejoiced with it,” the man says to the woman about the bombings that did, after all, put an end to World War II. This was the world’s shame, and not just the West’s shame — do you think that China and Korea were sorry to see Japan’s days as a military power come to an end? The scholar and historian Paul Fussell shocked America’s more guilt-ridden intellectuals with his early ‘80s essay “Thank God for the Atom Bomb.” From the point of view of a U.S. soldier who was spared having to fight in the Pacific Theater, the atrocity was indeed a godsend. (Believe it or not, the British blues rock band The Groundhogs actually beat Fussell to articulating that sentiment with its song “Thank Christ For The Bomb,” from the 1970 album of the same name.)

To see suffering on the Hiroshima scale meticulously recreated through performance and special effects — would this help us, decades on, to resolve any of these contradictions? The answer to the question, according to Duras and Resnais, is that had Nolan chosen to somehow “recreate” the bombing of Hiroshima, we, the viewers, would really see nothing. I think they’re right. In any event, Oppenheimer finally is about something altogether different: the reality that men of science, completely rational beings supposedly, have enabled mankind’s potential instantaneous extinction. This is indeed unprecedented.

If we want to continue to think about the ethics of re-creation and depiction, though, It’s useful to think about it relative to another 20th century calamity. If the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, while taking a staggering number of human lives, demonstrated the cataclysmic — indeed, apocalyptic — potential of nuclear weapons, the Holocaust, with its six million dead, demonstrated that the horror of man’s inhumanity to man is alas inexhaustible. In 1956, Resnais made Night and Fog, one of the first and most important Holocaust documentaries. The 32-minute film begins with color footage of death camps as they were 10 years or so after liberation — empty, overgrown with grass, still. Resnais’ camera dollies down a railroad track, following the path the trains packed with Jews marked for extermination did. Narrator Michel Bouquet says (the script is by Jean Cayrol, a poet): “we move slowly along…looking for what? Traces of corpses that fell out when the doors opened? Or of those herded at gunpoint to the camp’s gates amid barking dogs and glaring searchlights, the crematorium’s flames in the distance” — and here the camera gets to the very end of the tracks — “in a nocturnal spectacle the Nazis were so fond of.”

While the film uses horrific archival material, it also insists that in revealing the camps as they stand at the time of filming, “we can only show you the outer shell.” As, for instance, the fingernail scratches on the ceilings of the crematoria. The narration pauses to let the viewer consider how these came to be. The Nazis destroyed as much documentation on the death camps as they could once the war was lost and the Allies were on their way (and much documentation had been trashed even prior to that), but Night and Fog is also asking “How much do you need to see, anyway?” Because memory will recede. The gods of war are only pretending to be asleep. Looking at such images and relegating them to the past yields a comfort that is ultimately false. “We pretend to regain hope as the image recedes, as though we’ve been cured of that plague,” the narration states near the movie’s end. Resnais’ approach helps us understand why Claude Lanzmann included zero archival footage in his astonishing Holocaust film Shoah.

As for fictional treatments of the Holocaust, the genie of depiction got out of the bottle quite some time ago. For many, to orchestrate a simulation of such atrocities is itself an obscenity, although good luck convincing a Life Is Beautiful fan of this. Writing about Night and Fog in his 1995 book Flickers, the novelist and critic Gilbert Adair also turned his attention to Steven Spielberg’s 1993 Schindler’s List, and after saying the picture was “not at all the disgrace that one had every right to expect,” he nevertheless deemed it “a monstrosity.” After which he grimly mused on the performative recreation of death camp horrors: “[W]hat I see when I watch the film, what, hard as I try, I cannot prevent myself from seeing, is that cast being put through its paces on some foggy, nocturnal location, put through its paces by the boyishly handsome director himself in his snazzy windcheater, his red N.Y. Yankees baseball cap, his granny glasses and his beard. I see him blowing into his cupped hands and pointing a gloved finger as directors do. I see the bony, skeletal extras, in striped pajamas or else stark naked, laughing and joking and jostling one another (why not? It’s their right) while waiting for a new shot to be set up. I see the makeup artists…” and so on. Let us not allow Adair’s feverish projection (Spielberg doesn’t wear Yankees caps, for one thing) obscure his larger point: Some things, finally, just should not be acted out.

Did this notion inform Nolan’s decision? Maybe not as much as we’d like to think, given that the dramatic structure of the film doesn’t allow for an easy departure across the world to begin with. But in the end, incineration by nuclear blast is depicted as Oppenheimer’s nightmare vision of just one person. A Los Alamos worker played by Nolan’s own daughter, Flora. Who is a film student of college age, so chill.'

[chaos-cousins]

I may not have all the types and effectivenesses memorized, but every day, I am grateful that there isn't a Nuclear type.

[daryfromthefuture]

DAY 16: BLUE HOUR

witnessing the destructive power of what was supposed to be a major breakthrough and help humanity can sure make you feel blue

[later-radiator]

Thank you to everyone who got me to 250 likes! im sending atom bombs to everyone who liked my post. 😀

[orcelito]

Ok but all throughout my trimax skim yesterday I had in the back of my mind that All Of This was experienced by itnl vash

Right up until the moment he goes back in time. Now that was surreal.

[mihawkhugs]

night changes

haikyuu | iwaizumi x reader | soulmate au (colours)

a/n : may make a part 2!

Falling in love with Iwaizumi was easy. 

It was like watching the night change. You don't really notice how the night passes until dawn arrives, and the sun breaks through the inky hue of the night. But if you play close attention, there are signs that time passes through the night, with clouds floating lazily about as the night sky dances between its shades of midnight. 

One may think his gruff nature and blunt manner may be off-putting, and perhaps they once were at first glance, but now, you can read in-between the lines, and see his loud barks of advice for what they conveyed - his concern for you. 

You first met him in high school. It was hard not to notice him, often accompanied by his flamboyant companion, Oikawa, and his loving (and loud) fans. In a crowd of smiles and laughter and adoration, his serious face, shouting and angry cursing definitely stood out to you. Especially because of how loud he could get when dragging Oikawa away. They certainly made an iconic dynamic duo. 

It was his shouting that led the two of you to become friends. 

You were holding your file, spacing out in the hallway whilst going to your next class, when an roar caused you to shriek, drop your file, and jump like you've been electrocuted by Pikachu. You swear your heart almost stopped as you were jolted out of your daze. 

"OI SHITTYKAWA! GET YOUR ASS - "

Iwaizumi was interrupted by your (embarrasing) reaction and the both of you had gaped at each other, like demented betta fishes before they fight. 

You were the first to snap out of your impromptu staring competition with Mr Spiky Loudmouth, scrambling to pick out your file amd all the papers that had scattered out, blushing in horror at your social faux pas. 

"I am so sorry ohmygod you just startled me and I just reacted instinctively jesus I'm a mess please ohmygod - " 

His chuckle halted your rambling and made you fumble, feeling mortified that one of the most popular guys in school had just watched you scream, drop your file like an atomic bomb and ramble like a 5 year old who had too much sugar. 

He knelt down, and you absentmindedly noted how large his hands were as they helped you pick up the remaining pieces of work, gently arranging them in a neat pile. 

"No, I'm sorry for startling you. I shouldn't have been shouting in the hallway like that." 

He had a nice voice, mellow and a little deep. He'd probably make a killing reading audiobooks or doing podcasts. 

He choked out a laughed as his eyes crinkled, handing you your papers as the tips of his ears turned a little darker, "Thank you? I think?"

As your hands brushed against each others, and before you could hit yourself for saying that out loud (like GOD he was gonna think you had a thing for voices which was NOT the impression you were trying to give) your world burst into colour, and the monochrome world you knew was replaced by so, so many colours, that you had only read about. 

Distantly, you heard Iwaizzumi inhale sharply, but you had long forgotten about him and your papers, standing up and looking out the window, entranced by how bright the world was, and how everything looked so different from the shades of grey that were all you knew. 

You turned to Iwaizumi, who was staring at you like it was his first time seeing you, and smacked him repeatedly in excitement, causing him to flinch in surprise. 

You pointed out the windown as you whacked him in glee, "Look!! Outside!! There are COLOURS!!!! Look!!" 

He followed your hand, laughing as he covered his mouth, eyes squinted shut with joy. 

"Yes soulmate, I see them too." 

You beamed at him before registering what he said. For the second time that day, you gaped at Iwaizumi Hajime like a dead goldfish, trying to say something but your words and brain failing you (again). 

He laughed again, a pretty shade of something painting his cheeks as he beamed at you, holding out his hand hesitantly. 

"Nice to meet you?" 

You reached out automatically to shake his hand (which were indeed much larger than yours), and gargled something gibberish in response. 

"Yo Iwa-chan~, it's lunch time! What's taking you so long -" 

Oikawa popped his head out from around the corner, before spotting the two of you, his best friend smiling like he had just seen a real life Godzilla, and a cute girl who was blushing like she had seen someone dance naked up a tree. 

His eyes gleamed with mischief and he opened his mouth, ready to shit on his best friend, when Iwazumi's head snapped towards him like a demented Annabelle doll, eyes promising revenge, pain and destruction if he so much as breathed in his direction. 

So Oikawa did what anyone would do. He screamed out, "Iwa-chan's got a girlfriend!" as he sprinted away, hauling ass.

Your soulmate went from cute happy babyboy to angry demon dog ghost child as he snarled in the direction of the other half of his duo, as you stared at him, brain not braining anymore. 

He turned towards you and flashed a small, shy smile.

"Wait for me after school?" 

You nodded mechanically. He could have told you to throw yourself out the window and you would have agreed anyways (God he had such a nice voice). 

He beamed at you, dimpling his cheeks, before he turned and scowled at the direction his friend had run of too. 

"DIE TRASHYKAWA! GET READY TO…" 

His voice trailed off as he sprinted down the hallway, yelling obsceneities and insults so creative he could write a book, leaving you staring after him, world completely overturned. 

Your hands came up to your cheeks, papers and file totally forgotten as you buried your face in your hands, letting out a silent scream. 

You had just met your soulmate. 

[mossyivy]

𝔹𝕖𝕖𝕟 𝕒 𝔾𝕠𝕠𝕕 ℝ𝕦𝕟 [ℙ𝕋𝟚.]

DI!Leon Kennedy x (Fem)Reader

Summary: You sit in the hospital and contemplate the aftermath of yours and Leons near death experience. All while waiting on him...

Words: 3.2k

Content Warning: Talks of injury, Leons in a coma, crying, this part actually made me sad..., cliffhanger (: (yes I'll make more if this does well!)

[Previous Part] | [Next Part]

It's been hours.

Hours since you were put in this hospital room in Miami.

Hours since, you were carried off screaming and flailing by a fellow agent.

Hours since you last saw him "alive".

You've asked different hospital staff at least 20 times for updates. Hearing the same things over and over again.

'He's in critical condition.'

'He suffered severe blood loss and a possible brain injury so comas are fairly common.'

'He'll need surgery once he's able to undergo anesthetic.'

Aside from whatever Rebecca came to share, you were completely in the dark...

And all you can do is lie in your hospital bed and wait.

The only company you have is your thoughts and the woman in the room that you've refused to speak to since she came in a few hours after they allowed you visitors.

"You can't stay mad at me forever."

That's the 6th time Jill's said that... But you're still going to talk. At least not to her.

She sighs heavily at your continued refusal to talk.

"So do your eyes not work either or are you just so pissed you don't want to even look at me?" Deeply inhaling through your nose, you look at her, crossing your arms.

"Oh wow, your ears work too? So full of surprises."

"Fuck. Off." You grumble, voice cracking from lack of use and your deteriorating emotional state.

There's a knock at the door, gaining both your attention. Jill stands up, walks over and opens it, Rebecca stepping into the room, glancing around quickly before her eyes land on you. She looks almost happy to be there, even during this mess of a situation.

"Hey, I just came to check in and share some news." Rebecca sounded chipper. Jill shuts the door, walking back over and pulling a seat up for her, a fold-up chair next to your bedside.

You sit up, excited and about to start asking millions of questions.

"Is it-" Rebecca puts her hand up, stopping you from talking. You sit back in bed, trying not to jump down her throat about anything.

"Yes." Rebecca starts as she sits down. "He's stable enough for surgery. The doctor told Chris that it looked like part of his large intestines was clipped. He'll need a hell of a lot of stitches but he'll be okay. And he's incredibly lucky it wasn't anything vital." You sigh, feeling your body relax finally after hours of being tense.

"Thank God..." Jill rubs her forehead as she starts pacing the room, finally feeling some sliver of relief.

"But..." Rebecca starts again, looking between Jill and you. "He didn't wake up before surgery... It's up to him now."

What if he doesn't wake up for a while?

What if he's stuck in the hospital for months?

What if he never wakes up?

"Hey, hey, he's gonna be okay." Jill walks over noticing your lack of response. You sniff, starting to feel the tears fighting their way out. The past few hours are the most stressful ones of your life.

Sure you've dealt with loss before. Even the loss of a coworker, but not Leon...

Leon is different. He means too much to you.

Jill pulls you into a hug as Rebecca stands to rub softly up and down your back.

"You know he's gonna pull through. He's Leon." You laugh softly into Jill's shoulder as she makes her statement, she's not wrong though.

"It would take an atomic bomb to stop that man." Rebecca adds, leaning into your other side.

"It's just... It's different this time." Jill pulls away listening to you, wiping a few of your tears away with her thumb.

"What?" She looks at Rebecca who just shrugs in response, unsure of what exactly you meant.

"Is Chris okay?" You look up at Rebecca, changing the subject because you're not quite ready to discuss what happened yet.

"He's not still woozy from the emergency transfusion is he?" You ask, looking at Rebecca. She nods.

"He's still recovering a bit. But Claire is with him in the waiting room, shoving whatever vending machine food she can find into his mouth. Like some kind of... weird... mother bird or something."

"Of course she is." Jill, chuckled, looking back at Rebecca, smiling and happy to hear some good news.

"So, what's going on with you?" Jill turns back in your direction as Rebecca asks, gesturing towards your cast.

"Leg fracture, ankle fracture and spinal fracture... I'm gonna need some physical therapy in a few weeks but I should be perfectly fine. Other than a bit of nerve damage that still needs to be accessed fully after the spinal fracture heals..." Rebecca's brows drop, frowning.

"Permanent?" Nodding slowly, you saw her face change, she looked so disappointed and guilty. "You can't go back to the D.S.O. can you? No field work at least."

"Most likely no... Where the damage is... It's gonna make my legs numb randomly. And we all know once we get a permanent injury... we're done."

"Oh God." She took your hand in hers, clutching it tight. "I'm gonna miss the hell out of working together when we did."

"It's not like she's going away forever, Rebecca. You'll still be doing desk work, right?" Jill looks optimistic for once, you stay quiet for the time being.

This could be your chance to finally get out of that cesspool of a career. Something you've thought about for years now.

"I think... I should retire." They both stare at you, mouth a gap. Out of all of you in the group, they never expected you to retire first. Especially with how much of a workaholic you were.

"That's... probably for the best." Rebecca squeezes your hand, trying to be supportive, but you can tell this choice is killing her.

"This won't hurt our friendships, right?" You look at Jill, she honestly just looks annoyed yet sad at the same time.

"Of course not."

You all know you will, in some way, hardly get to see each other, as is from everyone's busy schedule. But now you can make time for each other at least.

Hopefully.

"I think I should be getting back to Tweedledee and Tweedledum." Rebecca gives you a tight squeeze of the side looking over at Jill. "I'll be in the waiting room. If I find out anything I'll comeback."

She gives you one last rub of the back, leaving the hospital room with a quick goodbye. Once the door closes, Jill pulls the chair up next to your bed, closer, having a seat.

"Are we on speaking terms now? Or was it a truce for Rebecca's sake?"

"I'll talk." You sigh, earning a smug look from Jill.

"How is this time different?"

Of course, she asks that first. Jill's never one to beat around the bush.

What's the big deal? Just say it, she's gonna know eventually...

"I told him I love him." You say it, looking into her eyes as they blow wide.

Her jaw drops. A broken string of words came out. Unable to make a complete sentence, she shuts her mouth. Looking so lost and worried. She blinks, slumping back against the chair.

"No wonder you fought me so hard..."

Thinking back to her unlatching you from the doorway, the stairwell railing and even trying to grab a standing desk at one point. She got so annoyed with your actions when she was just trying to help.

Screaming, beating on her back weakly as she carried you all the way back to the radio room they set up where you eventually passed out due to exhaustion and woke up as the evac helicopter was landing at the hospital.

Looking back now, you feel like a child throwing a tantrum, but could you really blame yourself?

But it all made sense to her now as the guilt seeped in.

"God, if I had known-"

"Don't." She looks up at you, your eyes starting to fill with tears as you let out a broken whine, sniffling against your hospital gown collar as you wipe your eyes.

"But, I could have-"

"You did the right thing," You assert, cutting her off again. Her eyes still looking at the floor with guilt. "If he would have died on that table we both know I wouldn't have been leaving."

Jill just glances up at you, nodding and rubbing her temples.

"He said it back too."

"Oh- Oh my God." She smiles, looking almost relieved and excited. "He did? Leon Kennedy? The man known for being emotionally constipated?"

You laugh, continuing to wipe your eyes and nod with a shaky breath.

"And uhh..." You breathe out, taking a moment to gather your words. Jill leans forward, putting a hand on yours.

"Take your time."

"Thank you." You sniff again, looking back at her, the heat in your body rising as you remember the conversation again.

"He asked me if we could have had a family together. So I told him if he held on I'd give one to him. And he wanted that... With me. Me, Jill!" You smile. The tears starting to overflow again. "He wants me... I never thought he actually would."

"I know. Everyone thought one of you would die before saying something to each other." She jokes, getting you to chuckle somewhat.

"But I guess we were wrong. It was a near death."

"I don't want to lose him... I wanna give him what he wants, what we both want." Starting to cry harder, Jill gets out of the chair.

"He's gonna pull through. He has to. I'll kick his ass if he doesn't."

"What're you gonna beat up a man in a coma?" Your body jiggles as you laugh, smiling finally after what feels like an eternity.

"Maybe, maybe not."

Laying back against your pillows, you stare at the ceiling and wonder, what's going to happen in the next few days?

"I know I'm probably gonna be here for a little while," you started, lifting your head from the uncomfortable hospital pillow, "but do you think they'll let me see him?"

"Why wouldn't they?" She looks almost confused? What could stop you from seeing him?

"He's in a private room. Which means only people on his contact list can visit... His only person is our boss."

"Hun, don't worry, I'll fix it. Okay?" Your brows wrinkle looking at her.

How the hell are you gonna fix this?

"Okay..." You can't help but feel lost but you take Jill for her word when a knock comes at the door.

"Sorry to interrupt." A nurse steps in through the door. "But it's 7:45... Visiting hours are over in 15 minutes."

Jill nods to the nurse as she walks back out, closing the door.

"Listen." Jill speaks before you can say anything at all. "I'll fix it. So don't worry your pretty little head about anything, okay?"

You take a shaky breath, nodding as she leans in hugging you tightly.

"I'll try to come see you once you're back in DC. I can't promise anything but I can try." You nod again, just not feeling the need to say anything.

"I love you, remember that."

"Love you too." You wave as Jill exits the room, leaving you alone again.

Alone...

You'll be here alone. He'll be in his room alone.

Everyone's gonna go back to work tomorrow like normal, act like nothing happened whatsoever, and I'm stuck here... He's stuck here without anyone else.

He has no blood family.

We're his family...

The D.S.O. is his "family", if he can even bother to call them that...

You lay in your bed staring at the ceiling, closing your eyes, trying to let sleep consume you and your exhausted body.

....

"Miss?" Your eyes shoot open, gasping, you jump, looking around the dimly lit hospital room. The nurse from before next to your bedside jumps as you startled her as well.

I'm so out of it, I didn't even hear her come in...

"Yes?" Your voice sounds oddly normal again, minus the grogginess.

"Mr. Kennedy is out of surgery and recovering. He should be in his room again in about 10 minutes." You claw at the rail of your bed, eyes widen in surprise.

Already!?

"Is he okay?" The nurse nodded with a kind smile.

"The surgery went well. He's gonna recover just fine." The pure bliss that fills you is nothing compared to almost anything you've felt before.

"Is he awake?" The nurse's face falls with a shake of her head.

"I'm sorry, no..."

Of course not...

"Would you like me to get you a wheelchair to go see him once he's back in his room?"

They're offering...?

"Yes, yes, I would love that. Thank you."

The nurse nods, leaving your room. You look at the ceiling, smiling and feel a little bit better than you did before. Turning your head, you look at your bedside table, seeing your phone, the familiar green light of a message blinking from the black screen.

Picking it up, you turn the screen on by swiping your code through and look at the time.

12:35am. You fell asleep.

Swiping down, you see a series of texts from Jill.

'I swear this hospital is run by jackasses.' 7:57pm

'I'm talking to someone finally.' 8:13pm

'You know I hate doing it but I'm about to wave my badge around for you.' 8:42pm

'It's fixed. You're welcome <3' 9:07pm

"Jill Valentine, you're a God damn miracle worker." You squeeze your phone in excitement as you start replying.

'I owe you my life, call me later <3' 12:37am

You sit back in bed shutting your phone off and setting it back down on the table. You feel so nervous.

The 10 minutes drag by right as a nurse comes in with a wheelchair for you. Putting the railing down, she helps you out of bed and into the chair, putting your cast-covered leg up on the footrest.

Moving backwards out of the room, the bright florescent lights of the hallway blind you, a pained hiss slipping from your lips. The nurse pushing you chuckles as she wheels you to the elevator.

"Oh, I should inform you." You look up at her as she pushes the call button with a smile.

"We're gonna be moving you upstairs next to your fiance in the morning. Just thought you should know."

Fiance... Don't question Jill's methods.

Knowing what Jill did now, you just nod going along with it.

"Thank you, that is very helpful. I don't want to leave his side as much as possible..."

"Oh, understandable. You must be going through so much with him right now. I can only imagine."

You don't know half of it.

The elevator opens, you're pushed inside and the nurse pushes the floor button.

"So, how did you two meet?" The nurse asks. You look over your shoulder at her.

"Work. I was placed with him because I was experienced in our line of work. Apparently, every other person he was paired with couldn't handle him."

"And I'm guessing you could?" She chuckles, making you smile.

"Well, we've been together since November of 2013, so I'd assume yes." She laughs again.

"Who asked who out?" You froze, thinking of something quickly.

"Well, we kind of just told each other how we felt and it just happened." She nods slowly, the elevator dinging.

You're pulled back out of the elevator and start down a dim hallway. This floor looks a lot quieter and well kept.

The nurse pushes you past rooms, stopping in front of a corner room with the number 10 on it. Opening the door, she pushes you inside, seeing the curtain drawn around the bed in the room.

The nurse stops you at the bedside looking at you again.

"I'm just going to warn you. He looks like he's asleep, it's gonna be odd with everything he's hooked up to right now, but if he stays stable for a day most of it will come off."

You nod as she pulls the curtain back, revealing Leon.

Tubes... And wires. So many tubes and wires.

Your jaw drops and brows knit. His hands lay at his side and he looked like he was asleep.

You've seen what he looks like, knocked out, asleep, passed out. But this time it doesn't feel right...

Looking over him you see the bags under his eyes look lighter at least.

Feeding tube through the nose, heart monitor, IV, a ventilator and a stomach compression band across his abdomen.

He looks so vulnerable... Not at all like Leon, you know.

Taking his hand in yours, you just stare at him, letting the sight of him sink in.

At least he's alive.

"So, the ventilator should come off once the anesthetic is out of his system. It's just a precaution." The nurse comments, walking over to his bedside table, picking up a small stack of pamphlets and handing them to you.

"Thank you..." You look at them reading the titles quickly.

How to help wake up a coma patient.

My partner is in a coma.

Coma Recovery and what to expect.

"I know it's a lot right now." The nurse started, putting a hand on your shoulder. "But with his health and how well it was before hand, I'm sure he'll be up and be a pain in no time."

You smile at her, feeling thankful for such a wonderful angel of a woman at nearly 2am.

"Thank you. I appreciate it."

"Of course, I'll leave you to it. Feel free to talk to him, every little bit helps. And when you're ready to rock and roll out of here, just hit the call button and I'll come get you."

The nurse leaves with her final words, shutting the door as you turn looking at Leon.

Leaning towards him, you take a deep breath in.

"Hey Dumbass..." You stare at him, interlocking your fingers with his limp ones.

"This is the part where you're supposed to say 'Hey Shithead' back to me... Like normal, y'know?" Patting the back of his hand, you nod.

"Yeah I know, this hospital room..." You look around whistling softly as you look back at his face. "You'd be bitching about how over the top it is for a hospital room... I just know you would."

Sitting back in the wheelchair, you hold his hand tighter, leaning into it.

"You... I hope you can hear me. Cause I just..."

You look up at his face, feeling too uncomfortable. It's hard to almost look at him.

So many tubes and wires! What would he do to break the tension right now?

"Wanna hear a joke about paper?"

He doesn't respond.

"Never mind. It's tearable..."

Fighting the urge to look away, you lean closer again. Just needing to get what you need to say out.

"Look, I know I'm not mushy or soft usually but..."

You swallow your fears by gripping his hand for dear life.

"I need you."

He doesn't respond.

This starts to feel hopeless, but you remember.

At least he's still alive...

[liesmyth]

All your TLT posting is making me questioning if I should try it.. The only thing i'm worried is that I don't want to start a series and then finding out in the third bookthat the author made the antiheroic genderbent mao protagonist throw the metaphorical atomic bomb on the japanese because the author is an american descendent of a Chang Kai Shek general and wanted to absolve the yankees to grant herself a career (it worked greatly). So should i still try TLT as an olde commie? Love your blog btw, please continue reblog all those TLT fan art they look great! Thanks!

whew lowkey glad I couldn't get past the first book in that other series. anyway *clears throat*

If you like LESBIANS, Locked Tomb is the fandom for you. If you like BONES and FAILWOMEN and ARE ANGRY AT GOD, Locked Tomb is the fandom for you. If you like BAD JOKES and SHITTY MEMES, we have those in spades. If you love EXCELLENT FANART and DIVORCES that last TEN THOUSAND YEARS and LOCKED ROOM MURDER MYSTERIES, if you think EVIL COUGARS are SEXY, if you think PLUTO totally COUNTS as a PLANET, Locked Tomb is the fandom for you!!!!

[here's the rest of the tlt manifesto on ao3, podficced by @/wilfriede ]

On a serious note! I think TLT is definitely informed by leftist politics, and it has many themes that lend themselves to juicy interpretations on top of a really meaty worldbuilding and characterisation. Also the fanart SLAPS. And if you read the books you can check out my fics which, not to brag, are some of the weirdest I've ever written! featuring such tropes as: "bodyswapped man sucks his own dick" "vagina dentata" "ritual sex to have a baby during a mass death event" "in-universe academia" and "orphan girl meets her parents for the first time and they suck"

tldr please read the locked tomb <3

[generouskittentidalwave]

Astro boy reboot, oh boy

So news of the new Astro boy reboot series broke out like WILD FIRE and as I predicted the fandom that has been waiting so long for it is very worried of how it'll turn out

But honestly

I'm actually quite hyped for it.

They removed the Miraculous creator from working on it which is a great start in my book THANK THE HEAVENS. Secondly I don't mind Astro having a girl he has feelings for at 9 as that happened in the 80s version and it was genuinely very sweet (ya know until she was found out to be a bomb and the two had to heartbreakingly seperate by her needing to be taken apart which destroyed the fandom's hearts). And he had plenty of crushes over the years so I'm not phased by it.

The only thing I hope for is that they don't make her human, because the problem with a robot child being together with a normal human child is the fact that she can age and he can't as he is permanently stuck with the mind and body of a 9 year old, so OOOO THAT RELATIONSHIP WILL BE *BAD* IN THE LONG RUN IF THEY MAKE THE RELATIONSHIP A PERMANENT THING AND NOT TEMPORARY.

Now to talk about some other things, I am actually really excited for the plot. It's a very slept on plot on the idea that Astro has to keep his robot identity secret from others to blend in as human and sometimes not even discovering he is a robot himself till later as usually unless told or shown otherwise Astro is mistaken to be a normal human child. That idea of self discovery and finding about who you are, who can from, and who you decide to be is a core trait for Astro and I find the plot as a cool way to show that.

And speaking of which, the elephant in the room. Tobio. By the looks of the plot it makes it known that Astro is gonna have the hero name be Astro when he is fighting and will most likely be called Atom by others AND I HOPE I PRAY TEZUKA GOD OF MANGA YOU BETTER HELP HERE I HOPE that they actually keep in and address the fact that Astro/robot Tobio is a robotic replacement by a father gone mad of his 9 year old dying in a tragic car accident as it's a CORE part of his character. The implication that robot Tobio has been living as a replacement in this series and is discovering himself and who he truly is by becoming Astro would be SO COOL

Lastly, the cgi, ima be honest it looks pretty decent. I like the way it looks as we could've gotten something so much worse if it was animated like Miraculous believe me. It looks bright, cartoony and colorful which ppl associate with it causing stir for it being aimed towards kids but the original Astro boy was also aimed towards kids in that same goofy cartoon style. What made it memorable was the story, the meaning, how a goofy and silly looking manga who could hold such darkness and truth and bringing to light deep societal and human issues while dealing with the inner turmoil of a boy trying to find out who he truly is beyond what he was made for. That he isn't a replacement, that he isn't just a robot. So as long as they are able or atleast TRY to hit that mark, then that's what matters to me more than the style.

In conclusion, it's just the pitch idea mind you, just a summed up concept. Everything is subject to be changed and tweaked as things get made and processed. For all we know it could end up being something completely different. The fandom has a reason to be on edge but we should be atleast a bit more open minded towards it until we see it in action it might not be another 2003 but it's definetly no 2009. And as for the ones working on it with both Tezuka productions and the fandom holding them at gunpoint over a series we've waited nearly a decade for, that better encourage them to give out one hell of a series.

Also Tenma and Oshan better be the same divorced science dads we all know and love or I swear to god-

[nicosraf]

hi! :3 I’ve been thinking about the angels (and demons) a lot recently.

I’m unsure how much influence earth and human actions/development would have on hell or the demons quite yet, but from a fashion standpoint, do you think the demons (particularly lucifer!! his wardrobe comes across as very curated and stylish, can’t forget the nipple piercings lol) would be influenced by the humans’ evolving fashion over the centuries?

Same could be said about technology — do you think any of the demons would care to have a tv, phone, computer, etc. or would it be just another human invention that isn’t very interesting? for some reason, i can picture baal with a modern phone very vividly lmfao

I do think so! I think demons would have strong opinions on human fashion regardless of how close they live to them, and I do think they'd be influenced by it. It'd take a long time to get them to adopt pants after billions of year in tunics though sksks. I imagine pants still aren't super popular in their hell. They also probably find modern fashion brands very fun; I can see Lucifer in a Gucci cape and Louis Vuitton sunglasses.

I imagine most technology doesn't work where the demons are. They'd find trains very helpful though, and I think they'd love planes (it makes them remember what the air above the clouds looks like; now I'm thinking about demon involvement in the invention of planes....)

I have this idea in my head that I may explore in the third book about demons immediately being fascinated with technology, especially as something to use against God — but their thoughts would start to change once the development gets too quick and feels aimless, and I think they'd have a discourse among themselves about, say, atomic bombs.

For the less serious part of this question though, I do think they'd own phones / tablets / laptops, but they mostly use them when they're on Earth's surface where the wifi is. I can imagine Rosier playing candy crush with an iPad. Baal spamming Lucifer with heart emojis. Asmodeus tweeting recycled discourse on Twitter just to make people mad. I think a lot of demons have social media profiles, but Lucifer asks them to hide their demon side ofc.

thank u for the ask! :)

[bombsonboard]

the day after yesterday: chapter one

Summary: Time travel is volatile, dangerous, playing god. And then sometimes  it drops you in just the right place at the perfect time. It’s a matter of perspective. You decide.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (no Y/N)

Word Count: 3k

series masterlist || masterlist

Warnings: Nausea, fainting, 40s Bucky

A/N: So this is the fic i’ve been meaning to give you for a while now and I can’t wait to see what you all think. Thank you all so much for waiting much longer than I expected (And let me know if you want to be added to a taglist)

“I should’ve asked you if this was safe, huh?” 

“Listen, just keep communications open and I’ll guide you through it, it's a piece of cake, really.” The glass wall between yourself and a smiling Scott Lang did little to reinforce his encouragement.

“I heard you turned into a baby-”

“That- that was a test run.” His voice nervously crackles through the speaker.

“You turned into a baby?” Hope Van Dyne returns with coffees for the pair.

“I will not tell you about that later.”

Failing to shake out the tension in your muscles, you conclude that it's not tension at all but just stupid fear trying to freeze your body into place. Fear was never really a warning to you, though, more of an inconvenience to actually living an exciting life. All of the research you had done to get here, the words that flooded through your brain, underlined in red, were thrown out of the window, torn to shreds and blown up with an atom bomb. 

This was diving in at the deep end, to the fullest extent. Who needed particle physics now?

Scott presses down the button for the microphone one last time “Ready?”

“Piece of cake.” You give him the least confident thumbs-up known to man.

“Launching in 3, 2, 1-”

Time travel isn’t as fun as it looks in the movies, turns out. It’s nausea-fueled, jumping out of a plane and falling upwards, sideways and inside out. Having time to process you were actually small enough to pass through atoms is out of the question, you need to focus. What were the directions he gave you again? Was it two lefts then a right, or three? 

“Scott?” You speak into your wrist. “Which way am I going?”

“It’s uh- hang on, Hope-” Something is starting to go wrong, his voice begins to fizzle and snap in your ear, only able to catch “fifty” and “cake!”

“I didn’t get that, Scott?”

Only a distant crackle replies.

“Scott! This isn’t funny!”

Silence.

“Lang!”

The twisted vortex is blasting past you at a million miles a second and zero sense of navigation is precisely what you don’t need.

“Shit, shit, shit.”

Plan A wasn’t happening and plans B through Z didn’t exist, a consequence of combined idiocy and confidence. So, it’s time for plan ‘I don't know what the shit I’m going to do.’ You screw your eyes shut, throw yourself into the next tunnel, and pray to anyone that could possibly hear you that the fabric of space and time could handle a singular little tear. 

Well, that’s the hope. 

No one tells you how much a crash landing actually sucks, one minute you’re upside down and weightless and the next, you’re face down in someone's discarded trash and aching all over, feeling like you've just been flung off the empire state. As your suit disappears in favour of casual clothes, the groan that emerges from the depths of your throat sounds like some mangled stray because as soon as you make a sound:

“Hey, is there a cat in there?”

You go still, not only did you not want to be seen so time could resume its uninterrupted passing but to be found in a dumpster? That’s just embarrassing. 

“Here kitty, kitty…” The sound of a grown man making ‘pspsps’ noises makes you cringe a little, being mistaken for a scavenging cat is as demeaning as you might imagine and half of you wants to burst out and give the man the fright of his life and stern talking to. But sense kept you still.

After a bout of silence, you assume the stranger has passed on with better things to worry about than a ‘cat’ in a dumpster. Crouching in your mess, you fish out the useless earpiece and glare, as if the sheer force of irritation might magically make it work properly.

“Stupid little government issued-”

“Hey-Who’s in there?” 

You freeze again, bracing your hands against the sides of the dumpster for balance.

“I’m not going to hurt you, c’mon… I’m in the forces you can trust me.”

“Convincing.” You scoff before clapping your hand over your mouth a bit too violently and losing the footing you had before.

You yelp as you land on your back, staring helplessly at the sky from the dumpster, the sun beaming in your eyes. Miraculously, shade appears over you in the form of a smiling face.

“You’re not a cat.” He pulls himself up a little further “You alright?”

The sudden concern makes you want to laugh, but a wave of time travel related nausea stops you.

“I’m fantastic, thanks.” You groan sarcastically.

“What are you doing in-”

“What year is this?” You ask quickly, rubbing your eyes as the dizziness starts to fade.

“What year?” He asks, baffled, after a pause, he answers  “...It’s 1943. Must’ve hit your head real hard to forget that.”

“What.” That had woken you up. Fumbling, you grabbed onto the side of the dumpster and pulled yourself up  “No, that can't be right I didn’t-”

Then you saw his face. 

“I fucked up.”

Inches from your face, staring back at you was The Winter Soldier.

Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. Right there in front of you. But, different, younger, you could’ve sworn there was a literal fucking twinkle in his eye. After a short pause, he draws his face back from your stunned expression in amused confusion and lands back down on the ground.

“You gonna get out now?”

It was a strange sensation, meeting someone you knew in the future, in the past. Well, you didn't really know him, more like you once stood in the same room. All the same, it was disorientating and your re-emerging headache wasn't helping.

Stuck, you search your brain for a way out, but you were cornered, literally “I’m gonna…” 

“Look, just get out so you can sort out whatever crisis I assume you’re having” He offers up his hand and you can do nothing but stare at his flesh that wasn’t metal yet. A thousand possibilities ran through your head of what could happen if you took his hand, most of them ending with the space-time continuum collapsing. But, something was telling you it was just a hand, what harm could it do?

Tapping against the metal, he startles you into sliding your hand into his and you climb over the side, almost falling over again if it wasn't for the hesitant hand on your waist that disappears as quickly as it touched you. 

The pre-war-hero looks at you, up and down. “Ma said it was gonna be a strange day.” He mumbles under his breath and sighs “Always right.”

“I’m gonna go-” You don't want to screw up any more events of the timeline so you go to make a break for it but he's a quick hand, grabbing you by the forearm.

You winced out of instinct, he was still a super soldier to you, with ninety years of breaking skulls behind him. You hated thinking about it but it was hard to see him as something else. Something before.

His brows furrow at your reaction. “M’am, do you need a hospital?”

“No!” You exclaim that would lead to even more consequences, records where there shouldn't be “No. No hospitals” You shook your head, “I’m fine anyway!” 

You forced a smile and he doesn't look impressed.

“You didn't know what year it was.”

“A momentary lapse!” 

“Look, I won't take you to a hospital, okay? But for my own peace of mind let me take you to my ma and she’ll check you over, and then you can call someone”

“Oh no, no I can’t,” He’s still not letting you go. “Really it’s, I’m-” The dizziness comes back like a tidal wave, you hope the ground isn’t as hard as it looks.

“I’m not taking no for an answer, sweetheart, just- ”

"Don't call me sweetheart-" Your eyes roll back and everything goes black.

The Barnes you knew of, in the present day, wouldn’t call you sweetheart, he wouldn’t call you anything. You were just the new girl, the scholar in the crowd of avengers and agents, severely under qualified to be there, your ‘my name is’ sticker might as well say ‘sore thumb’.

Scott Lang was the reason you were even allowed here, one email from him about putting the words from your papers into practice for the greater good and you were on your way. It was all a part of this new initiative in the post-blip world, ventures into time travel and what it could do for a planet that was desperately trying to piece itself back together. 

It turns out, Scott had made a pretty strong case for you to be here in this room, something about giving ordinary people chances to help out. ‘Ordinary’ felt a little insulting, you had published papers on quantum mechanics, on particle theory, and Tony Stark once listened to you at a party for a good thirty seconds. But you weren’t genetically enhanced or a super spy, 

and therefore classified as ‘ordinary’. 

And a sudden altruistic reference from one Captain Steve Rogers meant they basically had no choice but to choose you.

Scott was busy prepping you on his ‘Very Important Rules of Time Travel’ when you saw Sergeant Barnes for the first time. You looked up, past the blackboard Scott had insisted on having and saw him there, across the military-owned aeroplane hangar that had been loaned for ‘avenger activities’. He was carrying a duffel, dressed in dark jeans and a leather jacket, hands in his pockets, despite everyone in the room already knowing about his arm.

You had sworn he hadn’t seen you there but then you recall noticing his steps slightly stuttering as he glanced in your direction, Sam tugging him away before he could inspect further. It was a meaningless moment, so why was your brain nagging at you to think again?

“-Bringing home strays and you expect me to pick up after you!”

“She fainted! In my arms! I couldn’t just leave her there, she said no hospitals!”

“James Buchanan-”

“Ma, not the full name, please.”

There's a heavy sigh and the room shifts.

“You did the right thing.”

“Thank y-”

“But I’m not happy about it. You said you were going to the recruitment station.”

“I will, I just got sidetracked.”

“James-”

“I promise. This afternoon.”

“You better.”

You opened your eyes cautiously to find yourself lying on somebody's couch, the smell of home cooking greeting you kindly, your guard was reluctantly falling down as the blanket covering you slipped. Shifting and sitting up slowly, your senses whisper softly that there was no need for alarm, but then you remember who’s home this is.

If Scott ever finds out you managed to wind up in The Winter Soldier’s family home, he was probably going to strangle you, well, Scott wouldn’t but Hope definitely would. All you had to do was slip out of the back door and not touch anything-

“You’re awake.”

Bucky Barnes stands there in the doorway, a glass of water in his hands. You froze, watching as he placed it on the coffee table.

It’s a standoff, he’s scared you’ll bolt like a skittish horse if he makes the wrong move and you’re practically terrified of the implications of all of this. He speaks first.

“How’s your head?”

You hesitate, debating whether you could slip past him and make this all a funny anecdote.

“Really gave me a scare, y’know? I can make a dame swoon but that was…” 

The lightness in his voice as he eases the tension down to a simmer makes you think twice for a second. If you could just lie your way out of this maybe it wouldn’t be quite so universe-ending.

“...Sorry I shouldn’t be joking. Are you feeling better?”

“Yeah I am, thanks”

“You’re welcome, how’d you end up in a dumpster anyways?”

“Oh, I was…” Okay, first lie “...looking for something”

That wasn't that bad. Maybe a couple more details “...my necklace”

“Why’d you hide then, sure I coulda helped-”

“-You said you were in the forces.”

He’s caught off guard. “I, uh, will be. Was on my way to enlist when I heard you.”

“So, you’re not?” 

He shakes his head “Not yet, but-”

Shit. Bucky Barnes was supposed to be in the army, he was Sergeant James Barnes. If there was any chance you had stopped him from becoming who he was supposed to be then-

“-you didn’t tell me your name actually, what is it?”

“Can I use your bathroom…please?”

“Sure, it's down the hall, on the left.”

You stood slowly, time-hurtling nausea had now been replaced by a sick sense of impending doom, and you weren’t sure which one felt worse. This day was really shaping up to be…something.

The lock slides and you have to stop yourself from screaming, reasoning with a heavy sigh that leaves you feeling no better. God, you look a mess, your reflection staring back at you in resentment and dumpster chic. Splashing your face with water and rubbing at the dirt staining your cheek, the next move forming in your head.

Number one, get out of here so you don’t cause any more disturbances, number two use your spare Pym particles to find a way home-

And, once again, shit. You tapped your back pocket, where you had kept them safe and they weren’t there. You frantically checked all of your pockets, in your shoes, had it rolled under the sink? Nope. That meant they had fallen out somewhere, probably when you landed in that dumpster. 

If some raccoon had found them by now you were royally screwed. You looked to the skylight pouring light into the bathroom and debated how easy it would be to get up there. It was worth a shot. Perching yourself on the top of the toilet you reached up and flicked the latch open. It was a bit harder to open than you had expected, evidently, it wasn't used as an escape route much, but you eventually pushed it wide with a louder-than-intended groan. 

The knock at the door startled you. 

“You alright in there?” 

It was Bucky.

“Yeah, I’m fine!”

“You sure?”

Pulling yourself up was proving a challenge, your safe footing was dwindling as you grasped at the edge of the window. With another heave, you got your elbows resting on the ledge but your feet were dangling in the air, one slip and you would-

The yelp you let out ends in Bucky bursting through the door to find you halfway through the window and clinging on for precious life. He had to hold back his laughter as you pedal in the air to get your footing back.

“You know we do have a front door you are more than welcome to use.” 

“I thought I locked the door. ” You grumble.

“You think I can’t jimmy my own locks? Here-”

Bucky grabs onto your hips, swerving to miss your feet kicking him in the face. He tugs you down and you let him in your disgruntled defeat. With your feet back on solid ground and a frown on your face, he couldn’t help but smile.

“You’re weird” He states “Ma’s made you soup, would be rude to leave without tasting it, c’mon” He holds the door open and watches you shuffle out of the bathroom, a little embarrassed.

The kitchen is small and cluttered, recipes littered about as well as people, a younger girl, no older than 12, and one older woman, wiping her hands down her front. 

“Took this from Ma’s closet, Jimmy said you needed new clothes”  The young girl placed a folded dress in your hands.

“No, I didn’t say that-”

“What's wrong with my clothes?”

“-I said her clothes were a bit…unkempt”

“Unkempt?”

“Unkempt? You said dirty. You’ve never said unkempt in your whole life”

“Becca. Shut up. And stop calling me Jimmy in front of people” Bucky drifts past his sister, leaving a kiss on the top of her head.

The Barnes household was far more chaotic than you had anticipated, to know that a man like Bucky Barnes comes from a place of such care and comfort, his hands for holding and helping before they were bound to kill.

You stare a little too long, the dress hanging from your hands, forgotten at that moment.

“You gonna sit or?”

He’s looking at you curiously, unaware of the conflict behind your eyes.

So you sit. The bowl in front of you is steaming, the smell too gorgeous to resist and the hopeful look in his mother’s eyes is a real heart twister. It tastes delicious, it's like nothing you’ve had before.

“What is this?”

“It’s soup.” Bucky shrugs next to you. 

“Ciorbă rădăuțeană” His mother corrects him “It’ll make you feel better.”

And she’s right, of course. The warmth of the soup heats your very soul, settling and giving you a sense of reassurance, maybe you weren’t going to end the universe by simply being here. It was a lot for one soup to do, you suppose time travel makes you really hungry.��

“It tastes amazing.” You compliment in between spoonfuls.

Bucky’s mother must’ve given him a look because he shakes his head when she smiles.

“I like her.” She shrugs.

There’s not much talking as you eat, neither of you knows where to really start, and you were grateful for it. It was a headache to even try and lie right now.

Afterwards, you slip into the bathroom, with a silent promise not to try and escape again as he watches you disappear with a hint of a smirk.

It’s a nice dress. Clearly worn many times and loved, the deep emerald color now faded to a dustier green and the skirt was a little frayed at the edges, a dark mark from where it had caught fire momentarily years ago, it was a dress that had lived. At least it would help you fit in.

Emerging after a final check, you faintly hear a new voice in the kitchen. You hesitate, the fewer people you interact with the better. Sure, it was nice to pretend you were safe for a couple of moments but now you just wanted to get back home as unscathed as possible.

“You’re not escaping again are you?” Bucky calls out.

“...No” 

Okay, deep breaths, just make it a polite hello and a swift exit-

“Holy fucking shit.”

next chapter

[antiquatedplumbobs]

URL Song Game

Thank you for the tag @vermutandherring this is such a fun idea!!

antiquated plumbobs: an eclectic assortment of hoarded memories and experiences, people and emotions, akin to a dragon sitting upon its pile of treasure, but it's more one man's trash kind of vibes and oh we're in the woods

A - all the way by shane smith & the saints

N - nightswimming by rem

T - take me home country roads by john denver

I - i am california by john craigie

Q - question...? by taylor swift

U - use somebody by kings of leon

A - all eyes on me by bo burnham

T - the view between villages by noah kahan

E - evelyn by gregory alan isakov

D - dancing on my own by vitamin string quartet

P - punchline by ed sheeran

L - leiser by lea

U - u r my everything by leslie odom jr

M - miss atomic bomb by the killers

B - broken by lovelytheband

O - ophelia by the lumineers

B - by and by by caamp

S - sunday by joy oladokun

This was delightful but also crazy hard (q almost defeated me thank god for taylor) i am not really a song girly, i save things that make my brain feel nice and that's about the only criteria, so I'm going to tag some of the song girlies (and others) in my life, can't wait to see what you do with it darlings

@aheathen-conceivably @surely-sims @thebramblewood @elderberries-and-honey @applesaucesims @stargazingsims and literally anyone else who wants to do this!!

[ronandreams]

tag game! choose some of your favourite lyrics and list them below.

tagged by @henrywinteris and @nataliajames , thank you so much 💗

run - joji

I fell for your magic I tasted your skin And though this is tragic At least I found the end I witnessed your madness You shed light on my sins And if we share in this sadness Then where have you been?

as the world caves in - matt maltese

Oh, girl, it's you that I lie with As the atom bomb locks in Oh, it's you I watch TV with As the world, as the world caves in

francis forever - mitski

On sunny days, I go out walking I end up on a tree-lined street I look up at the gaps of sunlight I miss you more than anything I don't need the world to see That I've been the best I can be, but I don't think I could stand to be Where you don't see me

heaven - beyonce

We laughed at the darkness So scared that we lost it We stood on the ceilings You showed me love was all you needed

clementine - halsey

Wish I could see what it's like to be the blood in my veins Do the insides of all of my fingers still look the same? And can you feel it too, when I am touchin' you? And when my hair stands on ends, it's saluting you The blush in your cheeks says that you bleed like me And the 808 beat sends your heart to your feet Left my shoes in the street so you'd carry me

because of you - kelly clarkson

I watched you die I heard you cry every night in your sleep I was so young You should have known better than to lean on me You never thought of anyone else You just saw your pain And now I cry in the middle of the night For the same damn thing

family line - conan gray

Scattered 'cross my family line I'm so good at telling lies That came from my mother's side Told a million to survive Scattered 'cross my family line God, I have my father's eyes But my sister's when I cry I can run, but I can't hide From my family line

landslide - fleetwood mac (i also love the chicks version of this)

Oh, mirror in the sky, what is love? Can the child within my heart rise above? Can I sail through the changin' ocean tides? Can I handle the seasons of my life?

i will follow you into the dark - death cab for cutie

You and me have seen everything to see From Bangkok to Calgary And the soles of your shoes are all worn down The time for sleep is now But it's nothing to cry about 'Cause we'll hold each other soon In the blackest of rooms

stranger - olivia rodrigo

Oh, but I hope that you're happy, babe, you know I really do And God knows that I am the girl I am because of you You know I'll always think of you, I'll love you 'til the end of time You are the best thing that I'll ever keep so far out of my life

chlorine - twenty one pilots

I'm so sorry, I forgot you Let me catch you up to speed I've been tested like the ends of A weathered flag that's by the sea

bandito - twenty one pilots

Began with bullet, now add fire to the proof But I'm still not sure if fear's a rival or close relative to truth Either way it helps to hear these words bounce off of you The softest echo could be enough for me to make it through

imgonnagetyouback - taylor swift

Bygones will be bygone eras fadin' into gray (fadin' into gray) We broke all the pieces but still want to play the game (oh) Told my friends, "I hate you but I love you just the same" Pick your poison, babe I'm poison either way

how did it end? - taylor swift

Say it once again with feeling How the death rattle breathing Silenced as the soul was leaving The deflation of our dreaming Leaving me bereft and reeling My beloved ghost and me Sitting in a tree D-Y-I-N-G

the smallest man who ever lived - taylor swift

In fifty years, will all this be declassified? And you'll confess why you did it And I'll say, "Good riddance" 'Cause it wasn't sexy once it wasn't forbidden I would've died for your sins Instead, I just died inside And you deserve prison, but you won't get time

in the mourning - paramore

Oh, in the mourning, I'll rise And in the mourning, I'll let you die In the mourning, all my sorries And it takes all my strength not to dig you up From the ground in which you lay, the biggest part of me You were the greatest thing, and now you're just a memory To let go of

tagging, if u want to: @hellshee, @dykejaskier, @burke-juliet, @joequinns, @heartwasglass, @munsonseds, @saintirulan, @coldasyou, @crowleyaj, @cavarage, @waddinghamhannah, @madalainepetsch, @frolencewelch, @pastandpresentselves. .

[emwritesstuff]

as the world caves in | ch. 10 | bucky barnes x reader

synopsis: You are a ghost story. A former Air Force pilot who had her plane shot down by Germany in 1945, but here you were in 2023, alive and frozen in your 25-year-old body.

You haven’t seen Bucky since the 1940’s, before his fall, before you went on a suicide mission only to come back alive. You aren’t sure reliving those memories – and being a living memory of everything the man has lost – is the best for him.

But you and Bucky won’t be apart for long.

This will loosely follow the plot of TFATWS - so spoilers ahead, specially regarding episode six (finale). Thread carefully!

masterlist | AO3

notes: wheewoo. it's been a while, and I hope you guys - whoever still reads this - enjoy this. I'm so so sorry for taking so long. We're nearing the end. iykyk. (warnings: fluff, angst, mentions of the apocalypse and atomic bombs, mentions of death, wwii) (word count: 4.5K)

ten: coffee

The aroma of coffee filled your nostrils as you stirred awake. You stretched your limbs on your bed as the soft sunrays of the early morning entered through the window.

Your feet made little noise as you padded towards the smell, though you knew Bucky’s super-soldier ears would pick it up anyway.

“Mornin’.” The husk of his voice, of his first word of the day, made your heart skip a beat. It was like a record you could keep forever on repeat.

You were almost glad he kept his back turned so he didn’t see you bite your lip and subsequently roll your eyes at your own reaction.

“Good morning.” You say it back once you get to the kitchen, smiling at him as you watched him move around. “Coffee?”

“Yeah. Here.” He slid a mug to you and took one for himself, seemingly satisfied with his job as you see him give a little nod after a sip.

You whispered your thanks and brought the drink to your lips, feeling the warmth of it through the ceramic. The reaction was immediate – as soon as you tasted it, your nose crinkled.

It’s sweet, the gesture itself surely was sweet. It’s too damn sweet.

Bucky had put sugar into the coffee pot.

“I cannot believe you.”

Your guilty, deer-in-headlights eyes looked up at him, who’s staring at you with a bewildered frown.

“It’s fine—”

“No!”

“I barely— I’ll still drink it!” You took another sip, licking your lips in sequence.

So. Much. Sugar.

“You can’t even pretend you don’t hate it.” He said, shaking his head. “And you call yourself a spy? With that face?”

“I was one,” You clicked your tongue. “All this time and you didn’t learn how to make coffee properly.”

“This is— it’s practical.” He rolled his eyes, sipping his sugary coffee. You followed. “Stop it.”

“I’m drinking it! You made it for me.” It wasn’t how your old-habits-self preferred it, but you have had it worse. Although somehow, that was making Bucky more annoyed instead of appeasing him.

He glared at you indignantly when you tell him you’re doing it to show your appreciation, then setting the mug down when he huffed. “What now?”

“Nothing.” Bucky stared at your ceiling and you at his profile. You tilted your head when he sighed. “…stupid thing to be arguing about.”

“We argue about stupid things all the time.” You took the coffee in your hands, but didn’t drink. “Argue-d?”

“Still do. Like when I tied your arm sling too tight.”

You grumbled that it was indeed too god-damned tight, and Bucky chuckled.

In truth, you had missed this. Even the bickering, yes, how the two of you were too stubborn to give in their very specific ways of doing everyday things. It made you feel alive, like you too had been frozen on ice with your two best friends.

One sip from you and Bucky was licking his teeth. He was faking the outrage, you could tell as you grinned at him.

 “If Steve was here—” You started, making him turn to you with a resigned smile.

“He’d just fix everything. Mediate, the Stevie thing he used to do. He hated us arguing.”

Disturbed his peace.

“I suppose now someone’s gotta...?”

The phone chimed before you could finish your sentence. It was Sam.

You coming, Top Gun?

You chewed at your nail as you read the words, transmitting them on to Bucky next to you. He nodded, cursing under his breath that he’d agreed to this cookout in the first place.

Bring Robocop with you.

You assured Sam – and Bucky too – he’d be there.

“I’ll complain the whole time.”

“That’s okay. He knows how you are already,” You joked, leaving the kitchen with your coffee in hand. He wouldn’t complain, at least not the entire time. You could see him having a fairly good time with Sam’s family and friends, even if he’d insist he wasn’t a people person anymore.

Before you disappeared into your room to pack, you turned to look at Bucky again. He was watching you from the kitchen counter, a small smile dancing on the corner of his lips.

Then it hit the realization that he’d stayed over. Actually stayed, and still made no signs of wanting to leave. You wondered if he had noticed that and didn’t care or if it was an inertia driven thing. One thing you knew: Bucky looked right where he belonged between your yellow kitchen tiles and mid-century cabinets. With his overly sweet coffee and darkened eyebags and sagging, tired, relaxed shoulders.

“What are you wearing?”

“A sundress. And a hat.” You smoothed the fabric, checking yourself one last time before you two left the hangar.

“I know it’s a dress, but—”

“Then why are you asking?” This made Bucky huff, his metal fingers tightening over the cake packaging.

Who brings birthday cake to a cookout? He grumbled about how it’s so much skin. You ignored it, because he didn’t have the right to complain about your attire, considering his own. “Listen, you might like getting a heatstroke with all that leather, but it’s warm today so I’m going to wear my dress.”

“Yeah, yeah, diss the jacket. But don’t come runnin’ after me when you get cold later.”

“Deal.”

“Deal.”

It was a short walk to the docks and the small crowd that were Sam’s friends and family. The welcome that was given by the new Captain America’s closest warmed your heart – soon enough, you and him were mingling, eating, giggling on a corner with Sarah about how all the kids and some adults were completely smitten with Bucky. She teased about how you were, too.

Even the cake was somewhat of a success. Bucky made sure to throw that on your face.

The day breezed by, and you only noticed the passing of time when fireflies started twinkling as the sun disappeared behind the river.

 “This doesn’t look like your jacket.” Sam hummed, joining you at a picnic table, a smirk on his face. You threw a lemon slice at him.

Bucky’s jacket felt heavy over your body. The warmth you got from it probably showed on your cheeks, but you had no intention of facing the chill of the night with bare shoulders now that it was offered to you.

“Shut it.”

“Just sayin’, just sayin’.” He laughed. You shook your head, casually sipping your cranberry limeade. “And all you had to do was look mildly cold. He left me talking to myself to put that over you.”

You smiled. There was no denying how that made you feel; especially to Sam Wilson who was now giving you an eyebrow wiggle.

Your smile dropped a little.

“Sam…I can’t.” You sighed. “Not now. Things are finally good as they are, and—”

“Are they?”

Sam was looking at you, in that Sam way that looked right into your soul.  You felt small, like you were maybe, ten, and not a-hundred-and-six years old.

“Yes. I just got him back. I already made the wrong call once, and I won’t do it again. Heartache be damned. I lived 70 years of it, hopeless and this… this is more than what I could ask for. Things are good.” You let out a breathless sigh. “Golly, say something before I start rattling on again.”

“Wow, that makes you sound so...” Sam started laughing when you kicked his shin, and amidst your own laughter you confirmed that yes, you were in fact old. “I was gonna say vintage!”

“And speaking of vintage,” He continued, and that’s when you finally realized the song that was playing.

Time after time

I tell myself that I'm so lucky to be loving you

People around you were saying oohs and aahs, couples new and old gathering to dance below the string lights while you glared at Sam. “You planned this?”

“Hey, don’t look at me. Look behind you.”

A hand was extended in your direction when you turned.

So lucky to be

Bucky was grinning down at you while you stared at him, dumbfounded. “C’mon, sugar. Don’t leave me hangin’, yeah?”

You took his hand quickly, shrugged his jacket off your shoulders and then you two stepped into to the spontaneous dance floor that had formed.

The one you run to see

“I haven’t done this in a long time.” He said and you looked at him, so beautiful under the dim lights. “Sorry if I step on your feet.”

All you could do was gaze at him, still a bit in awe as he swayed you to Margaret Whiting’s voice. He raised an eyebrow at you. “What?”

“Nothin’. You’re going back to your old ways, then?” You grinned, averting his eyes. “Know who you’re dancing with next?”

He tightened his grip on your waist and you pretended it didn’t make your chest tight.

“No one. I just figured we should… for old times,”

“Right.” You bit your lip. He was staring, and that feeling of being a teenager in love hit again.

“And it’s a good change from all that R&B.”

You laughed.

You've kept my love so young, so new

He made the pair of you spin around, and your eyes met Sarah’s from across the room. She was standing next to the speaker, giving you a thumbs up.

The little shit.

You turn your head, your cheeks reddening as you attempt to hide away in Bucky’s shoulder.

The Wilsons and their meddling. A family of wingmen.

Your new position didn’t help things, because the smell of Bucky’s cologne and the way he pulled you flush against him had your heart beating wildly inside your ribcage.

His was too. You could feel it, almost hear it this close.

You told yourself it was from the audience you only now were noticing. The other pairs were gone, leaving just the two of you dancing. You looked up at him, finally.

“Buck.”

He hummed, meeting your gaze. His eyes had a sparkle to them. Something different in the blue. Something secret.

And time after time

You'll hear me say that I'm

Your lips parted, words at the tip of your tongue.

So lucky to be loving you

“You guys want another song?” Sam’s voice cut through the crowd, and pulled you from whatever daze you had been caught in.

Bucky grumbled and you stepped back, the wind chilly on your back now that you were out of his embrace.

You felt cemented to the floor, caught and exposed. The arms you had been safely tucked in gone from around you. Only turned when Bucky stomped past you, nearly knocking shoulders with Sam in the process.

Some wingman he was.

People returned to the dance floor as soon as a dancey 80’s ballad blasted through the speaker. Your dance partner from a minute ago nowhere to be seen. “I’m here to rescue you,” Sarah took your hand, leading you away from the eye of the hurricane.

They managed to squeeze three songs in before the rain started. Bucky’s sudden sour mood seemed to have summoned the clouds, now pouring themselves noisily over the tent you had sheltered under.

“I guess I ruined the mood, huh?”

“Goodness grief, Sam.” You chided, wrapping your arms around yourself. The chill now biting harder with the rain. “There was no mood. Everyone was watching. He’s—”

Embarrassed. “Self-conscious. You know.”

Sam nodded, and you went back to scanning your surroundings for any signs of Bucky.

“There was a little mood though.”

“Shut up.”

“Sorry, sorry!”

You were ready to berate him some more when you were enveloped in something warm, your eyes seeing leather and metal before you could turn and see Bucky, right at your back.

Soaked. To the bone, water dripping from him as he helped tighten the jacket around your shoulders. “James—!”

“’M sorry about earlier. I—” He then looked behind you, seemingly noticing the other people also huddled under the tent.

Sam was looking everywhere but at the two of you. He murmured something like Not here. Not even here.

“You wanna go?” You offered quietly, and Bucky’s eyes softened in gratitude.

“You guys can’t fly in this weather!” Sam poked his head at your side, and as if to hammer his point down thunder rumbled above all of you.

Suddenly even you felt too crammed and claustrophobic in the middle of everyone else. You were sure Bucky did too, his fingers tightening on your shoulders as the rain picked up.

“It’s fine. I’m used to—”

“He’s right. We can go back tomorrow.” Bucky rolled his eyes when Sam looked at him in shock, and you chuckled.

“Wait wait wait. Can you repeat that? On record—”

“No.”

“Sam…”

“Fine.” He tutted, and you sighed. ”You guys want to stay at the house?”

“No.” Bucky repeated, and you surprised yourself with the relief that hit you. “We’ll get a hotel or somethin’.”

“Carlos can drive y’all to the Monte Carlo? He’s going too.”

You couldn’t be more thankful for Sarah right now.

You used Bucky’s jacket to cover your head as the two of you ran from Carlos’ truck to the Monte Carlo Motel. A quick wave at him and you were inside, making your clumsy ways to the reception.

The girl behind the desk looked warily at Bucky and his soaked self, although it could also be because of the exposed metal arm.

“Hi, uh—one double room?”

You and Bucky blurted out a panicked no at the same time, locking eyes as the receptionist scrambled for another key. Then you also handed her a credit card at the same time.

“I got it.”

“Buck, it’s fine, I can—”

He scowled. “No. Said I got it.” He placed his metal hand on top of yours with your card and slid his own across the desk. You stared at him, schooling your facial expression to not show the surprise on your face. Nothing you could do about the color on your cheeks, though.

He sensed your eyes on him and looked at you, making you bite your lip. It’s like you’d forgotten how dominating he could be, and how it made you feel some type of way.

You blinked it away.  “You gonna ask for a vet discount? Senior?”

Bucky clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “Are you?”

“No one would believe me.”

“But would believe me?”

“You have that old man grouchiness to ya.” You said, shrugging. He shot you one of his glares.

“Iraq?” The receptionist pulled you two away from the bickering, giving Bucky’s card back and two room keys.

“Normandy,” Answered simultaneously, earning a chuckle out of you. She shot you a disbelieving smile.

“Told you she wouldn’t believe me.” You quipped as you went up the stairs.

“Oh, come on.”

You laughed, elbowing him playfully once you reached him at the top of the stairs. “She would’ve if she knew your music taste.”

“My music taste?” You squinted.

“I wasn’t listening to Vera Lynn on a random Thursday night.”

“That’s ‘cus you can’t operate a Bluetooth speaker.”

He rolled his eyes, huffing in annoyance. It came easy to you, the provocations, a much palatable feeling than the awkwardness from before. Bucky then turned to assess which way your rooms were in, leaving you to follow him as he trudged through the corridor.

He stopped in front of the 304, handing you one of the keys. “Mine is at the other side of the building I’m guessing.” The numbers 323 shown on his own keychain proved that to you.

It was both comforting and disappointing that you wouldn’t be sharing a wall.

“Alright,” You said, opening the door.

“Y/N, I—Sorry about earlier. About leaving like that.” He let out a heavy breath when you turned to look at him, hand on the doorknob.

“It’s okay. I’ve never been the greatest dancer.” You shot him a crooked grin, and he shook his head, expression still solemn.

“It wasn’t you— I panicked. The starin’…” He cast his eyes down, at his feet, and you gave his bicep a squeeze.

“I know. Nerve wracking,” You said softly, still a bit restless from earlier. “I loved dancing with you though.”

Bucky raised his gaze, meeting your own. Lips parted. Eyes darting down to lips. Nodded once. “Me too, sugar.”

You smiled. The words almost falling from the tip of your tongue again.

“I—”

“I should— get to my room,”

“Yeah. Okay.”

“G’night, then.”

You hummed. “Night, Buck.”

You had to fight the urge to slide down the door once you closed it, after watching his frame disappear around the corner.

The confession had almost come out of you, almost ruining everything. It was enough how you felt, how your pulse raced. How your fingers burned, wanting to touch. Those words were the one thing you managed to keep together.

90 years and counting.

You hoped, prayed – at whichever entity that lived above the ceiling – for sleep to take you before you could lose control of everything.

It was supposed to be a secret mission, with slim possibility of return. You and two other WASP pilots were to fly over Belgium and drop supplies to the men resisting at the Ardennes, knowing there was no chance the Luftwaffe wouldn’t bomb you as you crossed over their skies. The hundreds of men running out of food and medical supplies, struggling to resist Germany’s attacks, left you no option.

The three of you knew this would to be the outcome. You were ready to die trying.

“Goddamnit, Webster!” You shouted to yourself, Maggie’s intercoms no longer functioning as her cockpit was blown to smithereens from a German plane’s bomb.

There was only you and them in the air now, Dana Miller lost on the fly in. You could only hope her aircraft was the only casualty.

Thunder boomed right beside you. Except it was an array of shots that had destroyed your right turbine, causing your plane to lean comically to one side. Comically, yes, because laughs bubbled desperately out of your chest at the sight.

A few more miles and you’d be out of German occupied territory.

You only had to keep it together a little longer.

When gaining altitude became a lost battle to simply trying to keep your plane in the air, the Germans were nowhere to be seen. The RAF zooming by seconds later made you breathe a sign of relief.

You knew from the start returning home was unlikely. It mattered very little. One of your dog tags had lost its pair to the Alps. Steve had told you through radio before the rumors could reach you.

Bucky wasn’t coming home. What on Earth would be left for you if you did?

You grasped the chain around your neck as your plane plummeted towards the Belgian grass fields. The world at its end.

One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three—

You woke with a start, gasping for air as if you’ve been held underwater for too long. The covers had been kicked off you during the night, but even without them you still felt hot and choked up.

It’s been a long time since those kinds of dreams disturbed your sleep, you managing to keep them at bay enough that it was rare when they came now. Never unfamiliar though.

With a long sigh, you tried to pull it together. Washed your face in the sink. Drank some water and eyed the mini liquor bottles in the fridge. None worked. The sense of urgency overpowered you.

The feeling that everything was collapsing; that your plane was crashing over Belgium, half of it on fire, your sisters in arms gone, your two best friends gone.

You left your room with Bucky’s jacket held tightly against your chest, barely feeling the chill of the humid night air as you made your way down to the reception or wherever you could find something to distract you.

You found him on the landing after the first flight of stairs, leaning against the railing.

“Hey,” You called out softly, and Bucky turns to you in surprise. It goes away as soon as it comes, the moment he understands.

“Can’t sleep?”

You shake your head. “Bad dream.” You explained, and he nodded. Extended a paper cup in your direction, not saying anything. You took it gratefully, pausing before the first sip. “Did you—?”

Bucky gave you a tired smirk. “Two sugars, sugar. Still shit though.”

The pet name made you bite your lip. “Can’t be worse than Army coffee,” You shrugged. He was right though. It was shit. Tasted terribly, even worse than Bucky’s brew in the morning.

He chuckled bitterly at the face you made; his tone still light despite it. “And you still complain about mine.”

“Both taught me to appreciate the good coffees in life.”

Bucky clicked his tongue, and you both laughed. You shift, alternating the balance from one foot to the other. Wonder if you should say it.

Best friends don’t keep those things from each other. Best friends talk about their nightmares.

“It was a memory.”

Bucky blinked. Turned to watch your profile. “A memory?”

You hummed. It’s strange, talking about it— it’s not something you’re used to sharing anymore, not even with Steve. Some intimacies were so reserved to Bucky that you forgot you could do them with someone else.

“From when my plane crashed in Belgium. When I became ‘MIA’. Well, at least that’s the story S.H.I.E.L.D. made up while I was recovering from the serum.” Bucky’s eyes were soft when you looked at him finally. “Haven’t had one of those in a long time.”   

Best friends don’t look at each other like that.

“They’re worse than nightmares.” Bucky stepped closer. “To me, at least. It feels… real. Like we’re back there, reliving it again.”

You nodded. Shifted closer, so close you and him were shoulder to shoulder. “It felt like the world was ending.” Shaky breath escaped bitten lips. “Still does.”

“It’s not.” He shook his head as if he’d said the wrong thing. “If it was, we’d know. Two suns in the horizon. See?”

Bucky flexed his fingers, brushing with yours gently. Your eyes followed the horizon he was pointing at with his metal arm, where a single sun began to peek through in orange and purple.

“It did end though, didn’t it? When my plane crashed. When you fell off the train. It ended with the Blip and it ended with Steve,”

He shook his head. “We wouldn’t be here if it had. We’re still here.”

“Not as we were.”

“No. Not as we were.” He sighed, leaning against the railing. His fingers at a distance. Suddenly you felt the need for the jacket. “D’ja think we missed our window, Y/N?”

His question took you by surprise. You blinked, tightening his jacket around you. “I’ve always wanted you with me at the end.”

Bucky frowned, looking at you like you’d grown an extra head. “Not Steve, not anyone else. You. But you weren’t there.”

“What—I wanted you too, but—”

“But I wasn’t there. We missed each other’s ends of the world.”

He shook his head, his eyes scanning your face. Confusion and incredulity stamped so very clearly in his features. You shifted and continued.

“So maybe that’s why it didn’t end. That’s why we’re still here. Maybe… maybe this is our window.”

Realization dawned on him while you bit your tongue. Confession at the tip of it.

A smile softened the lines on his forehead and brightened his eyes. “What if they nuke us right now?”

“Then I’m glad I left my room tonight.”

Bucky offered his hand, splayed open next to you. Your fingers interlaced with his and warmth spread through your body.

“No regrets, sugar?”

“None.” Just the one. You hid your face on his shoulder, hoping he wouldn’t notice the heat on your cheeks or the way your heartbeat picked up.

But that had been a long time ago. Maybe that window was truly lost. But you had this. And if the fiery hues in the sky were from an Armageddon and not the sun, there’s nowhere else you wanted to be.

Bucky kissed the top of your head. Wordlessly telling me too.

You raised your eyes at him, almost saying it. Almost loving him out loud.

“Sugar, I—”

Breath caught, hope spiking. “Yeah?”

A long exhale. “…we should try and sleep. Brooklyn’s a long way from here.”

Disappointment squeezed your heart. Foolish. What else could you be expecting?

“Alright.” You reluctantly got up, handing his jacket back. Not even that could protect you from the icyness at the pit of your stomach.

“No, keep it.” He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. Red creeping up his neck from under the henley. “You can give it back tomorrow…”

You nodded. Your shoes looked very interesting as you wrapped the jacket around your shoulders again. “Okay. Good night, Buck.”

“Night, sugar.”

You walked away with weighted feet, as if fighting some kind of gravity that pulled you back to that spot next to him on the stairs. Not turning to see if there was an atomic sun lighting up the slow sunrise. Dissolving the world, only for it to reform again and throw you two back where you had always been.

The war. The train. The Blip. Steve.

This night.

Frustration made you hands shake as they hovered over the doorknob. How long could you stand to orbit him, and never make it to the destination? Nothing is made to fly forever.

One regret.

You have always been bold and brazen, except for this. Facing every challenge, fighting every fight, except battling this one fear.

Not this night.

Pretending the light in the horizon signaled the end and your time was running out, you ran back to where you had left Bucky. Relived that afternoon in England when you’d be separated in the morning and you should’ve run back to him. Summoning every ounce of courage the serum had left in your body.

Your resolve was set when Bucky himself rounded the corner. Blue eyes wild and dark brows knitted together in unruly urgency.

“Bucky! I—”

You managed a couple extra steps in his direction when he closed the distance between you, grabbing your face with flesh and metal.

A huff of surprise as you braced for collision.

It came in the form of a kiss, lips crashing into each other, the taste of yearning and coffee on your tongue.

You’d already taken the damn fall.

[warsofasoiaf]

Let's say that after Jaime kills Aerys, there is a trial in which he is judged for killing the king. If he said that he did it to save the city, showing everyone where the Wildfire is, do you think he would be pardoned? And If so, could that open a precedent for future kingsguards in situations where their vows as knights are in conflict with the kingsguard vows?

I think everyone involved would blue-screen. Medieval ethics based on oaths and honor aren't really equipped how to process "what happens when the king is bugfuck nuts and tries to mass-murder half a million people?" In fairness, medieval societies in general were incapable of mass-murdering half a million people in an instant, that was something that wasn't really possible until the advent of modern industrial warfare and the atomic bomb, so they never even had to consider an act of man doing this, such matters were strictly acts of God and thus not for mere men to judge. Our own history, by the time we were capable of that, we had had centuries of philosophical, ethical, and moral thought to build from comparatively speaking.

The big thing that would unnerve future kings is what criteria does a Kingsguard use for saying "Knightly vows over Kingsguard vows" and opening up their throats? Many a royal bodyguard ended up becoming kingmakers, the Praetorians, the Janissaries, etc. That would require a legal code and codified guidelines which would be tough to lay down and interpret. Most people would say: "Yes, it's absolutely right that Jaime stopped the king from doing this thing?" but also say "I need to protect myself from my own bodyguards doing things like this for lesser offenses."

Hence, everyone blue-screens.

Thanks for the question, Anon.

SomethingLikeALawyer, Hand of the King

[somewhere-over-the-rynbow]

Thoughts while listening to Death Shroud:

SPOILERS AHEAD. Obviously.

• nicknicknicknicknicknick

• Ellie where are you getting coffee

• what do you put in your coffee???

• “There aren’t many spare parts for you Nick” why can’t you use gen 2 synth parts?

• Goodneighbor? THIS EARLY? MY BITCH IS BACK?!

• HANCOCK HANCOCK HAN- Hancock? HANCOCK!?

• THEY HIT THE FUCKING PENTAGON THIRD RAIL

• HANCOCK!!!!!

• wait why would Nick order a drink

• KENT KENT KENT KENT KENT KENT KENT-

• KENT NO-

• omg canon Nora real???

• Nick stop encouraging Hancock’s chem use

• how the hell are they gonna get Hancock into Diamond City

• cram! It’s meat… mostly!

• DID THEY KILL ELLIE

• thank GOD ellie is safe

• “drab upstairs apartment” lmao they said your interior decorating skills suck nick

• Nick “The Dick” Valentine

• Okay WHO is charlie????

• damn what did the Minutemen do to y’all

• Nick 4 Mayor

• who even is the mayor of Diamond City now

• John “Hold Me Back Nicky!” Valentine Hancock

• that was supposed to say Hancock, but Valentine was accidentally typed and that’s funnier.

• 3/4 families are missing their daily intake of processed powder cheddar? Believable.

• ayo time skip?

• lmao Seth Patrick Day

• OMG REMINISCING ABOUT THE PREWAR GOD I LOVE THIS OLD MAN SO MUCH

• D I M A ! ?

• omg Nick and Nora are besties <3

• OMG ALL THE COMPANIONS HANG OUT!?

• Hancock you’re already back <3

• oh Moe,,,, never stop lying babe

• his source is “i made it the fuck up”

• The Mechanist is back????? Hello???

• salty bitch. can you leave Sole and Co alone like goddamn

• Is the Mechanist a Synth now?

• THE CHILDREN OF ATOM?????

• wait no

• NO

• YOU CANT DO AN AD NOW WHAT

• WHAT ABOUT PIPER??? CAIT???

• I don’t care who Nick Valentine sends, I am NOT eating sugar bombs

• did they fucking nuke Piper

• THEY FUCKING NUKED THEM!?

• NORA!!!!!

• omg Shaun :)

• omg Nick :(

• omg Danse???? Why are you here what

• hdjdjdjd say hi to your big brother Nick, Danse

• “don’t touch me” lmao

• oh FUCK MACCREADY

• oh no. strong left. that’s… so sad…

• Protective mom Nora!

• NORA AND HANCOCK NORA AND HANCOCK

• I love them all so much oh my god

• this is a fucked up family reunion

• ugh FUCK maxson all my homies hate maxson

• “An old flame” “Seriously? I wanna see how that works” Hancock is asking what we’re all thinking

• bro can Nora have anything

• I can not believe that Hancock and Danse are friends now lol

• lmao don’t rob the vault tec rep

• wait. why didn’t Nora invite him to Sanctuary :(

• HIS NAME IS MACK!?

• god I love you so much Mack

• omg this trio can NOT be good lol (Nora, Hancock, Danse)

• Nora how the fuck is Hancock lifting Danse

• “Danse, scan the building, use infrared vision to pick up vitals” “I don’t have infrared vision” “Really? So much for human 2.0” he’s such a smart ass I love him

• FEV conjoined twins???? Omg that’s so fucking cool

• Hancock, stealing is bad

• Hancock, Florida is bad

• lmao Danse is bitter about Nora taking Nick instead of him haha

• Oh shit they got Lorenzo’s crown? Nora you can’t leave this shit laying around girl

• OMG PSYKERS

• Nora really. You freed Lorenzo??? You dummy

• okay so Hancock and Danse aren’t really friends now lol, they just kinda tolerate each other. Real.

• “No, are you nuts? He’s armored, dual wielding, and you’re wearing a 16th century nightgown!” “You unpatriotic son of a-” “Hush, damn it!” these three are so important to me

• UNITY???? UNITY!? no way they’re doing a Master plot right?

• so is this the same mechanist as in the automatron DLC?

• damn these 3 are agile

• omg not Hancock’s coat!!!!

• oh fuck the silver shroud and mechanist fused

• can we please discuss how fucking disgusting yum yum deviled eggs sound. How the fuck were they preserving eggs. Why would you make prepackaged deviled eggs??? I always thought that was such a weird pick for a food lol

• YO WHY ARE WE AT SANCTUARY

• uh oh. UH OH.

• WHERE IS SHAUN.

• can y’all let Nora have ONE THING god DAMN

• OH THANK GOD CODSWORTH

• I cant believe they canoned Nora and Danse being together,,,, damn

• omg Hancock please don’t traumatize Shaun

• Hancock do NOT give Shaun alcohol oh my god

• THEY KILLED MAMA MURPHY :(

• can they stop killing my favorite old people

• omg I forgot about you Nick lol

• hey Charlie? What the fuck

• DONT FUCKING HUMAN NICK-

• do NOT kill Mack PLEASE

• KELLOGG!???? WHY ARE YOU HERE

• bro can Nora have ANYTHING damn-

• can’t have shit in the commonwealth fr

• AMARI WHAT THE FUCK

• OMG KELLOGG NICK THING IS TIED UP!?

• Mack you are fucking useless (I still love you though)

• why are we talking about puppies what

• oh my god :(

• OH FUCK A BOMB?

• Nick… you fucking plug yourself into computers???? hacker supreme

• omg he’s so robot

• omg Mack you are so papaw

• it’s cre-shendo not cre-sendo

• Nick you are NOT captain america omg

• shit I guess he is captain America

• poor papaw has had such a day let him go home Nick

• “I’m not asking!” DAMN nick

• WHAT. HOW DID HE CALL A CAB.

• HOW DOES HE HAVE A PHONE???? WHAT JUST HAPPENED???? WHAT

• this is so funny what the fuck is happening

• WHY IS EVERYONE ACTING LIKE THIS IS NORMAL WHAT

• YOU CANT CUT TO A VIM AD NOW HUH

• ok it is kinda funny to imagine a salesman in power armor lol

• Huh. Cannibals will eat ghouls. Interesting.

• learn to drive? How? What driving schools are there???

• okay the idea of a cab driver in the commonwealth is so funny. But how the fuck did Jefferson come into existence-

• NICK CAN WALK UNDERWATER????

• WHAT. IS NICK A TIME LORD!?

• WHAT IS HAPPENING. WHAT. NICK. NICK WHAT IS HAPPENING. WHAT ARE YOU DOING.

• WAIT IS 47 THE UNDERWATER VAULT!?

• Mack is so real lol

• HIS NAME IS DAVID DWECKER!? I THOUGHT IT WAS MACK

• omg David my beloved peepaw

• 747683 is not 5 digits Nick

• Champion of Justice???? What?

• WHY WOULD THE CODE BE SHROUD?????

• maybe I’m missing something?????? It is 6 am lol

• I’m sorry, did Nick magic a fucking vault into existence

• CRYOPOD!!!!!! TWO YEARS AGO???? WHAT.

• time to wake up bitch

• NICK STOP MAGICING

• … what? THE SILVER SHROUD!?

• WHAT IS HAPPENING

• but… the shroud… isn’t real… did Nick just create the fucking Silver Shroud?

• it should be 2289, not 2287

• “Same words Hancock uttered after smoking a tire that one time…” huh???? Nick and Hancock hang out lol

• EMOJI???? HOW DO THEY KNOW WHAT EMOJI’S ARE!????

• I’m sorry, I can’t get over Nick Valentine accidentally bringing fucking Batman into existence simply for the drama of it all

• Poor David lol

• How The fuck is Nick gonna explain all this to Nora, Danse, and Hancock

• HOW DOES THE SHROUD KNOW JEFFERSON????

• oh. Ok. That makes sense.

• this is like the world’s strangest fanfiction

• NICK. STOP DOING MAGIC. OH MY GOD.

• WHY ARE NORA AND DANSE HERE. WHO IS DEAD. WHAT.

• WHERE IS HANCOCK!?

• WHY IS THE SHROUD CASUALLY A PART OF THEIR GROUP NOW

• MACCREADY IS DEAD!? WHY IS HE HERE. WHERE DID HE COME FROM.

• Okay, I’m starting to think that Nick managed to get high off Jet or smth

• who is the duke????

• “sociopath science daddy in slacks” What the hell maccready

• “just one more job” thanks. Gonna go sob now

• omg fancy lad snack cakes my beloved

• omg Hancock is in his Robin era

• wow. Just remembered Kent is dead. Devastating

• pay your employees Shroud.

• An old lady, the Silver Shroud, and Hancock get into a cab…

• why is no one questioning this cab

• honestly though. I understand why Hancock isn’t. He probably just thinks he’s hallucinating lol.

• “Fish Lips Malone!” what. is happening. I’m as confused as Hancock is…

• “activate passive aggressive restraint!” What is that????

• Hancock why do you know every criminal.

• “yes indeed my flesh peeling friend!”

• “man I have never seen anyone who needs to be laid more than you do” “finally someone else says it” oh my GOD I love Hancock so much (and Jefferson. Man, do I love Jefferson.)

• “omg Hancock we’ve been waiting for you! Oh… and the shroud’s here, too…” just like me fr

• Is the Silver Shroud an incel…

• THEY MEDUSA’D MAGNOLIA!?

• lmao everyone else hates Johnny Guitar?

• KELLOGG GET THE FUCK OUT.

• Hancock you are REMARKABLY casual about the dead man in your booth

• The Silver Shroud is a short king lol

• why is Kellogg the only one who thinks the shroud being here is weird

• Nora is an “uppity broad” lol

• why are y’all dissing Hancock, leave my man alone-

• Just gotta say… it’s a great day to be a Hancock stan

• THE DUKE IS THE MECHANIST!?

• what. A literal rat faced man? Why does he have 3 arms?

• Hm. They still do beehive hair, huh? I’m kinda impressed

• what do you mean they turned Louie into a mole rat using the creation engine

• “stay low to the ground, my crusty companion!”

• THEY TURNED THE SILVER SHROUD’S GUN INTO A DOG????

• THEY TURNED HANCOCK INTO A STATUE NO-

• how could they do this to me.

• the Silver Shroud can say fuck. Nice

• omg wait

• Hancock is… Hancock’s… he’s…

• he’s stoned

• ba-dum-tsh

• Travis, please don’t sexually harass all of Diamond City

• I’m more than half way through this and I genuinely have no clue what’s going on lol

• omg they legit are using the creation engine huh

• HANCOCK???? YOURE BACK??? WHY DID YOU DRINK GASOLINE!???

• I wanna have tea with god…

• Dr… Satan?

• HAROLD!? WHY ARE YOU HERE????

• Nora 🤝 Harold

never getting to rest

• I think it’s very funny that Hancock is just… back.

• damn they all got stoned

• and the stone is gone again

• what even is the point of the stone lol

• THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER!?

• OH MY GOD

• OH MY GOD

• OH MY GOD

• THEY KILLED THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER!?

• who is… showing up…

• WHO IS OBEDIAH BLACKHALL

• Damn. Bye bye Obediah.

• I genuinely can’t remember what started this lmao

• Oh fuck, Kellogg is back…

• omg they broke the scarab!!!

• what do you mean by too many voices

• too many characters??????? WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY THAT

• WHY IS IT JUST NICK AND THE SHROUD VS REALITY

• they are SO remarkably calm

• “see if you can… blind him with some… bullets to the face” yeah that should do it Nick

• “my speed should give me the upper hand” your what Nick

• WHY IS NICK SUPER FAST WHAT

• … they’re summoning bitches now? A Grognak bitch? WHY ARE YOU HERE?

• wait. Nora is the one magicing?

• oh wait. You mean that Nora was the silver shroud for a while. Right? What is happening.

• The Silver Shroud is really good at sticking to his bit lol

• OMG NORA BECAME THE SILVER SHROUD AND CHANGED REALITY?????

• Silver Shroud speed runs an existential crisis

• uh oh

• uh oh

• uh oh

• reality is literally crumbling

• SHEOGORATH!?

• oh fuck Bethesda is crumbling

• GLADOS!?

• THE JOKER!!!!!???

• CLAPTRAP!!!!!!!????

• Poor Nick…

• can you guys stop having relationship issues when I’m on the phone with my dentist

• SNIPER?????

• GLADOS is hitting on Nick Valentine. Yeah. Okay.

• “Thank you, intelligent sociopathic blender!”

• at no point could I have predicted this.

• they gave Nick a portal gun.

• he is opening a portal on the moon.

• they are essentially creating a black hole.

• How The FUCK is Nick supposed to mentally handle all of this

• GLADOS didn’t even get to say goodbye :/

• omg they’re in the creation engine

• OH MY GOD THEY ARE IN TODD HOWARD’S BRAIN????

• Jesus Christ, poor fucking Nick

• Hey, you. You’re finally awake.

• what do you mean it was all a dream

• how did Nick fall asleep

• is everyone alive??????

• wow. Huh. What.