#because that's a love language right?

[atlantablack]

humming with the birds

on ao3 as well

Saturday 8:54 AM: Have a safe flight, Cap. Try to not worry too much about things on this end. 

Saturday 9:00 AM: Thanks, Sam. Stay safe. Call if you need me.

——

Sam can’t help but wonder in the days that follow Steve going back to New York, if he hasn’t made a mistake. Signed his life away to an impossible cause. It’s already been six months of chasing dead ends and coming up with nothing but dust and dirt and blood. If the two of them combined couldn’t find the ghost wearing Bucky’s face, then how is Sam supposed to find him all alone? 

But in the end, a week into his solo ghost hunting mission, it turns out he needn’t have worried — the ghost finds him. 

——

He’s packing his bag, getting ready to follow another lead Natasha’s passed him, when a gun presses itself to the back of his head. He goes very, very still. His knife is strapped to his thigh. His gun on the side table five feet away. Neither doing him a lick of good when the shape of his death has already been pressed into a bullet. 

“Turn around. Slowly.” The voice that speaks is low and rough, and despite never hearing Bucky talk he knows without a shadow of a doubt who he’s going to see when he turns around. 

Sure enough, when he turns, palms carefully turned to the ceiling he finds Bucky staring at him from underneath the brim of a nondescript tourist hat proclaiming “I love Glasgow”. The lighting is too dim to make out Bucky’s face, eyes lost to the shadows, mouth a thin line that does nothing but leave a chill spinning its way down Sam’s spine. 

“I take it you’re not here to apologize for the steering wheel then?” He drawls, meeting Bucky’s eyes over the barrel of the gun. 

Bucky shifts, mouth twisting, face tipping into the light for a second just long enough for Sam to catch sight of storm cloud blue eyes. “Stop following me. Rogers went home. You should do the same.” 

And Sam can’t help but bark out a laugh at that, disbelieving and furious all at once. “You’ve been tracking us all this time haven’t you?” 

The gun doesn’t waver but Bucky smirks, chin dipping like he doesn’t want Sam to see. “Go home, Wilson.” 

“You can’t be that oblivious. If I go home Steve will be back out here tomorrow. You gonna break into his room and threaten him too?” He snorts at the very thought. Can’t see any way that scenario ends except with blood. With Steve back in a hospital room. 

The thinnest line of tension threads through Bucky’s shoulders, and the gun shoves its way under Sam’s chin, finding purchase in the hollow of his neck. “Don’t worry about it,” Bucky snaps, stepping in closer and grabbing Sam’s wrist in a bruising grip where he’d been inching towards his knife. “Just do as you're told, and go home.” 

Now see, if Sam was smart, if he had someone to go home to, if he didn’t swallow danger and come up breathing adrenaline — well maybe he’d listen. Maybe he’d take the easy out Bucky is giving him and go back to DC and tell Steve that he wasn’t going to risk his life chasing a ghost that doesn’t want to be chased. But there’s a gun to his throat, fingers so tight around his wrist that he can feel all the little bones creaking beneath metal fingers, and his pulse is a bullet, is a dying star. An explosion that bursts out of his mouth and spills all over the floor between them when he says—

“Make me.”

Bucky laughs. A dry, rough sound that spreads the room and catches on all the fine hairs standing at attention on the back of Sam’s neck. His brain is screaming, danger. But his heart is screaming, I have teeth too, let’s see whose are sharper. 

“I could kill you right here, sweetheart,” Bucky says, still laughing. “Could take you apart until you tell me every secret Rogers has ever whispered to you. What are you going to do about it?”

There’s nothing but sincerity ringing through Bucky’s words. Sam’s death being dangled in front of his face as nothing but an irrelevant move in this chess game he’s unwittingly begun playing. And he should be scared. He knows this. Is scared if his racing heart, his pulse pounding out a war chant in his ears, is anything at all to go by. But the gun is warm against his skin, a threat that presses closer with every thick swallow. The fingers around his wrist are tight enough he’ll have bruises so stark everyone will be able to see the exact shape of Bucky fingers pressed to his skin. And yet. . . he’s not scared. Not in a way that holds weight. 

“Go ahead then,” he says softly, pressing closer until he can see every storm cloud gathering in Bucky's eyes. Wets his lips and grabs his knife with his other hand, presses it to the wrist of the hand holding the gun. “If you want me to stop chasing you, then kill me.” 

Bucky is silent for a long while, gun never wavering as he searches Sam’s face for something. And if Sam were to examine this too closely, to examine his own motives for being so foolhardy as to call the bluff of an assassin that has been stalking him for months with no one the wiser — well he’d find nothing he cares to think about too closely. Knows that his heart has never stopped carrying death wishes in the shape of Riley’s name, which is to say, that he has never stopped craving flying or falling, one and the same. 

“You’re not doing this for him,” Bucky says eventually, stepping back, gun falling to his side. “Who are you doing it for?” 

It’s stupid the way he immediately misses Bucky's grip on his wrist. Stupid how he already misses the fading adrenaline. “You seem awful sure of that,” he says evenly. 

Bucky shrugs, holsters his gun and tips back and forth on his feet while he considers Sam. “Stop following me, Sam. This is going to be the only warning I give you.” 

The jolt of hearing his own name from Bucky's mouth leaves him silent for long enough that Bucky turns to leave, doesn’t even think twice about turning his back to Sam, and he’s flinging the knife in his hand before he can think it through. 

Bucky dodges it, of course, stares at the door it’s embedded itself in, and then stalks back across the room to slam Sam into a wall. If Sam were the type of man to pray in his last moment he thinks maybe he’d start praying right now. Bucky’s face is a graveyard, the ghosts of every person to die at his hands thick in the air between them, and Sam has already called his bluff once, shouldn’t have pushed his luck a second time. 

He can’t move at all, Bucky’s body a long, hard line against his, keeping him effortlessly held against the wall. The metal fingers around his throat flex once and he swallows convulsively, holds Bucky’s gaze and waits. Can’t do anything but wait. Fancies he can hear a funeral march playing in the distance and wonders how long it’ll take Steve and Natasha to figure out what’s happened to him. 

“You’re not going to stop following me,” Bucky says quietly. It’s not a question, but Bucky licks his lips and pauses like he’s waiting for an answer regardless. 

“No,” Sam replies softly, tracks Bucky’s throat as he swallows, and then glances back up. “No. I’m not going to stop.” 

“I could kill you,” Bucky repeats, a shadow of lost confusion flashing its way across his face. “Go home Sam Wilson. Go back to Delacroix. Or DC. Go home.” 

And that. . . that scares him. The clear implication that Bucky knows about Sarah. That leaves frost growing on his tongue. But he still isn’t going to stop. And Bucky still hasn’t killed him. So there’s really only one thing left to say once more—

“If you’re going to kill me, then I’d really rather you get on with it.” He smirks, presses his weight forward best he can, and hisses as Bucky’s grip tightens on his throat. “Otherwise, get the hell out of my room.” 

Bucky’s silent for a very long time. The minutes stretching between them and Sam is too warm pressed up against the wall, Bucky’s body one long line of heat. There’s a razor sharp tightrope under his feet and he wants to jump off of it, wants to take the knife out of the door and cut the rope to pieces. Wants to keep pressing forward until Bucky’s body turns into something he can understand, until they’re both just bodies giving and taking. 

Sam has always had a thing for walking the edge of too much, for flying too close to the goddamn sun. Has always had a thing for smart men with steady hands and pretty mouths, and fuck if Bucky Barnes doesn’t tick every box Sam’s ever had. He should be praying for his life and instead all he can think about is the way Bucky’s mouth, his goddamn mouth, won’t stop parting all slick with confusion. 

“Go on,” Sam hears himself say, voice low, heat snaking through the words. “If you’re gonna kill me, baby, let’s get started. La petite mort.” He’s so warm he thinks he’s going to burn up, and Bucky hasn’t moved an inch, every line of his body pressed against Sam’s is a taunt, a temptation. 

Bucky shivers, pupils blown wide, nothing but a thin ring of winter sky left. His hand falls from Sam’s throat and he grins, viciously pleased and presses forward with his full weight until their nose to nose. “I’m not going to stop following you,” he says once more for good measure, laser focused on the way Bucky’s mouth parts trembling. 

And in the space of a breath, Bucky’s across the room, wide-eyed with red spots high on his cheeks. He swallows hard, opens his mouth and then shuts it again. Is out the door in a flash,  once again nothing but a ghost. Nothing left behind but the bruises blossoming across Sam’s skin. 

He stands trembling against the wall for a long time, rolling the entire thing over and over in his mind until it’s sharpened into a point. Thinks once, I wanted to kiss him, and then, I wanted to send him to his fucking knees. Doesn’t know what to do with that. Only knows that it was a bad idea he would have followed through on given one more minute with Bucky pressed against him. 

He goes to bed without packing, and when he wakes it’s to a text from Natasha saying to stay right where he is, because — and get this — Bucky has been spotted in Glasgow. What a fucking surprise.

[rassebers]

So, who's paying?

[izzystizzys]

it’s canon to me that anakin skywalker and marshall commander fox are archnemeses of a shakespearean nature to eachother

why? well, fox’ life is a tragedy of galactic proportions. he’s a slave at best and straight up non-sentient property at worst, caught at the crossroads of being the face of the republic’s most corrupt establishment to his brothers who resent him for being forced to bear an authority he has no actual control over, and being the closest and easiest target for that very authority’s ire. made to enforce the rigged and deeply unjust laws against his own oppressed peoples, and no one understands better than fox how much coruscant truly despises them. the chancellor at the heart of it all, and anakin, the favored pupil - taken in by the flattery and empty promises like all the rest of them, the jedi most intimately connected to the senate who yet cares so little to know the clones who shed their blood in it every day that he never sees beyond his own very nose. no one asks the guard what they think, and fox despises them all for it, but the jedi who play at caring more than anything. it’s an impersonal, distanced dislike for the most part, but with skywalker it burns all the brighter for how often fox sees him walk the halls of the senate and never think to ask.

also fox cut anakin off in traffic once and he never forgave him for it

[yashley]

exu calamity rewatch: "Our tenacity far exceeds the magisters’."

[minubell]

More Nyannatar sketches (The eye and/or crown are obviously not visible to anyone they're just fun to draw)

Celebrimbor: "Aww he's so cute!" Literally Everyone Else: "I'm scared to sleep near him."

[kaitokitty19]

More APTX!Saguru shenanigan 😅😅😅

Aristocrat of Evil (3/3)

[pickled-flowers]

I'm so curious, queer people for whom English is not their first language and/or who didn't grow up in a majoritarily English speaking place, what is your relationship to the word queer?

[lucreziagiovane]

So tell [Lucrezia] I was inept, or coarse, or beyond ugly, and come with me and be mine alone.

[loganslowdown4]

Logan: I’m going to get some take out, do you want something to eat?

Roman: *having a bad day* No, I’m good.

[later]

Logan: *eating his sandwich while working*

Roman: Um… could I have some of your fries?

Logan: *pulls out a whole bag with a sandwich, fries and cookie from his desk drawer, bought just for Roman* Yes, of course.

[littlefankingdom]

Does anyone have ever written a fic about Jason realizing that Bruce made the Red Robin's suit for him??? The fact that Jason canonically knows that, but it's making me crazy how it's never addressed.

For the people who don't know, in Countdown to Final Crisis (2007), Jason goes to an alternative Earth where Bruce killed the Joker after Jason died. Once he believes Jason to really be Jason, he presents to him the Red Robin's suit, explaining it's a suit he made for when Jason would be older and have grown out of Robin. And they go fight crime together, as Batman and Red Robin, father and son, until Bruce is killed in front of Jason. There's more to it (Bruce has given up on his morals, but also the whole batfam and JL has given up on him), however none of this is ever used again (a shame, really).

It's not explicitly told if Tim first Red Robin's suit was also made by Bruce for Jason, and the third Robin found it. And there are no other explanation given.

So, is there any fic out there about this??? Either Jason who did go to the alternative universe and thought "it was another Bruce, mine didn't do it" until he saw Tim as Red Robin ("time to beat my lil brother for stealing my shit" the second act), either Jason who never went to this alternative universe but learns that the suit was originally for him?

Because, Jason's whole thing is that he wants signs that Bruce cared about him, and a suit, for his son when he gets older? The man spent his free time making a suit for his 15 years old son for when he would fight crime in college! It was so early for him to already be working on that, it shows the love Bruce had for his boy.

[danwhobrowses]

Okay yeah I wasn't ever gonna be contained with just one post so, Callowmoore stuff that's on rotisserie in my brain from ep.94

Long and deep looks at each other and a hug right off the bat!

When asked by Laudna if they were okay in ep. 91, Ashton deflected with 'say that again?' and 'are any of us?', but when Fearne asks they give a genuine answer and then also ask her how she's feeling, because she's been quiet and they care

Ashton, despite hurting when they're touched and exhausted so the chronic pain is as intense as the first time, still wanting to cuddle with Fearne - and feeling at ease when they do

And like, the way they were trying to articulate it implies that they've wanted to ask for quite some time, but the timing has been off or situations have gotten in the way, and they don't want to wait any longer

But also they don't ask if they can cuddle they ask if Fearne wants to; they want to, but they ask Fearne if she doesn't want to sleep alone, because her comfort is as important or more important than their own

Fearne given her past experiences with people of course thinks they mean the other kind of company, which she notes she does want (so that's not off the table) but asks if they could just cuddle - to which Ashton doesn't entirely deny either, but notes that they're tired and in a lot of pain right now so they too was asking for the same

Also the fact that Fearne, who has been in a threesome inside a corrupted haunted wood, will later flirt with a dark echo of herself, and spooned with a ghost pirate captain, got so flustered about asking Ashton that she just wants to cuddle

Despite the awkwardness they still just laugh and joke together through it, they're awkward but it's in a sweet way

All of Ashton's immediate action the second they realised Fearne was missing - similar to how they wanted to find her after the shard incident but this time in a position where they could take action - no nonsense, no pissing contest with Chetney about her scent being on their bed, "Find. Them. Now."

And then still being soft after seeing Fearne again, because all that matters right now is that she's still here. And another post I saw said it better but, Ashton never seeks to change or 'correct' parts of who Fearne is; she can still follow cute animals just next time bring a buddy along (which given how they were in bed together would imply meaning them), they love her for her, fae and all, they just want her to be safe

Not entirely ep. 94 but given how on 91 Ashton pointed out that they needed to sleep and 'figure out who they wanted to be', and then here ask Fearne to be there beside them so they could have someone to wake up to, it to me at least says a lot about what Ashton has already decided; and how despite both of them having dealt with grief and anger and helplessness by bottling it up, hiding away, and shouldering it alone, this time they both wanted to just feel at ease with each other

[iaxsl]

realistically, there's no one sanji loves more than luffy. the boy LOVES food, he loves to eat and he will fight the world if he sees someone go hungry or if someone feeds him. there's no way someone like sanji, who knows the pains of starvation and the value of food, would NOT love luffy.

[allo-frouto]

the feminine urge to call him "my pretty boy" and watch him melt

[yashley]

Ashley in 4-Sided Dive | Episode 20

[the---hermit]

From the fool who added handwritten notes on a non-fiction book of which the translation was lacking in useful context, we now present translating the entirety of the epic musical because my non english speaking family NEEDs to know how good this is by a writing point of view. And yes as you can tell I am that fool.

[mantisgodsdomain]

More notes for Roach conlanging. Roach has grammatical gender, in which only Male, Female, and Object are grammatical genders, whereas Worker uses feminine grammar, Queen and King use a slight variant on feminine grammar, and Drone, and Queen-Alate use masculine grammar. This is because King is derived from Queen, due to their similar positions in a colony, and Queen-Alate is derived from Drone, as both are forms of alate.

Queen is an alteration of feminine grammar that functionally just adds a handful of extra syllables to it, and King is an offsprout of Queen that uses the same grammar with different pronouns. Queen-Alate, despite the name, is derived from Drone, as they are both for referring to different types of alate ant.

Most Roach dialects are intelligible to speakers of Snakemouth Den Cordyceps Roach, but Snakemouth Den Cordyceps Roach is not entirely intelligable to speakers of Roach dialects due to a mix of the excessively specialized vocabulary caused by the specific needs of its speakers, the fact that its speakers do not necessarily have Roach mouthparts and thus may not pronounce syllables in a similar way, and due to the fact that Inanimate Object is a full grammatical gender that does not exist in any other dialect of roach and replaces a decent chunk of terminology for things that previously had Other Words For Them.