#instead of a shitty tundra

[coldgoldlazarus]

Lazarus Lore:

Is a feathered serpent with some sort of ambiguous divinity

Can shapeshift into a human form. She has a full-snek form, a full-human form, and of course a kemonomimi form, which she favors the most

Has lived as a human and is only recently learning about the snek goddess(?) part

Lives on a large tropical island and/or archipelago in the middle of a big ocean, tech base is mildly futuristic but has a pretty good balance of cities and nature

The planet she lives on is one of two, tidally-locked binary planets of roughly equal size and mass, revolving around each other while sharing an orbit and a handful of moons

Why is the other planet there? She might have a connection to it, but it might just be there for vibes, idk yet. Looks really sick looming on the horizon all the time though

Due to the whole feathered snek thing, has powers over plants, water, and lightning... maybe gravity too?

Despite this is kind of a pansy about nature on account of growing up a city girl; likes plants, but bad with animals (like me lol)

Maybe the nature half of a nature vs tech to nature x tech theme but idk

Allergic to cold, loves warmth, will dress either super slutty or in a gazillion layers with no in between based on the weather

Sideboob is mandatory to most of her wardrobe

Put her under a heat lamp already dangit

Strict mom mommy issues

Generally lazy and airheaded and cuddly (like me lol) but also a showoff (the feathers of her feathered serpent form are peacock feathers for a reason)

ADHD executive dysfunction and mood swings and absentmindedness an-

Useless lesbian supreme, very openly horny online but too self-conscious in person to let on any of that

But also gives into snek instincts to lik or nom girls affectionately way too easily, leading to awakwardness

Neeeeerd, obsessed with this universe's offbrand equivalent of lego bionicle, unironically goes 'wow I wish tropical islands with magic robots were real' while forgetting she lives on one

Would do beach episodes more often if sand wasn't a bad texture to her, but always down to dip in a pool

Naturally smells like mint when she actually makes the effort to freshen up, possibly tastes like it too...

Best quality: her squiggles

[subzeroiceskater]

Dang. Just found about it today.

After 40 years, the final Anna Miller’s cafe in Japan closing down - Japan Today

Anna Miller's and its waitresses is one of the big inspirations for Café's character--or at least her backstory. She went from "a cafe-themed robot that one appears in a joke comic about coffeeshop and flower shop AUs" to "okay, so she's some kind of waitress/maid robot and I want her design based on Cut Man so she's mostly orange...orange-uniformed waitresses? That sounds familiar. Oh, right, Anna Miller's. So that mean she'd be one of many same type of robot waitresses and so one the restaurant's appeal so getting to see these cute robot women and and and--" and so on.

The name of "Hannah's" is like "Wendy's", it's named after the CEO/founders' daughter.

Hannah is also the name of the very first Café Woman. Famous world over is just self-promotion but it's an international franchise. Not exactly McDonald's fast-food famous but I'm thinking more of Jollibee level. You ever hear of Jollibee? No? Anyway, look it up.

"Hannah's" is actually a Germany-based restaurant selling the idea of an American themed diner and it got so successful that they branched out to different styles of dining, reinventing their Café Women to fit necessary roles. If a Café Woman does a good enough job/shows enough promise, she can get transferred out and promoted to better branches or even better jobs. The opposite is true, Café Women who can't keep up get demoted to even more menial jobs usually reserved for "lower" robots or banished to nowhere branches in some third world country like the Philippines or Boston. There are rumors that you do a shitty enough job and not even the magnanimous Hannah would save you from being turned into scrap metal.

Anyway, that's the lore so far. Auuugh, now I have to figure how the restaurant(s!) actually looks like. Oh, no, wait, the additional lore is "Hannah's" is the main restaurant type but it's also divided into different dining styles? I explained that above but what I also meant is there's a divide between the main first branch where it was marketed by and to humans and another style for (usually humanoid) robots. Main Hannah's has a mostly human menu and name pending...uh, Robot Hannah's (lol) is mostly for the advanced humanoid robot's menu. It's not like they're not allowed in the other type of restaurant but it's more an ease of convenience since the humanoid robots tend to be all over the place in shape and size and energy needs. At some point I had to make the amendment because I could squeeze Tundra and team in the more ordinary booth types and maybe ordinary human food but other weirdass robot body shapes kept coming up and I didn't want to bar them from the cutesy cafe setting so I had to think of this shit. What a headache!

I hope this is more fun to read about in a (possible) comic instead of just telling the lore in some boring ass tumblr post.

[1ightcap]

trying to enjoy the brief window of non-snowbound landscapes in my area by engaging in amateur geology and botony: a shitty field guide to the side of the hill i can see out my window

What its says on the tin. The tundra is hostile, rough terrain ass landscape where the lack of trees or cover makes this doofus ass qallunaat feel like a little mouse about to get swooped down on by a bird of prey. That said my cardio is a little better and I can't spend the summer just taking walks to the airport so i downloaded a plant ID app and took it up the hill towards the lake/reservoir

this hill. but instead of a majestic sunset it was threatening to drizzle (and did profusely on the way home)

I found this map on gov of canada's website and guess-timated about where I was during this jaunt. Basically this patch is on the southwest facing side of the hill, where there is some shallow boggy silty dirt covering the bedrock interspersed with a ton of boulders.

A little grass, and flowers. Despite the thinness of the soil the mossier patches hold water really well making it really easy to take a step andd land in a springy soggy patch

Pre Cambrian bedrock. Old as balls. Like 2 billion years old. I want this info to move me more, to experience wonder, but these juts of dark, rounded rock are everywhere here. More lichen with patches of moss

on to the flowers. Caveat that these are the best guess of my app, and i am not a plant expert

A Rhododendron, *probably* the Canadian Rhododendron. Its get confusing when the the azaleas show are a huge puffy bush and every plant here creeps a few inches from the ground. It like consistently damps soil which might make it a good indicator of which bits of ground are secretly planning to make my shoes soggy

Pincushion Plant or Arctic Diapensia. If I was a *good* fake botanist I would have brought a little ruler for scale bc a lot of these plants are dinky little guys. Apparently these are circumpolar, and I probably saw them the most so they gotta be very successful at what they do

Hookers Mountain Avens, the national flower of Iceland and the plant of our neighbors in the Northwest Territories. An old ass species that apparently has been so prevalent between between ice ages that it's pollen almost acts like a sedimentary layers in ice cores and helps date them :o

White arctic mountain heather or arctic bell heather. I don't know if the silver sprigs are part of the same plant, or a different heather. Apparently a very resinous evergreens that making good kindling even went wet, which is good to know if I ever get lost out there, I guess!

Moss campion. Also popular down south in rock gardens as they are pretty low maintenance. App notes thier long lives span as individuals in Alaska have been found to be over 200 years old. I am going to have to look up if a layperson can date them, moss doesn't seem like it would have tree rings?

Clubmoss? This one I'm not sure of, the examples in the app looked much greener. It kinda looks like it might be some kind of heather. Or a lonely patch of the next one:

Juniper Haircap an evergreen moss. Those are not flowers but modified leaves on the male plants.

BONUS ROUND

Not seen out on the land yet but the hot air coming out the vents of the office building adjacent to my apartment complex has cultivated some early Fireweed, the showstopper imo of the arctic windflower season :)

[wrenqueenisboss]

Random headcanon:

This is angsty: self-harm/self-destructive behavior warning

Technoblade uses violence as a coping mechanism. 

Let me explain...

You know the voices, right? Chat? Well, they demand blood. Over and over. Blood, blood, blood, blood. Over and over and over. But they never specify from whom. The first part of my headcanon is that Techno used to take out that need for blood on himself. He’d purposefully throw himself into battles and fights just to satisfy the voices for another couple of hours. Because of this, he never learned to process his emotions.

When he got betrayed numerous times by Tommy, he wanted so badly to get revenge. But he loved Tommy too much. The voices demanding blood and revenge nearly made him hurt - or even kill - Tommy. But instead, he turned to violence. 

Recognizing that he couldn’t keep up his violent ways forever, Techno isolated himself in the Tundra. It took a huge toll on his already fractured mental health. 

Techno, despite living countless years and being one of the most powerful people on the server, doesn’t actually cherish his life at all. Because he knows that any of his “friends” could betray him at the tip of a hat so he doesn’t even bother with attachments anymore. Also, he hates the way his nickname/title “The Blade” represents the sorta shitty life he’s had.

Thank your for coming to my Ted Talk

(I will probably just start randomly posting headcanons now. ‘cause it’s fun. :D)

[bigskydreaming]

Another reason why Dick and Jason as Cain and Abel 2.0 is the Siberian tundra of hot takes for me, is while you will always be able to find some instances of shitty dynamics between any two characters as old and established as they are, the TRULY most-often repeating pattern of these two is IMO the following:

- Dick, even when estranged from Bruce and in his own words having not heard from him in seventeen months when he first meets Jason post-Crisis, and thus even when he is very much not secure in viewing Bruce as family and Jason as family by extension of that....Dick still reaches out to extend an offer of brotherhood and support to Jason, making it about their connection through Robin, rather than any connection through Bruce. He doesn’t impose, he doesn’t pressure, he doesn’t make it an obligation....he simply puts it out there, says I’m here for you if you want me to be, and that’s that.

- Jason, even when estranged from Bruce and not having interacted with a single Batfam member in over a year post UTRH, and thus even when he is very much not secure in viewing Bruce as family and Dick as family by extension of that, due to Bruce’s actions at the end of UTRH and how that was perceived by Jason.....Jason still reaches out to Dick in New York, in an admittedly weird and shitty storyline that’s wtf in so many ways.....but in one specific way affirms that they are still brothers. In a lot of ways, Brothers in Blood can be seen as Jason deliberately antagonizing Dick, pushing all his buttons in ways only someone who really knows him would know how to do, as if seeing how far he can push Dick.....not unlike how Jason essentially tested Bruce in UTRH, when attempting to determine or feel convinced that Bruce actually loved him. 

And Dick responded to antagonization with antagonism, he was pissed, he was upset, he didn’t make any attempt to pretend otherwise with Jason or soften just how much Jason was getting to him....but at the end of the day, when Jason was in danger, Dick still came for him, and thus Jason still had his answer. And that’s why its significant that just like Dick first extended that offer of family when he didn’t have to, when it didn’t even seem to be there between him and Bruce, now it was Jason who first made mention of he and Dick being family after his return. Even though family didn’t seem to be there between him and Bruce anymore, he sought out Dick to see if - in his own words - they could still be family...and he felt he got his answer and it was yes. Thus he left Dick with a message saying just that, and didn’t wait around for a response, because he didn’t need one anymore than Dick had needed one that night on the rooftop when Jason was fifteen. It was about the offer. Not whether or not it was taken.

- But it was taken, because when even in the midst of the epically shitty Battle for the Cowl storyline in which most everyone was OOC in some way, particularly Jason, at the end of it all, it was Dick and Jason on top of a train, with Dick holding out his hand and begging for his brother to take it, to let him help him, no matter what he’d done or how much they disagreed. Despite everything else, at the end of the day Dick still reached out for Jason and said he was still there and always would be.

- And its all over the place elsewhere too.....its in how even in the New 52 when Jason and Bizarro and Artemis need help with a case, Jason reaches out to Dick for help and Dick comes, even if both of them grumble and gripe about it and snap at each other. Or how even pre-ADITF, its Jason sneaking out to help the Titans rescue Dick from the Church of Blood even though they didn’t go to Bruce for help. I hate so much about Grayson #12 and how the return from Spyral went down, but nevertheless, it was Jason who caught himself and made himself change his wording from his first instinct of calling Dick his brother, instead calling him ‘another Robin’.....again a declaration of family that Jason wasn’t making anywhere else to anyone else at that time. Etc, etc.

Dick has killed for this brother. Jason has let himself be vulnerable with this brother in ways he never is with anyone else, even after feeling rejected by everyone else. Both have named each other family and affirmed that they felt that way even when they currently didn’t feel that way or that connected to anyone else in their family. Both, in fact, tend to go out of their way to seek each other out and affirm that they’re still family precisely AT the specific times when Bruce isn’t a big presence in one or both of their lives, or even a presence at all.

These are two brothers who in my take have never been defined by “waah, Daddy loves you more than me” because they’re too often busy being defined by being brothers IN SPITE of Bruce. He was the catalyst for making them brothers, but he has never since then been a requisite for them being brothers, or their brotherhood conditional on where they stood with Bruce or anyone else.  

Apart from one or two specific stories, usually taken wildly out of context and embellished to extremes, Dick and Jason’s history across decades has been of establishing the precedent that no matter what happens between them or with the rest of the family or how long its been, one of them will ultimately always reach out to the other and in turn the other will always reach back. They’ve proven time and again that it doesn’t matter how mad they make each other or how pissed off they are about something the other did or how much they don’t agree with what the other is doing, they will still come every single time the other asks them to, and there’s nothing the other can do that will ever result in them turning their back on them and not running to their rescue when they know the other is in danger.

Cuz, y’know.

They’re brothers.

RIP to Cain and Abel, but Dick and Jason are different.

[karmasuna]

How would the boys handle having a crush on an emotionally reserved girl? [bakugo katsuki, midoriya izuku, todoroki shouto]

Ah, gotcha! Thank you for the clarification, and I hope you like this! 

P.S. I’m sorry this took so long (^^;)

Genre: Fluff

Bakugo Katsuki

-when he first meets you he would probably hate you since you would never react when he yells at you, only staring back at him cooly with a steely gaze before walking away after he yells at you 

-you were known as the Tundra Diva of class 1A, with the chilly and secretive attitude you had towards everyone

-he wouldn’t like how you never seemed to be affected by his outbursts, never giving him any kind of reaction which only fueled his anger and dislike towards you 

-over time he would begin to use you as an emotional punching bag of sorts, coming to you and yelling at you when he was feeling particularly frustrated or just had a hard day

-he would use the excuse that your face was making him angry to yell at you

-and you would just sit there and take it, letting him vent out his frustrations as you continued on with whatever you were doing, occasionally looking up and see whether he was done being angry yet 

-his yelling about how shitty you were eventually turns into full on angry yelling about how dumb everyone else was, and the topic always shifts to whatever he was feeling pissed about that that day

-over time as he came to yell at you about whatever he was angry about more and more, the volume of his yelling decreases, and it becomes more of an angry rant as he complains to you about how stupid all of you were

-and you would start to give him short reactions, giving him one-worded replies to let him know that you were still listening to him and acknowledging how he felt

-soon, he begins to realize that he actually likes doesn’t hate talking to you

-you were the first person to actually acknowledge his feelings instead of just yelling at him to shut up like his mom did or just laugh at him like all your other classmates did

-sure, you didn’t give him much of a reaction when he yelled at you, but from the little you did give him to work with he could tell that you weren’t just humoring him 

-you actually listened to what he had to say, even if your uninterested expression didn’t show it

-eventually him coming to find you to talk about his day would become a daily occurrence, him storming into your room uninvited after dinner every night to angrily complain about his day while you occasionally make sounds of acknowledgement at him 

-the angry muttering softens into regular talking over time, and by that point you were pretty sure that you and Kirishima were the only two people he ever talked to with his inside voice 

-the way he acts around you when the two of you were alone bleeds out into how he treats you at school as well, and your classmates eventually start to notice as well

- “How’d you get Bakugo to be so nice to you?” Mina asks you one day, elbowing you eagerly as she tries to get you to spill the beans about your relationship with the angry blonde

- “I guess we have become acquaintances of sorts.” you tell her curtly, leaving her to gasp in surprise as she runs after you with questions, asking you how in the world you managed to befriend a guy like him 

-the news spreads like wildfire through your classmates, and all of them are surprised to know that the boy famous for his anger issues and you, known for being cold and emotionally reserved are becoming friends

-Kirishima knows his best friend better though, and he hunts Bakugo down and demands to know how the blonde felt about you

- “She’s just okay to talk to,” he answers gruffly. “I don’t hate her.”

-the redhead nearly bursts with delight hearing his best friend admit it out loud

- “You like her, don’t you?”

- Bakugo’s face turns the shade of Kirishima’s hair, and he angry denies it before chucking a book at the other boy and yelling at him to get out, slamming the door in his face

-but it was too late, and a knowing grin spreads across Kirishima’s face as he registered the fact that his best friend has a crush and it was none other than the Tundra Diva

-being left alone, Bakugo is left to his own devices as he feels his thoughts run rampant, letting himself think about you and how he felt about you

-sure, he didn’t really know anything about you but he had a sneaking suspicion that you actually cared about him even with your nonchalant responses to him

-and he feels his face go red as he thinks about you and he realizes 

- “oh fuck me, I have a crush on that idiot.”

 Midoriya Izuku

-Honestly Midoriya would be kind of scared of you at first, with you cool attitude and the fact that you barely talked to anyone, let alone have any friends

-But he would admire your quirk and your skills, and would be secretly taking a lot of notes about your abilities but he would be too shy to ask you questions about your quirk, instead writing down a long list of questions in his notebook 

-The first time you really acknowledge you would be when he accidentally leaves his notebook open on his desk to the page with all the questions he wanted to ask you 

-His detailed drawing and analysis of your costume catches your eye, and you raise your eyebrows in mild surprise when you see the plethora of questions he had written down for you

-Glancing around to make sure no one was around, you sit down and start writing down answers to his questions, adding detailed explanations to help him understand your quirk better

-And when he comes back to his desk his gasps in delight at the rows of neat writing next to his questions that answered all of his questions

-Knowing that only you would know so much about your own quirk, the green-haired boy immediately rushes over to your desk and thanks you profusely for your help

-With a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes you nod, telling him that you don’t mind him asking questions

- “Really?? Are you sure?” 

-and from that time on he would come and ask you questions about your quirk and your fighting style every now and then, and you would help him clarify some points that he isn’t too sure about

-it would become a routine of sorts for the two of you, him coming to knock on your door every night to ask you a few questions, and you would answer him patiently and calmly

-he would be so grateful since you were practically the only one who was willing to sit through his constant questioning 

-one day he would just sit there in your room sadly after asking you questions as usual 

- “Is everything alright, Midoriya?” you ask politely after seeing his crestfallen face

- “I don’t think I have any more questions for you anymore,” he says sadly

- Truthfully, you had become used to his daily visits, since he was the first person who actually talked to you at school outside of polite chit chat

-Sometimes it wasn’t that you weren’t willing to be friends with others, people were just too intimidated by your cool exterior to even approach you

- “Isn’t that a good thing?”

- “Well that means I don’t have an excuse to come and see you anymore.”

-you’re surprised by how bluntly he said that, asking him why he would want to come see you

- “Well, I don’t know much about you other than your quirk, but I know that you’re a really nice person and I really want to get to know you better,” he spultters, face turning red when he realized that he was ranting and apologizes when he sees your expressionless face

-and you give him a small smile, and this time it reaches your eyes as you softly tell him that he’s welcome to visit anytime

-he heart warms when he sees your genuine smile for the first time

-and he can’t help but think to himself that he always wants to see you smile like that, and he wants to be the one who makes you smile

-later it’s while he tells Todoroki about what he was thinking at the time that he pauses mid-sentence and realizes that he has a crush on you, his facing flushing bright red 

 Todoroki Shouto

-he wouldn’t pay much attention to you at first, since he himself was quite emotionally inward as well

-he wasn’t one to initiate a conversation with anyone and neither were you, so you never really interacted with each other

-the first time he really takes notice of you is when the two of you get assigned to fight against one another in a practice match    

-and as he tries to analyze your moves and your quirk he realizes that your skills were actually on par with his own, which piqued his interest in you

-after that match he starts doing his own research on you, looking up your name and learning about your quirk 

-eventually, you would be forced to pair up with him more and more often during training, since no one would really approach either of you to ask you to be their partner, with your steely gazes sending everyone running from the two of you

-so you two would end up as a pair every time without fail since you were the only ones left without a partner

-and after multiple times of pairing up with him for various tasks, you two eventually fall into a comfortable dynamic and get used to each other’s style, each complimenting the other nicely

-by then you two would already be known for your seamless teamwork and non-verbal communication one of the best in the entire hero course

-and with that fame rumors also begin to spread about the two of you being together

-those who were brave enough to approach either of you would timidly ask whether the two of you were dating, and you would cooly deny the claims

-but little did you know that everyone constantly telling him that the two of you would make a good couple and that you should get together really did get to Todoroki

-and he couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like if the two of you really got together

-he would brush it off at first, thinking that it was only because people kept on bringing the topic up that it was inevitable that he would think about it 

-but he starts second guessing his true feelings when he sees you talking to Kirishima one day during class

-and he starts feeling uneasy inside as he sees you making small talk with the bright boy 

-sure, Kirishima was a good person and Todoroki knew he harbored no ill intent towards you, and yet at that moment he wanted nothing more but for Kirishima to stop cozying up to you

-Todoroki and you were partners, so why were you getting closer to someone else rather than spending more time with him?

-that night he voices his concerns to Midoriya and Uraraka, and after hearing how he felt the other two exchanged a knowing glance before they turn to look back at the oblivious teen who was looking back at them blankly

- “Are you perhaps jealous?” Uraraka says suggestively, waggling her eyebrows at Todoroki

-and he ponders this idea, wondering if what he was feeling was indeed jealousy

- “Perhaps,” he begins, thinking hard about how he felt about you

- “Todoroki-kun, you have a crush on Y/N, don’t you?” Midoriya exclaims, clapping his hands in delight

-and they excitedly tell the now-blushing boy that the two of you would be perfect for each other, since you were just like him and the two of you could become the icy power couple of 1A

-he does think that that sounds nice, a small smile appearing on his face as he thought about you

- “I think maybe I do like her.”

[massensterben]

@jawlost​ said:                       The trenches were always cold so close to a new year, the feeling of the wet mud never quite seemed to go away no matter how dry you may or may not have been. It was enough to send a shiver to your bones and ache until you would be set alight. It was not the birthday that Porco had wanted to spend celebrating with Bertholdt, but it was the one he was given. Bones had been rattled during the onslaught of the day, enough so that they’d both wound up in the infirmary. Bed rest. Bullshit, more like it. Hours waiting for guards to change over, moments spend persuading them to turn a blind eye in favour for a favour that Porco would deal with at a later date, he’d dragged Bertholdt (whether he was entirely recovered or not, Porco figured he’d rest later) out into a distant clearing he’d found on one of the many trips back to the camp. It was bone-rattling cold and all Porco had was a shitty blanket, their jackets and a loaf of fresh bread he’d swiped from the eatery. Piss-poor efforts to most, but it was the best he could do with the circumstances they had been given.

A kiss was given to Bertholdt under the stars, the loaf being unveiled between them and Porco harboured the smallest of smiles. A shell sounded off in the distance, Porco let out a chuckle and told him to pretend it was a firework. Tearing the bread open between them, there was a gentle reddening of Porco’s cheeks. “Happy Birthday, Toldie. Not the present I had planned, but y’know. The bread’s fresh.”

The resistance was futile and not well executed to start with. It is his own fault, in the end. He doesn’t keep track of time out here, not with shells springing around his feet and mines crushed under his heels, not with the planes dropping bombs overhead and zeppelins deploying white-parachuted soldiers by the score. Days bleed into each other here, where there is dust in your eyes even when it rains, even when the ground freezes solid. Bertholdt has little to do with such sedimentary concerns. He lords over the battlefield, crouching over battalions of tanks and infantries like a spider over its brood. His jurisdiction deals in sweltering heat and steam, the kind that nearly boils your skin but never quite breaks it. He is unhappily removed from it now, after a bombardment of anti titan shells lodged themselves in his red throat and tore him free of his confines. 

Back on the ground, the anthill business has kept him well away from the awareness of the eclipsing year. Another one, spent far from home. Another one, wasted on senseless brutality, fighting with feral viciousness for scraps of his masters’ dinner table. Originally, he supposes he would have simply slept right through the night, had it not been for Porco. Suddenly he appeared, like a gust of wind, like an errant speck of light, badly reflected in the dark. Under Porco’s urgent supervision, Bertholdt got dressed, sluggishly pulling on his boots and muttering under his breath about what on earth could be so goddamn important. 

It is when the older man guides him to a clearing and makes him sit, that it begins to dawn on Bertholdt that it’s himself. If he had known, perhaps he could have refused Porco with more conviction. As it is, he can only tiredly insist that it doesn’t matter, that it’s not worth freezing their asses off out here. There is nothing to celebrate but one year closer to the finish line, one step down the long queue in front of the slaughterhouse. Instead, he is tugged down and closer, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and told to deal with it. Bertholdt settles uneasily, oppressed by the dark, by the orange glow in the east that is not the dawn. 

Porco makes light of it, calls it fireworks, kisses him for it. He brought bread. The good kind from the Marleyan mess hall. He makes it... not pretty but palatable. Bertholdt sits beside him, struggling to keep up with Porco’s effortlessness, the detail with which he executes tranquility in this frozen, pockmarked tundra. Everything about him seems to cry out with it: simple and quiet, that’s what I’m trying to give you. And Porco breaks the bread. Bertholdt watches him, stunned and arrested. He doesn’t feel like he belongs here, bleeding steam from his mouth as his... his... —As Porco makes himself comfortable for him. 

A sting of embarrassment tightens his heart at the cheesy nickname, that attempt at adoration that hails from their earliest childhood. He’s long outgrown it, this label of innocence, best bestowed upon a little brother or a clumsy pet. But he is tired and he doesn’t want to argue. He wants them to be warm. 

“Works for me,” He mutters as he places his half of the loaf in his lap to instead catch Porco by the hands. He cups them between his palms, turns his grip into a furnace, a glowing oven. “C’mere...” His voice turns into a purr, a vibration so deep in his chest, you’d mistake it for a running engine. It’s gratitude on that halting, coy level that Bertholdt has. He wants to be good, be deserving, but he only has his body and the way that it can serve. 

“I’ll warm you up.”

[swampgallows]

In your opinion, what race(s) do you think have the least interesting lore behind them? Or resonate with you the least

 imma be 100% honest that i dont know a ton of alliance lore. i think the underdogs in having kickass lore are actually the dwarves and gnomes; people think mechagnomes were just a temporary tie-in for bfa but they were actually alluded to all the way back in wrath of the lich king (in borean tundra... gee how do i know that haha) and make their grand debut in Ulduar with mimiron (though some are in borean and storm peaks quests). in comparison i think the lightforged draenei were kinda one-note to make argus relevant, though i think we’ll be seeing more lightbound stuff in shadowlands or the predictive ‘void lords xpac’. lightbound undead were also mentioned in the Before the Storm novel, so they may be setting a precedent.

and it sucks that magni and brann are obnoxious as fuck (or at least we’re sick to death of them) because brann’s motives are genuinely quite interesting. it also adds a unique dimension to the trope that dwarves are miners or dig just because theyre innately attuned to the earth by literally being of the earth, a race called ‘earthen’ that was, like gnomes, given the curse of flesh. that, and they dig in hopes of unearthing (literally) more about their pasts and their connection to the titans. that’s why magni turned to diamond, why brann is always showing up at titan constructs, and so on. 

tauren are a given for least interesting lore because they have none. blizz keeps piling on AU tauren to avoid addressing the elephant (minotaur?) in the room (maze???) which is that tauren are racist as fuck. taunka were a start, being closer to bison and having culture shaped by their environment, but theyre about as developed as their fellow anthropomorphic animal natives the tuskarr. yaungol branched out a little more, having scant mongolian influence and actually some impact on pandaria. the highmountain tauren were approached with specific tribal concepts in mind (if not at least a specific area, like the pacific northwest) and seem the closest to being a fantasy spin on real life culture. but the kalimdor tauren themselves, having both tipis and totem poles, are a botched racist mess. 

i really thought that during the crossroads cinematic when baine was warned that sylvanas would “come for thunder bluff” that it would be blizz’s quiet excuse to 1. level the playing field figuratively by trading teldrassil for thunder bluff and 2. level the playing field literally by scrapping all of the racist tauren shit and rebuilding it from the ground up, making executive decisions about which first nations people they want to draw inspiration from or respectfully represent. out of all the tauren tribes we used to hear about in classic barrens and mulgore, sadly i think the one with the most development is the fucking grimtotem, and how evil and shitty they are (but you still get magatha as a follower in the shaman class hall. cool)

and while i dont think poorly of the lore, i’ve gotta say that the majority of elf races resonate with me the least. ive said before about how all the elements are there for me to like blood elves, but they just don’t click for me. between the kind of characters belves were slated to be pre-BC and how they developed afterward, they really fell into the trappings of being The Pretty Horde Race and have been typecast since. blood elves were originally expected to be as ruthless as the undead, using their cunning and abuse of magic to gain power by any means possible. silvermoon originally struck me as being like the Vegas strip, that kind of gaudy veneer of over-the-top opulence to conceal its seedy or even criminal inner workings. shit like walking through the sparkling royal blue sheer curtains through a hookah den and down a marbled staircase into the basement where a bunch of warlocks are sapping the shit out of a naaru. THOSE are blood elves to me, but that’s not how people play them, and post-kael’thas that’s no longer where their lore is. after BC everything of the blood elves was founded on Lament of the Highborne and ex-jock Lor’themar stepping up to lead When No One Else Would and Liadrin begging the light to pwease forgive them. 

blood elf roleplay is its own animal entirely, and someday i might write an entire sociological dissertation on how blood elves IC and OOC are utterly symbiotic. ultimately though i think blood elves became the noble posh high elves/bourgeoisie orange county country club white people that everybody wants to pretend to be when playing them (and the very small percentage that wants to be Wood Elf Ranger), but it’s at the cost of what originally gave them their trademark Tragic Backstory. a bulk of that innate darkness, melancholy, and deceit has been expunged from their storyline.

now, blood elves are powerful without subjugation, luxurious and wealthy without avarice, slender and beautiful without vanity, intelligent without elitism, clever without cunning, and garner pity from their tragic pasts without being victims. they have become watered down and toothless, and this new diluted template was cloned, dyed purple, and stamped directly onto nightborne. the only further insult is that the nightborne, having deposed elisande and avoiding kaldorei on principle, are now mostly spending their time in the Horde living out the Born Sexy Yesterday trope. 

tl;dr elves are too pretty for me to relate to, and tauren are racist. please check out dwarves and gnomes instead if you want cool original warcraft lore.

[year2000electronics]

what are some cool things peony does :0

list of peony things

- draws his own clues to the legendaries in the crown tundra and they’re like. charmingly shitty. i love him

- gives the legendary missions their own titles and they sound shonen as shit

- trips on a rock looking for his daughter (overdramatic)

- *cough* a legendary pokemon borrows his body to speak with constantly *cough*

- gives you a fucking. gold exploration suit at the end of it which is like. where did you GET that sir

- when the mayor of a town says “oh i’m sorry i can’t make these mystical horse reins you need” he’s like “wait lemme see that” and just makes them. like a king

- when his daughter is like “fuck this trip dad i’m going dynamax hunting. take this random kid instead” he’s like OK!!!! and i love that for him

- he also mains steel types same as his brother :)

[gatheringfiki]

The following ficlet was written by @alwaysfarawayeyes​ based on this photoset.

Pairing: Anders/Mitchell Rating: M

Tags: First meeting, smut

Summary: Meeting Mitchell in Norway was a surprise. The outcome, not so much.

You can also read this story on AO3.

If you’ve enjoyed this story, please leave a comment either in replies or on AO3. :)

Blue

-

“Blue is not your color.” Anders told the dark-haired man who had been quietly drinking in the corner and had captured Anders’ attention the minute he had walked in.  

He lied of course. With a face like that, every color was this man’s color.

The lifted brow he got in response made Anders’ fingers itch to lift the hideous blue sweater up and off. He placed his drink on the table and sat down across from the unknown – but hopefully not for long - man.

“I could help you get rid of it.” Anders offered. He was generous like that.

“And freeze to death? No thank you.” Irish. Bragi fluttered in the back of his mind.    

“It’s warm in my bed, I promise.”

“There is no such thing as warm in this godforsaken tundra.” The handsome stranger complained.

“Not godforsaken. I am here to warm you up.” No need to keep any secrets. He would not see him again after leaving Norway. Which he planned to do as soon possible.

The man snorted and held out his hand.

“Mitchell.” He said. His smile was devastating.

Anders held onto Mitchell’s hand for a few extra seconds after introducing himself.

“So what are you doing here if you hate the cold so much.”

Mitchell hesitated before answering.

“I just needed some distance.” This man had secrets.

“You could’ve gone somewhere else. Anywhere but this frozen wasteland.”

Mitchell shrugged. Secrets.

“You here on business?” Mitchell countered, eyeing Anders’ suit.

“I’m here to fetch a stick.”

“A stick?”

“Yes. I’ve been looking for weeks. I finally found a guide who knows where to go.”

“Alright, well, good luck with that.” Mitchell clearly did not believe him. But he did not have to.

It turned out that bonding over their mutual hatred for the cold shitty weather could fill an entire evening. Anders had not had this much fun with his clothes on in a long time.

At 2 a.m. he needed to call it a night. His guide would show up at 6 and he needed at least some sleep to face the cold tomorrow. It could take three days of hiking to get to Yggdrasil. He had hoped for a good fuck before leaving, but..

“No thank you. I don’t kiss on a first date.” Mitchell joked. Liar.

“But on a second date…?” Anders enquired.

“All bets are off.”

Anders shook Mitchell’s hand and fervently hoped the man would still be there when he returned.

It was a full week of grueling cold, horrible food and a lot of alcohol before Anders finally returned to the lodging where he had met Mitchell. He stowed away the stick in his room, took a shower and went down to the bar. He ate alone, drank alone and finally went to bed alone.

He was not disappointed.

-

It took Anders five days to get to Oslo. He booked a hotel room close to the airport. His flight would leave in two days. Plenty of time to taste the local specialties one last time.

He was chatting up a busty blond when he spotted him. Mitchell. Alone in the back of the bar.

“Spotting somebody in a bar for the second time counts as a second date in my books.” Anders stated. He placed a new drink for Mitchell in front of him.

“Anders?” Mitchell’s eyes widened. Surprise. So he was not following him.

Anders sat himself down and leaned forward. “Wanna see my stick?”

Mitchell laughed. “Maybe later.”

It took four more drinks before Mitchell started responding to Anders’ increasingly obvious flirting.

“I think I’m ready to see your stick now.”  

-

Mitchell kissed like the sinner he undoubtedly was.

-

The black eyes and pointed teeth should have been a surprise. They weren’t.  

-

Kissing around the fangs was a bitch and a half. Anders migrated to Mitchell’s neck instead. The dark sounds produced by Mitchell were glorious.

-

In the end Anders did not die. Or more accurately, Mitchell did not kill him.

Mitchell did ruin him for anybody else. It might have been the power, the darkness or the adrenaline that made Mitchell the best fuck he’d had in years.

He would never tell anybody that it was Mitchell’s black eyes staring up at him as Anders rode him hard. They were the eyes of somebody who took his pleasure wherever he could, at the expense of anybody. The eyes of somebody without guilt. Unapologetic.

-

“Come with me.” Anders demanded right before he came.

-

Mitchell did.

[writemymemoir]

Stowaway  Pt 1. (The Mandalorian x fem!reader)

SUMMARY: Finding a way off a planet

A/N

First part of a series, I dunno when this is taking place just of yet. But we’ll figure that out. This is mainly an introductory to the series, so nothing much is happening.

T/W

Violence, and adult language

Part 2

You knew it was mistake, walking towards your old friend’s house through the freezing cold, but it was your only relatively legal option left now. You had no choice. You had spent five months now trying to get off this planet, however with your limited resources, you had been met with dead ends wherever you turned.

Huddling in closer to your snow parka, you trudged along the icy sludge that was the road in this town. Coming up to your friend’s infamous building you took in the sight, it was as beautiful as ever, concrete walls, no visible windows, and an old rusted security door. Knocking, you waited for an answer.

A beep from the side of the door drew your attention. The screen glowed blue.

“What do you want?” a gruff voice sounded through the machine.

“I’m looking for Varan Cleeze,” you said speaking loudly over the howling wind.

“State your business,” The voice said.

“That is between me and Cleeze,” you said, getting annoyed at the man behind the door.

“Not if you want to get inside, girly,” You huffed, a scowl had settled on your face.

“Is he here at least?” you asked, exasperated. If you knew he was here, then maybe you could sneak in the back way maybe.

The door slid open, making you jump. “Why don’t you come in and find out,” the voice purred. You scoffed in disgust. You had lived long enough to know the not so hidden intention of the man behind the screen.

“Why don’t you get fucked, piece of shit,” You said as you took your staff and smashed the screen.

“Piece of fucking shit, garbage,” You grumbled as you started your trek back home, holding your bandaged arm lightly. Hitting the screen may have released some steam, however it did pose a risk to your injured arm.

You shivered already thinking of lying in dirty snow sludge of your home. Varan may have been your last viable option, however now this left you with a more drastic option.

Stealing your way into a ship.

There was no way you’d be returning to the icy tundra where your lean-to was.

Oh, this will be fun, you thought. You like to think you were great at getting into ships. However, it was getting out of them that cause problems for you. Changing direction, you started heading towards the port’s cantina, you started formulating a plan. Passing the shitty home of Varan Cleeze, you saluted it your middle finger.

You had three things you needed to know about the person to choose them. How big their ship was, how many were in their crew and where they were going. You weren’t too fussy with the last option, however, going anywhere backwater was always a better option.

Walking into a cantina was a dangerous option for you as well, but since you had dug out your bounty tracker through a very botchy self-surgery, you were feeling confident in your ability to not be seen.

Despite the freezing cold, it was market day, and so the town’s citizens made a day of clogging up the centre square and all main roads near it. So dark alley and sketchy streets was how you made your way down to the cantina.

It wouldn’t have been a bad idea to stop and buy some disinfected and pain meds, but alas goes the story you knew to well. You had zero cash. So, your arm would have to do with some cheap booze you could score out of any sleaze ball men that were working the bar.

By the time you had made it to the front door, your nose felt ready to fall off. Sniffling, you stepped through the door.

The cantina was darkly lit, tables surrounded the centre bar with hooded figures sitting at almost all of them. This frosty planet was mostly known as a getaway holiday place for criminals, bounty hunters and bounties themselves.

You only had a few credits, and a cantina was one of the few places where you could buy what you needed.

Walking to the bar, you ordered a shot of their finest rum, by finest rum you really meant cheapest. You smelled the rum, its smell closely resembling that of ship fuel, and you walked towards the bathroom.

The bathroom was the dingiest place you had ever seen, but it was secure enough and hid you from prying eyes.

Pulling up your sleeve, you saw the gruesome cut you had inflicted on yourself. Your botchy job at stitches meant that they caught in your sleeve. The constant irritation left the cut red and angry. Slowly, you ran water over your arm, the cold water seemed to cool the cut slightly, but it wasn’t going to fix it.

You only had one shot of rum, but it was enough to do the job. Pouring the rum onto you cut, you bit back a groan. Tearing of the bottom part of your under shirt, you wrapped it around you arm to help stop the cut from getting more irritated.

Finally, you had finished. Looking at the mirror, you saw bags under your eyes, worse than normal. You hadn’t slept much, but that was to be expected when you had been chased all over the galaxy by bounty hunters.

Pulling your hood up, you turned and opened the sliding door. A dark figure loomed over you in the hallway in front of the door. The figure was tall, muscular and looked lethal. A light was blinking in their hand.

The bathroom was too small to fight with your staff, so you slipped knife out of your sleeve, ready for anything.

“Can I help you?” You asked, slightly shifting your stance sideways, so you good arm was facing the figure.

“You sure can,” The figure lunged at you, you grabbed the empty shot glass and broke it over their head. Their hood fell back, leaving the face of a very pissed woman looking at you. You stepped back into the room, she stepped forward and the door shut behind her.

“You’re going to pay for that you little bitch,” She snarled, fury in her eyes.

“Oh, no doubt,” Yu smirked, a split second later you lunged for her, feigning a right hook with you bad arm, then jabbing the hidden knife for her side. She brushed away your hook and blocked the jab, catching both your arms in one hand. You cringed as she pulled back her other arm and punched you in the nose. Blood instantly flowed out.

Growling, you slid your knife in your hand to cut the hand holding yours. Free, you stood back and kicked her into the door behind her. She groaned but launch into an assault of punches. You blocked most and managed to get some punches in yourself. You two were a perfect duo of punching and blocking, neither able to get a proper hit on the other. Knife still in your hand, you flicked it and started slashing.

Managing to cut her across the forearm, snarling she launched into a series of kicks, you only managed to block a couple before she had you pinned on the wall behind you. She continued booting you to the stomach, until you were doubled over and winded.

Grabbing you by your bad arm, she put her own knife against you neck. You let out a scream, her hand was right on you cut. Breathing roughly through your teeth, you locked eyes with her, you could see the fury was still there.

“You’re worth a lot more alive than dead,” She said, her knife cutting a bit too deep into your neck, hand tightening on your arm. You smiled; no doubt blood was on your teeth.

“Quite wrong, darling,” You jumped into action, not caring about the knife to your throat. Kicking in her knee, you head a sickening crunch. She dropped to her knees, screaming. Doubling back around, you elbowed her to the temple, and she crumpled to the ground.

There was a beeping coming from her side. Rolling her over you grabbed the fob. So, after the pain of your self-surgery, it hadn’t worked. Dropping the fob to the ground, you crushed it under you boot.

Stepping over the fallen bounty hunter, you looked into the mirror. Blood dripped down from your nose. Your neck was bleeding as well, not deeply, but enough to be a pain. Washing you face, you pulled your hood up and left the bathroom.

Plans had changed yet again, you had to leave this town, bounty hunters would be crawling all over the port. There was no way you could get onto a ship without another fight.

Walking quickly out of the cantina, you headed back to your makeshift home. You had a long walk over the icy plains to get to another forest far from the town.

Wounded, you would have to make the journey as quickly as possible, less you freeze to death.

________________________________________________________________

 You had been walking for the whole night. You knew if you stopped you would no doubt freeze to death. So, you continued.

The rum did little to help the wound after your fight, you had wished you had drunk it instead. Any warmth would have been well welcomed by you.

The snow was deep in the plains, so you mostly kept to tracks made by bigger animals. You prayed that they were at least smarter than you, hunkered down in a burrow for the freezing night.

You knew you weren’t anywhere close to the next forest, you had to make a decision as to where you were going to sleep. An igloo was always an option, but you had limited experience making them, coming from a mostly jungle planet. You didn’t pause your walking to think, you just kept trudging along.

Looking around for any kind of shelter, you felt defeat closing in on you.

This is how I will die? You thought, shame crashing over you. Your walk had taken almost all the energy from you. You were stumbling every other step. But you kept pushing yourself to continue.

On the bleak horizon, you saw something reflect one of the moons of the planet. You knew you hadn’t hallucinated it. The dark outline of the object was framed by the night sky. You could reach it, you just had to push yourself even more.

It seemed that your skill to break into ships was not going to go to waste anytime soon it seemed.

Calling on the last bit of effort you could, you picked up your pace to reach the ship by dawn.

By the time you had reached it, your feet were bloody from broken blisters and blood and snot were frozen to your face in the most appealing way.

The ship was average size, you knew your way around most, so this ship was easy to size up and lower the ramp. The ship was completely dead, this led you to believe that it was there for deserted for the time being.

Exhaustion ate at your vision, and hunger made you weak. Your main plan was a find an unused corner that you could hide in. That was pretty easy to find since most ships like the one you were one was filled with dark little hidey holes for little packages like you to fit in.

Finding a relatively comfortable hole and satisfied that you would not be found, you hunkered down to sleep. Pulling your parka tighter to keep the small warmth you had away from the cold. You closed your eyes, and fell into a deep sleep.

[1ightcap]

trying to enjoy the brief window of non-snowbound landscapes in my area by engaging in amateur geology and botony: a shitty field guide to the side of the hill i can see out my window

What its says on the tin. The tundra is hostile, rough terrain ass landscape where the lack of trees or cover makes this doofus ass qallunaat feel like a little mouse about to get swooped down on by a bird of prey. That said my cardio is a little better and I can't spend the summer just taking walks to the airport so i downloaded a plant ID app and took it up the hill towards the lake/reservoir

this hill. but instead of a majestic sunset it was threatening to drizzle (and did profusely on the way home)

I found this map on gov of canada's website and guess-timated about where I was during this jaunt. Basically this patch is on the southwest facing side of the hill, where there is some shallow boggy silty dirt covering the bedrock interspersed with a ton of boulders.

A little grass, and flowers. Despite the thinness of the soil the mossier patches hold water really well making it really easy to take a step andd land in a springy soggy patch

Pre Cambrian bedrock. Old as balls. Like 2 billion years old. I want this info to move me more, to experience wonder, but these juts of dark, rounded rock are everywhere here. More lichen with patches of moss

on to the flowers. Caveat that these are the best guess of my app, and i am not a plant expert

[izzy-b-hands]

Snowed In On The Moon

Hadn’t written a fic for the free space on my DL server Bingo Card...and I’m struggling to get myself out of this depression hole and write again, so maybe this little thing will do it. 

Synopsis: Set during the 1976 A Night At The Opera USA Tour. Round the dates in the Midwest in February.  The boys are snowed in at a shitty motel, and that isn’t the worst thing ever, but isn’t it though? 

My love to all who read/like/reblog.

“There are worse places we could be stuck,” Brian reminds Roger. 

Roger grumbles, and glares out the window of the motel at the quickly, thickly falling snow. “Really? Name them for me.” 

Brian chuckles, watching as Roger turns from the window and drops onto the other bed.

“I wasn’t fucking joking,” Roger scoffs. “Are you going to name them, or not?” 

“You’re in a lovely mood, aren’t you?” 

Roger lets out something that sounds like a growl. 

“Alright, I will. Under the ocean-” 

“Don’t be ridiculous! I thought you meant places we could actually be.” 

Brian nods. “If we were in a submarine, we could be stuck there.” 

Roger sighs and drapes a hand over his eyes as he lays on his back on the bed, still wrapped in his fur coat, a leftover from the clothing stall he and Freddie used to run. 

“Fine. Sure. Us, and our fucking yellow submarine. Where else would be worse than the American Midwest in a blizzard, then?” 

Brian ponders for a moment. “The moon, if we didn’t have the right equipment.” 

“Someone has some awfully big dreams,” Roger smirks. “Going to be the first man to do a fifteen minute guitar solo on the moon, Bri?” 

“Only if you’re up there to do the first twenty minute drum solo.” 

Brian dodges the pillow Roger tosses with a shout. “Don’t! We’ve no idea where those have been, if they’ve been cleaned...” 

“People clean in America,” Roger laughs, then hesitates. “I mean, they must.” 

They both pause the conversation long enough to create a ‘blanket’ over their beds made up of clothes too dirty to be worn again (that will be cleaned, eventually. When they find a laundromat, they swear.) 

Roger shivers as they settle back onto their beds. “Never worried about bed bugs until right this moment, you know? And whatever else Americans have in their beds.” 

“You presume they have different insects here?” 

“At least some,” Roger replies. “You don’t feel all...I don’t know, like your skin is crawling, sitting here?” 

Brian nods. “A bit. But where else are we going to go?” 

Outside, the wind howls, and flakes seem to smack the glass of the window, as if upset to be falling. 

“You’re the one with a list of worse places we could be,” Roger shrugs. “Make up a list of better places, and let’s go to one of those.” 

“Home?” 

“Not bad,” Roger remarks, wincing at a stain on the shirt he’s using as a pillow. “But somewhere exciting would be nice.” 

“Home can be exciting!” 

“Yeah, but you know I didn’t mean home,” Roger says. 

Brian sighs. “Unfortunately, Rog, I can’t get us much further away from here. For a few reasons, but you know that.” 

“I know,” Roger murmurs. “Still like hearing you talk about us being elsewhere though.” 

“Even if it’s the moon, or under the ocean?” 

A balled up shirt is the projectile this time, but that Brian bats away with a practiced hand. 

“There is somewhere we could go,” Brian offers. “But it’s not going to be fun.” 

“Ooh, really sell it to me,” Roger grins and bounces up off of his bed. “Where?” 

“There’s a vending machine outside near the front of the motel, and I have...I don’t actually know how much American money I have, I haven’t really counted it, but we could go get something sugary and disgusting...” 

“That’s outside,” Roger muses. “In the snow.” 

“Astute observation,” Brian giggles. “Do we dare attempt it?” 

“In a moment,” Roger says, and rifles through his bag of slightly-less-worn clothing. “Here.” 

“Oh, Rog...” Brian hesitantly takes the old fur coat from him. “You brought more than one...” 

“Case anyone else needed one, here in the frozen fucking tundra,” Roger says. “Might leave your wrists exposed, but we’ll get a decent portion of your torso covered, at least.” 

Outside, they’re both grateful for the furs, as the wind whips snow and ice into their faces, against any bare skin. Anything less thick than the furs leaves them feeling naked and shivering. 

It’s a slow walk, on incredibly icy concrete, to the front of the motel. 

“Can machines freeze, do you think?” Roger ponders as they go, occasionally pausing to hold one another up as they slip on the worst patches of ice. “In something like this?” 

“You mean you think we’ll get to it, and it’ll be so cold it won’t work?” 

“I’m just saying, my end goals here were to get out of the room, and to get something to eat that’s objectively terrible for me,” Roger replies, snagging Brian’s arm as he slips yet again. “You and those fucking clogs; they aren’t made for this weather!” 

“And yours are?” Brian laughs as Roger goes down onto his ass, sparkly pink Converse out from under him. 

A moment later he’s down too, grateful that at least it was a slow set of falls. Nothing bruised but their asses and their pride. 

“We should get up,” Brian prompts. The snow is cold under them, and he can feel it soaking into his trousers and curls. The fur, grotesque as it is, does an admittedly good job of keeping at least part of him dry and somewhat warm. 

“I don’t know,” Roger sighs. “What’s there to go back to? The room, or the vending machine, and what else? Nothing.” 

“Little dramatic,” Brian smiles. “I think there’s more than that, we just have to get through the night here.” 

“Oh!” Freddie nearly trips over them, skidding to an awkward halt on the ice, somehow staying upright. “Are you two alright?” 

“Afflicted by a need to be elsewhere, snacks, and the human condition,” Brian replies. “But otherwise, fine. You?” 

“Was going for food for myself and Deaky,” Freddie says slowly. “How long have you two been out here?” 

“Time isn’t real; who can say?” Roger mutters with all the emotion of an unsupervised theater major student in their first show, flopping sideways in the snow. 

“The watch on your wrist could,” Freddie remarks wryly. “Shall I help you up, or leave you both here to freeze until the spring thaw?” 

Brian takes the offered hand from Freddie, extending his own to Roger to create a chain, and in another moment, they’re standing again. 

“I can’t feel my face,” Roger mumbles. 

“Nor can I,” Freddie sighs. “What a lovely, absolutely horrible place this is, hm? People live here! All the time! By choice, even! Wild.” 

“What in the fuck is ta-” is all Deaky manages to get out before going ass over teakettle into the snow as he storms out of his and Freddie’s room. 

“Oh, Deaky,” Freddie tsks. “Let me help you, hang on.” 

Freddie seems to have the best approach to the ice, sliding across the biggest patches in his platforms as if it’s the only way to cross them. 

“What are you out here for?” Freddie asks as he helps John up. 

“Wanted to see what all the noise was about; why you were taking so long just to get snacks,” John says. “What are these two out for?” 

“Rude,” Roger scoffs. “Like we’ve been let out of prison or something.” 

“Is that not what you would call this place?” Brian muses.

Roger nods. “Fair point. Still, manners, Deaky.” 

“Manners,” John scoffs. “It’s fucking freezing out here, why are you lot standing around?” 

“Excellent question!” Freddie says. “I can’t feel my face, hands, or co-” 

“Fred,” Brian interrupts. “We may as well make it a group trip now.” 

So it is, with Freddie as the oddly unaffected by ice centering piece, helping to hold the rest up as the slip and stumble. 

“I fucking knew it,” Roger scoffs and slaps a cold hand on the vending machine, only to yank it away with a hiss. “Fucking metal burns to touch; what sort of fucking cold can do that?” 

The machine in question did have snacks in it, when they had arrived a day earlier. It was only two nights at the motel, then on to the next city. In that time, someone has: A. broken the glass of the machine, B. stolen all the food, and C. the storm has filled it up with snow and ice, it being out in the elements rather than in an actual building. 

There’s an unofficial moment of silence for their wasted trip, snow and ice coating hair and fur coats and leaving skin raw. 

“We should get back,” Brian finally sighs. 

“I’d like to try the moon instead,” Roger whimpers. 

“What?” Freddie and Deaky ask in one voice. 

The motel across from theirs isn’t visible any longer. Nor is the road, or most of the parking lot, for that matter. 

There’s a sinking feeling in Brian’s gut that they won’t be leaving tomorrow. 

“Me too, Rog,” he mutters. “Me too.” 

Instead, they shuffle back to their rooms, bidding Freddie and Deaky good-bye, only to join them an hour later when the heat in their room ceases to work (not that it’s working in Freddie and Deaky’s room either, but they can accumulate more body heat with all four in one room.) 

Outside, the snow falls and flies and piles outside the door until there’s no leaving for anything, let alone a trip to the broken vending machine or the moon. 

[nightowlfandom]

(Partial) Yandere! Ardyn Izunia X Reader- I’d Rather Die (Part 2)

So in honor of my birthday comin up, I’m gonna post as much as I can for the next few days! YAY!

SO I DID A PART TWO,

READ PART ONE HERE!

Leggo!

...

(Dream Sequence) 

“Oh dear, don’t give me that face.”

“Nope, you’re a meanie.”You crossed your arms, sitting facing away from him.

“Really now, you’re being childish.” he sighed, putting a hand on your shoulder. “Turn around, Y/N.”

“Within my own right.” You huffed. “Now leave me alone.” you stood up, getting ready to storm off. Or your version of it which was to walk very slowly to see if he would follow. He usually always did.

“Hm.” you felt something wrap around your waist and looked down to see what looked like a tindril. “Hey! That’s foul play! You can’t use magic!” you whined as you felt your feet leave the floor. You were suddenly back at his side. “You and your stupid magic.”

“All is fair in love and war, Y/N.” he chuckled, wrapping his arms around you. “Now hush and rest with me.”

You looked up at your companion, for once his hair wasn’t a huge mess. He had finally listened to you and wore it in a ponytail for once. Good, it wouldn’t tickle your face when you tried to get close.

You turned to stare up at him, a pouty smile on your face. “How do you put up with me?” you asked curiously. “No really, how? I always seem to get into trouble and you never seem to mind getting me out of it” 

“Hm, I’ve stopped asking myself that long ago, dear. I’ve learned to live with it.” he chuckled before dodging a pinecone that came bolting for him. “I knew you were gonna do that.”

“Of course you did.” you huffed resting your head on his chest. There was a somewhat peaceful silence between you two. You could almost fall asleep to the sound of his heartbeat. You could feel his arms tighten around your body as you relaxed under his touch. Times like these were your favorite. Playing childish games like hide and seek, star-gazing, or hiking was great, but the two of you rested together, each of you shaking off the tiresome events of the day were the best.

“My love?” 

“Hm?” you turned your head, only to be taken by surprised as his lips found yours in a chaste kiss. Just a slight peck that caught you a little off guard. “...You gotta stop doing that.”

“Hm, but then I’d never get to see that flushed face of yours.” he teased. 

“I don’t have a flushed face!” you retorted. “My face just gets warm sometimes.” 

“Sure, Y/N.” he laughed sarcastically. “Now, let us rest for a moment. I grow weary. Lie with me.”

You got comfortable and gently laid your head on his chest. You could feel the rise and fall of his chest, you could feel your eyelids getting droopy.

“Sleep.” he spoke. “I’ll wake you went we’ve rested enough.”

(End Dream Sequence)

Your first instinct was to bolt upwards, but your headache had forbade you from doing so. “Ouch.” you quietly whined. This was why you hated this so much. “Ugh.” you groaned in pain. You went to go turn, only to feel yourself fall off a ledge- well a bed for that matter. 

“OW!” you snapped. “God-damnit!” you snapped, standing to your feet. You turned around to gaze at your surroundings. You were no longer in that frozen tundra of a room, but instead what looked like a luxurious bedroom. A jacket was wrapped tightly around your frame as well. “What the-...I’m definitely not home.”

No, what happened last night (or at least you think it was last night) definitely happened. You slowly stepped forward, treading carefully. You tried to stay upright as your head pounded. It made it hard to even think. You looked around the bedroom and took note of everything. Where were you?!”

“Where am I?” you voiced your thoughts aloud, walking into what looked like a bathroom. You stood in front of the mirror, leaning against the sink. “Ugh.” you sighed. You flicked on the faucet and instantly began splashing freezing cold water on your face. 

“Hm...Y/N.” 

You peeked your head around the corner to see Ardyn walking through the door frame. You flicked off the tap and walked out the bathroom. His back was turned towards you. Did you dare attempt to try and leave? 

“Hm, there you are.” 

Ardyn turned to face you, he had a bundle of clothes tucked under his arm. “I trust you slept well.”

When you didn’t answer, his eyes narrowed in focus. He took note of you leaning against the door frame, putting a hand on your forehead every so often. Another dream-state perhaps? He stepped toward you with authority, striding up and towering over you.

Assuming he might say something, you readied yourself for the worst. Ardyn simply raised his hand, and gently grazed his knuckled across your forehead. In an instant, the pain was gone. Just like last time.

“If that happens again...tell me.” he warned. “Seeing you in such a state isn’t the best sight to see.” he said. 

“S-sorry...” you looked down at your toes. 

“Hm...I see you’ve taken a fancy to my coat.” 

You finally noticed just how tightly you had been clutching onto his jacket. Instantly shrugging it off, you handed it to him. “Here.” You grumbled. 

You were still pretty heated, the whole being kidnapped thing really put a damper on your mood. 

“Hm...thank you.” he winked, making you turn your head. “Hm, you can quit that tough act.”

“Act?” your head shot in his direction.

“You trust me, do you not? You’re here. You haven’t tried to run yet. You seemed adamant on sleeping in my coat with how tightly clutched onto it you were last night.” 

Shit, he was right. Sort of.

“Well, if you’d like to get your day started, then I suggest you hurry up and get ready. I have a change of clothes right there for you.” he held out the bundle of clothes to you. You had to wait a second, taking in everything he just said. “Your car is parked outside, I was able to retrieve it.”

“Wait...I can leave?!?” You raised an eyebrow. “You’re serious.” you crossed your arms suspiciously. “Why?”

“Of course, How would I look keeping you locked up all day?” he looked as if you had just asked him if fire was hot. “Plus, I know you would never try and disobey me. I trust you enough.”

“You barely know me.” you whisper. 

“Hm, I barely know you in this reality, my sweet. But we indeed do know each other, quite well.” he winked, making your face heat up. If he had seen the same things you had seen, then he was right. In more ways than one. 

“W-well maybe in a dream, but in reality, you’re a complete stranger to me.”

“Hm...for now. Now go if you must, but best believe I will come to return you here.” 

“How would you even find me?” you asked curiously. You weren’t trying to be a smart ass, or challenging. You were genuinely curious as to how he would find you, even if you managed to make it miles away.

“Hm, wouldn’t you like to know.” he chuckled, turning away to walk out of the door. “ I’ll leave you to get changed”

...

Weird, it felt odd to be outside with how you were trapped in such a space previously. It certainly beat being chained to a wall. You sighed dramatically, would it really be so difficult to try to escape his grasp? You weren’t 100% sure, but part of you figured that if you did so much as to even try, it wouldn’t end in your favor. 

Another thing that wouldn’t end in your favor was seeing the man you never wanted to see again find alone in broad daylight. 

“Y/N L/N!” he spat your name like it was expired, moldy, poison something. “I never thought I’d see the say you show your face alone.” he growled. 

Long story short, you had a history with making shitty friends. This one in particular, was the result of you outshining him to your shared sensei. Only one student could take his legacy and you just so happened to have been that student when you bested him in the final test battle to see who would go on to be on the royal court back in your hometown. That was so long ago, guess he never got over it.

“Oh...oh no.” you mumbled.

“I bet you thought you saw the last of me, didn’t you? I’m here to finally exact my revenge.” he snapped. 

“How exactly do you plan to do that?” you stammered over your words. “Last time I checked, we didn’t have any issues.”

“Oh, issues.” he laughed. “Don’t make me laugh.” he grabbed your wrist.

“L-let me go.” you began yanking your hand.

“Fight me, then! I’ll prove our teacher chose wrong!” he growled.

You weren’t prepared for a fight, let alone a battle. His grip had tightened around your hand.

There were a few options going through your head, they all seemed to escape you.

“ARDYN!” you heard yourself scream. His name ripped through your throat like prayer. You could hear the echo of your own voice in your head and almost nothing else. Your fears, everything you had been scared of was unfolding before you eyes and his name. His name. Was the first thing to appear in your mind. You tried to pull your arm away, only to have it pulled on even harder. “I said let me go you freak!” you struggled. 

“And just who is going to make me?” he snarled, pushing you to the ground.

Before you could answer, you felt a sudden chill wash over you. 

“I believe that would be me.”

As you hoped, Ardyn appeared. Only he looked less than amused, dawning a bronze bladed dagger in his hand. “Can’t even go a day without getting into trouble, hm? No worries my dear, I’ve prepared for this.”

“Y/N...who is this?” 

“Hm, no need to include the lady.” Ardyn chuckled sinisterly. “This is a fight between men, is it not. Or are you so weak that you go to challenge a woman who is scared of you.” There was fire in his eyes. If you looked closed enough, you just might have been able to see the devil himself unfurl his wings in Ardyn’s soul. He was beyond furious. He grabbed your (now his) opponent by the neck, lifting him up off the ground. “Just who do you think you are?” he snarled. “You don’t even deserve to breathe the same air as my dear Y/N.”

Before he could say anything else, Ardyn turned towards you.

“Love...close your eyes. You shouldn’t have to see this”

He didn’t have to tell you twice. The pained screams, demonic yells, and sounds of metal chinking and clinking against concrete was enough to give you an idea of what was going on. You could just hear the ungodly sounds of stabbing and ripping...

Ardyn’s terrifying laugh ripping through the air, sending a horrible chill down your spine.It was truly times like this that made the term “nightmare fuel” a real phrase and not just some thing edgelords used to describe something slightly scary. 

The horrible sounds were soon followed by stark silence. You suddenly felt warm hands grazed over your knuckles. “Open your eyes, my dear. The evil man is gone.”

You peeked from behind your fingers. “Is he really-”

“Dead?...Yes. You needn’t worry about him again. The important question here is...are you alright?”

“I-I’m...fine.” you stammered. “Y-you’re saved my life.”

“I’m aware.” he chuckled at you cutely stating the obvious. “It’s my duty as your protector to make short work of the scoundrels who even think they’re worthy of merely a second of laying a finger on you.” You suddenly felt a wash of deja vu wash over your head. 

“C-cool.” You suddenly got very dizzy.

Ardyn caught you just as you fell limp. Luckily he was there to catch you in time. He could almost laugh. He held you in his arms, lifting your legs off the ground to carry you in his arms. You acted like it was your first time in a duel. Ardyn knew for a fact this wasn’t the case, maybe it was a surprise. Maybe you didn’t expect him to actually show up.

“Hm, maybe it would be better if I took you back.” he mused to himself. “It’s been a long day for you, hasn’t it?”

(Dream Sequence)

“I should reprimand you for being so foolish, but I’m happy you’re alright.” an exasperated Ardyn put a bandage over your shoulder. What were you thinking!?”

“It wasn’t my fault he lunged at me first.” you sighed.

“I know, I know.” he sighed. “I was just worried about you.”

“As always.” you stared down at your shoes. “I’m sorry for worrying you.”

“As long as you’re alright.” Ardyn shook his head. “How are you feeling?”

“Better than before.” you smiled shyly. You felt a little guilty. A worried Ardyn wasn’t a happy one. “I should be asking you that.”

“It was only a minor scrape.”

“That fiend charging at you with a sword is a minor scrape, Y/N? Had I not been there you could have been killed!” he replied sternly. “If I didn’t trust you so much, you’d never leave my side.” he grabbed your shoulders and made you look at him.”Promise me you’ll be careful.”

“I promise.” You replied, nodding.

“Good, I hope you intend on keeping such a vow, Y/N.”

[caranfindel]

Fic: Every hand’s a winner and every hand’s a loser

A fix-it fic for 15.10, “The Heroes’ Journey,” because never have I seen an ep more in need of a fix-it.

---

They end up borrowing a 4X4 Jeep Cherokee from Donna. The Impala wasn't made for snowy roads, let alone frozen tundra, they don't have enough credit to rent a car (fucking Chuck), and Sam refuses to take a stolen car through an international checkpoint. Which is ridiculous. It's Canada, not the Soviet Union; no one's even going to look. But Dean's not gonna argue. Sam's kind of messed up right now. Has been, since he shot God, since he spent a day and a half under Chuck's loving ministrations, since Eileen left. Since Garth pronounced them no longer God's heroes. Obsessively researching Alaska, spewing random facts about Utqiagvik and tundra, to distract himself from the shitstorm they stumbled into.

(Barrow is now known as Utqiagvik. Thanks, Sam.)

The thing is. The thing is that "between Barrow and Kotzebue" sounded like they'd be driving down a road from one small village to another, looking for you'll know it when you see it. But on further review, there's about a hundred million acres of frozen tundra between Barrow and Kotzebue. And no roads. Even Mapquest cheerfully suggests you can't get there from here. And Dean's supposed to be the man with the plan, but he can't wrap his head around a hunt whose lore is limited to you'll know it when you see it. He's having problems with get to Alaska and start exploring a hundred million acres of frozen tundra. Maybe that's why Sam is furiously researching Alaska itself. Because he's got to research something.

(And no, Dean is not interested in yet another verse of Sam explaining that the entire state of Alaska is not frozen tundra, and much of the area they're looking at is actually transitional boreal forest, thank you very much.)

Anyway. Scraping up some cash sounds like a good first step. So that's why Dean's lurking in the shadows a block away from a pool hall in Bozeman, Montana, counting his meager winnings. Of course he didn't count it in the pool hall, or even in the parking lot. He's not stupid. You never count your money when you're sitting at the table. Words of wisdom are words of wisdom, even when they come from Kenny Rogers.

Hustling pool was easier when he was younger. A guy in his 20s saunters in, cocksure, too pretty for his own good? (And that's not ego talking, he's heard it often enough, seen it in the eyes of potential marks who murmured that they were sure we'd be able to come to an agreement when it looked like he might not have enough cash to cover a bet, and damn he loved taking their money.) Yeah, everybody wants to take that guy down, and Dean always gave an Oscar-worthy performance in that role. But when you're old enough to look like you might know what you're doing, and maybe looking so down on your luck that no one wants to win the little bit of cash you've got in your raggedy pocket… it's just harder, is all. Especially without his wingman, since Sam declared himself unfit for the job and went off to plunder a couple of local stores for supplies instead.

Dean did okay, though. Even after putting aside half for his stake the next night, he's got enough for a couple of tanks of gas and a night in a hotel. Maybe four or five tanks, if Sam agrees to sleep in the Jeep. It's cold, but they've got decent sleeping bags and a big vehicle. It wouldn't be the worst night they've spent in a car.

They've actually… spent a lot of bad nights in cars. And abandoned houses. And worse. It sparks something in the back of Dean's mind.

That train of thought is interrupted by the arrival of the borrowed Jeep. It's late — well, technically, early — but they need to put some miles between them and the scene of the crime. Maybe he can catch a catnap while Sam gets them out of town. Dean moves to get in the passenger seat, but Sam hops out. Doesn't even trust himself driving right now, for fuck's sake. He even keeps a hand hovering over the Jeep, in case he needs the support if he stumbles, and it makes Dean see red.

"How'd you do," Dean asks, when Sam settles into the passenger seat.

"Not bad. Nonperishables, hot packs, but mostly medical supplies. Got some antibiotics, pain meds, bandages, stuff for stitches and splints"

"Thought you were gonna get some camping supplies?"

"Had problems at the REI." Sam pulls out his laptop and hunches over it.

"What kind of problems?"

Pause. "It's no big deal. We'll stop at a different one."

"Sam."

Sam sighs. "I couldn't get in, all right? There were security cameras and the lock, and I just…" He trails off and buries himself in his laptop, clearly miserable. Dean could suggest, again, that the mom and pop outfit they saw on their way into town would be easier to break into, but he knows Sam prefers raiding big chains. We're saving the world, Dean would say. Doesn't mean we have to be dicks about it, Sam would always retort.

(Are they even saving the world, right now? Or just their own asses?)

After a few quiet minutes, Sam speaks. "Did you know Will Rogers and Wiley Post were killed about 11 miles outside of Utqiagvik, trying to land their plane?" Because obscure Alaskan trivia is easier to think about than, well, everything else.

"No, I didn't know that," Dean responds, "because I've never even heard of Wiley Post."

"Early aviator. Charles Lindbergh type. The Utqiagvik airport was renamed after them."

"Naming an airport after two people who died in a plane crash? That's messed up, man."

"Oklahoma also has two separate airports named after the two of them. I think Will Rogers would probably appreciate the irony."

Oklahoma. The last time Dean was in Oklahoma, he was fleeing Texhoma with an old friend's blood still caked under his fingernails. He doesn't want to think about fucking Oklahoma. Instead, he slides back to that earlier thought, the one that pinged something. The fact that they spent so much of their life sleeping in really shitty places. That they weren't worried about mortgages and utility payments not because they were above all that, but because they never had the opportunity. That they haven't, in fact, been leading the charmed heroes' life, free from sweating the small stuff, that Garth described.

"Sam?" he says. "Do you feel like we've been living a charmed life?"

"No." Sam huffs a humorless little laugh and keeps pecking at his keyboard. "I mean, I didn't, for obvious reasons. But compared to now? I guess."

"Okay, but listen. I think I was right when I said we were cursed. The reason we're having problems now? It's not because Chuck was giving us something we never earned and he decided to stop. Everything we do, Sam? We fucking earned that. Blood, sweat, and tears, man. We trained and studied and practiced and earned every skill we have."

Sam looks up now, brow furrowed. "You think?"

"I do. I mean, how long did you practice lock-picking? Because I remember you asking Dad to buy you different kinds of locks to practice on. I remember listening to you clicking away in the back seat for miles. You did that, Sam. Chuck didn't give it to you."

"Okay…"

"And tripping over your own feet? Do you really think you can only walk a straight line bec ause Chuck made it possible? He didn't make us special, Sam. We made us special. And he's trying to take that away from us."

Sam gasps. "Job. He's pulling a Job on us."

"Damn straight." Dean smacks the steering wheel. Chuck and his Biblical reboots. "And we are not gonna let him do that."

"But how do we stop it?"

That's the question, isn't it? Dean drives for a couple of miles, deep in thought. "I say we go to Alaska anyway," he decides. "Even if we didn't lose our own luck, this might be a way to pick up some extra mojo."

"But remember what Garth said. There's always a catch. You know he's right."

"So? If we decide it costs too much, we just don't play. We can do that."

"Can we?" Sam chuckles. "Because, historically, we're not actually very good at that."

"We are now. Starting right now, you and I are good at anything we want to be good at it. And Chuck can screw himself."

Dean spots the sign for the scenic turnoff just in time, jerking the wheel to the right. "You all right bedding down in the car tonight?"

"Not the worst place I've slept," Sam replies, smiling. No, it's not.

The bed of the Cherokee is long enough, with the back seat folded down, but it's pretty narrow. It's fine. Dean's going appreciate being pressed up against his furnace of a little brother tonight. He wriggles into his sleeping bag, turns his back to Sam, and says "Okay, geek boy. Put me to sleep. Tell me something about Kotzebue." He drifts off to the tune of sled dogs and average January temperatures.

---

The title is, of course, from "The Gambler" by Kenny Rogers.

[whatscallion]

fluff.

//- because i said i would write something for these fine people: @sebastiandragosteamea @stillgirlfrommars @cptsteven @sammiewilson

“I don’t like stakeouts.”

It was unwavering in finality, this particularly unprompted declaration of distaste. There hadn’t been anything spoken for about two hours, though it didn’t necessarily mean there hadn’t been any huffs of annoyance or frustration. All that could be done was defog the windshield and contemplate the negative tipping point of too many coffees.

“I know.”

The reply came on the wings of a sigh, though it was hardly in defeat. Instead, it was a deft reaction to common complaining, albeit not from this perpetrator. More often than not, the vociferous were often teamed with those less so, making for something of an imbalance of communication.

But of course, this was different.

“But we have to do it.” There was resignation in his voice, convincing himself of the truth of the matter, as well as the fact that things could be worse. James Buchanan Barnes could’ve been sitting beside Clint Barton again and smelling the leftovers of a soggy Subway sandwich permeating in the small confines of the car.

“You always did state the obvious when you were annoyed.” Humor laced into a tone generally as cold as the Soviet tundra from whence it came, but for now, it was enough to warm even the coldest New York night. There was a shift beside him, drawing his attention from the beyond the windshield to the bundled beauty he had the fortune of being tethered to.

Even crammed in a shitty Geo Metro ( where they even found a working one was beyond him ), Natalia Romanova was a study in all things femme fatale. It was painfully distracting and comforting at the same time. He could pride himself in knowing that she was more than aware of her effect on him. That sharp smirk painted in peach had him perking an eyebrow in a silent question.

She’d moved so she was more so facing him than the door they were supposed to be monitoring. Even in the lack of light at whatever ungodly hour it was, the crimson pf her hair still caught his eye more than it should.

After all these years, and he still looked at her like it was the first time. And she knew this.

Reaching over, she tapped his chin, and he suddenly became very aware of how he’d gone slackjawed at the sight of her. Fortunately enough, he was beyond being embarrassed or apologizing for something that would never change. With a boyish grin, James collected himself before glancing out the window with a sip of coffee.

“Have I told you that I appreciate you’re not six feet tall?” As if the randomness of the question wasn’t enough, immediate confusion had him nearly spitting out his coffee before looking back to the famed Slavic Shadow.

“Where are you going with this, ‘Talia?” While height wasn’t necessarily a sore subject, it was something of an annoyance when he still looked like a sidekick standing next to Steve. Okay, it was probably a little more than subtly annoying.

“If you were any taller, you’d look absolutely ridiculous in this car,” she spoke with a bubbling chuckling quick on the heels of her answer. “Could you imagine anyone else unfolding their way out of here?”

With the iced silence between them shattered, a rare sight was being seen: a genuine Nat with an awful sense of humor. It brought a quiet moment before a low, rumbling laugh came from James. The coffee was placed back in the cheap cupholder that was obviously not part of the factory model. There was no way he could pay attention to the mission at hand now, and he suspected she was falling prey to the same weakness.

Or so he hoped.

“You must be as bored as I am if you’re thinking about how small the car is, Nat.” Something unrecognizable darted across her eyes, emeralds muted in the midnight scenery. He’d like to think it was something that generally pertained to the two of them, but hope was often a dangerous thing when he was concerned. To hope was to tempt fate into giving the exact opposite.

Her rebuttal came by way of an exasperated sigh, as if it was supposed to be more than obvious, especially to him.

“Amongst other things, James.” That was misleading, and she’d meant for it to be that way. According to the confusion revisiting his face, Nat assumed she held a momentary victory before taking her prize: slipping over the miniscule center console to find a new seat in his lap, her back to the driver’s side door.

“Nat-”

“Shh.”

“No, Nat- the coffee.”

She hadn’t thought about the coffee that was now soaking through the floor of the car after she’d inadvertently hip checked the loose holder on her way to his personal bubble. Everything stood still as consequences were weighed, but once she turned her gaze from where her feet had once been to the glacial hues of the Winter Soldier, coffee stains seemed frivolous to think about.

“I’ll get you more,” she nearly whispered, an arm snaking around his shoulders while the other traced a warm fingertip along his jawline. “My treat.”

“Mm, I think I can settle for that.” Like he was hypnotized by each angle of her face, the stakeout was the last thing on his mind. For now, it was just him, Natalia - his Natalia - and this tiny car. He couldn’t help but ensnare her with his arms, digits digging into soft fabric as if she would disappear into the shadows if he let go. “Natalia, I don’t think we’re going to be getting much recon done with you in my lap.”

“Would that be so bad?”

“....No. You’re right. It wouldn’t be so bad. Never mind that this is about national security.”

“Guilt trips don’t work on me, Barnes. You’re stating the obvious again.”

“Hold on,” he said as he further closed the distance between them. Rather than capture that perfect pout with his lips, he instead pulled the lever beneath his seat, giving them a foot more of room against the steering wheel. “Better.”

“Is that all?”

“Nope.”

Within two minutes, the windows they’d ardently kept fog-free were now veiled with the results of heated breaths and a particular kind of strenuous activity.

Maybe James could get used to stakeouts.