#that was SO funny james woke up and chose violence | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

delicrieux · 4 years

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☆ﾐ 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚊𝚢 “𝚘𝚑”

PART 23: PRETTY BOY

emotions run wild when everyone is drunk and hardly coherent. quackity is always loud, but tonight is a full on assault on the senses (the ears, in particular). bretman simps for corpse too much for your liking. rae is happy for once. there’s a confession of love somewhere in there. sister james makes a very good impostor, but that’s old news, the real question is who gave you a knife? a new persona emerges that leaves the roaches quivering in their boots.

─── corpse husband x reader, a lil bit of everyone x reader (because she’s a queen) ─── soc. media + written fiction! ─── word count: a lil over 7k.

author’s note: it’s the way i can’t follow a fucking calendar for me. sorry guys, i swear to god i thought i had one more day before thursday . the idiot award goes to me and i accept it with pride. anyway, i was excited to write this for a while! quackity is in mexico, that’s why he drinks, too. my fic, my rules, he’s too funny not to include. im also working on an extra w dream and mr quack so look forward to that, too! hopefully u like this part ily xx and as always lmk wat u think!!

ultimate masterlist. ҉ myso masterlist ҉ previous. ҉ next.

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The outfit for today was picked with care and consideration. Hot, as always- you had forgotten your roots, your hoodie and sweats lay hidden in the bottom of your drawer never to be worn on stream again. You’ve changed. Clout really does that to people. Some viewers, naturally, find your hotness near insulting: how dare you rub your beauty in their faces, and so unabashedly, too?! If only you had a twinge of self-awareness, perhaps you would tone it down. But you don’t, and whether that’s by choice or not is the mystery the whole internet tries to solve (ARMY has been working diligently, and you admire their effort, though in the end their tireless labor brings no tangible results).

You went from hot to hotter. In all truth, the fires eating away at California can be blamed on you. You carry this burden in stride, in your platform overpriced shoes some girl scammed you on Depop with, in your fishnets, in your skirt, in your corset, in your rings and necklaces and chains. You woke up today and chose violence. Decided your existence will be a plague to the rest of the populace, and meant it (that, maybe, you took inspiration from a certain faceless Youtuber that so happens to be your boyfriend or whatever). You feel powerful. Like you could step on the world and the world would let you. You decide that it’s the way it should always be.

The smile on your lips informs of nothing good to your quaint, small audience of 40k. You change the lighting in your room from the soft cherry blossom pink to menacing violet. As fitting for a villain.

Perhaps California’s hellish sun has finally purged you of your bubbly, docile nature (arguably, you had never possessed it to begin with); perhaps it’s the forth mimosa you’re mixing as people slowly trickle into the lobby. Who knows?! Not you, definitely. What do all of those boring dead white European philosophers say? Embrace the unknown? Cheers, you’ll drink to that.

In stark contrast to your appearance, your room is a fucking mess. A war-zone of epic anime scale. Everything is scattered, well, everywhere. A perfect representation on what’s going on in your mind, always. You don’t like how people focus on your surroundings-- you’re the main attraction, hello? Are you not enough to sustain them? Must they beg for more?! Totally ungrateful. You shake your head in disappointment, as if a mother scolding her children.

noooooo! mom pls forgive me i will never ask abt anything ever again T_T

yall looking at the room? lol couldnt be me

feels like im five and my mum just told me i cant eat a pretty rock i found on the pavement:(

You can’t contain your sly grin. Eyes twinkle with a purplish hue, appearing all the more menacing. You tricked them once again, oh how absolutely evil of you. In your blind delight you accidentally spill champagne on your lap.

“-Oop, fuck.” You snort.

why does she sound like goofy

The scandalous drunk Among Us stream is about to start. You had been eerily silent through the greetings, and those that chose to approach you were met with a cold shoulder and minimal replies. All on purpose, of course. You wish to plant a seed of unease within them, and so far, it’s working. There are questions unanswered, jokes unsaid, Quackity unteased. It breaks your heart, but it must be done. You look into the camera, all vulnerable and devout, as if to say: I’m doing this for you, all for you.

pack it up yandere simulator

idk whats going on but i think im into it?

villain arc villain arc villain aRC VILLAIN ARC

“Hey, guys,” Corpse’s voices rings in your headphones, and not a blink later his astronaut appears in the lobby in a cloud of smoke, “Hi, Y/n.”

More sharp, excited hellos follow after. You merely hum, though give no further reply. As Corpse strays to your side, Charlie steps in in front of him, “BDA access only. You have a permit, bitch?”

“Y/n is being quiet-she’s being quiet, guys!” Quackity helpfully informs, as if the rest failed to notice your cryptic silence, “Don’t be sad Corpse, man, Corpse don’t be-she didn’t say shit to me either.”

“Y/n has decided to not waste her breath on the SDS.” Charlie voices, “And you know what? I actually agree with her for once.”

“SD-what now?” Dream questions.

“The Small Dick Society.” Charlie explains, noting Dream’s whine of protest, “Oh no, don’t give me that shit, weren’t you bitching about not being invited and not belonging to exclusive clubs? Congratulations, you’re finally part of one.”

“Wait!” Quackity interjects, “Am I part of it too?”

“Guess, Sherlock.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Corpse says. You nod to your audience, like he just spoke the God honest truth, and follow in his example. Your tentative sip unexpectedly turns into a greedy gulp, but you’re not complaining. The only slightly coherent thought that rings in your mind is drink tasty.

“Ignore them,” Rae chimes, “Y/n’s probably plotting something and using Charlie as a cover up.”

“I’d never.” The words slip past your lips before you can stop them.

“Well you sure are very quick to deny it.” You can hear her smirking, can hear the proud lilt in her voice, like she caught onto your silly little scheme, like she has you all figured out. Your eyes narrow dangerously. The night behind your window pools dark, with far away city lights glimmering before they, too, seem to dim.

Your roommate is back on your shitlist. How her name was missed among the rest.

“I’m defending my honor.” You yelp, the playfulness back in your voice along with your sunny smile, “I can’t have my wifey slandering me online. At least do it in private, geez.”

If Rae’s such a good detective, you’ll give her a good chase. Perhaps you’ve been laying it on too thick. Made her too suspicious. She can’t out you yet--not when your plans are so grand, so fun. It would be a waste.

“Why weren’t you saying anything then?” Quackity questions.

“Do I need a reason not wanting to talk to you?” You shoot back. Your friends laugh and he tries to shriek something past their cackle. You lean back into your chair, the tension from Rae’s confrontation finally easing. You wink at the camera and bring a finger to your lips. The roaches swear to secrecy, elated by your wickedness. As appropriate, they spam devil emojis and various renditions of evil hohohos and hehehes. The apple truly does not fall far from the tree. You had raised them well. You raise your glass in solidarity. A few donations fall into your pocket, easily summed up as: make them suffer.

Muting the discord call, you give a single response, “Oh, I intend to.”

i hope this doesn’t awaken something in me

^already too late for me bro

As caught up in wreaking havoc among your viewers as you are, you miss Sykkuno’s entrance, though from what you can tell, Charlie gave a stern warning to back the fuck off to him, too. He’s playing into your plan so beautifully. Truly, you couldn’t do this without him. Back to stalking the chat you go.

Your eyes flicker to the game upon Bretman’s signature drawl and “Hi, daddy.”. You have no time to get offended at Corpse’s sweet “Hi, honey” back, because the next person to join the discord call and the lobby leaves you speechless. You knew, of course, you had been informed of the line-up, but still, you had never expected yourself to be so close to Jomes Chorles himself. You make a weird gesture with your hands, half wave half excited wiggle, as if you’re telling the audience to calm down, when, in fact, it is you that needs calming.

He goes saying his hello’s like doing a public service, name by name, before, lastly, uttering, “Hi, Miss Y/n. Loooove the vids.”

He’s a roach in disguise, who could’ve known?! Your audience is so diverse and unexpected, gosh, you’d shed a tear if the mascara wasn’t so expensive.

“Hi!” You reply with a grin, and it’s genuine this time, a glimmer of your old self, “Hi, I love your videos, too. It’s like, really cool to finally meet you.”

“Oh my God, you too!” Is his enthusiastic reply, “Okay, the energy in the studio today? Love it.”

“Is this all of us?” Quackity asks.

“Sadly.” James says with a note of disappointment.

“HEY!”

“Okay, guys!” Ash chimes, “Let’s do this! Proximity Among Us, round one, go go go!”

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Luck does not shine upon you during the first round- you are stuck as Crew Mate, your life cut short by Bretman who had the audacity to bite your head off. You’re positive Ke$ha wrote her hit single Cannibal about him, and if she didn’t, she definitely had a That’s So Raven moment and predicted it. It’s also insanely suspicious as after you are eliminated he sticks real close to Corpse, feigning innocence (and this is a controversial opinion you do not endorse) better than even you. It wounds your pride, having been picked off so casually, so quickly, and now stuck a ghost you roam the halls of the dying spaceship, lost, confused, heartbroken.

Charlie runs past you, not once even glancing in your direction. “Brother...” You mutter sadly, “Do you not see me here? Do you not feel... the loss of your twin’s heartbeat...?" Damn, these mimosas really are making you emotional. You sniffle and take a sip to calm the storm within you. No rage, just sadness. You are still processing your own tragic demise.

Suddenly, a meeting is called. There’s a horrible red X on your astronaut. You are the only one dead so far, and of course the rest won’t vote out the fucker. How bitterly you sit! With your arms crossed over your chest and your glare sharp enough to cut through glass. Fuck the sad shit, now you’re just angry. At the very least, the second Impostor could’ve given you some company!

“I knew something felt off.” Charlie is first to speak.

“Who the fuck killed Y/n?” Corpse questions, and his voice ignites a whole discussion that lasts much too short. The others skip, having no suspect yet. It’s much too soon to start pointing fingers, but you still feel like they should have at least tried. Pouting, you fix yourself another drink.

“Stop drinking!?” You gasp, exasperated at your chats demands, “I’m dead! What else should I do, the tasks?! Nah, fuck that. I’m done. I’m out. Charlie better employ his fucking detective skills because if the Impostors win, I will literally quit the game--yes I will, no I’m not bullshitting, fucking watch me.”

Thankfully, Bretman was caught venting, and you didn’t have to end the stream prematurely. The second Impostor, your roommate (oh, the betrayal, Rae, how could you?!) was voted out due to Corpse’s suspicion. Victory to the Crew Mates! The game restarts and you find yourself back in the lobby.

“Miss Y/n,” Bretman says, “I am sooo sorry for killing you first, baby. It was just too easy. I couldn’t pass it up.”

Giggling, Quackity chimes, “Sister slaughtered.”

“Oh my God,” James groans, “shut up!”

“Yeah, Y/n.” Charlie speaks, and there’s an accusatory note in his calm voice, “Why the fuck did you allow yourself to be eliminated first? Real noob shit, I expected more of you.”

“HUH?!” You frown, “What’s with the victim blaming?! I literally was doing my task and Bretman snuck up on me. It’s not like I had a weapon to defend myself!”

“You have been avenged,” Corpse states, “and that’s all that matters.”

“Thank you, Corpse!” You say, “At least someone cares.”

“Hey, I helped, too!” Dream pipes up.

“No, you didn’t.” Corpse shoots him down, “I was the only one.”

“You were not--”

“Literally was. Isn’t that right, Sykkuno?”

“Uhhhh-” Sykkuno trails off, “Well, we-we all helped!” You can hear his shy smile, and you just know he’s bobbing his head up and down at this exact moment, “We all helped. Team work!”

“Team work!” The rest echo, save for yourself, Corpse, Charlie, and the two Impostors. Silence speaks more than a thousand words or whatever. You pray to any higher power willing to listen to finally assign you the role of the villain, the one you were born to do.

Sadly, higher powers must have either shitty customer service or are in need of hearing aids, and you almost scream in frustration when your astronaut appears along with the others, the bold CREW MATE title chipping away at your master plan.

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“Hey, Y/n, hey! Hey, Y/n!” Rae finds you in Cafeteria, where you, metaphorically, are eating your feelings. Not that she needs to know, of course. She sounds chipper, a bit ditsy, and that must mean she’s sufficiently tipsy. You store that information for later, and forget about it as soon as you notice Dream and Sykkuno, like her very own personal bodyguards, trailing after her, “Wanna play a game?!”

“Is this Saw?” You inquire, somewhat lazy. You’d be lying if you said the alcohol wasn’t affecting you, it’s just instead of making you bubbly, it makes you mellow. This was supposed to be fun, you were supposed to terrorize everyone and laugh as they perished by your hand, yet here you are, wallowing in self-pity. The roaches start worrying. The donation jingle chimes.

BEATINGS & SLUTATIONS yns_fishnets donated 5$ mom just wait it out & dont worry youll get your vengeance soon lead them on!!!!

Your fishnets have a point!

“Saw?--No, no, haa, no it’s a drinking game.” Dream sounds like he has had one too many rounds of this mysterious game, and naturally, you are intrigued.

“Where we drink!” Sykkuno clarifies. Right, well that explains everything! If you had any questions, you surely have none now.

“Okay, so, name a category, and you have to, like, say a word associated with it...Or something along those lines.” You hadn’t even agreed and Rae is explaining the rules already. She knows you too well. It’s both a blessing and a curse, “Can be anything! Okay, Y/n, Y/n, Y/n start!”

“Uhh--” If only your brain computed as fast as she spoke! “Song lyrics! Wait--who drinks?”

“You fail, you drink!” She hurries, “Choke me like you hate me but you love meeeeee. Syk, go, go go!”

“Uhm, ah, I don’t wanna feel like this, uh, fuck?” He laughs--it’s a raspy, embarrassed little sound, “I don’t...wanna look like this? Dream, now you!”

“Wait, we’re singing Corpse’s songs?”

“Any song!” You urge him quickly, “Hurry! Or drink!”

“She say I kill her cat like I'm Luka Magnotta--”

“Hey! That’s cheating! You can’t use my song!” Rae protest.

“That wasn’t in the rules!” He counters.

“Y/n! Time’s running out!” Sykkuno exclaims.

“Oh, uh, will-will the real Slim Shady please stand up!”

NOT EMINEM WHAT THE FUCK

MOOOM WHT THE HELL THIS ISNT 2008 T_T

“Ra-Ra-Rasputin, Russia’s greatest love machine--”

“All...All the other kids with the pumped up kicks better, uhh, run better run, faster...-faster than my gun?”

“Uhh, shit--fucking hell.” Dream laughs, and Rae practically screams at him to keep going, “Alright! Okay! I’m singing--uh, you’re so golden, na na na na?”

“I tell you what a woman loves most,” You chime gleefully, “it’s a man who can slap but can also stroke.”

finally, the mother mother representation we’ve all been waiting for

i aint exactly gay but i aint exactly not gay >:)

the bis won

“I steal a few breeeeaaaths from the woooorld for a minute--”

“Mitski?!” You question, eyes bulging, “Baby, who hurt you?”

Even if you can’t see her, you know she’s waving her arms around and shaking her head, “Not the point! Sykkuno!”

“Uh, I-I, uhm, I don’t--”

“Drinnnnk!” You all chorus.

“It was a good concert,” You say, “Syk, I’ll drink with you.”

“Thank you, Y/n. That’s very kind of you.” He says softly, with a smile lining his lips. You grin.

“Oh, fine. Everyone, bottoms up!” Rae decides, and no one protest. A moment of silence passes, then, “Well, GG, GG, let’s do some tasks?”

Your enthusiastic Ariana Grande-esque “yuh” is cut short by the second meeting of game two being called. The first one to go had been Ash, voted out during a bathroom break as a joke, and you still feel a bit bad about that. Now, you notice Charlie has been eliminated. A sense of righteousness fills you--while you mourn for your brother from another mother and father and family tree, you feel like this is divine punishment for slandering you before the start of this round. Karma. Nothing much is discussed, and the meeting ends shortly with everyone skipping.

You spend a good ten minutes wandering around with Dream, who’s mission appears to be convincing you to join his Minecraft server, and really, there was no need for him to try so hard. You failed to provide him with a concrete answer only because it would've been to humiliating to admit that you agreed instantly upon hearing the word Minecraft.

That’s when things get fucking weird. Another meeting is called whilst you’re in the middle of fixing lights, and once the board with the members appears you audibly gasp. There had been 8 living, breathing astronauts rushing around the map, and now only 4 remain. You, Corpse, James, and Alex.

“What the fuck--what the fuck?!” You screech alarmed, noting Dream being among the perished crew, “I was just with Dream fixing the lights, I was just with him, what the fuck--”

“Okay, no one panic.” James says, “Let’s figure this out. Okay? Okay. Who else is close to Electrical?”

“I’m at Nav.” Quackity says.

“I’m at Cafeteria, but Y/n--” Corpse starts, “kinda weird that Dream died when you were with him?”

“I didn’t fucking kill him, I swear to God, Corpse, why are you accusing me?”

“Don’t be so defensive.” He says smoothly, “I’m just pointing out the obvious. We all have a reason to be sus, no? Considering you were right with him.”

“...It is suspicious.” James agrees, and a part of you dies inside. You understand their hesitance to trust you, but it doesn’t make it any less frustrating!

“Guys, I didn’t kill him, I swear. He invited me to play Minecraft, I wouldn’t do that to him, not after that!”

Corpse merely hums, and it brings no comfort what’s so ever. The situation is spiraling, and not in your favor. Trying to salvage your chances at freedom, you try again, “Wh-James, James, you called the meeting, right?”

“Yeah, I found Rae’s body near Medical.”

“So I couldn’t have killed her and Dream at the same time!” You latch onto that piece of information, hoping it will save you.

“You could’ve vented.” Corpse points out, “Plus, there’s no telling how old the body is.”

“Killing five fucking people? It’s the work of one person, or else the game would have already ended. As it stands, I am no way sober enough to think all of this out.”

A brief silence hangs in the air; your lungs constrict from tension, from spilling words so hotly. You grasp your glass, as if for emphasis, and take a shy sip. It taste sweet, a bit too sweet for your liking. Must be your nerves. You drink again to wash the taste out of your mouth, which, surprisingly, doesn’t work. You whine a little, stomping your feet like a child about to throw a temper tantrum.

“...I believe her.” Quackity says. You breathe out a sigh of relief.

“Alex, thank youuuuuu!” You gush, batting your lashes as if he could somehow see you and that would somehow portray your innocence, “I knew I liked you for a reason!”

He mutes his mic, his spill of words lost to your ears, but chat helpfully informs that he’s screaming because you don’t hate him.

y/n out here collecting men like pokemon cards

Now all that’s left is to convince the others. You start with the one you know will work, “Corpse,” You address him in your sweetest voice.

“Y/n,” James warns, “don’t you dare--”

“Baby, I didn’t kill anyone, I’m crew mate, you gotta believe me.”

“She's innocent.” Corpse declare, thoroughly convinced.

“Oh my fucking God, you fucking simp!” James laughs, “She’s obviously manipulating you!”

“No, no, she isn’t. She’s innocent, I agree with Quackity. Now, it’s either you or him.”

“Could be you for all we know!” Alex accuses.

“Guys, time’s running out.” You mutter fretfully, noting the seconds tick by from white to red.

“I’m voting Alex.” Corpse says.

“What?! Fucking traitor! Fine, I’m voting for you.” Alex hisses.

“Ugh, hate agreeing with Quackity, but I’m also voting Corpse. Sorry, hon, nothing personal.” James says. The VOTED icons pop up beside their characters and you panic, pressing your mouse idly but it’s too late, there wasn’t enough time, and you cry as Corpse is thrown into lava. The chat spams F, and it feels like salt on a fresh wound.

In a second you’re back in Cafeteria, shell-shocked and trembling, and Quackity cusses because the Impostor is still among you. His frustration doesn’t last long as you watch in horror as Jams Chortles, beauty guru supreme, murders the only other crew mate in cold blood and all you can do is gape and let his cheerful laughter fill your ears. The screen bleeds red, informing of Impostor victory, the second one being Ash. Looks like you voted her off for the right reason, but little difference did it make.

“Corpse!” You yell past the cacophony of voices, all in varying forms of excitement or anger, beelining for his in-game figure, “Corpse, I’m so sorry, I panicked, I tried pressing the button but I wasn’t quick enough--”

“It’s alright, baby. Don’t worry about it.” He’s so calming, so gentle, you might burst into tears again. What did you do to deserve him? You wish he was with you so you could smother him in a hug. Alas, all you can do now is say “I kith you, mwah!” and rush to the other side of the lobby, as if to hide from such a bold display of affection, even if it was a joke (it wasn’t).

yall say corpse simps for y/n but the reality is y/n simps for corpse harder

queen stop its embarrassing

bhaddies can simp!! i wouldnt but its her choice <3

More deliberations, commentary, and short breaks. Once everyone has returned, the countdown starts. You’re still reeling from the chaos of emotions, the five stages of grief you experienced in 1 second upon Corpse’s unjust demise, that it takes you a moment, a single heartbeat to realize what you’re seeing on screen.

The letters IMPOSTOR hang above your astronaut, with Dream standing just behind you as your newly appointed partner in crime. And suddenly, all the sadness and the tenderness and sympathy vanish with a curt exhale. You slowly turn your head to the chat, muting the Discord call, your soft chuckle of disbelief turning into a full blown laugh.

it’s happening!!!!

omg omg omg omg

VILLAIN ARC VILLAIN ARC VILLAIN ARC

You slap your palm over your lips, trying to contain your wicked smile, to tone down your broken giggles, “N-No, I can’t laugh yet,” shaking your head softly, you look into the camera, “they’re all going to die.”

pack it up light yagami

this has awoken something in me.

^ same

The crew mates go their own ways, rushing to do their tasks like the diligent little workers they are. How adorable. Their grim fate is still miles away from them. The shit you’ll pull will be for the history books. Much like your outfit, which you picked keeping in mind your newfound thirst for blood, you had devised your plan of action with care and consideration. You had been mulling it over all day, drawing on paper like the absolute madwoman you are; hell, you even made sticky notes on who to go for first and what to say. Sure, being moderately drunk hinders your memory slightly (an understatement of the century), but you got a feel for what you’re going to do. It’s nothing short of evil.

Dream and you don’t exchange words, you merely nod at him-- which he, of course, can’t see-- but your criminal bond enables telepathic communication. You can hear his thoughts, ones that strangely sound like drink drink, drink drink. And really, who are you to refuse such an enticing offer?! As he fucks off to stalk his victims, or play pretend, you take a sip. The cocktail is still sweet, but this time it’s not the icky sweet you had tasted prior. You glance at your sticky notes, ones the roaches can’t see, and nearly spill your drink for the second time today as you jerk.

“Fuck!” You exclaim, shoving your headphones off and spinning in your chair. You hastily stand up, wobble -- the world is pleasantly funny right about now -- and giggle. Stepping past the mountains of abandoned clothes and pillows and blankets and anime plushies, you maneuver your way to your bedside table and yank it open, nearly taking out the whole drawer with you. In the mess of old diaries and bad drawings, pencils, jewelry, and stickers, you fish out something you should not be wielding in your inebriated state.

It’s a knife.

In midst of teenage angst you had ordered it off of Amazon with your mom’s credit card, all the while whining that it’s not a phase, mom, and it’s what all of my cool kid friends with fried hair have, and don’t you want me to fit in, don’t you want your daughter to be happy?! You think it’s about that time, the time of too much uneven eyeliner and black eye shadow, that she took to calling you little raccoon. Trash rabbit was your personal favorite, but she used it sparingly. When you presented your Macy’s outfit, holding up a fucking butterfly knife, to your dad, asking if it was a look, he glanced up from some boring business magazine all boring business dads read and said, with a bright smile might you add, “It’s a something!”.

Oh, how it gleams in the lilac light. You used to do tricks with it, back in eight grade maybe, and--what the fuck? Why did you parents allow you to buy it in the first place? Well, because you’re the only child, the only one important, of course they got it for you and clapped enthusiastically at your performances, because why wouldn’t they? The whining they’d face otherwise would’ve been harder to endure than a whole dance number to Panic! At The Disco’s greatest hits. Broadway looked so fucking shabby in comparison. Your mom said so, so it must be true.

Stumbling back to your extremely confused viewers, you take your seat, feeling a bit more grounded now that you’re not standing on your platform shoes anymore. Putting on your headphones, you grin at the chat that starts swimming, and not from too much drinking either. You do a quick flick of your wrist, one that thankfully doesn’t end in injury, and the sharp tip of the exposed knife points upwards, glimmering. It’s a rainbow colored one, because one, it’s pretty, and two, you weren’t hardcore enough for the jet-black or straight up military ones the other emo kids had. Cute and dangerous, just like you.

So you just sit there, holding it up, looking somewhat sly as the roaches capture this momentous moment with screen-caps. Someone definitely clipped you trudging past the obstacle course to obtain a weapon of mass destruction. You must be already trending on Twitter, though you can’t exactly log on and confirm your suspicions. You just feel like you might be, like you should be, because your audience wouldn’t let this slide. Thankfully, your friends don’t have time to check social media, or you’d be outed in an instant.

“Y/n?” Your roommates voice booms from your headphones, and you perk up with a stupid realization that you completely forgot about Among Us. Stuck at the start, at the lobby where Dream had left you, you see her astronaut waddling to you, “What are you doing here? Wait--Have you not moved from the beginning?” She can barely finish the sentence without giggling.

You grin, “I was looking for something.”

Your voice is soft, too calm for your usual frantic spill. You gently set the knife down, hand coming to rest on your mouse, fingers idly, slowly, bouncing on the buttons.

“...What were you looking for?” She’s none the wiser, the numerous drinks consumed tonight numbing her sharp mind. She would have noticed. Your eerie composure would’ve given it away in a heartbeat, or at least hinted at something being objectively wrong. But she sounds curious. Poor girl, hasn’t she heard? Curiosity killed the cat.

“A knife.”

“A knife?!” There’s something about her tone that implies a mental clicking, the puzzle pieces falling together, “You have a knife?!”

“Yes.”

“No!”

You think it would only be appropriate that the random sequence of killing animations renders the backstabbing one. You grin, biting your lower lip with a quiet snicker.

i love women

if evil bad...why seggy?

You take your time leaving her there -- in true serial-killer-to-be fashion, you stick around for a bit longer, admiring your handiwork, or more like the chat singing your praises. You joined today with the intent of making an interesting stream. You have no doubt in your mind that now it will be legendary.

You move down the hallway, and you let your imagination wander: you can almost feel the stuffy air of your helmet, can almost hear your loud footsteps echoing in all this hush, can almost see your reflection in the spotless tile floor. It’s not long before your second victim makes an appearance, running circles in Cafeteria. You hear his voice first before you see him, recognizing Alex by his unhinged screech of “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s goooo!”

“And what’s got you so excited?” How cool and collected you are, gosh, you barely contain the quiver of excitement that threatens to slip out.

“Y/n!” He exclaims, rushing to your side like a lost puppy--he’s really making this easy for you, he’s not even trying, “You just missed--Oh my fucking God, you just missed James, he-he called me tall, he called me fucking tall! Let’s go, let’s gooooo!”

“Well, you are tall, aren’t you?” You chime sweetly, almost as sweet as the drink that lingers on the tip of your tongue, “Real 6′3 energy, no?”

“Yes, yes, exactly! You get it, you fucking get it--” Once again, his mic goes mute, and you glance at the chat for help.

hard to transcribe what hes saying but hes taking shots and yelling that he loves you good job mom

hey, queen! girl, you have done it again, constantly raising the bar for us all and doing it flawlessly

mom plz dont kill alex hes too cute hes all uwu rn

Oh, how you’re about to break his poor little heart. If you had any good left in you, you’d spare him. You don’t, and you’re not taking requests at the moment, so all you do is smile at your chat and they know. They just do. Hive-mind shit, you’re all two-faced little fuckers.

You giggle, and it sounds a tad fake, “You’re so weird, Alex,” You start, and he’s back in the call, a sound of confusion echoing in your ears, “but I get it, you know. You’re weird. You’re a weirdo. You don’t fit it, and you don’t want to fit in. I mean, really, has anyone even seen you without your stupid hat?”

“...Do--” He sputters, bellowing a laugh, “Do you have that whole fucking monologue memorized?!”

“Is it because you’re bald?”

“I’m not fucking bald!” His giddiness is quickly replaced by anger.

You hum, pretend to think, lastly barking a “Liar.” before you kill him. His scream is cut off, leaving only deafening silence at it’s wake. Unlike with Rae, you don’t stick around. You didn’t appreciate how little he enjoyed your recital.

You run into James near Navigation, most likely on his way to Cafeteria. He ends his song mid-note, and you breathe a sigh of relief, “Finally! Someone! I’ve been looking all over, where the hell is everyone?” You question, blocking his way, lest he accidentally stumbles onto the crime scene and easily pins it on you. You’re not done yet.

“Honestly? No clue. I’m searching for them myself, like, everyone’s scattered. I hope no one died.”

You smile. You tried not to, but you can’t contain it, “Me, too.” You echo the sentiment, urging him to join you, and he does. Too trusting. Everyone in this game is too fucking trusting. You lead him back to Nav, feigning that you have a task here. As you pretend to move the spaceship, you can’t help but ask, “Hey, James?”

“Yeah?”

“What’s your favorite scary movie?”

A beat of silence passes, “Oh no, fuck that, I don’t like this at all.” He states, about to spin on his heel and bolt like he should do, but you’re quicker-- killer instincts and all-- and he’s dead before he makes it out the doorway.

“See, after your No More Lies video, I figured you’d only tell the truth.” Yes, this is the part of the anime where the villain monologues, only the hero in this case is an astronaut cut in half, and not exactly alive to listen to you. You hope James’ ghost sticks around, “Case in point, why the fuck did you tell Quackity he’s tall?” You eye the chat, which’s mostly spamming W and comparing you to Ryo from Devilman Crybaby. “Such a shame...” You murmur, pressing the REPORT button.

“What?! How are so many people dead?!” Ash gasps, her kind voice tinted with fear and confusion. Your three kills, like military stars on an uniform of a distinguished officer, are displayed on the board. Dream appears to be slacking, having yet to take a life.

“Someone’s been real fucking busy.” Charlie observes. It’s true, you have been.

“I found James in Nav, but holy shit--” You begin, exasperated, “--what the fuck, guys, how did we miss this shit? Where is everyone?”

“I’m at Electrical.” Corpse voices.

“And I’m with Corpse.” One sentence is all it takes to figure out your next target: Bretman. Revenge for being killed first in the first goddamn round, and for spending so much time with your boyfriend.

Eep!!! Boyfriend boyfriend boyfriend!!! The word even makes you forget your thirst for blood, that’s how whipped you are. Sadly, it’s time to return to reality, to this grave situation.

“And what have the two of you been conspiring?” You keep your tone level, but that alone is enough to set everyone off. The unease you had planted within them before the game started is starting to bloom. However, if they suspect you, they don’t speak up, not yet.

“Fishnets, mostly.” Corpse says.

only partly a lie he was mostly talking abt u queen <3

corpse simping for y/n is the sweetest thing ever

the times corpse used y/ns name when talking abt y/n: 1. the times he used baby or my baby: infinite

“I’m wearing them right nyoooow.” Bretman drawls.

You hum, “What a coincidence. I am, too.”

“Wait--For real?” That seems to catch Corpse’s attention, because of course it does, you picked them with him in mind, after all.

“No peeping.” You tsk, obviously referring to his tendency to hop onto your stream unprompted. Whether he actually listens to your demands is beyond you, “Peeping means cheating.”

“For the love of fuck all, can we get back to the three dead bodies, please? Because I’m about to have a second coming of Christ moment and taste my consumed, digested beer for the second time.” Charlie interjects.

“I mean, anyone have any ideas who’d do this?” Dream takes hold of the conversation. Quiet, disappointed nos greet him. They have nothing to go on, no clues, not even a subliminal message. With everyone scattered, there is no way of locating the actual bodies and drawing a long red trail leading back to you.

You’re too good at lying, and Dream is too good of a publicist. People tend to trust his judgement, which is his main asset (besides his calm demeanor of course). When the Among Us gods chose you as Impostor, they made sure you had every advantage.

“Who-Who do you think it is, Dream?” Ash questions, “I trust you. I do. Just know that.”

“No fucking clue.”

“Y/n?” She tries again.

“Same. I’m a bit worried, though.”

“Let’s, uhhh, let’s skip?” Sykkuno offers. The consensus is to start voting at six. Your new mission is to make sure you dwindle the numbers down drastically before that can happen. You have no qualms about sacrificing Dream in order to meet your goals, either. Absolutely cold blooded.

Back at Cafeteria, there are words exchanged about Quackity’s body just laying there, forgotten. Blame is shifted: how come we didn’t notice sooner? Where’s Rae? And you mindlessly go along with their mourning, not really paying attention. Dream leaves with Charlie and Sykkuno, Corpse requests you stay with him and you sprout fake apologies. Not his time yet. Us girls need to stick together!, you sing, following after Ashley and getting further and further away from him, going deeper and deeper into the labyrinth of the spaceship.

You find yourself in Security with her, her cute astronaut pressed to the cameras, watching the live feed, “Let’s lurk here, okay? Maybe we’ll see something.” If only she saw who was standing behind her.

“Who do you think is the Impostor?” You ask, standing in the doorway, “Or, more like, who are the Impostors?”

“Honestly?” She ends her word with a little sigh, “I think it might be Corpse and Bretman. I haven’t seen them at all this game.”

You smile, raising your brows, tilting your heard, and you sound so kind, like a dear old friend about to deliver a tender message, “...Have you seen me?”

“SHIT!”

Too late. In one smooth motion she joins the afterlife. You cut the lights, venting mindlessly till you spot Corpse and Bretman panicking in Weapons. Your existence is still a mystery to them.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck--” Corpse mumbles, “Bretman, don’t you dare fucking kill me right now.”

“I’m not Impostor!”

“Okay, I’ll drink to that.”

They rush out of Weapons, most likely on their way to Electrical, and you trail after them like the Grim Reaper itself, biding your time till you can deliver the killing blow.

“Corpse?!” You call out, mild panic ringing in your voice, “Is that you?”

“Shit, Y/n? Where are you?” He questions. Crew vision is so sad, so small, how can he not see you standing almost right next to him? “Where’s Ash?”

“I dunno,” You say, “when the lights went out I ran. Please don’t kill me.”

“I’d never do that, baby.”

Too easy. They’re all too fucking easy. You bite your lower lip, trying to stop the laugh bubbling in your chest, to stop the lightheaded dizziness that overcomes you with a rush of excitement.

“Thanks, pretty boy.” You mutter, and it sounds a bit lower than you intended, a bit darker, something sinister lurking underneath cotton candy words. It instantly clicks in Bretman and he makes a noise, something like a whine, and you see him backing away, “I know I can always trust you.”

Whether Corpse notices the odd shift in tone, he doesn’t show it, “I like it when you call me that.” Is all he says, and you hear the smile in his voice, the appreciation. The trek to Electrical is all but forgotten. You slowly make your way to Bretman, “Where are you? Come here.”

“Just a minute,” You say cheerily, “I just need to kill Bret first.”

“Holy shit.”

“N-” Your victim’s sentence is cut off in a second, and you can’t contain your manic cackle this time, because the screen bleeds red, the words VICTORY splattered on it, depicting yours and Dream’s sneaky astronauts. You’re still laughing as the voices of your fallen friends ring in your ears.

“Y/n, what the fuck, you’re an actual monster.” Dream says, but there’s no actual weight behind his words, each syllable punctured with a laugh.

“I knew the second she asked me about my favorite scary movie that I’d get the chop.” James states.

“Wait, Y/n, did you kill everyone?” Corpse questions.

“She fucking did!” Dream answers for you, “I got Charlie and Sykkuno, and barely at that. What the fuck.”

“I’ve been waiting so fucking long for this.” You admit, giggling, raising you glass, “I toast to you, Dream. My perfect partner in crime.”

“I didn’t really do shit, but cheers.”

Quackity heaves a heavy sigh, “Y/n, Y/n, you don’t actually think I’m weird, right? Right?”

“No, she does.” James chimes.

“WHAT THE FUCK DID I EVER DO TO YOU, DUDE?!”

More commotion, more noise, and you just sit there, buzzed, snickering, reading the chat as the rest agree to play another round. You thank the people who donated that you had accidentally missed among the, you know, murder, reply to a few questions, bow dramatically to the many praises and invisible flowers you receive for such beautiful assassin work. When you look back at the screen, you throw your head back with a maniacal laugh.

Impostor again, only this time it’s with Charlie. Family bonds are often restored when united under a common goal. You’re so happy. So happy. You weren’t done terrorizing your friends yet.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

tags (in italics is those i couldn’t tag! make sure all’s ok w your settings!) : @littlebabysandboxburritos - @fairywriter-oracle - @tsukishimawh0re - @ofstarsanddreams - @bbecc-a - @annshit - @leahh19 - @letsloveimagines - @bellomi-clarke - @wineandionysus - @guiltydols - @onephootinfrontoftheother - @liamakorn - @thirstyfangirl - @lilysdaydreams - @pan-ini - @mxqicshxp - @tanchosanke - @yoshinorecommends - @flightsandfantasy - @liljennyx3 - @bingusmode - @unknown-and-invisible - @sinister-sleep - @fivedicksinatrenchcoat - @mercury–moon - @peterparkerspjsuit - @unstableye - @simonsbluee - @shinyshimaagain - @ppopty - @siriuslystupid - @crapimahuman - @ofthedewthesunlight - @mythicalamphitrite - @artsyally - @corpsesimpp - @corpsewhitetee - @corpse-husbandsimp - @hyp-oh-critical - @roses-and-grasses - @rhyrhy462 - @sparklylandflaplawyer - @charbkgo - @airwaveee - @creativedogs - @kaitlyn2907 - @loxbbg - @afuckingunicornn - @fleurmoon - @yeolliedokai

more tags are in the comments bcs tumblr only allows me to tag 50 people max 💙

#corpse husband #corpse #corpse husband x reader #corpse x reader #corpse social media au #corpse husband x y/n #corpse husband fic #corpse husband social media au #social media au #myso #make you say oh #quackity #dream smp #corpse x y/n #imagine #imagines #reader #xreader

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simplylupin · 4 years

Text

𝐉𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐔𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍

these are all conversations me and my friend have had when in a zoom class, some of these aren’t even funny, they just reminded me of things james and sirius would say soooo:

JAMES: why did Peter say arthritis...

JAMES: OH HE WAS TALKING TO THE WRONG CHAT

SIRIUS: IM CACKLING

JAMES: as in he’s talking to someone else like we are

SIRIUS: the embarrassment-

JAMES: couldn’t be us

SIRIUS: regulus is making me a bagel right now, i’m starving

JAMES: gasp

SIRIUS: le gasp

JAMES: i was tryna eat at the beginning

JAMES: i almost choked

SIRIUS: FNDUHD good god

JAMES: make sure you chew and swallow

SIRIUS: you ready for this fun time?

JAMES: TOTALLY

SIRIUS: i’m already bored

SIRIUS: this is lowkey sad ngl

SIRIUS: why are we doing a sad topic

JAMES: why can’t we learn about the birth of Mary’s little lamb

SIRIUS: i wish

JAMES: do u know any of the ionic equation question answers on the chemistry doc thing?

SIRIUS: i haven’t done it yet, i’m still on music

JAMES: im-

JAMES: sirius

JAMES: that was first period-

SIRIUS: I MIGHT AS WELL JUST DROP OUT OF SCHOOL IF ITS GONNA BE THIS HARD

JAMES: same, how does she expect us to do this if i’ve only understood 3 chemistry lessons? and she wasn’t even teaching them

SIRIUS: lmfao so true, we should revolt

JAMES: go on strike

JAMES: loved every minute of that

SIRIUS: same honestly

SIRIUS: what a vibe

JAMES: nvm the quiz is 586 metres long

SIRIUS: i’m finding it hard to breathe

SIRIUS: this is so scary

JAMES: when she said my name I was like 😳😳

SIRIUS: omg babe i’m so sorry

JAMES: why is there a horse...

SIRIUS: I SONT EVEN KNOWWWW

JAMES: confused.com

JAMES: she just fr called us out

SIRIUS: she woke up and chose violence

SIRIUS: this better not run into my lunchtime

JAMES: if it does-

SIRIUS: i’m gonna go make some mozzarella sticks

JAMES: good idea

JAMES: ready for physicsssss

SIRIUS: i literally forgot oops

JAMES: we’ve been doing this for weeks how-

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thestuckylibrary · 5 years

Text

A Year in Reading: 2019 - Blue

So real life kind of kicked our asses in 2019 and we weren’t able to keep up with the monthly Mods’ Reads posts. We’ve gotten some questions about them and we still intend to keep them a thing, hopefully, in 2020. But for now, this will have to do. Below the cut is everything I’ve read in the past year:

(It’s a long list and I may have missed some things we try and warn for, so make sure to check tags and warnings on any fics that catch your eye <3)

January

Slainte mhaith by Speranza (oneshot | 1,180 | M)

Under the Bridges of Fame by alby_mangroves, notlucy (complete | 89,678 | E)

For better or for worse (usually worse), Steve Rogers has been the most famous guy in the room for a while. And though newsreels have given way to YouTube, people’s reactions haven’t changed much in seventy-some years. Steve’s become an expert at keeping his head down and getting on with his life.

A head-on collision on a busy street sends books flying and sweeps Steve off his feet. The point of impact has a name: James. A charming mess of long hair, thick glasses, and a crooked, not-quite-smile. If he recognizes Steve, he chooses not to comment, placing him firmly in Steve’s good graces.

As far as Steve can tell, they might be Bogie and Bacall all over again, save for the group of idiots with selfie sticks who surround them. But for once, the request isn’t for Steve.

Which begs the question: if James is James, then who the hell is Bucky?

So, You’ve Adopted a Fruit by Nejinee (complete | 17,769 | E)

Steve knows that Bucky’s trying his best to stay whole in this new modern world. Then Bucky finds a struggling little scraggly creature and decides immediately to wrap it up in his open heart and take it home. It’s a bit bizarre seeing a former assassin taking to something so small and helpless, but to Steve it all makes sense.

Part 1 of 2 lovestruck idiots and a dog

Sandy Cheeks by Nejinee (oneshot | 4,227 | T)

A day at the beach with Steve, Bucky and Blueberry.

Part 2 of 2 lovestruck idiots and a dog

The Job Between Here and There by Pohadka (series, ongoing | 182,404 | M)

He might be free from HYDRA’s command and making his own life now, but James Buchanan Barnes is far more lost than he’d ever been before. Nothing matches the vague memories he’s recovered so far, and the world has progressed far beyond needing soldiers. To find out what he wants, and how to get it, he just needs a little… Leverage.

all systems snot by galwednesday, silentwalrus, skellerbvvt (oneshot | 2,962 | T)

They don’t let you suck dick in quarantine.

A Hatemance For The Ages by BetteNoire (WeAreWolves) (series, ongoing, restricted | 28,750 | E)

This is what happens when you find your soulmate… and instead of birds singing and roses blooming, you discover they’re an insufferable jerk. But an insufferable jerk that you low-key really want to bang, if nothing else because MAYBE THEN THEY WOULD SHUT UP.

Features the worst, most annoying iterations of Cap!Steve and Modern!Bucky. There is nothing these two wouldn’t do for each other… out of spite.

[A series of occasional short fics that I write when I just want snark and hate sex]

The Department of Special Collections by alby_mangroves, Speranza (oneshot | 4,867 | T)

It was a messy thing of leather and papers and rope. It looked like Phillips had carelessly thrown a bunch of documents onto an old piece of black leather and then rolled the whole thing up and tied it … The papers inside were all different sizes, everything out of order and haphazardly stacked, like someone had been in a hurry and just grabbed it all.

love is blind (steve and bucky are just dumb) by talkplaylove, wearing_tearing (oneshot | 4,409 | T)

“You shouldn’t have interrupted their date, then,” Natasha pipes up, finally showing her face as she gives Bucky a wave and a tiny smile. “I like the hair.”

“Thank you.” Bucky preens a little. He ignores the teasing about this being a date; Nat and Sam somehow got it into their heads that Steve and him were dating via Skype calls. They’re not. They’re just friends who video call sometimes. Friends do that.

Part 3 of Happy Steve Bingo

Part 1 of men with no plans

i love him and our goat children by talkplaylove, wearing_tearing (oneshot | 5,526 | T)

“Bucky, why does Sam have a photo of you surrounded by goats and the words “Always be happy with Jesus” on it?” Steve asks, looking at him on the screen.

Or the one where Steve and Bucky move in together, adopt some goat kids, and live happily ever after.

Part 2 of men with no plans

Part 4 of Happy Steve Bingo

February

Treasured by Dira Sudis (dsudis), Sealcat (complete | 24,609 | M)

When everyone in town became convinced that a dragon really had come again to the Old Lair, and that the town would have to offer it tribute, they all looked at Steve.

Honestly, he was relieved.

The Joy of Little Things by obsessivereader, Sealcat (complete | 29,744 | E)

"Do you want me to eat you?"

“No, but—” Steve broke off his instinctive response. All his life, he’d believed in doing what was right… he was not about to stop now. Wincing at the prickling pain in his feet, he straightened up to his full height. “Yes. If it means you’ll leave this place.”

"But you don’t look very filling." The tip of the dragon’s tail twitched. "I don’t suppose you’re a virgin?" he asked hopefully. "I’ve heard they taste better."

Steve gritted his teeth and refused to answer. The dragon could very well find that out for himself. He stared at the dragon. The dragon stared back. Then the dragon got up, turned around, and went back into his cave.

"Well? Come on, tribute."

or, how Steve ends up working for a dragon with a very odd sense of humor

It's A Funny Story... by perfect_plan (oneshot | 6,009 | M)

Bucky just had the most mind-blowing sex of his life with a handsome stranger and nothing can ruin his day. That is until he goes out to breakfast with his room mate to meet Sam's best friend who just moved to town.

total eclipse of the bark by Deisderium (oneshot | 2,627 | T)

Steve's first day at the flower shop, he walks into the break room to find an extremely large and muscular man having a breakdown because his dog is sick. Only an asshole wouldn't try to comfort that large and muscular man.

Karma's A Fake Orgasm by gracie137 (complete | 51,653 | E)

There’s another abandoned mug, festering with mould in the living room — Steve offically has the world's worst roommates. And complains about them. Often. Bucky, tired of his lack of action, decides it’s time to avenge Steve's sleepless nights and unsanitary conditions once and for all. They’ll pretend to be the world’s most annoying couple: excessive PDA, loud fake sex, and general repugnance. The plan sounds easy enough; it will be strictly platonic. Or will it?

Part 1 of Revenge Is Best Served Horny

A minor misunderstanding, solidarity, and reunion by owlet (oneshot | 2,456 | T)

Barnes should know better. Lidia should charge her phone.

Part 8 of Infinite Coffee and Protection Detail

Licence To Thrill by roe87 (oneshot | 4,153 | M)

James is a Russian spy, ordered to take down American agent Steve Rogers.

Steve is an American agent, ordered to take down Russian spy James.

But when they first meet, things take a different turn.

(Or, a spies meet cute)

You Can't Take the Sky from Me by LeisurelyPanda (oneshot | 6,259 | M)

Captain Bucky Barnes and his crew were flagged by an Alliance ship after innocently minding their own business during an illegal salvage operation. It's not Bucky's first scrape with the oppressive, bureaucratic Alliance military, and it won't be the last. However, most Alliance vessels don't send someone so... adorably susceptible to Bucky's charms to interrogate him.

Steve was conscripted into the Alliance at a young age. He's been around long enough to know that it's not what everyone said it was when he was conscripted. A dashing rogue in his interrogation room, however, offers what might be his only chance at escaping this life.

It's The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year by stevergrsno (noxlunate) (oneshot | 5,186 | E)

“You should come over for a drink.” Christmas Stealing Hot Neighbor says instead of answering Steve’s very valid question.

“I really don’t think I should. Sounds like fraternizing with the enemy.” Steve says, even as he’s abandoning his tree and moving towards the gate.

“Look at is as a know thy enemy thing instead,” Christmas Stealing Hot Neighbor says before flashing Steve a smile and oh, oh no, Steve is screwed.

Aka Steve Rogers is competitive, Bucky Barnes is into his hot new neighbor, and Christmas Feelings ensue.

The New Super by gr8escap (oneshot | 3,001 | T)

Steve Rogers is trying to get comfortable in his almost affordable apartment and the New Superintendent of the building is a cruel distraction.

Part 6 of Happy Steve Rogers - [Bingo]

10-94* by gravesecret, softcorehippos (complete | 38,817 | E) *graphic violence

Late at night, when the city sleeps, they race.

Bucky Barnes owns a garage and race for pinks, Steve Rogers is an FBI Agent with a lot of people to prove wrong.

Destiny Knows Better by Polska_1999 (oneshot | 4,251 | T)

When Steve woke up after the ice with a new soulmark, and one that offended him no less, he made it his personal promise to hate the person that the universe chose to replace Bucky. Shame that the universe didn’t quite get the memo.

Part 9 of Sprint Towards Blackout (Happy Steve Bingo 2018)

Sergeant Hot Pants by cleo4u2 (oneshot | 11,798 | E)

When Sergeant Bucky Barnes is assigned to temporarily take over for Maria Hill, Steve can't quite keep his shit together. Not around Bucky, who is the hottest Alpha Steve's ever seen.

Lessons Are So Cold by herecomesbucktofuckshitup (complete | 57,575 | E)

Steve knows that he's small. He knows that someone has to go undercover at the local high school, and he knows that he was the right person for the job. He just wishes he wasn't. And Steve really really wishes that the cute boy he'd hooked up with the night before his mission hadn't turned out to one of his teachers.

Patience by cleo4u2 (oneshot | 5,073 | M)

You should never Google yourself. Steve knows that, he's been out of the ice for over a year, but he just can't help himself. After finding a gorgeous, sexy brunette thirst tweeting about calling him Daddy, he can't help himself from responding, either.

We Are The Lucky Ones by blithelybonny (oneshot | 28,563 | E)

The Soldiers will be drift compatible -- of that, there is no question. They were bred for perfect synchronicity; two halves of one whole, one mind in two perfect bodies.

But they cannot be allowed to remember. The drift may be catastrophic.

Seashore by Speranza (oneshot | 505 | not rated)

No Kind of Life by Speranza (oneshot | 1,995 | not rated)

"You know I have to do everything the hard way, Buck. It’s the fundamental fact of my nature.”

The Gentleness That Comes* by doctormccoy (oneshot | 8,566 | M) *sex work

Steve Rogers never really views the things he had to do to get by before the War with any sort of shame or embarrassment. People ask him for his opinions on modern issues in interviews, but Steve has gotten good at talking around those types of questions. Fury insists that there's no way to answer them without casting a shadow of controversy across the reputation of the Avengers, and that's the last thing Steve wants.

But then a sex tape is released featuring Tony Stark in bed with another man, and Steve can't stay quiet any longer.

Expressive Force by Avaaricious (oneshot | 3,795 | T)

AKA the "You punched me in the face while gesticulating wildly to a friend" AU

Part 1 of Meet-Ugly

Bite Your Tongue by Avaaricious (complete | 34,193 | T)

AKA the "I work at a department store and if you take out and unfold a shirt and then leave it one more time I'm going to stuff it down your throat" AU

Part 2 of Meet-Ugly

March

Misdemeanor by Avaaricious (complete | 9,140 | G)

Based off this tumblr post by peterssquill:

Some cop, unlucky enough to pull over Captain America of all people: Sir um could I see ur... uh... license?

Steve Rogers someone who never bothered to get one: ....no

Part 6 of Meet-Ugly

P.O.W. by Avaaricious (oneshot | 20,420 | T)

AKA the "You're strapped to a table in a lab and I've come to rescue you, but you think you're hallucinating and kiss me" AU

Part 5 of Meet-Ugly

Part 1 of Fixed Points

The New Super by gr8escap (oneshot | 3,001 | T)

Steve Rogers is trying to get comfortable in his almost affordable apartment and the New Superintendent of the building is a cruel distraction.

Part 6 of Happy Steve Rogers - [Bingo]

Seashore by Speranza (oneshot | 505 | not rated)

Fan the Flame by Avaaricious (WIP | 253,880 | M)

AKA the "I thought you were a dude-bro and meant to swipe left on Tinder but I slipped. We matched and now I'm stuck talking to you" AU

Part 4 of Meet-Ugly

Heckin' Chunker for Love by canistakahari (oneshot | 2,708 | T)

On the inside of the big floor to ceiling window of the office across the street, someone has used Post-it Notes to spell out a message:

W H A T I S Y O U R C A T ’ S N A M E ?

Like Playing With Fire by GoldBlooded, LeisurelyPanda, wilfling (complete | 33,567 | E)

James is heir to his family's business, brought over from Mother Russia by his great-grandfather in 1917. In 1918, an Irish organization also moved to Brooklyn, a little too close for comfort. They've been rivals for over a hundred years, and it can get pretty stressful. Sometimes James needs to blow off some steam, and if a handsome stranger named Grant wants to do the same, James certainly isn’t going to say no.

Steve, heir to the Irish family, has never met James Barnes. But they all know that he's an arrogant, dangerous enemy without honor, as evidenced by the way the Russians are crossing lines again. On the way to a 'meeting' between the two families, Steve doesn't spare his counterpart a single thought... because his head is swimming with a man named Bucky and the earth-shattering night they've just spent together.

How will Steve and James cope when they find out they're sworn blood enemies? What happens when the 'meeting' is sabotaged by an unknown third party? Will the Irish and Russians be able to look past ancient, ingrained hurts for the sake of survival? More importantly, will Steve and James be able to ignore the ever-growing attraction between them?

I’m a Sucker for a Wild Boy by jinlinli (complete | 9,897 | T)

Steve is a vampire who’s never met a werewolf in his life before. Bucky is a werewolf who doesn’t even know vampires exist. Naturally, neck biting means two very different things to them.

In which Steve goes for a midnight snack and accidentally gets himself werewolf married.

The Very Heart of It* by merryofsoul (restricted, oneshot | 17,743 | M) *graphic violence

In which Captain America adopts a dog from Bucky and they become friends — and then more.

A Piece of Silly Affection by Reccea (restricted, oneshot | 11,687 | E)

Steve looked good, He looked hale and hearty and uninjured in his leather jacket, too-tight shirt, and jeans. He got off the motorcycle and his movements were graceful and fluid - no obvious signs of injury. He took off his helmet and --

Oh.

Steve had a beard.

Bucky’s mechanical hand spasmed oddly.

Life of the Party by AggressiveWhenStartled (complete | 21,689 | E)

“You know, kids,” Steve heard from the backyard, “one of the most common threats a superhero has to face is inside an active volcano! We’re going to have to work on your evasion skills, so for the next five minutes, the floor is lava!” This was met by a sudden spike in both volume and pitch from the small children as they scrambled onto every raised surface they could find and immediately launched themselves right back off.

“I’ve never seen actual lava in my entire life,” Steve said, vaguely offended.

“You got a superhero impersonator for The Falcon’s niece’s birthday party,” Sam said, incredulous. “The Falcon, who is an actual superhero.”

#TweetMeDaddy by StarSpangled (Senforza) (oneshot | 4,127 | T)

Coulson, for his part, stares up at Bucky with such a betrayed look of frozen horror that Natasha actually goes the extra step and presses another button, capturing the moment and airdropping the photograph to her phone for posterity. When he speaks, his voice comes out as a hoarse whisper. “Why…?” He swallows and starts again, trying for some semblance of normality. “...Why would you tweet something like that?!”

“If you must know, sir,” and somehow he manages to make ‘sir’ come out with the same inflection most people reserve for ‘motherfucking son of a bitch’, “it’s because I have a difficult time doing my job when my job involves monitoring the man with the best fucking ass in the United States of America.” He slowly lowers himself back into his seat until he’s at eye level, making extreme eye contact with Coulson until Coulson turns away to make mortified eye contact in Natasha’s general direction through the one-way glass. Natasha would take another picture, if she weren’t too busy catching Steve’s red-faced sputtering. “Sometimes, I vent to my Twitter followers. Sometimes, it’s about hot men with washboard abs. Can I go now, or do you need a graphic description of how I pleasure myself at night?”

Bad Moon Rising by spacebuck (complete | 57,533 | E)

Bucky Barnes is a lot of things:

- a nurse - the owner of a dorky dog that's too big for his own good - a lot older than he looks (by a lot more than you’d guess) - one of the last born-werewolves of his generation (namely due to point number one)

He's also one of the most powerful werewolves in New York City, not that he uses that power for more than keeping up with his work and playing with his dog.

But, when the once-in-two-hundred-years lunar event known to wolves as the Triple Moon comes along, Bucky's more than a little peeved to get to Central Park to find cloud cover blocking the majority of the power the moon is supposed to be giving him.

And then he finds an unconscious man in a clearing.

He doesn't connect the two, though in retrospect he should have - witches are sneakier than they appear.

much tattoo about nothing by Deisderium (oneshot | 14,579 | E)

Steve Rogers gets a lot of email requests, but never one like this: James Barnes wants to use his healing factor to practice tattoos.

Turns out tattoos give Steve boners.

April

My Arms Were Made To Hold You by portraitofemmy, rainbow_marbles (oneshot | 55,101 | E)

Tired of being kept awake at night by a screaming baby, Bucky decides to take matters into his own hands. Mostly he wants a good night's sleep, but what he gets is a beautiful baby boy with big blue eyes, a lonely father trying to move on from tragedy, and a chance at a family he never expected to have.

Part 1 of Never Let You Go

Coming Up Aces by greenbergsays (oneshot | 1,771 | E)

Bucky Barnes is a charismatic, flirty asexual man that lives with his awkward pansexual best friend, Steve Rogers.

Part 7 of Tumblr Ficlets

Don't Let the Tide Come and Wash Us Away by alittlewicked, hey_you_with_the_face (oneshot | 10,039 | E)

There was a man standing in the shop. A man with Steve’s leather jacket wrapped tight around him – or at least a jacket that looked like his seal skin.

Anyway.

A really beautiful, young man with a strong build and broad shoulders was standing in the doorway. His wispy brown hair framing an expressive face with beautiful pouty lips, an adorably cleft chin, and steel grey eyes that remembered Steve of the stormy seas of Ireland, of his ancestors’ home.

Steve was unabashedly staring (sue him, it was his shop).

Or: the one where Steve, the selkie with a coffee shop like they wished they had at 2 Broke Girls, gets accidentally selkie-married to Bucky, the dryad who just came back from an extended tree time, and they are both just idiots in love at first sight.

The Roommate by layersofart (layersofsilence), Niitza (complete | 28,632 | T)

In which Steven G. Rogers, a.k.a. Captain America, gets a roommate. Who rapidly turns into his "roommate"—in the euphemistic sense of the word.

It takes SHIELD and the rest of the Avengers an absurd amount of time to notice.

Make My Wish Come True (all i want for christmas is you) by chicklette (complete | 27,516 | M)

Steve's spent his whole life pining for Bucky Barnes. Why should this year be any different?

A Holiday fic that begins on New Year's Eve and wraps up on Christmas Day.

Cause & Effect by Avaaricious (complete | 25,810 | T)

When Bucky falls from the train in the Alps, Steve will do whatever it takes to mount a rescue mission, consequences be damned.

One possible outcome continued from my fic P.O.W.

Part 2 of Fixed Points

And So It Goes by Avaaricious (oneshot | 9,267 | not rated)

Life goes on for Steve and Bucky as they enter a new century, but there are fixed points in the universe; things that are destined to play out a certain way no matter what.

Part 3 of Fixed Points

come as you are by silentwalrus (WIP | 10,897 | E)

Steve comes back to the States. He pursues truth, justice and the American way. Bucky comes back too. He pursues inebriation and intercourse.

Part 3 of Bucky Barnes Gets His Groove Back & Other International Incidents

Just This Once (The Everybody Lives Remix) by Dira Sudis (dsudis) (oneshot | 6,808 | T)

A way it could have happened.

Ain’t Gotta Hide This Heart of Mine by yourekindof_weird (oneshot | 3,882 | G)

“Uh, so listen, Steve,” Rebecca says. She seems nervous now and she’s biting her lip, “I don’t want to, uh, come across as rude or anything, but I don’t think a relationship between us would work out,” Rebecca fiddles with the straw wrapper from her cranberry juice, “Mr. Stark sort of sprung this on me and I agreed because I was sort of startled,” she makes eye contact with him, “but I’m actually pretty gay, so…” Steve can’t stop the sigh of relief that makes its way out of his mouth. ... Steve has been dating Bucky Barnes, an ER nurse, for over a year. None of the Avengers (excluding Sam) know about this. It leads to the Avengers (mainly Tony) trying to set Steve up on dates.

Kiss Me Once Again by ShowMeAHero (oneshot | 1,171 | T)

Steve’s quiet for a moment, then says, “I’m sorry, Buck.”

“Why?” Bucky says. “It’s been half a minute for me.”

Blood Is Thicker Than Carpet Cleaner by Alexicon (oneshot | 5,872 | T)

Just because it had been a joke didn’t mean it was a bad idea. Steve opened the phone book to the business section and searched fruitlessly for the right entries for about six minutes until he finally came across ‘Cl’ by sheer luck when a few pages stuck together as he turned them.

For some reason, his eyes were immediately drawn to a small, bleak ad in the corner, with only a few words, a phone number, and a thin black border.

The ad’s content:

“Winter’s Cleaning Services. Fees paid half up front. Specializes in blood removal.”

Well. That was. Specific.

Steve Rogers is Captain America, a superhero. Bucky Barnes is the Winter Soldier, an assassin. Steve needs someone to clean his apartment. Bucky shows up to a meeting with a potential client. Neither of them got quite what they expected.

Part 7 of marvel works

May

before we can breathe easy by belovedmuerto (oneshot | 22,052 | T)

No one touches Steve.

Bucky sets out to do something about that

Check, Mate? by talkplaylove-art (talkplaylove), wearing_tearing (oneshot | 1,938 | T) (reread)

A notification from Check, Mate? blinks back at him. Steve’s heart speeds up when he opens the app and then his face breaks into a blinding grin when sees what’s waiting for him.

James likes him back.

Part 1 of endgame

Part 5 of Happy Steve Bingo

Check, Mate! by talkplaylove, wearing_tearing (oneshot | 13,097 | E)

Bucky gasps and stares down at his crotch, sex-addled brain making it harder for him to focus on what the fuck is going on. Steve himself takes a second to realize what the fuck just happened, but when he does, well.

“Did you just fuckin’ knot me?” Steve asks, eyes wide and voice loud with shock.

Or the one where Steve and Bucky meet on a dating app, and everything happens way faster than anyone expects.

Part 2 of endgame

You Will Meet a Stranger by spitandvinegar (restricted, oneshot | 3,061 | M) (reread)

When the mask falls off Steve recoils.

He'll never forgive himself.

Idioglossia by hotelmichelle (oneshot | 20,434 | M)

“James and Steve. If I have to tell you one more time to stop talking, you will be separated. Do you understand?”

Bucky stares up at Mrs. Wheatley with the face that gets him out of trouble when his ma is in a good mood. Steve becomes suddenly fascinated with his correction work. It would have been convincing enough, if their papers weren’t blank.

Or: Steve and Bucky make up a secret language

Part 1 of secret language 'verse

My Arms Were Made To Hold You by portraitofemmy, rainbow_marbles (oneshot | 55,101 | E)

Part 1 of Never Let You Go

Don't Let the Tide Come and Wash Us Away by alittlewicked, hey_you_with_the_face (oneshot | 10,039 | E)

There was a man standing in the shop. A man with Steve’s leather jacket wrapped tight around him – or at least a jacket that looked like his seal skin.

Anyway.

Steve was unabashedly staring (sue him, it was his shop).

Super Soak That Ho by silentwalrus (oneshot | 1,434 | T)

It all starts with them going to a movie. “Let’s see this one,” Steve says, pointing to the listing for ARRANGERS: RAGE OF MEGATRON. “It’s supposed to be based on a true story.”

“Fine,” Bucky says. They go to the movies.

This is crack, guys. Expect no redeeming features here.

liquid measure by silentwalrus (oneshot | 2,594 | M)

Just a normal domestic afternoon with two supersoldiers.

sneeze disease by silentwalrus (oneshot | 5,540 | M)

Bucky starts to believe in a vengeful god on May the twelfth, year of our Lord two thousand and fucking eighteen, because that’s the day he makes fun of Clint Barton for carrying around a dainty little packetful of tissues in his pocket and honking into them like a congested donkey every fifteen minutes. “Fucking polleb,” Clint swears, wiping at his watering eyes. “Fucking claritin. Fucking zyrtec. Fucking bastards, all of dem.”

“What’s happened to your pokeymen now?” Bucky asks distractedly, not looking away from where Natasha is very slowly setting the last Joker on her vast, exquisitely balanced house of cards.

“Dat’s not - dey’re not pokémon,” Clint says, aggrieved. “Dey’re drugs. And dey don’t work for me.”

couples therapy by silentwalrus, skellerbvvt (series, ongoing | 19,275 | E)

“You can be rougher,” Bucky says. “If you want.”

They’re about four minutes post orgasm and Steve is still trying to figure out where his legs are. “Muh?”

snackfic by galwednesday, silentwalrus, skellerbvvt (series, ongoing | 12,300 | G-T)

Convenience series for my off the cuff ficlets, largely unrelated to each other or my other works unless stated otherwise

death of an artist by silentwalrus (oneshot | 2,237 | G)

our intrepid heroes take a day trip to sunny, idyllic Giverny.

ain't really quaint by quietnight, silentwalrus (complete | 44,045 | M)

Natasha stops by on a Tuesday, early enough in the morning that it would have been late by Steve’s old standards. Now, though, it takes him nearly three minutes just to limp to the door, yawning, and when he opens it he has to lean heavily on the doorframe.

“Hi,” Natasha says, over the beginnings of birdsong. She’s not alone. “Can we come in?”

Part 1 of farm hell

You Sure Are Looking Good by Defiler_Wyrm, the_genderman (oneshot | 7,002 | E)

When your boyfriend’s a werewolf, some roleplay scenarios just fall into place so naturally. Bucky’s got some fancy lingerie, a danger kink, and a Red Riding Hood roleplay brewing up. Steve’s ready, willing, and eager to play his Big Bad Wolf.

at first chance i'd take the bed warmed by the body by spacebuck (oneshot | 8,238 | E)

This close, Steve can see exactly how beautiful his hands are. He’s never really noticed before, or at least he’s never really had a reason to notice, but the man’s hands are large, tanned like he works outside all day. There’s an endearing callus on the heel of one of his palms, and Steve can’t quite work out when calluses became endearing.

Steve pauses the video. Swallows hard. Casts his eyes around for anything that’ll keep his mind off the hands on his screen, off the words inked into those hands, the delicate shape of a bird’s wing, the curling edge of a vine.

He looks down. The name of the channel is right there, blaring the man’s name right into Steve’s brain until it feels like he’s known it all along.

Bucky Barnes.

OR: the one where Bucky's a youtuber who solves puzzles on camera, and steve's smitten and horny

Chlorophyll by Plumcot (series, ongoing | 19,095 | T)

Steve Rogers doesn't have time for your fancy relaxation. He doesn't have time for your comfy pillows, or your body wash, or your chamomile tea that tastes like plant matter with a side of "why". Steve Rogers only wants one thing in life; to work until the end of days, because at least then he can say he didn't waste his time on Earth doing nothing.

Bucky Barnes has flowers in his hair and chlorophyll in his skin, and he doesn't have time to be stressed. Why would he, when there's rain to dance in, sun to bask in, and philodendrons to talk to? So he is, understandably, very worried about his (sadly) human neighbor who wouldn't stop and smell the roses if he faceplanted in a flower bed. Obviously something must be done.

Steve isn't all that happy when a green-skinned stranger shows up at his door and tries to give him a plant.

June

get it together by silentwalrus (oneshot | 2,089 | T)

“You wanna go out?”

Boeuf Mystère by galwednesday (oneshot | 1,230 | T)

“Quick question,” Bucky said.

Steve looked up, but didn’t stop moving passports and stacks of cash into a nondescript blue duffel, his mind busily ticking through logistics. He’d grab the glock taped behind the hidden drawer in the desk on their way out, and they could buy new clothes once they got across the border into neutral territory, so they didn’t need much else, apart from whatever Bucky wanted to bring. One duffle should be enough. “Yeah, honey?”

“What the fuck.”

Part 12 of Tumblr ficlets 2018

Part 1 of Steakout au Poivre

The Sins of Our Fathers* by inflomora, noirhound (complete | 33,943 | M) *graphic violence

His family called him Bucky.

The arenas in Athens called him the Winter Soldier.

The Spartan Brotherhood calls him Iakov. He defends the light from the dark that once coursed through his veins.

When the location of the Tesseract—a powerful Piece of Eden—is made known to the Brotherhood by a pair of Assassins from Athens, it is up to Iakov and his men to secure it before the Order of Hydra does, and it will take the cooperation of both Bureaus to succeed. His job is not made easier when he finds himself falling for his commanding officer, a certain blond Athenian Assassin who hides a powerful secret.

But they are not the only ones after the Tesseract. With the fate of the world hanging in the balance, a dangerous enemy looming unseen over their shoulders, and nobody left to trust, they must find and bring the Tesseract to Athens before it falls into the wrong hands—that is, if they manage to survive the trip.

Part 1 of Death is A Debt (We All Must Pay)

might never be normal again (but who cares) by napricot (complete | 51,540 | E)

The beginnings of a plan took shape in Steve’s mind, as clear and simple as a tactical frontal assault. He’d prove to Bucky that this was it, he was staying: Steve was retired from the fighting game, Steve wasn’t going to let anything keep pulling them apart. Maybe then when Steve finally told him he loved him, Bucky would believe him.

All things considered, Steve thought he’d handled the whole Thanos killing half the universe thing and the ensuing bitter, desperate quest to defeat him pretty well. Sacrificing his super soldier serum to use one of the Infinity Stones wasn't a problem either, not when it meant getting back the half of the universe they'd lost, and especially not when it meant getting Bucky back. But retirement and finally confessing his feelings for Bucky? Those were proving to be more challenging.

can't hardly weight by stevergrsno (noxlunate) (oneshot | 3,760 | T)

When Steve Rogers woke up in the future he was given a phone and shown how to use social media.

Well, no, in all actuality he was given a two week crash course entitled The Future And You, a six hour sensitivity course, a brand new id, and a credit card.

In which Steve gets a crush on an instagram gym thot and laments over it a lot to the intern stuck with him.

The Art Of Cooking For Two by littleblackfox (complete | 92,761 | M) (reread)

“Any questions?” “Uh. What the fuck am I doing here?” Bucky offers.

I just met you (and this is crazy) by littlesystems (complete | 41,784 | E)

After Steve gets outed by a grainy cell phone picture, it takes the media less than 24 hours to discover Captain America’s secret relationship with James Barnes: classical musician, teen heartthrob, and son of a former president.

The only problem? Steve has never met James Barnes in his life.

Part 1 of I just met you (and extras)

All of Your Love is Sunlight by canistakahari, WarlockInTraining (complete | 22,657 | E)

Sometimes the path to happiness involves bad timing turned good, a butt plant, and a little everyday magic. For Steve and Bucky, it's all that and more.

Dirty Pics by lillupon (oneshot | 3,117 | M)

There’s this one guy Bucky slept with three months ago who still sends pics of his ass whenever Bucky asks. What can he say? Grant’s got an ass that just won’t quit.

Hey, Asshole! A New York City Love story by bunnymaccool (oneshot | 14,818 | T)

Bucky's running late for the bus and he's stuck in line behind some ridiculous shoulder to waist ratio bastard who's too busy flirting with the baristas to get his frickin' order in. After he tells the dude off, completely in his rights he feels, the damn oversized puppy-faced ass keeps following him around and trying to apologize. And okay, dude is hot like burnin', but Bucky just doesn't have the time or patience for soothing the wounded ego of some gymrat wannabe with an obsession for dressing like he's hiding from the mob and .... why are you laughing, Sam?

Part 1 of New York City Assholes

Snapshots by layersofart (layersofsilence), newsbypostcard (oneshot | 18,579 | M)

Steve picks up the picture to be sure of what he saw, but there's been no mistake. "It doesn't even have a Navy stamp," he says, turning the photo toward her. "What is this?"

"Are you asking me?"

"It looks like a pin-up."

"Yes," Natasha agrees. "It does."

---

Post TWS: Steve is trying to find Bucky. Instead, he finds the sexy Navy "propaganda" Bucky somehow never mentioned he modeled for before the war.

I Wished On The Moon For You by stevergrsno (noxlunate) (oneshot | 14,581 | T)

“Holy shit,” Sam says, and then delighted, “Holy shit. You look like my nana’s dog. This is incredible.”

“Yeah, funny that, when they gave him the serum it only really worked on the human bits.” Bucky, whose reaction to Sam thus far has been standoffish at best, and like a wolf whose territory has been invaded at worst, sounds amused, the asshole.

Steve growls a little.

Or rather: A story in which Steve Rogers is the littlest werewolf who could and Bucky Barnes comes in from the cold and makes him his home.

Love in a Time of War by cleo4u2, cobaltmoony (complete | 20,775 | G)

James Barnes is a world renowned opera singer who has dreamed of performing in an opera composed by Steve Rogers. When his dream finally comes true, he quickly regrets what he’s always wished for. But while Steve can’t stand James, Bucky can’t stop wishing they could have some kind of future together. Will Steve realize he’s wrong about Bucky? Or is the damage from their first meeting too much to overcome?

Brooklyn by togina (oneshot | 8,749 | T)

"Captain America, what's your stance on gay marriage?"

Everyone knows that, by now. Everyone but Bucky.

I [Heart] You by writeonclara (oneshot | 1,138 | G)

“Steve’s been hit with a curse,” Natasha said. She said it calmly, so Bucky didn’t immediately go flying out of the apartment to tear apart the Tower in search of Steve. Then again, Natasha would probably be calm if New York City spontaneously burst into flames. He lowered the coffee pot and squinted at her.

“Of course he has,” he said. He felt, abruptly, exhausted. “What is it?”

“The witch kept ranting about sexual repression and archaic moral principles,” she continued blithely.

“It’s not like you to prevaricate, Romanov.”

Natasha pressed her lips together. For a moment, Bucky thought she might start laughing. “It might be easier just to show you.”

OR: Steve’s been hit with a rather telling curse.

Ruff Day by ellebeesknees (umetnica), emptydistractions (complete | 20,570 | M)

Bucky's life is a mess: The US government's been breathing down his neck ever since his trial, the Avengers are a constant pain in his ass, and putting his brain back together hasn't exactly been a walk in the park. This wasn't exactly what he had in mind when he fled Hydra.

He's doing okay, but what he doesn't need is any extra stress. And what he definitely doesn't need is for Steve to tangle with an amateur sorcerer and end up a massive, overly friendly, eighty-pound, shedding, slobbering dog. That Bucky's now responsbile for. For the foreseeable future.

But hey, silver lining. At least now Steve can't talk him to death.

This Side by brideofquiet (restricted, complete | 35,321 | T)

Bucky Barnes restores antiques for a living. Steve Rogers saves the world. Bucky has no reason to believe their paths will ever cross, right up until they do.

Or: the Notting Hill AU.

Behold, a Man by leveragehunters (Monkeygreen) (oneshot | 9,296 | T)

At sunrise tomorrow, Bucky knew he was going to turn into a rooster. He wasn't sure if it was better or worse knowing it was coming. What he did know was that it didn't matter where he slept: his room, Steve's room, Stark's lab—it was going to happen. The curse of the were-cock had struck and there was no escaping. As the elevator carried them back down to their floor, he started chuckling.

Steve gave him a look of concern.

Bucky waved it away. "Just thinking. Curse of the Were-cock'd probably make a lousy movie."

Steve snorted, then said thoughtfully, "I don't know. Maybe it depends on what sort of movie you're making."

Rusted Gate by hafital (oneshot | 19,677 | E)

How many times has he replayed this scene? The young private, the forest path, the rusted gate. Steve and him. This last chance to tell him. He knows what’s about to happen. Why can’t he tell him? How many times has he tried to change how it ends? Maybe this time, he can get it right.

Honestly, Fuck Brooklyn by stfustucky (iwillpaintasongforlou) (oneshot | 8,243 | E)

So, aliens are attacking and have shredded Brooklyn to smithereens, which pretty much makes it a typical Tuesday afternoon in New York. Bucky Barnes, long time Brooklyn resident, has Been There and Done That. What's less typical is the redhead who breaks into his apartment to rescue him, the underground bunker he's stashed in, and the sudden appearance of masked superhero Captain America kissing Bucky breathless and calling him baby. Good thing Bucky knows how to throw a punch.

((Or, the one where it takes yet another apocalypse for the somewhat oblivious Bucky Barnes to figure out that his dorky artist boyfriend Steve is actually Captain Goddamned America. Whoops.))

I saw you there, I saw you then by cleo4u2, xantissa (oneshot | 19,320 | E)

An accidental slide of a thumb brings Steve and Bucky back together.

Art Nouveau by voluptuous_panic (oneshot | 12,246 | E)

Steve's on the worst date of his life. At least the bartender's cute.

No One Wants Your Opinion by thepinupchemist (oneshot | 5,600 | E)

Wherein Bucky loves to cuddle Steve Rogers, Steve comes out on national television for the sole purpose of spiting conservative politicians, Tony sees things he wishes he hadn't, and Pepper doesn't know why she even bothers.

July

Honey Honey* by justanotherStonyfan (series, ongoing | 544,594 | E) */others, past but explicit

The kid is maybe, oh, twenty years younger than him? Clean-shaven, and looking out of the corner of his eye at Steve in the same way Steve feels he must be looking at the kid – i.e., like he wants to do any number of unmentionable things to him.

Because boy does Steve ever want to do unspeakable things to this kid.

AKA, the Accidental Sugardaddy!Steve AU I always wanted.

Through The Woods by alby_mangroves, VenusMonstrosa (complete | 64,082 | E)

There’s a legend in Mansewood, nearly as old as the town itself, about a pack of werewolves that once lived in the forest. They say only one survives; a monstrous and snarling beast with fur like a blizzard and fangs the size of daggers. They say it guards the lands and all creatures in it, and no hunter has faced it and lived to tell the tale.

Steve doesn’t care about any of that. He only wants to know if it prefers T-Bone or ribeye, and would it please stop tracking dirt through his house? He just mopped the floor.

Part 1 of Through The Woods

streamlined by nickel710 (series, ongoing | 56,248 | G-M)

In which Bucky Barnes, Iraq war veteran and bicycle enthusiast, streams Overwatch on the side for fun under the handle President15, and one day his friend-of-a-friend FalconKnight introduces a new player to the crew, THECapRogers. It would be totally absurd for the actual Captain America to hang out in his stream and argue about baseball, right? ...right?

BuckRogers vs. the Internet by galwednesday (series, complete | 5,642 | T-M)

“Remember what I said about internet trolls?”

“Don’t feed the trolls.”

“Exactly. Did I not say the same thing to Barnes?” Tony asked rhetorically. “Were those not my exact words? I could have sworn they were, and yet.”

“Bucky’s feeding the trolls?”

“He’s throwing a goddamn seven-course troll banquet. Every time someone on Twitter asks if your relationship announcement is real, he replies. Colorfully.”

Steve opened his mouth to ask what “colorfully” meant, then caught the gleam in Tony’s eye and put two and two together. He blushed. Colorfully. “Oh.”

(Steve and Bucky announce their relationship in a very dignified press conference. Bucky then replies to every goddamn tweet asking him to confirm it with a different dirty euphemism. Things escalate from there.)

Just About Half-Past Ten by rohkeutta (oneshot | 1,978 | T)

But as he reaches Madison Avenue, Stark Tower a mere block away, the skies open with a whoosh, and he barely manages to duck under the construction scaffolding perched over the sidewalk. Thunder rumbles overhead, and Bucky frantically checks every compartment of his bag for an umbrella he knows is there.

It’s not. He does find some loose glitter, though, and a lipstick he wore for Pride and had thought he’d lost, plus a spare MetroCard he can’t remember buying.

He also gets a crystal clear flashback of leaving the umbrella under his desk to dry yesterday morning, and never picking it up again.

Leave Those Umbrellas At Home by rohkeutta (oneshot | 2,441 | T)

Bucky watches the watery snow come down and thinks about it, his mood deflating steadily. He imagines Steve going home the next morning, sitting down at his desk and opening his Super-Secret Sexcapade Journal and writing Bucky’s name in next to a carefully-thought Preparation & Performance Grade.

B+ for the effort to look nice naked, C- for being embarrassingly vanilla and wanting to do it face-to-face so he could scritch his fingers through Steve’s beard and hair. Not worth a repetition. Kinky Grade: F.

Bucky’s being uncharitable and he knows it, but Hangry Barnes can be a sad sack of shit when he wants to.

Page One Rewrite by thedoubteriswise (oneshot | 3,008 | T)

World War II enthusiasts and film geeks rejoice! Much like the Sentinel of Liberty himself, a few reels of missing Cap footage have been brought back to life.

We're All in the Gutter, but Some of Us Are Looking at the Stars by chipofftheoldblock (complete | 45,045 | M)

I’m sorry, sir,’ he said, and Maria looked a little appeased, though now she was gesturing for him to get off stage. And then he smiled real big and wide and sincere and said, ‘Guess I’m just real fuckin’ tired of everyone treating me like an idiot. To answer your question, ain’t a lot I really miss. Polio was pretty fuckin’ awful, and so was the food, and the racism and homophobia and hatred so many folks had for one another for dumb-as-shit differences was so goddamn stupid -’

Maria was suddenly on stage beside him, pulling his microphone away and grabbing his arm with a steel grip. Steve just leaned over to Nat’s mic with a shit-eating grin on his face and said, ‘Thank you so much for your time.’

Steve's tired of the world treating him like he doesn't know a damn thing about the future. Bucky's tired of not knowing a damn thing about the past.

They meet somewhere in the middle.

when he gets older, he might be the one* by cobaltmoony, CoraRochester (complete | 32,398| E) *underage

In which a freak run-in with the Cosmic Cube ages Steve into his fifties, and Bucky— still trying to figure out who he is after decades of brainwashing— decides it’s time to come home.

Part 1 of when he gets older, he might be the one

crowding the hitter by rooonil_waazlib (complete | 12,917 | E)

But the trash monsters are coming closer, and Bucky’s going to be pissed if he has to get his grate replaced tomorrow.

He turns off the panini press, heads into his bedroom, and pulls his college baseball bat out of the closet, pausing only to pull on the slacks he’d just taken off. He’s going to go defend his shop, and he’s not going to do it in his underpants.

Nobody Likes Unsolicited Dick Pics (Except When They Do)* by Blondie_Bluue (complete | 21,864 | E) *chose not to warn

When Bucky Barnes accidentally sends a dick pic to a wrong number while looking for a little action, he never expected to get a positive response.

Feelings are caught, drama ensues, things work out in the end

i'm a ghost, you're an angel (one and the same) by voxofthevoid (complete | 31,133 | E)

“You fucked him.”

Bucky licks his lips and nods. Fury lets out a deep breath and leans back in his chair in a movement that’s terrifyingly controlled but spills danger out the edges.

“Twenty years,” Fury says slowly, taking special care to imbue each word with his personal brand of bone-chilling judgement. It used to make Bucky quiver in his boots back when he was a baby S.H.I.E.L.D agent with two functional arms. “In that time, I have asked, threatened, coaxed, and damn near begged this man to work for us, or at least with us, and what finally gets it done is your dick?”

“Ass.”

“Excuse me?”

“Listen, I’m not saying any part of my anatomy is what persuaded Commander Rogers to agree to this, but hypothetically, if that’s what did it, let’s just say he would have found my ass far more persuasive than my dick.” Bucky pauses, secretly relishing the sour-lemon look on Fury’s face. “It still hurts, in case you’re wondering.”

- Steve tries to seduce Bucky over to the dark side. But the Avengers are more grey than dark, and it’s still a paler shade of grey than what S.H.I.E.L.D’s got going nine times out of ten. Bucky really should be more concerned about the seduction part.

Part 2 of i'm guilty of treason (i've abandoned control)

turn me up when you feel low by faerietell (oneshot | 13,891 | T) (reread)

Steve Rogers is a man out of time, in a city that used to be his home, a city he no longer recognizes. Through charming radio host, Bucky Barnes, he relearns his city, adopts a dog, and falls in love.

August

A lot of Good Omens reading happened in August.

When the Season Comes Around by theheartischill (oneshot | 34,447 | T)

The other problem is that Steve loves him, and Bucky isn't sure he remembers how to love.

Despicable by TheVagabondBoy (series, ongoing | 8,450 | T)

Bucky Barnes just wants to scavenge spaceship-wrecks and get a nice payday for it. He really wasn't planning on finding a survivor on his latest wreck.

The Joy of Little Things by obsessivereader, Sealcat (complete | 29,744 | E)

"Do you want me to eat you?"

"But you don’t look very filling." The tip of the dragon’s tail twitched. "I don’t suppose you’re a virgin?" he asked hopefully. "I’ve heard they taste better."

"Well? Come on, tribute."

or, how Steve ends up working for a dragon with a very odd sense of humor

Quench by AidaRonan (complete | 9,417 | E)

This guy, he had never met. He definitely wouldn’t have forgotten it if he had. Shaggy dishwater blond hair run through with natural golden highlights, a thick brown beard, and a body like a Mack truck made out of ribeye.

“Fuck me,” Bucky gasped.

“Excuse me?” Or the one where archeology intern Bucky Barnes meets actual archeologist Steve Rogers and reaches levels of thirst scientists once believed to be theoretically impossible.

haha, jk by relenafanel (oneshot | 13,523 | T)

(A tale of Not Unrequited Love)

Steve: I love you. Bucky: oh no. (and other fallacies)

Bucky learns to never say never when it comes to the effect his best friend can have.

Like Real People Do by 2bestfriends (complete | 67,777 | E)

Seven years into an isolated retirement after the Battle of New York, Steve has carved out a place for himself in the foothills of the Catskill Mountains. He has a best friend (his dog, Lady), a frenemy (a local black bear named Rufus), and a cabin in the middle of the woods, an hour's drive from the nearest town. As November comes to a close, he heads into town to pick up supplies and ends up with a stowaway.

Bucky hasn't had much luck over the past seven years. Disaster caused his family to move from New York to Indiana, and his life has steadily fallen apart ever since. After one too many heartbreaks, he decides to hitch his way back to the last place he remembers being happy: Brooklyn. He's in the homestretch when he finds himself stranded in a half-empty tourist town in the Catskills and decides to take a chance crawling into the back of someone's truck.

AKA the "Lumberjack Steve/Twink Bucky" fic of our hearts. Bucky spends so much time thirsty as hell.

Part 1 of All That You Are to Me

Pod Bless America by Deisderium (complete | 6,13 | T)

Bucky can't believe his favorite podficcer recorded his newest fanfic AU of the show Commandos. He's even more surprised when the customer who busts him listening to fic while he's working in the office supply store turns out to be that podficcer.

* The guy—maybe bi_shield?—took his phone, looked down at the screen, and smiled. "Yeah, that one's mine," he said with no evidence of embarrassment. "It was a good one." He handed the phone back to Bucky.

"I wrote it," Bucky croaked.

Thunder and Ice* by Quarra, TrishArgh (complete | 18,027 | E) *tagged rape/noncon for mentions of sex pollen

Bucky is back with Steve in Avengers Tower and recovering well from his time with Hydra and the Avengers are working together better than ever too; but Steve still feels like something is missing in his life. At the urging of his loved ones, Steve takes up creative writing in his free time to help him regain a sense of happiness and purpose.

And his favorite subject to write about? Having sex with Bucky.

It turns out that other people seem to like what he's writing about too. So much so that Steve picks up a pen name and becomes a published romance novelist. But how long can Steve's secret smut writings stay secret, especially given who he's writing about and how public it becomes?

Be Careful What You Post on the Internet by itshysterekal (oneshot | 19,117 | E)

Bucky just wants to get on to the next mission, but the therapist he's forced to see insists he take up a hobby. Cue his writing of highly explicit Avengers RPF to make fun of Stark and his headlong dive into social media. He never expected a hobby to change his life.

September

THE Steve Rogers PROBLEM by relenafanel (series, ongoing | 85,015 | T-M)

Meet SSA Bucky Barnes: Hostage Rescue Team member extraordinaire. He loves his job, his body, and hooking up. He hates civilians and local enforcement officers trying to do his job and fucking everything to shit.

Meet Bucky Barnes: fan of the television show The Howling Commandos extraordinaire. He loves writing fanfic, creating fanart, and staring at Steve Rogers' ass. He hates the long journey of doing the necessary physical therapy on his arm (and also that no one told him he knows Steve Rogers).

Meet Bucky Barnes: Steve Rogers' boyfriend. He loves Steve. He hates the idea of that being his sole identity.

Green (Heart)-Eyed Monster by TheIntelligentHufflepuff (oneshot | 1,822 | T)

He shakes his head, tries to turn away. But his eyes rove back, insatiable. Steve is spinning Sam, goofily. Sam stumbles, and Steve instinctively grabs Sam to his chest to keep him up.

For a wild, petty moment, Bucky wishes he'd just fall.

[Post-Endgame, except an Endgame where nobody died. Bucky gets drunk and jealous at the after-party, but makes up with Sam and gets together with Steve the next day]

Love's Just a Feeling by fadefilter, Mystrana (complete | 26,359 | E)

Not Without You is on tour, and the lucky fans at their sold out shows are always treated to the best show: great music and excellent entertainment, courtesy of Steve and Bucky, who can't seem to keep their hands off of each other—both onstage and off.

The tour's almost over, but Steve's got a bit of a problem. Despite constantly reassuring the rest of the band that neither of them will develop feelings...

...he's pretty sure he's developed some feelings.

No Retreat, Baby, No Surrender by itsnotbleak (complete | 39,792 | T)

"You think your old army buddy is working at Subway?”

“Of course not,” said Steve, trying to sound like he thought the idea was ludicrous. “Bucky died in 1944. I just...” He didn’t know what to say, so he slapped on his best lonely soldier face and lied. “It’s just it’s nice to pretend for a bit, you know?”

“No,” said Natasha. “It sounds deeply unhealthy, but you do you.”

In which Steve finds a man that looks a lot like Bucky making sandwiches in a Brooklyn subway. Except Bucky died seventy years ago, and this guy shows no sign of remembering Steve.

The Boy With The Thorn In His Side by BetteNoire (WeAreWolves) (restricted, complete | 21,980 | E)

“Holy shit,” says Steve. “I’ve been knocked out twice by the same guy.”

Introduction to Fake Dating Your Best Friend 101 by crinklefries (oneshot | 24,627 | T)

Bucky stares at his best friend as though he’s absolutely lost what’s left of his dumbass mind.

“Excuse me?” he asks dumbly.

Steve sighs and sags back onto the couch, covering his face dramatically with one large, well-manicured hand.

“Dean Coulson thinks we’re dating. And gay. But like, for each other. And now I need you to fake date me so I can convince the Chancellor to fund my research.”

or;

Steve and Bucky are a pair of professors who have to fake date for academic purposes and are real dumb along the way. It's not so much a forest of pine as a whole landscape of it. It turns out fine, probably.

Beyond the Yellow Book Road by crinklefries (complete | 30,057 | T)

Before he was Captain America, he was Steve Rogers, knobby kneed and wild-eyed, with scrapes on his knuckles and a book in his hands.

In 1942, he leaves for war and eventually crashes the Valkyrie.

That's only the beginning of his story.

In 2011, Steve's body is dragged from ice off the coast of Greenland.

In 2015, he meets a bookstore clerk.

This is what happens when a superhero loses his way home and the only way back is through the Yellow Book Road.

October

In The Next Life We'll Be Good by Nori (series, ongoing | 83,018 | M) (reread)

Steve is resurrected 500 years into the future. Humanity is on the brink of extinction, hostile aliens are clawing at the door, and the only thing standing in the way are Guardians. Figuring out how, exactly, to be a Guardian doesn't come easily for Steve, no matter how much he wants to protect the innocent. Luckily for him, he has friends who're more than willing to show him the way.

---

Breaking your hand doesn’t actually help in any way,” a voice says from behind him. Steve twists at the waist, less surprised than he probably ought to be.

“Hey,” Steve says, feeling a smile breaking over his face. “You’re all about clandestine meetings, huh?”

“Maybe I wanted to be a spy in my last life,” the scout replies breezily, drifting like a shadow to stand adjacent to Steve.

Far Strayed* by eyres (complete | 18,344 | M) *chose not to warn

They’re not going to stop coming after me,” Bucky tells Steve, somewhere in the air above Siberia.

“Let them come,” Steve replies, furious still.

After Siberia, instead of seeking refuge in Wakanda, Bucky and Steve go on the run.

The Biggest Part of Me* by Anna_Heyward (complete | 69,992 |E) *chose not to warn

Newly divorced single dad Steve Rogers moves his kids from the suburbs to Brooklyn to start their new life together, and becomes captivated by the young man who works at the coffee shop downstairs from Steve’s apartment.

Bucky Barnes is 25 years old, working part-time in a coffee shop and still living with his mom. When a handsome single dad in a pinch offers Bucky a job as his nanny, Bucky takes him up on it.

(AU of the movie The Rebound.)

Part 1 of The Biggest Part of Me 'verse

Knit One, Purl Two, Is How I Say "I Love You"* by Ignisentis (oneshot | 4,636 | T) *chose not to warn

Bucky looks up from the book he’s reading at the sound of the familiar gentle clacking of the wooden needles Steve has always preferred to use when he’s knitting. He used to knit back in the day whenever he wasn’t drawing. He said it helped calm him down, that he liked making things, especially for Bucky, that it made him feel like he was contributing more since it was hard for him to hold down a regular job.

Bucky thought it was all of those things but also that Steve Rogers was never the kind of man who could keep his hands still.

He used to knit Bucky socks and hats and scarves whenever he could get his hands on some yarn. He’d always wanted to make a sweater but never could get the same kind of yarn in sweater quantities.

Now, though. Now Bucky has a handful of sweaters that Steve’s made for him: a cable-knit fisherman’s sweater with a shawl collar; a simple pullover; a replica of Steve’s WWII dancing monkey sweater he wore on stage that Steve gave him with a smirk; a chunky Tweed cardigan with elbow patches; the lightest, most sumptuous cashmere henley-style pullover; even a Fair Isle with the Ghostbusters symbol worked into the yoke. Fuck, but Bucky loves that movie. And the sweater.

i just called to say i love you* by brideofquiet (oneshot | 7,895 | T) */others

Both times Steve makes a fool of himself in front of the soccer coach, it’s mostly an accident.

Grass, Fire, Water? My Only Weakness Is You! by powercrow (complete | 52,725 | E)

Steve first notices Bucky at a Pokémon GO raid at the local Target.

He’s immediately intrigued, but interpersonal relationships have been a real struggle since his mother’s death. Bucky’s not without his own bullshit after the disastrous end of a prior relationship. PoGo somehow brings them together anyways, and they become friends, catch lots of Pokémon, deal with their issues, and eventually fall in love.

November

You can't hurry love by obsessivereader (oneshot | 8,547 | E)

“Jesus!” Steve hurries forward. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” Before he’s even halfway into the room, the man’s already on his feet and turning around. He has a face as perfect as his ass. High forehead, square jaw, pink lips with a hint of a natural pout. Short, wavy, dark brown hair. His wide, deep-set eyes are a clear and luminous gray. Those eyes widen as the man takes in the sight of Steve staring at him.

Something about that wide-eyed, slightly nervous look catches at Steve’s memory. “Bucky?”

Steve remembers a shy, sweet teenager, with soft round cheeks, eyes too big for his face, and a wild head of hair. If this really is Bucky, some time in the last few years, he grew into his face and is now so gorgeous that Steve’s having a little trouble breathing. The lean, toned body beautifully displayed by a black shirt and gray pants don’t help the breathing situation either.

“You… have a beard now,” Bucky says faintly.

or, Bucky finally gets to do something about his decades-long crush on his best friend's older brother...

Part 1 of Happy Steve Bingo!

Stay with Me* by em_dibujsb, maikurosaki (complete | 79,903 | E) *graphic violence

When Bucky Barnes accompanies his family to a ceremony dedicated to George Barnes' activity, he expects free food and drinks, the occasional boring speech, and watching his dad blush furiously as he gets to finally meet his childhood hero. What he doesn't expect is saving Captain America's life and getting shot in the process. What follows is a slow road to recovery, eating hospital food (still disgusting), making new friends (Avengers!!! Seriously, the Avengers!) and pining over Captain America (he won't comment on that). It sounds simple, but it really isn’t!

Anything You Ask by thepinupchemist (oneshot | 6,187 | E)

A skinny blond kid appears in Bucky's candy store, and when her frantic father comes looking for her, Bucky doesn't realize he just met his mate. Over the course of several months, he falls in love with Steve Rogers and his daughter. Fortunately, they love him right back.

Poppies of the Field* by kaasknot (complete | 63,417 | M) *chose not to warn, temporary major character death

"Thank you for purchasing a StarkTech Companion 'Bot! Please state your name for licensing."

Wherein Bucky is a severely agoraphobic combat veteran, and Steve is the android he buys out of loneliness.

So Alive by GottaSaveBucky (Cosmic_Entity_1of4) (complete | 108,978 | E)

A man wearing a light denim jacket over a dark blue shirt came into the shop, a box tucked under his right arm. Despite it being late afternoon, he was wearing sunglasses with bright blue lenses, and his long, dark hair was pulled back in a messy little bun. A few strands had escaped, framing his strong, unshaven jawline. The man looked into the café, smiled widely, and waved in Clint’s direction as he kept walking into the bookstore, and Steve’s mouth went completely dry.

Beautiful, was the only word to describe that smile; straight, white teeth framed by full, lush, red lips, bracketed by laugh lines and an adorable dimple in his right cheek, a charming little chin cleft just visible under the light stubble—Steve was struck literally speechless. And that was before he got a glimpse of the man’s backside. Slim hips and a round, firm-looking ass led to long, lean legs that were encased in snug, dark blue jeans.

“Guh,” Steve said, watching the dark-haired man continue on to the back of the store.

__________

A bookstore AU starring our favorite OTP, set to the song “So Alive” by Love and Rockets (from their fourth album “Love and Rockets,” 1989).

** COMPLETED **

Part 1 of Brooklyn Heights Books

backs treat boys by rohkeutta (oneshot | 2,570 | M)

“What? No, you’re not boring,” Steve protests, bless his heart. “It’s just—I have this kink in my back, probably from work or the gym. It’s hard to get comfortable.”

“Where?” Bucky asks, looking back down at his tablet and swiping to the next slide. He took a beginners' massage therapy course at the community college last summer to keep himself from doing something dumb, like fucking his way through the city because he was bored while Steve was on a work thing in Europe. Missing his best buddy was perfectly okay, but even Bucky, a self-proclaimed Cheerful Thot, felt it might be a little excessive to go on a one-night-stand binge just because his pal was out of town for a few weeks.

Part 9 of a pocketful of mumbles

Metallurgy by eyres, TheFriendlyPigeon (complete | 22,129 | M)

he battle quieted for the moment, the great metal giant turns, at last, and sees Steve. Dark, almost human hair frames a sharp, steel face - but, Steve is caught by its eyes. They’re bright silver, sparking in the sunlight, shot through with gray and blue, visible even at this distance. Something about them nags at Steve, calls to him, reminds him of…

Instead of making the Winter Soldier, Hydra transfers Bucky's consciousness to a metal body, locking his mind within a prison of steel and programming. However, Bucky is stronger than they could've ever imagined.

Press Play to Start by layersofsilence, talkplaylove-art (talkplaylove) (complete | 31,502 | M)

Steve still doesn’t understand; and then he does, or he thinks he does, in a burst of clarity that he immediately wishes he hadn’t gotten.

The thing is that it’s not possible. James shifts his position ever so slightly; his shoulders shift smoothly under his tac gear, and it’s not possible that Steve could be programming another human.

CA:TWS AU - in which Steve Rogers, SHIELD agent, finds out that HYDRA is not so old and defeated a foe, and that the Winter Soldier is more than a whispered rumour.

Something that Feels Like Hope by BeaArthurPendragon (oneshot | 7,669 | E)

Captain America, feeling gloomy around the holidays and exhausted from hobnobbing with the rich and famous at yet another charity gala, escapes into an empty room for some peace and quiet.

Army veteran James Barnes is the founder of the Gulmira Project, which provides high-quality prostheses to civilians injured in the Afghanistan and Iraq Wars, and needs to find a place to practice his speech.

You'll never guess what happens next.

Eight Invitations* by alby_mangroves, RevolutionaryJo, Speranza (oneshot | 3,345 | E) *chose not to warn

Part 15 of 4 Minute Window

December

Cute Stitch Witch Discount by stevergrsno (noxlunate) (onesoht | 3,089 | T)

He’s barely finished with his drink when Bucky appears in front of him, a cup in hand. “Our famous cocoa,” He says, setting it onto the little table next to Steve, “On the house.”

Steve plucks the cup up off the table and cradles it close, inhaling the smell of chocolate and cinnamon. “Thank you,” Steve says, and then, “I can pay though, really.”

“Call it the cute stitch witch discount,” Bucky says with a wink before he’s turning away and disappearing behind the counter to take care of another customer.

In which Steve has magic, meets Bucky 70 years later, and as always, falls a little bit in love with him.

Part 24 of Happy Steve Bingo Fills

How to Woo the Winter Soldier* by writeonclara (complete | 21,566 | G) *chose not to warn

“I think I’m ready to date again,” Steve said.

“What,” Natasha said.

“What?” Clint said, lowering his binoculars. He blinked at the dumbstruck look on the Captain’s face, then followed his gaze to where he was staring dopily at—at the Winter fucking Soldier.

“Steve, no,” Clint groaned.

Or: Steve courts the Winter Soldier.

Ever Mine, Ever Ours by hitlikehammers (oneshot | 2,914 | E)

Steve goes back to return the Stones, for the sake of the universe.

The extra Pym Particles he palms when Bruce isn't looking, though? Those are for the heart he has now and the heart he took into the ice; those are for the loves he's known and held and lost and found, those—

Those are for the sake of his soul.

Avengers: Endgame Fix-It.

Gone, Baby, Gone by crinklefries (complete | 38,943 | M)

An entity known only by the name LEVIATHAN finds each of them, sending, initially a solitary text: Our name is LEVIATHAN. We have a job for you. You have three minutes to decide.

Well, what’s a group of bored, reckless thrill-seekers with very specific skills and long criminal histories to do? They needed the money and, well, it sounded fun.

[ or;

Steve is the head of a new criminal crew, Bucky is the getaway driver, Sam wears a LOT of bold outfits and gold jewelry, and the rest of the Avengers help too.

There's heists and fast cars in a neon-noir setting, but most importantly, Bucky wears a crop top that says be gay do crime and he is, in fact, gay and he does, in fact, do crime. ]

Home Is Wherever I'm With You by cydonic (complete | 88,570 | E)

This is what happens when you buy a house to flip having only seen the online images: you get more than you bargained for. Bucky Barnes brings all the tools to handle a dilapidated home, but he's hardly prepared for a smart-mouthed child (with poor aim), a crying baby, and the hottest dad he's ever seen in his life living right next door.

That House-Flipper!AU.

Part 1 of Flowers in our Eyes

Caramel Macchiato by littleblackfox (complete | 15,450 | E)

"You ate my bees," Bucky says. Because his own tongue fucking hates him.

Empires Fall, but Not Us by AidaRonan (oneshot | 21,611 | T)

When Steve was ten, he met a boy with a clockwork heart.

A cyberpunk tale of friendship, love, loss, and reunion; framed by the battle to bring hope and joy back to a City drowning under Hydra's rule.

No More Shame by thepinupchemist (oneshot | 3,287 | T)

“I think the Winter Soldier is going to our synagogue,” Billy said, apropos of absolutely nothing.

Or: Billy Kaplan helps Bucky Barnes find his way.

No, Mr. Bond, I Expect You to Pine by galwednesday (oneshot | 16,466 | T)

"Agent Rogers. We have to stop meeting like this." The Winter Soldier crouched in front of where Steve was slumped against the wall, hands and forearms glued to the stone behind him by some kind of sticky polymer. "Comfortable?"

"No," Steve lied. "My blood circulation has been cut off. I've lost all feeling in my hands."

"Oh, so I should probably cut you loose," the Soldier deadpanned.

"It's a medical emergency. You don't want to be responsible for me losing limbs, do you?"

"Tell you what, if you lose your hands, I'll make you some new ones." He held up his metal hand, smallest finger crooked. “Pinkie promise.”

Secret Agent adversaries-to-lovers AU where the Winter Soldier keeps tying Captain America to walls and sticking around to chat. Shut up, Natasha, it’s not flirting, okay? (It’s definitely flirting.)

Part 2 of The Adventures of Captain America, Not-So-Secret Agent

Proprietary Information by notlucy (complete | 85,141 | E)

Okay, so Bucky Barnes has a crush on Steve Rogers. The guy's gorgeous, talented and, oh yeah, the Chief Design Officer of the biggest tech company in the world. In other words: he's so far out of Bucky's league that he might as well be in a different stratosphere.

Part 1 of Additional Information

you, the moon by dirtybinary (oneshot | 2,339 | T)

Stimulus. The sight of one Bucky Barnes, age seventeen, best friend, roommate, favourite nuisance, coming home after work. Subject’s Response. A swoop of the stomach, like when one pointed one’s bike down that steep hill beside the church and pedalled really fast, but without the inevitable sprained ankles and bloody scrapes.

Steve likes Bucky. Bucky likes food and cats and girls and maybe, just maybe, Steve.

Steve deals with this very well indeed.

Local Raccoon Befriends Angry Chihuahua by charlesdk (oneshot | 15,314 | T)

Rogers was a tiny man. Bucky was sure he easily disappeared in a crowd and became invisible. He was tiny and short and skinny and didn't look like much. But his fists were clenched to his sides in anger, his jaw was jutted out, his boney shoulders were square, and his voice held more power than his body looked like it did.

Screaming and yelling and swearing like a damn sailor and asking for a fight, Bucky found him breathtakingly gorgeous. Like a tiny ball of energy and rage and justice that shined brighter than the fucking sun, punching his way through the evil and disgusting trash of the world.

Bucky never believed in love at first sight and the way his heart warmed and pounded at the mere sound of Rogers didn't really change his mind. But it did make him stop and stare, desperately reaching out for the feeling he felt when he looked at him because it was good and Bucky hadn't had good in his life in years.

OR – in which one armed veteran, suffering insomniac, and grump extraordinaire Bucky Barnes gets turned into a puddle of goo by the tiniest, angriest, most wonderful guy in the entire universe.

Stop Dragon My Heart Around by leveragehunters (Monkeygreen) (oneshot | 15,127 | T)

All Bucky had wanted was gold. A few jewels. Not a king's riches, not a prince's fortune, just enough he'd never have to worry about anything ever again. It was what had sent him racing to the dragon's cave when he'd overheard the news that the Prince had killed her.

But he should have known better. Nothing good ever came from eavesdropping, and nothing good ever came from listening to men in pubs, and now instead of gold, instead of jewels, he had an egg. A dragon egg, and no idea how he was going to keep it alive.

The dragon egg wasn't all he had, even if he didn't know it. He also had a full-grown dragon on his trail, one who'd sworn he'd find the egg--and the human who stole it.

I Know the Drill by castiowl (oneshot | 4,869 | T)

Bucky says some explicit things to his dentist while under the influence of anesthesia following a wisdom tooth removal. The rest is (embarrassing) history.

Our Broken Parts (Smashed on the Floor) by This Girl Is (non_sequential) (oneshot | 11,702 | E)

Steve is sent undercover to catch an elusive Russian assassin. He didn’t want to do it in the first place; he’s damn certain he won’t be asked again.

great whales of the sea by canistakahari (oneshot | 3,002 | T)

“Whales make sounds,” says Bucky, shocked.

“They sing,” Steve says absently.

show me your insides, show me your secrets (show what you wanted, so i can be it)* by voxofthevoid (oneshot | 8,731 | E) *chose not to warn

They took down a lab full of mutated animals today. It was normal enough at first, James with his metal arm and Steve with his shield, the two of them armed to the teeth with guns and knives. But then the creatures kept coming. Steve wrapped himself around a horse-sized something that might have been a wolf in another life and broke every one of its bones with a single, heaving squeeze of his limbs. James punched through the chest of a biped taller than him with his flesh arm and ripped its heart out for good measure.

There was no pretending after that.

James smiles at Steve, a small, heated thing.

“I want you to fuck me until I can’t talk."

“And if I say no?” Steve asks.

James shrugs, and the gesture is nonchalant, but Steve can see the tension underneath.

“Then I will be very disappointed, and I will leave and take my whiskey with me.” James tilts his head to the side, an animal-like motion that’s a strange cross between predatory and adorable. “But somehow, Captain, I don’t think you’ll say no.”

- Captain America and the Winter Soldier are assigned a joint mission by their respective masters. They are strangers until they're not.

Part 1 of lay your heart into my perfect machine

Yours is the Only Ocean by seapigeon (oneshot | 6,256 | T)

"Sirens aren’t monogamous. She’s free to mate with whoever she wants.” Steve turns his head, and for the first time, he looks tentative. “So am I.”

It takes Bucky almost a full minute to understand.

“Oh,” he says, going warm down to his tailfin.

A Puppy Dog's Tale by roe87 (oneshot | 1,630 | T)

Bucky finds a lost puppy running around in the park, but who does the pup belong to?

Part 24 of Steve/Bucky modern au's

a modern feast (from one-hundred-and-two feet) by Spacedog (oneshot | 3,061 | E)

steven grant rogers is a good neighbor. he vacuums at times that aren’t ten-thirty at night. all his parties end at nine on the dot. and when he brings someone home, he’s cool about it. which makes it even more a shame that 106, the guy living across the hall from him, with the big, blue eyes and the adorable chin dimple and the ass steve can bounce quarters off of, is practically a thoughtful, neighborly, ghost.

luckily, when steve needs something from the local bodega, he strikes an agreement that 106 is more than willing to oblige.

(or: alternate universe, neighbors to hookups to lovers.)

some of them want to use you (some of them want to get used by you) by voxofthevoid (oneshot | 14,136 | E)

He’s dragged forward, his thrashing not doing a thing against the hydra’s shocking strength. At its widest, his tentacle is as thick as Bucky’s wrist. It tapers off towards the end. It’s subtly textured, not slimy like expected, but no less terrifying for it. The hydra pauses once Bucky’s under the cave’s opening, halfway between Pierce and the darkness on the other side.

“Johann is dead,” says the hydra. “I killed him.”

The words mean nothing to Bucky. But when he twists around to see, Pierce’s face is bloodless.

It’s the first time he’s seeing true fear on Alexander Pierce’s face.

“The deal you made with him is null and void, Alexander Pierce,” the hydra says. “And your people shall be better off for it.”

Pierce’s face tightens further.

“But you,” the hydra says – no rumbles, his voice making the water tremble. “You, not so much. I don’t appreciate this sacrifice.”

- Bucky is chosen as his shoal's annual sacrifice to the hydra that lurks in their territory. Things take an unexpected turn when the monster that greets him in the dark turns out to be a wholly unfamiliar beast.

Discord and Rhyme by velvetjinx (oneshot | 9,148 | E)

Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes are werewolves. They have feelings for each other, but are too busy pining to notice that they both feel the same way. Their inner wolves have had enough, but will that be sufficient to bring them together as humans?

Rose-tinted Glasses by Niitza (oneshot | 11,215 | T)

It all started because of Becca.

All I Want for Christmas by Pineau_noir (oneshot | 8,377 | M)

We're gonna live like it's 2012! Everybody lives at the Tower and they're all happy! All the domestic fluff!

Steve is retired from action, living his best life, helping with the Avengers and gently flirting with his favorite art store employee, Bucky Barnes, at Christmastime.

Written for the incredibly kind and talented TrishArgh who won my 2019 FTH auction.

The Last Contract* by xantissa (oneshot | 29,681 | E) *graphic violence

The world was dying, at war for years with alien invaders who were slowly and methodically wiping out humanity. Steve’s hope for the future was nearly gone having fought a losing battle for so long. In what little free time he had, he looked for the dragon sleeping under an old castle that his mother had told him stories about. He knew it was just a fairytale, but at least it was something to do. He never expected to actually find a man locked in a cave filled with magic. Nor did he expect to agree to some strange bargain with him. Steve had expected him even less to actually be a dragon. In a world all but destroyed, can Steve survive the consequences of his own actions?

Once More With Foresight* by galwednesday (complete | 7,317 | T) *polyamory

Bucky left the towel draped over Steve’s head and pulled his phone out of his pocket when it chimed with a new text from Natasha. She’d sent him a picture of Sam asleep, his legs sprawled over the shield on one end of the couch and his head in her lap on the other. Bucky snorted and tilted the screen so Steve could see.

Steve shook his head, mock scandalized. “Captain America for five minutes, and he’s already using the shield as a footrest.”

“I know for a fact you scrambled eggs in that thing.”

“That was to feed my team, Buck. It was my sworn duty as field commander.”

“It was a dare from Jones.”

“So it was two things,” Steve said, and ducked out of Bucky’s half-hearted noogie attempt, pulling the towel back to use as a defensive barrier. Bucky sat on the couch beside him and leaned into Steve’s shoulder. It was sharper than Bucky remembered; Steve had lost weight since last week. Since five years ago.

If Only In My Dreams by odetteandodile (complete | 28,317 | T)

Bucky is a highly successful cooking and lifestyle blogger, the gay New England Pioneer Woman if you will. He writes all about life in his Connecticut home with his D.H. (darling husband). Only problem? It’s all complete fiction. He actually lives in a shitty Brooklyn apartment, is single as hell, and has visited Connecticut exactly one time at the age of eight.

When his agent Sam informs him that he's been offered an exclusive sponsorship deal with Stark Media and a three book contract to go with it, Bucky's forced to fess up to Sam, who's predictably...displeased. But Sam's also convinced the deal is too good to miss—even if they have to put on a little bit of a show in order to get it.

So Tony and Pepper descend on Bucky and Sam's fake home for Christmas with a devastatingly handsome War Hero in tow, and their already complicated plan quickly gets even more complicated as Bucky finds himself falling head over heels for Steve. Can he keep it together just for the holidays? Did he ever have it together in the first place?

Not Without You* by SevereStorms, wreckingthefinite (complete | 94,402 | E) *graphic violence

Six months earlier, Bucky would have said the prospect of dying back home in Brooklyn sounded like a dream. Now, faced with his own imminent demise in a Brooklyn that is almost unrecognizable, it’s decidedly less appealing.

Honestly, it’s just sort of bizarre. Survive Afghanistan and come home to die in the pseudo-zombie apocalypse. Can’t make this stuff up.

Servitum by justanotherStonyfan (complete | 42,745 | E)

Steve appears in the hallway, and James turns his head to look at him, doesn't move otherwise. Steve’s in pale blue jeans and a white button down with the four buttons open and his tag chain visible beneath, which is sexy as fuck, but it’s even sexier when he towers over James like this.

"James?" Steve says, and he's not worried, James can tell. He's on the edge of it, sure - he's bemused, and prepared for something to be amiss - but he's not worried yet, so James closes his eyes for a moment.

"Help," he says, and then looks up at Steve. "I've fallen and I can't get up."

Part 28 of Honey Honey

Wenceslas by dragongirlG, mcl4r3n (complete | 17,915 | M)

Steve is a short, skinny Brooklynite with a very stable, predictable life, which he built after losing his memories in a traumatic accident six months ago. He works from home on a steady stream of art commissions, goes to weekly trivia nights with his superhero friends the Avengers, and tries not to get bothered by the constant feeling that something is not quite right.

When Steve invites a homeless man with one arm to take shelter in his apartment during a December snowstorm, both of them enter a dreamscape that unravels the fabric of their memories and reveals the truth about their identities—and their relationship to each other.

A wintertime fic featuring dream-sharing, identity porn, and Steve in the 21st century, inspired by the movie Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and the musical composition Wenceslas Suite by Bob Chilcott. Now complete!

Scenes From A Marriage: Captain America At Home by alby_mangroves, lim, Lunate8, RevolutionaryJo, Speranza (complete | 19,239 | E)

Welcome to the 4 Minute Window Advent calendar for 2019! As always, my goal is to tell a little bit of story in this universe each day (knock wood) between the Immaculate Conception and Christmas. Explicit eventually, the rest as it comes. This year there's loads of multimedia, as you might glean from the list of contributors.

Part 16 of 4 Minute Window

#mod picks #mod blue

148 notes · View notes

ratherhavetheblues · 5 years

Text

INGMAR BERGMAN’S ‘SUMMER INTERLUDE’ “Get the lead out, little lady!”

Way back, when Ingmar Bergman was a hack by necessity, he found himself (being an acute student of Hollywood flutter) ready at last (around 1950) to speak his piece. The vehicle he chose for this debut, namely, Summer Interlude (1951), involves all the treachery and emotional violence mowing us down for the next forty years. Although his portfolio would include marvelous instances transcending destruction, those marvels would be hedged in a way that protracted evil would seem to triumph on planet Earth. But what is planet Earth but a sick puppy in face of the infinite potential of the cosmos? In the days of Summer Interlude, however, we should not neglect the singularity of heartiness putting in a dynamic (perhaps) never to be seen from him again. This singularity is the special gift and the special task of our film today.

Whereas, at the outset of a saga like Bergman’s Cries and Whispers (1972), there is a piercingly beautiful rendition of the grounds of a large estate in early morning light, only to become promptly swallowed up by vicious interaction and horrific physical decline and death, the tyro matter goes to sheep-dog persistence to show us that an agency of uncanny love is very much in the mix. Not being able to deploy (as with the film of 1972) remarkable chromatic effects, our preamble reveals an estate of some opulence, rich foliage including daisies in bright sunlight and gentle breezes, benign white clouds and, particularly, a body of dancing water with a rocky shore to be displaced with the sea looking back toward the now distant structure, touched by a carefree flute motif. (The last detail to note here, is three chevron-form windows at the mansion’s upper floor. That they resemble jaws as well as a formation of dialectics indicates how early Bergman’s instincts for synthesis were in play.)

Plunging right through that whimsy, only to engage more whimsy, there is the harbor of Stockholm and its flotilla of tour boats and ferries to be supplanted by a bicycle parked at a curb while leaves dance along the sidewalk. Promptly we enter a ballet theatre and its hubbub, which could have shattered the intuitive dance. That it doesn’t, has to do with the two ancient, long-term office functionaries, first seen receiving a package for the prima ballerina, Marie, and shooing off a reporter claiming, “She’s [Marie’s] expecting me.” With this mundane buzz, there emerges, by way of the courier/ messenger, a surprise: “What’s that smell?” Though the more assertive sentry claims that there is no smell, there is the delivery boy pressing the case, “You’ve lost your sense of smell, friend.” (With that, the discoverer pushes his hat into a rakish angle. This action tends to confirm that the reporter—his tabloid called, “The Year Round,” being about the usual—is dressed to resemble a whimsical and eccentric Hollywood detective with his trench coat and rakish fedora.) The smaller of the two sentries comes to life with, “Something does smell funny!”—something in the air we should take seriously. The rotund top-cop loses his temper about that volatility and yells out, “That may well be, but no outside brat’s gonna be telling me that! I’ve worked at this theatre for 40 years…” An in-crowd shaping up, disinclined for change. The delivery to “Miss Marie,” by the second-in-command, becomes another rakish motion, this time not so tacky as the poses of American tough guys. The boss-sentry rips open the curtain behind which he directs traffic and instantly there is the little old flunkey ripping open Marie’s dressing room and presenting her with the package. The shock of that gusto links to the mysterious “smell,” invading the ordinary with a type of acrobatics. (Here we have the comedic outset of what will become, in The Seventh Seal [1957], a blue-chip uprising against arrogant insiders.) In support of noticing that a dance is in force, somewhat supplanting the rigid activity of the ballet, we have a number of dancers in tutu costumes, seen from below on a rather precipitous catwalk down flights of narrow stairs. Almost simultaneously with that rush to a dress rehearsal, we hear a loud, grinding noise filling the hall. This also coincides with Marie’s opening her package to be jolted by the diary of a former lover who died while she watched him carelessly dive into a rocky seaside, along a trajectory of compromising distraction and superficiality which he—not she—could have averted. This unexpected arrival eclipses the work in progress. With everyone in place except her, many of the bemused run to the sense that Marie is losing her grip. We hear, “Something’s going on with Marie. Everyone says so!” (A cut to the stage curtain, and it strikes us as dark and fussy with frills.) Marie is induced to return to be a team artist, but her escort, one of the many support staff needed to satisfy a pedantic culture, worries, “There’s something strange in the air today! I told the missus so when I woke up. The weather and all, and I had a strange dream… Something’s going to happen, I feel it coming…” After a short passage with the premiere (the dancers performing the ballet, Swan Lake) and during an expectant musical thrust, the lights go out.

The on-again, off-again lighting is “some king of glitch,” necessitating an evening dress rehearsal. But the “glitches” we’ve just experienced speak to an agency—always there but seldom noticed. Surely the arrogant ballet master alerting Marie that there is to be a lull in the workplace that day and going on to be viciously rude toward an elderly woman helper of the dressing room, would be missing in action regarding that agency. (He tells the ballerina, “I’m cool.” But no one’s fooled about that, since cool is the medium of disinterestedness, also known as acrobatics.)

We’ll follow how Marie spends that rest, and whether she amounts to anything better than the laughable wannabe. She goes out, but before that she stops at the phone booth at the doorway, to connect with the man from “The Year Round” [the everyday, the common]. She can’t reach him. But can she reach the pattern of meteor-passes on the phone booth glass? On hearing from the decades-long bouncer that he had bounced her date, she spits out, “They should send you packing!” That being exactly the register of the “cool” one. The hapless doorman remarks, “There’s something hard about her.” Marie bumps into the person of interest while yawning, and meandering along a sidewalk. She complains to him, “I’m tired because you won’t let me sleep at night.” Thus, ensues a bitter row about preoccupation with career, culminating with him telling her, “I can’t stand old sourpusses!” She has carried along the diary, and when, at the docks, passing a tour boat ready for an excursion, she is rallied by a crewman calling, “Get the lead out, little lady! Are you coming or not?” She can’t resist a bid to shake things up, to recapture what she imagines to have been the heights of love. A sprightly harp motif joins her windfall along with the sunny sky and lovely seas, in addition to a white wake and white smoke from the chimney, conspiring with the white clouds. She enters a precinct of thrilling space, serenity and its brave instincts. Pensive, while the boat skirts a forest, she could be seen to be an artist of vast promise.

On reaching her destination, she finds the key to a small and decrepit cabin, where she sits on a dusty cot. She closes her eyes and recalls a summer day 13 years before, when she graduated into the corps de ballet, by way of a celebratory performance. “A day like no other day of the year!” But she had to include, within this treasure of skill, the complaint, to one of the trainers, “That was awful! The orchestra played too slow…” Her listener replies, “Don’t try that one…” [to cover errors by blaming others, resorting to place others at a disadvantage]. She then shifts the advantage game to the form of, “It didn’t go well…” [I’m a perfectionist without peers]. The more mature correspondent here covers the cut-throat’s vanity with, “No, but you were brilliant…” All he gets in reply is, “I’m going home to have a good cry.” Frustrated, his retort is, “You do that.”

Marie may have been in the spotlight here. But her account includes another male backstage, smitten by her sensuous presence and early authority. He’s quickly disposed of by the larger sentry, before being introduced. But we should know right now (before succumbing to overkill from the measure of wholesomeness this movie packs) that Marie, for all her impressive resolve, is locked, as is most of the population, into life-long superficiality, with occasional faint hope being to no avail. And yet, this Bergman standby will in fact be tempered—not simply, as with the usual drama over the years, a demolished gem—by a perpetual vector of efficacy (a glitch), notwithstanding having been virtually never taken out on the road. Whereas the young admirer, far more capable of real artistry and power than she, will die in the course of taking her too seriously, he will have deposited, in his diary, the wherewithal (and he is not alone in this challenge) to shut down a gigantic farce. We do need to notice and celebrate the many upbeat moments, because their sunniness is quite unique in the works of Bergman. And thereby we are enmeshed in a critique: on the order of loosening up (somewhat) the good stuff.

Out she goes (in her reverie), on the same boat she would use after the quarrel with the reporter, for her summer holiday, and who should be seated next to her but Henrik, the finder of celestial apparitions. She remarks (not exactly a calling card), “It’s cold.” His shy and awkward reply is, “Are your legs cold, miss? I mean, since you’re a dancer…” He goes on to declare, “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life.” After sorting out each of their positions on the Stockholm Archipelago, the impressiveness of Marie’s home takes precedence. He jokes, “Yeah, the Manor. Gruffman [his large poodle] and I used to raid the orchard there.” This brings out more coldness in the ballerina: “Perhaps our paths will cross, if only if you come to raid the orchard,” she stakes out a far from equitable intercourse.

Now that we’ve floated the crisis (a much lower key than that of, say, The Passion of Anna (1969), we’re treated to Marie’s susceptibility to cogency when alone and heeding “glitches.” She wakes up on the cot to be welcomed by a foursome of intense squares of light upon the wall. (The makings of a twosome without attitude?) She hums a happy tune while putting on her bathing suit, and then she opens wide her arms to the sun. She carries a long fishing pole to her rowboat at the dock, and we regard her smoothly rowing from a seagull’s perspective, which is also the perspective of disinterestedness. Who knew? We’re treated here to a play of rallies, the likes of which are very rare in the Bergman catchment. She drops anchor, puts a worm on her hook and falls asleep in the molten sun. A cuckoo sings. (No matter that her endeavor here comes to naught. This film has opened up a very long-term payoff.) The splash of Henrik’s diving into the waters nearby wakens her to a divided result. She is amused by his whimsy; but also displeased to feel exposed that she can’t handle the rigors. “Hello, again,” she takes up a form of pecking order. “Swim, miss?” he invites, perhaps having taken umbrage with her seeing him as a thief. “Too cold,” she maintains. “Try,” he argues, all smiles. And therewith Marie finds a way to put him at a disadvantage. “Think we could drop the formalities?” the modernist tweaks the old-fashioned. She takes further control by asking, “Do you like wild strawberries?” And away they go, with a harp fanfare, to her place. “No one knows about it.” While they are enjoying the treats, a bird calls so furiously that she becomes confused. He shrugs it off with, “I usually call it the summer vacation bird.” (One other aspect of the wild things in this skirmish is Gruffman, the dog, in the process of losing his special fluency with the boy.)

As the summer goes very wrong, Marie makes a point of having nothing to do with Gruffman’s equilibrium. On hearing from the college boy of his having been shunted off by his divorced father to a rich and hateful aunt, Marie tries to bring to bear her vision of soaring virtue. “I love blind kittens, don’t you? And babies… And people that other people think are ugly. And mice, of course.” (How close to Anna, the martinet of “Security,” in the film, The Passion of Anna, is Marie?) As an afterthought formality, she adds, “and poodles.” How much did she care about Gruffman? After Henrik’s death, she demands having the deep creature put done, with the slimy concern, “The poor thing shouldn’t have to live” [in malaise].

Henrick’s not feeling that his concerns are getting across to her—“It’s just that people don’t take me seriously…”/ “Oh dear,” she chuckles, “is it really as tragic as that?”—prompts him to declare, “No one cares about me but Gruffman…”/ “Really,” she mocks./ “No,” he insists, “only Gruffman!” The conversation continues to fall short of serious connection. “What about me? Do you care about me? Would I have brought you here if I didn’t?” is her infantile rationale./ Even a freshman could smell that glitch. He politely replies, “I’ll have to give that some serious thought.” Serious thought, about a gulf, crashes into him immediately, by her happy face, “I’m never going to die.” Not content with pushing around the population, Marie has no qualms about pushing around the cosmos. And before leaping to the conclusion that she’s a dancer, period, we should be alert to the possibility that her moments of vision at the beginning of the morning might just touch upon an agency—far from about forever alive—which could move a headstrong dancer-laborer to recognize that powers do surpass and sustain mere human physiology right up to a right death. “I may get really, really old, but I’ll never die.” Henrik, after fielding this matter of incredible self-concern, shares his very different sense of “serious thought.” “While, I’m scared… Scared that I, Henrik, will suddenly fall over the edge into something dark and unknown.”/ “Why do you talk like that?” she complains. He explains, “The feeling just comes over me [a glitch], clear as can be…” He smiles, having in fact reached the same territory of Marie’s gratitude; but from another, more visceral angle. “But it’s interesting, don’t you think?” Henrik looks for a link. She smiles uncommittedly. But she does manage to maintain, “Hey, Henrik, I think we’re going to be friends.”/ “I think so too,” he hopes. (Here, we should delight in the helmsman’s great craft in theatrical dialogue, casting light where darkness has prevailed.)

This high ground proves to lack traction. Here she is, back to her default zone at the estate, receiving, from a rich uncle who hopes to bed her one day, an expensive bracelet. This Uncle Erland, an amateur classical pianist of some finesse, grows his hair patrician-long; and, in the midst of it, he installs two strands of white curls which set the table for the kind of synthesis Marie and Henrik struggle to master. Erland, teased by Marie that he lusted for her now-deceased mother, trains his rationale toward a supposed supernal gift which Marie’s actress-mother possessed. Marie, in her most sustained register, teases and triumphs, “And is the bracelet a token of my artistry?” Her uncle, frequently drunk, advises, “We’d run away, you and I… and live life to the fullest… seize the moment and hold it tight…” In reply, she maintains, “I already seize the moment and hold it tight.” Her patron dismisses that arrogance, telling her, and laughing, “You think so, poor dear? Lucky the man who will teach you. There’s so much to life…” The lunch dissolves with her coquetry, seen often, no doubt, at many affairs. But rushing to the traction involving Henrik, , she finds that he had been once again trespassing and overhearing the minor cynicism. (Erland’s wife, regarding with him her racing off, states, “She’s run off, dear Erland, and you can’t catch her.” Sometime after the death of Henrik, he will reel her in, for a while.) A frosty new friend greets her, and Gruffman doesn’t even look her flighty way. She uses the dog as a ventriloquist’s doll: “Gruffman, why’s he mad?” Clearing the air, she refers to the gift-giver as merely “an old codger,” and adds, once again, “Is it as tragic as all that?” She cuddles up, and then pushes him into the nearby waters. “I got you!” she adds. A cut reveals the three returning in his canoe. Her voice-over, covering the scene as Henrik wrote in his diary, emphasizes, “One night, after a scorching summer day of blazing sunlight, there was an immense silence that reached all the way up to the starless vault of heaven… The silence between us was immense as a well…” Hopping gracefully from one small purchase of the treacherous surface to another, she induces Henrik to follow suit, which he does. (Two forms of poetry.) The friends lie on their bellies upon the flat rocks. She adds, “The rocks are still warm. His contribution—“Everything seems unreal tonight, don’t you think?”—elicits from her, “It’s beautiful” [beautiful as a bracelet?]. A small “glitch” having come to concentration for her, brings to her: “We’re inside the same bubble… It’s so beautiful I could burst, break into pieces and disappear without a trace [“I’ll never die” a poor fit for this understanding]… You know, kissing must be fun…” His response, “Must be, since everybody’s doing it” [in sexy Sweden], once again doesn’t find them on the same page. He thinks out loud, “Everything’s so difficult, and all connected somehow… Marie, I like you. I’m in love with you, and all that… I mean… You must think I’m stupid. I’m just a damned fool. A damned coward!” And once again she drops the ball. “How does it feel?” she asks. (Not the big picture; but, “How am I doing to brighten your melancholy?”) “What?” he wonders, is she talking about. She clarifies, “You said you’re in love with me.” He, wanting to drop the subject going nowhere that could work for him in her context, puts out a slap-dash cliché, “You feel it in your chest and stomach.” This brings her to the failing of poetry, and she laughs at him. Having a miserable time expressing the subject by duress, he struggles with a quicksand of language. “You’re knees feel like they’re full of applesauce, and your toes curl up. But it’s mostly in the chest.” (Bergman’s ironic bite here involving a possibility to make amends, given long enough time to live. She, facile most of the time, amends, “In the heart.”) “I don’t know what,” he puts an end to the revealing farce. But he politely asks, “What about you?” She, having been accorded all her life the license to duck out of conundrums, rudely shoots back, “Who said I was in love with you?”/ “You’re right,” he acknowledges—and this would have been his cue to do something else during his vacation. But from her perspective there was nothing more interesting here than toying with reflection. She comes up and puts his arm around her shoulders. “I think it’s in my skin,” she gets around to replying to his asking about the subject. “I want you to touch me and stroke my skin with your hands…” As he moves to kiss her, she rushes away, whips out a cigarette, hands it to him and they proceed to toss flat stones into the inlet. Far from the creative acrobatics stalking this film, the rippling of the waters doesn’t catch fire. Then they canoe, and their return is bemusing. She marches straight on to the dock, leaving the more evolved two to bring the awkward craft to steadiness. Their land route passes cherry blossoms and a peacock, but they meet the beauty with less than incisiveness. (Traction missing.)

Now both of them needing a new outlook on life, they visit the salon of the estate of Erland. “He’s probably a bit drunk, but don’t worry about,” are the opening notes by her aunt. They sit on a polar bear rug, and listen to Erland tell of, “Your mother, Marie, used to dance for me on evenings like this… when it was quiet and still, and moonlight filled the room …” (Less than celestial? Or once celestial?) He moves on to, “Now all the clocks in the house have stopped… We were alive in those days…” Marie escorts Henrik to the garret room where she is supposed to work out every day, during the closure of the ballet. Here Marie, in voice-over, reads Henrik’s read of the moment. “It was the ship’s horn tooting in the distance, and other things echoing too. The silence and the anticipation… The blood whispering in our ears. A strange mood set in… almost like a melody [a musical progression]. A new room opened up in our minds…” Then she resumes the jist of her leaden factuality. “Two crows talk in the trees every day at 4 a.m. They’re quite sweet… Then your “summer vacation bird” appears…” Henrik is recalled as responding to this introduction, “You sound like a museum guide…” She responds with, “I think we should kiss each other…” The choreography of her gleaming eyes, his soldiering forth, and his ending on top of her on the carpet is indelible, not requiring any additions. Henrik gently touches her cheek. Then a deep kiss and a pan to Gruffman with his own saga of alienation. A cut to the morning, discloses only their arms and hands reaching upward and touching, as if a primer were found to be a better bet. Marie, as if to disarm any notion of her being not so bad, becomes a radio soap opera ingénue. “Now you have a lover… How does it feel? Exciting? I’m sure you’ll tell your friends. Will you boast about us?” Properly miffed by this violence, he says, “I can’t give any guarantees. But we will get married.” She commands, “But now! How do you feel right now? Haven’t you longed for this?” He once again admits having had fears. “And you’re not now,” she probes, being almost a selfie about making a splash. On hearing that he’s no longer afraid, she has to brag, “I’m never afraid of anything!”

That gross overestimation becomes the mantra of her dark solution to form a happy ending (for her) within their deadly reconnaissance. She covers his mouth as he adds, “I am” [afraid]. That cover will launch her woodland theatrical regime, going lickety-split to shed an unsupportable endeavor. (Gruffman’s being a steady source of love becomes almost totally lost in the shuffle.) And they race to the shore—Hollywood-intensity-style—early rebels without a (viable) cause. A piccolo motif applying a whip, we see them on the lake, she in her stolid rowboat, they in their lyrical canoe. Then to the vicinity of their cabin-castle, where he lifts her over his head as if on the ballet stage, the Romantic-era fantasy so wrong in this world of very hard acrobatics, and only then deploying juggling which might catch fire. A rain shower leads to them hunkering down on the cabin cot. Marie reads the unwelcome passage, “Days like pears, round and lustrous, threaded on a golden string [onscreen, a stormy sky… a church]. Days filled with fun and caresses, nights of waking dreams. When did we sleep? We had no time for sleep…”

Pan to Marie in real time. She finds Erland in his kitchen. He tells her, “Nothing’s ever surprised me in my life.” Boarding the boat back to the rehearsal, the sway of a lamp lights up more reverie, the reverie of her putting her foot down. It begins with her on pointe, working out in the garret. The arrival of Henrik and Gruffman is nothing but an annoyance. “So, it’s you two…” The two visitors sit on the floor feeling hated. After a while, Henrik says, “You don’t care about me. I’m always waiting for you.”/ “I’ve got a job to do… Fine… Just say the word…” She reasons, “We’ve been together night and day for two months… Good lord, you’re a pain today! Here I am groveling and apologizing… Just go. I’m fed up with your moods…” [moods being their real “job to do”]. She does engineer a truce upon this shaken basis, telling us, “I spent the whole day looking for him…” She finds him at his hostel/ mansion, where an influential aunt and a clergyman with a big hat, remind us of the trials of Alice in Wonderland. (This being another instance of lazy mood headed for LA.) Their being addicted to chess opens the door to Bergman’s The Seventh Seal. As if a marvel of paradox, the grandee claims, “I like living. That’s why I’ll outlive the bunch of you! Nevertheless, I still feel like a ghost.” Marie passes on the invitation to enjoy the “port.” Also, part of the awkward standoff, the divine states, “This may seem ridiculous, but I have the strange feeling I’m rubbing elbows with Death himself” [a reprise of the frissons at the outset].

As if now the Red Queen must rule, they encounter a fizzling fireworks display, move on to the cabin and play dubious razzmatazz vinyl discs, which bleed over to early Disney animation (by her) drawn on a paper sleeve. The show (while they drink their diminished milk) features them: Gruffman, made to sit down, while the lovers flirt; Gruffman becoming the fat sentry; and the old lady’s chest of money coming their way. The last vignette has the chest of money, the preacher and a wedding not happening. The chest changes to the big sentry, the ballerina becomes morose, and all that is left is Henrik’s sailor hat and a ballerina being the dying swan of the ballet, Swan Lake. From there, she declares, melodramatically, “Listen, it’s so quiet. Suddenly, everything went quiet.”/ “Maybe we’ve landed on another planet,” is how Henrik now unhappily reveals his capitulating to Disney. “An alien planet,” Marie piles on [about to claim a victim]. They crawl out of the little doorway, bathed in moonlight (doing its best). The one never afraid of anything becomes uneasy about a crying wind. His attempt to calm her, while having bought into her bathos, slides along to, “Such fine breasts you have, miss!” That jag of witlessness culminates with her, “As for me, I’ll be faithful as long as I feel like it. And since I always feel like it, I’ll be faithful till doomsday.” (The register here is just to the left of pre-Code-Hollywood.) There is a loud bird call. “What an ominous sound!” she shudders. (One person’s shudder being another person’s glitch. Both of them miles from their personal best, while personal becomes a disease.) He, dragged along by her cripplement, says, at this point of worn-down traction, “Don’t you recognize the eagle owl?” Oblivious to the puerility they have contracted, there she is, “I don’t know. I just feel like crying tonight. It’s like a toothache in my soul.” Hollywood forever, she emotes, “Hold me so I don’t break into pieces!” He, never realizing embracing a crash, replies, “My little darling. My love. My dearest darling and beloved friend. Hold me tight. Tighter. Let’s stay up all night until the sun rises, and the trolls burst…”

It’s the morning of the supposed Olympian love cake, and he’s ready to keep the so-called magic alive. He scampers to the top of a picturesque ridge overlooking the pretty waters, and takes flight. The rock face he rocks leaves him close to death. Gruffman comes to his struggle to right the ship that might have resolved to something she’d never become. By the time she arrives at the hard facts, he tells her—all poetry lost—“My back!” (His “back,” his second front of deadly and ravishing truth, if only he could have steadied it, becomes a fitting epitaph to a young adventurer.

The conclusion of Henrik’s life is not quite the conclusion of Henrik’s being a player in Marie’s life. The saga’s last moments comprise the lovers, in a Stockholm hospital room, where he regains consciousness for a few seconds before dying. Her strongest emotion is horror, not love. She had arrived wearing a chic, shiny black leather coat, giving her continuity with the American melodramas she had burrowed into at the end of the summer. (Similarly, she suggests here an oil slick.) Her retreat from the hospital, with no further concern toward any sequel, is as stagey as it is incipiently uncanny. Piling on the pushy “mystery,” she and Erland (he having secured the diary) create a film noire parade along a corridor while exiting the mishap. First there is Marie, enclosed by shadows resembling prison bars. Following her, like a gumshoe, there is the silhouette of Erland pulling on his European habit like a cape. From out of that delirium, she condemns Gruffman to death and allows Erland to confirm her sense of being cheated by life, resentful nihilism. “I’d spit in his [God’s] face!” The uncle/ paramour, holds forth with, “Protect yourself, build a wall around yourself, so the misery can’t get to you.” She tells us—the diary segueing to the career of a prima ballerina of questionable quality—“That’s how I forgot Henrik… In the end, I wasn’t just protected but locked inside…”

That trace of self-criticism needs thirteen years to yield a pitiful “recovery,” as problematic-heavy as noir is problematic-light. The evening rehearsal proceeds nicely; but Marie’s concentration remains divided. The sentry informs her that the “hack” with the trench coat had been at the door again, “but he left.” She assures those ancients that she saw him. This surprises them inasmuch as, “it didn’t make her happy either…” In her inner sanctum she’s visited with eerie features of décor; but “it didn’t make her happy, either.” A visit from one of the leaders of the company, trying out his disguise for the figure of Dr. Coppelius—wherein the latter attempts to bring to life a puppet—has the same haplessness, concerning lightening up, as the décor did. “You don’t dare leave, yet you don’t dare stay… You see your life clearly just once… when all your protective walls come tumbling down. You stand there naked and cold… seeing yourself as you really are… I can see it in your eyes” [that you have had such a brush]… Then the hack obtrudes; and a hack interplay, from both “lovers,” ensues. She asks, “What do you think of the two of us, really? We’re nothing to write home about.” She comes to a point of veering. She blurts out, “So now, Henrik…” The voice of the street pounces on this, “Is my name Henrik?” She replies by handing him the diary and telling him to read it overnight. (What would come of it, she has no idea; but she would be forming some possibilities trailing out to others.) In a voice-over, this time not manufactured by Henrik, she tells us, “I feel like crying all this week and next… Crying away all my shabbiness… and all this wasted time… [But] Do I want to cry at all? If I really look deep inside, I’m actually happy!” (She puts out her tongue to the mirror she has been subjecting herself to. The Hollywood soundtrack only approximates her mood.)

All we pretty much see of the next day is a bit of the performance of Swan Lake. One twist shows the noire lover backstage during the bittersweet saga. Did he read the diary carefully? Probably not. Marie, in a lull where she’s not onstage, brings him to a place of rendezvous and she touches his cheek. Then she’s back onstage where her steps bring her to a rather awkward pyramid of less than sublime acrobatics.

Does the oracle in the Dr. Coppelius disguise speak truth about, “You see your life clearly just once?” How about three or four times? Would that be a life? How far could Henrik (a very early version of the Dr. Borg, in Wild Strawberries [1957]) have gone, were he never foolishly became in awe of Marie? From here on in, we must ponder the vast subtleties of this neglected open door of a film by Bergman, having slammed perhaps a bit too forcefully his clowns. It is well and good to measure the horrors of “virtuousness.” But interludes of magic there bring to bear a second front, and its acrobatics and juggling.

#ingmar bergman

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