justanotherwannabeclassic

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Let them fire us. Who cares?

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Art by Lin Guo

#emma frost #marvel

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writer’s month prompt: day 5 | heart (Rogue/Gambit)

Anna laid her ear against Remy’s chest and listened to the steady thawump-thawump of his heart. Her fingers traced nonsense patterns over his muscles while she marveled at the feel of the hair on his chest and the warmth of his skin. How precious this moment is, she thought as she pressed her body further against his side, soft curves against hard planes, their skin sticky with sweat.

Would she ever stop being amazed at this? Touching Remy. Kissing him. Existing in each other’s space without a bit of clothing or cloth or even fear between them. Anna doubted it. After so many years of being unable to touch, every brush of uncovered skin felt like a miracle. How many nights had she fantasized this, only to cry herself to sleep because she feared those dreams might never come true? She sometimes pinched herself, too afraid that she was living out some elaborate fantasy – but no, this was real. Anna smiled against Remy’s chest.

“Somethin’ on your mind, chere ?” Pressed against him as she was, Anna could feel the rumble of his chest as he spoke. He reached to take the hand drawing nonsense on his skin, pulling it upwards so he could place a kiss to her fingertips. 

“Just thinkin’ some thoughts, that’s all.” 

She could have clarified the sort thoughts that were running across her mind, but she liked to tease him. Her grin widened at the half-worry in his voice. “Hopefully happy thoughts. I’d hate to think Gambit didn’t do his job just now.”

She turned against him to rest her chin against his chest and to better see his expression. The expression gazing back at her was teasing. “And what job is that, Swamp Rat?”

“Why, Anna Marie, it’s makin’ you happy, of course,” he responded. Then, with his brows dancing, “Now, ideally, doin’ what we just did, I don’t want you thinkin’ any thoughts at all.”

“No thoughts at all?” she asked with a laugh. 

“Nah, the goal is to make you too blissed out to have any sort of thought runnin’ through that mind of yours.” Remy’s hand moved to card through her hair and cradle her head. His words might have been mirthful, but his eyes were full of affection. Surely he felt the same overwhelming sense of joy to be holding her this way.

“How unfortunate for you, because I’m thinking all kinds of things.” 

“Is that so?”

“Mmhmmm.” Then, to show just exactly what she was beginning to think, she surged forward to kiss him. No one said they had to stop touching anytime soon, and there existed so many ways to have skin-on-skin, or mouth-on-skin, or…just any type of contact at all that wasn’t just cuddling in bed. After all, she could touch Remy now and she was going to make the most of it every chance she could and in every way that was possible.

written for: @writersmonth & @distant-rose

#rogue #gambit #romy #roguegambit #writersmonth2022 #s writes fic

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writer’s month prompt: day 4 | melody (Steve Rogers)

Nostalgia was a powerful thing. 

As the Living Embodiment of American Nostalgia  — one of many many nicknames Tony had bestowed him over the years — Steve Rogers felt he had the authority to weigh in on such things. 

Smell and food were powerful triggers. Once, several years ago, Steve had stumbled upon a diner that made mashed potatoes that tasted so similar to his mother’s, he was temporarily taken back to the one bedroom tenement that was his childhood home. He remembered practically dragging Bernie back to the restaurant the next day, and even though she tried to understand, she couldn’t. To her, they were just potatoes, nothing special. But that was the rub about nostalgia: it took you back to a certain point in time special to you. Not always everyone else.

But there was one nostalgic trigger that Steve found the most common ground in: music. 

You see, the ubiquity of music transcended class and generational divides. When someone heard a certain song, they might not be taken back to the same place or era, but they were taken somewhere. He remembered, once early in their relationship, he played an old Ella Fitzgerald number for Sharon after dinner. A dreamy expression had crossed her face, and it reminded her of the songs that her aunt and parents would occasionally play while cooking dinner. The music had taken her back home just like it had for him. 

When Steve had first awoken from the ice, he had been astonished by the ubiquity of music. So many songs could be held in the palm of his hand using such a simple device. He could listen to the type of music he liked whenever he wanted to, and not just rely on the radio. Steve could find comfort in the sounds of his youth whenever and wherever he wanted. 

Oh, he still listened to modern music. He wasn’t that much of a dinosaur. Steve enjoyed catching up on the music he missed, because at its core, music and songs were the same. The sounds might have changed, but folks still sang about love and loss. They still turned to music for their political anthems, both positive for the country they loved and raging against the machine when it failed them. Hell,, Clint still teased him about the video that went viral that showed Steve mouthing along to a Taylor Swift bop. Shake it Off was pretty catchy. 

But, at the end of the day, he found himself listening to the singers of his day. Ella Fitzegerald. Billie Holiday. Benny Goodman. Duke Ellington. Louis Armstrong.

After all, nostalgia was a powerful thing.

written for: @writersmonth

#writersmonth2022 #steve rogers #marvel comics fanfic #s writes fic

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writer’s month prompt: day 3 | gold (sharon carter)

Under the cut, because tw: miscarriage

Their children would have had golden hair.

Sharon’s finger almost unconsciously traces the ugly scar on her belly as she considers the future that might have been, that never will be. Steve was alive, and then he wasn’t. She was pregnant, and then she wasn’t. Both losses were her fault, depending on the way you looked at it – the way Sharon looked at it. She wasn’t strong enough to save them both, and now they’re gone. She could have had them both if she had tried hard enough.

Sam says she’s wrong, that it isn’t her fault. He says that if anyone deserves the blame, it should be the people that did this to her. Faustus. Sin. The Red Skull. Monsters doing monstrous things. Sam’s a good man and a better friend than she deserves. He has faith in her, a type of faith that she can’t have for herself, because the fact of the matter is: he wasn’t the one who pulled the trigger. He wasn’t the one with a baby in her belly. Had their fates been reversed, would he be saying the same thing? 

When she confronted him with this, he gave her a patient stare and said, “You know what? I would be blaming myself, but then it would be you in my corner telling me that I shouldn’t and you’d be right. Think about that.” 

And he was right, is right. She would be in his corner, but it’s harder, so much harder to apply that line of thinking to herself. Not when she has dreams of Steve dying in her arms, dreams of him telling her how she betrayed him, hurt him and the promise of a family they could have had.

The promise of a family they could have had. 

Those are the dreams that hurt the most. No, not the ones with Steve calling her out, the ones where he’s loving her and their child. Some nights she sees him pushing a golden haired child on the swing, both laughing. He’s tucking a little girl with braids into bed and reading her a story. He’s finger-painting with a little boy, smearing greens and yellows across a page.

Those sweet, beautiful unattainable dreams that she will never have, because they’re not real. Not possible. Steve is dead. Her child is gone. And she is the one who pulled the trigger.

written for: @writersmonth

#sharon carter #writersmonth2022 #tw: miscarriage #s writes fic

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writer’s month prompt: day 2 | dancer au (bucky barnes/natasha romanov)

happy, at the ballet

Beautiful, James thinks as he watches the ballerina spin across the stage.

There are many of them, lithe women in white leotards and frilly skirts, all dancing in perfect synchronization; however, there is a singular one that catches his eye. Pale skin, sharp cheekbones, hair as red as her painted lips. She has a solo – is that what they’re called? Ballet is so foreign to him – where it’s just her and the music and he is enchanted. Her actions appear effortless, but James knows better. No one glides that gracefully without training. Precision is a learned skill, and her dedication is admirable. He can’t see fire in her eyes, but determination is highlighted across her pretty face, drawing him in.

The ballet is in town for a week, and James goes each night. He doesn’t tell his buddies where he’s going each night, and when they ask, he spins a tale about seeing a girl. It’s close enough to the truth that it’s not a complete lie. He is, after all, visiting the ballet solely for the pretty ballerina, but that’s not the image that conjures in the minds of his friends when he says such things, and James is fine to let them think such sordid things. He has a reputation to keep. What would they say if they knew about him running off to the ballet each night?

Insane. Mental. Fit to be committed. Not for the admiration of dance, mind you. James’ closest friend, Steve Rogers, is something of an artist himself and would respect James actually attempting to engage with an art of some form. No, the teasing and dubious looks would be the result of him sneaking into an opera house – because he sure as hell doesn’t have the money – to see a woman who doesn’t know him from Adam.

There’s the rub: To her, James Buchanan Barnes is no one. He’s not even James Buchanan Barnes to her, she knows not who he is, but just another nameless man in the crowd, and that’s if she can even see him. James has his doubts. Regardless, it’s a treat to see her. He doesn’t need her to know him, being in her presence is —

Bucky wakes with a start. Light from the city filters into his apartment. An ambulance sounds in the distance, causing Alpine’s ears to flicker in recognition. He rubs a hand over his face, the metal cool against his skin. He presses himself up from the bed, Alpine’s eye’s following him from her perch on his bed as he shuffles to the bathroom. He twists the knob and cold water pours from the faucet before he wets his face.  

She’s in his dreams again, Natalia. The dreams – fantasies, whatever – come few and further between nowadays, but they’ve never fully gone away. He wonders if they ever will or if he ever wants them to. The dreams take different forms – sometimes grounded in reality, memories of better days, and others of different worlds – what if, what if, what if?

Right now,  Natalia – the real Natalia – is miles away. Even if she were somewhere nearby, she is still not his. Out of reach. Doubt combats hope when he ponders the possibility of a future. Too much shit has happened, and neither of them are the same people they were when they parted. But Bucky can’t deny that he still loves her, will always love her. Even in his dreams, where even there she is elusive and far away.

written for: @writersmonth

#bucky barnes #natasha romanov #buckynat #winter widow #writersmonth2022

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writer’s month prompt: day 1 | beach episode (scott summers/emma frost)

[set during Uncanny X-Men Vol 1 495]

It’s easy to forget home here, surrounded by lush beauty as they are, completely ensconced away from the world at large. They get visitors, yes. Shanna and Ka-Zar make occasional visits to tease and touch base, but for the most part, they are miles away from everyone else. They can’t see the constant barrage of news decrying the existence of her people. She doesn’t have the constant reminders of all the ways she failed her students again and again. Fewer haunted faces to stare into, even fewer tortured minds to choose to ignore.

No, here she and Scott can just be. Or, more precise, attempt to be. They hunt and play, bask in the warmth and existence of paradise. They twist one another in the sheets, find new and increasingly interesting ways to make one another cry without the worry of someone – a student, a colleague– careening into their sacred space demanding something. Even the ghost of Jean Grey has dimmed here. What a priceless decadence this trip has been.

A non-small part of Emma  wishes that this could be their reality. How lovely it would be to laze around in paradise without the near-constant threat of extinction hanging over their heads; but that is a luxury that even she can’t afford. Even if she could, Scott would never have it and she would never have a Scott that would.

The complexities to loving Scott Summers are vast, but thing is for sure: she is absolutely drawn to his passion for his people. There are no X-Men without him. He is not someone to be satisfied by an idle life. He craves family and peace, but will keep fighting for that option for everyone. He can’t hide away forever when the fate of mutantkind is at stake.

And neither can Emma. Even if the world were right and less disgusting, even if they weren’t hunted and feared, her calling isn’t a forever vacation. She has passions of her own, dreams of building a home for children — hers and others — to thrive and play and learn. Besides, this life would be ceding control. Who would want that forever?

But until then, until they must return to the world that hates them so, Emma will be content to enjoy this moments — rarer and more precious than the finest — with the man she loves. 

written for: @writersmonth​

#scott summers #emma frost #scemma #writersmonth2022 #s writes fic

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It will never not be hysterical that Krista broke up Japril, married April to Matthew, fired Sarah which then pissed off the fandom so she had to bring back April, divorce Mapril then bring April & Jackson back to give us what we wanted to begin with. So many unnecessary steps and for what? I hope Sarah Drew is smug as hell. 🤣

#japril #greys anatomy

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Abolish the comic book industrial complex 🙂

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“You are the one who must stop. Before–” 

“Before what? Before we both finally do something for ourselves?”

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SIMONE ASHLEY as KATE SHARMA Bridgerton | 2x08: The Viscount Who Loved Me

#she's so gorgeous here #kate sharma #bridgerton #simone ashley

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#a man and his wife’s dog: a development

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#kanthony #i love them #look at them smile

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this man was so unhinged he did this at the altar IN THE MIDDLE OF HIS WEDDING VOWS in front of God, the woman he’s supposed to be marrying, his entire family, and pretty much every single person he knows without a second thought and just thought he could continue on and no one would notice

#kathony

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— anthony + looking at kate

#kathony #bridgerton

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2009 - 2022

#starkid #darren criss #joe moses #avpm #this is precious

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truly cannot comprehend the Bridgerton fandom which is full of people horrified that stills may have been leaked when back in my Glee days we all used to send questions to a bunch of Brazilians who got the entire episodes in advance begging them to spoil every little detail

#the glee fandom was riotous