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hesthermay · 10 months

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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄

PAIRING: bucky barnes x f!reader

SUMMARY: bucky barnes and the domesticity he deserves.

WORD COUNT: 1.1k

RATING + WARNINGS: general audiences, domestic themes, fluff. use of she/her, more fluff, use of y/n, more fluff. in my head reader works outside lolzies

NOTES: marvel!? again!? it never ended!! just switched to something else for a bit but hesthermay will always be a multifandom blog! i quite literally am attached to too many things for it to just be one anymore lmao. anyways!! this is apart of the lady may universe, all works will be labelled as such but remember they do not need to be read in any order or together at all! they can be read as standalone stories because they are all apart of a collection!!

MARVEL MASTERLIST LADY MAY UNIVERSE

The sun had just finished setting, the dark sky staring back at him as he stood in front of the kitchen window.

Bucky Barnes wiped his flesh hand on his jeans before reaching up to readjust the phone wedged between his cheek and shoulder before it could fall. His other remained submerged in the soapy dishwater, metal fingers clutching the wine glass more delicately than his past self ever thought he could as he secured the device. “No, Steve—if you need me, I can come back.”

The blonde man shot him down immediately, insisting that it would only be a waste. Bucky sighed deeply and quietly, knowing his friend was as stubborn as they came.. “Alright, punk; if you say so.”

Truth be told, he did not want to go back just yet. As tired as he’d gotten over the years, the fight most likely wouldn’t ever leave James Buchanan Barnes’ life and that was just something he was going to have to accept. But when he’s here, in the tiny town in the middle of nowhere that was his very slice of paradise, there was no fighting. Only hard work and long days, warm evenings and calm nights, and loud laughter and dinners shared between two.

The life that Y/N L/N had given him was not one he had predicted, but one he would never take for granted. It was…all he could possibly want. If the world were to end tomorrow, he would spend his last moments with his lips on hers.

A tail hitting against his calf was what caught his attention and momentarily pulled him away from the conversation, glancing down at the plump dog stood next to him. Her eyes were trained on the doorway of the kitchen and the brunette knew exactly what she’d picked up on, a grin growing on his face as the last dish was dried and put away.

“Steve, I gotta go, Y/N/N just got home…okay, okay—I’ll tell her,” he chuckled as his metal hand swiped a rag over the counter quickly.

“Tell who what?” A voice piped up from behind him and the cloth was soon abandoned as he whirled around. There she was, standing in the doorway dressed for work and looking like it’d been a long day of it, while still radiating the kind of beauty he swore he’d never get tired of.

Bucky’s grin grew into a smile impossibly fast for a man who used to be a shell, a weapon, but that wasn’t unusual for him these days. “Ah, speak of the devil and she shall appear,” he remarked, and was met with an eye roll from his love and a laugh from his friend, before pulling the phone away from his ear.

With one click, Steve Rogers was put on speaker phone and thrown under the bus. “Stevie says you owe him a dinner from when he kicked your ass in beer pong.”

“I did not say that!”

Y/N’s laugh echoed around the kitchen and filled Bucky’s chest with joy. “Oh, well quit your complaining and get your ass down here then!” She called out as she made her way to the fridge, boots thumping against the floor. “And last I recall, there was no ass kicking. You barely beat me, Rogers.”

Steve and Y/N got along great, and it had become obvious to Bucky very quickly that they acted just like siblings. Their dynamic mimicked that of an older brother and younger sister, and if they didn’t look so different it’d be hard to tell they weren’t related. If they were, Bucky knew she’d give Steve a run for his money.

“I’m all booked up for the next few weeks unfortunately,” the captain’s voice filtered through the speaker, “but I wouldn’t be opposed to a visit after I clear everything up.”

“Oh,” Bucky drawled out as he leaned against the counter, arms and ankles crossed in the very name of ease, “I bet you wouldn’t. Grandma’s cooking’s pretty good, right?”

Another laugh was accompanied by the popping of a beer bottle’s cap coming off and the clinging sound of it hitting the floor. “You’re damn right!” Leaning down to pick up the trash, Y/N continued to speak to Steve but the mechanic had already gained tunnel vision.

His eyes were on her everywhere she went, observing the way her lips formed the words but not really hearing what they were, the way her eyes flitted over to him every few minutes because she was just as obsessed with him as he was her.

The life that Y/N L/N had given him was not one he predicted, but one he would rather die than take for granted. It was his greatest gift.

The sound of his name broke his concentration and he was brought back to the present, tuning in to the conversation to hear Steve saying his goodbyes, throwing a ‘talk to ya later, Buck!’ at the end before he hung up. The phone was forgotten, remaining in the same spot with a black screen as the family of two now focused solely on one another. Y/N walked to the sink, beginning to wash her hands as she looked at the man before her with a semi serious face. “I sure am glad Steve let you have a break even with this long mission. I was starting to go a little crazy,” she chuckled.

“I’ll always find a way back to you, lover girl,” he replied smoothly with that crooked grin as one hand reached out to swipe a thumb across her cheek, wiping off the smudge of dirt left over from her day at work. She beamed at him and he couldn’t help himself, couldn’t stop himself from pulling her in for a kiss; a kiss that conveyed how much he’d missed her, how long he’d waited for her, and just how much he loved her.

When they broke apart she laughed ever so softly, eyes a little out of focus as she recovered from the display of affection. “You gonna let me set the table, Barnes?”

“I suppose I could,” he feigned reluctance, waiting until the very last second to release his hold on her face, hands slowly pulling away from her face where they were gently resting.

“Thank you for making dinner, by the way,” she threw over shoulder as she made her way into the next room with the plates and silverware stacked in her hands, and he followed her with the trays of food he had prepared for them.

“Of course, doll,” he assured, knowing that if not for her he wouldn’t be able to make this meal nor would he have the motivation to learn how to. This domesticity, the routine of home life, was utter bliss.

The life that Bucky Barnes had gained was not one he ever thought was possible for him, but it was one he would never let go of. It was all he needed, all he wanted, all he’d dreamt of.

all works on this blog belong to hesthermay.tumblr.com: do not copy, repost onto other sites, or claim my work as your own.

#the witch: writes #—marvel #—lady may universe #—signed; barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes oneshot #james barnes x reader #james barnes x you #james barnes imagine #marvel au #avengers au #avengers x reader #cannon divergence #domestic!bucky #mechanic!bucky

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amaryllidae · 11 months

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FALL BACK INTO PLACE. it turns out i exist solely to pump out pearlrose content

#su #steven universe #pearl su #pink diamond #rose quartz #rose quartz su #su rose quartz #su pearl #pearlrose #i am mostly kidding #but also... unh #comfort #rose lives au #canon divergent au #primal fear of losing your wife.jpeg

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azfellandco · 9 months

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The thing I keep circling back to in thinking about the Book of Life as a potential threat is the It's A Wonderful Life of it all, you know? What the effect on the other is if one of them never existed.

An Aziraphale who has always had doubts but never had anyone it was safe to voice them to, scared of himself and what it means that he feels so alone and separate from other angels. Distant from Earth and indifferent to suffering because there's only so many times you can stick your neck out alone before you have to numb yourself or get your head chopped off. He might even make a good angel, after a time. Might even have gone along with the first apocalypse.

Or a Crowley who is all bitterness, who watched the first humans banished from paradise because of his actions without even fire to warm themselves. Who never has anyone to wonder with, wouldn't it be funny if I did the good thing and you did the bad one? Who watches the flood and Job's trials and the crucifixion with a sick, sure feeling in him, something which feels like wisdom but is really guilt: it would have been better for them if they'd stayed ignorant. No more admiring all the clever things they do, all the things they make, because it's all soaked in the venom of that snake that got them kicked out of Eden. It's almost, almost a relief that it's going to end.

#it's a time travel story it's a diverging realities story it's a parallel universes story #it's the way going back to the beginning erases everything since and how six THOUSAND years is a lot of branches #how you can never get back to the reality you left #idk i am just saying shit at this point #begone thought

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lawsofchaos1 · 9 months

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Star Wars Promptlet

In one universe Obi-Wan Kenobi bows shallowly at the end of his formal report of the Battle of Naboo and requests the Council free the mother of his new Padawan from slavery on Tatooine. The Council makes agreeable noises and Obi-Wan tells himself that they will act on his request. However, wary of being accused of attachment, wary of his Padawan being taken away from him because he's too young, too inexperienced, too emotional, too much of a failure, Obi-Wan never checks and he never asks again.

In another universe, Obi-Wan Kenobi sees the dismissive body language of the Counselors during his report - it can't possibly be a Sith they whisper in the eddies of the Force - and he doesn't make a request before he leaves. Instead, he shows up at Quinlan's door in the middle of the Temple's night cycle and his creche mate takes one look at his face before putting on his Shadow blacks and sneaking them past the Temple guard.

Forty one cycles later, Obi-Wan picks Anakin up from where he'd been undergoing the crash course of So You Think You Want To Be A Jedi Knight in the Initiate's hall (which went shockingly well, Anakin making friends left and right and filling in some severe baseline knowledge gaps most of the Temple inhabitants took for granted). He hands his Padawan a small, carved bracelet - a broken chain - made from one of the few native plants of Tatooine, a gift from Shmi, and watches Anakin's eyes grow liquid-wet in joy and wonder.

Most people gloss over that Qui-Gon had bought Anakin and not Freed him, Anakin had noticed. Obi-Wan never needed to be told the difference. And Obi-Wan hadn't bought Shmi, he'd simply provided her what she needed to Free herself. And maybe a substantial portion of the Mos Epsa slave quarters along with her. (But that pesky little slave rebellion that started while Obi-Wan and Quinlan just so happened to be on planet absolutely definitely for sure couldn't be traced back to them. They'd made certain of that.)

The Temple still just shy of outright forbids Padawans contact with their birth parents, but every so often - although at least once a year - Obi-Wan sends Anakin on some strange errand that inevitably ends with him slipping into a booth and finding himself sitting next to his mother for a few precious hours of catching up. Their first meeting (after hearing all about how his mother Freed herself and so many others of course) is all about the new friends he made during his moon-cycle in the Initiate's dorms and how four of them have decided to claim him as a crechemate since apparently every Jedi needs crechemates and he came in too old to get them the normal way. Anakin thinks from watching Obi-Wan with Quinlan and Bant and Garen that this means he has siblings now.

(A few years later Anakin's definitely-siblings get sent with him on his weird errand that happens to be on Anakin's life-day and Shmi makes them all a cup of desert-scented tea and welcomes them into the family. Anakin doesn't cry, it's just the steam from the tea making his cheeks wet.)

When Palpatine starts showing a little too much interest in a young Padawan, Anakin listens when Obi-Wan warns him something might be wrong. After all, his Teacher is a Chain-Breaker- why would Anakin doubt him when his words suggest that Palpatine may be too close to a Depur to be trusted? His crechemates also don't like it and his mother says words he didn't know she knew in her own reaction.

The anonymous report Anakin submits to the Senate Guards that they might want to check in on Senator Palpatine and his creepy obsession with young kids stays anonymous, but it does get leaked and the ensuing media storm starts strong and ends stronger with the discovery of a Sith Master.

In short, Obi-Wan helps Shmi Free herself and a war that breaks a galaxy never starts.

#lawsofchaos rambles #star wars #obi wan kenobi #alternate universe #canon divergence #star wars prequels #anakin skywalker #obi wan and anakin #tatooine slave culture

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heimeldat · 1 year

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Look, it's my Divergent Universe rewrite! It still exists! I'm updating it again!

#doctor who #fanfic #eighth doctor #charley pollard #c'rizz #divergent universe #episode rewrite

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leighsartworks216 · 7 months

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The Rescue of Magistrate Ancunin

Astarion x gn!Tav (could be read as the beginning of a romance or a friendship)

I started this like weeks ago but I wasn't happy with it so I left it alone. And then I came back fully expecting to delete and re-write half of it, but nope! I like it now!

This should have been more angsty but it sure is not

Warnings: blood, injury, fear of death, descriptions of dying, swearing, descriptions of pain, angst

Word Count: 2,202 (fun!)

Main Masterlist

Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

AO3

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Boots kick in his stomach, his face - anywhere they can reach - mixed with fists and nails. Astarion tries covering his head, but it’s in vain. The air is torn out of him over and over, until breathing becomes too difficult. Everything is excruciating. Pure, unbridled agony washes over him, replaced only by short bouts of numbness.

He can no longer feel his fingers or his toes. They’re just cold. So cold.

His nose breaks with a sickening crunch. He chokes around a gasp. Tears pour down his face, snot and blood dripping from his nose.

He’s going to die here.

They’re going to kill him.

And he’s terrified.

At the edge of his senses, he can hear the clicking of boots against cobblestone. The Gur hear it, too. With one last good hit each, some spitting on him as a further disgrace, they rush from the scene. He can’t move. The longer he lays there, the more the pain goes away. There’s a warm liquid beneath him, all around him - he can almost pretend it’s a warm bath.

The clicking gets faster as the boots run toward him. Soft hands turn him over to his back, but it hurts so fucking bad. He wants to curl up into a ball, let death wash over him and remove his fear and his pain. The hands don’t let him. They brush his hair, matted with blood, from his forehead.

It takes too much effort, but he tries to look anyway. His vision won’t focus. The person’s speaking, he thinks. Their mouth is moving insistently. He can’t even begin trying to read their lips.

They lean over him and press their hands to his chest. It hurts. He tries lifting his arms to push them away, but he can’t even feel his arms anymore. He tries mouthing the word “Stop”, hoping he can find enough air to speak. Alas, nothing comes out. And he’s so tired.

For one brief moment, his vision is clear. He can see their face. Their eyes are closed, but they glow beneath the lids. Another glow, the same pale blue, surrounds their hands. He tries to commit their face to memory: their hair, the shape of their nose, their brows. But before he can get a clear image, darkness crawls in from the edge of his vision. The last thing he is aware of before he slips away - into unconsciousness or death, he isn’t sure - is their voice, whispering spells under their breath.

The cleric casts spell after spell - anything they can think of. If they try moving him in this state, he won’t live past the end of the street. One incantation after another spills from their lips, desperate. In the back of their mind, they pray to their goddess to spare this man from this fate. Too many people have died on these cobblestones with no one to help - they will not let him continue that cycle.

By the time they’ve spent all their spells and opened their eyes, a ring of flowers and grass grow around him, risen from the blood as though it was fresh dirt, climbing through cracked stones. Shaky hands carefully examine him.

His ribs are no longer cracked, and blood no longer fills his lungs. When they lean down to listen, his breaths are slow, but constant. He was by no means fully recovered - he was injured too much for that - but he’s stable enough to move.

They brush away some flowers that tangled in his hair and wrap his arm around their shoulders. Once they had him sitting up, they wrapped their arm around his waist and did the monumental task of carrying his dead weight to his feet. They weren’t weak by any standards, but they also weren’t in the habit of carrying full-grown people. Not to mention how weak they were now they’d cast everything available to them.

His feet dragged as they supported him down the road. They could continue to treat him at their house, where he’d be safe from another attack.

The flowers were the only witnesses to a figure in the shadows that scoffed and disappeared into the night.

Astarion’s eyes slowly opened. The afterlife looked much different than he expected. The room was a bit shabby… Maybe this was one of the Hells? His head sluggishly flops to the side when the door opens with a creak. Is this… a god? He expected something a bit more… spectacular.

They didn’t seem to notice him as they went around the room. They peeked underneath anything with space below it, muttering frustratedly under their breath. With a huff, they opened closet doors, shutting them quietly despite their exasperation.

He would have spoken, but his mouth was so gods-damned dry. So instead, he cleared his throat. It barely made a sound - a small grunt if anything - but they jumped out of their skin and looked at him.

“Oh! You’re awake!” They shook off the jitters as they rushed to the nightstand next to the bed he lay on, pouring him a glass of water from a pitcher. They carefully supported the back of his head off the pillow and held the glass to his lips. “Here, drink this.”

He did as they asked without much thought. All he could really think to do is stare up at them, even as the blessedly cool liquid soothed his throat. Surely, this couldn’t be a god. He’d never been one to believe, but he’d never heard any stories that had gods take care of visitors. Certainly not those that discussed gods of death.

After letting him drink for a moment, they took the glass away and set it back down, easing his head back on the pillow. They smiled at him, warm and welcoming. Where in the Hells was he?

They chuckled. Oh, had he said that out loud? “You’re at my house. You’ve been asleep for a few days now.”

He blinked slowly and cleared his throat again. “Why?”

“You don’t remember?” They tilt their head at him, watching, as though they’d seen this before.

“I remember… heading home. And…” He scowled. “The Gur.”

“Is that who attacked you?”

Right. He was attacked. He grunts and forces himself to sit up. Their hands hover over him, ready to catch him if it’s too much, but they don’t touch him. He looks down at his body. Other than some nasty bruises, he’s perfectly fine. He feels nauseous just remembering how he couldn’t breathe - yet here he was, breathing perfectly fine.

“How did you…?” He touches his nose, surprised it isn’t broken. He looks at them again. They almost laugh at the bewildered look on his face. “I thought I was dead.”

They wince slightly. “No, fortunately I found you just in time. A moment later and you would be. I can alert the officials about the attack, but they probably won’t catch those responsible.”

He groaned. The thought of his own predicament becoming a court case gave him a headache. “Great. They’re free to roam without consequence.”

“Hm. I’m sure their luck will run out.” He looks at them from the corner of his eye. “Oh, do you believe in karma?”

“No, not really.”

They smile despite this. “For your sake then, I hope they get some repercussions for their actions.”

“If you really believe, then you’d think this was karma getting back at me.”

“Why? What did you do?”

He sneers as he says it. “I handed down a sentence they didn’t really like.”

They look at him for a moment. He can’t tell if they’re assessing him or just formulating an opinion. They choose their next words carefully. “It’s against my faith to believe that a violent action against another is just.”

“And what do you think? Outside of your faith’s rules.”

They frowned as they thought. “I think… I don’t have enough information to form an opinion.”

He hummed. “Fair enough.”

They offered him a polite smile and turned to search the room once more. They peered under the bed, squinting into the darkness, before huffing and looking somewhere else.

“What are you looking for?”

“Hm? Oh, my cat, Pumpkin. She loves to sneak into the guest rooms, and for some reason, she loves sneaking in here, specifically.” They paused, realizing something. “Actually, she only started coming in here so often once you showed up. She may just like you.”

He hummed noncommittally. Cats did seem to like him, but he did his best to avoid them. It wasn’t professional to have fur all over his clothes, especially during court.

“You said you passed down a sentence,” they said as they rifled through a pile of blankets with no luck. “Are you a judge?”

“Magistrate,” he corrects, haughtily. “Magistrate Ancunin.”

They stand straight and turn to him. “Oh! I never introduced myself.” They smiled sweetly. “My name’s Tav. A pleasure to finally meet you,” they teased lightly. “I didn’t really know what to call you while you healed. It’s nice to put a name to a face.” Their smile dropped as they sighed sharply, turning with their hands on their hips to look around the room. “Now, where is that damn cat?”

He almost chuckles as he watches them re-check the wardrobe, lean down to peer under furniture they already looked under, and pick up each blanket in the stack with such vigor they nearly came unfolded.

A slight movement caught his ears. As they opened drawers and shuffled spare clothes within, he looked at the pile of pillows beside him. At a glance, they seemed perfectly normal. It was a large bed - the pillows on the side he wasn’t sleeping on were set up just as they ought to be. But, as he continued to look, something shifted the pillow. A minute motion. He carefully pulled it back.

“This cat you’re looking for…”

They hum, not looking at him. “Pumpkin.”

“Yes, Pumpkin, what does she look like?”

“Oh, um, orange. White belly. Her tail was bit off by a stray dog when she was little, so it’s rather short now.”

“White paws?”

“Mhm.”

“Blue eyes, sort of brown in the center?”

“Exactly.”

The only sound in the room was the creak of wood as they tried peering on top of the bookshelf. Then silence. They slowly turned around as their mind finally caught up.

Astarion, still holding the pillow back, watched with a slight grin as the aforementioned cat rolled on her back, stretching out with paws reaching toward the sky. Even from across the room, they could hear the loud purrs she emitted.

They let out a long suffering sigh as they stepped off the bottom-most shelf and made their way to the cat’s side of the bed. Bright blue eyes looked up at them, mouth curled in the cutest way. They sighed again. “You’re terrible, you know that?”

With a sweet mreow, Pumpkin rolled back over and, before he could react, jumped into his lap.

“Ah, I don’t- Hey! Wh-What are you doing?!”

Tav laughed as he floundered, hands raised like he had no idea where to put them. Pumpkin brushed up against his chest, her short tail just brushing his shoulder, before she began kneading into his lap. Her claws pulled at the handmade quilt, and he was all-too-relieved he had the protection. Before she could curl up, Tav rounded the bed and swooped her up by her middle, tucking her into their arm like a baby. The cat mrowled in displeasure.

“Like I said, she really likes you.”

He frowned, brushing his shirt of fur on habit, even though the pajamas he wore were not his own. “Delightful,” he droned. “If you don’t mind, when can I leave this place?”

They took the rudeness in stride - they’d been asked the same question in far meaner ways before. It was part of the job, they supposed. “You’re welcome to leave today, if you feel well enough. I’d warn against going out at night, until it’s safer, at least. I’d be happy to lend you some clothes.”

“What happened to mine?”

They gave him a soft look, like a mother afraid to tell her child disappointing news. “I’m afraid they were too soaked in blood to be salvaged. I saved what personal effects I could, but…”

He blinked. How did he forget he was there because he was nearly beaten to death? Funny how one forgets something so major when looking for a cat and having idle conversation. He cleared his throat. “Of course.”

Pumpkin wriggling in their arms, they pull the door open and turn back to him. “I’ll bring some clothes right up, Magistrate Ancunin, and your belongings.”

“Astarion.” He looks away, chin up, trying to keep some modicum of professionalism. “You can call me Astarion.”

He can hear the smile in their voice. “You’re welcome to stay for supper, if you’d like, Astarion.” They pull the door closed behind them as they say, “Though Pumpkin may try for your lap again.”

After a pause, he lets himself relax in the silence of the now-still room. A dumb grin slides across his face. Surely the court could await his return a while longer?

---

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