#thanks mak!!

[bradshawsbitch]

“Shut your mouth before I shut it for you.” With our boy Rooster!

oof, we love our boy Rooster! but we also know our boy can have a bit of a temper... thanks for requesting it!!

disclaimer: It's funny how I promised myself I'd never write this trope, but here we are lmao.

description: the squad is enjoying a night at the hard deck, and some fucker makes nasty lil dumbass comments that makes rooster pissed.

warnings: bar fight, misogyny, feminist king!Rooster, protective Rooster, mentions of blood

(y'all already knew i had to use this gif)

Bradley was, according to himself, usually a very level-headed man. Except for if you mentioned his father. Or his mother. Or Maverick. Or you, for that matter. But other than that he was cool as a cucumber. He never really figured himself to be a jealous type, either - he usually trusted people to do their thing and he did his.

Which is why, when looking back at the incident that had gotten him into his current predicament (you, holding an icepack to his split lip), he figured maybe he had been wrong.

It had all started off as any old night at the Hard Deck. Coyote and Hangman occupied the darts board, Phoenix and Bob were laughing at something that had happened during their flight earlier that day as they racked up a game of nine-ball, and you were dancing to the jaunty tune of Shania Twain's 'Man! I Feel Like a Woman' whilst Rooster sat by the bar, nursing a beer and a big grin watching his girlfriend dance and laugh with Halo. As Shania sang the line 'let our hair down', you looked at Rooster, flipping your hair and swaying your hips seductively with a little secret smile on your lips, enjoying your time letting loose after a week's hard work flying. He grinned back at you, sending you a quick wink and relishing in the giggle that slipped past your lips before you turned to Halo again.

"This is why I don't think women should be in the navy," a voice scoffed from beside Bradley, who turned to look at the man sat next to him for the first time since he'd sat down. Bradley had hardly noticed him at all until he spoke up. Seeing as Bradley considered himself a level-headed man, he gritted his teeth - surprised at how young the man beside him was.

"C'mon man, the first female aviator in the Navy was 1978. Don't you think it's time to let it go?" Bradley grumbled, having read through the female history of the Navy, just because he thought it was important to know. 1978 was a long time ago, sure - but he figured they'd let women do what they wanted before that. But apparently not. The man raised a brow, and Rooster just knew this was going to be a painful conversation to have. But he would have it, because if he didn't - who would?

"What are your reasons for thinking women shouldn't be able to enlist?" Rooster continued, glaring at the lieutenant sat next to him.

"Well, it's obvious isn't it? They're obviously weaker both physically and mentally. And then there's-- all of this," the man gestured to you and Halo having fun on the dance floor, now doing a silly move where you bumped hips before jumping the other way and bumping the other side. Rooster frowned, looking back at the young man.

"Because they can dance?" Rooster was bewildered, and he could feel his cheeks turning red with anger. That level-headedness of his was being tested thoroughly by this man.

"They're sluts, man! They're just looking to fuck anything that moves, okay? Fucking shaking their asses and hanging off any lieutenant that'll look their way. It distracts the whole team, honestly - it throws the whole order off," the man obviously couldn't think of a reason other than his own damn misogyny.

"Don't fucking talk about them like that. What gives you the right?" Bradley seethed, his fists clenched at his sides.

"Oh, I see - which of the whores are you fucking?" the man stood up, laughing condescendingly at Bradley. This made Bradley get out of his seat, standing at his full height, still keeping his distance before he growled out;

"Shut your mouth before I shut it for you, fucker" the man stepped closer to Bradley, and Rooster furrowed his brows as he pushed the man in the chest to make him back down. That was apparently the straw for the other man, who immediately swung at Bradley, his fist making contact with Roosters chin and lip. Bradley was too surprised to be able to brace himself for the impact, and his head snapped to the side at the impact, stumbling for a moment before his eyes grew black with rage. He was shouting now, telling the fucker to get the fuck out of the Hard Deck, easily putting his strong arm around the other mans neck in a headlock, dragging him to the door and giving him a hard shove in the back so that he landed on his back on the ground.

"Don't you fucking ever talk about our girls like that again!" Rooster shouted, pointing his finger at the man before spitting blood right at his face.

The bar had gone eerily quiet as he returned. He saw you making your way towards him, a concerned look etched on your face. He looked around a moment before he barked that everyone should mind their business. Everybody started before returning to hushed conversation.

"Rooster, what happened?" your eyes were filled with worry, your hands finding his face as they gingerly cradled him, and his large hands settled softly on your waist.

"Don't worry about it, darling.." he mumbled as you grabbed his hand and led him to a booth, where you scurried to ask Penny for ice and some medical equipment. You tended to him silently, brows furrowed.

"I was just helping Penny ring the bell," Rooster joked, smiling at your exasperated look. His anger had disappeared the moment you'd laid your hands on him, and now you stood in between his legs, your hands gingerly tending to his split lip. He was looking up at you with so much adoration that you started to feel your cheeks heat up.

"It was kind of hot," you admitted, the sight of Rooster's biceps flexing in his black t-shirt forever ingrained in your brain. Bradley smirked, his hands gliding down to rest at the swell of your ass, bringing you closer to his broad chest, your other hand resting on his shoulder as you looked down at his gorgeous form.

"Yeah?" Rooster smirked, wanting to kiss you senseless for admitting that to him.

#bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #thanks mak!! #300 celly

[factual-fantasy]

My interest in your Davy Jones Cookie(/j) deepens

(Post in question)

AAAAA I'm so glad you're interested in him! :DD I can give you the lore scoop if you're up to a lengthy read! :}}}

OK SO- The intended story behind that- is that the whole crew was attacked by another ship. There were many injuries across the crew, Octo included. Being a very private person by nature he tended to all his injuries himself. Of which he had a particularly bad crack on his abdomen that was likely going to take at least a few weeks to fully heal..

But after only a few days.. most of the crew had recovered and were back up on their feet. Which meant they were back to their usual squabbles and arguments. Typical troubles and things began to happen around the ship that could have really used Octo's help to clear up.. Seafoam clearly needed help managing the crew.. But Octo was still recovering.. He felt horrible. The rest of the crew recovered so quickly and yet he's still stuck to his hammock.. all because of this stupid crack..

.."Screw it." He thought. As long as he wasn't too hard on it, the crack would heal over time. So despite still having a very bad wound.. Octo got up and continued with his usual duties and helping out the crew.

"Tell Seafoam the truth" The lie he told there was telling everyone he was fine. Some people would ask if he was okay or mention he seemed tired. He would always brush them off and tell them he's fine. He'd even brush off Seafoam..

Now normally this wouldn't seem like.. that bad of a lie to tell, right.? Well it was a big deal to lie to Seafoam. As this post shows, they've been best friends for a really long time. And during that time Seafoam has learned that Octo tends to hide a lot of things about himself. His opinions, his emotions,, his injuries.. He's talked to Octo about it. About how its really bad for him in the long run to hide everything..

He told Octo that he can always go to Seafoam about anything. He will never judge. And he told Octo that if he is ever injured and needs time to recover? Seafoam would give him all the time he needs, no questions asked.

Octo promised he wouldn't hide stuff this severe from Seafoam. From his best friend. But there he was. Walking around on an injury that can quickly worsen and become fatal is he isn't careful.

And fatal it almost became. Becuase the crew was attacked once more by another ship. And during that attack, someone struck Octo on that same wound. Cracking it open much wider and causing him to collapse. It almost killed him instantly, the crew was afraid he wouldn't make it..

Thankfully, he survived. And while Seafoam was so relieved to see that he was ok... he was also very upset. The crew tended to the crack and saw that it was actually an extended crack. A wound that has already been there for weeks.. only to be damaged again and elongated..

Octo was gonna have some explaining to do-

#my response #do not tag as ship #cookie run #cookie run kingdom #cookie run ocs #my ocs #Thank you again for your interest in Octo! #it mak me ver happy :}}}

[bisamwilson]

hey honey! 💖 sambucky and 25. things you said in front of other people!

thanks for the ask, sweetheart <3 does something over 1k words count as a snippet oops (from this list)

"I just wasn't really feelin' it, y'know?" Sam laments to the circle of older ladies around him, sighing while they all nod along knowingly.

It's the first Thursday of the month, which means the local older women's book club is meeting in a small room off the church building where Sam's daddy had preached for twenty years, and, just like every first Thursday of the month that Sam's been in Delacroix since he was fourteen years old, Sam came by to help them set up tables and chairs for all the potluck food they bring with them.

And just like every first Thursday of the last six months since Sam and Bucky had rented a little house down here for when the world isn't on fire--last month excluded, given New York City, at least, was actually on fire--the first fifteen minutes of the local older women's book club is spent lightly interrogating Sam about his love life.

"How many of these dating app first dates have you been on, Sam?" Ms. Sheryl asks from beside him, her arms crossed over her chest.

Sam looks up at the ceiling and counts them in his head, each disappointing match after disappointing match. "Twelve in the last two months, Ms. Sheryl. Thirteen if you count the woman from NOLA I met at a jazz bar and had to leave after five minutes because an emergency mission came up. She unmatched me after that."

Ms. Sheryl nods, her lips pursed, and Sam thinks he might've accidentally just proved a point he didn't know she was making yet. "And how many of those got second dates?"

Sam's saved from having to answer that disheartening, kind-of-a-rhetorical question from the late arrival of Ms. Josephine, newcomer to both the book club and to Delacroix.

She'd moved here about a month and a half ago, about half a year after her husband had passed away, looking for a new start. Every interaction Sam's had with her thus far has been honestly lovely, and he already knows she's got a soft spot for Bucky given how much of her house he'd come over to help fix since she'd moved in. Sam's had his fair share of her "thank you" cooking, and knows full well she's as wonderful a cook as she is a lady.

"Evenin', ladies," she says, holding some kind of dish in her hand that smells downright heavenly. "And Sam," she adds with a wink, smiling when Sam takes the dish from her and sets it over on the table with the rest of the food. "What'd I miss?"

"Sam was just lamenting to us about his dating woes," Ms. Jackie replies, with a tone full of sympathy but a playful twinkle in her eye, taking Sam's hand and patting it soothingly when he comes to stand next to her, leaving his previous seat open for Ms. Josephine.

Sam laughs and squeezes Ms. Jackie's hand. "You've got a son about my age, right, Ms. Josephine? Is he single?"

All the other ladies in the room chuckle along at Sam's joke, but Ms. Josephine just looks confused. "Did something happen with you and Bucky?" she asks, concerned. "He didn't mention it when he came by to fix one of my hinges this morning."

Sam's eyebrows furrow this time around. "Not that I know of? Not unless something has happened in the last thirty minutes since I checked my phone, anyway, but he's not generally the type to call in any case."

Ms. Josephine's face morphs from confusion to contemplation, and she crosses her legs at her ankles and crosses her hands over her lap. "So are y'all in one of those relationships where you can date other people then? I saw some article about that a few weeks ago. Must have some real good communication between the two of you to make both that and all your superheroing work."

She sounds almost impressed, but Sam doesn't really have the mental capacity to acknowledge that right now, not when his brain got stuck on the word "relationships" applied to Bucky and himself.

He looks around the rest of the group to see if any of them are gonna correct her while he's still stuck in his state of shock, but finds all of them just looking vaguely amused.

He shakes his head minutely. "Ms. Josephine, Bucky and I aren't dating."

Her eyes go more than a little wide. "Wait, so you did call it off?"

Sam shakes his head again, a little more vigorously. "No, ma'am. We weren't ever dating in the first place. Did Bucky tell you we were?"

Ms. Josephine shakes her head right back. "Never explicitly, Sam, but it ain't exactly hard to tell when somebody's head over heels. He talks about you like you went and hung the moon for him. Just yesterday he came by and asked if I'd seen one of the recent news segments about you, gushing about how amazin' you look flyin' up there. 'He's so fast, and nimble, Ms. Josephine,' he said to me, all moony eyed. 'It's like nothing you've ever seen before. Sometimes I swear he looks like an angel when he's got his wings spread out.'

"And that's not even countin' the things he says about you when you've been home for a bit. He's always talkin' about whatever fishin' you've done recently, or charity work you've been doin' around here or in NOLA, or how excited you were to buy new cat toys the week before. Every time I ask him if he's got any special requests for thank you meals, he always asks for something with a spice level I'm still not sure he can handle, tellin' me all about how it's been one of your favorites since you were a kid. Bucky's spent at least four days a week at my house pretty much since I've moved in, Sam, and I'm pretty sure I know more about you than I do about him, given how much he talks about you."

Sam's world is starting to tilt on an axis, but he's saved from having to speak up by Ms. Jackie throwing in her two cents. "You know he hates the smell of the flowers he buys from me for y'all's table every week," she says, tone full of faux nonchalance. "Says they're a little too fragrant for his nose because of the serum, but he buys 'em anyway because you always smile when you see he's brought home fresh ones."

Ms. Sheryl's lips quirk up. "You know he replaced damn near every faucet in my house as payment for me helping him with some of the most complicated bits of that sweater he knit you for Christmas. Said it had to be perfect because he knew how cold you always get any time you have to go north of here."

Ms. Maybelle comes in with the final blow, and it hits Sam like the steel chair in all the WWE shows AJ insists on watching every week. "And it ain't like you don't do the same things neither, Sam. Every time I see you it's, 'Hey, Ms. Maybelle, how you been? You wanna see this cute picture I got of Bucky and the cats earlier? They fell asleep on the porch swing he built for us.' You spent the first five minutes of the book club session two months ago debating whether or not Bucky should grow his hair out because he wanted new opinions that weren't yours, and at least half of that was you trying to explain how nice he looked before with the long hair even though it was greasy, but how you like the way the short hair feels when he has his head in your lap on movie night."

Sam doesn't really know how he can defend himself here, but he's got some argument on the tip of his tongue about how their couch was just a little too small for the both of them and their cats, so the head in the lap was the obvious solution. He doesn't think it'll do much damage control, but he thinks he should at least make the attempt.

Instead, he turns back to Ms. Josephine kind of on autopilot. "He called me an angel?" he asks, his heart a little fluttery, and Ms. Josephine just smiles.

"I'll, uh, see you all here same time next month?" he asks as a kind of permission to leave. "I think I might need to go see what my roommate is up to."

"Bring your boy with you next time, Sam," Ms. Sheryl replies, nodding him towards the door. "It's much more fun to tease you both together."

#hello it is once again time for 'mak loves nothing more than to write the older delacroix ladies who love sam and bucky' #shout out to ms maybelle for taking no prisoners #thanks for the ask a!!!! this was fun!! #sambucky #onlysambucky #only sambucky #buckysam #sam wilson x bucky barnes #bucky barnes x sam wilson #sambucky fic #otp: i’m coming with you #sam wilson #mak writes #livingincolorsagain #ask meme #writer meme #ask game #ask #marvel

[tistheblackraven]

Please stop showing me T*m*rry posts. I know I'm mentally unstable, but I have to draw the line somewhere.

#i dont wanna see anymore tomarry in my for you page thank you so much #i am not going to tag the ship because it'll just mak it worse #harry potter #voldemort #fictional characters #wizarding world #death eaters #harry james potter

[mushroom-for-art]

Some randomly generated mewtwo designs Ive done that are adopted, likely more to come too! (I'll just keep adding to this post as I finish em) Generator made by @the-mew-crew! You can find the link in the reblogs

#my art #My base #Randomly generated mewtwo #Adopted designs #I can't recall the username of the person who made the random generator so if somebody could let me know please :'( #pokemon #mewtwo #While I have posted the base for use by people I will accept like requests like if you put in details/traits of a mewtwo I could try to mak #Or send in a ref description ect on an ask and I could knock up a mewtwo for ya if you don't have access to art #<- meaning like no art programs for urself what not I'll accept commissioned art as ref for example #thank u again for finding the generator link and user @alpha-mimikyu-313! #Absolutely heaven sent im just sorry I never saw it earlier!

[firstelevens]

hi zainab!!!! 2, 3, 6, and 29 for the fic writer ask???

Hi Mak! Thank you for sending these in!

2. Do you read/reread your own fics?

Yes, because I am absolutely my own biggest fan!

On a much more practical note, sometimes I reread because it's part of a series and I'm checking a canonical detail (although if it's in the Bake Off AU I'm better off just asking @sesamestreep, who is the official lorekeeper and knows that universe's canon better than I do.) Other times, there's a fic where I just really like what I did with a character's voice or the general tone of a scene and I'll go back just to get a feel for what I did the last time.

3. What’s your favorite fic that you’ve written?

I mean, the Bake Off AU has my whole heart and there's so much of me in it that it will always be special to me BUT!!! I really love the Thunderbolts-era epistolary fic counted days, counted miles because I think it's an exercise in me managing to show writerly restraint, which is a skill I'm still working on. (And also I got to come up with so many fun spy tricks for hiding letters; it was great.)

6. Are there any fics from others you reread all the time?

How fortuitous that you picked this question when I have reread wish that i could wind (like a spiral stair through time) FIVE TIMES in the past month. That fic is a work of art. I am also never far from rereading and never ever watch the ten o'clock news, which is Emma's phenomenal Psych AU of Rogue One which is just so wonderful and funny and it continues to hold up. Oh also! There's don't read the last page, which is a Brooklyn Nine-Nine fic that is short and sweet and just so warm and cozy and I go back to that one a lot just for the mood of it.

29. Share a bit from a fic you’ll never post OR from a scene that was cut from an already posted fic.

Okay so this question reminded me that there's a 1200 word scene from the Formula 1 AU that was originally going to be the epilogue but got canned which SUBSEQUENTLY reminded me that there's a whole scene that I wrote for the Bake Off AU that got cut from Chapter 6 because things ended up going another way!

The beginning will looks familiar if you remember anything from that chapter, but then there's a sharp left turn that involves the lost plot point of Becca Barnes creeping on Joaquín's thirst trap and restaurant review filled Instagram in order to figure out where Bucky could go for dinner. I was sad to lose it tbh but the restaurant still made it into the fic as the place where Sam and Bucky go out on their definitely-not-a-date in Chapter 10.

A peek at the alternate timeline under the cut!

Bucky is starfished on his bed, trying to muster the energy to get up when his phone rings. His eyes are squeezed shut, but he opens one to peer at the screen. He only answers because it’s Becca, but he’s too tired to do more than grunt into the phone when he picks up.

“Good day, huh?” she asks, laughing when he just groans in response.

“Hope yours was better than mine,” Bucky says, when he finally manages to talk. “How’s day shift treating you?”

“I’m discovering that there’s this thing in the sky called the sun, and it provides light? And makes people happy? Do you think other people know about it? Should I be telling them?”

He laughs tiredly. “You can use all this newfound energy to make a TikTok about it.”

“I’ll get on that,” Becca says. “What about you? You okay?”

“Yeah,” says Bucky, bringing his hand up to his face. “I just need to lie down for a while.”

Not that lying down for the past half hour has helped, but he’s got high hopes for that sixty minute mark.

“No, what you need to do is eat something,” Becca says, sounding remarkably like their mother. “Tell me your head isn’t hurting right now.”

Bucky freezes, his fingers still pressed into his temples. “It’s creepy when you do that, you know.”

She laughs. “I know. Hey, why don’t you go to that place that you and Steve went to all the time, the one with the waffles?”

The last time Bucky had been there, four years ago, he’d spent the entire evening bickering companionably with Sam while Steve dealt with a work emergency. It had felt remarkably like flirting, and he’d even thought about asking Sam to get a drink sometime—and then Bucky had been eliminated after the next day’s Showstopper, and that put an end to that.

He shakes his head to clear it. “I’m tired, Bec, and they pick us up at like, six AM. I think I might just grab something from the convenience store.”

“Buck, I spend half my time listening to newborn babies cry and that is still the most pitiful thing I’ve heard this week. You are not eating yogurt for dinner alone in your hotel room.”

Bucky huffs. “Well, I’d grab a random stranger off the street to join me, but I’m not looking to get murdered today, Rebecca.”

He can hear the sound of Becca typing, doing the thing where she studiously ignores his asshole behavior until he comes around and starts acting a more like a person. It’s annoying how well it works. 

After a minute or two of typing and what he assumes is scrolling, she lets out a, “Huh.”

When he waits for her to elaborate and she doesn’t, Bucky sighs. “What is it?”

“Do you know a Joaquín Torres?”

It’s far from the question he was expecting but Bucky answers in the affirmative. “He’s a baking consultant on the show.”

More typing. “Does he have good taste?”

There’s a tiny, childish part of Bucky that wants to say no, because Torres is chirpy and bright-eyed and his unfailing enthusiasm is exhausting at times, but that would be a lie. “Yeah, he knows his stuff. Why?”

“He lives in Atlanta; he posts about a lot of local hidden gems. There’s a Tunisian restaurant a couple blocks from your hotel, apparently? Kind of looks like a hole in the wall but he says the food is amazing.”

“I don’t know, Bec. It’s late and eating out alone is depressing.” His limbs feel heavy, and his shoulder is starting to hurt from having the prosthetic on for so long, and he knows that food would make his headache go away, but he just can’t drag himself off the bed.

Like Becca knows what track his mind is on—and honestly, she probably does—, she chooses this moment to go for the knockout. “Come on, Buck; it’s my job to look out for you, and you’re too far away for me to drag you out to dinner and make sure you eat. Throw a girl a bone here.”

She’s too powerful for her own good.

Bucky drags a hand down his face, sighing again. “You know, I hear some people don’t let their baby sisters tell them what to do all the time.”

“Poor them,” says Becca.

“Poor them,” echoes Bucky, and asks her to text him the address.

When she does, he looks it up and realizes that it really is only two blocks away: completely walkable, even in Atlanta’s late spring heat, and only a little further than the convenience store where he’d planned to grab his apparently pathetic dinner.

It’s only when he gets to the door of the restaurant that he remembers it’s a Saturday night and he probably should have thought to make a reservation. The place only has a handful of tables to begin with, and they’ve all got people at them. The host already has an apologetic look on his face as Bucky walks in, but they both turn in surprise when they hear someone inside the restaurant call out to him.

“Bucky!” says Joaquín, as brightly as ever. “Come sit with us.”

Because the universe has a sense of humor, ‘us’ is of course Joaquín and Sam, who are having dinner together. Alone. On a Saturday night.

It can’t be a date, Bucky reasons. No one would invite a random acquaintance to third-wheel their date, right?

He realizes that he still hasn’t responded when the host assures him that of course they’ll be able to add another place setting to the table, and before he knows it, Bucky is being whisked over to their table.

Whatever mood had settled over Sam after the signature today seems to have dissipated, and he turns to Bucky with a grin on his face. “I hope you trust Torres over here, because he ordered way too much food for us and didn’t let me see the menu.”

Joaquín shrugs. “I come here a lot,” he says. “Not enough people know about it, but it’s amazing.”

“Which is why he’s on a mission to be their one-man marketing team,” says Sam. “We got here half an hour ago and he’s already posted on Instagram like, ten times.”

Bucky thinks of the sound of Becca on her computer as she’d talked to him earlier, how she’d pivoted from suggesting the diner he’d probably have ended up at to this specific restaurant, and suddenly, this coincidence feels markedly less like a coincidence.

He’d probably feel more annoyed about it if he didn’t spend the meal close enough to Sam for their shoulders to constantly be brushing. Torres is right; the food is great, but if anyone asks, Bucky’s pretty sure the only thing he’d be able to recount is how many times Sam touched his arm to ask him to pass things, or dished some more food onto his plate, or gently nudged him while telling Joaquín stories of their time filming season two.

When the check comes, Bucky insists on paying, to make up for crashing Sam and Joaquín’s dinner, and as they stand on the sidewalk outside the restaurant, Joaquín offers to drop them off at the hotel on his way home. He’s about to accept when Sam waves it off. 

“I think we’ll just walk back,” says Sam. “It’s so nice out, and the hotel’s probably closer than your car is.”

There’s a moment where all three of them silently commiserate over the trials of city parking, and then Joaquín says he’ll see them tomorrow and heads off.

Bucky glances sidelong at Sam, whose eyebrows are knitted together as he looks down the street towards their hotel. He can see the entrance from where they’re standing, but Sam gently touches his elbow and nods down the street to their left—the long way, Bucky realizes, a moment too late.

#bisamwilson #zainab does ask meme things #thank you for these Mak! #I had COMPLETELY forgotten that I had this little bit of the Bake Off AU lying around; I hope it's an entertaining what if

[harri-etvane]

I'm curious about "Let yourself be held" 👀

Loosely inspired by this tumblr post that is just SO Maks/Vova coded it's actually ridiculous 🥺

Here's a wee snippet for you under the cut; it's slowly turning into potentially the most overt Maks / Vova thing I've written. I'm usually one for everything just beneath the surface, but who knows, they might even confront it all in this one.

(If I ever finish and post it)

Maks tells himself it's because it's cold. That's all. Nothing more. There's nothing behind it, save for the barest human ache to be warm - one tiny little scrap of comfort amongst all this chaos, all this barefaced agony.

Surely that's all it is.

He hears a tiny, slurred mumble - feels a freezing hand grasping onto his shirt, dragging him closer with surprising force.

"Stay--"

Maks stares at the ceiling and feels his heart somewhere in his ribcage singing.

#thanks for asking love x #harriet writes #is harriet writing about maks and vova again? yes

[eenochian]

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZGJt2Su3x/

Okay, this but with Makarov and it’s objectively more fucked up

I know myself well enough to know that I’d end up in the same situation 😭 “Watch me fall in love with a Russian man in a gulag” would be my video

Honestly a penpal situation sounds so interesting— but like. Exactly as you said. Make it more fucked up. Makarov escapes the gulag and comes to find you, reader has to deal with their “sweet” penpal suddenly showing up at their door. Reader never knew about the full extent of his crimes, just that he was spending life behind bars, and only finds out how “bad” he is after he escapes. Or, Reader jokes about getting married (“we talk so much, we might as well be married” y’know smth like that) and Makarov takes it literally.

I’m not saying I’d write/read that so quickly but if he broke out for Reader, and we got some obsessive Makarov… I’d fold 🫣

#genuinely i need to be studied bc why am i smiling at this thought #there’s so many ideas here #and so much potential for obsessive!Mak that i utterly love #thank you for putting this thought in my head. it’s going to be in there all day now #because ohhhhhh my god everything from the letter exchange to the breaking out FOR reader is making me twirl my hair #reader can return or the love could be unrequited. my personally i’d fall in love bc obsessive Makarov 🤭

[beedreamscape]

(It was this I wrote months[?] ago btw)

I hope when we see Opal again she'll be dripping in black goo like a bird fresh out of the petroleum spill

#aabria mak it happen. thanks #but seriously #i just love the concept #why does lolth do this? for the aesthetic probably #cr opal #(i mean we all knew it was gonna happen eventually. but by God how we waited) #(im still not aware if there's more goop or not) #(i hope she finds understanding with laudna's goopiness one day) #cr stuff

[sexysilverstrider]

im thankful for everything but above all alhamdulillah im thankful for being childless 💕💕💕

#bro the freedom i hv???? alhamdulillah #like ofc im still under my parents #but having a kid is just. not it for me #i cannot n will not sacrifice my time n life for somethng so fragile #im forever thankful for my mak #but i can never be my mak #i dont ever want to be a mak period lol #anyways went out 💗💗 yippee 💕💕 #imagine if i say this on insta lmao id be hunted for sport #fafar yaps

[thatmexisaurusrex]

I was tagged by the magnificent @bisamwilson. Thanks, Mak! Here are my top seven songs in my on repeat! I wasn't sure what they would be but these don't surprise me haha

No pressure tagging 🤔 @funsized-loser, @quimbolgees, @exbex, @meidui, and @jonkentt and like whoever wants to do this! 😆

#tag game #lol i always forget the cover art for rush #this was fun #thanks for the tag mak!

[bisamwilson]

20 for those kiss prompts!

#20: ...on a scar

Bucky's arm hurts.

It always does on days like this, rainy and cold and gloomy. His shoulder starts to ache and the fingers he no longer has begin to itch. His prosthetic, light as it is compared to the old one, feels like it's weighing his entire body down.

He goes about his morning slowly, shuffling from the half full pot of coffee Sam made before his run over to the couch and burrowing himself under the blankets. He turns on a trashy reality show, something about a group of moms trying to date younger men from a pool of all their sons that Joaquín and Kate have been making jokes about for weeks.

It doesn't much keep his attention, as ridiculous as it is, and he spends the next half an hour or so barely watching and debating the merits of leaving his shoulder free of his prosthetic today.

He decides it's probably a good idea about a minute before Sam walks through the door, soaked through from his run but grinning a mile wide. "Mornin', baby. Jay and Kate got you watchin' that MILF show again?"

Bucky rubs at his shoulder but still smiles at Sam, hoping it doesn't look too much like a grimace. "I've never been more confused by the interests of the youth."

Sam carefully sets his water logged tennis shoes on the rubber mat by the door, and grabs the towel he'd left nearby to dry off just enough to not drip all over their floors. Bucky just stares as he dries off, always happy to indulge in his favorite form of birdwatching, and keeps a steady massaging pressure on his shoulder.

When Sam judges himself sufficiently dry, he immediately walks over to the couch rather than towards the hot shower he should be bolting for. He nods at Bucky's shoulder. "Need some help there?"

Bucky rolls it gently and shakes his head. "That can wait. You need to take a shower first, Sammy. Get warmed up. Can't have Cap in bed with pneumonia."

Sam jerks his head lightly in the direction of their bedroom. "Gotta wait for the water to heat up anyway. And a little bit of running in the rain isn't gonna give me pneumonia, baby," he says, pulling Bucky up from the couch and failing to hide his shiver. "You worry like a mother hen."

Bucky follows behind him to the bathroom mostly because he knows arguing will only keep Sam out from under the warm spray for even longer. He goes about turning on the water to Sam's preferred temperature as Sam strips off each article of wet clothing one by one, wincing a bit as the waterlogged fabric clings to his skin.

Bucky waits until he hears the loud, wet clop of each article hitting the floor before turning away from the shower and back towards Sam. He makes a show of looking him up and down and smiling as wolfishly as he can muster, but Sam just chuckles and rolls his eyes in response before walking up close to him.

He leans down and presses the lightest of kisses to the spot where Bucky's arm meets his shoulder, barely brushing his lips over the scarring, before pulling back. He waits.

"Help me take it off?" Bucky asks, the ache a little too strong to really ignore now, and Sam just nods, carefully going through the motions of releasing the arm and setting it aside gently, the way he's done countless times on countless days like this.

The mirror starts to fog up, and Bucky reaches his right arm into the shower to test the water, nodding when he finds it sufficiently warm. He shoves off the sweats and the briefs he's wearing and kicks them both to the side.

"Come on," he says, lightly grabbing Sam's wrist and tugging him towards their shower. "Gotta make sure you get warm, sweetheart."

He steps in first, and keeps a hold of Sam's wrist as he follows to guide him immediately under the warm spray. He doesn't reach out to grab any soaps or lathers just yet, just pulls Sam close and loosely wraps his arm around his waist, holding them both under the water at least until Sam's shivers stop.

It's easy enough to tell when Sam's sufficiently warm by the way he cuddles in closer to Bucky's embrace, no longer trying to hide his light trembling with distance. Bucky grabs Sam's soap and a soft washcloth from the caddy hanging behind him. Sam presses another light kiss to the scarring on his shoulder.

Bucky's arm hurts just a little less.

send me a ship and a number and i'll write a kiss!

#thank you for the ask zainab <3 #bucky barnes #sam wilson #sambucky #buckysam #onlysambucky #only sambucky #winterfalcon #marvel #otp: i’m coming with you #mak writes #ask game #ask meme #writer meme #firstelevens #ask #kiss meme

[siilvan]

Since I read bloodsport, I was trying to remember who Makarov and Petra reminded me of and I finally remember especially after reading that piece of him and Mini talking.

They remind me of Klaus and Caroline (Klaroline) from the vampire diaries, the way Klaus would always let Caroline have her way and save her at every turn even though he shouldn't want to just like Makarov is doing and I fell in love with your fic even more now so yeah that's it! I love your writing and take as much time as you need to write because as a writer myself I know that it needs time, sending you all the love and support ❤️❤️❤️💓

AAAAAAAA YOU’RE TOO SWEET NONNIE 😭😭

I’ve never watched Vampire Diaries, but that’s pretty much exactly how I’d describe Makarov and Petra in that series: him letting her have her way and saving her at every turn, even though he knows shouldn’t.

But waghhhhh thank you 😭 I feel awful because I haven’t updated the fic in so long and I’m in the middle of the next chapter, but I just keep getting told not to force it and to write when I get the inspiration to – which, I’m hoping I’ll be able to muster up the rest of the chapter very soon. But, anyway, thank you so much nonnie 🥹🫶🩷🫶🩷

#also i highly recommend everyone read that piece with Mak and Mini on sofasoap’s blog #<- i recommend that blog in general. all bangers over there #but aaaaa thank you thank you this is so sweet i keep rereading it 😭 #sylph.replies

[firstelevens]

hi zainab!!

taylor swift prompt #15 + sambucky? (bc lord knows i've thought about writing a you belong with me inspired sambucky fic too many times)

15. a smile that could light up this whole town

Reading the room is one of Sam’s greatest skills as a teacher. It’s turned around any number of bad days, resolved countless conflicts, and prevented dozens of failed tests or quizzes.

It’s instinctive enough that when he dismisses his Honors American Literature class right as the bell rings, he’s not remotely surprised when the best student in his class joins the cluster of students around his desk, asking about test corrections and extra credit.

Once he’s sent the rest of them off with the answers they’re looking for, Sam turns to Cindy Moon, who’s fidgeting with the cuffs of her sweater and won’t quite look at him.

“Mr. Wilson, do you think you could write me a pass to stay here during study hall?” she asks, her voice shaking a little. “I know we don’t have anything in the works for philanthropy club, but maybe I could do some planning? Or some research, or something?”

Part of Sam wants to say no, because he had very specific plans for his end-of-the-school-day planning period, and having a student in the room will mean that he has to be in vigilant teacher mode for the next hour and a half instead.

The other part of Sam has not missed the fact that Cindy used to constantly be surrounded by a group of her fellow cheerleaders and an ever-present boyfriend—a senior from the football team, Sam thinks, but not one he’s ever taught—and now she’s always on her own, sitting at the opposite end of the classroom to the group she was inseparable from just two weeks ago.

It has to be worse today of all days: between singing candy grams and carnation deliveries and heart shaped helium balloons everywhere, Valentine’s Day has hit Excelsior Academy hard. He can’t blame her for wanting to escape.

Sam is already reaching for the stack of blank passes before he speaks. “I could use some help organizing the classroom library, if you’re up for it? I had freshmen searching for books to write their reviews on, and they basically destroyed it.”

Cindy agrees, her voice still tremulous, and runs the pass down the hall to Rhodey in the physics lab. She comes back in as Sam is erasing the board, slinging her backpack onto a desk before moving towards the bookshelves that line the back wall of the classroom. 

Sam’s class library is his pride and joy, nearly two hundred books that he painstakingly chose and catalogued over the years. The freshmen were enthusiastic in searching for books, but less so in putting them back. Sam had taught them the last period of the day yesterday, and there had been an English department meeting—useless, but then most meetings were, under John Walker’s tenure as department head—so he only had time to throw them onto the shelf and rush over to the other side of the school.

Clearly, Cindy is aware of this on some level, because when he looks back at her, she’s got the first shelf’s worth of books separated across five different desks, one for each genre. He’s about to thank her for taking this so seriously when there’s a knock on the doorframe.

Standing just outside the classroom is Bucky, a handful of students peering around him.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Barnes?” asks Sam, capping his dry erase marker and waving the group into the room.

“They finally got someone in to fix the leak in the AC vent,” says Bucky, “but it means the room is unusable for the rest of the day. Can the yearbook kids and I camp out in here?”

“Of course,” says Sam. He turns to the kids. “I recommend the desks by the bulletin board, if you need to plug in laptops.”

Peter and Ned and Kamala head over to the desks nearest the outlets. MJ and Miles come in carrying a large posterboard, and behind them, America is carrying a stack of shoeboxes.

“Is it okay if we push some desks together?” asks Miles. “We’ll put them back before we leave.”

His question is underscored by the sound of both girls shifting desks and chairs behind him to make a larger work surface, and Miles winces. Sam laughs a little and tells him that it’s fine, and the three of them open up the boxes and start placing paper cutouts on the poster board.

“Testing layouts,” says America, when she sees him looking. “Sometimes it helps to do it physically instead of onscreen.”

“Mr. Barnes suggested it,” explains Miles, just in time for Bucky to reappear in the doorway.

“I’m only taking credit if it works,” Bucky says, turning sideways so he can get through the door with the two overstuffed tote bags over one shoulder and a backpack over the other.

“You see that?’ Sam asks, crossing the classroom to take one of the bags. “You haven’t even started and he’s already abandoning ship. Some captain, huh?”

“I’m a navigator at best,” says Bucky. “MJ’s captain; she’s the one at the top of the masthead.”

Across the room, Peter grins at MJ and gives her a little salute. Sam catches a smile crossing her face before she bites it back.

“Mr. Barnes is a pretty good navigator, though. He brought us cookies today.”

“Oh, shit,” Bucky says, and the kids seem unfazed the mild expletive. “Where’d I put the cookies?”

Sam looks into the bag that he’s holding and pulls out two boxes of pink frosted sugar cookies, complete with sprinkles and little candy hearts pressed into each one.

“Valentine’s themed and everything,” he says, grinning at Bucky. “Mr. Barnes, who knew you felt so strongly about the holiday?”

“He doesn’t,” says Ned. “Or, well, he does, but the other way.”

“Oh?’ asks Sam, as Bucky sets the box of cookies on an empty desk and sets a box of tissues beside them, his back to Sam. “And what way is that?”

“He said it was a consumerist holiday that doesn’t have anything to do with the history of all the different Saints Valentine. And then he taught us about Captain Cook attempting to kidnap people and getting killed for it.” Kamala finally looks up from her laptop. “That part was really interesting, actually.”

“Thanks,” Bucky says drily, opening the second box of cookies. “And I don’t want to see you all making a mess of Mr. Wilson’s room with these cookies, okay? We’re guests here and we’re going to clean up after ourselves.”

The yearbook kids murmur in assent. Sam glances over at Cindy, who’s still quietly sorting the bookshelves. He’s about to tell her to join them when Bucky beats him to it.

“Cindy, you’re welcome to have some, too,” he says. “And if you want any help organizing, you can absolutely conscript Ned and Peter and Kamala, because Michelle didn’t even give them an assignment for today, so I know they’re not actually working on anything for the yearbook right now.”

She hesitates for a moment, then sets down the stack of books and walks to Sam’s desk to use the hand sanitizer. “I like those flowers, Mr. Wilson,” she says, gesturing to the arrangement that had been waiting on Sam’s desk when he got in this morning. “They’re really pretty.”

Sam can’t help but smile when he looks over at the flowers. “Thanks, Cindy,” he says. Then, to the rest of the classroom: “I think Valentine’s Day is nice. We could all use a reminder to tell the people we care about that we’re thinking of them, even if that reminder is the day that a guy died for being kind to people.”

“There’s nothing wrong with celebrating Valentine’s Day,” says Bucky. “I just thought it was worth the reminder that our cultural traditions aren’t universal.”

“And also that colonizers getting taken out is a net gain, as far as the universe is concerned,” adds MJ, and Bucky’s lips twitch with a bitten-back smile.

“That, I can agree with,” says Sam. “So am I allowed to have one of these not-actually-for-Valentine’s-Day Valentine’s Day cookies?”

Before he can even step towards the box, Bucky is holding one out to him. Sam takes it with a smile and settles back in at his desk, scooting over to make room for Bucky to join him if he wants.

He does, after a moment, pulling over one of the chairs that MJ and America moved.

“Thanks for letting us hang out in here,” he says, pulling out a stack of tests to grade. “If you’d said no, I don’t know who would have let us in.”

“You mean you don’t know who would have let you get a bunch of teenagers hopped up on sugar in their classroom,” says Sam, holding out a red pen. He nods over to where the kids are now sitting on top of the desks, work abandoned in favor of comparing the messages on their conversation hearts. Cindy, he notes with some relief, has joined them.

Bucky takes the pen and waves his free hand. “Minor detail at best. And you got something out of it, too, didn’t you?”

Sam looks back down at the cookie in his hand and shrugs. “I mean, I’d have preferred homemade,” he says, trying not to grin, “but I guess this works.”

Laughing, Bucky elbows him gently and turns back to grading.

— —

That evening, when Sam’s doorbell rings, he answers it and leans against the doorway, blocking the entrance.

“What are you doing here?” he asks. “I thought Valentine’s Day was a consumerist holiday with no historical merit.”

“Peter and Michelle saw us together at that Italian place last weekend!” says Bucky. “I had to throw them off the scent!”

“Uh-huh,” says Sam, arms crossed and unmoving.

“Did you like the flowers, at least?”

Sam glances over at the vase that he brought home from school, now sitting on the mantelpiece. “Maybe.”

“I love you?”

“Is that a question now?”

Bucky huffs. “I brought you wine from that one tiny vineyard you love, and I have The Princess Bride and The Shop Around the Corner, and there’s no one I’d rather spend the day with, and I love you, Sammy. Happy Valentine’s Day.”

For a moment, Sam considers him. Then, he steps aside and waves Bucky in, shaking his head at the triumphant grin that spreads across his face.

“Fine, but only because I want to know what wine you picked,” he says, and immediately disproves it by leaving the bottle on the credenza and hauling Bucky in for a kiss.

#look it had to be the teacher AU because you can't have YBWM without incorporating SOME of those vibes at least #I wrote this instead of working on the bake off au and I regret nothing #sambucky #thank you for the prompt Mak! #my fic #taylor swift prompt fics #if I'd had any foresight I would have written Emma some Parks and Rebellion for our friendaversary but I forgot the date #and didn't realize it until someone texted to wish me happy galentine's day #EDIT: SO MANY TYPOS why didn't I PROOFREAD this #sambucky and co teachers au

[harri-etvane]

Angsty sentence starters: #17

Vova/Maks

<3

"Tell me what I can do to make you stay?"

Vova's voice is soft in the darkness of the tiny bedroom, one hand idly running through Maksym's short dark hair, thumb tracing a slow circle against the other man's temple. His question is patient, but there is a shard of need that runs through it, savagely glittering in the faint light.

He cannot imagine facing this, all this - without Maksym by his side. The thought is terrifying in its enormity.

Maksym swallows, reaching up and linking his fingers with Volodymyr's free hand.

"Tell my commanding officer I don't need to be rotated out. Tell him I don't need-- I don't want a break.."

Vova shifts a little, sighs and Maksym looks up at him from where he lies, his head in Vova's lap.

"Want and need are two different things, love."

"I need you.. to be with you."

"Yes- but you need a break, too." His own exhaustion is mundane now, everyday - he can push it to one side - but he knows that Maks feels it too, even if he doesn't wear it in the same ways and Vova cannot be the one to drag him to the limits of what he can endure.

"Come away, with me?" Maksym blurts it out, the thought ridiculous really; the idea that Vova could, would even, drop everything - the country, his people - just to go away for a while.

Volodymyr laughs, soft and sad, and regret circles in Maksym's stomach then, hating the sadness that he has called up. Vova's voice is ever quieter as he sits in the dark, confronted again with the enormity of this struggle.

"Maybe some other time."

#idk this one is bad sorry anon - I was going to add it onto the endlessly miserable arc I seem to have begun for all the others #(Maks and Vova crouched somewhere in a forest - and all that blood was never once beautiful it was just red) #but I wanted to try something else instead #thanks for asking anyway xx

[gejnialnie]

Rise Mikey and Leo for the character bingo? 👀

Mikey:

i love this big man, he scares me sometimes but that's ok he's allowed <2

Leo:

THAT'S TRIPLE BINGO?? fgsdajkf can you tell which turtle is my fave- this guy gives me so many conflicting emotions i want for him to be safe and happy but also absolutely destroyed- (that's a burden of being my fave honestly fgasdfjk)

#maks answers #thank u!