Y2K inspired fem!natsume 💗 ⚡ 🌈 

I...might have had a plunnie bite me earlier. After chewing through angles with @dogmatix​, I’m sending it out onto the tumbls for adoption if anyone wants it, because while a bit odd, it was interesting. Feel free to snag it if it caches your interest, just please let me and/or Dogmatix know!

This is a universe where Palpatine’s plotting don’t quite go according to plan. The invasion of Naboo goes down differently. Perhaps Obi-Wan dies, perhaps none of the Force users do. Either way, when Qui-Gon goes to remind Yoda that he is training the boy, Yoda reminds him that no, the boy will not be a Jedi.

So Qui-Gon quits. If Obi-Wan’s alive, that might well cement the rift between them (his death, on the other hand, might have been significant cause to Qui-Gon’s decision – goodness knows he doesn’t tend to be very rational when he’s got Heavy Emotions around). Qui-Gon sticks around Naboo to train Anakin, because Jedi or no the kid needs training. Padmé is happy to have the young hero remain, and in short order Shmi is brought in so there’s some pretext of a normal adolescence for young Skywalker.

Sidious, meanwhile, does not appreciate such potential slipping through his fingers. His conniving takes a different turn, as he settles on how to destroy the Jedi and the Republic.

Anakin grows up somewhat well-adjusted. He and Qui-Gon don’t always see eye-to-eye on this Force business, and he refuses to be a Jedi type. It’s just...not him. This does not always sit well with Qui-Gon. Meanwhile, Anakin and Padmé grow as friends, until one day there’s a distinct mutual ‘oh no, they’re hot!’ moment which confuses them both. By the time Padmé is looking to step down as queen, she and Anakin are in a quiet, background courtship that’s reasonable, sane, and willing to take its time.

Her people still want to elect her queen for life, and she decides to challenge some cultural issues. Sure, she’ll be queen – BUT her people have to accept she’s getting into a relationship and not doing the usual quit-for-family thing, she’s going to keep working.

Padmé is very confused when the vote passes, because this is not the outcome she expected. Once Anakin finds out that he’s not required to be royal consort or anything weird like that, he just goes back to being her primary cheerleader because of course the people adore her, duh.

Palpatine meanwhile agitates the galaxy towards becoming an Empire. It might be interesting if in this universe, the clones aren’t used for the war: instead, it’s all volunteers(/conscripts). The Jedi understandably can’t handle both leading and attacking living beings in a blasted WAR, so they nope out and try to negotiate things into peace, meaning everyone is pissed with them not taking a side. Propaganda works against them, and meanwhile Sidious keeps his pawns dancing closer and closer to declaring him emperor or the equivalent.

The Naberries – what, you didn’t think they’d take Anakin’s name, did you? - try to make a life for themselves in this chaos. Kids happen. Then, when there’s 3 or 4 spawn running around, Something Tragic Happens.

The initial thought was a vacation gone horribly wrong. Perhaps two kids stay at home – lingering illness with poor timing, or someone is VERY determined that they don’t wanna. Shmi and possibly Qui-Gon are available to help care for the kids, along with Padmé’s parents. Regardless, the end result is Anakin and Padmé get separated, both with a kid each. They have reason to think the other is dead, and with the Empire now on the horizon, they are on the run, and they have to take care of the child they managed to grab.

Alternatively: Qui-Gon didn’t quit, but was Most Put Out when Anakin didn’t join up with the Jedi. Poor Obi-Wan – living or dead – might well have been the point of contention between them. Yoda simply might have put his foot down, and no one was happy with that. Regardless, Qui-Gon proceeded to complain most bitterly to sympathetic ears, and already-a-Sith-apprentice Dooku realizes this is his moment to shine. He offers to help, traveling to Naboo to teach young Skywalker the ways of the Force and perhaps coax him into the Dark side joining the Jedi.

He becomes very frustrated to find that Skywalker is doing incredibly well in a stable and happy home environment, with familial support. He is even more irked to find that teaching the brat to tap into his emotions doesn’t lead the kid down the Dark path as hoped, but just makes him more Attached. Dooku doesn’t look forward to reporting the results to his Master, but keeps trying, and even starts to concoct a long con plot to have the child think that everyone is dead and gone. Perhaps Dooku really will kill them, but that’s a planned bonus, not a guarantee.

Unfortunately for Dooku, there’s two snags. First, he finds he is growing to like Skywalker. The utter insufferable brat is someone he is...urgh. Growing fond of. Meanwhile, the second snag is that Sidious is taking “go big or go home” to heart. Instead of dumping money into armor and transports and whatnot for clone armies, he’s directing those funds into creating the Deathstar.

It all comes to a head tragically, in a combination of unfortunate events. Anakin catches Leia taking out a starfighter, and he’s insisting that nope, she isn’t doing that...without him coming along. One of the younger ones followed Aunt Sola and the cousins into a shuttle, because they wanted to go on the trip too, and remains undetected in the hold for most of the trip. Padmé discovers her child’s absences, but since someone isn’t answering his comm, Anakin, she leaves a message and goes to fetch the kid herself. The youngest, however, isn’t ready to be left alone and insists (at full volume) at not being left behind. Fine. It will be a trip, an adventure, just between them.

They end up chasing the wrong shuttle, since Sola took advantage of royal connections and got upgraded to a much earlier flight.

Dooku catches wind of things shortly before shit hits the fan, and in a moment of desperation and begrudging affection, sets one of his lingering kidnapping plans into motion. Shmi and Luke are taken, grabbed by armored guards and forcibly removed from the planet. They are in hyperspace by the time the Deathstar arrives.

Anakin and Leia bear witness, from the far side of the moons. Sure, Anakin’s first instinct upon a whole new fucking moon appearing is to get away. The Force is screaming in his ear. He left his comm at home because he hadn’t meant to end up on a joyride, he’d just gone looking for his kids.

Padmé and the other children are in hyperspace when the Deathstar fires.

Perhaps this Deathstar was constructed too quickly. Perhaps something went wrong. Perhaps when Naboo explodes, it takes out the Deathstar with it.

Whatever the reason, both are destroyed, and there is suddenly so much death screaming through the Force. When Leia and Anakin come to, Naboo and the weapon are gone. To their best knowledge, so is everyone else.

Sidious takes his opportunity, manufacturing evidence that the Jedi were behind it. The galaxy does love a scapegoat, and the Order is decimated as war criminals, sheltered by none and assisted by only a few. As a native of poor, destroyed Naboo, there is so much sympathy for Chancellor Palpatine, who declares himself emperor because there must be order.

There is an Empire, and there is a Rebellion. Padmé dives into that, struggling to find something solid that she can work towards building. She tries so hard to neither smother nor be distant from her child, and she tells them many a tale of their father and siblings.

It only takes two kidnapping attempts by Imperial types to chase Anakin underground. He’s almost completely untethered, and only the need to make sure Leia is cared for keeps him (sort of) sane and functioning. He fakes smiles and leans on his earliest skills, and the underground swoop competitions earn a new champion. Leia adores flying, and her father throws himself into keeping the bikes in the best damn condition they have ever been in. They hop from planet to planet, never using their real names and trying to find out what happened.

(At some point, a young Han Solo decides he’s gonna try his luck with the pretty swoop chick at a bar. There’s middling success, but she seems more amused by him than not, and in verbal combat she bites back – that’s fun! They’re in a nice private booth in back when her mechanic ambles over, sitting down with new drinks for all 3 of them. She thanks him as “Dad,” at which point Han is suddenly VERY nervous. “So, uh, is this where you threaten me with a shovel?”

The racer laughs, so it’s not a total fail, but ‘Dad’ is giving him a mystified look like he’s now talking Shyriiwook. “Y’know, the ‘if you harm my daughter in any way–’”

Realization crosses his face, then fella gives him this absolutely incredulous expression. “Oh hells no,” he says, taking a drink. “Leia knows how to take care of herself.”

It’s matter-of-fact, such an offended declaration. Han looks over at Leia, who has a sweet smile that somehow is also all teeth.

Han’s not sure if he’s ever been that terrified and that aroused before.)

Shmi and Luke end up at a secret facility, either on Serenno or Kamino. They’re to be held there until Dooku arrives – he was on Naboo, and so never will. They’re kept under guard by the first stormtroopers, men who are well fed on Imperial propaganda (no matter that the Empire is brand new) and were bred to be loyal. Yet Shmi recognizes slaves, and Luke just flat out likes people. It doesn’t take long to make allies, then friends of their guards.

They get quite the shock when the guards finally remove their helmets. The brand new Empire had a swift influx of loyal soldiers, clones bred in secret and ordered to remain in their interchangeable armor. Bred to be loyal, and with a brain-washing chip for those who get too far out of line. Yet the clones are intelligent beings, and it doesn’t take long for them to see what the situation is. There starts to be whispers of dissent, though no one says the actual forbidden ‘rebellion.’

Shmi becomes a bit of a cornerstone for some of them, with o so carefully edited stories of her time as a slave – and what stories ‘she might have heard about those who claimed to have escaped.’ Luke becomes a mascot, especially once the clones realize the kid already knows how to use a blaster (and use it well!), not to mention how to fight. They like teaching him tricks, and learning about the outside galaxy at the same time.

Meanwhile, with nowhere else to turn and a young child that is strong in the Force, Sola Naberrie thanks whatever gods there are when she runs into a tiny group of Jedi. She has money, and she has the Naberrie name (and she has the ghost of Naboo, which is far greater currency in this horrible new galaxy) – she takes them in and begs them to teach the child of Padmé Amidala and Anakin Skywalker, because she can only hope that is something they might have wanted. The Jedi latch on to what little bit of hope they can find, because someone in their group remembers the horrible snafu that was Jinn and the supposed Chosen One.

Besides, what else is there?

At some point, of course, it all comes to a head. The Rebellion will face down the evil Emperor, and Padmé Amidala and her child will be happy to take point. Anakin and Leia keep company with the nefarious sorts that are the only types to mingle with Jedi or Rebel scum, and where else would you go when you need all the pilots you can get? Shmi and Luke refuse to remain slaves, and neither of them would ever give up on family, no matter how they might have found and adopted them – and the clones will only remain slaves for so long, too. The Jedi will have to fight, because that is all that is left, and Chosen One or not, they’ll take all hands that will join with them.

The road back together is just as rocky and improbable as the family’s survival, but survive it they will.

Blame It on Your Beats (8)

Chapter Content: Fluff, mushy song.

Summary: A brush with the underworld leads you on a run, away from what was supposedly your normal life, with Bucky Barnes. You two do not seem to be in sync as Bucky tries to keep you alive, trying your best not to kill each other. Or that’s what you think you are doing.

Series: contains smut, adult content in there somewhere in the future chapters so please look at the chapter content and warnings before you proceed.

Chapter Warnings: none.

A/N: This series is written for @littledarlinhavefaithinme ‘s MK Writing Challenge. Thank you so much for hosting. I am having a lot of fun with the prompts. But I am clearly behind schedule. Eep! Thanks for being so patient!

Tags for this fic are open

MASTERLIST

“Babe.”

“Hmm?”

“What about them? Do they look like they're a thing?”

Yukio turned into the direction Sonic was staring in, taking in your figure dressed in pink shorts and a floral halter top, sitting on the rock by the shore with Bucky, who was dressed in a red Hawaii shirt and black lounge pants. Your hands were busy scribbling something on a similar notepad Yukio had seen you work with yesterday.

“-I don't…” she heard you saying, watching you scrunch your nose at your partner with an offended gasp.

“Y/N,” Bucky stated with such a determined tone, “you were snoring last night.”

“Oh yeah? Well, so were you. And don't get me started on your stomach growls, hon,” you responded, huffing and going back to the pages in your lap. “I told you to go have your dinner but no! Why listen to me? Let's keep the whales awake at night!” you practically sang, swinging your head to add the sarcastic effect.

“Oh, I did bring early breakfast,” he added, bringing forward the tray of oysters into his lap, making your features turn a shade paler with a painful ache.

“No,” you whispered, closing your eyes in defeat and inching away from Bucky, “Bucky, no.”

“What? They are delicious!” He stated, opening one with a small knife he took out of his pants, making you squirm visibly as you inched away a little more and he shifted towards you to show you the glossy, mushy insides as he moaned about how delicious they looked.

You whimpered as he scooped out the insides and gulped them down in one go, forcing you to get up and walk away from him when he wanted you to try one.

“Just try one, doll. You'll love it!”

“Get that sea blob away from me!”

A few seconds later, it is Bucky walking away from you as you had your right arm extended in his direction, a giant furry brown spider sitting on the back of your palm.

“But look at how cute he is! Bucky, come on, it's just a spider.”

“No, it's not cute! Nothing about this monster is cute. Get that thing away from me! Y/N, I swear on all the songs you love-”

Your shriek filled the air swirling from the sea around you as Bucky picked you up and kept a strong hold around your waist as he bent you sideways keeping your arms away from him all the while telling you to ‘shake that crawler away’ while you chortled, your face turning red from the gut aching laughter at the assassin's actions on seeing the spider.

Yukio turned back to her girl. “Aww! They sure look cute together!”

“Mnh, I'm not convinced,” Sonic muttered, entwining her fingers in Yukio's.

Bucky had kept his early morning busy when he had reluctantly left your peaceful, snoring side to contact Stark, fill him in about your progress, do a recon of the hotel’s estate and know about the whereabouts of the man who had threatened to kill you.

“His name is Dexter Ian Christenson. Ex seal. Used to be a shadow hunter for the military’s gory operations once. This guy is as sane as the American Psycho according to the last evaluation the force did before he was compelled to take early retirement. He hasn’t been seen since the incident. Almost like the guy just ghosted. But Friday did pick up the vehicle he had been using the night before through the street cams. A rental under one of Eton’s shadow companies. Has been sitting at the same spot since that man dirtied my facility. He is either gone underground or is searching for the OWL that Y/N so blatantly took away from right under his nose. You know what this means, Barnes.”

Of course, he knew what that meant. If Dexter was as balanced as Tony was painting him in his head, you had a target on your head the moment he had set his eyes on you. Bucky was not ruling out the possibility of him tracking you down in search for the OWL. But what ticked him the wrong way was the conversation you and Dexter had when you were trapped in the lab, his words still crisp inside Bucky’s mind from what all he had heard over the comms. That man had been playing with you and if Bucky had read him right, he would have been elated that you got away with his trophy, making him savour the chase before he hunted you down for his pleasure. The mere thought of him in your vicinity had been enough to snap the firewood into two in his flesh hand when he, Jamal’s husband Ryan and Yukio had offered to help Meera with the evening’s bonfire preparation.

“I will never forgive you for this,” you muttered under your breath.

“It’s just one night,” Bucky retorted, straightening his silver striped tie over the blue sheen shirt you gifted him before buttoning the jacket on his suit.

“And that is one entire anomaly waiting to be unfolded,” you announced, pointing at the pages on the bed, “but you’d rather take me to this stupid evening where I know no one and everyone who knows me probably thinks I’m insane.”

You cursed at the satin blue ribbon coming and going out of everywhere from your front to your back, clearly not a riddle you were happy to be wound up in.

“Come here,” he sighed, taking the ends of the ribbons from your hands and pressing them in his mouth as he loosened the complex mess you had created over the gown. His light touch worked around you to create a symmetrical satin web, before turning you around to tie it up in a nice bow at the back.

You admitted to yourself to be quite impressed by his work, at the same time wondering who else- and how many ‘elses’- he had worked this art on.

“You cannot just lock yourself up in the room like this. You’ve been sitting here for almost the entire day, Y/N. Take a break from the puzzle solving, would you? Enjoy a little.”

You took in one quick breath to calm your nerves that were worked up at the simple graze of his fingers on your bare back.

“I know you think I don’t know much about you, Bucky, but one week is enough to read into what any Avenger likes or dislikes. So, don’t play the ‘loosen up a little’ act with me,” you glared at his reflection in the mirror, catching his brazen blue off guard.

“I may be socially awkward but I’m not dumb,” you added, making Bucky take a mental note to not give away any weakness in front of you that you might use to torture him later. The spider had been enough for the next six months.

But try as you may, he was never going to admit that he wanted to keep you close, in a crowd, where there were low chances of Dexter coming for your head on.

“You’re right,” he confessed, “I’m not much of a people’s person either. But, I’d rather bear the crowd outside than you sulking at the pages, cursing whatever ancient ruler came up with the ways to encrypt their love letters for their better half.”

You were wounded by the open attack for a moment but suddenly shut your mouth at another thought. “You know, a love letter is a good theory, maybe I could find a method to-”

“Get out of the room before I burn down every piece of paper in here.”

Bucky’s eyes didn’t falter with the statement and as much as you wanted to spew that he wouldn’t burn a thousand-year-old manuscript, the warning in his eyes made move towards the door.

“Fine,” your words quaked as your back hit the wall instead of going out the open door, “but just so you know, I’m a very lousy dance partner.”

So much for the questionable feelings, I had begun to have last night, you thought to yourself.

How much of it was questionable and how much of you was lousy, you were about to find out tonight.

“No.”

“Yes! It’s a tradition!”

You looked at Louise with as much of respectful disapproval you could manage before she effortlessly shoved your whole being smack into Bucky’s towering form.

“Come on, now,” she shouted for everyone to hear, “all the couples dance around the bonfire to mark the beginning of the local new year and kiss each other to close the vows you take for the new beginning.”

“Yeah,” Sonic quipped, a smirk on her face, “nothing says ‘I love you’ better than dancing to some blood ritual for the island nation’s inhabitants.”

See! She is clearly the sensible one. And Meera! Where. Is. Meera?

“As much as I’d love to correct my wife,” Meera spoke from the bar, putting down her bourbon to come and take her beloved’s hand, “this one tradition is really sacred and goes back ages. It’d be really lovely if all you would join us.”

Well, there goes the sensible one, clearly smitten under the moon.

The soft music on the piano started. Libet’s delay.

“Is there anything you’re good at?” Bucky surmised with a smirk, clearly enjoying the pissed look on your features.

It would’ve felt nice to come back with all the things you were brilliant at but the mental exhaustion from overworking on cracking the ancient codes had taken a toll over you. So, without a word, you started to head towards the bar before Bucky’s hand caught you.

“Wai-Wait,” he pleaded, positioning you back in front of him, “sorry. Just...let me guide you.”

He patiently waited with his hand open for yours.

With the silent ocean breeze teasing your nerve ends, making you want to curl up in a familiar warmth somewhere beyond all that came with a deadline and a death threat, you glided your palm into his metal, while his flesh hand went across your waist, drawing you closer.

Your body was already beginning to absorb the glow he was emanating, relaxing you with a welcoming surprise.

“Just work your sway with mine,” his pink lips covered in between the dense stubble spoke near you, his scent engulfing you from everywhere.

You synchronised your footwork with his, the sway of your hips at the movement of his feet, the push of his flesh hand to twirl you, the pull of his metal to dip you as he came down from the dazed high, breathing in your form like his personal ecstasy. Every breath in his movement gradually trickled over you, wiping off the dark thoughts, taking away the tightness of your worked up muscles, nullifying the threat that lingered somewhere out there.

How could his presence do this to you?

How could someone make you feel so much at peace with yourself?

And like a high note to mark the end, the music stopped and a song of windchimes filled the air, Meera declaring it as the time to close your vows.

Your reluctant yet curious gaze looked at your partner for further guidance.

The thought was one delicious invitation; one beautiful wave of desire passing through your chest to cut the distance between the two of you and finally answer the question of what he would taste like.

His personal oceans were dark with the same wonderful temptation and you had no idea how much restraint it took on his part to not completely crash on to you. Instead, he planted his inquisitive lips on your cheeks, igniting the latent seabeds inside you like neon blood running through every flora and fauna lighting up the entire undiscovered ocean.

And just like that, the daze lifted up with the sudden explosion of hip-hop reverberating through the speakers around the bonfire; Zemo the redhead doing the honours of taking over as the DJ for the night.

Needless to say, I keep her in check

She was all bad-bad, nevertheless (yeah)

It truly was a shock for Bucky to watch you bop your head at the new tune, only later realising it was more of wonderment to see you glow under the fire lamps- the golden hues doing no justice to the subtle stare you were giving him- and sway your head like that.

Callin' it quits now, baby, I'm a wreck (wreck)

Crash at my place, baby, you're a wreck (wreck)

Your heated body let go of the moderation, letting the tantalising feeling still on your cheeks work through your mind, swirling at the notes you were used to.

Needless to say, I keep her in check

She was all bad-bad, nevertheless

Callin' it quits now, baby, I'm a wreck

Crash at my place, baby, you're a wreck

You took him by his hands, making Bucky raise his hands and sway to the rhythm like you were showing him.

Thinkin' in a bad way, losin' your grip

Screamin' at my face, baby don't trip

Someone took a big L, don't know how that felt

Lookin' at you sideways, party on tilt

You were howling, completely letting the beats take over your senses, everything a sparkling blur. Everything except the stunning blue staring at you through the crinkled corners.

Ooh-ooh, some things you just can't refuse

She wanna ride me like a cruise and I'm not tryna lose

Bucky had no idea of his own happiness was bursting through his heart on watching you like this, his curious and appalled eyes never leaving your jumping figure.

Then you're left in the dust unless I stuck by ya

You're a sunflower, I think your love would be too much

Or you'll be left in the dust, unless I stuck by ya

You're the sunflower, you're the sunflower

“I told you I’m a lousy dance partner! I never said I was bad at dancing on my own.”

Your giggles filled the air while the cool sand under your feet made you shiver as you walked down the shore.

Bucky was quick to cover you up in his suit jacket as a laugh found its way out of him.

“Haha. For a second there I thought you were possessed or something,” he mentioned before bursting into giggles at his own joke.

“Hah!” you mocked a laugh back.

“Okay, I admit. I never saw you as someone with such...moves,” Bucky muttered, shrugging his shoulders.

“Yeah. The whole not knowing how to swim thing really threw you off balance, didn’t it, darling?”

Bucky licked his lips and smiled at you.

“You really surprise me, you know. In a good way,” he sighed, his hands in his pocket, his arms casually colliding into yours as you swayed with the lingering effects of the music and just a tiny bit of alcohol.

“Yeah?” you questioned his statement, “even after I nearly took you down yesterday in my anger right on this beach somewhere?”

Bucky’s uncontrollable laughter boomed around you, filling you up with the most pleasant heat in your cheeks on watching him like this.

“Oh yeah, right. You-” he tried to dam his laughter now and then but failed miserably- “you...yeah you definitely took me down. It scared the hell out of me. My life definitely flashed before my eyes. What? I swear on...on...umm...yes! I swear on that constellation I was scared.”

You poked him with your elbow. “Don’t destroy my constellation, you dweeb!”

“Aw, doll,” he enunciated, tilting his head in sympathy, “for all we know that constellation is dead already. Your love letters would be older than this.”

You scoffed before rerunning that thought inside your head, your pace slowing down a little.

“I’m sure I’m outliving them by some margin right now,” he added, walking ahead before realising you were not beside him.

Bucky turned around and found you with a lost expression hovering over your face. “Y/N?” he called out your name but all he got was a silent stare that passed through him into some invisible void.

“Call Tony,” you announced to him with a whisper, “now.”

Within seconds Tony was on the other end, wondering what trouble you two were running into.

“The order of the constellation they worshipped,” was all you said into the phone. And like some unspoken arrangement, Bucky heard Tony call Friday to mark the constellation in the sky during the time OWL was created and asked her to mark the translations you had done for him to be lined in that order.

Two minutes of killing silence later, you hear Tony give out a curse.

“What? Did it work? Tony! Did it work?” your trembling voice called out in urgency to him.

“Y/N,” Tony announced, “do you realise you just discovered a new element made by the old-timey folks?”

The amount of air you wanted to take in could not fit into your lungs as your wide eyes locked with Bucky before jumping up in muted joy.

“Good work, kiddo. Banner will love this.”

For the life of you, you could not find it in yourself to stay on your feet as Bucky got infected by your goofy smile before you finally landed in his arms.

“See!” you giggled close to his face as he chucked you up into the air, “I am good at stuff. This time you helped but I am good at stuff!”

Bucky chortled at your words dripping in victory as he swung you around a bit recklessly, making you scream and wrap your arms around his neck in a secure lock.

And to catch your breaths, your foreheads came together to rest in a symphony, your thumping chests marring the air with the heat they were radiating, your wide grins slowly melting into hints of a smile as the heaviness of this tantalization struck your chords.

You took the liberty to move your fingers at the back of Bucky’s neck through his hair while your parting forehead made you bring your lips forward to his in the heat of the moon grazing his glistening pale skin in contrast to his stubble and those heavily painted lips in the colours of morbid curiosity.

Suddenly the music started over again in the lawn somewhere in the background unbeknown to the two lost souls that were you and Bucky.

I know you're scared of the unknown (-known)

You don't wanna be alone (alone)

I know I always come and go (and go)

But it's out of my control

You wanted a confirmation from him before you could allow yourself to lose your existence in his silver ocean that was anything if not inviting you inside the deep waters.

And you'll be left in the dust, unless I stuck by ya

You're a sunflower, I think your love would be too much

Bucky’s thoughts were a mess as soon as your eyes picked on his pulsating lips. The caged enchanted essence driving itself through the roof at the first whiff of your hot nerves vaporizing your delicious scent. And just as you asked him without any words, he tightened his grip on you, driving your already close body closer to him before meeting your lips.

Or you'll be left in the dust, unless I stuck by ya

You're the sunflower, you're the sunflower, yeah

The supple clash sent stars all through your body that were exploding as they passed every layer of you.

You and Bucky closed your eyes and got lost in the big bang of your making at the edge of the ocean.

Continued here

TAGLIST

Permanent

@magiclolipopqueen  @choke-me-sweet-pea  @smexylemony  @hazzastyles2471 @lokis-lady-death  @lokixme  @l0kisbitch  @tarithenurse  @hiddlestonstansworld @itheoneofmanyfandomsi @nalokoniloki @fuckidontknow @qualitynerdwasteland @cryinglots @unipanda1006 @literalangels @meganlikesfandoms  @kcd15

BIOYB

@klmpun

So I'm still - still! - having panic attacks and self harm incidents courtesy of being harassed by the tradcraft mean girls last month, and it's bumming me out. (Don't send unprovoked insults and attacks to strangers; you don't know what they are going through or how it will affect them.) It's feeding into a lot of thinking I'm doing at the moment about the broken promise of the internet. How it does do all this cool stuff like link me with ideas and strangers and make me feel a part of global communities and invested in all sorts of people doing odd stuff. And yet also, it's always at the risk of assholes showing up and shredding you, and there's nothing you can do to prevent that. I think pagan tumblr has an especially bad crowd, but just in this last month I've put up with the same bullshit from like - my ferret forum. My origami forum. My artist trading card community. None of these are me picking fights with people, they're just people deciding that it's fun to stir shit with strangers on the basis of a 100 word post. The last time this happened badly, I had been out of the crisis ward for 2 days - so I messaged the person to say look, this isn't on, I don't want this kind of interaction online and they said "sorry im just tired" as if I wasn't still vomiting every time I consumed liquid. Part of the frustration for me is, for abuse related reasons, I know how badly this stuff fucks me up and have spent the last few years trying to change my relationship with the web to minimise it - I've unfollowed everyone who does it, stepped back from political blogs and conversations which tend to invite this kind of assholery, unfollow or block people instead of disagreeing with them, ghost-blocked a tonne of irl friends who behave like this online, and dumped anyone whose behavior extends to this in person. But no one can really stop drive-by hostility coming to find you. I'm thinking a lot about the Internet As Abuser. Bear with me. I find it hard to differentiate between voices on the internet, as I think most people do. You're not interacting with faces, just with text. I open my inbox and I don't know if I'm going to find supportive and kind messages from strangers, or strangers screaming in my face and telling me to die. Funnily enough, I'm frightened of reading my notes. Have been for years now. It's a pervasive sense of unsafety. It's the same person being unpredictably a source of comfort and a source of terror. It's not being able to defend yourself against it in any meaningful sense. Most of the people I chat to on tumblr are cool people who are lowkey my friends and who I've learnt a lot from. And three three or four times a year You know, it's just so normal. I've actually got a bit in my about where I say "please don't send me hate mail", but obvs no one takes the time to read that. It's normal to treat strangers like this and, if you're a really cool witch, it also boosts your "no one fucks with me" cred and nets you followers. Boy do I love being used as a box others use to clamber on top of. It's also mirroring problems I'm having in real life. Like, I'm afraid to leave the house or go anywhere or talk to anyone because I'm afraid of being attacked. So I spend a lot of time socialising on the internet instead where I - I'm too afraid to read my notes or my inbox or interact with anyone because I'm afraid of being attacked. I'm thinking about "creepy bus stop randos" as a comparable model for internet harassment and how to end it. To wit: three or four times a month ill be on a bus and some bloke will decide we are going to have a conversation, deliberately misread my body language, and saying "please go away and leave me alone" only makes things worse. Comparable in the sense that: 1) being in public is not consent to have conversations with you and 2) the onus is on the person starting the conversation to figure out whether their conversationee is into this kind of interaction and, if you're not sure, err on the side of not doing it. and 3) If the person seems to be uncomfortable, back off rather than inviting all your mates to have a go. I can't opt out of strangers getting in my personal space online or irl, and it bothers me a lot. I don't leave the house most days. And online, it causes problem like - far from hating creatives, I'm literally a full time working artist and author reliant on the web for work, except I'm too frightened to answer my work email or even look at it, and to update my brand blog or insta, and interact with people as I'm supposed to; I'm too frightened to work, but one can't opt out of the internet and be an artist these days. So it goes. My attitude is supposed to be "oh just ignore bullies and do your own thing", but like - this is the third time this week I've been alone and had this panic attack and ended up bloody. It's absolutely a Problem, a problem without end. Like, I don't have a good relationship with the web. I know that. It's just unavoidable; people in my life don't take requests like "I need zero access to the internet" seriously, and you need it to do anything nowadays. This is what happened for me in political environments too. For a while it was like - I hate how all the loudest voices here are mean bitches, I'm going to try and model a kinder sort of politics - and now it's just - I don't care about the collective, and if people want to create a mean environment then they deserve it. I just want the world to leave me alone. This is just the latest in a long series of hobbies and communities and environments where you're welcome only so far as you don't step out of line, and you accept people being mean without complaint. I don't want my existence to be series of standing up to bullies, I want people to be kind as a matter of course. I think this is a roundabout way of saying I'd like to start an old school blog and start putting my posts there instead. There's a post on my queue which I don't know is posted yet or not about the internet of my youth, how 90s html website culture and 00s blogger/WordPress culture were slower, quieter and more generous than the speed and the nastiness of interactive social media like tumblr and so forth. Those older blogging forms were shouting into the dark - you rarely got responses or knew who was reading, and as much as I love the interactions I have with friends online and the support I've had from strangers, I actually don't think that is enough compared to the constant, constant, constant terror the dark side of internet comms has for me. (Even livejournal - batshit as that was - had more ability to wall your content and make rules about interaction in your space than here.) It's my birthday today and all I've done is cry, and cut, and hyperventilate because a small power-hungry clutch of internet bullies have worked out that being performatively mean for their followers is a great way to drive traffic to their content and self-validate the power of their craft by having a fan club and picking on people who can't fight back. I can't get the feeling of panic out of my skin; I can't differentiate the voices on the internet enough to feel like 6 billion people on the planet all hate me personally, and that everyone I encounter is just waiting for an excuse to use me or hurt me or get the knives out; I can't face participating in another club or hobby or trying to meet new people because it's just going to be this same thing where everyone is nice until you get targeted by the big kids and have to accept it or leave; this is my 18th year in therapy, and there's nothing promising on the horizon to help me cope with these fears any better. But like, that's just humans for you.

Saving Livewire

Prompt: “I would love to see a story of journey in the relationship between Supergirl and Livewire from enemies to nemesis.” from @clockcounter

There’s a loud beeping coming from Winn’s computer and that usually means something bad is happening. It’s a pavlovian trigger at this point that has Kara’s heart racing and adrenaline pumping. She’s ready for a fight. She dashes over until she can look at his screen over his shoulder.

“What’s going on?”

“Uh, well, remember when you let Livewire go?”

Winn’s voice is accusatory and he doesn’t understand. He hasn’t tried to. He still thinks a little bit in black and white sometimes and Leslie… well, Leslie is firmly grey. Kara ignores him.

“Yeah, I remember.”

“Well, I set up a tracking system so that we could keep an eye on her. Essentially if there’s a huge power drain from anywhere in the city consistently with her powers, I get an alert.”

“Where is she?”

“Downtown, at the corner of Maple and 89th.”

Kara turns and takes off.

Kara knows Leslie Willis tangentially. She’s seen her as she enters and exits Cat’s office but Leslie has never been part of any editorial or content meetings. Cat seems to want to keep her separate from the rest of CatCo sometimes. It’s true that Leslie’s brand of entertainment is a little more judgmental than CatCo normally likes to be but Kara had always considered it strange that Cat kept her so separate. But, it turns out even Leslie Willis can’t avoid the annual CatCo gala required to all writers, editors, and talk show hosts.

Kara, of course, spends the night trailing behind Cat, making sure there’s a champagne glass in her hands at all times and jotting down any notes that Cat needs to remember. It’s not the most fun part of Kara’s job but she doesn’t hate it. It’s nice getting to know the employees and their roles in the company (even if Cat’s opinions on each of them can be a little scathing at times.)

Eventually and inevitably, they end up with Leslie. Kara has never paid her much mind before. She knows that Cat found her, groomed her, and gave her a home. She knows that Cat sees a little of herself in the spunky host. But she doesn’t know much about Leslie herself.

“Leslie,” Cat says, and her tone holds none of the fake politeness it had with many of the others. “I’m so glad you made it.”

“You threatened to fire me if I didn’t,” Leslie replies dryly. “Not that you could because my contract still has three years on it.”

“Hmmm, it was just a little motivation,” Cat says. “You do need to show your face sometimes. People want to see the woman hiding in that little radio booth.”

Leslie huffs but doesn’t bother disagreeing.

“Kara,” Cat says, turning slightly to her but not taking her eyes off Leslie. “Please clear an hour in my schedule on Monday, at four? Does that work for you Leslie. I’d like to meet to talk about your show.”

“Are you going to try and tell me what to do again?” Leslie asks, voice taunting.

“I am going to guide you in the right direction. Your last show caused quite a stir. You need to be careful Leslie.”

“People don’t listen to my show because they want me to be nice, Cat,” Leslie snarks back.

“We will discuss it further on Monday, Leslie.”

Cat’s tone is sharp enough that even Leslie hesitates before rolling her eyes.

“Whatever.”

With that, Cat turns on heel and Kara follows in her wake.

At first glance, there’s nothing wrong. People seem to just be going about their day normally. It’s a crowded intersection where two major roads meet and if anything out of the ordinary had happened there would surely be a panic. Kara scans the area, first with her regular eyes, and then with a little bit of x-ray vision. It’s only then that she sees Leslie, Livewire, in the basement of one of the buildings, her hands placed against a generator, sucking as much energy out as she can. The lights in the building flicker once, twice, and the go out entirely as all of the power is sucked from the generator.

Whatever Leslie is up to, it can’t be good. Kara dives through one of the open windows, ignoring shouts of surprise from the employees and flies into the basement. She makes eye contact with Livewire for a split second before Leslie dematerializes and disappears.

And just when Kara was starting to think people were starting to like Supergirl. Leslie’s words are scathing and somehow cut through all of Kara’s insecurities more cleanly than anything else that’s been said about her. Supergirl isn’t ‘adorkable’. She’s strong and powerful and heroic. And then Leslie starts talking about sex and well, she has a point. Because Kara has broken toes and noses and once a hand and sex is complicated and hard for her because she has to be so careful. But, no, there are no… ‘tentacles’ down there.

Kara is still bristling a little bit when she walks into the office and finds none other than… Leslie in Cat’s office. Cat has that dangerous look on her face. The one where she seems calm and casual to anyone who doesn’t know her well. Leslie does not seem to know her well because she’s slouched back in her chair, seeming entirely unconcerned and unafraid of whatever Cat is about to throw her way. When Winn suggests Kara use her super-hearing, Kara only hesitates for a second because she is really curious.

“I warned you not to go after Supergirl.”

Kara flinches at Cat’s tone. It’s her no non-sense tone, her ‘I won’t take no for an answer’ tone. Once again, Leslie doesn’t seem phased. She pushes back. She pushes back and she keeps pushing until Cat, inevitably snaps. The next thing Leslie knows, she’s pushed too far and she’s on traffic cam duty until Cat decides that she’s been punished enough.

“I lost her Winn,” Kara says into her comms. “Can you find her for me again?”

“Only if she tries to drain power like that again. Until then, we’re out of luck.”

Kara curses under her breath.

“Can you have someone come here to fix the generator she fried?”

“You bet, Supergirl.”

Kara switches off her comms and flies out of the building. She thinks often about letting Leslie go. She wonders if it was the right choice every moment of every day. She waits fearfully for news of someone killed by an electrical strike to the brain, of people with chemical burns, of panic-inducing blackouts. But it’s all been quiet and Kara had started to hope that maybe she hadn’t made the worst decision after all.

But now Leslie is back, and apparently causing a commotion while she’s at it. Kara has to find her again before she does any real damage.

Kara grabs Leslie’s hand, ready to pull her out of the falling helicopter and get her to safety but before she can do anything, she’s struck by some of the most intense pain that she’s ever felt. Not that she’s felt that much pain her life but this… It’s not until the blast is over that Kara realizes that it was lightning. So, apparently lightning can hurt her. Apparently it can hurt her a lot because her finger tips are numb and she’s kind of dizzy and wants to throw up. But she manages to safely deposit the helicopter on the roof and pull a now unconscious Leslie out. She deposits her gently onto a stretcher brought by the paramedics and then she lets Alex guide her back to the DEO.

After a night under the sun-lamps, Kara feels almost back to normal, which is just as well because she’s barely woken up before Cat is texting her to meet her at the hospital instead of CatCo.

Seeing Leslie lying in that hospital bed, silent and unmoving, Kara can’t help but feel a pang of guilt. If she’d just been more careful, faster, better, then maybe Leslie wouldn’t be here. Maybe Leslie was right to hate her. After all, it seems Supergirl isn’t the hero she needed.

Winn calls fifteen minutes later saying Leslie is in a warehouse by the docks and that there’s been a massive energy drain. This time, Kara gets there before Leslie has managed to completely destroy anything. Kara flies into her with enough speed that Leslie can’t react on time. They both get thrown into the opposite wall. Leslie puts her hands on Kara’s chest and pushes. It’s not the push that sends Kara flying, but the accompanying burst of electricity and Kara is painfully reminded that Leslie isn’t just some street criminal. Leslie can hurt her. Leslie at full strength can kill her.

But it doesn’t look like Leslie is at full strength. She’s always been pale since the whole lightning transformation thing, but right now she’s positively pallid. There are dark circles under her eyes that appear almost black and her lips seem more purple than anything. She stands awkwardly as if she can’t quite bear to stand up straight and she sways in place.

But her smirk is still strong as she leers down at Kara.

“Well, hello there Supergirl. I was wondering when you’d show up. I’m glad you didn’t bring the boys this time. It’s always more fun when it’s just you and me.”

Kara breathes a sigh of relief as Alex closes the door to Livewire’s cage in the DEO. But it’s relief that catches with guilt because she made this. She created Livewire. Leslie was in that copter because Cat punished her for the first time ever over Supergirl. Leslie was in a coma because Kara couldn’t protect her from the storm. Leslie gained all these powers she didn’t want because of Kara’s alien DNA. And now she’s in a cage because of Kara. Kara watches over the monitors as Leslie slams her hands against the walls of her cage over and over again. She screams and shouts and kicks until she’s exhausted. Then she takes a break and starts all over again.

“Stop it, Kara,” Alex says, shutting off the stream. “You can’t beat yourself up over this.”

“It’s my fault she’s in there Alex. It’s my fault she’s like that at all.”

“It’s not your fault. You didn’t put her in the helicopter. You couldn’t have known about the lightning. You were trying to save her. And look, on this job sometimes things happen. We can’t control everything so when something goes wrong we do our best to fix it and then we just move on. Okay? You can’t nit pick at everything or you’ll drive yourself crazy.”

Kara looks up at her big sister, at how worried she looks, and she thinks that yeah, maybe Alex is right. Of course Alex is right. So Kara stands up and walks away.

“I don’t want to fight you Leslie. What are you up to? Why didn’t you just stay away?”

Leslie rolls her eyes and lets out a dry laugh.

“Believe me, Girl of Steel, I wanted to. But sometimes life doesn’t work like that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Leslie shakes her head and separates her legs in what Kara thinks is supposed to be a fighting stance, but Leslie is still swaying in place and something is very wrong with her.

“Leslie, what’s going on?” Kara asks softly.

Leslie screams and lets out a long burst of electricity that throws Kara against the opposite wall, but she finds that it doesn’t hurt as much as it should. It certainly makes every part of her tingle and her muscles aren’t movie quite right, but she doesn’t feel completely pinned down like she normally does when she and Livewire fight. It’s almost easy for her to roll out of the grasp of her electric tendrils and stand.

“Okay, I barely felt that. Is someone torturing you again?”

“I don’t need you to be my hero, Supergirl,” Leslie says, her upper lip curling.

She takes one step back, just enough to place her hand on the electric box she’d been suctioning energy from and once again, she disappears.

The only thing worse than Siobhan trying to kill Kara was Siobhan teaming up with Livewire to try and kill Supergirl. That was… just perfect really. Kara had put Livewire out of her mind, following Alex’s advice. And with Non and Astra and everything falling apart around her, it had been easy to do. She regrets it now. She should have kept a closer eye on her. She should have made her that there was no way Livewire could ever get out… she should have…

And for some reason it’s always Leslie who has her thinking like this. Leslie, from even before she became Livewire, has somehow always found a way to make Kara question herself. She hates it. Hates the reminder of her failure, hates that she knew Leslie and now she’s evil. Hates that Barry got hurt and Cat almost got hurt and all of those civilians almost got hurt. She hates the reminder that she can’t save everyone, no matter how hard she tries.

She’s tempted to throw Livewire into the darkest cell of the DEO again but Barry talks her out of it. He helps her set up accommodations at the local prison so that they can take Siobhan and Leslie in and so that they can exercise their rights as citizens.

“It’s better than hiding them away from the world. Prison isn’t a good place by any means but maybe they can get the help they need there,” he says.

Kara sincerely doubts it but it makes her feel a little better anyway.

Kara finds Leslie in her old studio at CatCo. It’s empty now that she let out a blast of electricity, frying the circuitry of the control board. She finds her there because all of CatCo is suddenly without power and it’s not hard to trace the source. When Kara walks in, she finds Leslie sitting in her old seat at the microphone, siphoning as much power as she can through the wires that run along the walls. This time, Kara doesn’t try to stop her. She just watches as Leslie desperately pulls as much energy into her body as she can.

And then she stalls out. She seems to have drained everything she can from CatCo. She’d need a bigger generator at a more central location to get more. Leslie slumps in her seat.

“Come here to take me away, Supergirl?” Leslie says, and her voice cracks. “You may as well. It seems I’m going to die soon.”

Kara blinks in surprise and then she’s tripping forward until she can place her hand in what she hopes is comfort on Leslie’s shoulder. Leslie jerks away from her violently and Kara retracts her hand.

“I don’t need your fucking pity! I don’t need anything from you! You made me like this! This is your fault!!”

Kara should have known. She should have known that a human prison wouldn’t be able to hold Livewire. She should have kept her at the DEO. But then again, she’s made so many mistakes when it comes to Leslie Willis that she really shouldn’t be surprised at one more. She storms past the guards, storms into the cell to find that Alex and Maggie are being particularly unhelpful. And Maggie… Maggie has the gall to suggest that maybe Kara was being hasty in her judgement? Kara knows Livewire. She knows Leslie Willis. She Knows that nothing good can come of her escape.

And most of all, she knows that getting Livewire back, is her responsibility.

“Leslie,” Kara says softly. “Please tell me what’s going on.”

“I’m dying. And the name is Livewire. Honestly, do you never listen?”

“So what, you’re dying and you decided that may as well go out with a bang? Couldn’t take it out on Cat so you’re going to take it out on CatCo?”

Leslie rolls her eyes but Kara can see her fading a little. Her eyelids are staring to droop and her heart is erratic.

“I thought it would save me.”

“What?”

“I haven’t been absorbing energy,” Leslie says weakly. “I knew it would be easier for you to find me if I did and even though you didn’t come after me immediately, I was pretty sure you were still looking. It was hard at first, like behind hungry all the time but I got used to it. And it felt nice, in a way, to be normal again.”

Now Kara knows for sure that Leslie is delirious and dying because there is no way she would tell her this otherwise.

“But I’ve been getting weaker and weaker. It was slow. At first I didn’t notice it, but it started to get worse. When I absorbed energy it got a little better but eventually even that stopped helping. I thought if I did enough, like all of CatCo, I could fix it but… well, here I am.”

Leslie laughs weakly.

“Let me help you Livewire,” Kara says. “We can fix you.”

“Ha! You made me like this Supergirl. Why would you want to save me anyway? Wouldn’t your life be easier without me?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do.”

Leslie looks up at her as her eyes blink closed. Her last words as she faints are “fucking goody-two shoes.”

Kara had been wrong. Kara had been wrong. Kara had been wrong.

She seems to be doing that a lot lately. With Mon-El and with Lena. She keeps assuming things about people, keeps getting stuck in her own head. Maggie tried to tell her. She hadn’t listened. She sees Livewire strapped down in the chair and guilt rolls through her yet again. It’s starting to become a familiar feeling around Leslie. She never seems to be able to get anything right with her.

She saves her, which feels backwards and wrong but she owes her that much at this point. And then she lets her go, in exchange for the doctor’s life. But as she heads back to the DEO she realizes that it wasn’t for the doctor’s life. She just wanted to feel like she did something right for once. Not the right thing, necessarily, but right by Leslie, who had gotten screwed at every turn thanks to Kara’s mistakes.

Kara wonders when she’ll come to regret her decision. Wonders when Leslie will prove her wrong once again. And so, she hopes and she waits.

Kara takes Leslie back to the DEO and lays her on one of the med-bay tables. Alex is at her side in an instant, hooking Leslie up and doing all sorts of preliminary tests.

“She’s alive and mostly stable for now, but she’s slipped into a coma.”

“What’s wrong with her?”

“We’re not a hundred percent sure. We’re going to have to run some tests to figure it out.”

“She said that she wasn’t using her powers at all, that she liked being normal again. Alex, she was trying to change, to be better. we can’t just let her…”

“We won’t, Kara, I promise. We’ll do everything we can to help her.”

Alex leaves a few minutes later to run some tests on Leslie’s blood. Kara sits by her bedside table and watches her sleep.

“This time,” Kara promises. “This time I’ll get it right. This time I’ll save you.”