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@natvanlis: Tickets for @ClexaCon are going fast! See you in Sin City next weekend kitties. ✌🏻

“Hey everyone!  I just wanted to send you this quick video message to tell you how excited I am to be attending Clexa Con, the very first Clexa Con.  I’ll be there next weekend in Las Vegas of course on Saturday March 4th and Sunday March 5th.  Make sure you follow them on Twitter and Instagram @clexacon and check out their website so you know when and where exactly to find me.  And I will see you in Sin City.  So many queer ladies under one roof.  That’s going to be a wild trip.  Byeeee!”

One day you wake up and it’s different. There’s no sinking feeling in your stomach and you feel like you can breathe again. One day you wake up and it just clicks, you don’t care about him anymore. The thought of him being with someone who isn’t you no longer consumes you and you don’t feel the sudden urge to pick up the phone and call him. You feel lighter, you feel free and it’s one of the best feelings in the world because you know your ready to move on with your life.
—  the hurt doesn’t last forever, nothing ever does.

For some reason, I managed to send off this request on private because apparently illness turns me into a total dingus. And for future notice: yes you can send in more than one when I do drabble requests!

@nuvoleincielo asked: For your drabble night, a question first: can we send more than one request? Second, “why do you even bother with me anymore?” and Bucky x Reader, please?

Just Give Me A Reason

“Bucky?”

Another person would have thought he was a statue, frozen in time as he sat on the couch, head resting in his hands with his hair hanging down. Your heart clenched uncomfortably in your chest, because you recognized this; the stance, the silence, the shift in the atmosphere. It hadn’t simply been a bad dream this time, it had been a damn bad night.

Nightmares still plagued Bucky, and it had taken a long time to work up to the point where you should share a bed, where he dared to fall asleep with you. You were so proud of him, cherishing the rare mornings when you woke up before him to see him so completely at ease, face relaxed and breaths soft and huffing. You’d taken his nightmares in stride, the times when he woke up screaming and shaking, desperate for something to ground him. They were the nights when his sobs racked his body as he folded himself around you, hugging you so close your ribs ached and your breath caught in your throat.

You’d take the worst of those nights in exchange for not feeling the gnawing worry that now bubbled inside of you.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” Bucky said, not moving a muscle to face you.

“’S okay, you didn’t.” You took a few careful steps towards him, rounding the couch so you could look at him. Your eyes fell on an item you had hoped not to see again in a long time. “Going somewhere?”

A packed bag usually meant a mission. You wanted so badly to believe you had somehow slept through a call from Steve, that Bucky was sitting here waiting for someone to pick him up.

“You should go back to sleep, you had a long day.”

Avoiding the question did nothing to soothe you, neither did the false sense of calm and care that Bucky tried to emulate. He’d had a few nights like this, when it wasn’t loud and dizzying, instead quiet and unsettling. Sometimes, talking worked. Sometimes it was better to let him work through it on his own. You thought you could figure out which approach to use, but now you felt nothing but lost.

“Will you be here when I wake up?” you asked, voice shaking more than you wanted to admit.

Bucky, in response, let out a shuddering breath, finally lifted his head, turning so he could look at you. He looked like he hadn’t slept much, if at all, eyes way past tired and bordering on lifeless. The scruff that usually made him look so sweet and endearing now made him look old and harrowed.

“Why do you even bother with me anymore?” he asked, the muscles in his right arm tensing. “I have done nothing - nothing! - but make your life miserable.”

“Bucky, please, that’s not-”

“You’ve put your life on hold for me,” he countered, quickly getting to his feet with the bag tightly gripped in his left hand. “You never asked to get stranded with a fucking basket case.”

“Don’t say that,” you begged him, crossing your arms over your chest to fist the soft cotton your pajamas.

“Come on, I’m not normal! I am a goddamn centenarian with enough issues to give psychologists pause, and trust me, I know that’s a fact. I can’t go a week without a nightmare, I bruise you when I try to calm down, I make you cry because I can’t fucking be a regular boyfriend like you- like you deserve.”

He’d moved during his speech, his heavy steps thudding against the cold floor. His hand was already on the doorknob, turning it when you finally let out a poorly restrained “please”. Your feet were frozen, your knuckles white from gripping your pajamas, holding yourself like you wished to be held so you wouldn’t fall apart.

“Please,” you repeated, not even bothering to wipe away the tears that slowly tracked down your cheeks.

Bucky hesitated, slowly turning on his heel. You hated these nights, you hated the look of utter defeat on his face, you hated the world for breaking him like this.

“Why? Why would you want me to stay?”

A quiet sob escaped you as you inhaled, swallowing before you spoke:

“Because I love you, you idiot.”

youtube

y'all this is so good fuck

“Kakashi, I love you,” he said in a low tired voice. It was the first time Kakashi had ever heard his father say something like that to him.

Kakashi had packed his lunch and was putting on his shoes to go to school. He gaped at Sakumo, the gears slowly turning in his head to process that one simple sentence. His chest felt warm. And then he gave a small smile under his mask and said, “I’ll be back soon. Tonight we’ll have roasted sanma.”

That was the last exchange he had with Sakumo before coming home to find him dead on the floor with a tanto stuck in his stomach.

  • *in a cab; on the way to the christening*
  • Molly: *happily* Oh isn't this exciting? I bet she looks lovely. And John and Mary are wonderful parents...
  • Sherlock: *on his phone* Mmm.
  • Molly: *sighs* Oh, her name is just beautiful *giggles* I always wanted to name my daughter Persephone.
  • Sherlock: *glances at her*
  • Molly: *rolls her eyes* Hey, I was eleven at the time and really into all that mythology stuff.
  • Sherlock: *still typing* There are worse names for a child than Persephone Holmes.
  • Molly: ...
  • Molly: *raises an eyebrow* Why would it be Holmes?
  • Sherlock: *shrugs* I always assumed you'd take your husband's name.
  • Molly: *scoffs* Yeah, well, I'm not going to marry Mycroft!
  • Sherlock: *confused* We've been sleeping together and you think-
  • Molly: *giggles* No, I mean, I just thought you weren't the marrying kind.
  • Sherlock: *sighs* Sex, Molly. I don't do that with just anyone.
  • Molly: *raises an eyebrow* You love me?
  • Sherlock: Obviously.
  • Molly: *smirks* I'm sorry? I didn't catch that.
  • Sherlock: *smiles* I love you.
  • Molly: *takes his hand* I love you too.
  • Sherlock: *coughs* So you'll...marry me, then?
  • Molly: *kisses his cheek* Of course I will.