tri metal

most of boruto’s classmates: were rude and unwelcoming to him for something he doesn’t have any control over

iwabe, denki, and metal: literally tried to kill boruto

boruto: eh it’s whatever the past is the past so let’s put it behind us and be friends :)

naruto: doesn’t eat dinner with the fam

boruto: *breathes in* B O I

  • Warren and Bucky, simultaneously: Yeah, this evil organization picked me up at my worst time, proceeded to replace one of my vital assets with metal replicas, and sent me to destroy the world
  • Warren and Bucky: ...
  • Warren: Did we-
  • Bucky: Just become-
  • Both: BEST FRIENDS?!!!!!??!?!????
  • Steve and Kurt: get your emo leather jacket wearing butt back here smh why are you like this

for the @rebelcaptainprompts prompt “warmth,” which I took super liberally whoops. (hahaha guess what this still involved both caretaking and bedsharing I have a problem please send help)

The room swims red and purple before her half-closed eyes, the sharp lines of metal given way to rounded edges, blurred shapes. Jyn shifts against the bed and her head throbs, like she’s felt her brain clash against her skull in slow motion.

“Hot,” she manages, though the voice she hears doesn’t sound like her own: choked, tight.

Something moves against her back. And then Cassian’s voice, close to her ear: “What?”

“Hot,” she repeats. Because it’s boiling beneath these blankets, because she can’t breathe with the air in her lungs so—

“Hot, hot!” She rolls her shoulder back and into something hard, hears Cassian yelp.

“That was my nose!”

But his voice sounds far away, and still this heat crackles at her skin. She keeps wriggling, pushing up for relief, and then—mercifully—there it is: a brush of cool air against her skin.

“Okay,” Cassian is saying, “blankets are gone. That better?”

Jyn stares up at the ceiling, tries to bring the metal panels into focus.

“Take them away,” she says, a little firmer, now. “It’s too hot.”

“You’re just going to want them again in an hour,” says Cassian. “When you get cold again.”

She shakes her head, even though it makes her dizzy. “Am not.”

“I’m not having this argument with you again.”

“We haven’t had this argument before.”

“Yes,” he huffs, “we have. A few hours ago. The last time you woke up.”

Jyn remembers this, but only in pieces: Cassian’s hand on her cheek, his voice tight—it’s okay, I’ve got you, no more blankets, I’ve got you.

A few hours ago? It feels like years.

She moans. “Why won’t this fever just break?”

“Wish I fucking knew,” says Cassian, sharp. Jyn wants to turn to him, to wipe the frown lines she knows she’d find on his face if she only had the strength to open her eyes. She reaches out her hand instead, taps lightly at the bed.

After a moment, his hand closes around hers, and Jyn actually gasps: it’s cold. Shockingly, perfectly cold.

Summoning what strength she can, she tugs his hand up, up, sets his palm against her forehead.

“Yes,” says Cassian, dry. “You do still have a fever.”

“I know that,” Jyn snaps. “It’s just—cold.”

“You’re cold again? Already?”

“No, your hand.” She clutches tighter, managing a quick, tired smile. “Your hand is so cold. Feels good.”

He shifts, and then his other hand—cold, blissfully cold—is cupping her neck, thumb tracing a soft line across her collarbone.

“Better?” he asks.

It is. The cool of his skin has cut through the broil, left her achy and winded, but no longer hot. Just, comfortable. Warm.

“Yeah, it’s better. Stay like that, okay?”

“I have things to do,” he murmurs, but it’s soft, fond. It’s not like he hasn’t been lying at her side for the past however many hours, anyways. “Is this alright? Blankets, no blankets?”

“Just like this,” she says. “Don’t move.”

He exhales, slow.

“Yeah,” he says, quiet. “I wasn’t going to.”

You know when I was watching this episode in Digimon Adventure Tri 17:

And then they have both Agumon and Gabumon coming down the water to where both Taichi & Yamato is, reaching out for them:

I have a sneaky suspicion that they will digivolve here:

And I’m like “YES! PLEASE LET THEM DIGIVOLVE, DIGIVOLVE STRAIGHT TO THEIR MEGA FORMS!!!” 

Especially when both Agumon and Gabumon said they wanted to get stronger

And then, I’m feeling ecstactic, like, really ecstatic, like my mind was like, they’ll digivolve to their Mega’s? (and if that’s the case I will BE SO HAPPY!!! Especially since Wargreymon is my absolute favourite), but I’m like “Could this be for real? Is this going to really happen, like right to their Mega just after they are born”? It’s too good to be true T_T

And then the next scenes confirmed what I wanted to see THE MOST!

OMG OMG AHJKAHIDHFIOH, WARGREYMON & METAL GARURUMON!!!. I FEEL TOTAL ECSTATIC *NOSTALGIA* !! AHHH, WARGREYMON! SO GOOD TO SEE YOU AGAIN!!! T__T

Now, I can just pretend the ‘reboot’ didn’t happen, because they seem to maintain their Digi-personality like before, and was able to regain their bond (like before), except for the most painful one to watch is Sora & Biyomon which made me feel sorry for her on my end (even though she isn’t my favourite character), because that must have been hard for her… Yokomon (as Biyomon) was also really cold towards her… that’s sad… ;_;

I actually think that how they made Agumon and Gabumon reach their Mega in this scene to be played out nicely, I mean, it’s really similar to how they first reach their Mega forms when they were battling against Venom Myotismon. Like both Taichi & Yamato did it at the same time, except the only difference this time is, you get Biyomon, Patamon & Tentamon reaching their Mega as well (in the same episode) :P Honestly, Biyomon, I can understand, that’s to rebuild their bond and she wanted to save Sora, but do we need both Patamon and Tentamon to digivolve to their Mega as well? You don’t need 3 mega’s to defeat Machinedramon lol. Like I felt that, both Tentamon and Patamon can reserve this at another time… What I’m trying to say here is, instead of having more time to watch what happened in this episode, the last portion of this episode was (in some way) wasted on having Tentamon / Patamon reaching it’s mega, so instead of having their Digivolution to it’s Mega more meaningful as well as wasting all that time to have both Digimon digivolving to it’s Champion, then Ultimate, and then Mega… and this is BOTH digimon here, how many minutes/seconds is wasted on this? Why can’t they save the time to ‘Mega Digivolve’ all in one go like Agumon and Gabumon??  

So, the only one we have left who haven’t reached its Mega form is…. Gatomon, Palmon & Gomamon… XD 

P.S: Not sure if that’s the real Jenite or not, but I have to say that his actions really disgusts me -_- Especially the part when he licked Sora’s face, wth -_-

Barnes’ Books - Chapter 9

In which pretty much everyone is sad. Sorry.

Previous chapters on the Masterlist


When I’m sure they’ve gone, I go back to the shop. I don’t want to go home, alone, and there’s a part of me hoping there’ll be a note from Bucky, something to hold on to.  There isn’t.  Steve’s playing with something on the floor when I walk in, scrabbling under the counter, but she runs over to me when I walk in.  I shut all the blinds and lock the door, leaving the light off, then curl up in a chair, and cry.

I cry for my own stupidity, for letting myself fall for someone; for having nothing else in my life; for James, alone in the care home, away from his only family. I cry for a long time, until it hurts to breath, until my skin feels raw with the salt tears. Steve is sitting on the arm of the chair next to me, I’m curled up, hugging my knees, glad that my joints are aching and my clothes are digging in and I hurt. I want to hurt. It’s what I deserve.

Eventually, you have to stop crying. Your body stops for you, even when your heart carries on. I was exhausted, too tired to be angry with myself any more. Too tired to go home. So I did something I probably shouldn’t have. I tucked Steve under one arm, and walked up the stairs into the flat. Kicking off my jeans, I lay down in the bed, just for a little bit, and tried to pretend Bucky was there with me.

Of course, I fell fast asleep and woke the next morning, confused and sore.  I blinked and looked around, then leapt out of bed, ashamed. In the bathroom I confronted the damage that the tears had wrought.  My eyes were red and swollen, my cheeks looked rough and sore. The rest of me looked as disastrous as always. I pulled on yesterday’s jeans and splashed some water on my face, but deep down I didn’t care.

Downstairs, I fed Steve again but she didn’t come when I called. Going out into the shop, I found her scrabbling under the counter again but when I shook her food box, she scampered in as if she hadn’t eaten for a week.

I opened the shop every day that week, went through the motions of selling and stocking and locking up. I smiled and made coffee and played with children, and then at night I went home to my own flat and sat in the dark alone. I visited James every day but the spark had gone out of both our lives and I had little to tell him. I ate badly – either nothing, or too much – and I didn’t sleep, and I cried.

On Friday, I got a text from Bucky. It was short, to the point. It hurt. ‘Accountant coming Monday. That OK? B.’  I replied saying it was fine, but he didn’t respond.  And so on Monday, after a lonely weekend, where I’d drunk alone, too much, and forgotten to eat, the accountant came. I showed him the accounts notebook, the system that Bucky had set up to record orders, the cashing up. He nodded, took away receipts, muttered about valuations.

On Tuesday, another text. ‘Estate agent coming Thursday. That OK?’ Estate agent. So Bucky meant to sell the shop? Sell James’ home, my job. The place where he grew up, where he was happy.  I cried more, and drank more. Yet again I replied and yet again he didn’t respond.

I replayed every memory of the weeks we’d spent together, and doubted every one.  I’d been kidding myself that Bucky was my friend. I told myself I had nothing to offer, nothing anyone would want. I was a convenient shop assistant, a favour to his Granddad. A joke. I was ‘nothing compared to’ his fiancée.

James was doing little better than I was. I made sure to visit him, it was the one thing every day that mattered to me.  He looked old and sad, and spent a lot of time talking about the family that had gone, about the friends he’d lost. He asked me every day if I’d heard from Bucky, but I didn’t tell him about the estate agent.

On Thursday, I woke up when the alarm went off, but I couldn’t move. What I’d thought was a cold coming on the day before had worsened. A regime of poor food, excess alcohol, poor sleep, and depression, had left me susceptible to every virus. I was icily cold then feverishly hot, my body aching unbearably.  My head throbbed every time I coughed, which was often. I tried to stand but felt so weak that my legs trembled and I fell back onto the bed, shaking. I felt sick and sore.  My last coherent thought before I fell into a fevered sleep was Bucky.  I sent him a text – ‘cant open shop, agent, ill im sorry’ – and then slept.

The only time I left my bed on Thursday or Friday, was to crawl to the bathroom to be sick. Each movement left me weaker, my head throbbing, my brain in a fog. I drank a little water from the tap but couldn’t have made it to the kitchen to get a glass. I slept, or lay half-conscious, unable to easily separate reality from fever-delirium.  At one point, late on Friday, I heard my name being called, and a loud banging. The noise hurt my head, so I buried it under the pillow where the sweat stuck hair to my face. I slept again.

By Saturday morning, I was seriously dehydrated, although I couldn’t have said as much. My cough was rattling through me, leaving my chest aching. I was retching but there was nothing there.  I heard the banging again, and my name, but was too weary to even move. I shut my eyes against the light seeping into the room around my curtains.  When I opened them again, Bucky was standing there. Another hallucination.

He crouched down beside the bed, resting the back of his fingers on my forehead.  Against my overheated skin, his hand felt as cold as metal. I tried to say his name, but my tongue was too dry and stuck to the roof of my mouth. I blinked, and the hallucination was gone, so I shut my eyes to sleep.

A moment later, I felt an arm snake around the back of my neck, and a glass being held to my mouth, a trickle of water wetting my lips.  I opened my mouth to gulp the water down, and opened my eyes to see Bucky again. He was in a suit, the tie undone and askew, and was scowling.  Too soon, he took the glass away, and laid my head back down. He sat down on the edge of the bed and I tried to stay awake to look at him. He twisted to look at me.

“I was worried. You didn’t answer my calls or texts. Nobody answered the door yesterday. I had to lie to a locksmith and say I’d lost my keys, to get in,” he said, watching me. This was a great hallucination.  He put his hand out and brushed some of the sweaty hair off my face. I fell asleep again as he stroked my face.

When I woke up, the hallucination had gone. I felt slightly less wretched than before, although the difference was slight. I turned my head a little to ease my stiff neck, and noticed a glass of water by the bed.  I knew I hadn’t put it there, but all I could think of was how nice it would be to drink. I pulled myself upright, my arms trembling with the effort, and gulped down the water. It was icy cold and felt delicious on my sore throat. I lay back, half-upright, and looked around the room. It looked different. My head hurt to think so it took a while, but I realised that it was… tidy.

Since Bucky had left, I’d taken to coming in from work, throwing my clothes in the corner, and getting into bed with a bottle of wine.  The dirty clothes were all gone now, and the collection of wine bottles and glasses too.  I swung around in bed and stood on trembling legs, walked slowly to the bedroom door. I had to hold onto the doorframe and walls as I left my bedroom and turned into the living room. It was only a small flat but it felt like a marathon to walk that far. There was a strange smell, and a clattering noise from the kitchen. I turned into the doorway to see a man’s back. He was standing by the stove, stirring a pot, and humming to himself. There was clean washing up stacked beside the sink and the washing machine was churning.

“Bucky?”

He turned and saw me. It was Bucky, of course.  I was leaning on the doorway, worn out with illness, tiredness and confusion.

“Hey, you should not be out of bed,” he said, stepping across the kitchen to put an arm around me. “Come on, sit down for a second.” He pulled out a chair and I slumped into it.  He crouched at my feet, looking up at me, his eyes an intense blue.  “Give me a minute, I’ll change your bed.”

Before I could speak, he’d stood and walked past me.  I heard cupboards opening and closing – luckily my flat was small enough there weren’t many places to look – then silence.  A few minutes later, Bucky returned.  I stood, holding onto the chair.  Other than his name, I still hadn’t spoken. I started walking, still unsure exactly what was going on, why he was here, but I was too weak still and my knees gave way.

Before I could hit the ground, Bucky’s arms were around me. He lifted me up easily and carried me through to my room. Putting me down on the bed, I felt the cool crispness of fresh linen, such a change from the hot, tangled, sweaty sheets I’d been lying on. My eyes closed as the cold pillow comforted my head, but as I drifted off to sleep, I was sure I felt someone kiss my cheek.

When I next woke, the light coming through the curtains was softer, as if evening was coming. I’d slept more peacefully, the fever breaking at last although I still felt limp and exhausted.  There was another glass of water by the bed, and again I eagerly gulped it down.  The flat was silent and I was starting to doubt my own mind.  Carefully I got up again and walked out, on legs as weak as a newborn lamb’s.

In the living room, Bucky was sitting on the couch, legs up on the coffee table.  He was reading a book and rubbing something on his lap. For a moment, I flushed brightly, wondering what he was doing, before I realised he had a cat on his lap. Steve.  Bucky and Steve were in my apartment.  I felt lost.

I coughed, harshly, and Bucky turned around, the movement disturbing Steve who stretched and meowed.

“Hey sleepyhead! Any better? Can I get some medicine into you? You’ve fallen asleep every time I’ve tried.” He stood, lifting Steve onto the couch, and walked into the kitchen as he spoke. I followed, sitting down in the chair again, chilled and tired.

“What are you doing here Bucky?” I asked, my voice raspy and sore.  He put some paracetamol and another glass of water beside me, nodding at me to take them, then pulled out another chair, sitting near enough that our knees were almost touching.

“I told you. I couldn’t get hold of you and you’d said you were ill. I was worried. So I came to look after you.”

I couldn’t quite process it. He gave me bits of information as he ran me a bath, found me clean pyjamas. He sat outside the bathroom door talking as I lay in the bath, making sure I didn’t fall asleep and drown. He continued talking as I sat back in bed, exhausted but feeling so much better for being clean, and gave me home-made soup to eat. It was as if he hadn’t been able to speak for the last two weeks, and needed to let everything out.

“When you didn’t reply to my note, I thought I’d blown it, our friendship, so I tried to keep it business-like, but, I don’t know, things felt different back at home,” he said, but before he could continue, I broke in.

“What note? You didn’t leave one.”

“Before we left. I came down out of the flat with Maria and you were gone, so I left you a note.” I turned in the bath, staring at the doorway, as if I could see him through the wood.  

“There was no note. I went back to the shop after you’d gone. There was no note.” I climbed gingerly out of the bath, the heat having sapped the last of my strength, and half-heartedly dried myself, before pulling pyjamas onto damp skin.  As I started to clean my teeth, Bucky spoke again.

“I left a note, on the counter. Next to Steve.” A pause. “Saying I was sorry. Asking you to call me if you’d still be my friend. Telling you I needed a friend.”

I pulled the bathroom door open, and he looked up. He was sitting on a dining chair he’d pulled up outside the door, elbows resting on knees, head resting on hands.  Now that water and rest had cleared my head a little, I could really see him.  He looked terrible. His skin was grey, eyes red-lined, and the frown between his eyes was deep again.

“I never got that,” I said, and as if on cue, Steve rounded the corner, ignoring us both as he walked into my room and jumped on the bed.  I remembered the way Steve had scratched at something under the counter in the shop when I’d been there.  “Steve. She must have chased it.”

Bucky let out a groan of exasperation as I climbed into bed, too tired and emotional to give a thought to Bucky being in my bedroom.  He nudged the cat with his hand and she glared at him, before moving over and climbing onto my lap. I felt teary, in that post-illness way, when every emotion seems too raw, your nerves exposed. I kept my head down and stroked Steve, watching as one or two tears darkened her fur.  

I felt the bed move and looked up to see Bucky sitting down. He looked at me, then lay back, on top of the duvet, resting his head back against the headboard. He looked exhausted, drained.

“Out of interest, if you’d got the note…?”

“I’d have replied. I’d have called.”

His eyes closed, briefly, and his face seemed to relax.  Silence fell, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.  Steve purred on my lap, and my skin tingled from the hot bath. I was tired but had slept too much to sleep again just yet.

“Buck, why did you come all this way?”

He turned his head on the pillow to look at me. “I told you. I was worried. About you, and about Granddad. You were ill. The nurses say he’s gone downhill.”

I nodded.  “He has. I’m sorry.  To be honest, you look like you have too.”

He smiled, briefly.  “I’m fine. Work stress is all.” I didn’t believe him.

“If you need a friend, I’m here to listen. And thank you. For coming here, for taking care of me.”

For a moment, just a moment, I thought he was going to talk. He needed to, it felt as if there was a flood of words dammed up inside him, but before he could sleep, I was wracked with another bout of coughing, sending Steve off my lap and leaving me doubled over and struggling to breathe.  By the time I was calm again, Bucky had stood.  

“You need to sleep. You’re not well.” He leant over and kissed my forehead, leaving my skin tingling. Before I could speak again, he’d left the room, and I heard the flat door shut.


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