#{queued replies}

[kingofdirtandnothing]

💏 — Rhodey

KISSES: (perma accepting)

It ends. 

Against all odds, against her father’s burning hatred and his incredible will, it ends. The Avengers do exactly what they set out to do, and what Nebula thought was impossible for all her life.

They toppled the Mad Titan.

But not without cost. She sees the way they circle around Stark. He has a gravity to him, a kindness she’s never seen before. It’s easy to see how all these people were drawn to him. Gods and monsters, heroes and sorcerers. Her heart aches at the light going out in his eyes, and she has to turn away. 

They would be telling her to leave soon. She served her purpose and without Stark and his deep seated kindness, they wouldn’t want her around. Gamora was gone. The best she could hope for is to find use with Rocket, so maybe she might have somewhere to sleep. 

There’s a hand on her shoulder. Heavy and encased in metal. For one terrifying second she thinks maybe her father has risen, too spiteful to die. But it’s Rhodey. Watching her with dark, careful eyes. 

He tells her that the sorcerer used the time stone before it was banished. That Stark will live. (He doesn’t say ‘hopefully’, but she can see it written in his eyes.) That they’ll need to take him to Asgard for care. 

The words are like water. They pour over her. That metal hand tightens just so against her shoulder. Rhodey smiles. We did it. Her knees feel weak, which shouldn’t be possible. They’re cybernetic. 

Her throat is full of words. Please don’t make me go away. Nebula doesn’t speak. Maybe they wouldn’t even be heard. Maybe Rhodey would laugh. (He wouldn’t. She knows this. He is not like her father or his men. His strength is genuine, and kind.)

So she takes her rebellion the only way she knows how. If this is to end, let it be levered from her cold, dead fingers. This victory was hers too. We did it. 

Slowly, carefully, eyes kept on the dirt just to the right of Rhodey’s shoulder, Nebula turns her head. She purses her lips, the same way she’d seen Gamora do with that idiot Quill, and lets her lips press against the first knuckle of Warmachine’s gauntlet. 

[goofyfacade]

@calystegiaidol liked for a starter 

Considering their last encounter, Adachi could understand if Kanami might be a little wary of getting stuck with him. Well, as long as they avoided elevators they should be fine, right? He wondered if the idol even remembered him to begin with, Adachi had always seen himself as not being very impressionable. He debated whether or not he should even try to greet the idol, although he probably was staring for too long when he realized that someone (presumably a body guard) was trying to drag him away from Kanami’s presence. 

“W-wait! Kanami!! Tell them that you know me!” 

At least he hoped she would remember him. Admittedly he was looking for a job and wondered if Kanami could use an extra body guard, but knew that their last encounter might not have made him a qualified candidate. 

[beingmyownhxro]

@emblemofxfeminism​ || continued

Diana was taken out of her sleep, her deep and relaxing sleep by a loud knock on her apartment door. Who would possibly be requesting her at this hour? The amazon is half asleep as she switches on the hall light and then the living room light; making her way to the door and not tripping over anything in the process. ( lights on or not, this princess loved her sleep. )

Unlocking the door, the young godkiller is somewhat more awake now because of the bright lights and it shows in her eyes; though sleep still lingers there. The dark haired beauty is wearing her bra and underwear, a light and loose tank top strung over her strong and tall frame, one of light purple. And on her feet? Well, she is still wearing her Wonder Woman boots because she was too exhausted to take them off before crawling into her bed. There they are, in all their glory.

Leaning against the door now, it’s all the way open. “Lena. Is everything alright? Come in, make yourself comfortable.”

Lena knows it’s late, but honestly, she had sort of neglected to check just how late it is and confirm whether Diana was actually likely to be awake. Most people would probably consider it common courtesy to call or text first, but Lena has a tendency not to really think about that. She’s more of a “drop by and hope they’re there” type.

She has already taken her makeup off and her contacts out, so she’s wearing her glasses, and her hair is down and tousled. She’s clothed in slacks and a shirt, and shockingly -- well, mostly because it would be just her luck that a journalist photographer would take her picture and put it on the front page if she didn’t -- she even put on a bra.

She is definitely unprepared for the way Diana is dressed when she answers the door. Her cheeks color as she takes in the woman’s appearance, though she quickly snaps her gaze to Diana’s eyes. While it’s not like Diana’s Wonder Woman outfit covers quite a lot more skin, it’s not about that. It’s just... intimate to see her like this.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” she says as she enters. Lena crosses her arms protectively, though she knows she’s safe here. “I couldn’t sleep, and I know you can tell it’s more than just that, but we’re both tired and I would rather not talk about it right now. I thought maybe if I wasn’t alone, I might be able to sleep.” She forces a smile and small laugh, but it doesn’t meet her eyes -- something about it seems almost self-deprecating, as she wonders whether she’s being a bother. She knows Diana will never say that, but that doesn’t necessarily mean it isn’t true. At least not in Lena’s mind, when it comes to herself.

[didntmeantomutiny-blog]

@cannibalisticwhistler

     “ --- y’think if we close our eyes, count to ten, they’ll go away?”

‘Cause really, that’d be just great.

[gonnabefine-blog]

@ladybelowdeck     ( five futures charlie read: one )

ANTHROPOSCOPY noun | an·thro·pos·co·py divination through the observation of facial features

The first time he met her, she had this look on her face.

Brows drawn down in confusion, and lips tucked at one side in uncertainty, and eyes fixed on him in curiosity and nose wrinkled just a little in what he’d later, one day, brand her ‘thinking face’. And there was something else too, in the lines of all her features or maybe the negative spaces in between them, a whole greater than the sum of its parts.

She’d stared at him because he was a face she recognised, twisted just a little out of joint. She’d stared at him because there was a scar where no scar ought to be, an earcuff where none was expected. Because it was a t-shirt instead of a tie. Because she could see the tattoos on his arms and his smile was a little more free and because he took out his shots mid-conversation and stuck himself, old habit that he doesn’t even think about much these days.

He’d stared because there was something written in that face, in the clever eyes and the long line of nose, the curve of jaw and the full sweep of lips, and he was sure he could almost read it.

The first time he met her, he saw this future:

                                    A smile, and a question to which the answer is yes.

[flcralbonnet-blog]

@cmpanicn

   “No, wait, I got this.”

He makes a show of thinking, hand circling as if he’s searching for a word.

     “Hang on, it’s comin’ to me. Don’t tell me. Alright, I’m a bit short on the details, but I’m pretty sure it’s gonna involve the word ‘knock’.”

[duocorpora]

@fightsthatdragon ♥’d for lumberjack wrestling

Sam doesn’t actually mean to ever see the guy again. Questions answered and point made, it’s up to Dean to carry on having slumber parties, or whatever it is a hunter and a misanthropic doctor do together when they hang out.

House is an asshole, but he’s not Sam’s problem, unless he makes a problem with Dean. All housebreaking aside, the man doesn’t know squat about him except whatever his brother has told him, and for all Sam knows that could be nothing or it could be everything. Which is maybe why he’s here, standing and staring at the man’s door, the beginnings of bruise-dark circles under his eyes, shoulders pulled up and hands shoved in pockets.

Dean has always told Sam what he thinks Sam needs to hear, has always told him it’ll be okay and we’ll get through it and this is not your fault, Sam. Maybe it’s masochism that wants to hear someone else answer for him. Maybe it’s stupidity.

   (Somewhere, in the pit of Sam’s stomach, it feels a little like courage.)

He knocks. Left his lockpicks in his other jacket.

[kingofdirtandnothing]

“You okay?” —Klaus

Is anyone really okay? - (Accepting)

“You got some nerve, asking me that.”

Klaus is the only one he ever really sees anymore. Ben is in the ground, Five is in the wind, and Luther’s on the moon. They’re about as scattered as a family can be. But Klaus is always here, always on the wrong side of town, and the wrong side of skinny.

So they do this sometimes. Pancakes at three in the morning, when they’re both too tired to pretend like they don’t need each other. 

“You look like you haven’t slept in a week, Klaus.”