Welcome to my blog! I have a name, but I go by Pigeon. I am 21. Here are links to navigate this blog. I am planning on posting fan fiction (Marvel mostly), poetry, and other things I create! If you recognize some of these stories, please do not interact as if I am the same person. I am trying to stay anonymous. Thank you!
TO BE KNOWN: This blog is under construction, so please be patient!!
☾ Masterlist
☾ Writing Guidelines (Request guide)
☾ Pigeons Library (All of my stories, series, and work will be reblogged here)
☾ Blog Rules (Please read this before you interact with me!)
Warnings: Blood. Lots of it. Guns, gore, angst, death
A/N: I found a prompt where it was “Blood on my hands” so this is based off of that:) (Revamped story) Again, If you recognize some of these stories, I ask that you please do not interact as if I am the same person. I am trying to stay anonymous.
The only thing that helps you sleep at night is knowing that your mom is in a better place. Watching HYDRA shoot her will forever be etched into your brain. The face of bravery is plastered on her face, her hands held strongly above her head, her golden brown eyes upon yours. The sound of the gun pierces the ears of everyone in the room, and you are finally let out of your restraints to run to your mother. You apply pressure to the wound, but it isn’t working. The blood is seeping through your fingers, and soaking your hands, dying them a dark scarlet red.
Looking at the blood on your hands makes you think about everything you do over in your lifetime. What stupid things you do when you were little, what you don’t do. As you lean over the dead body of your mother, the feeling of despair and abandonment floods your mind.
“It's my fault that I brought her here. I brought her into this mess.” You mumble, staring wide-eyed at the slowly growing puddle of blood underneath the body in front of you. If only you didn’t join the army. Why did you join the Army against her wishes? Why!? That question will forever be on your mind. A question you will never receive an answer to. With your head on her chest, your breath is quiet as you do everything you can to hear a heartbeat. A heartbeat that is no longer there.
“Mom? Mom, please come back to me… please…” Salty tears roll down your cheeks, dripping onto her crimson-stained shirt. You know she isn’t coming back, but you just can’t accept it. Not yet.
Footsteps sound from behind you. You sit up from your mother’s body and look at the wet, sticky liquid that covers your hands. You are used to blood. But this… this is different. Why is this different?
I know the answer to that.
“I should have told them what they wanted; she wouldn’t have been a target if I just told them.” Your rambles fall from your mouth faster than your mind can process, blaming yourself for what happened to her. You should have told them what they wanted. You are the one who knows the secret. You are the one who knows the ingredients. You are the one who knows the patient. You are the one who knows what the serum does. Panic comes over you. You look around to see if you can find anything that you can take the bullet out with.
They say denial is the first stage of grief, this is the moment where it snaps in your mind. She isn’t dead! I know she’s not, please don’t let her be dead!
Your hands fumble at her shirt buttons to uncover the wound. But it's too difficult with shaking hands.
A soft touch to your shoulder brings you back to earth. You look up to see Bucky. Your loving, protective, and empathic husband. He sees the pain in your eyes, and tears gloss over them once more. You still feel your mothers blood on your hands. You peel your eyes away from Bucky for a small moment, eyes meet your hands. It looks like you are wearing a pair of red gloves, but they are glued to your hands. You want to wipe it all off, but all you can do is stare.
Bucky kneels beside you, taking your shaking hands in his. You look him in the eyes and whisper, “This is all my fault.”
Bucky shakes his head. He knows what it feels like to see the life disappear from a person. It is painful. He slowly helps you up. He puts his hand on your face and wipes the tears that just barely drop from (your eye color) eyes. He says quietly, “This is not your fault. She is a brave woman. That’s where I know you got it from.”
You look back at your hands once more, and sigh. Bucky places his own hands on your tear-streaked cheeks. The stark different feeling of a cold, virbranium hand, and a soft fleshed hand.
He leads your eyes back to his and says, “Sweetheart… I know you’re scared, it’s ok… she will always be here.” He places a gentle hand against your chest, right over your heart. In a way, it comforts him feeling your heartbeat.
As he leans in inch by inch, he places a gentle kiss on your lips. You melt into his embrace and put your arms around his torso, the both of you on your knees.
You say softly, laying your head on his chest, “Thank you Bucky, for everything.”
ENDING ONE
The sound of a gun is heard, and a searing pain in your back spreads through your body. You fall limp against Bucky, his arms cradling you as you slip from your knees. He shields your body from any more bullets that may come again. Reaching into his gun holster, he quickly aims and shoots the man who hurt his wife.
Infuriated, he turns his attention back to you. Your breathing becoming shallow, and short. Your own blood mixes with your mothers, like a pool of two paints combining to make color.
“Bucky?”
“Doll, try not to talk, I-” You cut him off by leaning up and kissing him. He cradles your back and your neck as you share one last moment together.
You start to cough, your head is beginning to get fuzzy. “B-bucky.” You sob. “I don’t want to leave yet.”
He moves the hair from your face and wipes the tears along with it. His voice is echoey, and muffled from the loss of blood, “Doll, you are not leaving me.”
You smile and say weakly “I’ll always be here.” You point to his chest, indicating you would always be with him in heart, just as he did with you. “I love you Bucky. I love you so so much.”
He kisses you one last time with tears of his own in his eyes. “I love you Y/N…” You lean into Bucky, pleading that you would stay alive just a little longer. You want to stay with him. You need to be there with him. “Please don’t go. Please.” He chokes into the crook of your neck. You close your eyes and take your last breath in your loving husband's arms.
ENDING TWO
Bucky reacts quickly, pulling you underneath him as a bullet whizzes past your ear. He pulls the M4A1 machine gun sitting beside him, and loads it, all while you grab your Glock 19 from your holster.
You aim it in the general direction of where the bullet came from. Another shot rings through the large room you are in. The brief illumination of the bullet making its way out of the barrel catches your attention to the left. You take a shot, and hear a grunt and then a thump of a body hitting the ground. You smirk to yourself acknowledging your gun skills; Bucky takes a shot at him, just for insurance of death.
He makes his way back to you and says, “Nice shot doll! Come on, let’s go before any more of them come.” It comes time for you to accept the fact that your mother is dead. You crawl over to her body and kiss her head one last time. You smile at her. She is beautiful even when her eyes have closed for the last time. She has always been beautiful. You take a deep breath, take Bucky’s outstretched hand, and you are off to see the daylight outside of the Hydra base.
We all have to learn to let go. To move on from the hardships and move forward with an open mind. There is one thing we all have to learn sometime in life. We have to learn to lose what we love. Sometime, somewhere it will happen. Today, for example. You lose the woman you have loved unconditionally from the time you were born, and you will always love until you meet with her again. You learn that, Bucky learns that, and your mother learns that. With a new mindset, you are at peace with your mind knowing that the blood on your hands is not from your mother’s dying body, but from her fighting body. She lost a simple battle. But she will win her war.
No, this is not me coming back. However, I have some great news that I want to share! While taking a long break, I have been talking with a close friend of mine IRL and I will be officially giving all creative rights to her. I have entrusted her with my creations and I hope that you can trust her too. I have given her permission to continue my stories where we left off (as we both found out some similarities between our desires lol!) and everything will be continued as before. I will still be logging off for good, but the legacy of these stories will continue!
Thank you all for your support and I hope that you can enjoy the continuation of my stories from the voice of my friend:)
@the-writing-pigeon
Once again, I hope that you will enjoy her continuations just as much as I have discussing the future of them <3
Ok ok hear me out- squid game AU where Bucky is a guard who wants to save reader, or even the main guy who becomes infatuated with her badass personality… THE POSSIBILITIES!!!!!!!
online communities are so strange because people slip away so easily. you can be on here for years, folding people you've never met into the fabric of your daily life, and then they disappear, leaving only ghost posts scattered across tumblr behind. or their blog stays dormant, for weeks, months, years, until you're only still following them because you remember that they love sunflowers or they were kind to you when they didn't have to be or the last thing they posted was sad and raw and you still worry about them sometimes.
and sometimes they come back when you least expect it, years later, even, and there's this sudden rush of relief like there you are, there you are, even though you barely knew each other.
there's a strange kind of love to it. i don't know you and i want to hold your hand across miles and time zones and oceans. i can still see the imprint of you in this community you left. you don't think anyone will notice or care when you're gone, but we notice and we care and we wish you well.
i hope you're all okay out there. i hope the sun is shining on your face and you are breathing deeply. i miss you.
Hi hi! Small announcement for the people who have followed me!
First semester is one week from being done!! I have a few final papers to complete, and I should have a break soon enough. I haven’t had time to work on anything free writing, as assignments have taken over my whole entire life 🥲 Anyway, just to let you know I’m almost done and I should be here soon!!
In regards to liking posts does that go for liking what you’ve reblogged or more for your personal works?
Hi! The conversation has been around the serial liking of stories without any engagement in the way of comments, reblogs, or asks. Writers, myself included, just want readers to screech with or at us about our works that we put so much time and love into. 😕
I personally have no problem with people serial liking non-writing posts, although I honestly don’t see that on my blog. It’s all serial liking of my work.
Warnings: Fluff, showering, nudity, Bucky sneaking into the shower, physical touch, pet names (doll), suggestive/slightly dirty talk (if there is anything else let me know!)
A/N: This is something that I came up with, and since I am revamping some of my old stories, there will be some changes. It’s short but sweet, so I hope you like it:) Again, If you recognize some of these stories, I ask that you please do not interact as if I am the same person. I am trying to stay anonymous.
Ever since you were a little girl, you have always loved to sing. You would make a tune or rhythm out of anything. Whistle, drum, hum and most prominently, singing. Your family loved the concerts you would put on, your little plastic microphone in hand. All of those memories come flooding in when you start to hum your favorite childhood song: A teenager in love.
“One day I feel so happy, The next I feel so sad.”
You continued the song and smiled when you sang the lyrics that followed.
“Why must I be a teenager in love?”
You tried to be as quiet as possible with knowledge that Bucky was sleeping in the room right across the hall. He had a very long mission today, and waking up to a grumpy Bucky was not on your to-do list today.
Your lips pulled up into a smile once again as you sang the chorus. You couldn’t help being a hopeless romantic, and you were so lucky to have found Bucky. The time you met, was a silly incident on a trip to Romania.
You thought about the first time the two of you met. It was a silly incident while you were on a trip to Romania;
You had tripped over your own feet and spilled coffee all over the ground. When you went to get napkins, you turned around and a man had come to help you with the mess.
You smiled brightly and said, “Oh you don’t have to help me. It’s my own clumsy self coming out.”
The man shook his head and replied, “It’s alright miss. It’s just some coffee.”
Let’s just say that you haven’t ordered coffee in public since then. You shook off the funny memory as you rinsed your (length, color, and texture) hair. While humming to yourself, you didn’t hear the bathroom door creak open, your boyfriend entering the steam-filled room.
The shower curtain barely shuffled open, and you could feel the warm presence of your loving, hunky boyfriend behind you. He had taken his metal arm off before hopping in, making sure the technology didn’t get ruined. His lips pressed soft kisses along your shoulder and up your neck, his right hand resting on your soft tummy. With his skin pressed against yours, everything felt right.
“I didn’t know you could sing doll.” His voice is low and groggy, most likely just from waking up.
The butterflies in your belly fluttered, and a smile grew on your face. “Only in the shower.” You say, leaning back in his warm embrace. He gives your forehead a gentle kiss, and the two of you sway as you continue to hum your favorite song.
“You know, I bought this album on vinyl when it first came out, it was my mothers favorite.” Your brows raised, almost forgetting that the man you love was born much earlier than you were.
“Wow… it must’ve been a hit if it is still popular today, hm?” You turn, looking up at Bucky, his blue eyes crinkling with joy as he smiles.
“It was,” He pauses and cups your cheek, his thumb grazing over the soft and textured skin of your face. “But I think it sounds better when you sing it.” The burly man leans down, peppering your face with kisses until he finally presses a soft kiss to your lips. Even though you have known him for a while, and you live with him, you still get nervous around Bucky. And every kiss feels like the first; Magical.
His gentle hand helps you scrub your body, and he helps you condition your hair, turning off the faucet once he finished. He reaches out of the shower and grabs your soft towel, wrapping it around your body with his arm just like a big hug.
“Do you promise to sing more often, doll?” He asks, smirking as adds, “Maybe on my cock next time?”
With a gasp and a light slap to his chest, you giggle and press a sloppy kiss to his lips.
“In your dreams!” You say, laughing with Bucky as you both exit the shower, feeling clean and happy.
Because this is an 18+ blog, I will give new followers 24 hours to put their age (or range) in their bio.
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No hate of any kind will be tolorated on this blog. Any hate I see will be blocked on sight.
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This list is expendable and editable. I will add or subtract rules as I see fit.
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I have a few other social media accounts!
- Reddit (Apaintingpigeon)
- Twitter (Apaintingpigeon)
- Instagram (Areadingpigeon)
- AO3 (Thewritingpigeon)
If you see my work outside of these spaces, it has been plagiarized and stolen. Please report it to me ASAP if you see it!
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Going along with the previous number, I do not consent to have my work translated, posted, published or put through AI.
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I am not responsible for your media consumption. Please read warnings, labels, and tags before you read a story.
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This blog is anti AI. Do not feed any of my unfinished stories, series, or posts through AI.
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Thank you for taking the time to read these rules!
