morelenmir
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The moment the blood hits his tongue he groans, eyes fluttering shut as he sinks his teeth further. Vessel is certain this is the best he has ever had. He tastes like nothing he has ever encountered in his hundred-something years of hunting. Like berries and wine. Sugar and incense, flickering candlelight.
This man isn't a victim, he's a challenge.Or
Sleep made Vessel a vampire. Then II comes along, and Vessel has no clue what to do with him.
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(Not Quite) All The Small Things by leveragehunters (Monkeygreen)
Fandoms: Captain America (Movies)
26 Oct 2018
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Bucky was used to finding Steve in alleys. Not every day, thank baby Jesus and all the saints or he’d be as grey as Mrs Milligicutty, but often enough.
The thing about Steve in alleys was, it meant finding Steve in fights. Or finding Steve after fights, bloody and bruised, picking gravel and dirt out of his skin, having come off third best in a two-person punch-up. Sometimes, not often, but sometimes, it meant finding Steve standing, bruised but unbowed, glaring down some hapless meathead who’d underestimated just how much sheer goddamned never-say-die was packed onto those skinny bones.
That was Steve in alleys. Not this hunched over sack of glare, facing down a mangy orange tom cat that was glaring right back and trying to dart past his legs.
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From Little Things by leveragehunters (Monkeygreen) for alby_mangroves, jsaer
Fandoms: Captain America (Movies)
12 Sep 2017
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Season after season passed and Steve didn't see a single human, only the animals and the birds and the plants and the lake, until the day the man with the silver arm appeared, stripped naked, and waded into the lake. For the first time in a long time Steve left his oak-self to crouch hidden in the bushes, watching him.
The man was beautiful, Steve had never seen a human who was so much like an oak, he hadn't thought it was possible, and he wanted to run his fingers over the man's skin, see if he felt as strong as he looked, see if his skin was smooth or rough. He wanted to touch his hair, find out if it was soft. He wanted to touch the silver arm, to discover what it was. It looked like metal, but he didn't see how that was possible.
In which Steve is something like a dryad, Bucky's not the Winter Soldier anymore but he's not quite sure he's Bucky, and together they discover that some choices are worth making.
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So long ago the details were lost to time, people began creating guardians of the dead. They were made from dogs, dogs who were buried in graveyards before anyone was laid to rest, their spirits arising as black dogs, bound protectors of the human dead.
Steve had always wondered what would happen after he died. He hadn't expected the answer to be 'wake up in the cemetery he'd been buried in', but here he was, some kind of ghost, and he could see the trees through his hands. It wasn't so bad, and he wasn't alone—a sleek black dog, golden eyes glowing bright, was happily waiting to greet him.
Decades later, on what was supposed to be a quiet, peaceful, definitely-not-life-changing walk through the woods, Bucky stumbled across an abandoned cemetery and into the impossible.
(It's a ghost story and a love story and a story about dogs.)
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- Part 5 of Sleep Token One-Shots