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aquaticmercy · 18 days ago

Text

Sleeper

Summary : When Bucky falls in love with the antihero he’s sleeping with, he offers her a place in the Thunderbolts*.

Pairing : Thunderbolts!Bucky Barnes x antihero!reader (she/her)

Warnings/tags : Violence, death, sex (a prominent theme but not graphic), cursing. Borderline obsessive behaviour. Congressman Barnes as per the Thunderbolts teaser. Batman/Catwoman-like dynamic. (Let me know if I miss anything.)

Word count : 6.5k

Note : This fic was genuinely written because of the van scene in the Thunderbolts trailer. That’s it. That’s how down bad I am for Thunderbolts Bucky. Reader is an antihero called ‘Sleeper.’ The Thunderbolts are referred to as ‘the team.’ The reader and Bucky first met a little bit before FATWS. I also have a cap! Sam fic coming out soon because my god. I am drooling over these two. Enjoy!

Bucky first heard of your existence in whispers.

He had heard your codename in hushed tones when he got off the ice in Wakanda, after Shuri helped rid his brain of the trigger words that haunted him.

Several of the Dora Milaje had crossed paths with you in Ivory Coast, and they had told everyone in the palace about how terrifyingly efficient—and violent— you had been. They said you finished the job before they even got there.

Your codename was nothing but silent rumours by those on the fringes of the intelligence community. They called you ‘Sleeper’— it wasn't a name you chose for yourself, but you have chosen to embrace the fear that people associated with it.

You were an antihero, a vigilante who left rivers of blood in your wake.

Four years ago, you started tracking down the same corrupt officials and Hydra remnants that Bucky was trying to arrest.

The difference: Bucky set out to turn them in, you had your heart set on killing them, fast and efficient, as you always have been.

The first time you crossed paths with the former Winter Soldier, it was in a crumbling KGB safehouse in Eastern Europe. Bucky had taken down most of the guards, ready to haul the high-ranking operative to a jail cell in DC where he can await his trial. He was tired, the strain of therapy and sleepless nights holding him down, but this mission kept him focused.

But when he reached the operative’s office, the target was already slumped over his desk, cold and lifeless.

"Guess I beat you to it, soldier," you said, voice laced with a confidence that made his stomach twist. You let him process the sight of you—fitted black suit, gloved hands, and a smirk that told him you were not only dangerous, but damn well aware of it. A mask obscured your eyes, but even with half of your face covered, he could see how smug you looked.

“I didn’t ask for your help,” he said, voice low.

“Good thing I wasn’t asking for you permission.�� You tilted your head, the ghost of a laugh in your voice. You were watching him, sizing him up with those sharp eyes that felt like they could through see every part of him he tried to keep hidden.

“Sergeant James Barnes, right?” You said his name with a familiarity that sent a jolt through him. “I’ve heard a lot about you. Never thought I’d actually run into you, though. Lucky night for me.”

He narrowed his eyes, not trusting this mysterious stranger, though he couldn’t deny he was intrigued. “And you are…?”

“I have no name to claim for myself,” you shrugged, leaning back against the wall, “but people call me Sleeper.” You let the name linger, knowing he’d recognize it.

His memory reeled back to Ayo and the Dora Milaje, who had warned him of you: ruthless, volatile. A ghost who disappeared without a trace, always a step ahead. He’d just never expected Sleeper to be… so easy on the eyes.

“I didn’t ask for your help.” He repeated with no conviction. He narrowed his eyes at the body. “Especially not like this.”

You shrugged, pushing off the wall and strolling over. “Relax, soldier,” your gaze met his, “I only go after the ones who deserve it. Just because I do it my way doesn’t mean I’m the villain here.”

“Still doesn’t make it right,” he muttered, but there was a flicker of curiosity underneath his stormy blue eyes.

“Then stop me,” you challenged softly, leaning close enough to feel his breath. “If you can.”

His breath hitched ever so slightly.

You grinned, a spark of intrigue lighting up in your gaze. “I’ll be waiting, James.”

And before he could respond, you were gone.

He knew he should’ve stopped you— but some part of him was glad he hadn’t.

As you disappeared, he felt something he hadn’t in a long, long time: excitement.

—

From that day on, Bucky couldn’t get you out of his head.

At first, it was frustrating. You were hard to track, ruthless—and yet there was a sickening righteous principle to your actions that he couldn’t deny.

As the weeks went by, something else rooted in his brain when he thought of you. Fascination.

His mind often wandered about you during his quiet, sleepless nights, wondering who you were beneath the mask, beneath the mystery and the whispers.

Sam noticed, of course. He'd raise an eyebrow whenever Bucky lingered too long over case files where you'd been mentioned. He’d nudge if he seemed overly eager to volunteer for missions that involved your typical targets.

“Maybe you’ll get lucky and she’ll show,” Sam teased once, nudging Bucky. “She’s dangerous, though. Is that your type?”

Bucky scoffed, but he knew Sam was right. And maybe that danger was part of what kept him intrigued.

—

The next time you crossed paths, it was in a dark alleyway, both of you dripping with sweat and breathing heavily after taking down an underground fighting ring.

“You know,” he’d said, “killing them doesn’t make it justice.”

“You think turning them in is enough?” Your voice had cut through the air like a knife, but there was no malice behind it. You wanted him to understand your line of thinking, wanted him to know. “People like them are everywhere. They’ll get out. They’ll come back.��

“So you think you get to decide whether they live or die?” he challenged, jaw tight.

“No,” you said, readjusting your mask. “But I do it anyway.” There was a flicker of sadness in your gaze that he noticed, even if you tried to hide it.

What had happened to you? He thought to himself. What have you been through?

In that moment, he noticed the pain behind your eyes, the kind of pain he knew intimately. You weren’t just someone who killed for vengeance; you must have had your reasons. You must have carried scars that ran deep, maybe deeper than his.

—

From that point on, Bucky made it a habit to look for you on every mission. It was like an unspoken game, this cat-and-mouse chase. Every time he saw you, the tension between you grew.

Sometimes, he’d get there first, managing to intercept before you could execute the target. Other times, you’d arrive at the same time. He’d try to talk you out of it, to make you see things his way, but you’d laugh him off, the kind of laugh that hinted at more than your fair share of heartache.

And sometimes, you’d tease him, push boundaries he wasn’t sure he should cross.

“You like this, don’t you, James?” You’d whisper it low, close enough for him to catch your scent, a faint hint of gunpowder and vanilla perfume. “The chase. Getting to play the hero while I get my hands dirty.”

He wanted to deny it, but he couldn’t.

—

Bucky grew obsessed, even if he wouldn’t admit it. Every encounter left him more and more drawn to you. He’d search for files on you for days on end without sleep, but all he found were reports with no concrete evidence. He found himself looking for excuses to track your movements, hoping he’d be there to stop you but not quite sure he wanted to succeed.

One night, after another close call, you leaned into him as he pushed you up against the wall. He could feel the heat radiating off you, the electricity charged in the space between you. You looked up at him, the smallest hint of vulnerability peeking through your mask.

“Why do you keep doing this, James?” you asked, voice softer this time. “You can’t save me.”

“Maybe not,” he replied, frowning as his eyes looked down to the edge of your lips, “but I can try.”

That night, he wondered just how long he could keep up this dance before one of you finally gave in.

—

One night, while you were on a caper in Prague, everything changed for the two of you.

The mission had been bloody, chaotic, and a little too close to mayhem for Bucky’s liking. You had taken down an entire network of arms dealers, setting fire to one of their last remaining munitions blocks and leaving it to burn.

Bucky had arrived too late, frantically trying to contain the chaos you’d left in your wake, alerting local authorities, making sure the flames didn’t spread to a nearby market.

When he caught up to you, adrenaline ran hot through his veins.

He'd followed you through winding streets and up dark staircases, up to the hotel you were holed up in. He followed you into your room, locking you both in.

His voice was tight, anger simmering beneath. “You’re careless.” His blue eyes were striking underneath the european moonlight, “you could’ve taken out half the neighbourhood, and for what?”

“I got the job done, James.” You shrugged, trying to look unbothered. “It’s not pretty, but it works.”

He stepped closer, and you held his gaze, “You know, I’d turn you in if you weren’t so…” he paused, his voice faltering, as if the words were lodged in his throat, “Weren’t so…”

Your pulse quickened. “If I weren’t so what?” You snapped, daring him to finish, to admit what had been hanging between you two since the day you met.

But he didn’t answer. Instead, he pulled you into a fierce, bruising kiss.

You didn’t hesitate—you kissed him back with just as much fire, your hands tangling in his hair.

Bucky’s hands found your waist, fingers digging in with enough pressure to leave marks. He pushed you back until your shoulders hit the wall, lips moving down your jaw, then hot against your neck. His breaths were ragged, matching your own, and he was holding you as if letting go would mean losing control entirely.

You couldn’t help the gasp that escaped your lips as his mouth found a sensitive spot on the dip in your collarbone, his hands roaming possessively over your back, down your sides.

You pulled him back to your mouth, desperately needing that connection.

When you finally broke apart for air, his forehead rested against yours. You untied your mask and threw it across the room.

Fuck. he thought as his eyes widened, taking in your full facial features for the first time. You were even more beautiful than I imagined you to be.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, he thought to himself, I’m done for.

He was ready to throw you in jail cell. Instead, he ended up in your bed.

That night, in the dim light of your cheap hotel room, clothes were shed in hurried, frustrated movements, and all that pent-up tension finally found its release.

That first time had been desperate, raw. Both of you were driven by the need to let go, to feel something other than the weight of the cold blooded kills and the darkness you both carried.

Ever since then, every time you crossed paths, it was the same: adrenaline-fueled clashes and heated conversations about morality turned into hotel room rendezvous, hands grasping, lips colliding, both of you seeking the kind of solace you could only ever find in each other.

—

You’d never admitted it out loud, but Bucky had an effect on you. When he was around, you found yourself hesitating just that split second longer before slicing your target’s arteries and leaving them to bleed.

You didn’t feel the need to wipe out every enemy anymore, and his disapproval of your methods had started haunting you in ways you’d never expected. Maybe that was why you’d started allowing him to find you more often, taking on jobs you knew he’d be there for.

It was a dangerous game, but you kept playing it. He was obsessed with finding you, and you weren’t about to stop him.

He’d learned to read you better, your patterns, the places you tended to show up. By the time you landed in some city on the opposite end of the globe, he’d be there like clockwork, showing up right before you finished a job, confronting you before you could disappear into the night.

But the nights you spent together were… different.

You never asked about each other’s pasts; you kept it in the here and now, keeping him at a safe distance even as you let him pull you under the covers time and again.

Every time he asked your real name, you’d smile and brush him off, deflecting his curiosity with a kiss or a teasing answer. He didn’t press, but you could see the questions in the way his brow furrowed, could feel the affection in the way he lingered in the mornings after, with a soft smile in his eyes that made your heart beat faster.

Each time, he told himself it was just catharsis, just a release of frustration for both of you, nothing more. But that excuse had worn thin over the years, and Bucky knew it as well as you did.

He knew it wasn’t one sided either. He wasn’t blind to the way you’d look at him as he drifted to sleep next to you. Once, he caught a flicker of something vulnerable in your eyes before you put the walls back up.

And God, was he drawn to you, to the side of you that fought so fiercely, that showed just enough vulnerability to keep him coming back. He was so fucking desperate to understand you better, to see more of the person underneath the mask.

—

One night, after a mission in Manila, you’d both ended up in a small, worn-down cheap hotel room overlooking the city lights. You were leaning against the headrest of the bed, a hint of sweat clinging to your skin, breathing still unsteady as you came down from the high you gave each other.

He watched you, his gaze lingering on the barely-perceptible rise and fall of your chest.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you muttered, voice thick with exhaustion. There was a tremor in your tone, a flicker of something vulnerable that he wasn’t sure you meant for him to hear.

“Like what?” he asked, nuzzling closer to you. His now long hair was tied back in a low bun, your hair tie holding it together because he didn't have one of his own.

“Like you want something from me that I’m too broken to give,” you said, refusing to meet his eyes. But he reached for you, tipping your chin up until you had no choice but to look at him, and there it was—that flicker of affection he knew ran just as deep in you as it did in him.

“Maybe I want it anyway,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with a quiet intensity. “You ever think of that?”

“This is just a release, James.” Your gaze softened for just a second, long enough for him to catch it before you shook your head, pulling yourself from his grasp. “It’s just something we both need.”

Even as you said it, you weren't convinced. He reached for you again, pulling you close, and kissed you because that was the only thing you’d let him do.

You melted into him once more, you found yourself wondering just how much longer you could keep him at arm’s length.

—

The shift in Bucky’s life had been as dramatic as it was unexpected. You’d never pegged him for politics—neither had he, to be fair—but here he was, representing his district, looking sharp in a suit that cost more than the last few hotels you’d met in combined.

He’s upgraded. Freshly elected, polished up, all suited and respectable as a congressman, fighting for reform from a marble office by day and for justice in dark alleys by night.

But tonight, with that half-smile he only gets with you, he’s still the same— still carrying that simmering tension in his lips, his hair tousled from a long night of pursuing you through the shadows.

After a mission that had you both knee-deep in an abandoned bunker hunting a rogue assassin, you found yourself together once again. Only this time, the hotel he’d booked was far from cheap.

He brought you to a five-star suite. The bed was massive, the sheets soft, and the view from the window sprawled out over the city skyline, a stark contrast to the dingy rooms you’d gotten used to.

Now, lying beside him in the rumpled silk sheets, you watched him catch his breath. You moved off of his lap to lay next to him, euphoric from the guilty pleasure you both indulged in.

“You know, the second someone finds out Congressman Barnes has a relationship with a violent vigilante, you’re out of office.”

He looked over at you, eyebrows raised. “Relationship?”

Fuck. He caught you slipping up. He caught you thinking about a relationship with him.

“Casual sex is still a relationship, James.” You shrugged, trying to save face. You turned to him, with a lazy, unconvinced smile, “Strings attached or not, it counts.”

He shifted, the corner of his mouth twitching as he watched your wall break, even if only one brick at a time. “Casual,” His fingers traced idle patterns along your bare shoulder. “Is that what we’re calling it?”

“Unless you’re pretending you don’t want it anymore.” You paused, leaning closer, “Or maybe you just like that I could ruin everything. That I could say one word to the press, post one picture online and your reputation is finished. You’d be back to square one.”

He chuckled, his fingers grazing down your arm. It was terrifying, how comfortable he’d become with you. “I trust that you wouldn’t,” he said softly, voice laced with that steady confidence, like he knows you better than you know yourself.

His declaration hung in the air, and you felt guilt striking in your chest.

This wasn’t supposed to be part of this arrangement. Trust was for partners, for couples, for people who wanted things that lasted.

You shook it off, leaning back, a little smirk tugging at your lips as you lifted a brow. “You’re right. I do have a soft spot for you, Congressman Barnes,” you added, the title rolling off your tongue with a touch of sarcasm, “Consider it my gift to democracy.”

He laughed, letting his head fall back against the pillow. His hand drifted down to catch yours, holding it in a way that felt too natural, too comfortable for what you were supposed to be.

You both knew, despite the banter and the invisible boundaries, this thing between you was already past casual. It was the reason he keeps showing up where you showed up, the reason you’re letting him into your life in ways you never let anyone before. You were both just too stubborn to say it.

He pulled you closer, pressing his lips to yours in a way that feels almost… affectionate. For a moment, you let yourself sink into it, forgetting the consequences, the danger, the fact that this man might just unravel you completely and you would have no say in it whatsoever.

When you pulled back, his fingers trailed over your bare waist. “Maybe it’s more than just a soft spot,” he suggested, his voice barely above a whisper.

You raised an eyebrow, heart beating out of your chest. “Let’s not get sentimental, James,” you brushed, letting your fingers graze his jaw as you murmured, “You’ve got an image to protect, after all.”

He lets out a sigh that’s part laughter, part frustration. He knew you were deflecting. “Right,” he said, brushing his lips against yours again.

“You and your image,” you chuckled, “Out there, shaking hands and making speeches about justice while you sneak off to hotel rooms with someone like me.”

He grinned, not a trace of shame in his expression as he turned his gaze back to you. “Someone’s gotta keep you in line. Even if it takes…” His voice lowered, dropping into that deep, teasing tone that made your stomach knot. “…a hands-on approach.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re the last person who’d ever get me in line, James.” You leaned closer, though you didn't believe a single word you said.

There was a long silence for a while. He eventually reached out, brushing a lock of hair back from your face, his thumb tracing over your cheek.

“Maybe you’re right,” he murmured, his eyes never leaving yours. “Maybe that’s why I keep coming back.”

As the city lights cast a faint glow over the room, you lay there in silence, limbs tangled together in a way that felt a little less no strings attached every time.

—

The next time you meet, you were on a late-night operation on the dark outskirts of the city. You’ve tracked down a group of mercenaries. They’re as ruthless as they were careless, leaving a trail of devastation across the criminal underworld. But tonight, their recklessness will end with you.

You moved through in silence, precise, methodical. One by one, you took them down, not killing, but incapacitating them. Your fists were quick, your strikes precise. It’s what you’ve done for years, a grim pattern of efficiency that never required a second blow. Just as you reached the man who hired them with your knife drawn—a local crime lord—you felt his presence before you saw him.

“Think twice, Sleeper,” Bucky said from behind you.

You froze, heart pounding as you stood over the crime lord begging for mercy. It would be so easy to end this now, but with Bucky watching, you hesitated.

You lowered the knife.

Instead of killing him, you tied him up alongside the other mercenaries, ignoring the questions in their fearful eyes. Bucky made a call, alerting local authorities to pick up the mess you’ve left behind.

“What now?” you asked, walking away from the carnage. You were expecting the usual pattern: another hotel room, a brief reprieve from the violence, nothing more.

But he surprised you, lacing his hand in between your fingers, warm and secure.

He had never, ever, showed affection outside closed doors.

“Come with me.”

—

You didn’t expect Bucky to take you back to his place, but soon you were standing outside a sleek high-rise in the heart of the city. You followed him up to his penthouse apartment. It’s almost disorienting— the polished floors, the floor-to-ceiling windows.

You found yourself standing in the quiet entryway of his home. The walls were painted in light, earthy tones, and the furniture was clean, modern, yet warm.

You glanced around, taking in the small details that hinted at Bucky's life beyond the missions. There were bookshelves lined with novels and memoirs, some old and looked like first editions, others barely touched. A few black-and-white photographs decorated the walls—New York City at dusk, a forest path, a beach sunset. It was an oddly peaceful place for a man like him. Certainly too peaceful for someone as broken as you.

“This is risky, James,” you said, looking up at him as he closed the door behind him, “Showing me where you live.”

“No, it's not,” he replied, his conviction absolute. “I trust you.”

There it was again. That word. Trust. The thing you never quite knew what to do with, especially coming from him.

You studied the way his favourite leather jacket was tossed on a chair, a half-read book by the couch. It felt like stepping across an invisible line. You set your mask down on the table before he grabbed your waist and pulled you close.

“This feels like crossing a boundary, James,” you admitted. You knew he should pull back, give you a chance to retreat. But you didn't want him to.

So he didn’t.

Instead, he cupped your face as he tilted your chin up gently. “What boundary?” he asked.

He knew that there were nothing separating you two. Not anymore.

The space between you vanished as his lips met yours. You kissed him back, losing yourself in the process of tasting him. His hands slid to the small of your back, pulling you closer. Kissing him felt like falling— like surrender.

You made your way to his bedroom, bodies tangled together, a blur of heated whispers and gasping breaths. Clothes fell away, discarded like old skin. The way he looked at you, it was like he was memorising every inch of you.

In that moment, you realised: the boundary had never been there. Not for him. Maybe not for you either.

—

The room was quiet as you lay tangled up in Bucky’s sheets. The duvet smelled like him, unlike the neutral, sterile scent of the usual hotel sheets.

You’d never admit it, but it was intoxicating.

The satisfied pulsing in your body had put a hazy filter over everything.

Bucky smiled softly, kissing your forehead before reaching to his bedside drawer, pulling out a small glass box, placing it gently on your palm.

"Here," he murmured, almost shyly. He opened the box to reveal a hair tie inside.

Oh. You recognised it. The ends were a bit frayed, the colour faded.

It was the hair tie you’d given him in Manila, a lifetime ago, a little piece of you that he’d tucked away in a corner of his home

You blinked, caught off guard. "You still have that?"

He shrugged, but his eyes wouldn’t meet yours. Was he… embarrassed? "I thought it was... worth keeping."

"Careful, James,” you couldn't help but tease him, nuzzling closer into his arms. “Keep this up and you might just start falling in love with me."

You felt his breath hitch.

He looked up, finally. Nervously.

Instead of denying it, he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low, warm whisper. "Would that be so bad?"

His fingers brushed against yours, sending a shiver through your spine. Your heart fluttered irregularly, your head spinning in a daze as you tried to keep your thoughts down.

No.

You couldn’t let him see that he was getting to you like this, so you did what you always did: you deflected, grinning forcefully and rolling your eyes.

"Yeah, right," you said, brushing off the moment. As much as it broke your heart to deny the truth, you were doing it for his sake and yours. "I'm not that easy to love, James."

He chuckled softly, the warmth of his breath brushing your skin as he pulled you closer, tucking a stray hair behind your ear. "Maybe that's why I do."

You shifted away from him, wrapping yourself in the sheets as if they could shield you from what he was offering — and from the ache in his gaze.

"We can’t…" you said, voice barely above a whisper. "We can’t do this."

Bucky's eyes darkened, but he would be alright. He expected this from you.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair as he tried to collect himself. You could see the struggle in his eyes, the battle between his desire for you and something else… there was something bigger.

"I need to tell you something," he said quietly. “I have… a team.”

That caught you off guard.

Bucky? On a team? He’d always seemed like a lone wolf, just like you.

“There’s a couple of former Widows, who you’d get along with. Two other super soldiers. And someone who can… phase. Quantum experiment gone wrong.” He paused, “We’re trying to make something real here. And it’s missing someone.” His fingers trailed down your forearm, eventually clasping your palm in his, “It’s missing you.”

He pushed a strand of hair behind your ears, trailing your jawline delicately with his metal hand, “I need you.”

The invitation went unanswered for a moment. You swallowed, caught off-guard by how badly he seemed to want this, how he wanted you to be part of it.

“I work alone, James,” you said, brushing off the offer with a small, bitter smile. “You know that.”

“But why not?” His voice was barely more than a whisper. “Why won’t you let someone else in for once?”

The frustration in his tone was raw, and for a moment, you thought you saw a flicker of pain flash across his face from this rejection.

“This is your chance to do something good the right way,” he pressed, and there was a quiet urgency in his voice. “No more hunting down bad guys with no direction. No more living like you’ve got nothing left to lose.”

His words sank in, and your walls felt shakier than ever. The idea of leaving the past behind, of actually building something… you hadn’t let yourself imagine it in years.

“Just think about it,” he said softly, placing his forehead on yours. “You don't have to decide now. Just… consider it.”

You gave a noncommittal shrug, but the truth was that his offer echoed in your mind, louder than you wanted to admit. He smiled at your dismissiveness, recognizing the crack in your armour. He didn’t push further.

You realised that for the first time in a long time, you weren’t entirely sure if you wanted to say no.

—

The next time you saw Bucky was in the middle of a mission neither of you had wanted.

Just a week had passed since you’d spent the night in his apartment. Since then, you had told yourself you shouldn’t return. You couldn’t. You were getting too close, feeling too much.

It was getting dangerous.

But then Bucky had reached out to you, voice tight and desperate, the kind of desperation that stripped away all his pride. It was a vulnerability even you hadn't seen from him before. His team was in over their heads, he’d said. He needed you.

You’d agreed to help, but you’d been careful to remind him that this was a one-time thing. One mission, and that was it.

But then everything went wrong.

It happened so fast, you barely understood how everything had gone wrong.

You were with Bucky, fighting side-by-side, the two of you moving as if connected by some invisible thread.

You had taken a blow, separating you from everyone else. You tried standing up but fuck! The impact had shattered your ankle, sending a searing pain through your leg. Your nerves were on fire in a way they had never been before.

You couldn't move.

You couldn't get up. Couldn’t run.

And then the ground shifted, an explosion roared from behind, and the next thing you knew, a van was thrown across the road, hurtling straight toward you.

For a single, frozen heartbeat, you realised this was it.

It was over.

You saw the faces of bystanders staring from the sidewalk, their eyes wide, too horrified to look away. You let go of the cold steel of your knife still gripped in your hand. The acrid taste of smoke on your tongue intensified. And the truck—a wall of twisted metal hurtling closer, closer, impossibly fast.

You’d spent so many years brushing so close to death that you always thought you’d be ready.

But now, all you felt was regret.

Regret that this was how you’d die: in the middle of a cold, empty street, surrounded by strangers who would never remember you, never know who you were or what you’d done.

Alone.

You thought of Bucky in those last seconds—his quiet smiles, the way he’d look at you like he could see through every wall you put up, the silent crutch he’d offered without expecting anything in return. Bucky, who’d trusted you, who’d somehow cared for you even after everything you’d done.

For the first time, you felt regret for every life you’d taken, every person you’d left to die in your wake.

Your life had been nothing but survival and bloodshed. You had told yourself it was necessary, that it was the only way. But here, now, with your own death inches away, it all felt hollow.

You’d given up hope, abandoned the idea of redemption long ago—because you were too broken.

And yet, with Bucky, something had changed. He had looked at you and somehow seen past it all. He’d made you feel as if maybe, just maybe, you were something more than the ghost you’d become. Maybe, instead of running, you could have found a way to fight for something real, something that mattered.

Maybe you could have been someone better.

You would never know now.

The world narrowed, and you braced yourself for the inevitable, hoping it would be quick and painless. Your fingers tightened, clinging to the memory of him in those last, precious seconds as you waited to feel the impact—

But it never came.

Instead, there was a rush of air, a deafening crash, and then—silence. You blinked, dazed, your heart still hammering, and when you looked up, Bucky was standing there, his metal arm outstretched, braced against the van that he’d deflected away.

He turned to face you, his expression raw, worry carved deep into his features as he scanned you, checking for injuries. For a moment, he just stared, his breathing uneven, as if he’d been the one facing certain death.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice panicked.

You tried to answer, but the words tangled, caught in your throat. You managed a nod, barely able to process what had just happened.

“Shit,” he kneeled next to you, “Is your ankle broken, can you walk?”

You stared at him, trembling as he tore a part of his shirt and wrapped it around your injury for support.

Bucky had saved you. He had thrown himself in front of a hurtling vehicle without a moment of hesitation, as if your life were worth that sacrifice.

He had saved you.

You were alive because of him.

Alive, when you’d already accepted that you were going to die alone.

No one had ever done that for you. No one had ever saved you—not like this, not without asking anything in return. Hell, you never thought that you deserved to be saved.

“You’re okay, Sleeper,” he said, his voice softer now, like he was reassuring himself as much as you. “I’m here.”

His words settled into the cracks that had broken open inside you, filling them in ways you hadn’t thought possible. You hadn’t realised how empty you’d felt until now, how long you’d carried the weight of loneliness, of believing that this life—this endless, solitary fight—was all you deserved.

Bucky made you feel like maybe, just maybe, you didn’t have to be alone. That maybe, even after all you’d done, there was a place for you outside the shadows.

“Don’t call me that,” your voice trembled, “I don’t want you to call me Sleeper anymore.”

Bucky stopped for a second, confused. “What do you want me to call you, then?”

You couldn’t hold it back anymore. Something inside you broke, raw and vulnerable, and the name you’d hidden for years slipped from your lips before you even realised it. Your real name—your last, fragile piece of self you’d kept locked away, hoping one day you’d be able to reclaim it.

It felt right with Bucky, like you could trust him with it, like you could let yourself be seen.

Bucky’s eyes widened, his face softening as he repeated it, almost reverent, like he wanted to remember how it felt to say it.

Hearing him say your name, like a prayer, like it was sacred, like it mattered— tore down whatever walls you had left. He’d given you something you didn’t know you could have: the feeling of belonging to yourself again. The feeling of belonging to the world again.

Without thinking, you wrapped your arms around his neck, fingers shaking. He moved, pulling you closer. His touch was grounding, steady—a lifeline that anchored you to the moment, to this fragile reality where you didn’t have to be alone anymore.

You pressed your lips to his, but this kiss was different— it wasn't casual or sexual as it has always been. This time, it was gentle, carrying something other than desire, something precious and fragile.

Something worth nurturing.

When you finally pulled away, he looked at you lovingly.

“I’ll join you,” you said, the words coming from some deep part of you that had been waiting for someone to give you this chance, this choice.

Now you realised that this choice was yours all along. All you had to do was take it.

And you did, because maybe, instead of running from yourself, you could find a way to make things right. Maybe you could fight for something greater than yourself.

For the first time, wrapped in Bucky’s embrace, you believed that maybe you could be someone worth saving.

—

A month later, you were all gathered around a small campfire, tucked away in a quiet corner of nowhere.

The night was cool, the fire warm, and laughter bubbled up from the group as you shared bits and pieces of each other's lives.

“Team bonding,” John had said.

John passed around a nearly empty bag of marshmallows, Alexei poked at the fire, and Yelena and Ava exchanged eye rolls at everyone else’s antics, though they leaned closer together under the same blanket.

Eventually, the conversation drifted, as it often did, to you and Bucky.

“So… how did the Winter Soldier and Sleeper even meet?” Yelena asked, raising an eyebrow as she threw another marshmallow into her mouth.

The moniker you had adopted still twisted in your stomach every time you heard it, but it had lost its edge. This time, you felt in control. Like you owned it.

"I have theories,” Alexei nodded, crossing his arms, “but I have to know."

You shared a look with Bucky, a small smile creeping on both your faces. “There was a Hydra agent we were both after.” you began, biting back a frown. “And… well, I was angrier back then.”

He placed his arm on yours, a comforting gesture.

“You wanted him alive,” you said. “I had… different ideas.”

“After that—” Bucky wrapped his arm around your shoulders. “—She was all I could think about. I kept showing up wherever she was, trying to figure her out.”

“So basically,” John said, trying to hold back a laugh, “Bucky is a bit of a stalker.”

“A stalker?” Bucky echoed incredulously, “I think the word you’re looking for is ‘dedicated.’”

“No, no,” Ava interjected, “you followed her everywhere did you not? ‘Stalker’ is the right word, Barnes.”

“Fine,” he admitted jokingly, “But what can I say? It was love at first sight.”

Yelena gagged theatrically and John clutched his stomach in a fit of laughter.

Alexei just chuckled and muttered something about “American romance.” Ava made a face, disgusted but secretly amused.

You couldn’t help but laugh along with them, leaning against Bucky’s shoulder, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath. You could see him out of the corner of your eye, looking down at you with a quiet smile.

In some way, this still felt too good to be real.

For the first time, you realized you’d found exactly what you’d been missing all along. A home. Maybe even the closest thing you’ve ever had to a family.

A place where you belonged.

And you knew, looking at all of them—especially at Bucky—that this was just the beginning.

-end

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alightinthelantern · 1 year ago

Text

Movies on Youtube:

Brief Encounter (1945, David Lean)

Opening Night (1977, John Cassavetes)

Close Up (1990, Abbas Kiarostami)

Taste of Cherry (1997, Abbas Kiarostami)

The Song of Sparrows (2008, Majid Majidi)

Russian Ark (2002, Alexander Sokurov)

Dreams (1990, Akira Kurosawa)

Dersu Uzala (1975, Akira Kurosawa)

The Idiot (1951, Akira Kurosawa)

Drunken Angel (1948, Akira Kurosawa)

Tokyo Story (1953, Yasujirō Ozu)

Early Summer (1951, Yasujirō Ozu)

Late Spring (1949, Yasujirō Ozu)

The Flavor of Green Tea over Rice (1952, Yasujirō Ozu)

Good Morning (1959, Yasujirō Ozu)

An Autumn Afternoon (1962, Yasujirō Ozu)

Sword for Hire (1952, Inagaki Hiroshi)

Rebecca (1940, Alfred Hitchcock)

Thunderbolt (1929, Josef von Sternberg)

Larceny (1948, George Sherman)

Among the Living (1941, Stuart Heisler)

Andrei Rublev (1966, Andrei Tarkovsky)

Mirror (1975, Andrei Tarkovsky)

Solaris (1972, Andrei Tarkovsky)

Ivan’s Childhood (1962, Andrei Tarkovsky)

Aguirre, the Wrath of God (1972, Werner Herzog)

Fitzcarraldo (1982, Werner Herzog)

Medea (1969, Pier Paolo Pasolini)

Medea (filmed stageplay)

Is It Easy To Be Young? (1986, Juris Podnieks)

We'll Live Till Monday (1968, Stanislav Rostotsky)

Ordinary Fascism (aka Triumph Over Violence) (1965, Mikhail Romm)

Battleship Potemkin (1925, Sergei Eisenstein)

The Third Man (1949, Carol Reed)

Johnny Come Lately (1943, William K. Howard)

Mister 880 (1950, Edmund Goulding)

Beethoven’s Eroica (2003, Simon Cellan Jones)

Katyn (2007, Andrzej Wajda)

Lemony Snicket’s A Series of Unfortunate Events (2004, Brad Silberling)

Mean Girls (2004, Mark Waters)

The Neverending Story (1984, Wolfgang Petersen)

The NeverEnding Story II: The Next Chapter (1990, George T. Miller)

The Thief and the Cobbler (Richard Williams)

Osmosis Jones (2001, myriad directors)

Megamind (2010, Tom McGrath)

Ghost in the Shell (1995, Mamoru Oshii)

Ghost in the Shell 2: Innocence (2004, Mamoru Oshii)

Steamboy (2004, Katsuhiro Otomo)

Badlands (1973), Terrence Malick

Wargames (1983, John Badham)

By the White Sea (2022, Aleksandr Zachinyayev)

White Moss (2014, Vladimir Tumayev)

The Theme (1979, Gleb Panfilov)

The Duchess (2008, Saul Dibb)

Bed and Sofa (1927, Abram Room)

Fate of a Man (1959, Sergei Bondarchuk)

Ballad of a Soldier (1959, Grigory Chukhray)

Uncle Vanya (1970, Andrey Konchalovskiy)

An Unfinished Piece for Mechanical Piano (1977, Nikita Mikhalkov)

Family Relations (1981, Nikita Mikhalkov)

The Seagull (1970, Yuli Karasik)

My Tender and Affectionate Beast (1978, Emil Loteanu)

Dreams (1993, Karen Shakhnazarov & Alexander Borodyansky)

The Vanished Empire (2008, Karen Shakhnazarov)

Winter Evening in Gagra (1985, Karen Shakhnazarov)

Day of the Full Moon (1998, Karen Shakhnazarov)

Zero Town (1989, Karen Shakhnazarov)

The Girls (1961, Boris Bednyj)

The Diamond Arm (1969, Leonid Gaidai)

Operation Y and Shurik's Other Adventures (1965, Leonid Gaidai)

Ivan Vasilievich Changes Profession (1973, Leonid Gaidai)

Unbelievable Adventures of Italians in Russia (1974, Eldar Ryazanov & Franco Prosperi)

Office Romance (1977, Eldar Ryazanov)

Carnival Night (1956, Eldar Ryazanov)

Hussar Ballad (1962, Eldar Ryazanov)

Kin-dza-dza! (1986, Georgiy Daneliya)

The Most Charming and Attractive (1985, Gerald Bezhanov)

Autumn (1974, Andrei Smirnov)

War and Peace: Part 1 (1966, Sergei Bondarchuk)

War and Peace: Part 2 (1966, Sergei Bondarchuk)

War and Peace: Part 3 (1967, Sergei Bondarchuk)

War and Peace: Part 4 (1967, Sergei Bondarchuk)

The Red Tent (first half) (1969, Mikhail Kalatozov)

The Red Tent (second half) (1969, Mikhail Kalatozov)

Sherlock Holmes: The Hound of the Baskervilles (1939, Sidney Lanfield)

The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes (1939, Alfred L. Werker)

Sherlock Holmes and the Voice of Terror (1942, John Rawlins)

Sherlock Holmes and the Secret Weapon (1943, Roy William Neill)

Sherlock Holmes in Washington (1943, Roy William Neill)

Sherlock Holmes Faces Death (1943, Roy William Neill)

Sherlock Holmes: The Spider Woman (1944, Roy William Neill)

Sherlock Holmes: The Scarlet Claw (1944, Roy William Neill)

Sherlock Holmes: The Pearl of Death (1944, Roy William Neill)

Sherlock Holmes: The House of Fear (1945, Roy William Neill)

Sherlock Holmes: The Woman in Green (1945, Roy William Neill)

Sherlock Holmes: Pursuit to Algiers (1945, Roy William Neill)

Sherlock Holmes: Terror by Night (1946, Roy William Neill)

Sherlock Holmes: Dressed to Kill (1946, Roy William Neill)

If any of the links don’t work, try looking up the film in this playlist: link

#movies #films #cinema #film #movies on youtube #films on youtube #youtube #movie recs #film recs

2K notes · View notes

cjlouwho · 2 months ago

Text

The Things I Cannot Change

I made this post a couple days ago then had to write a fic about it. Enjoy! Read below or on ao3.

“Wait a minute, you're datin' Kinard?” Gerrard asked mid-swing. He had taken Buck out to Topgolf as a thank you for saving his life. Although, Buck still wasn't sure that was actually his intention at the time.

“Yes, Sir,” Buck replied, steeling himself for whatever was going to come out of the man's mouth next.

“He got a sister or something?”

“No, Sir.”

“Didn't think so.” Gerrard planted his feet and swung, unsatisfied by where the ball landed. “So you're a... one of those?”

“Bisexual, yes.”

He rocked back on his heels. “Oh, you swing both ways? Interesting, interesting. You didn't hear about all that back in my day, Buckley. The world has definitely changed.”

“We've always existed,” Buck replied, a part of him wondering why he didn't shove Gerrard to the ground just a little bit harder.

They each took another turn before Gerrard spoke again. “Kinard,” he said, contemplatively. “Gotta say, don't see you two matching.”

Buck closed his eyes, inhaling deeply before turning to Gerrard. “Why's that?”

“Don't get me wrong, Buck, he was a great firefighter when he worked under me. Dotted his I's, crossed his T's. But he wasn't always that way. There's a lot about him...” He shook his head. “Hm. What am I saying, I'm sure you know everything about him anyway, right?”

“Y- yeah,” Buck replied. He knew Gerrard's mind games. Knew better than to fall for it. At least, that's what he kept telling himself.

He walked over to his golf carrier, straightening the firefighter club cover.

“That Operation Thunderbolt was something else, wasn't it?” Gerrard asked.

It took everything in Buck's power to not start asking questions. “Mhm.”

“Mistakes like that can't happen in the firefighting world. Told Kinard as much when he started. Damn, he was a mess back then.” Gerrard let out a laugh. “I whipped him into shape real good. Made him who he is.”

“Mm, yeah. I- I'm sure.”

“That Thunderbolt though,” Gerrard sucked in a breath. “Not good, Buckley. Not good.”

*****

“I think Gerrard is still playing mind games with me,” Buck said to Eddie as he plopped down on the couch. It was a rare shift they had without Gerrard, meaning they could actually sit down and relax.

“Of course he is,” Eddie replied, not bothering to look up from the magazine he was reading. “He took you golfing, Buck. And to lunch, twice.”

“Yeah, but it's more than that now. He, uh, he found out I'm dating Tommy.”

Eddie peered over his magazine at that, eying Buck closely. “He found out? How'd that happen?”

“I... kinda told him.”

“And you think that was a wise decision?”

Buck sat up straighter. “It was the only decision, Eddie. He asked if I was seeing anyone. I- I wasn't gonna lie and say no, or- or make it seem like I was seeing a woman just to make him-”

Eddie raised a hand to stop him. “Buck, not judging. Just asking.”

“Right, well,” he settled into the couch again, clearing his throat. “He knows now.”

“And?”

“And he said he didn't see us matching.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Big surprise there. You can't let him bother you, Buck. Gotta let that stuff roll right off ya.”

“Yeah, I- I did. But, he just... Do you think I know everything about Tommy?”

“I don't know,” Eddie answered, confused. “I'm not a fly on your wall, Buck, I don't know what you two talk about.”

“But, generally speaking, do you think I know him? Because, he knows all my stuff. Like, Daniel, and my parents, and the way I acted when I was younger to get attention. He knows all the different versions of Buck, ya know? And I just, I don't know if I know all his versions.”

“I don't think you ever really stop getting to know someone, Buck. You might think he knows all about you, but I'm sure you surprise him every day.”

Buck sighed. “I'm talking the big stuff, Eddie, not whether or not I enjoy whipped cream being licked off me-”

“Okay, no.”

“Eddie.”

Eddie huffed out a laugh. “I don't know what you want from me, Man. What are you trying to get at?”

“Gerrard mentioned something to me about Tommy that I've never heard of, and I have no idea if he's is lying or not.”

“If it's about Tommy, I'd say he's probably making something out to be worse than it is. Gerrard doesn't seem to fond of the guy.”

Buck nodded. “Yeah. No, no, yeah, I- I agree.”

“So, all good now?”

“Mhm. Yeah, all good. It was stupid anyway.” He grabbed a book from the coffee table, flipping to a random page. “Something about Tommy's time in the army. Operation Thunderbolt,” he shrugged. “I'm sure it's nothing.”

He wasn't sure what made him look up. He hadn't expected Eddie to respond anyway. But when he did glance over at him, he saw Eddie with his eyes practically frozen as he stared at a spot on the wall. Buck knew that look.

Avoidance.

“Eddie?”

Buck's voice seemed to break him out of his trance. He returned to his magazine, eyebrows furrowed. He clearly wasn't reading the article in front of him.

“Eddie?” Buck repeated, louder this time. “Do... Do you know something?”

There were a few more seconds of silence, Eddie's lips pursed as he tried to think of what to say. “I... Buck, it's not really my place.”

Now Buck was worried. “So it's true? There was an Operation Thunderbolt?”

“Buck, I'm not gonna do this,” Eddie said as he stood. He dropped his magazine down on the coffee table and went to walk away. “You need to leave it alone.”

Buck followed him. “Hey, I was your friend first,” he said. And yeah, maybe that was childish, but he couldn't find it in him to care.

Eddie swirled around, nearly knocking into Buck. “That's not fair, and it's not gonna work. If it's gonna bother you so much, talk to Tommy yourself. But I'm warning you, you need to leave it alone.”

When Eddie walked away, Buck didn't follow.

He trusted Eddie. Knew there had to be a good reason he wouldn't get into it.

He'd do what Eddie said.

He'd let it go.

He would.

He would really try to let it go.

*****

He couldn't let it go.

He headed to Tommy's place after work. Tommy had been promising to make his infamous chicken pot pie, the one everyone at the 217 was obsessed with, and tonight was the night.

The food was in the oven, and they were on the couch. Some show was playing on the TV, but it was mainly on for background noise while they made out.

It was kind of a tradition of theirs. Kiss while dinner cooked and then pick up where they left off after they were done eating.

But this time was different, because the words Operation Thunderbolt kept flashing through Buck's mind. Gerrard's voice telling Buck he was sure they knew everything about each other. Eddie's face when he brought up the operation. How closed off he became, how he avoided Buck for the rest of the day.

“Okay,” Tommy said, pulling away. “What's wrong?”

Buck tried to look dumbfounded. “What do you mean?”

“I did that thing with my tongue that always makes you jump in my lap and you didn't even react. What's wrong?”

Buck shook his head, straightening out his shirt. “N- Nothing. I just... I think I'm tired from work is all.”

Tommy tilted his head. “Evan.”

“It's nothing, really. Let's just,” Buck tugged at Tommy's shirt, trying to bring him in for another kiss, “let's keep going. I'll react this time.”

As Buck attempted to pull Tommy closer, Tommy leaned his head back and wrapped his hands around Buck's wrists, stopping him. “Evan, come on. Be honest with me.”

And those were quite possibly the worst set of words Tommy could have chosen, because it took Buck from worried to angry in under a second.

“Honest?” He practically jerked his hands away from Tommy. “You want me to be honest with you?”

“It is the best policy.”

Buck scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Of course you'd think this is a joke.”

“Evan, I'm not really sure what this is at all. I'd love it if you could fill me in though.”

“It's... It's,” Buck stood, hands on his hips, “It's a lot of things, Tommy.”

“Starting with...?”

“I went golfing with Gerrard a couple days ago.”

Tommy nodded. “I remember. You didn't talk much about it though. Did something happen?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it did.”

“Okay. What was it?”

“Doesn't matter,” Buck replied, beginning to pace back and forth. Just a few steps in one direction before turning back around.

“Obviously it does.”

“Eddie told me to let it go.”

“That doesn't seem to be happening. Come on, Evan.” Tommy stood, grasping onto Buck's arm to stop his pacing. “I'm serious. Talk to me.”

Buck stared him down. Looked deep into his eyes like he was trying to get direct access to his soul.

“Operation Thunderbolt.”

He'd never seen two words cause such an instant and dramatic shift in a person before. All the color drained from Tommy's face. His expression fell to nothing, mouth slightly open in shock. He looked like he was about to vomit, or pass out one.

A part of Buck wished he would have left it alone. Never let the words leave his mouth and dropped it like Eddie said.

The other part of Buck was still angry, and wanted to keep pushing his buttons. Wanted to find out why Eddie got to know parts of Tommy that Buck didn't get to know.

Tommy took a couple steps back, until his shins hit the couch and he could sit down again.

“E- Evan, I-”

“You know, I'm not even pissed that I don't know what the hell those words even mean. I'm pissed because I'm apparently the only one who doesn't know.”

Tommy's hands clenched into fists, his nails digging into his palms. He stared straight ahead, unable to even look in Buck's direction. “I really... I can't talk about this right now, Evan.”

“You mean you can't talk about it with me. Apparently you can yack it up with Gerrard and Eddie.”

Tommy unclenched his fists, resting them over his bouncing knees. “Gerrard knows about that because it's why I was discharged from the army. It was on my record and he talked to me about it when I first started at the 118.”

Buck crossed his arms over his chest. “And Eddie?”

The question came out accusatory. He hated that Eddie knew a part of Tommy that he didn't.

“Eddie was in the army.” Tommy finally managed to look up at Buck. His eyes were red-rimmed, filled with an emotion Buck had never seen from the man before. “He understands it.”

“And I don't?”

“No,” Tommy replied honestly. “No, you don't, Evan. And I'm really glad you don't.”

“I've told you everything about me, Tommy! All the bad stuff, all the embarrassing stuff! I thought you'd done the same, but apparently I'm the only one really in this relationship.”

Tommy's eyes darkened. He stood back up, chest heaving. “Do not try and compare stealing fire engines for sex to what I did.”

“I don't even know what you did, Tommy!” Buck exclaimed, throwing his arms up in frustration. “Did you fly to the wrong place? Disobey orders? Get a slap on the wrist from a commanding officer? Someone find out you were-”

“I killed an entire family!” Tommy yelled, causing Buck to jump back ever so slightly. He'd never heard Tommy raise his voice before.

“Wh- What?”

“Thunderbolt was a codename for an operation in Iraq. We were supposed to take out a terrorist cell,” Tommy explained, speaking quickly. “Target was confirmed so I fired. Not even a second later I hear abort, abort, abort in my headset, but it was already too late. Intel was bad, I ended up directing a missile to an innocent family. Grandparents, parents, aunts, uncles, and ten kids. I killed an entire bloodline, Evan.”

“T- Tommy-”

“They're just heat signatures on a monitor, Kinard, nothing more. That's what my commanding officer told me. But I couldn't let it go. I couldn't eat, I couldn't sleep, I was a mess. They gave me an honorable discharge and a damn medal for killing those people.”

“I didn't-”

“Sometimes I think about it too much,” Tommy continued, ignoring Buck's interruptions. “One day Eddie was coming over for Muay Thai and I could barely get myself up off the couch. He knew something was wrong and we started talking. I don't have many friends, Evan, and Eddie is the first I've had that was in the army. It's easy to talk to him about this stuff because I don't feel like I have to explain myself over and over again or worry that he's going to think I'm a monster.”

“I don't think you're a monster.” Buck's voice was small. He felt like he was two feet tall.

“I can tell when a person looks at me differently, Evan. Saw it the second I told you.”

“Yeah, because I was surprised! It's a lot to throw on a person!”

“I didn't want to throw it on you! I was gonna tell you eventually, but I didn't feel ready yet. Didn't know how to explain it to you.” Tommy stood, his nervous energy taking over. He walked past Buck and headed for the door. “I can't do this right now. I need to go.”

“This is your house, Tommy. I'll go.”

“No, I need to get out.” He grabbed his coat and his keys. “Can you turn off the oven for me, please?”

“Tommy, come on, please don't leave mad. I'm sorry, okay?”

Tommy paused, the door half open. “Not mad, Evan. You definitely don't need to apologize to me. I just... I can't. You have a key. Lock up when you leave.”

*****

Buck gave Tommy twenty-four hours before sending a text.

Can I come over to talk please?

He waited thirty minutes before trying again.

Tommy, I don't think you're a monster, and I'd like to apologize to you in person. I know I threw that on you and I shouldn't have.

Still nothing.

So, he tried calling. It rang seven times before it went to voicemail.

“Tommy, I just wanna talk. I- I know I probably deserve the silent treatment but... I just wanna talk. Call me back, please.”

Buck was not known for his patience. It took everything within him to not get in his car and drive to Tommy's place right then and there.

But he didn't want to smother Tommy, at least not more than he already had. He waited an hour, then started getting ready for bed. He had to be at work early tomorrow, and if Tommy wasn't ready to talk yet, he'd respect that.

It was the least he could do.

When he woke up for work the next day and had no missed messages or calls from Tommy, he worried.

He had half expected to hear something from him during the night.

When he got to work, he made a beeline for Eddie, who was putting some things into his locker.

“Eddie, have you heard from Tommy in the past couple days?”

“Good morning to you too, Buck. My time off was great, thanks for asking.”

“Come on, I'm serious. Have you heard from him?”

Eddie closed his locker door and turned to Buck. “I thought you were spending your time off with him?”

“We had a... a thing.”

“A thing?”

“A fight,” Buck clarified. “Sort of. A fight-ish.”

“A... A fight-ish? Would this fight-ish have to do with Gerrard and a certain military operation?”

Buck shrugged. “Maybe. Possibly you too.”

“Me?!” Eddie exclaimed. “Why me?”

“Listen, I got a little angry over the fact you seem to know Tommy better than I do and I may have expressed as much, okay? And yes, I mentioned the operation, and kind of forced him into explaining, which may have sent him spiraling. He said he wasn't mad, but he has a way of saying that instead of letting me apologize for things and now he won't answer me and I'm afraid he's actually mad or-”

“Breathe,” Eddie interrupted, patting Buck on the shoulder. “I haven't heard from him. Honestly, though, if he told you about Thunderbolt, he's probably not doing great right now.”

Buck flopped down onto one of the benches, his legs stretching out in front of him. “I really screwed up, Eddie.”

“I'm the king of screw ups, Man,” Eddie replied, sitting beside him. “You haven't done anything that can't be fixed. For what it's worth, he was always planning on telling you. It's just a tough one for him to talk about without spiraling.”

Buck glared over at him. “You're really not helping.”

“You've got a twelve today too, right?”

Buck nodded.

“I'll text him, see if he answers. You head over after work. It'll work out. Don't worry.”

*****

Worry was all Buck did the entire day. Especially after Eddie sent his third text and got no response. Even he thought it was strange, which made Buck worry even more.

He couldn't get to Tommy's fast enough after his shift. He hurried over, not hesitating to use his key to get inside.

“Tommy?” he called out apprehensively. “Are you here?”

He knew Tommy had to be there. His car was in the driveway and he always left his door unlocked when he went for a run, much to Buck's dismay.

He headed for the living room first, then the kitchen.

“Tommy?” he called again before heading to the bedroom.

No lights were on in the house, and the sun had nearly set, making it difficult to see. When he pushed open the cracked bedroom door, he could barely see the outline of Tommy lying in bed, covers pulled up to his neck. His blackout curtains were drawn, making the room nearly pitch black.

Buck entered the room cautiously. “Tommy, y- you awake?”

“Mmm,” he grunted. “Yeah.”

“I've been worried,” he said, toeing off his shoes before crawling onto the bed. “I tried calling and texting. Eddie did too.”

“Haven't been by my phone,” Tommy mumbled into his pillow.

Buck settled into his usual side of the bed, keeping some space between them. “Is this... Is this about our fight? I really am sorry for pushing you, Tommy.”

“Not mad,” he replied, managing to roll over and curl into Buck's side. “Told you I wasn't mad yesterday.”

“It... It's been two days, Babe.”

He rested a hand over Buck's stomach, gripping the material of his shirt. “Oh. Really?”

“Yeah.” Buck wrapped an arm around Tommy's back, letting his nails scratch up and down his spine. “I- Tommy, what's going on?”

“Tired.” He nestled his head further into Buck's waist. “Brain was thinking too much.”

“Oh.” Buck didn't know what to say. Didn't know the right words to make him feel better. He'd never seen Tommy like this before. It made him feel overwhelmed, and sad, and a little bit terrified. “You wanna talk about it?”

Tommy gripped even tighter. He was silent for a moment, breathing against Buck's body before he spoke quietly. “I killed people, Evan.”

God, Buck wanted to cry. “I- I know.”

“A whole family. Kids. I did that.”

“You didn't know, Tommy. It's not your fault.”

“That doesn't matter to them. They don't get to have a life because of me.”

Buck wanted to hold onto Tommy tighter, pull him all the way into his arms and hold him until the pain would go away.

But Tommy withdrew before Buck could even get his other arm around him. He turned back onto his other side, pulling the covers up until just his eyes and nose stuck out from under them. “I'm just tired, Hon. I'll be okay.”

*****

The next thing Tommy knew, he was being shook awake. The room was still dark, and he was pretty sure not much time had passed. “What? What time's it?”

“A little after eight,” Buck whispered, giving his shoulder another shake. “Get up, please.”

Tommy sighed. “Why? M'tired.”

“Because you have company.”

“I do?” he asked, eyebrows furrowed. “Can you tell them to leave, Evan?”

“No. Get up.”

Tommy groaned, but forced himself to get out of bed. He took the hand Buck had held out for him, and let himself be led to the living room.

“Hey,” Eddie said from his spot on the couch. “You look like crap.”

“Eddie?” Tommy glanced back and forth between him and Buck. “What are you doing here?”

“Your boyfriend here called me and said you could use a friend.”

Buck gave Tommy's hand a squeeze to get his attention. “You're right,” he said. “I don't know the right thing to do or say to make you feel better. But I think he can.”

“Evan, I-”

Buck brought a hand to Tommy's face, brushing a thumb over his cheek. He leaned in and gave him a peck on the lips. “I love you, Tommy, okay? All of you.”

“I don't know what to say, Evan.”

“Say pizza's on the way,” Eddie interrupted. “I'm starving.”

Buck laughed, rolling his eyes as he turned back to Eddie. “Pizza is on the way. I'm gonna head out to the gym for a couple hours.”

He went to let go of Tommy's hand, but Tommy pulled him back in for a hug. “Come back after?” he asked, his mouth brushing against Buck's ear.

Buck nodded. “Of course.”

“Okay.” Tommy pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, Evan. I love you.”

Buck smiled, giving Tommy's hand a final squeeze before letting go. “See you two later. Save me a piece of pizza.”

“We'll see!” Eddie yelled out as Buck headed out the front door. He nodded at Tommy, who was still standing in the middle of the living room. “So, you ready to talk?”

Tommy only briefly hesitated before he walked over and sat on the opposite end of the couch, curling his knees up to his chest. “Yeah. Yeah, let's talk.”

#bucktommy #911 #tommy kinard #evan buckley #i did not fully read this over please excuse any errors #oh also #eddie diaz #and #vincent gerrard

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miabebe · 4 months ago

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Camp Seventeen: Chronicles

Dive into the profiles of the members of Camp Seventeen!

Name: Choi Seungcheol (Coups, Cheol)

Descent: Son of Zeus, King of Gods, God of Sky, Thunder and Lightning

Symbol: Thunderbolt

Role: Camp Leader - Sets rules and assigns roles in camp to everyone. Responsible for overseeing team members and ensuring discipline on camp.

Residence: White marbled mansion, surrounded by oak trees, located on higher ground than everyone else so he can keep an eye on camp.

Companion: Eagle called Zephyr who is often seen patrolling the skies to protect camp. Seungcheol has a special whistle call to make it land on his shoulder.

Profession: Meteorologist - He has a very good understanding of the weather and can accurately predict changes. Although he does not enjoy his job as he despises working in spaces where he does not have control aka isn't the boss. On the orders of his father he’s also pursuing a degree in astronomy.

Fun facts: Seungcheol’s anger is quite destructive - surprise, surprise, it thunders when he’s mad. His hair was black when he was born but streaks of gold started to appear whenever he used his powers and now it is fully golden blonde. Seungcheol also has an insane appetite and is also always making sure everyone eats well.

Name: Yoon Jeonghan (Han, Angel Boy)

Descent: Son of Athena, Goddess of Wisdom, Warfare and Handicraft

Symbol: Medusa’s head

Role: Quest strategist - Studies warfare strategies of other camps and develops a plan of action for his team. Assigns roles in Quests to all members.

Residence: A tree house nestled on top of an olive tree that surprisingly no one can seem to climb other than the man himself. No one on camp has seen the inside of his house though all have tried - it is believed to house the rare luxuries he collects without anyone’s knowledge.

Companion: Bratty owl called Nox that only comes out at night, god knows where it goes off to in the day. (Dino often has to go on his knees and beg it to help deliver letters)

Profession: Lawyer - He originally wanted to be a teacher however his level of intelligence was too high for a kindergarten job. In fact, he’s so intelligent that he often has to downplay his smartness at work. The only reason he enjoys being a lawyer is because of the cunningness the profession requires.

Fun facts: Being the son of a virgin goddess makes Jeonghan a rare demigod - there’s very few known children of Athena. He’s also the camp prankster and though he gets on everyone’s nerves with his jokes, all the members adore him. He’s incredibly scared of spiders and refuses to visit Australia for the same reason.

Name: Hong Jisoo (Joshua, Joshie)

Descent: Son of Aphrodite, Goddess of Love, Sex and Beauty

Symbol: White swan.

Role: Camp manager - Responsible for all non training related operations on camp - meals, residences etc. Conflict resolving between members.

Residence: A small cottage by the lake that was personally crafted by his mother's helpers hence it has all her favorite things in it - red roses, seashells, sea foam etc. To no one’s surprise, there are also mirrors everywhere in his house.

Companion: Joshua once went to a bird shop to adopt a pet but came back with nearly every single dove, pigeon and sparrow because they would not stop screeching in his absence. Now they go everywhere with him - he’s a mini snow white.

Profession: Writer - Joshua writes romance novels often relying on real life experiences of his many affairs. His books are world famous under the pen name Mr.G (apparently short for gentleman) and they always have happy endings.

Fun facts: When he’s not writing, Joshua loves to make his own accessories, especially with pearls. He also loves reading other’s writings - particularly fanfictions of his characters. He is also a very good singer, often playing the guitar during evening campfires.

Name: Wen Junhui (Jun, Moon Junnie)

Descent: Son of Demeter, Goddess of Agriculture, Harvest and Seasons

Symbol: Cornucopia

Role: Camp Farmhand - Growing and harvesting crops needed for cooking. Cooks dinner for all members. (Breakfasts and lunches are each member’s personal responsibility, though Jun insists on packing lunch for members who go to work.)

Residence: A small farmhouse in the middle of his fields at the foot of the hills. It’s got windmills and creeks and bales of hay - very picturesque

Companion: A two feet long rough green snake called Fluffy. Unlike its name, it's skinny and clingy and is wrapped around Jun at all times.

Profession: Acupuncturist - works in a small clinic at the edge of the city and is quite renowned for his skill. Although looking at how most of his patients are young women with barely significant health issues, maybe he’s more renowned for his looks.

Fun facts: He's the one that most members from other camps have a crush on - he’s always having to run away from fawning girls during quest season. He loves adventure sports and often goes off on his own to do something outdoors. Hates the city, never visits it unless he has no choice.

Name: Kwon Soonyoung (Hoshi, Tiger)

Descent: Son of Dionysus, God of Wine, Festivity and Theatre

Symbol: Pinecone

Role: Camp PR - Establishing social connections with other camps. Entertaining guests who come to camp to form treaties.

Residence: Luxurious purple and green mansion which looks a little rustic from the outside with all the grapevines and ivy but on the inside it's the very epitome of lavishness.

Companion: Horang the leopard tiger - He had requested his father to gift him a tiger but his drunk old man sent him a leopard and Hoshi refuses to accept it. He often dresses it in a tiger outfit so it's safe to say Horang is actually quite sick of him.

Profession: Club owner - Hoshi owns a small underground club which has an even more underground secret room only for demigods. There he *cough* illegally *cough* sells his own brewed alcohol which is a big hit and makes him big money.

Fun facts: Makes and sells alcohol but does not drink as he cannot handle it at all. During his free time, he either studies the art of wine making or takes dance workshops in the city because he’s passionate about it. The loudest possible introvert you will meet with the largest possible social circle - literally no one hates him (except Horang)

Name: Jeon Wonwoo (Wonu, Jeon-sshi)

Descent: Son of Hades, King of the Underworld, God of Death and Riches

Symbol: Black Ram

Role: Camp patrolling - Patrols and secures camp borders at night. Not exactly his job but somehow always ends up doing the dishes.

Residence: He lives in a cave underground which is quite high tech and equipped, like the bat cave. He’s got all sorts of computers and screens set up everywhere for the ease of his job.

Companion: None. Wonwoo’s father gifted him Cerberus, a 3 headed puppy but Wonwoo gave it to Mingyu after he lost his own pet in a Quest. Natalie for some reason, likes to follow around Wonwoo like moth to a light.

Profession: No one knows really. It’s some big secret government job that he rarely goes to the headquarters for - mostly works from the comfort of his own home at whatever time is convenient for him.

Fun facts: He’s extremely rich - his job makes him a lot of money but also his father keeps sending him a lot of gifts, mainly gemstones. Children of Hades tend to be loners and do not join camps but Seungcheol fought tooth and nail to get Wonwoo into Camp Seventeen. Wonwoo loves to bike and often takes his motorcycle, Night Fury, to the countryside for long drives.

Name: Lee Jihoon (Woozi, Uji)

Descent: Son of Apollo, God of Sun, Music and Healing

Symbol: Lyre

Role: Camp Patrolling - Patrolling and securing camp at daytime. Also responsible for the healing wounded members

Residence: Woozi and Vernon own neighboring twin houses - Woozi’s is white and gold and is filled with his instruments and music equipment

Companion: A pure white cow which is named….Cow. It was a reward that he got in one of the Quests years ago and its milk has medicinal properties and helps him to heal members. Cow also has a little calf called Daisy which is the common camp pet - it’s fond of all the members and is very playful with everyone, especially Vernon’s hounds.

Profession: Music producer - He’s very good with sound and can play most musical instruments. Sometimes DJs at Hoshi’s club when Hyungwon, Jeonghan’s little crush, isn’t available

Fun facts: Woozi works from his own home studio so he barely ever leaves camp. He also doesn’t attend many social events unless really necessary. Spends longer hours than most members in physical and combat training - members suspect he considers himself a little weak since he’s the shortest and tend to hype him up at every given chance. He has the most beautiful long golden locks that he loves to style in various buns and braids.

Name: Xu Minghao (Myungho, Hao)

Descent: Son of Ares, God of War, Battle-lust and Courage

Symbol: War helmet

Role: Camp trainer - In charge of training members of combat. Assigns weapons and maintains the ones stored in reserves.

Residence: Brick House at the edge of the training field with his personal gym and simulation combat room.

Companion: None. Minghao does not feel any emotional attachment towards any living thing.

Profession: Tattoo artist - Minghao always liked things that were rebellious in nature and he’s a very talented artist so he decided to combine the two as his profession.

Fun facts: He’s one of the best warriors the world has ever seen - he's trained in many camps before he decided Camp Seventeen was it for him. The camp lost two Quest seasons because Minghao had to fight for the Amazonions as a favour to his dad but now he has the eternal support of the entire tribe. Although his father is the very symbol of rage and fury, Minghao tends to be quite calm and meditates often to keep inner peace.

Name: Kim Mingyu (Gyu, Big Boy)

Descent: Son of Hepheastus, God of Fire, Forges and Blacksmiths

Symbol: Smith's hammer

Role: Weapons master - he makes all the weapons and equipment for the members. Handles all engineering related matters on camp as well.

Residence: Has the only two storey house on camp - ground floor is his personal forgery and above it is his residence which the most automated, high tech place ever - seriously, he’s made a machine for everything

Companion: He used to have a baby donkey but lost it in a quest. (last it was seen was when Hoshi took a photo sitting on it) then Wonwoo gave him his dog because he was lonely.

Profession: Firefighter - being the son of the god of fire helps with that. Plus Mingyu is always looking to help people in need so it was a no brainer for him when the time came for him to pick a job. However now he’s considering leaving the job to become a chef

Fun facts: Mingyu is the tallest seventeen member so it's always hard to get gear for him - it's always too small or too tight. Mingyu isn’t particularly a fan of biking but knows it's one way he can spend time with Wonwoo so he built his own bike, FireBolt. Since the terrain on camp is too uneven for a bike, he built it to be able to transform into a mechanical bull at the click of a button allowing him to ride it around everywhere no camp, inducing mini earthquakes as it runs.

Name: Lee Seokmin (Dk, Min)

Descent: Son of Poseidon, God of Seas, Storms and Horses

Symbol: Water waves

Residence: He has a boat house in the middle of the lake which the members love to use as a party yacht much to his dismay.

Companion: Pegasus, a big stallion actually meant for battle but in reality it is a scaredy cat. Often runs the opposite side of combat regardless of Seokmin’s instructions

Role: Camp trainer - in charge of morning warm ups and drills. Helps members with general fitness and health.

Profession: Surf instructor - he spends pretty much all his time in and around sea because that is where he feels strongest. Often helps capsized boats and trapped animals though he’s not supposed to interfere and falls in trouble because of his good nature

Fun facts: Seokmin was deadly scared of water as a child and would not even go near it. His father personally trained him and prepared his son for demigod life. He is one of the only members who has lived in Olympus for a while in his younger days. He's incredibly sweet and considerate though most of Poseidon’s many many sons tend to be arrogant and rude

Name: Boo Seungkwan (Uri boo, Kwan)

Descent: Son of Hera, Queen of Gods, Goddess of Marriage, Family and Women

Symbol: Diadem

Role: Camp PR - Like Hoshi, he too establishes alliances and treaties with camps. Often the messenger to Olympus because his mother is queen - loved by all the Gods (except Zeus)

Residence: A Greek style house that Hera had instructed him to construct right in the middle of camp because she wants him to be the center of everything. Seungkwan dislikes it and often bunks with Vernon who’s the only one who hasn’t shooed him away when he approached.

Companion: Patricia, the peacock that his mother gifted him but it's a bit too high end and spoilt to be in a place like camp.

Profession: Wedding planner - Seungkwan loved weddings since he was a child mostly because he always saw his mother at one when she came to bless the unions. He decided to start his own company after nitpicking about how everyone was getting them all wrong and wanting to teach the world the right ways again.

Fun facts: If it's not already obvious, he’s a mummy’s boy. Though Hera is the very symbol of faithfulness, the growing number of her husband’s children prompted her to have children of her own, Seungkwan being the one she’s most fond of. He’s the latest addition to camp and within days of arriving, he had already boosted Seventeen’s image beyond their expectations. He runs a secret instagram page for Camp Seventeen who’s followers are mostly girls from other camps, because the pictures are mostly the members shirtless.

Name: Chwe Hansol (Vernon, Bonon)

Descent: Son of Artemis, Goddess of the Hunt, Wilderness, and Chastity

Symbol: Wolf

Role: Camp patrolling - along with Woozi, he too patrols the camp at daytime. Hunts wild animals which tend to find their way into the camps.

Residence: Twin houses with Woozi, his is silver and white and has a large enclosure for his hounds. His house shines according to the cycle of the moon - brightest at full moon, almost invisible at no moon.

Companion: Fifteen hounds that are descendants of the hounds that his mother hunts. He can’t remember fifteen names so he’s named as the numbers - One, Two, Three, so on.

Profession: Video gamer developer - Vernon had a lot of experience as a child when he was caste as Tv show host. Though, as much as he’s used to the entertainment industry, he likes to steer clear from it hence venturing into game development

Fun facts: Vernon is also the child of a virgin goddess and hence also a rare demigod. He’s famous for his chiseled features and is often babied by the Hunters of Artemis. Demigods aren’t allowed to meet their mortal families after initiating into camps but Vernon always sneaks out to meet his sister Sofia who he is very close to and fond of.

Name: Lee Chan (Dino, Maknae)

Descent: Son of Hermes, Messenger of Gods, God of Trade, Luck and Travel

Symbol: Caduceous

Role: Camp messenger - Much like his father, Dino plays the active role of camp transport-in-charge. Any and all deliveries are his job - even when Mingyu needs a ton of iron to weld.

Residence: A large camp tent at the entrance of camp - When he first came he claimed he wanted it to get ‘camp feels’ now he hates it but Cheol won’t let him change it.

Companion: A tortoise named Speedy which is as slow as he is fast. Always has to run, then wait for it to catch up, then run again and wait again and so on.

Profession: Cab driver - doesn’t particularly enjoy the job but it makes things easier for him. He says he’s saving up to go to med school one day but Woozi swears Dino said chest muscles are called pecs because they are short for spectacular so yeah, that’s probably not happening

Fun facts: He’s a kleptomaniac - he’s always stealing stuff from the members, his house is full of such artifacts. He’s also the most in touch with his demigod half siblings - the sons of Hermes are a tight bunch. Being the youngest in camp means he’s most teased but also most adored - camp messenger isn’t even a legit job, they just give him as little work as possible.

Name: [ ]

Descent: Daughter of Hestia, Goddess of Hearth, Home and Hospitality

Symbol: Fire

Role: Not yet assigned

Residence: Not yet built

Companion: Natalie the piglet who she found stuck in the trashcan one day and decided to raise. Natalie is a fledgling meaning its a creature of Olympus and does not follow time in the mortal world

Profession: Studying her last year of Architecture

Fun facts: She's the exact opposite of everything her mother is known for - very confrontational, not hospitable and not homely at all. Most Demigods are discovered when they are 16 but she made it to 25 undetected, no one knows how. Mingyu was the one who found her because of an accident that landed her in a lawsuit - Olympus assigned Camp Seventeen to her under the suggestion of the oracle.

If you want to be added to the taglist, please comment on this post!

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catdemondez · 1 year ago

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So my autistic ass was OBSESSED with The Titanic as a kid and one thing I keep thinking about with this whole lost submarine incident is the “name curse”.

White Star Line, the company that produced the Titanic, made three Olympic class ocean liners: The Olympic, The Titanic, and The Britannic.

(Seen in order top to bottom. Picture stolen from reddit. X )

The Olympic is the only of those three that did not sink.

Now, the “name curse” that comes in to play here is related to greek mytholoical races from which each ship has supposedly taken its name: The Olympic Gods (also just called Olympians), The Titans, and The Giants. The giants are involved due to a claim that The Britannic was originally called The Gigantic, based on an unofficial poster featuring the ship with the supposed name above it, as well as a contemporary newspaper stating that the company announced a ship with said name three years before The Britannic was launched.

Both The Giants and The Titans were races that were vanquished by The Olympic Gods in what are called the Titanomachy and Gigantomachy, with the latter event being less well know.

Another race of gigantic beings seen in greek mythology is The Cyclopes. The Cyclops were never vanquished by The Olympic Gods as they were never at odds with the gods, even crafting artifacts for the gods themselves, namely: Zeus’s thunderbolts, Poseidon’s trident, and Hades’s helmet of invisibility.

The submarine that went missing is part of the Cyclops class submarine line produced by OceanGate Inc., probably called such due to the design. Two vessels of the class have been produced with two more planned following a naming scheme of Cyclops I, Cyclops II, and so on. Cyclops II however was renamed to Titan specifically for its use in touristic viewing expeditions of The Titanic.

Now, more about the submarine itself;

Cyclops I performed well for its intended depth, Titan however has not, with OceanGate having lost track of it before. This is due to the vessel lacking a tracking beacon, as well as navigation controls and communication devices, relying on a support ship to text Titan’s captain its directions, as revealed by Journalist David Progue, who also said that they “turned off the ship’s internet to prevent tweeting.” Also, due to the lack of these features, Titan was denied official certification by ship classification societies for not meeting safety standards of ANY society. Problems started long before this, though.

During the testing of Titan’s design, OceanGate claimed that the dimensions and structure were partly designed and tested by NASA, Boeing (the plane company) and The University of Washington. All three of which have denied this. In fact, when Titan was first built, it was handed over to the company’s operations department with no testing whatsoever as well as an insufficient monitoring system. The Director of Operations, however, saw this and submitted a negative quality report, for which he was promptly fired. When they DID finally test it over a year later, the vessel resurfaced with signs of cyclic fatigue, which is the near microscopic bending of metal that happens before cracks appear. Instead of changing the design to prevent this from happening in future expeditions, the company simply replaced the damaged parts and called it good.

All in all, its just so funny to me that OceanGate used the same supposedly cursed naming pattern for its ONE safety violation riddled submarine only to send it to a lethal depth its not equipped to handle AND SOMEHOW not expect it to eventually crush like a soda can under a semi.

#titanic #the titanic #titan #oceangate #submarine #greek mythology #titans #olympic gods #olympians #cyclops #ships #greek gods #titan submarine #my post

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rwpohl · 6 months ago

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mivtsa yonatan, menahem golan 1977

youtube

beyond the clouds: jonathan livingstone seagull, hall bartlett 1973

#mivtsa yonatan #operation thunderbolt #menahem golan #1977 #sybil danning #klaus kinski #7 days in entebbe #jonathan livingston seagull #hall bartlett #1973 #neil diamond #die möwe jonathan #la marche de l’empereur #oh jonathan oh jonathan!#landmann #mogadischu

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usafphantom2 · 2 months ago

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Four different proposals to convert P-47 Thunderbolt with early centrifugal compression flow jet engines in 1944.

Who knew! Design concept given up for F-84 Thunderjet started 1944 first flown 1946 and operational 1947 but not fully accepted until 1949. Much smaller aircraft.

@CcibChris via X

#p 47 thunderbolt #f 84 thunderjet #republic aviation #fighter bomber #aircraft #usaaf #usaf #aviation #ww2 #cold war aircraft #aviation military #aviation military pics #military aircraft #military aviation

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thatsrightice · 6 months ago

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are there any excerpts from Crosby’s memoir about Gale you could post, if that’s alright? I’m really curious about him!

Thank you for the ask, I am more than happy to oblige! Just as a little note, I think both Egan and Cleven were nicknamed Bucky, but the show made one Buck and one Bucky so that people wouldn’t get them confused. Also, Crosby never really mentions Cleven without mentioning Egan which is kind of a testament to their relationship. There’s a lot of them btw so most of them will be under the cut! :)

"You fly tomorrow," Bucky Elton told us. He was Squadron Operations Officer. Both leaders had the same nickname. In the Group we had Bucky Egan, Bucky Elton, and Bucky Cleven. Cleven and Egan were best friends, top flyers, devil-may-care. All the 100th pilots wanted to be like them.

"What I can't really handle is that when Cleven and Egan were still around, the men were happier. With them gone, the heart of the 100th has stopped beating." - Harry Crosby

Then come the four squadron commanders, with Bucky Egan and Bucky Cleven together. They, more than any other of our leaders, had the real Air Corps raunch, their hats cocked on the backs of their heads. Egan's white fleece-lined jacket is his trademark. They both are wearing white scarves.

Egan and Cleven trade quips with their men as they walk forward. I don't normally use the word "debonair," but that's what they are. Bucky Cleven and Bucky Egan are like what their men saw in the movie I Wanted Wings. The men wanted leaders like that. Cleven's real first name is Gale, and Egan's is John, but I never heard either name used.

The two Buckys talk like Hollywood. The first time I ever saw Cleven was at the Officers' Club. For some reason he wanted to talk with me, and he said, "Taxi over here, Lootenant."

The Group Navigator [Omar Gonzalez] is a first lieutenant from San Antonio, Texas. Because of his skin color and his quiet diffidence, he doesn't belong up there with the boisterous, swaggering Egan and Cleven. Egan calls him "Pancho." Cleven calls him "Omar the Tent Maker."

When we all assembled on the airfield for parade, our lines were straggly and our men out of step. When the squadrons stood by for inspection, Colonel LeMay didn't see Cleven. When he asked where the squadron commander was, the first sergeant responded, "He took to the woods." This did not surprise LeMay who had heard from our previous commanding officers, Turner and Huglin, that Cleven and Egan were at the root of the 100th's raunchy discipline.

On the next day, Bucky even gathered up the enlisted men who worked at 350th Squadron Headquarters and told them he was going to make up for the indignity they had suffered the day before. He took them out to the flight line and loaded them up in an old stripped-down B-17E, which our group brass used for joyrides and taxi service. Since it had no guns or armaments, it was light and Cleven could fly it like a P-39 fighter plane.

Apparently Cleven had phoned some of his pilot training classmates who were now assigned to P-47's and arranged a surprise. The E was hardly off the runway when it was "attacked" by three American fighters.

For the next twenty minutes, Cleven-whose superb skill as a pilot no one questioned-wrung that old plane out as though it was a Piper Cub. He twisted and turned and plunged, all in a simulated dog fight with his three fighter pilot chums. The three Thunderbolts buzzed the 17 and came within inches of it.

The ground-duty enlisted men in the plane probably never forgot that flight, but it hardly was what the 100th needed at that time. When the fight was reported by the British Home Guard observation team, the report did the 100th no good.

The "Two Buckys," John Egan, commander of the 418th Squadron, and Gale Cleven, of the 350th, were the heart of the original 100th-dashing, undisciplined, superb pilots, exactly what Hollywood expected them to be. When they were shot down, even over Bremen (October 8, 1943), and Egan over Münster (October 10), the 100th was devastated-and a new era began.

We knew that Bucky Cleven's plane had been hit badly just before Regensburg, and we had heard that he and the pilot, Norman Scott, had differed about what to do. When we got on the ground in Africa, there seemed to be no tension between the two of them, and Scott was laughing and joking just like the rest of us.

According to the Lay report, after the hits, the pilot had pleaded with Cleven to abandon ship. When Cleven refused to ring the bell, Scott had gotten up and started to leave alone. At this point, "although the odds were heavily against him, Major Cleven's reply was as follows: 'You son of a bitch, you sit there and take it."

Lay's report continued, "These strong words were heard over interphone and had a magical effect on the rest of the crew, and they stuck to their guns."

For this, Colonel Lay recommended Bucky Cleven for the Congressional Medal of Honor. The citation was scaled down a bit, and he did get the Distinguished Service Cross.

This story electrified the base, a triumph for the group's most admired twosome. Already Cleven and Egan were the 100th Group heroes. New crews almost immediately began to talk like the two squadron commanders. In the Officers' Club or at Group Ops, young flyers circled around them, and watched the two fly missions with their hands. Enlisted men adored them. Pilots wanted to fly the way the two Buckys did. Back in the days before anyone knew what a role model was, Bucky Cleven and Bucky Egan were the role models of the 100th.

When the story appeared in The Saturday Evening Post it made Bucky Cleven a national hero.

From the tail: "High squadron lead gone. There it goes."

It can't be. Bucky Cleven is in that plane. He is indestructible.

No German alive could get him.

The British lorry drives off with our profuse thanks. Just as we climb into one of the base personnel carriers, Colonel Harding drives up in his sedan, with Bucky Egan behind him in another car.

A volley of words.

"We thought you had it!"

"We got reports that four chutes got out.”

"Did you see Bucky Cleven get it?"

We take the enlisted men to their quarters. Since we have not eaten since morning, we need food. We look at our watches: 1930 hours. The Flying Mess will be closed. We head for the Officers' Club.

As we enter, officers, ground and air alike, look up. Stunned.

"It's Blakely's crew!"

Pandemonium. Every man in the club, even the enlisted waiters, rush up and pound us on the back. At least half of them offer us their drinks.

"We thought you bought it!"

"They reported four chutes."

"Did you see Major Cleven blow up?"

Bucky Cleven, the impervious, the invincible, was gone. If he couldn't make it, who could? His good friend, Bucky Egan, didn't talk much that night.

The loss of Bucky Cleven over Bremen and Bucky Egan over Münster seemed to have cut the heart right out of the the 100th. Without them the 100th was a shadow.

Bucky Cleven and Bucky Egan, the two squadron leaders who went down over Bremen and Münster, were the very soul of Romanticism. They hated discipline. I told Landra that discipline was called "chicken shit." Like the two Buckys, our pilots all wanted to be dashing individualists.

Jack Kidd, John Bennett, and Tom Jeffrey showed us how to win a war. Bucky Cleven and Bucky Egan gave the 100th its personality. Bob Rosenthal helped us want to win the war.

#ask #bucky egan #buck cleven #masters of the air #mota #real mota #Harry Crosby #quotes #a wing and a prayer #book quotes #these are so good tho

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soldierporn · 3 months ago

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Final Flight of the Bulldogs.

DAVIS-MONTHAN AIR FORCE BASE, Ariz. 21 JUN 2024.

Photos by Senior Airman Vaughn Weber.

Story by Airman 1st Class Jhade Herrera and Senior Airman Vaughn Weber. Edited by R. Etzweiler.

The 354th Fighter Squadron and 354th Fighter Generation Squadron have flown their last A-10C Thunderbolt II sortie.

The fini flight was flown by Lt. Col. Patrick "Meat" Chapman, commander of the 354th Fighter Squadron.

The inactivations of the 354th FS and 354th FGS come as their assigned A-10s are sent to The Boneyard. The base makes way for the planned arrival of the 492nd Special Operations Wing.

The Bulldogs last deployed to Al Dhafra Air Base from October 2023 to April 2024 in support of the first AFFORGEN cycle and were instrumental in developing attack leaders and deploying combat AirPower.

“Our most recent deployment was an operationally challenging one,” said Chapman. “I'm proud of the ops and the maintenance team for stepping up to meet those challenges, which ultimately protected coalition lives during a very turbulent time in the Middle East.”

As part of the inactivation, assignment teams will work with pilots and maintainers to determine new assignments based on what is best for each member’s career development, to include transitioning to different weapons systems.

[Note from the Curator: The mustache decal on the nose of this Warthawg is a Pedros (pararescue jumpers) designation. That means during its deployments it worked with ground forces during CSAR missions.]

#The Slaying of the Hawgs #Hildisvini #US Air Force #a 10 warthog #a 10 thunderbolt ii #I guess there's gonna be a pig roast?

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sjsmith56 · 3 months ago

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The Recruit

Summary: A former special forces operative is recruited by Bucky and Sam, who have to get past her trust issues first.

Length: 4.6 K

Characters: Named OFC, Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson, Yelena Belova

Warnings: PTSD, abandonment issues, anger issues, trust issues, reference to capture and sexual assault, alcohol abuse.

Author notes: I’m not sure where this came from but I wanted to explore Bucky trying to help someone with similar issues to his. The name of the OFC is a deliberate choice as it establishes that she has had a chip on her shoulder for a long time. Takes place after Thunderbolts* and Captain America: Brave New World.

It had been two days since I brought the woman and her daughter, victims of domestic abuse by her mobster husband, to the safe house. Two days since I was ordered to keep going while the Avengers confronted his posse of men who were tracking us. Two days since I last wondered how I ended up as an agent with the Avengers. It certainly wasn't something I set out to do when I answered a cryptic ad that persistently showed up on my cell phone, asking only three questions.

DO YOU LIKE YOUR JOB?

IS IT FULFILLING?

DO YOU WISH YOU WERE DOING SOMETHING MEANINGFUL?

IF YOU ANSWERED NO, NO, AND YES, YOU MAY BE THE PERSON WE NEED!

CLICK HERE IF YOU WISH TO KNOW MORE.

Yeah, stupid drunk me clicked on the hyperlink and two days later (is there something about two days that just follows me?) Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes showed up at my door. Even that wasn't technically true, as I was outside my apartment, had just put the key into the lock and opened the door when I realized that something wasn't right. As a single woman I was pretty aware of my surroundings, so the sight of a pair of black, scuffed combat boots and a pair of pull-on work boots lined up neatly on the mat inside my door led me to believe I wasn't alone. I didn't feel like I was in danger, because honestly, what thief or murderer would take his footwear off and put it on the mat? But, living alone, I also knew not to take any chances, so I reached inside the closet to get my aluminum baseball bat so that I had a weapon handy, except, it wasn't there.

"I have your bat," said a man's voice, coloured by a Brooklyn accent. "We're not here to hurt you but we also don't want you to hurt us."

I stayed in the doorway, not answering and definitely not moving.

"Told you we should have called first," said another voice, also male, but warmer in tone, with a hint of the south in his accent. "You have to admit that breaking into the apartment of a single woman sets off all sorts of warning bells."

"So, sue me," answered the first man. "I want to know how she reacts to a strange situation. Will she threaten us with calling the police without assessing the scene first? Or will she walk in, prepared to react if she must, and find out why two strange men have broken into her apartment, taken their boots off and left them on the mat inside her door?"

"What if she's armed?" asked the second man. "I know you can dodge the bullets."

"You brought the shield, so you're safe, too," said the first. "If she shoots first and asks questions later then she hasn't passed the test. You have to change things up, Sam. This isn't a typical job interview."

Shield? Sam? Job interview? What the actual ...? I stepped out of the doorway to at least see who was talking.

"Do you two argue like this all the time?"

I looked at the one man who I recognized as Sam Wilson, the new Captain America. Which meant the tall dark-haired man with him was Bucky Barnes, the famous (and infamous) Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. They both stood up from where they had been sitting on my couch. After my question they looked at each other.

"It's not really arguing," said Barnes. "It's more like exploring alternative possibilities. You know, hypotheticals." He tossed me the bat, watching how I caught it with one hand, my left one. "Ambidextrous. Nice." He checked his phone and said my name, not even making fun of it. "You are her, right? Former special forces, forced to quit after you broke the nose of your asshole of a commander. Could have got a dishonourable discharge for hitting a superior officer but you managed to get an honourable discharge and a written apology from the guy."

He looked at me, waiting for a reaction.

"What do you want?" I wasn't going to dance around the issue. "Why are you here?"

Barnes held his phone up. "You answered the ad." I looked blankly at him. "The three questions that you answered No, No, and Yes, then clicked on the hyperlink."

"Which didn't work," I replied.

"Oh, it worked," smirked Barnes. "Gave us access to your phone, your records, your whole life really. Which is why we're here right now giving you this job interview."

He was really getting on my nerves, and I flipped the bat, catching it again in my left hand. Wilson looked at him then put his hands out, trying to diffuse the situation.

"Look, I admit that this is unusual," he said, in a tone that I recognized.

It was the same kind of voice that counsellors at the VA used when they were trying to show they had your best interests at heart. I didn't buy it when I had to go see them after my discharge and I wasn't buying it now. Once again, I flipped my bat, only this time I attacked as soon as it hit my hand. It wasn't the best move to make as I ended up on my back, with a metal hand on my chest, holding me down and a pair of the bluest eyes I had ever seen gazing down at me.

"I thought you said you weren't going to hurt me," I wheezed, when my breath came back.

"You attacked," shrugged Barnes, then he lifted his hand off my chest and offered it to me.

I took it and stood up.

"Job interview, huh? For what?"

"Avengers," said Wilson. "We're starting it up again. We have several of the previous Avengers coming back, and some new ones, but we're searching out uniquely qualified individuals whose skill set matches our requirements."

"Aren't you all enhanced, or something?" I asked, looking intently at him.

"No." He shook his head. "It's not a pre-requisite. We're looking for people who can defend themselves, adapt to a situation, and can work with a team. We don't think you got a fair chance with the special forces."

Fair chance. He would have to use those words because he was right. I did everything I was supposed to, knocked myself out to prove that I belonged then had to fend off my commanding officer, six inches taller and 65 lbs heavier than me, when he tried to hurt me in front of witnesses who were on my side. They did try to bust me, but my CO was stupid enough to try it in a place with a security camera. I still got discharged and last I heard he was booted up to be a lackey for some general in Washington. That's how it goes, sometimes.

With a sigh, I went to the kitchen, leaving the bat on the counter and opened the cupboard above the fridge, taking out a bottle of scotch, and grabbing three glasses. By then Barnes and Wilson joined me and I poured out half a glass for each of us. I downed half of mine, then looked at both.

"What's the catch?"

They looked at each other again; a habit that was becoming tiresome.

"No catch," said Sam, "except that you kind of have to leave your current life behind. We're not exactly official or authorized."

"Covert operations?" It was what I trained for.

"Sort of." I shook my head. These guys weren't exactly filling me with confidence.

"Look," said Barnes, finishing his drink. "We were ready to do this a year ago, after the Flag Smashers. Then we both faced some unique challenges. I got press ganged into being in a secret ops team that was so shady it was practically underground, and we weren't being given the truth about our real purpose. Sam was called to Washington to head up the new Avengers, but the President wanted them to be more like his personal hit squad. We were being manipulated left, right, and centre and none of it was for a noble purpose. That's not who we are and before you point out that I was the Winter Soldier ...."

I held up my hand. "I know your story. You don't have to convince me that you were forced into it. So, you're basically starting up the Avengers but on your terms. No shady government agency or government interference, but no government funding either. No Sokovia Accords binding your hands as well. Who is funding it?"

Once again, they looked at each other and I huffed as it was getting really irritating when they did that.

"Stark Foundation but it's buried under layers and layers of non-profits so that they can't be accused of running a private black op." Wilson looked at me earnestly. "The funding is all hands off. We get it and what we do with it is our business. We promised to keep that on the down low, and we don't do anything too illegal, like murder or bank robbery or piracy, stuff like that."

"You interested?"

Barnes was looking directly at me, those blue eyes piercing right into my soul. Working in a warehouse since my discharge hadn't exactly been fulfilling but it was honest work, and it kept my mind from brooding on how my life was unfolding. If anyone knew how much I was really floundering it was this man.

"Alright, I'm in," I said. "I know you're not military, but I want my rank back. I worked hard for that."

"As long as you know that I'm your superior," said Barnes. "In the field, Sam and I are in command." I nodded. Most sergeants ran the units anyway. "Alright, welcome to the Avengers Lieutenant Ripley. I'll be back tomorrow to pick you up and take you to the compound. We all live there." He glanced at my place. "You should be able to sublet this flat easily enough."

I smirked. "I'm surprised your research didn't tell you I'm a squatter. There is no lease. I found the key the owner left in a hiding place. You tell me where the compound is, and I'll be there tomorrow."

Wilson looked uncomfortable but Barnes' face was inscrutable. He texted me a map with a pin dropped on it, then walked past me to the door, stopping long enough to lower his face to my ear and whisper. His warm breath caressed my neck, bringing up goose pimples on my forearm.

"I knew but I was trying to help you save face. I've been where you are, Ellen. You're a badass but you're still a fuckup. Fortunately for you a lot of the Avengers are. It's why we work well together." He straightened up and kept going to the door, stopping only to put his boots on. "You be there by 15:00 or I'll come looking for you."

Then he was gone, and Sam Wilson smiled apologetically at me before following him. I poured myself more scotch, drinking it in three separate gulps. Another fresh start: that's what I had to tell myself. Maybe this time I would believe it.

I showed up at the compound on my motorcycle at 14:55. All of my worldly possessions, my clothing, a few books, a small photo album of my only living relatives, my sister and her family, and my trusty aluminum baseball bat were packed into the saddlebags of the motorcycle, or into the large backpack I wore. The guard at the gate gave a glimmer of a smile when I gave him my name, but at least he didn't say anything and directed me to the building. When I pulled up, Barnes and Wilson were standing there, waiting.

"I'm here," I stated, after I turned off the ignition and stepped off, removing my helmet.

"Didn't doubt it for a minute," replied Barnes, eyeing my ride. "Nice bike."

"It is," I agreed. "Can I leave it here?"

"There's a garage. I can show it to you later. Let's get you set up with your access privileges."

It took about 30 minutes to get me squared away and I dropped my things off in my quarters, then they gave me a brief tour of the facilities. The residences were nice, better than military but more spartan than where I had been living. Sam said I was free to personalize it in any way. Since I wasn't sure how long I would be here until they kicked me out, I planned to leave everything in my bags. Back out in front of the building I got on my motorcycle, prepared for them to give me directions to the garage. Instead, Barnes got on behind me, his hands lightly on my waist.

"Let's see what you've got on this," he said.

"You don't have a helmet," I noted.

"I trust you not to kill me." I almost laughed at that.

"Alright, Sergeant. Remember, you asked for it."

I gunned the throttle, pealing out with the smell of burnt rubber enveloping us. Barnes didn't panic. Instead, he leaned into me, wrapping his arms around me, and moving as I did as I took the corners way too fast. I became aware of a heat radiating from him, even through our leather jackets, making me wonder if it was a super soldier thing. At some point, he patted my stomach then pointed in a direction and I turned that way. We were behind the building where we started, and I slowed up as he pointed to a garage door.

"Thumbprint access," he said loud enough for me to hear. "You're in the system now."

Pulling up, I removed my glove and pressed my thumb on the sensor. The door opened and I drove into the cavernous garage. He directed me to an area where several motorcycles were parked and I pulled into an empty space. We both got off and I nodded my head at the others.

"Whose are these?"

"Mine," he said.

"All four of them?"

He nodded. "Harley-Davidson WL(A) just like one I drove in World War II. I restored that one myself. Triumph Bonneville T120, Norton Commando 961 and for everyday driving a Honda Gold Wing. There's a workspace through that door over there, where you can work on your bike if that's what you like to do in your downtime. Keeps me sane."

We said nothing in the elevator up. Barnes got off at the main floor, nodding at me as he left, while I continued to the top floor where the residences were. When I got inside my quarters, I sat there, wondering what I should do, seeing as how I didn't plan to unpack just yet. Since I wasn't hungry, I figured a workout would drum up my appetite. Changing into my gear, I walked to the fitness centre, remembering where it was from my brief tour. Several people were in there, including a blonde woman, who was practising her kicks and punches on a heavy bag. For a smaller woman she had a lot of power in her and I realized I was watching her more than I was paying attention to my own workout.

"You bothered with something?" she asked, with a distinct Russian accent.

"No, just admiring your skills," I said, "although you're going to hurt your hands if you don't hit it properly."

"I've been doing this for a long time," she smirked. "I think I know how to hit a heavy bag."

I shrugged and turned away from her, continuing my leg work. A few minutes later she stood beside me and gestured to the mat.

"Show me what you've got, rookie," she said, trilling the "r" in rookie.

"I don't want to hurt you," I replied, not knowing her background.

She said something in Russian then challenged me again. With a sigh, I looked at her and got up from the leg lift machine I was on. I was several inches taller than her and at least 20 lbs heavier but she moved towards the mat and gestured to me. Well shit, it was my first day and I already was being called to prove myself. Rolling my neck and shoulders to loosen up I approached her and got into a crouch, as we circled each other, trying to get the other to make the first move. Then she attacked and damn, she was fast, pinning me in no time at all. Letting go of me, she resumed her position, and we circled again, only this time I attacked first, except she climbed upon me and did a move that encircled me before bringing me down hard. The third time, she moved but I was ready for her and sidestepped, clipping her in the face before taking her in a choke hold, while wrapping my legs around hers. The more she struggled the harder I squeezed.

"Ripley, let Yelena go," said a voice and I looked up to see Barnes there, a pissed off expression on his face.

I released her, then stood and offered her a hand up.

"Red Room, aren't you?"

"Da, how did you know?" she asked, wiping her bloody nose with the back of her hand.

"Squared off against a couple of you a few times," I replied. "You're lethal but the man who trained you also trained his own weaknesses into you. I would like to work with you on those, if you help me with mine. If you're going to have my back, I want to know that you're up to it and vice versa."

"Yasha, I like her," said Yelena. "Alright, Ripley. You have a first name?"

"Ripley's fine," I answered. "We good?"

"Da."

She walked past Barnes into the women's locker room, while the others who had gathered dispersed. He didn't move, just stood there glaring at me.

"Don't hurt your teammates," he finally said. "Save it for the missions."

"I would have released her before she passed out."

He turned around and left without a word. I called to him, but he didn't react, and stupid me, I ran after him, pulling him by the arm. His metal hand was on my throat in an instant, pinning me to the wall. Then he just as suddenly released me and turned away. I watched him walk away until he was out of sight.

"He worries about hurting us," said Yelena, who was now standing next to me, her bleeding nose taken care of. "His reactions are so ingrained that he is afraid of the force he uses being lethal. Killing is something he tries to avoid but sometimes it is just how the mission goes. It affects him deeply when that happens."

After I showered and changed, I went to Barnes' quarters, knocking on his door. There was no answer then the door suddenly opened, and I pushed it further open, stepping into the darkened interior. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust but I saw him on his couch, with a glass of amber liquid in his hand, and an open bottle of the same colour liquid on the coffee table. The TV was on but he had the sound off. Closing the door, I approached the table and picked up the bottle, smelling it ... scotch.

"There's a glass in the cupboard," he said, waving towards a small kitchen.

I came back and poured myself some, then sat next to him.

"She started it," I said.

"I ended it," he answered, taking a swallow. "You can't be using your full abilities on your teammates. Train, yes, but hurt them, no."

"We're the same level," I answered. "Now, she knows that I have her back, and I know the same about her. I know the drill, Sergeant. Didn't take you to be queasy about a little bit of blood."

"I'm not but I know what you're capable of," he said, looking straight ahead. "You were captured by ISIS, sexually assaulted by several of them, and your team did nothing to rescue you, figuring you were as good as dead. Then you killed your captors, using whatever you could get your hands on, and walked for two nights in the desert, hiding wherever you could during sunlight hours. When you reunited with your unit your commanding officer tried to justify why he didn't try to find you, and you almost killed him. I know the record says you only broke his nose, but you did a lot more than that. You have severe untreated PTSD and you're a bomb waiting to go off."

I could feel my insides freezing as he listed off what really happened to me, wondering how he found out. When I found my voice, it cracked.

"Why did you offer me a job then, if I'm so dangerous to your obviously well-qualified teammates?"

He put his glass down and looked at me, and I saw it then, the same look I often woke up with, that often stared back at me in the mirror after I slept like shit for weeks in a row. Of course, he had been there, in worse circumstances than I had and for years instead of days.

"Because we can help you," he said quietly. "We can redirect your rage and your anger towards something that will make a difference. You won't be getting by on dead-end jobs and living wherever you can find a place to hole up in. Healing isn't linear. I've been free of HYDRA for over ten years and there are still times when I wonder if I deserve to live. Shit happens but I can control how I react to people, especially those who need me to have their back. I will always have your back, Ellen, and if you are ever taken by the enemy, I will find you, even if it takes years. But you must meet me halfway. Are you going to challenge every single person who is an Avenger? Because I can tell you right now that I won't stand for it. They've all survived their own crucibles, have faced their own battles and setbacks. They don't have to prove themselves to you just as you don't have to prove yourself to them. You either decide you belong, or you don't. It's as simple as that."

We drank in the dimness of his quarters, not speaking to each other, while I considered his words. Everything he said was all true and he knew it because he had been there, right where I was. For too long, I had avoided dealing with a lot of things, not just what happened to me when I was in the army. It went back further than that, to when my parents were killed in a car accident, leaving me in the care of my barely legal sister. I never felt like I belonged because I had been abandoned more than once. Now, this man, the longest serving PoW in history had offered me a choice to go on and live my life in a downward spiral or accept the support and help of being part of something good. Everything in me ached to find a place to call home but I was afraid of facing despair again if I let my guard down and let these people in.

A motion to the side caught my attention. It was Barnes' hand, moving to the space between us, palm up. It was an offering, of friendship, of trust, of hope. All I had to do was place my hand in his and it would seal something between us, a promise to be there for me when I needed it most. With a shaky breath I placed my hand on his, noticing once more how warm he was, and we intertwined our fingers. He squeezed my hand and sat there for some time, in the quiet.

That was six months ago, and I haven't been disappointed in placing my trust in Bucky, and the others. It wasn't always smooth sailing, but no grudges were held, and any disputes were dealt with by various methods that didn't involve drawing blood. This mission, where I continued on with this mother and child, desperately trying to escape the life of misery they had, tested our capabilities. As we got into a shootout with the "associates" of her husband sent to take the daughter back to her father, Bucky pulled me aside.

"Go, take them to a safe house," he said, putting a new set of keys into my hand. "It doesn't matter which one because I'll find you. There are extra vehicles at each place so if you just go to change vehicles that works, too. Just don't try to call or text us." I wasn't going to lie. I was afraid and I told him I didn't know if I could do this. "I have faith in you, Ellen. It's why I wanted to recruit you."

With a nod, I herded the pair out the back door of the safe house we were in. There was a garage in the back yard, and I opened the door, unlocking the car doors with the remote on the key chain. Pressing the garage door remote I sped out of there, with the woman and child huddled on the floor of the back seat. We drove to another safe house, its location in the countryside memorized. For two days, we stayed there, and I almost reached the point where I was done waiting. Then a vehicle pulled up to where the access road came off the highway and I sent my charges into a safe room in the basement, telling them to unlock it only for me. I turned off the lights and watched as the car approached, parking some distance away. A man got out of the driver's seat and stood in front of the car, studying the house. I couldn't see his face as the headlights blinded me. Then he pulled out a cell phone and texted something. My phone pinged and I read the screen.

Bucky: It's okay. It's me. I found you.

Ellen: Prove it's you.

Bucky: You're named after a badass woman, Ellen Ripley, from the Alien movie franchise. I didn't know about the character until you brought it up when you got drunk and came onto me. I turned you down because I don't have sex with drunk women, especially those with PTSD. After I saw the movies, I made a pass at you, and we've been seeing each other ever since but we haven’t gone all the way, because you’re not ready. Satisfied?

I opened the door, and Bucky Barnes strode towards me, the man who had my back from the beginning, the man who found me and is helping me find myself. Allowing ourselves a moment to embrace, we went down to the safe room and retrieved the woman and her daughter. Leaving my car there, we all got into Bucky's car and drove to where the Federal Marshals were waiting to put the pair into witness protection. After we watched them drive away, Bucky lifted me onto the hood of the car, and stood between my legs, kissing me passionately for several long glorious moments. Tonight, we would spend together at the safe house, then we would drive back home tomorrow. Home, what a wonderful way to describe my new extended family, and the man who would search to the ends of the earth to find me if I ever went missing. All because I answered what I thought was a spam ad but was really an invitation to become an Avenger.

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#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #buckybarnes original female character #bucky barnes oneshot #james buchanan barnes fanfiction #trust issues #abandoment issues #ptsd

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