#couch theory is alive and well

[livelovecaliforniadreams]

[ryekat]

Just saw an article that said "How 911 squashed any hope for a Buck and Eddie relationship" squashed it for who??? Because I've never been a bigger believer

[buddiesystempod]

🔗: 9-1-1 Couch Theory (Buddie System’s Version)

I say, “Can you believe it?” as we’re lying on the couch, “the Buddie canon we can see it, yes, yes, we can see it now!” 😍

This week 🛋️ Couch Theory takes center stage as Han, Cil, and Rachel take you on a whimsical journey through the concept that has captured the imagination of 🫂 Buddie fans since Season 6.

From the 🛋️ couch that symbolizes relationships to the 🪑 chair that represents his newfound independence, we unravel how Buck's choices (or lack thereof) reflect his emotional journey.  In a trademark iconic moment, 🤣 Christopher points out Buck's lack of a couch, signaling a deeper commentary on adulthood and responsibility. Buck's inability to choose a couch mirrors 🪞 his seemingly endless challenge in choosing the 🤷 *right* partners, and we follow the invisible strings 🧵 tying parallels between his relationships with Eddie and his romantic partners, and how these dynamics play out on the couch. 

We 🔎 explore how the couch serves as a metaphor for 🧑🏼‍🤝‍🧑🏽 intimacy, family dynamics, and emotional distance, highlighting key moments when Buck and Eddie navigate their feelings for each other and their roles as co-parents. Don’t worry, 😉 there is plenty of couch symbolism for Eddie as well—the Buddies discuss how his proximity and position on the couch mirror his emotional state and his struggles with acceptance and belonging.

Whether you're a die-hard fan or a casual viewer, this exploration of 🛋️ Couch Theory brings new dimensions to understanding Buck and Eddie and their intertwined lives, and inspires a look back on your favorite moments with fresh eyes, leaving you eagerly anticipating the next chapter of their stories. 🙂‍���️

In our thorough 🕵️ investigation we uncover this underlying truth: sometimes, the best couch is the one right under your nose, waiting for you to sit down and get comfortable. So grab your snacks, 🍿🥤 settle in, and join us for a deep dive of Buck’s 🤯 psyche via furniture!

[evanpercy]

The Couch in S8 and how it will tie to buddie canon, a 9-1-1 analysis

First of all, I'd like to say that this theory is based solely on observations made by myself and others, on camera and lighting choices which, as we all know, are always very important in a TV show. I'm NOT going over the previous couch theory from s6, 1. because I don't have the time and 2. because everything has already been said (Buck falling asleep on Eddie's couch because it's the only place he feels safe, Chris falling asleep in the same place, yada yada).

Next, this theory is going to be pretty much chronological, but I may be getting a little ahead of myself at times, sorry. In the end, you'll see, it makes sense, but I'm also asking you for a bit of imagination.

Let's dive into it!

Everything begins in 8x01. We get a scene between Buck, Tommy and Eddie, who are organizing a birthday party for Chris over a facecall. Eddie's couch makes its first appearance this season: Eddie sits on it to call Chris, and Buck and Tommy hide behind it.

Buck and Tommy share a moment. It's cute to see Buck so comfortable in his relationship and his attraction. Well, Tommy is awkward but, are you surprised? (no) As Eddie starts the call, Buck and Tommy jump from behind the couch and we get the first frame interesting enough for this analysis.

What can we say? Eddie is alone on the couch, Buck on his left and Tommy on his right.

(Eddie is once again between Buck and Tommy. In all their scenes together, there's always someone in between the other two. That's not the point here but I love to point it out.)

Buck isn't with Eddie, he's standing behind the couch. It's acting like a physical separation. Buck can only watch Eddie's pain from a distance as the call goes on, and he is useless. Powerless.

That will be the case throughout the early part of this season.

Buck doesn't do anything about Chris and Eddie. Why? I still don't know to be honest with you.

Eddie doesn't talk to Buck about Chris at all. They don't share a single scene alone in the privacy of one of their homes. There's always someone with them - Tommy, the rest of the crew - or they're at the station. Eddie will talk about Chris to Hen, Bobby, the cheerleader's father, Father Brian, even Brad in 8x08. NEVER Buck.

There's also something interesting about the fact that Eddie and Buck don't really talk to each other until Tommy breaks up with Buck.

It's probably not conscious, but I really think Buck is actually distracted by Tommy. He's in this new relationship, it's good, it's cute, it's really different from what he's used to.

We'll see that this will eventually go away...

(A quick interlude: Of course this isn't the first time we've seen 3 people with the couch. It also happened with Buck, Eddie and Chris in S3 - yeah, when couch theory wasn't even a thing. They're on Buck's couch though, but I'm planting a seed in your mind, watch out...)

Next time, it's not Eddie's couch we're talking about, but Buck's. It appears in 8x05, when Buck is sitting in his armchair after returning from the hospital and Tommy is looking after him. There's a lot to say in this scene, but I'm going to focus on one or two things.

Episode 5 was shot after episode 6. I can't stressed out how much it's hit after hit to show us that Buck and Tommy are not staying together (and indeed, Tommy breaks up in 8x06). I imagine the writers ran with the opportunity to show just how incompatible and how physically separated Buck and Tommy are, as well as drawing many parallels between Tommy and Eddie. Maybe I'll talk about that someday.

In this frame, Buck and Tommy are separated. Buck is sleeping in the armchair and Tommy on the couch. I know it's better to sleep in a sitting position when you've dislocated a shoulder, but they could have had Buck sleeping in his bed, snug in his pillows, Tommy next to him.

They didn't.

They made Tommy sleep on the couch. Buck's uncomfortable couch. The one I think he bought with Natalia (if I'm wrong, please don't hate me, season 6 is far in the back of my mind).

See, Tommy doesn't even fit properly on the couch. He's got his head on the armrest and he doesn't have a blanket that covers him completely. He doesn't fit into Buck's life, no matter how hard he tries. He's always out of place.

He chooses the couch Buck doesn't like, and he'll be the only one in this season so far to use it. He's comfortable on it and can sleep, something Buck has never been able to do. Buck will never choose this couch, even if he thinks it's the right choice.

(By the way, Oliver said in an interview literally released before episode 8 that Buck's couch is uncomfortable.... Thanks for that, I know you're a couch theory truther Oliver.)

Next couch, 8x06. Eddie's Risky Business moment.

He dances in his living room and jumps on his couch twice. The first time to recreate the scene. The second time, he chooses to lie down on the couch to bask in the euphoria a little longer. Eddie has his first moment of pure joy in years, and it's on the couch that he decides to settle and calm down. Not saying too much about it but I wanted to point it out, once again.

Where it gets interesting, you know it, is when Buck arrives. Buck, who's just been dumped and once again goes to Eddie for a little comfort. He hands Eddie a beer and sits down first on the couch to drink his own.

Let's take a look at this last frame. The framing ticked me off as soon as I saw it, but I couldn't put my finger on why. Now, I know.

Eddie and Buck are sitting side by side, yes, but! If you pay close attention, you can see several things.

First, Buck appears completely in the frame, from shoulder to shoulder. He takes up most of the space, sitting upright on the couch, staring straight ahead.

On the other side, Eddie leans against the backrest, but in doing so, he moves out of frame. The arm and hand holding the beer are totally offscreen. He's looking to the side, not at Buck.

It's already a weird composition, a very pointed choice, because why aren't they both clearly visible in the frame? Why is Eddie a little off the side? This could have been filmed in a slightly less close-up shot, to show them both fully, but it's not. It's clearly a choice.

Let me direct your attention to the wall behind them. You'll see, it's interesting.

Between them, but rather on Eddie's side, what can we see? A picture. Yeah, but not a random one. You can see it more clearly on this frame of Eddie.

Yep. It's an art of Texas. Quite ugly if you ask me. (Eddie, you're clearly making some strange choices when it comes to decorating.)

I won't try to analyze this framework any further, as you've already understood what I'm getting at if you've been paying attention.

It's a foreshadowing of Eddie leaving for Texas.

So we got Eddie leaning away from Buck, a Texas pic on the wall between them, while Buck is just here, choosing Eddie's couch (and Eddie) for comfort after his breakup. It's where he feels safe. Eddie is always here for him when he's not okay, he's his constant. See how the colors are warm, golden? It screams safe. It screams home.

They don't need to talk, they have each other... or so he thinks. Sorry Buck.

Let's move on to 8x08. Where it all makes sense.

Very quickly: Eddie isn't making his call to Chris on the couch, but on his coffee table. First, what the hell? It's weird, unless you think he considers the couch a nice place, and that this conversation will be far from nice in his head. Indeed, he was right.

Buck shows up at Eddie's after baking way too much bread, because he almost called Tommy. By the way, the mere fact that he decided to go to Eddie's to stop himself from doing so speaks volumes as fucking always, but let's not get into that.

(Look at his little basket, his bread all wrapped up. Buck, you're everything.)

When he realizes that Eddie is seriously thinking of moving to El Paso... well, he supports him. He supports him, because that's what a best friend is supposed to do, right? He suggests to Eddie, and I quote, “we should move this party to the couch”.

By the way, this is the first time he's explicitly brought the couch to Eddie. And we know that when a character mentions something for the first time when they never did, it's to emphasize it.

It's the same with Eddie saying he's straight… or when he says “we?” after Buck's suggestion. They are in this together, and it's what Eddie realizes when Buck goes to sit on the couch... He doesn't have to do all that alone. (Take that little side analysis, my treat. I fucking love this scene, I want to dissect it.)

Buck sits on this couch he's chosen many times over the years.

It's THE couch, the one he always goes to when something is not right in his life. After he died, when he couldn't sleep at home. After his breakup.

He's the first to sit on it ... yes, just like in 8x06.

(This may seem trivial, of course, but the fact that he always goes without waiting for Eddie... Imo, it screams “Buck will figure it all out first and Eddie will have to catch up with him later”. Or "Buck will be waiting for Eddie". Same with him already drinking his beer while Eddie struggles to open it. Maybe a bit far-fetched, but eh? Anyway.)

The setting of the scene is so cold, and I didn't realize it until I compared it with the other scenes on the couch. This creates quite a contrast.

(Sorry I need to talk about something. Let's open an analysis in the analysis.

Buck is dressed in blue - it's Eddie's color in the color theory - while Eddie is dressed in a brownish button down. When I first watched this scene last night, I didn't notice, but looking again… Don't these outfits remind you of anything?

Yeah. I know, they're not the same, but they're similar and it's enough for me to make the parallel. Buck was there for Eddie when Chris left, and he's now here for him when Eddie wants to move to Texas.

Something about "I love you, so I'm letting you go". I'm crying too, don't worry.)

Back to the couch.

Eddie is totally off-screen, he's gone compared to the last time we saw the couch. Buck is alone, something shifts on his face - I'm not gonna lie, it was like watching a fanfic from AO3 on my screen. I've read enough feelings realization to recognize something close. Okay, to be fair, I don't know if it's a total realization of his feelings, but it's a start... and how beautiful that it's happening on Eddie's couch.

The couch represents safety, love, family for Buck. We understood it in s6 when it was first brought up.

By sitting on it, Buck chooses this life with Eddie, in a way.

Can you see the frame with the Texas pic? It's now completely visible, in the frame. It's behind Buck, over his shoulder. Eddie's departure, and by extension Texas, will haunt Buck for a long time to come.

I have to say, this shot is incredible. The whole scene is. I want to play it again and again, I want it tattooed on my eyelids. I'm gonna think about it for 3 months.

In a few episodes, we've gone from Buck behind the couch - away from Eddie's problems - to Buck on the couch, alone - totally there and available for Eddie, even though Eddie soon won't be.

After the breakup, Buck can finally talk to Eddie, care about him - not that he didn't before that, but he's finally free to throw himself back into his relationship with his best friend as before.

Buck has found his home, his couch, the relationship he's most comfortable in, but maybe it's only now, when Eddie's about to leave, that he realizes it.

The couch was never about Eddie - it was always about Buck and his relationship with him. So it's even more powerful to see him behind it in 8x01, on it with Eddie in 8x06 and finally all alone in 8x08.

(I didn't know Oliver confirmed the symbolism of the couch back in S6 but, once again, thank you Oliver.)

(Even if Tim Minear tries to say he doesn't know what it means... Please Tim, we know you're smarter than that).

So what can we expect from this couch for the rest of the season?

If Eddie is really leaving, which I don't believe, he might offer Buck his couch. If the couch is how Buck will realize that he has feelings for Eddie, I'm going to send a gift to everyone who's believed this theory since it first appeared. You're the real ones in this fandom.

If Eddie stays, I think we'll be getting more scenes with the couch. We could go from 3-2-1 to 1-2-3. Stay with me, and grab your imagination. We're going full in theory mode.

1 - Maybe we could have another scene, this time with Eddie alone on his couch? I could see this happening when he's packing, Buck not far away, and Eddie starts to wonder if this is really the right thing to do as his gaze lingers on Buck for a moment too long.

2 - We need two people on that couch again. I'm a big "Buddie first kiss in Eddie's kitchen" truther, but it could also happen on the couch.

Or they could have a big conversation together on it, that will eventually lead them to confess their feelings to each other later on. Maybe that's when Eddie decides to fight to get his son back, to not move to Texas? To confront his parents?

That's two scenes on the couch, two scenes where they don't really talk, even though the couch is an invitation to do so. I'd find it extremely interesting if their first real serious conversation this season took place here.

3 - Finally, we could go from Buck, Eddie and Tommy to something much better for a 3-characters scene on the couch, a configuration we've seen before: Buck, Chris and Eddie. It could even be the last scene of the season, and that wouldn't surprise me at all!

Just imagine: Buck and Eddie have confessed their feelings to each other, maybe Chris knows, maybe not. The three of them end up on this famous couch. Chris is in the middle, and Buck and Eddie look at each other over him, a smile on their lips.

Everything is fine, they've survived the end of the season disaster, Chris is back, they've finally found each other after years...

What an incredible parallel this would make with the beginning of the season! Where Buck was with Tommy, Chris away from his dad, Eddie depressed...

There, they could finally be happy on the damn couch. I have a very clear vision of this scene and I hope they make it a reality. We need our little Buckley-Diaz family together again. With buddie canon of course.

That's it, you've reached the end of this analysis-theory. I hope you enjoyed it. It took me 3 hours to write and I got lost in other theories, but hey! I had fun.

We're entering a 3-month hiatus so let's try to be kind to each other! Let's share our theories, fanarts, fanfics and edits to make this break a little more enjoyable!

If you want to give your opinion on this theory, you're free to do so here in the comments, or on twitter and bluesky (in both cases, I'm there under @/tinybuckish).

Self promo mode, I write fanfics that you can find on AO3 under the username Beezethe! I have one coda about the buddie scene in 8x08, pure angst with no comfort... Feel free to give it a read!

[blue-b33tle]

I purposely try to avoid fics of Eddie leaving to Texas to live with Chris cause they make me sad AND NOW YOUR TELLING ME HES ACTUALLY TRYING TO MOVE AND I HAVE TO WAIT UNTIL MARCH TO SEE WHAT HAPPENS NEXT???

[snowflake194]

Trust that I will be analyzing those Buckley Diaz scenes and their color grading until the end of time.

I mean wearing complementary colors blue and orange?? Eddie wearing blue in Texas in that flashback shot, which is completely blue toned, while LA is warm and orange at the same exact time of night?

And them matching with each other's couches?? Eddie’s blue couch and Buck’s orange one. Did somebody say Couch Theory????

Ugh. Sometimes this show is so unnecessarily beautiful it makes me want to scream.

[clockwork-stars]

Oh.

Oh.

Eddie's couch is now Buck's.

[pocketsizededdiediaz]

and when they have a fight over who gets the couch because buck got rid of his before he moved out and now he wants to take the blue couch because its so comfortable and Chris says something like 'dad just let him take the couch its crap anyway' and eddie is a little disturbed his kid is saying words like crap now but ultimately he's like 'yea ok you can take the couch' and buck is so happy but then he gets home and he's excited to take a nap on the most comfortable couch ever but actually wait ..... why does it feel like a slab of rock

[malewife-cas]

the first scene of T0mmy & Buck in s8 being at Eddies house!?? oh we’re so back.

[missdynamighttt]

random idea: the paparazzi take photos of Bakugou while he is naked in the courtyard of his mansion. The photos are viral all around the world, trends everywhere (imagine PopCrave tweeting about that, lol). The it tophic with the most viral tweet exceeds 600,000 likes since obviously what caught the most attention was the immense, almost inhuman Bakugou's cock size: almost 8 inches without even being hard. The only question everyone is asking is how the hell it will be while being hard.

But Bakugou is surprisingly chill about this, proud even. He logs into his Twitter account for the first time ever, which was created and managed by his public relations team (I don't know how it's called) and simply tweets:

"My wife owns that." The bastard even has it pinned on his profile. It doesn't take long for it to be his most liked tweet and with the time reach one million likes. Other weeks of trends about him...But also about his girl. She's lucky asf.

⋆˚࿔ kia's note ˚⋆ SHAMELESS KATSUKI ENJOYERRR!! happy chinese new year to anyone who celebrates it btw 💜💜

you storm into the living room, phone clutched in your hand, cheeks burning as you glare at your husband lounging on the couch, scrolling through his own phone like he didn’t just set the internet on fire over his soft, 8 inch dick.

“you—” you point at him accusingly, eyes wild. “you absolute fucking bastard.”

katsuki glances up from his phone, his expression is the definition of being so fucking smug. “what is it, sweetheart?”

“oh, i don't know, katsuki. maybe its the fact that the entire world just saw your dick, and instead of just, oh, i don’t know, taking legal action or being embarrassed, you tweeted—” you glance at your phone to quote him exactly, voice going pitches higher with each word. “‘my wife owns that.’ and pinned it.”

his lips twitch, but he keeps it cool. “and?"

you gape at him. “and?! katsuki, the world has seen you naked! and instead of being mad or contacting your pr team about this, you’re out here, tweeting this shit, like you’re proud of it!”

his smirk only widens. “tch, ‘cause i am proud.” he leans back, stretching, muscles flexing like he knows exactly what he’s doing. “not my fault the whole world can’t handle what you get every night.”

your brain short-circuits. “oh my god.”

you knew he was shameless, but this? this is a whole new level. and what makes it worse are the comments. thousands of people speculating, thirsting, straight-up praying to be in your place.

you whimper dramatically. “the comments, katsuki. the comments.”

he tilts his head, feigning innocence. “what about ‘em?”

“people keep saying i must be the luckiest woman alive,” you mutter, glancing at other tweets with an ungodly number of likes, like ”his wife must be the happiest woman on earth” or "the girl must’ve saved a nation in her past life", followed by an entire thread of inappropriate lewd theories (some were true).

katsuki snickers. “well, they ain’t wrong.”

you slap his arm, face on fire. “stop! have you really no shame?"

“none,” he grins before finally putting his phone down, sitting up, his arms resting on his knees. “why? you mad, sugar?”

“no! i mean—well, i should be! do you have any idea what people are saying about me?"

“yeah, they’re saying you’re lucky as fuck. and they’re right.”

you groan, rubbing your temples in frustration. “they’re also saying things like ‘she must be getting split in half every night’ or ‘"his wife must be in heaven every night'."

he throws his head back in a full laugh. “good. let ‘em know.”

you smack his arm. “katsuki!”

he chuckles and reaches for you, catching your wrist and tugging you down onto his lap with such ridiculous ease. “why’re you gettin’ so worked up, huh? it’s the truth.” his voice drops lower as he leans in. “and they don’t even know half of it.”

you groan, burying your face again in his chest. “i hate you.”

“nah,” he murmurs, nipping at your neck. “you know you love me, sugar.”

and damn it, you do. but you’ll never admit it right now—not when he's kissing you down your neck, pressing what the internet has been buzzing about against your damp panties. especially not when he’s being the most shameless, loving husband on the planet.

‎‧₊˚✧[ it's me, kia ! ]✧˚₊‧ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ ‎‧₊˚✧[ more of katsuki ! ]✧˚₊‧

[onlyforsebastianstan]

After the Silence

Pairings: Platonic Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You, a talkative and vibrant member of the Avengers, and your best friend, Bucky Barnes are inseparable. You talk, he listens. But after Bucky, overwhelmed by his own struggles, harshly snaps at you for being too loud and annoying, his words cut deep, leading you to question your place among the team. Compounded by the team's unaware, joking comments about your talkativeness, you withdraw, becoming silent and communicating only through a notebook.

📎Genre: Hurt/Comfort | Angst | Emotional Slow Burn | Friends to Potential Lovers | Slice of Life

⚠️ Warnings: → Emotional/verbal hurt (Bucky snaps with harsh words) → Selective mutism / trauma response → Guilt and self-blame → Communication breakdown → Quiet emotional suffering → Healing/recovery themes

You and Bucky Barnes were a perfect mismatch, the kind of best friends who made no sense on paper but were inseparable in reality. You were the chatterbox, the one who could spin a five-minute story into a half-hour epic, filling every silence with your thoughts, jokes, and random musings. Bucky, quiet and brooding, was your opposite—his words were few, but his presence was steady, grounding you like an anchor in a storm. Together, you balanced each other, your light chasing away his shadows, his calm tempering your chaos.

It started small, your friendship. A shared mission where you wouldn’t stop talking about the terrible coffee at the safehouse, and Bucky, to everyone’s surprise, cracked a smile. From there, it grew. Late nights in the Avengers compound, you’d sprawl on the couch, rattling off stories while he leaned back, his blue eyes soft, listening. He never interrupted, never told you to slow down. Instead, he’d nod, chuckle at your exaggerated gestures, or toss in a dry comment that made you laugh so hard you’d lose your train of thought.

One evening, after a grueling mission, you were perched on the kitchen counter, swinging your legs as you recounted a ridiculous moment from the day. “So, Sam’s all ‘I got this,’ right? And then—boom!—he trips over his own wingpack. I swear, Bucky, it was like watching a bird forget how to fly. I almost choked on my granola bar!”

Bucky, leaning against the fridge with a beer in hand, let out a low laugh, the kind that rumbled deep in his chest. “You’re gonna choke on your own words one day, you know that?” His tone was warm, teasing, his lips quirked in that rare, lopsided smile he saved just for you.

You grinned, undeterred, launching into another story about the time you tried to prank Tony with a fake spider and ended up startling yourself instead. Your hands flew as you talked, mimicking your own flailing reaction, and Bucky just watched, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He loved this about you—how your voice filled the room, how you could turn the smallest moment into something vivid, alive. Your chatter wasn’t noise to him; it was music, a reminder that the world could still be bright, even after all he’d been through.

“Seriously, though,” you said, pausing to catch your breath, “how do you put up with me? I’m like a radio that never turns off.”

Bucky tilted his head, his gaze steady. “I like the noise,” he said simply. “Keeps the quiet from getting too loud.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice, then smiled, softer this time. “Well, good, ‘cause you’re stuck with me, Winter Grump.”

He snorted, rolling his eyes at the nickname, but there was no hiding the fondness in his expression. “Yeah, yeah. Keep talking, sunshine.”

And you did. You talked through movie nights, mission debriefs, even quiet mornings when it was just the two of you and a pot of coffee. You’d ramble about old books you’d read, conspiracy theories you’d found online, or how you were sure the compound’s thermostat was possessed. Bucky would listen, sometimes adding a sarcastic quip, sometimes just nodding, but always there, soaking in every word like it mattered. Your voice was his tether, pulling him back from the dark corners of his mind.

The team noticed your dynamic too, and they loved it—mostly. Your talkativeness became a running joke, always light, always meant to make you laugh along with them. During a mission debrief, you were mid-rant about how the enemy’s hideout looked like “a villain lair from a bad sci-fi flick,” when Sam leaned back in his chair, grinning. “Damn, you could narrate a whole Netflix series in one breath. Ever think about voiceovers?”

You laughed, tossing a pen at him. “Keep talking, Wilson, and I’ll narrate your next crash landing.”

Nat, smirking from across the table, chimed in. “She’s got a point, Sam. You’d be out of a job if she got a mic. Girl talks faster than I can throw a punch.”

The room chuckled, and you rolled your eyes, playing along. “Y’all are just jealous of my storytelling skills.” It was harmless, the kind of teasing that felt like family, and you knew they didn’t mean anything by it. Bucky, sitting beside you, gave you a small nudge, his smile saying he was in on the joke but still on your side.

Another time, at a team dinner, you were animatedly describing a street performer you’d seen in the city, complete with exaggerated hand gestures. Tony raised an eyebrow, sipping his drink. “You ever run out of words, or is your brain just a dictionary on shuffle?”

You grinned, unfazed. “Takes one to know one, Stark. Your mouth’s not exactly on mute either.” The table erupted in laughter, and even Bucky cracked a grin, shaking his head like you were a force of nature he’d long since accepted.

But then came that day. Bucky was drowning in something heavy—memories of his past, the weight of guilt he carried like a second skin. You didn’t notice, too caught up in a story about a dog you’d seen at the park, your words tumbling out as usual. Your words tumbled out, fast and unrelenting, until Bucky’s voice cut through like a blade. “It was so fluffy, Buck, like a cloud with legs, and I swear it winked at me—”

“Can you just shut up for once?” he snapped, his blue eyes flashing with a raw edge you’d never seen directed at you. “You’re always talking, always so damn loud. It’s exhausting.”

The room went still. Your mouth hung open, words dying in your throat. His words weren’t just sharp—they were cruel, slicing into insecurities you’d never voiced. You tried to laugh it off, mumbling an apology, but the hurt settled deep. Bucky stormed out, leaving you staring at the empty space where he’d been.

You didn’t cry. Not then. Instead, you turned to the others—Sam, Nat, even Steve—hoping for the comfort of their easy banter. They welcomed you, but Bucky’s words clung to you like damp clothes. Every time you spoke, you second-guessed yourself. Were you too loud? Too much? They didn’t snap at you, but their polite smiles and quick glances felt like silent agreement with Bucky’s outburst. You started to hear his voice in your head: Exhausting.

Then came the jokes. Sam, unaware of the wound you carried, laughed one day and said, ��Man, you talk more than a radio host.” Nat chuckled, adding, “Yeah, you could narrate a whole movie by yourself.” They meant no harm, the usual comments you got as you all laughed through it, but the words landed like punches. You smiled, nodded, but something inside you cracked. They all think it too.

Then came the day that broke you. You were in the kitchen with Bucky, trying to muster the courage to share something small—a thought about a book you’d read. Your voice was hesitant, softer than it used to be. “Hey, Buck, I was thinking maybe we could—” His eyes were distant, his jaw tight. Before you could finish, he stood abruptly, muttering, “I need some air,” and walked out. You stared at the door, your unfinished sentence hanging in the air. It felt like a confirmation: No one wants to hear you.

From that moment, you stopped talking. You still showed up, still smiled, still laughed at Sam’s jokes or nodded at Steve’s plans, but no words left your lips. You carried a small notebook instead, scribbling thoughts when you needed to communicate beyond a nod or a shrug. At first, no one noticed. You were good at blending in, at keeping the peace. But Bucky—Bucky started to see it.

He’d catch you writing in your notebook during meetings, your pen moving quickly while your lips stayed sealed. He’d see you smile at Tony’s sarcasm but offer no quip in return. At first, he thought you were just tired, maybe giving him space after his outburst. But days turned into weeks, and your silence grew louder than your voice ever had.

One night, he found you in the kitchen, alone, scribbling in your notebook while sipping tea. He hesitated, then sat across from you. “Hey,” he said softly, his voice rough with something like regret. You looked up, offered a small smile, but didn’t speak. He frowned, leaning forward. “What’s with the notebook? You’re… quiet. Too quiet.”

You shrugged, writing a quick note: 

‘Just easier this way.’

You slid it toward him, and his frown deepened as he read it.

“Easier?” he asked, his voice low. “Since when do you need ‘easier’? You’re the one who never shuts up.” He winced as soon as he said it, realizing how it sounded. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

You wrote again: 

‘I know. It’s fine.’ 

But your eyes didn’t meet his, and the smile you gave was hollow.

Bucky’s chest tightened. He didn’t know why you’d gone silent, didn’t connect it to that day he’d snapped, or the way his words had lingered like poison. He didn’t know about the jokes from the others, or how his walking out had felt like a final rejection. All he knew was that the absence of your voice felt wrong, like a room without light.

He reached for your hand, stopping you from writing. “Talk to me,” he said, almost pleading. “Please. What’s going on?”

You looked at him, your best friend, the one who’d always listened—until he didn’t. The one whose words had made you question your own. For a moment, you wanted to speak, to spill everything, but the fear held you back. What if he snapped again? What if you were too much, still?

Instead, you wrote one last note: 

‘I’m just tired of being loud.’

You stood, leaving the notebook on the table, and walked away, your silence heavier than any words you’d ever spoken.

Bucky stared at the note, his heart sinking as he realized something was deeply wrong—and that he might have been the one to break it.

It was a quiet afternoon in the Avengers compound, the kind where the air felt heavy with unspoken things. Natasha leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping coffee, her sharp eyes tracking Bucky as he shuffled in, looking more haunted than usual. She’d noticed your silence for weeks now—your smile still there, but your voice gone, replaced by that small notebook you carried everywhere. It wasn’t right, and Nat had a hunch it wasn’t just a phase.

“What’s up with her, Barnes?” Nat asked, her tone casual but her gaze piercing. “She’s not talking. At all. That’s not her.”

Bucky froze, his hand pausing on the fridge door. He didn’t look at her, but his jaw tightened. “She’s just… quiet lately. I don’t know.”

Nat raised an eyebrow, setting her mug down. “You don’t know? You two are practically glued at the hip. If anyone knows, it’s you.”

He shut the fridge harder than necessary, avoiding her eyes. “Maybe she’s just tired of talking. She used to never stop, you know that.” His voice was gruff, but there was a crack in it, a flicker of something Nat caught immediately.

She stepped closer, her voice low but firm. “What happened, Bucky? Because this isn’t her being tired. This is her shutting down.”

Bucky’s shoulders slumped, and he ran a hand through his hair, the fight draining out of him. He sank into a chair, staring at the table. He realized when it started “I… I snapped at her. A while back. I was in a bad place—hydra crap, nightmares, the usual. She was going on about something, and I just… lost it. Told her to shut up, said she was too loud, too annoying. Exhausting.” He spat the last word like it burned him, guilt etched into every line of his face.

Nat’s expression didn’t change, but her eyes darkened. “You said that to her?”

“Yeah,” he muttered, barely audible. “I didn’t mean it. I was just… I don’t know. I didn’t think it’d stick with her like this.”

Nat crossed her arms, leaning back against the counter. “Wait, when was this again?”

Bucky frowned, his brow furrowing as he tried to piece it together. “About two weeks ago, I think.”

Nat’s mind was already working, connecting dots. She’d seen you around the others—Sam’s easy grin, Tony’s quick wit, her own teasing comments. She remembered a moment, maybe two weeks ago, when Sam had laughed and said you could “talk the wings off his suit.” She’d chimed in, joking about you narrating a mission like a podcast. It had seemed harmless, just the usual team banter. But now, with Bucky’s confession, it hit differently.

“Shit,” Nat muttered, rubbing her temple. “We might’ve made it worse.”

Bucky’s head snapped up. “What do you mean?”

“Sam and I… we teased her a bit. About talking a lot. It was just a joke, you know? The usual comments. It must’ve been all wrong timing.” Nat trailed off, her voice tight with realization. “She probably thinks we all feel that way.”

Bucky’s face paled. “You think she’s quiet because of us? All of us?”

Nat nodded slowly. “She’s sensitive, Bucky. Not in a fragile way, but she feels things deep. You telling her she’s exhausting, then us piling on with ‘jokes’? She’s probably convinced everyone wants her to shut up.”

Bucky’s metal arm whirred softly as his fist clenched. “I didn’t know.”

“She’s your best friend. And right now, all we know is she’s hurting.”

The conversation was interrupted as Sam and Steve walked in, laughing about something from their latest sparring session. Sam caught the tension in the room and paused. “Whoa, what’s with the funeral vibes?”

Nat didn’t hesitate. “We messed up.”

Sam blinked, confused. “What are you talking about?”

Nat glanced at Bucky, who was staring at the floor, then back at Sam. “Y/n. She’s not talking anymore. Not a word. And it’s because Bucky snapped at her, and we didn’t help when we teased her about being chatty.”

Steve’s face fell, his Captain mode kicking in. “Wait, I thought she was just… I don’t know, taking a break. Sore throat or something”

“She thinks we all want her to shut up.” Nat said, her voice clipped. 

Sam’s jaw dropped. “Hold up. You’re saying my dumb joke about her talking too much… she took that to heart?” He ran a hand over his face, guilt creeping in. “I didn’t mean it like that. I thought we were just messing around.”

“Doesn’t matter what we meant,” Nat said. “It’s what she heard. Bucky lit the match, and we poured fuel on it.”

Bucky’s voice was barely a whisper. “I didn’t know she’d take it this far. I didn’t know she’d stop being… her.”

Nat nodded. “Bucky, you’re her best friend. You need to talk to her. Apologize. Mean it. And we—” she gestured to herself, Sam, and Steve, “—need to show her we didn’t mean to hurt her. She needs to know her voice matters.”

Bucky swallowed hard, the weight of his words and their consequences settling like a stone in his chest. “What if she doesn’t want to talk to me? What if I messed this up for good?”

“Then you keep trying,” Nat said, her voice softer now. “She’s worth it. You know that.”

The team exchanged looks, a silent agreement forming. They’d all played a part in your silence, and now they’d all help bring you back. But for Bucky, it was personal. He’d hurt you, his best friend, the one who’d filled his dark days with light. And he’d do whatever it took to hear your voice again.

The hum of activity muted as the team grappled with the realization of what they’d done to you. Bucky, Nat, Sam, and Steve had agreed to make things right, but none of them were sure where to start. Your silence had become a presence of its own, a void where your laughter and stories used to be. Then, one afternoon, they stumbled across something that made the weight of their mistake even clearer.

You were in the ops room, standing by a console, your notebook open but untouched. Instead, you were speaking—softly, hesitantly—to FRIDAY, Tony’s AI assistant. The team, gathered just outside the door after a briefing, froze as they overheard you.

“FRIDAY, can you pull up the mission logs from last week’s recon in Sokovia?” you asked, your voice quiet but clear, a ghost of its former brightness. “I need to cross-check the intel on those shipments.”

“Of course,” FRIDAY’s smooth voice replied. “Logs retrieved. Would you like me to filter by date or specific data points?”

“By date, please,” you said, leaning against the console. There was a pause, and then, almost as if you couldn’t help it, you added, “You know, the way those crates were stacked reminded me of this old movie I saw—some spy flick where they hid gold in a warehouse. Total cliché, right? But it got me thinking about how we used to sneak into those old HYDRA bases, dodging traps like we were in some action blockbuster.”

FRIDAY’s tone warmed, almost playful. “Sounds like you miss the adrenaline. Any favorite mission stories you want to share while I sort this data?”

You chuckled—a small, fragile sound that hit Bucky like a punch to the gut. “Maybe. There was this one time, me and Bucky were stuck in a vent for an hour, whispering dumb codenames to keep from losing it. I called him ‘Winter Grump,’ and he pretended to hate it.” Your voice softened, tinged with nostalgia. “He didn’t, though. Not really.”

The team, still lingering by the door, exchanged glances. Bucky’s face was a mask of guilt, his metal arm twitching as he clenched his fist. That was you talking about him, the way you used to—light, teasing, weaving stories that made even the worst missions feel like adventures. But now, you were sharing it with an AI, not him.

Nat’s eyes narrowed, her expression unreadable but heavy with realization. Sam whispered, “She’s talking to FRIDAY like she used to talk to you, man.”

Bucky didn’t respond, his throat tight. He remembered those moments—your endless chatter keeping him grounded, turning his darkness into something bearable. Now, you were giving that to FRIDAY, and it felt like a knife twisting in his chest.

Steve, ever the leader, murmured, “She’s still got that spark. She’s just… scared to share it with us.”

“Scared?” Sam hissed, keeping his voice low. “We made her feel like her voice doesn’t matter. Of course she’s talking to FRIDAY—it’s safe. No one’s gonna snap at her or make some dumb joke.”

Nat nodded, her gaze fixed on you through the glass. You were still talking, your voice a mix of mission-focused precision and the casual, rambling warmth you’d once reserved for Bucky. “FRIDAY, you think those shipments could be a decoy? Like, maybe they’re hiding something bigger? Oh, and—random thought—did I ever tell you about the time I tried to make pancakes for the team and set off the fire alarm? Total disaster, but the look on everyone’s faces was priceless.”

“Pancake incident logged for future reference,” FRIDAY quipped. “As for the shipments, analyzing patterns now. Decoy is plausible. Want me to run a deeper scan?”

“Please,” you said, smiling faintly. “You’re the best, FRIDAY.”

Bucky’s heart sank further. That smile, that easy chatter—it was all still there, but locked away, given to an AI because the people you trusted had made you feel small. He stepped back, unable to watch anymore, his mind replaying the day he’d snapped at you. “You’re always talking, always so damn loud. It’s exhausting.” He hadn’t meant it, but you’d believed him. And the team’s careless jokes had sealed it.

Nat turned to the others, her voice low and urgent. “We need to do something. Now. She’s talking to FRIDAY. We fix this, or we lose her—not just her voice, but her.”

The days following the team’s realization were heavy with unspoken apologies and cautious steps. They’d seen you talking to FRIDAY, your voice a faint echo of what it used to be, and the guilt had settled over them like a fog. Bucky, Nat, Sam, and Steve agreed to give you space but not distance, to show you they wanted your voice back without pushing you too hard. It was a delicate balance, and they weren’t always sure they were getting it right.

Bucky started small. He’d linger nearby when you were in the common room, not crowding you but making his presence known. He’d slide a coffee toward you in the mornings, the kind you liked, with a quiet, “Thought you might want this.” You’d nod, offering a small smile, but your notebook stayed tucked under your arm, your words still locked away. He didn’t push, but every time you scribbled a note instead of speaking, his chest ached.

Nat was next, her approach subtle but deliberate. During a briefing, she handed you a tablet with mission data and said, “You always had the best eye for patterns. What do you think?” Her tone was soft, inviting, not demanding. You hesitated, then wrote in your notebook: Check the eastern routes. Could be a setup. She read it, nodded, and said, “Good call. I miss hearing you break this stuff down.” You looked away, but your grip on the pen tightened, like her words had stirred something.

Sam tried humor, careful not to cross the line. One day, as you sat scribbling in your notebook, he plopped down beside you. “You know, if you’re gonna keep writing, you should start a novel. Bet it’d be a bestseller.” You gave a half-smile, writing: Maybe. You’d buy it? He grinned. “Hell yeah, but I’d rather hear you narrate it.” You didn’t respond, but the corner of your mouth twitched, and he took it as a win.

Steve, ever the steady one, took a different tack. He started leaving small notes for you—simple things, like Thanks for catching that intel error or Your ideas saved us last mission. He didn’t expect replies, but he hoped you’d see them for what they were: an acknowledgment that you mattered, that your voice had always mattered.

You noticed their efforts, the way they were trying to make amends without forcing you to speak. It softened something in you, but the hurt still lingered. Bucky’s words—too loud, too annoying, exhausting—still echoed, amplified by the team’s careless jokes. Every time you thought about speaking, your throat closed up, fear whispering that you’d be too much again. So you stayed silent, smiling as always, your notebook your shield.

But the team’s persistence wore at the edges of your resolve. You started writing longer notes, sharing more than just mission details. To Nat, you wrote about a book you’d read. To Sam, a quick joke about his terrible aim in training. To Steve, a suggestion for a new strategy. Each note felt like a step, small but significant, toward trusting them again.

Bucky, though, was harder. You still sat with him sometimes, still passed him your notebook when you needed to communicate, but the easy chatter you once shared felt like a distant memory. He didn’t push, but his eyes followed you, heavy with regret. He’d catch you talking to FRIDAY in the ops room, your voice soft and warm, and it killed him that you gave that to an AI instead of him.

One evening, you were in the training room, alone, practicing forms to clear your head. Bucky appeared in the doorway, hesitating before stepping inside. He didn’t say anything at first, just watched you move, your focus sharp despite the weight you carried. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and rough.

“I’m sorry.”

You froze mid-motion, your back to him. He took a step closer, his words spilling out like they’d been held back too long. “I was an idiot. That day… I was drowning in my own shit, and I took it out on you. I didn’t mean it—none of it. You’re not loud, you’re not annoying, you’re not exhausting. You’re… you’re the best thing in my life.” His voice cracked. “I broke something, and I don’t know how to fix it, but I need you to know I’d do anything to hear you again.”

You turned slowly, your eyes meeting his. They were raw, pleading, and for the first time, you saw the depth of his guilt. You wanted to speak, to tell him it hurt but you missed him too, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, you pulled out your notebook, scribbling quickly: I know you didn’t mean it. But it still hurts. I don’t know how to be me anymore.

He read it, his face crumpling. “You’re still you,” he said softly. “You’re still the one who makes every room better, who makes me laugh when I don’t think I can. I was wrong, and I’m sorry. I’ll keep saying it until you believe me.”

You didn’t write anything back, but you held his gaze, your eyes glistening. He stepped closer, cautious, like he was afraid you’d pull away. “I miss you,” he whispered. “I miss my best friend.”

The words hung between you, heavy and true. You didn’t speak, not yet, but you nodded, a small gesture that felt like a crack in the wall you’d built. He didn’t push further, just stayed there, his presence steady and patient.

Over the next few weeks, you started to open up, but slowly. You spoke to FRIDAY less, your voice creeping back in small moments—short answers to Nat’s questions, a quiet laugh at Sam’s banter, a murmured “thanks” to Steve’s notes. The team noticed, their relief palpable, but they didn’t crowd you. They let you set the pace.

One morning, you were on the roof. The notebook sat closed beside you. You were watching the sunrise, hoodie pulled up.

He joined you, coffee in hand.

You took it gratefully. Sipped.

And then, softly, Like a memory

You took a breath, your heart pounding. The fear was still there, but so was something else, trust, fragile but growing. “Hey, Buck.” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. It was the first word you’d spoken to him in weeks, and it felt like a leap.

His eyes lit up, a small smile breaking through.

“Hey, doll.”

And it was the first time in weeks the quiet didn’t feel so heavy.

See my other stories here >>> Masterlist <<<

[shanastoryteller]

Happy birthdaymonth Shana! Hope you have awesome birthday 🎂🥳 Would love some Psych, either Lassie (Shassie) centred or a contiuation of the abduction one!

a continuation of 1 2 3

He lost his son five years ago.

Henry tries support groups at Karen's urging, the warning about what's likely to happen to him if he doesn't get the drinking under control unspoken but clear. He wonders if Fenich said something to her and tries not to feel too resentful about it. The groups don't do shit, just push him into a rage that reminds him too much of his grandfather. He cuts back on the drinking enough that no one can smell it on him anymore and that appears to be enough, thank god.

His job is all that he has left. And he still would have lost that if it weren't for Gus.

It was only a few months after Shawn went missing. Maddy was off on some work trip, saying the break would be good for them. Henry had mostly resigned himself to the divorce. He'd drank too much that night like he always did and when the doorbell had pierced through his pounding head he'd groaned and rolled off the couch. He stumbled to his feet and lurched over to the door, yanking it open in a desperation to make the doorbell stop. He looks down with bleary eyes and sees Gus standing in front of him, wide eyed. "You here for Shawn?" he yawns, already nudging the door open out of habit before he remembers.

Shawn's gone.

Gus swallows then nods. He'd stopped talking. The Gusters have already gone through two therapists. His sister insists he still talks to her, but it's possible she's just covering for him.

"What do you mean?" he asks, expecting Gus to take out the pen and notebook he's always carrying around with him. He needs to call his parents since they definitely don't know he's here. Ever since Shawn went missing, the Gusters haven't let Gus out of their sight. Henry can't blame them.

Except Gus swallows and says, "I overheard my parents talking. They say you're not doing good. I mean, well. Not doing well."

Henry looks down at him in shock. The last time he heard Gus's voice was when he'd told him they were calling off the search for Shawn, that they couldn't find him and he wasn't coming back. Gus had sobbed in his arms then, hit his chest, begged and yelled and been more out of sorts than any of them had ever seen him.

"Shawn loved you," he says and Henry doesn't even flinch at the past tense. "He was really proud of you and he'd want you to be okay."

If he had anything like pride left, he'd probably feel something about the hot tears on his cheeks. "He loved you too, Gus. He'd want you to be okay too."

Gus swallows and holds out his hand. "I'll try if you will."

"Alright," he says, because what the hell else is he supposed to say to that, to his son's best friend who has snuck away from his parents and broken his silence and is looking up at him with such earnest pleading. He shakes his hand. "Deal."

The Gusters are in hysterics when he gets them on the phone. But Gus starts talking again after that and Henry drinks a little less and it doesn't hurt as much as he'd thought it would.

Gus is a senior this year. Shawn would be too if he was alive.

The both of them have good days and bad ones.

"Henry!" He looks up. "Martha wants you in the interrogation room. She's got her anonymous tipper on the line."

He bites back a sigh. Martha's a good officer. She's also a recent transfer and is convinced that some guy who calls in with the occasional tip is the same one who used to call into her precinct in Boston and she's woven a whole conspiracy theory around it. She's been trying to get him interested for weeks, but frankly the whole thing sounds insane.

Karen nudges him in the side. "Come on, it'll at least get her off your back."

Or encourage her. "Fine."

They head down, peeking around the door. Martha's face lights up and she waves him and Karen in eagerly. He's just shut the door behind him when she puts down the receiver and switches it to speaker. "Can you repeat what you told me?"

"Again?" huffs an aggrieved, young male voice. "Aren't you supposed to be taking notes or something?"

Henry can't feel his knees.

"I'm very sorry, sir, but you if you wouldn't mind," Martha insists.

"Fine. You're wasting your time going after the family in the Robertson case, their performative grief is weird, I'll give you that, but they're just attention seekers. You need to talk to the maid, the jumpy one that's in the background of the newsclips. Look under her nails."

It's different, older, more mature, slower.

He stumbles over to the table, knocking over a pencil cup as he grabs a pen with a shaking hand. He writes over Martha's notes, who's looking at him like he's lost his mind, but he's never cared about anything less.

"How many hats?" she reads aloud dubiously.

"What's that going to help?" he asks, like always, intonation and whining just the same.

"Uh," Martha looks at him but has to hold onto the edge of the table to keep from passing out. "You never know what will help. How many hats are in the clip that you first noticed her nails?"

There's a moment of silence, then faint humming, and Henry can see Shawn closing his eyes and lifting his hand to his head like he always did when he was trying to remember something. "Red baseball cap, weird little outdated doilie looking thing on the maid, and the Mom had a black veil. Which isn't technically a hat," he adds, almost as soon as Henry thinks it. "But it she only wore it in two clips, it should narrow it down. Or you could stop wasting time and just call her in for questioning. You should take better notes."

The dial tone is a shock, snapping him out of it. "No! Shawn? Shawn!"

Martha is new, she doesn't know, he's sure someone told her about his dead son but probably not his name. Karen puts a tentative hand on his shoulder. "Henry, don't do this-"

"It was him," he insists. "I have to - I've got," he stops, runs a hand over his face, and says to Martha, "Get me everything you have on this. Everything."

"Okay?" she says, bewildered, and Karen is shaking her head and Henry doesn't waste time convincing her.

He makes it out to the car before he breaks, trying to control his breathing as he takes out his phone with shaking hands and dials a number that he only calls on Christmas and Shawn's birthday.

"Henry?" Maddy greets, voice understandably concerned. He hasn't talked to her sober in years. "What's wrong?"

He opens his mouth to answer, but all that comes out is a sob. It's as much of a surprise to him as it is to her. He raises a hand to his face and finds that he's crying.

"Oh god," she whispers and he hears her voice break. "Is this about - it's about Shawn, isn't it? Did you find - was he," she takes a deep, steadying breath. "Tell me it was quick, Henry, please."

He forces out, "You were right."

There's silence on the other end.

"I'm sorry," he says, because he should have listened to her, he should have looked harder, he doesn't know how this happened or what exactly is going on. "I'm so sorry, Mads, you were right."

She swallows. "Henry. Are you saying-"

"He's alive," he says, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. "Our son's alive."

[buddiesystempod]

Be honest, how many of us had Couch Theory Revival on your Season 8 BINGO cards? 🤣

Make some noise! 🥳 Our Couch Theory Special is lined up for Thursday 1/30!

[hauntedbythefanficsofmypast]

Not so Fake

Masterlist

Tim stationed himself in the third sitting room in the Manor. It was the closest to the kitchen, and furthest from the bedrooms and entrance of the manor. In other words, the perfect hiding spot from his overactive family that have united to try and make Tim rest. The only member that would find him right away would be Alfred, who already left him a cup of tea with a few of his cookies along with one of his laptops.

A note left on top stating that Alfred expected him to actually relax, and spotting the stickers Tim could tell this was his personal laptop. Taking Alfred seriously, Tim booted up YouTube and decided to watch his new favorite, GalacticPhantom, or Danny. He had found the channel a few months ago when one of his search engines caught a mention of Tim Drake and Red Robin being the same person.

The video in question had started off with a very well made video of the camera zooming down from a space view of the Earth to Danny’s home town, through his window and coming to a screeching halt in front of Danny and his friend Wes. The opening was highly impressive to Tim and the twenty-five minute video that followed had Tim wanting to pull his hair out.

Everything Wes said was true, completely true.

Tim was absolutely stunned and terrified because the other teen had managed to fully pull together who Red Robin was without even being in Gotham. The only thing that stopped Tim from calling a meeting about it, was that no one in the comments believed him. Instead Wes was mocked with the tried and true, ‘what do the butts match?’. He ended up watching every video under the playlist, ‘Wes the Detective’ and every single video hit right on the money but absolutely no one believed him. 

Well, no one but his friends it seemed. Tim had a couple theories about it and if it wasn’t for the fact that Wes has his identity clock he’d be staking out the town now. So he chose to stick to the theory that Wes was incredibly smart, but cursed in some way.

However today Danny had posted a new video and Tim could barely wait to watch it. The title was called ‘This thing wont leave me alone.’ and the thumbnail showed a screaming Danny holding a broom with a humanism but clearly not human girl spiderman to his ceiling seemingly hissing at him.

Tim grinned as he pressed play and settled back into the couch to watch. As the intro came to an end it found Danny in the closet of his bedroom speaking into the camera as if he was documenting his last moments.

“Hello everyone and welcome back to my channel.” He whispered softly only stopping at a noise outside the door that sounded like nails scratching against something. “What the—” the chittering of a badger interrupted him to cover his curse. “Today I’m hiding in my closet because this demon thing showed up and won’t leave me alone.” Something being knocked over in the background was heard causing Danny to freeze again. “I am taking my stand though, I have my makeshift weapon and-and I’m gonna face it. In the event that I don’t come out of this alive, Tucker you can have my Doomed character, Sam just ask them out already, Val you can sell all my stuff, and Wes I’m sorry I gaslight everyone in school that one time into thinking you weren’t real.” 

“That was—you Danny, oh you better hope you don’t survive after this!” Wes snapped from behind the camera, his curse being covered by bird chirps, and a second later Tucker’s head popped up from the bottom right screen. 

“You’re focusing on that rather than the fact Danny said that all to the screen like we weren’t even here.” Danny shushed them all dramatically holding his broom in front of him like a weapon.

“It is time. Remember me views, remember me.”

“So—dramatic.” Sam is heard but not shown on camera, soon after Danny is shown bursting out of the closet startling the humanoid creature with white hair and bright neon green eyes. 

Tim assumes the creature is one of their little siblings decked out in a creepy cosplay, a really creepy one that Sam definitely had to have a hand in making.

The girl immediately starts screeching and hissing at Danny who starts screaming back before starting to swat at her with the broom. Only for her to drop on all four and start crawling around to dodge him.

“Why won’t you stay still!!” Danny cried out as he panted slightly out of breath. The girl let out an evil cackle starting to crawl toward him and the others fast as he head began to turn to the point that it was upside down. Everything was silent before Danny began screaming hysterically while hitting the girl with the broom before she managed to jump on him and they began to fight. The video cut off right as the girl got a good hit on his nose, only to come back to Danny back in the closet with a bloody nose.

“You okay man?” Wes asked from behind the camera as Danny just stared dazed ahead. Danny turned to him, eyes unfocused as he stared at the camera.

“Do-do I call an exorcist? Do we have exorcists around us? Bro I have a demon in my house, and my parents who are ghost hunters can’t even detect it. What do I do?”

“Danny, I think she might have broken your Lego space shuttle.” Val was heard and seconds later Danny was shown back outside the closet in a screaming match with her while fist fighting and rolling all over the ground. 

“THAT LEGO SET COST ME FOUR MONTHS ALLOWANCE!!”

“I’M GOING TO MAKE YOU REGRET BREAKING IT!”

“ALL I DID WAS HIT YOU WITH A BROOM!”

The girl seemed to be responding to him in either gibberish, or a language they created. Which only seemed to anger Danny more.

“ENGLISH! SPEAK ENGLISH!!” The girl paused, stopping herself from landing a solid punch to his cheek before grinning at the confused teen.

“No.” Danny seemed stunned before anger took over again and the fight continued.

“You can_____speaking english! You____daughter of a______!!” The feed cut off before returning to Danny who was sitting on the bed of his wrecked room. The girl in question nowhere to be seen as Val cleaned some blood off Danny's cheek with a grin.

“I don’t know where she went, but I know she is still in my house. Tune in next time I find her because she better have some money to pay me back for my lego set. Thanks for stopping to watch this episode of mine and until next time, don’t let the ghosts get ya.”

“That was pretty interesting.” Dick said as he stole a cookie from Tim’s plate. “Are all his videos like that?” Tim didn’t even blink at his brother's sudden appearance as he moved to type out a comment.

“For the most part, ya. He’s a shit poster, his content is just a tun of stuff that is so outrageous and realistic but clearly not real.”

‘That fight gave off peak sibling energy. It’s giving, I’m gonna fight my sibling to the death because of one slight inconvenience.’

Jason hummed as he picked his book back up, dropping down in front of the couch to reread Pride and Prejudice. “Ya he was definitely fighting his little sister. He held back too much and she wasn’t pulling her punches.” 

“Only Drake would spend his time watching pointless videos.” Damien huffed, causing Tim to roll his eyes.

“Awe Dami, you know Tim is on mandatory rest. No work of any kind.” Dick grinned before jumping up, wrapping his arms around Damien and dragging him down onto the couch.

“Richard!! Let me go this instant!!” Damien screamed struggling to get away from his octopus of an older brother.

“No! I need my little brother cuddles and I need them from my Dami! No escape for you now.” Damian kept fighting Dick’s hold for the next twenty-five minutes while Tim put another of Danny’s videos on and rewatched it with Jason and Dick watching as well. The video in question was one where Danny went through a locker with his friends and went back in time to when his school first opened. Jason snorted, commenting on them making everything black and white. Danny meets a seemingly see-through kid named Sidney Poindexter and it ends with the two of them having a dance off.

“Bruce, why the fuck are your kids watching a video of a kid dancing with an Infinite Relams ghost?” Tim paused, staring blankly at his computer screen before turning to look at Bruce and John Constantine. “Wow holy shit, the Infinite Realms rarely interact with us since Luthor let the Anti-Ecto Acts pass. Yet that kid is interacting with one like their friends.”

“You’re saying this shits real?” Jason asked, closing his book looking at the screen more interested.

“Language Master Jason.” Alfred said as he walked in from a tray of tea for everyone.

“Sorry Alfred.” John nodded as he moved closer, eyes trained on Poindexter.

“If it is not real it is still more similar than could be possible. They’ve definitely had interactions with the Realms.”

“Wait, what are the Anti-Ecto Acts?” Tim asked his attention zeroing in on John.

“Well fuck, you don’t know? It affects like all of you, thought for sure you’d know. Shit this is gonna take so long to explain. We’re gonna have to call a JL meeting for this explanation because I’m not doing it twice.”

Of Meetings and Musings

[desperate-gay]

in honor of pernille’s bace in magda’s new boots,

magda & pernille, the living room, & “that’s mine.” & “you’re lucky you look so cozy right now.”

Thief

Pernille Harder x Magda Eriksson x fem!reader

a/n: very small bc i am so tired. small early birthday present for my beloved aurora

“Just admit it!” Magda groans, twisting her key to unlock the front door of the shared house.

“I’m not going to admit to anything because it’s not true!” Pernille exclaims, throwing her arms in the air, causing her training bag to hit her side roughly.

“Just say you stole my favorite hoodie, and this can all be over with.”

“You know what? How about you admit to stealing my favorite blanket.”

The bickering continues as they step through the door, completely oblivious to you cozied up on the couch. You watch as the two make their way into the living room, glaring at one another with narrowed eyes.

Their bags are both discarded in the entryway—something you’ll scold them for later—but right now, you’re too caught up in the brewing standoff between your two lovers.

“Älskling, can you tell her to just tell me the tru—”

Magda’s words die in her mouth the moment she finally looks at you, having not spared you a glance since they arrived home from training. Pernille raises an eyebrow, curious about the sudden pause, until her gaze follows Magda’s and lands on you as well.

You sit there with doe eyes, sipping hot chocolate from a mug clutched in both of your hands.

“That’s mine.” Magda states, pointing to the large hoodie draped over your body.

“And that’s mine.” Pernille adds, gesturing toward the small blanket that’s thrown over your legs.

You hum in agreement, smiling softly at the two girls, completely innocent and oblivious to the conflict that was brewing between them.

The two players exchange looks, their jaws slightly slack, having momentarily forgotten about their own argument. They completely discarded the idea of you stealing their things.

“That’s my favorite blanket!”

“That’s my favorite hoodie!”

“Yes they are.” You reply, still smiling at your girlfriends, who to you seem oddly dramatic at the moment.

“We have been looking for those.” Pernille declares in a high-pitched, accusing tone, flopping her arms to her sides with a dramatic slap.

“They smell like you both.” You murmur, shrugging as you snuggle even deeper into the couch, something that from their perspective seems nearly impossible.

Magda and Pernille exchange another glance, their expressions softening for just a moment before Magda clears her throat and crosses her arms, toughening up her stance once more.

“You’re lucky you look so cozy right now.” Pernille huffs, dramatically stomping to the couch and flopping down onto the soft cushions.

“Yeah, because otherwise, we’d be tackling you to get them back.” The Swede adds, still standing with a slight grump.

“You wouldn’t.” You say, peeking your head out from behind the blanket.

“Try us.” Pernille challenges, quietly crawling closer to you.

Your gaze flips rapidly between them, eyes wide at the sudden shift in tone. Slowly, you begin untangling your legs from the mess of blankets, preparing for a quick getaway.

“Maybe we should test our theory. Nille?” Magda turns to look at the girl beside you, silently waiting for a signal to go.

Right as Pernille tries to lunge at you, you jump up with the blanket in your hands and run as quickly as you can. Magda reaches for you, but with a quick bend of your back, you just barely slip out of her grasp.

The two girls immediately chase after you, watching as you sprint through the house, the blanket flowing behind you like a flag in a parade.

“You’ll never catch me alive!”

“We will get our stuff back!”

“Dead or alive!”

[snowflake194]

The way Buck kept trying to rearrange his couch multiple times before finally settling on the same position Eddie's had always been in because it's the only one that felt right.

Eddie might not have left his couch for Buck, but Couch theory is alive and well.