#i wish any thoughts i had about sam were coherent

[rin-may-1103]

The Wrong Robin Au (part three)

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Danny never said he knew what he was doing, but he thinks he's doing something right if the kid hasn't started crying yet. so you know, that's great. now, he just needed to get the kid out of here, so Danny could have a moment to mourn his retirement plans.

He wasn't going to blame the kid, ancients know Danny would have gone back to hero work eventually. He just couldn't let things go if he could help it, and he could in this situation.

"Alright, here's the plan." Danny announced, slapping his legs as he stood up. "it's late, you're a kid who needs sleep. let's get you home, then we can get a game plan on how to do this."

Tim had been nodding his head, even if it was reluctantly, before freezing in sudden realization. Danny raised his eyebrow in question, wondering what was wrong now.

"you want my help?" Tim asked, absolutely gobsmacked.

Oh, the kid thought Danny was just going to send him away like any reasonable adult would. Ha, Danny wished. but no. He had no clue what he was doing and this kid was his only trump card for making any of the half-assed plans still forming in his head work. AND he had a feeling if he didn't keep Tim close by, the kid would run off and do something stupid.

"Yep," Danny snorted, "you were smart enough to figure out who Batman was, and then you decided to take it upon yourself to help him; whether by convincing me to do it or yourself."

"Now then," Danny said as he walked over to the couch and pulled his hoodie from under Sam. Sam, to her credit, told him to fuck off and went back to snoring. Tucker, somehow having heard her, responded with a 'Go fuck yourself'.

Shaking his head, Danny turned back to Tim. "Let's get going. It's-" Danny turned to look at the clock, his eyes narrowing when he found it; 4 am. The kid was up and coherent enough to try and blackmail someone into being Robin at four in the morning. "-four. you seriously need to get some sleep kid. It's a school night." actually, what day was it???

Tim rolled his eyes but started to follow Danny out the door. "It's Saturday, and I've stayed up longer," he grumbled.

Danny snorted, "So have I, but we still need to sleep." He should probably try and prevent the kid from staying up longer than he should. Danny knows what years of not sleeping properly does to someone. The kid's obsessed with Batman and Robin, right? He'll just use them then.

"Robin needs all the sleep he can get. Otherwise, Batman will bench him. If Robin is benched, then who is out there helping Batman?" That's convincing, right? Does Batman even have the power to bench Robin? From the sounds of it, Robin is his kid's vigilante name. Which means he totally has the power to ground them.

Wait...

If Danny was going to be Robin, does that mean Batman would think he's his kid?

Oh, hell naw. He was not going to be adopted by another fruitloop! If Bruce Wayne even thinks about it, Danny will be out of there so fast even the Flash couldn't stop him.

Tim stumbled, his eyes wide in surprise. "Really?" he asks, turning to look at Danny in horror. Danny blinked, brain failing to remember why the kid would be surprised.

shit, what were they talking about?? Robin... It's four am... Right!

"Yep," Danny chirped, leading the kid to his car. "Now, I know everyone says not to get into a stranger's car and all that jazz, but it's the only way I'm getting you home. So, hop in."

Tim didn't even hesitate to jump into the passenger seat, pulling the seat belt across his chest. Danny stared at him for a second, before opening the car door and sitting down.

"kid, you do know you're not supposed to get into strangers' cars, right?" Danny asked, closing the door and buckling up. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his keys and started the engine.

"Well, yeah?" Tim replied, turning to face him, "But you're not a stranger. You're Robin. You protect people not hurt them."

and well? Danny can't argue with that, now, can he?

"Right, fine. Just promise not to get into strangers' cars. I don't care how much you think you know about them. It's not safe, and you could get hurt."

Tim hummed, thinking about it for a moment before nodding his head. "Yeah, alright. I promise."

"good." Danny sighed, turning to look at the road to see if it was clear. then he sighed again, "Don't tell strangers where you live, please."

Tim looked at him in amusement, a small smile spreading across his face. "Drake manor. 1015 Mountain Drive. It's in the Crest Hill community."

"You're killing me here, kid." Danny groaned, hitting his head against the steering wheel. Then he slowly lifted his head and turned to stare at Tim, "Kid. How the hell did you get all the way over here? Mountain Drive is all the way over in Bristol??? That's, like, twelve miles outside of city limits?"

"I have my ways."

Danny narrowed his eyes, "You bribed someone, didn't you."

Tim looked away from him, fiddling with his fingers.

sighing, Danny sat up and started driving down the road. They sat in silence for a while, just listening to the chaos that was Gotham City as they drove. Tim eventually slumped over, his head resting against the window.

It took a good thirty minutes before Danny could turn onto the bridge out of town. The traffic wasn't heavy, just the occasional car here and there. It was almost peaceful.

"Turn here," Tim suddenly instructed, startling Danny.

"Tim!" Danny cried, turning to look at the kid, then back at the road. although, he did do as the kid instructed. "don't do that! you'll give me a heart attack or something! Ancients!"

Tim blinked, then shrugged. "ok," he yawned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"my house is the one with really stupid-looking ducks carved into the gates." Tim supplied, waving his hand at the road ahead of them. "Bruce's is the one with bats, but you knew that."

"Right," Danny agreed. What were the chances that Batman happened to live in a place called Gotham and in a house with black iron gates covered in bats? It was almost as coincidental as Danny's last name sounding like Phantom. Fate really had quite the sense of humor, didn't they?

after they passed a few more dirt roads, Tim pointed at a specific one, "Turn here. The gates a little further back than everyone else's."

Danny hummed, turning the car onto the road. What was his life at this point? Driving children to their huge houses at four-thirty in the morning? agreeing to become Robin? coming out of retirement because a kid asked him to?

Bruce Wayne better appreciate all the effort this kid was going through...

A tall gate slowly popped into view, making Danny slow the car down until he could stop right in front of it. "Alright, kid. You're home. get some sleep. Go to school, I don't know, what do you rich kids do on the weekends? actually, you know what? It doesn't matter, do you have a phone?"

Tim blinked as he slowly unbuckled, "yes?"

"One that's not monitored by your parents or anyone else?"

"..."

Danny sighed, reaching into his back pocket to pull out his phone. "Here," Danny unlocked it, went to settings and pressed the factory rest option. Once the phone finished the reset, he quickly scanned through it to make sure it was all gone before adding his second phone number. once done, he tossed it over to the kid. "here, should work for now. Don't let anyone else have it."

If this was any other situation, Danny would have gone straight to the kid's parents; but considering it was past four in the morning and there wasn't a city-wide amber alert? He has a feeling the kid needs a safety net, and well? What better than a direct line to him?

"I can't just take your phone!" Tim cried, catching the phone before it could fall to the ground.

"It's my backup one. I tend to break my phone pretty often, so I always keep an extra one on me. my current number is saved on it, you can reach out and get in contact with me now." Danny waved off the kid's concern, reaching into the back of the car to grab a bag.

with how often his phone had broken during ghost fights and how frequently his parents dissected his phone for parts? It's a habit at this point to have a backup. or Ten. Pulling the bag to the front, Danny showed the kid what was inside.

"..." Tim blinked, then looked up at Danny. "why do you have a bag of broken phones in your car?"

"Because my phones keep breaking and I figured it would be easier to just keep them for extra parts than toss them. Now," Danny tossed the bag into the back, ignoring how it tipped over and spilled the contents all over the seat. He'd clean it up later. Maybe. "It's early. You need sleep, I need sleep. We can pick another day to sit down and build a game plan."

Tim sat in silence for a moment, staring at the phone in his hands, before glancing up at Danny. "You really mean it?" he asked, turning the phone around anxiously, "you really want my help?"

"kid, Tim," Danny started, tilting his head so he could make eye contact. "with how bad you say Batman's gotten? I'm going to need all the help I can get. Who better than the one who went out of his way to try and actually do something about it?"

Tim's eyes watered as he looked back at the phone. "ok," he whispered, nodding his head. Reaching up, he wiped his face clean before taking a deep breath and letting it out.

"ok," he repeated, voice stronger now. "I'll help. I want to."

"Good," Danny nodded in agreement, then smiled. "get some sleep kid, you need it."

"I don't need it," Tim grumbled, turning to open the door and get out. "but if that's what it takes for you to allow me to help, then I guess I can take a nap or something."

Danny snorted, watching as Tim closed the car door and started making his way to the gate.

as soon as the kid was out of view, Danny slammed his head onto the steering wheel and groaned. He had definitely jinxed himself earlier. How hard can being Robin be? Yeah right. He hasn't even gotten to meet Bruce yet and he's already stressed.

...

Glancing up, Danny watched as the clock glitched then turned to five am.

...

Well then, he might as well do something productive since it was unlikely he'd be getting any more sleep if he went back. Sam would be up by the time he got there, which meant he'd have to answer all of her questions... which would wake Tucker up, which would mean Danny'd have to explain all over again.

Glancing around, Danny suddenly realized something.

Batman.

Bruce Wayne was Batman.

Bruce Wayne; as in, Gotham's own himbo billionaire.

Who lives in Bristol.

Which is where he is right now. Logically speaking, he'd be able to find it pretty fast if he just looked at the gates. It's probably just a few houses from Tim's too, now that he thought about it...

Oh, this was a terrible idea, but when had that ever stopped Danny?

Jazz was so going to kill him for this.

Next

[deancasbigbang]

Title: In Through the Out Door

Author: AlleiraDayne

Artist: Lotrspnfangirl

Rating: Explicit

Pairings: DeanCas, Sam/Eileen developing into but not really depicted Sam/Eileen/Rowena/Gabriel

Length: 39076

Warnings: MCD (temporary), Graphic Depictions of Violence

Tags: Depression, suicidal ideation, alcoholism, prolific profanity, polyamory, ambiguous ending

Posting Date: October 10, 2024

Summary: Castiel was dead. Again. And it was all Dean's fault. After failing to drink himself into an early grave, Dean finds a little resolve to pick himself back up and do the right thing: save people. With Sam and Jack by his side, and a little help from a few other survivors, they take on Chuck, restore the world, the multiverse, and everything's back to the way it oughta be. Everything but Castiel, that is. Dean clings to a death wish five miles wide after that. And he gets it, dying on a hunt. But the worst is yet to come when he wakes up and finds himself in the Empty. And he's not alone.

Excerpt: “I love you.” The memory replayed clear as a bell that time. More than Castiel’s death, his last three words haunted Dean like a restless spirit. And yet… that wasn’t it, either. The words themselves? Yeah, that tracked. Of course Castiel loved him. Duh and, or hello. No, what had left Dean feeling like the biggest asshole to have ever assholed had absolutely everything to do with the fact that, in Castiel’s most vulnerable moment of his entire existence, Dean had balked. “Don’t… don’t do this, Cas.” What a stupid fucking response. Who says that to someone as they’re carving their heart out of their chest and handing it over to you on a silver platter in a last-ditch effort to save your stupid fucking dumbass from your own stupid fucking dumbass plan? Dean. That’s who. He had to make it right… Dean opened his eyes and breathed. “I love you, too, Cas.” There. Done. Did he feel any better? Nope. Not really. Not at all, in fact. Castiel was still fuckin’ dead. Deader than a doornail. But he’d said it. And dammit all to hell, he’d meant it. That was all that mattered. He shoved the key in his pocket with a defeated grunt. At least Billie was dead, too. Gotta pick out the positives where he found them. Right? He’d keep telling himself that until he passed out at the bottom of another bottle. If he could find one. The walk back to his room passed in a blur. He swung the door closed, but never heard it latch. Not that it mattered. Nobody needed him, really. Sam and Jack were busy enough trying to find a solution to the real problem. He’d only slow them down. Dead weight.  Or just dead. If only. Eternal rest in Heaven sounded nice right about then. Reliving his favorite hits from his best cuts. No piece of shit monsters, no asshole demons, no dickbag angels…  That last thought brought him up short at the edge of his bed in a sudden rush of clarity. A Heaven of reruns sounded awful. He shuddered, gagging against that rancid taste rising in his throat again. A drink. One more ought to do the trick. Dean tore open the drawer in his bedside table and withdrew his flask. The cap spun with a practiced flick of his thumb and forefinger. Then he threw his head back and downed the entire thing. Yup. Close enough. The flask clattered on the nightstand as he dropped it and collapsed onto his bed. With his face buried in his pillow, he reached for his lamp, slapping haphazardly as he searched for the switch. If he ever found it, he couldn’t remember. But he must have. Oppressive darkness filled his room, and he closed his eyes, hoping he could at least sleep like the dead. Dead.  Castiel was dead. Again. And it was all Dean’s fault. It was the last coherent thought he had before he finally, blessedly, passed out.

DCBB 2024 Posting Schedule

[celtigxr]

THE PINK DREAD - CH. 18 (Masterlist)

Chapter Summary: A dinner that shall forever be known as the Battle of Passive Aggression. Word Count: 4319 CHAPTER WARNINGS: Sass.

Series tags: Aemond x Plus size!OfC, Aegon x Plus size!OfC, Celtigar!ofc, Plot with Smut, mdni 18+, Aemond End Game, Angst, Comedy, The Dragons Don't Dance, slow burn, friends to enemies to lovers, enemies to friends to lovers.

Credits: Lace Banner by Aquazero, pearl divider by Pommecita

Notes: Happy Thanksgiving to all my Northerners (Canadians) out there!

Valeana had readied herself to be nervous and overly shy under Aemond’s stare that evening. However, the moment she saw him perched next to Maris Baratheon, of all people, that quickly changed. There was a distinct ringing in her head that made it difficult for her to hear others as they introduced themselves. She found it particularly hard to say anything coherent to Samantha, who had recognized her in name only. 

Her green eyes bored into Aemond’s scarred face and the position of his body. Arm draped on the back of the settee, behind Maris, with his body poised in her direction. It was way too familiar. Too intimate.

Then Shyla acknowledged her, and when the confirmation came out that Maris was indeed here because of Aemond, Valeana couldn’t help herself. 

“Invited you?” It came out like bile after drinking something vile and putrid. She had meant to think that, but it came out nonetheless.

“I did,” Aemond had said, baring his scared cheek at her. 

It took every ounce of strength in her to keep her face unreadable, but her flickering eyes between the two likely betrayed her thoughts. Maris seemed to pick up on the contentiousness that radiated off of her, because the Baratheon was quick to respond.

“Does that surprise you, Lady Valeana?” Her brows furrowed in challenge.

The Celtigar pursed her lips before giving Maris an fraudulently innocent smile,  “Only by a little. I was not aware Prince Aemond had friends.”

If any of the Hightowers were aware of this silent but deadly battle between ladies, they did a very good job at pretending nothing was going on. Aegon, however, was enraptured; his eyes darted between the two, and then finally to his brother when Aemond started to speak.

“Hm, a reasonable assumption, Lady Valeana. Though, I merely am conservative on who I call friend nowadays. One cannot always be certain of another's intentions in court. And…Lady Maris’ presence has been such a delight that I did not wish to part with her this evening, so I had no choice but to invite her.” 

The way he looked at her and she at him made Valeana’s fingers curl so savagely into the fabric of her skirt, she was sure that her nails were tearing through the thread. The strength of keeping her face straight was all put on her jaw, which clenched at her teeth so severely it started to get sore. A slow rumble of a growl was vibrating in her throat, though it was completely unnoticeable to anyone but her. Perhaps it was her Lannister blood, because all she wanted to do was lunge at Maris like a lioness hunting a doe the moment Lady Sam made her comment about sweetness and love matches. 

It was Aegon’s hand wrapped itself around her bicep that stopped her from moving forward, and then it was Otto’s declaration of dinner being served that brought her back to reality. 

Valeana barely registered Shyla as she fluttered to Daeron’s side, away from them and towards the table. Her eyes bore into Maris’ back, where Aemond’s hand found purchase. 

“I have an idea,” Aegon whispered conspiratorially to Valeana as they followed the Greens over to the large dinner table. “Follow my league.”

Her mouth popped open to ask what he was doing, but she felt his arm snake around her waist and guided her around the table. The circular table was large, but with the additional three to the party, the chairs were closer together. Otto took claim of the largest chair at the far left, between Ormund on his left, and Lady Sam on his right. From her, sat Lyonel (a bit too close to Samantha, Valeana noticed), Daeron, Garmund, and beside him is where Aemond was pulling a chair out for Maris. 

“Trust me,” Aegon whispered from behind as he guided her into the chair and tucked her in before moving to her right side. Shyla sat to his right beside him, leaving her directly across from Daeron, which might have been by her design. 

When Valeana’s eyes swept over the table, she had realized that everyone had sat down save for Aemond, and the chair next to her was the only one available. She was bitterly reminded of her first evening back, where she was forced to sit in front of him. 

At the moment, she did not know which was worse. 

Aemond stiffly sunk into the seat next to her, and the proximity of the chairs seemed far more tighter now for it. At the very least he remained in her peripheral, so she didn’t have to worry about accidentally catching his eye, but that was a different case for Maris. She was just within sight that she would have no choice but to regard Valeana too when she addressed Aemond. 

Shyla was quick to begin conversation the moment food was placed on the table and served to the guests. Of course, her line of questioning was all about Daeron, and the prince was eager to provide answers for it. What it was like to grow up in Oldtown, what Tessarion was like, what were his hobbies, etc. Occasionally, an anecdote was provided by the nephews, and the four boys would fall into a reverie about past escapades. 

Aegon leaned into Valeana’s ear, “Arrogant prick.”

Val eyed him, a secretive smile placed behind her napkin as she whispered back “Just like his brothers.”

Aegon also smiled, but rolled his eyes and brought his goblet to his lips. 

“It is a shame Gwayne could not join us,” Ormund said through bites of his food. 

“He had prior engagements,” Otto explained, eyes cast to his food. “He rather spend his first night in the city with a bunch of drunken knights, pretending to prepare for a tourney that does not start for sinnight.” 

Samantha chuckles, “Good uncle, please. He sees his family every day, and just simply wishes to be among like minded men.” 

Valeana spotted the smirk on the corner of Aegon’s lip, switching at his attempt to hold it back. 

Otto merely scoffed at this. 

“Will you be competing in the tourney too, Prince Daeron?” Shyla asked immediately, once again shifting attention to the youngest prince. 

“Of course!” Daeron beamed, “Should they participate, it would be an honour to compete alongside and against my brothers.”

The attention was put onto the two elder princes, who both pursed their lips in response. 

“I have not yet decided,” Aegon replied first, then looked over at the other, “But Aemond has shown eagerness towards it, haven’t you, brother?”

“And what gave you that impression, Aegon?” Aemond asked with a turn to his brother, though Valeana kept her body’s position to the right so she could not see him when he did. 

“Well, you dragged me out of my quarters demanding that I train with you in preparations for the tourney, did you not?”

Shyla craned her neck to look around Aegon and Val to see Aemond, “Is that what that whole business was about that other day in the training yard?”

“What business?” Maris tilted her head at Aemond. 

“Aegon and Aemond were sparring viciously in the training yard,” Shyla giggled, “For a second I thought they were going to maim each other.”

Daeron laughed, “I wish I witnessed that. I did not think you a fighter, Aegon.”

Aegon’s head whipped in his direction, “I am just as fearsome as Aemond. In fact, I bested him that day, did I not, Lady Valeana?” 

Valeana was leaning back in her chair with her fork twirling in her fingers when she was acknowledged. Aegon held her gaze for a moment after the question was directed at her, and then she moved her eyes around the table before landing on Aemond. 

“He did.”

Aegon beamed back at Daeron, brows raised in victory, “See?”

“I would hardly count that as a fair victory,” Aemond responded as he leaned back in his chair and mimicked the position of the woman at his right. “I was distracted.”

“Mm,” Aegon hums as he swallows his drink, “Quite the distraction, though, I might say.”

Valeana shot him a look. That day was a horrible reminder of a bitter truth that she was still trying to swallow. 

“I do not give a shit about her. I never have, and the Seven knows I never will.”

Sometimes in these last few days, she wondered if that were true. He’s made it clear in very blunt, obvious ways, such as their painful discussion when she had tried to make amends with him near the stables. But then he would go around and volunteer to bring her safely back to her apartments, out of concern for her virtue at the hands of his brother and the untrustworthy guards. Then he would touch her and kiss her skin, and leave her with bruises before pulling away from her as if he realized she was a pig in a dress all along. 

Val chanced a glance at Maris, who thankfully wasn’t looking in her direction when she did. Maris… another odd, annoying development. Is that genuine, or was he playing at something? Why would he, if he wanted nothing to do with Valeana? 

Maris tilted her head at Aemond and the moment she did, Val turned away before she was caught staring. 

“What could have possibly gotten you that distracted?” Her tone had a lace of amusement, and from the corner of Val’s eye she could see the Baratheon’s hand reach out and land on his elbow.

Aemond had to turn his head fully in Maris’ direction to answer her, but before he could, it was Aegon who did in his stead. 

“Only the most beautiful distraction of all the Seven Kingdoms.” 

Valeana’s mouth popped open and her eyes flashed widely at Aegon as he took her free hand in his grasp and brought it to his lips. Her face flushed rouge, and a pit of something settled in her gut. Fear? Embarrassment? Shyness? It felt a bit like a moth fluttering around the glass of a lamplight. 

Aegon kept her eye for a moment. His own mischievous and playful, but when he shifted to the presence behind her, it darkened. Valeana remained frozen in her place, save for her eyes that flickered away from the prince and focused on the older man at her far right. Otto Hightower was looking directly at her, brows shadowed over his eyes, hand cradling his glass goblet in front of him, but not quite reaching his lips. 

He stared at her as if she were the cause of this. Of everything. Every damn misstep and inconvenience in court. And perhaps she was. No, she knew she was. She was dangling herself like a piece of raw meat between two snarling dragons.

The staring contest in which Aegon held with Aemond lasted mere seconds, but it felt like a hundred year war. Oh, Aemond would loath to admit how much Aegon knew him. How easily he could get possessive over things that he believed belonged to him. A trait that likely stems from him being the middle child, Aemond was always expected to be given leftovers and to share. Whereas both Aegon and Heleana were often given everything freely, as both the oldest and the only daughter. Daeron, of course, was the shining example of a spoiled youngest sibling. The first to claim, and the last to own. 

Aegon knew well enough that Aemond longed for Valeana the moment she left King’s Landing a decade ago. He had a visible shift in his personality since then; more sullen, more phlegmatic, more self serious, and he smiled considerably less. However, Aemond swallowed his regrets and gave a stiff upper lip to it all, even after his lashings. But, the fact of the matter is, Valeana was the most important person in his life at the time. Aemond tried to hide it as best he could, always keeping his companion hidden from his brother and nephews as much as he was able. They teased him relentlessly due to Valeana’s blatant affections for him, forcing Aemond to keep his friendship in the shadows, but it was still painfully obvious. So, Aegon would tease Valeana when he could, knowing it would rile up Aemond, though he would not be able to defend her out of fear of catching the blows as well. It was like mocking starved pit hounds through the bars of a cage, only the cage was of Aemond’s own making.

Oh, how things never change. The title was different, but the story was the same. Aemond’s pride still prevented him from acting upon his evident possessiveness, but those bars of his shuddered against his snarling, evident by the flared nostrils and upper lip curling. 

Time spun back to life when Lady Sam cooed and shared a look with Lyonel, then her husband quickly after. She jutted her bottom lip at him with a hand clutching her step son’s arm, shaking it gently. Completely oblivious to the affection his wife had with his son, Ormund tilted his head lovingly at his wife’s reaction. 

“This is so sweet. Both princes are completely smitten already. Love is in the air in King’s Landing, is it not, husband?”

Aegon wretched his eyes from Aemond, and gently placed Valeana’s hand back down, but did not let it go. Briefly, he caught sight of Maris with a stitch in her brow over the exchange, giving him some satisfaction that this also affected the other woman, if only that it would please her fair-haired opponent. 

“Now it is just your turn, Daeron,” Lyonel laughed, giving a playful punch to the younger prince’s arm. 

Daeron chuckled good naturedly, “Perhaps my love story has already begun, eh?” 

Beside him, Aegon could hear Shyla give a soft squeak as she stiffened straight in her seat. He gave her a brief glance, pleased to find her still enraptured by his stupid brother, and that she had completely dismissed Aegon’s earlier affections towards her sister. Aegon was now free to unleash as much chaos as he’d like without the threatening presence of the youngest Celtigar daughter and her unsettling aura. 

Passing Shyla, Aegon caught his grandsire’s eye, which instantly wiped the smile from his face. Otto’s glower was filled with a hundred words of scolding for ruining what should have been a fine dinner with family. The silent berate went ignored, however, for Aegon’s prize was far more valuable than the approval of the Lord Hand.

 He was aware that his grandfather was the one responsible for his mother’s urgency for Aegon to marry Helaena, despite the two of them and the King himself having no desire for the match. Whilst Aegon wasn’t the brightest of the Targaryens, he still lived in court long enough to understand how it works. It also helped that he was made aware at a young age that his existence was a weapon to usurp the Throne for the Hightowers, and one of the paths to that was to marry his sister and sire more pure, direct heirs. 

But Aegon did not want to be king. He wanted–

“Could you imagine?” Garmund spoke excitedly, “Three royal weddings at once?” 

“Heavens, the food alone would deplete the royal treasury,” Ormund chuckled. 

Valeana cleared her throat, “I would not get ahead of ourselves. The Conclave hasn’t even started.”

“I agree, Lady Valeana,” Otto spoke at last, “It is early still, and no formal declarations have been made. The Crone may have other plans by the end of the event.” 

Aemond’s eye was burning a hole in Aegon’s hand, which still had not declawed itself from Valeana’s. What was this, this sudden display of affection? They waltzed in the dark, and now, all of a sudden, Aegon was essentially announcing their courtship. Was this part of her game, or his? 

Or theirs? 

Aemond’s eye widened at the revelation. Now his mind was a tempest of moments of the time past since the arrival of the Celtigars; everything he has bared witnessed that others have not. The moments between her and Aegon began to pile up in his head, along with Floris’ warning about her step sister. Aemond came to one only conclusion: They were both in on this. Valeana with her petty revenge, and Aegon’s unsatiated hunger to remind Aemond that he is lesser to him. While Valeana’s motivations were valid in its childishness, he could not help but wonder what Aegon’s were. It could not simply be for the enjoyment of watching Aemond be miserable, there had to be another reason. 

Once again, Aemond glanced back at Aegon’s hand clasping hers, and it brought him back to the moans he heard beyond his brother’s door that night. He took a steady breath through his flared nostrils, and slowly lifted his chin until his eye was forcibly piercing into Valeana’s profile. Lips pouted neutrally, eyes casted over her plate, and body poised away from him, all keeping up an impartial visage. Would his Valeana really stoop so low as to literally sleep with his brother in order to get back at him? Or at the very least, allow Aegon’s hands on her in ways that Aemond dared not think of? Then again, his Valeana would not have drank herself into a stupor and allowed him to ravish her tits in the dark like some common harlot. 

No, this was not his Valeana at all… That girl died long ago, and before him was the girl set out to avenge her death. He had no one else to blame but himself, but he also was not the same Aemond as before. That Aemond died as well, though he couldn’t pinpoint when and where that happened. Perhaps it was that day as well. But either way, the final nail in the coffin was when his eye was plucked out of his socket by the tip of his nephew’s dagger. That was when he truly lost himself.

Sound rushed to his ears when at last Valeana pulled her hand away from Aegon’s to reach for her goblet and take a sip. The conversation that was being had somehow delved into small talk about this and that. The warm weather they were having, the nobles from the Reach that would be arriving soon after the Hightowers, Cannibal’s unsettling presence that has caused smallfolk quite the stir, and Daeron’s assurance that he and Tessarion could probably take him. Aemond was too preoccupied with his stewing to make a comment about how ludicrous that was.

Finally the pot reached a boil, and Aemond simply could not help himself. 

“I believe tonight can benefit with some music,” He sat back in his chair, his food almost largely forgotten. He turned to Maris and smiled before he looked over at his grandfather, “Don’t you agree, Lord Hand?”

Otto raised an eyebrow at him, not entirely sure what Aemond was trying to achieve, “It would, but alas, we are fresh out of bards.”

“But we are not,” Aemond’s words bristled the woman to his right. “We are in the presence of great talent right now.”

Daeron, irritatingly guffawed and waved at him, “Please, brother. I am a fair lutist at best, but that is flattering to say.” 

“I was referring to the Celtigar sisters, brother,” it took a great deal of power for him to rein in the ire from his tone, and the desire to call him a buffoon was on the tip of his tongue. “The Sirens of Claw Isle, they are called, and we are in the presence of two of them.” 

“Oh, that is right, of course,” Samantha perked in her seat excitedly. “How could I forget – My father remembers you three singing as children when he visited here many years ago. He likened it to being lured into the sea by mermaids.” 

Daeron’s eyebrow raised, “Is that so? Well, now I must hear a song or two, so that it will put me and my silly lute to shame.” 

Maris softly scoffed and sarcastically remarked, “Please, do not exaggerate, I fear it will raise my expectations too high.”

Valeana slowly turned towards Aegon, hoping that he could recognize the plea in her wide eyes. She knew immediately what Aemond was doing as soon as he had mentioned music – he means to put her in an uncomfortable position, a humiliating one where she must again explain why she no longer sings, a fact she is not proud of. Along with her embroidery skills, her voice was the only thing she had liked about herself, and time and shadow robbed her of it. 

Aegon merely raised an eyebrow and tilted his head, clearly not reading her mind. Some partner in crime he was. 

So her eyes flickered over to her only other ally at the table: her sister. Her large doe brown eyes found Valeana’s after prying them off of Daeron for once. With a skill that really only women knew, Shyla read her mind in an instant. 

Unfortunately for Valeana, Shyla had her own solution to the problem. 

“My mother taught me it is unseemly to brag, but,” Shyla beamed brightly at her sister. “We are quite good together. Even if Floris is not here, Valeana and I make great harmony.” 

“I was under the impression Lady Valeana has retired her voice,” Otto’s inclusion of the truth causes Valeana’s cheeks to redden, and she bows her head and opens her mouth to confirm his statement. 

But Shyla continued. 

“She says that, but she is modest. She sings all the time in her room. My sister is a good lutist and harpist, of course, but she also writes the songs we sing at Claw Isle, and practices them on her own time to make sure they sound right.” 

“You write, Lady Valeana?” Maris’ question forced the elder Celtigar to turn in her direction, nearly catching Aemond’s profile in her line of sight. She felt she was getting whiplash, though she wasn’t entirely ungrateful for Maris’ change of subject. Anything to cease the possibility of her singing in public. 

“Mm, I do, yes,” Val cleared her throat when her voice sounded too tentative and small. “Creatively; mostly songs, and bards tales.” 

“My lady is full of talents,” Aegon spoke finally, hand moving now to rest on the back of her chair. “Singer, songwriter, seamstress. Almost all the good ‘s’ words.” 

Valeana hit his thigh with the back of her hand discreetly under the table. 

“Lady Maris is an accomplished writer as well,” Aemond added, “She was just telling me earlier about her progress on the book she is writing. I am eager to read it once she is finished.”

Maris glowed under his praise, “That is lovely for you to say, my Prince.”

“Do you write creatively too, Lady Maris?” Samantha asked before taking small bites of what remains on her plate. 

Maris shakes her head, “No, and I mean no offense to Lady Valeana, but I find creative writing to be… a bit frivolous, and not very productive of my time. I much prefer fact over fiction. My current work, as Aemond mentioned, is a book about medicinal uses of plants and flowers.” 

Pretentious cunt, Valeana bit her lip before her thoughts became reality. 

“I was just speaking with Prince Aemond earlier today about the common bush flower, Hydrangea, and how in large doses can be toxic, but it’s roots–” 

“Hydrangea,” Valeana corrected her. 

“I’m sorry?”

“Apologies, Lady Maris. Your pronunciation is incorrect. It’s Hy-drain-juh, not hy-dran-gee-ah.” 

“Hm,” Maris shook her head. “No, no, it isn’t. It is hy-dran-gee-ah.”

Valeana smiled condescendingly, and nodded after taking a large gulp of the rest of her wine before motioning Aegon to fill her cup for her. Which he obliged without hesitation. “It isn’t, and I would know because they are in abundance on Claw Isle. It’s widely considered to be our national flower, and everyone pronounces it as hy-drain-juh.” 

Maris gave a lofty chuckle, “Then I am pained to tell you this, Lady Valeana, but it seems like everyone on Claw Isle has been mispronouncing your ‘national flower’.” 

Everyone in that room might as well not exist, and frankly, Valeana did not care if there were more in attendance to this asinine debate that Maris insisted on having, instead of simply admitting she was wrong. The audience would make it all the more satisfying. 

 Val’s eyes narrowed at the shrew, then she leaned forward with her hands braced on the table.  

“Hydrangea is a Valyrian word, because it is a flower that came from Old Valyria, and was introduced to Westeros when my ancestors settled here, a century before the Conquest. It exists here, because my forefathers brought it here. Hydrangea means cup or vessel, because the seed capsules resemble cups,” With a flourish of her hand in Maris’ direction, she swiftly grabbed her now full cup with the other, as if for emphasis. “Though, you are an Andal, so I do not expect you to know much of the history and flora of Old Valyria, much less the pronunciation of our words. Perhaps that is something you should include in your book, Lady Maris. Se pār kostā tāemītsos ziry bē aōha gundja.” (And then you can stick it up your ass) She raised her glass in mock cheers and brought it to her lips.

But before the liquid touched her tongue, her green eyes flickered over to Aemond. She instead drank up that. Lips parted, pupil blown wide, and chest barely containing his deep steady breaths. If she looked south, she would have seen his fingers splayed on his thigh, flexing stiffly near the tent in his breeches. 

CHAPTER NINETEEN SNEAKPEAK “Lord Bartimos spoke to me earlier,” He broke the silence at last with a tilt of his head to try to catch Rhaenyra’s eye. She was staring out the window, where Seasmoke flew in the distance, baying into the sea to express his loneliness. When she only acknowledged him with an uninterested hum, he continued. “He had an interesting proposal regarding Jacaerys.” At the mention of her son’s name, Rhaenyra tore her eyes from the window, and acknowledged her husband’s presence. She hadn’t the capacity to show any more interest than a simple, “What about him?”

Notes: Hydrangeas are actually originally from Japan, but the name is Greek. Since Valyrian is based off of ancient Greek and Latin, I thought it would be fairly believable if I just ~pretended~ the flower is from there, or at least that region of the world. What Val says is true though, it does mean cup, or rather "water vessel", because of the seed shape. Also taking a moment to say that some words are not translated in Valyrian yet. It's an incomplete language, so in the future, when it's spoken, the words that do not have a Valyrian translation (and there are many) I will be using an ancient Greek or Latin placeholder for it.

Tag: @queen-of-elves, @keylin1730, @anakilusmos, @weepingfashionwritingplaid, @sugutoad, @desireangel

( if you wish to be tagged for this story, just give me a reply! )

Please do not re post, redistribute or plagiarize my work. The only other place this story is posted on is ao3 under the same username.

[ternasyl]

Just a few quick thoughts on TMAGP

Magnus Protocol is easily the podcast I've been most excited for, and it DOES mostly deliver, making me feel vindicated in my excitement. I look forward to each new episode in a way I rarely do with any ongoing series, be it a podcast or something, and that is really nice. That being said...

I do have a few grievances with it as a whole, honestly. The statements are probably the elephant in the room - I feel like we haven't gotten a single properly scary statement such as the ones from early-to-mid TMA. Not only that, but most statements don't get nearly as intricate and complex as the TMA ones - the ones in TMAGP very much feel just like reports of isolated odd incidents, while TMA felt more like an actual horror anthology where the individual stories eventually start coming together into a coherent larger framework. I think I wouldn't mind either of these things separately, but as things currently stand, I do feel like there hasn't really been anything as memorable as the statements from early TMA yet. I *do* like Bonzo and I also thought the scary movie episode was fun, but... I dunno. I can't help but feel like the statements lack bite overall.

I do actually like the bigger focus on the main cast and their interactions with TMAGP's world, though. I suppose that the weaker statements are partly due to the fact we're getting more screentime for everything else.

I've also been feeling a bit underwhelmed by the post-hiatus episodes' contents - pre-hiatus TMAGP absolutely had a lot of bombshells per episode, so it's quite weird following that up with several episodes where barely anything happens. I do feel like we're kind of waiting for the other shoe to drop, but it's still odd. Maybe I'm just a cranky bitch who doesn't care terribly much about Sam's romantic troubles, who knows? Wish the episodes were juuust a bit longer, honestly.

I think it's very very funny how you can simply tell I'm writing this moments after finishing episode 14 - it really does feel like the current culmination of my issues with the podcast.

All of this in mind, though, I do have to say that I'm still very much hooked and am not likely to fall off anytime soon. The production is insane, the creepy old computer aesthetic rules, and I'm VERY curious to see how this new setting differs from TMA's and what they could even do with a story like this which they didn't already do in TMA. Protocol has so so much promise and I really hope it won't only live up to it, but exceed it. Erm. What else can I say. Alice is endearingly annoying and I like her a lot more than I expected. Gwen is my oomfie. Colin may have not appeared at all within the past few episodes but that is because he is currently very busy with being my boyfriend. Gootbye.

[whatstrangeloops]

Finished the first season of Scavenger's Reign and wanted to post some thoughts about it.

First, I want to say that the show is gorgeous and the world and creatures are always stunning and interesting. This show is worth experiencing purely for those things alone.

However, as a story I think it was really lacking or, given the second season teaser at the end, maybe just incomplete. Which is disappointing since I can see the outline of some interesting themes going on but the show doesn't seem interested in delivering any sort of coherent statement about those ideas with the characters.

The unifying concept seems to be of humanity vs nature. Vespa is a wild and unfamiliar new ecology to the stranded survivors. While the creatures on Vespa aren't malicious their survival and the humans' survival is at odds and this forms the fundamental conflict of the show. Then later, I think in one of the last episodes, in Azi's flashback with Mia, Mia delivers a classic "this is the theme" monologue about how no matter where they are people should find ways to rely on other people. Which I interpret as the story being implicitly pro-humanity but also makes other things in the show less interesting maybe because I was hoping the show would go deeper than that.

Like here's how I interpret some of the characters and what happened to them. Sam starts out very pragmatic and is even positioned as opposed to Ursula on trying to understand Vespa (a thread that kind of gets dropped I feel). After he's infected with the parasite, at first he's invigorated but after coming to realize having the parasite allows him access to a deeper connection to Vespa chooses to die with his humanity rather than accept that influence. I think the horror framing of the parasite really muddies trying to think about it though. Kamen abdicates his humanity entirely to Vespa through Hollow (the little alien koala is called Hollow in the episode descriptions) unknowingly becoming a force of destruction but on contact with the "true understanding of Vespa" that Levi has is either rejected by the planet or reaccepts responsibility for his actions. Which one it is is kind of unclear. Finally, in Levi's arc the show seems to say that full harmony with Vespa isn't achievable by biological humans. Levi's strength is that they can be fully colonized by Vespa without any messy biological incompatibilities and they're even rewarded for accepting the planet with reproductive capability but that arc puts the human characters in a kind of bleak contrast and doesn't foretell good outcomes for them.

I guess I was hoping the show would give the characters a way to reflect on the idea of humanity vs nature more deeply. Probably the first couple episodes had me subconsciously ready to compare it to Dune and the teaser at the end of the last episode with the cathedral ship and the priests or whatever they were pushed that comparison into my conscious thinking. (Actually that teaser makes me a little worried if they're going about any of this thematic storytelling stuff being improved in S2, if it happens)

Anyway, some minor gripes: Hollow feels too much like a cheap trope. The rest of the ecology on Vespa felt very alien but still grounded. Hollow is just like a Grey but a koala complete with telepathic and telekinetic powers that no character ever really comments on and the transformation into a horror monster is also ungrounded.

I wish the show had spent a bit more time showing us how the characters discovered some of their knowledge about the ecology. Seeing Sam, Ursula, or Azi use the animals or plants in ingenious ways was cool but as they moved toward the ship and through unfamiliar biomes I started wondering about when they had the opportunity to figure all of this out. I'm thinking about the sequence where Azi, Barry and Kris have to cross that river and Azi pulls out this elaborate multi step process just to make sticky tack for their shoes like she'd been living by that riverside for years even though if you think about it I'm pretty sure that's the first time she'd ever been in that area.

[elialys]

I’ve finished season 2 of The Newsreader two hours and a half ago, and I’ve yet to be able to talk about my feels with ANYONE, so I’m doing what I do in most cases when I have too many feels about something—opening a new word document to write things down.

This season genuinely surprised me so many times. I had no actual expectations, but I had thoughts on what might happen from the season promo and the episodes' synopses. Most of the time, turned out I was absolutely wrong, and I’ve never been happier to be wrong.

This is not very coherent, more ‘string of thoughts’ than anything else, and I’m skipping soooo many things but here are my main thoughts/emotions on each episode:

Episode 3 Greed and Fear

I knew it would be about Helen’s past being dug out and was so worried. Didn’t expect to be laughing so much?? Like, only a couple of scenes but god those were genuinely funny. Gerry’s wife telling Helen’s about her torn vagina from giving birth? Lindsay’s song about Charlie being hit hard in the economic crash? Absolute gold.

The "hey let’s get married to give that columnist something else to write about” idea from Dale and Helen’s reaction to it went about as well as I expected it to go.

I have to say, I did not expect the Helen & Charlie’s interactions to get that real that fast but I…kinda liked it? I still think Charlie’s a shit head but I loved that they made him feel like an actual human? Genuinely fond of that scene of him and Helen in his office waiting for midnight, with her on his couch telling him about her past, it just felt genuine.

Don’t get me started on Helen and Dale on HER couch at the end of the episode though. Just, I want to live there, in that scene. With them cuddling on that couch, and nothing bad ever ever happening to their couple, ever.

Episode 4 The Hungry Truth

This episode was a punch in the gut. The way the approached the Bicentennial event and the Aboriginal side of the story was so poignant and heartbreaking. That shot of them watching the cheery News at Six promo at the end instead of the planned interview with Lynus was captivating in a ‘I feel sick in the stomach’ kind of way.

Helen’s convictions and hard work being cast aside and spat on again at the last second was infuriating, she tries SO HARD to stand up for those who don’t have a voice and she hits walls every step of the way.

Dale’s real proposal? I'm still recovering. When I read the initial synopsis, I worried he was going to do something *big*, but he didn’t. It was intimate and romantic and sincere, and holy hell couldn’t have happened at a worse time ??? I know there was no way for him to really ‘hide’ his preparations from Helen at that point but ugh.

That end scene had me in tears tbh, both Sam and Anna just killed me. Because you can tell Helen loves Dale and he loves her yet she turns him down and everything hurts?

Episode 5 A Model Daughter

Let me just say I’ve loved Kay’s character. I love the extra depth it brought to the Walters family, and I love how she allowed for the very real issue of heroin addiction to be explored this season. And obviously, I love how her story intertwined with Helen’s and the way it made this episode unfold, like, DAAAAMN.

But first of all, Helen and Dale. Oh the pain. Oh the sweet sweet pain. I binged so I barely had time to process any of my feelings, but I felt all the feelings. It was dramatic without being overdramatic. Again, all of it felt so human. I wish we’d seen more actual conversation between Helen and Dale with Helen explaining exactly why she doesn’t want marriage and why she broke it off completely, but there’s enough there to get it and just hurt with them.

That scene of them in the make up room, after Dale realizes there’s been some ‘flirting’ going on between her and Charlie? SO many things are said without them needing to actually say them, it just hangs in the air and OH THE DELICIOUS PAIN.

That award party was so good, they were all so drunk and I was so worried about Dale. And then the whole Gerry, Tim, Dale thing was wholesome for about two and half seconds. I wasn’t sure when the ‘gay club’ scene would happen or how Dale would end up there, I didn’t expect things to happen that way, it was like watching a car crash in slow motion. I feel sad for people who ship Dale and Tim because I’m sure this is not how they hoped Tim’s character would come back—and that the random dude Dale wakes up next to is not who they were hoping for. Dale’s whole spiraling out this episode was just painful in a painfully perfect way.

Everything about Kay’s interview, every character involved…ugh so damn good. The interview itself made me cry, but that’s probably because of my own issues haha. Kay going to Helen and begging her to take her part off the story, not knowing Lindsay decided to make the story ALL about her and her parents against Helen’s assurances that they wouldn't do that.

Helen’s demeanor sitting at that desk, finally deciding that enough is enough. HELEN STANDING UP, GETTING THE TAPES AND DESTROYING THE TAPES WHILE WALKING OUT.

Actual Queen. Might be my favorite sequence in the entire season, but don’t take my word for it yet. Of course she goes to Charlie and jumps on him right after that but everyone’s human hahahaaaaa.

Episode 6 Fireworks

I don’t even know what to say, I’m still trying to process this. They gave us time with everyone, and I loved every second of it, but I still begged for more time with Helen and Dale, individually and together. Now I get what Sam meant by ‘Dead Dale’. Oh yes he’s the Big Guy now with the Big House, King of News and all that but he’s clearly dead inside too, so that’s nice I guess.

The way they resolved the issue of “Helen and Charlie” being a thing in under 3 minutes combined was beautiful to be honest. I was losing it watching that short, extremely distressing montage of Charlie and Helen like, might have clawed at my face a bit. But the way she threw him out of her life the second he dared say some shit about Dale? Beautiful.

Lindsay needs to die in a fire though. I’m so glad Dennis punched him in the face but someone needs to push him in front of a bus. That scene between him and Helen in his office was just VILE. What a pathetic excuse for a human being, all these things he did to her and SAID to her, I am not okay. And him sabotaging her at her new job like, DIE ALREADY OMG.

Was it really Gerry who told the columnist about Tim though??? Because that scene between Gerry and Dale, all unspoken? GOD. This damn show.

Gotta end with Helen and Dale. I am so upset. I think/hope they will find their way back together WHEN we get a 3rd season, and I believe them learning to live apart is needed and necessary, BUT GOD I AM GENUINELY HURTING. Helen’s desperate proposal was so upsetting. The fact that Dale was too dead inside to tell her more than “no” and “just do your job” like.

I don’t even blame him because he’s a hot mess trapped in his own catatonia but THE PAIN. That airport scene, someone put me out of my misery please, how dare they use THAT song (Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, anyone??). Also, I realize I’m extremely biased given how much I love Anna Torv but??? She doesn’t say a single word in that scene as she watches Dale on the tv yet you know exactly what she’s thinking and feeling and everything hurts.

Noelene and Rob? So sorry I didn’t mention you at all in this post yet, you were so lovely and precious and so necessary for my emotional sanity, absolutely love how they “mirrored” and contrasted Helen and Dale, even if it adds to my pain as a Helen/Dale shipper who just watched three failed proposals in the span of 8 hours.

This show better be renewed. I need them to fix this mess. Wonderfully crafted mess but still a mess.

[cornychip]

Something More- Chapter 3

18+

Word Count: 6.4k

Chapter Summary:It’s been so long since that night, but they’re finally returning from tour, and you’re finally going to see them again. It could be amazing and it could also be the biggest mistake ever.

Pairings: Sammy x Reader

Danny x Reader

Tropes: friends to enemies?

enemies to lovers

friends to lovers

Warnings: 18+ content only. DNI if you are under 18. Alcohol use, mentions of sexual/explicit content.

Part 2

Part 1

“Yeah, I miss you guys too,” you mumbled into the phone as your eyes struggled not to close, “it’ll just be a few more days and then we’ll all get together.”

You could hear Sam shuffle in his sheets on the other line and sigh, silence following the cacophony of noises.

It had been about a year since that fateful night. The following months after the twins’ birthday began the start of festival season and without a break they started their tour directly after.

They were scheduled to have somewhat of an extended break in the coming weeks, maybe a month or two, before jumping back into travel and performing again, as was the life of a rockstar you supposed.

During the tour they rarely had breaks, let alone time to fly back to Nashville from wherever they were. You hated to admit it to yourself but you were unfathomably nervous that it would be like the last time and you would be left behind again.

You left the decision up to them, only texting if they reached out first, only calling if they asked to. Josh and Jake reached out often enough, Josh more so as he greatly enjoyed having someone on the other side of the phone that could simply sit and listen to him rant when the other guys got tired of his long sermon-esque tangents that required a sizable portion of effort to coherently follow.

A good amount of Sam’s calls were conducted late at night and in quiet, needy whispers, and while you appreciated the punctuality and frequentness of them, you more often than not found yourself wishing for more. Not much more, something as simple as a good morning text would have been enough to suffice this craving for any semblance of emotional intimacy, but then again, you couldn’t be too disappointed with him, not when you hadn’t even heard a word from Danny since that night.

You and Danny hadn’t talked, seen each other or even breathed the same air since the birthday. The few times they were able to come home Danny had always come up with some miraculous excuse for his absence. You were unsure if any of the others realized his newfound distaste for you and maybe decided to ignore it in fear that talking about it with you would make things uncomfortable or if they were truly just clueless.

You assumed the latter.

You forced yourself not to hope for an apology, to not, even in said imaginary scenario, forgive him so easily, but you did miss him.

Cringing at the thought, you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to replay the memory on the backs of your closed lids, your brain attempting to find the image of Danny standing in your living room with his arms folded across his chest.

You did this often, anytime that heaviness began to settle on your chest, anytime you felt an urge to pick up your phone and press on his contact. You needed to remember the anger, needed to bathe yourself in it to stop yourself from forgiving him.

It was so hard, though. Danny was always the grounded one, everyone relied on him to bring the people around him back down to reality. So believing that he was in the wrong felt so unnatural, you couldn’t help but wonder if he was right- about you and about Sam.

“You still there?”

Sam’s voice mumbled tiredly from the phone.

It was one of those rare phone calls that didn’t turn into you rubbing yourself over your panties as Sam moaned deeply on the other line, telling you all the things he wished he could do to you if he wasn’t trapped on that god forsaken bus. You preferred these calls anyways, when Sam told you what was happening on tour, which brother was annoying him most that day and why. He would ask you about work and your friends, about how everything was going in Nashville and if you had had any time to stop by his house that week and water his plants.

“Yeah, Sammy.”

A scoff quietly sounded from your phone, though you knew he wore a smile, he liked it when you called him that now.

“Tomorrows going to be good, we’re gonna stop in Michigan for a bit before heading back to Nashville, go up to the lake house for a couple of days.”

You smiled fondly as memories began to flood your mind of summer weekends out at the lake house.

Owned by the Kiszka’s grandparents, the lake house was the prime summertime party spot in high school. Driving up with little else than a cooler filled with beer and backpacks filled with swimsuits and poorly stashed weed, the lake house was home to some of the most memorable nights in your high school career.

You had almost forgotten that they still had it, it had been so long you just assumed they sold it or stopped going.

“You should come, it would be fun to have everyone back there again.”

A heat blossomed under your skin at the thought. All you could think about were the late nights down by the water, when everyone else had gone to bed and it was just you and whoever else was still awake, talking about the future and the meaning of life and which stars were actually planets– often it was Danny.

You frowned and the sweet memories were sharply interrupted, you couldn’t go, not if he was there.

“I don’t know if I’d be able to get off of work, plus I don’t want to crash a guy’s trip.”

“I have been trapped inside a bus with them for a year, I would much rather see you than them. Plus some other people are coming, you wouldn’t be crashing anything.”

You sighed, your heart softening the way Sam always managed to make it.

You weren’t exactly sure what the two of you were. The topic had been broached fairly often with the two of you usually coming to the similar conclusion that you had no idea.

A year of sexting wasn’t exactly how you would define a relationship, though you were profoundly surprised that it had lasted as long as it did, and that had to count for something. Sometimes you found yourself falling into delusion, on nights like this when you would just talk, sometimes for hours until the other fell asleep.

You weren’t exclusive, you knew that much, and as much as you felt that uncomfortable knotting in your stomach on nights he didn’t call and you could only assume the worst, you knew it was for the best, that a relationship built upon the purely physical was not one that could withstand a year of long distance dating.

You started finding the old Sam, though, despite his almost comical inability to catch onto your hints that perhaps all you wanted was not just late night phone sex. He was sweet to you.

“I don’t know, I’d have to get a flight out there too, it’s all very last minute.”

You chewed on the bottom of your lip, propping yourself up on your forearm in bed, suddenly far more awake than minutes before.

“Come on, I’ll pay for your flight- there and back.”

A smile fell on your lips, maybe he just wanted sex, but having him almost begging you to come made it all the more tempting.

“Sam…”

You chuckled as he replied with a defensive, “what!?”

“Fine, I will think about it. I’ll text you tomorrow.”

You rested your head back onto your pillow, melting into the soft sheets underneath you.

“Okay, I’m taking that as you’re coming so I’m buying tickets.”

You chuckled as your eyes fluttered closed, too tired to argue any further with him.

“Alright then.”

.

.

.

Sam had followed through and only four days later you found yourself on a plane and then suddenly in the driver’s seat of your mom’s old red toyota corolla, taking the same familiar route you took years before. It felt like high school again, borrowing your mom’s car and stacking the backseats with coolers and grocery bags.

You were entirely too excited to be seeing Sam and the others, you couldn’t wait to be at the house again after all these years. Unfortunately there was the sore topic of Danny to dampen all of the enthusiasm.

Your stomach churned at the thought of seeing him after all this time. You tried to be hopeful, maybe all that time had offered him a chance to mellow on the topic of you and Sam. It was hard to believe, though, and your mind continued to run in circles.

The uncomfortable concoction of excitement and dread only intensified as you turned off of the main road and onto the dirt path that led down to the lake house.

Nausea rose to your throat, you didn’t feel like you were going to be sick, but instead like your body was warning you this was an incredibly poor idea. You were sure if the dirt road wasn’t as narrow and precarious as it was you would have just turned around and booked it back home, offering some sorry excuse for why you couldn’t make it after all. You forced your foot on the gas as you willed yourself to continue forward, though, lowering your music and rounded a sharp corner, the large lakefront cabin coming into view.

Two cars were parked on the grass in front of the house, one you recognized as Josh’s old jeep and the other Karen’s minivan. You pulled up next to them, hoping no one had noticed you had arrived yet, and took a breath, bracing your forehead on the wheel and letting out a quiet grunt.

This is going to be fine, it’s going to be fun.

You tried repeating those words to yourself like one of Josh’s daily mantras as you lifted your head from the steering wheel, straightening your arms out in front of you and jostling the wheel that your hands still firmly grasped. You exhaled a long breath and let go, opening the car door and going to your backseat to start unloading the many bags and coolers of alcohol and groceries you had picked up upon Sam’s request.

Huffing out, you lined your forearms with three bags on each arm and hugged a cooler against your chest, beginning to walk up the staircase and onto the wrap-around porch clad with rocking chairs and outdoor swings. Loud music managed to find you outside the house, deep acoustic strumming and the smooth drawl of a country voice echoed from the speakers lining the interior of the home. You struggled to find the doorknob as you jostled the cooler to balance on your propped up knee, finally managing to swing open the screen door. You clunkily rammed your way into the home, the door ricocheting off of you as it swung back.

Two pairs of eyes jolted up to look at you as you set down the cooler with a loud slam. You exhaled a small breath of relief at the realization that most people were outside and that Danny was included with most people. Only Josh and Sam stood in the kitchen watching you, two smiles growing on their lips.

“What the hell, what’re you doing here?”

Josh exclaimed as he pulled you in for a hardy hug, squeezing as his hands wrapped around your back.

You chuckled nervously, that odd feeling of having the wind knocked out of you settled in your chest and your throat at the realization that no one, apart from Sam, knew you were going to be there.

Your mouth hung open slightly as Josh released you, staring with excitement crumbling into his features.

“Sam invited me,” you answered with an empty gaze as you forced the corners of your mouth into a smile, adamant not to clue either of them in on your discomfort.

Fucking Sam.

“It’s so good to see you!”

Josh continued gushing about how great of a surprise this was, that everyone was going to be so excited. You tuned him out and keened your vision onto the large windows spanning the back of the kitchen that looked out to the backyard and the lake, scanning for a possible glimpse of who else was there…for Danny.

You continued smiling and nodding as you glued your eyes to the windows.

Excusing yourself from Josh’s continuous rambling was difficult, but you managed to get yourself to the bathroom under the guise that the two hour drive left you needing the toilet.

You shouldn’t have been thrown so off guard, it was just Danny afterall. It was bizarre that he was causing you this much distress, the you from years past would be laughing at yourself over it. He might have not even still been mad, you may have been driving yourself crazy for no reason. If he was still mad, well, then so what.

Why should you care? Why ruin your time when you did nothing wrong? After all, he was the one that showed up to your house practically calling you a slut, he should be the one hoping you weren’t still mad.

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks as the nervousness swirling in the pit of your stomach turned into anger and the slightest bit of overconfidence.

In the confines of the cabin’s bathroom, so cut off from reality, it felt like a completely different world. You hoped Danny was still mad and you couldn’t wait to walk out and see his reaction.

Of course that confidence faded as you walked out of the bathroom and realized you would actually have to face Danny in real life and not just in your mind as you had been doing for the last year. You pushed through as you unpacked the groceries into the already heavily stocked fridge, repeating and convincing yourself that it was him who should be sorry, not you.

Instead you tried to worry your mind with other things, like why Sam hadn’t properly said hello yet. You’d think a year of jacking himself off to you on face time warranted at the very least a hug. You shifted your gaze onto him, staring at him out of the corner of your eye as you moved the beers from your cooler and into the fridge and he stood to the right of you, spreading cheese and crackers onto a cutting board. He looked normal, like he had no care in the world, an easy smile resting on his lips as he cut a block of sharp cheddar into bite size pieces.

His upper lip and chin were now obstructed by facial hair, something you had never seen on him before. You had seen him often enough on video calls and in photos that it was no shock to you, but seeing him here, right in front of you, had made you realize how much he changed in the last year despite how stagnant your relationship had stayed.

You finished stocking everything into the fridge and pantry, not eager to go outside yet also antsy to get away from Sam and your quickly deteriorating faith that this was, against all odds, still going to be a good time. Josh had left with the charcuterie board only a few minutes before as Sam continued puttering around the kitchen, arranging snacks and appetizers onto plates.

You stared at his back to you, squatting down to grab olive oil from the cabinet, and huffed at his nonchalance, whether or not you were official, you still expected a slight reaction upon your return, especially since he was the one practically begging you to come along. You turned and busied yourself with finding a home for your bags– you packed sparingly, bringing only a backpack and your purse.

“Where should I put these?”

You questioned with a short tone to your voice, your words tumbling into a sigh as punctuation.

Sam finally looked up and, defying the odds, seemed to recognize that something was off. He walked up to you and looked down into your eyes, soft worry down casting his features. Your hardened eyes softened and you averted your gaze from him, feeling slightly guilty for getting so upset with him.

“I was thinking in my room.”

The words came out quiet and testing, more a question than a determined answer. You perked up, shooting your gaze back to him.

“The others wouldn’t find it weird?”

You questioned and what felt like sparklers being lit in your chest warmed your body and flushed your face. You tried not to get excited, not to let yourself feel that warmth in your chest and the tension easing from your body, but Sam felt different from the last time you saw him. Kinder, sweeter– more like the old Sam, the one you fell for.

A smile stretched his lips and his cheeks engulfed his eyes as the wrinkles at the corners of his lids deepened.

“I think they’ve all caught on enough.”

You couldn’t tell if he meant that seriously, that perhaps he told them about you two, or that he simply didn’t care what they thought. Either way the prospect of sleeping next to Sam after so long was too good to let up and you allowed him to slip your backpack off of your shoulders and lead you up the stairs to his room.

It was like you remembered from high school, not much had changed. The room was relatively bare compared to his room at home in Michigan as well as Tennessee. The only signs of Sam’s living there being the few taped up posters of bands, the kinds that come all folded up in magazines that you can tear out. It was a feeble attempt at decoration that was very obviously given up on after that point years ago. The rest of the room was decorated as according to log house decor as it could get, a quilted comforter adorned with a forest pattern laying crumpled on the bed from the few nights Sam had already spent there. It smelled like him in there, the sheets looked so tempting to lay down on and just breathe in his scent after so long going without it, you hated to admit to yourself, but you missed him, really missed him.

You felt his hands wrap around your waist from behind you as he lowered his head to rest on your shoulder, nestling his face into your neck and exhaling a long breath.

You looked down at him as much as you could, his eyes were closed, like he was just basking in your presence. His arms tightened around you and you allowed yourself to melt into him, feeling the rising and falling of his breathing on your back.

“I missed you.”

He mumbled into you, placing featherlight kisses behind your ear and down the length of your neck. You sighed out, leaning more of your weight back into him.

You grabbed his forearms and gently tugged them off of you, his eyes opening at the action and staring at you with slight confusion before you turned around, wrapping your own arms under his and around his back, resting your head against his chest. He was so warm as he engulfed you in an embrace, swaying to a silent melody playing in his head.

He tightened his arms around you again, shaking you from side to side.

“I really fucking missed you!”

He grunted as he punctuated each word with a shake, earning uneven chuckles from you as you let yourself flop along with his movements. Laughing, he pushed you off of him after one final squeeze and examined your face with an easy grin on his own, tracing his eyes over each and every one of your features as if he was afraid he would never see them again.

“I don’t want to sound ungrateful or anything, but being on tour was fucking unbearable!”

Sam laughed out. You shoved him lightly as he kept that easy smile on his lips, huffing out a few chuckles.

“No way it was, you’re just trying to butter me up.”

“Okay, it was pretty cool, but once we were finished I’d just want to be back home with you in my bed.”

His smile dropped a bit, he looked… embarrassed– and nervous.

“I didn’t want to tell you, I didn’t want to make things harder or more complicated…” he trailed off.

You pushed your eyebrows up and cocked your head to the side, looking at him more intently than before.

“Tell me what?”

He looked down at his feet.

“Nothing…just that I like you, I guess, and I wanted to see you and I wanted you to visit and I thought about you all the time,” he answered out quickly, his words tumbling into each other as a blush crept up his neck and settled on the apples of his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

You could only stare at him.You were always very confused about friends with benefits relationships. It made no sense to you how you could get along so great with someone and also be attracted to one another yet neither people wanted to be together. You always scoffed at movies when at the end someone reveals that they secretly had feelings for the other– obviously you had feelings for each other, you’ve just been dating without calling it that.

But this threw you off.

Of course he liked you, he’d been having sex with you for over a year- you still counted the phone sex as sex- but to hear him say it, to think it and then form the thoughts into words and tell them to you was not something you expected. It shouldn’t have meant so much, it wasn’t an “I love you,” or a “be my girlfriend,” not even a “let’s go on a date,” but for some reason, it seemed like it meant something to him. That for him to be saying it to you, it must have been important.

A smile broke onto your lips, the corners of your mouth stretching into an easy grin as you lightly cradled his jaw in your palm, bringing his face to yours and placing a kiss on his lips. You weren’t sure what it meant, if all he wanted to do was tell you- get that nagging feeling off of his chest, and continue the way you were- or if he wanted something more. You didn’t ask, you just kissed him as he sighed into your lips and moved his hand to hold the back of your neck, pulling you deeper into him, your breaths heavy and warm on each other’s cheeks.

You pulled apart, content just to look at him, examining the spots and lines on his face that were probably there before but you couldn’t remember the last time you looked at him this closely and told yourself they were new.

“We should go see everyone, I bet they’re wondering where we are- Josh probably told them you’re here already and ruined the surprise,” you nodded your head, your heart dropping slightly as you entered the real world again.

The world where it wasn’t just Sam’s lips on yours and instead it was Danny seething outside because, not only you were here, but you had also gone missing with his best friend once again. You looked up to Sam and wondered if you should tell him about that night, maybe if he did you could just leave or maybe he would confront Danny about it- defend your honor and all that shit. You bit your lip, though, and thought you’d better not. You couldn’t do that to Sam, to either of them. They rarely fought, but when they did, it was awful- Danny’s usual grounded and easy going personality morphing into stubbornness and Sam’s own unmoving decidedness only growing. Something like this would be catastrophic, especially with the added tension living and touring together for the last year had developed.

So many of the calls that weren’t the usual with Sam were instead necessary venting sessions. No matter how much love for each other they all had, living together in such close quarters for so long was bound to create its upsets. Like how angry everyone would get it if one of them accidentally fell asleep before showering after a show, stinking up the entire damn bus for at least a day or how unbearable the constant bickering between the twins was that often it turned into an all out argument about why, for the sake of everyone else, they couldn’t just get along.

So, you only followed Sam down the stairs and out the door onto the deck, greeted by a few unfamiliar faces mixed in with the familiar ones; greeted by Danny, still as stone in an old lawn chair down on the grass.

“Danny, come up and say hello!”

Sam yelled down over the deck railing. Danny turned to look up, you could see him huff out a sigh and your chest tightened.

Yeah, he was still mad

He still scaled the stairs, joining the small crowd of about six people saying their hellos and giving their introductions. Most of them were people that toured with them, people on their crew, the others were friends that you were already acquainted with from nights out and buzzing dinner parties. You were excited, and while Danny retreated back to his lawn chair to converse with anyone but you, you were relieved that no one seemed to notice and instead sat down at the large patio table and began telling stories of the last year.

The stars were beginning to peak out while the fervorous and drunken conversation trekked on over the last bits of dinner. Music was still bleeding from inside, it hadn’t stopped since you’d gotten there, and the table was scattered with empty plates and even more empty cans and bottles.

It was hot, almost unbearably so, the kind of heat that persisted after the sun tucked under the horizon and swallowed you in its wet, humid grasps. Sam’s hand rested on your thigh, he had been stuck to your side the entire day, his hands wandering more often than you thought he even noticed. No one seemed particularly thrown off by it and you wondered if he really did tell everyone about the two of you.

Plates were being cleared as Josh walked out with a deck of cards and a cooler full of beers, most likely the beers you had taken out of the cooler and put into the fridge, you sighed slightly realizing that the action was pointless.

“I think it’s about time we all get wasted,” Josh threw the deck onto the table that everyone was gathered around, including Danny who sat at the opposite end, caught up in conversation with someone to his side, as he had been almost the entire evening.

“Are we not already?”

Jake laughed out, taking a hefty swig of whiskey from his glass and earning a chorus of chuckles from around the table.

“No, we need to get skinny dipping wasted because that’s what I have planned for this evening,” Josh flashed an evil grin and everyone silently agreed, scooting in their chairs and beginning to listen to the rules of whatever ridiculous drinking game Josh had prepared for you all that night.

“No Jake, you do have to drink because-”

“I just did, you didn’t see me!”

Everyone was a mess. Jake and Josh couldn’t stop fighting about the ‘rules’, though at this point you didn’t think the game actually had many and most people only had a very loose grip on how to actually play despite the 2 hours already spent playing. Josh was right about one thing though, it did get everyone fucking wasted.

Many people had already gone to bed, stumbling into the house with flushed cheeks. The only ones still up were you, the guys and a crew member named Tilly who you were quickly becoming quite fond of as she possessed the rare ability to keep all of the guys in check, consistently yelling at them or even slapping them lightly upside the head when they weren’t playing according to her understanding of the rules. Despite your dwindling numbers, the game- and the drinking- only became more intense the longer you played.

“I’m done, Josh won’t let me fucking play,” Jake chuckled out as he threw his cards on the table and Josh stared back at him with an open mouthed and dumbfounded smile.

The two continued bickering as everyone else just watched them, amused smiles on your faces. Sam’s hand crawled up your thigh again and his head lolled onto your shoulder, his eyes fluttering closed.

“Sammy?”

You nudged him a bit, wondering if he was just resting his eyes or if he had a bit too much to drink.

He didn’t respond, instead light snores sounded from his mouth as Jake and Josh quieted down and glanced over.

“Sammy boy had a little too much to drink it seems,” Josh walked over, grabbing hold of Sam’s shoulder and shaking him a bit.

“Come on Sam, let’s get you to bed.”

Jake followed suit, offering Sam a hand as he stood up unsteadily and fell into his side, falling in and out of consciousness as Jake wrapped his arm around him.

“I want y/n to come with me,” Sam mumbled out, frowning like a child about to throw a tantrum.

“I’m coming Sammy.”

You hurried out of your seat, hoisting his other arm around your shoulder on the opposite side of Jake.

“Yeah, everyones gonna come Sam- we’re all gonna tuck you in!”

Josh offered, signaling Tilly and Danny to stand up and follow suit. You all stumbled into Sam’s room as you and Jake flopped him onto his bed. He began taking off his shirt unsuccessfully, his head getting stuck inside halfway through, Jake tugging at it to help.

“No!” Sam mumbled grumpily, the word slurring out, “I want y/n to do it, not you.”

Your cheeks flushed while everyone in the room, apart from Danny, chuckled like schoolgirls. Still, you conceded, going over to Sammy and pulling the shirt over his head, his eyes closed as he gave you a sweet and drunken smile before curling into the mattress and promptly falling asleep.

“Welp,” Josh clapped his hands and everyone tore their attention from Sam, “we still need to finish the game.”

Everyone collectively rolled their eyes but nonetheless followed him back outside, returning to the deranged game. You moved from the deck to the water as Danny threw a few logs into the fire pit with some lawn chairs ringed around it. The fire was not unwelcome even in the swampy heat as everyone leaned in, at times too close, while the game became more and more heated.

It ended without much closure, most of you just giving up when it became evident there really was no way to win or even end it. Instead you all sat around the fire, the three of them sharing ridiculous stories from tour as you sat and listened, every once in a while chiming in as if your life was anywhere as interesting as theirs. Danny seemed to either not mind your presence or was just completely ignoring the fact that you were there, enjoying his time as if you didn’t exist. Either way you couldn’t complain, it was far more pleasant than your brain allowed you to imagine it being, though you didn’t believe that Danny would make a scene around the others if he had wanted to say something to you so you were not all in the clear yet.

“I’m sticking to my word, I’m going in!”

Josh exclaimed during a short lull of silence and everyone looked over in quick confusion, Josh wasting no time as he began kicking off his pants and pulling his shirt over his head, his bare ass making quick work of disappearing into the water.

A splash sounded out as he jumped off of the janky wooden dock, a quick and involuntary screech sounding from his lips before hitting the water. After a few seconds of silence his head erupted out of the water, a clamorous laugh screeching out from his grinning mouth.

“Come on, don’t make me skinny dip alone!”

His distant voice reprimanded and you all looked at each other over the fire, a small grin crawling onto your lips.

Perhaps it was the copious amounts of alcohol you had consumed, or maybe the ghost of your reckless youth that had resided in the lakehouse for the last 7 years was possessing you, it could have also just been the muggy heat that had been aggravating you all night, but you stood up. Walking a few steps away from the fire, you stripped off your shirt then your shorts. A few more steps and you were unhooking your bra, leaving a trail of clothes in your path. Your feet hit the rotting wood of the dock and you hooked your fingers under your waistband and pulled down your underwear, kicking them off of your ankles.

Josh stared up at you, your body dimly illuminated with the distant light of the fire, a huge and drunken grin splayed on his face.

“Give me a dive mama!”

He hollered out, arms calmly treading the water around him.

Looking ahead of you at the dark lake you inhaled the warm night air, tinged with the burning scent of the bonfire. The stars and moon bore down at you, watching and waiting for your next move. The warmth of alcohol ran up your arms and flushed at your cheeks. You felt whole for the first time in a while, maybe the next morning that feeling would wear off, but for now you just stepped to the edge of the peer and bent your knees and catapulted yourself into the freezing water.

As your head reached the surface you could hear the distant hearty cheers from the fire as Josh screamed out.

“Tens all around! Perfect form, perfect execution!”

You laughed as your chest heaved with the sudden shock of the freezing water. It wasn’t even a minute before everyone else followed suit, stripping away their clothes as they ran to the dock, jumping into the water and exclaiming loud yelps followed by uneven and chilled breaths.

No one was drunk enough for naked chicken fights, you didn’t know if you could ever be drunk enough for that to happen. Instead you found yourself swimming away from the group and finding your own spot in the enormous body of water where your toes could just barely reach the bottom. You craned your head up, staring at the stars and trying to count them, losing track almost immediately.

“That one’s Saturn,” you turned your head, surprised you didn’t hear anyone swim up to you, even more surprised by who you saw next to you.

Danny stared up at the sky, his sopping wet curls swept back and away from his face by the water. The moonlight did him almost too much justice, basking his profile in pools of blue light.

“I know,” was all you said as you returned your gaze upwards, hugging your arms around your chest slightly, your spontaneous burst of boldness suddenly wearing off.

A stillness surrounded you both, silence creeping between the two of you for what could have been an hour but what was most likely only a minute or two.

“I’m sorry.”

His voice whispered out, cutting through the hush.

You looked over at him, his eyes still trained on the sky above him, his jaw tensing as the only sign of distress.

“I was upset- I’ve been upset for some time,” his voice grew a little bolder, though still barely above a whisper.

You parted your lips to speak, but all you could do was breath out a small breath you were holding in your chest.

“Today, though-” he sighed out, “seeing you two together.”

He stopped, his teeth chewing on his bottom lip as he lowered his head to focus on the inky water.

“He likes you a lot-” he paused and pressed his lips together, sucking his bottom lip in between his teeth, “I don’t know why I thought he was going to treat you like everyone else- because you aren’t everyone else- but I did, and that’s why I blew up. I thought you couldn’t see what I saw.”

He let go of a shaky breath, raising an arm out of the water and pushing the frizzing pieces of hair back and out of his face with a wet hand.

“I was completely out of line and I’m just so, so sorry.”

His gaze was stuck to the moonlit water underneath him, as if he was too scared to look at you.

You tore your eyes away from him, training them on the water just as he was, feeling as your breaths moved in and out of your body, the warm breeze kissing your shoulders and your cheeks. The weight on your chest was there, different, but there.

“I missed you Danny,” your voice came out hoarse.

You could feel his eyes on you as you cleared your throat.

“you dick.”

You matched his stare as a grin tugged at the corners of your lips, the heaviness on your chest beginning to lighten until it was all gone and you felt weightless.

He smiled back at you.

You imagined this moment so many times in your head, you rehearsed so many speeches, calculated so many different responses to possible things he could say. It didn’t matter, none of it mattered because he was there and he looked so kind and you missed him so much and you were so drunk.

You all trudged out of the water soon after, collecting and pulling on dry clothes over your dripping selves. You hated the feeling of your clothes clinging to your skin, but you still sat down in them around the fire, the heat starting to feel good on your damp and icy skin.

One after another people started trailing into the house until it was just you and Danny, just like it always was, talking about the future, the stars, and the planets.

[thegayhimbo]

Stranger Things Darkness on the Edge of Town Review (Part 2 of 3)

Warning: The following review contains MAJOR SPOILERS from both the book and from Season 4 of Stranger Things!

If you haven’t yet, be sure to check out my other Stranger Things Reviews. Like, Reblog, and let me know what your thoughts are regarding the show or the upcoming season! :)

Stranger Things Comics/Graphic Novels:

Stranger Things Six

Stranger Things Halloween Special

Stranger Things The Other Side

Stranger Things Zombie Boys

Stranger Things The Bully

Stranger Things Winter Special

Stranger Things Tomb of Ybwen

Stranger Things Into The Fire

Stranger Things Science Camp

Stranger Things “The Game Master” and “Erica’s Quest”

Stranger Things and Dungeons and Dragons

Stranger Things Kamchatka

Stranger Things Erica The Great

Stranger Things “Creature Feature” and “Summer Special”

Stranger Things Tie-In Books:

Stranger Things Suspicious Minds

Stranger Things Runaway Max (Part 1 of 3)

Stranger Things Runaway Max (Part 2 of 3)

Stranger Things Runaway Max (Part 3 of 3)

Part 4: Remaining Characters

Much like Joey Kim from Zombie Boys, there are two characters introduced in this novel that I wish had been on the show: Rosario Delgado and Martha Washington.

About two months before the investigation into Saint John, Hopper gets assigned Delgado as a partner, and the two of them hit it off nicely. Initially, Delgado appears abrasive on the surface both as a means of fending off her bigoted co-workers and proving herself as one of the first women serving in the homicide department in Brooklyn 65th Precinct.

However, as she gets to know Hopper (and realizes that Hopper isn't bothered at all about her being a Hispanic woman), she begins to trust him. It gets to the point that when Hopper goes behind his captain in continuing the investigation into Saint John's killings, Delgado not only has his back, but goes out of her way to look after Diane and Sara when Hopper is forced to infiltrate Saint John's cult.

One aspect I like about Delgado is she's smart enough to make connections that others miss during the investigation. She's the one who discovers the list of addresses for community outreach meetings that the victim Jacob Hoeler had. This not only reveals Saint John was collecting followers from support groups, but that the first two victims (Jonathan and Sam) were leaders for several of those groups and Saint John had them murdered to disband the groups and assimilate them into his own.

Delgado also pegs Lisa Sargeson, a psychologist who also runs a support group, as someone connected to Saint John, which proves to be true when it's later revealed Lisa ran a program at the Rookwood Institute for rehabilitating prisoners, and Saint John was one of them:

Delgado also has an admirable ability to take aspects in a case and string them together to form a coherent narrative. She's also careful about not forming preconceptions while doing this.

Delgado and Hopper have a great dynamic of bouncing theories off one another, which leads to them making connections that inevitably help them solve the case.

It's also worth noting that Delgado and Hopper never express any romantic interest in one another, and their relationship is strictly professional. I appreciate that, especially when it would have been easier to go with the old cliche of having them fall in love.

Martha is also another character I enjoyed. She's the sister of Leroy, and while it initially looks like Leroy is trying to rescue her from the cult, it's revealed to be the other way around: Leroy is the one who's been suckered in by Saint John, and Martha is desperately trying to pull him out. She pretends to be a loyal follower for Saint John, but secretly despises him and sees Saint John for who he really is. She also figures out quickly that Hopper is undercover, and saves his life at one point when Saint John sends his followers after them. She's a lot more strong-willed than she's given credit for, and she's more than capable of holding her own in a fight.

Most of the other characters in the book are decent, but there isn't a lot to talk about regarding them. Diane and Sara mostly act as support for Hopper during his story, and don't have a lot to do outside of that. While we do get a little snippet of Diane working to improve the New York education system, it's not explored in-depth the same way Hopper's job is.

Their scenes together as a family are sweet, but it's also overshadowed by the foreknowledge that Sara is going to die from cancer and Hopper's marriage to Diane will break down as a result.

Bobby LaVorgna, Hopper and Delgado's police captain, reminds me a lot of Julius Root from the Artemis Fowl series, except without the kind of humor that was written into Root's character.

Leroy was all over the place. That might have been intentional given how far he was under Saint John's influence (and in some cases, he wasn't even in control of his actions), but it made it hard to connect with his character.

Agent Gallup, the patronizing FBI agent who forces Hopper to infiltrate Saint John's cult, was my least favorite character. He reminds me a lot about Jake Sullivan, the colonel who was hunting El in season 4, except a lot more smug and a lot less interesting. The attempts to humanize him later on after being an obstructive bureaucrat for the first half of the book (and threatening to destroy Hopper's life if he didn't do what he wanted) failed to impress me.

Part 5: Social Commentary

For a book dealing with a portion of Hopper's life back in the 70s, it covers plenty of social issues that unfortunately remain as relevant today as they were back in 1977.

Take the economic situation in NYC at the time: It's constantly referenced in the book that money is so tight that resources and social programs are constantly cut to save costs, resulting in long-term problems like urban decay, homelessness, a rise in crime, and so on:

When Saint John enacts his plan of cutting the power and creating a city-wide blackout to create mass panic, it's noted by Martha that the cops go to protect Manhattan where the wealthier portion of the population is. Meanwhile, areas like the Bronx have no cops and get left to burn in the ensuring riots:

The narration lays it thick that income inequality is a major factor in how rich people vs poor people are treated when a crisis happens. It also demonstrates that issues like these, as well as how people are left to struggle without the proper resources to fix their lives, are what allow cults like Saint John's to indoctrinate people under the pretense of helping them:

What's frustrating is, even when Saint John is finally stopped, the social issues that caused this catastrophe in the first place still remain. It's even likely in-universe that there will be another cult in the future that exploits these same socioeconomic problems within New York City, and might even succeed in causing more damage than Saint John did.

I'm sure there are people who are going to ask if this book constitutes Copganda (i.e. a form of propaganda in media that's used to depict cops in an excessively positive light while downplaying negative qualities on their part to sway public opinion for the benefit of law enforcement). To that, I would argue it's more complicated than that definition:

On the one hand, there are multiple times when Hopper thinks about how he wishes the city would give more money to police departments under the belief it would help them do their jobs better. With all the controversies surrounding cops these days, from corruption to police brutality to repeated patterns of discriminatory behavior by cops towards minorities to the way police institutions are structured, Hopper's viewpoint comes off as seriously questionable. There's a reason "Defund the Police" has become a rallying cry for some in recent years, and why groups like Black Lives Matter have risen to prominence, and it has a lot to do with repeated abuses of power by police that have been ongoing for decades. For Hopper to act like the problem is only a lack of money for the police without considering other reasons for why there continue to be long-term problems in society comes off as tone-deaf on his part.

There is an argument the book might be engaging in Deliberate Values Dissonance. The book takes place in the 70s, and there are things cops did back then that would land them in serious hot water by today's standards. Take for instance the joyride Hopper and Leroy are subject to when the FBI capture them, and how Hopper processes it:

Or even the way Hopper and Martha are taken into custody where one of the officers resorts to unnecessary physical violence against Hopper despite how he willingly surrendered himself:

The book briefly brings up issues of police brutality and how cops dance dangerously close to the line of what is and isn't illegal when dealing with suspects and criminals, but it doesn't go deeper in exploring the inherent problems with that.

I get this is supposed to be Hopper's perspective and his story, but I remember criticisms of Hopper being a loose cannon back in season 3 when he was behaving in a way that should have gotten him disbarred as Chief of Hawkins. Cops acting like vigilantes in real life has repeatedly been shown to have disastrous consequences, and I know for a fact that the way the show chose to frame Hopper's actions in S3 have caused him to become an extremely controversial character in the fandom.

There's also the whole issue with how societal problems like homelessness, rehabilitation, gangs, socioeconomic status, and lack of funding for social programs are treated: For the most part, it does explore these issues as a means of explaining how Saint John was able to manipulate people into joining him. The main point of contention is that once Saint John is defeated, these issues aren't brought up again in the narrative. It's jarring since the book took the time to reference said issues, and then proceeded to quickly move past them. There's no exploration about whether or not government officials took a deeper look at the factors leading up to the blackout and Saint John's riot, and asked themselves whether or not they should impose reforms for people and institutions to ensure this doesn't happen again.

It's possible the ambiguity could have been deliberate on Adam Christopher's part. Maybe the book was trying to be reflective of real life where tragedy strikes and people still refuse to make the necessary changes to make things better. Regardless, it still left a bitter taste in my mouth. I understand there's no simple answer to problems like these, but I wish the book would've at least referenced possible solutions that were being undertaken to prevent horrors like this from happening again rather than glossing over it.

To be continued in Part 3...........

[joshuaalbert]

Beverly Crusher or Tuvok for the ask game

ironically this took me a while because i was participating in an insane about the crusher family moment so severe i am lightheaded. anyway. i feel like i dont have a ton of meaningful things to say about tuvok yet except "i generally like him i think he has a lot of interesting moments i just wish they didnt regress his characterization gains with such regularity" but i do enjoy him and maybe i will come back to this when i have more coherent thoughts

favorite thing about them

love her confidence tbh like she knows she can do it all and do a great job of it. she has such a wide variety of skills between her actual job and her hobbies and i think that's very fun to see. i also think she's spectacular in the Some Fuckshit Is Happening To The Enterprise mystery episodes like im glad they gave those to her a lot bc it works within her skillset of like. ok this is how i would go about examining a scientific hypothesis this is how i would break the problem down to something manageable so i think that's neat, and i also just think gates mcfadden is very good at carrying the tension of those episodes.

least favorite thing about them

fucking TERMINAL picard disease. remember me is like the prime example of it to me to the point where i literally rewrote part of the script one time but just. so many of her plotlines get taken over to instead be about her thing with picard in ways that don't actually progress anything. and so many of the things that should be about her and wesley end up being about picard and wesley. and like clearly these are importantly dynamics in all their lives but it feels like there's a lot that gets sacrificed in the name of putting picard at the center

also i do think they have a problem with like. not letting her be significantly wrong a lot? i noticed this in like s6 but the plot frequently kind of curves to make sure she's right about things like with both ethics and suspicions they introduce new elements of the plot to be like yeah actually she did not do anything wrong and i just think that holds a character back.

favorite line

"If there's nothing wrong with me, maybe there's something wrong with the universe." queen of believing in yourself. i know this seems counter to what i just said about not letting her be wrong but i liked this one ok. it's about moderation. i love her confidence and i definitely don't want that disrupted in any deeply significant way but i also wish they would let her be wrong every once in a while.

brOTP

she does have really fun dynamics with like most people but hers with troi is good and i like her dynamic w/alyssa ogawa. like yeah alyssa is a subordinate so they're not like Bros bros but beverly clearly cares a lot about her as a person and i think it's neat. also riker if we uhhh. if we don't count. listen if i try to think about the host too long im gonna start setting shit on fire so we're not counting that right now ok we're just counting them in normal episodes.

OTP/nOTP

listen im combining this into one question i think her whole thing with picard is fine and despite what it sounded like earlier i actually kind of enjoy it at points i just hate the way it consumes her whole plotline. if they had just been normal about it it would have been fine.

random headcanon

god ok i know that like all the plays she stages are like Classics and all but i really think they shouldve let her at anything that was fosse-related. i think she would be a great director for that kind of deal.

unpopular opinion

i never know what opinions anyone has on any of these characters unless ive recently seen something that made me mad lmao but. idk sam @sallytwo and i were just talking about this but any attempt to reduce the beverly and wesley dynamic to like "it's good and they're close" or "it's bad and they're distant" is such a doomed endeavor. it's so much more complicated than that like they're close in that they clearly love each other a lot and they don't have a lot of open conflict but they're both deeply repressed people when it comes to expressing meaningful emotions and it definitely takes a really significant toll. again no idea where it falls on the like popular/unpopular opinion scale but it seems like a lot of people don't quite know what to do with that relationship and that's fair because it is. odd especially when you try to figure out what the writers meant for it to be.

favorite picture of them

ngl this is less about her and more about how much utility I get out of it (due to the. i have brain damage.) but it has been very useful so thank you bev

[avocado-frog]

Dahlia. 4

Rating: T Warnings: referenced child neglect, mentions of Elliot's almost death Word count: 2,000 Title: 6/6/2020 Summary: So anyways I accidentally made the kids represent the five stages of grief and I didn't realize until someone pointed it out to me and I thought "hey that would be good for this chapter that i barely had a coherent outline for" so here you go. denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance

Cass was not an only child.

If she hadn't moved back to Maine with her cousins, if she hadn't stayed in New Hampshire, if she had lived somewhere else entirely, she could've pretended like she was.

But, she had gone back to Maine, a small town at that, small enough that everyone knew her, recognized her, at least. Cass was questioned a lot. They wanted to know if she had moved, since her aunt and uncle had moved out of their old house. They wanted to know why she came back without the people that her neighbors still believed to be her parents. Strangers in her life, like her siblings were.

Strangely enough, nobody ever asked about Leo.

Cass knew her sister was well-known, so her absence had definitely been noticed. The thing was that while Leo was well-known, she was not well-liked.

Cass wasn't a good liar like her sister used to be. Cass didn't like to lie, really. Where Leo was perfectly content with lying and scamming her way out of any given situation, uncaring and unempathetic, perfectly happy with her own world in which there were no consequences, where nothing mattered, unless it directly impacted herself, it simply made Cass sick.

Cass heard from Sam that he had told his new friends that he was a foster kid, that he lied about being able to do any sort of magic, that he felt weird for doing so, and Cass told him that he was doing the right thing. She didn't want him to get hurt. He was the only one she still had.

Cass took that lie and ran with it. When people at school asked why she disappeared for five months, she simply said that she was moved to New Hampshire briefly, and was adopted by her cousin's parents. In hushed whispers, when the kids asked where Leo was, Cass told them that she was still in New Hampshire, that she didn't want to leave.

Sometimes, she completely denied knowing a Leo at all. Sometimes, she told her classmates that she had always been an only child.

She had been, in a sense. She had never been close with Leo as a kid, because Leo refused to get close with anybody, and ended up pushing most people away. Case in point, she nearly killed one of her closest friends, and ran off with their brother.

She hadn't known she had brothers, up until a year ago. Even then, Ryan was just gone, Sam still lived in New Hampshire with the others, and Elliot was- he was fine.

He was fine.

---

(2/3/2016)

Leo sat on a dark purple, dusty stool in front of the bathroom's cracked mirror, inspecting the bandages wrapped around her hand, stained red at the knuckles.

The fights, Leo thought, seemed to be increasing in frequency. Nearly every day. She was starting to skip school to avoid them. She skipped school regardless. Nobody cared. It didn't matter.

Leo would have to pay for the broken mirror.

She didn't have a job, she was only fourteen, not quite old enough.

Her hand trembled as she ran her thumb against the bandages. For a moment, she almost wished she had gone to her sister for help. Then, Cass would know about the fights. Leo didn't want her to get involved like she knew she would try to do. Leo didn't think her sister could do very well in a real fight like she could.

Cass was staying with their cousins for the night, like she typically did. Her parents were at work for seemingly endless hours. Leo was alone.

She stood up, movements slow, and stood at the reflection in the mirror. It was cracked straight down the middle. The left side of her face, in the reflection, was distorted and cracked. The right side looked normal, though a smear of blood marked her face on that side.

The mirror was already broken. Leo stared at the reflection. She was alone. Something boiled, like acid, simmering just beneath the skin, hot, red. And suddenly, it was a seventh-grader versus a broken mirror.

Loud, painful shrieks, as Leo hit the glass, over, and over, and over, until the feeling died down, until she burned out.

She leaned against the counter, now sitting on the floor, gasping for breath.

She heard her parents pull into the driveway. They never came home before midnight. Leo didn't care. Leo wanted so desperately to go see them. Leo didn't move. She couldn't move. She was stuck, like the shard of mirror stuck in her hand.

Leo managed a breath. She stood up, trembling slightly, and opened the door. Took a step down the stairs, and another, and another, until she could hear their voices, and the same, angry feeling seemed to flood her system like a tsunami.

Leo hated them. Leo hated them. Leo hated them, and she couldn't stand when they were gone, and she wanted them to leave, she wanted to leave, she hated being alone. It was all so complicated and Leo couldn't make sense of any of it, and she didn't like that.

"I need money for a new mirror," Leo plainly stated, walking past, digging through the kitchen drawers for tweezers. Likely, there would be a handful of money on the table the next morning. "Cass is at Kai and Marcy's house tonight."

They didn't respond, didn't care. She was alone.

---

Elliot couldn't remember making this world. It existed in rough stages when he was much younger, years ago now, and he knew that he had made it, but he couldn't remember when. He couldn't remember the process, and as a result, had chosen not to go very far.

He didn't want to go very far, either. He'd been staying at the house since he got there, going back and forth from the living room to the dining room to his bedroom, over and over, he didn't know how long.

The house looked like Logan's, decorated the exact same, and yet, he couldn't find his friends there. 

He missed them. He didn't miss them enough to want to wake up. He had his mother back, now. He didn't know how long, but it was too soon to lose her again.

Elliot sat by the dining room table, chewing on a waffle. It didn't have a taste, and technically, he didn't need to eat. Or sleep, for that matter. He would like to be able to. He missed Logan's cooking.

He finished the waffle quickly enough, knowing that his mother would get worried if he didn't.

And the plate disappeared without a sound or a warning. Elliot stood from the table. His mother smiled at him.

"What are you going to do today?"

The question she always asked. He couldn't remember her voice all that well. Her face was still blurred, but the details were beginning to show.

Normally, all Elliot would do was go to his room, or stay down in the living room with his mother. Today, he was bored.

"I think I'll go to the park." His own voice was a little watery, sounding muffled and glitched to his own ears.

"Okay!" A smile. "That sounds like fun. Remember not to go too far."

Elliot didn't know what would happen if he went too far. He wasn't going to risk it. He smiled back. "I won't."

He hopped down the steps to the porch, hand brushing along the flowers there. He hummed to himself, barely able to feel the warm gravel beneath his feet.

It was dark out, it always was. The sky was only lit up by colorful stars and a bright moon. It felt darker with how unsaturated everything was, and the black grass surrounding the park.

A boy sat on the swings, where he always was. Elliot couldn't remember exactly when they had met, or- when Elliot created him, he supposed. He was fairly sure that he was seven. Bleached white hair hung over black eyes. His hands gripped the chains on the swing set loosely. The white jacket he wore was far too big for him, and practically drowned him in it.

Io had never spoken a word throughout the whole time Elliot had known him. He only sat on the swings, gently moving back and forth, and never left. He acknowledged Elliot as he sat down on the other swing with a small nod.

Io stared at the grass beneath untied shoelaces, hands folded in his lap. Elliot stared at him for a moment, wondering if he should say something.

He didn't. His hands tightened around the chains on the swing set, as his heel kicked against the grass, rocking himself back and forth.

Io reminded him of Dylan, and he figured that was probably intentional. Io had never really had much of a personality until he met Dylan in the first place. Io had always just been there, since he was maybe seven. After he met Dylan, Io got sign language, and he could draw, and he was still Elliot's favorite.

He missed real Dylan, yet not enough to risk leaving his mother again. He couldn't leave. Not yet.

He only needed a little more time.

---

(4/20/2019)

Ryan had a bad feeling about letting Jaxon follow Leo. Leo was acting off, speaking to the others like it was their last day together, and only he seemed to notice.

He followed them to the park- to the garden- and hid behind a streetlight. He didn't want to interrupt.

Leo said something, and Ryan physically felt his stomach drop, hearing Leo say that she was going to leave. His eyes darted to Jaxon, who began talking, low in a way that Ryan couldn't hear him. Jaxon had to get Leo to change her mind. He couldn't let Leo leave.

Ryan knew he was caught when the two of them began to get closer, screaming at each other. His heart raced, pounded, blood rushed in his ears. Leo suddenly stopped, and pointed at Ryan. When Jaxon turned to look at him, Leo punched him. Hard. In the head, hard enough that he fell.

Ryan couldn't stand to watch the fight, but he looked up when he heard a crack, and saw Jaxon, slumped over against the fountain. He put two and two together, and knew Leo had done that.

He had only been afraid of his sister when they first met, but that was because they were all in a rush and she didn't know how to talk to kids and she scared them, but she had apologized.

Leo began to walk towards him, and for the second time, he was afraid of his sister. He flinched when she got close, and she stared at him for a moment, apologized quietly, and left.

Ryan looked at Jaxon, and then at Leo. He couldn't let her leave.

He begged for her not to leave, running after her as she walked off to her car. Finally, she snapped, telling him that if he didn't want her to go so badly, he was free to go with her. Ryan hadn't been thinking when he agreed. He just wanted his sister to be safe.

He wanted to go home, and Leo knew that, and she offered to take him there every time they interacted.

And Ryan didn't want his sister to be alone, so until she decided that she was going to go home, too, he would stay with her.

---

"So, you take your rock, and pretend it's a frisbee."

Jonquil's voice was mostly drowned out from Stefan and Caspian's arguing, and Rowan's occasional comment. Sam tossed a flat rock into the pond. It skipped three times, and sunk down. A duck quacked and swam away.

Sam looked up at Jon, who smiled at him, and patted him on the head. The group had found a nice, shady spot by the pond, hidden by other people. Rowan had set out the snacks Stefan had bought. It was peaceful, and quiet, and harder to ignore the situation.

It reminded Sam, bitterly, of the picnic that his family had, weeks before everything went wrong.

The picnic was high up on the list of his favorite things that had happened to him, right up there with his reunion with Elliot and meeting Leo and Jaxon, and having a snowball fight, Christmas in general had been great, and of course, the picnic. It had been a good six months.

If he tried, he could remember how Leo, Lily, and Jaxon had all tripped and fallen, and how Elliot had smiled and Jaxon and Leo high fived over his head. Back when the two had been friends. He could remember Logan gently teasing Elliot about being the youngest, and how Kai and Jaxon blushed at each other all day. Elliot had grabbed him and Ryan by the hand, and dragged them away, because Leo wanted to talk to the older kids without them, and Elliot had agreed to try to get along with them, and they became friends for a whole week.

(Elliot suddenly remembered what Sam did, and black tendrils seemed to overtake his hands, and he was angry, and it only took another week for him to try to end it. Ryan had seen him, and now Ryan was gone. Everyone was gone.)

He took a breath, and glanced over. Rowan and Jon were trying to keep Caspian from hitting Stefan with a slice of bread, all laughing loudly. He smiled, and laughed along with them.

[nobodymitskigabriel]

Hating Lucifer gang 🤝. I also hate Lucifer for obvious reasons (being a shitty character in late season and being playing by Mark P) but i wish i hated him because he was a compelling and interesting character to hate like he was in s5. He's pretty firmly irredeemable and that's why i think it would have been interesting for the writers to play with an "ostensible" redemption arc where the audience think maaaaybe thats the direction his character is going for a bit because yeah God and Michael's reasons for locking him up (disobeying authority) were not morally sound BUt even if Lucifer is sympathetic in that respect he's still in the wrong and he's still a monster not because of "who he is" but because of the things he did. He doesnt NEED to be a cartoon villain for Jack to come to the conclusion that he's a monster and making one of the most compelling monsters on the show into a caricature dampens ANY message that the show tried to have about morality in his case.

The thing about the Cage and the Ma'lak box is that the reasons Lucifer and Jack were locked up were very conceptually different. Like Lucifer created demonkind and tried to exterminate humans but fundamentally he was locked up as punishment for disobeying his Father. Heaven holds itself to be a moral authority by making Lucifer a scapegoat and demonizing him as a symbol of everything opposing God. We as the audience don't necessarily find the principle behind his imprisonment just, but we condone it because he is actively hostile to humans and their existence depends on him remaining trapped.

While Jack being locked up was as our favorite lawyer Saul Goodman would put it "an Old Yeller situation". His family didn't feel morally righteous for locking him up because he's more a victim of circumstance than a malicious actor. It's interesting how Heaven as an institution is active in the imprisonment of both Lucifer and Jack. Where Lucifer was imprisoned by the authority of Heaven for disobeying God, Jack was imprisoned by the authority of the Winchesters for hurting people while obeying the authority of Heaven (Duma's manipulation). It's important to point out that the Winchesters do serve as a moral institution on the show in a similar way that Heaven or Hell do. Regardless of whether we find them justified or not they reserve the right to do practically anything they feel like they need to to someone if they deem their actions suffiently monstrous. I mean this is basically the same thing they did to Doc Benton in 3x15. It only differs in Jack's case bc they didn't feel morally superior for taking that path but felt like their hands were forced.

It would've been interesting if Jack hadn't broken out of the box to see the hemming and hawing around what solution that would be whether its keeping him locked up, finding a way to kill him, or taking a chance on letting him out to explain. We know Dean was willing to drop himself into the ocean so if he thought Jack was an adequate threat to the world I think it would be consistent of him morally to have that position. It does feel even more demented because in the case that the Winchesters did decide to lock him up forever they're essentially signing him away to become the monster that we knew he didn't need to be.

But when it all came down to it in s15 even though they had some sort of half baked message about rejecting God's authority they never broke down or questioned any of the institutions at play. Jack himself became the authority of Heaven and presumably the world goes on as it always did where Heaven is inherently righteous and Hell is the place where the sinners burn and the Winchesters (or, uh, Sam) continue killing "monsters" practically indiscriminately and then when they die their souls end up in Heaven. Round and round we go.

I'm having thoughts faster than i can articulate them but i hope this is even half coherent did not expect this to get long winded oop

It's like so many of Jack's decisions are colored by naivete or shame. And yes those things are very core to his character but I also feel like the writers were afraid to give him too much unadulterated autonomy because they didn't want to make it seem like Jack would consciously make any sort of "evil" decision.

Like yes killed someone but it was just a freak accident! He trusted Lucifer but he just didn't know any better! He killed Mary but he didn't mean to!! He was feeling overwhelmed and got away from himself :(. He went on a killing spree but he didn't have a soul and was being manipulated by Duma </3.

Even more personal decisions like "choosing" to give up his soul to kill Michael are muddled by the fact that his family was literally up against the wall and he had never been learned to value himself to the point where he'd even consider preserving his soul above his family lives. And "choosing" to become a bomb to kill Chuck because....hello? He was literally so overwhelmed with shame that he'd march himself to slaughter to earn Dean's forgiveness.

I really feel like Jack's character would have benefited a lot from more autonomy bc jfc the cambian Jesse Turner had more autonomy than Jack.

Let's take Sam who was pretty strongly paralleled with Jack in a lot of respects. Yes Sam dealt with manipulation and shame as well BUT in s4 Sam made active decisions like continuing to trust Ruby, use his powers, and drink demon blood. Things that Chuck explicitly said would make him seem "unsympathetic" to the audience. During the whole demon blood arc there were times when the audience wasn't even sure who was telling the truth or who's was in the right. Maybe Ruby is good. Or maybe Sam IS actually going down the dark path.

We as the audience realize that there was a chance Sam never came down from that high. If things were different maybe he could have gotten drafted for Azazel's evil army or Lucifer’s enthusiastic vessel and that's what makes his decision to finally counter "his nature" so powerful. Even after he freed Lucifer, Sam felt ashamed but he still advocated for himself and his decision to jump into the Cage to trap Lucifer again was not colored by a need to have Dean forgive him.

I think this is partly where all the incessantly babying of Jack comes from. Instead of getting to see him deal with any real moral crossroads and come to a decision, he's bombarded by outside forces and "acts out" to the point where his arc is more comparable to an orca than a person.

[obibail]

me most days: sam’s time in dutch’s bunker with joseph was a constant nightmare of gaslighting, religious indoctrination, and possibly violence that started to break him in a matter of weeks 

me today apparently: joseph and sam sitting side by side in that bunker, five months on, eating slightly stale ramen noodles from the same chipped coffee cup and calmly listening to crosby, stills & nash, whom they both hate 

[bonky-n-steeb]

a clandestine affair —

summary || bucky can’t hold himself back when you look that gorgeous at Tony’s house warming party.

warnings || semi public sex, breeding kink, dirty talking, choking, fingering, multiple orgasms, orgasm denial, dacryphilia, bucky is horny and filthy af. PWP — MINORS DNI 🔞 if any of this makes you uncomfortable then please do not read!

I have decided to not do taglists anymore, so if you wished to be notified of my newest updates please follow @bonky-n-steeb-lib and turn on the notifications!

I have no idea why I’ve written this, guess I’m just horny but then what’s new..

“Bucky, what are you doing?” You giggled as Bucky led you into a room. His entire body was pressed to your back and you nearly moaned as he sucked on your neck. You harshly chewed on your lip to stop the moans from spilling out. “We can’t do it here…” you tried speaking some sense into him.

“Why can’t we?” He rasped back as he continued his ministrations. You nearly lost your thought process as he nibbled on your neck before leaving the bruises with his tongue. “Because…” you trailed off as his fingers slipped past your dress and trailed up your thighs.

“Because we’re at a party!” You finally blurted out, but it didn’t really have an effect. He just hummed and continued until you were touching the wall. You reached down to swat his hand away, but he cupped your clothed cunt and you backtracked in your plans. “They wouldn’t know.”

Technically he wasn’t wrong, the party was going on in full swing at the lawn, and you were at nearly the other end of the huge mansion. It was a house warning party arranged by Tony and right from Clint to Sam, everyone with their families was invited.

“Bucky but…” your train of thoughts derailed as he began circling your clit through your soaked panties. You closed your eyes and leaned your forehead against the cool wall to ground yourself. “What if someone finds us?” Producing coherent thoughts was getting more difficult as Bucky played your body to his tune.

His lips were busy sucking bruises on your neck and his metal arm held your hip while his flesh hand was making you dizzy with its ministrations. “They won’t even notice we’re gone.“ his reply was muffled by your skin. The trail of saliva left behind by him cooled down on your neck and made goosebumps erupt.

You stopped protesting when he pushed your panties aside and ran his fingers over your wet folds. He hummed against the column of your neck and your eyes nearly rolled back when two of his thick fingers entered your drenched hole. “Oh Bucky…” you moaned out his name.

“Be quiet sugar, we can’t have them listening, now can we?” His voice was thick with lust and even that somehow aroused your more. You squirmed and tried to suppress your moans as his fingers hit that spot within you that you couldn’t reach with your fingers.

You stood on your tip toes as he fingered you and kept murmuring filth in your ear. “You hear how wet your pussy is, sugar. You can’t deny me this softness when you yourself need it so bad.” You felt your face heat up at his words, but you were loving every second of it.

You were already on an edge with the thought of getting caught and though it sounded sinful, it still excited you. His palm was rubbing deliciously against your clit and that combined with every other sensation had you clenching down on his fingers.

But right as you were about to cascade down the abyss of bliss, Bucky pulled out his fingers. Your eyes snapped open and you turned around to gawk at Bucky. You whined pathetically and he just chuckled at your struggle, “Have patience my dear, because I need you to make a mess on my cock.”

The sound that bubbled up your throat definitely wasn’t dignified. Just moments before you were worried that someone would find you, but by now you’d almost forgotten about it. Bucky knew what an effect he had on you, and he probably got off on it. It took him mere moments to turn you into a whiny mess.

Your palms curled on the flat wall as you heard him unzip his pants. You were breathing heavily as he pressed his cock against your swollen folds and rubbed it, wetting it in your slick. You choked on your breath as his girthy head entered you and he groaned out.

“Fuck,.. you’re so tight sugar. If it wasn’t me fucking you silly every night, I would’ve pegged you for a virgin.” Your entire body writhed like a leaf as he entered you inch by inch. You could feel his hot breath against your neck and every single cell in your body had become hypersensitive.

Bucky snaked his arm around your shoulder and the other held your hips, locking you still, and only then did he start thrusting inside you. There was this sense of urgency in his movements that you didn’t really understand, but whenever you opened your mouth to speak, only broken moans came out.

You tried your best to keep quiet, but you couldn’t stop your whimpers no matter how hard you tried. Bucky’s wasn’t holding back as he fucked you within an inch of your life. His hand on your hips snaked down to press tight circles over your clit.

Bucky pressed his metal hand tightly over your mouth to muffle your moans. “You gotta keep it low sugar, or someone will hear us.” Your walls pulsated around his hard length and he increased his pace, hitting deeper the before. “Oh you naughty girl, you like this, don’t you? You wanna get caught?”

Your clammy hands slipped on the wall and Bucky was the only thing holding you up. “Is that why you’re wearing such a slutty dress?” You were just wearing a cute sundress, but your eyes watered from the intensity of the whole act, and Bucky turned your face around a bit to lick up at the salty tears.

“Oh sugar, I saw how wonderful you are with the kids and I couldn’t help but think of putting my baby in you. And no better time than now, right?” He was thrusting up into you like a man possessed and you gulped when you finally realised the reason behind his urgency.

“God, you’d look so fucking gorgeous all full and swollen with my child.” The more Bucky talked, the more he pulled you into his fantasy. “Bucky… yesss!” You slurred as you spoke. “Yeah sugar, don’t worry. I’m gonna fuck you so nice and deep that you’ll make me a daddy.”

You sobbed into his hand as your suddenly came. This orgasm hit you out of nowhere and shook you right through your core. Your legs trembled and Bucky tightened his hold on your to keep you from falling. Your entire body felt electrified as you writhed under him.

“See, you’ve made such a mess on my cock, just like I wanted. Good girl.” You were nearly nearly boneless and yet his praise went to your head. You were so sensitive that you could feel the course material of his pants against your thighs as he pressed against you.

“Tell me sugar, you gonna make me a daddy?” His question had you shaking your head passionately. He flicked your swollen clit and you feared you’d come again soon. His hand slipped lower from your mouth and curled around your neck. You arched your back such that your head was resting on his chest as he rammed into you.

“Did I fuck you dumb, sugar?” His voice had become breathy and hoarse. You didn’t know whether it was a rhetorical question or not, but you didn’t have much time to ponder as he answered it himself. “Guess I have.” He chuckled darkly in your ear.

You were still riding the high of the first orgasm when you felt the next one approaching. “Kiss me..” you blurted out even though it was barely above a whisper. Bucky turned your head again, and crashed his lips down on yours.

You didn’t really have the energy to kiss him back, but you happily let him guide the movements. The kiss was passionate as he explored your mouth with his tongue and his hand tightened just a tad bit on your neck, but that was enough for you to cum harder than you ever had.

You lost the sense of time as you crashed through the waves of overwhelming bliss. You felt Bucky cock twitch inside you and the feeling of his hot cum filling you up had your eyes rolling in the back of your head. Drool collected at the corner of your mouth and Bucky hummed as licked it off.

Bucky placed his metal arm on the wall as you caught your breath and you too heavily leaned on him. You could feel his cum trickle down your thighs as he pulled out and you sighed. “We..” you cleared your dry throat before speaking. “We gotta go home. Can’t go in front of them like this.”

Bucky hummed as he readjusted your panties and dress until you were at least presentable. Though one look at your dazed eyes was a give away. He was quick to zip up his pants and he hissed as he did. You leaned on his as you walked out of the room and roamed the halls until you finally found the back exit.

“Oh god, there you are!” You both stopped dead in your tracks when you heard Tony’s voice behind you. “We’ve been searching you everywhere. What the hell were you doing?” Tony’s smile dropped when you two turned around and you could bet he knew exactly what you’d been up to. And with a very straight laced voice, Bucky replied,

“We were christening your house.”

[fabricated-misslieness]

pairing: Sam Drake x male reader

req: no | wc: 1k

summary: Sam Drake has four little birds tattooed on his neck. He hadn't thought about what that might mean for his lovers.

warnings: suggestive, making out, neck kissing, neck biting, feminization (at Sam, just a nickname)

a/n: i finished uncharted 4 yesterday

Sam's meaning for the four little birds on his neck was freedom. Though their blue coloring had long since faded and their black outlines were beginning to thin out, the meaning still held true for him. Freedom was, unequivocally, one of his defining values.

It was the reason he got the tattoo something over a decade ago. The birds and their freedom were his hope, and sometimes, they were his wish.

Although Sam Drake liked to remain amorous and flirtatious, he hadn't thought about that romantic kind of aspect when getting the tattoo.

Except... he wasn't so sure this was specifically romantic.

The dim streetlights barely shined through the shoddy motel blinds, leaving hardly anything perceivable to vision in the room. Sam didn't need them anyway, and clearly, neither did you. He was mighty excited to test his new freedom, and you were just perfect for it.

"You're–" You're interrupted mid-sentence as Sam steals another kiss, pressing himself closer to you. "eager."

"Believe it or not," The time spent apart from your lips was infuriating, but he supposed he could settle for the warmth and skin to skin contact as he spoke. To say he was "all up on you" was an understatement. Everywhere he could touch, he did. His hands were wrapped around you midriff and one of his legs 'round your waist. "I just broke out of prison."

You scoff into the next kiss.

The light switch was right next to the door, but it was barely opened until it was slammed shut again, and slammed against it, another body.

The dim lights left everything up for imagination, except for the parts that shined. Sam's neck was one.

It's not long before the long, passionate kisses turn sloppy and not any longer until your hands begin to wander. Sam catches one of them as it sinks below his shirt. It's cold from the brisk air of the night and it's such a contrast against his positively burning skin. Regardless of his flaming vigor, he catches it in his hand. "Are you sure–"

"Yes."

Your kisses lead down his stubbled chin and towards his neck, where, finally, you catch sight of his tattoo. "Four little birds." You breathe out.

"Yeah." Sam's eyes are trained on your lips. They're rosy and swollen, slightly parted. They, and the skin around them, shines under the light. He wants to kiss you... but he also wants you to kiss him. "Do you like 'em?"

You press a kiss to one in reply. "Does that tell you anything?"

"It tells me a lot," His breath hitches when you dare to nip at the blue bird. The rest of his sentence comes out rushed. "of things."

It was amusing how easy it was to make him break simple speech. "Like?"

"Well..." Sam takes a moment to think, but it doesn't last long before his mind becomes jumbled in love. The nip, using only your lips, turns into a lick. The saliva chills the spot on his neck, turns it cool against the heat radiating between you two. When some semblance of coherence even returns to his mind, your teeth make a mark against neck.

""Well" what?"

He gulps. The movement of his Adam's apple is loud and clear within your view, and though very attractive, it wasn't your focus. "You like it."

"What's it?" The next bird is much too clean, untainted. You press a kiss to it as you await an answer, a real answer, from your lover boy.

"Nipping." In response to that, you nip at the blue bird. Sam leans his head back against the wooden door with an unmeditated caution, causing a noticeable thud to ring out within the room.

Sam doesn't acknowledge it, but you do. "Are you alright, princess?"

He groans pleasedly at the nickname, threading multiple fingers through your hair and leaving them tangled. A blush sprouts at the edges of his cheeks as he registers the sound. "Y-Yes."

You, too, seem pleased at the sound as you make another rewarding mark on the second blue bird.

Sam moans again, less shameful about it now. Still, he keeps his gaze away from you, afraid of facing those eyes of yours and ending this moment too quickly. His hand clenches yours instinctually, and suddenly you're reminded of its position.

Your hand's chill has turned into a warmth now, against his hot skin. You bring it slowly up his side, no doubt causing shivers to run down his spine. To him, it feels like more than just pleasure. The roughness of your fingers running across the expanse of his smooth skin causes pleasure and shivers and goosebumps and shockwaves. His body reacts absolutely animalistically, causing his hips to buck forward.

"Is there anything more to tell?" You press a small peck against the next bird.

He smiles down at you, finally finding the courage to look into your eyes. They burn, bright even in this dark room, and he can tell they're half-lidded. "You're amazing with your tongue."

A chuckle escapes your lips, quickly followed by your hot tongue darting between them to wet the third bird tattooed on his supple neck. Sam quirks his head at you with a look undoubtedly covered in love and lust, but most of all pleading. You obey him without a price, marking him for the third time.

Sam laughs, the divine rasp of the thousand cigarettes under his lifetime belt unhidden. Ecstasy rises in its tone along with it.

"Anything–?"

The next thing he says is already well thought out in his mind. "You like them, those blue little birds."

"You're wrong," Sam, at first, gasps when you skip nip and lick and go straight into bite. Your teeth are harsh and rough against his delicate, aging skin but he's utterly in love; he lets that love show in clear, beautiful, breathy moans worthy of a princess. "I love them."

Your hand slides down his side, much wilder, much faster, and he doesn't have the time to prepare himself.

[wearywinchester]

Not Going Anywhere

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: When he nearly loses you, Dean finds he can’t stand the thought of that happening.

Requested by Anonymous: “May I please request a one shot of dean and reader with her having an internal bleeding. You know when the character seems fine but then boom they collapse and turns out they're not fine at all?? I LIIIVE for that shit... The shock, the realization, the worry....”

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: angst, injury, bleeding, shock, anxiety, mentions of alcohol, guilt, fluff

You sat slumped in the backseat of the Impala, exhausted from the hunt. Fortunately, it’d been close to the bunker, close enough that you didn’t need a motel room overnight. Close enough that the drive hadn’t been terribly long like most cases were. You felt like you’d been run over by a semi two times over, a certain weakness running through you that left you feeling less than okay.

You watched quietly as the rain came down and trickled against the chilled windows of the car, falling into each other as they raced down the glass before fresh ones took their place in an instant. It was gloomy weather, something you could have found yourself seeking comfort in on any given day, something that otherwise would have been cozy had you not felt the way you did.

But you did, and it wasn’t leaving any time soon.

Dean had the heat cranked up because he could see that you were cold, could tell by the way you wrapped your arms around yourself. The ache and burn in your stomach had yet to subside, Dean having cleaned your wound before setting off to go home earlier that day, but that didn’t stop it from hurting.

You were less than comfortable, as far from it as you could be as you sat behind Sam. You missed the way Dean had glanced at you in the rear view more often than not, his concern evident in the crease between his brows, deepening each and every time he looked. He saw your agitation, the way your face contorted in discomfort as you slumped against the seat. You couldn’t sit still even if your life depended on it, constantly moving in your seat despite the way the hurt in your abdomen is screaming at you otherwise.

You don’t think you’ve ever been so restless in your life more than you were in that moment, anxiety settling in heavily the more you sat stuck in that car. There wasn’t anything in particular for you to feel this way over—you’d ridden in this car more times than you could count for years, having sat in the very same spot for far longer than this trip has been before. You’d done it all before without fail, without a problem, but this time was different.

It was different and he knew it.

Any other time you’d start a conversation about any and everything, singing along with him to nearly any song that came on the radio for the sake of getting on Sam’s nerves. Any other time you’d take a nap if you were tired, especially on a day like that where the clouds and rain offered ample comfort to allow you to do so, but this wasn’t any other time. This time you looked like you were two seconds from hopping out at the next red light, and it didn’t sit right with him.

“Sweetheart, you okay back there?” He calls out over his shoulder.

You’re not even sure if the words came out of his mouth, not even sure if you heard him as you shifted your gaze. When he didn’t get a response he looked in his mirror at you, calling out your name once more with more concern than the last.

You sat up a little straighter, glancing at him with eyes squinted slightly in confusion. “‘M fine, De.”

He wasn’t entirely convinced of that, not even a little bit as you blinked, trying to gather yourself a bit more than in that moment as he turned down the road that led to the bunker. You had a habit of saying you’re fine when you’re not, and you’re so clearly the opposite and he finds himself grateful he’s home, you’re home. But that doesn’t soothe the worry boiling over in the pit of his stomach, clouding his mind of anything and everything revolving around you.

Your words were merely words as they fell from your lips, that feeling simmering within you feeling awfully bad as you sit there, as the impala descended down into the bunker’s garage. The fluorescent lights were harsh on your eyes, your wince inevitable as you fought the groan sitting in the back of your throat. Dean didn’t need to be worrying over you, though he surely already was.

You think you just need a rest, a few hours sleeping in your own bed would do you some good. It had to.

You hadn’t fully registered the fact that the car had come to a stop, put in park in its usual spot and it gave Dean enough time to round the back end of it before you tried to get out on your own. When he pulls the door open you’ve got that look, one that tugs at his heart because you look so miserable, so tired and defeated. He crouches down closer to your level as you sit there, watches as you take a deep breath to try and steady the race of your heart. To try and calm the queasy feeling in your stomach.

“Sweetheart?” He asks, eyes on you in search of any indication that you’d been listening. You were, you really were, but you were trying to get a handle on how you felt. “Baby, we’re home.”

You nod then, turning your head to look at him with a soft smile in an attempt to assure him you’d heard him. He stood to his feet and held his hand out, gentle as he helped out of the car. You tried to ignore the rush that came down over you the moment you got up, tried to swallow down the intensifying nausea that’d swirled around in your stomach just begging to come up. You tried your hardest and it was proving to be a challenge.

You were dizzy when you stood to your feet, almost overwhelming, but you were quick to balance yourself and you brushed it off. You’d been in the car for the past two hours, doing nothing but sit in the same position for the majority of that time and you’d yet to eat or drink anything. A little dizziness seemed reasonable upon standing in your mind, not to mention the way your head had been hurting for nearly the same amount of time as the drive home.

You felt his hand slip from yours in favor of wrapping around you to steady you, to help you as you walked but you shrugged him off just as quickly, flashing him a look.

“De, I’m fine. You don’t need to fuss over me,” you say, and the look on his face shows just how much he disagrees with you. You could see it with the dimples forming by the very corners of his mouth and the raise of his eyebrow.

“Y/n—”

“I’m serious. I just need a little sleep and I’ll be fine,” you say, smiling once more in hopes he’d settle down, but you knew he wouldn’t.

It took a few moments, but eventually he dropped his hand to his side reluctantly and eyed you carefully, cautious as he watched you walk ahead into the bunker’s hallway towards your shared room. He knew you better than you thought, better than you knew yourself. He knew you like the back of his hand, but you were just as stubborn as he was and that’s the problem.

You flickered between bouts of nausea and none at all, between feeling fine, like you said you were, and feeling like you’d been drug all the way home tied to the trunk of the Impala. It was something that worsened the more you dwelled on the feeling, something you wished would subside.

You felt a beat of relief upon seeing the golden eleven mounted on that familiar wooden door come into view just down the hall, could smell the faint scent of Dean’s cologne wafting over you as he walked by towards Sam.

You were almost there, then you could lay down for a good long while, tuck yourself into that memory foam bed that was unbelievably comfortable and smelled every bit like Dean, and rest like you’d been longing to do since the moment you left to come home that day. You could rest in the comfort of your shared space for as long as you needed to get better. You were almost there.

But you weren’t.

In that moment, you felt like you were miles away from your destination, you felt like the conversation the two of them were having just a few feet away had been miles away from you, their voices muffled far more than they should be for how close they’d really been to you.

You slowed yourself to a wavering stop for a minute just to gather yourself a little more than you were then and there, reaching out for the wall that was just a little farther than you anticipated it to be. Your ears began to ring slightly, gradually, as that same nausea made its unpleasant return in your stomach, eyes squeezing shut just for a moment. You weren’t aware of just how awful you looked in that moment, but you knew it couldn’t have been too good if it was a reflection of how you were feeling in that very same moment. To be quite honest you felt like you’d just run a marathon with the way you couldn’t catch your breath, with the way your heart had been hammering within your chest at a faster than normal pace.

You felt like a walking, breathing disaster, and sure enough, you looked like it too.

Dean’s brows furrowed when he followed Sam’s gaze, to you, to you who stood there unsure of yourself as a flurry of emotions flashed over your face within a second’s time. A number of emotions, none of anything positive being displayed and it intensified the worries he’d had running through him. A sheen of sweat had glistened over your skin despite the chill that ran through you, your vision doubled as you opened your eyes once more to try and give Dean a glance.

“Y/n?” Your name fell from his lips, soft and hesitant at first as the initial confusion took over, his mouth going dry as he approached you.

“I’m…” you start, nodding your head as you swallow thickly. “I’m fine, Dean. I just…"

Your words were failing you, your ability to form a coherent thought failing you in that moment as you lost all means of balance, teetering on the edge of collapsing before you’d gone and done it. The shout of your name had come off as an echo to you, the impact of the floor having been cold and unforgiving as you fell, too weak to catch yourself.

He hated just how limp you felt in his arms as he knelt beside you, the pain jolting through him from dropping to his knees on the concrete floor having been the very least of his concerns as he watched you. Panic had lanced through him as your head lulled, caught in the crook of his arm as his other hand grabbed your face. Despite the sweat gleaming across your skin, your cheeks were void of any heat that you’d expect to feel and it only added to his upset.

“Y/n!” He called out, your brows furrowing as you felt yourself go from bad to worse, a steady declining feeling blanketing you. “Sweetheart, stay with me.”

His voice was loud, carrying through the winding hall in an echoing display of his fear, the sound taunting him as it bounced off the walls. You nodded weakly, despite the way your heartbeat hammered loudly in your ears enough to muffle what he’d been saying to Sam, or the way you couldn’t hold yourself up if it weren’t for the way he held you. Despite that, you nodded for him.

That ache from the wound you’d walked away from that hunt with was still very much there, that you knew. You knew things didn’t look good for you in that moment, not with the way Dean looked at you as if his heart had been ripped from his chest, or the fear in his eyes when he’d pressed his fingers to the side of your neck, your pulse faint but bounding beneath his fingertips. Things were continuing to go from bad to worse, to far beyond that and you knew that wasn’t a good sign.

You knew it the moment that feeling hit you in the car an hour earlier and the panic you felt was only increasing the more you thought things over.

You should have said something then, you know that now. You should have stopped saying you were fine when you so clearly weren’t, should have stopped doing what you always do and downplay a situation in fear of thinking about the outcome. You should have known better than to think it’d be as easy as Dean patching you up, not after what that spirit did to you. Nothing in hunting is ever as good as it seems, as easy as it seems, and you should have said something earlier.

Because now, now you were quite sure you were facing your fate when you didn’t have time to prepare for it. And that’s what scared you the most. It could have been something trivial, that’s what you’d been longing for it to be, but you knew it was just your own denial telling you that.

“Dean,” you say, taking a breath as you look up at him. The green eyes you loved so much were filled with a kind of emotion you never liked to see. “I—I just want you to know—”

“No, no c’mon. We’re not doing this sweetheart, okay?”

Nausea hit him like a ton of bricks at the sight of the crimson that slowly began to stain your teeth when you coughed, rage bursting through him in waves over the situation he doesn’t know how to control the ending of. Over the fact that he doesn’t think he can control the outcome for the love of his life in his very arms. He knows nothing in this life is guaranteed, not for the life of someone who hunts the world’s worst monsters.

He’s lost so much in his life, but damn does this one hurt.

“I don’t feel so good,” you murmur instead, watching the expressions flicker across his face through half closed eyes as you groan, brows furrowing at the expression he’d been looking at you with. “What is it?”

He couldn’t tell you what he saw, he wouldn’t do it.

“I know you don’t,” he says softly, chuckling despite it being void of humor, running his hand over your head. “I know you don’t but you’re gonna be okay, you hear me?”

All you could do was hum and nod, a soft noise you can’t quite tell had left your lips as the weight of your eyelids grew heavier and heavier. You were tired, that much was true. But he tapped your cheek with his hand lightly, grabbing ahold of your face.

“Don’t do that,” he urged, “please, don’t do that.”

He looked to Sam, a mirrored look of panic looking back at him that didn’t do much to soothe his stresses.

He feels near paralyzed when his gaze drops to you again, your eyes closed. He’d grabbed your face and called your name till his throat felt like sandpaper, till it felt like he swallowed a thousand knives he shouted your name. He held you tight in his arms as his mind worried in a frenzy of fear, calling out desperately for the one person that could help.

Cas.

If there was one thing that Dean Winchester knew how to do, it was worry. He’d worry himself to death over the ones he loved, in fact, there wasn’t a thing he wouldn’t do to keep them safe. But worry is what he’d done for the last two and a half hours and nothing else.

If it was possible, one might think he’d wear a hole in the floor from his pacing at the foot of the bed in the bunkers infirmary. Cas had come in a moment’s notice much to Dean’s relief, had swooped in quite literally and healed you the way he hoped you could be.

It turns out that spirit had done more than just graze you, had gone a little deeper than either of you had thought. It turns out you’d been bleeding more than just on the surface, and that it hadn’t actually slowed to a stop once he’d patched you up back there. You were bleeding this whole time, you just didn’t know it until it almost became too late.

It all made sense now, the way you were acting in the car. The restlessness, the agitation and the way you couldn’t sit still. He knew there was something wrong even when you refused to admit it, and he hated it when you did that. Hated it when you kept your pain to yourself when you really didn’t need to, in favor of staving his worry and trying to be independent, and that’s something he knew well.

But that wasn’t the point, the point was you were lying there in that bed almost within an inch of your life had Cas not come. The point was he nearly lost you in his arms and he couldn’t help the blame that sparked and burst within him that maybe he shouldn’t have believed you when you said you were fine. He didn’t, but he felt he should have kept pushing, kept prying to get you to admit it. Thinking that maybe he should have known there was more to that injury by the way your face crinkled up when it happened, by the way you fell to the floor for a moment or two before you stood back on your feet.

He felt like this was on him, and it was tearing him up from the inside out.

Dean ran through a myriad of emotions that night, each one hitting harder than the last. He was scared, the mere thought of losing someone he found himself rapidly not being able to see himself living without having scared him more than he’d care to even admit. He was angry, his fear masked behind clenched jaws and hands running through hair, chairs kicked and chest heaving. Angry at himself for not having gotten to you sooner back there.

It was a never ending cycle of fear and anger and guilt, a cycle he felt he’d always feel in one way or another so long as the ones he loves keep getting hurt when he feels he has the means to prevent it somehow.

For the better part of that two hours, apart from the anxious pacing, he sat at your side as you rested. He was reluctant to leave your side should something happen again. He couldn’t handle that and he knew it. He sat there with his elbows on his knees, chin in his hands. He held your hand for a while, thumb absentmindedly brushing over your knuckles as his foot tapped and his knee bounced subconsciously.

For the better part of that two hours, the events of what lead up to that point had replayed in his mind over and over in a taunting loop, having worsened the feeling he held each and every time it restarted. Each time he recalled something more in the way you’d looked in the car, in the way you acted, in the way you felt in his arms.

Cas had to tell him a million times over that you’d be okay. That wound on your stomach had been healed, everything had been healed as though it was never there. He told him a thousand times over that you were stable, you were okay. You were okay, but he couldn’t find it in himself to get over it just yet.

The last time Cas had said it was when he believed it, it was when he couldn’t be in that room another second otherwise he just might crack. He couldn’t bear to see you laying there like that, no matter the fact that you were just fine. It made his stomach churn and twist in knots.

He left, the stack of lore books swept off the table in the library in his wake, a string of curses leaving his lips. He went to your shared room first, the door slamming roughly behind him. He was angry at no one else but himself despite the fact that he shouldn’t be, but he’ll beg to differ on that a thousand times over.

When you woke up, the infirmary was empty. You’d seen the chair at your bedside that hadn’t normally been there. And if it wasn’t telling enough of Dean’s presence, the weight of his jacket splaying warmly overtop of you was sure to make it all the more obvious he’d been there.

You were sore as you sat up, stiff from having been laying in the same position for an amount of time you were sure of. But, when you lifted the hem of your shirt, that burning wound had no longer resided where it’d been. That nausea had since dissolved, that headache had gone away for the most part, and the weakness you felt, the dizziness, it’d all gone away. You knew it was done with the help of no one other than Cas.

You were sure Dean had been there with you for quite some time, but you also knew Dean better than to think he’d handle it well. You knew by the way you’d woken up by yourself that he’d handled it horribly. He gets worked up over injuries that are on a smaller scale, but this, this was far different than that. Inches from meeting your fate had been much too different than that and you knew he’d disappeared to sulk by himself.

You sighed when you pushed yourself off the bed, leaving the empty infirmary before navigating the bunker. The sight of the books splaying messily across the floor had been an indication of something you already suspected, the quiet in the air having added to the tension only followed when one of the three of you had been angry.

Your bedroom was empty, the blankets stretching over to his side of the bed having been wrinkled some from where he’d been sitting. A photo of the two of you had been sitting there on the nightstand, half-tucked under the base of the lamp sitting lit atop it, the drawer not closed all the way.

The Impala was still in the garage where he’d parked it hours ago, a frown tugging at your lips at the sight of the very hallway everything had taken place.

You knew where he’d be at this hour, at one where everyone should be asleep. Sam had been, you were sure of that, but if Dean hadn’t been in either of those places, you knew where he’d be.

A knowing sigh left your lips as you stepped down into the kitchen, the very one you’d been looking for sitting at the table. You saw the bottle of whiskey on the table and you saw the glass in his hand. You saw the way his hair had been a ruffled mess and you saw the ivory of his knuckles as he held that very same glass. You knew that all too well, you knew he’d been all sorts of torn up inside. He was.

“Knew I’d find you here,” you say, his head turning at the sound of your voice.

You could see the relief flooding his expression as he looked up at you, at the way his eyes widened and the way his face lit up just a little bit more than before, though it didn’t take long for the crease between his brows to deepen once more as you sat down next to him. He’s quiet for a moment before he presses a lingering kiss to your temple, and another as his next words are murmured against your skin.

“Sweetheart, you should be in bed, you’ve been through it today.”

You could hear the fatigue in the softness of his tone, could feel his nose brush against your temple before he turned away.

“Without you?” Your words are lighter as a soft smile tugs at the corner of your mouth.

He chuckles, half-humorous as he shakes his head, swirling the whiskey around in his glass. He swallows thickly, thoughts weighing heavy on his mind as a million words sit on the tip of his tongue. You knew a little humor didn’t do much to stave off that feeling he held.

“‘M fine, Dean.”

“Don’t say that,” he says, head shaking before he brings the glass up to his mouth and swallows the rest of his drink, pouring himself another.

You saw the way his eyes were rimmed a pale shade of pink. Dean Winchester wasn’t one to cry too often, but you could always tell when he had been. His eyes were red and so was the very tip of his nose, flushed a soft pink and the quiver in his lip hadn’t quite left just yet.

“I’m serious, Dean. I’m okay.”

“Well you weren’t a few hours ago, Y/n. You were damn near dead,” he says, louder than before as his jaw tenses.

“Well I’m not,” you counter, the huff that puffs through his nose an indication of his frustration.

“I’m glad this is just another day to you, Y/n.”

He brings his hands up to his face, rubbing over it in frustration as he sniffs. You saw that quiver just a little more now, one he hid behind his glass as he tipped his head back and drank it.

“For cryin’ out loud you still got blood on your teeth, Y/n,” he says, softer this time as the tension in his jaw loosens.

You sigh softly, more so to yourself as you stay quiet for a moment or two, your tongue swiping over your teeth before you bite the inside of your cheek. You can see the emotions flicker and roll through him, can see the guilt written clear across his face to match the feeling simmering in the pit of his stomach. When you got up, he’d expected you to just walk away, though instead you find yourself leaning atop the wooden table.

You snag the glass from the loose grip he had on it, setting it aside as he drug his hands down his face.

Your shoulders drop a fraction as you look down at your hands for a moment, foot tapping quietly against the floor. When you looked at him, his gaze was on the table, the inside of his cheek between his teeth. You bring your hand up to smooth over his hair before your palm settles on his cheek, thumb brushing over his chin. His eyes lift to yours, weary and upset.

You don’t fail to miss the way he leans into your touch no matter how subtle, or the way the clench in his jaw dissipates the rest of the way before your hand drops to your lap.

“There was nothing you could’ve done differently back there, De. No matter how much you think otherwise,” you say, watching that tension return as he looks away. “I know that’s what you’re thinking right now, but I’m still here. Now you don’t have to believe me on this, and I know you won’t, but you were there when I needed you the most. And that’s the only thing that matters to me. So you can be mad at yourself all you want, you can blame yourself all you want, but I’m not blaming this on you.”

He sat quietly, simmering in his own silence with closed eyes as his chest heaves a bit more than normal. You swipe your thumb across the crease between his brows, smoothing it softly as you watch the way he bites the inside of his cheek. Dean Winchester’s got a whole lot of stubbornness in him, but a whole lot of softness no matter how many layers of anger and frustration and worry sit atop it.

You move from the table after a beat of silence, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He relaxed under your embrace, more so when you dipped down from behind him and pressed a kiss on his cheek, one more for good measure.

You don’t know what to say for a little while as your head rests against his, arms dangling over his shoulders as you clasp your hands together loosely. You know for a fact he’s still beating himself up for this, that was something you knew was unavoidable. But that was something you could handle.

“Come to bed, De, it’s late,” you murmur, kissing his cheek once, twice, three times.

He hums at first, nodding his head. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

You let him go with a soft squeeze to his shoulders, spinning on your heel as you sigh softly. But it doesn’t take more than a mere few seconds before you hear him move around.

“Sweetheart, wait.”

You turn around once more, brow raised in curiosity.

He’s hesitant for a moment before he crosses the room in a couple of steps, arms around you in an instant. You wrap yours around his neck, his embrace near bone crushing as his face tucks into your neck. His stubble is rough against your skin, the softness of your smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. He’s got fistfuls of your shirt in his palms, holding you close as you stand up on your toes.

“What do you say we ditch hunting for a little while?” He mumbles into your neck, your soft laughter immediate as you lean back to look at him. “Don’t want you dyin’ on me again, sweetheart.”

You bit your cheek for a moment as you shook your head, fighting a smile. “You can’t get rid of me that easily, Winchester.”

He rolls his eyes, looking to the side as he fights the beginnings of his smile. “Yeah, well, I’m good with that.”

The tension he held minutes ago lessened some, his expression softer as he looked down at you. You lean on your toes and kiss him softly, lingering just over his lips for a few seconds before kissing him once more with a smile as you speak up.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

—

Tags: @flamencodiva @stixnstripesworld @elegantbutedgy @humanmistakes @campingmonkey @agalliasi @deandaydreaming @lanea-1 @akshi8278 @kidd3ath

[real-jane]

nftn: for her

(bucky barnes x female!reader, shield)

summary: a simple wish on your christmas list has bucky enlisting the help of every person in his life.

warnings: christmas gifts/anxiety, bucky talks some sense into sam, y/n has a panic attack, some slight to severe emotional manipulation on my part re: parental loss.

word count: 9,802

a/n: part eleven of ‘nostalgia for the new’! this is the content which pushed me over the edge of 50k words for nanowrimo! very excited to share this silly piece with you. edit: now including the link to Bucky’s playlist!

series masterlist

You were a prodigious gift giver. If it weren’t for the fact that you were spot-on, every time, it might actually be annoying. You always managed to find a way to pick something that was both impactful and personal. There was no way that the receiver wouldn’t like something if your name was on the label. You didn’t give with the intention of receiving anything in return, which was good for Bucky considering that he felt like a moron trying to pick things out for you. Generally, he got away with cooking for you, or being the gift, as it were (and he would never ever top showing up at the quinjet and surprising you).

But all you asked for on your Christmas list was… music. You had gotten a host of presents to celebrate your wedding less than a week ago. You didn’t need anything else.

And Bucky was struggling.

Your shared vinyl collection was pressing numbers in the hundreds. In fact, you had ordered a subscription service over the summer, which delivered one rare album a month, so there was no possible way to find something special that you didn’t already know about or own. And you liked everything. When the two of you were listening, you stuck to his favorites, but you sometimes came back from the gym ‘singing’ songs which could only be described as rapid, emphatic, talking. Even if he could figure out which way your preferences lay...

Vinyl wouldn’t do.

Bucky had no idea if you played any instruments--he would put money on you being able to learn anything you set your mind to, but it didn’t make sense to give you any such instrument when you had a playful and invasive cat, and lived in an echoey building made of cement. So, that was off the table.

He couldn’t carry a tune if it strapped on like a backpack, so creating music for you wouldn’t happen.

He was stumped, and he had about three days to figure it out.

***

Bucky rubbed his eyes so hard he saw stars. There was not enough caffeine in the world to make him have coherent thoughts, especially not about this. He had begged out of going with you for your morning run in favor of trapping Sam at breakfast to get his help.

So far, his suggestions had ranged from wildly unhelpful, to downright ludicrous, including but not limited to get her a dog and name it ‘Music.’

“Buy her concert tickets,” Sam chucked, sipping his coffee while he indulged in the free show.

“To what?” Bucky put his head down on the table hard enough that it sounded painful. He breathed out against the table in confirmation of that fact, but he didn’t budge. Face-down, in their usual booth at the caf, with people walking by who had dangerous jobs with guns and stuff… Bucky Barnes was having a little festive panic.

“Elton John’s touring one last time, again.”

“She has seen him three times,” Bucky grumbled. “Does Tony know Elton John, personally? Maybe I could sell him my arm for a song.”

“He probably does. But then you’d never do better than that gift, and you’d have to explain to Shuri why she has to build you an entirely new prosthesis.”

“I don’t need to do better, I need to just give her something!” Bucky groaned. “...but I think Shuri would understand.”

“You could make her a playlist.”

“How?” He looked up and had a red imprint on his forehead from the pressure on the table. The grumpiness level was through the roof. Sam bit back a laugh.

“Just… put a bunch of songs together that she’d like, and then she can listen to it whenever.”

Bucky’s face dropped even more, if that were possible. “I don’t know how to do that. And what would I even pick? She’ll get bored of me rehashing what I always listen to--might as well get her a jukebox.”

He and Sam narrowed their eyes at each other to assess whether or not the other thought that was a feasible idea, but Bucky broke the standoff. “Definitely wouldn’t fit in our suite.”

“Okay, listen--” Sam braced his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “Playlists are usually themed, like… I got one for lifting. Stuff that has the right energy for slinging some iron. You get me?”

“Themed…”

“Yeah. So. What’s your theme?”

“...If I said ‘love’, is that the lamest answer you’ve ever heard?”

“Sir, your wife says that she loves you in official government documents. I think that’s probably the right direction to go.”

“Right.” Bucky’s ears turned pink.

You did it because you knew that all comm conversations on official assignments were recorded for posterity, and so you really laid it on thick when you knew some government lackey sitting in a basement with no windows was gonna have to type out I love you so much, baby, you’re my one and only, and Nick Fury was then gonna have to read it. Still, you were the love of his life. Maybe it was just that simple.

“How do I go about this?”

“Why don’t you just ask people their favorite love song?”

Bucky frowned. “What’s your favorite love song, Samuel?”

Without thinking for longer than one second, Sam said, “Sexual Healing, Marvin Gaye.”

“...I’m not putting that on the list.”

“It’s a very sensual song, Barnes. You’ll thank me later.”

“I don’t think I will.”

“Fine. Go ask around. But my answer is the superior one. I would bet you money that Tony’s gonna say--”

***

“I’ve Just Seen a Face by the Beatles,” Stark said proudly. “Sang it to Morgan mere moments after she was born and she was so sweet and blue, and I had no idea--”

“Okay, okay,” Bucky grumbled. “Give me a taste. Don’t sing it. Give me a lyric.”

He had found Tony in his shop, one hand wrapped around a sandwich, and the other tinkering with what looked like yet another incarnation of his mechanical heart. Tony made the most sense to ask first; he was married, and as far as Bucky could tell Pepper seemed charmed by his shenanigans… he also had a cybernetic implant… so.

Tony cleared his throat and brought Bucky back to the present. He held his sandwich aloft like Lawrence Olivier as Hamlet. “‘I’ve just seen a face, I can’t forget the time or place where we just met, she’s just the girl for me and I want all the world to see we’ve met’--actually, it kinda reminds me of you, back when you were still silent and surly. And then like, all of a sudden you were following this girl around, and--”

“I get it. Anything else?” He wrote down the song on the paper, a piece of white parchment with Stark Industries letterhead. He really did have terrible handwriting… Bucky frowned. He would be lucky to decipher his own scratchings later, but he didn’t have much time to find an alternative solution.

Tony took a bite of his sandwich to think. “Hmmmmm… oh! Sexual Healing--”

“Absolutely not.”

“You have a healthy sex life, I get it--”

He turned away and made for the door. “Goodbye.”

“Joni Mitchell!” Tony called.” Case of You. ‘Love is touching souls,’ my man. Enough said.”

Bucky snorted. “Fine.”

“People say it’s overplayed, but Pepper says--”

***

“Oh my god,” Pepper Potts laughed, switching Morgan from one hip to the other and sighing as the little girl yanked hard on an errant piece of her hair. “Don’t listen to a word my husband says about me, okay?”

The real hero of Stark Industries was found in her kitchen on the top floor of the compound, giving her nanny a break from the very sweet but curious baby Morgan. Nanny Maureen stood on the balcony, smoking and scrolling on her phone. She didn’t like Bucky, or anybody (save Pepper).

Bucky held out his hands. “Give me the child.”

Pepper readily handed over her baby to him. He frowned at the child, as was their customary greeting. Morgan giggled and slapped a moist hand on his bare arm.

“Sure you don’t want a baby, Uncle Bucky?” Pepper grinned as Morgan prodded his cheek and turned her little baby talons against his stubble.

“That’s ‘Buckle’ to you, you little demon,” he grumbled at Morgan, who blew a raspberry in understanding. “I like children. I like giving them back to their parents even more. Not Joni Mitchell? Really?”

Pepper laughed. “Tony used to wait until JARVIS indicated that I had arrived, and then blare Joni Mitchell through the whole complex, long before he ever asked me out on a date for real.”

“And yet, you married him.”

She pointed at Morgan. “Got a cute little demon out of it, though.”

“Very,” Bucky agreed. “So? Lay it on me.”

She leaned against the kitchen counter. “What’s your tone, here? Are you asking me to romance your wife for you in a fairy tale kind of way, or like a Marvin Gaye kind of way--”

“What is it with you people born in the seventies and Marvin Gaye?”

“What do you have against him?”

“Nothing! I just don’t want to be overtly…” He lost the word. Morgan cackled at his very confused expression. He slowly turned his gaze to her. The moment his face was fully turned her way, Morgan spit up. Bucky grimaced, and straight-armed the kid back into her mother’s care.

“You’re not trying to make a baby,” Pepper finished, wiping Morgan’s mouth. “Got it. Okay… is a little drama okay, at least? Heavy-petting power ballad?” She opened the door to the fridge, so his view of her was obscured.

He blinked. “I know what those words mean individually.”

“Forget it. Ooh!” She closed the door with her elbow and handed him a miniature bottle of orange juice. “You need Stevie Nicks. ‘Leather and Lace’ with Don Henley. Very the two of you. It’s a duet; she’s from the city, he’s from the mountain. Leather and Lace are involved, though it’s up to you which represents you.”

Bucky snorted. “Lace, obviously”

“You know what else would be good, though… oh! I can’t remember anything anymore. Nat loves it. Peggy Lee… god, what’s it called--”

***

“Fever.” Nat’s knife sunk into the target with a thunk. “Eva Cassidy’s version. It’s your wife in a song.” She retrieved the blade from the wood. Bucky used the wall to write down the song, even though that song made him blush the one time it came on at Gary’s. Then Nat’s words struck him, and he turned to face her.

“You got a crush on my wife?”

Nat laughed. “Wouldn’t you like to know. I still say that the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life is her giving Brock Rumlow another hole in his body.”

“Should’ve seen the other time,” Bucky said. “What does it say about us that a little violence makes us weak for her?”

“It’s not about the violence, Barnes.” Nat zeroed her focus and held her knife aloft, with the tip of the blade between her fingers. “It’s about control. Your wife can fell a man a foot taller than her, armed or not. If that doesn’t give you a fever, you’re dead. Because she killed you.”

“Good point.”

“I like a woman with finesse. I’m a simple girl.”

“I’ll be sure to let Steve know.”

“Do.” She released the knife, and it found the crevice she had previously made with her first hit. Spot on. “What are you worried about?”

Bucky realized he had been staring down at this list of his with a pained look on his face. “Imagine that Steve was makin’ you this list, right? What would you miss if it wasn’t on there?”

Nat leaned on his shoulder. “Barnes, if you could talk Steve into making anything for me, it wouldn’t matter if it was made of popsicle sticks and prayer. It would be… It’s the thought that counts.”

“If you put a microphone up to my thoughts about Y/n, it would be approximately eighty years of static, and then one trumpet melody, over and over, for the rest of time. I don’t think my thoughts are going to cut it.”

“It’s a wonder you’re married with that one trumpet-playing brain cell.”

“Tell me about it.”

***

“I can’t believe she said that,” Steve sighed. “I’m not a craftsman of any kind. I tried cooking for her once, and she banned me from the kitchen.”

“The point is--Nat says I’m overthinking things.”

“You are, but not because of the reasons she says. I think you’re going about it in the right way.” Bucky had a bundle of Christmas lights wrapped around his arm, which he was dutifully holding up so Steve could hang them around the top edge of the big windows in the floor five lounge.

“Y/n is going to love anything you give her, you know that. I think you’re just overthinking the content of the gift.”

“What do you mean?”

Steve scooted the ladder along the wall, bidding Bucky follow. “You’re asking people their favorite songs, instead of putting stuff on there that she will like.” He tapped a small nail into the wall and hung the next three feet of lights.

“She likes everything,” Bucky groaned. “But she has her favorites. The number of times I’ve heard the name Adele in the last two years… shit, I should put her on the list.”

“Maybe ask somebody who knows her taste? Because if you’re asking me, the answer is going to be Stevie Wonder.”

“Which song?”

Steve shrugged. “Any. Move down.”

Bucky did so, and handed up the last of the lights so his friend could drape them down the side of the windows. “You should make Nat something for Christmas.”

“I’ve been meaning to take up knitting.”

“There is something you do, and I’m pretty sure you’ve never done it for her…”

“What? No.” Steve leaned against the ladder.

“Why not?”

“I haven’t picked up a piece of charcoal, in--hell, decades?”

“It’s the thought that counts!”

“I am not giving Natasha Romanoff a bad portrait of herself.”

“You could. Come on, Steve. If I had half your talent, I wouldn’t be doing this stupid project, I’d be drawing my wife a nice picture of Alpine or something.”

“Speaking of, you should get a hobby. Being obsessed with your wife doesn’t count.”

“You’re one to talk, I am amazed you haven’t gotten a black widow spider tattooed on your ass.”

Steve waggled his eyebrows. “That you know of.”

***

“You’re supposed to be off the grid, languishing in your new marriage.”

“Can you help me or not?”

“Do you know who you’re talking to?” Jenny said pointedly. “You should’ve called me first. Obviously Celine. Preferably ‘It’s All Coming Back to Me Now’ or ‘Because You Loved Me.’ Both! Oh, God she will sob if you pick the first one.”

Bucky was holed up in the washroom, trying to speak as quietly as he could into the phone, while you changed your clothes in the main suite. “...and that’s a thing we want her to do?”

“Oh, you big dumb idiot,” she said lovingly. “Yes. You want her to weep with how thoughtful you are, knowing her favorite songs… speaking of which, approximately how many boy bands are on your list?”

He reviewed the suggestions. “Um. One.”

“Unacceptable. Which of the Big Three is it? She’s really a 98 Degrees girl.”

“...The Beatles?”

The silence which followed was almost painful. “Okay. Okay… Can you please put ‘I Do’ by 98 Degrees on that list? She’ll love the reference, given the wedding.” Then, as an afterthought... “Do not be surprised if there are several albums from the late nineties in your stocking this year.”

“Anything else?”

“Buck, can I ask you a question before I start reading you any more song titles?”

“Shoot.”

“If there was one word to describe how she makes you feel, what would it be?”

A knock on the door made him nearly pitch himself off the side of the bathtub. He muted the call and held the phone and the paper to his chest as the washroom door opened just a crack.

“Baby? You hungry? I’m thinking about some pizza.” You didn’t look inside the room, just in case you were intruding on his privacy in some way.

“I haven’t eaten since breakfast,” Bucky realized. “My card’s in my coat.”

“I wanna get my hands in some flour. I’ll make it. Meet me in the kitchen in like… ten?”

“Sure. Love you.”

“Love you too, Buck.” Your voice sounded sentimental in the way it had for the last few days, whenever you thought about or talked about the wedding. It was really sweet. He’d occasionally find you just flipping through the photos from the day on your phone, zooming in on his face...

Bucky blew out a long breath as the door latched again, and then the suite door opened and shut. He held the phone back up to his ear. “Lucky,” he said softly. “The luckiest.”

“Hmm. You should look up Ben Folds.”

“...for the list?”

“You’ll see what I mean. No, you can’t talk to Buckle, you colored on mommy’s shoes--JAEDYIN LYNN! Sorry. I gotta go. Love ya!”

***

“Who is this?” Gary yelled into the receiver.

“It’s--It’s Bucky? Barnes?” The silence was more deafening than the man’s shouting. “...I got married in your restaurant last week?”

“Buddy! How the hell are ya!” Gary knew Bucky’s name but anyone who was his personal friend was called ‘buddy’, and Gary had superheroes for friends, now.

“It’s loud where you are--”

“We’re in Margaritaville! What can I do ya for?”

“You and your wife… do you got a song? Like your song?”

“Oh boy. Can’t beat the King. ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love.’ It’s real good.”

“Thanks. Um. Merry Christmas?”

“You too, Buddy! Say hi to your gal for me.”

Bucky hung up and added Elvis to his measly list. Sam had gotten Bucky to the gym, but he was too distracted to spot him, so Sam was running on the treadmill while Bucky used the one next to it like a desk.

“...do you have the personal cell number of the owner of Gary’s Diner?” Sam asked.

Bucky shrugged. “He runs a fantasy football league… he invited me. Anyway, he had a good suggestion.”

“You don’t know shit about pro football.”

“That’s not the point. I trust his music taste. More than yours, anyway.”

“Who’s your QB?”

“The new guy from the Giants. Killer left arm.”

“...good pick.” Sam stopped the machine and wiped his sweat with his shirt. “If you’re not gonna put Marvin Gaye on there, can you at least put ‘I’ll Make Love to You’ by Boyz II Men? It’s not what it sounds like.”

Bucky glared at him. “...is it about making love, Sam?”

“Primarily it’s about not making love. But the promise of it happening in the future.”

Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose. “Can you take this seriously? I have forty-eight hours.”

“We need reinforcements.”

***

Peter sat down on the last available chair in the lounge on floor five, after being hurriedly summoned by an everybody who knows Bucky, assemble! Bucky sat in the middle of the couch, flanked by Sam and Steve. Wanda and Vision wandered in, and Clint was leaning against the kitchen island, talking to Bruce about something and trying to catch Sam’s attention (which he was not giving, because I’ll tell you later.). Tony had taken it upon himself to host the little meeting, and glared at Scott as he walked in late.

You were with Nat in the gym for training; she had gotten you riled up suggesting that you wouldn’t be ready for your next assignment after taking the week off for your wedding, so Bucky had at least two hours with his gift committee.

The lone teen coughed. “Not that I mind coming all this way, Sergeant Barnes… I am avoiding a paper on Hamlet as we speak--”

“You’re here to help this man win at Christmas,” Tony said, bracing his expensive Italian shoes on the coffee table like Captain Morgan, and gestured at Bucky with both hands. “So. The criteria is: Songs that are about Love, not horny, and not sad.”

“That’s way too broad,” Sam snorted. Steve nodded in agreement.

“Variety isn’t a bad thing,” Wanda said gently. She sat beside Vision on the loveseat. “I admit I don’t know Y/n that well--”

“You wanna know our favorite love songs?” Hawkeye called.

“At this point, anything is fair game,” Tony said, on Bucky’s behalf, “as long as it meets the requirements.”

“Love Song!” Vision said suddenly. “Does that not fit your requirement?”

“...Sara Bareilles?” Sam asked.

“She is quite accomplished as an eight-time Grammy nominated singer-songwriter.”

“Okay, Google,” Sam muttered. “And that’s a song about not writing love songs.”

“I can’t believe you don’t have one Queen song on this list!” Scott pointed at the paper accusingly, pulling it from Bucky’s grasp. “Crazy Little Thing? Somebody to Love?”

Tony looked over his shoulder at the list. “He already found her, Lang. But Crazy Little Thing is great. Just her speed. Use my pen.”

Bucky sat back against the cushions in defeat, and folded his hands across his chest. Scott added several more songs to the list.

Ant Man hummed. “No Marvin Gaye, huh?”

“Nope,” Bucky said, popping the ‘P’ and glaring at Sam.

Peter sat forward. “Um… well, MJ likes a lotta stuff that’s nice, Sergeant Barnes--”

“It’s just Bucky.”

“Don’t bother,” Steve said softly. “My Girl?”

Scott pointed at him. “Ooh, yes! Temptations going on the list.”

“Funny that this room is comprised of men, when this Love playlist is for Barnes’ wife,” Vision mused to his own partner. “Save you, my love.”

Tony scoffed. “It’s called ‘gentle masculinity’, Vis. Look it up.”

Vision nodded. “As you like.”

“Don’t,” Wanda said, rubbing Vision’s arm. He sat back with a pleasant smile on his face. “What were you suggesting, Peter?”

“Like Taylor Swift, uh… MJ likes most of her stuff, but Love Story is definitely top tier. Taylor’s version, though.” Peter scooted a little closer. “I can start you a Spotify list, Sergeant Barnes… if you want, I mean, I know you’re totally capable and I respect that--”

Sam patted Bucky’s shoulder way harder than anyone would appreciate being the recipient of. “Sergeant Barnes has every app on his phone in one folder on his home screen, kid. You go ahead and start that list, because he will never figure it out by himself.”

Bucky leaned forward and frowned. “One of these days I’m gonna really blow you away with my technological prowess, Wilson.”

“What are you gonna do? Get a Pinterest?”

“Here, it’s easy,” Peter said quickly, whipping out his phone. Bucky mirrored his actions and flipped Sam off behind Spider-man’s back. Bucky unlocked his device. “Awe, that’s a real nice photo Sergeant Barnes.”

“I know how to change my background,” Bucky said, pointing at you. “My wife likes this wedding photo the most. I think she has good taste.”

“...yeah, she’s really nice. Do you mind?”

Bucky handed over his phone to the kid, who figured out very quickly that he had a lot of apps in that one folder on his phone, and even the very music streaming service that Peter sought, but no content whatsoever.

Peter shared the blank list with himself, now that he was Bucky’s sole Spotify friend. “There. I can help you kind of organize it, and add to it for you. Do you want all of these--” he managed to wrangle the paper away from Scott and Tony, who had added an insane number of titles to the list-- “on it?”

“Honestly? I have no idea what any of those sound like.”

“I can curate it just right. Not, uh… sad, or too adult, right?”

“You got it.”

“Okay. Looks like lots of really old stuff. Maybe I can put some current songs--”

“Parker, as long as you do not put Marvin Gaye on that playlist, we’re good.”

“What’s wrong with Marvin Gaye?” Clint scoffed.

“Thank you!” Sam gestured at the blond, who winked at him.

Bucky groaned. “This was a terrible idea.”

“Barnes, we’ll handle this.” Tony clapped a hand on his back. “Why don’t you go punch a sandbag or kiss your wife. Or both.”

***

He stood in the doorway of the gym, transfixed by what he was seeing. You were hanging from the pull-up bar with your elbows bent, suspended there with your chin just above the bar, while Nat stood below you with a timer. He didn’t want to break your concentration, but shit. You were so strong.

“Don’t look now, but we have company,” Nat teased. You made a strangled sound in your throat as your eyes found him in the mirror, and you lost your grip. Your sneakers squeaked as you touched down and bounced to dart for him.

“Oof!” Bucky chuckled as you collided with him, arms and legs wrapped around him. “Hi.”

“Hi!” You gave him a gentle kiss, wary of how sweaty you were despite the leaping hug. “You’ve been so busy, I feel like I’ve hardly seen you the last few days.”

“Sorry,” he murmured, tightening his grip around your waist. “I’m not busy right now.”

“Wanna help me get my pull-ups? Nat’s gonna do the Navy SEAL test with me--”

“I did not agree to that,” Nat snorted.

“Sure,” Bucky said with a grin, delighted to help however you wanted. “What do you need?”

“I’m just trying to work on my shoulder strength right now.” You let down your legs, but kept an arm wrapped around his waist as he escorted you back to the bar. “Gimme a boost?” Bucky lifted you up to sit on his shoulder so you could reach the high apparatus.

“I know when I’m not wanted.” Nat winked at Bucky, who just shook his head at her. She would wander back up to the fifth floor and find the entirety of the Avengers trying to help Peter curate this playlist.

This was a really bad idea, and it had gotten so far out of hand that Bucky didn’t know how to end it, so. He’d have to let it be, and trust that at least one person in the group would keep Sam from turning it into Sexy Songs to Play in the Bedroom, volumes I-IV.

“I was thinking about what we’re going to do on Christmas Day,” you said, bringing Bucky back to the present. You wrapped your fingers around the bar and lifted yourself from his shoulder. Bucky stood back, but kept his hands at your sides in case you slipped.

“I thought we were going to Jenny’s.”

You slowly lowered yourself, and then raised back up again to put your chin over the bar. “They’re going to San Diego to Brad’s parents’ house. His dad was best friends with my dad. He has stuff of Dad’s he found in the move. They’ll do New Years with us.”

“Damn.” Bucky had really been looking forward to what you referred to as Matching Pajama Cocoa Night, in which everyone put on the pajamas that they had received and watched old Christmas movies. With hot cocoa, of course.

“Nat and I were thinking,” you said, getting a little winded now. But you didn’t give up, just took a beat above the bar. “Christmas in the lounge? The four of us could go together to chop down a tree this afternoon.”

Bucky’s heart skipped. ‘I’ve never decorated a tree before.”

“No?” You slowly lowered yourself and gave him a little nod of consent to grab you and ease you down. Once your feet were on the rubber mat, you turned to him. “You want to?”

He handed you your water bottle because the other option was probably going to be weeping. Bucky nodded.

“Awe. Baby.” You cupped his chin. “We’re gonna have a really nice day. Nat thinks we shouldn’t do gifts, just make cookies and watch movies.”

“But we’re gonna do gifts, right?” Bucky asked, panic lacing his voice.You raised an eyebrow.

“Sure. You’re not going too crazy, I hope…”

Bucky shook his head, but he was certain that he looked in no way nonchalant about the fact that he had been losing his mind over your request for the last few days. “Nah. I’m just excited, is all.” He was not.

“Good. Because I’ve had your present for a while, and I’m just dying to give it to you.” Your grin made his heart fall into his feet. He rolled his eyes.

“Woman, one of these days I’m going to get you really good.”

“Excuse me,” you whispered, pressing up on your toes to hug him around the neck. “I have spent the last couple years in awe of you every moment. You constantly ‘get me,’ baby. I’ve never met such a natural romantic.”

Bucky just blinked. “I am an exceptionally good actor, then, if you think any of this comes easily to me.”

“It’s not easy to love me?” The question was innocent, and gently phrased with just a hint of tease, but Bucky turned steely-eyed.

“Easy as breathing.”

“You have a bad habit of holding your breath.”

“You and Sam are in cahoots to roast me today,” he grumbled, but he kissed your forehead.

“I’ve never been in cahoots a day in my life, certainly not with a man who called me a menace.”

“I’m serious though, he is on another level,” Bucky laughed when your expression turned just ever-so-slightly murderous. “I don’t know what’s going on in that man’s head, but it’s coming out of his mouth as the Bucky Barnes roast-a-thon.”

“Apparently Clint wants to put a label on things. Nat says he’s been asking Sam for weeks, but Sam keeps deflecting.”

“Ah. Well. That explains why he’s surly, but not why I’m the focus.”

“Think about it,” you said, brushing a lock of hair off his forehead. “Who is gonna most readily forgive him for being an asshole? Probably his bestie. Especially when he knows you’ve got me, and I’ll kick his ass.”

“I’ve kicked his ass before,” Bucky said proudly. “I ripped his wing off.”

“That was before you understood object permanence,” you said, which made him laugh.

“Yes.”

“You should talk to him, though. He was there for you before we worked things out, and maybe he needs some tough love back.”

“You’re very intelligent, Mrs. Barnes.”

“So are you.”

“Your brain runs marathons around mine, doll.”

“We’ve got different areas of expertise! There is nobody I would trust more in the field to calculate the safest route without being seen. There certainly isn’t anybody else in this compound more qualified to talk me through a nightmare, or to figure out how to build me a better catsuit. Definitely the smartest uncle to those four little Davises. Thanks to you, Jaedyin now knows that only really nice people get to marry Auntie Doll.”

“That child is not going to understand anything about the world if I am her source on the subject,” he chuckled.

“Jenny better change her phone password or I’m sure you’ll get phone calls at all hours about why the dinosaurs died, and such.”

“It’s because they didn’t brush their teeth before bed, as I told Lakylenn yesterday… when she called me on Jenny’s phone.”

You threw your head back and laughed. “Oh my god. Best Buckle ever.”

“I think I’m gonna go find Sam,” he said as you looped your arm through his. “Then we can see about getting that tree.”

“I’ll get cleaned up. Meet you in the lounge on five in an hour?”

“Deal.” Bucky stepped into the elevator with you and pressed the buttons for five and six. He pressed his lips to your temple.

“Mmm. Sweaty,” you said apologetically.

“I’m not complaining. But next time you need a gym partner, I’m there. Maybe I’ll get more time standing at eye level with your beautiful, beautiful ass.”

“You can have that experience anytime,” you laughed.

He peered at you from the corner of his eye. The elevator dinged for five and the doors slid open.

“Oh, hey Y/n!” Peter Parker waved emphatically.

“Peter! What are you doing here?”

He glanced at Bucky and smiled so innocently that Bucky wondered for a split second what Peter was doing there. Then, the kid looked at you. “I’m looking for this guy. I need his opinion on gifts for MJ.”

“He’s all yours,” you said sweetly. “Tell MJ that I want to meet her, soon!”

“Will do. You free right now, Sergeant Barnes?”

Bucky kissed your cheek. “See you in an hour.” He followed the Spiderling and left you in the lift.

“I gotta go, but I’m gonna keep working on your playlist,” Peter said quickly, once he was sure that you weren’t going to suddenly burst out of the elevator again. “I’m seeing MJ tonight, she’ll have good ideas.”

“You really need my help?” Bucky asked, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“Nah. MJ is the easiest person in the world to buy presents for. She sends me Amazon links. I’m getting her a rice cooker that doubles as a popcorn machine.”

“...wow. That would make my life easier.”

“Yeah, movie nights are gonna be epic, now! Hey, I'll text you when your playlist is done, but you can change whatever you want on it. I won’t be insulted.”

“Thanks, Parker.” Bucky shook the kid’s hand, and then Peter darted back to the elevator to catch his ride back to New York. Tony’s helicopter, most likely.

***

Bucky discovered, upon returning to the lounge, that most of the people who had come to help with the playlist had departed; only Bruce and Clint remained, chatting with Sam about new ways to improve the wing pack which would take the pressure off his back. Sam caught sight of his best friend and perked up.

“Hey, man. So, we’re done. Your gift is going to be fantastic, and now I require your assistance elsewhere.”

Sam looked so uncomfortable to be in his own body that he kind of… bowed to Bruce and Clint, and then strode past Bucky, grabbing his elbow and yanking him along down the hall. He didn’t go for the elevators like a normal person. He dragged Bucky to the stairwell.

“Do you plan on throwing me down the stairs, or do you wanna tell me what’s going on?” Bucky asked as Sam raced downwards. He had at least relinquished his hold on Bucky’s arm.

“I’m currently running away from my problems,” Sam breathed.

Bucky snagged the back of Sam’s shirt and yanked him so hard that he sat with a thud on the third floor landing. He jumped down the stairs so he was in front of the Falcon, and held up a hand.

“What the hell?”

“Just… he’s standing there talking to Bruce like it’s nothing, and I just started choking.”

“...Why?”

Sam put his face in his hands. He groaned. “I don’t know.”

Bucky tried very hard not to laugh. “What don’t you know?”

“What I’m doing trying to be… dating right now.”

“As opposed to… when?”

“I shouldn’t date people I work with, right?”

“Talking to the wrong guy.”

Sam raised his head as Bucky displayed his ring finger. “Right. Married to your partner. I’m in a hellscape--”

“Are you freaking out because of the idea of dating someone, or because that someone is Clint Barton?”

Sam seemed to seriously consider the question, but what he settled on was-- “Both,” he sighed. “He’s a flirt.”

“So?”

“...Kind of makes me feel shit sometimes, even though I know that’s how he is.”

“Are you talking about him flirting with people in front of you, or just… generally?”

Sam glared at him. “Would you trust Y/n if you knew that she was going to flirt with anybody on two legs?”

“You’ve seen her and Nat,” Bucky shrugged. “Does he know you feel like that?”

“No! I don’t want to make him feel bad about who he is, it’s my issue--”

“But he can’t do anything about it if he doesn’t know.”

“I’m not asking him to change.”

“It’s not about that. If he cares about you and it’s a deal breaker… I mean, if it were me, I wouldn’t want to make my partner feel like shit, so I’d be more aware of how I was acting.”

“Y/n ever piss you off?”

“Yes,” Bucky said with a grin. “She has never made the bed a day in her life. She doesn’t wear matching socks. She forgets about empty soap bottles in the shower, she lets Alpine sleep on my black coat, and she puts her very cold toes on my thigh just to get a rise out of me. But none of that is a dealbreaker for me.” Bucky sat down beside his friend. “Is Clint flirting with other people going to put your relationship at risk, or are you struggling with what trust looks like for you?”

“Okay, Dr. Phil.” Sam looked at him incredulously. He shook his head. “I don’t know. Every time I think I know, I get… worried. He wants to know what we are, Buck. That’s the scariest question ever.”

“What are you, then?”

“I mean…” Sam stopped for a second.

“He’s the first person you text in the morning.”

“Yeah.”

“You learned to salsa for him.”

“I’m very good at it.”

“Pretty sure you haven’t eaten meat in like six months.”

“Vegetarianism can be very good for you, if you do it right--”

“You were sad when he couldn’t come to the wedding, Sam. I just… don’t really understand why Clint being a flirty guy trumps all those other things.”

Sam’s face fell. “Right.”

Bucky doffed him on the chin. “A wise guy once told me that I was obtuse. And he was right. And look at me now.”

The Falcon did so. “Ugly as ever.”

“You’re so charming.”

Sam nudged his shoulder. “You know, buddy… standing up beside you, watching you get married… people get married all the time, and most of them for the wrong reasons, but you managed to find somebody that people want to help make a playlist for. And it got me thinkin’ about having a partner that I’m proud of like that, who other people--my friends--love enough to list out songs about love, which they think my partner would like. Like… Peter Parker came here on a school night for you. Wanda revealed her love of Bonnie Tyler. For you.”

“Clint is a really good guy, Sam. You know he’s loved in this crowd.”

“I know… I agree.”

“Imagine how he feels when you’re constantly just… running away. That gets old. Feeling left behind. After a while, he’s gonna stop chasing you.”

“Fuck.” Sam ran a hand over his face. “I’m an asshole.”

“Yeah,” Bucky laughed. “But not an unredeemable one.”

“What the hell do I even say?”

“Hey, Clint. I’m an asshole. Sometimes it bothers me when you flirt with other people, if we could talk about that. Also let's be boyfriends.”

“You are the sappiest motherfucker I have ever met.”

“She brings it out in me, I don’t know what to tell you,” Bucky shrugged. “What does Barton bring out in you?”

“He… he makes me less afraid of trying new things because for him, things going poorly isn’t a sign of the end. Like… even when we tried that horrible American fusion restaurant, his response was ‘that’s gonna make the next place we try incredible.’ It’s not like unbridled optimism, it’s just. He’s not a total pessimist.”

“Seems to really like Marvin Gaye,” Bucky said with a smirk.

“We are not discussing that.” Bucky and Sam shared a smile, anyhow.

“Go talk to him. Stop running.”

Sam sat back for a minute and gave his closest friend a onceover. He shook his head. “I like this version of you. The married guy. It’s the best Bucky.”

Bucky blinked. “Did you… just say something nice to me?”

“Call it a new leaf.”

“Well. Thanks, man. I also prefer the version of me that doesn’t hate every waking moment of his life. You should try it.”

The Falcon laughed. He patted Bucky on the arm and stood. “Alright, I’m going to walk back up those stairs in shame, with my tail between my legs, and… apologize. I’ll see you later.”

“If you’re up for it tonight, we’ll probably be decorating a tree in the lounge. You’re both welcome to join us.”

“I appreciate your optimism. And whatever alien being has taken over your body can stay if he promises to let a little bit of grumpiness out, now and then. For old time’s sake.”

Bucky flipped him off. Sam gave a thumb’s up. He took his time up the stairs again, but he made such a beleaguered sigh when he reached the landing door to floor five that it echoed. Bucky’s phone buzzed in his pocket.

PETER: hey sergeant barnes its peter

PETER: your playlist is done

PETER: I hope she likes it

PETER: mj helped me add a few songs that werent on the list and we pretty much ignored the other stuff that mr lang and mr stark wrote down idk

PETER: your wife is a lot cooler than them but plz dont tell them i said that

PETER: some of them are covers because they r better than the og

PETER: its kinda a mix of new and old

PETER: merry xmas

Bucky flicked over to the only other app which featured on his homescreen, the little green circle with three black lines. The moment the home screen popped up, Good afternoon was written in white writing, and there was a square beneath it featuring four smaller squares inside of it (one of which was recognizably Elton John’s face, but the rest were not familiar). The label beside that collection of images read:

For Her

His nerves instantly went into a fever pitch--to open it now and look over the list of songs, most of which he probably wouldn’t know… or to leave it and trust that Peter and MJ did an okay job curating his playlist, the only gift he planned?

Bucky groaned. Well. He really didn’t have much of a choice. Regardless of whether or not Spider-man had good taste in music, that’s what Bucky had committed to giving you, it’s what you wanted, he kept reminding himself. So. Why ruin the surprise by getting himself all worked up?

His palms were sweating, but. Definitely wasn’t worked up or nervous. Definitely not about to sit in that stairwell, listening through the whole list just to vet it for any last minute additions. Besides, he was facing an evening spent with his wife, his primary best friend, and a woman who was now calling herself Y/n’s best friend if she knows what's good for her. He should be focusing on having a nice time, soaking up the holiday traditions he never got to have.

Bucky levitated off the stair as his phone rang. Your faces grinned up at him from the lock screen, in your matching uniforms on the happiest day of his life. Wife was your contact name, now. He was gonna be insufferable about that forever.

“Yes, darling?” he said into the microphone.

“Where are you? I have a cozy sweater with your name on it, and we’re burning daylight!”

***

The black SUV rumbled back onto the compound after a few hours away, carrying four people who had chopped down a very important tree, all while wearing Scandinavian sweaters in varying shades of white, red, and green.

This was the first tree they all had shared together--the first tree that the Russian-trained agents had ever had, the first either couple had as a couple, the first that America’s ass had since being defrosted, and the first live tree in the compound that wasn’t paid for by the government. It was small enough to fit in the corner of the fifth floor lounge, and it would drop more needles than anyone wanted to clean up, and about halfway home, Natasha started feeling sniffly… but the world made allergy medicine for a reason, and it was going to be a darn good tree if any of them had something to say about it.

It occurred to one of the party--the one with the most experience decorating trees, who was trying to give her new husband the best Christmas ever (despite not being able to provide the uncle time he so desperately craved)--that they hadn’t picked up any decorations for the tree, once it was sitting in it’s bucket.

So.

An improvised decoration hunt began.

Steve had a bag of green Army men figurines from a prank Sam had pulled on him years prior--they became ornaments, with fronds of pine stuffed under their armpits so it looked like they were armed with needles instead of tiny bayonets.

Nat discovered oranges in the second floor kitchen, and twine, which made nice globes once they had been stabbed through the center and then strung up. Someone was undoubtedly going to miss both when tying up their holiday turkey, but it was all in the name of a well-dressed tree.

Bucky popped an entire movie theatre’s worth of popcorn, which doubled as a snack while sprinkling the kernels on the needles like fallen snow.

You set out to find an adequate topper, something worthy of a star-like position on top of the tree. Instead, you found yourself sitting on the floor of your suite, trying not to be angry at the little white cat who was perched on your knee. Alpine rubbed his noggin’ against your nose, and your cheek, not even minding the tearful trail.

It wasn’t obvious, at first, but when you walked into your suite there was a little trail of ripped paper leading from behind the desk… to beneath the bed. To the site of total destruction. It wasn’t just the wrapping paper which had been obliterated by kitten claws. The contents of the paper were ruined, too. You couldn’t even blame the cat. It was your fault for leaving it in a place he could reach it, complete with curled ribbon to draw him in (even if it had been hidden behind the desk so that Bucky didn’t see it before Christmas). Find it, Alpine most certainly did.

You leaned your head back on the mattress and tried to breathe, but the tears just wouldn’t stop. It wasn’t just a gift, it was… his mom, a beautiful portrait that Steve had created when you dug a photo of Winnie Larson Barnes out of records, in the process of looking for Bucky’s birth certificate to apply for a marriage license. She was so beautiful, and it would’ve been the perfect way to give him back the woman who gave him life. If her beautiful lips didn’t have kitty claws dug through the rosy watercolors which had been laid down by Cap’s brush. Now, you had nothing to give him.

The cat purred like I was helping, mom, I swear. You pulled him into your lap and buried your face in your arms, so the cat who had ruined everything was caged in. You didn’t bother looking up when the door swung open.

“Did you find--oh. Doll?”

Paper crinkled around you. Then, he smoothed your hair.

“Wanna tell me what’s going on?” he murmured.

“Stupid cat ruined everything,” you blubbered, dripping more tears onto the cat who very much deserved it. Alpine merely mewed up at you.

“Honey…” Bucky touched your shoulder. “What happened? Can you look at me?”

Slowly, you raised your head to look at him, but the moment you saw his concerned expression, a new wave of emotion hit you. “I had the best present for you, and-and this monster destroyed it, and I should just make him wear a little angel gown and sit on top of the tree as punishment, but he’s so cute, and oh god, Bucky, it was so beautiful… you were going to love it, Steve worked so hard! He did like three drafts, and I told him every time that it was perfect, and then it was even better every time! Like--baby, look at this!!” You scrambled for the pieces of paper, to try and hold it up where it would’ve met. “It’s your mom. She’s so pretty, and Alpine ripped her up!”

Bucky gently wrapped his fingers around her wrists and his gaze softened. “You planned this with Steve?” he asked. He made a mental note to give Steve a hug later for such a gorgeous portrait, even if the dumb cat had made a mess of it. So much for haven’t picked up charcoal in decades. You nodded frantically. “Doll… that’s the nicest gift--how did you even find a picture of her to show him?”

“It was in your file in records,” you sniffled. “I should’ve put it in the drawer, but you were looking for something the other day and you looked in that drawer and you almost saw it, and I was gonna hide it in our luggage instead, but we’re not going to Jenny’s now--”

“Oh, love,” he soothed. “I’m sorry. It’s really beautiful. We can fix it, though.” He took the pieces from you and looked over the jagged edges. “A little tape on the back, you’ll never know Alpine was here.”

“Winnie deserves better than tape!” you cried.

Bucky sat beside you, shooing Alpine away. The cat jumped onto the chair and settled sullenly.

“I’m sorry Alpie ruined your gift,” he said. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, and pulled you close. “If it’s any consolation, I put yours in the hands of the Avengers, and… I’m still not convinced it wasn’t ruined by the man who officiated our wedding.”

You laughed, despite the tears which just kept flowing. “Really?”

“It’s nothing big, so don’t get your hopes up, but… would you feel better if I showed you?”

“...My gift which Tony likely ruined?”

“Yeah,” he laughed. “Just close your eyes, okay?”

You laid your head on his shoulder and did as he said. He jolted you a little, reaching forward. A drawer opened and shut. His thumb brushed your cheek, and then… your earbud was fitted into your ear. You frowned, but you waited patiently to be told you could open your eyes again. Instead…

Gentle guitar picking flowed like water into your head. You knew the song, but you couldn’t place it immediately. You peered up at him. Bucky was wearing the other earbud, like he had in the early days of your relationship when you got him running in the mornings sharing some Benny Goodman. One corner of his mouth turned up. He held up his phone so you could see the screen.

For Her, a playlist by Bucky Barnes.

Oh my god, you thought.

When you asked for ‘music’ you figured he’d add some vinyl to your collection, or maybe pick up some tickets to a jazz show in the city… not this. Not make a whole playlist. Especially not one that started with Can’t Help Falling in Love.

Wise men say: only fools rush in, but I can’t help falling in love with you.

You might be fools, but you hadn’t rushed; if anything, it had felt like pulling teeth just to get to the point where you could translate what he felt for you, but this… how could you not be madly in love with this man? You took his phone and scrolled past title after title on the playlist--it really was a perfect mash of classic, beautiful songs with new music… but not too new. Nothing that felt fake or out of place, and there were a shocking number of things from the nineties. All of them were perfect choices.

The song changed to the next, a Beatles classic with a little twist. You rested your chin on his shoulder. “You gave me music,” you whispered.

Bucky let out a ragged breath. “You like it? I asked everyone what their favorite love songs were, and then Peter helped me put them together.”

“Oh my god, Bucky. It’s really good!”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you so much. I’m going to listen to this all the time.” You tugged his chin so he’d lean down and kiss you.

“Good. I… it’s been making me crazy for days,” he admitted, scratching his temple. “I would have probably scrapped the whole thing if Tony hadn’t called the team together.”

“You nailed it.”

You paused the playlist, but sent it to yourself (adding yourself as Bucky’s friend so that you could pay him back for this collection at a later date). He had to have spoken to Jenny, given the inclusion of Celine… and there was no way that Bucky came to the conclusion on his own that you were a sucker for both Boyz II Men and Bonnie Tyler (although, of all the additions to the list, you wondered who was responsible for Sexual Healing... Tony was the most likely culprit). The idea of Bucky listening to those songs and thinking that it was a worthwhile list was amusing. There was no way he knew what his friends put on it.

It was the perfect gift when one lived in a compound with a bunch of adults who sometimes acted like adolescents, who were all far more involved in each other’s lives than was really appropriate.

You hugged him tight. “I’m sorry I don’t have anything for you.”

“Not true.” Bucky pulled your legs so they rested over his. “Approximately six days ago, you stood up in front of our friends and promised to take care of me forever. Today, you gave me this very festive sweater--which I love, by the way--and we found and decorated a tree with two of our favorite human beings. And I’m hoping two more will join us later. All of this is possible because of you, doll.”

You perked up. “Did you talk sense into Sam?”

“More or less. We’ll see if it paid off.” He smiled, nodding at Alpine. “Come on. Don’t let that innocent furry face ruin your night.”

You sighed, but you nodded. “I really wanted you to have something that you could look at every day to remind you of your mom.”

“Honey… every time I look at you, I am struck by how much she would’ve loved you. Tell you what… why don’t we take a trip into the city tomorrow, after Steve and I cook breakfast?”

“Why?”

“There’s nothing like Brooklyn on Christmas.”

You blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I gotta visit Ma’s headstone. I could bring you with me, we could drink hot chocolate with her. Either way, it’s real important that I go, and soon.”

“Why soon?”

Bucky took your left hand in his and kissed the ring which sat on your third finger. He smiled, but for just a moment he looked a little sad.

“Gotta tell her I got married.”

The flip in his voice, that little crack which belied deeper emotion… it hit you square in the chest. It was a choking feeling, the way new tears welled. You crawled into his lap.

“Yes. Please. Let's go.”

***

Brooklyn was bathed in the kind of light which seemed to be made for Bucky’s life-changing moments. Paris had looked just that shade of gold the day you agreed to marry him, and the brownstones shone on Christmas day as he walked arm-in-arm with you. The haphazard Christmas displays on front walks and stoops were lit and merry (at least the ones which hadn’t been eclipsed by the spray of grey sludge from the snow plows).

Bucky pointed out the apartment that he had lived in with his family, and the alley he pulled Steve out of more times than he could count… the curb he had wrecked his bicycle on trying to jump it, and the tree stump which used to be a tall maple that had broken his fall and subsequently his nose. The bar he drank in for the first time (the same bar he was banned from for drinking underage). The pizza joint which had been open since the forties, and appeared to be under management by the same family.

It was like a reunion. Why did Brooklyn feel like this with you? He had been back a few times in the last few years, but you brought out a side of the neighborhood which seemed like her truest face. It wasn’t Christmas magic; the city was still as wild and unruly as ever, despite the glow from lights and the smattering of snow on every eave. It’s just that standing in the place which formed him with the woman who saved him made both things seem perfectly matched.

You fit. As well as your fingers fit the crook of his arm, you and Brooklyn were a fine pair.

So, he took you to see Her last.

Winnie Larson Barnes

1892-1966

Beloved wife and mother

It was just a headstone, weathered with moss and weather and time, but it sat next to a much older one that one could barely make out the lettering for if one didn’t know who wasn’t buried there. The man in question stood at his mother’s grave.

One time, early in knowing you, Bucky had a dream which made him ache long after he woke, but not a nightmare. It was just fragments of a life that wasn’t to be, but… Winnie was embracing you, unveiling you at the end of the aisle in a small church--that one, which had been the cornerstone of the Barnes’ little community for Bucky’s whole childhood. That was the whole of the dream. Winnie knowing you. Bucky couldn’t have everything in this life, but…

“I’m married, Ma,” he said softly. “And God, you’d love her.” He kissed your temple, and you both sniffled.

The shadows seemed to curve, and the sunshine shifted, but Bucky sipped hot chocolate without remarking on the passing of the day, and told his mother all about the morning he met his wife, and how he knew he loved her (and shared a few international secrets, but Winnie was more than trustworthy). They asked Winnie’s opinion about where they might move once the intrigue and adventure lost their lustre.

But the golden light thrummed.

Brooklyn, Brooklyn, she said. The city, the sunlight, the mother. Didn’t matter who spoke. Her voice was clear as crystal.

Bucky’s playlist:

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6TaKlavtQx7mx2nArL9lVD?si=_jV3SH7VQvqQ6r_FRaDjTA

Part 10

Part 12

***

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