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sunlightmurdock · 6 months ago

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AETERNA | One

PROLOGUE | MASTERLIST

SYNOPSIS: TROUBLE COMES TO TOWN.

WARNINGS: smoking; the fic takes place in the 70s and so 70s era things will happen; smoking weed; mentions of sw as a joke; this fic has mature themes and is intended for adults, minors pls dni. spooky stuff. word count: 6312.

The summer in Atwood, Georgia, began as all summers in Atwood always had. Slow. Creeping in through the remaining breezes, blooms and spring showers. Fitting itself into the days so unsuspectingly. It never feels like it’s really summer until the sweat is already beading down your back and the girls’ skirts are an inch shorter than they were a year before.

There’s a spot around the back of Creekside Pines Retirement Village, covered by the shade of those namesake pines, where the girls who work there go to smoke. The Pines has been around longer than any of the residents currently in it; the Church started it decades ago and they made sure to keep it going.

Tucked under the shade of those thick, green pine trees, the branches provide a respite from the approaching early summer sun and also from your dirtbag boss, Conrad Wheelan.

Olive and you, you and Olive. Since Conrad hired you last September, the two of you have become quite the dynamic duo. Candy-striped partners in crime, experts at avoiding old guy sponge bath time. Smokers of cheap, gas station cigarettes. Gossipers of a truly impressive standard.

You’re sitting on opposite sides of the brick walls that bracket the stairs to the back door, your foot beside her hip and hers beside yours, your knees bent and a Marlboro between your index and middle.

“But anyway, I think she’s just jealous. He broke up with her for a reason.” Her face is veiled for a moment by tendrils of swirling cigarette smoke before the midday sun beams once again on her freckled face. She’s talking about a boy she has been fooling around with. He’s older, and he called off his engagement two months ago.

His ex really has it out for Olive. She’s a pretty little nurse at the local hospital. Her daddy went after the poor guy with a gun when the engagement broke. The ex went after Olive in the middle of Herb’s Wholefoods, shoved her right into the display of tinned peaches. But hey, your Mom got six dented tins for the price of one. Silver linings and all that jazz.

Your break was over twenty minutes ago, but the AC is broken and you’ve spent the morning choking on the smell of Eau de Old Lady — the smell of magnolias in bloom and Marlboros on fire are a much welcome change in pace.

Besides, your best friend is in crisis. She’s got a bruise the size of a not-tinned, regular ol’ peach in the middle of her back, a shattered ego, and apparently a new step-kid on the way.

“So, what’s he going to do about it?” You ask her, your face towards the sun, cigarette ash on the wall beside you.

“The baby? — I don’t know. She didn’t even want the kid until he told her he was leaving, now she’s suddenly Mother Theresa.” Olive says with a wistful sigh. Her older boyfriend got that girl in trouble and ran for the hills, but apparently he treats Olive like a princess. Your mother says she’s trouble, but you like her.

Girls like Olive will always pick the wrong kind of man. It’s that kind of No Man’s Land where human nature and fate come to make out — and that’s not Olive’s fault — she’s just at their will; like a puppet. Or a hamster on a wheel.

“You know, I think you’d make a pretty boss step-mommy.” You tell her, cocking your head the way that you do when you know you’re dancing right along her nerve endings. A smile creeps across your coral- glossed lips, revealing the coral-glossed ring they have left around the butt of the cigarette.

“Oh, bite me. You know I’d rather swap places with Hughie Marshall than get stuck raising her kid.” Olive scoffs out, flicking at the cigarette with a red painted nail and bending her bruised knees. That’s quite a thing to say around here.

You didn’t know Hughie, before. Not really. His dad was the principal of your high school, but you knew him after Hughie was already back.

Apparently before his accident, Hughie was a real stud. All-American with dark hair and a bright future. Then he stepped on a landmine in Cambodia; he wasn’t even supposed to be there by the official military statement. But he was.

He doesn’t leave the house anymore. His brain’s all mashed together and he’s got a metal plate in the left side of his head. One arm and no right foot, but worse than that — no jaw. Folks say it was taken clean off in the blast. They sent him out to California for a whole bunch of surgeries, but he still looks like a guy who has been pieced back together.

But Olive’s only kidding about wanting to be in his place. No one wants to be in Hughie’s place, especially not Hughie.

Her joke isn’t the kind of thing that needs to be laughed at, your polite exhale of amusement mixes with the soft rustle of leaves, a fleeting moment of rebellion against Dictator Wheelan and his reign of terror. Each smoky exhale carries whispers of things that would make your mothers shiver, but such is the way for two girls on the cusp of freedom.

In this hidden sanctuary, on the cusp of the woods, the two of you are a united front against the elderly residents of The Pines. Rather than the bell that signaled the end of your freedom in your school days, nowadays it’s the sound of heavy leather shoes on the linoleum that signal the end of your stolen respite.

“Shit.”

“Shit.” The two of you agree, stubbing out your cigarettes and leaping up from the walls, throwing the butts into the mess of fallen foliage at the side of the building.

And at once, Conrad swings open the fire escape door and finds the two of you standing there in your candy-striped aprons, white stockings and pristinely white shoes. Like butter wouldn’t fucking melt.

He’s a towering man, maybe six foot five in his prime, but he hunches a bit from his constant slouching at his desk. He was a red- head once, but now his hair has thinned to the point of scarcity, and he’s usually got a razor rash on his neck from shaving a bit too hastily in the mornings. He knows damn well that the two of you were out here slacking.

“Ladies,” He tries, his smile tight-lipped and half frozen, like a salesman who couldn’t quite make himself look human enough to get the job. “If you wouldn’t mind, Mr. Halbert and Mrs. Knight could use some help in the dining room.”

“Sure thing, Mr. Wheelan.” Olive hits him back with a smile that comes much more naturally, and a cool shrug of her shoulders. She’s a real girl-next-door type. It’s why the wrong kind of guy likes her so much. You’re halfway certain that her killer smile and her long legs are the only reason that Conrad hasn’t fired her yet.

“Yes, sir.” You follow suit.

He allows the both of you to dip around him and just like that, you’re locked back in with the living dead. Old folks who seem just as confused as you about how they’re still hanging on. Oh, that’s mean, really — they aren’t so bad. They’re nice to you. You listen to them.

“I like it when you wear your hair like that,” Mrs. Knight tells you, sitting back uncomfortably. Her green eyes study you, her fingers curled around a shivering china teacup. “Much better than when it's down.”

You’ve learned by now that most of the compliments in this place come with a backhand. Your chin propped up on your palm, you answer her with an amused smile.

“Maybe you could do my hair like yours one day, June,” You suggest, stacking together the remnants of her lunch so that it’ll be easier to porter back to the kitchen. She used to own her own salon down on Mayfair Lane, your mother got her first haircut from June Knight. You shoot a look across the room at Arnie Knight, who is watching you care for his wife. “Teach me how to land a guy like Arnie.”

“Oh, honey — you know my Arnie’s one of a kind.” She giggles. Your mouth twists back into a grin. He sure is. He stormed the beaches in Normandy and still found it in himself to father seven kids once he made it back. In his day, Arnie sounds like he was a stud.

There aren’t too many studs left in Atwood these days. Those boys are either wandering hallowed halls, meat-heads that will be here forever or settled six feet under. Anyone more than four years older than you is either a war hero, or they’re like Hughie Marshall.

The ones that still wake up in Cole County aren’t the kind of boys you’ll be sharing your golden years with, anyway. No, you’ve got much bigger plans for your retirement.

Napa Valley, a sprawling house with burnt orange tile overlooking a vineyard withthat your silver-fox husband who tends to you while you enjoy the fruits of his labour and spend your afternoons tipsy, waiting for the party to start that evening. Far, far from the shade of the trees that line Marsh’s Creek, beside Creekside Pines Retirement Village.

That’s one day, though. For today, the excitement stretches as far as letting Billy Cline pick you up in his true blue 1965 Chevy short bed pickup. Just like most of the guys your age that are in this town, you’ve known Billy for a long time. Your mother still thinks of him as the sweet little boy with blonde curls and overalls.

He still wears overalls, but his blonde curls are now straighter, slicked back with a generous helping of pomade. He came right from work, the auto shop in town, to pick you up.

You change shamelessly in the passenger seat of his truck as he speeds along the old road out towards the Cole County airport, shoving your uniform into your bag and wriggling into the clothing you had smuggled past your mother.

“I’m not driving you home wearing that,” Billy chortles, eyes wide and already shaking his head as you pull the knitted halter neck over your chest, your lips pursed in concentration as you fasten the tie behind your neck. “I’ll stop at the Post Office and you can walk from there.”

Exhaling and kicking the bag into the footwell, you tug open the glovebox and start to root for the sunglasses you left in here last time.

“What? You don’t dig the orange?”

You know full well that Billy’s concerns about your outfit don’t start or end with the burnt orange color of your hot pants. He scoffs loudly beside you to agree as your fingers stumble across the little plastic baggie at the back of his glovebox.

“I don’t dig that your old man threatened to slash my tires last time he saw me rollin’ with you.”

That makes you laugh. You pluck the green from the glovebox and melt back into the blue suede seats Billy had spent all of last summer fixing up.

“Fred wouldn’t hurt you.” Your father talks a big talk sometimes, maybe that’s where you can get it from, but he likes Billy and he’s not the kind of father that spends his time worrying about which boy you’re messing around with. “Might trick you into doing some yard work for him, though.”

Straight, empty road for miles ahead, Bill turns his head and looks at the bag caught between your index and middle fingers, dangling toward him like the forbidden fruit itself.

“Great, so I’ll take you home high as a kite and dressed like a hooker and he’ll invite me to water his gardenias.” He hums, reaching out and snatching the bag from you. He still has every intention of lighting up, but he knows there’s a pothole about a mile ahead and the last time he let you roll up along this road wasn’t a pretty sight.

“Come on, Bill — now,” Your white canvas sneakers are still discarded in the footwell, you kick your bare feet up onto the dash. “That’s no way to talk to your best chance at ever getting laid, is it?”

There’s a fondness in the way he rolls those steely-blue eyes at you. There’s no real destination at the end of this long, empty stretch of road. There are one of four possible spots for the two of you to pick from.

Just far enough from Conrad Wheelan, and your father’s gardenias, and the Cole County sheriff's department for the two of you to crawl into the bed of the truck, light up and wait for time to pass.

It’s no way to spend summer, really. But this is the last May that your afternoons will look like this. Next May, you’ll be thinking about Olive and Billy from the Paramount Pictures backlot. Maybe Warner Brothers, you’re not in a position to be too picky.

As a kid, you had sworn that you would pack your things and head for the hills the day that you turned eighteen. Things hadn’t worked out quite that way, but now, you’ll be sitting in the Malibu sunshine before you turn twenty-three.

“Who the fuck is that?”

You drop the bag onto the bench and follow Billy’s eyes towards the rearviewrear view mirror, fully prepared to see your Uncle Paul’s police cruiser coming up behind you. Instead, you’re met with the picture of a very small heavy hauler. Cherry-red, coming over the hill like hell on wheels. It’s illegal to drive that fast, even out here. Especially in something that big.

The house that you pass on the left has two young kids who live there, and the Whistler family let those kids play in that unfenced yard all day long. A big, red truck coming along this country road that fast… bye, bye Whistler family.

“Fuckin’ maniacs.” Billy mutters, frowning and shaking his head. It almost makes you smile. William Cline, slipping back into the weepy little boy he had once been, a stickler for the rules back then. But you don’t have time to smile.

Your knees push up onto the suede, your palm flattening against the back window, sticking to the glass with a squeak as you slide it open. That cherry red truck is a lot clearer without the filter of dust and dirt between you, and a lot less small now that it’s getting closer.

“Probably late for a delivery or something. It’s gonna try to pass you.” You realise, resting your arms over the back of the bench. Billy almost forgets why that’s important as he glances across at the way those burnt orange shorts flex around your ass.

He swallows, checks the rear-view mirror and remembers the sharp bend coming up. There aren’t any signs and it kind of comes out of nowhere, and if this jerk tries to overtake him on it, his truck is going to wind up in a ditch.

He eases his foot onto the break and considers just stopping all together, biting the inside of his cheek. Out of towners. The truck grows bigger and bigger, the engine rumbling like a growl, until it’s close enough that you can see the man behind the wheel. His hair is longish and feathery, jet-black and his face is half covered by a pair of green lensed sunglasses.

By his side is a kid, already looking at you. She has long blonde hair tied back in two braids, and a strange look on her face. Like she is excited to see you. She sits forwards in her seat and cocks her head sharply to the side, her eyes tracking you as the truck whizzes by. The sharp motion makes you pull back swiftly from the window.

Her head twists to follow until she’s out of your view and you’re blinking at the painted trailer being hauled by the truck. Maverick’s Cabinet of Mysteries. A circus. Red and white stripes and a big, shining yellow font.

“Did you see that kid?” The words spill from your lips as you brace one hand against the dashboard, watching the rest of the truck whizzes by, trying to blink that awful, jerky, movement of her neck from your mind.

“What? — No, I saw that jackass almost take my side view mirror with him.” Billy huffs out angrily, putting his foot back on the gas the second that giant trailer is past him.

It’s not the only one. Right behind the first, is another truck that appears identical. You don’t get a look at the driver, just the red and white stripes and Maverick’s Cabinet of Mysteries in that shiny red and gold font.

“Who even goes to the frickin’ circus anymore?” Billy’s care for his truck spills out in bitterness as he steadies the wheel and watches the second truck be succeeded by a third. All three of them, red and gold and white death traps, growling as they speed along the road ahead of you.

The cold feeling from the first truck has passed by, now you’re at the mercy of the sun being at its highest point, casting out heat like a blanket, warming the cab of the truck like a greenhouse.

Twisting in your seat, your lips twitch as you find that the three cargo trucks aren’t unaccompanied. Behind them is a string of vehicles, lead by a pretty far-out Chevy camper with rad burnt orange racer stripes along the side.

You look back at Billy over your shoulder. “We could.”

It’s not like there is much else to do around this place. Beats the regular Friday tune of heading down to the Empire movie theatre by Lane Street and sipping at a sugary, fizzing coke while watching a Western.

As the camper draws closer, your gaze locks on to the two people sitting in the front. A dark haired woman, her lips red and round, sucking on a lollipop with her bare feet kicked up onto the dash. Her sunglasses hide her eyes, but you know she’s looking at you.

It’s almost at the speed limit, not quite at the same terrifying speed as the trucks ahead but still warranting a ticket. In the driver’s seat is a real stone fox, broad and tanned with sunkissed brown caramel-curls and a real Burt-Reynolds-in-100-Rifles kind of moustache.

They’re driving with the windows down, cooled by the breeze in their hair like they aren’t icy enough already. Her sunglasses are round and plastic-framed, with orange lenses. So cool— so California. And him too.

Even with his more standard gold-framed caravans, his barely buttoned blue short sleeve and the equally caramel coloured dusting of chest hair spilling out, he looks like a movie star.

You’re barely aware of Billy crushing your idea beside you. “Me? — Nah. Sorry, sister, no way — lame, lame, lame.”

Doesn’t matter, you’ll be going with or without him if Mr. Movie Star is going to be there.

His white camper with the orange stripes gets close enough for you to realise that it’s not just her looking at you, he is too. It’s a little narcissistic to assume that it’s for any reason other than the way you’re already staring at them, but the thought of the two of them liking what they see — thinking maybe you could look like them — makes your coral lips stretch.

Up close, you can hear the blaring sound of their radio. A guitar riff that you remember from somewhere deep in the back of your mind, something you know you’ve heard many times before but just can’t place.

You follow them, magnetized by the draw of their eyes, planting a palm right between Billy's greased overall thighs and leaning across the bench to keep staring through the rolled-down driver’s side window.

The raven-haired woman pushes the lollipop into the hollow of her cheek and tells him something. You can’t hear it over the sound of their radio blaring out. He responds with a just-can’t-help-it kind of grinning chuckle, turning his head to look across at you.

The door was open, and the wind appeared.

The candles blew, and then disappeared.

The curtains flew, and then he appeared.

Sayin’ “Don’t be afraid.”

On all fours, looking at him like he’s the new guy at the zoo.

Come on, baby (and she had no fear).

And she ran to him (then they started to fly).

They looked backward and said goodbye (she had become like they are).

Heat gathered across your skin, that knitted late summer sunset coloured halter stretched tight across your chest, scandalous by the standards of Atwood — downright foxy if you ventured further west.

Your hair has been freed from the tidy updo that Conrad Wheelan prefers it to be in while you’re working, but not quite tamed after that. Wild and free, as the wind whips through it.

As if to try to contain your grin, you sink your teeth into the coral of your bottom lip, beaming at him anyway. Then, you lift the hand that isn’t settled between Billy’s thighs, and wiggle your fingers at him in greeting.

“What the hell are you doin’? — I can’t even see the road!” Billy complains.

Mr. Movie Star couldn’t have heard him, but he shoots a look at the complaining driver anyway. Then, his attention is yours again. Still smiling that amused smile, he lifts a tanned arm from its perch against the open window ledge, and throws up a loose peace sign across the stretch of road between you. His passenger laughs around her lollipop.

”Sayin’ hello. It’s polite.” You tell him back.

Between his obnoxious music, the wind whipping between the cars, and the equally polite indoor voice you had spoken in, there’s no way that Mr. Movie Star could have possibly heard you. He laughs like he had.

With that, the camper passes by. It takes the song and the blaring guitar with it, the rhythmic picking carrying across the flat stretches of road. It’s got tinted windows all around the sides and back. A real pussy wagon, you bet. Mr. Movie Star has probably seen a lot of action in the back of that van. Queue the wistful sigh from you. If you could just stop from grinning.

“Get off. C’mon, put your seatbelt on or something.”

“He was really something, don’t ya think?” You say, still grinning dumbly as you retreat back to the designated passenger’s spot, tracking the camper along the old stretch of Airport Road.

“Yeah, yeah — mellow out before you ruin my seats.” Billy grumbles, frowning at his side-view mirror. Six more vehicles to go; none of them drive quite as wild as those first couple of big trucks.

“How long d’you think they’re in town for?” You prop one elbow against the side of the door and plant your chin atop your palm, staring after the camper as you kick your feet across Billy’s lap. “You think it’s like an all- summer deal or just a couple of weekends?”

Billy shoots a steely look across the cab.

Sure, he was kind of a weedy kid. Small for his age, with a mom who was rarely more than a stone’s throw away. He’s not bad looking. Stick thin with a long, straight nose but pretty blue eyes. There’s usually motor oil in his blonde hair these days.

Either way, he hadn’t always exactly been the pick of the litter but with the war and stuff, he’s not such a bad option these days.

And still, you’ve had him benched in the friend zone since freshman year. Both of you know that it’ll just take an especially dry season for you to finally do him, and you are good company, he likes having you around.

He doesn’t like the douchebag with the ‘stache moving in on the closest thing he has to a girlfriend.

“They might stop by The Pines — you know, like those folks from the fair did, that one time.” you’re really talking to yourself at this point.

Billy looks across, unimpressed as he’s overtaken by a 1959 Ford F-100, painted a faded shade of light green.

Three people are crammed into the cab, and as it slips in front of you, you find that the bed of the truck is also occupied.

Two girls and one hell of a guy. He’s sitting with his back to the cab, shirtless and golden all over with a cigarette dangling from his lips and a hand of cards held to his chest.

The two girls are wearing little tanks and coloured hot pants, conferring with each other while he watches, cool as ice.

He’s grinning, a smooth talker even when you can’t hear what he’s saying. It’s not money that he’s talking those poor girls out of either, that’s why one of them proudly has his t-shirt balled up in her lap.

“Mrs. Cavendish would have a cow if—“ your rambling trails and your smile spreads as Golden Boy looks up from his poker game and finds you watching. “Whoa. Where are they finding these dudes?”

“Probably jail,” Billy mumbles, begrudging the topless wonder in the back of the truck. “Or a register of some kind, if you catch my drift.”

Golden Boy’s lips stretch thin around his hand-rolled cigarette, his grin dimpling his cheeks. Totally jiving with the way you’re staring at him, stretching his already broad shoulders like a peacock would with its feathers.

He’s a sandy kind of blonde and maybe even more of a movie-star looker than his buddy had been.

He tips his chin and graces you with a nod of acknowledgement. Then, he looks down at the hand of cards and closes his lips around the cigarette, inhaling deeply.

With a cool shrug, he cocks an eyebrow and seems to dare his two lady companions to put their money where their mouths are.

Billy glances down at the bag of green still on the bench between the two of you, practically starting a mental countdown until the two of you are out by the Falls, high as kites. Far from tanned, muscled carnie folk.

The trucks and cars pass by and head for the horizon, and Billy’s blue Chevy hugs the curves of winding country roads all the way out past Route Thirteen. Past Airport Road, there’s no sign of your two new objects of affection — given the heat of the late afternoon, you’re starting to wonder if all of them were a mirage or something.

That’s what the boys who come back from war tell you they saw out there. Apparitions in the jungle, like ghosts, but nice. Tommy Holdman says he thought he had died out there, laying flat on his back after he lost his leg, and all he could see was miles and miles of coastline. A perfect, pretty beach. His own idea of heaven.

Yours, apparently, is something far different.

The Falls isn’t really a waterfall. It’s maybe a ten- foot slow incline in the river bend. It’s shitty enough to not draw too many visitors, unlike the much more popular swimming spot out where the old quarry is. That place would be packed on an afternoon like this.

Your spot is on the far end of the county, nestled a while back off the road but not too far into the woods. It’s a spot to cool off without having to commit to really swimming, and it’s the only spot you know where the fuzz wouldn’t come poking around at the smell of skunk.

No one comes out here, not even the cops.

The afternoon is all yours, right through into the evening. It didn’t take Billy long to get over his mood, he’s grinning when he drops you off, right by your front door.

There’s no way he would make you walk all the way from the Post Office, not really. Everyone’s heard those stories of girls going missing in small towns like this, and through all of her faults, Betty Cline had raised a pretty stand-up young man.

“See ya Tuesday, I’ll call you!” You wave to him as you jog up the front steps onto the porch of your parents’ home.

He waves back from the driver’s side of his truck, and drives home to his mother’s roast chicken the same way he always does. She still packs his lunches too.

Fred looks up from Hawaii Five-O, in all of its multicoloured, static-fuzz glory as the screen door rattles to an abrupt shut. He flinches as the heavier, wood front door slams behind it.

“Look at that, she is alive.” He calls from the living room, for your ears more than anyone else’s.

“Hi, Papa Bear. You worrying about me again?” You coo, kicking your shoes off by the door and strolling across the hardwood, bracing yourself on the doorframe as you swing widely into the parlour, where Fred sits in his recliner, staring at his prized possession — the color TV set he bought after the new year.

“Worryin’ about you is like worryin’ the fox might hurt itself on its way out of the coop.”

You don’t much mind the image of yourself, the sly fox, prowling around town and making all of those chicken-shit boys cry for help. Your mouth almost twitches at the thought as you plonk yourself down on the carpeted floor and turn your attention towards Steve McGarrett saving the day.

Clearly at some point after you have nestled onto the carpet with your back to him, Fred clocks the outfit you have wandered home in.

“Now, where’d the hell did you even buy somethin’ like that?” You can hear the wrinkled frown on his aging face. He’s only in his fifties now, but with deep wrinkles and freckles from years working outside.

“Church-sale, I think.” You answer back, wondering if your mother is still up. She goes to bed early on weeknights so that she can be up early for her work at the grocery store in the mornings.

Fred lost his sense of smell when he worked in the mines in his late teens — he couldn’t tell the difference if you smelled like Mary-Jane or magnolias.

“You were with that kid from the auto shop again?” Fred puffs on cigarettes like a chimney. It turns the white ceilings brown occasionally, but your Mom has always been ready with a tin of cloud-coloured paint to fix that.

“Uh-huh. You know Billy.”

“Yeah.” He decides. There are worse boys you could be running around with than that teary-eyed fella.

“Saw a bunch of vans out by Airport Road today. Setting up a circus somewhere near here.” You tell him absently, both of you watching the television set as you pick at the carpet.

“Heard somethin’ about that. Gus O’Malley’s renting his south pasture out for something like that, I think.”

“I was thinking I could maybe borrow the car Saturday. Take Georgie.”

Georgie is an accident; an anniversary celebration turned rambunctious fifth grader with a knack for messing with your stuff while you’re at work. But he’s a cute kid, you’ll give him that. The little booger is fun to be around sometimes.

With Georgie around, there’s something to do other than head out of town and drink or smoke or spend the money that’s supposed to get you to California. If you take Georgie, Fred usually sponsors the trip.

“This Saturday?”

“Yeah. Figured they’d be running by then.” You lean your palms back into the rug, worn velvet under them. It doesn’t bother you that Fred barely turns his head from the television — before that, it had been the sports highlights in the paper.

“If you’re going to get him all hopped up on sugar, do me a favor and drop him off at Grandma’s on the way back.” Fred chortles, mostly to himself, as he brings a half-warm Budweiser to his mouth.

You smile at that, remembering the days Fred threatened to do the same to you. You grab at the knee of his faded blue jeans to push yourself up from the ground.

“Thought I might drop him off by the interstate, set him free. Like God intended.” You tell the house, headed for the hallway with the end goal being your bedroom on the second floor of the humble blue craftsman.

“I-59, not I-75. Can’t have him finding his way home.” Fred calls as you take the first step out onto the stairs, your fingers trailing your work bag, discarded onto the chipped wooden post that ends the railing.

“Now where in God’s name did you find those shorts?” Oh, she’s awake. Your mother’s voice is behind you, and if you had to guess you would imagine that her head is poking around the doorway into the kitchen and gawking at your fashion choices. She is.

“You went out wearing those?”

You stand, frozen on the stairs for a second, stuck in a moment of consideration. Fred’s pretending not to hear all this, he prefers not to get involved. Joan’s not so forgiving.

Turning around will mean a certain lecture.

“Gotta be up early, I won’t wear ‘em again.” You decide, hastening up the stairs before she can call you on your lie. Your bare feet hit the landing and slip a bit on the loose runner your dad swears he’s going to remember to buy underlay for one of these days.

As you steady, the door to your right creeks open and Georgie stumbles out of his cowboy-covered bedroom, rubbing uncaringly at his eye socket.

“Hey.” He yawns, heading for the bathroom, his hand-me-down pyjamas hanging down over the tops of his feet as he shuffles for the bathroom.

“Hey. Wanna do something with me Saturday?” You ask him, already headed for your own room. He stops and turns his head, eyes no longer heavy with sleep but wide open with curiosity.

“Yeah. What?”

“It’s a surprise.” You decide, twisting the handle and letting the door creak open wide as muscle-memory guides your hand to the lightswitch and illuminates your bedroom. It’s not really a surprise, but he won’t go back to bed if you tell him now. “Night, Georgie.”

“Goodnight!” He calls back, closing the bathroom door almost all the way. The light bulb’s still out and he’s still scared of the dark.

You close your bedroom door, shutting all of them out and immediately reaching for the ties of your halter top. They fall loose and you shimmy out of the fabric, then the shorts.

Flowered paper on the walls, hardwood floors, this room is filled with the remnants of the little girl you once were in here. The shag rug and the Janis Joplin print above the bed are evidence of the newer, cooler woman who now occupies the space. The two of you coexist in this little space just fine most days.

Next comes the quest for a shirt to sleep in — sleeping in the nude doesn’t work when you have a Mom like Joan. She means well, you’re grateful for her. She’s the first person you’ll thank when you get your first award. Even though she still comes in without knocking.

Shirt acquired, you hear Georgie’s door click shut down the hallway as you scan the room for the book you discarded last night.

The window in your room faces miles of fields. In the far distance, you’ve never really noticed that you can see the O’Malley farm. Well, kind of. Ahead of that, there’s a small dusting of forest that hinders your view.

Your search for the book comes to a brief stop as you turn towards the open window and look out over the view. More specifically, of the red and white glint of weatherproof canvas that comes to a sharp point, dazzled with lightbulbs.

“Did you see what your daughter came home in?” Joan asks, shaking her head from her seat at the sewing machine. It whirs impolitely over the conversation, seeing blue thread through the hole in the knee of Georgie’s blue jeans.

“Sure did.” Fred drops his beer into the trash with a clang and rolls his shoulders back. He turns towards her, already expecting the worried frown he sees.

“People’ll talk.”

“Let ‘em,” Fred shrugs. He considers another Budweiser, but knows he’s got to be up early to get to the factory in the morning. “She’s a smart girl, she’s not out causing any trouble.”

Joan stops the machine and hums in consideration.

“Besides, I’m sure it’s a right of passage — wearing stuff that makes your folks’ blood pressure go crazy.”

She smiles, pushing up from the chair. Her socks pad across the green and yellow linoleum until she reaches her husband, her head tucking into the crook of his neck.

“You’re right. But I don’t like those shorts.” Joan decides as her husband takes her into his arms, smoky smelling and familiar.

Behind them, the morning’s paper sits discarded with only the sports section disrupted. Printed in an appropriately black ink, is the freckled face of Audrey Weiss. Her large-round glasses are still sitting on the bridge of her nose, her shoulders are angled and she’s beaming, looking front and centre. Above her portrait, the word MISSING is in the same shade of mourning-appropriate black ink.

That was a school photo. It’s old, her bangs have grown out already. Her round glasses are all torn up now, shattered and mangled — about 200 yards from her broken body, which is yet to be discovered in an empty stretch of red-dirt land off of a highway in southern Arizona.

NEXT CHAPTER

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#bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #miles teller #jake seresin #bradley bradshaw smut #rooster bradshaw imagine #rooster x you #bradley bradshaw au #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x you #Jake seresin x reader #Jake seresin x you #Jake seresin au

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your-blorbos-are-queer · 5 months ago

Text

list of canon/implied canon characters!

the other day, i was counting how many entries on this blog are canonically queer characters, the number totaled over 800! and so i decided i would make a masterlist of all the canon identities, along with that character's canon pronouns.

this list is sorted alphabetically by fandom, with characters within each fandom, also listed alphabetically.

i put the list below the cut, because it is quite very long.

9-1-1 evan buckley (he/him) - bisexual henrietta wilson (she/her) - lesbian

& juliet francois dubois (he/him) - pansexual may bellerose (they/they) - non-binary romeo montague (he/him) - bisexual - implied

16bit sensation konoha akisato (she/her) - sapphic - implied

a kind of spark keedie darrow (she/her) - lesbian

a league of their own (2022) bertie hart (he/him) - transgender carson shaw (she/her) - bisexual greta gill (she/her) - lesbian jess mccready (she/her) - lesbian jo deluca (she/her) - lesbian lupe garcia (she/her) - lesbian max chapman (she/her) - lesbian

a man who defies the world of bl ayato (he/him) - bisexual

abbott elementary ava (she/her) - bisexual - implied

adventure time (and fionna and cake) fionna (she/her) - bisexual - implied marceline (she/her) - bisexual marshall lee (he/him)- bisexual princess bubblegum (she/her) - sapphic

alfred j. kwak ollie (he/him) - transgender

alice júnior alice júnior (she/her) - transgender + bisexual taísa (she/her) - bisexual

all for the game andrew minyard (he/him) - gay jean moreau (he/him) - bisexual neil josten (he/him) - demisexual

amphibia anne boonchuy (she/her) - sapphic sasha waybright (she/her) - bisexual

another life zayn petrossian (ze/hir) - non-binary

apex legends bangalore (she/her) - lesbian bloodhound (they/them) - non-binary catalyst (she/her) - transgender fuse (he/him) - pansexual gibraltar (he/him) - gay loba (she/her) - bisexual mirage (he/him) - queer seer (he.him) - pansexual valkyrie (she/her) - lesbian

assassination classroom touka yada (she/her) - sapphic

avatar: the last airbender (and the legend of korra) asami (she/her) - bisexual korra (she/her) - bisexual kyoshi (she/her) - bisexual

avenue q rod (he/him) - gay

back to 15 camila (she/her) - transgender + polyamorous

baldur's gate 3 dame aylin (she/her) - lesbian isobel thorm (she/her) - lesbian karlach (she/her) - bisexual shadowheart (she/her) - bisexual

barbie barbie (she/her)- asexual ken (he/him) - asexual

barbie (dolls + animation) barbie (she/her) - bisexual

batman: the telltale series the joker (he/him) - bisexual

battle for dream island winner (they/them) - non-binary

bbc ghosts captain (he/him) - gay - implied

bbc sherlock eurus holmes (she/her) - queer - implied irene adler(she/her) - sapphic

be more chill richard goranski (he/him) - bisexual squip (it/its) - non-binary

bee and puppycat toast (she/her) - bisexual

beetlejuice beetlejuice (he/him) - pansexual

bfb four (he/they) - agender

black butler alois trancy (he/him) - gay - implied grell sutcliff (she/her) - transgender - canon - bisexual - implied joanne harcourt (he/him) - gay - implied

black hammer mark markz (he/him) - gay

black jack kei kisaragi (he/him) - transgender

bleach giselle gewelle (she/her) - transgender

bloom into you seiji maki (he/him) - aroace yuu koito (she/her) - lesbian

blue lock kunigami rensuke (he/him) - bisexual oliver aiku (he/him) - bisexual sae itoshi (he/him) - achillean - implied shidou ryusei (he/him) - gay

blue period ayukawa ryuji (any pronouns) - non-binary + bisexual

bob and rose bob (he/him) - homoflexible

bob's burgers bob belcher (he/him) - bisexual - implied

bocchi the rock ikuyo kita (she/her) - lesbian

bojack horseman kelsey jannings (she/her) - lesbian the cardinal (she/her) - transgender - implied todd chavez (he/him) - asexual

bones angela montenegro (she/her) - bisexual haru tanaka - non-binary - implied roxie lyon (she/her) - lesbian dr. temperance brennan (she/her) - polyamorous - implied

breakfast on pluto patricia braden (she/her) - transgender

bright young things miles maitland (he/him) - gay

brooklyn nine-nine rosa diaz (she/her)- bisexual

bubble comics oleg volkov (he/him) - achillean - implied sergey razumovsky (he/him) - bisexual - implied

buffy the vampire slayer kennedy (she/her) - lesbian tara maclay (she/her) - lesbian willow rosenberg (she/her) - lesbian

bully jimmy hopkins (he/him) - bisexual - implied

camp here and there jedidiah martin (he/him) - gay - implied marisol yuchengo (she/her) - bisexual + transgender rowan chow (he/him) - bisexual + transgender sydney sargent (he/him) - transgender + gay

cardcaptor sakura nakuru akizuki (she/her) - non-binary - implied sakura kinomoto (she/her) - pansexual sonomi daidouji (she/her) - lesbian syaoran li (he/him) - bisexual tomoyo daidouji (she/her) - lesbian touya kinomoto (he/him) - bisexual yukito tsukishiro (he/him) - achillean

castle swimmer queen nee (she/her) - transgender

castlevania alucard (he/him) - bisexual

chainsaw man quanxi (she/her) - polyamorous + lesbian

changing channels blacklight (she/her) - lesbian spotlight (she/her) - lesbian

claudine claude (he/him) - transgender

close leo (he/him) - gay - implied remi (he/him) - gay - implied

cookie run abyss monarch cookie (they/them) - non-binary ananas dragon cookie (they/it) - non-binary angel cookie (they/them) - non-binary blue lily cookie (she/her) - lesbian candy diver cookie (they/them) - non-binary cotton candy cookie (she/her) - queer cream unicorn cookie (they/them) - non-binary dark enchantress cookie (she/it) - genderqueer devil cookie (they/them) - non-binary dj cookie (they/them) - non-binary + bisexual fettuccine cookie (she/it) - genderqueer fig cookie (they/them) - non-binary ion cookie robot (it/its) - agender lilybell cookie (she/her) - lesbian lime cookie (she/her) - pansexual lotus dragon cookie (they/it) - non-binary milk cookie (he/him) - achillean moonlight cookie (she/her) - lesbian peppermint cookie (they/them) - non-binary pinecone cookie cookie (they/them) - non-binary pitaya dragon cookie (they/it) - non-binary poison mushroom cookie (they/them) - non-binary pomegranate cookie (she/her) - lesbian princess cookie (she/her) - bisexual raspberry cookie (she/her) - sapphic roquefort cookie (they/them) - non-binary + queer sea fairy cookie (she/her) - lesbian snapdragon cookie (they/it) - non-binary snow sugar cookie (they/them) - non-binary sorbet shark cookie (they/them) - non-binary space donut (they/it) - non-binary squid ink cookie (they/them) - non-binary strawberry crepe cookie (they/them) - non-binary timekeeper cookie (she/they) - genderqueer white choco cookie (she/her) - lesbian

cosmosdex apollo v1 (he/him) - transgender - implied athena v1 - sapphic eris v1 - sapphic hermes v1 - m-spec john gaylord v13 - gay

craig of the creek angel jose (they/them) - agender george (he/him) - gay

crazy ex girlfriend darryl whitefeather (he/him) - bisexual josh (he/him) - gay maya (she/her) - bisexual valencia perez (she/her) - bisexual

cucumber quest rosemaster (she/her) - transgender

danganronpa chihiro fujisaki (he/him) - transfeminine - implied nagito komeada (he/him) - achillean

danganronpa: despair time ace markey (he/him) - gay eden tobisa (she/her) - lesbian

dark carnival acro (any pronouns) sydney wilson (she/her) - aroace

dc alexis kaye (she/her) - bisexual artemis of bana-mighdall (she/her) - bisexual catwoman (she/her) - bisexual ghost maker (he/him) - bisexual harley quinn (she/her)- bisexual harper row (she/her)- bisexual jack phantom (she/her) - lesbian john constantine (he/him) - bisexual jon kent (he/him) - bisexual leonard snart (he/him) - pansexual nial nal (she/her) - transgender poison ivy (she/her) - bisexual rebis (any pronouns) - intersex + pangender sarah lance (she/her) - bisexual "spooner" cruz (she/her) - asexual tim drake (he/him) - bisexual wonder woman (she/her) - bisexual yara flor (she/her) - bisexual

dead by daylight david king (he/him) - gay

dead end: paranormal park barney guttman (he/him) - gay + transgender norma khan (she/her) - bisexual

descendants gil (he/him) - gay harry hook (he/him) - bisexual mal (she/her) - pansexual

destiny 2 drifter (he/him) - pansexual

devil's line akihito kanzaki (they/them) - non-binary + asexual + gay

dirk gently's holistic detective agency tina tevetino (she/her) - bisexual

disco elysium harry dubois (he/him) - bisexual - implied kim kitsuragi (he/him) - gay klaasje amandou (she/her) - bisexual ruby, the instigator (she/her) - lesbian

do revenge eleanor levetan (she/her) - lesbian

doctor who bill potts (she/her) - lesbian maestro (they/them) - non-binary

dodgeball: a true underdog story kate veatch (she/her) - bisexual

dorohedoro turkey (she/her) - transgender

dr. stone nanami ryusui (he/him) - pansexuali - implied ishigami senku (he/him) - aroace - implied

duolingo bea (she/her) - bisexual lily (she/her) - lesbian - implied lin (she/her) - lesbian oscar (he/him) - gay

elsewhere dan cooper (he/him) - bisexual - implied

emmerdale liv flaherty (she/her) - asexual

entropic float peri dubois (she/her) - asexual

euphoria rue bennett (she/her) - non-binary + lesbian

ever after high apple white (she/her) - lesbian c. a. cupid (she/her) - bisexual darling charming (she/her) - lesbian faybelle thorn (she/her) - lesbian raven queen (she/her) - bisexual

everything's gonna be okay drea stevens (she/her) - asexual + lesbian matilda moss (she/her) - sapphic

fallout 4 deacon (he/him) - bisexual john hancock (he/him) - bisexual preston garvey (he/him) - bisexual rj maccready (he/him) - bisexual

falsettos charlotte (she/her) - lesbian cordelia (she/her) - lesbian marvin (he/him) - gay whizzer (he/him) - gay

fantasy high riz gukgak (he/him) - asexual

fellow travelers tim laughlin (he/him) - gay

final space ash graven (she/her) - sapphic

fire emblem linhardt von hevring (he/him) - bisexual - implied

fire punch togata (he/him) - transgender

flicker (roblox) adora (she/her) - lesbian alab (they/them) - non-binary amethyst (she/they/ze) - demigirl + trixic aphrodite (she/her) - transgender arielle (she/her)- transgender chidi (he/him) - asexual cody (he/him) - transgender eduardo (he/they) - demiboy + pansexual elaina (they/them) - non-binary ezra (they/them) - non-binary + toric fayola (she/they) - demigirl grace (they/them) - non-binary + aroace halona (they/he/she) - two-spirit john (he/him) - bisexual joshua (he/him) - gay kai (they/them) - non-binary + pansexual kiryomi (she/her) - lesbian lassi (they/them) - non-binary + aroace lukey (they/them) - agender + questioning melodie (she/her) - lesbian mika (any pronouns) - genderfluid + aroace prasiddhi (she/her) - bisexual quinn (they/them) - genderqueer + questioning tamia (they/them) - non-binary trey (they/them) - agender vinny (he/him) - bisexual

flight rising wayfinder merrigan (they/he/she) - non-binary

fruits basket hatsuharu sohma (he/him) - bisexual - implied ritsu sohma (he/him) - transfeminine - implied

generation greta moreno (she/her) - lesbian + asexual

genshin impact jeht (she/her) - lesbian kaeya alberich (he/him) - bisexual - implied kamisato ayaka (she/her) - bisexual - implied lyney (he/him) - bisexual - implied the traveler (male traveler: he/him; female traveler: she/her) - queer - implied venti (he/him) - agender - implied

ghostbusters phoebe spengler (she/her) - lesbian - implied

ginny and georgia sophie sanchez (she/her) - bisexual

given akihiko kaji (he/him) - bisexual haruki nakayama (he/him) - bisexual mafuyu sato (he/him) - gay ritsuka oenoyama (he/him) - gayh

golden kamuy kano ienaga (she/her) - transgender

good omens crowley (he/him) - genderfluid + asexual maggie (she/her) - lesbian muriel (they/them) - non-binary nina (she/her) - sapphic pollution (they/them) - non-binary

gravity falls bill cipher (he/him) - gay - implied mabel pines (she/her) - bisexual - implied wendy corduroy (she/her) - bisexual

grishaverse hanne brum (she/her) - sapphic - canon - genderqueer - implied jesper fahey (he/him) - bisexual nina zenik (she/her) - bisexual wylan van eck (he/him) - gay

guilty gear bridget (she/her) - transgender testament (they/them) - agender

gundam miorine (she/her) - sapphic suletta (she/her) - sapphic

hades zagreus (he/him) - polyamorous + bisexual

haikyuu hitoka yachi (she/her) - sapphic - implied

hannibal hannibal lecter (he/him) - bisexual will graham (he/him) - achillean

has anyone heard of the left/right game? eve (she/her) - sapphic

hazbin hotel alastor (he/him) - aroace angel dust (he/him) - gay charlie morningstar (she/her) - bisexual cherri bomb (she/her) - bisexual husk (he/him) - pansexual sir pentious (he/him)- bisexual vaggie (she/her) - sapphic valentino (he/him) - pansexual velvette (she/her) - queer vox (he/him) - bisexual

heartbreak high "ant" vaughn (he/him) - queer - implied "ca$h" piggott (he/him) - asexual darren (they/them) - non-binary + queer malakai (he/him) - bisexual missy (she/her) - bisexual quinni gallagher-jones (she/her) - lesbian

hellboy comics ben damio (he/him) - gay - implied

helluva boss andrealphus (he/him) - gay asmodeus (he/him) - pansexual barbie wire (she/her) - pansexual beelzebub (she/her) - pansexual blitzo (he/him) - pansexual chazwick thurman (he/him) - pansexual + polyamorous fizzarolli (he/him) - gay loona (she/her) - bisexual mammon (he/him) - asexual martha (she/her) - bisexual millie (she/her) - bisexual moxxie (he/him) - bisexual mrs. mayberry (she/her) - bisexual octavia (she/her) - asexual sallie may (she/her) - transgender stolas (he/him) - queer vassago (she/her) - gay verosika mayday (he/him)- pansexual

her tears were my light space (she/her) - sapphic time (she/her) - sapphic

hollow knight ghost (they/them) - agender sheo (he/him) - gay nailsmith (he/him) - gay

honkai impact 3rd bronya zaychik (she/her) - lesbian elysia (she/her) - lesbian himeko murata (she/her) -bisexual kiana kaslana (she/her) - lesbian raiden mei (she/her) - lesbian seele vollerei (she/her) - lesbian theresa apocalypse (she/her) - sapphic

honkai star rail acheron (she/her) - sapphic - implied aventurine (he/him) - gay - implied firefly (she/her) - bisexual + genderfluid - implied

houkai gakuen 2 wendy (she/her) - sapphic

hourou musuko shuichi nitori (she/her) - sapphic + transgender

house dr. gregory house (he/him) - bisexual- implied dr. james wilson (he/him) - gay - implied dr. remy "thirteen" hadley (she/her) - bisexual

house of the dragon rhaenyra targaryen (she/her) - bisexual

how to get away with murder connor walsh (he/him) - gay

how to train your dragon gobber the belch (he/him) - gay - implied

hunter x hunter alluka zoldyck (she/her) - transgender

i was a teenage exocolonist nomi-nomi (they/them) - non-binary + demisexual + pansexual

IDOLiSH7 kaoru (she/her) - transgender

idw comics tangle the lemur (she/her) - sapphic whisper the wolf (she/her) - sapphic

ION cracklin (he/him) - gay

it chapter 2 richie tozier (he/him) - gay

it's always sunny in philadelphia mac mcdonald (he/him) - gay

jackson's diary david miller (he/him) - bisexual

jamie johnson dillon simmonds (he/him) - gay

jane the virgin adam eduardo alvaro (he/him) - bisexual luisa alver (she/her) - lesbian petra solano (she/her) - bisexual

jay and silent bob jay (he/him) - bisexual - implied

john wick the adjucator (they/them) - non-binary

jojo's bizarre adventure dio brando (he/him) - bisexual squalo (he/him) - gay tiziano (he/him) - gay

jujutsu kaisen kirara hoshi (she/her) - transgender - implied uraumi (she/they) - genderqueer

jurassic park ajay sidhu (he/him) - gay - implied roland tembo (he/him) - gay - implied

just roll with it ava ferin (she/her) - lesbian - implied elizabeth lafayette (she/her) - lesbian - implied gillion tidestrider (he/him) - asexual jay ferin (she/her) - bisexual jazz drake (he/him) - transgender kian stone (he/him) - bisexual rumi (any pronouns) - genderfluid shilo bathory (he/him) - asexual - canon - aromantic - implied troy lougferd (he/him) - bicurious - implied vyncent sol (he/him) - aromantic - implied william wisp (he/him) - bisexual

kirby kirby (he/him) - non-binary

koisenu futari sakuko kodama (she/her) - aroace satoru takahashi (he/him) - aroace

lackadaisy mordecai heller (he/him) - asexual

league of legends ambessa medarda (she/her) - bisexual + butch caitlyn (she/her) - lesbian nami (she/her) - bisexual vi (she/her) - lesbian

lego monkie kid tang (he/him) - gay - implied the golden-winged peng (they/them) - non-binary

lego ninjago sally (she/her) - bisexual

les miserables grantaire (he/him) - gay

liar game fukunaga yuji (she/her) - transgender

life is strange alexandra chen (she/her) - bisexual chloe price (she/her) - bisexual finnegan macnamara - (he/him) - pansexual lyla park (she/her) - bisexual - implied max caulfield (she/her) - bisexual ryan lucan (he/him) - asexual - implied sean diaz (he/him) - bisexual stephanie gingrich (she/her) - lesbian

lord of the flies jack merridew (he/him) - bisexual - implied ralph (he/him) - gay - implied

lost in space luca esposito (he/him) - intersex

love in hate nation harriet asp (she/her) - sapphic kitty minx (she/her) - transgender sheila nal (she/her) - lesbian susannah sonn (she/her) - lesbian

love is war chika fujiwara (she/her) - sapphic

love lies bleeding jackie (she/her) - bisexual lou (she/her) - lesbian

love me for who i am kotone mizunoe (she/her) - lesbian mei tatebayashi (she/her) - transgender mogumo (they/them) - non-binary satori iwakoa (she/her) - transgender sou suzumi (he/him) - gay tetsu iwakoa (he/him) - queer

lovely complex seiko kotobuki (she/her) - transgender

madness combat hank (he/him) - asexual

magikarp jump "you" - non-binary

marvel agatha harkness (she/her) - sapphic agent piper (she/her) - sapphic alice wu-gulliver (she/her) - sapphic - implied america chavez (she/her) - lesbian angela (she/her) - lesbian ayo (she/her) - lesbian daisy johnson (she/her) - bisexual deadpool (he/him) - pansexual doop (he/him) - bisexual gwenpool (she/her) - aroace hulkling (he/him) - gay jean-paul beaubier (he/him) - gay jennifer kale (she/her) - sapphic - implied karolina dean (she/her) - lesbian kitty pryde (she/her) - bisexual koi boi (he/him) - transgender korg (he/him) - gay loki (he/him) - genderfluid + bisexual mystique (she/her) - bisexual nada van dyne (she/her) - asexual nico minoru (she/her) - bisxual noh varr (he/him) - bisexual phastos (he/him) - gay phyla vell (she/her) - lesbian rachel summers (she/her) - bisexual rio vidal (she/her) - sapphic ruby hale (she/her) - asexual sera (she/her) - transgender + lesbian sylvie (she/her) - genderfluid + bisexual valkyrie (she/her) - bisexual wiccan (he/him) - gay xavin (mcu: they/them; comics: any pronouns) - genderfluid

mashle: magic and muscles mash burndead (he/him) - aroace - implied

mean girls (2024) janis 'imi'ike (she/her) - lesbian damian hubbard (he/him) - gay

mikagura school suite eruna ichinomiya (she/her) - lesbian

milgram kazui mukuhara (he/him) - gay - implied

minecraft diaries laurance (he/him) - pansexual - implied

miraculous ladybug alix kubdel (she/her) - aromantic juleka couffaine (she/her) - lesbian max kante (he/him) - asexual rose lavillant (she/her) - bisexual

mo dao zu shi lan wangji (he/him) - gay lan xichen(he/him) - gay + polyamorous - implied meng yao (he/him) - gay + polyamorous - implied mo xuanyu (he/him) - gay nie huaisang (he/him) - gay - implied nie mingjue( he/him) - gay + polyamorous - implied wei wuxian (he/him) - gay

monster high cleo de nile (she/her) - queer frankie stein (they/them) - non-binary kieran valentine (he/him) - gay

moon girl and devil dinosaur brooklyn (she/her) - transgender

moral orel daniel stopframe (he/him) - bisexual stephanie putty (she/her) - lesbian

moriarty the patriot james bonde (he/him) - transgender

my hero academia himiko toga (she/her) - sapphic - implied

my little pony sunset shimmer (she/her) - bisexual twilight sparkle (she/her) - bisexual

my next life as a villainess maria campbell (she/her) - bisexual mary hunt (she/her) - bisexual

my time at portia merlin (she/her) - aromantic - implied

neon genesis evangelion kaworu nagisa (he/him) - achillean

nimona ambrosius goldenloin (he/him) - achillean ballister boldheart (he/him) - achillean nimona (she/her) - genderfluid

no. 6 nezumi (he/him) - gay shion (he/him) - achillean

o maidens in your savage season momoko sudo (she/her) - lesbian

object lockdown notebook (he/him) - transgender + gay

omori captain spaceboy (he/him) - transgender

one day at a time syd (they/them) - non-binary + lesbian

one last stop jane su (she/her) - lesbian

one of us is lying (2021) janae matthews (she/he/they) - genderfluid + lesbian

one piece bon clay (he/him) - queer inazuma (he/she) - genderfluid ivankov (he/him) - queers kiku (she/her) - transgender monkey d. luffy (he/him) - asexual - implied morley (she/her) - transgender yamato (he/him) - transgender

only murders in the building mabel mora (she/her) - bisexual

order of the stick vaarsuvius - genderqueer

osemanverse aled last (he/him) - gay + demisexual carys last (she/her) - lesbian charlie spring (he/him) - gay daniel jun (he/him) - gay darcy olsson (books: she/her; tv: they/them) - lesbian - non-binary (tv only) elle argent (she/her) - transgender felix (they/them) - non-binary frances janvier (she/her)- bisexual georgia warr (she/her) - aroace isaac henderson (he/him) - aroace james mcewan (he/him) - gay michael holden (he/him) - pansexual naiomi (she/her) - transgender nick nelson (he/him) - bisexual pip quintana (she/her) - lesbian rooney bach (she/her) - pansexual sahar zahid (she/her) - bisexual sunil jha (he/they) - non-binary + asexual tara jones (she/her) - lesbian tori spring (she/her) - asexual + arospec

osora arias ariguetrez (he/him) - pansexual osora calaveras (he/they) - non-binary + pansexual

our dreams at dusk anonymous (any pronouns)- non-binary + aroace natsuyoshi utsumi (he/him) - transgender tasuku kaname (he/him) - gay

our flag means death stede bonnet (he/him) - gay

pacman "pinky" (she/her) - transgender - implied

paper mario vivian (she/her) - transgender

paradise kiss isabella yamamoto (she/her) - transgender joji koizumi (he/him) - bisexual

parties are for losers kolya reizner (he/him) - aromantic

peep show jeremy usbourne (he/him) - bisexual

phineas and ferb perry the platypus (he/him) - asexual

piemations suction cup man (he/him) - asexual + panromantic

poor things bella baxter (she/her) - bisexual

pripara hibiki shikyoin (she/her) - non-binary

project sekai mizuki akiyama (she/they) - transgender + non-binary - implied

puella magi madoka magica homura akemi (she/her) - lesbian + asexual - implied kyoko sakura (she/her) - bisexual - implied madoka kaname (she/her) - lesbian + asexual - implied sayaka miki (she/her) - bisexual - implied

quantum leap (2022) ian wright (they/them) - non-binary

ready player one aech (she/her) - lesbian

rebelde emilia alo (she/her) - bisexual

red, white, and royal blue alex (he/him) - bisexual henry (he/him) - gay

regretevator mannequin mark (he/him) - gay

revolutionary girl utena anthy himemiya (she/her) - sapphic juri arisugawa (she/her) - lesbian saionji (he/him) - achillean - implied shiori takatsuki (she/her) - sapphic utena tenjou (she/her) - sapphic

rick and morty rick sanchez (he/him) - pansexual

ride the cyclone mischa bachinski (he/him) - bisexual - implied noel gruber (he/him)- gay

riordanverse alex fierro (she/he) - genderfluid apollo (he/him) - bisexual lavinia asimov (she/her) - lesbian magnus chase (he/him) - pansexual nico di angelo (he/him) - gay piper mclean (she/her) - bisexual reyna ramirez-arellano (she/her) - asexual sadie kane (she/her) - polyamorous will solace (he/him) - bisexual

rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles leonardo (he/him) - achillean - implied

riverdale toni topaz (she/her) - bisexual

rocky horror picture show brad majors (he/him) - achillean frank-n-furter (he/him) - bisexual janet weiss (she/her) - sapphic - implied

rocky horror picture show: let's do the time warp again! frank-n-furter (she/her) - bisexual + transgender janet weiss (she/her) - sapphic

roll over and die flum apricot (she/her) - lesbian

rwby blake belladonna (she/her) - bisexual yan xiao long (she/her) - sapphic

sailor moon fish eye (he/him) - gay haruka tenoh (sailor uranus) (she/her) - sapphic + bigender michiru kaiou (sailor neptune) (she/her) - sapphic usagi tsukino (sailor moon) (she/her) - bisexual - implied zoisite (he/him) - achillean - canon - bisexual - implied

sarazanmai enta jinnai (he/him) - gay mabu akutsu (he/him) - gay reo niiboshi (he/him) - gay

scott pilgrim vs the world roxie richter (she/her) - lesbian

scream stu macher (he/him) - bisexual - implied

selah and the spades selah summers (she/her) - asexual - canon - aromantic - implied

shadows over welde argentum (they/them) - non-binary

shaman king gakko (he/him) - transgender

shameless debbie gallagher (she/her) - lesbian ian gallagher (he/him) - gay mickey milkovich (he/him) - gay

shangri-la momoko (she/her) - transgender

she-ra and the princesses of power adora (she/her) - lesbian bow (he/him) - bisexual catra (she/her) - lesbian double trouble (they/them) - non-binary entrapta (she/her) - bisexual glimmer (she/her) - bisexual jewelstar (he/him) - transgender kyle (he/him) - polyamorous + bisexual lonnie (she/her) - polyamorous + bisexual mara (she/her) - sapphic mermista (she/her) - bisexual perfuma (she/her) - sapphic - canon - bisexual - implied rogelio (he/him) - polyamorous + bisexual scorpia (she/her) - lesbian sea hawk (he/him) - bisexual

shikanoko nokonoko koshitantan noko shikanoko (she/her) - transgender - implied

shiva baby danielle (she/her) - bisexual

skip and loafer nao (she/her) - transgender

smiling friends charlie dompler (he/him) - bisexual

snowpiercer miss audrey (she/her) - pansexual

so let them burn faron vincent (she/her) - demisexual

something in the dirt levi (he/him) - asexual

south park craig tucker (he/him) - gay satan (he/him) - gay tupperware (they/them) - non-binary + gynosexual tweak tweak (he/him) - achillean

spies are forever barb larvernor (she/her) - bi-curious curt mega (he/him) - gay owen carvour (he/him) - queer the deadliest man alive (he/him) - queer

spiritfarer summer (she/her) - lesbian

splatoon acht/dedf1sh (they/them) - non-binary marina ida (she/her) - sapphic pearl hozuki (she/her) - sapphic

spooky month kevin (he/him) - pansexual

star wars amilyn holdo (she/her) - queer ceret (they/them) - non-binary chelli aphra (she/her) - lesbian cinta kaz (she/her) - sapphic flix (he/him) - gay jecki lon (she/her) - sapphic - implied juhani (she/her) - lesbian kantam sy (they/them) - non-binary keo venzee (they/them) - non-binary kho phon farrus (they/them) - non-binary magna tolvan (she/her) - lesbian merrin (she/her) - pansexual obi-wan kenobi (he/him) - bisexual - implied orka (he/him) - gay osha aniseya (she/her) - sapphic - implied rae sloane (she/her) - bisexual sabe (she/her) - sapphic sana starros (she/her) - sapphic sister (she/her) - transgender sylvestri yarrow (she/her) - lesbian taka jamoreesa (they/them) - non-binary terec (they/them) - non-binary varko (he/him) - gay vel sartha (she/her) - sapphic vernestra rwoh (she/her) - aroace vi moradi (she/her) - asexual yrica quell (she/her) - bisexual

starlight express electra (he/him) - bisexual + genderfluid

starlight express (2024) dinah (she/her) - sapphic electra (they/them) - non-binary greaseball (she/her) - sapphic

stars align yuu asuka (they/them) - non-binary + toric

static shock richie foley (they/them) - gay

steven universe pearl (she/her) - lesbian peridot (she/her) - aroace

stop!! hibari-kun geikijiro taiga (he/him) - transgender hibari oozora (she/her) - transgender

stranger things robin buckley (she/her) - lesbian will byers (he/him) - gay

sucker for love: date to die for stardust (she/her) - asexual + lesbian

supernatural castiel (he/him) - bisexual chuck (he/him) - bisexual crowley (he/him) - pansexual rowena (she/her) - bisexual

tangled: the series cassandra (she/her) - lesbian - implied

tarrytown brom bones (he/him) - bisexual - implied ichabod crane (he/him) - gay

team starkid alice woodward (she/her) - lesbian deb (she/her) - lesbian jemilla (she/her) - sapphic officer doug (they/them) - non-binary professor hidgens (he/him) - achillean ruth fleming (she/her) - bisexual schwoopsie (she/her) - sapphic zazzalil (she/her) - sapphic ziggs (they/them) - non-binary

that time i got reincarnated as a slime rimuru tempest (they/them) - agender + asexual

the adventure zone cary fangbattle (she/her) - sapphic hurley (she/her) - sapphic killian (she/her) - sapphic kravitz (he/him) - achillean lup (she/her) - transgender roswell (they/them) - agender sloane (she/her) - sapphic

the amazing world of gumball darwin watterson (he/him) - pansexual leslie (he/him) - gay - implied

the applegates sally applegate (she/her) - bisexual - implied

the book of mormon elder mckinley (he/him) - gay kevin price (he/him) - gay - implied

the disastrous life of saiki k saiki kusuo (he/him) - aroace - canon - transgender - implied

the dragon prince amaya (she/her) - lesbian astrid (she/her) - transgender callum (he/him) - bisexual - implied ethari (he/him) - pansexual janai (she/her) - lesbian kazi (they/them) - nonbinary runaan (he/him) - gay terry (he/him) - transgender

the good place eleanor shellstrop (she/her) - bisexual

the great north ham tobin (he/him) - gay

the imperfects abbi singh (she/her) - lesbian + asexual hannah more (she/her) - lesbian

the IT crowd richmond avenal (he/him) - bisexual

the last of us bill (he/him) - gay frank (he/him) - gay

the loud house luna loud (she/her) - bisexual - implied

the lovely bones ruth connors (she/her) - bisexual - implied

the magnus archives jonathan sims (he/they) - asexual + biromantic

the maze runner newt (he/him) - gay

the mighty boosh vince noir (he/him) - bisexual

the mitchells vs the machines katie mitchell (she/her) - sapphic

the music freaks alexzander whickham (he/him) - gay luke peterson (he/him) - pansexual

the owl house amity blight (she/her) - lesbian eda clawthorne (she/her) - bisexual hunter (he/him) - bisexual lillith clawthorne (she/her) - aroace luz noceda (she/her) - bisexual masha (they/them) - non-binary raine whispers (they/them) - non-binary the collector (he/they) - non-binary the titan (he/him) - genderqueer willow park(she/her) - pansexual

the peripheral aelita west (she/her) - sapphic grace hogart (she/her) - sapphic

the pink corruption circubit (he/him) - gay cube (he/him) - bisexual pyrare (he/him) - aromantic spheer (they/them) - non-binary

the sandman desire (they/it) - non-binary johanna constantine (she/her) - bisexual the corinthian (he/him) - achillean

the shining (and doctor sleep) danny torrance (he/him) - bisexual - implied

the umbrella academy klaus hargreeves (he/him) - pansexual viktor hargreeves (he/him) - transgender - canon - bisexual - implied

the walking dead aaron (he/him) - gay paul "jesus" monroe (he/him) - gay

the witcher ciri (she/her) - bisexual jaskier (he/him) - bisexual

this could be on broadway cole wilson (she/her) - sapphic + transgender

tian guan cifu hua cheng (he/him) - gay xie lian (he/him) - gay

time to orbit: unknown aspen greaves (they/them) - aromantic

toontown corporate clash pacesetter (he/him) - gay

touhou marisa kirisame (she/her) - lesbian - implied

transformers earthspark hashtag malto (she/her) - sapphic nightshade malto (they/them) - non-binary

tsubasa chronicle fai d. fluorite (he/him) - achillean - implied kurogane (he/him) - achillean - implied mokona modoki (white mokona: she/her; black mokona: he/him) - agender sakura li (she/her) - pansexual - implied syaoran li (he/him) - bisexual - implied

twin peaks denise bryson (she/her) - transgender

undertale (and deltarune) alphys (she/her) - bisexual chara (they/them) - non-binary frisk (they/them) - non-binary kris dreemurr (they/them) - non-binary mad mew mew (she/her) - transgender napstablook (they/them) - non-binary noelle holiday (she/her) - lesbian sans (he/him) - aroace - implied undyne (she/her) - lesbian

urinetown senator fipp (he/him) - transgender - implied

visual prison carmilla (she/her) - transgender - implied guiltia brion (he/him) - achillean - implied mist flaive (he/him) - achillean - implied saga latour (he/him) - achillean - implied veuve elizabeth (they/them) - genderqueer - implied

vocaloid kasane teto (she/her) - non-binary + xenogender

wandee goodday plakao (he/him) - gay + asexual

wandersong the bard (they/them) - non-binary

warrior cats ravenpaw (he/him) - gay tallstar (he/him) - gay

welcome to demonschool asmodeus alice (he/him) - gay - implied

wendell & wild raul cocolotl (he/him) - transgender

what we do in the shadows guillermo de la cruz (he/him) - gay laszlo cravensworth (he/him)- pansexual nadja (she/her) - pansexual nandor (he/him) - pansexual

who framed roger rabbit? jessica rabbit (she/her) - asexual

wii sports gwen (she/her) - transgender - implied

wind in the willows (2017) mole (he/him) - gay - implied

wings of fire sunfire (she/her) - sapphic

wish/kobato kohaku (she/her) - agender

xo kitty florian (he/him) - gay juliana (she/her) - lesbian kitty song-covey (she/her) - bisexual q (he/him) - gay yuri han (she/her) - lesbian

yurikuma arashi ginko yurishiro (she/her) - lesbian kureha tsubaki (she/her) - lesbian lulu yurigasaki (she/her) - lesbian

zoe's extraordinary playlist mo (he/she/they) - genderfluid

zombieland saga lily hoshikawa (she/her) - transgender

zombies a-spen (they/them) - non-binary + bisexual willa lykensen (she/her) - queer

138 notes · View notes

stfrancisprayer · 5 months ago

Text

Last Winter, This Spring

John "Bucky" Egan x female!reader —when bucky thinks about the past, you're there.

word count: 4.2k notes: female reader, but no physical descriptions and no use of y/n. friends to lovers + postwar. reader is implied to be an aviation machinist. a smidge of angst at the beginning and then a giant helping of fluff for the rest. ❀ warnings: brief description of stalag

HO HO HO! @bandagesandloveletters, i was your secret summer santa! it was a such pleasure getting to know you through your asks and i loved all of the room for creativity you gave me...and your music recs!!! "moonlight serenade" and "a nightingale sang in berkeley square" were big inspirations for this fic. thank you for trusting me with your gift-- and i hope you have an amazing summer <3

ⓘ This is a work of fiction based off of the AppleTV series Masters of the Air and strictly intended to be understood as factitious. Any named mention of an individual is based solely on their dramatic portrayals, NOT their real life counterparts.

In that cold German night, you’re there.

Inside that cabin, frozen to the touch, with his cheek pressed to his pillow– his bent left arm.

Above John Egan is the corrugated wood of the top bunk, its pattern his personal constellation. In the middle bunk, there’s barely enough room to raise his head and ask Buck if he’s still awake. The spotlight on the eastern side of the grounds makes a wide revolution, sending a scanning light through the window before plunging the room back into the darkness of winter.

It comes again. In that cold German night, Rita Hayworth's there, too; Grace Kelly right below her. Posted on the wall below them is the lead hitter for a hometown baseball team, on the wall opposite is the other team’s pitcher. But John can turn to face his wall, and you're there.

He didn’t expect you to write, but the way he’d nervously paced around the bunk betrayed the fact that he was hoping you would. So when a letter comes on a gray winter morning, your familiar handwriting penned on the front, John’s numb hands fumble open the letter tellingly eager. He reads it in your voice, once, twice, enough times to memorize. But most importantly, you send him a sprig of the wild cherry tree.

When the light comes again, he can see it on his shelf. Its once-white petals are shriveled and missing now, it’s a different color than when you’d first sent it to him. But it’s still you, the brightness in your eyes and that smile– the smile he’d always loved coaxing out of you.

John switches arms so he’s lying on his right.

There’s a scratching at the base of his throat now, the sound of your name fighting to release itself. The weight that sits on his waterline is the type that he thinks won’t spill over if he pretends it isn’t there. When he breathes, his chest only expands so far, suffocating in the space between the two bunks. It’s the layers, it has to be. You’d never do that to him.

He takes the twig into his hands just to feel the thin wood between his cold fingertips.

I'll be back, he thinks. I'll be back.

In the Norfolk spring, the trees blossom at the turn of March like clockwork. Where the English sky has been gray since the beginning of September, the bloom is a welcome sight in Thorpe Abbotts. Their petals are the same color as the overcast: a delicate white. Bucky first notices them by chance from the window of the cockpit, glancing to the right as the landing gear touches down on the runway.

By mid-April, the blooms are dense enough to see from the air. When Bucky's circling above the airfield after another near-death mission, he spots the spattering of trees on the ground below and allows himself an exhale. Repetition has turned the sight of them into his own personal air marshall, congratulating him on surviving and beckoning him down onto the runway. He wipes the soot and blood from his face and tips the nose down until they’re clear from the windshield.

He’s barely pushed himself through the escape hatch, but Bucky's already making a beeline toward the aircraft hangar. His legs are still getting used to the ground; wracked with pins and needles and clumsy with each step, but he wears a smile he can’t seem to wipe off. He knows you’re behind those open metal doors, and he likes to think you’ve been waiting for him to return.

You’re there, so focused on tinkering with the uncapped propeller of a plane that you don’t notice him limp in. He could tell it was you from a mile away, all unruly hair and oil-streaked slacks, standing on a platform and putting the brunt of your weight on your wrench. Bucky calls your name, and it's familiar on his tongue.

You flash him a grin– his favorite kind, the one with teeth and the crinkle in your eyes. Perhaps you weren’t expecting his return, but like this he can’t help but believe it.

“Major Egan!” You wipe your hands on your pants. “How was it?”

Terrible; missions like those never go well. He still returns your grin. “Good. I'm here, right?”

“Right,” you laugh. “And since you’re here, hand me those pliers, will you?”

He notices your toolbox underneath the propeller and retrieves the pliers obediently. As he inches onto his toes, you reach down, tongue darting out past your lips as you grasp the handles. He stifles a laugh, remembering how you’ve sworn up and down it’s not a tic of yours.

“She took flak to the engine,” you call out over the sound of mechanics. “Pierced right through the skin. Lucky she didn’t get it from the underside, otherwise we’d be out a plane.”

“Can’t have that,” Bucky muses half-sarcastically.

Smirking, you use the pliers to point at him accusingly. “You’d like that, Egan.”

He scoffs. “What, like I'd prefer to be on the ground?”

“Maybe you should.”

You’d be on the ground with him, he considers. Maybe he should.

“Hey, you see those– flower things?” he pivots.

Your voice is muffled by the machinery. “What things?”

“The trees with the flowers.”

“Oh, the wild cherries,” you realize, wiping the sweat from your forehead. “Yeah. Real pretty, right?”

“Stunning,” he stuffs his hands inside his flight jacket. “You can see ‘em all the way up there.”

“Is that right?” When you pull away from the propeller, your expression is impressed. “Seen them from the ground?”

“Not yet.”

“Do it sometime,” you offer, like it’s advice. “They’re better up close.”

You dip back down to fiddle with the mechanics. This might be your way of dismissing him, Bucky realizes, but he can’t seem to leave the hangar. So he stands there, content to share a space with you, the noise of engines, and the heartbeat he catches resounding between his ears.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice the way he lingers. You’re too proud to tell him you enjoy the company.

The upcoming mission gets canceled later that week– bad weather or faulty intel or a miscalculation; some reason Bucky didn’t feel the need to triple-check. He'd have the weekend on the ground and that alone was enough cause for celebration.

Tonight, the pub is hazy with the smoke of cigarettes and fanned with the heat of alcohol. Glasses of warm beer exchange hands as easily as money. Buck sits at Bucky’s left, and there’s an empty chair to his right he’s hoping to fill. He can pick out the rest of his friends from the sound of their laughter alone. Bucky’s eyes scan over the room, the corners of his mouth urged upwards in a lazy smile: this is how things should be, he thinks, without the threat of a mission come morning.

And if tonight couldn’t get any better, he notices the way you creep in through the pub’s door.

Your eyes scan over the crowd until your gaze magnetizes to his. He's hard to miss, the only head turned in your direction, unabashedly waiting for you to notice.

Bucky’s eyes scan up and down your figure as you approach the table. You’re dressed in your Class A’s, hair styled into regulation curls, the cheeks that once sported oil smears now complimenting a ruby-red smile. It spurs him to remember what you’d told him earlier: something-something better up close.

“Good evening,” you grin.

“There she is,” he greets you. “Come here often, stranger?”

You roll your eyes playfully. “When I can.”

The two of you pause to smile at each other.

“...Mind if I take a seat?”

Bucky looks down and realizes the way his hand is smoothing over the chair seat might seem like he’s saving it for someone else. He draws his palm back, stumbling out of his chair to pull yours out for you. “Ma’am.

You smooth your skirt under your thighs as you sit. “Thank you.”

“Crosby,” Bucky chides Harry across the table, “What are you doing? get her a drink!”

“No, no, that’s alright,” you raise a hand to motion for Crosby to sit back down. “I'm up early tomorrow.”

Crosby's not so quick to take a seat. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” you tease, “Egan’ll drink for me.”

When the table laughs at your remark, something like pride swells in Bucky’s chest. That's my girl.

Both of you lean back into your chairs in sync, settling in to observe the conversation. Bucky’s look of adoration is unabashed, trailing along the curve of your eyelashes with lidded eyes. You’re so beautiful like this– effortless; with the relaxed slump in your shoulders and the poised way you’ve crossed your legs. He’s keen on the way you’re resting your weight on the armrest closest to him, and he’ll still be pleased if he’s only here as your accessory for the night.

You could practically feel the way Bucky’s gaze swept over you, passing up and down your figure with a slight hesitation. He was holding back his affections, undoubtedly, if it wasn’t obvious by the way he was smoothing his hand over the back of your chair but stopping short of draping an arm atop it.

When you lean into him, you’re sure to have your shoulder bump gently against his. Go ahead.

Bucky seems to take the hint. He rests his arm atop your chair, fingers brushing against your opposite shoulder like he’s waiting for further instruction. You hum with laughter at the feeling.

“Is this okay?”

When you turn to face him, he’s already pulling away, afraid you’ll bite.

You settle into his side. “It's perfect.”

That's all he needed to hear.

He brings his chair closer until your seats are touching, melding both of your spaces into one for you to share. Your gaze is still fixed in your lap, half-afraid of ruining the moment with a misplaced word, your breath in your throat even as Bucky inches closer. At the table surrounded by pilots and airmen, this space feels intimate– isolating yourselves amidst the haze of the pub until it’s the two of you alone.

When he leans in to whisper, Bucky’s lips brush feather-light against the shell of your ear. “You look beautiful.”

A shiver runs up and down your spine at his words. When you turn to look at him, he’s close, impossibly close, so close you’re afraid he’ll see the way your irises tremble with misplaced confidence. But he’s patient, content in the moment you’ve stolen together.

Before you can speak, your hand’s pulling the sprig from your lapel.

“Now, what’s this?” Bucky asks curiously, taking the plant between his fingers. It’s so fresh its wood is still damp with afternoon rain, the flowers adorning it still retain their shape. Spinning it between his pinched fingers, he studies it in wonder.

“Those are those flower things, John,” you grin, pausing to nervously retreat to the opposite armrest. “Wild cherry blossoms.”

Bucky tucks the sprig into his lapel gingerly. You slump a little further into your seat.

Air service command decides that a sunny Thursday morning is the perfect time to reschedule the mission lost. Aside from the immediate threat of warfare, the day couldn’t have been any more picturesque.

The tail end of April brings warm breezes meant as a preview of the upcoming summer; and when Bucky looks up at the sky through his aviators, he wonders if the troposphere is any less colder. The B-17s creep slowly out of their hangars like waking giants– in the meantime, he slings his bag over his shoulder and counts the altocumulus clouds peppering the sky.

They’re just like the white petals strewn across the Thorpe Abbotts’ lawns. The wild cherries are beginning to fruit upon the branches; he wonders if you’d tell him you’d miss the sight of them adorning the trees if it’s worth the smell of cherries after.

He hears someone call his name, and you’re there, bounding on the tarmac towards him.

The streak of oil on your nose matches nicely with your stained coveralls. When you skid to a halt in front of him, Bucky lets you find your breath, tugging your hefty gloves from your hands to stick into your back pocket. His mouth opens and shuts as he scans over you, unsure if he should be the first to break the silence and ask if you’re alright.

“Are you heading out?”

He takes off his aviators and meets your gaze with his. “I guess I am.”

“Okay,” you cough, nodding your head. “Okay.”

Your hands smooth hastily over the woolen lapels of his flight jacket, your lip caught behind your teeth. Bucky watches you before he can think to flinch away, looking down to notice the way your eyebrows furrow in the middle as you brush off nonexistent dirt. His tie’s loose, and you take the liberty of tugging it further up his neck– strangely enough, Bucky finds himself looking upwards, amused. This is a ritual for you, he realizes, a way to make him tangible while you find the words to say.

Finally, you rest your forehead against his shoulder, exhaling in defeat. “...You’ll be fine.”

The words are spoken like they’re for you to hear and Bucky to understand.

“Course I’ll be fine,” he laughs, cradling your waist with his arm. “I don't go down that easily. Besides–”

Somehow, you understand to pull away from his shoulder. Although you keep your hands on his jacket, there’s enough space for him to pull his lapel to the side and reveal the uniform underneath. There, tucked in his breast pocket, is the outline of a sprig from the wild cherry tree, as close to his heart as it can possibly be.

He winks. “I’m takin’ you with me.”

“John, don’t–” your fingers trace across the shape sadly. “Don’t do that.”

His hand envelops yours, stilling your trembling fingers with a squeeze and calming them with a smile. He doesn’t seem worried; nowhere as worried as you find yourself, and somehow it makes it a little better.

“For your peace of mind,” his voice is low, the words only for you. “Can’t have my pretty girl worrying, right?”

Buck strides behind the two of you, nudging John as he passes by. “Load up, Bucky.”

Bucky nods at his friend in acknowledgment. “Be there in a second.”

Now, your features are sullen, gently tugging his lapel to cover the outline of the twig in his pocket again.

“I should let you go. I'll miss you,” you admit. “I always do.”

Bucky brings a hand to cup your jaw, his thumb smoothing a rhythm across your cheekbone.

You can’t think of anything else to say.

“...I just wanted to let you know how I felt before you left.”

The sudden heat coursing through Bucky’s chest almost makes him want to abandon the mission. In his hands, the looming threat of burning engines and inevitable loss seems so much more real. His jacket stays between your fingers, digging into the plush material like you’re hesitant to release him to the sky.

“I'll be fine,” Bucky whispers, leaning to bring himself closer to you.

Somewhere in your haze, you can feel his lips brush against yours in permission. You respond with a soft nod, a shy please– and relief seeps through your veins when he presses his lips to yours to dull the ache.

He begins slowly, allowing you to get used to the feeling of contact, relish the moment into your hands. His arms hold you flush against each other– somehow, the pressure takes the edge off, and you respond with your own like it’ll convince him to stay. Though his time is drawing near, your lips part a little wider, and he responds with a sweep of his tongue across your bottom lip.

You push off of him right as someone behind you calls his name. Heavy, ragged breaths exit you as you try to fight tears and the undeniable feelings you have for the pilot doomed. A noise betrays you when it spills from your lips; a quiet sob that he’s already leaning down to kiss better.

“I’ll be back for you, gorgeous. I promise.” Bucky presses his lips to yours, feather-light. "We’ll be okay.”

And when he says it like that, you can’t help but believe it.

The taste of you is still buzzing atop his lips by the time Bucky pulls up the yoke. Thorpe Abbotts shrinks into the distance, further and further away until the cherry trees on the ground are dancing underneath the shadows the clouds cast onto the earth. In his mind, you’re still there, standing beneath a thousand petals falling like confetti, waiting for him to land.

His words to you are lost among the roar of the twin engines– I'll be back.

“...John.”

“John.”

“Bucky, wake up!”

“Hmm?”

Your hand is rubbing up and down his arm before he can startle himself awake. When his vision unblurs, his first sight of the morning is one of you backlit by the sun, an orange glow around your face like a halo. You’re the angel standing in your shared bedroom, coaxing him awake, and Bucky decides this must be heaven.

“G’morning, beautiful.” A sleepy grin stretches across his face.

“Good afternoon,” you giggle.

“Afternoon? Already?”

“John, it’s half past twelve,” you tell him as he rubs his eyes. “You said you’d help me get after the living room.”

“It's too early,” he murmurs. “Lay with me.”

“John–!”

You barely have a moment to protest when he’s surging forward, wrapping his arms around your waist to tug you back onto your mattress. Unfairly, his advantage is that you’re weak with laughter, yelping when he pulls you down to his chest and rolls on top of you for good measure. Your hand swats weakly at his back as you giggle, the morning scruff on his face tickling your cheeks when he peppers your face in kisses. Your fingers card through the messy brown curls atop his head– maybe you can be convinced to stay in bed a little longer.

Later that afternoon, the windows of the living room are pushed open as far as they go and the curtains are fluttering in the spring breeze. It’s the end of March, and the nascent Wisconsin spring ushers itself in through the door. Outside, patches of grass poke through the melting snow and the overcast clears– the perfect time to start fresh with some spring cleaning.

Bucky pushes the couches against the wall so you can drape the rug over the railing of the front porch. He throws paper, and you throw scissors, and he pretends to be a sore loser about it when you hand him the mop. By the time you’ve halfway finished sweeping the floor, Bucky finally decides what radio station he wants to listen to.

He perks up the moment he recognizes the tune. “Oh, I love this one!”

A smile spreads across your face. You know this one, too. “Here we go.”

Bucky’s already gliding across the living room floor in time to the music, never mind the fact that the mop is dripping water while he uses it as a microphone stand. You playfully roll your eyes, pausing your sweeping to tap your foot in time. He swings his arms, pointing at you in dedication when he begins to sing.

“Never saw the sun shining so bright– never saw things going so right,”

You offer him your palm when he approaches and he takes it gingerly, spinning you around.

“Watching the days hurrying by– when you’re in love, my, how they fly!”

Bucky gestures grandly in your direction, leaning down to speak into the end of the mop handle like an announcer. “Ladies and gentlemen…MY WIFE!”

“My turn?” you prop your broom handle up. “Blue days, all of them gone…nothing but blue skies…”

“FROM NOW ON–!”

Both of you complete the verse as a duet, holding the note as a shout rather than the dulcet way that Ella Fitzgerald had intended it. If you’d stayed focused, the living room would have been spotless an hour ago, but here you are, dancing arm-in-arm with your husband as he revels in your newfound singing career. You take a joint bow when the song ends, a reverent kiss from Bucky your encore.

“My girl's a superstar,” he murmurs, dipping down to kiss you again. “My superstar.”

“That reminds me,” you grin. “There's something in the garden you should see.”

Your fingers lace with his as you lead him through your home, nudging open the screen door to the backyard. Slowly waking from its winter slumber, sprouts emerge from the thawing dirt and the remnants of snow piles melt into the ground. Bucky raises your conjoined hands to his mouth, blowing hot air between your palms to warm them. “You’re gonna catch a cold, baby.”

“We'll only be out here a second,” you say. “Look!”

Sprouting along the fenceline are the reams of begonias you’d forgotten to uproot before the winter frost came. Lo and behold, they’d survived, now unfolding under the light of the spring sun. Their petals are delicate white along the stalk, bending slightly in the spring breeze. You kneel before them to get a closer look, beaming proudly– Bucky’s eyes light up when he sees how happy you are, crouching down next to you.

“Would you look at that,” he whistles, running a hand along the flowering buds.

“I can't believe they survived,” you lean forward, scanning over the flowerbed. “I really thought the cold would kill them.”

The realization hits him; he’s seen this shape of flower before. “These look exactly like–”

Your smile is practically ear-to-ear. “The wild cherries in Thorpe Abbotts, right?”

He nods, studying the flower between his fingers. They even feel the same.

“I think they’ll be in full bloom by May,” you lean into his chest as he drapes an arm atop your shoulders.

“You should be proud,” Bucky muses, pressing his lips to your temple. “They’re the second prettiest flower in this garden.”

(It takes you a second.)

“Stop,” you laugh, shoving him lightly. Bucky allows himself to fall onto the wet grass with the satisfaction of making you blush.

Mid-afternoon creeps in slowly, the setting sun casting light from its peak at the west face of the house. It was the perfect time to recline on the living room couch and enjoy the direct sunlight before it shifted away. Bucky savors the moment by stretching lazily across the couch, feeling the tension in his spine release with a satisfying pop.

“What do you think?”

Bucky raises his head at the sound of your voice. You gesture towards the end table, now decorated with a single stalk of the begonias from the garden in a glass vase.

“You picked them early?” he yawns.

“One of the sprouts looked ready,” you tilt your head, inspecting the arrangement. “Something to make the living room nicer.”

Bucky hums in acknowledgment, shutting his eyes. “It’s perfect the way it is.”

It's more than evident that Bucky’s losing the battle with sleep, and seeing how the sun hits him just right makes it difficult to stay awake yourself. You consider the implications: it’s more than likely you’ll both wake up after the sun has set, but it’ll be a reason to justify takeout and late-night TV with him. Toeing off the heels of your shoes, you amble down until your weight rests comfortably atop his chest.

“Move over,” you murmur, settling into the crook of his neck. He lets out a pleased hum right as your thigh slots between his.

Your hand feels around until it finds his dangling over the side of the couch. Lacing your fingers together, Bucky brings the back of your palm to his lips, pressing a kiss to the skin that lingers.

“I was thinking we’d go somewhere for dinner,” you mutter, shutting your eyes.

Bucky nods. “Whatever you want, beautiful.”

His hands urge underneath the hem of your shirt, palms smoothing firmly up the plush of your sides. With your face slotted in the crook of his neck, he can feel the way you smile. The only thing he can think to do amidst his fog is press a trail of lazy kisses to the side of your face.

“You’re warm,” he murmurs, fingers curling gently into your waist. “Feels good.”

You giggle. That drowsy little giggle– he swears, it’ll kill him someday.

Before he falls into slumber, Bucky opens his eyes to remind himself of the life he’s made with you; stolen kisses and singing out of tune and the vase of white flowers in the house you live in together. Neither of you had ever really left behind Thorpe Abbotts– but you’re here, with your head on his shoulder and your fingers interlocked, underneath the sunlight of a lazy afternoon.

John Egan never doubted he’d be back. He was just happy that he’d come back to you.

“Sleep,” you press a chaste kiss to his neck. “I'll be here when you wake up.”

And finally, John can believe it.

#john bucky egan #john egan #john egan x reader #bucky egan x reader #masters of the air #mota #mota fic #hbowarsummer24 #🧀 ; writing

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