#sam always gets all the credit in documentaries | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

babyboibucky · 4 years ago

Text

Elevate Thy Hate

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Not a day goes by that you and Bucky don’t argue.

Word Count: 4,642

Warnings: Cliché plot but slight angst, self-doubt and Bucky being a loveable idiot who sucks at communicating

A/N: Surprise one-shot because I just remembered I wrote this like...last year lmfao

MAIN MASTERLIST

You woke up feeling great and excited. The mission was finally finished, debriefings were done and reports have been submitted. Everyone was given an entire week to get some rest and since rest days were pretty rare, you truly looked forward to this day.

Before you could even saunter in the kitchen, you had already heard the chatters from your fellow Avengers. One particular voice irked you though but hell no, you weren’t going to let one Bucky Barnes ruin your day.

A chorus of good mornings greeted you as soon as you walked into the kitchen. Nat and Steve were on one side of the counter sipping their coffee while Sam and Wanda were finishing up their food. Tony and Bruce were out of sight, probably holed up in the lab doing experiments as usual. Bucky didn’t acknowledge you and quickly headed out of the kitchen, thankfully. You weren’t in the mood to pick a fight.

Walking up to the cupboards, you quickly grabbed you favorite cereal and proceeded to pour it out on your bowl. None came out though. You peeked inside bag and saw that only crumbs of it were left.

“Who the—“

Everyone was already pointing at Bucky when you turned around to ask. And of course, Bucky did it on purpose because he stood there at the end of the hallway, watching you with smug grin on his face.

“I hope your day sucks.” He said and flipped you the bird before turning around to walk away.

You groaned out loud, ignoring the amused chuckles from everyone else in the kitchen.

“I’m not stooping down to your level, asshole! I hope your day is average!”

The day was fortunately uneventful, except for your ruined breakfast care of Bucky. You were determined not to let that annoy you for the rest of the day. So far, so good. You could only wish it’d continue that way for the rest of the week.

“I told you not to rush!” Bucky snapped.

“I had him already! If you didn’t throw that goddamn smoke grenade I would’ve killed him!” You explained.

You could see Sam shaking his head in frustration. Bucky always had to blame something on you even though you weren’t the one at fault.

Bucky snorted, “He had a sniper for fuck’s sake! One shot and you’re dead.”

“Oh wow, says the one who got shot before I did.” You rolled your eyes at Bucky.

The two of you continued to bicker until Nat and Steve walked into the living room looking confused as you and Bucky exchanged insults while Sam remained sandwiched between the both of you on the couch.

“Who got shot?” Steve asked, glancing at you and Bucky alternately.

“Did we miss out on a mission or...?” Nat continued.

Sam chuckled, “We were playing Call of Duty and we lost.” He explained, taking the opportunity to get up from the sofa.

Steve still looked lost, something that Nat immediately picked up. “It’s a video game.” She explained.

“You two are fighting over a game?” He asked you and Bucky.

“They fight over everything.” Nat shrugged and walked out of the room with Sam tagging behind her.

“I’m outta here too, I’m so done babysitting the kids.” He muttered under his breath.

It was past midnight when you were in the living room alone, watching television while eating a Whopper. The lights were turned off and it was absolutely quiet in the compound, setting the perfect ambience for the crime documentary you were watching.

Not long after, you heard someone walk into the living room. It was only when your heard the familiar grunt that you realized who it was. Of course, it had to be Bucky.

“Are you eating a burger?” He asked incredulously.

“No, it’s popcorn. Of course it’s a fucking burger, are you blind or just dumb?” You snapped, your eyes still glued on the television.

“Dumbfounded that you’re eating that at this hour. No wonder you suck at cardio.” Bucky said as he sat down on the other end of the sofa.

“Are you body-shaming me?” You gasped.

Bucky snickered, “I didn’t say anything, I just said you suck at cardio.” He said, not looking at you.

You chose to ignore him and brought your attention back to the television. It was quiet for moment. You almost forgot about Bucky’s presence until of course, he decided to annoy you yet again.

“Can you pass the remote?” Bucky asked monotonously.

“No.”

Silence.

“This show sucks.” He commented.

You were focused on the show but noticed that Bucky was staring at you.

“Can you please pass the remote?” He asked again.

“In case you didn’t notice, I’m watching. I was here first. I hold the rights to control the remote.” You deadpanned, refusing to look at him.

There was a flash of black and gold right before your eyes. Everything happened quickly and the next thing you knew, Bucky was hovering above you, trapping you between his body and the arm rest of the sofa.

“The fuck, Barnes?! Get off of me!” You protested and started pushing him away.

“You gotta work on your reflexes, darling.” He said, finally leaning away from you, remote now in his hand.

He grinned triumphantly and switched the channel before placing the remote inside his sweatpants, “Want to switch the channel? Come and get it.” he taunted as he leaned back on the couch, opening his legs wide as he showed off how the remote created a tent in his sweatpants.

That was the remote...right? You mentally slapped yourself for actually thinking about what Bucky was packing beneath those pants and frowned.

“You’re an asshole and a disgusting one.” You told him.

“God, I hate you.” You muttered and crumpled the wrapper of your burger before throwing it at Bucky.

Deciding that you didn’t want to argue any further, you got up and left the living room, but not without telling Bucky again how much you hated him for making your life miserable.

“The feeling is mutual.” You heard him say.

The petty fights with Bucky went on and on during that entire week of rest. Despite the arguments, there were small moments of kindness shared between you and the soldier.

“Where are you going dressed up so nicely?” You asked Bucky upon seeing him walk into the kitchen wearing a leather jacket on top of a black shirt, dark, tight-fitting jeans and a pair of Doc Martens.

It was meant as an insult, of course. You took every opportunity to tease Bucky and his newfound sense of fashion. Said fashion meant his taste for very millennial outfits despite his old age.

“Grocery.” He replied as he went over to the fridge to pour himself a glass of water.

“Ooh, can you buy me Starbucks on your way back? I’ll pay.” You asked kindly.

Bucky just stared at you as he drank from his glass of water. He slammed it on the counter before walking past you.

“Not a damn chance.”

He did buy you Starbucks though. It didn’t shock you that much considering that the both of you didn’t hate on each other all the damn time. But what surprised you was that he brought you your usual drink and your favorite pastry too.

Steve must have forced him to do so, probably told his best friend your usual orders as well so you made a note to thank him as soon as they got back.

And thank Steve you did, but you didn’t expect the reply that you got.

“Oh was that the reason why Bucky kept bugging me about stopping by Starbucks?” Steve asked.

You narrowed your eyes at him, “What do you mean? I thought he told you I asked him to buy me Starbucks.”

Steve chuckled, “I guess now I know why he wouldn’t shut up about it.” he said, amusement laced in his tone.

“I don’t understand, Cap.” you said.

Steve just smiled at you in response before squeezing your shoulder, “Maybe you will understand soon.”

And with that, he left you feeling even more confused. You honestly didn’t understand the context of the conversation so you decided to just ignore it. Steve sometimes would say weird shit that none of the Avengers knew about. You dismissed it and thought that maybe it was Steve being a decade old, it was probably an old man thing.

You decided to make coffee for Bucky the following day, as a simple gesture to thank him for the Starbucks. He didn’t ask you to pay him back so you felt obligated to do a little something for him. You were an asshole to him sometimes, yes, but that didn’t mean you weren’t going to give credit where credit is due.

Okay, so maybe you didn’t really hate Bucky. If you did actually hate him, the entire team would probably do something about it. Maybe force the two of you to talk things out. The hatred was all fun and games, everyone seemed to be amused by it too.

You still considered Bucky your friend despite the constant bickering. You had to admit, the arguments were pretty fun.

Although, you were wondering whether Bucky felt the same about considering you as his friend. Sometimes, his attitude towards you confused the hell out of you.

One day he’d eat the chocolate you’ve been saving up for cheat day just to spite you. And it definitely did because you ended up cursing him out loud when you saw him munching on it. The next day he brought you a new one. You were watching Netflix when he waltzed into the living room and threw a bar of chocolate at your lap before walking out without saying a word.

These exchange of small yet kind (and confusing) gestures remained unacknowledged. You didn’t know why but you also didn’t feel the need to talk about them. You weren’t going to lie but Bucky’s random acts of kindness would always put a smile on your face.

The vacation unfortunately came to an end and everyone had to go back to saving the world. All of you were gathered in the conference room with Fury for a briefing about the next mission. It wasn’t as big as the last one but it still required a lot of planning.

After explaining the mission, Fury let Steve take over the meeting to strategize.

Some were assigned to do surveillance around the parameter while some were appointed to do all the groundwork. Steve of course, just had to partner you with Bucky to do the actual infiltration given that your skills complemented each other’s.

You grinned and was prepared to roast Bucky’s ass when you turned to him and was met with a scowl. He shook his head with what you assumed was disappointment and turned away from you.

It was the first time he ever dismissed you like that. Sure, you were rude to each other but the look that Bucky gave you wasn’t a teasing one. He wasn’t mocking you nor frustrated. Bucky seemed to really hate the idea of being partnered with you. It was the first time that the two of you had to work together without anyone else. Usually, Steve or Sam joined but for this mission, it was just you and Bucky. Concluding that he must have woken up at the wrong side of the bed, you chose to ignore your gut feeling and focused back to Steve.

After the meeting, everyone else exited the room and started with the preparations for the mission. As you walked down the hallway leading to your bedroom, you heard some soft chattering coming from Steve’s bedroom.

You were supposed to ignore it until you heard your name, making you stop in your tracks.

“I can’t be partnered with her, Steve.”

Bucky.

“Buck, just go with it. I can’t be changing assignments at the last minute.” Steve explained.

Bucky sighed, “You know I can’t function properly when she’s around, let alone be partnered with her. She distracts me, Steve. Her skills distract me and I swear on our friendship, I would end up dying on this assignment.”

“You’re being overly dramatic, Buck. Just suck it up, pal. Do the mission and get it over with.”

“Steve, you don’t understand. I really can’t deal with her. Especially if it’s just the two of us. You know how much I fucking—“

“Hate me?”

You couldn’t help but interject in their conversation. How could you not? Bucky was complaining about how he couldn’t deal with you. It really hurt hearing Bucky say all those things about you. Sure, you were somewhat new to the team and you didn’t have superpowers nor years of training like the rest. But you worked your ass off to be in this position. And for him to say that he couldn’t function with you being around struck a nerve. The last thing on your mind was to hold back your teammates, that’s why you train twice, thrice as hard.

Steve and Bucky stared at you as if they’ve seen a ghost. It’s as if all their blood was drained out of their body when they saw you step inside the room. Bucky was about to say something but you decided to cut him off, not wanting to hear more about how he doesn’t want to be partnered with you.

“We don’t get along that well, I get that. But I honestly thought that our arguments were harmless. Hell, I consider us friends. I didn’t think that you actually hated me.” Your voice quivered because you were truly, deeply hurt.

“That’s not what I meant.” Bucky insisted.

“You literally said that you might end up dying because of being partnered with me, Bucky! Look, I know that I don’t have a super serum running through my veins. I can’t move things with my mind and I can’t come up with life-changing tech. I wasn’t trained since childhood nor have the perfect aim. But I worked hard to be in this team. I trained hard not to be a burden to anyone and I’m sorry if my skills aren’t up to your standards.”

What did you even do to Bucky for him to hate you this much?

“Don’t worry, I won’t burden you. Once this mission is over, I won’t bother you anymore. Ever.” You said before walking out of the way, ignoring Bucky when he had repeatedly called your name.

The ride to the location was filled with tension. Although everyone else had no idea what happened, they somehow knew that the tension had something to do with you and Bucky.

Thankfully, the quinjet was big enough for you not to end up sitting beside Bucky.

“You okay?” Wanda asked, noticing how restless you were.

What you heard definitely affected you in more ways than one. You kept on double checking your weapons, your gadgets and you even ended up doubting yourself. Were you really equipped to be an Avenger? Steve said that Bucky was merely overacting but what if he was right? What if you weren’t skilled enough to protect him or your teammates?

“That’s not true.” Wanda said out of the blue. “I didn’t mean to read your mind, though. Your thoughts are coming off too strong, kinda hard to ignore.” She said apologetically.

You softly laughed, “I should really be staying away from you.” You joked.

Wanda smiled and placed her hand on top of yours, “I mean it though. You’re amazing at what you do. I don’t understand why you’re doubting yourself about being an Avenger.”

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you offered Wanda a grateful smile. You noticed that Bucky had been staring at you the entire time but simply ignored him. You weren’t going to let him snap you out of your focus.

Once on location, everyone started to split up and listened for Steve’s orders through the comms. You and Bucky managed to get inside the base, all thanks to Nat and the Hulk who handled all the guards.

The building was completely empty when the two of you walked around in search of the hidden quarters where all the intel were kept.

Bucky whistled to get your attention, you turned and saw that he was motioning towards what seemed to be a regular brick wall. However, there were a few bricks out of place and upon examining it, you realized it was some sort of a secret door. You managed to figure out which bricks to push and thankfully, it didn’t take you long enough to open the door which revealed an old, steel elevator.

“We found the entrance, Steve.” Bucky said into the comms.

“Careful in there, there were suspiciously a few guards within the parameters. They all might be in there.” Nat warned.

You heaved out a deep breath before stepping into the elevator with Bucky trailing behind you. There was only one button in the elevator, a red one.

“Can someone scan the elevator and make sure this button won’t set off any boobie trap or something?” You asked nervously as you inspected the elevator for any hidden traps.

The comms cracked with Sam’s voice. “Button is safe although...” he trailed.

“Although what?” Bucky asked, examining the elevator as well.

“You’re in for a long ride.”

You frowned, “How long?” You asked.

“Can’t see. It’s way too deep.”

Sam was able to scan the entire base and true enough, the elevator would lead deep down into the hidden laboratory. How deep into the ground it was, none could tell. Neither Sam nor Tony’s technology could see through due to the lack of signal. Steve said it might be dangerous to proceed given that there were no other ways into the lab except for the elevator.

The lack of signal down there meant no communication.

“Guys, I don’t think it’s a good idea to continue with this mission.” Steve said.

“But we’re so close, Steve.” You said.

“I think Steve is right. It’d be hard to call for back up when things go south.” Bucky interjected, not even sparing you a glance.

You snorted. Bucky sure wasn’t overacting when he was complaining about your skills. He definitely didn’t trust you. You weren’t going to settle for that.

“We won’t need any back up.”

And with that, you pressed the red button and completely ignored everyone’s warnings through the comms. Bucky looked at you with disbelief and tried to press the red button again in hopes of halting the elevator. However, the brick wall had closed and the elevator started its descent.

“Why the fuck did you do that?!” He yelled and tried to search the elevator for some sort of stop button.

“We’ll follow soon!” Steve’s voice was the last you heard before your comms completely lost its signal.

“Christ, we don’t even know whether it’s the lab that’s down there!” Bucky said, continuing his search for anything that would bring the both of you up to the ground floor.

“I’m not as stupid as you think I am. All secret doors lead to a top secret room and no, we won’t be needing any back up because I am totally capable of taking down anyone who gets in the way.” You stubbornly replied and leaned against the wall.

You wondered how long the elevator ride was going to be. At the speed that it’s going, it wasn’t impossible to take at least fifteen to twenty minutes if the lab was really far down into the ground. Bucky’s frustration was evident from the way he kept on inspecting the elevator walls. At first it was easy to ignore but Bucky was becoming more and more desperate to find a way to go back up.

“Your desperation to stay away from me is just...astounding.” You said with a bitter chuckle.

“I’m finding a way to get out of here, not away from you.” Bucky explained calmly.

You shook your head, “You don’t trust me to keep you alive, I get it. But can you tone it down even for just a bit?” You spat at him.

Bucky pressed the bridge of his nose and let out an exasperated sigh, “You don’t need to keep me alive.”

“Of course not, you don’t need me to do so ‘cause you’re so capable. How did I not think of that?” At this point, you couldn’t stop the word vomit.

You had tons of things to say to Bucky to prove to him that you were totally good at what you do, that he didn’t need to underestimate you just because you were a new addition to the team.

“That’s not what I mean.” Bucky explained again.

It was starting to annoy you that the more you were becoming agitated, the calmer he was becoming. And he kept on telling you that he meant differently with his statements but he never really attempted to further explain his side.

“Then what do you mean, Bucky?” You pressed. “What did I ever do to you for you to hate me this much? Did I say something offensive? Do I have to train 24/7 for you to think that I deserve to be working alongside the Avengers?” You kept on babbling on and on and on.

Bucky rubbed his face with his hand, “I don’t hate you, okay?” He doesn’t even spare you a look.

All this time, he was looking at anything but you and it was really getting on your nerves.

“See? You keep on telling me that you don’t hate me but you can’t even look at me! I mean, if you really loathe me then own up to it! It hurts me more that you keep on denying it when you can’t even explain a damn thing. At least tell me why!” You were never an emotional person and Bucky knew that, so when he finally turned to look at you, he was surprised to see you on the verge of tears.

“Hey, hey...” Bucky coaxed and tried to hold you but you stepped away from him.

“Just please tell me why, Buck. Tell me and I promise to stay away. If you think I suck at being an Avenger to the point of irritating you, tell me so I can train my fucking ass off until you deem me fit to be an Avenger. If my jokes offended you, I’m sorry. If I—“

“It’s because I like you.”

“...what?”

Bucky Barnes...likes you? It’s as if the silence went on forever inside the elevator that seemed to keep going. How long were the two of you inside it anyway? You couldn’t tell anymore and you didn’t know whether Bucky was simply fooling around with you.

“That’s not funny.” You said.

Bucky shook his head, “It’s not a joke.”

You stared at him doubtfully, “Explain.” You demanded.

Bucky licked his lips and let out a soft chuckle, “I’m an idiot.” He said.

“That doesn’t explain anything. If any, I’d think you’re simply fucking with me.” You pointed out and crossed your arms over your chest.

That seemed to urge Bucky to finally explain. “What you heard in Steve’s room was correct.”

“So you really hate me.”

Bucky groaned, “Let me finish, please?” He pleaded. When you remained silent, he continued to explain himself.

“You really do distract me during missions. Because you’re so amazing and I never doubted your skills. But I also get worried and I hate it when I see you in pain or wounded and it fucking distracts me. I didn’t want to be partnered with you because when I see you, I just...fuck. I like you that much. You kick someone’s ass and I’d end up watching you with awe that it’d cause me my own demise. That’s what I meant. That I’d probably end up dying because whenever you’re around, you have my full attention.”

The anger within you dissipated just like that. You could feel your face heat up from Bucky’s unexpected confession.

“But you’re an asshole to me.” You pointed out.

Bucky laughed, “Because that’s how I get your attention. You walk into a room with a kind-hearted super soldier, a witty bird brain and a few more intelligent men and yet I’d be the first one you’d acknowledge. With a snarky comment but still, attention is attention. It’s the only way I get to interact with you without feeling awkward. I suck at conversations, I mean, you heard me and though I was hating on you when I was merely blabbering to Steve about how much I like you.”

This time, you couldn’t hold back your laughter. All along, Bucky was finding a way to talk to you even though it meant constant arguments over the pettiest things. To be fair though, he really did suck at communicating.

“I’m sorry that it came across like that.” Bucky apologized sincerely. “I hope this doesn’t change anything between us.” He admitted.

You shrugged, “Oh but it does. In fact, it changes everything.”

Bucky’s face fell.

“Because I think I like you too and I kinda want for things to change. For the better of course.” You grinned.

Bucky chuckled and scratched his forehead bashfully, “You think, huh? Not sure?” He asked and turned to you just as the elevator doors opened.

Indeed, it led to the lab where almost all of the targets stayed. The man nearest the elevator had his gun pointed at Bucky but before he could even pull the trigger, Bucky had thrown his knife at him without even sparing a glance and choked the next guy to attack with his metal arm before throwing him towards a group of armed men. He was just gazing at you with a smittened smile.

“Still not sure about liking me back?”

Impressed at his gesture, you smirked.

“Now I am.”

By the time Steve, Nat and Sam walked out of the elevator, the mission had already been done. You walked towards the trio and handed Steve a USB.

“All their data is already saved there. Wiped out their entire system clean too.” You told him, voice chirpy and all.

Bucky was right behind you, a couple of folders in his hands before handing them to Sam, “Lotsa confidential info in there too which includes our next targets.” he said and walked past Sam with a certain jump in his steps.

The three exchanged glances before looking around the entire lab. Men were scattered on the floor, most were dead and others heavily injured.

“What the hell happened here?” Nat asked, avoiding the injured men on the ground as she walked around.

“The mission happened, Nat. All that matters now is that everything has been resolved. I mean, everything.” You said meaningfully and threw Bucky a flirty smile before walking into the elevator.

He followed suit and saluted at the three before pushing the red button. The doors weren’t even closed yet when Bucky couldn’t hold back and quickly leaned to press a soft kiss on your lips. An action that definitely didn’t go unnoticed by the three. You couldn’t help but chuckle when you noticed their reactions before the elevator closed.

Said trio stood there dumbfounded and confused as hell. Early on, the tension between you and Bucky was felt by everyone. The kind of tension then wasn’t even a sexual one. It was so intense that Nat was actually expecting to see you and Bucky at each other’s throats when they got down to the lab.

“Guess that the long ass elevator ride did something. Whatever was in that elevator seems interesting. Wanna go check it out, Nat?” Sam asked suggestively.

Steve chuckled and shook his head.

Nat simply smirked and walked past Sam, “In your dreams, Wilson.”

Everything Bucky Tag List:

@ddowii @jessou893 @stealapizzamyheart @bagelofthelord @mxnt @dontputyourfckingdrinkonmytable @jeeperky @ohladymacbeth @wildflowergubler @supraveng @twinerd14 @buckysmar @bakugouswh0r3

#bbbwrites #oneshots: bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky x reader #sebastian stan

1K notes · View notes

dreamwritesimagines · 4 years ago

Text

Burn The Witch 5 - Cross Your Heart [Bucky Barnes x Reader]

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful support and feedback my loves ! ❤ Here’s the next chapter, I hope you like it as well and please let me know what you think! ❤ Thank you! ❤❤❤

Warnings: Enemies to lovers, fake dating, mentions of blood, sex, violence, death, manipulation, language, guns, knives.

Summary: Lying is supposed to be easy for spies.

Series Masterlist

You were beginning to think undercover operations were some sort of punishments given to agents, because lying was one thing, but creating a whole life around that lie was another.

Not only were your knives replaced by a bunch of paintings on the wall, you now had some photos in frames; old photos of people you didn’t know, people who were supposed to be your “cover” family.

You’d still prefer to have your knives on the walls though.

“You’re my best friend, you’re supposed to be on my side!” you pressed the phone between your shoulder and your ear, and heard Chloe’s laugh.

“I am on your side, I just can’t do anything about your uniform.”

You plopped down on the couch, setting your heels down on the floor.

“Bucky might be from 1940s, but he knows that it’s the 21st century now,” you said, putting the heels on, “No reason to make me dress like a….weird pin up waitress.”

“It’s a part of your mission,” she reminded you, “What, you can kill a target with a wine glass but a pin up costume is where you draw the line?”

You clicked your tongue, “Anyone can kill someone with a wine glass. It’s not that hard.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Babe it’s not rocket science, you just break the bowl part, then use the stem to stab them in the—“ you got distracted when you opened the kitchen cabinet, “I’m sorry, why do I have so many kitchen supplies?”

She held her breath in excitement, “Do you like them?”

“I don’t know what to do with most of them.”

“Cover Y/N likes cooking!”

“And the real Y/N can’t stand her,” you deadpanned, making her stifle a laugh.

“So he hasn’t texted you yet?”

“Barnes?” you asked, “Not yet. Why?”

“Well, I took the liberty of taking a look at his messages the other day.”

“Oh God, don’t tell me,” you said, “He’s seeing someone else?”

“No no, not at all,” she said, “He’s totally single, and probably ready to mingle. With you, that is.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“He and Wilson were talking about you the other day. Well, more like Wilson was telling him to get his shit together and ask you out.”

“I don’t think he’s the type to ask someone out via text,” you said, “I think he will come to the shop one of these days.”

“Why?”

“He looked sort of….” You searched for the word in your mind, “Uh-clueless?”

“Clueless?”

“Yeah, you know how assassins usually flirt,” you ignored her noise of disagreement, “He wasn’t like that.”

“You really need to focus on the personal details of his file.”

You scowled, “What is that supposed to mean?” you asked, “I know his favorite weapons, what knives he—”

“Personal file,” she repeated, “You know there’s more to people than their weapons of choice right?”

“I might have to engage in combat if I’m ever compromised, and do you know how many people walked away alive after engaging in combat with the Winter Soldier in all these decades?” you asked, “Three. Three people; Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, Natasha Romanoff, and they are legends. I might be good, but I’m not that good.”

“Just memorizing his arsenal can’t help you in this mission,” she said, “Did you know that he hasn’t exactly dated since becoming the Winter Soldier? His ex Connie ended up having 3 kids and a long career at the post office—“

“What am I supposed to do Chloe, stalk grandma’s Instagram?”

“No, she passed away 5 years ago.”

“Of course she did,” you mumbled, “Listen, I don’t have time for this. I’m already knee deep in my own cover, I can’t get into Barnes’s past when it’ll give me no advantage in the mission.”

“Y/N-“

“Trust me,” you cut her off, looking in the mirror to fix your uniform, “I have everything under control.”

***

You had maybe like one thing under control and that was the milkshake you were currently pouring into a mason jar. After a crash course in different recipes yesterday, you barely needed any help from your coworkers and seeing that the shop wasn’t very crowded, you didn’t have to rush.

And now you knew how to make three things; pasta, eggs and milkshakes.

If Keith were here, he would’ve said those were 3 main food groups.

“Tara, we’re running low on maraschino cherries,” you said as you shook the can and your new coworker turned to you.

“Oh that’s okay, there’s another jar are under the counter.”

You put the cherry over the whipped cream, and handed the jar to her. “There you go.”

“Another week of working here and you will come up with your own recipes,” she said, “Tell me the truth, are you like a spy sent by a rival company?”

You stared at her, then forced a laugh.

“I wish,” you said, “Maybe I’d be paid more.”

“Good point,” she said and walked to give the milkshake to the customer while you put the empty jar aside, then went under the counter to search for a new jar.

“Strawberries….” You read the labels out loud as you heard the wind bells chime by the door, “Figs, berries—cherries!”

You reached out to grab the jar and stood up but as soon as you did, you caught the sight of the figure by the door and held your breath, the jar slipping from your grip before you caught it mid-air.

“Bucky.” You breathed out, before you remembered to plaster a smile on your face.

Naïve, soft hearted civilian.

He stole a look around as if he expected someone to attack him at any seconds in a milkshake shop before he stepped closer to the counter you were standing behind.

“Hi.”

“Hi-hi there!” you said, putting the jar down, “You came!”

“You sound surprised,” he smiled and you shrugged your shoulders, shooting him a mischievous look,

“Better late than never, I suppose.”

He hissed in a breath, “Ouch, was it that late?”

“Just a little,” you said “So what can I get you?”

He looked up at the board over the wall, “What are my options?”

“Well, we have Unicorn Cotton Candy, Pumpkin Spice Latte, Candy Cane Passion, Lavender Macaron—“ you stopped talking when you saw the clueless look on his face and cleared your throat, “Or hey, maybe chocolate? We have chocolate milkshake.”

“Chocolate sounds good.”

“Coming right up.” You took a mason jar from the shelf to get to it and he grabbed his wallet, making you raise your brows.

“Don’t even think about it.”

“Oh come on—”

“I’m going to make you an overly complicated milkshake if you try to pay for this,” you warned him, shaking the can before putting whipped cream on top of the milkshake, “It’s on the house, I owe you.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” he said quickly, making you point at him with the straw.

“Either way, I’m warning you. I’m armed and dangerous.”

“Consider me intimidated,” he said with a grin as he put the cash into the tip jar and you narrowed your eyes.

“Bucky.”

“Well technically, tip doesn’t count.”

“I wonder where I heard that before,” you muttered under your breath while he walked to pull himself a seat.

“Hm?”

“Nothing,” you said, reminding yourself that your cover probably wouldn’t make dirty jokes and went to place the milkshake in front of him.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” You waved a dismissive hand and rested your elbows on the counter, leaning in slightly.

He was gentleman enough to not check out your cleavage, instead kept his gaze on your face, making you suppress a smile.

“You were right,” Bucky said, his eyes darting around the café after a couple of seconds, “About how this place looked. It is creepily accurate.”

“Really?”

“I mean we didn’t have a neon flowers corner, but…” he trailed off, “Yeah. Yeah, I would say so.”

“Is that why you look like you expect someone to jump out of shadows and attack you?” you asked and his head shot up before he scrunched up his face.

“That obvious?”

“Not that I have lots of experience but so far none of the customers looked this uncomfortable while drinking a milkshake,” you said, “Is it because deep down you actually wanted to try Unicorn Cotton Candy?”

“Oh no, I’m good with classics,” He held up his milkshake, “No I just think that I’m a bit….uh, rusty.”

“Rusty,” you repeated, “On what?”

“On this.”

You batted your lashes, looking up at him and you could almost feel him being lured in.

“I’m sorry, I don’t follow,” you said softly after a beat and he gulped, taking a deep breath.

“It’s just that you’re—“ he cleared his throat, “You’re very beautiful and it’s been decades since I last asked someone out for a date.”

Winter Soldier, credited with over 100 assassinations, you reminded yourself Don’t lower your guard, it’s just a cover.

Don’t believe in your own cover.

You bit down a smile, tilting your head.

“Well, I didn’t think you were rusty,” you said and he raised his brows.

“You didn’t?”

“Not at all,” you said, “For the record, I’m definitely going to say yes.”

“Are you?”

“Absolutely,” you grinned, “Once you actually ask me, that is. With words, not an implication.”

His smile was almost playful, “With words, huh?”

“I’m old fashioned like that,” you taunted him, “Let’s see how we can make it less awkward for you though. Would you feel more comfortable to ask me out if you knew some weird stuff about me?”

“You know, that would help a lot actually.”

You tapped your fingernails on the counter, looking up at the ceiling, pretending to be in deep thought. Your superiors had always said the best cover stories were somehow based on real life without revealing your identity, so you figured telling him random things about you wouldn’t hurt or put the mission in danger.

“Well, I really like grapes but I don’t like the skin, so I end up peeling every grape I eat, one by one,” you counted with your fingers, “I watched a documentary once and now I can’t swim in any lakes because I keep thinking I’ll get attacked by that weird flesh eating bacteria. When I was sixteen, I was the president of the chess club but I had a boyfriend who didn’t believe in the moon landing—”

“I heard about the moon landing!” he said quickly, “I didn’t get around to watch it yet though.”

“Oh my God, you should.”

“What else?”

“I’m scared of peacocks,” you confessed, “I know everyone says they’re beautiful but they look like they’re waiting for the right time to attack you.”

He looked like he was fighting with himself not to laugh and he pressed his metal fist on his lips, his whole attention on you.

“You can’t laugh!” you exclaimed and he shook his head, trying to look as serious as possible.

“I’m not!” he managed to hide his chuckle with a cough, “Keep going, this is very helpful.”

You heaved a sigh. “Well, do you want to hear the most embarrassing one?”

“Absolutely.”

“I normally keep my phone on mute 24/7 but since last week it’s been on full volume because I was terrified I’d miss something important.”

The amused light in his eyes got softer and he lowered his hand, a smile warming his face.

Hook, line…

“I was um— I was hoping for you to call, you see.” you said, averting your gaze from him to look down for a second, biting on your lip.

His voice was raspy; “Were you?”

You shrugged your shoulders, mumbling an inaudible maybe, and his eyes trailed down to your lips before snapping up to lock your gaze in his.

“What time do you get off work today?”

And sinker.

Time to pull back.

You sucked in a breath through your teeth, “I work at the soup kitchen tonight.”

“Oh –I thought you said it was on Mondays and Wednesdays.”

“I did, I’m just covering for a friend tonight. Family emergency, she says.” you said and pushed your hair behind your ear, shifting your weight, “But my shift is over at 6 tomorrow and I can be ready around 7, I live really close by. If you’re- if you’re free, that is.”

“I am.”

“It’s a date, then.”

“It’s a date,” he repeated and stood up, “See you tomorrow, Y/N.”

“See you tomorrow Bucky.” You smiled as he walked out of the shop and Tara came closer to you.

“Wow, you’ve been here a month and you met someone that hot?” she said and winked at you, “Good job there.”

Right.

Good job.

***

“So, wait—“ Chloe came closer to sit between you and Keith, holding a huge bowl of popcorn, “He just showed up?”

“Mm hm.”

“And you have a date tomorrow?”

Keith uncapped your beer and handed you the bottle as you rested your feet on the coffee table.

“You’re being careful, aren’t you?” he asked you and you nodded.

“Sure.”

“He doesn’t suspect anything?”

“No, he’s buying this whole naïve soft hearted civilian thing,” you said while Chloe snatched the remote from Keith’s hand, ignoring protests.

“And are you?”

You dragged your eyes from the list of movies on the screen. “I want a horror movie.”

“Well too bad, I want an action movie.”

“We’re watching a rom-com and that’s final!” Chloe pointed at both of you, making you groan.

“Why does this keep happening?” Keith asked to no one in particular and she snapped her fingers.

“It’s my turn and my place so I pick the movie,” she said and shot you a look, “I’m still waiting for an answer, by the way. You don’t….you don’t have feelings for Barnes, right?”

Keith stole a look at you before turning to Chloe,

“I don’t think our dear friend here wants a relationship beautiful,” he told her, “Not after what happened the last time.”

You could feel the goosebumps rising on your arms as a shiver ran down your spine.

“I don’t even know Barnes all that well yet, but I can assure you he’s not the type to—“ you paused, “Do something that cowardly.”

Keith gritted his teeth. “Where is that asshole anyway?”

“Hungary,” Chloe said and you raised your brows.

“Undercover?”

“Yeah. I hope he gets compromised and dies there.”

“Very unlikely,” you murmured, “Anyways, what brought this on? My feelings for Barnes?”

“It’s just that I recently read Vincent Smith’s file,” she said, “You guys remember Vincent?”

“Who?”

“His code name was Marco.”

“Oh, I remember Marco!” Keith said, “That guy took down a whole unit by himself. What happened to him?”

“He is missing.” Chloe said and you pulled your brows together.

“Since when do agents go missing and we don’t know where they are?”

“Since they fall for the target.”

“No way,” Keith chuckled, “Badass spy Marco fell in love? Poor idiot.”

“You’re a terrible person, Keith.”

You sat up straighter, “Wait, did you say he fell for the target?”

“Yeah, I saw the reports from his handler. And now he’s missing, and I don’t want you to run away with Barnes like Marco did with his target.”

You and Keith exchanged glances and you clicked your tongue.

“Chloe babe, he’s not missing.” you said “He’s dead.”

She pulled back slightly, “You don’t know-“

“Yes I do. You don’t fall for the target and compromise the whole mission, not unless you want to end up dead.”

“There’s no report of that,” she insisted and Keith sipped his beer.

“What did his report say, sweetheart?”

“That he was removed from his mission before going missing.”

Keith scoffed, “Rest in peace Marco, you won’t be missed.”

“How do you know—“

“Because that’s the code,” you said, “If the report says he was removed from his mission and went missing, it means he was killed by an agent on our side.”

“We killed our own agent?” she exclaimed and you turned the beer bottle in your hand,

“He stopped being our agent the moment he fell for the target.”

Chloe covered her mouth with her hands, worry etched into her expression, “Y/N, please, please promise me you won’t somehow get too involved in this mission and fall for Barnes and put yourself in danger.”

You let out a small laugh, grabbing a handful of popcorn.

“It’s the Winter Soldier we’re talking about,” you reminded her and chewed on the popcorn, “Trust me, that would never happen.”

“Cross your heart?”

You heaved a sigh and clinked your beer bottle with hers.

“Cross my heart honey,” you assured her, “There’s no way I’d sign my own death warrant by doing something that stupid.”

Chapter 6

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #the falcon and the winter soldier #tfatws #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes imagines #marvel #bucky barnes x you

621 notes · View notes

myaimistrue · 4 years ago

Text

happy birthday jack!!!!! <3

you can also read this on my ao3

Jack never asks for anything, is the thing. He’s a good kid, a sweet kid, and he’s pretty much happy as long as everybody else is—which, these days, isn’t the tall order it used to be, but still. He doesn’t need much, or ask for much. So a few days before Jack’s fourth birthday, when he comes to dinner all excited about something he wants to do to celebrate, Dean already knows they’re going to make it happen, regardless of what it is.

“I was talking to Cas, and he told me we could do whatever I want for my birthday this year.” Jack’s eyes dart between Dean and Cas—Sam and Eileen are on their way back from a hunt in Nebraska—and Dean finds himself ridiculously endeared by it. “I thought about it a lot. And I think I know what I want to do.”

“Shoot,” Dean says. He just hopes whatever it is won’t make too much of a dent in their bottomless credit cards.

“I want to go to the beach.” Jack says it all in a rush, like he’s been working up to it for a while now. “Cas, we watched that documentary about sea turtles, and all I could think about is how I’ve never spent any real time at the ocean. And then I googled it, and did you guys know all the things you can do at the beach?” His eyes are sparkling with excitement now. “There’s surfing and swimming and jetskis and we could play volleyball or fly a kite or—”

“Woah, Jack, slow down.” Dean cuts in, keeping an easy smile on his face to reassure the kid, because he’s gotten himself all worked up. “You wanna go to the beach? That’s what you wanna do for your birthday?”

Jack takes a steadying breath, like Sam taught him to do when he gets over-excited, then says, “Yes. Yes, for my birthday I’d like to go to the beach.”

Dean and Cas exchange a brief, fond look.

“Well, I think we can make that work, can’t we, Dean?” Cas says, unable to keep that soft smile off his face, the one that always shows up when Jack’s being adorable—which is pretty much all the time.

“I think so.” Dean grins at the way Jack’s rocking back and forth on his heels, like he’s already thrilled but doesn’t want to jinx anything by showing it. “Sam and Eileen’ll be back tonight… we could get going tomorrow and be there by your birthday.”

“Really? You’re sure?”

“Of course, Jack,” Cas says warmly. “We’ll start planning now.”

Dean’s grin only widens. “I’ve already got a few ideas in mind. Jack, come with me—we’ve got some maps to look over.”

Which is how, roughly forty-eight hours of packing, planning, and road-tripping later, the whole Winchester-Leahy-Kline family is on the beach having the time of their lives.

Jack immediately fell in love with the ocean. They’ve been here for a couple hours now, and the kid’s barely left the waves, splashing around like he’s never been so happy. He can’t swim, technically, so they make him stay close to shore, but that doesn’t seem to bother him at all. Cas even bought Jack a pair of water wings that he absolutely adores—they have fire trucks on them.

Jack’s out there now, playing some kind of game with Cas, Sam, and Eileen that involves a lot of laughter and tackling each other into the water. Dean’s watching them all from the shore, relaxed back on brand new beach towel they bought on the way here. Four years. He can’t believe the kid is that old already. The fact settles warmly in his chest, reassuring and peaceful.

“Dean!” Jack is sprinting out of the water toward Dean, happy and golden and practically radiating goodness. The rush of love Dean feels for his son at that moment is almost staggering. “Dean, come play with us!”

And, well. He looks to waves, where Eileen and Cas are laughing about something while Sam attempts to float on his back like an idiot. He looks back at Jack’s smiling, sweet face.

“I love you,” Dean says, suddenly seized by the importance that he says it. “You know that, right, kid?”

He’s not sure what he’s expecting, but it’s not for Jack to actually roll his eyes—God, Claire is a terrible influence. “Yeah, Dean, I know. I love you too.”

Jack says it like it’s so damn obvious, which makes Dean actually start to tear up a little. He wipes at his eyes like it’s just sweat from the heat—Jack doesn’t notice, anyway. He’s already glancing back at the ocean, like he can’t stand to be away from it for too long.

Dean slings an arm around the kid before he can get too wildly emotional and wreck his birthday with a heart to heart or something. “Alright, Jack, what are we playing?”

Jack launches immediately into a long and winding explanation that makes little to no sense, but Dean doesn’t mind. He just squeezes Jack a little tighter and follows him to the water.

#userzaddy #rambleoncas #holmesemrys #gardenercas #seffersonjtarship #offbeattraxx #kashmircastiel #nougatparty #jack #dean #cas #sam #eileen #deancas #destiel #jack kline #del's writing #they deserve to go to the beach that's all i'm saying #i have a beach trip agenda for these characters

148 notes · View notes

munsonsduchess · 3 years ago

Text

Boyfriend of the Year

Summary: Aunt Flo has come to visit and you're a wreck. Thankfully your boyfriend is on hand to make you feel better

Warnings: Talk about periods, talk about murder, just fluff honestly

A/N: yeah this is entirely self indulgent cause I've got the painters in myself and I just want cuddles from a 6'5 super soldier

It was a simple thing really, something you’d been dealing with since you’d hit puberty. The symptoms were always the same and yet every time you were constantly wondering why you were so cranky this week, why were you crying over nothing, why did you want to eat everything in sight, why were you so horny?

Then the first drop of red in your underwear would make you realise, oh yeah, you get periods. Periods that mess with your hormones. Since you were like eleven. You even had a little app on your phone to track it. Still, everytime you wondered what was going on with you. No one could ever credit you with being a genius.

This particular unwelcome monthly intrusion however had come with absolutely unbearable cramping because of course it did, things had been going suspiciously well for a while so why not throw a spanner in the works and have this happen.

You were curled up on the couch most evenings after work with a heating pad practically glued to your abdomen watching crap you found on netflix and fluctuating from crying uncontrollably at movies with animals and getting outrageously angry at true crime documentaries, which is where Bucky found you,

“You sick son of a bitch! She loved you!” you yelled throwing an empty snack carton at the television, “how could you just cheat on her like that?”

“Everything ok sweets?” Bucky asked tentatively, he was waiting by the door to see if this outrage would be turned on him or if it would be safe to advance further into your apartment,

“Can you believe this asshole? He basically stole this girl’s life and then he has the gaul to cheat on her and kill her for the life insurance money! Men are scum!”

“So you want me to stay with Sam or Steve?” Bucky laughed, “I can send Natasha or Wanda around instead if you want company”

“No! You have to stay!” you cried, “you’re not allowed to leave me”

Did you sound crazy? Yes, yes you did. Did Bucky care? Not one ounce, he thought it was funny actually how quickly you could whip through emotions. From throwing stuff at the TV one minute to turning to him with wet eyes and begging him to stay.

“Ok ok I won’t go” he chuckled, slotting himself in place next to you on the couch, “wanna get me up to speed?”

You nodded and quickly gave Bucky a run through of what had happened up until that moment and explaining why the man in question was scum and should be taken out for the sake of world peace. You nodded very seriously in agreement with yourself and Bucky to his credit just sat there and let you rant with nothing more than a little quirk of a smile.

“You’re right baby, he’s awful” Bucky said when you’d finally stopped your little tirade, “want me to take care of him?”

“You’re joking but I’d do it in a heartbeat. Anyone who kills their wife deserves it”

“What about if it’s a husband who gets killed?”

“He probably deserved it”

“Baby you wound me!” Bucky put his hand over his heart in mock outrage, “are you saying if you kill me I deserved it?”

“Hmm that depends” you said tapping your lips in thought, “on your answer to my next question”

“Oh yeah? What’s the question?”

“Can we get chinese tonight? I’m sore and I don’t wanna get up” you pouted up at him and did your best to seem sad and needy, how could he resist,

“I guess I’m calling?” Bucky raised an eyebrow at your little pout and the puppy dog eyes, “alright, you want the usual?”

“With gravy!”

“With gravy ok”

“I love you, you’re the best boyfriend anyone could ask for, I’m sorry I’m so needy, you probably didn’t want to come home to this and you could have been having fun with Sam or Steve or Tony or anybody but instead -”you sniffed and wiped at your eyes with the sleeves of Bucky’s sweater you’d stolen because it was more comfortable,

“Hey, hey no come on no tears” he used his thumbs to wipe your tears away gently, “I don’t wanna be anywhere else pretty girl, I’m happy here with you”

You buried your face into his shirt and clung to him tightly, you’d had your fair share of shitty boyfriends in the past who’d usually mysteriously vanish around this time of the month so having Bucky stay with you through it all was just another point to prove that he truly was as wonderful as you constantly made him out to be to everyone else.

After your tears had subsided you wiped at your puffy eyes with the sweater sleeves and took a few deep breaths. These mood swings were gonna kill you if the cramps didn’t. Still to Bucky’s credit all he did was take out his phone and place your usual order, with extra gravy as requested.

How in the world did you get such a wonderful man?

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Taglist (it's just the moots but you can ask if you wanna be added!): @doasyoudesireandlive @spicynudlesoup @bucksmotel @metalbuckaroo

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes imagine #bucky fic #duchess writes

112 notes · View notes

keouil · 3 years ago

Text

how you forget to be human

“so is she like,” scott hesitates. “cap’s first lady or something?” rated t. 2k+. steve/nat. also on ao3 / twitter / cc

Scott hasn’t been with the team for a long time, but he thinks he at least has enough working knowledge of how everyone operates.

The Winter Soldier—Bucky to Steve, James to anyone who dared—quite frankly still scares the living shit out of him, and that’s Magneto on a good day. It didn’t take much to deduce he seemed wholly uncomfortable in his own skin, his jaw coiled perpetually tight and the rigid set of his shoulders always in alert. It was uneasy just being around him, his discomfort bleeding over others and charging the air around his space with its own brand of disquieting; but always, without fail, Steve cushioned whatever apprehension anyone aimed toward his bestfriend.

Most of it came from Sam, and almost always in good nature as if to ease the brainwashed supersoldier into some semblance of normality; and Scott would fear for Sam’s life every time he opened his mouth, were it not for the also very obvious fact the Falcon held his own and didn’t appreciate handouts and the three of them seemed to be getting along uniquely (if not a little oddly) well enough.

The witch was a small problem, however. Simply for the fact she was a witch and Scott is wary because history taught him they burned all of them down in Salem.

He sees her wiggling those voodoo fingers around sometimes, almost unconsciously, and feels the hairs on his arms rise with every flick of her wrist. The energy around her isn’t suffocating the same way Bucky’s is. It was more a subtle nervous tingling; like she herself was afraid of the gravity of her own powers she had yet to have complete reigns on. Scott is oddly humbled by the fact and even empathises with her a little.

Steve keeps an eye on her and doesn’t bother hiding it, but it’s the archer who gets past her when it really counts. Clint Barton, who, surprisingly is the one he’s on the most similar wavelength with out of all of them: family man and all.

Clint Barton whose also friends with Natasha Romanoff.

Hawkeye who has simultaneously the most complex and impossibly simple relationship with Black Widow.

“I swear to god if you ring me up next time you’re out of goddamn Fruit Loops,” Natasha warns, digging through one of the five grocery bags on the kitchen island. She fishes for a few more seconds, before popping a colourful cartoon box out from under the bag and tossing it to Barton. “I’m bringing you in for real.”

Clint scoffs, placing the carton on the top shelf. “How many times have I heard that before?”

“Apparently not enough,” Natasha glares at him from her peripheral, scooping out Nutella and a pack of store-bought pryanik to lay on the table. Russian biscuits. For Wanda. “If I’m still stopping by an abandoned boarding house in the slums of Siberia every other week. Y’all grown men can’t do grocery shopping by yourselves?”

Scott blinks from his spot by one of the stools.

Of all the things he expected to wake up to in hiding from 117 countries from possible charges of aiding and abetting a war criminal, Black Widow casually arranging and organising their weekly rationale was nowhere near the top of the list. She did this all the while supposedly fighting for the other team.

This one needs no introduction.

Scott knows who Black Widow is. Scott knows Captain America, after all.

You don’t grow up in the land of the free without knowing his legacy even in minute passing. The man has been plastered on nearly every surface of the continent since the dawn of America. Scott has seen the news footages, read the official accounts, willingly devoured every single documentary or biopic helmed in honour of their nation’s greatest hero: he knows, down to the bone, the star-spangled man with a plan.

A forgotten and revered and rebirthed war hero.

How he came to know of her, however, is an entirely different story: because come the news footages, zoom in close enough you’ll see the infamous shield covering a much smaller and daintier figure; go over the accounts with a fine-toothed comb, they speak of a levelled dynamic between a commanding officer and a shadow leader; and, lest history not forget, the documentaries: Peggy, because behind every great man is a woman, Natasha.

“Now why would we do that if we got you?” Sam. He comes up from behind the hallway to playfully grin at Natasha before enveloping her in a small hug. She returns it easily.

Scott braces himself for what’s to come, because they came in a pair, and so: “Nat,” Steven Grant Rogers, in the flesh himself, pokes his head in not a moment later with a barely indisputable frown on his face. “You came here again?”

Natasha clicks her tongue at him. “Someone had to make sure you boys were fed.”

“That’s not— We can—” Steve stutters as he strides in, and Scott has to very carefully school his features into nonchalance because Captain America does not stammer. He sighs deeply before settling next to her, nudging her with his hip. “Tony atleast know you're here?”

Natasha gives him a pointed look. “Who do you think paid for all this?”

Scott watches their silhouettes grow smaller and smaller by the distance.

Even from afar, he can make out Steve’s absolute hulk of a frame: back impossibly straight in a way that bespoke authenticity, years of rigid military training drilled into his bones; only he seemed to mellow, somehow and very slightly, the fine lines of his shoulders angled in the direction of her voice. And Natasha: brave and lithe, nearly a head shorter and so much more smaller, facing forward in full confidence and a leisurely stride in her steps.

Siberia has a biting night air that seeps deep into the bone. But it’s also comforting somehow; all of them knowing, in one way or another, what it was like to be iced out from society.

They were all huddled by the makeshift campfire Barton fashioned out of some wooden logs and a matchstick. Sam, in charge of roasting marshmallows, was gently coaxing Bucky into eating one and promising him it’s not poisoned. Wanda was handing out steaming cups of hot chocolate brewed from the pack Natasha brought in a few hours ago, a staple in her weekly grocery runs because apparently the kid witch liked sweets.

Scott gingerly takes a sip from his mug, some of the warmth seeping into liquid courage he was building up for weeks now. He takes a deep breath before plunging himself into the waves.

“I can’t be the only one worried that the enemy has infiltrated our territory, right?”

To their credit, neither of them kill him on sight.

Wanda pauses in levitating one of the wooden logs above the hearth, a single bark of kindling hovering uncertainly over the air. Bucky has an unreadable expression on his face when he regards him. A look passes between Sam and Clint, betraying nothing of their inner thoughts at his outburst.

The fire is nice and toasty, but the air is stifling now and Scott has never felt more the outsider than at that very moment.

Until Sam breaks into a hearty laugh. “Widow?” he shakes his head amusedly. “No, man, Steve and Nat are tight. They’re past stuff like that.”

Scott furrows his eyebrows in concern. “But isn’t she—”

“On Tony’s side?” Clint quips, poking at one of the planks. Wanda finally drops the floating bark, and Scott doesn’t miss the flash of something in her eyes when she glances at him from the other side of the fire. He thinks he saw a spark of red for a second. “Sure, I guess. Technically she’s Team Iron Man or whatever that means. But Natasha is also fiercely loyal, especially when it comes to Steve.”

“What does that mean?” Scott asks in genuine confusion.

Sam opens his mouth to elaborate, words already forming on his mouth; before he seems to come to a belated realisation, blinks, and manages a nonchalant shrug. "Damn if I know,” he admits, turning over a puffy mallow and watching the crackles of fire burn its edges. “But she’s good for him. That’s all I care about.”

“And he’s good for her,” Clint returns easily, not an ounce of hesitation in his voice. “Maybe sometimes it’s just that easy.”

They hear the crunching of footsteps on snow creeping up behind them, and Scott takes this as his cue to stash the conversation for another time.

He watches them stroll in together carefully.

Steve holds the gate open for her and places a small hand on her back as they advance in the small patch of woods by the backyard. Natasha settles next to Wanda, hands going up and down her arms to warm the younger girl despite being the one having only just gone out for a walk in the middle of Russian winter: because, and at this Scott is now confident, the jacket resting on her shoulders three times her size was keeping her warm enough.

The quinjet doesn’t start up right away.

Scott is slowly panicking, because the realisation that he was truly out of his depth at fighting in the next greatest civil war of the century notches above his pay grade only viscerally begins to take hold.

He has a family back home, pets to feed, a little life saving every now and then; but never this colossal of a scale, never with the stakes stacked up so high against them, that it really could only ever be toppled down by the likes of fucking Iron Man and Captain America.

But Steve is still confident.

It’s so bloody obvious he was always going to keep at it, gunned down the concrete walls of the airport and clawed his way out of it brick by brick if need be. He was really and truly the good man underneath it all, and at the back of his mind, Scott still finds himself awed at the fact.

But he doesn’t know how on earth the man came out of that airport not visibly rattled, not at all unlike how Scott was currently feeling; and, as he processes the rest of their wayward expressions, he knew he wasn’t alone in thinking so.

“Cap,” Sam wheezes by the floor, fighting to labor his breathing with a hand clutched on his dislocated shoulder. “I still got the jeep parked outside. It’s not too late. We can hike the rest of the way.”

“No,” Steve replies, an edge of conviction in his voice. There is not a single tremor in his stubborn hands gripping the wheel. “That’s gonna hold us back days. We just need to be up in the air for now. We need—”

“A woman to come to your rescue again?”

This time, it’s Scott who sighs in deep relief at her voice. This time, Scott doesn’t fight the churn in his stomach at the prospect of having someone who nearly nicked him lifeless not even hours ago this close a range with them again. This time, she is not Black Widow, but simply Natasha Romanoff; Steve Rogers’ friend.

This time, Scott thinks, he will let them be easy just like that.

There was no more a sign of tremble in his voice or hands the entire battle, but at the lilt of her voice, he just crumbles.

“Nat,” Steve breathes out when he turns to her, hands fisting at his sides in an attempt to regain control. Just like that, he unravels; so easily and without preamble in the face of her steeled strength. “I can’t get it to turn on— And I— We have to get Bucky—”

“Work through it, Steve,” she cooes in probably the most placating voice he’s heard of her, but she doesn’t move to touch him when she comes close. Her hands are going a mile a minute over the control panel, pushing buttons and lifting levers. Steve is hovering by her side like it's the only thing holding him together. “You know how to fly this thing, right?”

Steve is visibly taken aback and angles his body to face her. “You’re not coming with us?”

The question hangs in the air.

It charges the silence around them and quells any of their growing uncertainty, because, clear as it was of Steve’s well-founded and undeniable leadership skills: they also knew, intimately, she anchored him through it all.

Sam was putting pressure around Bucky’s human arm as he looked back and forth at them tensely. He could feel Wanda hitch her breath behind him.

Natasha’s fingers keep flying away at the keyboard, until they feel the telling signs of an engine rumbling underneath and the overhead lights spurting back to light. The whole jet roars to life in the next second, heating fans whizzing and technical sounds beeping. She shifts some gears around and locks in a destination with the GPS navigation.

When she turns to look at Steve, it is then Scott forces himself to pry his eyes away and not bear witness to this part of his already over documented life. In that single moment of uncertainty, the what does that mean is meant like this: an intimate baring of a soul, heart, trust: in a way no words could ever begin describing or should even attempt to put to paper.

It is friendship at the most intimate level, it is soulmates on the most soul-crushing departure, and it is the everything else that comes after.

“Not this time, Rogers,” he hears her say, and Scott doesn’t have to imagine the slight fracturing of his iron-clad footing in the world swaying ever so slightly, when he replies with: “Then I guess I’ll see you around, Romanoff.” .

“So is she like,” Scott hesitates. “Cap’s first lady or something?”

They’re some seventy feet off the air above the Pacific Ocean, the moisture from the ocean drifting up to the open barracks and making the air glisten around them. Bucky is fast asleep somewhere down the lower levels with Wanda keeping watch over him, upon the fervent insistence of Steve arguing he needed rest. It came as no surprise that he also self-assigned himself the first watch of the night.

Sam is sharpening his knives, the grating sound of sandpaper slicing over iron piercing through the silent hum and drum of the night.

“Please,” he scoffs, looking over at him. “If anything, Steve is her first lady.”

#romanogers #stevenat #fic #natasha romanoff #steve rogers #romanogers fi #stevenat fic #marvel fic

34 notes · View notes

lovelyirony · 4 years ago

Note

Prompt: After Sharon saves him and Sam many times, Bucky decides he's going to find Sharon love. His first resort is the dora milaje.

Here’s the thing: as suave as many some of the documentaries have made Bucky out to be, he’s not really suave now.

In fact, he’s not suave period. He woke up from seventy years of brainwashing, just found out that even though he’s a damned superhero he needs to have a good credit score, and Sharon just saved their asses again.

Sharon is single.

This is a thing he notices because it is obvious. Not hard to notice. Sharon, on some level, wants a relationship. She wants someone who gets it. Someone who knows that she has a job to do and they’ll let her do it while also communicating what they need.

Bucky doesn’t know a lot of women right now, but he thinks that the Dora Milaje fit into this category. Of dating.

So he calls Shuri and asks if any of them are looking for a girlfriend.”

“Do you mean...boyfriend?” Shuri asks. “Because, um, no?”

“No, I meant what I said,” Bucky protests. “I’m trying to find Sharon a girlfriend.”

“And she told you that she wants a girlfriend?” Shuri answers. “From what I’ve seen of her, she’s very dedicated to her job.”

“No one wants to be alone forever,” Bucky says. “And if the romantic relationship aspect doesn’t work out, she’ll have friends! Friends are always good, right?”

“Right,” Shuri says. “Alright, sure. Let’s find her a friend first.”

They start off with Nakia. She’s not looking for a relationship, but she and Sharon talk about different wartime strategies they’ve used in the grocery stores.

Sharon, of course, knows that something is up. Bucky, for as skilled as he is, is not exactly Mr. Subtle when he’s trying to be subtle.

She knows that there’s something to do with Dora Milaje.

The problem: Sharon isn’t coming to the right conclusions.

Sure, she’d like a girlfriend. Sure, she accidentally compromised one of their missions by staring at a woman in the nicest leather jacket she’s seen for a while.

But she didn’t think that Bucky or Sam had noticed.

So the conclusion that she’s drawn?

They’re trying to tell her to update her fighting skills.

It makes sense. She can’t exactly go to the training center at SHIELD since she’s on the run, and they’ve been fighting more on-the-fly than anything else.

So maybe she’s staying for a week for a training course they’ve set up?

It’s not that.

Shuri decided that it’d be hilarious to have a speed-dating run.

Gathering up some of the guards, she tells them the plan.

“This seems beneath us,” Okoye says. “And I have a husband.”

“Maybe she won’t choose you!” Shuri cheers. “And this isn’t exactly beneath you. I kind of told her that she would be fighting all of you. So whoever wins the fight gets to pick the dinner!”

“She doesn’t know it’s...dating?” Aneka asks, eyebrows raised.

“To be completely honest, White Wolf is as dumb as a box of rocks and I am bored with T’Challa away on business,” Shuri says. “And what better way to entertain? We’ll have fun with it.”

They do.

Sharon just launches directly into the fight, not even making a sound as she goes low and aims high. She has a fun time.

The person that she matches most with, fist to fist, is Ama.

She’s a relatively new guard, and takes to the fight with gusto and enthusiasm.

They also nearly wreck a priceless artifact and Sharon is suitably impressed with how high her kicks can go.

“Can you teach me how you did that sweeping kick?” Sharon asks Ama as she helps her up.

“Only if you can teach me how you managed to get your elbow jabs that quick and sharp,” she says, grinning. “Come back to visit sometime?”

“Sure,” Sharon says, grinning. “Maybe you can show me that meal you were talking about...”

Bucky’s succeeded!

#sam should have been in this more but i wanted bucky to be stupid on main #shuri #sharon carter #sharon/oc #agent thirteen #bucky barnes #okoye #nakia #black panther #lovelyirony writes

81 notes · View notes

mellifluousoctopus · 4 years ago

Text

Immediate Rxn to The Falcon and the Winter Solider s1ep4

let me skip let me skip

not liking this mysticism/exotic framing its very unlike Wakanda

whats with all the fire

that camera framing on the road tres bien

integrating subtitles should also be something Disney steals from Netflix

zemo is soooo boring but he's got points

thanks for the clarification

captions say TT but isn't it Titi?

stop filming in vertical I swear to god

very odd announcer voice good for documentary but breaking news?

y'all are giving us the wrong exposition

what is Zemo's game? What is his motivation?

what am I missing???? This feels like flat world building. It starts off with a good idea and maybe something that involves suspension of dosbelief and then BAM I literally don't get it

"head tilt thing"

thats always been the case babe hindsight simplfies things thats why you think things change

is Margentheau in the comics

keeping up the america traditon of being Loud

Do not make a do you know the way joke do not make a do you know the way joke do not-

why are the captions taking off Margenthau's g in her -ing words

one world one people united by one thing which you wish to eliminate and made difficult by another group who is assumed to be part of one world? Make it make sense your motivation is in tact but your argumentation oi

in Far from Home its implied the reblipped people are displaced (Aunt May's charity) is America the exception? Was america too proud to accept help or did it refuse to let down its immigration policy to let help and relocaters in?

"they're not innocent they're roadblocks" I think that shows off how young she really is and how dedicated and misguided its getting. Her flawed logic is great for character but they're framing it in a way where there is no room for to be anything but the bad of the show. Yes Zemo and Aldi's Cap are are other parts of the oppositon, but the're getting more attention and more effort put into them being human outside sympathy backstory and current goal. She's a good character and I like the ploy of good deeds getting worse and worse but the writers aren't doing enough to make us question what side we're on, like they obviously want.

whats with the jump??

oh he wants the serum

oh he's destroying it

'merica

uh oh

hows he going to pass that off i mean if he does it

real american

if the Dora don't have jurisdiction why does Walker? Dora are like SEALs right for Wakanda, isn't Walker a glorified SEAL too Basically?

oh fuck

WHY DID nt the subtitles appear? The captions say she spoke wakandan but they dont subtitle or caption why

ahh I kind wanted to see him without a arm for a bit bit of plot difiance trying to get it back online

how did he become that popular

Steroids am I right?

Does he?

how does she get the number

fair enough

how did she get the info? Was I not paying attention when Sam was talking with Morgenthau

told you he couldn't fake it

i don't think he's going to move darling

in the concrete? I think it would shatter or bend first? any physicists are welcome to help me

and know shes made an emeny

YO when did his suit get so red and black

really thought hewas going to be beheaded

oh and shes destroyed him with out death

that does look like a comic shot i'll give them that

also the maybe it was the music that fucked with my perception of the credits their still eh but know it feels fitting

god i loved dardevils intro

#tfatws #fatws #the falcon and the winter solider #tfatws spoilers #spoilers #bucky barnes #sam wilson #karli morgenthau #zemo #john walker #dora milaje #mcu #marvel

10 notes · View notes

cali-holland · 4 years ago

Text

Holland Twins Masterlist

Last Updated: 6/25/20

Requests: Closed - please read the rules briefly here

Tag List: Open - let me know if you’d like to be tagged for anything!

Lyric Prompt List for blurbs can be found here

Main Masterlist here

~~~

Please note: All gifs used on my blog for masterlists & imagines are not mine, credit goes to their rightful creator.

Copyright notice: ALL of my imagines are posted here on my blog and they are ALL by me. While I do not own the fictional characters (both based on fictional people and real people) presented in my stories and I do not own any of the songs/scenes that inspire my works, I still legally claim the copyright to all of my fics. Do not repost these anywhere, whether it be on this site or another. If you see them on any other platform (or tumblr user) please inform me!

~~~

Harry Holland

One Shots

The Talk

~ Your older brother, Harrison, tries to give you the sex talk {1600 words, 6/25/20, requested}

Wrong Twin

~ You and Harry have your first big fight and you call him the one thing he never wanted to be called- your ex’s name, his brother’s name, Sam {3000 words, 6/23/20} ~ angst

Pictures of You

~ You always thought Harry hated you… but that changes when you stumble across some pictures {2600 words, 6/14/20, requested}

First Best

~ When you’re in desperate need of a director and an actor for your latest music video, you happen to meet the Holland brothers {1500 words, 5/31/20, requested}

Headcanons

** Most of these are from events ~ see masterlist of events (+ their masterlists) here

His pet name for you

Cuddling while he plays video games

Blurbs

** Most of these are from events ~ see masterlist of events (+ their masterlists) here

Home

Steal My Girl

Change Your Ticket

When you two get cold, Harry shares his hoodie with you

“You’re the closest to heaven that I’ll ever be and I don’t want to go home right now”

You want to cuddle with him

You’re short and he lovingly makes fun of it

He gives you your first kiss

He meets your taller, older brother

You’re the first actress to play Thomas Jefferson in Hamilton

You’re a documentary photographer

You’re a race car driver and he comes to one of your races

You’re best friends and he finds out he’s your home screen

Moodboards

~~~

Sam Holland

*by request only - note: requests are closed*

Blurbs

** Most of these are from events ~ see masterlist of events (+ their masterlists) here

People are rude to you on an Instagram live and he gets overprotective

Skinny love between you two

He proposes while on vacation with your families

Getting caught making out by Nikki

~ part 2 (reblogged from part 1)

#harry holland #sam holland

176 notes · View notes

letterboxd · 3 years ago

Photo

Noir Zealand Road Trip.

Breakout noir filmmaker James Ashcroft speaks to Letterboxd’s Indigenous editor Leo Koziol about his chilling new movie Coming Home in the Dark—and reveals how Blue Velvet, Straw Dogs and a bunch of cult New Zealand thrillers are all a part of his Life in Film.

“Many different types of feet walk across those lands, and the land in that sense is quite indifferent to who is on it. I like that duality. I like that sense of we’re never as safe as we would like to think.” —James Ashcroft

In his 1995 contribution to the British Film Institute’s Century of Cinema documentary series, Sam Neill described the unique sense of doom and darkness presented in films from Aotearoa New Zealand as the “Cinema of Unease”.

There couldn’t be a more appropriate addition to this canon than Māori filmmaker James Ashcroft’s startling debut Coming Home in the Dark, a brutal, atmospheric thriller about a family outing disrupted by an enigmatic madman who calls himself Mandrake, played in a revelatory performance by Canadian Kiwi actor Daniel Gillies (previously best known for CW vampire show The Originals, and as John Jameson in Spider-Man 2). Award-winning Māori actress Miriama McDowell is also in the small cast—her performance was explicitly singled out by Letterboxd in our Fantasia coverage.

Based on a short story by acclaimed New Zealand writer Owen Marshall, Ashcroft wrote the screenplay alongside longtime collaborator Eli Kent. It was a lean shoot, filmed over twenty days on a budget of just under US $1 million. The film is now in theaters, following its premiere at the Sundance Film Festival in January, where it made something of an impact.

Erik Thomson, Matthias Luafutu, Daniel Gillies and Miriama McDowell in a scene from ‘Coming Home in the Dark’.

Creasy007 described the film as “an exciting New Zealand thriller that grabs you tight and doesn’t let you go until the credits are rolling.” Jacob wrote: “One of the most punishingly brutal—both viscerally and emotionally—first viewings I’ve enjoyed in quite a while. Will probably follow James Ashcroft’s career to the gates of Hell after this one.”

Filmgoers weren’t the only ones impressed: Legendary Entertainment—the gargantuan production outfit behind the Dark Knight trilogy and Godzilla vs. Kong—promptly snapped up Ashcroft to direct their adaptation of Devolution, a high-concept novel by World War Z author Max Brooks about a small town facing a sasquatch invasion after a volcanic eruption. (“I find myself deep in Sasquatch mythology and learning a lot about volcanoes at the moment,” says the director, who is also writing the adaptation with Kent.)

Although Coming Home in the Dark marks his feature debut, Ashcroft has been working in the creative arts for many years as an actor and theater director, having previously run the Māori theater company Taki Rua. As he explains below, his film taps into notions of indigeneity in subtle, non-didactic ways. (Words in the Māori language are explained throughout the interview.)

Kia ora [hello] James. How did you come to be a filmmaker? James Ashcroft: I’ve always loved film. I worked in video stores from the age thirteen to 21. That’s the only other ‘real job’ I’ve ever had. I trained as an actor, and worked as an actor for a long time. So I had always been playing around with film. My first student allowance that I was given when I went to university, I bought a camera, I didn’t pay for my rent. I bought a little handheld Sony camera. We used to make short films with my flatmates and friends, so I’ve always been dabbling and wanting to move into that.

After being predominantly involved with theater, I sort of reached my ceiling of what I wanted to do there. It was time to make a commitment and move over into pursuing and creating a slate of scripts, and making that first feature step into the industry. My main creative collaborator is Eli Kent, who I’ve been working with for seven years now. We’re on our ninth script, I think.

But Coming Home in the Dark, that was our first feature. It was the fifth script we had written, and that was very much about [it] being the first cab off the rank; about being able to find a work that would fit into the budget level that we could reasonably expect from the New Zealand Film Commission. I also wanted to make sure that piece was showing off my strengths and interests—being a character-focused, actor-focused piece—and something that we could execute within those constraints and still deliver truthfully and authentically to the story that we wanted to tell and showcase the areas of interest that I have as a filmmaker, which have always been genre.

Do you see the film more as a horror or a thriller? We’ve never purported to be a horror. We think that the scenario is horrific, some of the events that happen are horrific, but this has always been a thriller for me and everyone involved. I think, sometimes, because of the premiere and the space that it was programmed in at Sundance, being in the Midnight section, there’s a sort of an association with horror or zany comedy. For us it’s more about, if anything, the psychological horror aspect of the story.

It’s violent in places, obviously, but there’s very little violence actually committed on screen. It’s the suggestion. The more terrifying thing is what exists in the viewer’s mind [rather] than necessarily what you can show on screen. My job as a storyteller is to provoke something that you can then flesh out and embellish more in your own psyche and emotions. It’s a great space, the psychological thriller, because it can deal with the dramatic as well as some of those more heightened, visceral moments that horror also can touch on.

Director James Ashcroft. / Photo by Stan Alley

There’s a strong Māori cast in your film. Do you see yourself as a Māori filmmaker, or a filmmaker who is Maori? Well, I’m a Māori everything. I’m a father, I’m a husband, I’m a friend. Everything that I do goes back to my DNA and my whakapapa [lineage]. So that’s just how I view my identity and my world. In terms of categorizing it, I don’t put anything in front of who I am as a storyteller. I’m an actor, I’m a director. I follow the stories that sort of haunt me more than anything. They all have something to do with my experience and how I see the world through my identity and my life—past, present and hopefully future.

In terms of the cast, Matthias Luafutu [who plays Mandrake’s sidekick Tubs], he’s Samoan. Miriama McDowell [who plays Jill, the mother of the family] is Māori. I knew that this story, in the way that I wanted to tell it, was always going to feature Māori in some respect. Both the ‘couples’, I suppose you could say—Hoaggie [Erik Thomson] and Jill on one side and Tubs and Mandrake on the other—I knew one of each would be of a [different] culture. So I knew I wanted to mirror that.

Probably more than anything, I knew if I had to choose one role that was going to be played by a Māori actor, it was definitely going to be Jill, because for me, Jill’s the character that really is the emotional core and our conduit to the story. Her relationship with the audience, we have to be with her—a strong middle-class working mother who has a sort of a joy-ness at the beginning of the film and then goes through quite a number of different emotions and realizations as it goes along.

Those are sometimes the roles that Māori actors, I often feel, don’t get a look at usually. That’s normally a different kind of actor that gets those kinds of roles. And then obviously when Miriama McDowell auditions for you it’s just a no-brainer, because she can play absolutely anything and everything. I have a strong relationship with Miriama from drama-school days, so I knew how to work with her on that.

Once you put a stake in the ground with her, then we go, right, so this is a biracial family, and her sons are going to be Māori and that’s where the Paratene brothers, who are brothers in real life, came into the room, and we were really taken with them immediately. We threw out a lot of their scripted dialogue in the end because what we are casting is that fundamental essence and energy that exists between two real brothers that just speaks volumes more than any dialogue that Eli and I could write.

Matthias Luafutu as Tubs in ‘Coming Home in the Dark’.

What was your approach to the locations? [The area we shot in] is very barren and quite harsh. I spent a lot of time there in my youth, and I find them quite beautiful places. They are very different kinds of landscapes than you normally see in films from our country. We didn’t want to go down The Lord of the Rings route of images from the whenua [land] that are lush mountains and greens and blues, even though that’s what Owen Marshall had written.

I was very keen, along with Matt Henley, our cinematographer, to find that duality in the landscape as well, because the whole story is about that duality in terms of people, in terms of this world, and that grey space. So that’s why we chose to film in those areas.

Regarding the scene where Tubs sprinkles himself with water: including this Māori spiritual element in the film created quite a contrast. That character had partaken in something quite evil, yet still follows a mundane cultural tradition around death. What are your thoughts on that? Yeah. I’m not really interested in black-and-white characters of any kind. I want to find that grey space that allows them to live within more layers in the audience’s mind. So for me—and having family who have spent time in jail, or knowing people who have gone through systems like state-care institutions as well as moving on to prison—just because you have committed a crime or done something in one aspect of your life, that doesn’t mean that there isn’t room and there aren’t other aspects that inform your identity that you also carry.

It’s something that he’s adopted for whatever reasons to ground him in who he is. And they can sit side by side with being involved in some very horrendous actions, but also from Tubs’ perspective, these are actions which are committed in the name of survival. You start to get a sense Mandrake enjoys what he does rather than doing it for just a means to the end. So any moment that you can start to create a greater sense of duality in a person, I think that means that there’s an inner life to a world, to a character, that’s starting to be revealed. That’s an invitation for an audience to lean into that character.

Erik Thomson and Daniel Gillies in ‘Coming Home in the Dark’.

What is the film that made you want to get into filmmaking? The biggest influence on me is probably David Lynch’s Blue Velvet. I saw that when I was ten years old. A babysitter, my cousin, rented it. It’s not a film that a ten-year-old should see, by the way. I was in Lower Hutt, there in my aunty’s house, and it was very cold, and there’s a roaring fire going. My cousin and her boyfriend were sitting on a couch behind me, and they started making out. I sort of knew something was going on behind me and not to look. So I was stuck between that and Dennis Hopper huffing nitrous, and this very strange, strange world opening up before me on the television.

I’ve had a few moments like that in my life [where a] film, as well as the circumstance, sort of changed how I view the world. I think something died that day, but obviously something was born. You can see what Lynch did in those early works, especially Blue Velvet. You don’t have to go too far beneath the surface of suburbia or what looks normal and nice and welcoming to find that there’s a complete flip-side. There’s that duality to our world, which we like to think might be far away, but it’s actually closer than you think.

That speaks to Coming Home in the Dark and why that short story resonated with me the first time I read it. Even in the most beautiful, scenically attractive places in our land, many different types of feet walk across those lands, and the land in that sense is quite indifferent to who is on it. I like that duality. I like that sense of we’re never as safe as we would like to think. Blue Velvet holds a special place in my heart.

What other films did you have in mind when forming your approach to Coming Home in the Dark? Straw Dogs, the Peckinpah film. The original. Just because it plays in that grey space. Obviously times have changed, and you read the film in different ways now as you might have when it first came out. But that was a big influence because there was a moral ambiguity to that film; those lines of good and bad or black and white, they don’t apply anymore. It just becomes about what happens when people are put under extreme pressure and duress, and they abandon all sense of morals. The Offence by Sidney Lumet would be another one, very much drawn to that ’70s ilk of American and English filmmaking.

‘Coming Home in the Dark’ was filmed on location around the wider Wellington region of New Zealand.

Is there a New Zealand film that’s influenced you significantly? There’s a few. I remember watching The Lost Tribe when it was on TV. That really scared me. I just remember the sounds of it. Mr. Wrong was a great ghost story. That stuck with me for a long time. The Scarecrow. Once I discovered Patu! [Merata Mita’s landmark documentary about the protests against the apartheid-era South African rugby tour of New Zealand in 1981], that sort of blew everything out of the water, because that was actually my first induction and education that this was something that even occurred. I think I saw that when I was about eighteen. That this was something that occurred in our history and had ramifications that were other than just a rugby game.

And Utu, every time I watch that, it doesn’t lose its resonance. I get something new from it every time. It’s a great amalgamation of identity, culture, of genre, and again, plays in that grey space of accountability. Utu still has that power for me. It’s one of those films, when it’s playing, I’ll end up sitting down and just being glued to the screen.

It’s a timeless classic. I will admit that when I watched your film, The Scarecrow did immediately come to mind, as did Garth Maxwell’s Jack Be Nimble. Yeah. [Jack Be Nimble] was really frightening. Again, it was that clash of many different aspects. There was a psychosexual drama there. You’ve got this telekinetic mind control and that abuse and that hunkering down of an isolated family. There are plenty of New Zealand films that have explored a sort of similar territory. They’re all coming to me now.

Bad Blood has a great sense of atmosphere and photography and the use of soundscape to create that shocking sense of isolation and terror in these quick, fast, brutal moments, which then just sort of are left to ring in the air. But I love so much of New Zealand cinema, especially the stuff from the ’80s.

Kia ora [good luck], James. Kia ora.

Related content

Leo’s Letterboxd list of Aotearoa New Zealand Scary-As Movies Adapted from Literature

Dave’s Cinema of Unease list

A Brutal Stillness: Gregory’s list of patient, meditative genre films

Sailordanae’s list of Indigenous directors of the Americas

Follow Leo on Letterboxd

‘Coming Home in the Dark’ is available now in select US theaters and on VOD in the US and New Zealand. All photographs by Stan Alley / GoldFish Creative. Comments have been edited for length and clarity.

#coming home in the dark #letterboxd #daniel gillies #james ashcroft #maori culture #maori movie #maori director #native director #indigenous film #miriama mcdowell #noir #new zealand noir #leo koziol #imagiNATIVE

3 notes · View notes

katehuntington · 4 years ago

Text

Title: In Bad Waters - part nine Word count: ±3300 words Episode summary: Still in possession of the Winchesters’ belongings, Zoë meets up with the hunters on her next case. When it turns out to be a little more complicated than anticipated, she accepts their help in order to make an important deadline. Part nine summary: After splitting up, each hunter has their own part to play in order to solve the case. But when Sam has a vision, things go south real quick. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Descriptions of domestic violence/child abuse. Drug use/addiction. Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures/resuscitation. Swearing, alcoholism. Supernatural creatures/entities, mentions of demon possession. Descriptions of torture and murder, drowning. Illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks. Author’s note: Beta’d by @winchest09 and @deanwanddamons. Thanks, girls! Gif isn’t mine. If you are the creator or know who made it, please tell me so I can credit you.

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist

S1E02 “In Bad Waters” Masterlist

Bored out of her skull, Zoë flips the page of her newspaper for the third time, pretending to read it. She found a good spot on the terrace of a Pizza Hut restaurant. Traffic drives by on Highway 412 constantly, but from her table she has a clear view of a house on Magnolia Drive. Taylor Dawlson, Laura’s former teacher, lives in the suburban home.

It’s 14:30 and Zoë has been guarding the Dawlson residence for over an hour now, but nothing has happened so far. She hasn’t had a call from the boys yet either, so she presumes everything is quiet at the Shire place, and Dean is probably talking to doctor Hughes.

Taylor Dawlson is home, busy maintaining the household while keeping her daughter entertained. The husband, whose name is Jeff, is working the lawn at the moment, a sprinkler system watering the pink magnolias by the white wooden fence. On the table in front of her, next to the slice of pepperoni pizza, Zoë installed her Macbook, which shows some information about the Dawlson family, just so that she knows who she’s dealing with. Taylor is a teacher at the Woodrow Wilson Elementary School, Jeff is into sportswear and merchandise. They’ve been married for seven years and have a three year old daughter named Lesley. No criminal records on the parents, nothing out of the ordinary. Just a happy family, living in a normal neighborhood, right next to a church. One thing doesn’t show up on her screen, though, and it’s something the huntress knows for a fact; the mother happened to be in one of her flashbacks.

She lets out a bored sigh and takes another bite of her pizza, but then feels her phone vibrating in her pocket. Quickly, she takes out her Nokia and checks the screen; it’s Sam. “What’s up?” She yawns. “Your stake out is that exciting, huh?” Sam responds sarcastically.

Sam is comfortable in the driver’s seat of the Chevrolet Impala, which he parked across the street of the Shire residence, located on Reynolds Park Road. He has the window rolled down and rests his elbow on the door as he holds his phone to his ear. The streets are almost empty in this neighborhood just outside the downtown area of Paragould. A beautiful house by the lake seems like a fairytale to live in, and yet this place was the setting for violence and abuse for many years.

“It’s like watching a documentary on snails,” she comments, after which she bites off a piece of pizza. Sam can hear her chewing food and furrows his brow. “Are you eating again?” “Dude, you sound like my dietician,” Zoë responds with her mouth full. Sam chuckles and realizes how stern he must have sounded. “Burgers again?” “No, I like a bit of variation in my cuisine,” she claims, putting up a snooty voice. “I’m having Italian right now.” “Let me guess: pizza?” Zoë laughs. “Pizza Hut to be precise.”

“How do you do it?” Sam wonders, still chuckling. “Do what?” “Eat so much, without… well, you know--” he starts carefully, instantly regretting it. He’s on thin ice. Zoë can’t help but grin, deciding to mess with him. “- getting big? Are you fucking kidding me, Sam? Someone who had a long term relationship should know this; clothes, weight and age are the forbidden subjects.” Quickly, Sam sets things straight. “I’m sorry, I just think it’s extraordinary.” “What? The weirdness of women or the fact that I eat so much?” she jokes.

Sam chuckles, now that he can detect the trace of mockery in her voice. “Seriously, though. How can you consume so much food and still look - you know - like you do?” “Because I kick ass,” she answers, sassy. Her response might have come out rapidly, for a brief moment there, Zoë analyzed that sentence. Was Sam’s remark a compliment or a flirt? She’s not sure what to think of it, but presumes the flirtation wasn’t intentional, considering he’s clearly still struggling to deal with his ex-girlfriend’s death. And come on, she has given him a pretty hard time; she’s been anything but charming.

Zoë changes the subject before an awkward silence follows. “How’s it going over there?” Sam glances through his windshield at the two individuals up at the house. “Nothing out of the ordinary. Mrs. Shire seems to mourn by cleaning up the entire house and her son is sitting by the lake, just staring out over the water,” Sam describes. “The guy was an asshole, but he was still their family,” she realizes, after which a beep sounds in her ear; she has a different call coming in. “Gonna put you on hold for a sec, Sam,” she notifies the hunter, and pushes the green button on her phone. “Sullivan.”

“Doc ain’t talking.” Dean walks down the stairs of the Arkansas Methodist Medical Center. He unbuttons his blazer and loosens his tie. Zoë narrows her eyes, even though the recipient on the other end of the line can’t see it. “What do you mean, he isn’t talking?” “He got all nervous when I started asking questions. There’s no way I can get a word out of his mouth. But he does know something, alright,” Dean explains.

“Did you try everything?” she checks, questioning Dean’s interrogation skills. “Well, I didn’t torture him, if that’s what you’re asking. I didn’t tell him the truth either,” he admits. Zoë realizes it’s a good thing he didn’t reveal his true identity. If Dean starts talking about killer ghosts and the guy freaks out, they might have a serious problem, considering that they are identified as FBI. A call to their chief at the Bureau will ultimately result in a blown cover, which will not make solving any future case any easier.

“You have the death report, right?” she threatens with a tone. “Who the fuck do you think I am? Of course I have the death report,” Dean ensures cockily, as he takes out the report from his inside pocket. “Stole it from his file case. Piece of cake.” Zoë doesn’t bother to compliment him for his deed. “Anything interesting in there?” “Not really,” Dean presses his phone between his ear and shoulder and leafs through the pages, which contain a lot of medical talk that he doesn’t understand one bit. “It says that Laura Shire was brought in by her father around 11 PM, yada yada. Cause of death…” Dean pauses as he reads the line again and halts. “Didn’t you say that both dear daddy and Van Dyke broke their neck?” he recalls, looking up from the file. “Yeah.” “Laura broke hers too. Robert Shire claimed she fell down the stairs.” Zoë scoffs. “Well that’s complete utter bullshit.”

“One other thing,” he points out as he continues his way down the street. “Shire wasn’t just a colleague, he was his boss. Guess who the second signature on Laura’s death report belongs to.” “Shire himself?” she assumes, stunned. “The one and only.” “But he’s a family member of the victim, he should have been excluded from the examination!” Zoë exclaims in disbelief. “That’s why he got Hughes to do the autopsy. All they needed was his signature as Chief of Staff.” The huntress gets the point now and rolls her eyes skyward. “Which makes the report valid.” “So, what now?” Dean questions, his current mission having been completed. “Hughes played a part in this cover up, so he might be her next candidate,” Zoë ponders, glancing at the Dawlson residence, where it’s still quiet. “There is no way you can keep an eye on him in that hospital, is there?” “We don’t need to. Laura only attacks when her victim is alone, right?” Dean mentions.

Zoë thinks about that for a second, her mind going over the first two murders. She didn’t notice it before, but he’s right. There were people in the house when Shire and Van Dyke were killed, but never in the same room. “Now that you mention it. As long as the doc stays amongst people, he’ll be safe. When does he get off?” “Already checked that; not until 6 PM,” Dean informs. “Good, so we don’t have to worry about him until six,” she concludes, trying to think of a plan. “Everything nice and quiet over there?” Dean wonders. “I’m wasting my time. I’m not sure if Laura would target her anyhow.” Dean walks into the parking lot of the Kentucky Fried Chicken only blocks away from the hospital. “And Sam?” “Do I look like a fucking mailman to you? Why don’t you ask him yourself?” she returns annoyed.

He enters the KFC and takes a look at the menu, even though he always goes for the classic. When Dean ignores her remark, the silence however ignites a reaction from the huntress nonetheless. “You two had a fight or somethin’?” “Sort of,” he admits with a mutter. “Ah, brotherly love. What did you fight about?” Zoë asks nosy. “That’s none of your business,” Dean returns defensive, stunned by her boldness. “Damn, you’re not curious at all, are you?” “I’m not curious. I just want to know everything.” She shrugs, her correction sassy. “C’mon, spill it.”

Dean sighs somewhat agitated. He doesn’t owe her an explanation, but he figures that once she knows, she might stop poking him. He keeps it as short as possible, though. “It was about Dad. Sam and I have different ideas on how to find him.”

Surprisingly, there’s no smart counter that follows up his words. Instead, Zoë swallows back a mean remark and decides not to respond for their own good. They are finally having a conversation without yelling at each other, and although the fighting doesn’t bother her since she has no interest in becoming friends with the older Winchester, she’d rather keep it civil. Like it or not, she can use their help, so now would not be the best time to counter the hunter.

Dean breaks the deadly silence. “Still there?” Zoë clears her throat. “Yeah, sorry. Got distracted.” “Want some chicken?” he jokes, as if he could teleport it to her place. She laughs, guessing where he is. “Where are you? KFC?” “Ahuh,” he confirms, and turns to the guy behind the counter. “One bucket of chicken wings, please.” “Is that all?” Zoë comments. “You’re right,” he agrees, looking back at the restaurant worker. “Could you add a Crispy Colonel Sandwich and a coke?”

He pays for his second lunch of the day and tells the employee to keep the change. “Did you eat?” Dean asks Zoë, as he walks out to the terrace and settles down in the sun. She smiles at her phone. Apparently they have found common grounds. “Yeah, pizza,” she mentions. “Which reminds me, I still have Sam on hold. If you wanna crash some place, feel free to break into my motel room.” “Alrighty, you didn’t boobytrap it, did ya?” he checks first. “Unless you’re a demon or a ghost you’re free to waltz in,” Zoë replies, referring to the demon trapping pentagram under the doormat and the salt lines in the windowsills. “Room number?” “Seventeen. Don’t break anything.”

With those words, she disconnected her call with Dean and returns to Sam. “I’m back,” she lets him know. But there’s not a sound on the other line. He didn’t hang up on her, she can still hear static. “Sam? You there?” Then she hears Sam’s voice, but it’s not comforting. A painful moan sounds from the other side of the line. “Sam, answer me! What’s going on?” Zoë calls out, sensing something is wrong. Sam groans. “I’m here.”

He has the palm of his hand pressed against his forehead, eyes shut firmly. He doesn’t know what just happened to him, but a stabbing pain in his head almost knocks him out cold. The images that flashed before his eyes a moment ago remain on display, but he cannot place any of them. Visions in his sleep are one thing, but he has never experienced them during the day before. “What’s happening?” He hears Zoë’s voice and presses his Blackberry against his ear. “I - I think I just had a vision.” Zoë’s eyes grow large. It has started. “What did you see?” Sam looks up, stunned. By the sound of her words, she experienced this too. “You had one of those while awake?” “That’s not important right now. What did you see?” she repeats firmly. Sam thinks back, trying to recover the recollections behind closed eyes. “I saw a house, white woodwork,” he remembers. “A woman inside is terrified, screaming, and I heard a child’s voice, saying ‘You didn’t stop it’.”

Zoë’s eyes drift from her laptop screen to the house across the street; the Dawlson home has white woodwork. Her eyes widen as she realizes what might be going on. “It’s Laura. What else did you see, Sam?!” she pressures while getting up so abruptly, that her chair tumbles over. “A guy mowing the lawn, sprinklers... and a church, right next to the house,” he recalls, concentrating on possible clues.

Zoë’s runs down the terrace, leaving her Macbook behind on the table. As fast as she can she crosses the street and is barely missed by a car, but she doesn’t have eyes for it. Her eyes are fixated on the front door and she knows; Laura is here. “Get to Magnolia Drive, now!” she orders Sam, putting away her phone right after. Adrenaline rushes through her body as she grabs the doorknob, but the door seems to be jammed. She pulls as hard as she can, but there’s no movement whatsoever.

“Hey! What do you think you are doing?” Jeff Dawlson exclaims at the intruder. He left his lawnmower on the grass and now approaches her with large steps. “Your wife’s in danger! We need to get inside the house,” she tells the man straight forward. The facial expression of the tall man changes from mad to worried, his gaze shifting to his home. “Who are you?” “Jeff, I don’t have time to explain! We need to get in the house!” Zoë cries out, losing her cool.

She puts her shoulder into it and tries to lift the door from his hinges, but it won’t budge. Frustrated, she looks around for another way in. Jeff hastens to the back door, but returns soon after, panicking. “I can’t get the back door to open! My daughter is in there too!” The huntress curses, ramming into the door again. Laura is doing this, she’s shutting them out so that she can work over her victim without being interrupted. It’s amazing how fast this little ten year old developed into the monster she is now. This isn’t a ghost problem anymore, this is a poltergeist. Without hesitation, Zoë draws her gun from behind her waistband and aims for the kitchen window. She pulls the trigger, but instead of breaking the glass, the shell flings back as if it just hit bullet proof glass.

“Taylor!” Jeff calls his wife's name, desperately. But they don’t hear a sound, not even a horrific scream and Zoë wonders if that is a good sign. Not willing to give up, she creates some distance between her and the door and drives her shoulder into the wood again and again, until she feels sore to the bone. “Goddamnit! Let us in!” she yells, furiously.

In the meantime, Jeff got his hands on a shovel and starts hitting the windows, but none of them break. While he keeps calling out for his wife and daughter, Zoë hears the roar of a V8 engine coming around the corner. With screeching tires Sam stops the car and jumps out, rushing for the trunk. Without pausing her efforts to get in, Zoë calls out. “You better have a bright idea, Sam!” With two loaded shotguns in his hands he runs up the lawn, but stops in his tracks when he glances at the window. “Zoë?”

She looks over her shoulder and sees the staggered expression on his face, triggering her to back up glances at the second story. In front of the window stands a young girl, but the sight is anything but endearing. This time she isn’t the sad little innocent kid, she looks terrifying. Here eyes seem to have sunken deep into their sockets, blood and bruises cover her pale body. Her head is tilted to the right in an unnatural way, twisted at the base. The image distorts, then she disappears.

The next moment, they hear the sound of shattering glass. The hunters’ attention is drawn to the kitchen window; Jeff managed to break it. Hastily Zoë rushes for the door, knowing it’s unlocked now and enters the house. Sam is right behind her and hands her the shotgun in the hallway, just in case. She looks at the gun for a moment. “This isn’t gonna help.” “Loaded with rock salt,” Sam elaborates. Her eyes dart to the rifle again, this time appreciating the weapon. She heard of many ways to fight ghosts, but this is a new technique. It must be a Winchester invention, seems like those lumberjacks aren’t that stupid afterall. “You get their daughter,” she orders. They split up and when Sam glances into the living room, he sees Jeff's and Taylor’s little girl. She doesn’t seem to realize what is going on, apparently she didn’t hear a thing. The child is playing with her dolls, as her mother told her to.

While Sam picks up Lesley and takes her outside, Zoë rushes to the second floor. Quickly she climbs the stairs, her shotgun ready to fire. Alert, she scans the corridor; all clear. Knowing Laura might still be inside, she takes a deep breath and busts the door to what she assumes to be one of the bedrooms. What the huntress sees inside makes her stomach turn, even though she has seen her fair share of blood and violence.

What she feared the most has happened. Laura made her teacher die an even more horrible death than her own. Taylor has collapsed against the wall, her eyes stare at the ground, as if she was unpleasantly surprised by her attacker. But she doesn’t move, she doesn’t flinch; she’s dead. Her arms and neck seem to be broken, a bad head injury that cracked her skull giving Zoë a glimpse of her brain. Blood prints of her head and hands are smeared over the pink wall paper of her daughter’s room. Crimson stains the carpet, the teddy bears on Lesley’s bed, the covers, even the ceiling. “Damnit, Laura,” Zoë says, breathlessly.

Footsteps echo from the staircase behind her. She looks back and sees Jeff, running onto the corridor. “You don’t wanna see this,” she warns, trying to keep him from the doorway. But as she would have done, he steps inside anyway. As soon as his eye catches the sight of his wife in the state that she is, he freezes. Unable to say anything, unable to move like a deer in headlights, he looks down at her dead body as tears well up in his eyes. Zoë watches him, but she can’t get a word out of her mouth. After she swallows apprehensively, she averts her eyes away from the heart wrenching scene.

“Taylor…” Jeff whispers as tears run down his face. The cry that follows gives Zoë chills. “Taylor!” In a blink of an eye this family’s life has changed forever. The woman Jeff loves dearly, the mother of his child, just got ripped away from them, murdered, and there is nothing he can do to reverse that. Zoë knows the feeling, she knows it way too well. He falls down on his knees in her blood, but he doesn’t hit the floor. He hits rock bottom.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

Read chapter ten here

#Supernatural: the Sullivan Series #Supernatural series #Dean Winchester series #Sam Winchester series #Dean Winchester x OFC #Sam Winchester x OFC #Dean angst #Sam angst #Dean Winchester #Sam Winchester #Zoë Sullivan #SPN #Supernatural #STSS #1x02 In Bad Waters #Kate Huntington

53 notes · View notes

expectingtofly · 5 years ago

Text

SPN Stay At Home Challenge

Week 8: Hope

The angels have fallen, Heaven is broken, Castiel burns through a grace that isn't his own. Everything seems hopeless, but Dean is determined to help his homesick, heartbroken angel and give him a home on Earth.

Words: ~1.5k

also posted on ao3

Hope in the Form of One Small Bee

Dean is worried about Castiel. The angel has been holed up for days in the room he and Dean share in the bunker, hardly speaking, hardly moving. Dean knows a thing or two about hiding away in his room, but in those hopeless days he distracted himself with music, with drinking, with crap TV and horror flicks. Castiel lies on their bed in silence, curled up in one of Dean’s old T-shirts, and the sight makes Dean want to crumple.

Sam says, talk to him, but Dean isn’t good with words, he knows that. So he invites Castiel on a drive. He even offers to let Castiel get behind the wheel, but Castiel only shakes his head and sinks in on the passenger side. They drive with the windows down, fast, because Dean hopes Castiel might find some resemblance in it to flying. But Castiel’s shoulders stay slumped as he stares out the window, and when they return to the bunker he retreats to their room without a word.

Sam says, give him time, but Dean is worried, scared, and that makes every quiet day stretch on interminably. He finds himself spending hours in the library, staying behind when Sam goes on errands and cases because, if Castiel does leave their bedroom, Dean doesn’t want him coming out to an empty bunker. Seated in one of the library’s leather armchairs, Dean reads more than he has in years, pores over dusty, thick volumes on angels: their wings, their powers, their grace. None cover how to help a homesick angel.

Even though he knows angels don’t eat, he feels compelled to bring Castiel food, hopes a familiar meal might spark a happy memory. Castiel takes the peanut butter and jelly sandwich Dean offers him, but when Dean returns an hour later, there’s only one bite missing and Castiel says, thank you, but it doesn’t taste like anything.

Sam says, it can’t be easy, losing his home, his family. Using a grace that isn’t his own. Being an angel among humans. Every night, Dean sinks under the covers, wraps his arms around Castiel and holds him close. Sometimes Castiel nestles up against him and Dean believes his angel will become his old self again, and sometimes Castiel doesn't move, as if Dean isn’t there, and Dean feels hollow inside.

When he whispers, I love you, and presses a kiss to Castiel’s forehead, Castiel whispers, very softly, I love you too, and Dean hopes it means he hasn’t failed this angel who he loves, but doesn’t know how to help. Castiel never cries. That’s an answer Dean can’t find in any of his books: Do angels cry?

It’s when Dean is on an errand, Sam convincing him to leave the bunker for the first time in days, that he realizes it. He stares at a stuffed crochet bee—yellow and black stripes, two antennas, small black eyes, white wings, thin line of a smile (one stitch out of place but it adds personality)—and realizes Castiel doesn’t have any belongings. Even his clothes, the suit and trench coat, are originally another’s.

This reminded me of you, he tells Castiel and feels silly holding out such a trivial thing, offering a stuffed animal to an Angel of the Lord. But Castiel takes the bee from him and gazes at it. This is for me? he asks, tracing the bee’s smile. It’s yours, Dean says.

Castiel looks up at him with a small smile of his own that creates a flutter of hope inside Dean. Thank you.

This, at least, is something Dean knows he can do—give Castiel things, material things he can hold in his hands, that will ground him to Earth. He buys Castiel a fluffy, blue blanket—its color the closest approximation to Castiel’s eyes he can find—cotton shirts with pockets and stripes, a yellow bath towel. He places books on the nightstands in their room: westerns with amber and rust covers, a children’s book about a boy and his dog which he thinks Castiel will appreciate because the dog is named Sam. A small plant sitting in a teal pot, its curling green leaves tinged yellow down the center. A mug which says, Morning, Handsome, and which he tries to hide from Sam when he makes tea for Castiel every morning and night (because even if Castiel can’t savor the taste, seeing him sit up to hold the mug and breathe in the steam, drink in the warm liquid, gives Dean a similar warmth inside).

They’re yours, Dean says, repeats. All yours. He hopes it is enough.

Castiel takes every item in his hands when Dean returns from long shopping trips, turns them over and studies them. In the days that follow, Dean finds him bent over his books, turning the pages slowly, sees him returning from a shower wrapped in his yellow towel. In the morning, Dean wakes as Castiel rises to water his plant and trace its leaves with his finger. The stuffed bee takes up permanent residence on their bed and Dean pretends to grumble—You’ve left me for him. Castiel hugs his bee defensively and Dean can’t help but smile.

Castiel wears his new shirts—they are very soft—and sits on the floor in the laundry room, reading, waiting for his clothes to emerge clean and warm. Sometimes, Dean catches Castiel watching through the dryer’s glass door as his stuffed bee tumbles inside in a rough imitation of a bumblebee’s corkscrew flight. Castiel’s quiet listlessness, the droop of his shoulders as he pulls his bee out and holds it against his chest, fills Dean with an anxious doubt. How can warm cotton and yarn ever replace the light and warmth of Heaven that Castiel sunned under for millennia?

His name is Buzziel, Castiel says one night as Dean pushes the bee aside to take the angel in his arms. Dean hugs both Castiel and this strangely named bee. Buzziel? he asks, stressing the -iel. Is he an angel bee?

Castiel nods and Dean watches him run his finger along Buzziel’s wings. And Dean realizes that no matter what he buys Castiel, an angel will always miss Heaven.

I’m sorry, Cas. Castiel doesn’t speak and Dean learns angels do cry.

Sam shows Castiel a video of Marie Kondo and the earth-bound angel spends hours folding his new clothes into neat bundles and organizing them in his new dresser. He frowns down at his plant, at its wilting leaves turning brown at the edges. If I had my grace I could heal you. Dean introduces Castiel to nature documentaries and they watch for hours and hours. Most shows are slow and plodding, but Dean finds comfort in the weight of Castiel leaning against him, the way Castiel holds Buzziel on his lap, his rapt focus.

They watch a documentary on beekeeping and Dean points to a bee seated on a purple flower. There’s Buzziel. Castiel smiles so he starts naming every bee on the screen, Samiel, Bobbiel, Jodiel, hoping to keep Castiel’s smile on his face for a little longer. He feels the hollow space in his chest filling with something like hope, something he doesn’t want to acknowledge for fear it will disappear and leave him emptier than ever before.

When he wakes one morning, it seems his fears are realized because the space next to him is empty, save for Buzziel staring at him with his crooked smile.

He and Sam search the bunker and just when he grabs the keys for Baby to search outside, the bunker door creaks open and Castiel walks down the stairs. There’s dirt on his bare feet and he’s holding his plant. She needed sunshine.

Dean breathes a sigh of relief, pulls Castiel close, hears the crinkle of leaves. I thought you left. He holds Castiel at arm’s length to look in his eyes. I know this isn’t Heaven. But I’ll buy you anything you want. Anything to make this feel like home.

Castiel stares back at him, his eyes serious, his hands around his potted plant. Heaven isn’t my home anymore. My home is here with you, he looks over Dean’s shoulder at Sam, and you.

And Buzziel, Dean says. Castiel smiles. And Buzziel. A relief Dean hadn’t dared hope for fills the bleakness inside him and he pulls Castiel close, feels the warmth of the sun on Castiel’s clothes, his bare arms and dark hair, a reassurance that Castiel will be alright.

Thanks to @bend-me-shape-me @pray4jensen @helianthus21 for creating this challenge, and I just have to give credit to this week 3 fic by @wingtrap for sparking the idea for this fic :)

Tagging: @spnwaywardone @good-things-do-happen-dean @becky-srs

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in my spn fics :)

#spnstayathome #deancas fic #destiel #set sometime in season 9 #i need to stop writing sad cas fics #and let this angel be happy for once #maybe next week #fingers crossed #expectingtoflywrites

84 notes · View notes

wiener-soldiers · 5 years ago

Text

atypical family dinners - peter parker

summary: peter thought that the scariest thing about dating tony stark’s eldest daughter would be facing brooding starks. turns out, it’s facing the rest of the avengers.

words: 1.6k

warnings: au? (welcome to the latest episode of ‘eliza ignores infinity war and endgame’) everything is all fine and dandy between steve and tony, morgan is in this. also not really edited.

a/n: i made a post about peter babysitting morgan. don’t tell me that’s not the most perfect thing you’ve ever heard. this is the product of that.

“(Y/N).”

“Yeah, Dad?”

“Did you clean your room?”

“(Y/N),” your Dad whines.

“Someone taught me this thing to deal with your pestering: if you ask me to do something, I ask you if you’ve done the same thing.”

“Did your Uncle Rhodey tell you that?”

“Uncle Steve, actually. Give him more credit.”

Tony rolls his eyes at you as you sit across from him on the kitchen island. He stands at the sink washing blueberries (for you and him, you guess it runs in the family) while you absentmindedly twirl a pencil in your fingers while staring at the functions problem in front of you.

“Question,” you say to your Dad. Tony looks up while mid-eating another blueberry. He nods in your direction for you to continue, “Why do I need to learn periodic functions? Like yeah, I get how there are real-life applications, but no cycle is perfect. I need to learn this again because, why?”

Tony chuckles softly throwing a blueberry up in the air at you. Ungracefully, you stumble out of your chair to catch it in your mouth.

He cheers at you before saying, “Well, I’m pretty sure you gotta learn it to learn more math.”

“Okay, that’s bullshit.”

“Very fair, but watch your mouth.”

“Says you.”

“You’re using that strategy again, aren’t you?”

The elevator door on the far side of the common floor at the Avengers’ Tower. You take a glance at the metal doors as they slide open, revealing Peter Parker. The puppy-eyed boy catches your gaze and you offer him a soft smile, which he returns.

Peter frequents the tower for several reasons: for the ‘Stark Internship,’ because your Dad likes the kid more then you let on, and because you and Peter have been dating for the past few months.

“Hey, look who’s here!” Tony says as he notices your gaze elsewhere. He throws a blueberry at Peter as he approaches, but instead of catching it, he whacks it away in surprise.

“Pete, don’t waste the blueberries!”

“You expect me to catch that? It was heading straight for my face!” he says before stepping forward and pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. You smile at him before he waves at your Dad, “Hi, Mr. Stark.”

He shudders at your PDA before saying, “I forgot you two were still teenagers and still did that whole…lovey-dovey affection thing.”

Peter blushes immensely while you roll your eyes, “It’s not like you don’t do that with Pepper.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony finishes before putting the washed blueberries in a bowl and sliding them across the counter to you and Peter. “You staying over for dinner, Parker?”

“Uh…I don’t know Mr. Stark. I don’t want to be intruding,” he stammers. You and Peter had been dating for about six months. Your Dad had almost no problem with the two of you together (“He’s a good kid. I’d rather you date him than some Upper East Side prick.”), Pepper thought he was a great influence and absolutely adorable, and your step-sister Morgan absolutely loved the kid. However, your extended Avengers family didn’t really know a lot about him. Your Uncle Steve likes him and knows he has a good heart, but everyone else was hesitant to let their little baby (granted, you were in high school) hang around with a guy, more so a guy with powers.

You poke him with the end of your pencil, “You’re just saying that because you don’t want to deal with domestic Avengers.”

“…So?”

Both Starks laugh at him as he stuffs blueberries in his mouth.

“C’mon, Parker. They’re harmless. Uncle Bucky looks brooding but he’s literally just a big teddy bear. Uncle Sam is a little—”

“Much,” your Dad finishes for you.

You throw a blueberry at him to shut him up, “Whatever. But he’s fucking hilarious.”

“(Y/N)! The mouth on you, I swear to God.”

“I wonder where I get it from?” You tell him sarcastically, to which he smirks at you.

“Seriously though,” Tony says to Peter, giving him a soft and reassuring smile, “consider staying for dinner. Pepper’s making pasta, Steve and I’ll try our hand at the barbeque.”

You clasp your hand around his, rubbing it softly, “You’re an Avenger now, and your family. Stay for dinner, Pete.”

He glances at the two of you before sighing, “Okay, I’ll stay. But—can we hang out with Morgan first, I love that kid.”

You and Peter walk hand-in-hand down the streets of Manhattan with a blabbering Morgan on his back. Morgan chats about her new-found knowledge on cheetahs on a documentary she watched at school while eating a cone of ice cream as Peter carries her piggy-back style.

You let Morgan go on for longer as you and Peter let your hands swing. The warm sun reflects off the buildings and you smile at Peter.

“Hey, Peter?” Morgan asks, offering you the ice-cream cone she’s holding so she can wrap her arms around Peter’s neck. You take the cone from her, not before smearing a little bit of the ice-cream on her nose. She laughs at you before rubbing it off.

“Yeah, kid?”

“Dad says you’re staying for dinner and you’re scared of all of my Aunts and Uncles,” your little sister states bluntly.

“I am not—”

“Peter,” you say with a soft smile, “you know she’s right.”

The three of you arrive at the entrance of Avengers’ Tower and make your way inside. Peter lets Morgan off his back and she waves at every employee milling around. The three of you make your way to the elevator and step inside.

“Hey, Miss F.R.I.D.A.Y.?” Morgan asks politely while looking up to the ceiling. You and Peter chuckle softly as she sways back and forth.

“Yes, Miss Morgan?” the automated A.I. says.

Morgan smiles, “Can you take us to my Dad? It’s dinner and I’m hungry.”

The elevator starts shifting upwards, “Of course, Morgan. Your parents are with the rest of the Avengers on the common floor for dinner.”

“Thank you!” she states delightfully. Morgan then fixes her gaze on Peter, “So. Dinner.”

“What about it?” Peter says while fidgeting.

“Just be yourself. Dad likes you. Mom likes you. (Y/N) likes you. Uncle Stevie likes you. I like you, you buy me ice-cream!”

Peter smiles at your sister before picking her up and giving her a hug. “How old are you again,” he asks jokingly.

“I’m five!”

“So wise. I bet you learn it from your Dad.”

“I learn it from (Y/N) actually.”

The elevator doors slide open and the smell of food wafts into the air. The Avengers are seated around the table while your Dad and Uncle Steve bring barbequed food from the porch. Pepper catches sight of you first.

“(Y/N)! Morgan!” she says with a smile.

Peter lets her down and she runs into Pepper’s arms, “Hi Mommy! Peter bought me ice-cream!”

“Did he now? Before dinner?” she says amusedly as you and Peter approach her. You press a kiss to your stepmother’s cheek as she gives you a tight hug.

“Hi, Peter! How are you, love?”

“I’m good, thanks for letting me stay for dinner,” he says while giving her a hug. After they separate, Morgan immediately grasps his hand.

“Of course, you’re always welcome here.”

Pepper leads the two of you two your seats and you greet people as you walk. You wrap your arms around your Uncle Bucky and Uncle Sam to give them a hug as you walk by, giving them both a kiss on the cheeks.

“Well, is this that Parker kid you keep talking about?” Sam asks, turning around in his seat to face you and Peter. Bucky does as well, his metal arm glistening in the light.

“Yes, sir,” Peter answers, sticking out his hand to shake, “I’m Peter.”

Instead, Sam stands and bring Peter in for a bro-hug, Bucky following. “Don’t need to call us ‘sir,’ kid,” Sam says.

“(Y/N) talks about you enough, you’re a good kid. You have a bunch of spider-powers and you still think my metal arm is cool. I respect that,” Bucky says.

“You’re always welcome here,” your Aunt Natasha says from across the table.

He smiles at awe at all of them and you wrap your hand in his, “Thank you, all of you.”

“Alright hooligans, time to eat!” your Dad shouts, walking back in the room holding a bowl of mashed potatoes. Uncle Steve enters the room behind hip holding two bottles of wine.

“Hey, Queens. Nice of you to finally join us,” Steve says jokingly, and Peter smiles enthusiastically in return.

“Hey (Y/N),” your Dad calls out, “help me with these damn potatoes.”

“Language!” Morgan calls from her seat beside Pepper.

The entire room bursts into glee and you turn to Peter as you watch him laugh as well. Without warning, you lean forward and press a soft kiss on his lips. Not caring if your family watches, Peter smiles against the kiss. You hear your Dad groan from behind you.

The two of you pull away and Peter smiles at you breathlessly. “What?” he asks.

You smile at him, “Nothing, it just…you look so happy.”

He smiles at you again and wraps his arms around you, pulling you into a hug.

“All right, that’s enough you two. We’re hungry,” Tony calls from across the table.

“Hurry up please, I’m hungry!” Morgan whines.

The room laughs again as the two of you take a seat and start dinner. In hindsight, Peter isn’t sure why he was nervous meeting the rest of your family. If they are anything like you, Peter knows he would love them as much as he loves you.

taglist: @sebastianstanfoundmymixtape @accio-rogers @lionheo04 @stupendoussciencenaturepanda

1K notes · View notes