#sam views himself as a gifted child

[shallowseeker]

These details are added to make Sam feel more disrespected and minimized by the angels, to make him more jealous of Dean's lofty "righteous man" title. They are added to make Sam angry and to increase his resentment toward Dean.

(bolded for emphasis)

Zachariah is so focused on Dean in the end of "It's A Terrible Life" that it's easy to think that Sam doesn't mean anything to him and he isn't trying to influence Sam in any way. Sam wanted to drink demon blood and work with Ruby and hunt before this episode and he still wants to do the same things during and after, so it's easy to think that there is nothing here Sam is supposed to "learn" from Zachariah and he's kind of just along for the ride as nothing more than a tool in Zachariah's arsenal to get through to Dean after Dean's breakdown at the end of "On The Head Of A Pin"—to prove to Dean that he wants to be a hunter and it's where he's happiest.

As a result, when we ask ourselves questions like, "Why do they throw in that Dean Smith went to Stanford?" Our answers tend to focus on why Dean would want to have gone to Stanford.

Think about what Zachariah actually wants to happen though. He wants Lucifer to be freed, he wants the brothers relationship to break down (4.22), he wants the apocalypse to happen and for Sam and Dean to become the vessels for Lucifer and Michael.

There is a lesson for Sam in the "It's A Terrible Life"... but the lesson is intentionally very subtle, because what Zachariah wants Sam to take away from this episode is that Sam means nothing to him.

Zachariah wants Sam to feel that to the angels, Sam is nothing more than a loser in a dead-end customer support job in a tiny cubicle with all the other insignificant little worker bees. Meanwhile, Dean is the angels prize. Dean is sitting pretty in an executive-level marketing role on the upper floors. Dean is important to the angels. Dean matters. Dean is special. Sam is loser—he doesn't get an important role. He doesn't get respect. He doesn't get recognition. He doesn't get to meet Zachariah—Castiel's superior—at the end of the episode because he isn't important enough to meet Zachariah personally like Dean is. He only gets to hear it from Dean afterward. He gets to hear that Zachariah gave Dean a (deeply condescending) pep talk about how important Dean is and how special Dean is and how he'll succeed and do everything he's destined to do. Dean gets to hear the things that Sam wants so desperately for someone to tell HIM.

These details are added to make Sam feel more disrespected and minimized by the angels, to make him more jealous of Dean's lofty "righteous man" title. They are added to make Sam angry and to increase his resentment toward Dean.

The Stanford comment is an extra cruel jab. Getting into Stanford was something Sam would have worked very hard for. It was a tangible reward—recognition of his intelligence and talent and effort. It was probably something Sam took a lot of pride in and found extremely validating during a period where Sam always felt like a disappointment to John (1.08). Zachariah simply takes his accomplishment away and gives it to Dean. Sam already thinks people should be paying more attention to him—appreciating the power the demon blood has given to him. He's already said he's stronger and smarter and braver than Dean (4.14, 4.16) and nobody is listening... no one is recognizing that he's the better brother—he's going to be the hero who stops the apocalypse! Giving Sam's schooling to Dean is a way of reinforcing Sam's ego—his belief that Dean is being assigned traits that belong to HIM. It is a tangible reinforcement of his belief that he is better than Dean and Dean is stealing his valor.

[kismetconstellations]

Because I'm still bitter... The first time I consciously verbalized that "I hate this show", came when, as I predicted, there was absolutely no acknowledgement of Shiro having no living family on Earth, come the Atlas's "launch date" at the start of Season Eight.

We get shots of each of the Paladins interacting with their families, including Allura as a part of Lance's family, which is a sweet touch.

Then, there's a passing shot of Shiro standing alone and isolated on the Atlas's bridge that he isn't even the focus of.

I had a feeling this would be the case when, ahead of the finale of the second season, the Paladins are cheerfully reflecting on their growth and the challenges that they've overcome preceding what they believe will be their final fight with Zarkon.

Shiro, however, is dead silent, back turned to the others, and, when we do see his expression, he's stone-faced and seemingly deep in contemplation. Something that no one acknowledges, or seems to be in any way concerned about, even with Shiro's history of thoughts that he loses himself in being distinctly unpleasant ones.

When he does speak, it's to somberly offer the definitive statement, "You realize, once we defeat Zarkon, the universe won't need Voltron, anymore." The kids naturally express wanting to see their families, again, once the burden of defending the universe has been lifted from their shoulders, even if it means, for Pidge and Keith, going out and finding them.

Shiro, though, voices no such desires. He dons the Fearless Leader/Black Paladin mask and encourages his underlings that they can't fail, and that's that. Cue them looking dramatically out over the horizon before the credits roll.

One could hem and haw and offer any number of supposed explanations for the unsettling absence of any lifegoals for Shiro outside of "defeat the bad guy and defend the universe", especially viewing this scene in hindsight.

"Shiro and his long-term partner split up before the Kerberos mission. Maybe it would be awkward for Shiro to see him, again, and Shiro doesn't want to discuss that with a group of teenagers, especially as their commanding officer."

"Maybe they intended for Shiro's family to show up later and simply didn't have the time to include them, or he has a strained and/or estranged relationship with his family and wasn't too concerned with going back to them."

"He's been declared legally dead, and the cartoon made to sell toys to kids didn't want to bog their child audience's brains down with the confangled nuisances of bureaucracy."

"Maybe Shiro had no personal desire to return to Earth, and would have assisted Pidge in looking for Matt and Sam had he lived."

And, any of these would be more interesting than what we were actually given, which is nothing, because the showrunners didn't know how to and weren't equipped to handle the sheer level of complex and compounded trauma they had afflicted Shiro with. It was easier to brush it all aside, as that shot of an out of focus Shiro so deftly displays. Especially once Shiro had been killed and effectively permanently replaced as the Black Paladin, then brought back to life and retired to "boring adult" status. They killed his partner off-screen, following the dissolution of the relationship, and briefly showed Shiro mourning the loss,

and I guess that was their "emotional pathos for Shiro" quota met for the rest of the show.

After that, he was gifted his own ship and the position of Captain/Admiral aboard it to sequester him off with Sam, Iverson, Veronica, Slav, a similarly unceremoniously demoted Coran, and the rest of the side characters, under the guise of him being promoted to a position of actual significance. And, as much as I love Shiro having his own ship, and the figure he cuts in that stylish and immensely flattering Admiral coat, it shouldn't have to be said that this is both a massive insult to his character after he had the most narrative significance and pathos of anyone during the first two seasons, and a cheap, cowardly tactic employed to avoid the reality that the writers have alluded to Shiro seeing himself as having no purpose if he isn't performing a heroic duty to others, and being passively suicidal when no such duty exists.

"Don't look too closely, everyone! Let's not linger too long on this!" Otherwise, you'll realize that Shiro, in fact, has no one to support him outside of people who already have families of their own. And, "The universe won't need Voltron, anymore", was really Shiro saying, "The universe won't need me, anymore."

And, damned if the brain trusts behind this show didn't try to prove how little they needed Shiro, only for their story to fall apart at the seams after killing him, and the quality to, fittingly, take a nosedive straight into the abyss once they committed to nerfing and sidelining him while having other characters pitifully attempt to retrace steps that he had already taken, stumbling over his distinct and unforgettable bootprints.

[anthroposeen]

tmagp 13 relisten notes!!

there are spoilers for episode 13 below the cut!

celia:

- admits to sam that she asked alice for advice and general information about him. this implies she has a pretty friendly relationship with alice (evidenced by alice buying her a mocha) and seems relatively unthreatened by her past with sam so far.

- "no one, im mysterious" -> evidence for her not being from this dimension, if no one can give a lot of information about her

- reveals jack is her baby! (not followed by a glitch)

- says the past couple years "since the move" (between dimensions?) were weird for her

- believes the incidents they work with are real, and im certain shes in the same boat as the audience rn, trying to categorize them with background knowledge that isnt accurate anymore

sam:

- easy to make blush, doesnt know how cute he is, is an overachiever, obsessive, a but repressed, nosy, kind of a recluse, and very easy to wind up

- gifted kid syndrome poster child; he seems to view being turned away by the magnus institute as the beginning of his rejection streak (not admitted to oxford, didnt get first, got fired from his legal firm). i think this will be a major point in his motivations and a fear of rejection and need for validation is going to drive him to receive the greatness he wants (and believes he has earned). i can already see a corruption arc brewing for him, poor thing

- did NOT tell celia about his experiences in the institute or what his "incident" was (referring to lena's interview where she asked him what the worst thing he's seen/experienced was). this isnt super sketchy considering its a first date, but is interesting since he was the one who wanted "all the baggage" out early

- he doesn't want to accept that the incidents are real, but i think he does believe in them. he brought the topic up to celia and has asked alice about it before too, so he may be aware that the incidents are real, but is unwilling to fully conceptualize what that means for himself and his world view

- says that alice doesnt love the idea of him seeing celia, which means he may have picked up on her feelings for him

gwen:

- feels guilty over instigating the mr.bonzo incident -> whats really interesting is that she doesnt threaten to quit or not be involved, she accepts that she gas another email to look through and another external to interact with, but it seems to upset her

- she asks lena why this (externals and mr bonzo murder) is happening, implying that she can stomach the work if its for a reason

lena:

- gives gwen the ABCs of genre-awareness:

- this dimension also has "opposing forces- most of them meaning to be harmful.

- these "forces" need to be "balanced" and controlled in order to maintain order in the world/system -> still working off of a smirke-esque theory that retaining balance will keep the world secure. i dont know if she means balance between forces of good and evil or forces in the supernatural sense

- says the OIAR is managing the bad guys, as in monitoring their actions and directing externals to "balance" things

alice:

- actually offended that sam doesnt want to share information with her and isnt having a good time knowing sam and celia are seeing each other

- tells sam "he cant prove anything" about the cases being real, but doesnt tell him hes wrong

- i would fling myself from a sky scraper for you, miss dyer, but please never say bussin or fire again

- "stop trying to make an impact" -> the more she tells sam to cut the x-files shit out, the more she stops protesting his suspicions. her scolding has gone from "nothing is going on, chill out" to "sure, theres a conspiracy, but we are paid to ignore it"

-

alice/sam's past:

- dated at uni, previously stated they were together for several years. it seems to have been a decent split since they stayed in contact afterward.

- sam was there for her when her parents died, but lost contact after

- she contacted him w the OIAR job details after he made an exceptionally pathetic vague post

incident:

- centered around gambling and self harm to achieve success- this draws ties to episode 2 (self harm) and episode 9 (luck). i expect this is more aligned with ep 9, as the self harm seems to be in the interest of changing his odds/luck, and the incident is primarily about gaining external success, not physical change. though, ep 2 could be a personal experience with ink5oul that is not representative with their "force"

- the narrator of this statement was quick to actively sacrifice his own well being to achieve better luck, which is a pretty stark contrast to other people who looked to harm other people in their own interest (violin guy and dice guy, i forgot their names sorry!!)

- zorro trader may be a reoccurring organization in relation to gambling

- the narrators options for his debt were to either pay it back or have a personal adjustment, once he completes the voicemail he is transferred to the adjustments apartment, which was not an option on the original call log and something he did not request

- he is promptly adjusted :)

- i think this could be related to the theme of keeping balance, since the incident narrator claims it isnt wrong to play with the loophole, and it ends with him getting what he owes, which is a nice connection to lena's explanation of the OIAR's purpose

glitches/lies:

- "im happy you're happy", alice (she is not happy that sam is with celia!!)

extra comments:

- i really didnt expect an explanation of the OIAR and its position in this so early, and im surprised lena was the one to reveal it. this exposes that shes pretty open with the staff she feels are on a need-to-know basis, and it also changes my expectations for how we'll come across a big reveal in this series, since information is being given in a more open way

- i think alice and celia definitely know something but in opposing ways- acting as foils to each other with sam (information seeker) in the middle. celia knows about how the fears work in the tma dimension, and alice knows why and what the OIAR are really doing- together, they solve the puzzle that sam is trying to piece together.

[lol-jackles]

I'm rewatching spn and Jared 's portrayal of Sam when possessed by demon Meg in season 2 I think is sooo good! He really appears unhinged when he comes out as the demon, and even the scenes where Sam (possessed by Meg) is acting like Sam, are so wicked. I think this is the first episode where Jared sort of portrays a character who is not Sam (in mind, body and spirit) and he really does a wonderful job.

With Dean's character I've noticed that whenever he is in mortal danger, like making the year long deal to save sam's life, or the mark of cain arc, or being possessed by Michael arc, and many many more arcs in the later season, Dean just completely gives up on himself and on life. I HATE this attitude with every cell of my being! MORE than Dean being codependent on Sam and not letting him live his life without Dean. I hate this defeatist attitude so much. And then everyone else around him has to worry for him and take care of him and find resolutions for his issues. While with Sam, he doesn't give up till his last fighting breath. I love that!

 Meg!Sam was probably the first time when casual watchers sat up and go, "whoa, the kid can act!". When Meg and Castiel became a canon couple, I thought it was a huge missed opportunity that Meg didn't possess Sam again and gift us scenes of Castiel swooning after a flirty Meg!Sam.

Yeah, Dean's defeatist attitude was a plot device that can get tiresome, starting in season 5. Still, it was a plot device that usually works as part of Sam's hero journy arc.

From Sam’s point of view, Dean’s endless self-inflicted apathy is part of the long list of crappy-things-to-do-to-Sam.  Like in episode 13x05, Dean temporarily killing himself so he can go into the dead zone to find the bodies and free the souls, while a good idea (I guess???), was still a very crappy thing to do to Sam as there was no discussion, just “here’s a needle give me five minutes being dead okay see you later.”  It’s been ongoing since season 2, so I don’t blame Sam in season 14 for thinking the Mal'ex magic box business is just the latest in a long string of events of Dean causing himself harm and then giving up at the first inconvenience.  Sam’s angry speech in episode 14x11 “Damaged Goods” was not only about Dean cutting Sam out of his plan with no discussion but also for giving up by using blind faith in fate as an excuse (“since when do we believe in fate?”).  Sam’s speech in episode 14x12 “Prophet and Loss” recounts their long history of defying fate and surviving literal and figurative hell because they had faith in themselves. Dean is forgiven for forgetting this lesson every season because the plot device kicks in just in time to give us some of Jared's finest acting of Sam’s decade-long frustrations with Dean’s obstinance, causing him to breakdown and ask, “why don’t you believe in us?”, like a child asking why adults do stupid things when the adults should know better. 

Dean's defeatist attitude is part of the determinism (Dean) vs free will (Sam) philosophy that ran through the series by Sam confronting and challenging the authority figures in his life: John Winchester, Dean Winchester, Lucifer, and then God. They all wanted Sam to be something he didn’t want to be - John’s solider, Dean’s companion, Lucifer’s vessel, and Chuck's story.  Eventually, Sam acquiesced to their demands but on his own terms, he became a hunter to leave a legacy, became Dean’s partner to save him, became Lucifer’s vessel to save the world, became Chuck's story to defeat him and bring free will into the world through Jack, a nephilim he essentially raised and influenced.

Dean: "Finally free"

[quintessenceofdust73]

Colleen had spent the last several minutes arranging the small, brightly wrapped packages on the dining table in the Holts’ private suite onboard the Atlas. This wasn’t exactly where she expected to celebrate her daughter’s eighteenth birthday. Colleen never could have imagined that her youngest child would have been fighting in an intergalactic war at such an age, or that Colleen herself would be out in space with the rest of their little family instead of planning a quiet little party at their home.

She placed the smallest of the packages on top of the stack of colorful boxes. It was wrapped in bright blue paper and tied with a green ribbon. Curious, Colleen glanced at the card. It read “With Love, From Lance.” She smiled to herself, wondering what the gift could be. She knew Katie loved all of the other Paladins like older siblings, but with Lance things had been different. She always sat close to him at meetings and at mealtimes. She blushed when Lance complimented her and pouted when her father set a curfew on her late night video gaming sessions with him. ”Leave the door to your quarters open when that boy is here,” her husband had insisted.

Boy? She thought. No, he was a young man, Lance was nearly twenty, and was of an age to have a more serious view of dating and relationships.

More than once Colleen had noticed that Lance had casually slipped one of his long arms around her daughter’s slight shoulders when the Paladins gathered with her family to have a movie night. She also noticed that Katie wrapped her arms around Lance, clinging to him and affectionately nuzzling his chest, a gesture that always made him smile and draw her even closer to him.

Colleen had always thought they were cute together and had hoped for the longest time that their friendship would blossom into something more. She smiled at the recollection of how Lance had won a stuffed Green Lion for her when they went to the Clear Day carnival together. Katie cuddled with it every night, falling asleep with it in her arms.

Sam, on the other hand, wondered what his daughter saw in the boy.

“He’s not as smart as Hunk,” Sam had observed after Katie had gone to bed one evening. “Why would she like a boy who isn’t even close to being her intellectual equal?”

“Shh! She’ll hear you,” Colleen whispered.

”She’s asleep,” Sam replied. “I still think that she and Hunk would make a good match though. He’s a very bright young man—“

“Who’s in love with a very sweet Balmeran girl,” Colleen reminded him. “Katie has told me things about Lance. Did you know that he nearly got himself killed while saving Coran from an explosion? Lance was practically comatose from his injuries, but he woke up momentarily just to take a shot at Sendak when he was trying to hurt our daughter. Did you know about that?” Sam shook his head. “Did she tell you what Lance did when they were captured by Galra Pirates? Those fiends wanted to torture our child, but Lance wouldn’t allow them to come anywhere near her, so they gave him a good thrashing instead.” Colleen stood with her hands on her hips, as if daring Sam criticize Lance for his heroics.

”No,” Sam paused to consider this new information. “She didn’t tell me about any of that.” He didn’t comment on their daughter’s choice of boyfriends any further, but Colleen was still half-convinced that Sam still believed that no one was good enough for their little girl. Not wanting an argument, Sam changed the subject to what Matt had been doing on his latest missions with the Rebels.

Their son was, at the moment, far away from this sector, fighting in a battle in a distant solar system whose name Colleen couldn’t even pronounce.

So much of their time together as a family had been cut short by the apparent tragedy that had befallen Sam and Matt on the Kerberos mission. The grief she experienced at their mysterious disappearance consumed her, then was multiplied when Katie ran away from home to join the Garrison under a false identity. She later found out that her daughter and her friends had been abducted by a sentient spaceship and taken through a wormhole to the other end of the universe. Her only daughter was lost among the stars for three years, and when Katie finally returned home, Colleen could barely recognize her. Her long hair was shorn, her beauty concealed by the disguise of her brother’s old round spectacles. Most shocking of all, she was clad in the hard shell of some high-tech armored alien spacesuit. Although she had returned home physically unharmed, Colleen knew her the little girl she had raised was gone forever.

Every time she watched Katie fall asleep in her narrow bunk, she could momentarily forget that her daughter was a confident young woman who was, among other things, a Paladin, a scientist, and a veteran of far too many battles in the endless war that had been tearing the universe apart centuries before she had been born. Losing this war might mean the end of humanity’s freedom and possibly its very existence. Of course, they weren’t just fighting for Earth’s freedom, but for the liberation of all of the sentient beings that the Galra Empire had enslaved over the last ten thousand years. Defeating Honerva was all any of them could think about these days.

And here she was, making preparations for her youngest child’s birthday party. Colleen sat down at the table and covered her mouth to stifle a sob. But there was no one around to hear it. Sam and Katie had already departed for the mission briefing. She let the tears flow only when she was alone. Then, in order to face the day, she straightened her uniform and donned the steely facade of the brave officer and loyal crew member that she had to present herself as. She wiped the corners of her eyes and hastily departed for the main conference chamber.

[Pidge’s 18th birthday doesn’t go as planned in this fic. This is an excerpt from chapter 2 of one of the best multi chapter fics that I have ever written. Angst, drama, space battles, sword fights, friendship, loyalty, courage, humor, romance, and an epic conclusion with a satisfying epilogue. What are you waiting for? Go read it! ]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/31663769?view_full_work=true

[samgirlie-gn]

No/Low-Empathy Sam - A Character Study

I don't know if I consider this a real headcanon - it's more theoretical, really. I'm personally low-empathy and wrote this to project/cope.

(1.3k words)

Sam knew from a young age that he was different, even if he didn’t understand how or why. Even as a young child he didn’t cry at sad moments in Disney movies – when Mufasa died and Dean was trying his hardest to hide his tears and save face, Sam wasn’t feeling much of anything. When a classmate cried, he didn’t feel pangs of sympathy – he just froze up, not sure what to say or do. What does one say to someone who lost a loved one? Is he supposed to care about some kid’s parents’ divorce? He once got angry and pushed another kid, and when the boy skinned his knee and cried he just felt… nothing. He felt something when a teacher came over to check on the boy: fear of being sent to the Principal’s office. Fear of consequences – reason enough to not do it again.

When his father came home in bad shape, mourning a difficult hunt and lives lost, Dean always seemed to know what to say and do. Luckily, less was expected from Sam as the younger son, but when Dean wasn’t around to help he tended to avoid their father. He didn’t know how to help carry the weight of the man’s burdens. He could never quite relate to the drive that pushed him to avenge his wife’s death – Sam felt nothing towards his mother. He never knew her, was too young to have memories of her, so why would he mourn? How could he really relate to his father’s feelings?

When Dean was hurt, Sam felt worry about him until he could confirm his brother would survive. He made sure that the injury wasn’t severe as he patched Dean up with young hands that shouldn’t be so accustomed to the task. Sam knew he loved his brother, more than he knew anything, but even Dean’s sorrow on the anniversary of their mother’s death wasn’t enough to make Sam cry. Dean saw nothing wrong; as far as he was concerned, Sam was perfect. He saw the best in him with something approximating an unconditional mother’s love.

But Sam feared himself. Feared that he wasn’t normal, that he was evil, that one day he would do something impulsive and destructive and feel no grief for it. To teachers, he was a “good kid” – a little quiet, but conscientious and well-mannered. But no matter how much praise a teacher heaped on, he couldn’t brush off the feeling that something was very wrong with him.

He’d learned a sense of right and wrong from Dad's teachings and Dean’s example; Dean, despite his macho façade, had greater feelings of empathy than Sam did. If Sam was gifted with one thing it was a fundamental desire to be good, to be the hero and not the villain. That desire kept him within the constraints of a carefully constructed morality. He flagellated himself with his own shame until his outside behavior hardly matched his inside.

As he aged, he learned. He watched the way people addressed others’ feelings, in movies and in real life. He learned how to express sympathy, how to lay on the pathos until those around him viewed him as perfectly kind and empathetic. And he felt like an imposter, a liar, a wolf in sheep’s clothing. His ability to act only made him more conscious of what was missing on a deeper level, that implicit care and empathy people seemed to have for others. If someone’s crisis was similar to something he’d experienced in the past, he could call upon his own memories: what would have made him feel better when it happened to him? But it was still an intellectual exercise more than anything else.

Jess was the first and only person he broke down and told.

“I don’t… feel things, for other people. I mean I’m capable of love, I think—no, I know I am. But when other people are upset I’m just… not. I don’t know how to deal with other people’s feelings. Sometimes I just feel… empty. I think something’s wrong with me. I can’t fix it, I can’t make myself feel what I’m supposed to feel and I don’t know what to do. Sometimes I’m scared that I’m evil, deep down. It's like something in me is missing.”

Jess was encouraging.

“Sam, you’re one of the kindest people I know. You’re so sweet to me when I’m upset, whether you ‘get it’ or not. Isn’t that what matters? How you treat people? Even if you’re a little different, you’re a good guy, Sam. I promise.”

It really didn’t make him feel any better.

When Jess died, Sam began to understand much better how that kind of loss felt for other people. Or rather, he knew how it felt for him and then could extrapolate it to victims’ families. His ability to “fake it” made him a better hunter; Dean even began to view him as the one who was better at handling grieving people, often letting him take the lead in that department. But with every bit of false care and sentiment he directed at others, Sam felt a sour taste in his mouth. He wished more than anything that any of it was real.

When he found out about the demon blood that tainted him as a child, Sam began to suspect that he’d finally found the reason why he was the way he was. There was just a bit of Demon inside of him, just a bit of unfeeling and cold calculation. He couldn’t confirm this really, but it seemed unlikely that it wasn’t related. He wondered what kind of person he would have been had Azazel not interfered. Maybe he wouldn’t have spent his entire life feeling like something was deeply wrong with him.

Sam never knew for sure why he was so good at fighting the pull towards evil, better than Ava and the other Special Children. But if he had to guess, he’d suspect that fighting his nature for his entire childhood gave him a lot of skill and practice for denying his darker impulses. That bit of coldness inside of him was fully overcome by the ever-present need to feel just a little less evil, just a little less broken. And he had Dean’s example to follow – a man who didn’t always do right, but always tried.

When Sam regained his soul and had to contend with memories of being soul-less, he was most disturbed by the similarities between himself and that self. Of course, with his soul he helped people, made choices out of an intellectual construction of morality. Being soul-less took away the love he had, for Dean and close loved ones, but when dealing with strangers things weren’t so different. He didn’t lose empathy – he just lost the desire to fake having it, unless he absolutely had to for a case. He got a little worse at pretending, as he found "better" things to put his time and energy toward.

Fundamentally, Sam developed a Complex – he believed more than anything that if he ever forgave himself, if he ever felt positive feelings towards himself, he might lose the shame that drove him to be good. Without his constant self-flagellation he might become not so different from his soul-less self. And that was something he could never, ever risk. This was his burden, a weight he could never put down. Eventually, in a twisted sort of way he accepted it. This was him whether he liked it or not. All he could do was pretend to be something else, and maybe Jess was right – by doing that he was showing some backwards, convoluted version of Goodness.

[quietwings-fics]

Tell-Tale Faith

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Fandom: Supernatural Ship: Gen (Dean & Sam, Lucifer & Sam) + Samifer Additional Tags: POV Alternating, POV Second Person, POV Third Person, Nightmares, Episode: s01e12 Faith (Supernatural), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angel Vessel Sam Winchester, Lucifer Possessing Sam Winchester, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Gift Fic Wordcount: 3594 Summary:

Dean is dying. Sam prays for help, and someone does hear him.

They tell Sam his brother is going to die.

A couple weeks. A month.

They want to make him comfortable.

They think Dean is frail. They think this will be what breaks him. But Dean has walked out of worse with his heads held high. The doctors don’t know his brother. Dean doesn’t even know himself, resignation sunken as his eyes. He talks about impossible things, like Sam skipping town without his brother or burying him.

As though Dean can die. As though he’s allowed to when Sam only just got him back. When that evil son of a bitch that got Mom, got Jess, drags them ragged over the backroads hunting, is still out there. Sam makes a promise he doesn’t intend to break. Dean carried him out of a burning house twice. Sam can find a way to fix his heart. That’s what family does. They save each other.

Sam goes back to their motel room. They won’t let Dean leave the hospital yet. Too dangerous. Maybe that’s a good thing. The time Sam should spend throwing himself into research gets wasted first on hyperventilating in the bathroom. Dad would have knocked him over the head for that, pushed him into a chair and put him to work. No use in grieving before something happened when you could stop it, and no use in doing it after when you could keep it from happening again.

Dad needs to know. (He’d know what to do. He’d fix things.)

Sam calls him. The phone rings. Once, twice, three times. His voicemail isn’t unexpected, but there’s an unfair twinge in Sam’s chest. There’s no way Dad could know Dean was in trouble without someone telling him, but he should. Sam hated him for not knowing the instant Dean’s heart began to give out, for not sitting up wherever he was and feeling that his son was dying. Sam waits impatiently for the tone. He has to reach him.

“Dad. It’s Sam. If you’re listening... We fucked up. Hunt gone wrong. It happens, but... This time it happened to us. Dean got hurt. And,” Sam takes a deep breath and steadies himself, “if you have anything you didn’t write down in your journal about healing that I should know, call back.” Please lingers on the tip of Sam’s tongue, but before he can bring himself to say it, the voicemail ends. He shuts the phone and rubs his forehead. It’s going to be a long night.

Sam gets to work.

You have been listening for a very long time.

There isn’t much else to do. The nature of confinement. You twist and contort within the bars endlessly. The view isn’t much to speak of, but you hear it all. Screaming, mostly. Murmurs of loyalty and worship and bloody devotion, though only few ever dare get close enough to hear you speak back. Lilith has never feared you, caged or not, for her life was yours from the moment you reached into her soul and revealed the rotten underbelly. She speaks to you in a tongue meant for angels, though the words burn through her lips and gums. Azazel does know fear, but he is also aware of how much he is not yours in the way that Lilith is. Smart of him to contact you far beyond your reach, to listen and swear obedience through more comfortable human forms and voices.

The message is mangled, but the truth shines through.

A child. A very special child.

And you have been listening.

Sam Winchester is so much louder than all of hell. He rings with faith. You press yourself against the bars and strain to take in every word. Small and short at first, as he learns, and you take his very first wishes into your grace. I wish I could see my mom. I wish Dad would take us home. I wish Dean would be nicer to me. He keeps hiding the good cereal boxes, and he thinks I don’t see him. You love him. You have loved him. You will love him.

When wishes become prayers, they become more structured, but you learn more about him. He wants a home. He wants a dog. He wants to be in school for more than a few months. He wants his brother to talk to him more, treat him like he’s not a kid who can’t handle things, stop taking his father’s side when they fight. He wants John to leave one day and never come back. He wants John to stay for longer than a few days before taking off for another hunt. He hates his dad. He hates his brother. He loves them both so much he thinks he’ll die without them.

The prayers are never addressed to you. That doesn’t matter. They’re still yours. You hoard them. Weave them into the fractured parts of your grace where the songs of your siblings once resonated. You echo with Sam’s hope and fear and love. You are remaking yourself in his image, as he is made in yours.

You celebrate his escape to Stanford with him. You share his doubts when his family goes silent around him. You mourn Jessica Moore with him. You follow his steps down the long road of destiny.

You know every inch of your prison. You know the seals that keep you bound.

There is a crack in everything. That’s how the prayers get in.

And one day, when you hear if you’re listening...

You are.

Dean got hurt.

If you have anything you didn’t write down in your journal about healing that I should know...

Here is a prayer that you can answer.

There is a crack in everything. Even the Cage. That’s how the light gets out.

You are coming.

Sam finds nothing. He reads the journal once, twice, with a fine-toothed comb. His eyes blur as the day wears on. It gets dark out, and he hasn’t moved for hours. He turns to his computer. He scours the web until his mouth is so dry his tongue sticks to the roof of it, and pain drills angrily into his head from the lack of water. When he drags himself to his feet, his back and neck are just as furious with his abuse, aching with every movement. He stretches to alleviate some of the pain. He downs water and a painkiller.

He goes back to work. Nothing else matters.

You did not claim it would be easy.

Not all of you can leave. The fractures that cover your prison are thin enough for whispers. You will have to make yourself small. You are used to this. The writhing, wrathful whole of you will remain in chains, but that freedom comes later. For now, it is your job to crawl your way out, to feel the metal scrape against the pieces you have already torn free and pare you down to wispy strands. Beams of light. Photons alone.

It’s not an escape. It’s bail.

And these torn up shreds that make it through are held together, stapled with Sam’s words, and you listen. You follow. You rise.

When Sam prays that night, it’s in jumps and spurts. He can’t hold a thought for more than a minute. He can’t think of anything more to say than to repeat fix him, let me help him, give me the power to save my brother, if you’re listening, if you’re listening. He manages to bow his head and clasp his hands for some of them. He even kneels. It’s a good thing Dean isn’t there. He’d have hated the sight, but there is nothing Sam wouldn’t give of himself to save Dean.

He starts calling every number John has written down. Most are disconnected. The ones that aren’t don’t pick up the phone. Sam leaves more voicemails as he clicks through various links on his computer. His stomach hurts with hunger, but he ignores it.

He’s ignoring a lot of things. There’s a series of earthquakes that unexpectedly rock across the coast. Dozens of televangelists seize and burst into tongues on TV sets across America. Entire farms get hit in flash freezes, but the crops survive untouched. Somewhere, a young woman starts crying, and no one can calm her down, can make her stop screaming about a brother she doesn’t have walking the Earth again.

Sam thinks he finds a lead. He follows it.

He’s wrong. He slams his fist against the table so hard he hears the legs crack. It doesn’t give, but he almost does it again, just to see if he can make it.

The sun rises outside his window. He doesn’t notice.

Finding him is easy. If you thought he was loud in Hell, you had no idea what it would be like without the layers of the damned separating you. Fix him, Sam demands. Let me help him, he asks. Give me the power to save my brother, he begs. Sam is a symphony. You think first to acquire a suitable vessel to approach him in, but there's no time to waste and very little of you free to inhabit anyone. In Sam, you will be safe, you will be strong.

But you aren't going to show him your true form. Not yet. That's a bit forward.

You need a face.

If you're listening. If you're listening.

He has already given you one.

Sam has a dream.

He doesn't mean to fall asleep, but he can't work day and night without consequences. He passes out at the table, spine protesting to his unconscious mind. He drifts.

In the dream, he's standing next to Dean's hospital bed again. His brother is pale, eyes even more sunken than before. Sam reaches down to touch him, but a doctor moves in, forcing him back. They crowd around Dean. Sam can't reach him. He shouts and shoves, needing to get near his brother. They're murmuring quietly like a flock of doves, weaving in and out of the ring they've formed around Dean's bed.

"You're losing him," says one as it passes him, jostling Sam's shoulder. He turns, but they're already past him, bowing over Dean's bed.

"Get away from my brother," Sam yells, grabbing one by the shoulder and pushing them aside. Not doves. Vultures, circling.

"Call it," says another.

"Time of death-"

"Get away from him!" Sam makes it to Dean's side.

His brother isn't moving. He isn't breathing. But if there is only one thing Sam knows in the world, it's that these doctors are wrong. Dean can't die. It's antithetical to the world continuing to turn that Dean could die.

They're wrong. Sam can prove it. He knows he can prove it.

Dean’s heart is still pumping. Sam just has to find it.

And so Sam tears into his cold chest himself. Through skin and muscle and bone, Sam digs. His hands are covered in his brother's blood, but this is the only way to show them that Dean is alive. That's all Sam cares about. It's all that matters.

There, right there, Sam swears he hears it thumping. A beat, beat, beat like guilt under the floorboards of his ribs. Sam doesn't know what it's accusing him of.

"He's alive," Sam shouts at an empty room, bowed over the open cavity of his brother's body. "He's alive!"

A hand lands on his shoulder-

Sam jolts awake. He groans and rubs his hand over his eyes. It slides back and over his neck, aching from the position he was sleeping in. His computer is dead.

Outside, it hails. Ice beats against the walls and roof of the motel. Windows are breaking in other rooms, in other buildings, but not here. A stone as large as a talent wouldn't be enough to crack the glass of the window to Sam's room and let the storm outside interrupt.

After all, you won't let it.

Sam stretches his shoulders. He hits the power button on his computer once, twice. It doesn't even flicker awake. He brings both hands to his face and leans heavily against the table, taking in a long, shaky breath. He is everything hoped for, dreamed, imagined. Prayed for, if anyone listened to your prayers. (This is why you will always hear Sam's.) You were not made to exist here, in this way, not with most of you still trapped in the deepest part of Hell. It is agony to be so close to him, in his glory, his perfection. It's a familiar pain.

Sam lets his head fall back, eyes shut. Another loud breath, an exhale this time. You reach a hand over his mouth and cannot feel the oxygen as it passes through your fingers. One fault of not retrieving a vessel first. Some sacred firsts are lost, like breaths. With all of your focus, you allow him to feel you, even if you cannot in return. You caress his cheek and lean forward to kiss his forehead. When you lean back, his eyes flutter open. He looks confused, and then scared, and then, as you stay lightly touching his face, mournful.

"Jess?" he whispers. You tilt your head for him and frown slightly. It's the only answer he needs. Denial fights hard, but Sam is your vessel and he will always know you. This face is only a reminder of what you are and will be and always have been. The haunting isn't new, only his awareness of it. He swallows and pulls away from your touch. You step back. Sam turns and looks you up and down. His eyes shine, but he doesn't let tears fall. "Who are you?"

For one, you are not a fool.

"I'm an angel," you say. Sam's eyes narrow. It's not disbelief, but a close cousin, suspicion. "You prayed for help, Sam. I came to answer you." At that, he sits up straighter.

"You heard me?" he asks. You smile.

"Always."

"Why now?" comes next, quickly. He shakes his head. "Why not for-" He gestures to you helplessly. "For her?" You reach for his hands as they shake, and he lets you take them. A moment later, he tenses, like he's not sure if he should have, but you rub your thumb over his palm and feel him relent. His cells call to you. His nervous system understands what he does not. The calm that settles over him is far from unnatural. It was the first instinct he ever had, with no reason for it to activate until now.

"No one could have saved Jessica." He sniffs and looks away, trying to stop himself from crying. You wish he wouldn't, but you understand. Intimacy will come first. Vulnerability later. But it will come.

"But Dean?" He steadies his voice. For someone dealing with the divine, he is surprisingly unwavering. You understand the feeling. When something precious is about to be torn from his grasp, who would he not stand up to? Who would you?

"I can save Dean," you promise. "I can heal him." Sam nods. You sweeten the deal. "And the demon you hunt?" His brown eyes flash, hope and surprise. Azazel is important to you. He is loyal, and he is powerful, but he is not yours. Sam wants his head. You would serve it to him on a silver platter, but you think he would prefer to do the beheading himself. Sam suffered out of necessity, but he suffered, still, and you haven't had the chance to deal justice in a very long time.

"His name is Azazel," you say, "and we can kill him."

"You want something in return," Sam says, like someone raised on tales of fae and tricksters and demons. You are so proud of him.

"I'm not powerful enough to do this alone. Not right now. I want to be free-"

"From what?"

"From Hell." Sam stands. He does not step back, but his expression hardens. You meet it with your own heartache, worn on your sleeve to teach him how to do the same. He knows you, but he cannot name you. You can hardly judge him. You are the one who got impatient. "My name is Lucifer," you say.

"You're the devil."

"I'm an angel," you repeat. You aren't sure why the accusation upsets you that much, coming from him. It's true, but you don't want him to think of you that way.

"You want my soul?" Sam's on the defensive now, which is the last thing you ever wanted. It would be a bad time to tell him that it isn't really his to bargain with. All of him belongs to you. Body. Mind. Soul. No demon would dare take that deal. Instead, you present new terms.

"The only way I can save your brother"—Bringing it up this time elicits distrust rather than hope—"is if you let me in."

"Let you in?"

"Angels aren't meant to exist here, not like this." You look down at the form you have made for him. It is wavering. You can't do this forever. You need a sanctuary to rest and recover in. "If you allow me to use you as my vessel-"

"To possess me," he interrupts.

"A possession is one way. A theft. I don't intend to lock you up and steal your body." You look over your vessel, your perfect, true vessel. Made for you as you for him. "It's... more complicated than that for us."

Sam turns away. He paces across the room. For a moment, you think he will deny you here. It's possible. Sam will say yes to you, but only that is certain. The time is malleable, the place not yet chosen.

You do not want to go back to the Cage.

"It's the only way," you tell him. You've listened to him in his desperate search as it spans two, now three days.

"And you will heal him?"

"I promise." You were a little brother, once. (You will always be a little brother.) There was nothing you wouldn't have done for Michael. Even now, his death belongs to you, and no one else. One last gift from your father.

He hesitates, but the question alone has turned him onto the path and there is no way but down it.

"How do we do this? Do I sign a contract in blood or-" You laugh. It's been a very long time since you did that. The feeling is more than welcome. Sam's face falls again, grief clouding his face. You quiet yourself and step forward.

"None of that. All I need from you"—You take his hands again. Sam doesn't tense this time. He gazes down at you.—"is for you to say yes." Your faces are centimeters apart now. You wish you could feel his exhalations, the pulse in his wrists. Soon. Soon. So close. "Will you let me in, Sam?"

"Yes," he breathes the word against your lips.

And you become one.

“Hey, Dad. It's Sam. You probably won't even get this, but it's Dean. He's sick, and the doctors say there's nothing they can do, but they don't know the things I know, right? So, don't worry, cause I'm going to do whatever it takes to get him better. Alright. Just wanted you to know.”

Dean's going to check himself out as soon as this storm clears out. Hell, he feels like shit already, so maybe getting knocked over the head by a hunk of ice can't do him much worse. Then again, if he managed to make it out of this hospital, Sam would kill him if he died from getting beaned in the head by hail. Summon his ghost and chew him out and salt and burn him.

Until then, he needs all the rest he can get.

Ha. Like he hasn't been sleeping for most of the past three days.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Dean wants to hit something, but that would require him having enough energy to punch. Enough energy to stand up, even. He'll get there. Has to, to keep up with Sammy. Why the idiot won't leave when Dean's nothing more than dead weight at this point...

Sam tried to hide it, but he was pissed when Dean even suggested it. Dean would have been, too.

He listens to the hail. It's like the end of the world out there. Not relaxing in the slightest, but he's slept in worst places and louder venues. He shuts his eyes and starts reciting Dad's journal back to himself, lore on revenants and chupacabras and werewolves passing over his mind. Familiar as breathing. Easy as- Not a heartbeat, not anymore.

Would it be poor taste to tell Sam that one? Maybe workshop it a bit. What's the point in dying if he can't get one pity laugh out of his brother?

There's a crash loud enough to wake the dead. Dean struggles to get himself upright. He sees the shattered window first, the blinds that a nurse pulled down rattling in the wind. On the floor is a hailstone of a ridiculous size.

"Jesus," Dean mutters. He lays back down. It's not like he can do anything about it. He shuts his eyes again.

It's the strangest thing. Some part of him is at ease. It's the part that usually stands up soldier straight until Sam's safely within reach.

Dean could swear someone touches his forehead. Dean shivers.

He opens his eyes again. There's no one there. He can't hear anything over the wind.

Or.

One thing.

Beat. Beat. Beat.

(Enjoyed it? Any interaction is welcomed. You can even support me on Ko-Fi <3)

[velvethopewrites]

This week’s first fic is a cute one and a bit different -

Fraternizing by followyourenergy

Summary:

Gabriel Novak is a big brother who isn’t above breaking the rules to give his little brother the world.

Sam Winchester is a little brother who, despite occasionally thinking he’s a dumbass, wants the world for his big brother, who had to become a man much too soon.

So when a misunderstanding has Gabe’s brother, Cas, running for the hills and Sam’s brother, Dean, desperate to make amends, a secret admirer scheme cooked up by Gabe and Sam to give their brothers a well-deserved chance at happiness may be just the thing. But will they end up helping or hurting?

What I loved about this fic was that it told the story of Dean and Cas from the point of view of Gabriel and Sam, which felt novel and different from the usual. And whoo-boy, what a story it is. What we have is a shy Castiel noticing a handsome, friendly Dean and then Dean totally misreading things and doing that thing we love to write about - he makes things even worse.

Thus begins the cockamamie (heh, cock) idea that Sam & Gabriel hatch for Dean to get himself back into Cas’s good graces - Dean becomes Castiel’s secret admirer!

Gifts and letters are exchanged and guh, I loved it! I love any fic that has Dean and Cas exchanging letters. You’ll love watching the two fall closer and closer, as we all also enjoy Gabe and Sam’s brotherly shenanigans. This story has a lot of heart, a lot of love and whole lot of funny. It is written brilliantly. Four out of Five Bees: 🐝🐝🐝🐝 at 14k

Next up is Cas as a wind sprite -

Feels Like the Wind by MandalaRose

Summary:

Feeling rather mischievous, possibly for the first time in his existence, Castiel coaxes a flurry of fallen leaves and flower petals into the air with the kite. They swirl around the kite like coordinated confetti, glimmering in the afternoon sunshine and the tinkling laugh of a happy child. The boy stops still, his jade eyes going wide and round.

“Whoa,” he whispers.

Wind is inquisitive and quick-learning by nature, rattling shutters and finding its way into every crack and crevice, no matter how thoroughly stopped up they seem to be. This is perhaps what leads Castiel to befriend a small sandy-haired boy with grass-green eyes and a love for flying kites. The wind sprite and the kite maker become fast friends, forming a profound bond that only seems to strengthen with time. But what will happen to their friendship when the little boy with the red kite grows into a man?

I absolutely adored this fic! Told from Castiel’s perspective, we see how much Dean comes to mean to him. Thru boyhood to adulthood the kite maker and the wind sprite, at first, seem to have much in common. Castiel has led a content, but rather boring existence as a wind sprite - unlike his brothers Gabriel and Balthazar, who enjoy teasing and bothering humans, Cas is fascinated by us but keeps his distance. He becomes intrigued by Dean and grows up with him, but only as wind-friend, a friend that only Dean can see.

This fic is so imaginative and I loved the world-building that went into it. The author deals with Mary’s death in an interesting way, as well as Castiel’s eventual plea and journey to become human himself. I could not stop reading this fic, which garners it high marks in my book. I loved Castiel as the wind - it was a great insight into his character and how he often felt so very alone. Your heart will break with his - but don’t worry, there is always a happy ending. 🥰 Five out of Five Bees: 🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝 at around 19k. Truly lovely writing and gorgeous storytelling.

Happy Friday! Let a fic author know that you love them today! They enrich our lives with their words, make our hearts beat faster and give us smoochies between our blorbos. Bless them each and every one. And comments are all they ever get as payment, damn it (well, until I rule the world).💗

omg it’s FAN FICTION FRIDAY

Reblog and promote a fic of yours <3

[everythingstarstuff]

This is so beautiful! 

 “My daughter handed me her school progress report. Although it displayed a steady stream of positive check marks, there was one check mark standing dejectedly alone from the rest.”“How am I doing, Mom?” my child asked with a level of maturity that did not match the small dishevelled person gazing up at me with smudged eyeglasses that teetered on the tip of her nose. With her small finger, she pointed to her teacher’s neatly printed words next to the lone check mark.It read: "Distracted in large groups." 

But I already knew this. I knew this long before it was written on an official report card. Since she was a toddler, this child has offered astute observations of the world around her.After pointing out all the positives on the progress report, I told her what was written. 

Upon hearing the news, she gave a tiny, uncertain smile and shyly admitted, “I do look around a lot.”But before my child could feel one ounce of shame, one iota of failure, I came down on bended knee and looked her straight in the eye. 

I didn’t want her to just hear these words, I wanted her to feel them. This is what I said: “Yes. You do look around a lot. You noticed Sam sitting off by himself with a skinned knee on the field trip, and you comforted him."

"You noticed Banjo had a running nose, and the vet said it was a good thing we brought him in when we did."

"You noticed our waitress was working really hard and suggested we leave an extra good tip. You noticed Grandpa was walking slower than the rest of us so you waited for him."

"You notice the beautiful view every time we cross the bridge to go to swim practice."

"And you know what? I don’t ever want you to stop noticing because that is your gift. It is your gift that you give to the world.”As I watched my daughter beam with the glow of acceptance, I realized her approach to life had the power to change the world.

You see, we are all just waiting for someone to notice—notice our pain, notice our scars, notice our fear, notice our joy, notice our triumphs, notice our courage.

And the one who notices is a rare and beautiful gift.****

~Rachel Macy Stafford, author of "Hands Free Life."

[slasherpegger]

Samhain’s SFW Alphabet

Word Count: 0.6k Warnings: Mentions of killing

A = Affection

Once you’re close to Sam, he’s incredibly affectionate. His love language is giving, especially handmade crafts. If you’ve befriended him for a long time, you’ll have a collection of lovingly made Halloween crafts.

B = Best friend

Sam is very close to his friends and treats them like family. He's protective of them with his life and makes sure they're safe from any harm. If you were to meet Sam, it'd typically be on Halloween whilst he was out regulating his rules.

C = Cuddles 

Sam loves platonic cuddles! He's a good cuddler and his favorite positions include full body hugging (him wrapped around your arm). He's prone to falling asleep during such cuddles.

D = Domestic 

Sam doesn't know how to cook or clean, his diet consists of candy and lots of it. 

E = Eve 

Sam prepares for Halloween months in advance. If a Halloween store opens, he has a sixth sense and knows. Sam doesn't care for other holidays as much as Halloween, but still will celebrate them.

F = Friends

Other slashers and children he's met on Halloween. He views more mature slashers as paternal figures.

G = Gentle

Sam doesn't try to be rough but can come across as such. He's like a child and tends to be more tough with his actions.

H = Hugs

Sam loves to give and receive hugs, he's the master at it! His hugs are tight and meaningful, he squeezes with all of his might.

I = Idea

Sam is only good at Halloween based ideas but basic with every other one.

J = Jealousy

Sam rarely feels jealousy unless you're close to him. He protects his closest friends and anything that interferes may cause jealousy.

K = Killing 

Sam feels like killing is an important way to keep order in place. He views it as a justice rather than something to feel guilty about. 

L = Little ones 

Gets along amazingly with kids as he is one! He loves to play with them.

M = Morning 

Sam wakes up early in the morning and is not a morning person. He sleepily slugs around in the mornings.

N = Night

A night owl who spends his nights up. Sam believes night is the spookiest time of all and enjoys the darkness.

O = Open 

Sam isn't very open about himself as he tries not to scare others by his past. Being a demon of Halloween seems to scare others off and Sam attempts to hide this fact from others.

P = Patience

Sam is easily irritated and has a low tolerance/patience. He prefers not to wait for things.

Q = Quizzes

Sam surprisingly has a good memory and is extremely perceptive of things. He'll remember every detail you disclose about yourself and makes sure to use his memory when giving the best gifts.

R = Remember 

Sam's favorite moment is meeting you! 

S = Security 

Sam is incredibly protective of you and will do anything to make sure you're safe. Sam isn't opposed to killing or injuring others, making any intruders in your life at risk. 

T = Try 

Sam is the master of handmade gifts! He loves spending his time making others crafts and will spend hours to even days perfecting it.

U = Ugly 

Other than the obvious murdering, Sam has some childish bad habits. He's very messy and probably even picks his nose. 

V = Vanity 

Sam doesn't mind how he looks but he prefers to keep his mask on in order not to scare others. 

W = Whole 

Sam cherishes all of his friends and wouldn't feel whole if any of them were missing.

X = Xtra 

Sam is an ipad kid!! He watches cocomelon on the daily and carries around his tablet everywhere in the house. You have to wrestle it away from him if you need it.

Y = Yuck

Sam is very accepting and doesn't judge others for their flaws, unless you break the rules of Halloween!

Z = Zzz

Sam can pass out anywhere at any time. As long as he's exerted enough energy beforehand, he can zonk out easily.

[marvelyhp]

Still you | chapter II

Chapter II: The comeback

Synopsis: Y/n decides to help the Avengers despite their betrayal two years prior and her life makes a big shift once again.

Pairing: Y/n x Bucky Barnes and some Y/n x Sam Wilson

Word count: 5,997

warnings: cussing, some fluff

note: I know I took so long but I had writer's block. then, I got covid and I felt too awful to write. But I'm okay now so this is what I could come up with. Not my greatest stuff. the tag list is open :)

Side note: I would really appreciate hearing from you and your thoughts!

--------------------

We managed to lower two floors without raising suspicion or making too much noise. At least, James and I were pretty silent, whispering if needed. But of course, Stark always had to open his damn mouth. He had been talking all the way —pretty loudly too— and he just did it again.

“Where’s the grandpa with the bad luck of having you as a tenant?” The man didn’t know the meaning of whispering. Or maybe he did. He just wanted to make my life more complex than it was. I looked frantically behind me, praying he had not seen me sneaking out. At the sight of no one, a breath of relief exploded out of me. But it didn’t last long, irritation quickly dampening my already poor mood.

“Shut the hell up!” I hissed. My patience with the insufferable man wearing thin.

“Oh, relax. If he sees us, we’ll knock him out and blame you.” He mocked, a chuckle erupting throughout the hall and following the stairlike a draft of wind. My blood started to boil inside my veins and I felt the heat spread from head to toes. I was afraid to be reaching my tipping point already because this was nothing. Two years out of practice left me hypersensitive to his shit. I wondered how long I would be able to stand the insufferable mortal and regret hit me like a ton of bricks.

“He is a good man, Stark. We will not knock him out.” I whispered as I pressed myself against the wall. Twisting my head around the corner at the end of the hall, I sneaked a glance at the stairs and the visible space from the top. “Watch your step here. His room is right underneath the stairs. We don’t want to wake him up.

I walked forward, pressing my foot in the first step, praying the creak of the old wood would keep quiet today as it did some nights. At least that’s what I hoped but it wasn’t what happened. A groan broke the silence in the room and I knew that if he was awake, he definitely heard it. I waited a couple of seconds, alert to any noise. When nothing came, I advanced four more steps. I focused on the one shadow dancing in the wall and relief swept through me. He wasn’t awake.

I turned, thinking the guys were still up. However, I let out a gasp when Bucky’s face came into view, mere inches away from mine. Thanks to the startle, the foot I had dangerously close to the edge slipped.

My heart stopped as I thought about the fall and the inevitable bone-crushing pain that would come after it. The stairs were pretty high and even though they were wood, it was quite sharp. Splinters roamed everywhere. I waited for the pain and the strenuous sound. It was phenomenal, the first time I saw the team in two years and I would meet them in a body bag with a broken neck.

However, it never came.

When I opened my eyes, blue electric eyes stared back at me. Our faces were inches away from each other. A hand wrapped around my waist, pulling me flush against him to hold me from falling. I was hyper-aware of our breaths clashing against each other, making the most sinful of sounds. Our lips were separated by a small space, too close for my brain to catch up quickly. I noticed how his lips roamed my face, stopping at my lips slightly parted by the surprise. His eyes held a fervent fire and my breath quickened once I felt the inevitable rush of warmth roaring my body.

Coughing slightly, I took a step backward, stepping out of his grasp. I forgot all about the landlord as I scolded myself. The man looked at me and there I was getting flushed like a raging hormonal teenager. I looked at everything but Bucky’s face, why I knew still had his eyes on me except now his jaw was firmly set. I wanted to ask him what was going on inside his head but a hovering shadow at the top of the stairs captured my attention.

“What are you still doing up there?'' The man looked utterly confused standing at the top of the stairs surrounded by darkness. I wondered if it had to do with what he just witnessed.

“You care about that grandpa, don’t you?” His expression was one of disbelief. His body wasn’t moving as if in shock or trying to process the information he thought was correct. And it was, but he didn’t have to know.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, unaffected.

“Of course you do. You care about the landlord.”

I whirled around as fast as I could with the incident earlier present in my head as a gruff voice filled the room. A short, stubby old man stood at the foot of the stair dressed in a white t-shirt and some basketball shorts. The ends of his hair stood up as if held by a string and maneuvered by a child. His narrowed black eyes stared back at us. His lips pressed in a thin line.

“Of course, she does, kid. Why shouldn't she?” He crossed his arms in front of his chest. I followed the movement of the milk dancing in the glass on his right hand. I felt proud of the English I had taught him and how-- as much as I didn't want this to happen-- useful it would be. I looked back at Stark to find him gaping like a fish. Little croaks came from his throat but no coherent words came from him. It was the first time I had seen Stark speechless. “I’m an incredible landlord if I say so myself.”

He was.

I cursed inwardly. There were things I didn't want everyone to know. To a certain extent, I wasn’t ready for the team, for Stark, to find out that I wasn’t the monster he expected me to be. I wasn’t ready for him to look at me differently. Andrei had the power to change our whole dynamic.

It wasn’t that Andrei and I shared anything about life. Or at least I didn’t. Andrei liked to talk, to share his life with me, and try to make me talk. He said I was too reserved. I remember that day like it was yesterday.

It had been a warm evening. I could see the sun filtering through the windows. Shining onto the top of the show top and illuminating the cottage-like bakery. The dough in my hands stuck to my skin, lumps of a uniformed cream mass suffocating the fingers. The powdered white dust sat beside me and I felt irritated. I hadn’t thought about pouring it on the mixture before I touched it. ‘I was out of my element here’ I thought as I reached for the flour.

Andrei’s baker had abruptly called five minutes before work notifying him he couldn’t work his shift. His grandmother had fallen down the stairs and fractured her hip, hence his lack of concern for Andrei. He was the only living relative she had so it fell upon him to look after her. One missed shift would turn into dozens. The bakery was small and hidden in a remote part of Romania. The clientèle was not much besides those living in the small town from years ago, or even since they were born.

Everyone in town knew each other. When I arrived I had my doubts about staying in this place because of that same reason. I would be the talk for weeks and I couldn’t risk so many people questioning my presence. Except, I was lucky.

One evening, I sat in a small and dark corner of a bar near the outskirts of the town where it was most probable to see an outsider. Two men sat a couple of feet away from me, talking fairly loudly. Out of boredom and desire to know the people I might have been seeing every day, I heard and studied their moments. Taking notes about their behaviors and storing them far into the file I had on humanity. Their voices were cheery as they ate pastries that I was sure to not be from the small bar.

“This is so good! I can’t believe I haven't tasted a pastry this good since I left,” he moaned loudly in reaction to the puff on his hand. The crumbly dessert spilling powdered sugar all over his dark gray pants. “Andrei hasn’t lost his touch.”

“Who is this Andrei you talk so highly of?” The older male asked the seemingly young partner. The man wore an expensive suit, not one that could be found here and from what I gathered from their conversation, he had not grown up here. But his friend did. What he said next grabbed my attention the most.

“His bakery is pretty hidden in the town. Someone that didn’t know the road would not find him. He used to be a criminal, on the run and all that. But since he got out of prison he became a baker. the man sure has a gift. I don’t even know why he went to jail, because the man is a sweetheart. I think he was just dealt a bad hand.” The man kept munching on his pastry as he talked. The vowels all merging to create a soundless blob. I swore he said more but that was all I could understand and by the face of his friend, he understood less.

“It’s such a small town. Why was it never known?”

“I don’t know. Rumor has it that he was born here but left, something to do with his family. He came back years later, on the run from some people. People we assumed to be the police. Of course, the police followed his trail and eventually found him here. Two years later. He hid pretty well if, you asked me. He treats people with respect but he never talks about himself. He has always been reserved when it comes to his life, only telling small details that lead to nothing. You know, not enough to form a life picture…”

Before he finished talking, I was out of my seat, walking towards the pair. I plastered an innocent look on my face, one I had studied and perfected many times since coming to earth. I relaxed my posture, knowing I had been tense and tucked since I entered this town. I still can’t believe I was social before. Nobody would believe that if I told them now.

“Hey, those pastries look marvelous!” I said in a cheery voice when I reached the pair. Both of their heads whipped towards my direction, curiosity written in their faces. I could hear the questions in their head about me and where I came from and what I looked for in town. Typical gossiping mortals. I wanted to cut the tie between our heads, feeling bad about corrupting the men’s thoughts. But I couldn’t, not until I had what I wanted. “Do you know where could I find them?”

“Sure thing. What’s your name, sweet thing?” Sweet thing, that’s funny. If he had been into the American news he would not say that.

“Calypso. Do you know where the place is? Can you explain it to me?” I said, trying to hide the hurry in my voice. His thoughts were front seat in my mind, not wanting to miss a thing.

“So eager.” He chuckled. Instead of the route, I was expecting, he thought about my naked form and countless sexual images began replaying. I resisted the urge to impale his backside, taking a deep breath and counting to ten. I played his game. I battered my eyelashes and looked at him from hooded eyes. I bit my lip gently and walked closer. Sneaking a glance at his friend, I noticed he was no longer looking at us. He seemed uncomfortable and had turned to his coffee and pastries. I wish I had a coffee to turn to.

“Maybe you could take me there. If you remember the way, of course.” He smirked and grabbed the jacket slung over the wooden chair he sat on. His friend looked at us, startled as if he wasn’t expecting my response. However, the joy of his friend would be short-lived. Images of the way to the small bakery filled my head and I smirked. Before he could take my hand to guide me to his car I asked for the restroom.

As soon as I came in, my eyes searched for some window I could use to leave unnoticed. And I found it in the corner of the bathroom beside one of the huge black and white mirrors. I locked the door and hurried to open the window, sliding through the door. The darkness of the night didn’t face me but my alert was high. Everybody could hide in the dark. My heart rocked against my chest as I saw the same guy from early waiting beside his car. I hurried along the alleyway, pulling my hood up and hiding my hair, disappearing into the dark.

“Calypso, boy for you.” I was brought from my memories by the rough voice of Andrei. Whoever didn’t spend much time with him would think he was mad all the time thanks to his voice and forever furrowed white bushy eyebrows. I matched the furrowing of his eyebrows when he mentioned a boy. I had been careful enough to not get attached or get anyone attached to myself so the mention of another human being besides Andrei spooked me.

Suddenly, the thought of agents looking for me or the usual threats I had filled me with panic. I heard the thunderous beat of my heart. The tremble of my hands disrupted the beautiful form of the pastry in my hands. quickly cleaning and taking away the apron full of white dust, I walked to the front of the door.

A dark-haired man in his early twenties stood next to the door with a blue box in his hands. A white shimmering ribbon adorned the delicate box, wrapping silkily around it to form a well-done bow. The chiseled bone structure of his profile caught my breath as he looked to the small, underpopulated plaza in the corner of the rondure. The curvature of his roman nose and the thin shape of his lips sticking in his profile.

I saw him regularly at the small bakery. His usual was a Papanaşia with a black strong coffee. He left three dollars on the tip jar three times a week and I noticed if he was overly happy, he would leave a fiver regardless of the day or how many days he had tipped. I had seen him mad twice in the store. Seemingly, he was one of those guys that harbored every trouble inside in a chaotic turmoil. I knew because I had invaded his mind one of those times. Curiosity had gotten the best of me, knowing he was always the type of guy that carried the sun on his shoulder. Every time he caught my attention, I tried to remind myself that he could’ve been an agent sent by Hydra to kill me or worse, kidnap me.

“Hello. What can I help you with?” I said, confidence laced in my voice. The confidence I did not expect to have. His head whipped towards me. A smile broke on his face at the sight of me. I saw the fidgeting of the box in his hands and the sudden bobbing of his knee. He didn’t appear to be harboring any secrets, or at least not deadly ones.

“Hey. I know this will probably look very weird to you but I’ve been watch- I mean not watching but I just- I,” His stammering caused a giggle to leave my lips involuntarily. My hand immediately flew to my lips, hiding the smile corrupting my face. He lowered his face but not before giving me one of those smiles that could light up a world. God, I felt sappy. He looked at me once again. “I don’t know how to do this. I definitely didn’t think it through.” He chuckled. One of his hands came up to brush his face while shaking it, side to side. I could tell he was nervous, maybe more that I initially had been.

Seeing him stammer was the cutest thing I had seen since the little green and purple flowers that grew back home and surrounded our palace. So, I decided to help him a bit. “You could start with your name,” I said, trying to not smile too much. Agent, agent, agent…

“God, you probably should’ve done that first. Nice one.” He said, more to himself than for me to hear it. “I’m Razvan. It's lovely to finally meet you.” I shook his hand. It was rough yet soft with elongated fingers caressing my own small and thin one.

“Calypso.”

“What I meant to say, you know, before I shot myself in the foot was that you caught my eye since I first saw you. Now, I swear I'm not stalking you because it could be easy to think after the horrible introduction I just did. But, yeah, I would like to get to know you, if that’s okay with you.”

I did think about it. I swear I did. I thought about how he could be linked to Hydra and if you searched on the deepest paranoid corner, the Avengers. I thought he could’ve been just a random murderer whose floor I had shaken. My voice of reason said no. and with the saddest feeling settling my stomach, I told him what I thought. Or tried to.

“I’m sorry, I-I can’t. You seem like the loveliest person b-but I…” For some reason, I couldn’t just say no. “Can I think about this?” That was the only thing that came out of my mouth while I tried to get the words ‘go away and ‘don’t speak to me’ out of my mouth. His smile faded a bit, but even then he tried to keep his positivity and bright personality on. I could feel the waves of disappointment once I started speaking but hope soon came flooding back.

“Sure. I'm a complete stranger coming here every day just to see you. I can see how that’s alarming. take your time.” He shook his head as if realizing what he had just said. He chuckled and I tried to give him a small smile. Before I could turn away and leave, I felt him touch my elbow. I jumped back.

His brows furrowed quickly. “Forgive me. This is for you. And please accept it.” I thought about refusing but this would only prolong this meeting, pushing me to accept a company I wasn't ready for. I took the small box, my hand already trying to open the shimmering blue box. “No, please. Open it later, more calmly and everything and you can tell me whenever you’re ready if you like it.” I gave him a smile, which he returned brightly before diving back inside the back of the store.

Once inside, I undid the delicate ribbon, watching it dissolve like seafoam by the lovely blue water. The glistening gold chain with a tiny, colorful Koi fish rested in the center of the box. My heart swelled and I felt a way I hadn’t felt since Bucky. He remembered what I had told him that first, and the only time we had talked before today.

The voice of Andrei brought me out of my stupor with a jump. A hand traveled to grasp my heart while the other held the box tightly.

“Razvan is nice guy.” His voice was gruff and deep like it had been since I had met him. He walked behind me and grabbed a pack of flour to dump beside me. I looked towards the other and realized I was running out of it.

“Do you know him?”

“Yes. Comes every day for two years. Great boy.”

When I didn’t say anything, he stopped cutting open the pack of flour and turned to look at me. “You too reserved. Not want to end like Andrei alone. Give guy chance.” That was all he said before he left. A tall wrinkly woman with short red hair calling out for him.

The last thing I thought that day after he left drove me to the same road he had set me on. I didn’t want to end alone or die alone for that matter. But what was I to do if everyone thought I was a selfish monster who just wanted to kill and bring chaos? The only person who didn’t feel that particular way was the same man I was leaving without saying goodbye.

Stark seemed to have gathered his words together because he suddenly began spewing some shit on Andrei. shit, he didn’t like it.

“The girl is no selfish girl. Only a fool like yourself would think so. Only a blind man would propose such a thing.” His brows were furrowed but Otherwise, he was calmly standing at the bottom of the stairs sipping his milk. He seemed like he would continue but I made sure to stop him

“Andrei, no.”

“I see. She holds you hostage and controls you, doesn’t she?” Stark countered, a smirk settling in his features. I pinched my nose, sighing loudly.

“You have to leave with this buffoon?” I walked down to his side, muttering an annoyed yes. “I’m sadder for you than him.” A chuckle escaped him as he hugged my shoulders with one arm. I tried to push him away but found no will to do so. I would miss Andrei. He felt like the father I never had. Worry settled in my stomach knowing I had been here and I would no longer be if anything happened to him. I hugged him back, despite my better judgment and the four pairs of eyes staring back at me.

“Don’t forget about me, violet. Nor dear Razvan.’ He told me after letting me go. I nodded before calling back to my two companions. Stark came down, slowly walked to the front door. Bucky at his heels. They both turned. Bucky’s face had some sort of emotion I couldn't decipher. I thought I could, but I doubt he would feel happy about finding someone genuine to spend my days with.

Stark, on the other hand, looked at Andrei as if he had grown an extra head.

“I’m confused. Aren’t you supposed to be dying at her touch or something? Are you sure she didn’t threaten you to act this way?” The funny thing was, he sounded genuinely confused. The skepticism in his voice hurt my feelings but the mere fact it was stark made me forget quickly. He was an insensitive prick with a personal vendetta.

“Take this fool away before I turn him into a human pastry,” Andrei commented. I walked towards them, chuckling. “Ai grijă, violet aprins.” Take care, fiery violet. The elder said before we shut the door behind us. my heart swelled at his words. I knew I would long for those quiet evenings where it would rain and we would sit down in the living room with a book, quietly enjoying our presence. We laughed and made new and invented pastries in the kitchen for days, always looking for new and innovative flavors. I would miss the man that had treated me like his daughter.

“Take care, Pop.” I whispered to myself. Not thinking a long-haired blue-eyed soldier would hear.

And just like that, we disappeared quietly into the night and I said goodbye to one of the most important people in my life.

James let me know they came in the Quinjet, that enormous thing I had refused to sit on two years ago. the walk was not far from where we were and we found it in a while.

The Quinjet was hidden behind one of the buildings next to the bakery. the gigantic thing sleeping while we arrived to climb up. clint stood outside, his arms crossed. that man always looked like he was in a power pose.

“Romania? What is it with chased people and Romania?” Confusion and genuine interest were written all over his face.

Barton had always been a friend before I knew the truth. Nat told me she had told him in a drunken stupor. he tried to talk to her about telling me but she didn’t listen. I didn’t hold it against him because I knew he wasn’t actively participating but he didn’t do anything either.

I shrugged. “It’s a good hiding place. too many criminals organizations for you to matter. nobody cares who the hell you are as long as you keep quiet.”

“Good shadow place.” Bucky added as he tried to help me get in the Quinjet. I ignored his hand, focusing on Clint’s face.

“Exactly.” My response was clipped. if he was fishing for a normal conversation he was in for a treat.

After a while, we took off. My legs became restless as I sat in front of Stark and Bucky while Clint piloted the flying thing. boredom pushed me to get up from my seat and walk towards the front of the Quinjet. that, and Straks glare along with the awkwardness of Bucky’s movements.

Clint’s focused face came into view as I sat beside him. silence engulfed the both of us before he broke the silence with some words I didn’t expect.

“We missed you.” it was a quiet remark but full of shocking force. I just sat there, wide-eyed looking towards the already clearing sky. I looked towards him and forced myself to respond. a scoff came out of me, causing Clint to look rapidly towards me.

“You have no reason to believe me, but it’s the truth. Nat was pretty shaken up when you left. we looked for you everywhere and decided you didn’t want to be found. that you needed some time. it took you longer than we thought.”

“You didn’t find me because you didn’t look. You don’t have to lie to me, Barton.” I said, masking the hurt I felt with anger. why keep lying to me? I knew they didn’t care sop they didn’t need to act as they did.

“What? we did loo-” He never finished his sentence since Stark’s voice boomed around the small space. he came to let us know where would land soon as if we didn’t know already. Clint was the pilot, it was impossible for us to not know. suspicion arose in my chest but I soon forgot it when I saw the massive compound below us.

✹✹✹ I would be lying if I said my stomach wasn’t fluttering and my hands trembled slightly. I subtly rubbed my hands in my jeans, hoping to get some moisture away. But, there was something else bothering me. It had been there for a little while. The emptiness in my chest divided in two, as though… I don’t even know. The doors slid with a swift sound and my heart rate hit new floors.

I tried to avoid showing any emotion I felt. Seeing them surrounding the long table, all in their daily clothing made it hard to remember. I couldn’t show the happiness of seeing them all right after two years. Nor could I show the excitement deep in my bones seeing Wanda’s face. I couldn’t forget the damage (situation) those high-held beings made to my heart.

I looked at them with a mask of indifference firmly placed.

Wanda was the first to step forwards, as I knew she would. I didn’t expect her to but a part of me screamed how she had been the only real friend through the year I spent in this cage. I resisted the urge to hug her, touch her, and receive the reassurance I so deeply wanted.

“I thought- we thought you were dead.” The revelation shocked me. It felt as though they couldn’t believe I was alive. But I was. The question was… why did they think so?

“Nop. Still kicking.” I replied.

“Unfortunately.” I heard Stark mutter under his breath. I rolled my eyes and resisted the urge to kick him. I could make him feel a true kick in his brain. And his ass, too.

“Y/n!” A high-pitched voice came from the corner next to me. The smiley face of Pepper Potts came rushing towards me, engulfing me in a hug. My nerve endings shot and I prayed my instinctive responses wouldn’t go through. Fortunately for me, they didn’t. Before I could even think to hold her back—which I wouldn’t have done anyway— she stepped back. Smile intact and a gleam in her eyes capable of illuminating the whole room.

“Jesus. You’ve changed so much!” Her hands settled on my shoulder, holding softly and slightly shaking my shocked frame. “I missed you.” Her vice took a sweet edge and her head lolled to the side. Her eyes scrutinized me with the look of a mother who had just seen her child after a hard year abroad. I resisted the urge to shift uncomfortably out of her grasp. I wasn’t used to this.

“Honey, leave the feral alien alone.” Tony’s voice reached my ears. “We have important matters to discuss.”

“God, Tony. Give us a break. We haven’t seen the kid in two years.” Natasha’s ______ filled the room as I saw her taking steps towards me. I noticed there were no relaxed steps but tense and wary. Her eyes held a sort of apology mixed with caution.

I just stared. Deep inside I didn’t know how to react to someone I hadn’t seen in a long time, someone who betrayed me gets closer. Her body language told me she was sorry but still cautious of my reaction but I didn’t know if I should forgive her. Her right hand stretched towards my frame. I shifted uncomfortably in place, moving slightly away from her.

I saw her eyes roam my body, noticing the discomfort. She came to a halt three feet away from me. Her lips were pursed as she let her head drop for a second. She recovered quickly, extending her same hand towards me, this time to shake my hand.

“It’s good to have you back, Y/n.”

I took her hand in mine, shaking firmly. I nodded my head towards her. My lips pursed. The movement of Wanda’s body caught my eye. She stepped closer to me, her hands nervously trembling beside her big, red jumper.

“Can I hug you?” Hearing those words coming out of her froze the ongoing flow of blood through my veins. I was shocked, to say the least. I bet I looked like a gaping fish as an incomprehensible string of detached words escaped my lips. Everyone else seemed as surprised as I was. For completely different reasons I would bet. As Stark had said, they thought I was a free being.

She waited patiently, probably aware of the shock and ongoing battle I had inside me. She was the only one aware of my thoughts about showing anything besides contempt. And she knew why. But I sent it all to hell and for once, I did what I wanted to do. I nodded.

Her smile was worth enough as she moved quickly towards me, as though worried I would change my opinion. Her thin arms wrapped around my neck, my lack of height apparent as my 5’1 ass reached her shoulders. I resisted the urge to cry as I wrapped my arms around her back, relishing in a familiar face that didn’t hate my only existence.

“I missed you.” It was a whisper, only for me to hear. A small smile escaped my lips as hope blossomed in my chest. Hope that maybe I wasn’t a lost cause. Hope that maybe someday I could have a family.

“I did too, Red.” I murmured back. Careful to not raise my voice as I didn’t want anyone to know anything. I felt oddly vulnerable to be hugging someone let alone hugging someone in front of seven people. I noticed Vision staring and I gave him a subtle nod, a small smile creeping upon my lips. He nodded back with that usual blank expression not in compass with the feelings he harbored. After some time, I let her go before Stark had another remark to make.

I noticed Steve leaning against a far-away table, maybe ten feet away from where I was. His head lowered, eyes on the ground. His arms surrounded his build, hugging himself with a heavy frown on his face. He didn’t want to look towards me and I thought I knew why. He was ashamed of what he did. He was guilty anyway you looked at it. He was guided by Bucky to do everything. He followed the man despite knowing it was wrong. Not because your friend tells you to throw yourself out the window means you’ll do it. He knew full well what was wrong and right. He knew Barnes' proposal was as low as a man could get.

If he didn’t apologize and acknowledge what he did, he was dead to me. I mean, he had tried to apologize that day, but I was devastated and no words came through my anger.

There were a few handshakes and subtle nods here and there before I noticed a presence missing. I looked around for the usual big man with an overinflated sense of heroism but didn’t find him. He was big enough for anyone to spot him. I felt a pang in my chest and a tingle at the back of my head and I knew something was wrong. The air shifted and my hands started trembling slightly.

“Where’s my brother?” I asked, my voice slightly shaky. I tried to compose myself, knowing he had to be alright or I would’ve felt something.

“We don’t know. We couldn’t get a hold of him.” Natasha replied. I noticed the subtle worry etched in her face lines.

Suddenly, I understood that emptiness inside me. That swirling emotion unlatched to an earthy body. One of the connectors inside of me, besides bucky’s, was empty. It didn’t have any energy to connect to.

No.

No.

No.

I didn’t realize I began hyperventilating while the word repeated itself over and over in my head. My chest rose and fell quickly while the air got caught in my throat. My hand shot out to grasp anything in reach I could hold myself up with.

“Y/n?! What’s wrong?” Wanda was the first to step forward and grab my elbow. Her soft touch didn't completely register in my sensory sense. The only thing in my mind was the heavy colorless fog swirling around in my insides.

The worst part was, I didn’t know which of my brothers it belonged to. I thought about them and how long it had been since I had seen them. Since I had been with them.

“Can you all excuse me?” I pulled myself together and without waiting for a response, I hurried across the room. I thought about the me that they just saw but somewhere deep down, I didn’t care.

I hurried, passing Steve's body. This time, he looked intently at me. I didn’t expect him to stand up and grab my shoulders. By this point, my vision was blurry and I tried hard to reconnect with the missing life essence.

“Y/n, I-”

“Can we do this later, Rogers?” I spat, cutting him off before getting my elbow out of his grasp. I left, shuddering and feeling a wave of anger rising in my chest.

What a good way to make a comeback.

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[expectingtofly]

thinking about a spn finale where cas becomes a full-powered angel again and gets the love and home he deserves (based off this post and tags)

Castiel’s first days on Earth after his time in the Empty were dizzying. He was alive, he could feel joy without a threat hanging over his head, he could look at Dean without a secret sitting heavy in his chest, and he could hear Dean say the words he’d never let himself dream of hearing.

And then, when he felt he could never be happier, Jack asked him a simple question, weighty in its implications:

Would he like to see his grace and wings restored?

Castiel’s grace had been weakening for years, but Jack had the powers of God now. The power to give back all that Castiel had given up for lost.

It was a gift almost too great.

He had long resigned himself to a life of weakened grace, of eventual humanity. A future not too bleak—he had admired humanity for centuries now, always distantly. While his fellow angels may have viewed humans as inferior, he considered the chance of becoming one of them an honor.

Most days, that was.

Some nights, when his back ached with phantom weight and his grace clawed, claustrophobic, to escape his chest, he mourned.

Once he flew over arid desert and lush hills. Once, he flew among the stars, wound his form around star dust, felt the tremor of new planets being birthed, particles colliding. Once, he felt power warm his vessel’s palms, the ability to fully heal, restore, soothe.

All that had been lost to him—until now.

Jack offered him that life again, and Castiel sat, stunned, long after Jack left the room telling him, you don’t need to decide yet.

He remembered a vision Jack had shown him—when Jack still lay in his mother’s womb, when the unborn child's very presence seemed a threat.

Vision of Kelly, content, calm, undisturbed by the fears and guilt which racked her then. Sam, carefree, no weight on his shoulders. Dean. Suffused with joy.

And himself, fully restored to his glory, majestic in a way he hardly remembered, wings flared, strong.

In that moment, as Jack’s power coursed through him, the child’s conception seemed a miracle, his birth a promise. Recklessly, Castiel had bid all on him, this miracle child, this child which held the potential for joy and peace in his barely formed fists.

That future, which Castiel had seen in a vivid flash before his eyes in a wave of warmth and power, now lay before him.

You’ve given up so much, Dean told him. Take this one thing for yourself.

It was a decision he did not take lightly.

As a soldier enrolled in Heaven’s charge, his angelic nature had been manipulated, forced into strict molds. Obedience, control, apathy. The ability to restore was not so marvelous as the ability to sway, to control, to maim and kill.

He was free from those ties now. He had long lived among humanity, long walked in a physical vessel on earth, long studied the face of the humans he loved. Some days he felt closer to the dirt under his feet, the rasp of his clothes, the warmth of the sun on his skin, than to the pulse of his grace deep inside.

Some days, humanity seemed a marvelous prospect.

Other days, he remembered the vicious, searing pain tearing through his form as his grace was ripped from his body and his consciousness fused with his vessel. When he fell without his consent and found himself, bewildered, a human. Shivering nights, cavernous stomach. Bone-chattering loneliness.

It would be different now; he felt secure in his home, in his family. Dean loved him back, told him they were done saying goodbye.

If he chose to become human, he would have a home. He would be clothed and fed and held.

Do you miss them? Dean asked one night, tracing his bare shoulder blades.

He did.

He once believed he could be a different kind of angel—one both tied deeply to Heaven and yet autonomous. One obedient to God and yet free-thinking.

He had learned the hard way that Heaven did not take kindly to such angels. For years had grieved the loss of his Heavenly home, his angelic siblings.

His distance from Heaven, though, had brought him a new freedom. Lessons in faith and hope and individuality. And he began to wonder if he could find a new balance between the two parts of him that once warred—his angelic nature and human one.

If he could live fully on Earth, among humans, as an angel. If he could suffuse the empathy and emotion which he’d learned from humans into his true powerful form.

If he could simply be himself.

Jack gave him the choice, and Dean told him, I’m in love with you—and Castiel knew he meant him. Distant from vessel or power—him.

A father, a friend, a lover. His essence which remained regardless of how much or how little grace resided in his vessel.

He thought he could be himself, truly, in all his facets.

He chose to be restored.

The first stretch of his wings, full and weighty, was glorious. His first flight brought him to tears, and his first return to his true form in so many long years was exhilaratingly freeing. He saw the stars, he moved among them. He twisted in the air and whooped, cheered, hummed.

Dean said he sounded like music, like bells in the sky.

Over time, he learned he did not have to be so distant from God and Heaven as he thought.

God was no longer a distant father, but his son who viewed the world with maturity and wonder. A young boy learning to find his own balance of angelic nature and humanity, willing to learn and teaching Cas so much through his open-eyed view of the world.

And Heaven, too, was being restored. With his experience and Jack’s power, made into a home without discord and hierarchy.

So much he thought he’d lost, restored to him in ways he'd never expected.

Some days, he flew, he twisted up to the heavens in his true form, he summoned his grace to heal, and some days he walked, he tucked his grace deep inside his chest to taste the food Dean prepared for him, to touch the fresh dirt in the gardens outside and feel the coolness under his fingertips.

He felt as if he’d been reborn.

One day, he might like to be human. One day, he might remove his grace and tuck it away, carefully. He might feel his lungs fill with air, his blood run through his veins with life, he might age.

For now, though, power and heat filled his vessel, his wings extended to their full capacity, his true form swirled among the stars, and he,

he was content.

tag list

@xojo @marvelnaturalock @aelysianmuse @prayedtoyou @letsjustdieeveryone @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @theninthdutchessofhell @madronasky @famouspsychicpizzabandit @multifandomdisorder @arcticfox007 @improvedpeanut @castiel-is-a-cat @harmonyhelms @dean-you-assbutt-cas-loves-you @confusedisaster @welcome-to-crowleys-hellhole @celestialcastiel @wormstacheangel (hope y’all don’t mind me tagging you but your tags on my original post were inspiring so I gotta give credit where credit is due :)) @nothoughtsjustdestiel @hawkland @strokesnatural @notspiccy

let me know if you’d like to be added or removed from the tag list :)

[alirhi]

okay. let's do this shit.

Guess what, bitches? Mama bear's back and angry all over again. Remember when I said I might dive into a ragepost about how Bucky's treated after completing the one about Loki? This is it. This is the post. Welcome to fucking Thunderdome.

I will actually try to keep it civil. No promises, but I'll try. and I will not be accepting "constructive criticism" about my rage. Just so we're clear.

Got it? Good. Let's dive in.

In case you don't want to read the whole thing (I know I get wordy) here's what this whole post will boil down to: BUCKY NEVER HAD A FUCKING CHOICE. NEVER. NOT ONCE IN HIS ENTIRE ADULT LIFE.

Now, quick reminder: I don't read comics. I know nothing about Bucky's comic canon, except what Sebastian liked to bring up as often as possible during TWS/CW promotions: at some point, Bucky boned Nat. XD Since Bucky only exists as a Marvel property, I won't be bitching about other source material being disrespected like I did with Loki. This is all MCU, my dudes. And honestly? That's enough, because though we don't see nearly enough of Bucky for my liking, we do manage to get a rich, deep backstory to him in the material we're given, partly thanks to better writing in the early days of the MCU, and partly thanks to Sebastian Stan's phenomenal acting. Unlike the writers of the Loki series, Seb knows how to show, not tell. And gods, what stories those eyes show...

Let's start with the army. In an old post illustrating what an absolute BAMF Bucky Barnes truly is, I mistakenly said he enlisted, and a kind soul educated me on the incredible attention to detail Marvel used to pay - in this case, Bucky's ID number. 32557038. As this kind, eagle-eyed soul pointed out to me, the first two digits of that number - 32 - signify that Bucky was drafted, specifically from the NY, NJ, DE area (that last part is rather obvious, as Bucky and Steve are from Brooklyn lol). Bucky didn't choose to go to war. He was drafted. He was forced to fight, or go to prison.

Bucky was born in 1917, which means - again, as someone pointed out to me a while back - he came of age during the Great Depression. As a child, he would likely have seen his parents living comfortably and able to shower each other and him and his sister with gifts and fun memories, and then POOF. Stock market crashes when he's only 12-years-old, and life becomes brutal and painful. He manages to have some fun with his best friend Steve, and spends his teens/early 20s chasing girls and keeping his stupid, stubborn, tiny friend from getting beaten to death.

Steve constantly has something to prove. He's absolutely got what my mom always called "little man's disease", and Bucky's just doing his best not to roll his eyes too much at this asthmatic chihuahua constantly trying to beat up Tibetan mastiffs. While Steve keeps lying on his enlistment forms (an actual crime) trying again and again to get into the army and prove what a badass he is (definitely not), Bucky's had enough trauma and upheaval in his life and he just wants his stupid friend to calm tf down and live. Enjoy the fact that he doesn't have to go to war and get his limbs blown off.

And then he gets fucking drafted. This sweet, resigned realist who knows exactly how dangerous the war really is, is forced to put on a uniform and go fight strangers alongside other strangers thousands of miles from everything he knows. And on his last night of freedom, when he just wants to hang out with his friend, see some cool gadgets, and dance with a pretty girl, his stupid angry chihuahua friend feels the need to lie and try to enlist again.

Okay. Gotta get back on track. Ragepost about mistreatment of Bucky, not how much Steve annoys me. Sorry. Anyway...

Bucky's drafted, accepts his shitty lot with a brave smile, and is shipped off to Europe, where he is captured by HYDRA and presumed by the Allies to be KIA. Instead, he's strapped down, tortured, and given the HYDRA version of the super serum against his will. Steve rescues him, and Bucky knows he can't leave his idiot friend to his own devices to get his head blown off, so he dives right back into the fray. And then he falls off a cliff, loses most of his left arm, and is declared dead...again. This one's pretty damn valid, though lol. Without the serum no one knew he'd been shot up with, there is no way he would have survived that fall.

Here is where Bucky's story gets truly heartbreaking: His autonomy, his ability to consent is stripped from him through electroshock torture/brainwashing. The trigger words are conditioned into him during this process, and boom. Ten words in Russian, and Bucky Barnes is gone. Even the confused, hurting shadow of him is gone, leaving only a perfectly obedient killing machine, with Bucky's pretty face. He's strong as all hell, though, so they can't keep him fully under their control for long, not without more torture, when the disorientation of being fucking frozen wears off on longer missions.

I cannot stress this point enough, guys: Bucky. Had. No. Choice. Not like the draft, where his choices (go and get shot at, refuse and go to jail, or dodge and run to Canada) just suck. No, he literally didn't have a choice. He had his ability to choose stripped from him. If that's too complex a concept to really sink in, try this: His brain was fucking raped. Repeatedly. For decades. Nothing the Winter Soldier ever did was Bucky's fault. Nothing. Ever. Not remotely, no matter how you fucking slice it. Bucky is not an assassin. I almost said "not a killer", but he was a soldier, and a sharpshooter. He definitely killed when he was himself, but that was in a war, not a series of assassinations.

So far, imo, so good. This is just a rundown of Bucky's pre-show backstory. I don't love what he had to suffer, but I do love how it was treated in the movies. People were afraid of him, but when they knew the whole situation, Steve, Nat, and Sam rallied behind him. Natasha had plenty of reason to want the Winter Soldier dead; he'd tried to kill her multiple times and almost succeeded. Sam had no reason to help Bucky at all; he didn't know him, didn't trust him, and again, TWS had tried to kill him. But he stood by Steve, and when Bucky showed the clear difference between himself and TWS, Sam stood by him, too, and fought alongside him.

And it's very realistic, imo, that Tony didn't give a single fuck that Bucky had no choice. He watched this man murder both of his parents on tape. If TWS had killed my dad and I saw proof of it, I'd try to kill Bucky, too. Grief wins out over logic. Most emotions usually do. And that's a very important point we're going to come back to in a few minutes.

Bucky was really only in like ten minutes at most of IW and Endgame, and for multiple reasons I hate those movies, so I'm just gonna skip them, kay? Kay. On to the main event!

Here's where I get pissed off. Even if I didn't have an unhealthy attachment to this character, or the depth of appreciation for his tragic backstory that I do, the lack of continuity between the movies and the show alone would still piss me off. It always does. Don't even get me started on Joss "Continuity? What continuity?" Whedon and his (iconic, but flawed) shows. Ahem. Back on track...

Let me just get one little thing out of the way real quick: I fucking LOVE The Falcon and the Winter Soldier. I love it. This show amazed me when I first watched it, and I still love it after many more viewings lol. I have only ever watched it all the way through without skipping over as much John Walker shit as possible the one time lol but I love how Sam and Bucky interact, and I fucking adore how Sam's arc was treated. I just wish they'd show the same care and attention to Bucky.

Because what they did to Bucky in this show is a fucking travesty. There was a tiny ray of hope in the pilot, when he called out Dr. Bitchface for being a terrible shrink. I thought that would be the start of him realizing he needed to find someone else and ignore the damaging shit that woman was telling him. But...nope. No such luck.

The show really had a strong start, I'll give it that. We see Bucky having nightmares of his time as TWS and struggling to hide how his traumatic memories are affecting him as he tries to live in the world again. He befriends the father of one of HYDRA's victims, which can't be good for Bucky (and we're shown it's definitely not when he sees the shrine in Yori's home to his late son) but it's sweet, how he's trying to connect and reach out to someone who's hurting and lonely.

They drop the ball a little with the whole... Bucky can hack a fucking car, but can't figure out Tinder thing. Had they just run with the fandom interpretation of the tiger photos line, that it shows that Bucky is bi and left it at that, I'd have been okay with it (and no, that is not because I ship Sam/Bucky. it's because Bucky is and always has been a certified nerd who loves technology and has consistently shown very little issue learning to use new gadgets). The outdated flip phone he handed his terrible court-mandated shrink was a burner; I liked that theory when I read it, especially since it's the only time we see him even holding a phone that old lol. This all could have fit the "Bucky is a sassy bisexual nerd" narrative and it'd be okay. Instead, the director was like "NOOOOOO that line was just to show how old he is and how he can't figure out all this newfangled technology!" Woman, you had him remotely driving someone else's vehicle with a tablet. That is NOT a man who can't figure out a damn smart phone!

But that's just a minor annoyance. What fills me with absolute rage is how everyone - not just the shitty therapist who lashes out at and purposely triggers her traumatized patients, but EVERYONE - Sam, Zemo, people who should fucking know better ALL treat him like he's a psychopath and a ticking time bomb. Like he chose to take the serum and he chose to kill for HYDRA, and he's just seen the error of his ways. *barf*

Bucky in the movies is established to be a victim, through and through. His guilt over what he was forced to do is natural, and that he sees himself as a monster makes sense... but that doesn't mean it's correct. The one and only thing I ever liked about Steve Rogers is at least he got it. He pointed out that none of it was Bucky's fault, he tried to show him that he was worth saving. That's the other reason I refuse to talk about Endgame. This post will get a WHOLE LOT LONGER and a lot fucking angrier if I open that door.

Zemo supposedly knows everything about HYDRA and super soldiers... So why does he treat Bucky like he's a corrupt serial killer? (this, for the record, is why I don't like Zemo) Why does he never point out that Bucky was given the serum against his will, or that his actions, when he had control of them, proved that he was never corrupted? Bucky never wanted to become superhuman. Bucky didn't even want to fucking fight!

Sam, despite constantly resisting the label, is shown very clearly to be Bucky's friend. By episode 3, he cares. He worries about how Bucky is getting lumped in with the other super soldiers in Zemo's speech... But he never really defends him. He says "what about Bucky?" but he doesn't point out that Bucky's a good man, he's fought so hard to help people, he does everything he can to avoid killing... And that fucking speech in episode 5. I was with him on "you gotta stop looking to other people to tell you who you are." I was like "YEAH! Tell him, Sam! Bucky, you're WORTH SAVING, boo! Your value does not hinge on someone else's opinion of you!" And then... Sam dropped the ball.

He not only continued the disturbing pattern of victim-blaming in this show, and in Marvel/Disney properties in general, but he gave really dangerously bad advice! No one in their right mind, mental health professional or no, would EVER tell a traumatized former assassin (whether he was responsible for his actions or not) to go confront his victims' families out of the blue with no warning and no one to mediate and keep things from going to shit. Yori already knew his son had been murdered because he was in the "wrong place, wrong time." How is it being "of service" to tell him you're the one who killed him?! Remember how I said Tony's reaction to learning the full truth about his parents' deaths was valid and would be an important point later? Hi! Welcome to later. THAT is the natural reaction to facing the man who murdered your loved one(s). And even if Yori didn't get angry and lash out, HOW IS IT "HELPING" HIM OR BRINGING HIM "CLOSURE" TO KNOW THAT HIS FRIEND KILLED HIS FUCKING SON?!?!?! This man befriended him, bonded with him, watched him grieve... And now he's learning this is the man who caused all his pain and heartache to begin with? That is so toxic and psycho I just... I can't even... UGH.

And then there's the equally toxic and damaging "deeply traumatized person just needed a stern talking to and a hug to be ALL BETTER AGAIN" ending. I loved seeing Bucky happy and socializing, but it was too soon, and it was unearned. And it sends a fucking awful message to people actually struggling with PTSD, and to their loved ones who don't know how to help them. Heaping more blame on them and then hugging it out is NOT helpful!

This show could have been damn near perfect with just two changes. That's all. Just two. 1) Someone, anyone, bringing up the reasons why Bucky was never a villain in his presence. Someone being in his corner and reminding him, like Steve did, that it wasn't his fault and he's not going to "snap". 2) More time devoted to Bucky's healing. Actual fucking healing, not the shit they tried to pass off as a magic fix-all. He can have his happy barbecue moment, just don't frame it as "everything's great now!" Healing isn't linear, and there will be both good days and bad. Some of the most fragile people in the world have the brightest smiles.

If we get a season 2, which this amazing show absolutely deserves, and they address this stuff, all will be forgiven in my book. Expanding on his story and his journey toward healing will help to reframe that "happily ever after" garbage as something more realistic. But as it stands now... Fuck Marvel.

[anonthenullifier]

In a follow up to Billy coming out to Tommy, how would Tommy come out to Billy? Would he even say anything or would he just appear with a boyfriend one day and cackle as Billy’s brain recalibrated?

Thank you so much for the ask! In case anyone wants to read Billy coming out to Tommy here it is. Below this is Tommy coming out to Billy...and Wanda and Vision because I figured the whole family should find out. I hope this meets your expectations of how Tommy would do it!

———

It was supposed to be an escape room. One of the ones where intellect wins and the biggest challenge would have been dealing with a bored and grumpy Tommy. “He is never planning,” Billy twirls around, arms engulfed by pulsating electric blue, and slices a chainsaw wielding robot in half, “again.”

Teddy’s glorious smile tempers his annoyance...marginally. “We are trying to escape,” he crushes a tentacled, monstrous vacuum-like robot between his hands, “and it’s a room.”

If Teddy wasn’t so stunning in situations like these, Billy would seethe for longer, but the sheer elation on his boyfriend’s face as another onslaught falls under their combined might is enough to make it seem a less horrible idea. Until his annoyance at his brother’s idiocy surges back. “This would be Tommy’s idea of a chill evening.”

Expertly Teddy deflects. “Where are they?”

It’s not something Billy had thought about in the ten minutes of endless fighting, but now that Teddy points it out, both Tommy and the newest recruit, David, are not visible. “He’s um,” Billy reaches out mentally, quickly finding the frenzied mind of his brother, the pattern of his thoughts like watching a pot of boiling water right before it bubbles up and over the rim. With practiced ease he latches on, keeping his own mind detached enough to not be dragged into the whirlpool of chaos, “they’re on the other side of that tower.”

“Race you?”

Billy grins, hanging back a second to appreciate the view, and then his hands alight and he rises into the air, body leaning with the current and wrists rotating forwards and backwards as he clears all obstacles from his path. If he allows his eyes to stray down to watch Teddy’s path of destruction, no one’s the wiser, neither Sam nor Carol here to scold him.

Five feet before Teddy reaches the base of the tower, Billy opens a portal, diving headfirst into it and then pops out of a second portal past the makeshift finish line, just in time to paint on his best faux innocent grin. “What took you so long?”

The dry “Congrats,” is made more genuine by the loving kiss that follows.

Tommy’s frantic “David!” ruins their moment.

“Shit.” Billy follows his boyfriend’s eyes up to a little walkway on the tower where David stands, hands gripping a rickety railing and glasses reflecting the menacing lights of the encroaching robot battalion.

Blue energy crawls out from between Billy’s fingers, his body gearing up to fly up and help their teammate, until Tommy sprints over. “I got this,” and then becomes a blur, zigzagging up the ramps and stairs, bowling through the last of the mechanical foes until they all crash down from the tower.

“He’s such a show—“ Billy freezes, head tilting to the side as Tommy scoops up David bridal style and executes a perfect Maximoff rescue, their lips meeting in fevered presses, David’s arms wrapping around Tommy’s neck, and their attention focused solely on passionately celebrating. “Um…”

“I told you David had a small crush on me, right?”

Billy’s brain slogs through recent memories, vaguely recalling this information. “Um...yeah?”

“Guess he moved on.”

“Guess so…” The mind isn’t a computer. Billy knows this, has sat through dad’s lectures on the tired and not empirically backed metaphor, and yet right now he feels like a computer that’s missing a vital update, his thoughts desperately trying to recalibrate and refresh itself to process the awkwardly long make out session in front of him. And then they stop, Tommy placing David back on his feet, though their arms remain around each other, and that’s when his twin starts cackling.

“Look at your face!” If this is some cruel joke, Billy doesn’t appreciate it nor does he appreciate the fact that Teddy is chuckling along with Tommy’s riotous glee. “Look at it.” Now David is snickering as well, the mood apparently contagious to everyone but Billy, who’s inoculated to Tommy’s shit by now.

Tommy hoists David back into arms and runs them down until they’re standing in an awkward sort of square-oval formation. “Oh don’t look like that.”

“I’m not looking like anything.” Real convincing.

“It’s not a joke,” his brother hesitates and then clarifies, “okay, depends on how you define a joke, but the message is real.”

What message was he sending? That he’s learned mom and dad’s celebration tactic? That he likes to catch Billy off guard and embarrass him or that...that he and David are still holding hands and that Tommy’s usual confidence is starting to crack and a spur of fear that never, ever exists in his brother’s mind has cropped up the longer Billy stays silent. All at once Billy’s chagrin disappears, replaced by emphatic happiness, one that manifests with a chuckle at the ridiculousness of his brother.

“Finally connect the dots?”

“Yeah,” Billy pulls his brother into a hug, ignoring the grunt of disapproval at such shows of affection, “thanks for telling me.”

“Of course,” Tommy pulls back wearing the sunniest smile Billy’s ever seen on his face, “had to make sure you knew first.”

A brush of his brother’s mind reveals an evening out of stress and concern, both things Tommy didn’t need to have, but Billy knows firsthand how terrifying coming out can be. “I appreciate it.” Billy steps back, eagerly accepting Teddy’s arm around his shoulders, “You going this elaborate for mom and dad?”

The glance between Tommy and David not only answers his question perfectly, but helps him see the genuine connection they already share and the future trouble of dealing with a mutually devious couple. “I have a few ideas, if you’re willing to help.”

———

Everything is set. There’s a conspicuous rope ladder hanging out his window, the banner is strung up over the table with his cake and party hats, he’s got a box of party poppers under the comforter, and, most vital to it all, David is laying next to him.

“You nervous?”

Insanely. “Nope,” he’s a pretty gifted liar but the little quirk of David’s eyebrow lets him know he isn’t fooling anyone. “Fine, a bit.”

He has, for a long time, made fun of Billy and Teddy’s little reassuring kisses, but now that David tenderly brushes his lips to Tommy’s forehead, he’ll have to admit it’s a little calming. “Me too. This is going to be my first time meeting your parents outside of uniform.”

Oh shit, he hadn’t even thought about that or how awkward this all might be for David. Other than the crushing fear that their acceptance and love can only extend to one child (something he knows is not true but still can’t shake), Tommy has no qualms with the method of coming out they’ve gone with. He thinks back to all the talks (the many many many talks) dad has had with him on respect and consent. Things he has considered and put into practice but it feels way more important now. “If you aren’t comfortable with this…”

“I’m fine, just nervous,” another kiss, but this one on the mouth and exciting instead of soothing, “and really looking forward to the cake.”

It’s a three tiered cake, each layer a different color of the flag, all wrapped in white buttercream, and in the fanciest writing Billy could muster it says: I’m bisexual . They argued over whether to add an exclamation mark, but Tommy himself would like to insert the enthusiasm instead of the frosting doing it. “Me too.”

There is the tell-tale chime of vibranium phasing through a wall and the less easy to spot sound of wind going through his dad’s intangible body. Good thing Tommy has snuck around enough to recognize it. “Come here,” he pulls David closer, deciding if they’re going to have to incur suspicion, might as well have some fun with it. It’s successful, the chiming moving from outside to inside the master bedroom and then footfalls let them know his parents are outside the door. Tommy steals one more kiss, “You ready?”

Except David can’t let him win and sneaks one more. “Are you?”

“Yep.” He is. He has never been more ready in his life which is why it’s aggravating that there hasn’t been a knock and the door hasn’t clicked open. “Be nice if they moved faster.”

From outside there is a muffled conversation, one that sounds like it involves a lot of gesticulating and disagreement. Then he can hear Billy, his guardian angel, chime in, “You can’t let him get away with it. That’s not fair.” What a sly and loving asshole.

Dad sighs, and it’s a deep one, one that means he’s exhausted from his mission and just wants to relax but now there are shenanigans he has to deal with. That’s when the knock comes, followed by, “Thomas?”

David giggles and Tommy does his best to shush him, only that just encourages it further and now Tommy’s sniggering as quietly as he can. “Thomas?” A more forceful knock and more barely subdued laughter. “Thomas, I am opening the door.”

His fingers grip the party poppers as he waits for the light to switch on and then Tommy leaps up with a “Surprise!” The first party popper bursts to life, confetti flying all over his comforter. “I’m bi!” The second popper erupts with even more force.

It’s through the settling confetti that he sees the confusion on mom and dad’s faces and suddenly it all feels too much, too elaborate, too close to a joke. Even Billy’s double thumbs up from the hallway doesn’t allay the dread circling in amongst the swirling shreds of paper. He tracks every movement of his parents’ eyes as they take in the cake and the banner and the streamers and oh...yeah this is awkward, “Um and this,” Tommy helps David out of the bed, “is my boyfriend, David.”

Mom and dad look at each other, some unspoken thing passing between them and then dad walks over to the table, grabs two of the pink, lavender, and blue striped party hats, hands one to mom and then delicately slides the elastic band of his under his chin. “It’s nice to meet you David,” they shake hands and then dad, without asking permission of any kind, wraps Tommy in a tight hug. “I love you.”

This is usually when he squirms away, utilizing his super speed to avoid such displays of affection, but this time he allows it, reciprocating the hug and smiling as mom joins in to make a Tommy sandwich. “We love you so much.”

“Thanks.”

After about a minute it’s a bit much though, something his brother senses, exuberantly declaring, “Anyone want cake?” David, bless his heart, takes on the role of cake slicer and disher, passing out the plates and making sure Tommy gets the corner with the most frosting.

It’s all a bit surreal, a bit too wholesome for his tastes and yet it’s also perfect, mom’s hat askew while dad grimaces at the overly sweet frosting she offers him, Billy chatting happily with David over some punch, all under the handcrafted banner of Guess Who’s Bi?

Tommy smiles, digs his fork into the cake, and joins them, feeling more like himself than ever before.

[yourreddancer]

My daughter handed me her school progress report. Although it displayed a steady stream of positive check marks, there was one check mark standing dejectedly alone from the rest.

“How am I doing, Mom?” my child asked with a level of maturity that did not match the small dishevelled person gazing up at me with smudged eyeglasses that teetered on the tip of her nose. With her small finger, she pointed to her teacher’s neatly printed words next to the lone check mark.It read: "Distracted in large groups." 

But I already knew this. I knew this long before it was written on an official report card. Since she was a toddler, this child has offered astute observations of the world around her.

After pointing out all the positives on the progress report, I told her what was written. Upon hearing the news, she gave a tiny, uncertain smile and shyly admitted, “I do look around a lot.”But before my child could feel one ounce of shame, one iota of failure, I came down on bended knee and looked her straight in the eye. I didn’t want her to just hear these words, I wanted her to feel them.

 This is what I said:“Yes. You do look around a lot. You noticed Sam sitting off by himself with a skinned knee on the field trip, and you comforted him.""You noticed Banjo had a running nose, and the vet said it was a good thing we brought him in when we did.""You noticed our waitress was working really hard and suggested we leave an extra good tip. You noticed Grandpa was walking slower than the rest of us so you waited for him.""You notice the beautiful view every time we cross the bridge to go to swim practice."

"And you know what? I don’t ever want you to stop noticing because that is your gift. It is your gift that you give to the world.”As I watched my daughter beam with the glow of acceptance, I realized her approach to life had the power to change the world.

You see, we are all just waiting for someone to notice—notice our pain, notice our scars, notice our fear, notice our joy, notice our triumphs, notice our courage.And the one who notices is a rare and beautiful gift.****

~Rachel Macy Stafford, author of "Hands Free Life." Her author page is @TheHandsFreeRevolution on Facebook.

[jay-and-dean]

Hey J! I would love to hear your opinion on something. You write Dean so well that I feel pretty confident to ask you. (I mean you must know something about his way of thinking,his way of behave..I can proudly say that you have a master in Dean's psychology ok?🤣) I wanted to ask you,apart from the Destiel situation(this is another conversation) in your opinion,why the authors never gave him a real love story? They tried with Lisa..it just didn't work, they had 0 chemistry in my opinion. Cassie otherwise, was really interesting and I would even liked Jo, but the writers just decided against it. Probably they never gave the brothers a true relationship because it wasn't the main focus of the show and the fandom maybe wouldn't have liked it. Anyway I was just thinking that in 15years we have never actually seen Dean's romantic side and given the complexity of his character, it still feels like a whole part of him is missing,a piece of him that we never really got to see. What do you think about it? How would you have handled his love life? Do you think that is better that he never had a real one?

Hey Anon !

First of all, thank you so much for trusting me and for your kind words.

It's actually fun that you say I have a Master in Dean's psychology (I'm actually a professional Irl).

Now regarding Dean, all I can do is give you my personal opinion. But since you asked for it, here it is (sorry it will be a little long) :

I. Supernatural

First of all, I will talk about the general theme of the TV show. Most say, including the writers themselves, that Supernatural is about family. This alone, I guess, could explain the focus on the family relationships than love, in the romantic sense of the word.

II. Quests

But, this is not all. For me, Supernatural is an initiation story. And in that way, the focus is put on the theme of redemption.

II. 1 Sam

The redemption of Sam, who is the "gifted", like a lot of other characters in literature, the one who is too gifted to fit in, the one for whom it is a curse (Being good at school, highly sensitive, that prevents him for fitting in his own family codes, then the gift of boyking Sam, the "mark" of Demon blood and the "link" to the big Bad, very like a Harry Potter figure). His own quest will be to overcome the idea that he is unclean and finally use his gifts to define who he is and not just to fit in (In that he is really close to the journey of high IQ kids in real life). Sam's quest is personal, and as long as he can't "fit" with himself, how could he with a partner ?

II. 2 Dean

Dean... Dean has the exact opposite quest. Dean is the kid that forgot himself to fit in (in psychology, we call them the sacrificed child). He is the one who wasn't given an individuality, and therefore, no true free will. Supernatural really explores this theme until the ultimate quest, against God himself. You can note that the only relationship showed in the Supernatural was, once again a "prescript" which he can't invest exactly because it is. Dean's quest is individuality and freedom. In that way, it seems pretty logical that can't link himself to yet somebody else, as long as he didn't "kill" the father figure that is keeping him a slave of their will.

III. Sacrifice

Now, something else, in my opinion is standing between Dean and a serious love interest : Dean Winchester is a sacrificial figure. He seems himself like an appendix to his brother's story, he is expendable. So in his mind, I think, he doesn't even occurs to be the architect of his own fulfillment.

IV. His girls

I agree that Lisa and Dean had not an extraordinary chemistry, and, for me, it serves the story just perfectly. Lisa is barely a person, she is an idea, an ideal. Lisa represents "apple pie" life itself. She represent what the show sells us as a goal, a perfection when it is obviously like trying to make a fish live in a tree. Dean needed this prerequisite to continue his initiation. Dean leaving her is him closing the door on a fantasy that was holding him back since childhood, because he is the one who lost it.

Jo happens in the beginning of the show and, for me again, she couldn't work. She lives in the steps of her own mother and is not the "free" alterity Dean needs to grow.

Now okay but which girl could help Dean in his quest ?

In my opinion, someone who is "free" from his own prison. Someone stranger to the issues Dean struggles with, that open his view and gives him individuality (Cassie was a good try, but way too early in his journey).

V. This side of Dean

I agree. Dean is complex, and I could talk about him for hours (if you read until this point, you know... and bravo) and getting to see this side of him would have been great. Just because we love him so much that we want to experience everything of him.

I explore this in my fics with the greatest pleasure, and I could write about Dean falling in love all my life.

Dean's personality includes radical contrasts : The highest sense of responsibility, alternated with moments when he shelters himself in childhood for example. So I'm pretty sure that for a true love to occur, the woman (or man, gender really doesn't matter) would have to be able to reach those both sides of him. I see them sitting with cross legs eating candies in front of Scooby Doo.

Cockiness and insecurity is another contrast. Leadership and habit of submission to authority (I'm talking of the sexual way this time). Sensible vs rational. Adventurous but home-loving warrior that loves comfort...

Dean romantic side would be so complex. And after a very long answer no one asked for, I'm going to have to answer the most annoying thing : If you want to know how I picture Dean in a romantic relationship, mix my fics. That is literally what I dedicated my blog to exploring.

The individuation from his father's plan in Love me once, shame on me.

His quest of the stranger in Captive.

His struggle with apple pie life in Knocked-up.

His fight for free will in Greater Good.

The deconstruction of his culture in Rescue you...

God that sounds vain, I swear I am not, just passionate.

I have to conclued by saying I have no problem with Destiel but this is indeed, another subject. And that all of this is just my opinion.

Thank you so so sooo much for this ask and please forgive the 1k words answer and the OCD presentation.

Keep being so awesome.

Love love,

Jay