#therapy literally was that for me in the past so was baseball since its almost daily and at a predictable time

[socialistexan]

Sometimes you're reason to stay alive is just so you can make it to Monday and watch Gandalf lick her graham cracker (it is her favorite activity, after all)

[bitchassbucky]

Ｔｗｉｎｅｄ: Ａ Ｓｏｕｌｍａｔｅ ＡＵ

📎Word count: 1.5k

📎Warning/s: Mentions of death, f-bombs galore. MINORS DNI.

📎A/N: Hey lovelies <3 @honeyvbarnes​ and I worked on this Soulmate AU and we hope that y’all like it! I loved working with my bff and we’ll do it again hopefully <3 enjoy!

📎Honeyvbarnes’s Masterlist

📎Masterlist || Ask || AFTERDARK

When Bucky Barnes died back in 1943, he died knowing that he lived his life without a soulmate. 

When he turned eighteen, he waited for a flash of annoyance, stress, or anything emotionally malicious that came from his soulmate since emotional pain is supposedly said to connect two wandering souls no matter how far they are from each other.  

A bit sadistic, Steve Rogers would say. But Bucky would always counter his friend’s point with, “you see, Stevie when your soulmate gets hurt, you’re the only one who can hear them-- at least in your head-- and you can help them, you can help them find you,” 

“Still, I don’t want someone to suffer just to make a connection with me,” Steve said, ever a gentle-hearted (but strong-headed) person.

“They’re not gon’a. Annoyance is enough for them to create a short connection,”

“What I’m hearing is that I get a pass for annoying you more,”

It’s hot. Searing. Humid. The air is so thick, you can almost choke on it.

The beach is filled with people-- couples and families mostly and your mind wanders to soulmates.

You never had one and as far as you’re concerned, you’re better off without one.

Since your eighteenth birthday, you felt a great deal of stress coming off from your soulmate. You had to go through various therapy sessions, evaluations, and couple’s counseling since the supposed love of your life won’t answer to your pleas and calls as to what the fuck is going on inside their head.

They never let you in and it seems like they will never let you in.

Not now and not ever especially since the torment of nightmarish inner turmoil had subsided; granted, there are still some night terrors but it doesn’t compare to the pain you felt back then.

You started thinking maybe they were in the army or something of that sort. 

Maybe, maybe. What if, what if

That’s your inner turmoil; the boiling water inside the pot. 

You weren’t sure where to start looking for them-- you spent years trying to get through but you never get as much as a word.

So you gave up.

And not a lot of people give up on their soulmates, at least not the ones who never had to spend literal years of their lives trying to coax out a word out of their loved one.

You still get worried and anxious about them. You still try to comfort them after a particularly bad nightmare even though you know they won’t answer back to you. You still tell them that you’re always there, ready to give the comfort only a true soulmate can give.

You wanted to give them warmth not knowing that they dislike the heat.

Bucky had always hated the summer. He hated how everything is so warm and dry and humid. He hated how he can’t stay bundled up in dark sweaters and jackets, he hated the way that the glow of the scorching sun brings out the best in people. 

He prefers the cold. The harsh winters remind him of his past, and he likes to suffer, he allows the despair and loneliness to settle deep in his bones. The heat of the summer makes it more difficult for him to keep his mind separated from yours. 

Bucky Barnes died back in 1943 without a soulmate, but after his resurrection in Wakanda, he knew you were there. The dull feeling of annoyance would come in waves and he knew you hadn’t felt him yet. 

Oh, but you did, he came to realize. Over the years, Hydra had control over him, his mind, and his soul. The constant wipe of his memories not even sparing a chance for him to feel emotion, to feel you. The harsh realization that you had to feel the same pain he had, makes him sick. 

Thinking of the years of abuse and torture makes him want to apologize profusely, but would you even understand? Would you ever love the person that’s caused you so much pain? He doesn’t know who you are or your age, and the fact that his soulmate lives in an era where he was never meant to live in, still confuses him to this day. 

So he’s built up walls, a mind blockade in hopes that you’d move on without him. He doesn’t deserve love after all that he’s done. Mostly, you don’t deserve him as a soulmate. You deserve better, he thinks. 

He feels guilty shutting you out, but he forces the guilt away because he knows you can feel that too. On his bad days, you still assure him that he’s not alone in this world. You give him warmth to soothe his ice-cold heart, but he rejects it, doesn’t want it, doesn’t deserve it, he’ll tell himself. 

One fateful summer day changed that though. 

As Sam Wilson finished packing the car with what he calls ‘beach essentials’, Bucky Barnes had his mind a thousand miles away. 

“You okay, tin man? Got your sunscreen?” His dark-haired friend chides soothingly. Sam was wearing a red Hawaiian shirt, his Raybans clipped onto his lapel, and his skin smelled of berries and shea butter; he smelled and looked like the personification of summer himself.

“Let’s go, Wilson; I don’t have the patience of getting stuck in traffic with the both of ya,” Bucky rolled his eyes behind his dark sunglasses, his hair tied in a low bun, he was wearing a baseball shirt and a summer-themed beach short with seagulls on it, as per Sam’s request. His skin glistened with the newly applied sunscreen he snatched from his go-bag. 

“And what’s so bad about it?” Steve wore a flannel and dark jeans combo, his baseball cap was on backwards, because ‘I wanted to try something new,’ he said, and he opted for a pine-scented suntan lotion instead, deciding to get a slight tan.

Bucky decided not to answer the question.

The ocean mist filled your senses as your book chapter hits its end. Putting down the easy-reading material, you stretched out and propped up yourself, thinking if you should join the other beachgoers in the water.

Giving it a quick thought and then glancing at the beach’s showering station, you decided against splashing around. This is more of a reading day for you.

You picked up your dog-eared book again and started to read when a good gust of wind kicked up the sand, sending a few grains your way, you quickly closed your eyes and yet, just as fate intended, you ended up with sand particles in your left eye.

“Ow, what the--” Bucky instinctively put up his arm to protect his eyes when a breeze flew past them, “something’s in my eye.”

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuckity-fuck.

Your eye has been invaded by sand and it feels like it’s scratching your cornea raw. You can think straight, you’re in pain albeit minimal, it’s still pain.

You try to scramble for the bottle of water you kept close for hydration, hoping it will be enough to put you out of your misery, washing out the sand.

“Something’s definitely in my eye, Sam, I feel it,” Bucky tries not to squirm so much under Sam’s touch, but the pain feels almost invisible, like it’s not his.

“Stop moving so much, I can’t see anything,” Sam said, reaching into his bag to get his eye drop he was saving especially for this occasion, “I got your back. Don’t tell me that I overpack ever again,”

Drenching yourself in water was better than the agonizing pain you felt not five minutes ago. Your left eye was red, pulsating, and tearing up like a mad dog in a shed; perhaps this was your cue to pack up and go home.

Then you feel that magnetic pull again. Stronger this time.

You suddenly remembered the lore and the tall tales of the universe pulling soulmates together, literally, if they were close enough to each other. You try your best not to walk to your left side as the pull dictates.

“Where are you going, Buck? Our spot’s right here.” Steve said, unpacking the food he prepared for their beach day. Sandwiches, chips, fresh fruits, and beer are already in place when Bucky felt a strong pull to his left side.

“I just- I gotta check something out,” He said, not knowing where his feet are taking him.

The lore said when you meet your soulmate, the gravity will shift around you. The magnets of your souls will push you towards each other even if you try to pry yourself away. Your bodies were from the same asteroid before and now the universe wants you together again.

You feel your skin prickle as you try not to look behind you. You’re familiar with the tales, the personal anecdotes, how it feels to be pulled towards your literal soulmate.

Bucky just stands in the sand, his eyes not wandering too far from where you’re standing, your back behind him.

Is this it? Is this his soulmate?

What if you hate him? What if you don’t want to be with him?

Bucky’s heart quickens with the thoughts, his anxiety riddles his brain as he tries to come up with something to call you.

When the pull is strong and the bond is unbreakable, rare cases of soulmates knowing each other’s names before they met is attainable. 

A single name popped up into Bucky’s head, “Y/N.”

[thetriggeredhappy]

Okay so that last one with scout losing snipes broke my heart into a zillion pieces so... What if sniper never died? Maybe he was badly hurt and is hiding somewhere... -🐑

i really like how you people keep doing this thing where you’re like “hey what if you ripped my whole heart out and stomped on it” then i do because you literally asked and you're all “owie :( ouch owie :( can i have a band-aid now” like it’s funny every time

(warnings for mention of firearms and discussion of severe life-threatening injury)

-

His contract expired.

Somewhere along the line—wonder when?—apparently his work had gotten ‘sloppy’. He’d gotten ‘erratic’. So six years after what all happened, when his contract was up to be renewed, Miss Pauling gently urged him to let it expire and to just head home.

It wasn’t like he had a good reason not to. He didn’t particularly get along with any of the team (anymore). A few of them had come and gone—Pyro apparently got reassigned somewhere and was gone overnight, and at some point Demo decided to leave mercenary work altogether to get a real, proper, legally sound job somewhere. Both of them had been replaced.

Their new Sniper wasn’t as polite as—

She was even more of a recluse, although she got along alright with Heavy sometimes. She was also Russian, which probably helped. And Scout felt a little bad about how much he hated her. She couldn’t help what happened. It wasn’t her fault. She was just picking up the baton on this job. Someone had to do it.

Mostly he just ended up avoiding her. And everyone else.

Exactly once he’d tried to take up dating again. Someone had gotten particularly sweet when he was out at a bar, and they’d flirted for a little while, then they’d suggested they both head somewhere else, and that they had a car if he wanted to—

He quietly stammered his way through a refusal. The vague guilt and unease reached a head the second he thought about getting in a car.

He’d needed to sell his car and get a motorcycle instead, at some point. The idea of getting in a vehicle had become an irrational fear, after he’d seen a picture of the wreckage, smelled the acrid smoke on the salvaged belongings.

That was one reason he took a plane home and had all his stuff shipped separately.

That meant that it was a few days of wearing only his old clothes when he got back, waiting for the rest to show up. And those were a little hard to squeeze into, he’d really been a lanky fuck before he became a mercenary.

The only thing he had at home that fit right was the suit, left there hanging in his closet to get eaten by moths.

The suit and the boxes of things were all shoved into the far side of his closet, and they stayed that way. He felt like maybe he wouldn’t ever be ready to look at them again, and in the meantime, they just made him feel guilty.

For the first two months after he got off work, he didn’t really do much. He stayed home, stayed out of trouble. Put his things away, sorted through what he wanted to keep and what he could just get rid of, either selling it or scrapping it if it was just kinda garbage. He tried to catch up with his brothers a little bit, the ones left in Boston still, but he didn’t get very far, feeling weird and disconnected.

After two months, he finally felt bad about Ma constantly tip-toeing around the topic of employment or hobbies (not that he needed to worry about those—he had enough money saved to not worry about much of anything until he was like, eighty), and he started trying to look for work, or maybe just something to keep him busy. For a month or so he looked into becoming a bartender, but the hours were a little weird. He thought about trying to get into doing baseball on some professional level, but he was getting a little old to be going into it for the first time since his late teens and early twenties. He very briefly looked into doing the cartoons for the newspaper—he was pretty good at art by then—before he found out they would require some amount of actual schooling for it.

So he ended up latching onto that, and started heading to the library five or six days a week to spend a few hours there studying to get his GED. His Ma supported him wholeheartedly on it, and got around to telling him, about a month into his new routine, that she was really glad he found something to do, something he wanted, that he’d just seemed so miserable, before, waiting around for something to happen.

Maybe she was right. He was waiting around for something to happen. He got the speech from Miss P—“ten years following your departure from the team, you and anyone nearby you will be kept in the system, and if there’s anyone who tries to bring you harm we’ll catch them before they can, and here’s a phone number to call if anything suspicious happens that you want looked into”. To him, that meant “someone might try and kill you”. So he did stay strapped when he went places, looked over his shoulder, kept an eye on doors and other potential exits.

So when he got back from the library one day and saw a car parked out in front of the house, at least he was prepared.

He thought fast. Kept driving past the house and parked a little ways down the block—he could drive the bike back later, it didn’t matter. He unlocked the door as quietly as he could, pushed it open with his shoulder, pistol drawn and cocked, falling back into old habits maybe a little too easily considering he hadn’t been a mercenary for almost a year and a half.

Voices from the living room—not from the TV, and not Ma on the phone, because he could also hear the TV, and there was a commercial playing that he recognized, one that didn’t involve Ma and a second, much deeper voice.

He steadied his hands, rolled his shoulders, and stepped into the room, leveling his gun directly at the head of the person within.

First he took stock of the fact that Ma was indeed there, sitting on the couch, looking relatively relaxed and entirely unharmed, if surprised to see him there and also with a gun. Then he took stock of the room, saw that there was only one other person here, the one he was pointing a gun at, the one who had slowly raised his hands up to either side of his head. Potentially unarmed, it was hard to tell with his baggy jacket—

Wait a minute.

Scout frowned, squinted, looking over his face a little more closely as realization started creeping into view.

He tried to imagine, for a second. What exactly would seven years do to a guy?

Maybe he’d end up with his hair growing out a lot longer, from close-cut to hanging down around his ears. Maybe with a beard, relatively clean but still a bit messy in some ways. Maybe he’d get new clothes, his eyes would sink a little bit more, would start to crinkle at the corners. More freckles, more spots maybe. Aged, scarred. Maybe he’d be wearing glasses. Maybe, despite all of that, he wouldn’t look all that different at all.

“...’llo, Bilby,” Sniper said quietly, hopefully, voice rough, and maybe he meant to say more, but he didn’t get the chance, because Scout lowered his gun, marched three steps forward, and slapped him clear across the face.

It was a hefty slap. The smack noise was practically ringing, and his hand stung like a bitch, and he’d hit him hard enough to knock his glasses off to clatter across the floor, and his head snapped back at the force of it, and the noise he made was satisfyingly pained.

“Right. Probably deserve that,” he croaked, and maybe he meant to say more, but he didn’t get the chance, because Scout tucked back away his gun, grabbed Sniper by the sides of his head, and kissed him square on the mouth.

It was a hard kiss, hard enough that he got Sniper to do that thing where he made an undignified little squeaky noise of surprise, caught off guard by it. He only melted forward for a second or two before Scout was pulling back away again.

“You fucking piece of shit son of a bitch cunt I’m gonna fucking kill you,” Scout practically snarled.

“Jeremy,” his Ma admonished from the couch.

“He’s right,” Sniper said weakly.

“I’m gonna kill you,” Scout insisted, just as fiercely. “What the fuck happened to you?!”

“There was a—“ Sniper started explaining, but Scout cut him off.

“Car bomb between 2:45 and 2:50 PM twenty minutes away from the nearest city limits,” he listed off, “I know that, but what—seven fucking years, Snipes!”

“I know,” Sniper said, voice flimsy. “First two years were recovery and physical therapy, next four were trying to get legal papers and apply for a visa to get back into the States again.”

“That bad?” Scout asked, still angry but faltering.

“Needed reconstructive surgery on... most of the left side of my body. Lost some teeth,” he said, and tugged his lip back on one side to show him where three teeth, the three behind the canines, were a slightly different color, then dropped his hand again. “Plenty of scars. Might be, er... missing a lot of those freckles you liked. And... voice comes and goes sometimes. But, Australian miracle medicine, I’m much better than I was.”

“You grew your hair out,” Scout noted next, carding his hands up through it.

Sniper laughed. “Lost half my teeth and needed a new coat of paint on the whole left of me, and you’re worried about my hair?” he chided.

“It’s just new, thought you hated it getting long,” Scout shrugged.

“Y’know,” his Ma said, sounding all too amused by the proceedings, approaching with Sniper’s glasses and handing them over to him, “you’re lucky you showed me those pictures all those years ago, Jeremy. Otherwise, strange guy shows up at our door askin’ about your work name and all, I would’a started blasting.”

She nodded meaningfully towards the table beside the couch, and Scout saw that indeed she had a gun there, taken from its place where he kept it stashed by the door as a “just in case”.

“Thanks, Ma,” he said, smiling a little.

“No problem, sweetheart,” she said, and patted him on the arm. She glanced between him and Sniper and scooped up the firearm from the table. “I’ll just go put this away,” she said, and left the two of them alone.

“Would’ve been easier to track you down if you’d given me more to go on than ‘southern Boston’,” Sniper said, eyebrows rising. “And if I didn’t need to be so careful about how I asked.”

“Huh?”

Sniper’s expression fell a little, and he raised his hand to fix his hair where Scout had mussed it up. “Look, you know the rules. Employer keeps an eye out for us for years after we leave. That means if I asked through my usual methods of tracking people down, that’d send up flashing red lights somewhere. So I... needed to take extra precautions.”

“Miss P told me they took care of the guys that tried to kill you,” Scout said, frowning.

“I went off radar for almost two years without official leave,” Sniper murmured. “And it wasn’t on purpose, but I don’t think they’d believe that. They might try and kill me if they find out I’m still alive. I’m a loose end.”

Scout’s heart dropped.

“Only cut it close once,” Sniper said, gaze falling. “But that was enough for Miss Pauling to get in contact with me, to try to talk to me. I... I told her I’m done, I’m out of mercenary work, and... just as a precaution I have to do a few things now. Check in on the regular. I wear this,” he said, pushing his sleeve up to show off a bulky device on his wrist, bigger than a watch. “It’s tracker. Makes sure I’m only in the places I say I’m going. Had to get a visa by myself, get transportation by myself, and it cut my protection time in half so now I’ve had to hire on someone to guard my parents and keep them safe, but now she’ll keep it secret that I’m alive. They’ll stop looking for me in two years, and if by then I’m still playing by the rules, I’m free. Back to normal life.”

“She said it was okay that you be here?” Scout asked. “In the same city as me? She wasn’t worried about that?”

“Told her why I was coming here,” Sniper shrugged.

“And what’d you tell her?” Scout asked softly.

They looked at each other.

“I... didn’t want to assume,” Sniper said quietly, carefully, looking over his face. “That you’d... I, I understand if you’ve moved on. Seven years, declared dead—“

“I didn’t,” Scout said just as quietly.

Sniper gave a breathless little laugh, cupping his face. “Bilby, I told you to,” he tried.

“Well, so-rry,” Scout said next, throat a little tight, hands on his hips, “Mister—Mister Legally Dead. Sorry I didn’t jump into speed dating the second I got the news. What, you—you wanted me to have kids by now?”

“Wouldn’t blame you,” Sniper shrugged, and kissed him, and pulled back away. “But... I’m glad you didn’t.”

“Well I’m glad you’re glad,” Scout mumbled, and kissed him, and pulled back away. “So...?”

Sniper was smiling, wide and unashamed. “So one day at a time,” he said quietly. “We can talk about it more in a bit. First, mind if I use your phone?”

“Why?”

“Meant to call in to check with Pauling in—“ He glanced around to find the clock in the room. “—three minutes or so. And... I ought to tell her I’ve made progress. And... that we’re sorting out details. Might call you over to talk to her too.”

“Yeah, go ahead. Hallway by the kitchen,” Scout directed, and kissed him again, and again, and again, until Sniper urged him down and off before he was late calling in.

He found himself in the kitchen, looking out the window. Ma was unloading the dishwasher and humming. In the hallway, the sound of talking, long pauses, more talking.

“He seems nice,” Ma said quietly, and shot Scout a smile, and Scout smiled too.

“He was—is,” he corrected quickly, flinching a little bit.

“How you feelin’?” Ma asked.

Scout looked down, crossed his arms over himself. “Y’know how in movies there’s that bit people do, all “feels too good to be true” or whatever?”

“Uh huh.”

“Kinda the opposite. It feels... like him being gone wasn’t real. And now stuff is real again.”

“Like you woke up?”

“...Yeah. Yeah, exactly,” Scout confirmed.

“I could tell,” Ma admitted, and stretched to reach the cabinet to put things away once they were good and dry. “Been a zombie since you got back, seems like maybe you’ve been a zombie for a while.”

Scout moved over to help, taking the dishes that belonged in the higher shelves and starting to put those away. “Sheesh, was I seriously that obvious?”

“It was pretty bad.”

“...Is that, like... normal? Or... healthy?” Scout asked carefully.

Ma laughed. “Sweetheart, how should I know?”

“But you know, like, everything.”

Ma pinched him on the cheek at the compliment and he squawked a complaint, and she laughed.

“I don’t know if it’s healthy,” she finally replied. “And... maybe it’s not about whether it’s healthy. Maybe... it’s just one step. And, hey, it worked out, didn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he agreed, and smiled. “Yeah, it did.”

“Bilby,” Sniper called, leaning in to look through the door to the kitchen, phone cord visibly all stretched out. “Wants to talk to you.”

Miss Pauling ran through a brief check to make sure he was indeed Scout, then asked a series of questions. Whether he felt safe with being around Sniper on the regular. Whether Sniper would be staying with him on the regular, and the fact that instead of extending security to cover him, she’d need to just go more lax on Scout’s security to make sure Sniper wasn’t found out.

He was fine with that. All of that.

After the phone call, after a few more questions, he dragged Sniper upstairs and flung open the door to his closet, digging through the dusty old boxes with purpose. Then he was pulling out an item and shoving it directly into Sniper’s chest.

Sniper put his hat back on, and Scout couldn’t help but yank him down into another kiss at the wave of nostalgia and familiarity as Sniper nudged his glasses up and looked at him and asked if it was on crooked, the same way he’d said a hundred times before, a hundred years ago.

And, hopefully, he’d say it a billion more times, for a billion more years. Scout would make sure of it.

[bitchassbackup]

Twined: A Soulmate AU

Word count: 1,580

Warning/s: Mentions of death

A/N: Hey lovelies <3 @honeyvbarnes​ and I worked on this Soulmate AU and we hope that y’all like it! I loved working with my bff and we’ll do it again hopefully <3 enjoy!

Bitchassbucky’s Masterlist

Honeyvbarnes’s Masterlist

When Bucky Barnes died back in 1943, he died knowing that he lived his life without a soulmate.

When he turned eighteen, he waited for a flash of annoyance, stress, or anything emotionally malicious that came from his soulmate since emotional pain is supposedly said to connect two wandering souls no matter how far they are from each other.  

A bit sadistic, Steve Rogers would say. But Bucky would always counter his friend’s point with, “you see, Stevie when your soulmate gets hurt, you’re the only one who can hear them– at least in your head– and you can help them, you can help them find you,”

“Still, I don’t want someone to suffer just to make a connection with me,” Steve said, ever a gentle-hearted (but strong-headed) person.

“They’re not gon’a. Annoyance is enough for them to create a short connection,”

“What I’m hearing is that I get a pass for annoying you more,”

—

It’s hot. Searing. Humid. The air is so thick, you can almost choke on it.

The beach is filled with people– couples and families mostly and your mind wanders to soulmates.

You never had one and as far as you’re concerned, you’re better off without one.

Since your eighteenth birthday, you felt a great deal of stress coming off from your soulmate. You had to go through various therapy sessions, evaluations, and couple’s counseling since the supposed love of your life won’t answer to your pleas and calls as to what the fuck is going on inside their head.

They never let you in and it seems like they will never let you in.

Not now and not ever especially since the torment of nightmarish inner turmoil had subsided; granted, there are still some night terrors but it doesn’t compare to the pain you felt back then.

You started thinking maybe they were in the army or something of that sort.

Maybe, maybe. What if, what if

That’s your inner turmoil; the boiling water inside the pot.

You weren’t sure where to start looking for them– you spent years trying to get through but you never get as much as a word.

So you gave up.

And not a lot of people give up on their soulmates, at least not the ones who never had to spend literal years of their lives trying to coax out a word out of their loved one.

You still get worried and anxious about them. You still try to comfort them after a particularly bad nightmare even though you know they won’t answer back to you. You still tell them that you’re always there, ready to give the comfort only a true soulmate can give.

You wanted to give them warmth not knowing that they dislike the heat.

—-

Bucky had always hated the summer. He hated how everything is so warm and dry and humid. He hated how he can’t stay bundled up in dark sweaters and jackets, he hated the way that the glow of the scorching sun brings out the best in people.

He prefers the cold. The harsh winters remind him of his past, and he likes to suffer, he allows the despair and loneliness to settle deep in his bones. The heat of the summer makes it more difficult for him to keep his mind separated from yours.

Bucky Barnes died back in 1943 without a soulmate, but after his resurrection in Wakanda, he knew you were there. The dull feeling of annoyance would come in waves and he knew you hadn’t felt him yet.

Oh, but you did, he came to realize. Over the years, Hydra had control over him, his mind, and his soul. The constant wipe of his memories not even sparing a chance for him to feel emotion, to feel you. The harsh realization that you had to feel the same pain he had, makes him sick.

Thinking of the years of abuse and torture makes him want to apologize profusely, but would you even understand? Would you ever love the person that’s caused you so much pain? He doesn’t know who you are or your age, and the fact that his soulmate lives in an era where he was never meant to live in, still confuses him to this day.

So he’s built up walls, a mind blockade in hopes that you’d move on without him. He doesn’t deserve love after all that he’s done. Mostly, you don’t deserve him as a soulmate. You deserve better, he thinks.

He feels guilty shutting you out, but he forces the guilt away because he knows you can feel that too. On his bad days, you still assure him that he’s not alone in this world. You give him warmth to soothe his ice-cold heart, but he rejects it, doesn’t want it, doesn’t deserve it, he’ll tell himself.

One fateful summer day changed that though.

—

As Sam Wilson finished packing the car with what he calls ‘beach essentials’, Bucky Barnes had his mind a thousand miles away.

“You okay, tin man? Got your sunscreen?” His dark-haired friend chides soothingly. Sam was wearing a red Hawaiian shirt, his Raybans clipped onto his lapel, and his skin smelled of berries and shea butter; he smelled and looked like the personification of summer himself.

“Let’s go, Wilson; I don’t have the patience of getting stuck in traffic with the both of ya,” Bucky rolled his eyes behind his dark sunglasses, his hair tied in a low bun, he was wearing a baseball shirt and a summer-themed beach short with seagulls on it, as per Sam’s request. His skin glistened with the newly applied sunscreen he snatched from his go-bag.

“And what’s so bad about it?” Steve wore a flannel and dark jeans combo, his baseball cap was on backwards, because ‘I wanted to try something new,’ he said, and he opted for a pine-scented suntan lotion instead, deciding to get a slight tan.

Bucky decided not to answer the question.

—

The ocean mist filled your senses as your book chapter hits its end. Putting down the easy-reading material, you stretched out and propped up yourself, thinking if you should join the other beachgoers in the water.

Giving it a quick thought and then glancing at the beach’s showering station, you decided against splashing around. This is more of a reading day for you.

You picked up your dog-eared book again and started to read when a good gust of wind kicked up the sand, sending a few grains your way, you quickly closed your eyes and yet, just as fate intended, you ended up with sand particles in your left eye.

—

“Ow, what the–” Bucky instinctively put up his arm to protect his eyes when a breeze flew past them, “something’s in my eye.”

—

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuckity-fuck.

Your eye has been invaded by sand and it feels like it’s scratching your cornea raw. You can think straight, you’re in pain albeit minimal, it’s still pain.

You try to scramble for the bottle of water you kept close for hydration, hoping it will be enough to put you out of your misery, washing out the sand.

—

“Something’s definitely in my eye, Sam, I feel it,” Bucky tries not to squirm so much under Sam’s touch, but the pain feels almost invisible, like it’s not his.

“Stop moving so much, I can’t see anything,” Sam said, reaching into his bag to get his eye drop he was saving especially for this occasion, “I got your back. Don’t tell me that I overpack ever again,”

—

Drenching yourself in water was better than the agonizing pain you felt not five minutes ago. Your left eye was red, pulsating, and tearing up like a mad dog in a shed; perhaps this was your cue to pack up and go home.

Then you feel that magnetic pull again. Stronger this time.

You suddenly remembered the lores and the tall tales of the universe pulling soulmates together, literally, if they were close enough to each other. You try your best not to walk to your left side as the pull dictates.

—

“Where are you going, Buck? Our spot’s right here.” Steve said, unpacking the food he prepared for their beach day. Sandwiches, chips, fresh fruits, and beer are already in place when Bucky felt a strong pull to his left side.

“I just- I gotta check something out,” He said, not knowing where his feet are taking him.

—

The lore said when you meet your soulmate, the gravity will shift around you. The magnets of your souls will push you towards each other even if you try to pry yourself away. Your bodies were from the same asteroid before and now the universe wants you together again.

You feel your skin prickle as you try not to look behind you. You’re familiar with the tales, the personal anecdotes, how it feels to be pulled towards your literal soulmate.

Bucky just stands in the sand, his eyes not wandering too far from where you’re standing, your back behind him.

Is this it? Is this his soulmate?

What if you hate him? What if you don’t want to be with him?

Bucky’s heart quickens with the thoughts, his anxiety riddles his brain as he tries to come up with something to call you.

When the pull is strong and the bond is unbreakable, rare cases of soulmates knowing each other’s names before they met is attainable.

A single name popped up into Bucky’s head, “Y/N.”

[gayshitiguess]

So since @riahawk messaged me the second after I made that post saying simply “playlist yes” I thought I would share.

So I chose one song for every chapter and thought I would do a Critical Role styled explanation! I hope you guys like it!

Chapter 1: Modern Literature

“Dying in LA” By Panic! At the Disco

“Every face along the boulevard is a dreamer just like you./ You looked at death in a tarot card and you saw what you had to do.”

What can I say, this song has always screamed Mollymauk to me, especially these two lines in the pre-chorus. Beware takes place in LA, so the title is just that much more accurate. In this first chapter and for most of the story, Molly keeps drawing the same three cards from his deck, the Fool, the Devil, and Death. He is literally looking at death in a tarot card. This is him trying to find his way, trying to gleam where he’s supposed to go from here. Luckily, he finds his way.

Chapter 2: A Show of Scrutiny

“I Put a Spell on You” By Screamin Jay Hawkins

Enter magic awkward dude! This chapter deals mostly with the aftermath of Molly finding out holy shit, magic is real. I chose this version of the Nina Simone version simply because I wanted to capture the frantic, scream argument part of this chapter. This version has Jay Hawkins literally just screeching into the mic, and if that doesn’t sum up Molly’s mood for this chapter, I don’t know what does. Bonus, it's a love song, and this is where the seeds are planted. Love is in the air, but mostly panic and magic!

Chapter 3: Lost and Found

“Junkie Church” By AJJ

“Last week I saw you at the junkie church/ you told me all the things I need to hear/ like I’ve got a heart of gold/ and a kind and open soul.”

This is one of my favorite chapters in the entire piece. I love to put in little lunar interludes of sorts between the big stuff, and this really was that at its best. In this chapter, we get a bit of insight into Caleb’s past, but not nearly the entirely. We also get a tarot reading from Molly to Caleb that somehow managed to give Caleb’s fucking terrible story positivity. Con men really are in the business of telling people what they want to hear. Molly made it his business to tell Caleb pretty things. He’s very good at that.

Chapter 4: Shadows

“Wilson (Expensive Mistakes)” By Fall Out Boy

“I hope the roof flies off and we get blown out into space/ I always make such expensive mistakes.”

You know my emo ass had to throw in some Fall Out Boy. Really, everything that they do in this chapter is mistakes. This is where shit gets bad. So many bad choices were made from Caleb giving Molly the necklace to letting the entire group into the haunted house. It had to end in a possession. Plus, I need some sick guitar riffs to get into a fight scene.

Chapter 5: Passed Through Fire

“Holy Calamity [Bear Witness II]” By Handsome Boy Modeling School

Did I say that I needed sick guitar riffs for a fight? I’m so sorry, I meant that I needed classics of the hip hop scene blowing out my speakers. This song just captures the absolute chaos of what the fuck is happening in the chapter. Shit gets crazy from the moment that the song begins, and this chapter’s contents are enough to have you screaming “Holy Calamity!” from beginning to end

Chapter 6: Reunions

“Safe in my Garden” By The Mamas & The Papas

This really is the quintessential Caduceus song to me. Really, the idea of him bopping to The Mamas & The Papas is such a lovely one. This song just reminds me of the Blooming Grove, the smooth, sweet sound, the very name just feels like the Grove. And here we get to see everybody coming to Caduceus for help and for protection. They’re all safe in his garden.

Chapter 7: What Lies Beneath the Surface

“Zombies” By Childish Gambino

“You will find/ there is no safe place/ to hide.”

Zombies! I mean, really, there was no better song for this chapter. If I was going to do a chapter about the undead, I had to throw Gambino in there. This whole album could be the soundtrack for this story, but this one especially. This chapter completely negates the safety of the last, completely ruins the safe garden that Caduceus maintains. It's a wrench in the plan and it’s a song that sounds so different from any other on the playlist, that its a wrench in the sound.

Chapter 8: Omens

“Nausea” By Jeff Rosenstock

“I got so tired of discussing my future/ I started avoiding the people I love./ Evening of silence and morning of nausea/ Shake and sweat and I can’t throw up/ I got so tired of discussing my future/ That I walk through my life like I'm the only one”

Caleb has a really hard time communicating what he wants to other people. He also has a hard time talking about his future, since he hasn’t really planned on having one since the academy. It's hard for him not to push people away, but Molly is stubborn and he isn’t willing to let Caleb push people out of his life.

Chapter 9: Strange Bedfellows

“I’ve Got Problems” By Harley Poe

“Talking to myself again/ About how I'll never win/ I look into the mirror/ And that's how my day begins/ I wonder when did all this black fill up my mind/ Well I don't shower/ I'm a slob/ I've gone years without a job/ And I can't seem to keep my hands out of my pants and off my knob/ Because the perversions in my head are of the sickest kind”

What can I say? Caleb’s got problems. Like, big time problems. He’s one fucked up shit. Just as “Safe in my Garden” is the quintessential Caduceus song, this is the quintessential Caleb song. I really could put the entire song in quotations because it is perfect. He’s trying his best here to convince Molly that he is FUBAR and honestly? It kind of works. He’s a fucked up guy who does fucked up things, and there’s very little that either of them can do about it.

Chapter 10: Dangerous Liasons

“Would you Be So Kind” By dodie

Caleb and Molly have been hinting at romance for the entire piece, but this is where it really starts to bloom. Molly expressed how serious he is about this, and tells Caleb that whenever he’s ready, Molly’s there. Molly is baring his soul in a way he hasn’t to anybody before. He’s trusting Caleb in a way he hasn’t with anybody. It's scary and he’s afraid to fuck it up, and all he can do right now is ask Caleb “could you maybe fall in love with me?”

Chapter 11: Crimson Deplomacy

“Devil’s Haircut” By Beck

Molly’s worst fucking nightmare; finding out what exactly is in his head. It turns out that it's Lucien. It's his worst case scenario. Getting real, concrete answers to his past that he never once asked for. And it only means bad things on the way. There’s something decidedly evil in his mind and he’s stuck. All he can do is hope that he’ll be okay. Plus, what a use of the kazoo.

Chapter 12: At Dawn, We Plan!

“Bad Moon Rising” By Creedence Clearwater Revival

This song is cursed and so is this chapter. It's all about bad tidings and warnings, an omen of bad things on the rise. Although this chapter is relatively tame, there is a permeating sense of unease. Molly knows that this is going to go badly. He knows that something horrible is about to happen. And there is absolutely nothing that he can do about it. There’s a bad moon on the rise, and Molly’s going to have to face it.

Chapter 13: Found and Lost

“Through The Roof N’ Underground (feat. Eugene Hütz)” By Gogol Bordello

“When there's a trap set up for you/ In every corner of this town/ And so you learn the only way to go is underground/ When there's a trap set up for you/ In every corner of your room/ And so you learn the only way to go is through the roof”

Taliesin said it himself, Molly was always going to end with this song. This whole chapter is a fucking disaster. Molly “dies,” Lucien comes back, Lucien “dies,” there’s a lot of our favorite Bloodhunter biting the dust. Molly is doomed the second that that demon enters the room, and so he makes his way underground. Lucien is dragged up by his teeth from the inside of himself, and he goes straight through the roof. I’ve really found a love for this song and the intense, falling to pieces nature of it. By the end of it, the instrumentals and vocals fall out of sync and fade into nothing, just like Molly.

Chapter 14: Epilouge: The Chapter Closes

“Safety Song” By Andrea Gibson

“I was walking home in the red night zone/ I had a pair of flowers/ you had pegs on the back of your bike/ it was almost the morning hour/ I said come with me to the carnival/ we can sneak in when the power goes out/ we can sit real still in the bumper carts/ and see what it's all about to be safe/ from the crashing day/ we can be safe from everything/ you caught my eye in the funhouse mirror/ you look so pretty even like that/ you held my hand while I held my tongue/ and blushed beneath my baseball cap/ you said we've all got monsters under our bed and under our skin as well/ we can hold them in the corners of our little shame or bring them to show and tell/ just know your safe to tell me anything/ you are so safe to tell me anything/ lying in the grass by the ferris wheel/ I saw a train i knew we could catch so/ we ran through the streets and the parking lot/ and we caught that train as we caught our breath and we rode through the hills and the silo fields/ I knew my heart had no fire escape/ but I stood in your lightning like a sycamore tree/ love is a risk you have to take I feel safe to risk everything/ I feel safe to risk everything”

Finally, finally Molly has made it. After several months of recovery, plenty of therapy, and lots of soul searching, he’s able to breathe. This entire story has felt suffocating for me. I believe that Molly’s arc would have been an extremely painful and cathartic one to watch, so I thought that I would make something similar. This song is slow and sweet and tenuous. For a story that goes so hard for so long, I wanted to slow it down at the end and deliver something sweet. This is where Caleb and Molly decide to risk it, amnesia and trauma be damned, because love is a risk, but it's one that they have to take. And he’s safe. Finally safe.