#What is wrong with you Sam you should not be allowed to write

[whysamwhy123]

Huh. The first OrangeHook fic I wrote now has the most hits out of anything I've written in the last two years. Weird.

I guess you never really know which fics are gonna take off. But still, this is hard for me to wrap my head around. I figured nothing would ever overtake the previous top dog, since that was for a very popular pairing (at the time) and also I wrote it as part of a fandom event, so naturally it was gonna have a few more eyeballs on it than usual. For a rarepair fic, of a pairing that's almost completely dead (the 'almost' being there due to the tireless work of my good buddy Dah, single-handedly keeping the OrangeHook train a-rollin' in 2024 *blows a kiss*) to overtake that, and still be getting traction here and there after over a year, is kinda nuts.

I have a weird relationship with that fic, in general. When I posted it, I really wasn't happy with it. It has Problems, LOL. The more time that passes though, I've kinda warmed to it more and more. It still has those Problems, for sure, but it came together pretty good in the end, I think? Probably some of my best dialogue, at least. That fic was only supposed to be two scenes - the opening scene with Best Friends, and the Awkward Hotel Room Seduction Scene - but it kinda ballooned as I was writing it, and I kept adding more and more. I don't think I realised at the time that OrangeHook was gonna become My Pairing for a good while. But it certainly did.

I'm in a...weird place, at the moment, regarding writing. Well. I don't know if I'm even qualified to say that, because the short version is - I ain't writing no' mo'. Haven't finished a fic, or even written more than a couple words, in over two months. Considering I was averaging one fic a month since January 2023, that's a downgrade for sure. This definitely isn't one of my usual writing slumps. I have Ideas (Such Ideas!) but zero motivation to write any of them. This isn't fandom's fault, to be clear. I do feel very out-of-touch and like the fandom's passed me by, but that's just because I don't watch AEW anymore because *almost falls back into old habits and launches into one of my annoying hater rants that I used to do all the goddamn time before I realised how lame that was and made myself act my age for once* reasons, and so I'm not particularly interested/invested in any of the popular pairings these days. The only pairings I do care about are ones like OrangeHook - microscopically small rarepairs where it's literally just me and one other person, and that's it. As much as I adore those folks (Gato <3 Dah <3), it's hard to find motivation when you know there's no audience waiting for you. Makes you feel like there's no point, y'know? Doesn't help that all of my ideas these days are goofy, self-indulgent AUs or bizarre crackfics. Even if I could put pen to paper, so to speak, I wouldn't exactly be giving the people what they want, LOL.

After I failed to get my Halloween fic done (it was, predictably, a goofy, self-indulgent OrangeHook AU about Jim falling under the sway of Hook, who's an incubus. Y'all are welcome that I didn't put that out into the world, LOL), I kinda figured that I might be done with writing again. Before January of last year, I hadn't written a word in years. I gave up on writing after some Bad Stuff happened. It felt like a gift to be able to do it again, after so much time. Kinda sucks to think I might be back to just Not Being Able To Do It At All again. Kinda really sucks.

There is this one idea. I've had it rattling around in my brain for a long time. It actually started as a Hookhausen fic (remember them? Where does the time go?), but I ended up adapting it to be OrangeHook over time. I have a lot of scattered ideas for scenes, bits of dialogue, and a pretty strong sense of what The Point would be. I did toy with the idea of starting it a while back (or at least trying to) and making it my swansong for the fandom/my writing in general. One last self-indulgent rarepair fic that no one cares about, and then I could peace out. To draw a line under things, y'know? Tie a little bow on this whole writing experiment of mine and then move on to...I don't know. Something else. Nothing? *shrugs* But that fic would be a big undertaking, at least for me. Would probably take a long time. A lot of work. And I ain't exactly drowning in free time. Plus, the aforementioned not-having-written-a-word-in-ages thing. I don't know.

We'll see, I guess.

If you read all of this, first of all - I am so very sorry, LOL. Second, thank you. If you're someone who's read anything I've put out there in the last two years, thank you. From the bottom of my heart, thank you. There's been...a lot of ups and downs, but overall, I'm really glad that I was able to get back into this, even if it didn't last too long. I'm pretty proud of a lot of the fics I managed to write, and while I know I was never the most popular girl in school, I hope that some of my silly stories entertained you. Made you laugh, or distracted you from the awfulness of reality for a spell. God knows, that's what all of your fics, and this fandom in general, did for me. Y'all are so nice. Creative, supportive, funny. It's kinda comforting, knowing that the fandom is still going strong. You kids have fun! Maybe this is goodbye, or maybe I'll channel that wrestler mentality and have 'One more match!' and then I'll retire. Who knows? But regardless, I'm glad I got to do this. No regrets. Well, maybe some, LOL. But for the most part...yeah. Shit was fun, yo. I did the damn thing.

OK, I'll shut up now, I promise *awkwardly finger guns my way out of the room*

[whysamwhy123]

Never got around to doing this before, so fuck it, I'll do it now!

WriteSamWrite - Works | Archive of Our Own

You can find all of my fics here (you need an account to read 'em because that's just how I roll) I tend to jump from pairing to pairing without warning, with a lot of rarepairs mixed in between. Nowadays, I mostly write OrangeHook, but there's some Hookhausen there too, and a little bit of JungleHook and Dustjim. Oh, and I recently started a self-indulgent Ricky/Christian AU that I'm weirdly invested in, if that somehow interests y'all. I'm the slowest writer imaginable, but I'm steadily plucking away at a bunch of stuff right now, and while a lot of it is Weird, who knows, you just might find something that appeals to you!

wrestling fic writers!!

i have decided to be the change i wanna see, so lets do a nice little thing for each other, as a community full of incredible and talented writers. yes this is writer specific only, but thats cause thats where the main problem of people not interacting with creative works lies in this fandom as far as i can tell and have seen people talking about it especially in the last couple of months

if you read this, please add links to your written works. it can be just a single fic youre really proud of, your writing blog, your writing tag, your ao3 account, anything where your works can be found

and if you leave your link here, PLEASE check out someone else that has left their works, and interact with them. leave them a comment, even just a kudos, REBLOG their fic, etc. interacting is the keyword i want to emphasize here, along with building a sort of a masterpost of where to find people writing in this fandom

and if you are not a writer, youre still highly encouraged to interact with this post and share it and show love to the writers in this fandom, obviously!! i think that should go without saying, but adding it in anyways

a bit more about my vision and resources and such under the read more, but thats the gist of it. happy linking and please be kind and supportive to each other!! 💜

nobody is too big or too small to add their things on this list. if you write and post anything in this fandom whatsoever, be it fics or drabbles or headcanons, any companies or any kind of ships or reader inserts or any content whatsoever no matter how 'dead dove dont eat' or hell even if its just meta, we welcome all here and nobody can say that one thing is less valid than another. just please tag your content accordingly, especially if theres content warnings, and feel free to mention what you write, who you write, any info you wish to leave that would help people before they click on your links. but even so, that should not and hopefully will not deter people from interacting, no matter what it is. someones trash is another ones treasure, i promise you

and unless the amount gets really overwhelming, im personally going to be checking out everyone that leaves something here. unless it squeaks me out, but even then, i'll spread the word. and i just wish as many people as possible will do the same, and not just use this as a potential board to only get eyes on their stuff. ofc thats also the point, but you should give as much, if not more, than you get. we need to be kind and supportive of one another (besides, from personal experience, if you show love to someone else, they are more likely to do it back than without you taking the first step, so... pay it forward)

as for resources, heres a few links that should be helpful in leaving comments and feedback. of course everyone does their own thing and no comment is too big or too small to leave, but for those who need them. if you have anything you'd like added to this list, dont hesitate to get in touch or drop it in the post yourself!!

101 comment starters

ao3 floating comment box

kudos html

dont know how to comment? easy solutions

a quick hot guide to commenting (by yours truly)

an overall guide to appreciating fanfic writers

and just in general.. leave people comments. leave them asks about their projects. just go over and gush about their work. i know it sounds embarrassing but writers love nothing more than to hear that someone likes what they are doing. if you find a fic that hasnt been updated in forever, comment on it. it might just be the spark the author needs to continue. while kudos and likes are nice, and just as valuable to some, its definitely in the words the people leave for them that matter the most. im not saying this to put pressure on anyone, its just how it is, and i feel like unless people are writers themselves, and even then sometimes, thats just hard to grasp, especially if the writer is a smaller and less popular one who doesnt get a lot of traffic in the first place

i think thats all. just be nice and considered to everyone, reblog peoples works, this post with others add ons and so forth. and if i find anyone talking shit here or at other writers for something they share, you'll be blocked and im probably taking your kneecaps. be fucking nice. we are all struggling here and we need to stick together

happy sharing and commenting 💜💜

[icanseethefuture333]

PAC: “My body is my temple” what your body wishes to tell you ⏳⛲️🔱

“Fountain baby, wash her, make it wet”

“Diamonds hit the sweat”

“Tattoo on her chest, yeah, yeah, yeah”

“I like when my remedies connect”

“That pussy and a bed, like angels in Tibet”

Trigger warning: this reading heavily focuses on body image and may contain content that is triggering or sexually suggestive, viewer discretion is advised.

Pile I:

Shufflemancy -

Movement by Hozier

Dash by Nmixx

Lalala by Naughty Boy ft Sam Smith

Connect with fire, Aromatherapy, Use Your hands, Two of Wands, Nine of Cups, & Four of Swords

"Dear, pile 1,

I hope you are doing well. I wish for you to be free with your body, for you have been blessed with the gift of movement. You are fortunate to have limbs that can twist and turn. Wiggle your hips, try to touch your nose with your tongue, be silly and stop being such a stiff all the time. I know you were told to "sit down" and "be still" as a child but it is time to express yourself in a way you were not allowed to before. Your inner child needs you, I keep them safe, stored inside your belly and in the memories of your brain. I want to tell that you are enough and I love your creativity! I want to be there with you, every step of the way. I, your body, am tense, I wish to embrace the warmth. Visit a spa and receive an aromatherapy treatment or lay on the warm sand. Why do you keep lying in bed? Your life is passing you by. You were blessed with a physical vessel that is capable of movement. I put an emphasis on this because I know you have been feeling fatigued and a lack of motivation. I know about those thoughts you have when you look at me, your body. You have features that you are confident about but I know that when you look at me, you find me simple, in comparison to a figure that might be more dynamic than I. I don't feel offended when you think these thoughts but I do hope that one day you can value me, your body. I know about the smoking or the desire you have to do it, I have no problem with it, but don't let it desensitize you from your senses. Getting high provides an outlet but it should not be used as a substance to escape from your problems (channeled song: High Alone by Sevdaliza). A coping method I would like for you to try is writing your feelings on paper and burning it. You are talented with your hands as well, please look into creating art or careers that involves craftsmanship. Take a pottery / ceramics class if you are wanting a new hobby.

Pile II:

Shufflemancy -

Indigo by Niki

Low by SZA

Alter Ego by Doechii ft. JT

Connect with Your Womb, Hydrate, Flow Like Water, Ace of Wands, Ten of Swords, & Seven of Wands

"Hello pile 2,

I am so proud of how far you have come! You are such a strong individual, I know the emotions that you store deep down. The side of you that the world does not see. You shine bright like the moon but I, your body, get to see your dark side. I know that you have goals and aspirations, you want to prove everybody who told you could never do it that they're wrong. There was a lack of representation for your body type and I know that when you were a teenager, this made you feel very self conscious. The rolls, the stretch marks, and cellulite that developed on your canvas was bound to happen, for that is the transition into adulthood. I know that you get upset sometimes at the level of weight, height, and density that I carry, but instead of letting these insecurities stop you, you have truly made a path for yourself and for others with similar a body type. You are growing and learning that the way to happiness is acceptance. Although, you hide behind a persona that is masked with confidence, people commend you for your ability to communicate boundaries, and how you comfortably express yourself through your style, but underneath this veil of deception, you are someone who desires love. You know that you are a successful and powerful being with immense sexual energy but there is a lack of vulnerability. In order to release these burdens and be more in touch with your emotions, connect with your menstrual cycle. Listen to what I, your body, am telling you to do during this time. Drink plenty of fluids and uptake your vitamins by eating fruits or making smoothies/juices. I know that you are dominant by nature but allow others to guide you in life and to provide you the help you need. If you are seeking a goal, the universe will place them into your life to assist you. "Be like water, my friend" - Go with the flow and see where the waves will take you. You should also take the time to go swimming or relax by a body of water (pool, lake, river, etc). Go buy that bikini or swimsuit you've been wanting to wear, you will look so amazing in it."

Pile III:

Shufflemancy -

On My Mama by Victoria Monét

I'm That Girl by Beyoncé

Bossy by Kelis ft. Too $hort

Connect with Your Ancestors, Ground Yourself, Build Strength, Temperance, Six of Wands, & The Emperor

"Pile 3,

If you expected me to be sweet like the other piles you are surely mistaken! I am here to give you the cold hard truth, I don't sugarcoat nothing. I, your body, am a descendant of your ancestors. Your shape was passed down from the maternal figures in your family. I don't care what other bodies look like, I know, that me, your body, is tea! I don't need to be hourglass, pear, or any other man made name of a body shape to be considered "sexy". These are illusions that the industry creates to make people feel insecure about themselves to get work done or buy products. You do not need any of that, you are gorgeous!!! I need you to wake the hell up and realize that. Those random body aches and cramps you get is because I am trying to get your attention when your ass ignores me. You will not look like those people you have been comparing yourself to, look at the beauty that your family possesses, that you possess. You need to ground yourself whenever you feel self conscious because of your reality. Those videos and images you see on social media are not real, it is a fake virtual world. You and I, are real, we need to reconnect, my love. Mediate more, do yoga, anything to bring your mind back to focus on you. You also need to be patient, if you wish to obtain a physical goal, you need to build endurance and strength. Quick fixes does not last and will only make the situation worst, invest your time in the gym. Bring your attention on balancing your masculine and feminine energy. You can highlight my qualities by sculpting me, your body. I am a piece of art. You need to learn to appreciate me as I have adored you, even when you reject me."

Pile IV:

Shufflemancy -

Summer 2020 by Jhené Aiko

Evergreen (You Didn't Deserve Me At All) by Omar Apollo

You Know Wassup by Kehlani

Connect with the Earth, Be Still, Beauty Ritual, Two of Pentacles (reversed), The Empress, & Knight of Cups

"Oh, pile 4,

You have been dealing with a lot. I know you are still recovering from that relationship, I feel it in our heart. Your world was turned upside down after being with them. Detachment is necessary at this time in order to heal, they never deserved you, and I am glad they no longer have access to me, your body - for we are too beautiful to settle for less. I hope you can see how serene life can be when you are single. The most precious time we have left on this planet is with ourselves, the memories we can make just by being on our own, and discovering the complex layers of our psyche. Allow yourself to be still in this moment in your life and reflect on how you are currently feeling. Do not focus on the past or the future but instead your present, for it is a gift. Spend time in nature or connect with animals, your nervous system will greatly appreciate it. You need comfort and relaxation at this time. Perhaps visit your favorite place or take a walk through the park, whichever you feel most comfortable with. It has been a while since you done something for me. I know you have not been feeling your best but it would be nice if we could a beauty ritual together. How about a nice warm bath with lots of bubbles and suds <3? You could paint your nails, do your skincare routine, massage your scalp, whatever makes you feel the most happy and beautiful. A little ASMR session could be fun as well. I, your body, wish to be your best friend. I look up to you so much, even though I have matured, I still feel like that little child playing in the sandbox or playing on the playground. Do you remember those times? Sorry, I sound nostalgic, hehe. Its just good to finally speak to you, I love you so much yet you never got to know till now, just like how Joy adores Riley from Inside Out. I want you to be happy in life. I know that things have been rough for you but I hope just like those moments where you cried as a child when you scrapped your knee, that this could be a healing process we can overcome, together. Take care, my lovely, pile 4. Love - Your body."

Pile V:

Shufflemancy -

Unfold by Alina Baraz

Step On Up by Ariana Grande

Tia Tamera by Doja Cat ft. Rico Nasty

Chanting, Pleasure, Create Art, Three of Pentacles, The World, & Two of Cups

"Heyyy, pile 5!

I'm not a regular body, I'm a cool body! I want to help you embody this mindset of being unstoppable and powerful. You have so much potential that needs to be put into motion. I want you to work on your stamina and start shifting into gear towards your goals. I hope you are feeling pumped - I know I am! I want you to walk into the room as if you own the place. You need to work on your confidence, straighten your posture, and keep your chin up high. Practicing affirmations or chanting lyrics from uplifting music could you get in you in good spirits. I want you to feel like the diva that you are meant to be. Also honey, I am still cute and perky, SHOW ME OFF! I love when people look at me, your body. I want attention and compliments just as much as you do. You are like a work of art, stop shying behind others and covering me up. Not to be brash but when is the last time you pleasured yourself?! Its been ages since I had a good orgasm. You need to learn to put yourself on the pedestal and stop only focusing on what make others feel good, when have you ever put yourself first? Exactly. I want you to march into that bedroom and focus on making yourself feel sexy. Adore me, wear lingerie, do something to get me excited! Its been a dry spell, so please make sure I am wet first and be gentle. I would like for you to to make me squirt for the first time (be gentle but not that gentle <3). My bad, is that too forward? I just want somebody to match my freak and you could totally do it. I am flirting with you? yes! That's how I want you to feel about me, your body. You should learn to paint, maybe even paint yourself nude, who's gonna judge? Nobody is there to see, unless you want them to see. Wouldn't it be fun if we went to a art class and allowed those peasants to paint us like the god/goddess we are? Not to brag but I know I'm good looking, teehee! In all seriousness, I want you to know that the opportunities in life are endless and you have so much potential sometimes that I don't think you realize it. I am so eager to explore my senses. I want you to travel different countries, eat some yummy food, create art, have a romantic fling, and make love everywhere in the house (if that's your thing I mean... no pressure). Anyways, what I am trying to say is be more adventurous, you don't always have to be responsible, isn't that what being young is for? How can you learn from your mistakes and gain wisdom if you are always wanting to be traditional and focused."

Pile VI:

Shufflemancy -

Focus by H.E.R

Cozy Girl by Baby Tate

Chill Pad Deluxe by Majid Jordan

Write a Gratitude List, Read, Make a Meal, Five of Pentacles, Seven of Pentacles, & Page of Cups

"I'm sleepy, pile 6,

I need a really good nap. Could we just stay in? I love being comfortable and relaxed in bed. To be truthful with you, and you might already know this, I am an introverted body. I do not like being in crowds or around other people for too long because it really zaps my energy :<! I prefer being at home, tending to the planets, and being in a zen environment. Could you make me a cup of tea? I would really like something warm and comforting to drink. I hope we can be in a environment one day that is something we always dreamed of - peaceful and zen, a sanctuary for us and our loved ones. I sound old fashioned, don't I now? I guess you could consider me an old soul, I am sorry if I hold you back at times from getting to know new people or make friends, I am still recovering from our past struggles. I also feel like I disappoint you at times. Could you please write about what you're grateful for when it comes to me, your body? I need to hear words of affirmation, for I feel I've been beat down enough by the world, I don't want you to hate me too, it makes me sad. I forgive you for all the times you ever been upset with me and whoever has hurt us. I think we should start over and get to know each other again. I want to help you with your health, I know you have gut issues. We need to eat out less and learn how to cook home cooked meals. It would be nice if we made a recipe book! I love your cooking, even if it sometimes taste a little funny. I feel childish, do you see me, your body, as childlike? I revert to this state to protect myself, I am so sorry, I'm very sensitive. If I could, I would feel like crying but that's a good thing, I could finally release everything I have been pushing down. Let's cozy up under a fluffy blanket, lay on our pretty head on big pillow, and read a book. Could you read me a bedtime story? Oh I would really like that. Maybe even buy me a teddy bear? I like to cuddle, it helps me fall asleep. I also like when you wear silky pajamas or t shirts with sweatpants, its the best combo. You are naturally so pretty. If I could hug you I would, do you mind hugging me? If I had a voice, it would be soft like Winnie the Pooh. I like tummy rubs. I am grateful for you taking such good care of me, I will do my best to support you. Thank you for all you have done and will do for me."

Pile VII:

Shufflemancy -

The Truman Show by Sylvan Lacue ft Xavier Omar

Insane by Summer Walker

Healthy by PRETTYMUCH

Spend Time with Friends, Make an Altar, Deep Breathing. King of Swords, Nine of Swords, & Page of Pentacles

"Breathe, pile 7!

Sheesh! Are you okay??? What's the rush, dude? You need to chill, I know you would like to accomplish your goals but you're making me, your body, sick! Forget about FOMO and catching up with others, slow and steady can still win the race. You have to be smart with how you use your energy. Instead of trying to tackle everything all at once, how about making a schedule and breaking it up into smaller tasks? It would help with all the stress you're experiencing. You are creating unnecessary tension in your life, stop comparing yourself to others, or feeling like you need to buy something because of a trend, you are missing out on special moments because you are in such a hurry to- well, grow up! You need to take some time to relax and interact with friends, I could use a really good belly laugh. Have a movie night with your besties and put the weight of the world away. I don't ask for much but all I ask is that you please take care of your anxiety before it becomes a concern. Making an altar with your favorite pictures and trinkets to calm you down could help provide you a safe space, you could even decorate it with flowers, candles, or string lights, whatever makes you happy! When you sit down at your altar, practice taking deep breaths, and empty your mind. This will provide clarity and help you calm down. If you need guidance or wisdom in life, please come to me, your body, before going to others. I can help you make the right decisions, pay attention to your intuition, and the signals I give you, for it might even save your life one day."

Pile VIII:

Shufflemancy -

Jealousy, Jealousy by Olivia Rodrigo

Splinter by FIG

Prom Queen by Beach Bunny

Sweet Treat, Sound Healing, Alone Time, The Tower, Eight of Pentacles, & The High Priestess (reversed)

"What's up, doll? I-I mean Pile 8!

I don't mean to pester ya. I bet you didn't expect me to sound like a new jersey housewife, eh? Or is it Harley Quinn??? Bugs Bunny?! Eh, whateva. Listen pudding. You are sweet as a cupcake, ooo wee! What a delight you are! You and me, doll, we make quite the pair, you know- given that I'm your body and all. Listen babe, you mind if I call you babe, sugar? I know you've been a bit down in the dumps for being "fun sized". Whether ya petite or a slim jim, what's it to ya?! Who cares if others got a bit more pushin' to the cushion? You're absolutely friggin' adorable! Keep it cute and perky. You're like Sandy Dee from Grease before she got the makeover and what not. The spice you need is that confidence Sandy got when she mustered up the courage to change up her look and join The Pink Ladies. You gotta show these fools you're not just somebody they could push around! Hun, to be frank with you, I'm really tense, I get all tough in the muscles because you're always being picked on and it makes me protective of you. It's hard for me, ya body, to let my guard down. . Bake me some goodies will ya? Whenever you're having a tough day, reward yourself with some treats. I want you to stop caring about how much you eat or where it's gonna go, you're perfect the way you are. Also why don't you listen to some music to unwind? Jam in your room, get a instrument, sing, listen to frequencies, do whatever brings you peace toots. As much as I am good at interacting with the peoples, I think it's time for us to get some alone time. We gotta start from the ground up because I know you're struggling with your confidence because of what happened to ya. Ya know- that traumatic event we don't really like to talk about? Yeah you know what I mean. I wish I could beat up those stupid bullies who made you cry. I know that from a young age, you always compared yourself to the popular kids and those celebrities from the magazines but doll, peaking early doesn't mean its gonna last forever. Being a late bloomer has its advantages, you have the brains and the beauty to match with it. I want you to know that you got something really special, kiddo! And I'm not saying it just because I'm your body. I want you to focus on building a career and getting a good education. Trust me when I say this, as you get older, I'm gonna spread out in all the right places, you won't even know when it will hit ya! I'll make it move like water, if you know what I mean, baby!!!"

Pile IX:

Shufflemancy -

In A Good Way by Faye Webster

Put Your Records On by Corinne Bailey Rae

How Sweet by NewJeans

Journal, Look to the Stars, Family, Wheel of Fortune, Ace of Pentacles, & The Fool

"Greetings, pile 9,

You have arrived to your destination! I find you to be so ethereal and beautiful. I hope you don't try to diminish your beauty by wanting to fit in, you look your best when you stand out. I like when you wear flowy clothing, it makes you sparkle like a celestial being from outer space. You should dressing according to the signs in your birth chart, it could help you attract abundance. Are you wishing to manifest your dream body? It is possible, for I, your body, are transformative. We constantly growing and changing in life. You should journal your thoughts and ideas, watch your goals come into reality. I want you to really shoot for the stars! Invest your money in taking care of your health. There are health issues that are genetic and run in your family, instead of fighting it, focus on taking care of yourself. Buying the right foods, supplements, and vitamins could be crucial at this time. I believe giving gifts and being generous to family members would help promote good spirits. If you are wanting to try something new lately, perhaps traveling, or going on vacation, now would be a good time to do so. I would like for us to go for a run, jog, or a walk! Let's visit places we never been to before, something magical is waiting to happen. I, your body, would also like a little buddy. Could we get a pet? So that they can accompany us in our jogs through the neighborhood, that would be fun!"

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 4 - Too Much Green

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: Chapter 4 doing what it always does in my writing. Enjoy!

Chapter Title from Fame < Infamy by Fall Out Boy

Word Count: 12.3k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Bucky has a talk with Sam, and you adapt. Contains usual tags.

Tags: Bucky Barnes/Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, smut, angst, fluff

Chapter 3 - Chapter 5

Read on A03!

Bucky didn’t know who decided Sam should be allowed to have an office, but he needed to have very firm, loud words with them.

Steve had never gotten an office, and he’d been perfectly fine. Sam barely even used the office. He kept it because he liked saying my office with a smug expression, and making Bucky sit in the waiting room like this was a doctor’s appointment and not a serious, time sensitive meeting. 

Because the sun was going to rise soon, and Bucky wouldn’t be following Her to work. He’d go back to his apartment, and do flat, mundane things to fill his time. Sam would find someone else to trail Her around, and She’d probably make their lives living hell, and they’d stick around because they knew how to do that.

Bucky had warned Sam he wasn’t made for this. That he’d literally been designed to hunt and kill, not shield and protect and care for. This was how it would’ve ended anyway, but he’d hoped—just for the sake of his own, fragile anger and resolve—that it would’ve crumbled because She caved. Because Bucky would’ve been right. But he hadn’t even lasted three weeks before everything had fallen apart, and She’d shot him in the gut like a sick dog. 

He’d shot himself in the gut. He’d been the paranoid asshole, and She’d gotten exactly what she’d wanted. Bucky didn’t have enough will to push it, and he didn’t have the strength to push Her. She was… stronger than he’d expected. And he could still see Her shaking slightly, still hear the fury in Her voice echoing off the vacant, blank walls of his apartment. 

It wasn’t guilt or shame, burning and crawling over his skin. It couldn’t be. He had nothing to be guilty of, because he’d been doing his job. Checking all the vulnerabilities. Making sure everything was in its proper place, including Her. It didn’t get to matter than She was beautiful and smart and bursting with a wrath that seemed bigger than the world. It mattered that She’d been lying, and hiding things. 

Things that didn’t seem that important now, when he’d been so goddamn wrong, and the image of Her in the office—in the dark, burning up from within in a way Bucky could see—seemed to be branding itself onto his brain.

Things that really didn’t have to matter to him at all anymore, because Bucky was done. He’d gotten out of it. He wouldn’t be breaking his word to Sam—She’d kicked him out, he hadn’t just abandoned his post—and he could just keep going through the motions until things, slowly, became better again.

And this would be fast. He’d tell Sam that the little arrangement had been a disaster—he’d throw in a I told you so, just to really sell it and bury down how he still felt Her teeth marks over his lungs—and go home. Maybe go to the grocery store. He’d never have to step foot in that godawful Subway again, or pretend he couldn’t see all those old, skin-sagging assholes scanning over Her body as she moved, because that wouldn’t be his business. He’d hear Her name in passing in the future and think nothing of it. Sam might mention one day that they’d worked out the Hydra thing, and Bucky would shrug because it wouldn’t be his fucking problem. 

He definitely wouldn’t check, because he’d have other, more important things to do.

He couldn’t think of any right now, but he would. He’d find some. 

That was how this whole getting better thing was supposed to work, and Sam was always on his ass about it anyway, so really this was an improvement for everyone. Sam got to find someone who would actually be good at watching Her. She’d probably have a lot of free time on Her hands, now that She wasn’t putting an impossible amount of effort into making Bucky go insane. Bucky would… Maybe he’d take another online college course. He’d heard Her say a lot of big, weird words and phrases that couldn’t possibly be real while he’d stood guard at Her door. There was probably an English class or something, and he could learn a bigger word that She didn’t know, just so he could throw it in Her pretty, annoying face-

He wasn’t going to see Her again. He didn’t know why his brain kept acting like he’d walk behind Her to the subway in the morning—he’d almost walked to Sam’s office instead of using his motorcycle, as if he’d been ready to go to Her apartment after—because he wouldn’t. He was free.

He kept seeing Her eyes, staring at him in an imprinted, faded picture in his head—full of that thing, narrowed in anger and unblinking, like She could shred him apart with a thought—but he’d never have to hold Her glare again. 

Everything would go back to normal.

The clock in Sam’s waiting room kept ticking. On and on, taunting Bucky and making his hands fist in his lap. He hated that sound. It pushed itself deeper and deeper and deeper into his brain, and it was like the click of a safety on a gun, or the tap of a doctor’s pen against their paper as they watched him. Observed him. Looked into him and saw the Solider and nothing more, figured out how to grab his anger by the throat and pull it to the surface, until angry was all Bucky could manage to be-

Something snapped through the air, and when Bucky looked down, he’d broken his water bottle. 

Sam had given him that water bottle. Something about hydration being important for robots too. 

Now Bucky was going to have to tell Sam two bad things. And they only had two damn hours until someone had to walk Her to work, because Bucky wasn’t going to but if the Hydra threat was real, She shouldn’t be allowed to just wander the Subway alone. She could be scary—unreasonably so, a little like a bird morphing into a dragon without warning—but Hydra wouldn’t care.

If they knew who She was, the dumb little disguises of sunglasses and baseball caps wouldn’t work, and Bucky didn’t trust Her not to do something stupid like put in earbuds so She couldn’t hear anyone coming. 

She listened to Her music too loud, all the time. It was another thing in his log, that Sam should tell Her to stop doing that, because it was a health hazard, and if She got kidnapped because of it, that would be really fucking annoying. Sam would get all angry, and they’d have to deal with all the assholes at Stark Industries for capturing their princess, and Bucky would probably have to save Her, and she wouldn’t even say thank you because She hated him-

His pants were wet. Cold and sticking to his skin, because he hadn’t stopped squeezing the broken water bottle, and the clock was still ticking, and Sam still wasn’t opening the goddamn door-

His name was James Buchanan Barnes. It was 3am on a Monday, and Sam’s office has very ugly, gray carpets. He liked that he’d been able to ride his motorcycle here. He disliked the little cactus Sam had put in the corner of the room, because it felt like it was taunting him. He needed Sam to open the door now, before he broke the clock and the crushed the cactus. He wanted this to all be done with, so he could go back to a routine that didn’t make him want to jump off a building and drag Her down with him.

“Buck?”

Bucky’s head turned to see Sam frowning at him from in front of the elevator, a soft ding ringing through the air as the doors closed behind them.

Sam hadn’t even been here. Bucky could’ve just broken into his apartment.

That was annoying. 

“Man, it’s two in the morning, what are you doing here?”

“Three in the morning.” Bucky grunted, pushing to his feet, and Sam just rolled his eyes. 

“Yeah, and that’s such a big difference-“

“Sam.” Bucky crossed his arms, keeping his voice as flat as possible. “We need to talk.”

Sam only raised his brows. “Do we?”

“Yes.”

“If this is about what I think it is,” Sam moved past Bucky, opening his office door with a shrug. “I don’t think we do need to talk. I think you should be headin’ home, Buck, before-“

Sam said Her name, Bucky felt a muscle in his jaw tick, and he cut Sam off before this dragged on longer than it needed to. This should be quick. Bucky should be home—alone and bored and back to routine—before the sun was up.

“I’m not doing that anymore.”

Sam stopped in his steps, running a hand over his face as he turned to Bucky with a glare.

“Bucky, you promised me you wouldn’t fuckin’ quit on this-“

“I didn’t quit.” He snapped. “I got fired.”

“Fired? Nobody can fire you, man, that’s not how this-“

Bucky said Her name, and it sounded a little smoother off his tongue this time. But now it was bitter, laced with a memory of Her spitting at him with cold hatred that he’d really, truly earned. “She fired me.” Bucky muttered, forcing himself to hold Sam’s gaze. “Said she’d do the lockdown, but I don’t believe her, so I’d send someone to make sure she’s-“

“Bucky.” Sam’s voice wad low. Firm. Serious. That couldn’t be good. “What’d you do.”

“Why do you always assume I did something-“

“Cause you usually do something! What did you do-“

She’d told Bucky he could lie. Tell Sam She was impossible to work with, or had thrown a stapler at him. 

It was an incredibly specific example. It would probably work just fine. 

Bucky couldn’t manage to say it. He’d been the asshole. He’d crossed a line, and part of recovery was supposed to be telling the truth. He didn’t want to tell the truth, but he also tried to let a poorly crafted story fall out of his mouth, only to stare at Sam as the words lodged in the throat.

Lying had always made his gut twist just a little. A little voice that sounded like Steve would always whisper that good men didn’t lie.

Bucky wasn’t a good man.

And that just made this so much fucking harder.

“Bucky.” Sam grunted, narrowing his eyes. “You don’t start talking now, and I’m gonna call her in so we can all have a chat together.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “So she’s allowed to be up at three-“

“She’s up at three anyway. And she’s not waiting for me in my office like a stalker-“

“I am not a stalker-“

“You’re lookin’ at me like one. Just-“ Sam sighed, shaking his head slightly. “Spit out whatever you did, man, I’m sure it ain’t that bad-“

“I broke into her office.” Bucky grunted, the challenge of not that bad somehow spurring the truth out of him in a second. “She caught me. I got fired.”

Sam blinked at him. “You- is breaking into offices a full time job for you now or somethin’?”

Bucky scowled. “No. And I didn’t break into your office, Sam, I was in the waiting room-“

“You were the only asshole in the damn building, I’m counting it. And that’s not the point, Bucky, what the fuck were you doin’-“

“Thought she might be Hydra.” He muttered, his words pushed through his teeth. “Was looking for evidence.”

“Evidence.” Sam repeated, his voice low and taut, and Bucky nodded.

“Desk seemed like a good place to find it.”

“And did you?”

Bucky blinked at that. He’d expected the yelling to a start here. “Uh-“

“You find the evidence that she’s Hydra, Bucky?” Sam’s voice was too flat. Bucky was pretty sure this wasn’t a real question. “Find her red ledger, the big file readin’ I’m Hydra?”

He actually had looked for that. 

Sam didn’t seem genuinely interesting in hearing about it, though.

“No.” Bucky muttered. “Like I said, she caught me and tossed me out-“

“You tell her you thought she was Hydra?”

Bucky managed to hold Sam’s firm, unwavering gaze, to shrug like this was nothing, and ignore the turn of his stomach as the vision of Her—almost feral in the dark—flared in his mind.

“Maybe, yeah.”

“Jesus Christ, Bucky.” Sam ran a hand over his face, and he wasn’t angry. Bucky had seen Sam angry before. 

This felt more like disappointed. And that was louder in Bucky’s brain. Heavier. A weight on his chest that he had fucked this up, that Sam obviously did care about Her, that She’d probably—somehow—earned it more than Bucky had, and people liked Her when nobody liked Bucky, so of course Sam was disappointed. Bucky had been tasked with watching some sort of fucked up, insufferable, living goddess and he’d let his goddamn emotions and paranoia and how something about her just seemed impossible—too something, too beautiful, or loud, or angry, or smart, or likable—get in the way.

“You’re gonna need to apologize to her.” Sam snapped, moving to stand behind his desk. “Get her some flowers. Pick them, don’t buy them. She’ll know the difference.“

Bucky gaped at him. “Why the hell would I get her flowers, Sam, I-“

“Because it’s part of the apology, dumbass. You fucked up, you say I’m sorry, and we all move on.”

“Did you not hear me?“ Bucky braced his arms on the desk, narrowing his eyes. “She fired me. You’re gonna have to find someone else-“

“You promised.” Sam shrugged, and Bucky scoffed.

“I don’t think she cares about my promises.”

“And I don’t care if she fired you, Buck. I’m rehiring you, and you’ve got work in,” Sam glanced at his watch with a small frown. “An hour ‘till your girl is gonna be up. Get the flowers. Tell her you’re a paranoid old asshole, and you’re sorry, but she’s not dyin’ to Hydra so she’s stuck with you.”

“Sam.” Bucky hissed through his teeth. “She fired me. There are- You’re Captain America, you have other options that aren’t me-“

“Maybe I do,” Sam raised his chin, giving Bucky a firm, pointed glare. “And maybe I don’t give a shit about those other options, because I’m trustin’ you with this.”

“I told you-“

“Yeah, I know. You’re not a fit, you don’t wanna do this, she fired you, I don’t care.” Sam let out a long breath, dropping down in his chair and glancing over Bucky’s shoulder. “Lock the door.”

Bucky frowned. “I locked it when I came in-“

“Good.” Sam muttered, glancing around the room like he was checking for ghosts or bodies pushing out of the walls, listening to their conversation. “Look, Buck- It’s gotta be you. I don’t trust anyone else, and you’re a paranoid dickbag-“

“That’s fucking rude-“

“It’s true, Sargent Snooping in a Girl’s Desk.” Sam snapped, and Bucky’s frown deepened. She wasn’t a girl. She wasn’t even a woman. She was something a step above, that was made of the longer shadows of his bedroom and the worst fire that pushed up his throat. 

“I was being careful.” Bucky grunted, holding his ground. “We’ve been burned before, Sam, you know that.”

“Yeah, I do. But she isn’t a threat. I told you that, and-“ Sam cut himself off with a shake of his head. “That’s not the point of what I’m sayin’ Buck. This is- This might be big, man. Hydra- I got something.”

Bucky felt his whole body go rigid. 

He’d known Hydra never really died. They’d crumbled with SHEILD, when he’d been freed, but they’d been international. Huge. Even Bucky hadn’t been entirely sure just how deep they ran, but he’d known that they were out there. Weakened, but out there. 

Sam had said that like they were growing. 

Like this was more than just a threat.

“Sam,” Bucky muttered, keeping his words low and careful. “Say what the hell are you’re talking about.”

“When you were with them, you ever hear about somethin’ called Project Ouroboros?”

The Soldat scratched at the base of his skull. It would’ve been one of those memories, if Bucky did remember. The ones that were washed over and fogged with electricity, the Soldat programming buzzing and in control as Bucky just folded, fading into a ghost in his own mind. Not himself, and not seeing and hearing anything Hydra didn’t want him too, the whole world lined with a white-hot frost that kept most thoughts in a shattered stasis.

The fact the Soldat was stirring at all meant that Sam’s words meant something. But they all were in that fractured haze.

So Bucky shook his head. “No, not that I remember. But you know memory isn’t my strong suit, Sam-“

Sam rolled his eyes. “Shut up, man. Just thought I’d ask, cause it’s seemin’ like something Hydra woulda had Mr. Murder on.”

“You gonna tell me what it is, or am I just supposed to wait until it’s a problem-“

“It’s a problem now,” Sam sighed, and Bucky felt his fists clench. “The working theory is that, when Hydra was workin’ in SHIELD, they had some, uh, extra projects.” Sam said slowly, watching Bucky with a weary expression. He wasn’t afraid of Bucky—if Sam got credit for anything, it was that he’d never been afraid of Bucky—but he was cautious of his reaction. His words were too carefully chosen to not be.

Another really bad sign.

“Of course they had projects.” Bucky muttered, the knit of his brow starting to form a small headache. “They were 90% crazy mad scientists, Sam. Just say was Ouroboros is-“

“We’re not sure.” Sam said, rubbing at his jaw and effectively ignoring Bucky’s glare. “All the shit is redacted, and I’ve only found it buried under a million other projects, but it’s seemin’ like, maybe, they were makin’ something called the Leviathan. You-“

“Don’t ask me if I heard about it.”

“I wasn’t gonna-“

“Yeah, you goddamn were.”

Sam paused, and raised his brows. “Well, have you?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Shut the fuck up.“

Sam chuckled raising his arms in surrender. “Sometimes it’s too easy, man. Like candy from a baby-“

“Don’t give candy to babies.” Bucky snapped. “They don’t have teeth.”

Sam snorted. “You’re always just a bundle of fun, Buck-“

“The Leviathan.” Bucky grunted, because if he kept entraining this, they’d be here until noon. “You brought it up, Sam. Say what the hell it is.”

There was a long pause, and Sam let out a heavy breath as he glanced back to the door, dropped his voice, and gave Bucky an almost apologetic look.

“No smashin’ anything.”

“Sam-“

“All signs are, currently, pointing to Hydra making a doomsday device, and puttin’ it on standby ‘till they need it.”

Bucky felt like there was a plate of iron, crushing down on his chest. “A fucking doomsday device.”

Sam grimaced, his nod tight. “Yeah.”

Bucky ran a hand over his face. The iron was going to weigh down on his spine, bury him too deep in his own body. “If Hydra’s had a doomsday weapon, where the hell have they been hiding it?”

“Don’t know yet.” Sam muttered. “That’s part of the workin’ theory. All of this is- Right now, it’s hypothetical. Hydra may have finished the Leviathan, but there are almost no records that project Ouroboros was ever completed. It could just be scraps in a warehouse-“

“Or it could be a doomsday device.” Bucky hissed. “In fucking Hydra’s hands-“

“Not in their hands yet.” Sam shrugged. “That’s what we need to work out. Over two dozen previously dead Hydra projects have been uncovered in the past six years, Buck. If there is a Hydra doomsday weapon, they might not have had the manpower to use it during the blip, but they sure as shit have it now, and we need to find it before they do.”

“Then why are you still making me stick with babysitting.” Bucky raised his brows, drawing to his full height as he held Sam’s gaze. “If Hydra’s gaining ground, you need me in the field, Sam-“

“I’ve got guys in the field.” Sam didn’t balk, his words set. Firm. Unmovable. “I need you watching the civilian who’s gotten tangled up in this cause-“

“Cause?” Bucky jaw clenched, and an impossible amount of further strain entered his body. “You think she’s tangled in this, Sam? You think-“

“I don’t think you’re right, Bucky.” Sam said, voice flat. “You know you ain’t right. There are some- It’s complicated. Even she don’t know why they want her, but they want her, and that’s all we got to go on right now. Hydra’s wakin’ up, she’s the only thing we know they want, and I am not losing her just because you two can’t play nice.“

Bucky rolled his eyes, lowing his voice to under his breath. “She started it-“

“I know she did, that’s why I said you two.” Sam let out another long sigh. He’d been doing that a lot lately. “Bucky, I’ve told you, man. You’re the only one I trust here. If it helps you can think of it as protecting a package, I just need to not lose someone I care about to a bunch of fuckin’ nazi assholes. Okay?”

Bucky grunted, and it wouldn’t help to think of it as a package. He’d been trying to think of it as even less—just a mission or case to crack—but it kept just moving back to being Her. She was too loud, too attention demanding, too entirely consuming of Bucky’s brain for him to just pretend She was nothing. 

That might the most annoying thing about Her. How She might only be crude and taunting to Bucky, and he still may not believe that Her whole human goddess thing wasn’t an act, but he had yet to see a part of Her that didn’t draw the entire world in like She was made of something heavier than gravity. And Bucky was—tragically—still a part of that world. He wasn’t machine enough to be exempt from how She’d laugh, and it would be an almost musical, siren-like sound.

And She laughed a lot. That was another annoying thing about Her.

Pretending She was a package wasn’t an option, and if not because of the laugh, because he could still hear the venom in Her voice when she’d spat doll right back in his face like the word was a bullet. Package and doll seemed to fall into a similar category Bucky didn’t have a name for yet.

He didn’t want to think of Her as normal and human—it would make him picture Her curled up and pallid on that bathroom floor, force him to think about the bags under Her eyes that were somehow heavier than his—but package felt cruel.

It was almost 4am. She’d be up soon, and he needed to make a game plan to tell Her they were stuck together—Bucky had a feeling if he kept arguing, Sam would pull the part of your pardon card and mean it—in a way that didn’t get him hit with a stapler. 

“Bucky, I’m gonna need to hear an okay-“

“Okay.” He grunted. This was important to Sam, and would help fuck with Hydra. He just had to keep repeating that this was important to Sam and would fuck with Hydra, and he’d be able to handle it. “Sam?”

Sam raised his brows, and Bucky chose his words very carefully, starting with Her name. He needed to practice that one. It still sounded like a code.

“How long you known her?”

“Long.” Sam shrugged. “Met the kid when she was-“ He cut himself off with a frown. “In a weird place is the best way to put it, I think.”

Bucky kept his face neutral, adding weird place to his log. “Weird place?”

“Yeah. Complicated place. For a while.” Sam sighed. “Good she got in with Stark when she did. Even if it was Stark, better than...” 

Sam trailed off, shook his head again, and Bucky frowned. 

“Better than what?”

“Not my shit to say. I ain’t a snitch, Bucky-“

“I’m not asking to you to snitch-“

“Yeah, you are, and I’m more afraid of her than I am of you. She’ll kill me, you’ll just bitch and whine.” Sam gave him a pointed look. “You gotta stop fishing for information and do your damn job.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Stupid job.” He muttered under his breath, moving to the door. “Glad I crushed that damn water bottle-“

“You crushed what-“

“Get over it, Sam. You can have me guarding that fucking wolf of a girl, or I can keep that water bottle in one piece. You don’t get both.”

Bucky opened the door, and when he looked back Sam was watching him with a frown. 

“So you’re gonna watch her?”

“Said I would, didn’t I?” Bucky muttered, glancing at that goddamn clock on the wall.

The sun was almost up.

She’d be up with it. Probably—if Bucky had been reading the slump of Her shoulders and unreasonable amount of coffee and energy drink She consumed right—before it.

“See you later, Sam.”

“Try not to kill each other!” Sam called as Bucky closed the door. “Get the flowers!”

——————

The Boy is purring on your lap. It’s low and smooth and grounding.

You need it right now. You need the reminder that for at least the Boy, he can be alive and have it not hurt. That you’re not burning and destroying everything you touch, because the Boy is happy and content here. With you. 

It’s going to break your heart to move him, but you can see the frosted shapes of sunlight starting to break through the windows and dance over the floor. You’re going to need to be up soon, make a pot of coffee, and go to work. Because that’s what you do. You sit on the floor in a self-imposed exile from your bed, and then you light up for the Show and pretend the world isn’t eating you alive. 

But you can feel it. You can feel the pain of the long, long night—longer shadows and heavier air that no amount of coffee is going to be able to cure—and you can watch the light on the floor and know that it’s not shining on you.

If you moved your foot an inch to the side, it would. 

But that feels blasphemous. 

So you’ll stay here a little longer until you need to animate yourself, and pretend you feel nothing painful or impossible or irrational at all. 

Sam hasn’t called you to check in on the lockdown, so you’re going to go to the office. Maybe he’s assuming you’ll just go into lockdown, but Sam’s not that stupid—and he knows you too well to think you’d just roll over like a bitch—so he’s either put a new detail on you, of he’s had a moment of clarity and realized that you’re really not worth the resources to protect.

Maybe Barnes didn’t tell him at all, but you don’t really care. That sounds like a Barnes problem, not a you problem. 

You hope he didn’t tell Sam. 

You hope Sam finds out of his own, and Barnes gets his ass thrown off a building. You hope Sam waits until the last second to rescue him. 

Fucking Barnes.

You hadn’t intended on going to the office, but you’d forgotten some papers, and Happy never had to know. And there he’d been. Snooping and calling you Hydra, acting like you’d crawled out of the depths of hell instead of just faked your way into whatever type of cruel heaven this was.

You aren’t Hydra. You’re not keeping any Stark Industry secrets, because you’re just the sweet charity girl. The pretty face that offsets all the previous war crimes, that Pepper throws money at so you can turn it into something good.

And you do, and nobody looks at you any further because you’re not Hydra. You’re not important. 

Hydra will learn that, if they come for you. Barnes should’ve already known it from the start, but it seems you’d played your part too well, and he started to see shadows in you that weren’t there.

Because you do have secrets. Big, loud and haunting secrets that end you on the bathroom floor, watching the light leak into the room and swallowing down the bile on your tongue from another night that’s too lonely and dark. 

But they’re not the secrets Barnes thinks.

You’d lain in bed with the lamp on, before you ended up curled on the tile with your head tipped back against the wall. You repeated, over and over and over, that you didn’t need to call him. You’d be fine without him. You’ve been fine without him, and you can feel the bond start to fray once more, but it’s only a few more weeks. And they’ll hurt, and the time will be long and feel infinite, but you’ll just keep fucking going until you crash, or he comes home.

You’d been alone, and that was fine. You couldn’t open your eyes without little black spots dancing over your vision, but that was okay. Not normal, but okay, and there was an invisible, burning poker being driven into your skull but that didn’t matter, and you couldn’t breathe but no one can breathe when there’s molten iron being poured into their lungs.

You’d called him. You’d been alone, and there’s really never anything to prove—you could try and prove it to yourself, but doing things for yourself has never been effective—so you’d called him.

It had taken a few tries. He’d picked up of the seventh ring of the fourth call, and when you’d barely whispered that he needed to be home, and snapped that you should just stop whining. 

“I’m busy,” he’d drawled your name, and you’d swallowed. He was busy, he didn’t need you bothering him, and this wasn’t his pain. It was yours, and you should be able to handle and push through it yourself-

Something had felt like it was tearing and bubbling up your spine. You can’t keep going. You’re weak and inconvenient, but you need him. It makes you pathetic, but this is the one thing you can’t do alone. 

“I just- Please.” You’d whispered, hating your own voice. “I’ll do anything, please-“

“God, you’re-” He’d cut himself off a groan, and He’s refused before. Made you wait a little longer for some sort of lesson you never seem to learn. You might be doing that lockdown anyway, because you can’t fucking move-

“Plea-“

“Shut up. There’s a douchebag here, keeps telling people I’m a dick, and ‘impossible to work with’, and you know I’m not, honey, so I need you to make him stop.”

You’d swallowed, pressing your brow to the cool porcelain of the toilet. Your voice was a little softer when you spoke again. You could—kind of—think. “I can’t do that when I’m in New York. You know that-“

“Then you’re fucking useless!” He’d shouted your name, and you flinched, but barely. It was hard to move at all. “Just- Jesus, fine. Do the future thing.”

You hated the future thing. It was harder than he seemed to think it was. More complicated and clouded over your vision, because there was so much of it, but he only ever wanted to hear one future. The one you’d made the mistake of telling him about the first time, because you’d been a naïve little idiot who thought she could be safe.

And in a way, you were safe. You’d found that future—dull in the corner of the web—and told him about it, so the pain was alleviated. Washed back into nothing, your whole body settling as the bond forged itself back together. 

Now you had no excuse not to move. Not to stay here—on the cold floor with the Boy in your lap—for the rest of your useless life.

You need to make that coffee. Get on the subway and watch the graffiti blur past as you sit, and revel in sitting because fucking Barnes had always made you stand. 

Only two protestors today. One yelling about aliens, one claiming Iron Man never really died, and he’s being held captive by the government. Other than that, it’s an easy ride. You can listen to you music until you’re deaf and cross your legs under your body, spacing out because Barnes isn’t here the be annoying to, and whole day can be like this, if you’re lucky. 

You’re not. 

You step out of the elevator, into your office, and-

“Fucking-“ You let out a long breath, and the Show has to flip on. You need to be bored and amused and annoying, and nothing more or less. Barnes can’t see you, no more than he did when you shattered and cracked and showed him a little too deep. 

You’ve spent the weekend trying not to think about it. How you’d screamed at him like a child, and said too much. How he’d seen you—a little too much of the full, raw, bitter and angry and delicate you—and now there might not be going back. He’ll be able to see all the flaws in you, because he’ll know exactly where to look. What parts of the Show shine too bright to draw attention, and what parts shine too bright make people blinded. To force them to look away because there’s something real beneath it, and they’re not supposed to see it.

It hadn’t been something to worry about, when you’d thought you’d never see him again. 

It’s going to be a problem now. 

“I thought I fired you.” You raise your brows, your voice as dry and indifferent as you can manage, and Barnes shrugs.

“Looks like you don’t have the authority to fire me.”

You narrow your eyes. “I can ban you from my building.”

Barnes snorts. “Give it a shot. See how it goes. I’ll be right here ‘till you work that one out, and-“

“What about fired,” you drawl, angling your chin to hold his gaze. “Don’t you understand, James?If you’re not gone in thirty seconds, I’m calling security and making sure they send the old war drones-“

Grace clears her throat from her desk, and her apologetic expression looks a little too close to pity. “I- Um- Mr. Wilson called. He said to tell you that, if you try to kick Sargent Barnes out, he’ll tell Mr. Hogan you came in over the weekend again, then lock you in a room with Barnes until you both- ah-“ Grace swallows. “Grow the fucking hell up.”

You scowl, shooting Barnes a glare. “Did you tell Sam what you did?”

“Yep.” Barnes holds your gaze, a look on his face that you can’t read, but still want to punch off. “I’m not exactly allowed to leave you to fend for yourself, d- Kid. Deal with it.”

You feel your face twist into a sneer, your voice dropping to a hiss. “Deal with it?”

“That’s what I said.” He crosses his arms, jerking his head back to your office door. “You gonna go do your job? Or are we standing here all day like fucking idiots? Cause I can do either, sweetheart-“

You don’t let him finish before you’re storming past him, making the gamble that—if you’re fast enough and he’s still too absorbed in his taunting—you can slam the door in his face.

It doesn’t work. Barnes catches the door with his metal arm, and now there’s a fucking indent on the wood. 

You’re going to start crying. He can’t be allowed to see you cry. 

“Get out-“

“I’ll fix that,” he mutters, closing the door behind him with what seems like a slight amount of care. Likely a trick, or a measure to make sure nobody pays him any attention. “We need to talk.”

“We just talked.” You snap, dropping behind your desk without sparing him a glance. “I tried to fire you. It didn’t work. But if you’re going to be here, you’re not allowed in my office anymore-“

“That’s-“ Barnes lets out a long breath, running a hand over his face. “Fair. But it’s not happening.”

“You-“

“Listen. That,” he nods to your desk, something brimming on the edge of his expression that almost seems like an emotion. “Won’t happen again. You’re not Hydra.”

You snort, wrinkling your nose at him. “Oh, really, I wasn’t aware-“

“And I,” he lets out another breath, as if the words are an act of physical labor. “Should not have done that. I was being careful, but it was over the line.”

He pauses, like there’s supposed to be more but he can’t work out what it is, then closes his mouth. He’s looking at you like you’re suppressed to say something. 

You’re not even sure what the fuck is happening.

“Was that…” You trail off, scanning over Barnes’ braced stance with a frown. “Was that supposed to be an apology?”

“It was an apology.” He grunts, and you snort.

“Are you- Jesus Christ, dude, you are shit at this-“

He rolls his eyes. “What the hell am I supposed to do?”

“The traditional thing is say sorry, you old fuck-“

“Sorry.” He snaps, tone hot and mocking as he holds your glare. “Is that better?”

“Am I allowed to say it’s worse-“

“You can say whatever the hell you want, kid.” Barnes leans against the wall with another shrug. Sam couldn’t be that annoyed if you through your mug at his stupid face. He’s handsome enough that a scar really wouldn’t do that much harm- “What are we doing today?”

You scowl at your mug, turning it between your hands. You can’t throw it at his face. “Nothing.”

“Look, we’re stuck together, so if you want to be a fucking brat the whole time-“

“I’m being literal, dumbass.” You snap, watching the screen of your computer slowly blink on. “No meetings or field trips. It’s grant day, I’m doing a lot of reading.” You shoot him a too-sweet smile. “I’d ask you to help me, but I’m not sure you know how to read.”

Barnes’ eyes narrow. “You know I can read-“

“I don’t know anything.” You hum, looking back to the computer. “I was born twenty minutes ago. This is my first day on earth, ever.”

“Then how the fuck can you read-“

“Shut up.”

Barnes, shockingly, listens. He sits silently in the corner for the majority of the day, so unmoving that there are long moments where you forget he’s there. Sometimes he’s clear his throat, and you’ll glance up to find him staring right over your head.

He’s a strange man. It would be more amusing if you still didn’t want to cause him physically harm.

Because he won. The asshole didn’t even really try, and he won. You’d played better, and you’d been so far ahead, and you may have slipped a little when everything was dark and it was just you and Barnes in the whole world—his every word still hitting so deep in your body, grabbing and flaying a hot nerve nobody else has ever managed to find—but you still should’ve won. 

But you didn’t.

And now you’re stuck with him. Your alleged safety is more important than Barnes breaking into your office and calling you Hydra. You’re the same as you’ve always been, trapped. Contained. Too much to be trusted to watch and control yourself, and nobody—yourself included—sure how to handle you beside a leash and muzzle. 

Even when you stand and try to go to the bathroom, Barnes follows you. Like Hydra will be waiting to grab you from inside the toilet. 

“What are you doing.”

“My job.” He grunts. “Pretend I’m not here. Cry on the floor, vomit, I don’t give a shit, long as-“

You raise your hand, and he cuts himself off. You stare at each other for a second, and if this becomes a pattern—you tell Barnes to do something, and he listens with wide eyes and a confused expression—you’re going to need to figure it out and take advantage of it.

“I’m taking a shit.” You keep your voice flat, and get two blinks in return. “Wait outside, buddy.”

He stops the door with a hand, frowning down at you. “If you’re worried about having a panic attack in front of me, I’ve seen far, far fucking worse-“

You roll your eyes, and duck right under his arm. “If you need proof of my shit, I’ll hand you all my toilet paper when I’m done.”

Barnes grunts behind you. “That’s fucking disgusting-“

“I know. Wait.”

He listens, again. And when you get out of the bathroom, he’s looking at you. Right into you with an almost searing gaze, as if he’s trying to pry something like the truth from your body. To make you turn and fall to your knees and whine that he was right, that you’d spent all your time in the bathroom without him sobbing and taking ragged breaths.

And you need to gain something like a hold over that. He can’t just be allowed to keep seeing you. He has to taste something bitter in the back of his throat, to have his skin feel too tight just as yours always does. And you’re tired, and Barnes needs to stop looking at you, stop seeing you, and to fucking hurt like you do, if he insists on clawing his way into your head.

“They’re not panic attacks.” You mutter as you return to your desk, and Barnes frowns at you.

“I never said they were-“

“You were thinking it.”

He scoffs. “Didn’t know you were a mind-reader, sweetheart.”

“I’m not.” Something pulls and wraps around your spine. You’re good at ignoring it. “But you were.”

Barnes doesn’t say anything for a long minute, and when you look back up from your computer, he’s fucking staring at you again.

“What?” You snap, and he doesn’t flinch.

“Nothing.” He shrugs, face still painfully unreadable. “Not panic attacks, huh?”

You pull your lower lip between your teeth—biting back a sneer that Sam would say doesn’t help the situation—and look back to the computer. “No.”

“You just cryin’ in the bathroom for fun?”

Your fingers freeze on the keyboard, and you shoot him a glare. “What was my first rule, Sargent?”

“I’m not asking as your friend.” He gives you a pointed look. “I’m asking as your bodyguard.”

“How is that bodyguard information-“

“Just is.” He shrugs, giving you another expectant look, and you take a deep breath. 

Barnes is stuck here. He won. Sam would tell you not to push things for no reason. That being angry is valid, but it’s good practice to know when you’ve lost, and adapt.

You can adapt just fine.

You can be a compliant little animal from Barnes, and still piss all over his shoes.

“I have a…” Another long breath. This is so fucking stupid. “Chronic condition. It’s… idiopathic. Incurable. And if I don’t treat it, I get sick.”

You can see Barnes frown from the corner of your eye. “Idiopathic-“

“It means nobody knows what caused it-“

“I know what it means.” He snaps, something slightly edged in his voice. “What is it.”

“Chronic.”

“Yeah, I got that, what’s the condition-“

“Incurable.”

Barnes snaps your name, and you bite your cheek to stop a smirk. “You having fun?”

“I am.” You give him another sweet smile, and you think his glare might be branding over your ribs. “Thank you so much for asking.”

Two blinks. Nostril flare. “You’re not going to tell me the condition.”

“Nope.” You shrug. “You need to tell me a secret too, by the way.”

He frowns. “I- You didn’t tell me a secret-“

“Only five people know my condition even exists.” You give him a pointed look. “You just made it six. That’s the definition of a secret. Your turn.”

“I didn’t agree to those terms-“

“Well, I didn’t agree to this.” You gesture between yourself and Barnes on the couch, keeping your features bored. “We’re all making sacrifices, James. Tell me a secret.”

He doesn’t have to. You think he knows that, with how he’s watching you. Like you’ve fallen from space, and have started to spew pure fucking nonsense in his face. You’re out all your advantages. He’s already won, and you can’t make him say anything, so there’s literally no reason for Barnes to even acknowledge you-=

“I don’t like roller coasters.”

You stare at him, your mouth falling slightly open as he holds your gaze, and you try to put together what the fuck he’s talking about.

“What?”

“Roller coasters.” He repeats, as if it will suddenly make more sense. “I hate ‘em. Always have. They’re loud, and rickety, usually pretty shit engineering, least in my day-“

“Everything was shit engineering in the forties, Barnes-“

“Yeah, Stark’s flyin’ car was kinda horrible-“

“And,” you push on, watching him carefully. “That isn’t a secret.”

“I’m getting to the secret,” he grumbles your name, leaning further back on the couch. As if he’s settling in. “You need to work on your damn patience.”

You start to sneer something at him—you’re not sure when you open your mouth, but you’re sure you’ll find it on the way—but Barnes cuts you off before you get the chance. 

“I hate rollercoasters, but Sam thinks I like them.”

You wrinkle your nose. “Why-“

“Patience.” He drawls, and you could swear that was a smug, amused glint that flashed over his eyes. “Stevie needed to do somethin’ that fed his adrenaline and didn’t get him beat up, so I made him do all the roller coasters. He thought I liked ‘em, and he told Sam I liked them, and I’ve been living a lie for the past hundred years about likin’ rollercoasters.”

“Just…” You don’t know what’s happening, or why Barnes looks so comfortable, but your words are slow and careful as you hold his gaze. “Tell Sam you don’t like rollercoasters.”

“Nah. Not worth it.”

“It’s-“

“It’s not that important, sweetheart. I can deal with one or two, when Sam makes me. That an acceptable secret?”

He raises his brows, that’s definitely a look of amusement, and you don’t feel like you won this conversation. This seems, somehow, like Barnes got the upper hand again. 

He looks to human and talking, sprawled on your couch in more than grunts. No part of him is mechanical in a way that makes you tense. Even metal of his hand, glinting in the light, looks more alive than half the people you’ve seen on the subway.

He’s looking at you again. It sparks something in your bones that’s not good or bad, but foreign. And all you can do is shrug and turn back to your computer, mumbling out an agreement and trying to pretend he hasn’t successfully thrown you. 

People never throw you. You always adapt, and rationalize, and keep moving in a steady dance nobody else can ever keep up with.

But Barnes has been matching your steps. Every single thing he says and does pushes itself deep into your body, flying into the cavity of your chest and hitting a wired, soft thing that you can’t name, because it’s never been hit before.

But all week, Barnes keeps fucking hitting it. Matching  your dance in perfect pace, and the Show isn’t breaking, but it’s like he’s not even seeing it.

At every meeting, he sits with carefully slumped shoulders in the corner, looking between you and whatever suit you’re talking to, his expression back to the unreadable, stoic mask. 

“Is he- ah-“ One of the men—on the younger side, leaning at little too far across your desk as you discuss financing—glances over his shoulder at Barnes, tone and expression weary. “I don’t think we need him in here for this-“

You shrug, ripping at the corner of the paper under your hands. “If you can move him, he’s your to take home.”

The suit looks back to you with a frown. “I just want him out while we’re talking, sweetheart, I don’t want to take him home-“

“Good thing, then.” Barnes grunts, and the suit starts in his seat. “Cause there’s no way in hell you’re moving me.”

It takes an active effort to cover your gape before the suit looks back to you. He’s never spoken to the suits before. You’ve been certain he just spends the whole time trying to disappear into the wall or something. You don’t think you’ve heard him say more than a sentence to anyone but you, and that was because you pretty much made him.

“If he had moved you,” you ask after the suit leaves, testing exactly how far you can push it. “Would you have gone home with him?

“No.”

You give him a taunting smile. “And here I was, ready to charge people fifty dollars for the chance to win James Barnes and take him home-“

“Uh huh.” Barnes cuts you off with a flat expression, and he’s looking at you again. “You wouldn’t charge them. You’d let someone take me for free, kid, don’t lie.”

You wouldn’t have charged them. You wouldn’t have done that at all, not even as a joke. Partially because you don’t think anyone could move him, but mostly because if they did, taking him is a little too close to home for pressed down and suffocated memories in the corners of your brain. 

“Shut up.” You mutter, looking back to your computer. “Do you think if I put you out on the curb, someone will just pick you up? Or should I list you on eBay first? I’ll pay for shipping if you take my first-edition, reformed Winter Solider. Comes with a brand-new metal arm and he’ll watch you take a shit.”

There’s a long second of silence, and when you glance up, Barnes is frowning at you again, his brow drawn together and that same, odd emotion brimming over his expression.

“eBay is…” He pauses, never breaking your gaze. “Online marketplace.”

“Good job.” You hum, trying to make your smiling almost sickening. Full-lipped and mocking and saccharine, maybe enough to erode a little of his seemingly concrete will to not even blink at you anymore. “You want a sticker?”

His frown deepens. “What would I possibly use a sticker for.”

“Fun, James. Sorry- That’s this thing people do to experience joy-“

Barnes rolls his eyes. “I experience joy.”

“Sure. Is that setting just...” you raise your brows at him. “Off, right now?”

His jaw twitches, you fall back into your slowly well-tread pattern of silence, and you don’t like that it’s comfortable now. You keep really, truly forgetting that he’s there. You shouldn’t be forgetting that he’s there, not when he’s supposed to be a disruption. Something to avoid, not grow used to. 

But Barnes is stuck here. You’re stuck here. You keep trying to text Sam—to get him to look you in the eyes and tell you that he doesn’t care what Barnes does, you need his protection and that’s that—but the asshole won’t pick up, and you’re stuck with Barnes.

You can’t get used to him. One of the largest rules you have for yourself—Barnes or no Barnes—is the rule that you can never get used to something. The only things you know will be the same—all the time, no matter how everything changes around—are that you will be alone, and you will be you.

And you’ve been you with Barnes too much this past week. Sitting with him in your office. Having him follow you around like a shadow. Trading sharp words with him that are always a little too close to the truth, always trying to stay that pace ahead and faltering when he catches up to you with seemingly no effort, fucking looking at you and matching your every step with infuriating ease.

“Do you even eat?” You ask him on the Subway—a more empty morning than most—spinning off the pole as you give him a wide, teasing grin. “Or is it like, jet fuel? Gasoline? If I give you batteries, and you going to tell me you like triple A better than double?”

Barnes doesn’t even flinch, only glaring right over your head at the blurring Subway walls. He’s been doing that a lot lately. “I don’t use batteries. I run on natural fuel.”

You pause, watching him with wide eyes, and there’s a small tick of his lips. Up. Like a smile. 

“Was that a joke?” 

“Not my best bit.” He says, still not looking down to meet your gaze. “But yes.” His brow draws slightly, and then—as if he can’t help it—he adds, “I eat at home.”

You hum, continuing to swing off the pole. “You have a home?”

“Where do you think I go at night?”

“I think you stand outside my apartment like a weirdo. You always wear the same five things.”

He finally looks down at you, the small furrow in his brow deepening.

“I can’t do my laundry.” He grunts. “My washer needs coins, and I don’t fuckin’ have any.”

“Go to the bank, genius-“

“The bank doesn’t like me. Apparently being an international terrorist lowers your credit score.”

You tilt your head at him. “Weren’t you pardoned?”

“Doesn’t seem to matter.” He grumbles, still staring at you, and you shrug.

“Should matter. Being pardoned for any crime is supposed to revert your credit score back to what it was before your conviction.”

Barnes blinks at you. “Really?”

“No.” You spin around again “I made that up.”

“Why the fuck would you-“

“But you can get coins from like, arcades.” You ignore his glare and sharp words, fixing your eyes back on a dent in the subway car as you continue to spin. If you get dizzy and slam into Barnes, you’ll kill him and then yourself. “Or, if you give me fifty bucks, I’ll get you a hundred quarters.”

You can see Barnes in your periphery as you spin, and he’s looking at you like you’re a specimen again. “Your math is… disgustingly wrong.”

“That makes sense. I’m bad at it.”

He just grunts, still staring at you, so you push on.

“And I think you’re lying about having an apartment, by the way. I think you spend all night staring at my windows.”

Barnes snorts, and you keep spinning. “How the hell would I even know which ones are yours-“

“Some super-spy you are.” You throw him a wide smile as you turn, and he rolls his eyes. “I’m at the top.”

You point up—just in case he doesn’t know what top is, and because it’s funny to watch his eyes flick up on instinct as you spin past—and continue.

“I like to imagine you glaring up at me all night, thinking about different ways you’d like to kill me.”

He shrugs. There’s the weird fucking smile again. 

It’s the most off-putting thing you’ve seen yet. 

“I can do that from home, sweetheart.”

Your grin widens. You keep trying to look at him while you spin, and it’s a little dizzying. “So you do think about me-“

“You said you think about me first.” He drawls, his brow furrowing once again as he watches you. “Was that a joke?”

“What, that I think you want to kill me-“

“That you didn’t know I go home. You should’ve known I wasn’t out there, kid.”

You give him a flat look when you spin again. “I know I seem like I know everything, James, but usually I’m just making stuff up and I end up being right-“

“I got that.” He grunts, and you don’t love how he says it so quickly. “But you said you already have good security at your apartment. If you have good security, you should know who’s outside your building at all times.”

“I don’t own the building. Happy can see it, that’s all I need-“

“Happy has a job.” Barnes snaps. “And his security wasn’t strong enough to work out who the hell put that letter in your mailbox. If you don’t have real cameras and security, do-“ He cuts himself off, and before you can slow enough to get proper look at him, he’s grunting your name and moving on. “We need to talk about me adding some. Now.”

You hum, smiling at him again as you come around. “No.”

Barnes snaps your name again. “I’m being serious-“

“So am I. My apartment doesn’t need an upgrade.”

You don’t need Barnes snooping around your apartment. Your office was enough, and you have no interest in him looking around your living room and somehow putting together that you sit on your couch once every month, and spend time on your bathroom floor at home as well.

He doesn’t seem to be giving up that easy.

“It’s for your safety-“

“And I’m fine-“

“You won’t be if Hydra breaks into your apartment,” he hisses, and you don’t stop spinning. Your head feels a little light, and your heart moves to your throat at the thought. 

You can’t let him see that.

“I think I could reason with them.” You say, keeping your voice dry. “I think we could bond over our shared love of octopi. Did you know that their mouths are also their asses-“

Barnes grunts your name. You think he might be practicing it, because it sounds better every time. “That’s not funny. They’d kill you.”

You open your mouth to say something that probably would’ve been smart, but your fingers slip on the pole, and you slam into something warm and firm.

Barnes.

Barnes caught you.

He’s staring at you as he puts you on your feet, and you can’t stop grabbing his arm because the world is still moving in waves and circles, and this is so fucking annoying-

“Think about it.” He grunts, and you shoot him a glare.

“I said n-“

You squeak as Barnes loosens his grip ever so slightly, and lets you fucking fall a foot down before hauling you back up, a stupid, smug look on his face.

“What was that?” He raises his brows, your nails dig into his arm, and you’re certain it’s the one with skin, but he doesn’t even flinch.

“I hate you.”

“Uh huh. You gonna answer me?” His smirk returns, and your glare deepens.

“I’m going to push you onto the train tracks-“

“I’m sure you are, Sweetheart. Answer.”

He’s not wavering. You’re still a little dazed from slipping and falling, and you haven’t really touched anyone that didn’t feel like they were a danger in… a frightening amount of time. 

That’s what you blame, when you mutter, “I’ll think about it.”

Barnes grins again. 

You feel like you’re losing your mind.

And when he picks you up the next day, he has a backpack. You’ve never seen him have anything but his jacket and gloves.

It’s weird. You spend most of the crowded subway ride—Barnes rigid with a clenched jaw at your side—staring at it, trying to figure out what the hell is inside. When you walk through security you even fall a pace back to stand at his side, hoping to see when they open it, but your dumb, frightened guards mutter Sargent Barnes and let him past without question, only wincing when the metal detector blares at his arm. 

“When did you get friendly with my security guards?” You ask in the elevator, and Barnes shrugs.

“They know Sam. Respect him, enough to trust me.” He glares at the elevator doors. “And they’re smart enough to be afraid of me.”

You wrinkle your nose at him. “Alright, you old fucking Emo, I’ve seen scarier pigeons than you, so let’s calm down.”

“Emo, like the bird?“

“No, it’s like-“ You sigh. “It’s a subculture, you can google it. I’m saying it to mean you’re being dramatic.”

He shoots you an odd look. “I am not being dramatic-“

“Yeah, you are. What’s in the bag?”

Barnes doesn’t answer, only moving forward to hold the elevator doors as they ding open, and staring at you until you roll your eyes and step ahead of him.

You don’t get to know what’s in the bag until lunch. It sits at his side on the couch, and whenever you glance up to see if he’s opened it and you somehow hadn’t noticed, he’s staring at you.

And when it’s finally unzipped, he pulls out a thermos. A little, hot pink thermos and single plastic spoon that he holds between his teeth as he twists the thermos open.

“Stop staring.” He mutters your name, muffled through the spoon, and shoots you a glare. “I’ve heard it’s rude.”

You just raise your brows, looking between him and the thermos with a pointed expression. “What’s happening here?”

“Lunch.” He grunts, scooping what seems to be brown mush onto the spoon. “That a problem?”

“No, I just-“ There are too many questions. Too many possible things to say, too many angles to attack this from, and Barnes isn’t helping. He’s looking at you with a slight smirk, as if he’d somehow known this would fuck with you more than it should. 

Because it really shouldn’t be fucking with you. It’s just a thermos. A hot pink thermos. Barnes’ hot pink thermos, that he’s keeping brown mush in. Brown mush he’s eat with a plastic spoon, because it’s his lunch, a day after you made fun of him for not eating-

“You all good, kid?”

“Uh, yeah.” You meet his gaze once more, your words careful and slow. “Is there… anything else in the backpack?”

“No.”

“And what is lunch, exactly?”

“Oatmeal.”

You gape at him. “With like, sugar and honey? Marshmallows? ”

Barnes makes a tight face of what’s likely disgust. “Why the hell would I put that shit in oatmeal.”

“I-“ You let out a long breath, and force your gaze back to your computer. Too many things. Not enough time. 

You have a job. Your priority cannot be Barnes, and his borderline depressing eating habits. 

The weekend comes and goes—you hole up in your apartment, make no progress on your own Hydra research, and the pain begins to ebb and wax once more the longer you’re alone, every night somehow longer and the sun never leaking into the bathroom soon enough—and Barnes is still using his dumb little thermos as the next week begins to pass.

It’s almost like a ritual. He opens the backpack at the same time every day—you don’t even think he has a clock—and frowns with a plastic spoon between his teeth, twisting off the thermos top in half a second before eating his oatmeal. 

It’s driving you insane. It’s feels like another game that he’s winning, another part of the Show that he’s somehow cracking past without effort, and you don’t even know why. It’s oatmeal. Sad, pathetic oatmeal that he eats like it’s a chore. He’s built like a truck and he’s eating oatmeal. He’s been alive a hundred years, and somehow the only thing he can think to eat is oatmeal. 

Even on days that you go out for meetings—walking around a Stark funded museum, pretending you’re listening to the finance reports when really you just like looking at the art—Barnes still eats his oatmeal, at the exact same time as, apparently, always.

“I can do the apartment security this weekend,” he grunts in your ear a little while after, walking one pace behind you through the gallery, and you shrug.

“I never agreed to that. And maybe I’m busy-“

“You’re not.”

This time, you shoot him a glare over your shoulder. “You don’t know that-“

“I do. Sam told me you’re not exactly social, and unless you’ve been lying to me about staying home for the past three weeks-“

“Shut up.” You mutter, and you could swear you hear Barnes make a sound that’s dangerously close to a chuckle. “Sam’s a fucking snitch-“

“Was he wrong?”

“I said shut up.” You run a hand through your hair, keeping your gaze focused on the floor as you walk. “You never apologized, you know.”

You can hear the frown in Barnes’ voice. You’re back on steady footing. “For-“

“Breaking into my office. Maybe I don’t want you in my apartment because you broke into my fucking office, and then never apologized.”

“I said it wouldn’t happen again.”

“That’s not an apology-“

“Do you want an apology that I wouldn’t mean?” 

That makes your steps pause slightly, and you glance back to see Barnes looking right over your head. “What?”

“I’m not sorry. I could’ve…” He pauses, frowning at the air. “Handled it better, but I was taking precautions.”

“Precautions-“

“You’re too smart to want a fake apology, sweetheart.”

Barnes finally looks down, a challenge buried in his gaze, and you scowl. Your heart is moving in your chest, and there’s something warm over your skin made of smart. 

You are smart. You fucking know that, and you don’t need Barnes to tell you, but people never- 

He doesn’t get to do that. Just because those words are close to a compliment, and you don’t ever really get those and believe them, but you believe Barnes—he doesn’t seem like a liar, just an asshole—doesn’t mean he gets to move you at all on how he’s not apologizing for fucking breaking into your office.

“Well,” you whip around, making sure Barnes can’t see how he managed to ram himself too deep past your defenses again. “You’re not forgiven.”

Barnes snorts behind you. “Didn’t think I would be-“

“Shut up.”

“Sam said to get you flowers.” He continues as if he never even heard you. “Seemed like overkill, but if it’ll get you to stop being so damn stubborn, trying to get yourself fucking kidnapped-“

“I don’t want flowers from you, James.” You shoot him another glare over your shoulder, and this time, he’s still looking at you. “But I’d forgive you with gummy sharks.”

Barnes blinks. “What the fuck are gummy sharks.”

You don’t answer—that’s another step forward in your favor, even if you aren’t even sure what your favor is any more—continuing on through the gallery, and the next day, Barnes is still eating his fucking oatmeal, and you’re going to lose your mind.

You snap at the end of the week. It’s the same bag. He always puts it in the same place. And there’s a reason scratching at the back of your head for why Barnes is eating like that, and it’s getting too raw and heavy, impossible to ignore. 

You want to throttle him. He’s eating his sad oatmeal, and now you have to message Grace to—when she goes out to get lunch—buy some sugar and honey. Brown sugar, and good honey. Maybe a honeycomb, because you’re paying.

If you can’t do the Show with Barnes—can’t annoy him into quitting—you can at least stop making him take up so much of your attention. You’re busy. You have things to do, you need to focus on what matters, and his habit of making the you you rear her head is a fucking problem.

You’re small and rabid, that’s not supposed to be visible like this—in full, clean daylight—and keep aching whenever the dumb thermos pops open. You know it’s because you can piece together why. Because you could be whipped and flayed and shredded to bit and you’d never be the most important thing in the room, so Barnes needs to stop doing this—stop making himself another thing you can pull a part of yourself out to help—so you can go back to ignores the pangs of your spine starting to burn once more. 

When Grace gets back from the deli, she passes the sugar and honey to you along with your lunch, a small frown on her face. You only grimace in return, and march over to Barnes the moment the door is closed.

“Put these,” you toss the sugar and honey into his face, and jerk your head to the oatmeal. “In there.”

He stares at you. “What-“

“Stop eating like you’re a solider and use some fucking sugar, dumbass.”

One blink. Nostril flare. “I don’t know what you’re-“

“Shut up.” You cross your arms, raising your chin slightly as you hold his gaze. “Do it.”

“What the hell is it to you what I put in my oatmeal-“

“If you do it.” You cut him off, because he doesn’t get to see more. Hit you further and deeper after he made you do something dumb like this. “I’ll fully forgive you for breaking into my office.”

He scans over you, his brow fully drawn, and you feel like a specimen again. 

That's fine. 

Anything to let you all just move on, and the annoyance of caring about Barnes end. 

It’s not caring about him. It’s about him, being a person eating sad oatmeal. 

But it’s still Barnes.

And that’s so fucking annoying.

“I don’t need you to forgive me,” he mutters, and you shrug.

“Well then, I don’t trust you in my apartment.”

He scowls. “How can I even know you’ve really forgiven me.” “I will. I don’t say things I don’t mean.” You snap, and Barnes gives you a flat look.

“You’ve lied twelve times today, for fun-“

“That doesn’t count, I owned up to it immediately. You want me to have security?”

Barnes’ jaw ticks, but he nods.

“Then use the fucking sugar, James. Deal?”

He doesn’t respond, and you let out a long breath. You tried. You failed, and that’s going linger under your skin, but you really fucking tried.

You go to move, but he catches your arm.

“You’ll forgive me.”

“That’s what I said, yeah-“

“Fine. Shake.” He holds out his hand. “If it’s a deal, we shake.”

“Are you fucking serious-“

“Deadly. Shake.”

You lose the staring contest. You shake Barnes’ hand, and you only realize after you return to your desk that it was the metal one. 

That feels important, but you can’t work out why.

Why doesn’t feel like it matters, though. You watch Barnes put his sugar and honey in the oatmeal, eat it, and then fail to disguise the fact that it tastes so much better the second the spoon is in his mouth.

You won. And the next morning, there are four things in the backpack. The thermos and spoon—molded into one thing in your mind—come out as always, before being joined by sugar, honey, and-

Barnes stands without warning, marches over your desk, and slams a small box of gummy sharks in front of you.

“We’re square.” He grunts, and you sigh.

“Are you asking me if we’re square, or telling me?”

He scowls, and lets out a long breath before grunting, “Askin’.”

He’s started to slur more words, his accent slipping out in small, odd ways. You don’t know what it means, but it’s been making your brain hum in a strange way, because it sounds nice. Objectively, he has a nice voice. And you did say you’d forgive him if he got you gummy sharks. 

You’ve backed yourself into a corner. 

And when you nod and pull the gummy sharks across your desk, Barnes stands a little taller. As if he’s proud.

It’s kind of adorable. And the lighting I n your office makes his jawline look sharper.

“You got to good kind,” you mumble, and he shurgs.

“Didn’t know there was a bad kind of gummy-“

You wrinkle your nose at him. “Obviously there’s a bad kind of gummy. We really need to start broadening your food horizons, James.“

He hums, and the small smirk pulls back at his lips. It looks too real.

It’s kind of dangerous.

“We?” he drawls your name, and you flush.

You haven’t flushed in years.

All you can think of is to flip him off, and stuff your mouth full of gummy sharks so you don’t have to respond. But when Barnes goes back to his couch, and eats his oatmeal, the only thing you can think of is how he said your name.

He said it like it was a name. Like it was you.

“You can call me Bucky.”

You blink at him, your words muffled by the sharks. “What?"

“If we’re square, you can call me Bucky.” He raises his brows, almost in a challenge you don’t understand. “Okay?”

You can’t tell if he’s asking again. You don’t know what he’s testing you on, but it seems important, and when you nod and swallow so fast it hurts your throat, he sits a little taller.

“Okay, Bucky.” It’s odd to say. Too easy. Snapping on the right syllabuses, and round in the right place, and knowable.

It’s too knowable.

And somehow, you fucking lost again. This is becoming a problem.

Bucky hums when your say his name, and you have forgiven him because why wouldn’t you. He said it wouldn’t happen again, and you believe him. He’s seeing you, but he’s not folding away, and he’s even been listening to you now.

And you’re not above a grudge, but you’re also not above anything at all.

Bucky doesn’t seem to be either. Nobody is. You forgive him because nobody is above anything, and Bucky might not have apologized, but he won’t pretend to either.

There’s no Show with him. It’s an odd, clear type of relief. Bucky just knows that whatever you are, he can see it, and then match it.

And that, as he settles back into the couch and grins at you again, is the most dangerous thing of all.

End Note: Old Man Bucky with his oatmeal I love him.

Thank you so much for reading!! If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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[ellieslittleburrow]

Requested by : @whats-goingon22 : John Winchester comes back to find a fully grown daughter he does not recognize. How do they both react, knowing that John Winchester was never a good father? (Full request)

Warnings : Swear words, death of a father, and a heartbreak?

A/N : i'm so sorry 😂😭🤍 i've been wanting to develop my writing style and so writing the way " i do" has been sooo torturous. It's like you want out of your skin but you're stuck into it.

-------

John winchester is the ghost of your life. The fruit of one too many dreams to count.

He existed more in your sleep than he ever did in your physical life. He, in the most literal of ways shaped you, the person you are now- a blessing in some cases but mostly a curse. He was definitely In your life. Just never in a happy way, though.

The itsy bits of life you've shared with him went from dada, to daddy to father and then to sir!

One specific moment haunted you, a moment that came to look different as you grew older. Your father had you cradled in his arms, he'd held you tightly as tears streamed down your cheeks. He'd shushed you and held you tightly before turning on his heels and leaving. You'd thought you hurt him to the point that he couldn't face you anymore, but the reality of that moment was that John Winchester couldn't bear the face of terror, even on a child.

He couldn't bear the vulnerability of a child. He left because he was ashamed of your humanity.

A humanity that faded as the years went by- Even when he was still around. You could never be yourself around him and soon enough you forgot how to be yourself, how to feel. You lost a part of yourself that completely dissapeared with John's death.

But still, Just the thought of him elevated the hairs on your arms-and you thought about him a lot-it worked your stomach up in a way nothing else could have. It would stiffen your mucles and somehow work it's way to your intestines, twisting them in knots.

It physically and mentally hurt. Always. fucking. have.

But now, as you stood before him at the bottom of the bunker stairs, a different kind of pain surged through you, one you've never experienced before. Because as much as you wished you'd see him-you actually never thought you would. But there he was standing before you.

John Winchester.

------

You walked down the bunker stairs, your ears pricking up to an...ambiguously familiar voice.

"Hey-"

Sam abruptly shot up from his seat, jolting your fight or flight response in the process. Curiously pushed you forward as you walked the last steps, startling when your eyes landed on him-the fourth person in the room.

And you wished they hadn't. Because as your heart pounded in your chest, you froze, you completely froze.

The bunker went quiet and....Da....D...J-Jo-John seemed to be just as confused as you were. Just as shocked.

It felt wrong seeing him, saying his name-looking at him. He looked older, somewhat wiser. His face worn down by the traces of his fights, haunting his every feature. He watched you just as you watched him back, mouth agape-

All those things you'd said to him in your dreams. All the fights you'd had with him about how badly he treated you. About the emptiness he left within you. The constant look out for that fatherly love you'd so desperately hunted for. Nowhere, because your voice had failed you.

Just then, you noticed that your chest was heaving and you...You couldn't. You couldn't be here anymore-you...You needed to breathe. And so you took off running.

The silence in your room felt hauntingly suffocating as it allowed your thoughts overflow. And you realized then- You've never ever gotten over it. Having Sam and Dean was nothing less than a blessing. But they could never seal the hole left aching.

But...but he looked different and you...you...he's here and...Maybe you should...

You leaped off bed and sprinted to the door, sticking your ear to the latter. Their voices were quite drowned but... They suddenly went quiet. Does that mean...Does that mean he's leaving again?

No...No..NO.

As you flung open the door, an "I'm ready" from the other side of the hallway caused adrenaline to rush through you. And you sprinted.

"DADDY"

A loud shout surged from your throat as you rounded the last corner, crashing into your father's arms just as a loud thump echoed throughout the room.

Sam crushing the pearl only had you grip your father's jacket tight. As if your embrace could keep him in place. Like an achor in an angry sea.

Your dad envelopped you just as tightly, each hand gripping the opposite shoulder. A firm hold-one that would usually hurt-but instead, one that only felt like a plea for forgiveness, for all the wrong doings, for the void.

But then, just like that, all the weight around your body, the weight you leaned onto vanished. And you felt light again, a physical lightness that complemented the heaviness consuming you.

You fell to the ground, just as your whole world collapsed. All those walls you build to protect yourself, all that strength you dug from god knows where. All gone.

Your chest swelled and an ugly sob broke free of you, followed by a pool of tears that begged the question : am i happy or am i sad?

As you lie there, overwhelmed, another figure leaned over you, holding you in a protective embrace, murmuring words that outpaced your own thoughts.

And although you were lost, you knew for sure that-you finally had your goodbye.

-----

Hii! What do we thiiink ? Hope yall enjoyed this and see you next tiime!🖤🖤🖤🥀🥀🥀

[thebluester2020]

[SDV] Kinktober Day 5: "Double Penetration"

Summary: A rather spicy edition of Solarian Chronicles becomes more after you suggest you want to apply what the characters are doing to real life.

Warning(s): Threesome, Spit-roasting, Deep-throating, General filth that's expected out of Kinktober tbh.

Side Note(s): At this rate, I'm gonna aim to write a damn smut book man. I'm pumping out these fics like it's nothin'. 💀

Also, this prompt is loosely followed. I mostly wanted a reason to write spit-roasting 😔

Slight Edit: Anon told me that I spelled Sebastian’s name wrong and- the amount of times I spelled his name with a DAMN O. Y’all— you saw nothing (now to check if my other fics have this case of me spelling his name with an o-)

"Why don't we make this reality~?"

Those were the words that led you to ending up in your current predicament. You, naked on the floor and currently being spit-roasted between sucking Sebastion's cock whilst Sam fucked into you as if he were afraid you were suddenly going to disappear, all the while he whispered the most heinous words into your ear with such sinful whines to add on top of it!

Should you have been more embarrassed to suggest having sex after a particularly spicy round of Solarion Chronicles? Mayyybeee. But were you?

Definitely not.

. . .

A needy whine left Sam's lips, his breath washing over your ear as his arms were currently wrapped around your torso, his hips slamming against your ass desperately. "F-Fuck man...we shoulda did this sooner," He moaned. You moaned around Sebastian's cock when Sam suddenly rubbed against a spongey spot along with your inner walls, the reverberation of your moan on his cock making Sebastion hiss in pleasure as his grip on your hair tightened.

"Yoba...fuck, keep fucking her like that...she seems to like what you were doing."

"Oh?" Sam said teasingly. "You mean...here."

Another moan left your kiss-swollen lips, a creamy white ring beginning to form around Sam's cock as he lightly bit the shell of your ear before leaning back to admire what he was doing to you. "You're right Seb, she seems to realllyyy like it." He panted. His hand then came to part your pussy lips farther apart, a gasp choking up in your throat as you could feel the blue-eyed blonde twitch inside of you.

You whined when Sam's hands then came to grip your waist, fucking harder into you as his balls slapped against your overstimulated clit from the effort. Slowly, you felt your orgasm begin to creep up on you, but...with how blurry your vision was and the combined pleasure of the two men using you. You weren't sure if you would even be able to handle such an intense orgasm.

"Fuck—" Sebastian gasped as his hand shakily released its grip upon your hair to trail down to cup the side of your cheek, an infatuated look hiding just behind his obvious lust for you. You struggled to look up at him through your tears, yet despite your rapid blinking, the sight of the obvious blush of embarrassment on his face made it all the more worth it. Behind you, Sam groaned at the scene before him. "S-So pretty..." Sebastian whispered.

"Right?" Sam agreed. "Should've fucked 'er sooner...with a pussy this tight, this needy...we gotta do this every time we come over for Solarion Chronicles, eh Sebastion?" Wordlessly, Sebastian nodded his head as he felt his orgasm begin to approach, his dick twitching inside of your throat, making you cough around him.

Concerned, Sebastian quickly pulled you off his cock much to your disappointment. "I...I'm fine..." You said with a dazed grin.

"S-Shit...you like it really rough don't you farmer?" Sam moaned as his torso came to rest against your back once more, his larger hands placing themselves on your own as he rolled his hips into you with even more urgency. You clenched at the sound of Sam's whines and pleas for you to allow him cum inside, the nastiness of it all combined with Sebastian stroking his dripping cock to the scene before you only causing that knot in the pit of your gut to tighten even more. The groan that left Sebastian's lips, his body jerking along with his movements sent a strike of electricity into your body, threatening to push you over the edge before Sam suddenly began to pleasure and flick your clit.

The scream you let out, it was sure to wake the entire house.

"D-Don't be so loud—" Sebastian couldn't even finish his own sentence, a moan tearing from his lips. Sam smirked at the sight, his ministrations increasing in frequency as pleasure-filled tears brimmed your eyeline and began to fall.

"Don't tell her to hold back her moans." He playfully scolded his friend. "N-Not until I get her to cum around my dick that is..." He placed a sloppy kiss on the side of your face. "Cum all over my cock...been fuckin' my hand to the thought of this since the day you—Fuck—got here..." Sam cooed at you, his fingers beginning to pinch and lightly tug at your aching clit in addition to rubbing it. As your orgasm came closer and closer, your slick began to squirt out of you in tune to Sam's thrusts and drip down his thighs, your whines became higher and higher in pitch before your mouth fell open in a silent scream.

"Oh fuck..." Sebastian groaned at the sight before he threw his head back with a moan, his cum hitting your tongue and painting your face.

Shudders of overstimulation racked over your body as Sam continued to fuck you like his life depended on it. "S-Sam..." You whispered. "F-Feels too good—Ah!"

"S-Sorry..." He whispered. "A-Almost—almost there—" The rest of his sentence was caught in his throat as he suddenly stilled and pressed his pelvis as close to your ass as he possibly could. Your insides warming as his cum painted your insides white, Sam's body beginning to relax and weaken before he pulled his softening cock out of your hole. A moan left his lips as he watched your combined orgasms ooze from your hole, he was tempted to lick you clean but...with the way you looked as if you were seconds away from collapsing, he figured he would wait another day for the opportunity to arise.

"Holy shit," Sebastian panted, wiping his cum-stained hand on his pants before he ran his hand through his hair, getting the stray hairs out from his vision.

"You said it..." Sam said as he pulled your body to his own. You cuddled closer to the blonde, content as you giggled to yourself.

"Do you...do you guys wanna do this again sometime next week?" You suggested, suddenly becoming shy with your request. However, the two men couldn't nod their heads fast enough. This was definitely going to become a regular thing for all of you.

[couldyouimagine-that]

Saving Grace

Genre; action, hurt/comfort

Word count; 2.1k

Warnings; canon typical violence, arguing

Pairing; Lucifer (Supernatural) x Reader, Gabriel (Supernatural) x Reader

The reader and Team Free Will plus Gabriel and Lucifer are outnumbered by a legion of angels. Lucifer and Gabriel decide at the same time they need to protect the reader.

Another Lucifer and Gabriel story because I love writing the two of them. This was a really fun one!

Masterlist

-

The angels were everywhere. You were trapped in a warehouse full of them, each armed to the teeth with steel and fury. Castiel’s powers were completely gone, yet he fought on beside Sam and Dean. Your own angelic blade flashed in your hand, your movements practiced and almost automatic. But you were getting tired. This fight had been going on far too long – there shouldn’t even have been a fight to begin with. With Lucifer and Gabriel in the ring, the legions you faced should have been smoke in the air by now. You couldn’t understand how the angels trying to kill you had access to their powers, but the two archangels on your own side didn’t. From their halting looks of confusion when a snap of each of their fingers did nothing, neither did they.

That left all of you fighting hand to hand, and even with six of you, there were still too many to take on. You flung yourself around towards a torn cry of Dean’s name, seeing Castiel trying to wade through the fight towards your fallen friend. You and Sam quickly followed suit, but the angels closed rank. You couldn’t even see Dean; you had no way of knowing how badly hurt he was. Your only indication was that he didn’t get back up. Distracted in trying to lay eyes on him for just a moment, you felt a searing pain across your shoulder blade and back. The wound didn’t feel too deep, but a slash from angelic steel was excruciating. You stumbled, taking a glancing blow from your left that had your feet out from under you, and there was just enough time to see you would fall directly onto the tip of another angel blade –

The air around you fell silent and still.

Your breathing was ragged, the blood on your back soaking through your shirt. You had lost your weapon somewhere in the melee, your trembling hand instead clutching cloth. Someone gripped your other wrist, deadly silent. You forced your eyes open to see what your forehead was leaning against, almost reeling back when your mind supplied a person, a man, Lucifer. His arm encircled your waist to keep you steady and a second hand alighted on your uninjured shoulder. Lucifer was watching the space directly behind you with an unreadable expression. You turned your head as much as your rattled state would allow to find Gabriel holding your arm, staring back at his brother in exactly the same way. Gabriel broke first to look at you.

“You alright?” He asked cautiously, and you didn’t miss the way his eyes caught on your back. You swallowed harshly and tried to nod. Your grip on Lucifer’s jacket tightened and you were surprised that he let you lean against him more heavily as you tried to regain your bearings.

“What happened?” Your voice was hoarse even to your own ears.

“Fight got too much.” Lucifer sounded oddly subdued, enough so that you made the effort to straighten and see his face. His gaze was unfocused, though it snapped to you as he offered a short smile. “We decided to get out of there.”

You stepped back, finally, and cast around for your friends. You recognised the rusted hallways as one of the entrances to the main floor where you had been just moments prior, but Sam, Cas, and Dean were nowhere to be found. You thought back to what had happened just before you had been teleported out, a dark pit opening in your stomach. Movements frantic now, you located your blade and snatched it up from the grimy concrete floor.

“And what, you just left them there?”

You turned quickly between Gabriel and Lucifer, imploring either of them to prove you wrong. Of course, for once, they stayed quiet.

“Oh no, no, no-”

Injured shoulder be damned, you grit your teeth and set off at a sprint, shoving between your saviours. You knew they had just watched you go without even needing to see it. You careened round a corner and took out an unsuspecting angel standing guard, then on through a set of double doors and another corner. And this time, you skidded two a halt. Ten more angels, blades ready and moving as a singe military unit stood between you and saving your friends. You thought humourlessly that if you believed God truly cared, this would have been the moment you decided to pray. Instead, you let out a roar and charged at the one leading the way, walking slightly apart from the others. Those behind her were arranged in lines of three, shoulder to shoulder and completely blocking off the corridor.

You dispatched two quickly, but that gave the others time to circle around you. You turned to face each, trying to put on a show so they would know you weren’t afraid, that you could take them. You were, and you couldn’t. And they knew it. When three came at you simultaneously, you launched yourself towards the closest one, eyes shut as you prepared for the onslaught of agony which would inevitably lead to your death.

It never came.

You slammed your hands down over your ears at the overwhelming, high-pitched ringing which split straight through your skull. Your eyes narrowed to slits at the onslaught of piercing white light, but you were even more shocked once you could see again. The expanse of a perfect white wing curled around you, protecting you from your attackers. You traced its arch back to Lucifer, who had already killed the three angels nearest to you. You turned at a cry of pain from behind you, seeing Gabriel had just about taken care of the rest. Gabriel faced you with all the self-importance of a king.

“I just dragged your ass out of there and saved your life, and this is how you repay me, with a suicide mission?!”

“We, brother,” Lucifer corrected in a low, warning tone. His wing now seemed more like it was keeping you in place, rather than protecting you from harm. Your first instinct was to lash out at them both, but you tamped down on it. You needed to be practical and Gabriel was right – you would never get to your friends in time.

“How is it that they can use their powers, but you two can’t?” The archangels stopped their fighting before it could really get under way, each giving you an assessing look. “Cas is still cut off from heaven, right? So he can’t do anything anyway. That means they’ve done something specifically to block of the power of archangels.”  

You stepped back from Lucifer, gaze down, mind whirring. There shouldn’t have been anything powerful enough to tamp down on their abilities to start with, and you had never heard of anything that could filter out an archangel’s power but let through that of an ordinary angel. You thought through every sigil you had ever encountered, but not one of them fit. You couldn’t imagine it was a magical object, and even if this could be achieved with witchcraft, the angels wouldn’t deign to use it. That left –

“Got it! There’s warding somewhere, that’s blocking out most of your powers. It’ll be in Enochian, and there’s already so many angels here that I bet you weren’t able to sense it when we came in.” Again, they said nothing. “Come on, please – we need to find it before it’s too late!” They weren’t going to help. You were getting desperate, but pleading for their help had no effect. A scream pierced through into the corridor and you lost what little sense you had left. “You both cared enough to pull me out of there. If you care about me at all, you’ll help me find that warding!”

Gabriel looked from you to Lucifer, and some sort of silent understanding seemed to pass between them. You blinked and they were both gone, and moments later, so were the sounds of fighting from the main floor. Heart in your throat, you sprinted for the entrance. The corridor flew past, yet it seemed that your every step lasted a decade. Rusted old hinges shrieked when you shoved open the doors and burst into the warehouse, to find it almost empty.

Dean was curled over, just barely holding himself off the floor on his elbows. Castiel was on his knees in front of him, blade held forward defensively and his free hand behind him, hovering by Dean’s shoulder. Sam was still on his feet a few paces away.

“What happened?” Dean groaned roughly, trying to look around to see where the angels had gone. You swallowed when you realised that the shadows floating towards the ceiling and gathering in the corners of the room weren’t shadows at all. They were the dust that was left of the angels themselves.

Your steps echoed loudly as you ran towards your friends. You felt certain your relief was palpable, but the others were as wary as you had ever seen them.

“Where’d they go?” Dean tried again, slowly sitting himself up. Castiel looked as if he wanted nothing more in the world than to reach for the injured hunter and fold him into an embrace. The soft flap of wings signalled the return of Lucifer and Gabriel, and Sam took a few defensive steps forward in front of his brother.

“Ah, you’re welcome,” Lucifer intoned expectantly, staring directly at you. Castiel turned to him, saw the direction of his gaze, and leaned towards you immediately, voice urgent.

“Y/N, what did you do?”

“Nothing, Cas. It’s fine-” His hand landed on your shoulder, grip tight, as if trying to convince you of an imminent threat you didn’t believe was there.

“What did you agree to?”

“Nothing!” You took a deep, calming breath. “I realised there was some kind of warding around this place that was allowing all of the angels to access their powers, but not the archangels. You three were surrounded, and Gabriel and Lucifer found the warding, dismantled it, and destroyed the angels who were attacking us. That’s it.”

Dean groaned as he sat further up and Castiel’s concern became split between the two of you. He moved back a little towards Dean, supporting the hunter’s back even when he tried to wave Castiel away. He was too weak to manage.

“You’re not hurt,” Dean ground out, less of a question and more of a confirmation. You nodded, the yes quiet in the back of your throat. “Then what happened to you? Cause you disappeared and I thought one of ‘em had taken you down.”

You found yourself faltering. Lucifer, the devil himself, and Gabriel, two of the only four archangels to have ever existed, had decided simultaneously that your puny little human life was worth saving? You, the only human of untold billions to have lived throughout time that not one, but either of them had ever cared enough to save – you couldn’t even believe the words in your own mind. Dean prompted you again when you failed to answer and you still couldn’t come up with a reply. Aside from being unbelievable, you doubted Lucifer at the very least would want you to tell the Winchesters and Castiel of all beings what he had done, presumably on the spur of the moment. becoming uncomfortable in the silence with everyone’s eyes on you, you looked over to Gabriel for support, preferring your chances with getting help from him than his brother. He seemed to sigh silently.

“They almost did.” Gabriel watched you cautiously as everyone turned to him. “I was close enough to get Y/N out of the way in time.”

“And what about him?” Dean gave a disparaging tilt of his head in Lucifer’s direction.

“What, you thought I was just gonna let my little bro walk out of a fight without following?”

That wasn’t what had happened; Lucifer had been trying to save you too. But you certainly weren’t going to say anything, and it seemed that neither was Gabriel.

Dean still seemed suspicious, but there were other more important things at hand. Sam and Castiel helped him to his feet. Gabriel snapped his fingers and you all instantly appeared back at the bunker. Your head swirled from the chosen method of long-distance transportation and you pitched to the side, reaching out for the nearest available object to stop yourself from falling. When you straightened after a moment of regaining your bearings, it was to see Lucifer smiling smugly down at you. He held his forearm parallel to the ground in such a way that you were leaning on it without drawing anyone else’s attention. You apologised quietly and stepped back in time to see Gabriel staring at his brother yet again. Somehow, you felt sure that having gained the attention of them both couldn’t lead to a good end.

[caitchercatlady]

Sleeping Over at Ramshackle w/Sebek

Disclaimer: I'll admit that this story was difficult for me to write as Sebek is one of my least favorite characters. However, for everyone out there, thank you for waiting patiently, and I hope I still did him justice for the Sebek fans out there.

You must think that Lilia is crazy…or at least more insane than usual. Putting you and Sebek in the same room is like setting up Grim and Lucius to duke it out over a bowl of freshly cut tuna. Even if you are the more civil one between the two, Sebek will find any and every excuse to compare you to him (even if those comparisons aren’t fair in the slightest). However, having him over for a sleepover (assumingly against his own will), that’s a surefire way to set the entire Ramshackle Dorm ablaze, and it won’t even be your fault. You are not ready to get kicked off of Night Raven campus because of that green-haired hothead.

Lilia has run out of “nice” ways to get Sebek and you under one roof, so he has to resort to bribery. He knows how you’ve been looking forward to your check allowance from Crowley, so you can get your hands on those crepes that Sam has brought in to sell at the Mystery Shop. Lilia just so happens to have three boxes of them ready for consumption. He’ll be happy to get you all three if you agree to allow Sebek to sleepover for just one day.

You hate it when Lilia pushes your cravings button.

The weekend arrives, and you begrudgingly are waiting for Sebek to come over at any moment. Lilia lets you know that Sebek would be sent over at five in the evening for a long night of fun. Is fun really the word you want to use? However, as Lilia has noted to you, by 5PM, once you have Ramshackle organized, the awaited knock at the door appears.

You open it. Sebek stands on the porch, not like your friends who are ready to party, but like a soldier on a stealth mission instead. You haven’t expected anything less from him. He waits for you to give permission to enter your humble abode, and once you do give it, he marches into the living space. He’ll look around as if he’s Crowley going in for dorm inspection. If the inspection is to determine if he’ll stay or not, at least you know it’s not your fault. You never built this dorm.

“As unkempt as to expect from this ancient establishment,” he ends up saying, and that’s the only statement he makes on the condition of Ramshackle.

It’s not the worst piece of criticism, you suppose.

“I don’t suppose you have tea prepared, do you?”

On the contrary, you have been boiling water in the kitchen kettle for tea as you have specifically for your Heartslabyul, Octavinelle, and Pomefiore guests (plus Jamil). You only have to ask what kind of tea Sebek prefers.

“Any primary tea will do.”

“Sugar?”

“Just half of a teaspoon. The tea itself should be enough.”

“Yes, sir,” you mutter. You go with green tea to be simple. This doesn’t seem to face Sebek, which is a better reaction than a negative comment.

Sebek does not speak during the tea break. When he finishes his cup, he decides to take a peek at the guest room you have prepared. It looks very much similar to yours, and there’s not a speck of discrimination to be found in that regard. He does glace at the bed with a bit of disdain. Sebek wants more or the thickest blankets you own. You explain that his closet has extra blankets for the winter if he wants to use those.

The two of you don’t interact for the next few hours as you take turns using the washroom. Then, you head downstairs to clean the living area when you find Sebek’s ID at the foot of the couch. This is too important to leave on the counter or table for the next morning.

You head back upstairs and knock on Sebek’s closed door. “Sebek? Um…I found your ID.”

You don’t get a response.

“Sebek, are you okay?” you call.

No reply again.

Your stomach tells you that it’s not a good idea to enter someone’s private space uninvited while also telling you something is wrong simultaneously. Courtesy be damned if he’s your responsibility for the weekend.

You enter the guestroom to see that Sebek’s temporary bed has gone from neat and untouched to a pile of sheets in the span of three and a half hours. “Sebek?” you ask again.

A grunt noises from under the pile.

“What in the world?”

“What obligation do you have?” he muffles.

“I was just returning  your ID card. What are you doing?”

“Incubating my energy. Something a human such as you will not understand. Please drop my item and depart if you are satisfied.”

“The first part, easy. But what is this incubation you’re talking about? You’re huddled under there like you’re stuck in a blizzard.”

“Your dormitory feels like a blizzard!”

“Really? Yeah, it gets a little drafty at night, but I feel fine…” Your words trail off. Slowly, but surely it occurs to you that Sebek is half fae. Half fae of the night. As you’ve heard from the others, some things he has inherited from his fae mother, others not. This must be a human-father-inherited gene kicking into high gear. As one who has suffered some really cold nights yourself, you feel for Sebek in this situation.

You tell him not to move as you’ll be right back with some more sheets. You gather whatever you have from your own room and shuffle your way back to Sebek’s. He has refused to come out from under the pile until you toss your collection on top of his. That’s when he ruffles through and pokes his head out, accusing you of suffocating him.

“I can’t help a person if they don’t tell me how else to do things, genius.”

He hisses through his teeth, but he mutters a “Thank you” anyway.

“Don’t thank me just yet.” You sit yourself on the mattress.

“What are you doing?” he exclaims.

“I gave you my sheets, and I’m going to use them the way they are intended.”

Sebek’s face flashes red as you further crawl into his personal space.

“You’re asking to be warmer in this place, and I’m only trying to make you complain less.” You reorganize the blankets in the way they are meant to be used. You want Sebek to trust the process, but you know that’s not going to happen at the drop of a hat. Then, you have both of you retain a side of the bed. After the first few minutes of getting used to yourselves, you accept your presence by laying your heads into the bed’s pillows. As relaxed as you’re getting, without much of your knowledge, the both of you inch until you get comfortably close for warmth. You two won’t notice until the next morning, but by then, is it something worth an argument? Mmm…perhaps not.

[crime-scene-psychic]

I honestly think that the Nolan Batman trilogy was the best and worst thing to happen to the Batman franchise, because on one hand, it was the first live-action instance of trying to make Batman more gritty and serious (because while the Keaton, Kilmer, Clooney movies took the story much more seriously than the 60s television show, they were still goofy at times, which is why I honestly think they're the best rendition of Batman, because they were able to balance silliness with seriousness, which is what Batman is all about, but that's obviously an entirely different thesis) which then allowed for more people to take comic book movies serious, consequently leading to the rise of the DCEU and, obviously, the MCU (we would not have the MCU today and the actual good movies that came out of it without Nolan's trilogy, there's simply no argument there).

However, the Nolan trilogy also unfortunately made "dark, gritty Batman" the norm, meaning that once anyone tries to actually have some fun with Batman, they immediately get shit on by comic book dude bros. It also created the most annoying characterization of the Joker that everyone has been trying to replicate since and no one will be able to replicate, because they simply do not understand the character (I honest to God think the closest live-action actor who has ever made a Joker character work besider Heath Ledger was Cameron Monaghan in the Gotham television show, and he wasn't even really Joker??? but at least he didn't make it everyone else's problem and was a good mix of goofy and psychotic, not just psychotic) and will never be Heath Ledger (but they don't stop trying much to my forever annoyment).

And while I can recognize the cultural and significant impact on the comic and film community that Nolan's trilogy had, it is still by far my least favorite adaptation because of how serious it takes itself (and of course, the racism. The racism is actually the bigger one for me. Fuck Christopher Nolan for that. Ra's al Ghul is NOT a white man just because you want a plot twist, and you CANNOT just erase Bane being mixed race because you fucking FEEL LIKE IT because him being mixed race is extremely relevant to his origin). Batman has had serious moments in the comics, don't get me wrong, and I know things must evolve and change over time and that I cannot expect an 80 year old character to not be further developed throughout the decades, but it almost feels as if Nolan and Goyer (the writer) read a Sparks Notes version of the history of Batman, cracked their knuckles, and said "yeah, I think I got it."

Spoiler alert: they did not get it.

When I watch the Nolan trilogy (which I haven't in quite some time and I really don't want to, even to prove a point to people on the Internet) I notice how uninspired it feels, story-wise. While the action and cinematography is excellent, the story is lacking for me, and when you're telling a story like Batman, that has decades of content, you cannot just forgo storytelling for cool special effects.

I'd much rather watch a Batman adaptation that has the shittiest effects known to man with a writer who whole-heartily cares for the characters they're writing and has taken time to research. And that's honestly one of the biggest problems the comic book film industry is having now, both DC and Marvel. They're not hiring people who actually care about these characters to write them and they're focusing much more at appealing to everyone they can instead of who the movies should be made for: fans.

You're gonna have such a harder time convincing my mom, a woman who only cares about Wonder Woman, to watch the new Captain America film than you would someone who has read the Sam Wilson Cap comic run. And while this entire issue stems from the fact that the film industry is just that, an industry, and has become less about filmmakers making art and more-so how much money investors and producers can get out of ticket sales, it is still infuriating to see franchises you care deeply about be ruined by guys just there to cash their paychecks and be done with it.

And really, the film industry as we know it needs to be fucking demolished from the inside out, but that will never happen and now we're a bit off-topic. So, back to Batman.

I think another issue I have with newer live-action Batman adaptations is that they choose to forgo a VERY IMPORTANT character when it comes to Batman/Bruce Wayne's evolution as a character and story line.

Robin.

Since whatever the fuck the casting of Chris O'Donnell in 1995 was (why was he, like, a grown man?), people have been afraid to touch a live-action Dick Grayson with a six-foot pole (besides Titans, which I'm gonna get to in a sec). Which is ridiculous, because he is, like I said, an insanely important character when it comes to showing the growth Bruce Wayne goes through.

Bruce Wayne becomes Batman because he is so angry about his parent's deaths and the corruption of Gotham that he doesn't know what else to do. All the money in the world cannot change things for the better, his own father tried and died for his troubles, and he is left with no other option. Bruce Wayne works during the day to fight corruption via charity and his company, Batman works during the night and is able to do what Bruce Wayne can't (beating the shit out of people, mainly). The two are separate sides of the same coin.

And despite this seeming like a good arrangement, it's pretty obvious in most adaptations (at least they get THAT right) that beating the shit out of people in back alleys is not a good replacement for therapy. You're able to see the toll being Batman has on Bruce. He quickly becomes more occupied with being a vigilante than being himself. Bruce needs something to break through this internal struggle and help him balance both lives.

And so a boy named Dick Grayson comes along.

Dick's so important (and so are the other Robins, of course, but Dick being the first means I have to talk about him a bit more) because he forced Bruce to get his shit together. Here's a boy who's about the same age Bruce was when his parents died, who also just saw his parents killed in front of him, and is so full of rage he has no idea what to do. Sounds familiar...

Bruce is able to help himself by helping Dick. He gives him an outlet to vent his anger and frustrations while also looking out for him in the best way he can. While there are many issues with how Robin comes to be in various comic runs (and if this was real life it would be fucking ridiculous) Dick becoming Robin is extremely important. If he hadn't been taken in by Bruce Wayne, if he'd been allowed to let that anger continue to bubble up inside of him, he probably would have killed Tony Zucco and that would have been enough to set Dick down a terrible path he might not recover from.

The same goes for Bruce. If he were to set out and kill the person who shot his parents, he wouldn't be a hero anymore because that single event would shatter the entire point of Batman, which is that he is not meant to decide who lives and dies. If he were, how would he be any different than all the villains in Gotham that he fights as Batman? How would he be better than the corrupt businessman and politicians that he has to battle as Bruce Wayne? He wouldn't.

Batman needs Robin and Robin needs Batman, because they are yin and yang. Light within darkness, darkness within light. You cannot separate these characters and still tell an accurate story, it's impossible. I think that's a huge issue Nolan's movies have, on top of many others. You cannot accurately present to me a Batman story if there is no Robin, just as you couldn't give me a Robin story without Batman.

Every Robin is so important to how Bruce Wayne as a character is developed, and disregarding this as a creator is not only disrespectful to the character, it misses the entire point. I refuse to take your adaptation of Batman seriously if you can't figure out how important Robin is. He isn't just some kid sidekick, he isn't an optional side character, he is what makes Batman human. You cannot have gritty, Neo-noir Batman and forgo Robin just because you see him as the sidekick in tights. When Batman was silly and took itself less seriously, sure, there wasn't a lot to Robin nor Batman's troubling pasts. But now that you want to deep dive into Bruce Wayne's psyche and pick apart what makes him the way he is you wanna throw in the towel and erase the part that humanizes him? Fuck. You.

You can't make a complex Bruce Wayne and take away parts that help audiences understand his complexities, that's fucking STUPID!

Titans, for all its faults and problems, will always have my gratitude as it had the fucking balls to give, without a doubt, the best and most rounded live-action adaptation of Dick Grayson we have ever seen. Titans introduces Dick at a very important and rocky time in his character arch: him leaving Bruce.

If you're not in the know, there's a falling out between Bruce and Dick that's been written a couple different ways over the years, but all comes down to Dick being "fired" from being Robin and leaving Gotham. This is a bit of a newer story line in comparison to how long the character of Dick Grayson has been around, and eventually leads to Dick becoming independent from Bruce, signalling his evolution from "side kick" to his own hero, Nightwing. However, there's issues with Dick having to give up the Robin mantel, because it's something that is whole-heartily Dick Grayson. Robin wasn't something Bruce Wayne came up with, it was the nickname his parents gave to him. Even the colors are his, those were the colors of the Flying Graysons' uniforms. Robin is much more than just a vigilante alter-ego to Dick, it is the last link he has to his past and his parents. So when this is taken away from him and given to another, this causes a huge internal struggle for Dick, as he has to deal with the anger he now has for Bruce, a man he originally looked up to and idolized. This is Dick seeing how wrong it was for Bruce to do some of the things he did to Dick, despite at the time those choices being what both needed.

The way Titans is able to portray this extremely delicate time in Dick's story line in a way that not only makes sense for his character, but also allows for growth is really admirable. Like I said, the show isn't perfect by any means (can I PLEASE get a Romani actor to play Dick PLEASE) but it's the first time I feel that the character is wholeheartedly taken serious in a live-action setting. You can tell the writers have a better idea about how the characters should interact in a live-action setting and while some choices are questionable to me, the heart is there.

Nolan's movies in comparison feel soulless and devoid of all creativity and love. He does not care about these characters, no matter how much he tries to make you think that, and he never will. Christopher Nolan, you will NEVER convince me that you give two shits about Bruce Wayne. And if you, the director, can't bother to care, why should the audience? Why should I care about your adaptation if you can't even be bothered to put an ounce of individuality into it?

With Matt Reeves' Batman films underway, things are getting worse again. For a while, we only had to deal with the shitty Joker adaptations that tried to replicate Ledger's Joker, but with the Reeves Batman movies, the film bros are making themselves known again. I remember when the new design for the Riddler dropped and I said it was shit and people on Twitter and YouTube got SO PISSY at me and told me I just don't understand Batman and that I'm childish for enjoying the designs for Gotham Riddler/ Batman Forever Riddler and whatever and that I'm stupid, which none of those things are true, I hate to be confident in anything, but I think I know more about Batman than you do, Twitter troll.

The suit sucked and the character sucked. They just created a new character but gave him the Riddler's name. That's NOT the Riddler. That's honestly closer to Hush than Riddler, so just... do that? But of course, less people know about Hush than Riddler, and you're not trying to make a film for fans, you're trying to make money, so why would you ever be so silly as to do that! I'm not gonna talk to much about the new Riddler, just because it's super old news and it's not the point I was trying to make here, it's just something that continues to piss me off when it comes to gritty recreations of characters, because Riddler really never was supposed to be some Zodiac Killer wannabe, he's supposed to be a guy who leaves you riddles and makes you solve them and he's supposed to be a little silly about it. And I'm not saying you can't do a more gritty Riddler, because Arkham Knights did it super well imo! Just don't reinvent the wheel! Don't just make a new character and call him by another's name, that's a disservice to the character themselves and their creators.

This is a hard topic, because you have people who get the point of these characters (people who have actually read a comic before and paid attention to the story) but you also have insufferable film/comic bros who worship the ground Nolan and Reeves walks upon and who don't even take time to explore the rest of the Batfamily comics (his gang of vigilante children show up in the stand-alone Batman comics, though, so I don't know how they're missing this, unless they have the reading comprehension of a goldfish, which they probably do tbh). It's why I think a lot of these weirdos don't like Gotham Knights or Wayne Family Adventures, because they hate the thought of there being any semblance of fun in the Batman franchise. Not everything needs to be doom and gloom! Let Dick Grayson be bisexual and let Bruce Wayne have a PTA rival! You can have your cake and eat it too!

I know this seems like a silly sentiment coming from a person who just wrote an entire essay on this, but maybe don't take Batman so seriously? I don't mean, of course, that you can't care about these characters, I'm actually saying the opposite! I care very deeply for these characters, so much that I obviously spat all this out. I just think some people need to fucking chill when it comes to realistically portraying Batman. There's nothing wrong with taking a more serious approach to the characters and I have no problem modernizing them, but you can't just have action hero Batman, you have to have the human behind the mask too. And if you can't balance that, then I'm sorry, but you shouldn't be making Batman adaptations, because you obviously don't understand what the character is about.

I'm nervous to see where Reeves will go with the character, and only time will tell. I've heard rumors he plans to introduce Robin, I've heard rumors he doesn't. Either way, it's obviously out of my hands and I'll have opinions either way, but I really hope he has a better understanding of the history of the franchise than Nolan. While I appreciate, again, what Nolan did for revolutionizing not only the Batman franchise but the comic movie industry as well, I can still find faults in how he went about things. I truly don't believe we can have a worthy adaptation of Batman live action without Robin and without embracing the silliness of Batman's villains and I really hope producers, writers, and directors realize that soon.

Sorry if you read all that...

[whysamwhy123]

Just like when I was considering abandoning my Orange/Ospreay/O'Reilly fic, and then AEW suddenly announced those three were gonna team together, effectively forcing me to finish and post that fic - when I just start toying with the idea of writing a very stupid crack fic about Taven/Mortos, in the style of a trashy problematic dark romance fic, they announce that Mortos is gonna be on Hey EW this week. Why must the universe keep sending me these weird signs, LOL.

There's no way I'd get it out tomorrow since I'm a slow writer to a ridiculous degree, but if I can figure out how to do the HTML hover-over translation thingy on AO3 (because most of my ideas for this fic are just jokes contingent on being able to do that), I might just attempt and inflict that upon the world. Pray for your mortal souls. And ready the pitchforks.

[nightxcreature]

About Damn Time

A/N: I am certainly not a Sam girl, but I thought that I would try out something for him. Dean is my favorite, the LOML, but I'm trying to expand my horizons when writing, so heres a short one for Sammy. Written fast, edited poorly

Warnings: Drugs...sort of? Forced marriage, unrequited love on one part.

Pairings: Sam Winchester x reader, Dean Winchester x Friend!Reader, Becky Rosen x Sam Winchester

I was nursing a drink at a little strip club in Las Vegas, not exactly the place I wanted to be, but Dean wasn't leaving without hitting up a Vegas club first. He was chatting up the bartender while I sent yet another text to Sam, begging for him to at least tell me he was alive. He had left on a solo hunt a few days ago and we haven't been able to find him since. Dean keeps trying to reassure me that he's fine, but I know he's been messaging him just as much as I have. If not more.

"Hey, he just sent me a text. He's four blocks away and wants me to meet him with a suit." Dean's voice snaps me out of my own head, and I look toward him in confusion.

"Four blocks? I've been texting him all day, why didn't he just tell me that?" I question, mostly to myself.

Dean shrugs and leaves some cash on my table, "Maybe he's just been busy with another hunt. He's probably getting ready to do some fed interviews since he's got me bringing a suit."

I nod and grab my things, following behind him to the door. My phone dings as I get into the front seat, and I scramble to find it.

Sam: Who is this?

Me: What do you mean who is this? It's your girlfriend.

Sam: I don't have a girlfriend, I have a fiancée. Stop texting this number.

Me: Sam, this isn't funny. Dean and I are on our way.

"Dean, I think something's wrong. He's acting like he doesn't know who I am." I say as Dean flies down the street, "Where did he say he was?"

Dean shrugs, "Looks like a wedding chapel. He's probably just posing as a priest or crashing a wedding to get more info."

"But why would he pretend not to know me? He said he's engaged..." I reply placing a hand against my temple, "Something just feels wrong."

"Maybe he's just playing a prank on you. We'll figure it out if he isn't."

______________________________________________________________

As we step into the building the lights flicker causing Dean to send me a cautious look, pulling out our guns we slowly make our way through the hall toward the main chapel. The lights in the main room are bright and I have to put a hand in front of my eyes to adjust to the difference, finally coming to my senses I suck in a quick breath and stop in my tracks. Sam stands at the end of the aisle, a small smile on his face and a carnation boutonniere attached to his suit jacket. The world feels like it's moving in slow motion as he makes his way toward us, grabbing Deans gun and rushing to put it away.

"What are you doing?" He whispers angrily, dragging Dean to the front of the chapel. I slowly follow behind, unsure of exactly what's going on and where I should stand.

"What am I doing? What are you doing?" Dean asks, shoving Sam's hands off his arm, "Are we crashing a monster wedding or something?"

Sam reaches over and grabs another carnation, pining it to Dean's jacket and handing me a bouquet, "What? No! I'm in love."

Dean glances my way, a curious glint in his eye, "Oh really? Who could've guessed?"

I giggle and place a hand on Sam's arm, "Listen, maybe we should talk about this first."

He sends a funny look my way and stands up straighter, "Why? I know it's a little quick, but I'm in love. I know what I want and it's to get married. Today."

A look of shock passes my face, we hadn't even said 'I love you' yet. I mean, obviously I do love him, he's the sweetest guy I've ever known, but marriage? We don't exactly live a life that allows that most of the time.

"Maybe we should talk about this more in depth first."

"No. I know what I want." He says curtly, his frown immediately flipping upside down when the wedding march begins, and I hear the chapel doors swing open.

"What. The. Fuck." Dean lets out, grabbing my shoulders and spinning me toward the door.

Becky Rosen, the biggest Supernatural fan alive, is slowly making her way down the aisle to my boyfriend.

"What the fuck is right." I whisper, "Sam, what the hell is going on?"

"I love her." He answers simply.

"No, you don't." Dean says, yanking him back from the Elvis impersonator at the end of the aisle, "You've lost your mind."

"No, I haven't! We ran into each other, talked for a while, and I realized that I'm in love." Sam angrily responds as Dean shoves him into a pew.

He turns and points toward Becky and then at the pew in front of him, "You, sit. Now." Becky nods quickly and sits beside Sam, keeping a little space between them that Sam quickly closes pulling her closer, "Let her go, you don't love her. You love her!" Dean yells, pointing between Becky and me.

"I don't even know her!" Sam yells back, pulling Becky closer into his side as she giggles, "Becky is the love of my life."

I roll my eyes, "Are you sure she didn't poison you? This isn't the first time she's tried to get you into her bed."

Becky scoffs, "He loves me, didn't you hear him? I know that must be hard to accept, but it's true."

"Yeah, right." I nod, "Sam, you can't marry her. You don't even know her."

"I already did."

"What?" Dean and I question in unison.

Becky's smile grows even wider, "The ceremony is just for pictures, we signed the papers before you got here."

As she finishes her sentence, Elvis waltzes back up with the bill and Becky stands to follow him. Sam kisses her before she leaves, and I almost throw up.

"Dude, could you stop?" Dean suggests, "This could all be something written by Chuck. We need to figure that out before you go off with your new...wife." He sends me an apologetic look and then turns back to Sam,

"Chuck has nothing to do with this. I'm going back to Delaware with my wife, just be happy for me." Sam stands as Becky reenters the room and they head out the door for their...honeymoon.

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

I lay in the motel room alone while Dean is snooping at Becky's under the guise of bringing a gift. He suggested I stay back saying that he doesn't want to cause any problems for the happy couple, but I know that he really just wants to save me the anger and pain of seeing Sam with someone else. How does this even happen? I grab my laptop and click on my search engine, typing in anything that could give us insight into what's going on. Suddenly, Dean bursts through the door with Sam leaning against him and a smaller guy on their heels.

I Jump up from the bed and rush toward them, running my hands over Sam's face as he slowly blinks into consciousness, "What's going on? Is he okay?"

"Demons. He's fine, just tired. Becky was loading him up with some purple potion every day." Dean says as he grabs a beer from the fridge.

Sam reaches over and grabs my hand from where I placed it on the table beside him. He tugs me closer and leans against my chest, "Hey." He whispers quietly.

"Hi."

He sheepishly smiles as he looks up at my face, "Sorry that I forgot who you are."

I giggle and place a hand on his cheek, "You were drugged, I can't hold it against you. Just make sure it's me that you're meeting at the end of the aisle next time, ok?"

He chuckles and stretches up to kiss my lips, "Sounds good to me."

I stop short from touching his lips and smile, "Are you still married? I'm not comfortable being the cause for your infidelity."

He returns my smile and pulls my lips to his in a soft kiss before saying, "I signed the papers before we came up. You're no longer the other woman." He kisses me again and runs a hand through my hair, "I did realize something through all of this though."

"Yeah? Whats that?" I inquire, an eyebrow raised.

"Have I ever told you that I love you?" He asks quickly, a shy blush rising in his cheeks.

"No, but you can."

"I love you." He whispers as he places his lips on mine again, "I really, really do."

"I love you, too." I return, smiling against his lips.

A slow clap begins behind us as Dean steps out of the bathroom, "It's about damn time."

A/N: I said this would be short, but it is not. My bad. Love you guys!

Tag List:

@lmhf1

[mintycandycrumb]

The Blatant Sexism and VA Harassment in The SAMS Fandom.

Not the first Ramble I fully wanted to make on this account, and I'm a little late to the party, but I feel this can no longer be held back as something to keep inside. I have been in the SAMS fandom now since Nexus was first born as New Moon, and in that year and a half since Moon first died I've seen this fandom take some of the lowest falls ever.

I would like to start this simply by saying to Kat (Earth's VA); that I am so sorry the fandom is treating you the way they are, and allow this message from me to at least somewhat help you know there are people in this fandom who respect you and the work you do for us. As an aspiring writer and voice actor myself, you and the rest of the crew are inspiring, and I'm sorry the fandom has thrown so much hate at you for no reason.

To everyone who has been harassing Kat or any other VA; You suck. Plain and simple. These VAs create, write, portray and produce free daily content for you, and you feel entitled to 'good' writing when none of them are professional writers who HAVE to give it to you. These are people with their own lives, and creators do not owe their audience anything, and they are in every right to take it away from us if they feel necessary.

I do have my own issues with the writing at times, but I can look at TSBS for what it is, a simple online show that will have its flaws, plotholes, mistakes, and 'bad' episodes. But it's a show I still love regardless, for the characters and their stories, not the overarching plot. No writing is perfect and the VAs are not professional writers, those who expect movie-quality writing in these shows are not seeing it for what it is

And finally, the blatant hatred towards the female characters in TSBS. Earth, Roxy, Nebula, Pollux, Puppet, Ballora, I've seen so much despisal for these characters for seemingly no reason, and I myself admit I enjoy most villains over them, but that is my own personal love for Villains and NOT a dislike for these characters. They are just as well written as others, flaws and all, as it makes them more human. I will mostly be touching on Earth as she is my biggest point of anger here.

Earth is ALLOWED to be selfish for once in her life, it is not something to demonize her for while you woobify Lunar, someone who has outright admitted he is selfish and by that logic should face the same hatred. Earth is a sweetheart who wants to see the good in people, even those others demonize, like Eclipse, but for some reason, she is despised when she finally wants to do something for herself.

Earth currently is living with chronic pain due to Lunar's rage and selfish (though justifiable) hatred towards Eclipse, and she currently is confused about whether she should forgive him or not, that's good writing, not something to hate her for. The female characters of TSBS are written to be realistic and more human, they are not your punching bags just because you don't like them for some reason.

If you demonize the female characters, yet woobify the villains and claim they can do not wrong, you suck. I admit once again, some of my favorite characters are the deplorable villains (Nexus, Ruin, BloodMoon, etc), but that does not mean I will say they did nothing, they are horrible people but I love them for it. And I love Earth, and the other female characters, for their flaws and the mistakes they make.

In short: Leave the VAs alone, creators owe you nothing, the female characters are flawed and that's okay, you are allowed to like villains despite their deplorable actions, and I hope for the sake of everyone working on these shows our fandom gets better. All of this coming from the perspective of an aspiring VA, Writer, and a woman. Do, Better.

[shallowseeker]

Was feeling silly over Sinatra and I wanted to break out one of my Dean and Jack metas by itself. It's from this monstrosity, but I love it so. I'm pulling it out to ponder over today.

//

Dean’s answer to the Harper-coded ideal of perfection:

So, last we left off, Harper was writing dreamily about how she’s gonna find Jack and everything’s gonna be PERFECT.

Which is why it’s so beautiful to me that Dean, who has struggled with some of the same abandonment trauma and overall clinging to his first familial loves out of desperation, is the one to narratively provide a rebuttal to that!

Harper sighs dreamily and picks up her coffee mug of domesticity:

And the scene cuts to Jack, as if he’s right there across from her. (He’s sitting in her empty spaces, hundreds of miles away.)

And Jack is so satisfied. The coffee didn’t taste good to him at the very beginning of the episode. He “couldn’t get it how he liked it.”

Now, it’s very satisfying.

///

Harper and Jack are both satisfied is different ways. Harper, because she left her past behind, and Jack because he’s proved himself as a capable hunter worthy of being brought into the family business. It’s all part of growing up.

They are still thinking about each other and what they learned in meeting each other. Jack is specifically asking Dean about love:

JACK: And that’s, love? DEAN: Eh, actually love can get crazier than that. And it might get crazier with Harper still out there. But, uh, you did good, kid.

In Jack’s family kitchen, we find Dean sitting in the narrative “Harper position,” fielding Jack’s questions about love and providing important guidance.

But Harper’s “mentor” space is sadly empty. She has no one to guide her. Only a stack of books. She gets her ideas about love…from books.

///

As for Jack, Jack leans a little too far into being Righteous here. He says to Dean: “I was right! I should be going on more hunts!”

This reminds us a little bit of Claire Novak, in 11x12 Don’t You Forget About Me:

"I was right!"

///

But Dean?

Dean gently redirects the conversation. Dean doesn’t talk about perfection. It’s not about being right. Or righteous, for that matter.

DEAN: Okay, alright. It’s not about being right. Kay? You’re gonna make mistakes, hell, I make them all the time. But it’s how you handle yourself once you’ve made those mistakes and you’ve learned from them.

Dean’s entire season 8 arc was about accepting the imperfect family: “love, and love.” This is echoed again, just a few episodes later, with AU Michael taunting Dean specifically about Cas’s mistakes:

AU MICHAEL: …he “gripped you tight and raised you from Perdition.” Or whatever. But since then, what has he done? Only made mistakes, one after the other.

AU Michael doesn’t grasp the complexity of love and all its imperfections. Real, lasting love allows for mistakes and growth.

Anyway.

Mistakes! (And accepting them! It's an amazing theme!)

And that lands for Jack. He considers the words, assessing, and like how he was with Harper, he gets a Very Good Emotional Read on Dean.

(Unlike Sam, a “brain” character, Jack’s very much a heart character. He’s GOOD at this aspect of humanity. He connects almost effortlessly, even when he’s awkward.)

And especially because he and Dean (and Mary) are built similarly in their emotional cores and neuroses, he figures out exactly what Dean needs to hear, echoing their earlier convo about Michael—

(HERE'S THE CONVO B/T JACK & DEAN, EARLIER IN THE EP:)

JACK: Dean, what happened with Michael, no one blames you. DEAN: Cool, well I blame me, so… /////// JACK: Dean, I need to do something. You don’t understand. I could have killed Michael. Here, when I was strong enough, I could have. But there was so much going on and then everything else happened because I was distracted and stupid and DEAN (angrily): Hey! You didn’t do anything wrong. JACK:  And neither did you! But that doesn’t make it any easier does it?

Jack takes this earlier conversation and echoes it—and reflecting a cheeky, wry sense of comfort…right back at Dean himself.

DEAN: ...it’s how you handle yourself once you’ve made those mistakes and you’ve learned from them. JACK (comically throwing Dean’s own advice back at him): —and how to not beat yourself up over [those mistakes].

Aw.

It hits its mark. ❤️

We get his, “Stop seeing right through me, Kid,” look:

DEAN: You know Jack, you’re pretty smart sometimes. 

Dean tries to hide his smile in his drink.

And Jack knows his words hit, that he’s cheered Dean up. He’s so pleased about it, too! He got ‘im.

They’re, very unfortunately for both of them, very much on the same wavelength with this sort of thing, with their neuroses and emotions, and they know it.

///

(Who's giving who advice here? hehehe. Maybe it's a little give and take. They comfort one another because their hearts are made of the same stuff.)

[kate-bridgerton]

Daenerys and Aemon

On Braavos, it had seemed possible that Aemon might recover. Xhondo’s talk of dragons had almost seemed to restore the old man to himself. That night he ate every bite Sam put before him. “No one ever looked for a girl,” he said. “It was a prince that was promised, not a princess. Rhaegar, I thought … the smoke was from the fire that devoured Summerhall on the day of his birth, the salt from the tears shed for those who died. He shared my belief when he was young, but later he became persuaded that it was his own son who fulfilled the prophecy, for a comet had been seen above King’s Landing on the night Aegon was conceived, and Rhaegar was certain the bleeding star had to be a comet. What fools we were, who thought ourselves so wise! The error crept in from the translation. Dragons are neither male nor female, Barth saw the truth of that, but now one and now the other, as changeable as flame. The language misled us all for a thousand years. Daenerys is the one, born amidst salt and smoke. The dragons prove it.” Just talking of her seemed to make him stronger. “I must go to her. I must. Would that I was even ten years younger.” The old man had been so determined that he had even walked up the plank onto the Cinnamon Wind on his own two legs, after Sam made arrangements for their passage.

~

“No,” the old man said. “It must be you. Tell them. The prophecy … my brother’s dream … Lady Melisandre has misread the signs. Stannis … Stannis has some of the dragon blood in him, yes. His brothers did as well. Rhaelle, Egg’s little girl, she was how they came by it … their father’s mother … she used to call me Uncle Maester when she was a little girl. I remembered that, so I allowed myself to hope … perhaps I wanted to … we all deceive ourselves, when we want to believe. Melisandre most of all, I think. The sword is wrong, she has to know that … light without heat … an empty glamor … the sword is wrong, and the false light can only lead us deeper into darkness, Sam. Daenerys is our hope. Tell them that, at the Citadel. Make them listen. They must send her a maester. Daenerys must be counseled, taught, protected. For all these years I’ve lingered, waiting, watching, and now that the day has dawned I am too old. I am dying, Sam.” Tears ran from his blind white eyes at that admission.

~

That had been one of his last good days. After that the old man spent more time sleeping than awake, curled up beneath a pile of furs in the captain’s cabin. Sometimes he would mutter in his sleep. When he woke he’d call for Sam, insisting that he had to tell him something, but oft as not he would have forgotten what he meant to say by the time that Sam arrived. Even when he did recall, his talk was all a jumble. He spoke of dreams and never named the dreamer, of a glass candle that could not be lit and eggs that would not hatch. He said the sphinx was the riddle, not the riddler, whatever that meant. He asked Sam to read for him from a book by Septon Barth, whose writings had been burned during the reign of Baelor the Blessed. Once he woke up weeping. “The dragon must have three heads,” he wailed, “but I am too old and frail to be one of them. I should be with her, showing her the way, but my body has betrayed me.”

[pynkhues]

No that thing about Rolin was genuinely so stupid. I feel like so often the people ranting about how only they and their circle "get" the show (a show they often seem to hate, or at least they already hate everything about season 3, because they really wanted the show to be one where Louis had a full-fledged romance with Armand and they resent Lestat -- or Sam, it can be hard to tell -- getting any attention) are the ones willfully misreading not only the show itself (which has room for multiple interpretations but is pretty clear about SOME things) but everything Rolin and the actors say about it.

It's like, they need to make Rolin the villain who is going to make the show into a racist Lestatfest, because they can't deal with the idea that Rolin can love IWTV, which he created, and still be particularly excited for TVL (because they're allowed to already feel like they won't like the TVL season, but it's wrong for anyone to be especially excited for TVL?), or that Jacob can still have an incredibly rich and prominent role as the co-lead (like Sam in season 1) even if Sam is now the lead.

It feels like they've made up a version of the show in their heads that they wish it were, and they're mad that the show isn't that. And I think the show in their heads sounds a lot less interesting and complex than the show we actually have. But yeah, you see people say things like they hope Louis and Lestat don't interact until late in the season because Louis should be doing his own thing and I'm like....for one, that would be bad storytelling. This show is about the relationship between the two of them, having them not talking and not figuring anything how or having conflicts together, would be less interesting and make less sense for the characters. And, even if you don't recognize what good storytelling would be, they have to know that that is obviously not going to happen. Rolin's writing the Loustat show and they're going to interact even if they're not romantically involved (not to mention that critics love Jacob and Sam even above everything else on the show, as do audiences, and AMC clearly knows they have exceptional chemistry both on and off camera, so...yeah, not wasting that).

There are people where it feels like IWTV the show AND iwtv the fandom make them so miserable that I don't get why they persist. If the show is upsetting you that much, is it worth watching just because you like bits of it? It feels like some fans have decided that liking Lestat as a character, or being excited for a season that explores him more, or thinking that Sam is amazing and being happy that he gets critical acclaim, is racist. It feels like weirdly performative virtue-signaling, like it's doing good antiracist work to hate this character and condemn the show for having him as a lead? And I'm like...you're just trying to take all the nuance out of this work of art because you care about it as some kind of talisman to prove your superiority, not as art, and that doesn't actually do anything to fight racism?

/lol sorry, end rant. I'm just kind of new to fandom and though I'm now realizing I can block things to keep idiocy of my timeline, it just feels weird to see how people react to shows in a way that feels like it has nothing to do with the actual merits of the show or actors.

(x)

You don't have to apologise, anon, like - - look, I get it. All fandoms feel like a bit of a melting pot these days, but this one is certainly moreso than any other fandom I've personally been in before. It's kind of nuts to think that 15 hours of television across three years can cause so much discourse and factionalism and vitriol, but then again, maybe not. I was a little flippant about it the other night, but it does kind of feel sometimes a bit like how churches form denominations.

In terms of Rolin though - - yeah. It does feel a bit silly to me. He's not adapting Interview with the Vampire, he's adapting The Vampire Chronicles, and frankly I'd hope he'd be proud of each book he adapts, and excited for every book he's currently adapting, because otherwise, I'd be questioning why he was adapting the series at all. These books are pretty old - like, God, The Vampire Lestat even turns 50 in two months - and the rejection from parts of the fandom that this show is an adaptation is a little wild. It's not an original series, as much as some might want it to be, and I do kind of wonder sometimes if the rejection of that fact is based on the reality that Western culture is increasingly individualised and inherently curated.

Content is made for people, and algorithms ensure people only get fed what they want, and so this exposure to stories that don't cater to the exact thing that they want does inspire an incredibly kneejerk reaction. People would rather try and cut a story to fit their experience and wants, than expand their minds to explore experiences and desires outside of themselves. It's - - yeah. Interesting to me in that sense.

As to why people still engage when they know they don't like the source material, I mean, I can't say for sure, but I do think fandom has become a central point of community for some - perhaps the only touch point for many - and I am endlessly sympathetic to that. I'm lucky in the fact that I have a close (albeit complex) family, and so many deep friendships and relationships, but I know that when I moved interstate to a place where I knew very few people, fandom felt familiar and safe in the way that life didn't always at the time, and I really appreciate that people feel that in different ways and possibly to different extremes.

That said, I very much hear what you're saying about virtue signalling, and confusing fandom for activism, and certain pockets of the fandom conflating both with Lestat/Sam, and look. All I can ever do is gently encourage people to log off sometimes. Go do something with your hands! Yoga or colouring or cooking or carpentry or pick some fruit or go dig your fingers into some soil and plant something. Do it especially if it's something that can bring you closer to someone else! (My main workplace has a culture of bringing home grown fruit and vegetables in to share, and I took some herbs from my tiny garden in today and two of my colleagues have already sent me photos of what they made with them, and y'know, it sounds a little simple, but it honestly makes me a little emotional, haha). Fandom isn't activism and, unfortunately, I don't really think it's community anymore either, which is a bit tragic to me personally as someone older who's still banging around the joint.

I think it's all a little too embroiled in personal interpretations, which further embeds feelings of individualism, and the need to assert that individualism over the very thing they seek community over, just as I think that these sort of sub-communities are built on a need for connection, but fed by content around a particular line of thinking, and that the community and the rhetoric get so deeply entwined that there comes a point of no return.

It's - - yeah. Complicated. But like I said, I hear you, and can only really recommend curating your experience of the broader fandom. I mostly can, but people do send me a lot of posts these days too, haha.

[babiebom]

Would I give them head?

A/N: I am so sorry for this I'm writing it at 3 am and I couldn't get it out of my head. I've been giggling for the past 10 minutes like a 7th grader. Also if you are reading this let me know if I should do something special for 50 followers. I know it's not a lot but I am so grateful! If yes let me know what I should do!

Tw: sexual content. Not explicit but it like look at the title. Cursing.

Genre: headcanons nsfw

Wc: idk it depends on which person. Probably 2+ for each.

This is including almost every male stardew character(obviously no kids) plus ridgeside plus expanded but not all because I cannot remember every single character and I don't wanna research rn.

Masterlist

Sebastian

Duh no doubt about it

He is the love of my life (well one of them)

I would give him the best head wymmmmm

Sam

Yes boy deserves it

Golden retriever coded guys deserve good head idc

Shane

Love sad men it's a yes

Kinda wanna make him cry because it's so good.

Maybe I can cure him

Elliott

No

Sorry it's not that I dislike him he's just not my favorite?

Maybe once as a treat but no other time than that

Harvey

Yeah he's the doctor for a small town

I gotta

Maybe he will stop billing me everytime I die

Alex

No

I am not attracted to this man he is more bestie coded to me

If he asked i would allow him a handjob I guess

Gus

Nope

Maybe he gets a Lil handjob as a treat because his food is good

Gunther

Maybe?

He kinda-

But not enough idk....

George

The reason I am writing this r n

The answer is no but the thought of doing it made me cackle

Lewis

Absolutely not

Fuck you old man

Pierre

NO

I hate this lying ass bitch I give you a kick

Willy

No sorry

He prolly smells like fish and salt and I am not fond

Love him tho stinky man

Kent

YES

would give him the sloppiest toppy known to man

He deserves it he needs it i want it pls bless me

I could beat Jodi's ass if it comes to it idc

Victor

Yes

I find him quite cute overlooking his slight classism.

Also for standing up to his mom for himself love that him

Demetrius

No

I'd rather give Robin head

He deserves no head for being crappy stepdad

Marlon

No

As much as I like him he probably does not shower

Also he is for the marnie's only

Clint

No

I wanna punch him so bad

Mr Qi

Maybe?

I don't find him attractive

But at the same time I find him mysterious and the might just be enough to convince me

Grandpa

HA

HAAAAAAA

no what is wrong with you

Andy

No

Prolly tastes like battery acid

He also gives off racist vibes

Wizard

Yeah

He's chill he can get some head

Morris

Maybe for a discount

Im equating Joja to Coke and I like coke

So only if he promises to give me a discount on stuff I want

Phillip

YES

Another love of my life

It was unexpected for me to love him but he is so cute to me

June

Yuperoni pepperoni

We love a man who is talented

Could easily convince me to give him head if he plays the piano for me ngl

Jeric

Maybe

I love but also hate him

He also gives off bestie vibes

Shiro

Yeah

I feel like he needs it:(

Ezekiel

No

I do however wanna smack his bald head

Not in a mean hateful kid of way I just wanna smack it

Lorenzo

Dilf Ngl

Maybe its because of his name idk

Answer is yes

Kimpoi

It was here where I started looking up characters bc i felt bad for leaving them out

No thank you I will not

Lance

Don't know much about him but I think hes cute so yes

His hair is cool

Isaac

Again don't know much about him hopefully he is not a child

But yeah he's cute so he gets a Lil head from me

Ian

If he takes a shower yes

Otherwise no

Kenneth

Yeah

I like his hair and I think he's cool for being an electrician

I know nothing else about him

Sean

Yeah he's cute so he can have some head

Im so sorry for not knowing im too busy simping over Seb and Phillip ngl

Anton

Uhhhhhh

Uhhhhhhhhhmaybe?

Im not attracted but unattracted to him so sure

Bryle

No

He reminds me of family

Like his face

Jio

Yea

As I have said before I love a mysterious man

Love a man with a sword

Zayne

I have no idea what this is

But I guess??

Have no reason to hate him so sure

Bert

No

He looks stinky :((

I also feel like his wife would beat my ass

Freddie

No

He is for the Lola's only

I also feel like he wouldn't be able to feel it

Mr Aguar

No

I do not enjoy his face

Pika

Simply because im assuming his food is good

I'll say sure simply for free food

Richard

No

So sorry

But no

Sonny

I will give him a platonic handjob

He deserves it bc he's a butler and probably does not get a day off with this family