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[scealaiscoite]

‧₊˚ 🏞️ ✩ 200 setting prompts

¹⁾ an er waiting room 

²⁾ a funeral home car park 

³⁾ a dimly lit alleyway 

⁴⁾ a cramped holding cell

⁵⁾ an empty museum exhibit

⁶⁾ a dusty wine cellar 

⁷⁾ an ex’s spare room 

⁸⁾ a disused garden shed 

⁹⁾ a seedy, cheap motel room

¹⁰⁾ a 24/7 diner

¹¹⁾ a strip club dressing room

¹²⁾ a half-flooded basement 

¹³⁾ a dark classroom

¹⁴⁾ a sparsely-stocked walk-in fridge 

¹⁵⁾ a crumbling mausoleum 

¹⁶⁾ an aquarium’s shark habitat 

¹⁷⁾ a draughty bus stop 

¹⁸⁾ a posh hotel lobby 

¹⁹⁾ a quiet bakery 

²⁰⁾ a department store dressing room 

²¹⁾ a sold-out stadium 

²²⁾ a lofty airplane hangar 

²³⁾ a murky riverbank

²⁴⁾ a mostly-empty cinema 

²⁵⁾ a clearing amidst a dense forest 

²⁶⁾ a bar’s service well 

²⁷⁾ a mechanic’s office 

²⁸⁾ a 31st birthday party

²⁹⁾ a ship’s brig 

³⁰⁾ a sacristy 

³¹⁾ an amusement park 

³²⁾ a garish costume shop 

³³⁾ a mens’ bathroom 

³⁴⁾ a restaurant kitchen right before service 

³⁵⁾ an f1 marshal’s outpost 

³⁶⁾ a yacht’s bow 

³⁷⁾ a drive-thru chapel 

³⁸⁾ a stranger’s hotel room 

³⁹⁾ a dark evidence archibe 

⁴⁰⁾ a loud hair salon 

⁴¹⁾ a failing coffee shop 

⁴²⁾ a retirement home’s staff lounge 

⁴³⁾ an office building’s 12th floor 

⁴⁴⁾ a dying retail chain’s last store 

⁴⁵⁾ an upscale casino 

⁴⁶⁾ a ranch’s bunkhouse 

⁴⁷⁾ the deck of a dilapidated fishing trawler 

⁴⁸⁾ an away team’s dressing room 

⁴⁹⁾ a mortuary waiting room 

⁵⁰⁾ a long-disused storage locker 

⁵¹⁾ a phlebotomy lab 

⁵²⁾ a run-down stash house 

⁵³⁾ a tense conference room 

⁵⁴⁾ a humid greenhouse 

⁵⁵⁾ a jazz club 

⁵⁶⁾ a well-stocked storm cellar 

⁵⁷⁾ a decommissioned sanitorium 

⁵⁸⁾ an embassy under attack

⁵⁹⁾ a marathon aid station 

⁶⁰⁾ a luxury car dealership 

⁶¹⁾ a coastal holiday home 

⁶²⁾ the underside of a bridge 

⁶³⁾ a two-person tent

⁶⁴⁾ a draughty coal shed 

⁶⁵⁾ a labyrinthine warehouse 

⁶⁶⁾ a half-rotted apricot grove 

⁶⁷⁾ an off-the-books laboratory

⁶⁸⁾ a disturbing shrine 

⁶⁹⁾ a circus tent 

⁷⁰⁾ a freezing cold lake 

⁷¹⁾ an actor’s dressing room 

⁷²⁾ a news studio 

⁷³⁾ a broken-down elevator 

⁷⁴⁾ an office’s copier room 

⁷⁵⁾ a library archive 

⁷⁶⁾ a bustling betting shop 

⁷⁷⁾ a peruvian food truck 

⁷⁸⁾ a city bus depot 

⁷⁹⁾ a preschool play room 

⁸⁰⁾ a marina’s creaking dock 

⁸¹⁾ an army recruiter’s office

⁸²⁾ a butcher’s cold storage 

⁸³⁾ an abandoned storage mill 

⁸⁴⁾ a perfumer’s store 

⁸⁵⁾ a high-security prison perimeter tower 

⁸⁶⁾ a cordoned-off crime scene

⁸⁷⁾ a fire station simmering with tension  

⁸⁸⁾ a creepy furniture outlet 

⁸⁹⁾ a boudoir photographer’s set 

⁹⁰⁾ a maternity ward 

⁹¹⁾ a muddy farmyard at dawn 

⁹²⁾ a ballet company’s rehearsal space

⁹³⁾ a dusty record shop

⁹⁴⁾ an isolated, rural cabin

⁹⁵⁾ a detectives’ breakroom

⁹⁶⁾ a bridal boutique dressing room 

⁹⁷⁾ the back row of seats in a cinema

⁹⁸⁾ a bustling dockyard

⁹⁹⁾ a cheap massage parlour

¹⁰⁰⁾ an empty dormitory

¹⁰¹⁾ a stiflingly tense courtroom

¹⁰²⁾ a conspiracy theorist’s doomsday bunker

¹⁰³⁾ a cobweb-littered attic

¹⁰⁴⁾ a crumbling remote farmhouse

¹⁰⁵⁾ an arcade at close

¹⁰⁶⁾ a snowy chalet 

¹⁰⁷⁾ an out-of-use abbatoir

¹⁰⁸⁾ a bougie art exhibition

¹⁰⁹⁾ a neighbourhood paletería

¹¹⁰⁾ a headmaster’s office

¹¹¹⁾ a liquor store at midday

¹¹²⁾ a gold-for-cash outlet 

¹¹³⁾ a train station restroom

¹¹⁴⁾ a country club tennis court

¹¹⁵⁾ an acupuncturist’s office

¹¹⁶⁾ a mansion’s guest bathroom

¹¹⁷⁾ an overwhelmed military outpost

¹¹⁸⁾ a disused santa’s grotto

¹¹⁹⁾ an ambulance bay

¹²⁰⁾ a whiskey distillery

¹²¹⁾ a submarine command center 

¹²²⁾ a lesbian bar 

¹²³⁾ the boot of a parked car 

¹²⁴⁾ a bachelorette party 

¹²⁵⁾ an oncologist’s office 

¹²⁶⁾ a penthouse apartment 

¹²⁷⁾ a coastal cave at low tide 

¹²⁸⁾ the passenger seat of a humvee

¹²⁹⁾ a private plane at 40,000 feet

¹³⁰⁾ a murder-mystery party 

¹³¹⁾ an outdoor beach shower 

¹³²⁾ a sushi restaurant 

¹³³⁾ a trashed pawn shop

¹³⁴⁾ a divorce lawyer’s office 

¹³⁵⁾ an opium den 

¹³⁶⁾ a kids’ ball pit 

¹³⁷⁾ a silversmith’s workshop

¹³⁸⁾ an unassuming safehouse  

¹³⁹⁾ a turkish embassy 

¹⁴⁰⁾ a grimy sewer

¹⁴¹⁾ a federal evidence storehouse 

¹⁴²⁾ a loud public park 

¹⁴³⁾ a busy cocktail bar 

¹⁴⁴⁾ an army mess hall 

¹⁴⁵⁾ an empty stable 

¹⁴⁶⁾ a private investigator’s office 

¹⁴⁷⁾ a dog pound 

¹⁴⁸⁾ a hayfield 

¹⁴⁹⁾ a drive-in movie screening 

¹⁵⁰⁾ an apartment’s fire escape 

¹⁵¹⁾ a shipping container 

¹⁵²⁾ a yoga retreat

¹⁵³⁾ a duplex in a state of disarray 

¹⁵⁴⁾ an ice hockey rink 

¹⁵⁵⁾ a shooting range 

¹⁵⁶⁾ a blood drive 

¹⁵⁷⁾ a timber quarry 

¹⁵⁸⁾ a niche publishing house 

¹⁵⁹⁾ a private arts college 

¹⁶⁰⁾ a fairground in the dead of night 

¹⁶¹⁾ a last-chance rehab clinic 

¹⁶²⁾ an advertising agency

¹⁶³⁾ a theater on opening night 

¹⁶⁴⁾ a hectic rave 

¹⁶⁵⁾ a suburban pharmacy 

¹⁶⁶⁾ a green, sprawling valley 

¹⁶⁷⁾ a veterinary clinic 

¹⁶⁸⁾ a retirement community compex  

¹⁶⁹⁾ a hastily-emptied apartment 

¹⁷⁰⁾ a nightclub bathroom 

¹⁷¹⁾ a lush rose garden

¹⁷²⁾ a childhood bedroom

¹⁷³⁾ a military blacksite 

¹⁷⁴⁾ an airport lounge 

¹⁷⁵⁾ a television show set 

¹⁷⁶⁾ the 46th floor of a skyscraper 

¹⁷⁷⁾ a backpackers’ hostel 

¹⁷⁸⁾ an italian deli 

¹⁷⁹⁾ a failing hair salon 

¹⁸⁰⁾ a sensationalised haunted house 

¹⁸¹⁾ an off-grid commune 

¹⁸²⁾ a makeshift soccer pitch 

¹⁸³⁾ a landscaper’s toolshed 

¹⁸⁴⁾ a cruiseship’s engine room 

¹⁸⁵⁾ a photographer’s set 

¹⁸⁶⁾ a brightly-coloured daycare 

¹⁸⁷⁾ a neglected playground

¹⁸⁸⁾ a hardware store 

¹⁸⁹⁾ a nurses’ station

¹⁹⁰⁾ a tobacconist’s 

¹⁹¹⁾ a biker clubhouse 

¹⁹²⁾ a hunting club

¹⁹³⁾ a newsstand 

¹⁹⁴⁾ a sinking speedboat 

¹⁹⁵⁾ a monastery 

¹⁹⁶⁾ a medical examiner’s mortuary 

¹⁹⁷⁾ a grafftied phone booth 

¹⁹⁸⁾ a soup kitchen

¹⁹⁹⁾ a speakeasy hidden beneath a florists

²⁰⁰⁾ a pumpkin patch in july

[pinksplace]

Tell Me I’m Your National Anthem

Bucky Barnes x Campaign Manager! Reader

Summary: Bucky wasn’t sure when this campaign stopped being about winning, and starting being about spending time with you. 

Word Count: 16.8K

Authors Note: first fic in almost five years!! I’m back from retirement. Anyway, yes I know Bucky’s hair was long in thunderbolts but I don’t care!

Warnings: cursing, inaccuracies about American politics (it’s been along time since I was in a social studies class okay?), gratuitous use of italics, yearning, Alpine, mention of St*ve, and light violence, no use of y/n

You’d always liked a challenge.

As a kid, if the teacher said to write six paragraphs, you’d push yourself to ten. In college, you had interned all four summers, double majored in Political Science and Marketing. Worked full time and still graduated with honors. You even made time to go to like three parties.

Nothing changed when you got into politics.

You took the first job you could get your hands on out of college, and have been running since.

Unfortunately you’ve been running with some of the most infamous assholes Washington has ever seen.

You had a talent for fixing campaigns, tweaking strategies, and saving reputations. This unique skillset was perfectly suited to saving the careers of politicians with questionable tweets, and more often than not, bright red, southern roots.

It wasn’t the “making the world a better place” politics you had dreamed of, you still hoped that a few of the assholes who had hired might find it in themselves to make a few good decisions while in office.

That was until you started working for Bucky.

James Buchanan Barnes -former Avenger or something- was running for Congress and had asking your help.

Or more accurately, his Campaign manager was begging for it. An old friend, who was lucky enough to work with all of the good, kind people, you wished would hire you. All the people your candidates kept beating. You’d never had someone beg you to take their job before. So you agreed, part curiousity and part hope that maybe for once you’d get to see the side of politics you used to believe in.

You didn’t get your hopes up though. Preparing for the cycle to begin again. Another politician with skeletons in need of closets. Nothing you hadn’t seen before, and nothing you weren’t equipped to handle.

Oh how happy you were to be wrong.

Other than having no media training, Bucky Barnes was a good man. All of his baggage had already been aired out for the entire nation to see. It was a much welcome change. You’d always been paid to hide secrets, not use them.

However, this meant the Nation already had an opinion of him. Bucky’s reputation ranged from admired hero to public enemy number one. Nevermind the small subset of Winter Soldier fanatics who studied his every move and then dissected it all online.

You had spent a solid six hours just combing through forums to try and understand whether they loved or hated him. You finally gave up after finding one entirely dedicated to different versions of his prosthetic arm.

The only information this research did reveal was that people really, really like photos of him from his time in the service. The government’s Captain America archives made them easy to find.

Just like that your newest strategy was born. You didn’t like to lean so heavily on the veteran angle, but this felt like special circumstances. One of the first fundraising efforts you lead, was simply a release of t-shirts with him in his army fatigues on it. It sold out in twelve minutes.

Unfortunately, sepia stained Polaroids can only do so much heavy lifting.

While there’s no gentle way to tell someone ‘you’re perfect, now change everything’ Bucky took it well. Not enthusiastically, but he was open, which is all you could ask for. He didn’t grumble once when you sent him to an eight hour “media-training boot camp.”

He didn’t even argue when you picked him up afterwards and drove him to a Barber.

All things that further cemented his status as your favorite client.

Watching his hair fall to the floor broke a little piece of your heart. Alas, the short hair had tested better in focus groups, so off it came. It made more sense message wise too, helping consolidate the image of the 40’s soldier and this modern counterpart. Removing as many similarities to the Winter Soldier as you could afford.

“Can you take a little more off the back?” You ask. It’s easily your third interruption and you can almost hear the Barber roll his eyes.

“That okay?” You ask, the question directed at Bucky this time.

Favoritism aside, you were still deeply uncomfortable around each other. At least that’s how it felt. It had only been three weeks, but he was a quiet type. You were used to working with braggadocios, they always told you where you stood.

Bucky liked to watch. Usually giving you one word answers, if that. His stare is what made you uneasy, the weight of his attention was enough to make you falter. Not knowing what it meant was enough to make you second guess, you need to know what it means. Which means you need to know him. Then there was the handsomeness factor.

Today was exposure therapy. You’d worked with plenty of attractive clients before, none that made you fight a blush from eye contact. But that’s okay.

You’ve always liked a challenge.

“It’s just hair.” He replies, voice even and unemotional.

For a second you’re afraid the conversation will end as quickly as it started. You’re about to escape into your phone when Bucky finally makes eye contact with you in the mirror. You’re sitting against the wall behind him, close enough to watch, far away enough that you don’t have to smell his stupid fucking delicious cologne.

Professional distance.

“Besides. You’re holding my reputation in your hands. Whatever you want.” He smiles, as much as Bucky knows how to smile.

Whatever you want. That’s tempting, and three of your favorite words. Especially when coming from a man.

Stop. Professional.

“So if I suggested frosted tips?” You say, raising your eyebrows.

He huffs, it’s the closest thing you’ve gotten to a laugh.

The barber is nearly done, the effect the cut has on Bucky’s face already dramatic. He looks, young. Or at least the age he would’ve been if it wasn’t for all of- everything.

It’s still a little wet, you can see the ends curling as the barber combs through them and lifts them up to trim. You wonder if he left it long, if someone taught him how to take care of it, would it curl?

You do your best to ignore the stray drop of water that glides down the back of his neck, ghosting over his (now) perfect hairline.

The chair spins around to face you. The barber standing behind it with a satisfied smile, holding the comb triumphantly and letting out a little “Ta da!”

Bucky raises a eyebrow, and you’re startled when you realize- He’s waiting for your approval.

Your stomach burns with satisfaction. You like that a little too much too.

You nod, standing and walking over Bucky, and subsequently the barber. You smile, then hold out your hand.

“You mind?” You ask, though your tone makes it clear it’s not a question.

The barber grunts, giving you the comb and walking with a huff into the back of the shop, leaving you and Bucky alone.

You had called ahead, made sure they’d have the building cleared so you’d be the only ones inside during Bucky’s appointment. Too many variables and prying eyes otherwise.

Wordlessly, you begin to cut. There’s not much to trim, but the barber had left a few stray hairs, and his sides were uneven, which would’ve driven you crazy. It was a short cut, a little left on the top, specifically the front. Enough to let it sit naturally, but also long enough he could style with a smidge of a gel. Versatile, easy to manage for Bucky’s sake.

Then you look down at Bucky, realizing you had neglected to turn him back around, and find him already studying you. Suddenly feeling sheepish, you take a step back, spinning him around to get his opinion.

“You fixed the sides.” He says. You wait for noted but it doesn’t come. You realize that’s probably the closest you’d get to a compliment.

You reach over, putting the comb back and grabbing a small bit of gel. You rub it between your hands and before you can overthink it, run your hands through his hair. Giving the front a little bit of quaffing.

Almost satisfied, you put your hands down on the back of his chair. “You still trust me?”

Bucky lifts a hand to his beard, it’s scruffy, and while you don’t mind that (not even a little). It’s not exactly the look you’re going for.

“You can do it yourself, if you want?” You offer, very aware that this may count as over stepping.

He shakes his head, dropping his hand back into his lap. “I trust you.”

You reach over, grabbing a razor from the station and attaching the 4mm guard. “The beard has tested well, specifically with your female constituents.” Fancy excuse for it would make you sad to shave it all off. “We don’t want to lose it all, just polish it a little.”

Bucky hums, lifting his chin to give you a better angle as you finally switch the it on. The way it shakes to life in your hand once again reminds you of all the faith he has in you. All of his eggs, super glued into your basket.

The buzzing goes quickly. Bucky is inhumanly still. While it normally unsettles you, you can’t help but be grateful. Especially given the next step.

You shut off the buzzer, and reach into the barbicide glass to grab the straight edge razor.

Thankfully in the time it takes you to finish prepping the razor, Bucky has grabbed the oil from the counter and applied it himself.

You give him a moment to settle back into the chair, and wait for him to give the ‘go ahead’ nod.

Taking a deep breath to steel your nerves, you start on the top of his beard, tightening the edges just under his cheek bone until the form a sharp, smooth line.

“Are you normally this…” Bucky trails off, freezing as you get close to his nose, and subsequently his lips in all their blush pink glory (Not that you’re paying any attention to them).

“Hands on?” You offer, pulling back and cleaning the razor. It gives Bucky a chance to release the breath he was holding. He nods.

You hum. “Not, normally this literally. But yes.” You shape the other side as you speak, triple checking that they’re even. “I don’t normally have this much creative control though.”

“Does that make me a pushover?” He asks. Another borderline smile dancing on his face.

You use a finger to tilt his chin up, making sure to avoid eye contact as you do so. “Makes you the smartest client I’ve ever had.”

“Sweet talking won’t get you frosted tips.”

“Was worth a shot.”

You’re pleased to find that the more you talk, the easier it gets. However, the weight of your current position, isn’t lost on you. His attempts at breezy conversation isn’t enough distract you from the fact that his neck is ramrod straight. He’s hardly even breathing.

He must see you noticed his tension, “Haven’t let someone else shave me since before I was shipped out.” He explains, interrupting your study of his breathing patterns. “The first time.”

Shit. He really does trusts you.

It’s almost too much, overwhelming. This man who has been dragged through hell, is sitting here and letting you use a Sweeney Todd style razor on his neck.

You’re not sure what to say, how to acknowledge the hefty implications in his words. Trusting you with his career is one thing, this is his way of saying he trusts you with his life. You hum, your next swipe with the razor extra gentle.

You fall back into a comfortable silence as you finish. Drawing sharp lines to his neck until the edge of his beard is snug against his jaw. A neck beard is an enemy of the state as far as you’re concerned.

“All done.” You say, turning around and moving out of Bucky’s way so he can finally see his reflection. “A number two guard on your razor will keep it around this length.“ You offer while compulsively cleaning up the Barber’s station. You’re sure he’s watching you from the doorway of whatever room he disappeared into. But the only eyes you can feel on you are Bucky’s. “If you like it, that is.”

You finally turn back around to face him. You don’t know if he likes it, but it’s safe to say it’s exactly what you were going for. He looks cleaner, more professional, more like a politician.

But still Bucky.

All he does is hum in response, and your stomach drops to the floor.

He hates it. He hate it’s, he’s going to fire you, and then you’ll be back to helping assholes hide hush money and-

“You do good work.”

Deciding to become, or deciding to try and become a politician was something Bucky had yet to wrap his brain around.

His resume wasn’t that of your typical bureaucrat. No political science degree or volunteer work. Sure there was his time in the service, but last he’d checked the military had changed quite a bit since World War II. He had more experience in fighting U.S. forces than actually serving in them these days.

He knew better than to admit it out loud, but the choice to run for congress, was one he made a whim.

Part had been born out of desperation to leave Brooklyn. Another part was his desire to be useful. To make a good change for once, and do it in a way that didn’t involve voilence.

Bucky just wishes he’d done a little more research.

If someone had warned him about all of the paperwork and bullshit and he had to do just to run, (never mind the pile that would be waiting on the other side if he won), he may have reconsidered.

Bucky hated to admit it, but he didn’t start trying to win until you joined the team

Full of vigor and good intentions, you actually managed to make Bucky want to win this stupid thing. Your infectious energy (and the fact that you were completely overqualified) instilled a newfound confidence in his entire team. Everyone started doubling down on their efforts.

For fucks sake he even let you shave him.

Before he knew it, Bucky was only behind by five points instead of thirty.

Now he found himself in a pickle. Physically he was knee deep in mockups of lawn signs, poll numbers, and focus group answers. Mentally all he could think about was you.

You were talking, making expressive hand gestures as you tried (in vain) to explain what the statistics in front of him meant.

Bucky was too busy thinking about your fingernails to focus.

They’d changed overnight, from a soft pink to a bright eye-catching red. He wasn’t even sure when you would have had the time, you were with him at the campaign office until well after eight last night and you had beaten him there this morning.

“Bucky, do you understand what I’m saying?” You finally broke through, tone half exasperation and half exhaustion.

Luckily, his lack of experience saved him once again. As it so often did when he was too busy watching you, to actually listen. “You know I suck at the numbers stuff.”

Why red? Is red your favorite color? No, he’s pretty sure that green is your favorite, you wear it at-least once a week and your water-bottle has a single green sticker on it.

You gave him a small smile, “I think you could win Bucky.”

Why red? He remembered girls back in Brooklyn who would paint their nails red, talking about how they’d paint their lips to match. Subtle ways to get a boy to thinking about kissing them. He knows it’s none of his business, but he can’t help the ache in his gut when the thought of it being for a date crosses his mind.

Wait what did you just say?

“I could win?”

“A few strategic events, some well timed social media posts and I think you’ve got it in the bag.” You confirm with a smile, it’s one he hasn’t seen before. Confident, almost smug. You’re good at your job and you know it.

“Holy shit.” Is about all Bucky can manage right now.

You finally sit. “I think it might time to find an apartment.”

He groaned. He had hated apartment hunting in New York. Too many people, not enough leases and he doesn’t exactly have a credit score.

“Can’t have a future congressman living in a hotel.” You say, clicking your tongue for emphasis. “Don’t worry I have a friend who can set you up.”

He rubs a hand over his mouth, feeling slack jawed.

“But, we’re still falling short in a few key demographics.” You explain, “We need to get you back to Brooklyn for a few days.”

He nods, sitting straighter and actually trying to read one of the papers in front of him, “Millennials?” He asks, pointing to a particularly sad pie chart. “I thought they liked me?”

“There’s a rumor on TikTok you killed Kennedy, true or not it’s been gaining some traction and it’s causing some of their trust to falter.”

Bucky opens his mouth to tell you they’re not totally off base, but before he can you lift your hand and pinch your fingers together in a shushing motion.

Why are they red?

“Less I know, the better.” You say.

Fair enough.

“We’re also falling short on the older, male, right leaning side of the fence.” You explain, shuffling to bring forward a poll dated from a week prior. “Their wives love you, which means they don’t think you’re a man’s man.”

“How do we fix both of those in just a few days.” He asks, trying to ignore the way your manicured fingers tap against the laminate desk. He’s beginning to think it might be intentional on your end.

“That’s why you hired me.” You smile, “Just have your bags ready for Friday morning and make sure you pack a pair of jeans.”

He nods, knowing better than to ask you to explain when you’re in business mode like this. He hasn’t known you long, but there’s something about seeing you in your element that makes you shine a little brighter.

“I could win?” He finally doubles back, still not sure it’s entirely he believes it. Still not sure he wants it to. Still wondering why are your nails are red.

“Bucky, You have me on your side. You’re going to win.”

You had a friend at a local pet rescue in the city, and to say he owed you a favor would be an understatement. Getting them to let Bucky host an event was easy.

Getting Bucky to agree was even easier.

As always, your instincts had been right on the money, and it was a perfect match. Animals are an easy win with Millennials, if you only you could have gotten him a puppy interview.

The event was a huge success anyway, truly a publicists wet dream. The people loved him, and after only being there for an hour, a majority of the available cats had already been adopted.

Never mind the visuals, since arriving Bucky hadn’t gone five minutes without a cat in his arms.

“Had one back in the day, used to kill the rats in our building and sleep at my feet.” He had explained as he casually picked up a black little soot ball in his right hand, while the left deftly scooped up a little grey tabby. Each cat a limp noodle in his arms.

His big, strong, straining through the sleeves of his button up arms.

It’s not your fault, you’re pretty sure theres some kind of law about men being allowed to look this good while holding a baby- dog, cat, or human.

You change your train of thought, getting ready to go find the intern with the good camera and ask them to snap some candids of Bucky with the animals. When a voice stops you.

“Hey stranger.”

Jack.

Your ‘friend’ or more accurately, ex-boyfriend/shelter contact. You had hoped he wouldn’t bother coming, so you wouldn’t have to bother having this conversation.

“Jack! How are you?” You smile, turning around to face him, which sadly meant turning your back to Bucky (just as he was picking up a little scrawny, white kitten). Your people-pleaser smile in full effect as you bring him into a half-hearted hug.

He squeezes you back with a lot more enthusiasm than the interaction warrants. “It’s so good to see you!” He says, dragging out the ‘so’ for emphasis. “You’re a big shot now. Working with an Avenger and everything.”

You fight the grimace, you’d already been well established when you met Jack, he was just completely politically uneducated and didn’t believe in watching the news because ‘If something is that important, I’ll hear about.’

He also didn’t know the difference between Senate and the House of Representatives.

In hindsight it’s a miracle your relationship lasted as long as it did.

“Thank you again for letting us borrow some of these cuties.”

“No big deal, it’s a great chance to get some of the animals adopted.” He nods in Bucky’s direction. “Seems like he might be taking one home.”

You turn around, finding Bucky holding the white kitten in the crook of his elbow, the little thing is stretched out with its arms straight above its head, belly up and fast asleep.

You resist the urge to groan, finding a pet friendly rental in DC is a fucking nightmare.

Then you watch as Bucky looks down to acknowledge the kitten, ever so delicately scratching under its chin with his free hand.

Worth it.

“Turns out he’s a cat person.” You say, turning back to Jack.

This time you really take the opportunity to study him, all the ways he’s changed. He’s shorter than you remember. He also started dyeing his hair black. It looks bad. He’s less imposing and handsome than your brain dreamt him up to be.

It’s hard to find anyone handsome when they’re in the same room as Bucky.

Jack still has the same eyes, vacant. Bright and engaging, not a whole lot happening behind them.

You hadn’t ended on bad terms per se. It was mostly a mutual break up, with each of your agreeing your lives were just too different. He wanted a golden retriever, Sunday night pasta dinners, and a house so loud he never has to hear himself think.

You need quiet.

“That cat hasn’t let a single person pick her up since she got to the rescue. I’m not letting him leave without her.” Jack says.

“I don’t think it’ll take much convincing.” You smile. “It’s good to see you Jack.”

“Yeah you too, you look good y’know.” He says

Oh you know.

“Thanks, you look happy.” You mean it. “I should get back to work though. Someone needs to make sure babies get their foreheads kissed.”

“Like I said, you’re a big shot.” He pulls you into another just a little too tight hug. “You think he’s gonna win?”

You give Bucky another look, this time surprised to find him watching you. You can quite read his expression, but you never can. The sleepy little kitten in his arm is pawing at his chest trying to get his attention.

“Yeah I do.”

With that you finally escape, grasping onto Bucky’s attention like it’s a lifeline. You use the few steps it takes to reach him to shoot off a quick text, make sure there was nothing on fire, and then you put your phone back into your pocket.

Looking up you give Bucky a smile. “You know they have dogs here too right?” You ask, tone light and facetious.

“Who was that guy.” Bucky asks, always straight to the point.

“My contact here.”

“He seemed awfully friendly.”

“Didn’t take you for a gossip Barnes.” You smile, stepping a little closer, bringing a hand up to pet the baby in his arms. “If you must know, we used to date.”

He hums. “Seems like he’s still interested.” The kitten stands on his forearm, leaning against his chest while it stretches. “If you are I mean.”

You would laugh if you weren’t so surprised. The conversation was beginning to tip toe on that line of unprofessional, you could hear the sirens beginning to wail inside your head. But Bucky is looking at you with all of his attention as he waits for your answer. It’s the same stare that always makes you melt, so you ignore the alarms.

You’re not stupid, you know what he’s really asking.

Are you interested? Single? Looking?

You’re just surprised he cares about the answer.

“I know he isn’t.” You answer, choosing your words carefully, “He has two little girls at home and a gorgeous wife who wants all the same things as him.” You finally leave the cat in his arms alone, resisting the urge to coo as it reaches for you with its paw. “I would’ve kept him waiting too long for all those things.”

It’s a more honest answer than you would normally give, but it’s Bucky. You feel safe with him holding the truth.

He nods, and you notice the slight twitch of his lips. Like he’s fighting a smile.

“I think I have to adopt this cat.” He says, sparring you any follow up questions. He guides the kitten up to his shoulder, where it quickly makes itself at home.

“I already had one of the interns start the paperwork.” You smile knowingly.

“How do you do that?” He asks.

“Do what?”

He holds the kitten up to his face, staring as if it might answer instead of you, “Know exactly what I’m thinking?”

Bucky knew you only acted in the best interests of the campaign. Each event carefully crafted to boost morale, or fix a statistic you didn’t liked

However, for the first time he wondered if maybe you had chosen this event, just because you wanted to go. Okay maybe it wasn’t the entire reason, he was sure you could back it up with a graph and something about polling numbers if he asked.

But after everything you’d done for the campaign, he was inclined to let you have the win. Besides, seeing you in a jersey and jean shorts wasn’t something he felt like he needed to be upset about.

Don’t forget the baseball cap, which it really brought home for him.

Honestly the only thing that really pissed him off about today, was the fact that the first baseball he got to watch in eighty fucking years was a Yankees game.

His Ma would be rolling in her grave, and he told you as much.

“What are you a Mets guy or something?” You ask barely tearing your eyes from the field to look at him.

“Mets?” He asks, tilting his head slightly. He hadn’t found much use for baseball since rejoining the world. Watching it on TV felt too static, but he didn’t have the heart to go to a real game alone either.

“Guess not.” You answer yourself.

“Dodgers were my team.” He explained.

“I hate to be the one to tell you this but they’re on the West Coast now.” You say with an over exaggerated grimace.

“Don’t get me started.”

“Didn’t realize you were such a fan.” It’s not a question, but the way your voice lilts up at the end sure makes it seem like one.

He doesn’t mind taking the bait.

“My Ma used to bring me and my sister down to Ebbet’s every Sunday. Could never afford tickets but there was a great park right out the stadium, we could hear everything.” He said, feeling himself start smiling just remembering it. “I’d lay on the grass, close my eyes, and pretend I was inside.”

“I hope you know, I’m picturing this all in black and white.” You cracked, if Bucky wasn’t so caught up the memory, he’d notice that your voice was dripping with fondness.

“Very funny.” He responds.

You nudge him with your shoulder. “Keep going.”

“Only got inside once, just me and Steve. We snuck in when we like fifteen. He was short enough to pass for a kid and I was fast enough to lose security after jumping the turnstile. Best game I ever saw.” He feels himself smiling while he pictures it, “Even though security kicked us out halfway through the fourth inning.”

“You got into a lot of trouble as a kid didn’t you?” You asked, turning yourself in your to face him. While at least as much as you can turn in a stadium seat.

“Steve did, I just felt guilty letting him get in trouble alone.”

“How selfless.” You joke.

“I’ve always been a man of the people.” Talking was so easy with you. Bucky couldn’t seem to stop himself lately.

“I’m sorry but hearing you refer to Captain America as Steve is never gonna stop being weird for me.” You say, taking another sip of your drink. A beer, which had surprised him. He had pegged you for spirits.

“Hearing you call Steve, Captain America is never gonna stop being a total mind fuck for me.”

“Since when do you curse so much Barnes.” You ask, tilting your head.

“Since I have to sit through a Yankees game, sober-“ He nudged you with his elbow, reaching over to tap the bottle in your cupholder, “-and since you’re too tipsy to yell at me about it.”

You shrug, apparently not finding much fault with his argument. “It’s not my fault you have a supernatural metabolism.” You take another sip, grinning at him as you do so. “I don’t get a lot opportunities to drink shitty beer and eat greasy food these days, gotta take advantage.” You finish.

“I’m not judging.” He defends.

“Everything has to be a bit of mind fuck for you though doesn’t it?” You ask. No malice, just curiosity.

“Who’s cursing now?” He deflects.

“No seriously. I mean, it can’t be easy, and yet here you are, still trying to make the world a better place.” You say. For the first time ever, Bucky thinks you might just feel sorry for him. Not because of his past, but because of his decision to go into politics. Which is fitting for you.

“Sure, it’s hard.” He admits, “Ebbet’s is a bunch of apartments, people don’t go dancing anymore, the Dodgers play for LA, a hot dog costs a month’s rent-“ He pauses, taking a deep breath, “-and Steve is gone.” No matter how many times he says it, it still tastes bitter. You’re right, his entire world had been turned upside down, twice.

“Trying to be good is the only thing I still know how to do.” He finishes. His words hang between you for a moment, and he’s worried he’s said too much.

“People do still go dancing.” You finally respond.

“They don’t dance the way they used to though. I don’t think I could keep up now.” He says.

“It’s pretty easy once you get the hang of it.” You smile, “I’ll have to take you when this is all over.”

Bucky is too busy reading into that last sentence to try and respond to it.

A few minutes of quiet pass between you. You shake your head, taking another swig before speaking. “You don’t give yourself enough credit Bucky.” You say, finally leaving it at that.

Bucky is grateful, he wasn’t sure how he had veered so far off course. Somehow he’d managed to ruin a conversation that he swears could have been considered flirting.

Don’t get him started on how flirting as changed.

You’ve bumped his shoulder and laughed at enough of his jokes that the old Bucky would’ve asked you out by now. But he didn’t know if either of those things meant what they used to back then. He was pretty sure they did.

He was also pretty sure you’d had at least three beers. You’re the closest to relaxed he’d ever seen you. Laughing freely, not worried about optics, or the political implications of Bucky being seen eating cracker jacks. If he knows you as well as he thinks he’s starting too, you probably have some ‘no dating clients’ rule anyway. It wouldn’t be fair for him to make a move now, not when you could finally breathe.

Regardless of if you were flirting or not.

Besides you’re wearing jean shorts and it’s the first time he’s ever seen anything above your knee and staring at your thighs was the closest thing to drunk Bucky has felt in years. He isn’t of sound mind.

“You’re one of the most selfless men I’ve ever met,” You smile, and your hand reaches over to touch his that’s resting on top of his thigh. “And I’ve met a lot men.”

Bucky feels his brain get dangerously close to exploding.

Somehow, he still manages to find words. “It’s not all selfless.” He confesses. Turning the hand yours was resting on upwards and lacing his fingers through yours.

It’s as forward as his confidence can afford right now.

He squeezes your hand and then releases it. Bucky stands up and resists the urge to stretch his back because Jesus, these seats are uncomfortable. He gets ready to walk away, with the plan of shaking a few hands, and getting you a pretzel (for alcohol absorption purposes of course. It has nothing to do with an comment you made about craving one).

Before he leaves he bends over and whispers his last admission in your ear.

“I’m not trying to make the world a better place. I’m still trying to make him proud.”

8:00 A.M.

That’s when your flight leaves, which means it will board around 7:15 A.M.

So you should really be at the airport by 6 A.M. Your entire team has TSA Pre-check so it shouldn’t take too long but it’s better safe than sorry.

That means you have to leave the hotel by 5 A.M to get to JFK in time.

You need an hour to shower, and get ready so you look some version of human so you can hit the ground running when you land in DC. So wake up at 4 A.M.

You look down at your phone and sigh, 10:45 P.M. If you fell asleep right now you’d be lucky to get five hours of sleep.

Yet you can’t bring yourself to move.

Surely it had nothing to do with the man sitting across the table from you. Bucky raises his eyebrows, giving you that stupid, handsome, knowing look.

“Your brain is working.” He says, lifting his glass to his lips and taking a sip. This time you let yourself stare stare at them.

You had gotten back from the event a little over an hour ago. A charity gala for some businessman’s tax write off. It was a great opportunity for him to rub some elbows, smile and make small talk with all the right people. It was your last stop on his mini Brooklyn tour.

You had joined Bucky, acting as his -strictly professional- plus one. It was out of your normal scope of responsibilities, but Bucky had made a very convincing argument, something about how you were better with names, and faces, and how if you didn’t go he’d end up sulking in a corner all night.

It made the most sense for you to go. Keep Bucky company, feed him names and information. Maybe one quick dance.

It had nothing to do with the fact that saying no to him is quickly becoming impossible.

Definitely nothing to do with wanting to see him in a suit.

“I’m doing the math on when we need to get to the airport.” You tell him.

“Knew it.” He says, “Is that your way of saying we should call it a night?” He asks, but doesn’t move an inch.

He’s giving you an out.

You shake your head. “I’ve done more with less sleep.” You take a sip of your drink. You feel wide awake but you’re pretty sure it’s not from the alcohol. “What about you Barnes, need your beauty rest?”

Bucky smiles, he had shrugged his jacket off when you first sat down. At some point the first few buttons of his shirt had been undone. You’re not even sure when he took the tie off. “Bold of you to assume I ever sleep.”

You had worn a long black dress, formal enough to blend in without drawing attention away from Bucky. It also looked perfect on you, not that you were worried about that though.

You had drank, eaten, and made so much small talk you’d probably have a sore throat tomorrow. Yet when Bucky asked if you were up for a night cap, you once again found yourself struggling to get that two-letter word off your tongue.

You didn’t want say goodbye just yet, and there was something about having him all to yourself that you were starting to become addicted to. So you sat down at a table in the nearly empty hotel bar, and you couldn’t help but think about how you probably looked like a couple to the rest of the world.

“Can I admit something?” You ask, tilting your head.

Bucky nods. “Anything.”

“I didn’t think you stood a chance.”

Bucky almost chokes on his drink. “Jesus, that’s reassuring.” He scoffs.

“You had terrible optics, no political background, and everyone who I asked about you either hated you or was scared shitless of you.” You explain.

“I do have a bad history with politicians.” He cracks. “If I was so hopeless, why’d you take the job?”

Your walls are lowered enough that you give him the real answer. “Needed a change. Didn’t hurt that I thought you were cute.” You take another sip, you can’t tell if it’s the drink making your cheeks feel hot or him.

Bucky hums, if he was going to say anything else you don’t give him the chance.

“Bucky you’re my unicorn.” You sigh, cue another embarrassed sip, “You’re a good man, willing to take feedback, and running for the right reasons.”

You let your words sit there in the silence, biting your lip to force yourself to stop talking. Christ you’re nervous, you’re never nervous, why is he making you so nervous?

“The other guys must’ve been real assholes.” He says, and you know it’s the closest you’ll get to him accepting the compliment.

“This is the first time in ten years I want the person I’m working for to actually win. I want you to win Bucky.”

You wouldn’t normally risk being this open with a politician, but you were beginning to feel like that word fits him less and less.

Or maybe it was the forced professionalism that’s ill suited.

“If I didn’t know better I’d think you hate your job sweetheart.”

You’re already rolling your eyes when you hear it.

Sweetheart.

Your heart stutters, your fingers twitch, your face feels even hotter.

“Love the job, hate the people.” You manage to choke out, finally downing the rest of your glass in an attempt to collect yourself. Buy yourself a little time before you have to talk again. “I get the chance to help make the world better, by making sure the right people are in charge of it. But at the same time I’m the reason Whitmore ever got in office.”

Bucky’s eyes widen.

“Whitmore? I fucking hate that guy.”

You nod, grimacing.

Preston Clay Whitmore IV. You worked for him back when he was running for Senate in Texas, and using all of his Daddy’s money to do it.

“It was my first job, I was his communications consultant. God I hated him.” You shake your head, “But I was fresh out of college, green and broke.”

“A deadly combination.” He offers.

“He thought he was the next Kennedy, and he talked like it. Every single interview, debate, and ad sounded like Preston thought he was gods gift to humanity.” You can still hear his catchy little stupid theme song now.

Whitmore’s a comin’ to Whip DC into shape!

“How’d you turn it around?” He asks, a smile playing at those gorgeous lips.

Okay maybe you are a little buzzed.

“I made him drop the Roman numerals to start.”

You weren’t super enthusiastic about him, and you certainly weren’t thrilled about being in the South. Yet Preston’s father knew all the right people, you knew getting him into office would mean a career. A great one.

You don’t mean to bore Bucky with all of the details of Preston’s campaign, of his miraculous win, and how he ended up being elected the youngest Senator in Texas’ history. But the way he listens, the way he asks you questions. You almost think he enjoyed it.

Suddenly he’s telling you about how he recently got his hands on a tape of one of Steve’s old USO shows, and how he wishes he could hold it over his head.

You’re telling him about how you worked two jobs in high school in order to save up for college.

Then he’s promising to take you to Wakanda someday, once things have settled down some, how it’s nothing like how you picture it.

“I’ve got a few friends from when I lived there.”

You swear your jaw almost hits the floor, “You lived there?”

“Yeah for a few years,” he laughs, “They helped straighten my brain out, made it possible for me to almost be like a real person.”

He smiles, finally polishing off his drink.

“Why do you drink if it doesn’t affect you?” You ask.

He shrugs, the glass still in his hand. “I still like the taste of a good drink, that’s why I didn’t bother with beer or any of the crap being served at the game the other day.” He puts the cup back on the table.

“I think it still has a placebo effect on me too a little bit. Even though I can’t metabolize it, I still feel like it smooths the edges.”

You nod, understanding.

You can’t help but finally look at your phone again.

1:45 A.M. Shit.

You look back up and meet Bucky’s knowing gaze.

“We should go to bed, shouldn’t we?” He asks, this time he shrugs his jacket back on.

“Afraid so.” You answer, voice softer than you expected. “You have to go back to your apartment or can you get a room here?”

He shakes his head, “I got a few things I wanna pack up, plus I have to get Alpine ready.”

You smile, brightening at the mention of your new favorite feline. “You decided on a name!” He nods, his smile just as wide.

“Can I walk you up to your room?” He asks, finally standing.

God you almost forgot just how tall he is.

“You don’t have do that Bucky I’m all the way on the 8th floor.” You stand too, at some point you had kicked your heels off and you can’t be bothered to force them back on, instead leaning down to pick them up in one hand.

“Humor me. Please?” He gives you the eyes, ones you can only describe as begging. The ones he uses whenever his not getting his way, “It’d make me feel less guilty for keeping you up so late.” He takes the shoes out of your hand as he speaks, completely dwarfing them in his grasp.

“I guess it is the least you can do.” You joke, starting to walk towards the elevator.

The ride up is spent in silence, but not the awkward kind, like the day at the barbershop. It’s softer, warmer, like the air between you is humming.

Your room is all the way at the end of the hallway, and if you were in tune enough with your body to remember just had badly your feet hurt, you’d probably complain about it.

But right now, with Bucky so close so you can’t bring yourself to worry about a blister.

However, it was only a matter of time before you got to your door. While digging the hotel key out of your purse, you turn around to face Bucky.

“Thank you again, for tonight. And for walking me up to my room.” You nod toward the door, still not moving to open it.

When had he gotten so close? Less than a foot was between you now.

Bucky smiles, looking down at the floor, then back up to you. “Least I could do after you saved me from a night of getting people’s names wrong.”

You laugh, “Seriously, I had a really good time tonight Bucky.”

You feel yourself leaning into him, it’s not entirely conscious. The smell of his cologne is drowning out the voices screaming: Back up! Move away! Too close! Danger! Danger! Danger!

But he’s leaning in too. With him, it feels the opposite of scary.

“Me too.” He says, his voice is so soft now, and you know this proximity isn’t lost on him.

You feel yourself move before you can actually think about it, your heels lifting up from the ground, your hands rising and settling on his broad shoulders.

And then you kiss his cheek.

As you pull away, it’s like you’re stuck in slow motion. A slow sink down while your hands drift from his shoulders to his pecs.

Your eyes are shut, too afraid to open them and see his reaction when-

Bucky leans down and presses his head against yours, forehead to forehead. His chest brushing against yours as you each breathe, or in your case, try to. His eyes are closed too. His brows scrunched like when he’s thinking really hard about something.

Your body feels like a live wire when he’s this close. All rational thoughts are completely overwhelmed with the desire, no- the need to kiss him.

You angle your head, tilting your chin and just like that- contact.

He only takes a few seconds to respond.

He’s softer than you imagined, catching your top lip between his and treating it with such care and the whole moment feels so much more, gentle, than you had expected it to.

Not that you had been thinking about it or anything.

He pulls away, but you’re quick to grab one of his a lapels, ensuring he can’t go far. You do your best to read him, before either of you can open your mouths and ruin this.

You can’t decide if he wants to kiss you again or apologize. You’re not sure which you want either.

“I don’t do this.” You say, sounding a lot more breathless than you intended. “Kiss clients, I mean.”

“I know.” He says.

“We really shouldn’t do this.” You add, not sounding even a little confident.

“I know.” He says.

“I have a rule about it.” You try, sounding even weaker.

“I figured.” He says.

But Bucky has made up his mind, with his free hand (which had at some point made its way to your hip), he slowly guides you until your back is flat against the door to your room.

Your hands are still frozen, clutching his jacket. Your knuckles almost white with tension. Your noses are almost touching.

“Just one more.” He says, closing his eyes and pressing his lips back to yours.

Distantly you hear him drop your heels, and feel his hand come up to cradle the side of your face.

He’s not as gentle this time, the force behind his kiss is greater. It’s more confident, hungrier. You can’t help but melt into it, hands climbing until they find a home behind his neck.

You’re hungrier this time too.

You feel your body filling with want and need. The urge to bite and claw him, then kiss and stitch him back together. If you were anyone else you could let it consume you. Part of you wonders if he would let it consume him. The way he’s kissing you, it’s like he already has.

When you break for air, you’re suddenly aware of just how tightly he’s pressed himself against you. How delicious warm, firm, and broad he is.

He drops his head against your shoulder, pressing it into the crook of your neck. You feel him release a long, deep sigh against your neck as if he already knows what you’re thinking.

You allow yourself to run your hands through his hair, just once. Working up the strength to get the words out.

Bucky presses one last soft kiss to your neck and then detaches himself from you.

Wordlessly, he picks up your heels, fixes the strap that had fallen off of your shoulder, and manages to grab your long discarded key card.

He fixes you with a look, one that you hadn’t seen before. It’s reverent, deep, and knocks any words you had out of your mouth.

“After?” Is all he asks.

But you know what he’s asking. “After.” You answer, a firm nod to accompany it.

You don’t need to say more than that, as if the kiss had also created your own short hand.

He smiles, and leans forward to unlock your room. Propping the door open with one hand, he waits until you’ve stepped inside it to hand you your heels, and your key card. As if he can’t resist, he also presses one last chaste kiss to your forehead.

“See you in a few hours sweetheart.” Finally he turns around and he leave.

You stand in the door way dumbfounded until you hear the elevator ding, and then you finally close it.

Your typically nighttime routine takes twice the time it should, with frequently interruptions of muttering “what the fuck was I thinking?” and deep reflective pauses to try and remember what his lips looked like when they were well kissed.

When you finally fall onto the bed, the last thing you see is the digital clock blinking at you, or more accurately taunting you.

2:30 A.M.

“Shit.”

Bucky is Dragging.

He didn’t make it back to his apartment until after three, the walk took him twice as long as it should have because he was too busy thinking about you.

What else is new?

However, this time, his thoughts were clouded with memories, instead of hypotheticals. He remembered how you felt beneath his hands. How you tasted. How you smiled against his lips. How you wanted it as badly as he did.

By the time he’s packed, and the cat is finally stowed away in her travel carrier (a mesh backpack one of the interns had picked up) it’s time for him to head to the airport.

Safe to say the lack of sleep isn’t helping his clarity.

He’s trying his best to listen to what the flight crew is saying, Something something cat, something something landing, something something drink service.

He’s too busy ogling you. And too tired to try and hide it. You were sitting across from him, nose deep in a packet someone had handed to you while boarding.

Normally Bucky would try to sleep on this flight, after all he had kindergarteners to read too once he got to DC. Or something, he honestly wasn’t even sure what he’s rushing back for. All that matters is that he should be sleeping, but he can’t because he doesn’t know what you’re thinking.

Since sitting down you’d been able to spare him a glance, and a tight smile, but that was it.

Maybe you had changed your mind? Sure, your agreement last night wasn’t super fleshed out, but he thought the implication was clear.

After, meaning after the campaign.

He just needed to make sure. God it made him feel like a little boy, even just to admit it to himself.

He clears his throat, and waits for you to finally meet his eyes. “You get any sleep last night?” He asks, if the way your eyes droop are any indication the answer is no.

You shake your head, “About an hour, if I’m lucky.” You tell him, but you smile again, this time it looks more like your own. “You?”

He shakes his head, “Too much to think about.”

You hum, and he knows you’re acutely aware of the staff surrounding you in the plane. Each one is either napping or too engrossed in their own tasks, but still too risky.

“You’re in the home stretch now, little more than two weeks to go.” You say. Placing the files you had been pouring over to the side. “It’s a lot to think about.”

Despite the mention of the rapidly approaching election, Bucky can’t help but relax as you talk. “I was thinking about after.” He says. It’s as on the nose as he can get.

Your smile widens. “You need sleep to get to after, Bucky.”

“Too nervous.” He shoots back.

You shake your head, stretching your legs out in front of you, until the toe of your shoe touches Bucky’s.

“No reason to be nervous. It will still be there.”

That was all he needed to hear.

“It’s worth waiting for.” He says. It didn’t quite make sense in the conversation you’re having out loud. But in the real conversation, the one being had under a layer of professionalism, he’s saying:

You’re worth waiting for.

Based on the way you duck your head, embarrassed. He knows you heard the second one.

“Before you try to sleep, there is something else we should talk about.”

And just like that, you’ve slipped back into the professional. Your voice changes in a way Bucky can’t quite define, but he’s been spending enough time with you that he can hear the difference.

“We’re going to up your security, we have three more guards who will be joining your rotation when we land.”

It catches Bucky totally out of left field. “Wait, what?” He asks.

You nod, “I know it sounds dramatic,” you try to appease him, as if you can already hear the argument on his tongue. “But there have been three credible threats made against you in the past forty-eight hours.”

Bucky shakes his head, “Is it really neces-“

“Yes.” You cut him off, “I don’t care that you’re built like a tank Bucky.” He can’t help the smile that crosses his face at that, “I’m not taking any chances.”

“Yes Ma’am.” He relents, and he feels the shit-eating grinning that’s still plastered across his face. “Any thing else?”

You smile, pleased. “The social media team has drafted a post about Alpine- just stating you’ve adopted her and laying on the cuteness factor. Permission to post?”

“Yea that’s fine.” His eyes dart to the seat next to him, where the little creature is curled in a ball. It’d only been a few days, but it was nice to have a cat again. “What’s on the agenda for today?”

You nod, pulling out your tablet and he hears your (now French) nails tap at the screen.

Were they like that last night? He was pretty distracted, but he surprised he didn’t notice. The novelty of getting to touch you had turned just about everything but the memory of your lips to mush.

“You’re going straight from the airport to Howard Stark Elementary. The plan is for you to tell a few jokes, color a few pages, and read them a Doctor Seuss book or something.” You explain, “It’s grandparents day so there will be other people your age.” Bucky would have believed you if it weren’t for the way you started smiling at the end of the sentence.

It was more of smirk actually. Like you thought you were hilarious.

Even when it was at his expense he was inclined to agree. He doesn’t let it show though, keeping stoic until you break.

“Kidding.” You promise. “Then it’s off to a luncheon with a few of the other candidates. You should be done by three, and then you’re free to nap.”

“Thank god.”

“You mind if I put a suit fitting in your calendar for this week?” You sound like you’re asking, but Bucky knows it’s really just your way of telling him it’s happening. “You should have a new suit ready for election night.”

You make a good point. He had plenty of suits, but he wouldn’t mind having something a new for the big day. “Only if you help me pick it out.” He offers, playing right into your charade of his control.

“Of course.” You agree, standing up and your arms above your head. It causes your blouse to ride up just enough to make his fingers twitch. Then you- as casually as possible- look around.

You must be satisfied by what you see, because when you walk next to Bucky’s seat and lean down so you’re next to his ear. He feels your warm breath hit his skin, and the smell of your perfume has the hair on his neck standing up. He almost doesn’t hear what your whisper.

“As if I’d miss the chance to see you in a suit.”

Then you’re gone, turning around and making your way up to the bathroom as if you didn’t just send him into a tail spin.

Maybe flirting hasn’t changed that much.

You were honest on the plane.

Hell would freeze over before you miss a chance to see Bucky in a suit. Especially after the other night.

But it wasn’t just your new obsession driving this shopping trip.

He was going to win. You wanted him to look devastatingly handsome when he did.

You could feel it now, it was completely in his grasp. You were used to quick results, but this had been unlike anything you’d ever seen before. You’d never seen a candidate jump this far into the lead after only two months.

The numbers looked great. You felt confident saying that despite your very unprofessional bias.

Speaking of-

You’d been back in DC for a week and still hadn’t been alone since. You hadn’t even had a chance to talk about it since the plane.

Did that even count?

Sure, you’d stared at eachother about it, and smiled about it, and brushed eachothers hands about it, but no words had been spoken.

Inside this shop was the closet you’d gotten to privacy. Just you, Bucky, and the old man measuring his inseam.

Much to your surprise, the tailor, Eddie, was Bucky’s pick.

Even more surprisingly, the two of them hadn’t shut up since you walked in the door. You had sat down on one of the chairs in front of the mirrors while Eddie began the fitting. Trying your best to figure out who the hell replaced Bucky with this middle school girl.

“So,” you ask, after a lull in their conversation finally presents itself. “How did you two meet?”

Eddie perks up, as if he just remembered you were there. “We live in the same old folks home.” He tells you, just as Bucky is saying “Neighbors.”

If you had a water you would have done a spit take.

“I’m sorry the same, what?” You ask, lifting a finger in Bucky’s direction as you add “just Eddie.”

Eddie smiles, completely oblivious, as most old men are. “We live in the same apartment complex. Lincoln Estates.” He confirms, too busy measuring to notice your smirk. “Boss man over here just moved into the penthouse.”

“Bucky you told me you moved, but you never said where!”

“On purpose.” He says, voice flat.

Before you can comment, Eddie continues. “Yeah it took some convincing to get the HOA on board, but he technically meets the age requirement. Plus I told them having a congressman in our building might actually get the city to do something about the messed up sidewalk.”

It’s like Bucky can see the jokes forming in your head, “It’s an active adult complex!” He defends, jostling so much that Eddie has to pull him back into place.

“Mhm.” You hum, biting your lips to keep from laughing. “It’s a beautiful building, its by the hospital right?” You ask.

Eddie nods, “Yeah, it’s great! We also have a physical therapist who works out of the building. Plus, there’s a proposal to add a pickle ball court on the roof.”

You nearly choke. “That’s amazing!” You add, completely overdoing your enthusiasm.

Bucky melts in front of you, his face a brighter shade of pink with each passing comment.

Eddie taps Bucky’s shoulder, “Almost done, just gotta run to the back for a few minutes.” It’s innocent enough, but Eddie winks as he says it.

As soon as he’s gone Bucky speaks, “They were pet friendly.”

You don’t ease up, “Were you not gonna tell me?”

“That was the plan.”

“So you were just going to let me figure it out when I saw shuffleboard in the lobby?”

“Why are you in my lobby?” He fires back.

“Don’t change the subject.”

“There’s no shuffleboard in the lobby.” He laments,“Honestly, the apartment itself is normal.”

“Are there handle bars in your shower?” You ask.

Bucky sighs, it’s obvious he will not be winning this round, “They’re very convient.”

You stand up, walking over to a display of ties. You run your fingers over the different fabrics, stopping when your fingers land on a baby blue one. “Bucky do you know how much of your appeal as a candidate relies on the fact that you’re not an old man?”

“I thought my appeal was being an Avenger.”

“Avenger adjacent.” You add, part of your job is to keep him humble afterall. “Yes, that’s a lot of it too, but so is your physical age. If we take out the popsicle years, you’re about to become one the youngest senators on the floor.”

“Popsicle years?” He asks, making that stupid, cute questioning face he always gives you.

You give him a quick, but apologetic look, realizing how that sounded, “Seriously Bucky, just try to keep a low profile in the building for a bit. Last thing we need is someone’s Nana spreading gossip about you.”

He winces and you fix him with a stern, ‘What does that mean?’ look.

You grab the blue tie and walk over to Bucky. “I promised to bring Captain America to the next Barbecue.” He admits.

You’re standing in-front of Bucky now, so close your toes almost touch. Wordlessly, you bring the tie up and around his neck, tucking it under his collar. “You like it there?”

He nods, “I do.” You can feel the weight of his eyes as you begin to tie his tie. You try you best to focus on the steps, but the way he’s staring makes it hard not to mess up. “They play music I actually know, and treat me like I’m just a regular guy.”

You smile. “Then that’s all that matters.”

He smiles back. Clearing his throat as you finally pull the knot tight. You let your hands linger this time, the way they had wanted too that day in the barbershop. You rest your palms against his chest, finally lifting your chin to meet his eyes.

“Still pissed you didn’t tell me though.” You tease.

“Promise not to do it again.” He says. His tone isn’t quite as airy as yours.

Just as you’re about to back up, his hands find your hips. The short distance between you feels so charged, trying to come up with any words feels impossible.

You have a rule and you already broke it once. You’re not trying to get in the habit of breaking it again, not when you’re so close to the finish line. But you can smell his cologne, feel his breath, and it all makes you dizzy.

You should say something. Tell him you shouldn’t, tell him it’s not a good idea, tell him Eddie will be back any second.

“Hi.” You whisper.

Fuck that is not what you were gonna say.

“Hi.” He smiles back, pulling you just a little closer. He looks down at the tie, “Blue?”

“Matches your eyes.” You try and make it sound like the most obvious thing in the world, a futile attempt attempt to break the tension. You realized it had the opposite effect of when you feel his grip tighten.

“Bucky.” You warn, but still not dropping your hands.

He ignores it. “What if I fire you?” He asks

You laugh. Unable to help it, you lean forward and rest your forehead against his chest. “Don’t tempt me.” You exhale.

He leans down and presses a kiss to the top of your head. “One week, then you’re taking me dancing.” He says. You tilt your head up towards him, l body all but melted against him at this point and you give in. Leaning up onto your toes you’re just about to press your lips to his when-

“All right Buddy you are all set!” Eddie’s voice booms as he walks back into the room. You and Bucky jump apart like guilty teenagers.

Bucky recovers quicker than you do. “That’s great Eddie, what do I owe you?”

You pick up your bag, and do your best to try and fight the heat in your cheeks. “It’s my treat.” You insist, reaching into your purse to grab your card.

“No way.” Bucky fights back, his wallet is already opened on the counter.

“I’m the one who insisted you get a new suit Bucky.“ you fight back.

“It’s my treat.” Eddie says. “Consider it your house warming present.”

You can tell Bucky is stunned, “You sure it’s not a bribe to get that sidewalk fixed?” He jokes.

“Next one is free if you pull off that miracle.” Eddie smiles, and then not so gently adds, “Now get out of my shop and go flirt somewhere else.”

You laugh, embarrassed. “Thank you Eddie.” You look over at Bucky. “You do good work.”

“I know.” He winks.

The sun beats down on you as you step outside. Eager to get to air conditioning, you walk ahead of Bucky, joking about how he was going to sweat through his new suit.

He’s about fifteen feet behind you, halfway through a comment about how he won’t miss New York winters (as if DC is that much warmer) when you hear the car come to life. Your hand is a foot from the door when the world erupts.

There’s a sudden breeze, then a flash of heat. You feel yourself fly through the air, before you back crashes into something hard and jagged. Then you hear the blast, the reverberation of it shaking the ground you landed on.

Your body starts to catch up, the rest of the world coming back into focus. Your leg is throbbing and you can feel yourself coughing, but you can’t hear a thing over the ringing in your ears.

You look around, trying to find Bucky, but everything is covered in a blanket of smoke. Distantly, you register the car. The entire frame is on fire and either it flew across the street, or you did.

Then it all goes black.

It was like the entire thing had happened in slow motion.

One second you were laughing, smiling at him like you couldn’t imagine being anywhere else- the next thing he knew you were rumpled against a brick wall, covered in dust, blood, and your leg bent beneath you in a that definitely wasn’t natural.

Bucky was far enough away that he only had a few bumps and scrapes. He didn’t even need stitches.

You weren’t so lucky, and you didn’t even have serum on your side.

Every single Doctor who came to check on you marveled at the fact that you had managed to get away with just a few broken ribs, a punctured lung, a concussion, and a fractured leg.

Nothing absolutely this felt lucky to him. He spent three hours waiting for you come out of surgery. It felt like you had been seriously hurt, and it was his fault.

If he had gotten to the car first. If he hadn’t sent the extra security home early. If he had taken a separate car instead of making some lame excuse about saving gas just to be closer to you. This wouldn’t have happened.

Bucky has never needed help with coming up with new and inventive ways to feel guilty and he had plenty of time to do so while he waited for you to wake up.

As an act of contrition he forces himself to just watch. Watch you breathe, watch your fingers twitch, watch your monitors and try in vain to decipher them.

No pacing, no yelling, no tracking down the men who set it all up. None of the things he’d have done if it wasn’t for the fact that he could hear your voice in his head telling him not to.

Telling hum how violence doesn’t suit him, doesn’t match the Bucky he’s become. A man he’s trying very hard to be right now.

You also keeps telling him to call his therapist, but that’s not happening.

Somewhere around hour two he had taken off the tie, it was dirty, dusty, and speckled in your blood from when he lifted you out of the rubble. Now he just kept wrapping and unwrapping it in his hands, anxiety radiating off of him in a way he hasn’t felt in years.

It’s doesn’t matter how many people tell him you’re going to be fine. Their words don’t change how small you look in the hospital bed, how cold your hands feel when he tries to hold them. The bruise from where you hit your head looks brighter every time Bucky can bring himself to look at it, dark purple staining your forehead.

He’s exhausted. A few hours of sleep would do him a world of good, but he can’t sleep until he sees the whites of your eyes.

Bucky has always hated hospitals. He hated them back in when he’d go visit Steve as a kid. He hated them in the war, when they were just tents help to other by rope and a bandaid. He hated them in Wakanda, when he was getting his bearings, relearning how to be human.

He hated them most, when he was a visitor. Being patient comes with a certain degree of acceptance. There’s a surrender that comes with being a patient too, being able to let someone else make all the hard decisions for him.

As a visitor there is no comfort. He sits in the world’s most uncomfortable chair, and waits. He waits for doctors to come with news, he waits for you to need anything. Waits to to feel useful. The rest of the waiting is just a reminder of how no matter what he believes, what he trains for, or what he does, he has no control.

Looking at you here, connected to tubes is a reminder of why he has can never let his guard down. He knew better than to get close, he certainly knew better than to start whatever this thing between the two of you was. He’s already convinced himself that he’s going to get as much distance from you as possible as soon as-

You wake up, or more accurately you groan into consciousness.

Your eyes crack open, lips parting like you’re trying to speak. At your side your hand lifts, stretching as much as it can towards him.

Bucky grabs your hand, holding it between both of his. “Hey sleepyhead.” He whispers.

You hum, craning your head with a wince towards the untouched glass of water on your table. Bucky grabs it wordlessly and brings the straw to your lips, “Small sips.” He encourages. You nod, closing your eyes as you drink.

When you finally pull away, you fix him with a worried look, as if he’s the one laying in the hospital bed.

“You look,” You clear your throat, “-like shit.” You voice is hoarse. He knows how smoke inhalation feels, like swallowing around glass. That’s without having been intubated.

Bucky is sure his relief is palpable, his entire body unclenches. “Then you probably shouldn’t look in the mirror sweetheart.” He says, presenting you the cup for another sip. This time you take the cup from his hands. “You got one hell of a shiner on your forehead.”

You lift a hand to your temple, recoiling when you make contact. “I’ll get bangs.” You say, not giving it another thought. Dropping your hand back to your side, you take a deep breath, or you try too, but a wince interrupts it. “It was really bad wasn’t it?” You ask.

Bucky doesn’t want to be the one to tell you. He doesn’t want to say that you’ll be in a boot for at least three months. That you’ll be out of work for two. Doesn’t want to tell you that if you had been six inches closer to that car you’d be dead.

“What happened?” You whisper.

Of course you don’t remember, you were ten feet into a brick wall, how could you? Never-mind the concussion to the mix.

“Car bomb.” He explains, “Turns out you were right about needing the extra security.”

“Add it to the list.” You smirk at that, lips cracked from dehydration. You look down, noticing the bump of the bandages around your leg. You bring a hand to your ribs, gently feeling at the wrap there as-well. “Shit.” You whisper.

He nods. “Was worse than really bad.” One of his hands crept up to cradle your hand, two fingers pressed firmly to your pulse. He needs to feel anchored to this moment, to the reality that you’re okay.

He’s fixed his gaze on the blankets covering you, when all of sudden you start to cry.

Your chest heaves with silent sobs and a few scattered tears run down your cheeks. Then you let out a pathetic whimper than Bucky can’t for the life of him understand.

“Hey, hey it’s okay.” He tries to soothe, moving so he’s sitting on the edge of your bed next to your legs. He brings a hand up to cradle your face, sweeping away the tears with his thumb.

You nuzzle into his palm, resting the entire weight of your head against it while you mumble something.

“Honey I don’t know what you’re trying to tell me, buts it’s okay. You’re okay now, everything is fine. You’re only gonna be in a boot for three months! The rest will heal on its own with some rest.” He explains, smoothing your hair as he speaks.

“I almost died.” You explain, slower this time. “And now I’m gonna have bangs when you win!” You add, sounding even more wrecked.

Already thinking about work. You’re still you. Under the scratchy voice and bruised skin, you still have all of your priorities out of order. You still have your sparkle. Something Bucky had spent the last several hours afraid you’d lost.

“It’s gonna be okay.” He promises, “We have a week until the election, no need to pull out the scissors just yet.” He reminds you.

“Six days.” You bite back. The ghost of a smile on your face as you calm down. You nod towards the nurses chart on the wall, “It’s tomorrow, only six days left.” You explain.

“My apologies.” He jokes. Dropping his palm from your face back to your hand.

“You’ve been here all night haven’t you?” You ask, eyes looking him over, taking in his disheveled state. Bucky nods, fighting a yawn as you say it. You give him a real smile this time, all of your warmth directed squarely at him. “Better not be blaming yourself Barnes.”

God, you know him better than he gives you credit for. “That’s because it is my fault.” He admits, suddenly finding great interest in the floor.”

“No.” You say, voice firm.

“If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t-“ He stops, choking on the words.

“Did you put the bomb in the car Bucky?” You ask. Tone sharp and unyielding. He instantly recognizes it, having heard you use with anyone who tries to challenge you. He’s never heard anyone succeed.

“No.” He answers, still unable to look at you. “But that doesn’t change-“

“Bucky.” You interrupt, “Look at me.” He listens, as always. “This is not your fault.”

He wants to fight with you, to yell that is, to give you a hundred different reasons why you should run in the opposite direction.

“I got hurt, because someone wanted to hurt you.” Knife - twisted. “Both of those things can be true, without it being your fault. Okay?”

He nods, “Okay.” He says.

“It’s my pity party, don’t make it about you.”

He almost laughs at that, there’s something about you that makes wallowing so much harder. Besides, you’re you’re giving him that smile, how could he.

So he chooses to believe you, at least until the voices start up again.

“I talked to your boss.” He says.

“Oh?” You ask.

“Some wannabe congressman.” He elaborates.

“Oh!” You giggle, catching on. “How’d it go? He’s a real hardass.”

“He was tough,” he plays along, “But I managed to convince him to give you PTO for the next four months.”

“Wow.” You pretend to be surprised, “That’s very generous considering my contract is up in a week.”

“Mmm, he said something about that too.” You widen your eyes, “Said he had big plans for you.”

You nod, smiling wide. “I can’t wait to hear them.” The second half of your sentence is lost to a yawn.

Bucky feels lighter as he watches you snuggle into the blankets. It’s hard to resist the urge to crawl in next you, but he’s been fighting those kinds of thoughts since Brooklyn. He hasn’t earned the right to that domesticity- yet.

“You should go home. Sleep, feed your cat. Maybe go crazy and take a shower.”

He nods, already picturing the stink eye he’d get from Alpine when he got home. He still wasn’t used to having a roommate. “A shower is probably a good idea.” He says, standing up.

“Thank you,” you say, and Bucky looks at you quizzically. “For staying,” you explain, “I was so worried about you, waking up and seeing your face was-“ You stop, and he watches you search for the right word. “Everything.”

He leans over, kissing the crown of your head, something thats quickly become a habit. “No where else I would have been.” He answers. “Call me later?” He ask.

You nod, “I promise.”

This was arguably worst than being in an explosion.

Okay maybe that’s a slight exaggeration, but never in your career had you been forced to watch your victory from the comfort of your deeply uncomfortable couch. If this injury has taught you anything, it’s that you really need to invest in better furniture. It’s amazing the things you learn when you actually spend time in your home.

You also didn’t have any food in the house, which is why you were still waiting on your third DoorDash of the day. No pity party was complete without a snack.

Back to the torture at hand.

On your screen, in gorgeous technicolor you watched in real time as it was revealed that the voters chose Bucky as New York’s newest Congressmen.

He had given a wonderful speech, short, succinct and powerful, like him. You had proofed it so of course it was perfect. Then as the crowd applauded you watched as the team you had spent the last several weeks of your life managing, celebrated without you.

Blue confetti rained down, getting tangled in his hair, and blurring with his gorgeous blue tie (you had a replacement delivered to him after seeing how ruined it was at the hospital). Sure they had all been calling and texting you throughout the night, you knew they missed you. Almost all of them had already sent you a congratulatory text

Almost all.

The entire day, the one person you didn’t hear from was the person you wanted to talk to the most.

Bucky was avoiding you.

At least you think he is, he wasn’t answering your calls or texts. You knew first hand how chaotic election days were, add to that how Bucky often forgot his phone even existed. A week ago you would’ve written it off as nerves clouding his mind. Two months ago you’d have forgiven it as him having other people to celebrate with.

That was before three things happened:

1. He kissed you so well, you forgot you’d ever been kissed by anyone else.

2. He spent all night at the hospital, waiting for you to wake up.

3. He spent all week texting, FaceTiming, and calling you non-stop. Partly because you were working remotely to get the campaign across the finish line. Partly because ‘he needed to hear your voice again.’

‘Needed too’ until this morning.

He was all vague promises of a plan and sending you cute photos of Alpine, until today.

Maybe this was his plan, ruin you for all other men, and then ghost. You were pretty sure he doesn’t even know what ghosting is, but it’s happened to enough times that you’re skeptical.

To top it all off, you can’t event drink. Your special cocktail of painkillers and antibiotics ruling it out completely. It was a sad predicament, just you, the dry bowl of cereal you had for dinner, and the eleven o’clock news.

It had been almost forty-fives minutes since the results were annouced, and still no word from Bucky. After triple checking your ringer is on, you shut the TV off. It was almost time for your next dose of Tylenol, hopefully it would give you the extra push towards sleep.

Knock knock knock.

For a moment you panic, no one knocks on your door. You don’t know your neighbors, and then you remember.

DoorDash!

Sacrificing grace for speed, you hobble over to the door. You weren’t used to maneuvering with the boot, still cringing everytime time it scraped against the floor.

You opened the door without thinking, looking down expecting to see a brown bag of greasy comfort. Instead you see black dress shoes.

Ones you instantly recognize, you bought them after all.

Your eyes work their way up slowly, clocking the brown bag clutched in his hands. Then the rest of the way to his handsome face.

“Shouldn’t you be at a party somewhere Bucky?” You ask.

He gives you that smile, the one that makes your stomach flip. “Yeah I should be.” He says, and despite how pissed you were five minutes ago, you let him in.

In all your time together you had never felt scared of Bucky. Nervous? Sure, but never scared. Except for right now. Staring at him in your apartment, watching him put the bag of food on down, you were scared. Not of the man, but of your very big, heart pounding in your chest feelings for him. Scared because you had let yourself fall, hard. You had let yourself plan and dream and fall asleep every night thinking about how you would grab him and kiss him the second they announced he won.

Then he ignored you all day. Had he finally realized your organization was annoying? That having a plan A, B, C and D wasn’t called being prepared and was actually called being crazy.

He was watching you too now, and despite your fear, it was like your body came to life under his gaze. A week without seeing him in person made being this close feel electric. Then Bucky broke your gaze and it was like all the sparks died.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I wanted to do this in person.” He explains, coming closer.

A sense of doom creeps up your neck as you watch him approach. You’re stuck in the entryway, as if the boot on your leg has become a cement block and your body can’t be bothered to try and move it.

This is it, you think he’s here to tell me, whatever this almost was, is over.

“You’re fired.” He says, his voice is monotone but his face is wearing an expression you can only describe as a satisfied grin. It feels a little tone deaf given the circumstances.

You open your mouth, hoping to find a biting comeback, or even a sour ‘congratulations’ would work, anything to show him you are not on the same wavelength when lips find yours.

Bucky kisses you, and it’s so obvious he had been holding out on you in Brooklyn. He’s cradling your face in between his palms, but this time he’s not holding you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. It’s not the desperate hunger and grabby hands from New York

This time it’s all softness. It doesn’t take long for you to melt, hands finding his neck and making a home there. You both relax into the kiss, all of the stress, the tension, and blurred lines finally lifted. All that’s left are two people.

You kiss Bucky in until your lungs feels like they will explode. Pulling away Bucky follows you, trying to chase your lips- briefly succeeding, before finally settling for resting his forehead against yours.

You catch your breath, lungs weak, leg going numb from standing on it for so long. lips smiling so wide you’re afraid your face might split in half. Delirium.

“You skipped your party to fire me?” You ask. Tone light, giggles interrupting each word.

Bucky nods and his hands travel to your waist, where they plant themselves firmly. He lifts you and brings you that last foot forward so your chest is pressed to his.. “Knew exactly how I wanted to celebrate.” He explains, lips brushing yours as he says it.

You want to ask him more questions, does he have to leave? can he stay forever? what does this mean? was the food still hot when he brought it in?

Instead you kiss him again. When you break away this time it’s because your lips are numb.

“I know today was crazy, and I should have called you back, I wanted to so badly. I just knew I wouldn’t be able to handle hearing your voice without coming here.”

It sounds a bit dramatic, but he says it so earnestly, you don’t question it. “That’s a good reason.” You whisper, “If you had come here and kissed me like that I wouldn’t have let you leave.”

Bucky tried to kiss you again, but it’s sloppy, both of you smiling too much into the kiss. “You gonna keep me?” He asks.

You nod, shoving the suit jacket down off of his shoulders you can you rest your hands there. Feel all of the strength and power there. Bucky is pliant under your touch, letting it fall to floor with a soft thump. “Yeah, Brooklyn’s gonna need to find someone else.” You answer, “Besides you ruined my job, how am I ever supposed to work with someone else now that I’ve had you.”

Bucky kisses you again, one hand snaking up under your shirt to ghost over your ribs.

“Had an idea for that.” Bucky says he pulling away, but still not detaching. You tilt your head, silently asking him to go on. “Gonna need to adjust my team, now that I’ll be sticking around in DC. There’s one job I need to fill.” He said explains, “You’d be around me constantly, telling me what to do and what not to do.” You smile.

“I do have some recent experience with that type of work.” You offer, “Need me to email you my resume?” You ask, bringing one hand up to scratch your nails down the back of his neck. You watch gleefully as he shivers beneath your touch.

He shakes his head, “You’re overqualified.”

“What is it?” You ask.

“Chief of Staff.”

If it wasn’t for the boot (and the concussion) you’d jump on him. Spend every day with him, and actually do good?

“I accept!” You answer, pressing your chest against his, afraid the ball of light forming inside of it will explode if you don’t glue yourself to him.

After months of calculated touches, and fighting your instincts, the freedom to hold him is addictive.

“Thank god.” He whispers and kisses your forehead, neither of you have stopped smiling. “There’s one other job though.” He says. “It would mean sneaking around, and flying under the radar.”

“Sounds dangerous.” You say.

“Mhmm, it is. Comes with the risk of spending even more time with me, maybe forever.”

“Don’t think that’s long enough.” You respond, distantly wondering who is this sappy, boy-crazy girl and what has she done with you?

Bucky squeezes you again, as if he’s making sure you’re still real. “I’ve got a lot of shit to unpack, you sure you wanna take all that on?”

You nod fervently, “I can handle it Barnes.”

He presses one more kiss to your lips. “I know better than to doubt you.”

Author’s Note: Thank you so much for reading! I have no expectations posting this, I just started writing and couldn’t stop! I love these two so much. Anyway, I hope it didn’t suck, love you say it back

Masterlist!

[balladofthe101st]

Buck Compton came back to see the Company to let us know that he was alright. He became a prosecutor in Los Angeles. He convicted Sirhan Sirhan in the murder of Robert Kennedy, and was later appointed to the California Court of Appeals. 

David Webster became a writer for the Saturday Evening Post and Wall Street Journal, and later wrote and book about sharks. In 1961, he went out on the ocean alone, and was never seen again.

Johnny Martin would return to his job at the railroad and then start his own construction company. He splits his time between Arizona and a place in Montana.

George Luz became a handyman in Providence, Rhode Island. As a testament to his character, sixteen hundred people attended his funeral in 1998.

Doc Roe died in Louisiana in 1998. He’d been a construction contractor.

Frank Perconte returned to Chicago and worked a postal route as a mailman.

Joe Liebgott returned to San Francisco and drove his cab.

Bull Randleman was one of the best soldiers I ever had. He went into the earth moving business in Arkansas. He’s still there.

Alton More returned to Wyoming with a unique souvenir: Hitler’s personal photo albums. He was killed in a car accident in 1958.

Floyd Talbert we all lost touch with in civilian life, until he showed up at a reunion just before his death in 1981.

Carwood Lipton became a glass making executive in charge of factories all over the world. He has a nice life in North Carolina.

Harry Welsh – he married Kitty Grogan. Became an administrator for the Wilkes Barre, Pennsylvania school system.

Ronald Speirs stayed in the Army, served in Korea. In 1958, returned to Germany as Governor of Spandau Prison. He retired a Lieutenant Colonel.

Lewis Nixon had some tough times after the war. He was divorced a couple of times. Then in 1956, he married a woman named Grace and everything came together for him. He spent the rest of his life with her, travelling the world. My friend Lew died in 1995.

I took up his job offer and was a personnel manager at the Nixon Nitration Works, until I was called back into service in 1950 to train officers and rangers. I chose not to go to Korea. I’d had enough of war. I stayed around Hershey, Pennsylvania, finally finding a little farm. A little peaceful corner of the world, where I still live today. And there is not a day that goes by that I do not think of the men I served with who never got to enjoy the world without war.

[infiiniteazure]

—﹙🐕‍🦺﹚⑅   retired simon & riley headcanon   ♡   ₊

Pairing: Retired!Simon Retired!Riley

Disclaimer: English is not my first language

Number of words: 693

Everything that begins has an end.

Just as Simon once decided to enlist in the military and after years of hard service, there always comes a time to come home.

But this time it's different, now, it's for good.

While normally whenever Retired!Simon came home, it was always quiet.

But when Price told him it was time to retire, so would someone else.

Retired!Riley, the dog that had accompanied them on every stupid mission, the dog that had been trained to obey his masters, also had to go home and rest.

Although Retired!Simon had always been a cat person, he had no heart to deny a space in his house to a poor old dog who had served all his life in the army, like him. And finally, when the big day came Riley would have a place to enjoy the rest of his life.

The first few days had really been a disaster, although Retired!Riley was a puppy trained dog, now, and off duty, he really was a very energetic dog.

—Okay big boy, we're home— Simon would say dropping his bag near the front door frame, the clumsy footsteps and dog steps could be heard all around, echoing loudly in Simon's normally silent residence.

Simon would let out a heavy snort How the fuck was he going to take care of a retired army dog? When sometimes he didn't even know how to take care of his own ass.

In the vast silence of the Riley residence, Simon would see the canine peek down the hallway, then run in his direction, Simon would stop him with a simple —Sit!—

—If you're going to live here, under my roof, you'll have to follow my rules!— Simon would say in an authoritative voice.

—No barking indoors, no digging huge holes in the garden, no climbing on the sofa, no stealing food, and above all! No sleeping in the bed, my bed!—

The dog, Riley, naively would simply watch Simon, cocking his head in confusion, the dog would immediately bark at Simon in expectation of some command.

—Now, rest— I would tell him again in a slightly lower tone, causing the canine to continue to explore the confines of Simon's house, sniffing every quiet space in the house.

The next few days would really test his patience; Riley would bark inside the house out of excitement at the sight of Simon, bringing him his rubber ball, waiting to be thrown, the green lawn in the garden had changed to a landscape filled with huge brown patches of dirt, the huge couch in the living room was no longer as empty as ever, his quiet dinners in solitude were now turning into a —Damn it, don't look at me like that!— only to give half the steak to the dog.

Retired!Riley followed Simon's every step, all day, every day, watching his back, watching him from the carpet while Simon read some letters in his office.

And at night, when all the lights were out and Retired!Simon reluctantly and tiredly climbed into bed, Riley always stood in the doorframe, leaning back, waiting for Simon to want to give him a place in the huge bed.

The —Don't even think about it!— had morphed into a —Get on the damn bed before I regret it.—

Riley always lay on Simon's side, feeling his warmth.

Every night Retired!Simon asked himself the same question: How the fuck had Price convinced me to take the dog?

Now his days were different, in the morning while he poured his morning cup of tea, he also filled Riley's plate with kibble, his evening walks were now taking Riley for a walk, his gym days were now also Riley's training days with the excuse of "keeping him fit".

Also her gallery had begun to fill with pictures of Riley; Riley on a walk, Riley on his training day, Riley learning new tricks, Riley sleeping, Riley being the happiest dog in the world with his new owner.

And without thinking or noticing, Riley was now his best friend.

It was no longer Simon and a dog, it was now Simon and Riley.

[probablyasocialecologist]

Only weeks after arriving in the Iraqi capital, Paul Bremer, a retired diplomat with absolutely no Middle East experience, exercised his extraordinary authority, akin to that of a colonial viceroy, as head of the new Coalition Provisional Authority and eradicated the previous Iraqi government with two strokes of his pen. With no clear plans for what might follow, he issued Order Number 1 on his fifth day in office, decreeing a sweeping purge of all senior Iraqi officials previously affiliated with the ruling Baath Party. “By nightfall,” warned the CIA chief of station, “you’ll have driven some 30,000 to 50,000 Baathists underground. And in six months you’ll really regret this.” Imperiously waving away what he called “a sea of bitching and moaning,” Bremer plunged ahead, forcing at least 85,000 Iraqi officials out of office. US commander Ricardo Sanchez would later call this policy decision “a catastrophic failure.” Ignoring both White House instructions and military advice, Bremer soon issued Order Number 2, aimed at “dissolving Saddam’s military and intelligence structures to emphasize that we mean business.” With that second stroke of his pen summarily dismissing 335,00 police and 385,000 soldiers without salary, severance pay, or pensions, Bremer created a vast cadre of what the US Army’s official war history would call “seasoned military men who suddenly had no livelihood.” As Bremer’s two orders “sent shockwaves throughout the country,” there were angry anti-American demonstrations and “violent confrontations” between Iraqi ex-soldiers and coalition forces. Those demobilized former soldiers also included countless trained experts with access to cached military munitions and knowledge of how to build lethal improvised explosive devices, or IEDs. Three days after Bremer’s Order Number 2, a US Army private died when the first of these new weapons exploded under his vehicle. Over the next ten years, IEDs would kill 3,100 US servicemen and wound 33,000 more, including 1,800 amputations—forcing the Pentagon to spend $75 billion to prevent fatalities from a weapon as cheap as a pizza. “Orders 1 and 2 led to a far more sweeping implosion [of the Iraqi state] than US leaders intended,” the US Army’s official war history later reported, “after which factions of all kinds, including extremist militants, rushed to fill the void.”

Alfred W. McCoy, To Govern the Globe: World Orders and Catastrophic Change

[gunsandspaceships]

MCU Timeline: Captain Marvel

Over the centuries - war between the Kree civilization and the Skrulls.

1946 - launch of the Project PEGASUS.

July 4, 1950 - Nicholas Joseph Fury is born in Huntsville, Alabama.

~1963 - Carol Danvers and Maria Rambeau are born.

Note: Calculations are based on the assumption that they were 18 years old when they entered the United States Air Force Academy in September 1981. The age could be different, so it is impossible to say exactly when they were born based on the film alone.

~1967 - Nick Fury graduates from high school and joins the army.

1980s:

Fury retires from the military as a colonel and becomes a spy. He serves in cities beginning with the letter B (Belfast, Bucharest, Belgrade, Budapest).

Kree scientist Mar-Vell takes a group of Skrull refugees and flees with them to Earth. There, she takes the terran name Wendy Lawson and begins work on a light-speed engine to save the Skrulls from the Kree.

June 1985 - Carol Danvers and Maria Rambeau graduate from the United States Air Force Academy.

September 24, 1985 - Lieutenants Danvers and Rambo become active US Air Force pilots.

April-May 1986 - Maria Rambeau undergoes training at the USAF Officer School.

Note 1: She was probably a) with Carol; b) training to be a test pilot.

Note 2: I broke my eyes and brains trying to make sense of the dates on this form. Because I can't figure out how September 1985 to 1989 can be 5 years. So I don't know where to put Maria's discharge, in 1989 or 1990 or even 1991.

Between 1986 and 1989 - they join the S.H.I.E.L.D./USAF PEGASUS project as test pilots.

~March 24, 1988 - Fury joins S.H.I.E.L.D.

Note: it is complete BS that Fury is a Level 3 in S.H.I.E.L.D. after 7 years of service, including being a deputy in Bogota and a "friend" of high-ranking politician and Secretary of the DoD Alexander Pierce. He has his own rookie and is about to be promoted to Director! Bad job, Marvel.

June 28, 1988 - Carol and Maria buy tickets to a Guns N' Roses concert.

July 10, 1988 (Sunday), 8 pm - Carol and Maria attend the Guns N' Roses show.

1989:

Dawn - Carol wakes Maria up (as usual).

Danvers and Rambeau race to the base in their Mustang and Camaro, respectively. Danvers cheats by taking a shortcut.

An agitated doctor Lawson meets them in the hangar and attempts to fly the ASIS. Danvers takes the pilot's seat.

~7 am - the two take an unauthorized "test" flight in the light-speed aircraft.

Note: ~7 am is based on Carol's watch at the moment of Mar-Vell's death.

Lawson gives Danvers the coordinates of her secret lab.

As they reach space, they are attacked by Yon-Rogg, who was sent to capture the scientist and take her back to Hala.

ASIS hits the ground. Lawson reveals who she really is to Danvers and attempts to destroy the engine, but Yon-Rogg kills her before she can do so.

Danvers shoots the engine herself, destroying it and absorbing its energy.

She is taken to Hala (the Kree capital). The Kree give her a transfusion of their blue blood (Yon-Rogg's), alter her memories and suppress her powers with a chip implanted in her neck.

Note: The photo is labeled "06/23/1990" but was likely taken during an investigation that could take years.

Between 1989 and September 1991 - Captain Maria Rambeau leaves the Air Force.

1992-1995 - Kree spy Soh-Larr gathers intelligence on Skrull refugees on Torfa.

~September 1995 - Phil Coulson joins S.H.I.E.L.D.

The main events take place in early October 1995 (or, as a second option, in September). For details, see the end of the post.

~October 7, 1995:

120 days since "the last Skrull attack on the Kree".

Early morning on Hala - Danvers, now "Vers", a member of the Kree Starforce, wakes up from a dream with a scene from his past altered by the Kree.

She wakes up her commander Yon-Rogg and invites him to a sparring match.

They fight, but Vers loses control and uses his powers against Yon-Rogg.

He takes her to the Supreme Intelligence, the AI ​​leader of the Kree civilization. The Intelligence allows her to go on a combat mission.

Starforce is sent on a search and rescue mission for the spy Soh-Larr on the "recently invaded by the Skrulls Kree border planet" Torfa.

Ronan the Accuser goes with them to blow up a Skrull stronghold on the planet.

On Torfa, the team is ambushed by Skrulls. Vers is captured by Talos, the Skrull general.

~October 8, 1995:

The Skrulls take Vers onto their ship and study her memories for clues that could help them find Mar-Vell.

They learn that she must be somewhere on planet C-53 (Earth) and set course for it.

Vers frees herself from the bonds and fights the Skrulls.

~5 am in California - After blowing a hole in the ship, she boards one of the shuttles and makes an emergency landing at a Blockbuster Video store in Los Angeles, Earth.

Security guy calls the police.

~7 am - a group of Skrulls led by Talos lands in LA.

Vers calls her team on a landline she modified, telling them her location.

Starforce head to Earth.

LAPD and S.H.I.E.L.D. (Coulson, Fury and his supervisor Keller) arrive.

One of the Skrulls takes on the appearance of Coulson while the real one is collecting evidence inside the store with Agent Keller.

Vers activates her beacon and meets Nick Fury.

Before he arrests her, they are attacked by another skrull.

Vers, Fury, and the fake Coulson pursue the Skrull. Vers fights him on a train, but he manages to escape.

Fury discovers that the real Coulson is still in Blockbuster and the one next to him is a Skrull. They fight, resulting in a car crash, and the Skrull does not survive.

~8-9 am - in the internet cafe, Vers searches for "Pegasus" and "Pancho's Bar" from the memories extracted from her.

She steals some casual clothes and a motorcycle and heads to Pancho's Bar, which is located near Edwards Air Force Base.

Talos knocks out Keller and takes his identity (but forgets his ID).

~10 am - a S.H.I.E.L.D. medical examiner performs an autopsy on the dead Skrull. Talos, posing as Keller, sends Fury to find Vers.

Coulson hands Fury the police report and helps "Keller" to return to Keller's office for the ID.

~12 pm - Vers makes it to Pancho's bar, where Fury is already waiting for her. They talk and prove to each other that they are not Skrulls.

~1 pm - Fury takes her to the Pegasus Project base.

~2 pm - while they are detained by the facility's security, Fury sends a message to Keller-Talos asking for reinforcements.

Fury opens the locked door using the guard's fingerprint, and the two head to the Records Department, meeting Gus the Flerken along the way.

Vers and Fury find Lawson's files and learn that 1) the ASIS light speed engine project was terminated; 2) Lawson was actually a Kree; 3) she died along with her pilot during an unauthorized test flight of the light speed aircraft.

Fury receives a message from "Keller" and leaves Vers. She learns that she was the pilot and calls Yon-Rogg. He tells her that Lawson was an undercover Kree agent named Mar-Vell. Vers tells him that her memories of life on Earth are returning.

3 pm - "Keller" arrives with other agents and accidentally reveals himself to Fury, calling him Nicholas.

Talos attacks Fury in the archives. Vers saves Fury and they escape.

They encounter Coulson, but he lets them go.

Vers takes Fury's pager from him.

They take a quadjet from the hangar and a stowaway, Goose, and head to Louisiana to see Maria Rambeau.

Ronan contacts Starforce and informs them that his part of the operation was a success. He insistently offers to "search and rescue" Vers, but Yon-Rogg brushes him off.

Back at PEGASUS Base, Talos receives the ASIS black box recording and learns that Vers is a Terran who worked with Mar-Vell. He takes Norex and heads to Louisiana as well.

~7 pm - Vers, Fury and Goose reach Louisiana and meet Maria and her daughter Monica.

8 pm - they tell them what's going on, Maria tells Vers what happened that day 6 years ago.

Talos enters the house, now without disguise, and explains himself.

He gives the Terrans the audio file from the ASIS black box, and Carol's memories return.

Talos asks her to help find the energy core (Tesseract) in Mar-Vell's laboratory, and Maria gives her a pep talk.

~9:30 pm - Talos is informed that the laboratory is not on Earth, but in orbit.

~10 pm - Norex, a Skrull scientist and engineer, begins work on adapting the quadjet for space travel.

Carol and Monica persuade Maria to take the co-pilot's seat.

~October 9, 1995:

Monica changes the colors of Carol's battle suit to red, blue, and gold.

Her grandparents take her to their home until Maria returns.

Carol, Maria, Fury, Talos, and Goose head to the lab, leaving Norex to pose as Vers for Yon-Rogg.

~7 am - Yon-Rogg reaches Maria's house and kills Norex after he fails an identity check. He calls Ronan to bomb the Earth.

~8 am - The Terrans and Talos find Mar-Vell's lab, which is also an Imperial Kree cruiser full of Skrull refugees. Talos is reunited with his family.

The reunion is interrupted by the arrival of Starforce, who capture everyone on board.

Danvers is brought before the Supreme Intelligence. She gets rid of the Kree implant that was suppressing her powers, and breaks free.

Goose swallows the Tesseract.

The Battle at Mar-Vell's Laboratory that ended in the Mojave Desert.

Maria kills Minn-Erva in a dogfight.

Ronan and the other Accusers arrive and launch ballistic warheads towards Earth. Carol destroys them all in mid-air and then blows up one of the Accusers' ships. Ronan decides to retreat.

Danvers sends Yon-Rogg, who has crashed on Earth, back to Hala with a message.

Goose scratches Fury's eye.

Night - back at Maria's house, Carol promises the Skrulls she will find them a new home and asks Fury to hide the Tesseract on Earth. She also gives him a pager she upgraded for him so he can call her if needed.

~A couple of days later, mid-October, 1995 - Carol and the Skrulls leave Earth.

~Second half of October 1995:

Fury eventually loses his scratched eye. He returns to duty, working on his idea for the Protector Initiative at the S.H.I.E.L.D. Los Angeles office when Coulson brings him prosthetic eyes to choose from. Fury looks through Maria and Carol's USAF files and decides to name the Initiative after Carol's USAF call sign.

Goose, who stayed with Fury, throws the Tesseract up on his desk.

Why October (or September):

The Official Timeline book and Fandom Wiki timeline tell us that the main events of the movie take place in the summer of 1995. Indeed, we see some indications of this in the film, such as this calendar in Maria's office that says "June":

However, other evidence tells us that it cannot be summer:

The yellow notice says, "Effective November 1, 1995." In the summer months, this may be too early.

Look at the posters:

The newest shows announced in mid-September, those announcing shows in July and August, are the oldest on the wall and are already covered with many more recent announcements.

The advertisement for the Smashing Pumpkins' 1995 album Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness could not have been posted on the wall in the summer of 1995, as the album's recording was completed in August and the album itself was released in October.

While trying to convince her mother to go on the mission with Carol, Monica mentions The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air (1:16:10), which began Season 6 on September 18, 1995 (and I couldn't find any VHS of that show, so Monica is most probably referring to watching the season on TV when it aired). The full moon in September was before September 18, and the full moon in October was on the 8th, which fits well.

So Maria might want to turn a few pages on her calendar (though that happens to all of us sometimes, doesn't it?).

MCU Timeline: The Infinity Saga

[translatemunson]

file 004 — Warbird takes the sky

chapter four of death defying acts

previous chapter | masterlist | next chapter

cw: fem!reader, afab!reader, no descriptions of reader (i'm really trying to keep my descriptions of her and her background to a minimum so i can be inclusive to all people, but let me know if i can improve), no use of y/n, reader has a call sign (i had to pick one, it makes sense for the story), innacuracies about the navy, topgun and army (i did my best guys), this takes places after the events of the movie, drinking, lmk if i missed anything.

On Monday morning, you parked your car at the Naval Air Station North Island a few minutes behind your normal schedule. You grabbed your things from the passenger seat, fixed your hair one last time, and rushed to the Operations building. Everyone got an email last night about a special training exercise the following morning, but not much was attached to the briefing.

So when it was crucial for you to be early, you got stuck in traffic. You texted Bob to ask him to save you a spot at the briefing session — you were not required to attend those, but you felt like it was necessary to get more intel about the Daggers —, and you were running there before you missed any more information.

As you were ready to open the door and try to snuck in quietly when Officer Stewart intercepted you. “Good morning, Officer Hyde. You are expected in the control room.”

“Morning, sir. I thought I was supposed to watch the briefing with everyone else,” you motioned your head to the room.

“It’s just some tactical fighting maneuver exercise, you don’t need to stress over that.” Officer Stewart was very forward, polite and one of the best team leaders in the Intelligence office. He knew everyone’s strong and weak spots, and wasn’t afraid of overruling some orders to have his team working as soon as possible. “The file is on your desk, and I’m counting on you to hand me those reports in real time.”

“Yes, sir.”

You took the stairs to the third floor, passing through the heavy doors to the operation command room. You waved hello to your coworkers, settled your things on your desk and opened the paper folder.

Tactical maneuvers, two flight instructors this time around. In a jet each, they were gonna try to follow and intercept the four US Navy jets in the training path. The small resemblance to the escaping scenario Maverick and Rooster faced at the end of the Uranium mission shouldn’t be overlooked as a coincidence. They were preparing for a still unknown mission, but every single part of the training was necessary.

You looked over the pairings, pretty much the same pilots, except for one small difference. Bradshaw and Seresin were acting as mission captains in each round. So this was also a testing of their leadership skills.

Maverick was one of the assault pilots, but the other one was a blank information in your sheets. Were they getting some admiral or captain in the sky? How this was gonna work after all?

“Permission to take off, pilots.” The flight director announced over the speakers. 

You adjusted your headset over your ears, tuning into the general radio wave. The pilots were deployed one by one, conducting the G-force test and some engine checkings. You wrote down their data, coordinates and estimates on a side sheet. Then you heard Maverick’s voice, followed by a very familiar tone.

“Warbird, ready to take position.” What the hell your father was doing in North Island? Since when he was here?

You held yourself back from using the radio to say hello, but you saw when Office Stewart gave you a warm smile, in a silent “surprise” hanging on his lips. You smiled back.

You knew your father’s potential, being responsible for training over a dozen classes of Top Gun after he retired from the missions. Nowadays, he was laying low and working with the new recruits during the first stages of training, but he was still an exceptional pilot. Who did this? Who convinced your father to fly in training, side by side with one of the pilots he didn’t like?

The who and how shouldn’t be your focus now, since you need to watch how everyone’s gonna perform on training. But you were dying to reach for your phone and text the group chat “That’s how I found out we’re working together for a day?”

Hangman was leading the first session. For one morning only, he was being a good team player and leader. He had Phoenix and Bob as wingmen, and Coyote was leading Payback and Fanboy. They were hitting their marks, which was good, but Maverick and your dad were getting closer. In the mapped valley route, that meant lots of weak spots and not many tricks to save their asses.

You passed your first round of notes to Stewart before they reached the Daggers. You watched closely the monitors, seeing if your father was using any of the tricks he was famous for. But so far, he was following Maverick’s lead, and they were giving the aviators a run for their money.

As the terrain got narrower, Hangman was forced to make some risky decisions. At one point, Payback and Fanboy were shot down. As they reached the target, Coyote had to send the second missile without his laser. You noted down how it was a miss, and then they started the open terrain pursuit. Bob was screaming on the radio about Maverick and your dad’s positions, and Hangman, Phoenix and Coyote were swaying from one side to another, gaining and losing altitude like crazy, trying to survive this part.

“Dagger Two down,” your dad called on the comms. “Engaging with Dagger Three.”

“Copy that, Warbird,” Maverick confirmed.

You watched, mesmerized, when both experienced pilots entered a double formation, going after Coyote. Hangman was trying to move back and form a plan with his last wingman, but they outsmarted them: as your father went after Coyote, Maverick pulled one of his maneuvers and got Hangman right in the middle of his aim.

Everyone in the control room clapped because it was an excellent demonstration of teamwork and experience in the field. While your father didn’t have any confirmed air kills on his resume, he was quite the deceiver and strategist. And Maverick, well, he had his reputation and a name for himself.

They were given a small break for refueling before taking the skies again. You waited on the edge of your chair, already impatient because you wanted to have a few minutes with your dad. But again, you were expected to do a stellar job if you wanted that promotion.

On the second run, now with Rooster as mission captain, they were almost mirroring Hangman’s run. Bradshaw was more vocal on the comms, giving out instructions to his team. Your dad and Maverick were having a harder time catching up, but you were quick to notice how Rooster was losing his momentum as they approached the target.

Fanboy and Payback were the first to go down, but they managed to give Coyote the aim for his shot. They succeeded in destroying the target, now they were up for a run. Their maps showed the expected terrain, and they were on their own to plan for their escape.

“Any eyes on them?” As Bradshaw asked, you took a look at the radars.

Warbird and Maverick somehow found a blind spot on Rooster’s formation and intercepted them not a few seconds later. The arrows in the screen started to dance around each other, the formation long forgotten.

Coyote and Phoenix were shot down basically at the same time. Rooster was a few miles ahead, and when your dad said “I’ll get him” on the comms, you knew things were gonna get good.

Bradshaw was going low, rapidly reaching the hard deck. Your dad had him cornered in no time, locking his aim as the other pilot tried to go up and save himself from imminent failure. You whispered an excited “yes!” when they confirmed the kill. All pilots were commanded to land and take a break before the debrief.

Officer Stewart only had a second before you were out of the room and making your way to the hangar. You were out on the tarmac in a matter of minutes, just waiting for your father to jump off the jet and explain himself. And the looks you got from your colleagues were filled with questions that were promptly answered when you said “Dad! Why didn’t you give me a call?”

“Your mom said it would be better if it was a surprise,” he explained, opening his arms and giving you a nice hug. “I was hoping to hear your voice over the comms today.”

“Not today, but maybe next time. Oh, I missed you so much.” You stayed there for as long as possible, already used to the port flight aura you dad carried around.

Most people said your looks and personality were a fair mix of your parents. Your temper was something you inherited from your dad, but the sweet smile and warm eyes were your mom’s biggest traits. Looking at pictures from when they were younger, if it wasn’t from the passage of time, you would look like a perfect conjunction of their younger versions. Dressed in a Navy uniform, you used to be called Mini Warbird.

“Missed you too, birdie.” For your father, you would always be an aviator. “So, are you joining us for the debrief later?”

“I think so,” you smiled. “You did an amazing job today.”

“You sure? I feel a little rusty.” He shook his shoulders, like taking the dust off of them. “Alright, but did I look cool on your screens?”

“You looked like you never stopped flying dangerous missions. I know an experienced pilot when I see one,” you admitted.

As you said those words, Bradshaw walked by. And his expression was far from friendly: his sharp eyes were focused on your father; his face red and sweaty because of the exercise; his hands gripping the helmet like he was holding himself back. 

Your father followed your attention, and said “Nice work, Lieutenant Bradshaw.” But the pilot just walked by.

“Well, dinner’s on me,” your dad said. “Meet you at the debrief?”

“Will do.”

+++

“Now that we are not on the clock, and your mom is not around to use her psychologist tactics, tell me: how have you been?” Your dad asked as he settled two beer bottles at your table.

You drove him to the Hard Deck as soon as you were both done for the day. His stay was only for the training, his ticket back to his base booked for the following morning. Which was such a shame, you were really hoping you could spend more than just a few hours together.

“I’m ok, I guess. A lot of work, new people, new information, new squad. And a ton of pressure to perform well without causing unnecessary friction.”

“Any trouble with the captain?” Your mother wasn’t there, but your dad was more than prepared to poke the sensitive topics.

“Believe me or not, no. I was part of last week’s debrief, and I was surprised when he asked me for my insights and complimented my notes.” You looked around, making sure there wasn’t any coworker hanging around your booth. “People are very chill around here. Well, not everyone.”

“Is that Hangman guy being an ass to you as he is to his colleagues?”

“No, actually Bagman is all bark, no bites when he learns your job pretty much could help him get the mission captain position.” In a world full of politics and power games, you knew how to move around the board. And that didn’t mean not having some fun while there.

“So who are you talking about?”

“You know, the bird” you took a sip of your beer. “I know I’m the outsider writing down all of their mistakes and giving those out to the captains and admirals, but I’m not here to be judge and jury. So ever since day one, he’s acting like I am the enemy.”

“He’s been very temperamental since his father died.” Sometimes you would forget that your father was training and flying side by side with Maverick, Goose and those Top Gun pilots. You were born months later after Goose’s death, too young to remember the faces, and your family was transferred when you were two. “The kid is an excellent pilot, just a bit—”

“Arrogant? Doesn’t like to take feedback even when the person on the other side of the radio is trying to help? Yes, I can agree.” You rolled your eyes.

“Someone’s bitter.”

“I really wished Maverick was the pain in the ass you and mom told me, because I’ve dealt with aviators like him before, instructors even. Bradshaw is even worse than that one admiral in Virginia.”

For a second, you thought your dad’s silence was him trying to find arguments to defend Bradshaw — even if that, before all of this, he wasn’t nice to Maverick or anyone that was close to the reckless pilot. You noticed how, on the drive there, he was laying all the compliments to Rooster’s sense of leadership, and praising Hangman’s flight skills.

“Don’t even start,” you interjected. “I don’t wanna hear you saying he is a troubled kid, and he is the way he is because Maverick is his godfather or whatever.”

“I won’t. But we had this argument before: just because numbers and readings are clear to you, flying is more of an instinct than something you can learn.” His serious tone, reserved to students or when you were losing your temper. “Once adrenaline kicks in, you know we are not the most reasonable people out there.”

“I never pointed those things out loud. I check the readings, I give them to the chief, and my work is done.”

“I know what you do in those rooms, kid. What I’m saying is sometimes we know what we are doing, even though the odds are against us. So point out if someone is slow, or if their success rate is not as sharp as it should be, but don’t act like this is the only variable in risk during training.”

“Can we move on? Thank you very much.” At your core, you know your father is right. But, in your mind, if a pilot can’t complete a mission training successfully, it’s your job to point that out. Otherwise, they will fail on the field.

Much to his dismay, your father started talking about his new flight students. It was that part of the class everyone wanted a call sign to put over their last names. You knew what yours meant, but just didn’t remember who gave it to you. Maybe it was one of your colleagues, maybe one of the captains, perhaps Bob would remember.

For the longest time, you thought everyone would just call you Birdie or anything related to your dad’s call sign. And they did, then your call sign was Crow for exactly ten days before a training session. From them on, you were referred to as Hyde.

Had a nice side, but once they did you wrong, you showed a side that everyone would be afraid to fly closely to.

You were going to the bar to close out your tab when you heard familiar voices. The Dagger squad walked to the Hard Deck like they owned the place. You thanked Penny, pointed to the exit with your head to your dad — to avoid walking back to your table and crossing paths with Bradshaw and his friends —, and walked to the parking lot like you were on a mission.

Bob called your name, you just waved a “hello”. Hangman offered to buy you a beer, you pointed to the door and mouthed a “sorry”. Nat recognized your father moving the same direction and just smiled. You reached the door, and you slammed into someone’s chest and then stumbled backwards, almost falling. But they held your arm, and you were safe.

“Officer.” Bradshaw’s voice made your instinct kick back, and you took your arm away.

“Lieutenant,” you said, harshly. You don’t give him another look as you walk out of the Hard Deck and take your father to his hotel. Damn, how you wished he could stay with you.

a/n: the build up is building up, and i wanna say chapter 5 is one of my favorites! fingers crossed i can finish it faster this time around

[echantedtoon]

Kimetsu Guaken Hantengu Family Headcannons

Some Kimetsu Guaken Headcannons for a modern version Hantengu Family because why not? It's an Alternate Universe where everyone was a modern citizen instead of demons/slayers/etc. Ik technically Hantengu/his clones already exists as ghosts but I don't care. 

URAMI:

*Hantengu and Urami are brothers with Urami being the older brother by four or five years. Urami was the more responsible brother graduated from college early and had a long career as an army officer before retiring,but he often regrets being related to and having to bail his stupid younger brother out of situations their entire lives. He lives with his younger brother and five Grand-nephews in retirement and he likes to tell stories about his glory days while berating Hantengu's bad decisions as a cautionary tale to his Grand-nephews. Won't admit it out loud but Sekido is his favorite with Aizetsu and then Zohakutan being close seconds.

*Was the reason for Sekido getting inspired to join the local police academy after graduating highschool. He served in the army for many years doing many missions and trained new recruits until an injury to his eyes during a failed mission caused him to have poor eyesight. Spent a few years as a night guard for the local museum before retiring all together.

*Was never married, not because he didn't find anyone attractive but because he was more career and family oriented being the one to take care of their parents (and his dumb brother-) until they passed away and honestly seeing Hantengu fail his love life turned him off from wanting any.

*Loves dogs! Grew up with dogs and worked with trained military dogs so he proceeds to have one still. Currently has two elderly retired police dogs, German Shepherds, and a stray Shiba Inu mutt mix Urogi found in an alley as a puppy and brought home. Their names are Bloody Mary, Bruce,....and Mr. Chewtoy the Third.

*Decent cook after having years of practice cooking for himself and his family. Probably taught Aizetsu to cook. I feel like he'd like Udon a lot for some reason.

HANTENGU:

*Hantengu is the grandfather of the other five. After living a life of scams, unsuccessful business adventures, trying to make it rich, being in and out of legal trouble, a slew of bad relationships,and at least three divorces on top of being a deadbeat dad- He's not exactly a good person or role model. Was constantly bailed out of situations thanks to his older brother's connections and a promise Urami made to their parents to look out for him, and had one child from one of his divorces that to this day barely acknowledges and never really did anything for. Was forced to live with his brother when he stupidly joined a pyramid scheme and lost all his money and was forced to sell his house n everything he owned to pay loansharks. To this day Urami still won't let him forget his stupid his life was and Hantengu still continues to blame everyone but himself.

*Hantengu had five grandchildren that he had to care for at a young age after both parents died not too long after Zohakutan was born(not sure how they would've passed but it would've been something out of their control like a car accident) and he was forced to suddenly take in five small children he was unprepared for. Of course being who he is, he decided to fall for a pyramid scheme. Urami decided to be the bigger person and take them in to avoid his nephews going into foster care and his brother becoming homeless. Honestly he's the one who raised them and not Hantengu.

*Hantengu is all their last names. Urami Hantengu, Sekido Hantengu, Etc. Hantengu himself has the same first and last name so his full actual name is Hantengu Hantengu which can be confusing to people who aren't sure if he's going by his first or last name during conversations.

*Was kicked out of his parents' house by Urami when he was eighteen because he caught him stealing some money and after constantly begging for money using the 'If you really love me you'll help me!' excuse he kept spouting. From then on Urami never allowed him near their parents unless he was there to monitor his visits and when their funerals were held.

*He tried to repeat this behavior when his grandchildren got jobs but stopped when Urami threw him out of the house for a week leaving him to sleep in the yard and had to beg Aizetsu to sneak him food from the fridge. He has since not done this in fear of his brother giving him a much harsher reaction.

SEKIDO:

*The four main clones are actually quadruplets. The order of Oldest to youngest is Sekido, Karaku, Aizetsu, and Urogi with Zohakutan being their baby brother.

*Sekido bring the eldest felt like he had to step up and take care of his brothers after their parents died and they were stuck raised by their deadbeat Grandpa and strict Great Uncle. Has anger issues with a temper as a result and growing up has gotten in a lot of fights both with his family and in school. However he has mellowed out a bit since going to attend the police academy half inspired by being raised by his retired military soldier uncle, Urami approves of his career choice greatly.

*He boxes in his free time to keep in shape and has used it as a form of therapy taking any and all anger out on a literal punching bag instead of anyone else. As a result he's very physically fit and the physically strongest out of all his brothers. He also knows some martial arts after taking classes from Keizo's dojo, as a result he and Akaza(or Hakuji as he's called in KG) are old school aquantences.

*Contrary to what people may think because of his temper and overall personality, he actually enjoys sweet things like chocolate soft serve ice cream and glazed donuts. I'm the future sometimes his coworkers would see him filing paperwork on a case while a donut is stuck in his mouth.

*Uses his hobby of physical fitness to spend time with his brothers before moving out. Would go on runs with Urogi or help Karaku stretch out and all of them would go to the gym growing up as Urami wouldn't let them have electronics and instead force them into more 'better' activities such as school sports teams or making them go to the gym. Sekido continues to carrying that part of his life with him.

KARAKU:

*Urami would never admit it but he was worried about Karaku the most because out of all the grandkids he seemed to take the most after his grandfather. Growing up Karaku had gotten into a LOT of trouble. A lot of the times alongside Urogi but a lot of times by himself too. Growing up he never really took anything serious and never really had motivation to want to do anything. His grades were barely passing most of the time and he often got into trouble playing pranks on his family (mostly on Urami or Sekido sometimes Aizetsu) with Urogi a lot of the time.

*Was one of the reasons why there was so much fighting. He was also very lazy and in junior year of highschool nearly got expelled twice. Once for starting a fight with another student for making constant passes on his girlfriend Sekido had to bail him out of and a second time when Urogi and himself thought it'd be funny to 'smoke' candy cigarettes behind the school and pretend that they were actual cigarettes on April fools Day. They only didn't get expelled because technically it was only candy but they were banned from bringing any candy to school ever again.

*Both himself and Urogi stopped their pranks at home after a prank gone wrong caused Aizetsu to fall down the stairs and fracture his leg when he slipped on a puddle of water they had laid out for Sekido. Both were horrified by the incident and were too traumatized by the incident to do that again. To this day everyone else still thinks it was an accident.

*Is an exotic dancer and took gymnastics in school. He literally had to BEG Urami over and over to let him join the gymnastics class/team at school. He initially refused because he didn't believe it was a good place for a man, but a little convincing from Sekido and seeing how genuinely serious Karaku was(something rare for him) he finally agreed. He HATES Karaku's career choice and thinks he's just going to regret it later in but Karaku is happy.

*Is the most physically flexible out of his family and can perform as a contortionist, knows many gymnastics, and knows many different dances from ballroom dancing to currently learning to tango. Wants to try ballet too sometime. Surprisingly matures a bit once starting college and works as an exotic dancer in a club for money much to the dismay of his family except for Urogi who always completely supported his goals. Unfortunately he's also developed a womanizing reputation because of his actions.

*Is very body positive for others and himself surprisingly and is the first person to punch someone for calling someone else ugly, fat, etc based on their appearance. He's also openly pansexual leaning more towards women but you wouldn't know unless you asked him and he is completely honest about it.

UROGI:

*Out of all his brothers, he's really the only one who truly followed in his Uncle's footsteps and becomes an air force pilot. Urami is surprised by his career choice but is happy nonetheless that someone other than Sekido is keeping up the family tradition. However his drive for this job isn't a want to serve the army but his love of flying and the thrill seeking part of him that never went away.

*Is the closest brother to Karaku and often pulled pranks together growing up as they had similar personalities. Example being putting sour lemon juice in his Uncle's coffee, putting shaving cream on Sekido's hand and making him smack his face, or jumping out and scaring the living daylights out of someone. However unlike Karaku he was much more receptive to criticism and more responsible with his life choices such as not being lazy with homework and not starting fights out of boredom. Stopped playing so many pranks after partially accidentally causing their baby brother Aizetsu to fall and hurt himself. To this day he still feels sick to his stomach whenever he remembers the incident.

*Since being a kid he's always had a fascination with the sky and loved camping under the stars, watching sunsets/sunrises, and a lot of the time he'd just lay out in the backyard watching the clouds and daydreaming. Often bounced around whether he wanted to be an astronaut or pilot growing up.

*Is the most positive out of his brothers and the one who encourage's Karaku's career choice and encourage's Zohakutan to follow his dream on game design. He's very protective of Aizetsu and was the one who convinced him to seek therapy for his depression.

*Greatest. Memory. EVER. He remembers every birthday, every anniversary, every holiday, never forgets an appointment or date and as a result was there for all of Zoha's school activities until he left to pursue his career but he still calls/sends gifts to his family if it's Christmas or their birthdays.

*Loves birds! Favorite animal. His favorite hobby is birdwatching and collecting feathers he keeps in a scrap book labeling what bird the feather came from. Has a pet parakeet he named Squash.

AIZETSU:

*Is the one who everyone (minus Hantengu) is most protective over including Zohakutan due to his quiet nature and depression. Has suffered from depression since the death of his parents as a child and often struggled in school and at home would just hide in his room whenever fights broke out which was often.

*Don't let his quiet nature fool you however. He has a decent swing along with most of his family having a physical fitness as a hobby so people in school quickly learnt not to bully him after he gave a person a few missing teeth.

*Introvert by nature but the one who joined most school clubs in highschool. Book club, chess club, and writers club being his favorites. Was involved with the school newspaper and was the student councils treasurer for a year in highschool. He enjoys reading and writing a lot but he's surprisingly very good at origami. Can make very detailed structures by folding paper and is the best shogi player in his town.

*He's pretty smart so he often tutored his other four brothers in subjects and honestly was the reason they didn't flunk out because of Karaku's laziness and the other three weren't very good at math or chemistry. Can give lots of good advice too if you care to ask his opinion about something.

*Is the only one of his brothers to actually go to and finish college in order to get a business degree for running his own coffee shop he wanted and is surprisingly a pretty profitable small business owner.

*Doesn't live at home anymore but he continues to visit often to see Zohakutan and the other two as he's the closest one living to them. Helps to take care of his Uncle and Grandmother in their old age now both in gratitude to Urami and only our of pity for Hantengu, otherwise he's disgusted with how he tried to manipulate him growing up. Still helps tutor Zoha if he needs it.

*Since starting therapy thanks to Urogi he's doing much better and has adopted lots of pets. His certified emotional support dog, a few fish, a turtle, two hamsters, and recently a stray kitten he found trapped in a trash can behind his cafe he named Ms. Mittens. He pet sits Urogi's parakeet or his Uncle's dogs sometimes.

ZOHAKUTAN:

*The youngest of the Hantengu Family and is sixteen years old in his second year of highschool. He's currently involved with Kimetsu Academy's track team and book club because his Uncle Urami made him join some extracurricular activities. Doesn't mind track as he's used to being physically active but he finds book club boring luckily he's always allowed to just sit in the corner reading comics.

*Wants to become a game developer once he graduates so he's taking ap classes for computer programming and math, luckily programming means he's grown used to numbers and thanks to Aizetsu tutoring him growing up, he's pretty good at both math and working with computers. Has made one small flash game, it's not too good being just a growing plant simulator and it's buggy but he's still very proud of himself for making it.

*Urami doesn't approve of Zoha's desire to become a programmer and he often nags him about choosing a career more like Sekido or Urogi or even Aizetsu or if he's going to be working with computers at least do something useful with it like becoming a technician or an electrician or work towards getting an office job! He has a temper like Sekido so he'll often fight back. Sekido agrees with Urami on this but his other big brothers are encouraging him.

*Typical teenager. Likes gaming, and riding to the nearest stores for fast foods or the game store. Doesn't like it when it's cold. Much rather deal with sweltering heat than freezing cold however like Sekido loves soft serve ice cream and shakes, enjoys boba tea and mochi too. Bigger sweet too than anyone else. Also has a YouTube chat where he posts videos of him playing games which is decently popular at. Also has a part time job editing websites for people

*Best friends with Kaigaku Inadama despite being two grades apart and knows Gyutaro Shabana. Sometimes the three delinquents cause trouble around the school together. Low key also has a secret crush on Ume Shabana (she's 16 in Kimetsu Guaken so they're the same age-) but he doesn't act on it out of respect and fear of Gyutaro.

*Karaku gifted him a pair of tassel purple earrings and he liked them so much he wears them every day.

*Is actually pretty good at drums and one of his favorite hobbies is just playing on the drum set his brothers gifted him for his fourteenth birthday. Other hobbies of his include collecting promotional posters for movies or games he really likes and drawing. He's pretty good at drawing and writing due to constantly writing out possible scripts for games and concept art for them.

[princess-of-the-corner]

One reason Scrooge McDuck shouldn't be compared to modern billionaires is that he values COMPETENCE, rewards it, and fully informs anyone he hires to work directly for him of the job's dangers:

Albert Quackmore, his butler, is openly the World's Best Butler and a skilled artilleryman (the Money Bin's defenses include war residuates Scrooge picked up then and there, and he's in charge of maintaining them, and fires at least the 149mm Scrooge bought after World War II from the Italian Army. He once nailed a headshot on a superhuman alien invader at about five km). His pay isn't much, but he also gets board (that he's in charge of, meaning he can eat what he wants on Scrooge's dime... But he's honest and as frugal as Scrooge) and room... And said room is full of luxury items (including a robot butler): his duties include testing Scrooge's new luxury products and he's allowed to keep them.

Scrooge's personal secretary Emily Quackfaster (Barks version) is one of three people known to keep up with Scrooge's work rhythm and to run his office. Differently from the others, she wasn't hired by Scrooge but by his sisters in the 1910s, and he kept her working after he stopped going around the world in 1930 because she was just that good.

The Italian version of Emily Quackfaster, her niece and successor as of the 2024 story Emily, decided to work for Scrooge when she was a child and her aunt brought her to work, letting her see the cash pool... But she wasn't hired through nepotism, she knew better than try that. She tried to get hired the normal way, failed because Scrooge still had her aunt, so she started working for a competitor... And when Scrooge visited said competitor as her aunt was about to retire he was impressed by her professionalism and skills and shamelessly poached her before even finding out who her aunt was, and warned her of Magica and the Beagle Boys before even asking said name. She's just as competent a secretary as her aunt, but can actually chase off the Beagle Boys and Magica by herself.

Donald at times works for Scrooge, and he's either hired because he's hypercompetent at what Scrooge needs him to do or quickly learns to be so. In particular, his most frequent job is polishing coins, and he's considered the World's Foremost Expert at this (with at least one coin collector coming to Duckburg on a plane and PAYING to get his advice).

Daisy has at times subbed for Miss Quackfaster, and not only can keep up with the insane workload, she can actually sub for SCROOGE HIMSELF when it comes to business decisions.

The other workers don't get much attention, but it's always shown that they're extremely competent at their job, were selected for their competence, and got all the additional training they needed for both their new duties and to partially keep up with Scrooge's insane rhythm - the latter provided by Scrooge himself, going by the story in which the city got him to deal with their lazy bureaucratic workers and he straightened them up in about a week (in the same occasion Scrooge bragged that he never fired anyone who thought they could laze around now that they worked directly under him, he just got them back up to his expectations). And with extremely rare exceptions they're all EXTREMELY loyal to him: he may have a temper, but he genuinely appreciates competence and knows how to acquire and maintain it (except with Donald, but that's because he's trying to get him to become a worthy inheritor for his business empire and doesn't get that Donald doesn't care).

Wish more irl billionaires were like that

[mariacallous]

Trans-Atlantic relations as we know them are over. The Trump administration in the United States has made it clear that it prefers striking a deal with Russia or other autocrats over maintaining long-term commitments with its Western partners. These threats have united Europeans, who are ramping up their support for Ukraine, investing heavily in their own defense, and striving to build a stronger and more resilient economy. Meanwhile, U.S. institutions that once supported international cooperation and American soft power are getting dismantled.

These developments amount to a trans-Atlantic divorce—and also an opportunity to shape a new trans-Atlantic future by investing in the human capital that the Trump administration has made newly available. At the same time that Europe is trying to build its military capacity, stand on its own feet in intelligence, and make its data and energy infrastructure more resilient, the United States is bleeding talent across the board. U.S. human capital can help build Europe’s future and lay the foundation for a potential renewed trans-Atlantic partnership sometime in the future.

The Trump administration has frozen vast federal funds and announced the elimination of as many as 100,000 jobs, including senior military and security personnel. It has also threatened to push aside military officers who support diversity, equity, and inclusion. The treatment of U.S. intelligence agencies has been even harsher. The CIA has offered buyouts to numerous staff members and initiated the termination of an undisclosed number of contracts for junior officials and probationers.

While the exact numbers of those who have retired or resigned from U.S. intelligence agencies and the military are classified, it is evident that this action resembles a purge of thousands of competent employees. This has led to numerous debates within the United States, with the most prominent being about potential threats to U.S. security and the loss of top talent.

While this talent may potentially compromise U.S. security and military capabilities, it could also present unexpected opportunities for the European defense and intelligence sectors. Suddenly, thousands of competent military and security personnel are seeking new employment. While many would likely consider positions within the U.S. private defense and security sectors, the sheer number indicates that some may be interested in pursuing careers in other regions. Given the evident discontent with their dismissal, as well as their disagreement with U.S. President Donald Trump’s policies on basic human and political levels, it is conceivable that some would consider offering their services to another NATO army or agency in another Western country.

The transfer of personnel who have worked on highly sensitive matters or are trained in one military doctrine to another country is not a straightforward process. However, it is not impossible. Such a move would be more than opportunistic; it would also have practical and symbolic political benefits.

While direct transfers of officers between NATO members’ armed forces are rare, mechanisms like exchange programs and NATO assignments exist to promote interoperability. These arrangements, supplemented by targeted training and professional development, ensure that officers can effectively integrate and operate within different national military frameworks.

It is fair to assume that some of the U.S. military personnel who have been laid off, or are now dissatisfied and considering leaving, have participated in such exchange programs in the past, which would make it easy for them to engage again with those NATO member units in Europe. There should no obligation for U.S. military personnel to join regular European units in a standard service contact; they could be hired as advisors instead, which would be politically and administratively more palatable for the hiring militaries.

Clearly, for intelligence professionals, such a transition may be more challenging due to laws over nondisclosure and state secrecy. But by employing some creativity—within schemes championed by philanthropic foundations, for example—it could be possible. One could think of fellowship programs, for example, that would allow senior officials to maintain their income and independence, while providing consultation and support for European public administrations at the same time. Although not directly comparable, consider the effort that George Soros made after the end of the Cold War to sponsor scientists from the former Soviet Union in order to preserve nuclear and scientific expertise from falling into the hands of rogue states.

Such trans-Atlantic connections could also be a significant political statement. By welcoming competent and able U.S. personnel into their own agencies, Europeans would demonstrate that Euro-Atlantic ties extend beyond mere government relations—a message that resonates not only with the Democratic Party but also with the many Americans who disagree with Trump. It would also underscore Europe’s commitment to continue working together for mutual benefit, strengthening the trans-Atlantic relationship and demonstrating solidarity with those Americans who have been recently laid off.

This sort of hiring spree by Europe may not require extensive publicity, but it will certainly diverge from the Trump administration’s narrative and strategic approach. This could potentially cause some diplomatic friction, but it could also be of some broader diplomatic benefit. Europe can demonstrate its ability to act as an unpredictable and potentially influential independent entity, capable of identifying and acting on material opportunities that become available. It’s an ability that demands to be taken seriously.

What is possible in military and intelligence domains is even easier in the broader economy, where Europe can gain valuable insight from public officials who have experience in the oversight of sectors like energy and data, or other domains marked by integrated platforms and collaborative work such as public health and science.

It’s likely that European governments will be slow to provide the necessary support for hiring former U.S. officials, given various legal and bureaucratic obstacles. Legally, it may be much easier for personnel with U.S. security clearances to receive a fellowship or contract from a U.S.-based foundation rather than one from a foreign government. Therefore, philanthropists on both sides of the Atlantic, shocked by the dismantling of the institutions and tools of American soft power and geopolitical leadership, could act before governments step in by providing seed capital. Starting fellowships programs and imagining short-term affiliations or consultancy contracts would allow senior leadership from the United States to be included in Europe’s construction.

In these turbulent times, such links would create an alternative integration of the Western world that is focused on networked human capital. All this would have both short- and long-term positive effects. It would immediately speed up the improvement of European security and intelligence. In the long term, it would safeguard the basis for a future trans-Atlantic alliance through interpersonal connections and a shared culture.

However, it is urgent to think about how trans-Atlantic relations will look after the current divorce. It is not only because the investment in Europe’s defense and intelligence capacities needs to start immediately with full speed, but also because U.S. talent is already on the job market.

Time is of the essence. As with all good ideas, Europeans will not be the only ones pursuing an investment in U.S. human capital to strengthen their own interests. American employers will inevitably be among those competing for this talent. And U.S. intelligence has produced evidence that Russia and China are already scouting disgruntled federal workers. Europeans would be well advised to focus on helping the many competent officials currently in distress, if only for the sake of giving the West a chance to survive its current turmoil.

[manasastuff-blog]

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[dovabunny]

Want some omegaverse GhostSoap baby drama?

Ghost (alpha) dumps Soap before the omega could tell him he's pregnant. Soap was devastated from the break up, but couldn't get it over his heart to terminate. So, he decided to retire - effective immediately, without honours. The only person on base who knew was the dedicated omega doctor who could only cover for him so long before he couldn't hide it anymore.

He slips out in the night.

But he didn't realize someone was following...

Price had gone to his office at 2am looking for his favorite lighter when he found the letter under the door from Soap about his immediate resignation and retirement. He rushes out in time to catch Soap sneaking off base with just his bag.

He was suspicious that Soap had maybe crossed them, that he was deflecting. He overhears 'the airport' between Soap and the driver who just pulled in. In a mad rush he runs to his room to grab a backpack then set out to follow the man from a distance.

Soap had been distant for the past few months, increasingly so. His doctor had him booked off active duty, only allowing office work and recruit training but even then he was withdrawn. It didn't help his suspicions.

He follows Soap all the way to Scotland to a small town.

He watches from afar as a very nervous Soap knocks on the door of a cozy family home and is greeted in joy. An hour later he watches Soap fling the door open and leave again, screaming and cursing can be heard from inside. His face stained with tears, a red bruise on his cheek.

Had he gotten in trouble with an informant? Was his superiors not happy with his report or performance? He'll wait till he calls Laswell. He needs more Intel first.

He quickly sends Ghost a text that said 'till I'm back you're in charge'.

He follows as Soap takes the late train to the next town and checks into a small motel. Over the next few weeks he mostly stays in, sometimes visits the hospital. Is that where he meets his contacts? Is the motel a front? Slowly Price's suspicion turns to concern, and worry.

Then an ambulance is called to the motel. Price spots Soap being loaded in.

He can't fake the local accent to blend in so he stays outside the small-town hospital for a day and a half before Soap appears again...

... carrying a small bundle in his arms.

But something doesn't add up, something is off.

Soap seems devastated in a way that breaks Price's heart. He smiles through the tears at the little one in his arms as he slowly walks down the street into the night air.

A few blocks down he stops in front of the small orphanage next to the church. He places the warmly swaddled little one at the orphanage's steps, knocks and quickly leaves sobbing.

Before the door can even be answered, however, Price finds his body moving. He dashes out of his hiding spot and swoops the wee one into his arms, quickly walking away as he hears the door being answered to nothing and no one.

A block down, once he's sure it's safe, he peeks down at the curious little face.

And sees blue eyes like Soap...and pale skin and blond hair - like Simon.

It doesn't take much to deduce what happened. He had noticed Ghost had also been withdrawn and taking riskier solo missions since he and Soap stopped being each other's shadow suddenly. In fact, he'd been so busy trying to stop Ghost from getting himself killed or killing a recruit who happened to catch him on a bad day - that he'd not realised this probably had something to do with Soap's withdrawal too. Too busy and distracted to put two and two together.

They were both hurting. Soap clearly felt he couldn't take care of the wee one, but wanted it to have a chance. Even if it meant leaving the army.

As he walks he pulls out his phone to make a call. Laswell pulls some strings and files, and before he gets to the hotel the Captain's official records included that of his newborn son: 'John Simon Price'.

Till his boys are ready, he'll keep their little one safe and happy. Grandpa Price will make sure of it.

[beardedmrbean]

California officials quietly disbanded a dedicated state wildfire-fighting team last year, less than three years after military leaders and Gov. Gavin Newsom’s Office of Emergency Services touted it as a key part of the state’s strategy for tackling California’s increasingly hotter and more prevalent wildfires.

Adjutant General Matthew Beevers, who leads the California Military Department, ordered a restructuring early last year of the State Guard’s Emergency Response Command.

That effectively eliminated Team Blaze, a 150-member volunteer unit dedicated to fighting wildfires and other natural disasters that the military department jointly operated with OES.

Firefighters from all over the state and nation are in the Los Angeles area battling the devastating wildfires that have displaced tens of thousands of residents and killed 28 people.

Newsom’s office and OES did not respond to questions and a request for comment by deadline.

The now-disbanded Team Blaze had responded to some of California’s worst wildfires such as the 2021 Dixie Fire. It performed search-and-rescue missions, according to interviews with two current state guard members and former State Guard Commanding General Jay Coggan, who started the command in 2021 before retiring in May 2023.

The current state guard members who spoke to The Sacramento Bee requested anonymity to avoid retaliation because they were not authorized to speak to the media. The Daily Signal first reported the command restructuring, which was not publicly announced at the time.

Members, many of whom held day jobs as firefighters and law enforcement officers, were paid when they were deployed, according to Coggan and the current members.

A private charity, the California State Guard Foundation, raised donations to pay for their training and equipment until Beevers determined such gifts were illegal, according to federal documents and a memo obtained by The Bee.

The End of Team Blaze

Beevers, whom Newsom appointed in May 2023, ordered the command’s restructuring in early 2024, which dismantled Team Blaze and its security forces counterpart Team Shield, which protected government buildings, manned checkpoints, and did riot control.

Members of both teams were absorbed into Task Force Rattlesnake, which is embedded with Cal Fire and is currently helping first responders battle the ongoing wildfires in Los Angeles.

The military department reorganized the teams to “better support and align with those federal forces and department priorities in early 2024,” spokesperson Col. Brandon Hill said via email.

He said that Team Blaze was a standalone unit and disputed that it was ever able to deploy because it did not have an agreement with Cal Fire, which Coggan disputed.

“It interesting that the former volunteer member of the California State Guard is speculating on our current wildfire response operations that he is not even a part of,” Hill said, referring to Coggan. “The issues that plagued Team Blaze are now nonexistent, as they are a reserve detachment on Task Force Rattlesnake It is a much more efficient use of government resources.”

“We didn’t have an agreement. We didn’t have to. We were part of the military department,” Coggan said.

Newsom sent National Guard members to respond to the Los Angeles fires, which broke out the week of Jan.uary 8. Oregon, Nevada, Mexico and Canada also sent firefighters to assist in battling the blazes, which Cal Fire have estimated to be the most destructive in state history. The 1,100-member State Guard supports the California National Guard, which has about 18,500 combined Air National Guard and Army National Guard members.

Republicans, led by President Donald Trump, have blamed the fires on inaction by Newsom and local officials and suggested that any federal disaster relief aid should come with contingencies. Newsom hit back both in interviews and via a fact-checking website, accusing the president and his allies of spreading misinformation.

“You always have to have some humility and grace as it relates to (what we could’ve done to better prepare), and I’m very self critical in that respect,” the governor told the liberal podcast Pod Save America. “And so we, in every incident, do an after action report, and we will take a sober and reflective look at that.”

On Thursday, Newsom signed a $2.5 billion wildfire recovery and cleanup package hours after its passage by the Legislature.

Could Team Blaze have helped L.A.?

The state guard members who spoke to The Bee said they thought Team Blaze could have helped mitigate some of the fires, though they conceded first responders faced Santa Ana winds of up to 100 miles per hour.

“I kind of like the idea of the governor having a ready-made group (to respond to wildfires),” said one current member, who served in the emergency response command. “The National Guard is not necessarily set up for fire fighting.”

“There’s always going to be a delay if you use a National Guardsman,” said another senior state guard member who served in the command. “It just makes sense to use a pre-trained force. I 1,000% believe that these wildfires could have been mitigated had Team Blaze been used.”

While an early version of Team Blaze first began operating in 2020, Cal Guard and OES announced its creation in August 2022. The agencies hailed the unit in a press release as the “first all-hazards fire engine strike team” operated by a state military department.

“This partnership helps strengthen the state’s ability to quickly respond to climate-driven disasters,” the release read. The team came with four-person engine crews equipped with 300 gallons of water that could “get into tight areas and quickly attack fires.”

Team Blaze, trained for the sole purpose of fighting fires, could be immediately called up to active duty by the governor during emergencies. National Guard members can also be immediately deployed, but must be trained for firefighting, typically delaying their response, according to one of the current state guard members.

“How many houses were lost in those five days?” Coggan said of the response to the ongoing Los Angeles fires. “How many people died?”

Hill refuted this, saying that Team Blaze was never able to immediately respond to wildfires because they were “not part of the available resources for Cal Fire to even request.”

The two current state guard members attributed Team Blaze and the command’s demise to “differences of opinion” about how the State Guard should support the National Guard, and a “personality fight” between Beevers and Coggan, who accused the military department leader of making antisemitic remarks in 2022.

The agency Office of the Inspector General said it could not substantiate the complaint. Hill declined to comment.

“I think this will go down as a tragic episode,” said one of the current state guard members about the wildfire response. “There’s enough scrutiny already. The bottom line is, why wasn’t Team Blaze part of it?”

[scotianostra]

Eric Sutherland Lomax was born on May 30th 1919 at Joppa, Edinburgh.

The only son of a General Post Office manager Eric was educated at the city’s Royal High School. Aged 16, he successfully entered a civil service competition for a Post Office job and moved up the grades rapidly, but with the outbreak of war joined the Supplementary Reserve of the Royal Corps of Signals which recruited men from the Post Office Telephones.

After intensive training he became a Second Lieutenant with the Royal Signals and was posted to the Far East. Captured in February 1942, following one of the worst defeats in the history of the British Army, the fall of Singapore, Lomax was one of 100,000 allied POWs sent to Changi, one of the most the notorious camps. Their treatment was harsh, fitting in with the belief held by the Japanese Imperial Army that those who had surrendered to it were guilty of dishonouring their country and family and deserved to be treated in no other way.

From there, Lomax was sent to the Thai town of Kanchanaburi, where he was set to work on the infamous railway, including the bridge, linking Bangkok to Rangoon in Burma. In all, about 61,000 Allied POWs (of which almost half were British) and 180,000 Asian labourers worked on the 258-mile stretch of line, but the harsh conditions and inhuman treatment took the lives of over 100,000 men.

In the face of malnutrition, illness and regular beatings, Lomax and other POWs built a radio with the hope of keeping up morale and finding out how the war was progressing. He also drew a detailed map of the camp’s surroundings which was to be used in an escape attempt. This, however, proved to be his downfall.

The discovery of the radio, on 29 August 1943, set off a sequence of terrible repercussions. Almost immediately two members of the radio group were arrested, nearly beaten to death, then transferred into the hands of the Kempeitai, the Japanese military police. Less than a month later, four further members of the group, including Lomax, were arrested and again beaten to within an inch of their lives.

“We survived but only just,” Lomax recalled. “I had both my arms broken.” He was later told by another POW that the rest of the camp had lain awake all night listening to the cries for mercy but could only pray for their survival.

On 25th September a further four officers were seized and of those, Captain Hawley and Lieutenant Armitage were beaten to death and their bodies thrown into a latrine. Because of his map, Lomax was subjected to a week of intolerable torture, including waterboarding. He was then transferred to the notorious Outram Road prison, where he was kept in solitary confinement and was convinced he would go insane, starve to death or die of disease. He survived by deliberately throwing himself down a flight of iron stairs in order to sustain injuries and be transferred to hospital. He feigned paralysis and got his wish.

When liberation and VJ-Day came in August 1945, Lomax felt unready to return to civilian life and signed on for another two years, becoming a Captain. He then entered the Colonial Service and was posted to Ghana in preparation for its independence in March 1957.

Lomax left the army in 1955 and studied personnel management, working initially with the Scottish Gas Board before securing an academic position at Strathclyde University. He retired in 1982.

Not surprisingly, Lomax was haunted for the rest of his life by his wartime ordeal, which resulted in the breakdown of his first marriage. Encouraged by his second wife, Patti, Lomax sought treatment, eventually becoming the first Second World War ex-serviceman to be accepted as a patient of the Medical Foundation for the Care of Victims of Torture.

Following years of counselling, Lomax’s intense hatred, particularly for the interpreter who had interrogated him while he was being tortured, became a remarkable journey of reconciliation outlined in The Railway Man, published in 1995. Unknown to Lomax, the interrogator, Takashi Nagase, had suffered agonies of guilt after the war and had dedicated his life to trying to make amends. He had also written a book about his experiences, Crosses and Tigers, and had financed a Buddhist temple at the bridge over the River Kwai by way of atonement.

In his book Lomax documents how he met Nagase on the bridge in 1993; the meeting was filmed for an award-winning documentary ? Lomax’s book won the 1996 NCR Book Award and the JR Ackerley prize for autobiography and was adapted for TV in 1995 as Prisoners in Time, starring John Hurt as Lomax.

In 2007 Nagase’s came to Britain and met Lomax. “Continuing to hate gets you nowhere,” Lomax said. “It just damages you as an individual. At some point, the hating has to stop.”

Eric died on ctober12th 2012 at Berwick upon Tweed, he was 93.