#Letters to Old Nick

[itwasnotahamster]

- Letters from the Dead - (Part 1)

Langhus, 21 March 1990 | © The Old Nick | Source: Letters from the Dead

The brackets will indicate possible context or corrections (sometimes commentary). - 💜

"Only Black is true, only Death is real!!! Gore is trend! Hello Nick! It's Dead here again. Hey- you're really good at drawing, I use to do some drawing stuff myself. I enclose something of it in this letter. Maybe we together can work something out, maybe even in Metal Destruction…? You asked of releases, if we need some artworks for that... Well we rarely give out much and as for the next release we'll probably have some photograph instead. But if we would need something that you might feel for help us out with I'll tell of it. So what we can use drawings for is for stuff like flyers, ads and letter­pages. So far I have done the drawings for that... well the main reason of that is that we have a (old!) xerox mashine and I'm the one in the band that 'can' draw. It's not so often that I have time left to spend hours or sometimes days by making drawings and too many don't like that kind of drawings I make (but fuck them wimps!). But onto the Deathlike Silence Prod. now. The 2nd edition of the 1st release on DSP. - Merciless is out now, the one you get here as promo. We're looking for distributors everywhere and everybody who can sell 10 (or more) records will receive a copy for free + that 10 records will be cheaper. As soon as this the 2nd ed. has paid, Imperator will go in studio.

Imperators LP will contain 8-10 songs (depending on how many "old demo songs" they'll use - but it'll be new trax as well) and it'll be entitled "The time before time". After that it'll probably be the colombian Masacre as the next release. Masacre will be very soon release a 7- inches with 3 demo songs on the greek label Scene of Love. That's a new started label and I hope they can give out enough copies, not limited ed. of it. Of course we give the bands free hands and they're not bounded to use at all, but I'm thinking of the fact that Masacre is selling so much... Only in Colombia their 1st, and only demo sold 1000 copies ( which is more than our Deathcrush demo has sold worldwide...). We can only press up 1000 copies each time of every edition of DSP, and the first ed. Of Merciless sold out as fast as we could pack and post it. This second ed. we recieved [received] for not a so long time ago will depend on how much stamps we can get, of how soon it'll sell out. In Norway it's very hard to sell records - it's far away from USA or South America and I don't think any real scene exists here. Do you think you can take care of some distribution/selling of DSP releases, or you maybe know someone else who's interested? [True dedication]. I think Merciless will be very easy to sell in Italy. Many zines exists there and we recieve many letters from there also. We also sell other records (given out by various underground labels) but it can be so different of what records of others releases we sell 'cos we usually don't get so many of them, so they sell out so soon. But anyway - I can tell of what we presently have got (except of Merciless)

LP's (£10000 + postage)

Agressor/Loudblast (split LP, France) "Licenced to thrash"

Arakain (Czechoslovakia, speed metal - I do not like this one!) "Thrash the Trash"

Nomed (France)... very boring mainstream... "Like..."

Abomination (USA)

Disharmonic Orchestra/Pungent Stench (Austria, split LP)

Malicious Intent (Canada) "Shades of black"

7's (£5000 + postage)

Asphyx (Holland, Limited ed. 1000 copies) "Mutilating Process"

Atrocity (Germany) "Blue Blood"

Pungent Stench (Austria) "Extreme Deformity"

Disharmonic Orchestra (Austria) "Successive Substitution"

Do not print this in Metal Destruction, I will explain it to you, ok. If you want any of these records above, please tell of how many and of what records so I can see how much the postage will be. Now over to Mayhem. For the first time we've been in studio and recorded 2 songs (first time with this line-up I mean). It'll be released on Chicken Brain Records, a swedish kind of underground label some time in this autumn. It'll be 8-19 other (swedish) bands on it, among them Merciless. I don't know the title of this compilation LP/CD. Our songs that'll be on it are "The Freezing Moon" and "Carnage". The Freezing Moon is a new one and pretty different from our other songs, as example it's a long guitar solo on a very long Doom part on it and that's because we wanted to have a solo at only one track (of our new ones). Carnage was made in '85 (!) so it's really old. It was on the 1st demo/reh - Pure Fucking Armageddon (released in only 100 copies and not available) but with the thought of the very bad sound on it we feeled for playing it again and try to keep the original sound of it. I'll tape these trax for ya but I'm not so sure of if it'll be enclosed in this letter or if I'll put this letter togeather [together] with the Merciless record but anyhow you'll get this tape. You can record it to others if you like to but please don't trade it, and I'll record some else bands too for filling out the rest of the tape. Have you heard of the INCREADIBLY KILLING GREAT band Tormentor from Hungary? Their demo is about 4 years old but it sounds like the Death/Black metal bands of today. We try to find out if they want a deal on DSP. But unfortunately they hardly speak any English at all so it seems like neither them or us understood it... We think of releasing a full-lengtht LP of Mayhem but it seems to take a fucking longtime before we got material enough for it... The only we know about it is a title that MUST be used - De Mysteriis Dom. Sathanas. That was about all future plans I can tell of I guess. I look forward to see Metal Destruction. There's a possibility that we can sell it also, but I can't say if for sure.

About Satanism... well, I'd like to join a very underground and Illful, Evil and Grim Coven. I think you know of the hassles by finding any or getting any contact with a such. I do NOT like what's created by Anton LaVey like 1st Church of Satan. I came in contact with a dude who's a degree in the American Satans Sons - Church of Satan and he explained of it has nothing to do with LaVey at all. I asked of if it does exist in Europe also and of what it is exactly... well he didn't reply. But I heard later thet Satans Sons shall exist in Europe but I still don't know in which countries it is. In Norway it's not much of this, but in Sweden (-I am swedish) that 1st Church shall be in Stockholm (the capital there) and it shall be about 5 churches built by satanic sects, used only by satanists, mostly it's under christian churches - like the one under "Mariakyrkan" (Mary's Church) in the South of Stockholm where the 1st Church of Satan use to hang around at. I know it exists really Dark covens that use human sacrifices and are eating human flesh - them are those I try to find. I do not know much about magic and I can't say I'm a practicer of it 'cos I havn't succed. What is depending on what one can do in magic (all of its kind) is of what books one can get...those are hidden in libraries and so hard to even see... 'cos of course they don't let anyone even see them. You must be a scientist or something like if you would see the microfilms of that kind of books. A great library of many various kinds of magical arts and the Blackest of Black Arts too is the British Museum in London. But it's so damned difficult to get ones claws on those books. One book I really wanna get is De Mysteriis Dom. Sathanas, unfortunately it exists only in one copy... are you practicing any magic and do you know of any covens? Have you seen/heard/felt anything supernatural? I have but I didn't understand much of what that was and I think the most of it was only so-called echoes from the past or the future [I am curious about this]. Do you know anything about astral planes and out-of body travelling? You seem to be into it and I agree about stupid trendmakers so it is something that I feel I can tell you of. I had a weird experience once, I had inner bleedings and it couldn't be found at x-rays so when it continued to bleed and bleed I finally fainted and dropped down the floor 'cos I run out of blood. The heart had no blood left to beat and my veins/artairs were almost emptied of blood. "Tecnically" I was dead. At that moment I fell down (into a door I heard of later) I saw a strange blue colour everywhere, it was transparent so I could, for a short moment, see everything in blue, till something shining white and "hot" surrounded me. What happened later is out of interest, I woke up when some ambulance men came and drove me to a hospital and there the bastards of surgery started to cut me up at the wrong side so I got a huge scar for that. However, it's someone I know who's had many out of body experiences and is using magic of various kinds and knows much more than I do of "supernatural" experiences, that I asked of this 'cos it was so strange about those colours. She told me that the first 'plane' in the astral world has the colour blue. The "earthly" plane has the colour black, then comes a grey one that is very near the earthly one and is easy to come to. The next one further is blue, and then it gets brighter and brighter till it "stops" at a white-shining one that can't be entered by mortals. IF any mortal succee enter it, that one is no longer a mortal and can not come back to the other planes nor back to this earth. After the white plane or level or whatever it goes further with other colour I don't know of, there only spirits and great sorcerers can travel. I was told that the white plane I then entered, without I knew it, was the dead world and I died. But I also got thrown back after a short time which very rarely happens. So of what I've heard of I have some kind of purpose to achieve here."

Reached the limit for this one, I will add on!

[bloodvampyr]

[pollyna]

Tom has a degree he can't use, a surname that makes people shrink in fear, a sister who's never going to let married only for money and a best friend with enough German in his accent to make people talk behind his back every step of the way.

Pete is bored, rich, with two degrees, a particular passion for blond people, fast cars, and planes. And has two best friends with a particular taste for tall, board, and strong men who can lift them both up and like to share their bed.

Ron comes in Pete's life because Carole and Nick take him to bed one night and the night after until he gets to be permanent, and Tom follows. Pete is still rich and he is still bored, Tom is still too smart for his on good and he can not still be pratice and won't his sister marry for money.

Or let me guide you all in the most historically inaccurate narrative of one Thomas Kazansky, a very bored Pete with too much money and a surname that demands respect and how a wedding is taken out of Carole's hat catching two birds with a stone. All while playing house, dating and falling in love without even realising because they're too intent to antagonise each other.

[anneway-nitheliniel]

The worst thing about the multiplayer run with my husband is how our Tavs' inventories reflect on the content of our bags in real life.

[barnbridges]

bunny corcoran's youngest sibling trait is that he is DEFINITIVELY not the b in the household but he forces people to call him b and signs his letters with a b. because he's a youngest child.

[neil-gaiman]

Hi, Neil! You've mentioned that Brian May was initially reluctant to give you permission to use Queen's music in the miniseries (because of competition with the Bohemian Rhapsody film, I think?) but I don't remember you ever telling us why he finally relented. Unless it involves a secret phrase not unlike why the sheep finally obeyed Babe the pig, how did you get him to change his mind?

He wouldn't let us use Queen when we did the BBC Radio 4 adaptation. He was concerned that people might think that Queen was being made fun of, or that Queen was being seen as something old-fashioned or something. For Good Omens the TV show I wrote him a letter, which said...

Dear Brian

Terry Pratchett and I had a private joke, back in the 80s, that any cassette in your car would eventually turn into Queen's Greatest Hits. We put the joke into our cowritten novel GOOD OMENS, and wove a certain amount of Queen magic through the book. Done because, pretty obviously, we love Queen. The book went on to sell enormous numbers over the years, and whenever two Good Omens fans got together, they would talk about Queen.

I know that when Dirk Maggs approached you when he did the Radio 4 adaptation of GOOD OMENS, you were wary about getting involved, due to concerns about, well cassettes, and the possibility of it positioning Queen in people's minds as something old fashioned or silly.

Which, I thought, when Dirk told me about it, was fair enough.

I've now spent the better part of the last four years writing scripts for, and shooting, a TV adaptation of GOOD OMENS. It stars Michael Sheen, David Tennant, Miranda Richardson, Adria Arjana, Michael McKean, Derek Jacobi, Jon Hamm, Nick Offerman, and lots of other amazing people, and it will be narrated by Frances McDormand. It is directed by Emmy-award-winning Douglas Mackinnon. 

Douglas loves Queen. I love Queen. David Arnold loves Queen.

And the millions upon millions of Good Omens fans around the world love Queen too. So we have put various moments in there just for them (including a brass band playing "Lazing on a Sunday Afternoon"). We want Queen music to comment on the action.

The show will come out from Amazon, and then from the BBC, next year. This year we are in post-production.

We'd love to show you some of what we've got. We'd love to pick your brains and to get your take on what we're doing. To find out if there's a way we can include you, or just brief you on what we've planned so far.

And Brian cheerfully apologised for having said no before, and said yes.

(Queen didn't want us to use the song Bohemian Rhapsody initially, because of concerns about the movie, but after a while they were happy even with that.)

[cheesesoda]

calling you out based on your favorite triplet!

it’s ya girl back at it again with the call out posts

cw: mentions of mental health issues, sexual trauma, and EDs

nick: if you’re a nick girl/boy/person, i get the feeling you’re the oldest. you sometimes tend to feel sorry for yourself and then you feel bad about feeling sorry for yourself and it becomes a vicious cycle. you probably have either dealt with body image issues or an eating disorder (idk every nick person i’ve met has dealt with that). you’re probably pretty insecure and you constantly compare yourself to all your friends and it’s tearing you apart. you have a hard time accepting compliments because you simply don’t believe them. i think there’s a lot you don’t talk about but then you blame others for your secrecy and feel bad for yourself, as if they just don’t understand. maybe try letting people in and let them have a shot at trying to understand you. you’re not an enigma.

songs you remind me of:

prom queen by beach bunny

not strong enough by boygenius

idontwannabeyouanymore by billie eilish

sippy cup by melanie martinez

orange juice by melanie martinez

tv by billie eilish

matt: if you’re a matt girl/boy/person, you’re probably the quietest one of the group. you possibly grew up without many friends and you often feel left out or unseen. you were the quiet kid and never really talked. you’re very nurturing and you try to take care of all your friends because you want them to know you see them. you’ve most likely dealt with mental health issues (specifically anxiety and/or depression). you tend to overthink a lot and you probably have a lot more to say than you actually say. you were probably the one who walked on the grass, the one who was the photographer but never in the photo, and the one who sat alone at lunch. as a kid, you went unnoticed but now you’re not. as a result, you end up purposely excluding yourself from your current friend group(s) because it’s what you’re used to and then you end up isolating yourself but you don’t realize that you’re doing it to yourself. i hope you’ll see that people do notice you and they do care about you. you’re not invisible.

songs that remind me of you:

the archer by taylor swift

chosen last by sara keys

letter to my 13 year old self by laufey

nobody by mitski

afraid by the neighbourhood

everything i wanted by billie eilish

chris: if you’re a chris girl/boy/person, i think you grew up too quickly. you probably had to start looking out for yourself at way too young of an age and now you have a hard time accepting nurturing and loving treatment. i get the feeling that you were sexualized from a young age too and you probably have some sexual trauma. as a result, you act hypersexual because it’s what you’ve been made to believe you’re supposed to be. people don’t take you seriously, probably because you are the funny one or the pretty one but you’re actually very observant and analytical. you notice things most people don’t. you’ve often been the butt of the joke in the friend group so now you make fun of everyone else before they can make fun of you. you might come off as mean but i think you’re just scared of being vulnerable. you definitely have commitment issues which probably stems from your childhood trauma (including but not limited to family issues). you end up getting yourself into dangerous or unhealthy or self destructive situations because it’s what you’re used to and you think it’s what people expect from you. you don’t have to follow your self fulfilled prophecy. you don’t have to be what others tell you that you are.

songs that remind me of you:

goddess by laufey

labyrinth by taylor swift

safeword by tv girl

don’t miss me by claire rosinkranz

brand new city by mitski

first love/late spring by mitski

[mediumgayitalian]

Will knows who it is at the first light brush on his shoulders.

He tips his head back back, bumping his boyfriend’s hip, leaning into the hand on his trapezius, his scapula, the base of his neck.

“Hi,” he says, grinning.

“Hi,” Nico says, leaning down to press his smile onto Will’s forehead. His hair tickles his cheeks, and he smells like woodsmoke and citrus, and Will slides his hand across his jaw and tugs him closer.

“Errand done?”

“Yep.”

“Lord Hades pleased?”

“As much as he ever is.” Nico shifts, kissing the corner of his mouth, the curve of his chin, the shape of his jaw. “My ears are ringing from five days of quiet. Even the echoing sound of lost souls cannot compete with your constant blabbing; I hardly knew what to do with myself.”

“Oh, shut up. You love my chatterin’.” He smacks the side of Nico’s head, but it’s hard to play mad when he’s smiling, shameless, wide enough that his teeth nick Will’s cheekbones, that his snickers are muffled into his skin.

“If I wanted to be stuck with someone who yaps nonstop I would’ve stayed down with Cerebus. In fact he might shed less, and he doesn’t drool when he sleeps.”

“…I do not shed.”

Nico plants both hands next to Will’s head, heaving himself up, and scans his camp shirt. Within three seconds, he locates a strand of hair, pinches it off, and flicks it at Will’s face.

“Uh-huh.”

“Oh, for the love of — get over here,” Will demands. Laughing, Nico goes where Will tugs him, curling up next to him on the bench. “You’re such a shit. Normal people are much kinder to the significant annoyances they leave behind for five days, you know.”

“Are they.”

Nico lifts his arm in offering and Will accepts with relish, tucking himself under it and making certain to drag his curls down Nico’s face in the process.

“Yep. In fact I was expecting hand-written letters by day two, honestly, telling me how much you missed me and how the distance was physically painful, et cetera, et cetera. Maybe a sonnet or two. Italian, preferably, Elizabethan are not my favourite.”

“You’re very picky.”

Will sniffs haughtily. “Well, I’m a catch. You have lots of competition, you know. I was fighting them off while you were away but now that you come back and insult me upon reunion, I shall reevaluate my options.”

He feels more than hears the quiet laughter Nico presses in his hair, thumb brushing his collar, dipping onto bare skin.

“Is that so.”

“Indeed. My suitors have even offered a dowry quite handsome. I’m worth twenty-seven goats, didn’t you know.”

“Oh, well then. I might as well return what I brought for you, since I’m not sure I can outshine two dozen goats.”

The cool thing about being a son of Apollo is that Will has range. His dad is the god of arts, generally, up to and especially the dramatic ones. Will knows how to school his face into the perfect mask, how to smile on command and cry as desired, how to deliver a line and bow with a flourish. Playing a part comes as naturally as breathing, as naturally as healing.

“A present?” he asks, checking his nails as if the mere thought bores him. “That’s interesting, I guess.”

Nico doesn’t even bother to indulge him.

“Here, you massive dweeb,” he snorts. He hands over a small paper box, hand-folded and thin. “I can practically feel you vibrating.”

There is only one thing in this world, quite possibly, that Will likes more than proving Nico wrong, and that is letting his boyfriend spoil him. In all honesty it’s a real challenge sometimes, because Nico is really very good at being everything Will has ever wanted even if he has wrong opinions on most movies. Truly Will’s life is a joke at which the gods must howl with laughter.

Eagerly taking the box, he holds it up to his face, carefully inspecting every corner. The paper is regular printer paper, slightly waterlogged (from the Big House printer, then, ‘cause Will was carrying a giant bag of saline in from storage when he was eleven years old and tripped on the shipment of office supplies that someone had left, for some reason, in the middle of the fucking hallway, and the bag had exploded on impact all over four boxes of printer paper holding one thousand pages each) and carefully bent into shape. He recognises Nico’s handiwork from the dozens of origami paper sculptures he’s been gifted over the past few months.

“Open it.”

“What is it?”

Nico rolls his eyes. “What did I just say.”

“No, I mean — it’s not my birthday or anything.”

“So?”

“So you’ve wrapped me up a present! I want to know why before I open it.”

“Just because,” Nico mumbles, pressing a kiss to his temples. “Not everything needs a reason, nosey.”

“If nothing had reason then we would still be premordial soup,” Will mutters, but pops open the lid anyway.

He gasps.

“Oh my gods, Nico, you —”

Nico’s smiling smugly, but Will barely notices. Inside the box is a black chain darker than shadow, so dark it doesn’t even glint in the heavy sun, and dozens of little charms, from polished obsidian to a ball of slowly flickering flame.

“You like?”

“It’s gorgeous!”

He makes a triumphant nose, pumping his fist, and says, “Fuck those suitors, I fucking win,” and the funniest part is that he’s damn serious. There’s a glint in his eye identical to when he wins a sword fight, to when Connor loses a bet to him, to when twenty-odd bets are stacked against him and he’s got a full house. Something dangerous and wild and superior and Will is not an enabler, okay, he is not, but he is only so strong and there is only so much he can do when pretty boys wrap their arms around him and smirk at him and bring him bracelets they made in the Underworld. He’d like to meet someone who wouldn’t fold, actually.

“There were no suitors, you loser,” he says, but he’s flushed, pleased smile stretched wide across his face, and Nico’s grinning that too-wide grin and tilting Will’s face closer with the edge of his thumb, like he barely had to try. And there’s always a little bit of shadow leeching off him when he comes back from a quest, an aura surrounding him like he’s squaring off to the sun, and of course the wild churning in Will’s stomach has nothing to do with that but what’s he to do, really? What is a warm-blooded person with eyes that can see to do when faced with such a look?

“Of course there aren’t. They know I would reap their actual souls.”

“Possessive, much.”

“You’re literally going red.”

“Shut up.”

And he does, but only because Will makes him.

Although judging by the hand he shoves in his hair, he doesn’t seem to mind.

[abluescarfonwaston]

Edgeworth requesting the signal samurai theme song be played on the radio during the start of the seven year gap when Phoenix has gone completely AWOL and won't respond to him. Making a grand gesture like Phoenix did for him all those years ago to remind him he's not alone and that he'll help if only Phoenix will reach out and let him.

Of course Phoenix doesn't hear it because his schedule is all wonky between Trucy and the new jobs. Edgeworth wrinkles his shirt over it before Maya 'covertly' asks Nick about it. He's got no clue.

Cut to Edgeworth leaving Big donations with the request they play the song regularly. At every station they think Phoenix might even possibly listen to. It gets so intense there's massive speculation that it's a marketing stunt to raise hype for a reboot. It shows up on page five of the newspaper. People are demanding explanations from global studios. Phoenix still has not heard it.

Then Trucy hums it at home. Phoenix perks up and asks her what she's singing. She tells him how there's this OLD weird theme song that's been playing on the radio all the time. Some kids at her school have even been watching it. Not her thing tho. It was just catchy.

Phoenix turns on the radio that night after she's in bed. 'and once more signal red is sending out his sign, hope it reaches you signal blue. Or not- you've really helped with our station ad revenue!'

He writes a letter. Considers a stilted phone call instead. Sends in a request for the steel samurais theme instead with a note, 'Signal heard. But that doesn't mean I know what to do. From Signal Blue.'

Edgeworth hears it right away.

[blurredcolour]

VI. "Trust Me, Doll..."

"Trust" Series Masterlist

John "Bucky" Egan x WAC!Female Reader

War is hell and every time it seems you and Bucky adapt to your new normal, the game is changed yet again. When at last Victory in Europe is achieved, the pair of you can finally focus on forging the way ahead.

Warnings: Angst, Language, Grief, Mentions of Death, Imprisonment, Pregnancy, Childbirth in Retrospect, Child Rearing, Motherhood, Era-Typical Sexism and Marital Expectations, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes [Unprotected Vaginal Sex, Sex While Trying Not to Be Overhead] - 18+ ONLY.

Author’s Note(s): This is it! Oh wow, we made it, kids! Thank you to each and every one of you for your incredible engagement with this series it has truly been an inspiration! I love all of you and have more Bucky thoughts brewing!!!

As always, letters/telegrams have image descriptions that can be accessed by clicking the 'ALT' button. Special thanks to Marina @precious-little-scoundrel for helping me untangle numerous plot points in this series. I could not have done this without you, darling! This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Word Count: 7444

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

Your sudden return home in mid-February had been decidedly awkward. Without time to send a letter of warning, you had spent a lot of coins on a phone call in a telephone booth at the hospital in New Jersey while you awaited the arrival of a WAC commanding officer to process your discharge.

To say your mother had been surprised to hear your voice over the line was an understatement. Mercifully, your father had already left for work that day and you had only had to break the news to her. Given the frosty welcome you had received from him by the time you managed to reach the steps of your childhood home, you hated to think what his reaction would have been if you had informed him that his unwed daughter was kicked out of the Women’s Army Corps for being pregnant without the softening interference of your mother.

It was truly disorienting to be back somewhere so very familiar when you were so utterly different. The war had left its marks here too, though. A gold star banner hung proudly in the front window, in honor of your brother, and your mother’s garden out back had mostly been turned over to the growing of vegetables, with a huge stockpile of jarred preserves now overflowing the pantry. But the two bedrooms at the top of the stairs belonging to you and your brother, separated by a small hallway that was really no more than a glorified landing, were exactly as you had left them in 1942. As if they were frozen in time. Dusted and cared for, but ready and waiting for you to pick up your old lives.

Only your brother was never coming home, and you had returned home but entirely changed. After the relentless pace you had maintained since enlisting, the thought of remaining at home in idle leisure was too off-putting to even contemplate. You allowed yourself a few days of adjusting to the violent change in time – at least when you had traveled to England you had been afford several days at sea to transition. Flight across the Atlantic had been utterly jarring, and it had taken great discipline to turn your nighttime back into day.

But once you had re-acclimated to the North American clock, you had promptly ventured out to find yourself gainful employment at a nearby grocery store. The owner, Nick, was a friend of the family. A kind man who did not seem interested in asking too many questions about why you were back early, was simply eager for the help around his store. It was most definitely not as mentally taxing as the work you had previously undertaken as a WAC, but it was money, and that was sorely needed as babies were expensive.

Your mother seemed fretful about you working in your ‘delicate condition,’ but the demands of the position paled in comparison to the one you had just left, and you rarely worked more than six hours a day. There was still plenty of time to sit with her, improving your knitting skills as you started on a baby blanket. Your mother was duly impressed you had picked up such a feminine skill abroad and seemed more than happy to pass along helpful hints.

In all truth she did appear to be struggling, dwelling frequently on memories and nostalgia for happier times. It was difficult to say how your father was coping in the wake of your brother’s passing. Any hours when he was not at work, he was spending behind the closed door of your dead sibling’s room, all manner of noises and the odd curse word seeping through the cracks, but neither you nor your mother were quite certain what he was up to.

You had sent a letter to Bucky immediately upon your arrival, as promised, still not divulging the full extent of the situation, but it had been stocked with reassurances and re-direction. It appeared he had not yet received it based on his letter that reached you in mid-April.

Damn that man, but you did love him so. Baby animals – had he guessed the true nature of your discharge then? Gnawing ruthlessly on your lower lip, you found yourself pacing around your room, one hand rubbing at your lower back, sore from standing all day with the growing weight of your swollen abdomen.

‘Or is he simply fishing for more information, unconvinced?’ You wondered to yourself, sighing heavily.

He was simply too intelligent for his own good. Another man would simply have taken your words at face value and left it at that. But there was a reason you had not fallen in love with another man. Had not given yourself to another man.

With another deep sigh, you dug out your writing supplies and drafted a reply that acknowledged his statements but neither confirmed nor denied them. There was no desire on your part to entrap or obligate him into anything. That was the last thing you wanted – to pin a man who so cherished his freedom down against his will. Particularly after enduring his current stay in a prison camp.

As the weather grew ever warmer, it became increasingly difficult to conceal your predicament – no matter how baggy or oversized your dresses were. Your engagement ring only went so far in polite society to protect you from judgemental stares and by the end of April you were forced to quit your job and confine yourself almost entirely to the house. May seemed to drag on, though you certainly managed to knit a wide variety of nearly perfect baby clothes for different stages.

Perhaps the brightest spot came one evening when your father emerged from the room opposite yours and left the door open for the first time since you came home, revealing not the preserved bedroom of your brother, but a fully prepared nursery, complete with an assembled crib, rocking chair, dresser, and change table. As you stood in your doorway in shock, eyes brimming with tears, he shoved his hands into his pockets and gruffly muttered, “baby needs somewhere to sleep after all,” before trudging down the stairs to the bedroom he shared with your mother.

June burst onto the scene with the Allied invasion of France and the good news only continued with the signing of the GI Bill on the 22nd. Your years of service and honorable discharge earned you, and your very active and rapidly growing baby, subsidized medical care. It could not have been timelier as appointments became more and more frequent, your due date looming at the end of July.

Much like her father, Clara Mae had a mind of her own when it came to her time of arrival. She was born in the middle of the night on July 22nd at the local veteran’s hospital – one of the first GI Bill babies, the nurses informed you.

The choice of her name had been rather easy, derived from Bucky’s middle name - Clarence. While you could not give her his family name, or even list him as her father on the birth certificate without his signature, you could at least give her this for now. He had already given her his mischievous eyes and unmistakable ears. Time would tell what other of his features she would share. If the grey-blue of her eyes would settle in the color of the stormy sea like his. If the slight dusting of fuzz of her head would grow into luscious, dark curls.

Sitting there in sore, stunned exhaustion as they carted her off to the nursery, you looked up as your mother sidled over, the broad grin of a recent grandparenthood still splitting her face.

“We have to write Major Egan right away and let him know. Oh he’ll be so thrilled, a sweet little girl to come home to now!”

The force with which your face crumpled, physically unable to bear to weight of all your falsehoods and desperate attempts at inner strength one moment longer, sent your tears scattering down the front of your hospital gown. Your mother snapped her mouth shut, completely taken aback by the abrupt shift in your mood, before she collected a wad of scratchy hospital tissues and tenderly wiped at your eyes.

“There now, I know. It’s been a tremendous effort, and things are very difficult.” She soothed and cradled your head to her breast, rubbing your back softly.

Despite becoming a mother yourself not a full hour ago, it seemed you were still very much in need of one yourself.

“What if he doesn’t want me, mama?” You gulped and looked up to her pathetically as you finally gave voice to perhaps the greatest fear that had been stalking you since the realization that you were pregnant had come crashing down upon you. “We’re not even…it’s not even real…” Your eyes dropped to the false engagement ring that mockingly glinted up at you from your left hand.

She sighed deeply before her hands grasped your face and forced your gaze to meet hers. “Well, pumpkin, I’d say that a man who writes to you despite the difficulties is one of the good ones. And usually it’s the good ones that do the right things.”

You frowned and shook your head slightly, as much as her tight grip would allow. “But I don’t want him to do the right thing. I want him to marry me because he wants to…”

There was another maternal sigh before you were gathered close in her arms once more. “Let’s hope for the best then. I’ll get Felix from down the street to bring his camera. We’ll send a photo of sweet Clara Mae and see if she can’t work her magic on him.”

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

The Allied invasion of Western Europe had felt like a gift from above, flooding Bucky’s life with a new sense of purpose, and shattering the grim monotony that had calcified everything around him. The gnawing hunger, the biting cold, the evasiveness in your letters, the constant worry and uncertainty he felt for both himself and you. There was surely only one explanation, at least only one rational, sane explanation for your early discharge. But he’d had far too much time on his hands to postulate and theorize all manner of possibilities and their catastrophic outcomes.

June 6 had brought an abrupt and decisive end to that, a sharp divide to their life in camp, and a need for preparations now that the Commonwealth forces were closing in from one side and the Russians from the other. It was early September when he received your life changing letter, two small photos tucked securely between your folded, scented pages. One of you, looking so very beautiful it made his heart ache fondly. And the second of a very tiny infant with remarkably familiar ears.

He huffed fondly and turned back to the letter to read it properly as you finally confirmed what he had long suspected.

Shaking the envelope once more produced a square of paper with the stamp of his daughter’s – his daughter’s – footprints on it.

Cradling it in one palm, he could not help but gawk at the small scale of her. She must be truly tiny…only 20 inches.

“Your girl finally explain herself?” Buck leaned over his shoulder, and he nodded, holding up Clara’s photo.

His friend barely contained a snort and Bucky scoffed in return. “I know – poor girl’s got my damn Dumbo ears. Couldn’t even deny she’s mine if I wanted to.”

“She’s beautiful anyway, despite your influence.” Buck smirked and handed the photo back carefully. “Congratulations. What’s her name?”

“Clara Mae.” An involuntary grin of pleasure overtook him as he said it, quite enjoying the way it sounded. You had picked well.

“Your girl did an excellent job. Be sure you tell her so.”

“You know I will.” He replied with a firm nod.

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

The twelve weeks it took to hear from Bucky were both a blur and an agony. Clara did her utmost to keep the household, and you in particular, thoroughly occupied. You were somewhat relieved that your parents were sleeping on a different floor than her, that it gave you a chance to dart across the hall and mollify her discordant wails with a fresh diaper or a feeding. But on those nights when even you could not seem to sort out what ailed her, your father stepped in and patiently walked her up and down the length of the porch until she melted into the crook of his arm.

Truly, for such a small being, she had the entirety of her grandfather wrapped around her littlest finger. Clara was the first he greeted upon returning home from work and the last he kissed goodnight. None of this would have been possible without his willing arms, nor your mother’s endless wisdom when it came to washing bottles and diapers and Clara’s vast wardrobe of tiny clothing. But in the quiet moments, when she was busily suckling in your arms or just as you were falling asleep, your thoughts would always fly across the Atlantic to barbwire fences and Bucky.

You hoped your letter reached had him. You hoped it had all of its contents still, that none of them had been lost while being reviewed by the censors and whomever else pried into your mail. His reaction? Well you could not even dare to hope what that might be. It would cause your entire body to tense almost painfully and prevent your lungs from filling with air.

Every day you did your best not to look too eagerly as the postman delivered the mail, flipping through the envelopes calmly, hiding your disappointment when his reply was not there. Your agony came to an end, at last, in mid-October. Hearing your soft gasp, your mother offered to take Clara on her morning walk – it was generous to be sure, but you were also more than aware that she enjoyed the attention warranted by pushing the gorgeous girl through the neighborhood in her pram.

Settling down at the kitchen table once they had left, you sliced open the envelope anxiously.

Tears of relief were tracking down your cheeks by the time you reached the end of his letter, making it difficult to read his words clearly. He had replied. He was not angry, nor dismissive. He called himself Clara’s father. And there was an oblique, very Bucky-like proposal in there. Your watery laugh echoed in the empty kitchen before you sniffled in a very unladylike way. God, you missed him so very much. By the time your mother and Clara returned, your tears of relief had been replaced by sobs of longing that had her tiptoeing through the house, deeply concerned his letter had been one of rejection.

Looking up at her apprehensive face as she peered through the doorway, you smiled through your pain and nodded. “It’s good news.”

“Oh, well…good.” She gave you a somewhat bewildered smile and found a handkerchief for you to once more clean yourself up before you gathered Clara close.

“Your daddy says he loves you, peanut. What do you think of that?”

Clara’s face stretched into one of her toothless grins that came just as easy as Bucky’s did, and you fought the urge to cry again. “Yeah…me too.”

Your reply to Bucky’s letter was accompanied by a holiday card fingerpainted by Clara, now that you were confident in the mailing time of roughly six-weeks, as well as another set of dry goods for him to share with his friends. Time continued to march on and in an effort to better document Clara’s rapid growth, you purchased a user-friendly camera, having Felix give you some lessons.

Mid-January, Clara received a gift from her father – a stunning ink drawing of him done by one of his roommates apparently. It had been over a year since you had looked upon his face and the breathtaking detail captured by the man who drew it, A. Jefferson based on the signature, inflicted an intense barrage of memories. You promptly went to a five-and-dime store to purchase a frame for it, setting it on the dresser in Clara’s room next to a model of a B17. You made a point of showing it to her every day, telling her stories about her daddy – only the appropriate ones of course, wanting her to know him.

That it was also self-soothing was simply a bonus.

That letter was the last one you received from him. As Clara’s features sharpened into Bucky’s, and his dark curls framed her face, it was his gaze staring up at you from your arms as the weeks ticked by with no word. When the abnormally harsh winter yielded to spring once more, there was still no reply to your January letter. The war was all but won, the Germans quite literally surrounded, the Russians in Germany and yet there was nothing.

It was mid-April when the dreaded Western Union vehicle pulled up in front of the house, your heart leaping into your throat.

‘Please let him be alright.’

Your mother had been in the kitchen, working on lunch, but silently appeared at your elbow, ghosts of her own heartbreak etching her features.

“Deep breaths. Anybody can send a telegram, not just the War Department.” She murmured and knelt down beside Clara on the rug to play with her as you forced your leaden feet to move towards the door.

Accepting the yellow envelope from the infuriatingly neutral-faced boy, you confirmed that it was indeed addressed to you before impatiently tearing into it.

Exhaling shakily you smiled in relief. Major Cleven must have escaped. That he would have spent the money to send a telegram to update you on Bucky, and to share a message from the man himself, was quite moving. You could not help the chuckle that escaped you, however, at the fact that this was twice now that Cleven had terrified you in the process of trying to share good news.

“All is well?” Your mother asked softly from the living room, and you turned quickly with a smile.

“Yes, he’s ok, his friend somehow made it back to England and wanted me to know he’s doing alright.”

The smile she gave you in return contained no small amount of relief.

The Russians were in Berlin by the next time Western Union made its second delivery at the beginning of May.

‘Please, when we are so very close to victory, please.’

Even less patient with this envelope than the last, you felt a swell of elation at just the first word.

And he meant it. It was not entirely as soon as either of you would have liked, given that Victory in Europe happened not a week after that telegram, on May 8, 1945, but Bucky certainly did come to you and Clara as soon as it was possible.

It was a hot afternoon in early July, the wind having abandoned everyone when the sun rose that morning. Clara was in a bit of a mood courtesy of the heat and her desire to move about the house independently. Certainly, she had been crawling for months, terrorizing everything and everyone in her path, but as of late she had been pulling herself to her feet and trying desperately to take those first few wobbly steps towards upright freedom. She certainly could manage it while gripping tightly to your fingers for balance, but today her chubby cheeks and granite eyes were screwed tight in consternation as she swatted your hands away to go it alone.

“Alright peanut, off you go then.” You smiled encouragingly, sitting back on your heels as beads of sweat gathered at the nape of your neck.

Letting go of the edge of the coffee table, she wavered and wobbled, overcorrecting her round little infant body before landing heavily onto her bottom with a squawk of frustration.

“So close, so–”

The rapping of knuckles against the wooden frame of the screen door cut off your statement and you scooped her up, perching her against your right hip as you rose to your feet.

“Let’s go see if that’s the postman with Grandma’s package, shall we?” You smiled and tickled her soft tummy with your free hand, earning a giggle accompanied by her gap-toothed grin as you headed over to the front door.

The man standing there in uniform was most certainly not the postman, however.

“Bucky…” You whispered in shock as he stood before you, in the flesh, after nearly two years of constant worry and concern.

All that separated you now was a flimsy screen door, which you lurched forward to shove open. His eyes were wide as he stared at the pair of you, Clara peering at him curiously. The movement of your left hand caught his eye and his brow furrowed as his gaze landed on the ring you had been hiding behind since April of last year, making you swallow painfully.

“It’s not real.” You murmured quickly, not wanting him to get the wrong impression, and stepped back to invite him inside.

The sound of his bag hitting the floor was all the warning you had before he was pulling you tightly against him, burying his face into your hair. Pressing your face against him in return, you clung to the back of his uniform jacket, wondering if he had always smelled this good or if he had bought new cologne since returning stateside. A sudden strangled sound came from his throat, and you straightened quickly to see Clara had a ruthless grip on his tie and a wicked grin on her face.

“Ta.” You said firmly, holding out your hand and she surrendered her stranglehold on the piece of fabric which you carefully tucked back into his jacket.

Bucky smirked down at her slightly, but his eyes were filled with barely concealed wonder. Clara, for her part, did not seem the least bit fazed by him whatsoever. Her chubby little fingers moved to trace the shiny buttons of his jacket before stretching up to brush along the coarse hair on his upper lip.

“You like my mustache, Miss Clara?” He grinned and pretended to devour her finger as it strayed too close to his mouth, sending his daughter into a fit of giggles and making your cheeks ache from smiling so wide.

An involuntary yawn suddenly overtook her, and you glanced at your watch, nodding as the time confirmed your suspicions. “It’s nap time, I’ll just take her upstairs.”

“Can I come?” He asked softly, making no move to release his hold on you and you nodded quickly, pressing your lips to his cheek softly before leading him to the stairwell at the back of the house.

“This place looks exactly how you described it…” He murmured softly, threading his fingers through yours as he followed.

Looking back to him, startled, you swallowed down the swell of emotion that had been threatening since you had first laid eyes on him. “I told you about it once, in that…hotel room in London…almost two years ago.”

“And I’ve imagined it almost every day since.” He assured you easily as you climbed the stairs, making you shake your head in awe.

Glancing through the open door into your room curiously for a moment, he followed you into Clara’s nursery, grinning softly as his eyes landed on the drawing he had sent.

“You gave it to her.”

Setting Clara into her crib, you turned back to him. “We talk about you every day.”

Bucky’s eyes met yours and he smiled gratefully before reaching out for your left hand, his thumb stroking along the band of the ring there.

“You know, this isn’t very believable, doll.” He muttered and you felt yourself tense as you eyed him, suddenly nervous in his presence after all those months apart. You had been separated longer than you had even known one another. “I’d have bought you a much bigger rock.” His lips curled into a smirk.

Laughter, something that felt so foreign to you after its long absence, bubbled up from your chest while tears simultaneously flooded your eyes. His hands cradled your face as his lips met yours at last, the kiss distinctly salty despite the best efforts of his thumbs to swipe your tears away. Laying your hands atop his, it began to sink in that he was really home, he had truly made it back to you. And Clara. There was no more need for constant fretting and pleading mantras. He was here.

“In fact I did.” His statement, a continuation of his discussion about your fake engagement ring, felt disorienting as it interrupted your inner musings, and you watched in confusion as he sunk to one knee right there in Clara’s bedroom, slipping the piece of costume jewellery from your ring finger before tucking it one of his pockets.

It was not until he produced a much shinier ring, with a larger and very real diamond, that you registered just what was happening. He addressed you properly, by your full name, before asking the question.

“Will you marry me?”

“Yes. Yes of course I will.” You nodded vigorously, watching him clumsily slide the heavier ring onto your finger before his mouth was on yours once more, demanding and possessive.

Pressing against him, you would have completely forgotten yourself if not for the sound of your mother calling your name from the bottom of the stairs, tone laced with confusion and worry – surely from finding the front door open and a piece of strange luggage in the front hall. Bucky pulled his lips back and pressed his forehead to yours, hot puffs of his breath caressing your face.

“Parents’ house…”

You let out a small laugh of chagrin. “Parents’ house.” You confirmed before pulling back and guiding him out, leaving the door slightly cracked so you would hear when Clara awoke.

Miraculously she had slept through the entire exchange, a superpower she had surely inherited from her father. Descending the stairs, introductions were made, and you did not miss the way you mother’s eyes lit up as she took in the new ring on your finger. Your father was slightly more difficult to win over, still smarting from the perceived mistreatment of his little girl. You were more than a little convinced he might be taking Bucky to the toolshed to shoot him when he asked for the man to accompany him out there for a chat after dinner.

Your aggressive scrubbing of the dishes in the sink as you watched anxiously out the window amused your mother to no end.

“He’s just ensuring Major Egan has your best interests in mind.”

“He’s not gonna kill him, is he, mama?” You worried your lip and she laughed, wiping Clara’s sticky fingers clean after her joyful decimation of a bowl of sliced strawberries.

“He will do no such thing.”

By some miracle, the pair of them immerged unscathed twenty minutes later, shaking hands and sharing a laugh. You rediscovered the ability to exhale and prepared Clara for her evening walk, which Bucky insisted on joining. Even though you assured him you had a perfectly good pram, gestured to where it sat on the front porch, he insisted on carrying Clara on his hip, much to her delight.

Not only was the vantage point much better, but she had unfettered access to all the intriguing bits of his uniform to occupy herself with as the pair of you followed the usual route around the neighborhood. While no one had taken it upon themselves to be overtly rude to you, something about seeing all six foot two inches of Major John Egan carrying his carbon-copy daughter with you on his other arm seemed to go a long way to repairing your somewhat tarnished reputation around town.

People who had politely nodded or offered no more than tight-lipped smiles were now openly waving and calling greetings as you passed.

“Sure are popular around here, doll.”

“I assure you, it’s the pair of you.” You smirked at him and Clara who was busily tugging at the flap of his breast pocket. “Everything alright after your visit to the toolshed?” You asked now that you were far enough away from the house that your father would not hear.

He nodded easily. “Your father and I are of like minds. You and I are going to the registrar’s office tomorrow to get a marriage licence and then we’ll get this little one’s birth certificate sorted as well.”

“He wasn’t…too harsh on you?” You asked with more than a little trepidation.

Bucky looked to you softly. “No more than I deserved.”

“You deserved no harshness, we both know full well how this happened…”

“I sure didn’t stop you. Couldn’t have, even if I had been able to think straight.” He smirked and kissed your temple. “So we did it out of order, that’s fine. It’ll all be how it was meant to very soon.”

Sighing fondly you continued your progress until Clara was slumped against his shoulder, barely able to keep her eyes open. By the time you returned to the house, your mother had set up a small camp bed in the nursery for you and moved Bucky’s things to your room for the night – everyone agreed there was no way he could possibly be expected to sleep on the sofa. He was simply too long. Wishing one another good night in the hallway with a lingering kiss, you pressed your lips together as your mother cleared her throat expectantly from the landing below and slipped into the nursery for the night.

It was difficult to say how long you had been asleep when a faint noise, your ears now well trained to listen out for the smallest of disturbances, woke you. It was most definitely still dark when you raised your head, immediately looking to the crib to see Clara sleeping peacefully on her stomach, index and middle fingers of her right hand suckled soothingly by her full lips. Shifting your gaze in the dimly lit room, you jumped slightly to see Bucky leaning against the doorframe, clad in his boxers and undershirt, silently watching her sleep, expression pensive.

Sliding to your feet as gracefully as the low bed and your thin cotton nightgown would allow, you padded over to him quietly to whisper, “everything ok?”

“She’s just so small…” He replied in a hushed voice, gesturing with his hands, eyes still fixed on Clara’s sleeping form, and you smiled fondly.

Reaching out, you gently manipulated the distance between his palms to represent how small she had been as a newborn. “She was only that big a year ago.”

His eyes tore from the crib to study the small gap between his hands before lifting slightly to drink in how little you were wearing, how thin the material was to try and make sleeping in the summer months bearable. His eyes briefly flicked to yours, revealing the rapid dilation of his pupils before his mouth descended onto yours ravenously.

Sliding one arm around his waist, you pressed with the other against the centre of his chest to guide him back across the hall, closing the door to your bedroom behind you as you quickly surrendered and parted your lips for him. He grunted eagerly, pressing his fully hard length against you through the thin barrier of your clothes, making you gasp at the rapidity of his response.

“The damn sheets smell like you, I’ve been hard all night.” He groaned and you quickly smothered his mouth with yours, well aware just how loud he tended to get.

If you were lucky enough to get away with this, you were going to have to be as quiet as possible.

Rucking the hem of your nightgown up over your hips, he pivoted to deposit you onto the edge of the bed, settling between your thighs as you worked one another’s underwear off. Pressing skin to skin, his head fell back, and you quickly slid your palm over his mouth to smother his eager sighs, rocking your folds along the length of him as you gnawed on your lips and swallowed your own keens. Bucky’s eyes bored into yours hungrily as he mirrored your movements, almost daring you to keep quiet as he continued to moan against your hand.

Silence became impossible for you too as the blunt tip of his cock snagged on your entrance and he rocked his hips forward, slowly sinking into your warmth. Falling back onto the mattress, you slapped the hand that had previously been propping you upright over your own mouth to smother your eager groan as your eyelids fluttered in the struggle to remain open. Shifting forward once he had settled fully inside you, Bucky’s face hovered just above yours, eyes still pinning yours as he began the eager push and pull towards ecstasy.

Desperately trying to keep your hands in place over your mouth and his, your back arched at the long forgotten and very heightened sensation of being so very stretched by him, trembling with each brush of his pelvis against your sensitive bundle of nerves. His hands planted onto the mattress on either side of your head, fisting into the sheets as his hips snapped demandingly into yours, each sharp exhale from his nostrils cascading across your knuckles as you felt the tension building within you.

Sweat glistened on both of your skin, the efforts in the lingering heat of the night only making you both slick as you writhed beneath him, heart hammering inside your ribcage. And still his eyes would not leave yours. The one time you gave into the urge to clench them shut, he sent them flying open once more with a sharp nip to the meat of your palm and you quickly wrapped your legs around his hips, drawing him closer, deeper.

You could feel him clenching his jaw, grinding his teeth, desperately driving into you until your body shattered in release, nearly going limp with the force of it. Bucky nestled his face tighter to your palm as, with two more erratic thrusts, he followed suit with a harsh cry, thankfully still smothered. Slumping forward, utterly spent, you cradled him close a moment before shuffling and maneuvering to rest against the headboard with him properly nuzzled against your neck, and his legs mostly on the bed.

Stroking his hair lovingly, every so often scratching your nails along his scalp, you could not help the fond smile as his harsh breaths evened out and the weight of him grew heavier against you when sleep overtook him. Sighing softly, you closed your eyes and allowed yourself to join him in rest.

The next time you opened them you were alone, tucked beneath the sheet, the soft light of dawn filling the room. The distinct sound of Clara’s giggles carried from across the hall, and you sat up, grabbing your summer housecoat and peered into the nursery to find the pair of them perched on the camp bed engaged in a very entertaining game of wooden blocks it seemed. Bucky had retrieved the model of the B17 from the dresser and was frequently swooping it down to destroy whatever Clara’s clumsy little hands built, much to her delight.

“Ah, Mommy’s up.” Bucky’s statement revealed that you had been caught and you smirked, stepping into the room to kneel on the carpet beside them. “Did we wake you?”

Shaking your head softly, you kissed Clara’s head and then Bucky’s cheek. “Did she wake you, though?”

He shrugged. “Probably my turn anyway.”

You smiled tenderly, laughing as Clara clutched at his arm to demonstrate that she had assembled a new construction in need of his attention. Watching fondly, you blinked slightly to see a new addition to the dog tags, crucifix, and medal that he normally wore. Amidst the collection was now the faux engagement ring you had sported for over a year. Reaching out, you traced your finger along it, raising an eyebrow in silent question as his eyes met yours.

“To remind me of that time I was overly reckless.” He murmured and you swallowed painfully, pressing your lips to his firmly.

Sliding his arm around your waist, he pulled you snuggly into his side, continuing to entertain Clara easily.

“We’ll get the licence today but, what kind of wedding would you like, doll?” He asked quietly.

“Just a date at the courthouse is fine.” You assured him with a nod.

“You don’t want a big wedding or anything? Honestly doll, anything you want and it’s yours.” He assured you softly.

You laughed watching your daughter gnaw on the corner of a wooden block. “Seems a bit hypocritical to put me a white gown don’t you think?” You smirked and shook your head when he looked ready to defend your honor. “I don’t need all those fancy things John, I just need you.”

When he finally came up for air, your lips more than a little swollen from his attentions, he huffed a laugh.

“Not sure what I’m going to do with the parachute I smuggled home now, though…”

“Well, Major Cleven’s getting married soon, isn’t he? I’m sure Marge would appreciate it. She seems lovely from the letters we’ve exchanged.”

He turned to you wide-eyed, struck silent, and you could not help but laugh. “Never underestimate the ingenuity of women, John.”

Bucky shook his head in awe. “Trust me, doll…I would never be so foolish as to underestimate you.”

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"Trust" Series Masterlist

Tag list: @gretagerwigsmuse, @precious-little-scoundrel, @rubyfruitjungle, @storysimp, @mads-weasley, @xxanaduwrites, @bcon24, @fxxiva, @slowsweetlove, @hockeyboysarehot, @darylas, @carpediem1219, @blueberry-ovaries

[lucvly]

— christmas headcannons with chris. ⸰ 𖥔 ͙

warnings: fluff, cursing, mentions of sex, not proofread as always.

a/n: this is soo self indulgent help !! i love christmas fr.

— he’ll act like he literally doesn’t give a shit about christmas but on december 1 he’s already staying up late thinking about what he’s gonna give you.

— i don’t even wanna hear discourse about this but this man acts like a child around the holidays. he’ll enjoy december like he’s a 10 year old child who still thinks santa’s real.

— my man is quick to hang up those lights. it’ll deadass be mid november and he’s already asking you when you’re gonna decorate because he wants to help you.

— gingerbread house making is a must. he loves it. you do it at least three times in december because it’s by far one of his favorite traditions. of course he ends up building something that doesn’t look nearly close to a house but A for effort.

— you get matching ugly sweaters obviously. it’s your job to get them every year, and they progressively get worse. chris always complains about how itchy they are LMFAOO.

— baking christmas cookies with him is such a chore for real. you can’t even let him open the flour because it either ends up all on the floor, or on your face. don’t even ask him how to preheat the oven because those cookies will end up burnt.

— most times you have to make three or four batches of cookies because the first batch turns out awful, the second one: burnt.

— once your relationship gets really serious, you two make christmas cards and send them to your close family and relatives. it’s corny, sure, but you both love doing it.

— once every year, you go with him and his brothers for a late night drive just to see how people decorated around the neighborhood. chris always ends up falling asleep on your shoulder in the backseat while nick is yelling about how the lights should’ve been hung higher or how the reindeer is out of place.

— you best believe you’re writing letters to santa. it’s unserious but chris loves doing it, especially because he gets to write something along the lines of: “santa, all i want for christmas is my girlfriend under the tree. thx. — C” LMFAOOAOA sorry.

— you’re absolutely making matching ornaments. they have your initials on them it’s adorable. though decorating them is painful as hell because chris always ends up throwing glitter at you.

— takes elf on the shelf so serious like calm down!!! he better not catch anyone laying a finger on that dumbass elf or he’ll go absolutely insane.

— going christmas shopping with him is adorable. he gets so excited over what to get his brothers and his parents AWW, and he also gets a present for trevor obviously.

— you are never gonna know what that man gets you for christmas. he hides it so well it surprises you each year to be honest. you’re out here thinking he didn’t even get you a present and he’s already packing up at least three.

— definitely an expensive gift type of boyfriend, i’m talking tiffany necklaces, chanel bags, dior, ysl. and he doesn’t even care because seeing you happy makes him 10 times happier. (“baby, you didn’t have to– oh my god.” “i know, but i wanted to. you deserve it.”)

— of course you also get him cute and expensive gifts but you could seriously give him a rock and he’d cherish it as if you just gave him a gold bar.

— you two will absolutely watch christmas movies together, especially romcoms. he loves christmas romcoms LMFAOO. he’s the type to complain about the main character idc.

— he hangs up a mistletoe on his door just so he can tease you and give you a kiss every time you walk into his room. (“look, mistletoe, you gotta kiss me.” “chris i swear to god.”)

— christmas dinners are hilarious bye. he’ll deadass be eating 3 or 4 plates with no shame at all. you’re staring at him in disbelief and he just looks at you with his mouth full like “😊”. at least he’s happy LMFAOO.

— he gives you at least three presents. the first one is marked “from: santa, to: y/n” obviously you know it’s him LMFAO he thinks it’s cute and you just leave him be. second one is marked “from: chris, to: his girlfriend.” as if he wasn’t the one marking up those presents BYE. third one is “from: the best boyfriend ever, to: the prettiest girl.” he’s so cute somebody sedate me !!

— one hundred percent asks nick and matt to figure out what you got him for christmas. you’ve figured this out over the years so you don’t even give them hints anymore LMAOO.

— the worst jokes over the holidays seriously. (“hold on. babe, which cooking seasoning is the most festive?” “chris–” “christmas thyme.”) he needs to be stopped lord have mercy.

— secretly loves decorating. he’ll decorate with you all day fr. ornaments, mistletoes, the tree in general is his favorite. he cannot deal with putting up lights though. it pisses him off so badly– (only because he ends up tangled in them).

— i just know he makes hot chocolate with water. nuh uh. you had to teach him the correct way (with milk) because it was seriously getting on your nerves LMAO.

— he gets so lovey dovey over the holidays. he’s also horny 24/7 but that’s completely besides the point HELP. hands around your waist, arm around your shoulder, hand holding, everything.

— matching pjs YUP. he loves matching christmas outfits with you LMAO especially pjs. y’all have like four matching pj sets every year it’s so cute.

[itwasnotahamster]

- Letters from the Dead -

Kråkstad, 24 August 1990 | © The Old Nick | Source: Letters from the Dead

The brackets will indicate possible context or corrections (sometimes commentary). - 💜

“Beheld Nick! It’s Dead here. 

Hey didn’t I wrote down the titles on the tracks on that tape?! I was sure I did… As for the other bands I have no idea now of what those were so I can’t tell you… But our 2 songs are (in the order. I always tape ‘em) the Freezing Moon and Carnage. I must ask you- what is a rapido-graph pen??? The only kind of pens I have are the ones I’m writing letters with, till they runs out and I must buy some new. Or simply something I just find… Yeah it’s shit to draw with the same kind of pens one is writing with but I guess I don’t have any choise [choice] ‘cos I must write so many letters so all the money goes to buy that kinda pens… but I’d like to know what that professional drawing pen is. And are you using that one? Is it ok if I send you 5 Asphyxia 7” , 5 Disharmonic O. 7” and 10 Merciless LP’s + a free copy for you? That’ll cost you £ 155000. You can pay now or when you receive the records at your post-office or when you have sold the records, it’s up to you. The price of 155000 lires sounds really expensive but the postage is included in that price (it’s very high price here t send anything by mail), or if you want it sent by airmail it’ll cost you £167000. I don’t think you’ve heard Dish. Orchestra, they’re Austrian and not many bands are from there, the only band I can listen to from A. Is Pungent Stench but they’re too much Grind I think. Dis.Orch. sounds strange but Pungent S. is much better. But if Pungent Stench is sold in Italian shops and stores already it’ll be too hard for you to sell them. Is the split-LP Dish.Orch/Pungent Stench for sale in Italy? If not, I suggest you to order that one instead of those 7”s. The very best one of these is the Asphyxia 7” but I can’t send you more than 5… I’m sorry but they’re limited (1000 ex) and when I’ve sent you these 5 copies we have only 15 of ‘em 7’s left and we’re the only who have any copies left to sell so only some few people can get them. 

Hey man, what the hell are you using on your stamps? I need to know ‘cos the kind of glue (<—?) you have on it can’t be seen unless by someone who suspects it’s glued. We mostly put glue on our stamps before but too often they discovered it at our shitty postoffice and teared them off. It’s shit that we can’t use glued stamps on parcels with records in it. To send out records is our biggest expencies, and if we could, we would have so much lower prices on our records. But the fact is that when we send out parcels with more than 6 records it gotta be some stupid sheet on the side of the carton, that they at the post o. put all the stamps on, and tears off that part of it with the fucking stamps on so the receiver can’t find any stamps on the parcel and of course then can’t send back any stamps. We mainly send out 10 rec’s or more each time cos almost everybody can sell around 10 rec’s… Norway is very expensive in everything, take an example- Sweden is also expensive, compared with the rest of Europe (I know, ‘cos I am from Sweden) but there almost everything is the half price of compared to Norway. Especially it’s much cheaper to send out records or any mail from S. Than from N. I think only Finland and Switzerland and Japan is more expensive than Norway… 

I hate to live in Scandinavia and my dream is to come away from this hole. If I’m forced to live the rest of my life in Scandinavia I would choose Iceland or Greenland instead of this shit. I hate almost everybody here and in this local area I hate everybody. If something at all happens in this country it’s there Metalion lives (Slayer mag and some other mags and bands are there) in Sarpsborg, but it’s more than fucking 60 km to that place from here. 

Hey about those records, do you also want Malicious Intent, I must say that they aren’t so brutal and not real Death Metal… but that’s up to you of course. I don’t decide what records you shall buy nor what records we shall sell. If it was only I who ordered in vinyls I would throw a big part of what we sell (like yucky Nomed as one example!) but we’re more than only me in DSP. Except the recs I just counted up we have only one that I put value on and that’s the Schizo LP, that you surely can see in every Italian record shop, yeah? We’ll soon get a limited 7” of Carcass imported from Mexico, St. George’s Hall, Bradford 15/11/89, live of course (1000 copies). Personally I hate Carcass and I can’t stand those trendy clone bands but I thought you might be interested + some demos of Dorsal Atlantica (Brazil), limited to 250 copies. I don’t know yet what the price on ‘em’ll be but I’ll inform ya of it. 

Do you think you can give me the addresses to Paul Chain and the guy who comes from Transylvania’s Carpatii Palatul…. That made me feel like my brain is bleeding, man! If they don’t mind you give out their addresses of course. It seems to me that Transylvania has stopped in time, not in the cities of course but fuck the cities! You know there are about 1-2 million people in Transyl. who’re of German origins. I heard that they shall speak 15th century-German… And that they still have garlic everywhere to protect the houses from the vampire and rituals to avoid the “stregoica” [Strigoi] to come, and exorcism rituals on “suspected” bodies that can have been killed by a vampire… Do you know if that’s true? I’m only interested in the Carpathian areas of the Transylvanian highland ‘cos there are all the castles. Have you heard of that secret tunnel inside the mountain up to Countess Bathory’s castle? I’m not sure if her castle is “the Mandarin” in the very North (I think in Suceava) or if it’s that one a bit South of “Pandarin” called Csejthe, on the edge of the Carpathia. But however now that tunnel’s exactly destination is forgotten and people’ve been trying to find that tunnel inside the huge mountain — up to the castle- for hundreds of years… I’ve also heard or  read somewhere that not only Bathory was the “special” one who lived there but also lots of other maniacs, killers, vampires, sorcerers and vampires lived there. But only E.Bathory got known of ‘cos of her record in mass murderer. Some witch that’s supposed to be immortal- whose name is Cilorgia shall live in that castle by now. I can read that Bathory was Transylvanian and that she came from a “big” and rich Transylvanian family but the Hungarians claims that she was Hungarian (?)… If I’m not totally wrong, then it shall be turk skeletons impaled left around Vlad Țepeș castle, Hunedoara (a valley beside it with 20000 impaled Turks + some other Vallachians [Wallachians]+Moldavians and more) + a forest with craniums nailed to the trees + remains of boiled people and so on. The typical “Dracula’s” castle are both in Brașov (Bran) and in Brad, which confuses me totally. There shall be heaps of other stories/legends/history/tales (or whatever) than only those about vampyrism like in the Western Carpathians there shall be some cemetery called “Chapel of St. Eisel” (in Somesul it is) where a cranium with horns and fangs was found and it’s thought to bleed whenever a soul is lost to Lucifer. Over that place it shall be some place called “Mount Albac” where some weird oracle shall have been. In the mid-Transylvania, between ‘ the mountains there is a huge swampland that is inhabited and haunted by lots of ghouls. A mountain in Transylvania is called “Funnel of Hades” I don’t know anything more about it but what a brutal name or what! [sounds pretty metal to me] How I hated the ex-dictator Ceausescu (in Romania), he extinguished many ancient ruins and castles there!!!! I’m not concerned by policy at all but that guy wiped away 3 fucking towns to build a royal castle for himself. I’ve heard that the new prime minister there not shall be much better — Ilinescu. 

There gotta be some reason of that there are so many different names of vampires in Transylvania, each one is a different sort of vampire. Over here we only know of one name. My goal in life is to visit Transylvania and Moldavia and to learn everything of the legends there that rarely are known of in the West. Also in the Soviet Union it shall be stories told from father-to son since hundred of years ago about their Upir, that isn’t know of outside of Russia. I’ve been obsessed by horror since my fucking birth and it’s been only “worse”, the more I hear about those Eastern legends I wanna move to Transylvania more extremely much more! Do you know if they have colonies of their porphyrians in Transylvania (like with the Leper colonies)? It would be totally great to meet a porphyrian! If they have some particular hidden places for porphyrians there, I wanna live among them, maybe I could get a job as a blood bringer for them… As you probably know, they have (at least they had under Ceausescu) extreme problems in electricity and they could have a lamp lightened for 2 hours each day or so, the weird thing is that it shall be bands there though (but only Heavy Metal). I heard from a friend in Hungary that it shall be a “metal” zine in Transylvania, but I don’t have that address. Do you know some more about Lycanthropy/werewolves? I don’t know much about that anyway. I try to find flowers of that kind that are supposed to be fed by the moon light but I don’t know the name of those flowers. Only of one, but I don’t think it has anything to do with the moon- Wolvesbane, that one is thought to “infect” humans to werewolves, it’s very poisonous anyway. It grows only at very strange places and I doubt it at all exists in Scandinavia… I’d like to collect plants that are superstitions of. I guess the people in-or from Translyvania think that the views, we who’re not from there, have of that place sound strange to them. Especially those vampire movies. So much crap-movies have been produced, only a very few, are of value. Bram Stokers novel “Dracula” made probably the most of how our idea of Dracula looks like still in these years. I think it was wrong done of Stoker to mix all togeather [together] different legends in Transylvania to one “noble man” or aristocrat that he called Dracula. One legend was Vlad Țepeș, the impaler (the only one it’s prooved he really existed) the warlord and the Romanian peoples hero, but he also massacred his own people. Another legend is vampyrism. Or it’s not simply one, actually it’s one kind of a stregoica- sorcerer of the Black Arts that can manage shape-shanging into animals (but not into bats so I don’t know from where came the idea of the vampire-bat) another one is the Nosferatu (Nosferatu means “undead” or “back from the dead”), Drac, Odorofen (orig. name I think), Vrkolak, Vrykolakas (Greek), Draculae, Upir (Russian), Dupir (Turkish) Ordog, Pokol, Vampyr, Whamphyr, Vampir, Dracul (Transyl. Moldavian), Dracula (Vallachian [Wallachian]), murony, muroin and strigoin… and so on and on… I don’t know all of the names, maybe you know some more??? The weirdest thing about vampyrism is that it was so spreaden out, all over the whole world (but in the West Europe not really until about 150 years ago). The idea of that when someone loosing all his blood that also the soul follows with it is really old and someone who then sucks out someone elses blood then must take thet ones soul and keep it. So for thousands of years ago or maybe even longer back in time than that people around the world have had some kind of a vampire tale from that idea of the blood is the soul and life. I can not understand how people of that time could find out the legends of wolf-men... have you ever seen a wolf in a zoo or something like that? The only difference between a wolf and an ordinary dog is that a wolf is wild, got about some 100 times smarter brain and stronger instincs. 

We have in Norway-Sweden-Finland-and Russia (Kola half -island) in the north a place called Lappland, in case you don't know, we got some strange animals up there, also wolves (but not so many). Another animal that lives up there is the Musk Ox, it's a kind of "ancient cow" with twisted horns and long hair but they're very rare (I've seen them only once hone I was up there in the very North). I don’t think it was the idea of the wolves themselves that made people find out about werewolves — but their reaction at the full moon. Also humans reacts at the full moon but I think that is growing away more and more ‘cos it was really many generations ago since the humans lived in forests near the nature so now we’re only used to computers and disgusting technology [couldn’t agree more]. Humans adjustment to newer times and hi-tech shit has made our brains different, our instincts are almost gone etc. But I believe that for some hundreds or thousands years ago we could feel alike the animals in many manners. Have you been living alone in a forest for a longer time? Have you then felt how your mind can “turn back” to be more primitive… at least that’s how I feel it then. I’m working on that for example when I need new (old…) and different ideas for lyric material. I’ve tried that out, to sit alone in a lonely and half-broken down cabin in a dark forest, by night. The worst thing about the modern time is the modern way of thinking and too much can be explained. But I must end here. You have now the prices and you know of what records you can order so don’t forget to tell of how many you want and of what you want, ok. So I hope to hear from ya soon, pal. Oh yeah, of course you can send back the copies you eventually can’t get rid of, but if so I suggest you to wait to some time later to see if you can sell ‘em then instead— or in worst case you can send ‘em to someone else in Italy who can buy/sell (we can find one, if so). Be evil — Not openminded! Only Black is true, only Death is Real!

Gore is trend! No fun - No trends! C-ya!

Dead”

[rustedhearts]

send her my love (boxer!steve x fem!librarian!reader)

summary: a series of letters written after your recent breakup with steve, recounting your time apart.

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

♡ the king of the ring ♡ main masterlist

tags: angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, mushy-gushy-lovey-dovey love letters.

a/n: pretty self explanatory, but libby’s letters are in pink, steve’s are in black ♡

“…how it hurt so bad to see her cry. i didn’t want to say goodbye. send her my love, memories remain. send her my love, roses never fade.”

—send her my love, journey

december 1992—march 1993

♡ ♡

12/05/92

Dear Libby,

Dear god I hope you open this. My hands are shaking so bad around the pen that I’m sure it’ll be all scratchy and shit, but I hope you know that I’m trying. I know how much you love letters, and after you stopped picking up my calls a few weeks ago…I figured this was the best way to reach you.

It’s been almost a month since we last saw each other. I hate thinking about that day. I hate thinking about you crying, and crying because of me. Because of something I did. I want you to know that I take full accountability for what I did, my love. That’s a word they said I should use more often. Accountability. “They” would be Big and Mikey. When they heard about what happened…I don’t think I’ve ever seen either of them so mad. I think, for a moment, Big thought about coming out of retirement just to kick my ass into next year.

I patched up the wall myself. It was my mess to clean. The house seems so big and empty without you. I never realized it echoed before.

I don’t blame you for going home, baby. I know you’ve been wanting to go for a while. I know I drove you away. Pushed you away. I was so terrible to you and I see that now. I’m so sorry it took something so awful for me to see it. But you were right. I’m just like my father. And I needed someone to tell me that so I could realize how fucking stupid and awful I’ve been.

I hope you don’t mind that I used some of your stationary to write this to you. You left it on the desk downstairs. The shelves came in for your books and I put them up. Maybe when you come home, we can fill them up. I’ll buy you all the books in the world, my girl.

I’m sorry. Please know that.

Love,

Steve.

♡ ♡

12/10/92

Steve,

I was surprised to receive your letter. When I stopped answering and your calls stopped coming, I assumed we were done for good. I wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Despite my every want to feel the opposite, I’m still so terribly in love with you that my head hurts every waking moment of the day. I ache with it. Now that we’re apart, it bleeds. It has nowhere to go. I have nowhere to put it. But this was your doing, Steven. I don’t want you to forget that.

We both said terrible things that day, but what you did was unforgivable. You promised from the start to never raise a hand against me in anger. You promised to never become the thing you hated. I took your word as bond, and perhaps that was my mistake. Perhaps that’s my grievance to regret.

I miss you terribly, but this time apart will be good for us. It’s what we need. I’ve been away from home since I was 19. My brother stands taller than me. His voice is so much deeper than when I left. They’re getting computers at the library soon. Everything is so different, yet it all still seems the same. But even these tiny differences make me realize how long I’ve been away.

It’s snowing here in Hawkins and I helped mom put up the Christmas lights. Nick and I had a snowball fight. I felt ten years old again. Mom made hot chocolate and we watched Charlie Brown. I know how much you love Charlie Brown’s Christmas. But in that moment, I felt wonderfully calm. I felt okay. I felt happy.

And it made me wonder…were we happy, Steve? Or have we been pretending for too long?

I’m glad my shelves came. Use them for your trophies.

XO,

Libby

♡ ♡

12/14/92

Libby,

I can’t tell you how happy I was to get your letter in the mail. I’ve been scared to open it for the past two days. But the thought of going a moment more without knowing what you said would kill me. I can hear your voice so clearly when I read your words.

I’ll never forget what I did that day, Libby. It will always be a reminder of how awful I’ve become. And it will always be a reminder of who I don’t want to be ever again.

I know it doesn’t mean much now since I’m a few months too late, but I’m talking to someone. A shrink or whatever. Big recommended him. Apparently he specializes in “anger issues.” You know how I feel about sitting down and whining about my problems, but…I don’t know. Maybe it’ll help. If it turns me back into the man you loved then I’ll sit on that couch and talk for days.

You asked if we were pretending, and for me at least, I never pretended for a moment. There wasn’t a second that went by that I didn’t love you with every ounce of my being. I’m sorry if you felt you had to pretend. I’m sorry that you weren’t happy, and if you give me the chance, I’ll do my best to make you happy this time around.

No amount of trophies or champion belts in the world could make up for the loss of you, my angel. Please know that and believe it.

Yours,

Steve

♡ ♡

12/22/92

Steve,

I hate the way your words make my heart pound. All that love is still so strong, and it’s all still festering in me. But the heartache is just as powerful. The heartache is just as real.

I cannot give you a second chance just yet. I don’t think we’ve quite earned it. I don’t think we’ve yet reached a point where we’re both okay—on our own. I want to be okay even without you. I fear I’ve become so reliant on you to tell me where life will go, because my life has revolved around your own. I’ve never found my own path to wander. I want that opportunity now.

I went to the Hideout tonight. A Christmas party with some friends. I haven’t felt that young in years, Steve. I’m only 22.

Merry Christmas, Steve. And happy New Year.

XO,

Libby

♡ ♡

1/3/93

Libby,

Christmas was lonely without you. Mikey invited me to his "bachelor pad" in L.A for a "booze fest" (all his words). Gargling gravel sounded like a better time. For a minute, I thought maybe it might be good to get out. To be my own person, like you said. But everything just feels so dull now.

I thought about mailing your present, but I figured you'd just get upset. I want to respect your space and our time apart. My shrink says I have to find more time for other people's wants and needs instead of just prioritizing my own. Is that what I've been doing, Libby? Is that what I've always done?

I guess I kinda did. Took you away from the library and your home. I just wanted you with me all the time. I couldn’t imagine getting through that first string of fights without you. I don’t think I’d be the fighter I am today if I didn’t have you there.

I guess I’m talking about “me” a lot again. I’m sorry I do that.

I hope your Christmas was nice. Hope it snowed the way you like.

Love,

Steve

♡ ♡

1/28/93

Libby,

I haven’t heard from you all month. I thought I’d reach out again. For a few days, I had myself convinced my letter got lost in the mail. I waited for a “return to sender” to come. I think I would’ve preferred the honest rejection to your silence. It’s been so quiet here, my girl. I miss the sound of your voice in our home.

The fights mean nothing anymore. I won the Russell fight last week and felt nothing. Ever since you left, victory tastes stale. The referees declare the winner and I just hear static. Jesus, I miss you so much I started reading some of your sappy literature last week. It’s clearly having an affect.

I hope you’re okay. I hope you’re good. I miss you more and more with every passing day. I miss you more than I thought was ever humanly possible for one person to miss another. I never thought this deep of a feeling could exist. This “break” has taught me a lot.

Been talking to the shrink more too. He says I have an issue with authority and always need to feel in control because of how my dad was. Big fucking brain on this guy, huh? Must’ve went to school in Dumb Fuckville.

Sorry. I’m trying to be kinder. Not swear so much. Wish they made patches for anger like they do for nicotine. Something to ease the ache. But it’s hard to quit something you were born into. The Harrington rage doesn’t just disappear over night. But I swear I’m trying. I promise, cross my heart and hope to die, baby. I’m doing my best to be better.

I hope I hear from you. I hope you’re alright.

I love you.

— Steve

♡ ♡

2/3/93

Steve,

I meant to write. I’ve been so busy now that I’m at the library full time again. I forgot how taxing it can truly be, but it’s like riding a bike. The smell of the books, the feel of the paper, the conversations you have with readers who don’t know where to look, or the ones who do and are searching for more. I forgot how important I feel between those stacks of books.

My girlfriends and I have been going out. They never got to celebrate my twenty-first with me, so we had a belated celebration a few weeks ago. We went to a bar in Indianapolis, took a bus the whole way there. The bar was loud and hot and sticky, and someone spilled beer all over my purse. I know you would’ve hated it, but part of me wished you were there. Bodies were pressing against each other on the dance floor, touching and smearing sweat—but all I wanted to feel was yours. Your familiar frame, right next to me. Only with you have I ever felt so secure.

Anyway, I got my first hangover, and that wasn’t fun. Especially because I’m still staying with my parents and they still think I’m seventeen. Nick tried to get me to buy him beer for his friends. I wish I could be this ‘cool’ older sister for him, but right now he doesn’t like me very much.

I watched your fight last week. There’s something so different in the way you move now. Your punches seem heavier, harder. You take more hits before you hit back. I wish you wouldn’t do that. You know I always worry, Steve. I worry about what might happen if you take too many hits. All those concussions can’t be good. I’m no doctor, but I figure eventually, they’ll catch up to you. I don’t want to see that happen. I can’t fathom the idea of losing you like that. No matter what happens between us, I always want to know you’re well. Selfishly, I always want to know you're out there if I need to call.

I’m glad to know you’re trying, and that you’re still going to therapy. I think it’s very healthy, Steve, and I appreciate and value your honesty. And….I miss you too.

Yours,

Libby

♡ ♡

2/12/93

Libby,

There hasn't been a moment that's gone by since you left that I haven't wished I was with you. In whatever way that might be, all I've wanted is to feel your body next to mine. I miss your touch, your smell, your smile. I never want to know another kiss but yours. I never want to hold another body in my arms that isn't yours. I don't think I could stomach the thought of never having that again.

The longer the time between us lasts and the further the distance grows, the worse I ache for you. God I sound like a fucking dope. It's all those novels you left me, I swear I'm not this sappy. But I guess with you I am.

Please forgive me. Please come home. All I can do now is beg, and show you how hard I'm trying.

I love you, angel. There's nobody and nothing but you.

Love,

Steve

P.S. You're the best big sister. Nick will see that one day when his brain isn't full of beer and Playboy.

P.P.S. Happy early Valentine's Day, baby. I hope the flowers are okay.

♡ ♡

2/17/93

Dear Steve,

I loved the flowers, and I loved the sap. Reading your last letter brought tears to my eyes, and for the first time in a while, they were blissful. I cannot begin to describe the size of the welt in my chest. It feels bruised by your absence and my longing.

Despite every bone in my body yearning for you, I cannot come home. Not yet. I'm not ready. I don't think you are, either. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, and while it pains both of us to endure it, I think they're right. Whoever "they" are.

In the spirit of all this honesty, I have to admit: Tom Marrow asked me out for Valentine's Day. And god damn you, Steve, I said no. I said no because I'm wilting without your sun shining on me, and I'm lost without you by my side. I said no because I'll never be able to look into the face of another man without wishing it was yours.

I said no because I know, one day (maybe soon, maybe not), I'll come home to you. Don't let that get to your head.

Love,

Libby

♡ ♡

2/22/93

Libby,

My heart has never suffered as many palpitations in all my high-risk athletic career as it did reading your letter. I hate the way the paper crumpled in my fist when I read about fucking Tom. I'm not sure I'll ever be able to abandon the jealousy that fills me when I think of you with another man. But I can admit, it reached a point even I don't like to think of. I was letting it control me. I'm trying not to do that anymore.

The paper smelled like you this time. You don't know how badly I've missed that smell. I sort of feel like a hound-dog, tracing for more of it in the ink. That's what you've reduced me to, my love. An animal searching for you in the earth.

Please come home. Please come back to me.

Yours,

Steve

♡ ♡

3/2/93

My darling Steve,

I'm coming home to you. Please unlock the door.

Yours always,

Libby

♡ ♡

[pollyna]

In a kinder timeline Ron has all the time in the world. Years upon years of small and big moments, like the first time he took Ice to meet his grandma and she asked if he was his boyfriend, and he laughed because, no, ma'am, your grandson has a boyfriend and a girlfriend, he's that much of a catch. Time to introduce Carole and Goose to her, kind smiles and warm hugs, Nick spening hours in the kitchen with her while he and Carole fixed this and that around the house. He even gets the time to introduce her Bradley and Maverick, taking down in Texas a very not impressed Ice for some kind of obscure festival nobody wanted to go to. In a kinder under universe he's almost forty and wears their platinum ring with his dogtags, kisses both his partners and his kid before going off to deployment in the world. Carole still falls ill and cancer consumes her, but they have time, they do everything possible to make her happy, and Slider is back teaching TOP GUN with Nick and going to all the kinds of parent-teacher meetings and Saturday's game. In a kinder universe, when Carole closes her eyes, she isn't in pain, and all the people she loves are there with her. In a kinder universe, Ron gets to not lose Bradley at eighteen and almost lose him forever twenty years later after his best friend, the other half of his being, died fighting a beast bigger than everything else. Bradley still runs away when he is sixteen, but it's to his uncle's home, and it takes two days until he's back and trying to work out how to proceed from there.

In a kinder universe Ron, Slider, doesn't stand tall with more flowers in his hands than he knows what to do with, just outside the gate of a cimitery, trying to master the courage to say hi to half of his family.

[collapsedglasshouses]

Consequences || Noah Sebastian x Reader [Part 1]

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x Reader

Summary: Y/N has known Noah since he became her brother's best friend. Growing up with him and knowing everything about each other let to them also being close friends. But something changes between them when Y/N is moving in with them due to a water damage in her apartment and it all leads to Nick's 30th birthday party.

Warnings: NSFW 18+!, MDNI!, language, mention of marijuana, implied medication use, oral sex (female receiving), alcohol consumption, (feel free to let me know if i missed anything <3)

A/N: So this is the first work I every put onto tumblr and also the first work I every publish in English… Therefore: Pls have in mind that English isn’t my first language and I'm new to writing smut! If you have tips or tricks for me to improve my writing, pls feel free to message me! The idea was spooking around my head for a while. Be safe ppl and remember if you are under the age of 18, pls do not interact with my stuff since I’m really not comfortable with that (if i see it anyways i will block you). Now enjoy! <3

November 29, 2022 was the day everything changed…

12:34 PM; November 29, 2022

You woke up in the house where your brother and his friends lived. At the moment you kind of lived there due to water damage at your own apartment.

While the other roommates were momentarily out of the house, it was very empty and quiet around here. So it was no problem for you to get the spare bedroom. When you realised your brother was still sleeping, you tip toed down to the kitchen area where you found Jolly, Noah and Folio preparing a cake with candles.

"I think I've never seen you guys be so cute before." you mocked them while eying the cake. It was shaped like a guitar and coloured in black while being decorated with wonky red letters saying „Happy Birthday, Nick!“

You smiled to yourself before going around the kitchen counter and grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge "So, when do we start tonight?" you ask your friends while sitting down on the kitchen counter.

"It depends on how long Jolly and Folio can distract Nick." Noah answers before walking towards you, stepping in between your legs and than grabbing a cup from the shelf above you while looking at you.

"What do you mean 'Jolly and Folio'? What about us?" you ask your brother's best friend while holding his gaze. It wasn’t unusual for you two to be close to each other since you had known Noah for ages considering his friendship with your brother Nick, but since you were living here something had changed. From sleeping in on the couch together while watching anime and waking up in each others arms to him telling you about song ideas that he didn’t tell anyone else about or those small touches you exchanged whenever no one was watching that seemed so innocent but still left you guessing.

When he finally broke your gaze and stepped back to pour himself a cup of coffee, you took a big sip out of your water bottle to drown out your thoughts before anyone noticed your nervousness.

"You two need to prepare the house while Folio and I go equipment shopping with your brother." Jolly explains before you hear a shuffling upstairs, causing you all to become quite and stare at the stairs while gathering around the cake which candles were quickly lit by Jolly. It didn’t take long before your brother wobbled down the stairs and came to a hold when he saw you four standing in front of his cake smiling.

"Happy Birthday, Nick!" you all shout in union while Nick rubbed his eyes and took a couple of tired steps towards you before blowing his candles. "What are you guys planning? You act like fucking robots." he mumbles while Folio cut the cake into small pieces.

"Can't we just be grateful that mom brought you into this world 30 years ago?" you said before hugging him tightly. "Jesus… You making me sound so old. But yeah… Definitely… Even though Folio looks like you stapled that smile onto his fucking face"

The guys quickly changed the subject to not cause any further suspicion before you ate breakfast together. It didn’t take long until the three boys took of, leaving Noah and you alone to decorated the house.

You talked about anything and everything, before you asked Noah to help him hang a "Happy Birthday" sign on the wall.

You were unsuccessfully trying to reach the height the sign was supposed to go on. Before you could argue you felt arms go around your waist and shortly after that you were being lift up. You felt your pulse rise and your eyes widened. "What the fuck are you doing, Noah?" you protested - "Helping you. Now do your job."

You muttered under your breath and tried to concentrate while Noah's arms were wrapped around you. You would lie if you said you didn’t like how close he was to you but at the same time you tried to push away the way it made you feel.

"You know, I actually can’t believe Nick's thirty already. It feels like time flies by so much faster since we formed the band." Noah almost whispered while you try to concentrate on the banner before you and not how soothing his voice sounded to you. "It feels like yesterday when Nick called us to pick him up from that girl’s house because her dad caught them making out." You slightly chuckle at the memory before you signaled Noah to let you down.

"It also feels like yesterday when you called me in the middle of the night because the exact same thing happened to you and you were too proud to call Nick because you made fun of him because of said story." you reminded him while turning around and looking up into his eyes. You would never get used to the fact how tall Noah was in comparison to you. It wasn’t like you were tiny but he still was more or less a head taller than you.

"It’s not like nothing like that never happened to you, Y/N Ruffilo." he noted in a teasing voice and you exactly knew which story he meant. "Noah, you promised we would never talk about that again." - "I promised to never tell your brother that you slept with that skater jerk Michael back at your senior prom and than almost getting pregnant from it."

You remembered it clear as day how Noah drove you to the pharmacy in the early morning hours to get a Plan B and how you cried about not wanting to be a teen mom and how he comforted you by saying he would be there for the child like it was his own.

You also clearly remember your dumb crush on that Michael guy. There was this boy in your and Noah's year that you had a huge crush on since eighth grade. Michael was a skater and in retrospective he definitely wasn’t a good guy, considering his first love were definitely joints but when Noah left school at 15 to pursue his music career there was no one who stopped you from your stupid little crush, considering the fact you didn’t tell your brother because he would have hunted Michael down.

"You know I would kill you if you would even think about telling Nick." you threatened your friend and pointed a finger to his chest. Noah smirked while looking down at your hand, before grabbing the tape from your other hand and leaning to your ear. "As if you could do anything against me."

Shivers went down your spine and your heart began to beat faster while Noah left you standing there in the middle of the living room to go on with decorating. If that wasn’t enough he looked back at you and said "But at least you didn’t lose your virginity to that jerk."

You felt your cheeks burn while thinking about what he was implying. You and Noah being the same age and having such a close friendship at a phase in your live that was purely controlled by hormones, it wasn’t far off that you did in fact lose your virginity to your brother’s best friend. But you both swore that not a soul in the world would ever find out about that and managed to keep it this way to this day.

You tried to push the thoughts of the past away by biting the inside of your cheek. You didn't know what to do. Slowly but surely he was driving you insane and you didn’t even know if he was doing on purpose.

This was the moment you decided that it was best for your own good to try to avoid Noah's presence at the upcoming party. You didn’t want to risk ruining your friendship with him and therefore ruining the bond your brother had with him since ages.

11:19 PM; November 29 2022

Hours later you found yourself on the couch in the corner of the living room while the party for you brother was at its peak. You didn’t really know how many drinks you consumed, considering the fact that you took at least four shots with your brother, but you definitely started to feel the alcohol in your system while you listened to a story Bryan told you about the last tour.

You couldn’t help but think about what happened early. Noah seemingly consumed your mind. You could only think about his hands around your waist or how comfortable you two slipped into this weird situation in your friendship. When you were younger you often cuddled or were close but it all seemed so different lately and you couldn’t wrap your head around why it suddenly felt so different for you. You feared that you were imagining that change.

"I'm sorry, Bryan, but I'm not doing so well." You quickly excused yourself while standing up and making your way upstairs. You didn’t know what had gotten into you but you knew that you needed to clear your head.

You entered the upstairs bathroom, leaving the door open since no one was on this floor and looked at your self through the small mirror. Your cheeks were flushed because of the alcohol you consumed and your eyes were slightly red.

You bent down and splashed a few drops of water in your face when you suddenly heard a voice behind you. "Are you okay?" Noah asked with furrowed eyebrows while placing a hand on your back, instantly sending a wave of chills down your spine.

"Yeah, yeah… Uh… I'm fine just a bit tipsy" you mumbled, drying your face with a towel before turning to face your friend.

Without even realising it you let your gaze wander and looked at Noah more closely. He wore a black turtleneck and black cargo pants, if you didn’t knew better you would say he was about to go on stage. In comparison to him you seemingly looked naked. Only dressed in a lacey black crop top and a skirt that was to short for your own good. But you were at your brother's, one of the places you felt save with wearing anything and everything.

Suddenly he raised his hand and put a strand of her behind your ear. "Do you maybe wanna watch a movie or something? You seem nervous."

You slightly look up to meet his eyes. The eyes of one of your best friends. The eyes of the boy who knew everything about you except your confusing feelings towards him. You took a deep breath and noticed his eyebrows rose for a second, before you nodded. As confused as you were, Noah was still Noah and knew exactly what he needed to do to calm your nerves. So you decided to sneak away from the party and not even an hour later you found yourself showered and in pyjamas sitting in his bed while searching for something to watch while he got ready for your sleepover.

You could still hear the music blast from outside of his room when he came back wearing sweatpants and a worn out band shirt.

"You know what you wanna watch?" Noah asks you while making himself comfortable next to you.

"You will laugh at me." - "Spirited Away?" Bullseye. Over the years Spirited Away became your comfort movie. You remember it clear as day when you first watched the movie with your brother when you were around ten. So when Noah started playing the movie all the memories you had while watching it filled your body and for a second you forgot about the weird things you've been thinking all day while snuggling into Noah's side like you always used to.

"Do you wanna tell me what has gotten into your mind?" he asked carefully when you were halfway through the movie and your heart automatically started to beat faster while you turned to look at each other.

You thought about a way to get out of this situation. You couldn’t just tell him that you had been thinking about it all day how his hands felt on your body. That would have been stupid considering the fact that you were sure you were imagining that whole atmosphere so you decided to just shake your head and look him in the eyes. Your cheeks started to feel warm and him than brushing a strand of hair behind your ear while signaling you to come closer to him didn't exactly help. You obeyed him, knowing full well he didn’t believe you, and slid closer to him until your head found its place in the crook of his neck while his arms slung around you. One around your back and the other one, to your surprise, slightly under your shirt.

"You know you can tell me everything." he said, his voice becoming a bit deeper and raspier while he started drawing circles on the exposed part of your skin. You had a feeling that you would catch fire any moment. You felt like you didn’t have any control over your body anymore. So much to your own surprise you lifted your head slightly and before you knew you placed a couple of soft kisses on this neck before stopping in your tracks and panicking. He had stopped doodling circles on your skin. Instead now he had grabbed your waist a little harsher than normal and let out a sound you last heard when you two were seventeen, a bit too drunk for you own good and definitely more naked than now.

You paused in your actions and waited for his reaction, trying to guess if you officially ruined your longterm friendship for the sake of your own amusement, but than he whispered in your ear "Why did you stop?"

Before you could think Noah turned on his back, pulling you with him so now you were sitting directly on his crotch and could feel him growing harder.

"Do you even realise what you do to me?" he almost moaned in your ear causing you to lose the last bit of clarity in your head and you kiss his neck again, more firmly than you did before.

He let out that noise again that send heavy shivers down your spine and before you could even process what was happening you grinded your hips against his. A wave of pleasure hit you when Noah began to fiddle with your shirt, silently demanding you to take it off, while slightly buckling his hips upwards. So you sat up on him and did as he demanded.

You never thought that you would every be in the position again that Noah Sebastian was looking at you like that. Pupils dilated and that look on his face that made you want to rip of his clothes.

With easiness he turned you two around so he was on top of you and took his turtleneck off, displaying all his tattoos to you that always made you weak and started kissing down your neck, than along your collarbone and eventually landed between your breasts.

"You are so fucking beautiful" he whispers against your skin causing you to moan quietly. "Fuck… Noah." You stutter while he slowly takes one of your nipples into his mouth while massaging the other with one hand. Your hands quickly found their way into his dark hair and when you pulled on it slightly he moaned against your skin.

"N-Noah.." you mumble causing him to look at you "I-…" - "Take your time, Y/N."

You took a deep breath while he stroked your skin around your waist "I need you to touch me"

Never in a million years you thought that you would say those words ever again to Noah but in this moment you needed nothing more than to feel him closer to you.

You again thought for a moment that you overstep an unspoken line because Noah stared at you for a second to long. In the exact moment you wanted to say something again he began kissing down your belly and stopped at the waistband of your panties, looking at you, searching for any kind of regret in your face but the only thing you could think about was his mouth where you needed it the most. So you buckled your hips up a little, signaling him to go on which he did with anticipation.

Noah slowly let the last bit of clothing on you slip down your legs before spreading them with his hands.

Before you could even say anything you felt his tongue against your clit and arched your back. Immediately your hands found their way back into his hair and you pulled on it, causing him to moan against your core while you nearly lost your mind.

You nearly began to sob when you felt two of his long fingers push inside of you and curve upwards. You begged that nobody would hear you scream those profanities while Noah ate you out like it was his last meal on this earth. Wet noises filled the steamy air in his room while the end credits of Spirited Away rolled in the background. You began to shake.

"Noah… I'm gonna… Noah… fuck" you cried out while trying to get a hold of yourself. You never felt this kind of way. And the fact that it was Noah making you feel that way made it even better to you.

You were a moaning mess when you came undone, grabbing Noah's hair so hard you feared you would hurt him but hearing him groan against you instead made you cum even harder.

"Oh fuck… baby… look at you… cumming so hard you can’t even contain yourself." Your body shaked as you started to come down from your high, still jerking towards Noah while he slowly kissed his way up to your face.

Your first clear thought started to form in your head when Noah was right above you looking into your eyes.

"Holy shit." - "You call it." - "Fuck." He nodded looking as surprised as you did in that moment.

You looked into his brown eyes that never left your face while he admired you. You didn’t know what to say so you did the only thing that came to your mind and grabbed his face before kissing him with force.

Noah sighed into your mouth while you could taste yourself on his mouth.

You knew that nothing would be the same after this but you both also knew now wasn’t the time to talk about.

So when you left Noah's arms and than his room around two hours later, when the house got quiet, with messed up hair and lips still slightly pink, you knew this would definitely have consequences…

READ PART 2 HERE

[jasmines-library]

Devil in Disguise

WHUMPTOBER DAY 29: Prompt ‘oxygen deprivation’

Fandom: Supernatural

Summary: After escaping from the cage, Lucifer decides to pay Sam a visit, only he's not there. So he settles on the next best thing: you.

Warnings: Choking, near death

Word count: 1.2k

MASTERLIST ⛤ WHUMPTOBER WORKS

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

No matter how many times you wished things would go your way, you never seemed to be that lucky. That was to say the least.

You were waiting antsily for your brothers to return, bouncing your leg restlessly and picking the thumb around your skin. They had only gone on a supply run; something they had done hundreds of times, but today something was different. You couldn’t shake the feeling that you were being followed. Every time you turned your back, you felt as though an invisible hand was trailing down your spine, but each time you turned to take a look, the feeling stopped. Perhaps it was to do with the face that Lucifer was back from the cage. 

It was an odd sensation. Seeing Lucifer possess your best friend. It was stranger to know what he was doing with his body too. The havoc and disruption he caused. You would have liked to have said that it got easier when he left Cas and returned to his first vessel, but then you were faced with the constant reminder of what he had done to Sam. You weren’t really sure which was worse. 

To try and take your mind off of things, you had settled down in the library with a book, A leather-bound copy of a handwritten journal that once belonged to a woman of letters. You had just settled into it when you heard it; a loud crash that thundered through the bunker. You had an unwanted visitor. 

Leaving the book on the armchair, you crept into the hallway, snagging a pistol that lay on the table on the way past. The good thing about the bunker was that it was crawling with weapons and you knew it like the back of your hand. But seemingly, so did the intruder. 

A cold hand wrapped its digits around your arm. You yelped as you were whipped around to face Lucifer. Tall and looming over you he grinned, flashing you his pearly teeth. 

“Hiya, Y/n?” He gave you a small wave. “ d’ya miss little old me?”

You shoved him off, holding the gun out in front of you even though you knew that your actions would be in vain. “Get away from me.”

You tried to run further into the bunker, but were stopped by an invisible force, keeping your body in place as though you were surrounded by a block of concrete. “What do you want from me?” 

He shrugged, trailing a slender finger along your jaw. “Can’t I pay a Winchester a visit?”

You gave him a firm look. 

“Okay. Fine.” He chewed the inside of his lip. “I got bored. All this hopping around… i'd got nothing to do. But now I’m back in good ol’ Nick. Well. I thought it would be nice to see some old friends. Maybe take Sammy on a little trip down memory lane. But it seems he’s not here right now. Isn’t that right?”

You didn’t respond. You just grimaced as he took your jaw in his grip and forced you to face him. You tried to squirm but were held still. 

“So, It looks like I'll just have to deal with the next best thing.”

You didn’t have a chance to react as he flung you against the wall, your head snacking against the blue tiles, helpless as you felt the invisible force squeeze you against the wall. 

“Let me go.” You demanded, desperately trying to pry your limbs away from the tile. 

Lucifer just pursed his lips. “Hm. I think this is much more interesting.”

“Sam and Dean’ll be back at any moment and then you’ll be a dead-”

Suddenly an invisible hand wrapped its way around your neck. “You talk too much.

You dropped to the floor, clawing at your neck as you tried to relieve some of the pressure that was crushing your windpipe like it was a can. You gasped and stuttered, trying to hungrily suck in air that refused to pass into your lungs. The agony that blossomed from them was unbearable; fiery and raw. 

Lucifer just smirked as he watched you struggle, tightening his mercilessly around your throat. 

Your chest constricted with fear. You had never imagined you would go down like this. For years you had believed you would go swinging. Never alone and without saying goodbye to your brothers. You flailed wildly as black spots swirled in your vision, and everything faded in and out.Your shoes slipped against the floor, struggling to find a grip on anything in your panic-filled reverie. That was until it stopped. 

Lucifer’s clutch on you vanished as your two brothers stormed into the bunker, noticing your absence. It was then that he heard the struggle coming from the halls. They had never moved faster than they did as they raced towards you, catching the devil off guard and after some struggle managed to restrain him with the cuffs. 

Sam was at your side in a second, squatting besides you. He placed his hands on your shoulder and forced you to look at him with your wide eyes. You were hyperventilating, breaths coming in short and desperate gasps. 

“Hey, Hey. Kiddo. Look at me.” You watched him carefully. Observing the way that his hair framed his face. “Follow my breathing.”

You took in a shaky, but deeper breath feeling the air rush into your lungs. You tried to follow your brother's breathing until yours settled into an even rhythm. 

“That’s it kid. You’re okay. We’re here.”

He wiped the stray tears that had fallen from your eyes and brough your head to his chest, tucking your head beneath his chin. You curled up tightly on his lap like you used to do when you were a small child afraid of the monsters that lurked under your bed. You leaned into his warmth, seeking solace in his cologne. 

“You’re okay kid.” He mumbled into your hair, threading your hair through his fingers. He eased you up into his arms and carried you off down the hall. When you dared peak over his shoulder, you noticed that Lucifer was nowhere to be seen. It was likely that Dean had forced him into the dungeon, but you clung closer to Sam just in case. 

He then eased open the heavy door with a creak and crossed the room in two large strides to lay you down on the comforter,Your head snapped up when he stepped away for a moment, panic clutching you tightly again.

You sniffled. “Sammy?”

“I’m here.” He said, returning moments later with Dean who had managed to slip in through the door at some point. 

He perched on the end of the bed. “Hey sweetheart.” He pulled you in close to his chest as his brother came round to sit on your other side. 

“You’re okay sweetheart.” Sam soothed. “He can’t get you anymore. No one is going to hurt you.”

You shuffled in closer to them, as exhaustion began to settle over your body. 

“Why don’t you try and get some rest, kiddo?”

You nodded hesitantly. “Stay with me? Please.”

Dean pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “Of course sweetheart. We’re not going anywhere.”

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

<- DAY 28 ⛤ DAY 30 ->

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