#Where's the scene of sam cutting off his belt to hang himself and then his pants fall down

[katsidhe]

Fic: vladimir and estragon are dead [15.19 coda]

AO3

Summary: what plea, what surrender, will a bored God possibly accept at this late hour?

The world is empty.

They drive across a landscape that is only a little more desolate than it always has been. This is their end and their beginning, this is where their roads always lead: to highways with no cars for miles, empty backwaters and ghost towns. This time it’s only slightly more literal. The fulcrum of the universe shifts and tilts with them; the center of mass of the earth moves devastatingly, tenderly.

Sam waits for the gutting claustrophobia to kick in, and finds that he can’t make the feeling truly latch on. Maybe it’s because it’s always been here, curled up in his heart like a parasite. It’s not that Sam isn’t used to the idea of a prison larger than a planet, creation as a dark and empty pit, company laughably limited. He finds his mind instead attempting to flit over more practical concerns. When will the electrical grid fail? How many fires have already started, set by unattended stoves, how many cities are burning? How long until every light winks out, until darkness and silence returns to swallow the trappings of civilization?

Cas is dead, and he has died so many times, they’re all dead, they’ve all died so many times, but the pain still squeezes his heart, catches him under the collarbone like a knife. It hurts moving, breathing. But the losses Sam carries mean nothing compared to the weight of what he has personally managed to erase. His stubborn spite, his fetid desire to carve out a life for himself and his tiny family, his rebelliousness managed to get the fucking multiverse killed. Sam has never been to Asia, but now four billion people who lived there are gone. It is absurd to mourn. It is absurd to exist.

Sam won’t allow himself to feel the grief but he will permit the guilt to cripple him. What does it matter if he’s crippled? What does any of it matter? His defiance led to this: a blank page. An empty canvas.

When they reach the Bunker, the stars are bright above. It is the impossible, cold glory of a vast aquarium, viewed from the inside.

They drink together in the quiet. More accurately, they attempt to. Dean gamely downs pull after pull of whiskey. Sam tries. The first shot has him retching, spitting like it’s battery acid. He vomits on the library floor.

Dean laughs meanly, says, “I can drink for both of us.”

Sam looks up and meets his eyes and feels his face twist into a rictus laugh too. He finishes being sick and he doesn’t clean up, doesn’t bother. Cleaning, like many things, is not a concept.

It doesn’t feel like the world has ended down here, even though Sam knows it has. Could be any other day, miles and miles from civilization, insulated underground behind wards that keep out anything short of a god (or anything without the keys). This hole in the ground doesn’t feel vaster or emptier than it normally does. The wider world has never existed in this space; this is the center of the entire universe, just the two of them.

Dean passes out at some point, and Sam lays his head down too. He strips down to one layer, tosses his overshirts at a chair, kicks off his shoes, then his socks. He runs his fingers over the smooth grain of the table, over and over and over. He feels the worst kind of drunk, dizzy and lightheaded with a pounding headache. He should drink some water. He should eat some food. He won’t, though. Who’s depending on him now? For what purpose should his body be fueled? What power, fair or foul, mundane or magical, ought to keep his bones from collapsing in on themselves, into bloody withered dust?

“How do you summon God?” Dean asks muzzily, when he blinks awake again under the golden fluorescent light.

”Maybe the amulet,“ Sam offers. He’s been picturing it mutely all night, turning it over and over in his head, with the weight of heavy responsibility.

It’s dragged out of hiding. The brass is not just warm to the touch, it’s searingly hot. It burns Sam’s fingers when he tries to take it out of the box: even the barest brush of the cord makes him flinch away. Dean wraps his shirt around his hands and tries, and swears. The heat is not diminished one degree. Eventually Sam just takes the entire memory box, upends it messily on the library counter, uses a broken pencil to fish out the amulet and dump it in the metal bowl, among the herbs and the roots and the bones of a small furred creature.

By silent agreement they take everything outside, blinking in the bright dawn chill, leaving Jack to his miserable sleep. Sam is still barefoot. The sharp gravel opens tiny wounds. Shoes seem a pointless inconvenience, some petty barrier between himself and the world, and for what? What can reach him now?

It’s the strongest summoning spell Sam knows. Enochian and Sumerian, to call like to like, to invoke heavenly power. A sigil Rowena taught him, that inscribes itself in purple flame.

He chants quietly in the stillness. The amulet flares in blinding white light, but as the brilliance dampens Sam can make it out when it melts, when it dwindles into pointless black sludge. Dean touches the bowl briefly. Sam feels nothing.

Not that it matters. He knows Chuck can hear them. He prays, too, with belief and desperation he hasn’t felt in years. He gets on his knees, and after a moment, Dean joins him. It makes Sam’s heart twist.

They pray to a God who is not absent. The spot in his shoulder where Sam shot God and himself aches sharply. God wants him to suffer, he knows. He understands where they live now, in a wasteland with something that hates them. This is familiar territory. They are Chuck’s entertainment, his bulwark against a devastating darkness.

Nothing and nobody shows. Sam shifts from his knees into a full-body prostration, doesn’t look to see if Dean does the same. Instead, he buries his face in the dirt. Tears still won’t come. It’s not  that he’s numb. He’s just had too much practice, that’s all. Please, he prays, please, he is so sorry, he will bear any humiliation, any torment, he will bear any trial, please, for mercy—

A thought, a message, or a memory. Will you, Sam? Will you? What will you do for me? Will you cut out your heart for me, hold it in your hand, will you eat it?

And Sam knows this isn’t enough. Of course not, their mere surrender is never what Chuck wanted. Sam knows what Chuck wants, right? He’s lived it long enough. Chuck wants to watch.

“Dean,” Sam says. He sits up and brushes dirt from his face. Dean is already standing. Staring up at the risen sun. He’s holding his knife. He’s figured it out too.

“I know,” Dean says.

Still on his knees, Sam looks at the knife. “We have to make it good,” he says. “Not too fast, right?”

Dean stares down at him in horrific fury. There are tears in his eyes. “This is fucked.”

Sam smiles like a flinch, just at the corners of his mouth. “Not like we haven’t been here before,” he says. “It’s okay.”

Dean comes a step closer. Close enough. Hit me, Dean, Sam thinks, Sam urges. He wants it with his whole being, invites it. The whole universe sings with the cosmic rightness of it. The new sun wants this to happen, the sky the Kansas fields the deep blue sea God in his Heaven and the Devil in his Hell, every molecule, every uncounted star and every grain of sand wants this. Sam wants this, with sublime intensity.

Sam wants to say the words to summon Dean’s wrath, but in this moment he can’t remember them. Maybe just being is enough. It should be. Maybe just kneeling here in the dew-damp grass will be enough, to fan the sense-memories. It is for Sam. He can feel the tears coming, for the first time since the world ended.

Dean’s face forces itself into something like a snarl. It’s ugly. “I’m not torturing you, asshole,” he says.

Sam shrugs, with one shoulder. His other hurts with an abominable, shooting pain. “Gut wound?” he suggests. This time he does smile.

Dean scoffs. “You do me first,” he says. He takes Sam’s arm and drags him upright. He paws at his belt, brings out his gun, and presses it into Sam’s hands.

Sam doesn’t fumble on the slide, on the grip. His fingers check the weapon and click off the safely with automatic efficiency. He nods loosely. He understands. This too is the sacrifice demanded, and neither of them may shirk their parts.

“At the same time, then,” Sam says.

Dean scrubs his hand over his face. He nods.

“Chuck!” Dean screams. “Chuck, this is for you! You’d better fucking FIX THIS! Bring them back, bring them all back. Here’s your goddamn ending.”

He looks at Sam, and Sam looks at him. Sam puts his hand on Dean’s shoulder, to keep them both upright. Dean grips his arm with painful intensity. When the knife slides into Sam’s abdomen, and twists in a burst of breathless star-bright agony, some puzzle piece of the universe slots into alignment. When Sam’s fingers bury the muzzle between their bodies and pull the trigger, crimson relief overtakes him in a flood.

Their breath releases in a gasp. For long, impossible moments they remain upright, swaying, foreheads pressed together. Sam wants to clutch instinctively at the fatal wound, but that would mean releasing the gun or releasing his grip on Dean’s shoulder, both absurd impossibilities. Dean’s hand is cold on his arm but so warm in the mess of his stomach.

An eternity later they stagger apart. Sam watches fascinated as his breath mists in the dawn air.  He gasps again as the knife slides out and drops, as the gun drops next to it. Now finally his fingers are permitted to explore the bloody gape of his torso. His searching eyes meet Dean’s, similarly poleaxed. Now his brother’s face has relaxed into half a grin, high on gory oblivion.

“Together,” Dean breathes, on a trickle of blood. “Hah.”

Sam nods. They’re both sinking inwards, gravity dragging them down. Where will they go, he wonders, with Death’s death, God’s spite, the world’s emptiness. Somewhere either better or worse than here, he decides, and it doesn’t matter which.

“Picturesque enough?” Dean spits at the sky. His smile is broadening. His eyes are red. He’s hungover, or actually, still drunk, Sam thinks. Blurry with misery. Sam is only drunk on guilt.

The sun climbs higher. Sam breathes in bloody panting gasps and watches red mud form around them. He and Dean aren’t touching anymore, and somehow that too feels right. He can listen and watch Dean curled into himself and dying out of the corner of his half-slitted eye. The heat of the new day builds, skimming over them like the brush of a giant hand. The pain in his shoulder splits him through, worse than the pain in his gut. When he coughs, the world itself shudders.

The blood pools in grass and dirt, forming little eddies and ponds. Like an ecosystem, Sam thinks. He tries to imagine a new world springing up from where he and Dean are soaking into the soil—fresh life, a microcosm of new biota. It’s all he wants. But the only image he can picture is the slick of black oil sheen at dusty gas stations, the unnatural rainbow opalescence of toxic reflections, a poison where nothing at all can grow. He doesn’t pray for meaning, but he wishes he were allowed to. Like in the Cage, it carries the sick certainty that the only God that can hear him is one that certainly means him ill.

Between one blink and the next, Chuck is standing on the grass, loafers brushing the pooled blood. “Hey, guys,” he says. He’s smiling, only very faintly.

“Bring them back,” rasps Dean. He’s nearly gone. They’re both nearly gone. “We did what you wanted.”

Chuck doesn’t respond. Doesn’t do anything like pull up a lawn chair, either, like Sam might have expected—just stands and stares with perfect inhuman attention.

Sam doesn’t feel it when Dean dies, but he knows it happened. When Sam dies, God is still watching over him.

Chuck is smiling when Sam gasps back to life, when he hears Dean gagging a few feet away. Sam recognizes the expression, because he’s seen it before, in a dim and bloody tunnel, in a different universe.

[slipping-through-my-fingertips]

If Glee did a Taylor Swift Tribute Episode...

Just my opinions, feel free to add on to them. I know I have some fellow gleek swifties following me. I’d love to hear your thoughts. Obviously they have to do some of the hits but I think some people would have some out of the box picks.

*This post assumes all Taylor songs are available to choose from as of May 14th 2021 but focuses on Taylor’s first 6 albums (if you want more glee and Taylor I have fics with that; LOVER and FOLKLORE) and takes liberties with where this episode’s placement is in terms of canon. But since it’s all made up anyway who cares (but Blaine’s involved so I guess season 3 idk).*

Okay, trying to do a full plot here (completely inspired by @kurtdeservesbetter head canon posts. I hope this lives up to her fabulous posts). This will be my version of glee so everyone gets solos and Rachel can’t hog the spotlight. Also, this is about to be super long (both post wise and episode wise).

Let’s open the first episode with

...Ready For It because the New Directions are in their reputation era. Santana does the opening cough centerstage. Everyone in black and/or camo green outfits (can you just see Kurt in a dark green bedazzled snake jacket, Santana in a black leather dress, and Tina digging out some goth clothes for people to borrow?), snakes everywhere, but probably no Karyn (she just wouldn’t fit on the auditorium stage). Santana takes the first verse but we have Blaine step up for verse 2. (I just love their friendship in the Michael tribute, cute little badasses are BACK. Also him singing “Burton to this Taylor” is such a Klaine thing to do).

Everyone is still dressed in their rep outfits but we’re in the choir room now. Mr. Schue is talking about why Taylor had to disappear and clap back with rep, how rough the industry is for women and tries to uplift the ladies in the room and encourage them to not silence their voices (cue snarky comment from Santana about Rachel needing to be silent).

Then, Mr. Schue goes on about how you can only understand how Taylor got to her rep era by studying her earlier music. So we have a performance of Tim McGraw. Simple, front of the choir room performance, maybe Puck does guitar, and sitting on stools.

Everyone is surprised to find out how pumped Sam is for this assignment but he is all over it. “It's about time we did some country in this room.” Cue Sam and Quinn at her locker talking about their ‘date’ last night, Sam’s all cute and teasing and Quinn is not into it. She tells him it was fun but she was wrong, they shouldn’t do this again. In turn, he does a wonderful performance of Bye Bye Baby. He thought it was more but clearly he’s “a part of her past.”

Then, we’re in the empty choir room. Tina and Mike are there. (I love their cutesy duets) They sing Everything Has Changed and it’s utterly adorable. Can’t you hear Mike asking Tina if she’s “good to go” like Ed does? And while we’re on the subject of cute duets and RED, we flash to the courtyard to see Santana and Brittany. They turn Stay Stay Stay into a duet. “I’ve been loving you for quite some time,” “before you I only dated self-indulgent takers who took all their problems out on me,” “no one else is gonna love me when I’m mad, mad, mad,” and “it’s occurring to me that I’d like to hang out with you for my whole life” it’s perfect for them. Adorable ladies kisses are had.

Let’s toss in some boy drama for fun. Idk shit about football but somehow Puck is praised by their coach over Finn, which gets him all pissy, and Puck’s upset and jealous because Finn is back with Quinn now (this is why Quinn shut Sam now earlier, she changed her mind). Can we say duet of Bad Blood? “So if you’re coming my way...just don’t.”

After their dramatics, we have a Brittany solo in the choir room. It’s after school at this point (or whenever glee club is). Brittany does You’ll Always Find You Way Back Home.

When she finishes Mr. Schue tries to explain that it’s a Hannah Montana song. Britt injects that it’s confusing how she’s really Miley Cryus “like how can you be two people at once?”. Before Mr. Schue can continue, Kurt pipes up “you never specified that the songs had to be sung by Taylor Swift, just that they were her songs.” Mercedes adds, “yeah, Mr. Schue, Taylor wrote that song.” Mr. Schue concedes that he has once again been outwitted by Kurtcedes. The friends do their little hand shake thing.

With a sigh, Mr. Schue asks Mike if he’s ready to go and Mike asks to take things to the auditorium for some dancing room. Everyone’s on stage with him and it’s kind of a group number but Mike is the focus. It’s Shake It Off. All inspired by the music video. He’s tried to fit in elsewhere (i.e. football, with the smart kids, etc..) but he’s really himself in glee when he’s dancing.

Part 2 of Taylor Tribute Episodes

We begin with an ALL GIRL NUMBER of A Place In This World. Just because.

Glee is dismissed and we zoom in on Artie. He’s watching Tina with Mike and Brittany with Santana. Both Tina and Britt have broken his heart by this point. So, he’s rolling down the halls singing A Perfectly Good Heart. While Artie’s soloing, we cut to Rachel watching Finn and Quinn chatting. Artie’s song playing over this scene. Rachel is feeling similar to him at the moment.

She’s pretty sure Finn dumped her to be with Quinn again even though Kurt and Blaine told her they saw Quinn and Sam at the movies last night together making out in the back row. Fine, if that’s how he’s going to be, she doesn’t need him anyway. Cue Mr. Perfectly Fine. Uber dramatic solo performance walking around McKinley’s halls watching Finn and Quinn together ending in the auditorium alone. (see what I did there, both broken hearted peeps singing a song with Perfectly in it (this was not at all planned, actually, happy accident))

After some good old heartbreak, we have Kurt and Blaine on screen. Blaine walks into the auditorium to see Kurt sitting on the edge of the stage. “What’s all the fuss?” he asks from the door. Kurt had texted him “EMERGENCY.” The band starts to play and Kurt just starts singing, Enchanted. It’s time to profess their love for each other, just like they sing Perfect together in the car, this duet needs no audience. Blaine catches up and sings while walking towards his boyfriend. It’s very reminiscent of past New Directions competitions where they come in from the back and make their way to the stage. “Wondering if you knew I was enchanted to meet you?” Kurt and Blaine both know the answer to that question now but just a few months ago they were both wondering that exact thing.

They kiss before we cut to Kurt and Blaine walking hand in hand into the choir room where everyone else is already. Mr. Schue is praising the performances thus far and of course asks Rachel if she’s ready to solo (some practice for her completion solo). This causes an uproar from Mercedes and Santana. Another classic argument of how she gets too many solos. Mr. Schue tries to shut them both down but Santana tells Rachel to watch her back, and we get three very different reactions to this. 

All three girls storm out.

First, we visit Mercedes alone in the courtyard. This solo is all about being hurt over this great thing in her life (glee) and her being denied happiness within that club. Thus, Cold As You. (mostly to indulge myself because she’d blow us away with this song).

Next, Rachel in the auditorium. A huge bridge on stage (very Speak Now Tour of her), belting out Better Than Revenge. Santana’s dropped the last straw (the humiliation, name calling, Finn at one point and now solos,) it’s too much this time.

And finally, Santana walking around McKinley, showing us flashes of Rachel ‘outshining’ her and the rest of glee and Mr. Schue being unfair, while singing Look What You Made Me Do.

Tina walks out at the same time as Rachel, Mercedes, and Santana but no one seems to put two and two together. She feels just as underutilized as the latter two do. She ends up in an empty classroom and sings The Outside. “Nobody ever lets me in” and “on the outside looking in.”

Once the 3, err 4, divas have left the room, Finn sticks up for Rachel. Quinn, of course, has something to say about this along the lines of “you always defend her.” Finn, intimated by her ‘scary Quinn’ fumbles and blurts “because she’s my girlfriend” WHICH IS NOT TRUE AT THIS POINT. Quinn dumps him on the spot, cuts quickly to Blaine and Kurt sharing some ‘oh my god, can you believe this’ expressions, and vanishes from the room.

By this point, Rachel is long gone from the auditorium but the bridge is still there.

Here’s where we go way off script but imagine, Quinn has decided to just quit boys. They’ve all failed her anyway, she’s better off being alone. She walks up the bridge and thinks to herself “god Rachel’s so dramatic, where did this thing even come from” before it hits her “fuck, I’m as bad as Finn. I want her.” Then, she starts singing Clean to herself in the auditorium, likely tearing up throughout and ending with a good cry. (Because Dianna would DELIVER with Clean.)

While Quinn is having a sexuality crisis, the rest of glee is still happening. They’re discussing upcoming competition and debating solos and songs.

Kurt’s all: “Mr. Schue, if I may” and performs a lovely rendition of Call It What You Want. Those opening lines are too good. “My castle (ie McKinley) crumbled overnight, brought a knife to a gun fight (ie couldn’t fight off Dave Karofsky), “I’m doing better than I ever was ‘cause my baby’s fit like a daydream,” and “at least I did one thing right.” When he’s done, Blaine’s a mess in the back of the choir room, and Mr. Schue says: “not really what we’re looking for but very nice, Kurt” however, Kurt’s too busy sitting beside Blaine teasing him about blushing.  

Then, the missing girls return to the room having sung out their emotions. Quinn, having realized her feelings for Rachel, ends up soloing You Belong With Me to the New Directions in the choir room. Odd looks all around, no one knows what’s up with her and why does she keep glancing at Rachel? (Faberry just fit so well I had to add it, don’t know if I’m a shipper or not but it’s here now) (also thanks to @spicygemini for pointing out the obvious “Quinn would have ate YBWY”).

Mr. Schue wants to move the group to the audition to perform their final number of the Taylor Swift tribute well but Tina asks to sing first. He’s surprised but allows it, taking a seat with the rest of the New Directions.

Tina sings Beautiful Ghosts. “Watch from the dark, wait for my life to start” because New Directions is refusing to use her talents AGAIN. She’s singing this to Rachel and the girls who were in the Treble Tones. Because she absolutely SMASHES this number, the glee kids agree she gets solo for their next competition (and they deliver on that promise).

To conclude Part 2 of the Taylor tribute episode, we have a group performance of Long Live. “One day we will be remembered”, “all the years we stood there on the sidelines wishing for right now”, “for a moment a band of thrives in ripped up jeans got to rule the world” ie wining completions, “when they look at the pictures please tell them my name...”

[jamie-leah]

War of Wolves (18)

Season 1

Episode 18 - Revelations 

Bucky x Reader 

Summary: You have been on the streets for the past two years, ever since your accident that left you with the ability to tell if someone is lying. You work as an informant for the white wolf and his mob but you had never met him…until you overhear a phone call that leads you to saving his life. Now he wants you to work for him. Its an offer you couldn’t refuse…right?

Word count: 2966

Warnings: Violence, Car crash, blood, swearing 

A/N: This takes place seconds after the end of the last episode. The format is going to change a little bit after this one so enjoy! 

I also wanted to make a special shoutout to @marvelouscatharsis for making amazing fan art for this series! I loved it and I feel incredible to have inspired it and to know you all enjoy the series this much!xox 

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As Sam drives off, the only light comes from the half moon in the sky. You stare off where the cars had been, and you feel Bucky watching you until he speaks softly, “you made the right call”. 

Your eyes stay fixed to the distance, “did I?”. 

Bucky moves to stand in front of you. He uses his flesh hand to tilt your head up by your chin, “if you hadn’t done what you did something horrible would have happened tonight. Steve is just scared and not thinking straight”. 

You nod as your eyes finally meet his. He speaks again, softly in the night, “we’ll figure everything out when things calm down. But right now, I want to know if you’re okay?”. 

Your eyes automatically start darting away from his, “yeah, I’m fine”. He continues to stare at you, his hand still holding your chin. When your eyes can no longer avoid his gaze you crack, “I’m just scared Buck. I just have this dread in the pit of my stomach and I feel like I brought this all on you, that this is all my fault”. 

Bucky frowns, confused, “how is any of this your fault?”. 

You take in a shaky breath, “you didn’t have a problem with Isaac until I came along”. 

Bucky’s hand slides to cup your cheek, “none of this is your fault Doll. You don’t control what other people do and I have plenty of enemies out there. Something like this would be happening with or without you here by my side. The only difference now, is that I have one more person to fight for. One more person to protect and I have one more person that has my back”. 

You study his face before saying, “I love you James”. 

Bucky smiles before leaning down to connect with your lips. He gives a deep but quick kiss before murmuring, “I love you too Doll”. 

When he pulls back you feel cold and disappointed, but you knew you still had things to do. Bucky gets his phone out, “I’ll call two guys to come to the end of the dirt road. I don’t want them to see the house, so I’ll go take care of the bodies and hand them off to the guys to take care of while you and I go and check on Peggy”. 

You nod as you make your way back to the house, “what do you want me to do now?”. 

He steers you over to Steve and Peggy’s car, “stay here, I’ll go get the keys and you can wait for me in the car”. 

“I can help-“, you start to protest. 

But he cuts you off, “no. It won’t take me long. Stay here, let me go get the keys”. 

Bucky runs off into the house but is only gone for a second before coming back with the keys. He waits for you to get in the car before going back into the house. 

Twenty minutes later Bucky is dragging two bodies wrapped in tarp towards the car. He throws them into the boot and then throws his ruined suit jacket in the back. He gets into the driver’s side and rolls up his shirt sleeves before turning the car on. 

As he travels down the dirt road his hand rests briefly on your leg and you give him a grateful smile, even as the dread in your stomach grows. 

When he gets towards the end, there is a car waiting. Bucky talks to them briefly before they make light work of moving the bodies to their car. They drive off in the opposite direction to you. 

The road is dark and empty, and you were happy to be heading back home to see Peggy. It was only twenty minutes down the road, but five minutes in as you drive into the middle of the intersection you finally notice a road block. 

There are three cars in a row stopping you from progressing. The dread in your stomach turns to icy fear as Bucky quickly throws the car into reverse. Only Bucky never gets the chance to get the car moving as a van ploughs into the side of the car. 

The van hits you with such force that the car flips and slides until it rolls down a small embankment until it finally stops upside down. 

Adrenaline is coursing through your body as blood starts rushing to your head. You can feel panic brewing in your chest as you move your head around. Your seatbelt is keeping you strapped in, so your movement is limited but you manage to look to your side and see Bucky unmoving.

The panic increases, clawing at your throat as your hands reach for the belt. You try to unclip it but its not working as you use your strangled voice, “Bucky? Bucky?! You need to wake up”. 

You start pulling frantically at your seat belt but to no avail, “Bucky! Please wake up”. 

You think you can hear voices further away, so you leave your belt and reach over to Bucky. You shake his as best as you can until you finally hear a groan. Relief floods you hard and fast at hearing him make a noise and you feel a tear slide down your face and fall to the floor. 

After that Bucky comes around quick. He looks over to you, “Y/N, you okay?”. You nod, your voice still coming out strangled, “but I can’t get my seatbelt off Buck”. 

He reaches for his and yanks it out with his metal hand. He braces himself from falling and then kicks his door open, “its okay, I’ll come and get you out now, don’t panic, I’m here”. 

You watch him get out and try to keep your breathing even. Its not long before he rips the door away and half climbs back in on your side. His flesh arm braces you as his metal one yanks your seatbelt out.

The voices are much closer now as Bucky helps you crawl out. When you stand you notice blood trickling down Bucky’s face steadily from the top of his head. He starts to pull you towards the treeline, to try and run, but he stumbles. You catch him just about, but he stumbles again and this time you both fall to your knees. You see the men come around the car now and you know its over. 

You hear Bucky slur, “run”. 

You just shake your head as you take your jacket off and press it to his head, “I’d never leave you Buck”. 

His half-lidded eyes look at you, “please run for me Y/N”. 

You just give him a sad smile until a guy grabs your arm and yanks you away. To your surprise Bucky moves fast, throwing a punch before you even blink. The guy falls to the floor and Bucky catches you, both hands on your upper arms.

You stare at each other for a few seconds before more men come. You’re ripped away from Bucky again and there’s too many for him to handle on his own, especially in his current state. He holds his own until someone tasers him. 

Bucky drops, convulsing on the floor. Despite his being on the floor the guy still carries on and you scream at him, “stop it! Please!”. You struggle violently until you hear him. 

Isaac’s voice cuts the air, “enough. Get him in the car”. 

You want to throw up when Isaac steps in front of you. Pure hatred distorts your features as you look at him and his sick smile, “Y/N, nice to see you again. Should we go somewhere for a chat?”.

They put you and Bucky in separate cars. They also put a bag over your head which did not help your breathing. 

You think it was about an hour later when the car stopped, and someone dragged you out of the car. The only reason you went along with it is because they had Bucky, and you weren’t going to leave him. 

You felt the air change when you entered a building. You were finding it hard to keep up with whoever was pulling you along as your body ached from the crash. The man keeps pulling you no matter how many times you nearly fall, until you eventually get thrown into a chair. 

Your hands and feet are immediately tied causing your joints to ache. When you’re secure to the chair, the bag gets whipped off your head. 

You find it hard to see at first, your eyes watering at the brightness of the room. When they start adjusting you notice you’re in a warehouse, one that looks similar to Bucky’s where he takes people to interrogate. 

The next thing you notice is Bucky in the chair opposite you. He’s tied down too, except they used metal chains to keep him in place. His head is hanging forward, obviously still unconscious. 

It doesn’t take long for Isaac to make his appearance. He walks in smug and sure. You would give anything to claw his eyes out. 

His voice echoes in the big space, “Y/N, I’m so glad you could join me, I hope the drive was okay?”. 

You barely contain your hatred, “fuck off Isaac”. 

He shakes his head as he approaches, “I’ve been nothing but nice to you and you talk to me like this? We’ll see if you change your tune soon”. 

Your heart squeezes painfully as he walks over to Bucky. Isaac takes a syringe out of his jacket pocket and injects the contents into his neck. You try to keep the panic out of your voice, “what did you just do?”. 

Isaac steps back and looks at you, “its only a little something to wake him up. This won’t be as satisfying if he’s unconscious”. His words create a knot in your stomach.

It doesn’t take long for Bucky to come back to the land of the conscious. He lifts his head slowly and you watch him take in the scene before his eyes land on you. You give him the smallest of smiles and you see his jaw clench before staring daggers at Isaac. 

Isaac just smiles at Bucky until Bucky speaks, his voice hoarse, “what do you want?”. 

Isaac studies him, “did you gather much information on me Mr Barnes?”. 

Bucky remains quiet, obviously not wanting to give anything away, so Isaac speaks again, “I’m assuming not and if you did, none of it was the right information”. 

“What are you getting at?”, Bucky practically spits the words at him. 

Isaac shifts his gaze to you now. His lingering eyes making the knot in your stomach tighten, “you still don’t remember do you?”. 

You look at him confused, “remember what?”. 

Isaac walks closer to you and you see Bucky strain slightly in the corner of your eye. Isaac speaks again, watching your expressions closely, “your accident. I can’t believe neither of you figured it out yet. I was there”. 

You just became more confused and by the looks of it, Bucky was confused too. Isaac just laughs and carries on, “I orchestrated the whole thing. I planned the crash. Of course, you wouldn’t know that, but I was there that day. I was the first person you saw…well after you saw your mother dead next to you”. 

You didn’t know how to process what he was saying, nothing was making sense. You were grateful that Bucky asked the questions for you, “why? Why Y/N? It doesn’t make sense”. 

Despite Bucky being the one to ask the question, Isaac never takes his eyes off you, “I was a doctor a long time ago, until I lost my licence. I did research that allowed me to discover that certain people in the world have very specific different DNA profiles. I won’t bore you with the science, it would be wasted on you, but essentially if something were to happen that allowed that gene to evolve that person could unlock aspects of the brain that no human can do in tandem to their other parts of the brain”. 

Your mind was racing, and you were close to throwing up, but you managed to hear Bucky ask, “how did you know Y/N had different DNA? And how the hell did you know causing an accident would work?”. 

Isaac still spoke to you, “I discovered this when I was still a doctor. I had access to databases that allowed me to obtain blood samples of people I suspected that had these different DNA profiles. Y/N was on the list and I kept the list after I lost my licence. As for the crash, I had taken a few people to experiment on trying to unlock the gene myself, but it never worked. They all died. I thought a traumatic head injury might do the trick”. 

The anger in Bucky’s voice rang loud and clear, “you caused a crash as an experiment and just hoped that Y/N wouldn’t die?”. 

Isaac runs a finger down the side of your face. You jerk away from it, “don’t touch me”. 

You hear the chains around Bucky shift. Isaac just tuts, “don’t be like that. I gave you a gift”. 

You couldn’t help the way your voice raised in anger at him, “a gift? What part of it was meant to be a gift? The fact you killed my mother? The fact you made me homeless? Or perhaps the PTSD?”. 

Isaac grabs your chin, but you move out of his grasp only for him to grab your face roughly. He speaks low, venom lacing his words, “don’t pretend like I did you anything less than a favour. Your mother was dying, and she was ruining your life”. 

He lets you go and steps back. You spit at his shoes, “you ever talk about my mother like that again and I’ll do more than spit at you”. 

The fury on his face was hard to miss as he made a move towards you, but Bucky’s voice stopped him, “you touch her again and I swear to every god that exists I will kill you”. 

Isaac turns to face him this time with a chuckle, “I don’t think so Mr Barnes. Before I take Y/N away to carry out some tests, I’ll be making sure to kill you”. 

Your eyes flick from Bucky to Isaac as Isaac pulls out another syringe. He moves towards Bucky, “how does it feel to know that you lost White Wolf?”. 

Before Isaac can get any closer you shout, “wait! Please stop. If you promise to let Bucky go, I’ll go with you willingly. I’ll make it easier for you take me wherever you want. But if you kill him, I’ll fight you every step of the way”. 

Bucky was looking at you with alarm on his face, but you ignored him instead staring at Isaac as he turned your offer around in his head. Isaac nodded slowly, “I suppose that wouldn’t be too terrible…excuse me for a moment”. 

Once Isaac leaves the room Bucky starts speaking to you, “what are you doing?”. 

You give him a small smile, “saving your ass…again”. 

Bucky shakes his head, “you can’t seriously be thinking about going with him for me?”. 

You’re surprised when your voice comes out steady, like you knew what you were doing, “Buck, even if I fought him, I would never get away. Look how many men he has here, and he could knock me out if he wanted and take me wherever he wanted…he’s taking me whether we like it or not, at least this way I get to save you in the process and you may even find me”. 

“I will find you”, his eyes burn with promise. He drops his head, “this is all my fault, I should have protected you better-“. 

You cut him off, “no. Don’t do that. None of this is your fault, we didn’t know any of this would happen. So, stop thinking like that, you need to keep your head clear. No matter what happens it wasn’t your fault and I wouldn’t have changed it for the world. I love you”. 

He finally gives you a ghost of a smile, “say it again”. 

You smile back, “I love you Bucky Barnes”. 

“I love you too”, his voice is thick with emotion and it broke your heart. 

You never got to say anything else as Isaac walks back into the room. He’s carrying a different syringe and you narrow your eyes at him, “what are you doing?”. 

Isaac walks over to Bucky, “don’t worry, its just something to knock him out while we leave”. 

You can see that it takes everything Bucky has not to resist it, but he also knows this is the only plan we have. After Isaac injects Bucky, it takes less than ten seconds for his head to fall forward again. 

Isaac turns to you, “and then there were two”. 

You pay him no attention as you commit Bucky to memory. Isaac unties you and starts leading you from the room when you say, “I told you to let him go, that doesn’t mean leave him here chained”. 

You watch him roll his eyes and he pull on your upper arm harder, “I’ll get one of my men to untie him. We have places to be”. 

You don’t detect the lie so let it go as you try and keep up with Isaac. He ends up shoving you into the back of the car before pulling you by your hair. The sudden movement causes you to cry out as he exposes your neck. 

You feel the sting of the needle and the darkness claiming you before you fall sideways on the backseat.

WoW Taglist: @a-really-bi-girl @crazyblonde124 @summerwelsh @scuzmunkie @loving-life-my-way @pequenaguaxinim @paranoid-borderline-insane @lilsonbucky @somanyfandomsblog @broco8 @inquisitor-selvala @mad-red @k-n-e @rinkashirikitateku @duhh-danielly @boundtomyfate @kalesrebellion @booktease21 @whatinthyworld @flyingbabyunicornnamedangel @asapkyndall @yaszx @amoredashley @aveatquevale- @putinovertime @melimelbean @valsworldofcreativity @lokilokilokilokilokilokilo-blog1 @vesper852 

[16woodsequ]

Can you tell us headcannons/scenes from fic ideas you have had but have gave up on?

I do have a few ideas for fics that I either thought about writing but changed my mind, or have, but didn’t ever really plan on writing. This is mostly because the ideas are very angsty and while I like thinking about them, I think they might be super depressing to write.

Hallucinations

One idea I like playing around with is the idea that Steve started to hallucinate Bucky after he came out of the ice. I probably won’t write this fic, because I am not sure if visual hallucinations commonly work by having just one person following someone around and talking to them. I don’t know enough about having hallucinations to feel comfortable using it as a means of telling a story.

But anyway, if you remember my rant about the cabin SHIELD sends Steve to, I imagine that he started hallucinating Bucky either during or after that. Of course, he wouldn’t tell anyone about it because he would be worried about getting labelled as crazy and sent back to somewhere like the cabin or worse.

I think the hallucination of Bucky would be a personification of Steve’s own thoughts and feelings, so at times Bucky would be comforting and friendly. But other times he could be cruel and blame Steve for letting him die (because Steve blames himself,) or point out all his flaws.

Since I headcanon that Steve knows about the bugs in his apartment, he wouldn’t be able to risk talking to Bucky except when alone outside, or in the bathroom. (Which Bucky would take full advantage off.)

I don’t think he would hallucinate Bucky constantly, but Bucky would show up regularly. I think the first time Bucky showed up, Steve was doing something like cooking, and he hears Bucky’s voice saying ‘I’d like some of that’, and he responds without thinking—before his whole body freezes and he realises what has just happened.

Steve knows that hallucinations are not normal, and that he isn’t okay. But he doesn’t want to tell anyone, and part of him guiltily doesn’t want the hallucinations to stop (something that Bucky calls him out on sometimes, because again, he is basically Steve’s own thoughts, which would be hard to deal with sometimes.)

Bucky doesn’t show up while Steve is on missions, which is important because otherwise Steve would definitely be a liability. Also, it is important, because eventually Steve is going to be fighting the Winter Soldier, and the mask is going to come off, and Steve is going to get a shock of a lifetime.

I imagine that after Hill brings Steve and the others to see Fury, Steve locks himself in the bathroom for a while and rants with hallucination-Bucky, trying to figure out if what he saw was actually real. Since Steve has been hallucinating Bucky for a while, he isn’t sure if he can trust his senses. But he argues that he has never seen Bucky during a fight like that, and why would he hallucinate Bucky’s face on someone like that? He has always seen Bucky as his 40s-self, so why would he see someone with long hair and a metal arm?

(Bucky argues that Steve hasn’t eaten or slept properly for several days, and could just be crazier than usual, and if he is wrong, he could be putting everyone in danger. And, isn’t the fact that he is busy talking to himself in the bathroom alone, a sign that he isn’t really stable? The man didn’t even know who Bucky was, how can Steve claim that he is Bucky?)

In the end, Steve decides that he can’t risk not believing that the Winter Soldier is Bucky, and he decides to treat him like it is Bucky, until he is proven otherwise.

I’m not sure if the hallucinations would stop after Steve finds Bucky, and Steve may or may not finally tell Sam about his hallucinations while they are searching for Bucky.

Some more angsty stories I probably won’t write have to do with self-harm and suicidal tendencies/attempts by Steve, so I’ll put that under the cut line.

Suicidal tendencies

I do have a general headcanon that Steve was suicidal back in the 30s-40s. I imagine it was soon after his Ma died. Steve would have grown up being told he was a burden from one source or another, and he probably felt guilty that he wasn’t able to get his mother more care during her illness.

I can see him getting very depressed and listless after her death, especially if he is in-between jobs, and can’t seem to get another one. I headcanon he lived with Bucky, and Bucky would be working to try to pay the rent, and Steve would start to think it would just be better if he weren’t there taken up money and resources.

I think it would take some time before Steve actually decides that he should kill himself, but the idea would slowly grow more and more intrusive. Eventually he would convince himself that everybody would be better off if he were dead. (Especially since, with his illnesses, he has probably been told he is going to die young anyways. Might as well get is over with.)

For this, I headcanon that he planned to jump off the Brooklyn bridge. I’ve looked at pictures, and heard stories, so I think it is possible for him to do that. On the day that he planned it, he waited for Bucky to go to work, and then he put away all his things in the apartment, and wrote a note for Bucky to leave on the table. In the note, he mentions where his body will probably be found.

He goes out, and first stops by Mrs. Barnes to say goodbye to her (although she doesn’t know that.) It starts raining as he begins walking down to the Brooklyn bridge. I don’t know how far it would be from where he lived, but he wouldn’t really be concerned about the distance.

Meanwhile, Bucky happens to come home early. At first he is confused by Steve not being home, but then he sees the note on the table, and reads it with growing horror. Since Steve mentioned where he was going, Bucky dashes out of the house, hoping against hope that he isn’t too late.

It is pouring rain by now, and there is almost nobody on the bridge because of the weather. Steve is right by the railing when Bucky gets there, and he’s kind of out of it since he isn’t in a good place right now. Bucky ends up tackling him and Steve is shocked to see him.

Bucky is, of course, terrified and angry, and he yells at Steve because he is so scared. Steve just breaks down and they eventually make it home. I don’t think suicide was really talked about a lot back then, so neither of them would really know what to do, and it would probably sit between them like an elephant in the room for a while.

Eventually the tension would snap and Steve would probably yell about why he is better off dead, and Bucky would yell back how wrong he is about that. I can imagine Steve saying something like “You know I’ll be dead by thirty anyways. You know what the doctor says.”

And then Bucky grabs his shoulders desperately and just goes. “No! No. They keep sayin’ that, and you always prove them wrong. Who cares what they say? You gotta prove ‘em wrong. You’re going to live till your one hundred, ya hear? Promise me.”

And then Steve would stare wide-eyed at him, and stutter out a promise.

Steve wouldn’t try to kill himself again in the 40s, but that promise would become important after he wakes up from the ice.

When Steve wakes up in the ice, I imagine his depression hit even worse, and it was even harder for him to resist his intrusive, suicidal thoughts. And, when he wakes up from the ice, he is technically 94 years old. So he resigns himself to leaving six more years. He decides he can live six more years before he kills himself. He doesn’t know if he ages anyways, and the thought of living like this forever is horrifying, but he can do six years. He can keep his promise to Bucky and last six more years.

Of course, intrusive thoughts are very hard to resist, so I imagine Steve got close to making another attempt in the two years after he woke up, but he was either interrupted or managed to talk himself down.

And then, eventually he finds Bucky again, and that focus helps push away the thoughts for the time being.

I always imagine though, that while in Wakanda, Bucky remembers Steve trying to kill himself when they were younger, and he confronts Steve about it. That is when they are finally able to have an open conversation about what Steve felt, and what Bucky felt, and where each of them are mentally now.

Self-harm

This was a fic that I actually planned to write. I have a WIP that was going to introduce this eventually.

The idea was that after Steve woke up from the ice, he slowly began to self-harm to deal with all his anxious, repressed emotions. It would start out small—digging his nails into his fists, and arms to try to focus/calm down etc—before eventually it would evolve to cutting.

Steve is very careful to hide it, and his super healing helps. I headcanoned that he used a pocketknife that Bucky gave him during the war (one of the only things of his that he has, besides his compass). He always keeps it on him, and he develops a sort of anxious tick were he unconsciously brushes his hand over his pocket when he is feeling stressed, just to reassure himself that the knife is there if he needs it.

He knows that self-harm isn’t healthy, but he avoids thinking about it. He justifies the fact that he heals quickly, and doesn’t scar. It hardly matters, right?

I usually headcanon that Sam finds out about the self-harm while they are tracking down Bucky. Once Sam finds out, Steve does try to work on quitting, but it is a two steps forward, one step back process for him. He starts carrying around elastic bands in his gear belt so that he can use those when he has an urge.

Usually I don’t have any of the other Avengers find out—although Steve might tell Bucky once they get to Wakanda. Once Infinity War came out, I headcanoned that Steve really wanted to keep from self-harming after Sam and Bucky died, because he knew they would want him to, so he asked Natasha to hang onto his knife for him. She didn’t know why he asked that, but she could tell it was important.

When I first thought about writing this story, it appealed to me because I wanted to write a self-harm story that should the slow progression Steve’s self-harm took.

The main reason I don’t think I will write this story anymore is because it will probably be depressing for a long time. In order to do the slow-burn right, we’d have to follow Steve’s headspace for a while, so it would be a long time before he got any help. I still like this idea, but I probably won’t write it.

I hope you enjoyed those fic ideas! Hopefully it wasn’t too depressing. If you want to chat with me more about this ideas, feel free!

Headcanon masterpost

[ltleflrt]

Ltleflrt’s Writing Year In Review

I say this every year, but I wish I’d written more lol.  On the other hand, I thought I was probably done writing Destiel early in the year and thought I’d go into writing hibernation until a new fandom or pairing poked my muse in the ass with a sharp stick, BUT I ended up writing a whole ‘nother goddamn 100k+ fic!  So I’m thrilled af about that XD

Total 2020 Word Count: 164,013 Estimated 2020 Kudos: 1,846 Estimated 2020 Hits: 32,193

My 2020 Fics:

Hunter’s Caress: 161,095 (18,866 written in 2020)

Castiel Jameson won’t rest until the outlaw who murdered his brother faces justice, and Dean Winchester is the only man alive who can help him track the villain down. Some say Winchester is a cold-blooded killer himself; others say he’d been wronged his whole life. All Castiel knows is that the desire glinting in Dean’s green eyes is even more dangerous than he is. Castiel fights to keep his mind on business, but during the long nights on the trail with the dangerously handsome hunter he finds himself dreaming of yielding to Dean’s illicit kisses and losing himself in lawless passion.

Dean Winchester is about to hang when Castiel saves his neck with his crazy plan. But dying might be better than spending day and night playing nursemaid to such an infuriating city slicker. He appreciates the stubborn detective’s desire for justice, but he’d appreciate Cas a lot more if he’d stop being a lawman long enough to just be a man. He certainly has all the right equipment. Dean aches to run his fingers through Castiel’s dark hair, yearns to know how Castiel’s golden skin will feel against him. And before the coming of the next dawn, Dean vows to teach him the pleasures and sweet rewards of a Hunter’s Caress.

Most of this was written in 2019, which is why my Kudos and Hits are estimated, since a lot of that came from Hunter’s Caress. 

I learned so much from this project.  It’s based on a favorite book that I read for the first time when I was 11 years old, and have re-read probably twenty times since then.  Since I had the book open for reference most of the time I was working on this story, I got to compare my writing to a professional.  And y’all know what I think?  I’m kinda better at this than they are?  Not on the story creation front, because I consider Desperado’s Caress one of the best romance adventures I’ve ever read, but on the technical side of things.  Looking at the book with the eyes of a writer, with a little bit of editing experience under my belt now too, I’m just like... this is kind of a mess?  It was actually quite a boost to my ego lol

The Thing About Heaven Is...: 2,363 words

The thing about Heaven is that even though Dean has been here before, this time he’s taking the time to enjoy the experience, and things are a lot different than he expected.

I put a note on this fic that I didn’t hate the SPN Finale, even though I didn’t love it either, but I was being generous because sometimes I’ll remember what we got and I’m filled with rage.  I wake up in the middle of the night and think of all the ways it could have been better, and lose hours of sleep.  I spend far too much time yelling at Jared in my head for talking it up, and also at the imaginary C*W that lives in my head that gets to hear me ranting about how they fucked up so bad at least once a day. 

When I say that I didn’t hate the ending, what I really mean is that Dean going to Heaven first while Sam spends time back on Earth was kinda what I was expecting, so those 2 events are not bad in themselves, but the execution and the lack of Castiel on screen completely ruined it for me.

But that’s what fix it fic is for, right?  I decided to set my fix it fic post 15x20, because I know more invested and skilled writers who enjoy writing canonverse are going to give us hundreds of post 15x18 goodness, so I’ll let them do that while I work with what we got.  This was what gave me catharsis, and even though I’m never going to watch that train wreck of an episode ever again (seriously, I want to rage scream that the last “good” episode was by Bucklemming), I feel like I can come back to this fic again someday and feel some peace when I read it.

Man in the Wilderness: 142,784

As a veteran, Dean has survived more than most people could handle without going completely cuckoo. And he hasn't exactly escaped being a little messed up himself. So he's returned home to the tiny town he grew up in, retreating from a world that has become too much. But when you know everyone in town, the dating pool is shallow and it can be a little bit lonely, even when surrounded by friends and family who love him. And then a drifter on a motorcycle rolls into town, and Dean thinks just maybe this might be the man he's been waiting for.

While wandering the country in an attempt to escape his problems, Castiel's motorcycle breaks down in a small desert town. He's helplessly drawn to Dean, the town's handsome mechanic, and the feeling appears to be mutual. After months of aimless traveling, he thinks he may have finally found his way out of the wilderness.

Technically as of today this is still a WIP on AO3, but I finished the last chapter a few hours ago, so I’m counting the words in my WIP folder too lol

This was a surprise!  It’s a SPN/Destiel rewrite of my Mass Effect/mShenko fic Feels Like Home, which is the first story I ever wrote that made me feel like a popular writer.  Early this year I was brainstorming ideas for a fic where Castiel was the mechanic instead of Dean, and I jokingly said to @jupiterjames that I should do Feels Like Home, with Castiel as the mechanic.  She was enthusiastic about it, but I just laughed it off at first because what a silly idea.  Then I started poking at it.  Like a bruise.  Couldn’t stop.

Obviously I dropped the Mechanic!Cas angle, because it didn’t feel right for the story.  But as soon as I thought y’know, what if it was Mechanic!Dean and Drifter!Cas my muse came roaring awake screaming DO IT DO IT DO IT.

So I did.  And it was even more of a learning experience than writing Hunter’s Caress!  Because now I’m seeing my older writing (7 years holy shit!!), and I’m seeing all the ways I’ve improved over the better part of a decade, and finding even more ways to improve as I go through the rewrite. 

For a couple years now, I’ve felt kind of stagnant in my writing.  I have felt like I lost My Voice, and I was struggling to figure out what was wrong.  Was I just bored?  Yes, probably.  But also, I think I needed to look back at some of my older works that I fucking loved and thought couldn’t be improved...and improve them. 

Just Keep Writing You’ll Get There is good advice.  But it wasn’t working for me, because I’ve written 1-2 novels a year since I started writing fic in 2012, so it’s not like I was just staring at my screen and not putting any words on it while I angsted.  Read And Rewrite Your Old Shit was the next step in my evolution.  I highly recommend it if you’re also feeling stagnant and stuck XD

I’m also super amused, because Feels Like Home was 112k, and at the time it was the longest thing I’d ever written.  On accident.  Like I do.  It was supposed to be for an 8k mini-bang, and I had to drop out because obviously it got away from me and I wasn’t going to make the deadline.  As I was doing the Destiel rewrite, I had to keep cutting scenes and characters out that were specific to Mass Effect, and I speculated that the new fic would be shorter than the original. Ha.  Hahaha.  HahahahahaHAHAHAHAKDJHFADKJHF... fuck I am a wordy bitch.

[deja-vux]

Bandoleros- Ch.4

Mingi x Reader x Yukhei StreetRacing/MafiaAU! Theme: Restless-Evil Nine, Toastie Taylor Fire, Good Life-G-Eazy, Kehlani, On Fire-Sam Smith Word Count: 2,526 A/N: What did i tell ya’ll two in one day. This chapter is a little bit more slow paced then the others but i threw some fluff and drama in to make up for it. Don’t be shy to drop some feedback you can even drop it in my inbox or message me. Enjoy :) Ch 3 / Ch 4 / Ch 5

~Mingi’s POV~

          I woke up early in the morning to the sound of my phone ringing. I groan rubbing my eyes as I answer, “Hello?”

“Agent Song how soon can you come in today. It's important. We think Bantol’s gang has struck again.

         Those words have me sitting straight up slipping my shoes on getting up from Seonghwa’s couch and grabbing my keys as I tell the director that I'm on my way hanging up. Just as I'm about to walk out the door I hear footsteps behind me as a voice speak, “ Leaving already what's got you in a rush,” it was Seonghwa coming from his room.

“I gotta look for a new job if I plan on staying in town. The sooner I find one the faster I get off of your couch and stop being a pest,” I joke trying to not raise suspicions.

“Don't worry about that take your time you can stay as long as you need. Mi casa tu casa but good luck,” he said groggily as he slumped into the kitchen to probably make himself some breakfast.

        With that, I say my goodbyes heading out the door and into my car driving to the station to gear up. I pull into the station employee parking lot and step out after cutting the engine running into the station locker room finding my temporary locker and changing from my white tee and jeans into my uniform. After I finished putting on my bulletproof vest and gear belt I met up with the others in the briefing room where the Director orders us to load up into the van where he’ll be briefing us. Me and 5 others load up into the van 2 sitting on each side in the back while the other 2 take the driver and passenger seat. Once Director Reeves steps into the van closing the doors geared up just like the rest of us the van pulled out driving down the road to the scene of the crime. he stabilized himself in the center of the van leaning between the driver and passenger seat and pressing his hand against the roof of the vehicle to maintain balance before spoke, “I want you guys to be on your toes today men we might just get our lead today.”

“Is that why your call was so urgent what happened?” a coworker of mines spoke up.

“Last night between the hours of 12 am and 4 am a shipment of drugs from Mexico were being snuck into the states for distribution when the transportation was ambushed causing them to lose the entire inventory,” the director explained

“Let me guess same skilled drivers in blacked-out illegally modified Civics with the same Sumitomo tire skid marks just like the guys were trying to catch,” I interrupted.

“Yup except for this time I'm guessing they were caught because although their heist usually would have gone under our radar for a couple of weeks the mess they left behind is what tipped us off. Unfortunately because of this we also have local PD breathing down our necks as the news outlets have already gotten a hold of the story and are broadcasting it as we speak.”

“What's the damage?” I asked raising an eyebrow as I noticed the local coroner’s cars parked in the closed-off area.

“Five totaled black SUVs each with three to five men in each all being fatalities caused by a mix of physical trauma and third-degree burns and that's not including the crisped transportation truck and its driver who were blown up by a special midrange explosive. There was one victim who managed to crawl away but he died on the way to the hospital the cause looking to be internal and external bleeding caused by the glass shard that was found near his body. We have yet to identify the victims but we do know that they were Galindo’s men as the man who managed to crawl out had the family crest tattooed on his wrist so we have reason to believe this was Bantol’s doing. I know you've only been undercover a day but do you have any updates that might help us, Agent Song”

“ Depending on when it took place it could have been Wong or it couldn’t have. He did disappear last night with Johnny but he wasn’t gone for more than 2 hours there’s no way he could have gotten the job that fast.  They'd have to have had someone set it up for them,” I spoke as I tried to imagine all the possible outlines.

“Well then you’re gonna have to do some more research we’re counting on you,” he stated as we parked the two in front stepping out to open the back doors.

“I won’t let you down sir”

“Ok men move out I want as much evidence as we can get”

~ Y/N’s POV~

           I took advantage of my day off and sleeping in till about 10 am. I woke up and changed into a simple pair of baggy ripped jeans and a black long sleeve putting my mom’s necklace on along with the chain holding her and my father's wedding rings. I slipped on a pair of vans and tied my hair up in a messy ponytail before heading downstairs to meet up with my grandma for breakfast. I helped her set the table as she finished cooking eventually sitting with her at the table and eating. After a few bites of food, she  spoke, “ What are you doing today Mija?”

“I'm off today so I'm gonna meet up with Lucas after he’s done with work today and we're gonna spend the day together,” I responded in a half-truth.

“How is Lucas I haven't seen him in a while how is he?”

“Oh you know busy at Harry’s shop as always they’ve been getting a lot of work lately so he's been working till late into the night lately”

“That's good but he shouldn't overwork himself either he needs to take care of himself,” she said with worry.

          At that moment the current story on the news pulled our attention away from the conversation as they spoke of a car heist that had taken place on PCH last night. They showed pictures of the damage as coroners loaded the bodies into their vehicles. The wreck looked like one you'd see in movies or hear in stories with cars totaled the road full of skid marks and burn marks. If that didn't inform you on how brutal the crash was the headline in bold stating,”15+ dead in a violent drug heist,” definitely did. My grandma simply shook her head as the rest of the details were given. She spoke about how it had been a while since she had seen something like that around here and that it seemed as if history was looking to repeat itself but she was praying it wouldn't. That last part made me curious asking her why but she brushed it off telling me some things were better left unsaid. After breakfast, I helped clean up before grabbing my jacket and keys heading out to meet Lucas. On the way I stopped by the diner to get the both of us some lunch for later I sat at one of the empty stools as Gia walked out from the back with the utensils as she began setting up waiting for them to open. Although she protested I helped her out of habit as she started to wrap them in napkins.

“Let me guess you're here on your day off to get food for you and your little boyfriend,” she spoke up even a year later although our friendship kept going strong she still wasn't a fan of Lucas.

“Yes as a matter of fact I am. Why do you still hate him when he’s been nothing but kind to you?” I asked referring to the multiple times they met in person.

“I just don't trust him ok but he makes you happy so I won't say anything”

“What would get you to trust him”

“ Y/N just don't worry about it okay. If he makes you happy then I'm happy that's all that matters ok,” she said taking the newly packed napkin of utensils from my hand setting it into the tray with the others.

     I sighed in defeat as Hal brought out my order sending me off. I said my goodbyes before heading down to Harry’s auto shop. I soon park outside of the shop grabbing the bag of food and walking in quietly as not to disturb anyone. As I made my way down the row of garages Harry noticed me and smiled before quietly pointing over to the silver accord Lucas was working. I thanked him and started making my way over as I approached him he pulled out from under the car wiping the oil on his hands on a rag before noticing me. He immediately sat up smiling and greeting me before getting and hugging me picking me up. I squeal wrapping my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist out of habit, “Hey there cutie what are you doing here so early? I'm not off for a while.”

“I'm bringing you lunch that's what I'm doing,” I said holding up the bag of food.

He smiled giving me a quick kiss before speaking again,” and here I thought the meal was right in front of me,” he teased.

“Lucas!” I gasped playfully hitting his chest, “You're at work”

“And your point is?” he laughed setting me down carefully.

“ I swear you're gonna be the death of me,” I joked

        He took the bag from me setting it on the nearby table before pulling a stool for me to sit on while he finished up his work as we talked about our plans for the week. Eventually getting bored I got up to help him. Johnny came over asking to talk to Lucas. The two of them walking away to talk while I stayed behind. Right after he left his phone rang I called for him but he didn't respond or make his way back. It rang for a while before stopping, curiosity getting the best of me caused to get his phone and listen to the voicemail left behind a woman’s voice spoke, “Lucas your presence is needed today to discuss important updates to the plan we’ll send you information to the meetup location. We expect everyone to be there at 8 pm sharp. Have a good day and call us back if there are any complications.” With that, the message ended and his phone dinged signaling he got a text. I dragged my finger down from the top of the screen taking a picture of the address without fully opening the message leaving the notification intact. After making sure I had it I quickly put his phone back to the home screen turning it off and putting it back where I found it making sure it looked like no one had touched it turning my attention back to the car as my mind ran at a hundred miles per minute wondering who called him and who they meant by everyone as Lucas came back with Johnny,” Hey babe did you call me?”

“Yeah your phone was ringing but it went to voicemail,” I stated calmly.

      He walked over to his phone looking at the number and listening to the voicemail quietly before setting his phone down walking back to me wrapping his arms around me as he stood behind me, “After work, I'm all yours today I just have to do something with Johnny at 8 but it shouldn't take more than 15 minutes”

“Oh yeah, what is it” I hummed out focusing on my task.

“Someone owes him a car and we're gonna go pick it up. Maybe I could grab some dinner for us on the way back since you bought lunch how does that sound,” he said placing a kiss on my shoulder.

“Sounds like a plan”

“ Awesome anything you've been craving lately”

"Well...I could go for Chinese food"

"Chinese it is."

"By the way the amount of time I've been working on this car I think I should take the payment slacker," I teased turning to face him.

"Hey no one asked you to work for free," he joked

             I let him finish his work before he clocked out going to wash his hands before coming back and taking the bag of food in one hand and my hand in the other. We walked to our cars and drove to his house dropping off my car at his place before getting in his to go to a nearby park. We walked down past the playground and bustling families towards the back where the field was empty besides a few trees spread out here and there. We took a seat under one of the trees setting a blanket down before setting the food down. As we sat down cuddled up leaning against the tree eating our lunch we talked cracked jokes and Lucas told me the story of how Johnny accidentally messed up a job on a car earlier that day because he was so tired of having to start all over again. Even after finishing our food, we stayed there for a couple of hours either talking or enjoying the silence and peace. As he sat with my head in his lap while he played with my hair while the other hand held his lit cigarette I couldn't help but let my mind wander to the voicemail that he got and if it had anything to do with the weird things he's been doing lately especially with him disappearing at the strangest times every time he got an unexpecting phone from "Harry". It made me question how many of those calls had been real and if he was lying about where he was going what else was he lying about. Gia's words from earlier beginning to haunt me. All of a sudden I'm pulled away from my sinking thoughts when I hear Lucas speak looking up to see him putting out his cigarette that he had just finished, "Is everything ok babe, you look upset."

"Yeah, there's just a lot going through my mind right now," I respond not wanting him to worry any further.

"You know you can talk to me about anything right?" he said moving a stray piece of hair from my face.

"Yeah, I know it's nothing too important I promise. If anything becomes too much to handle I promise I'll come to you for help I promise."

            He nodded softly before telling me he loved me and I said it back before he kissed me but yet again doubt crept in once more and couldn't help but wonder if every time he said that he was lying too. If there was one thing I knew it was that I was going to find out what was going on and I was gonna find out tonight.

[ceealaina]

Out in the Cold

Title: Out in the Cold Author: ceealaina Rating: T Square Filled: G3 [Snowman] - @winterironbingo​ Y2 [Butts, Biceps, and Barnes] - @buckybarnesbingo​ Pairing: WinterIron Summary: Avengers press events are one of the worst parts of the whole superhero gig. But getting paired with Barnes (the man he just happens to have an unrepentant crush on) for an afternoon of snowman building? Tony’s had worse days. Link: AO3

Tony drew in a deep breath, preparing himself as best he could before the elevator doors opened and he was met with the rest of the team, looking up at him with hopeful, expectant faces.

“Sorry guys,” he told them, watching their faces fall one by one. “It’s a no go. We’re roped into this one, no excuses.” 

“Aww, come on,” Clint protested, slumping back into the couch cushions and pouting as he folded his arms across his chest. “But I don’t wanna.” 

Nat smacked the back of his head. 

Steve was the first to rally, because of course he was. “Come on, team. This is important. Like it or not, public relations is an important part of what we do.”

It might have been more believable if he wasn’t wincing like the words caused him physical pain. Beside him, Bucky rolled his eyes so hard it looked physically painful. Tony felt his lips twitch as he fought back a laugh, but of course Bucky noticed, giving him a wink that made heat flare low in his belly. The crush he had on Barnes was really getting ridiculous. 

“But it’s a freaking snowman building contest,” Clint whined. “What is this, the Christmas fun fair? We’re superheroes!” 

As per usual, everyone ignored him, reluctantly accepting that they weren’t getting out of this particular PR event and breaking up to do whatever it was that superheroes did on a Tuesday afternoon. For Tony, that meant brewing a fresh pot of coffee. He was leaning over the counter, inhaling the smell (it had been a very long morning) when he suddenly realized that Bucky was beside him, leaning back against the counter and looking down at him. Tony managed to keep himself from jumping, instead slowly raising his eyes to meet Bucky’s and waiting. 

“So.” Bucky gave him a grin, nudging him with a shiny metal elbow. “Wanna be partners?” 

Tony arched an eyebrow at him, straightening up again. “Partners?” 

“For the snowman building thing. We’re supposed to pair up, right? I’m calling dibs.”

Tony fought back the pleased looking grin that threatened to split across his face. “Moi?” he said instead, fluttering his eyelashes ridiculously until Bucky snorted and gave him a gentle shove. “Kinda figured you’d be pairing up with our fearless leader there, Buckaroo.”

Bucky looked so incredulous that Tony found himself fighting back a laugh. “ Stevie ?” he asked. “Nuh-uh, no way. I know how ridiculous that idiot gets over ‘art.’”

“Snowman building is an art now?” 

“It will be to him. He’ll get all particular and bossy... Nope, Sam can have ‘im.” 

“Oh well, in that case.” Tony held out his hand, beaming when Bucky grabbed it and gave it a firm shake. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Snowflake. Let’s win this thing.” 

***

The day of the competition dawned bright and clear. It hadn’t snowed in three weeks, but they’d brought in a snow machine special for the occasion. It was being held on the compound, giving the public a chance to see first-hand the private lives of their favourite superheroes, or some other public relations nonsense that had them all cringing a little. Ticket holders would get a tour of the more public areas of the compound before watching the snowman building competition and then there would be hot chocolate, cookies, and mingling inside. All the ticket money was going to charity, which explained away the sky high prices -- and, unfortunately, also explained away the number of rich, society-climbers who were attending. 

Tony, however, with the help of Friday and some carefully crafted aliases, had managed to buy about half the tickets himself, giving them away to underprivileged kids from the city, with free transportation included. It made them all feel a bit better about how weirdly invasive the whole thing seemed. 

Spectators had started arriving hours before it was due to start, and by the time they all trooped outside for the actual competition, they were wound up and cheering. 

“Oh boy,” Tony muttered, quiet enough that only Bucky would hear as he put on his brightest press smile and waved with mitten-clad hands. “No pressure or anything.” 

Bucky grinned and, when they’d turned out of view of everyone, winked. “Come on, Stark. We’ve totally got this.”

Tony grinned up at him. “Fuck yeah.” 

***

One hundred and fourteen minutes later, he wasn’t so sure. They should have had it in the bag. Three entries down from them, Wanda and Vision were making a fucking ice sculpture, which, what the fuck? Whatever, they’d lose on a technicality -- it was a snowman competition, not an ice man competition, thank you very much. Nat and Peter had given up about ten minutes in, and Nat had spent the entire time showing Peter her favourite moves on the lopsided snow block that they’d created. Clint had ended up pairing with Bruce, who had bowed out at the last minute due to rage issues (they all knew he was faking it). Clint had built the most cursory snowman ever and then wandered off in search of a warm drink and hadn’t come back. 

The problem was that Tony kept getting distracted. Barnes’ pants seemed extra tight today, or maybe it was just the cut of his new ski jacket, but either way his ass looked phenomenal today. On more than one occasion, Tony had had to shake himself out of a temporary, butt-induced stupor. And, like most super soldiers, Bucky had a tendency to run hot. Hot enough that at some point he’d stripped out said ski jacket, leaving him in that tightly fitted red Henley that featured in many of Tony’s favourite fantasies, biceps bulging as he lifted heavy mounds of snow. 

Not that ogling Barnes’ butts and biceps (and thighs, and back, and face…) was a bad way to spend an afternoon necessarily. But while Tony had been distracted, Team WinterIron’s (Bucky’s idea, but Tony had to admit the name was growing on him) snowman had come out looking kind of… aggressive. He had a frown, with angry eyebrows, and Tony was pretty sure that Bucky was putting the finishing touches on a gun belt around the snowman’s waist. It looked especially bad next to the all-American Christmas scene that Sam and Steve had built beside them, complete with a bald eagle, because Sam thought he was hilarious. (He kind of was, but Bucky wouldn’t let Tony give Sam the satisfaction of knowing that.) 

Tony frowned at their entry speculatively, trying to figure out if there was anything else they could do in the six -- no, five minutes remaining. “It looks like it could kill someone,” Tony announced, poking at it haphazardly. 

Bucky shrugged, offering him a grin over the top of the snow-ssassin’s head. “That’s kinda what I like about ‘im.” 

“No!” Steve wailed behind them. “That line has to be at 45 degrees, Sam. Fourty. Five! Not fourty six!” 

Tony caught Bucky’s eye and the two of them burst out laughing. 

***

They lost, because of course they did, but it was hard to feel too bad about it. They’d had a great afternoon, laughing and throwing snow at each other, and Tony at least had all but forgotten about the adoring public watching their every move. Sam, on the other hand, looked ready to punch Steve’s teeth in, and had spent the afterparty thus far studiously avoiding the other man. Tony would take Team WinterIron’s second place standing in a heartbeat. 

The party was, at least, going better than Tony had expected. They’d been able to avoid the most annoying of the donors by hanging out with the kids the whole time -- nobody could really call them out on it unless they were an irredeemable asshole, and while there were one or two of those present, a stern lecture from Captain America on the reason they were all really there had been enough to deter them from making a fuss. There were Christmas trees and lights decorating the area, and Pepper was an absolute angel who’d managed to arrange for a Santa Claus to come and give out gifts to all the kids. Even Clint had warmed up to the event, and they all seemed to be actually having a good time. 

Tony had slipped away for a breather and was standing half hidden behind a Christmas tree, sipping on warmed apple cider, when he felt someone looming up behind him. Lips curling up in a smirk, he glanced back at Bucky. 

“You’ve gotta stop sneaking up on me there, Bucky Bear.” 

Bucky grinned back at him. “But where would the fun be in that?” 

Tony rolled his eyes. “So, did you get a chance to see Santa? Tell him what you want for Christmas?”

“Well…”

There was an odd tone to his voice, and Tony glanced at him to find… was he blushing ? He blinked at Bucky, who bit his lower lip and seemed to steel himself. 

“All I want for Christmas is you.” 

Tony stared at him a minute, and then he started to laugh, pleased and delighted. “Are you…Is this a joke?” 

Bucky shrugged, looking shy but hopeful. “Delivery, maybe,” he admitted with a crooked grin, voice a little hoarse. “But not the sentiment behind it.”

Tony beamed at him and then, after a quick look to make sure nobody was watching them, he darted forward to plant a quick kiss on Bucky’s lips. 

At least, it was meant to be a quick kiss. Bucky’s hands came up faster than he’d expected, gripping his waist and pulling him in close, deepening the kiss. They were both breathing a bit harder when they pulled away. 

“Yeah,” Tony admitted, having to clear his throat when his voice came out a little more high-pitched and giddy than he’d intended. “Yeah, that sounds like a good Christmas gift to me.” 

Bucky positively beamed at him, giving him another quick kiss, a little more needy this time. Tony hummed softly, and was just wondering how long they’d have to stick around before they could reasonably slip away, when another thought occurred to him. 

“Wait, aren’t you Jewish?” 

Bucky just shook his head and laughed. “Shut up, Stark.” 

[impala-dreamer]

Take

SPN FanFic

~Jared and Misha deal with the aftermath of their drunken night.~

Jared x Misha, Jensen

2,535 Words

Warnings: NSFW. Sex and Angst.

A/N: This directly follows GIVE and will stand for my final @spnkinkbingo​ square "Rimming". Hope you enjoy! And yeah, there will be part three ;)

2019 Kink Bingo Masterlist ~ Feedback is Gold ~ My Masterlist ~ Become A Patreon

“Sam, I really don’t think it’s possible to simply walk into the warehouse. Not with that many demons on guard.”

Castiel turned in his seat, pivoting slightly to look at Sam. The man’s fingers were tight on the wheel, knuckles blanched and aching; a stray line of dried crimson decorating his wrist where Dean’s blood had sprayed onto him.

Sam kept his eyes on the road, narrowed and angry. “Damn it, Cas,” he sneered; lights from a passing truck illuminating his worried brow. He gripped the wheel tighter. “We’re getting in there. We’re getting Jack out.”

“Cut!” Jensen’s voice filled the soundstage and all movement ceased. There was a pause and then a small din of voices rang through the empty.

“There was a small sound issue,” Jensen explained, leaning an arm on the driver’s side door of the Impala. He leaned in, bill of his ball cap hitting the roof. He slapped Jared on the chest playfully and grinned. “Guys are doing great. Keep it up.” He winked at Misha and then was gone, running back to deal with his sound crew.

Jared let out a heavy sigh and leaned back a bit, sinking down so he could rest his head on the back of the seat.

Misha sat still, watching as Jared continued to ignore him.

All day it had been like this; working together was fine once that camera rolled, but everytime they stopped, Misha’s heart began to race. He was visibly panicked, even to the point of one of the PAs coming to ask if he felt alright. But Jared; Jared showed no signs of being off at all. He showed up, stood at his marks, said his lines, and that was that. He barely even looked at Misha, but he certainly didn’t act like anything was amiss.

The fact that Jared seemed fine made Misha worry even more. Did he remember the night before? Was it not good? Did he do something wrong? His head buzzed with questions but none slipped passed his lips.

Finally, Misha took the leap. “So, last night was…” His throat tightened and he swallowed hard.

Jared shifted in his seat, popping his eyes open as if Misha disturbed his nap. “Yeah.” His voice was thin and dry, just agreeing with a fact.

“I’m sorry about the call,” Misha went on, finding a bit of relief in Jared at least answering him. “I wanted to... hang out more with you, obviously, but-”

Jared cleared his throat. “Don’t worry about it.”

“No, it’s just... Jensen... you know how he gets when he’s directing,” Misha pushed, trying to apologize but fumbling. “He gets so agitated and stressed...he...he needed me.”

Jared huffed and crossed his arms, leaning back in the seat again. “I said don’t worry about it. We’re cool.”

Misha’s patience was gone. “Really?” he snapped, “because you haven’t looked at me all day.”

Jaw clenched and eyes empty, Jared sat up and turned his head towards Misha. “I’m looking at you,” he said stiffly, one eyebrow slightly raised in annoyance.  

Misha’s stomach churned and he looked away. “OK then.” He could feel Jared’s eyes still on him, carving a deep trench into his cheekbones, burning holes in his temple. “I just wanted...us to be OK…” He didn’t turn his eyes back to Jared’s, simply held his breath for an answer that never came.

Jensen nearly gave him a heart attack, rushing up to his window, headphones slung around his neck, ballcap turned, green tee a rumpled mess. “OK, hear me out,” he said, firm directing tone locked in. “We’re gonna try this one more time, except I want…”

There hadn’t been another opportunity to talk. Any time they paused or changed scenes, Jensen pulled Misha along with him, keeping him by his side. It wasn’t anything unusual, but Misha’s mind was elsewhere. It was back in Baby with Jared, back in that awkward moment when Misha had exploded and Jared sneered. He was near to shaking with worry again, and nothing short of talking face to face with Jared would stop it.

Luckily, they broke for lunch a bit early. Double lucky, Jensen got pulled away by Bob to look over a stunt for that afternoon.

Misha, still in costume, trekked to the back lot and rapped his knuckles on Jared’s trailer door. He was determined to talk, unwilling to be shoved off, ready to defy Jared’s nonchalance and resolve their friendship. Nothing could stop him.

Jared’s face when he opened the door stopped Misha’s breath. He chewed his lip and looked down, hazel eyes squinting in the sunlight, hair still sprayed into place but shining so brightly. Misha gasped as he looked up.

The silence was ridiculous.

Jared refused to speak, pushing the door fully open before disappearing up the stairs. Misha managed to grab the door before it swung shut, quickly hopping up the stairs and letting the door close behind him.

He stood in the living area, just a step behind Jared, his eyes to the floor as he made his confession. “Listen, I’m really sorry,” he said softly, voice dropping to a hard whisper. “About last night and everything, but… if you’re mad at me, I get it, but-”

His words and wind were cut off as Jared lunged at him, grabbing his face between those giant hands once more and kissing him hard. Misha stumbled backwards as Jared’s tongue slipped inside his mouth, moaning in shock, eyes wide and full.

Jared let him go only to breathe, hands still holding his face tightly. “I...I can’t stop thinking about doing that. All fucking day.”

Misha faltered, his knees weakening as Jared held him there, entraced by pink lips and a sultry confession. “Fuck…”

A smirk lit Jared’s lips and his eyes fell downwards, traipsing over Misha’s body. “Can we?” he asked in a heavy breath. His hands finally moved from Misha’s cheeks, the left curling around the nape of his neck, fingertips dancing through his soft black hair. “I mean…” His right hand sank down between them, turning at Misha’s stomach and reaching to cup his cock. He rubbed his palm over him gently, leaning in with wet lips for a second kiss.

“Holy fuck…” Misha’s eyes rolled as Jared touched him, his dick filling with the blood that drained from his face. “Jared...I…”

Another kiss made him moan and Jared watched Misha’s face fall limp with lust. “Shh.” He licked at Misha’s thick lips, distracting him as he took a step, walking him backwards until Misha hit the wall.

“Oh fuck.” Misha sucked in a deep breath as Jared’s lips attacked his neck, sucking hard on his pulse, nipping and licking his way down. “Please.”

Jared bent at the knees, sinking down to press himself against Misha, running his hands upwards, slipping his fingers beneath his layers. A shrug of shoulders and a kiss later, Misha’s suit and coat were at their feet. Jared tugged at the tie, loosening it’s hold on Misha’s neck. He wanted to be there, to taste and kiss every place he could reach; the tie was just in the way.

“God, you feel so good,” Misha moaned as Jared pushed against him, full weight pinning him to the wall.

“So do you,” Jared hummed and tugged against Misha’s belt, determined to reach inside.

Hips lifted, fingers worked, the zipper fell.

“Fuck!”

Jared’s long fingers wrapped fully around Misha’s cock, slowly pumping until he was full and aching. “Be quiet,” he warned, covering Misha’s mouth with his huge palm for just a moment. He looked him dead in the eyes and smiled; a perfect devil in the dim room. “I want you.”

Misha could feel his breath pushing back at him, reflected off Jared’s big hand. He mumbled into Jared’s palm; a prayer, a plea, a note of consent.  

“Want you,” he mimicked, gasping for air as Jared moved his hand, tugging at his shirt, nearly ripping the buttons open.

“Get on the bed,” Jared growled, gathering up a handful of Misha’s shirt and spinning with him. “Now.” He shoved hard and Misha stumbled, awed and weak with lust, towards the bedroom in the back of the trailer.

Jared slammed the door shut behind him, making Misha jump and spin around, body shaking, cock hard and leaking.

“Hey.” Jared smiled gently, leaning back against the door. He nearly covered the entire portal, head to toe, long body on a slant; beautiful.

Nerves suddenly took over, synapses crashing like storm clouds through Misha’s head. He shifted from left to right, hands dangling at his sides, unsure of what to do, where to look. “Hi,” he replied finally, tongue and teeth taking turns to mal his bottom lip.

Jared pushed himself away from the door, rising to full height as he took a step closer. “Nervous?”

Misha swallowed down the fear, opting for logic, communication. “We don’t have to do this,” he said, trying to sound casual.

“I want to,” Jared told him honestly, creeping ever closer, long legs closing the space between them in two strides. “Don’t you?”

Misha hissed as Jared pulled him close, index fingers hooking into the elastic of his bright blue briefs. Their hips met with a forceful slam and Misha could feel just how much Jared was enjoying manhandling him.

"God, I want you so bad you have no idea." Misha's voice curled at the end, vocal chords tightening as Jared yanked the stretchy cotton from Misha's right hip.

"Good."

His growl was enough to send Misha reeling. His eyes unfocused as Jared yanked at his clothing, ripping away the layers piece by piece. His breath stopped and started, his heart jumping each time Jared’s hands brushed against a newly bare patch of skin. He watched Jared’s face as he worked; his gaze steady yet full of lust, focused on his task, wanting to see and feel every inch. It was maddening, exciting, terrifying, and Misha’s goofy smile was unbreakable.

“On the bed,” Jared whispered, giving Misha’s shoulders a shove. “Hands and knees. I want to see you.”

Shaking, Misha climbed onto Jared’s bed. His knees sunk into the pillowtop mattress, his palms were cradled by the plush blanket. A rush of cool air hit his ass as Jared neared the bed, quickly moving through the room towards his goal.

“Fucking perfect,” Jared murmured, eyes trailing over Misha’s toned body. His thighs were thick, muscles tight, calves perfectly sculpted, ass round and firm. “Jesus.”

Misha tried to say something, anything, to break apart the giant lump of anticipation that had settled in his throat, but it all came out in a heavy sigh as Jared’s long middle finger traced a line down Misha’s back. “Oh…” He sucked in a deep breath as Jared climbed onto the bed behind him, his weight causing Misha to fall backwards a bit as the bed sank. He bit his lip as Jared leaned over him, rough denim and soft flannel pressing into his skin. Waves of heat fell from Jared, pouring into Misha’s bones, filling every space inside of him. He moaned when Jared’s lips fluttered on the nape of his neck, gasped when his hot tongue slid down his spine, groaned as Jared kissed his way down the taut muscles and tanned skin.

“Fuck, Jared…”

Jared hummed in reply and shifted back on the bed, falling down as his kisses landed, wet and firm on Misha’s backside. He cupped each cheek in his big hands and spread them gently with his thumbs, smiling as Misha tensed.

“Relax.” Jared’s whisper fell, hot against Misha’s tight hole, followed by a press of lips that made his eyes roll back.

“Oh my god…”

“You like that?” Jared asked, pulling back just an inch.

Misha rocked backwards on his knees and nodded quickly. “Yes, fuck.”

A swipe of hot tongue made Misha shiver and hold his breath. He clenched his fists, fingers digging into the blankets as Jared ran the tip of his tongue around and around.

“Holy shit.” Misha cursed into the bed, burying his face in the mattress as Jared licked and kissed. When his tongue plunged into him, Misha froze, his entire body clenching as Jared slipped inside. “Fuck!”

Jared chuckled and pulled his tongue away, gently lapping at the sensitive flesh. “I love making you cuss.”

“Well, fuck you,” Misha teased, pushing back against Jared’s mouth and recieving a suctioning kiss in return. “Fuck!”

Pleased with Misha’s outburst, Jared doubled his efforts, adding his giant fist to the mix, reaching around to grip Misha’s thick cock. He pumped slowly, matching his pace, fucking in and out of Misha’s ass with his tongue as he jerked him off.

Misha’s vision blurred. The walls began to pulse and spin; his heart raced. “Please...fuck, please don’t stop…”

Jared drank down Misha’s begging, smiling to himself as he squeezed Misha’s cock. “Want you to feel like I felt last night,” he growled against him.

Misha’s arms began to buckle, unable to hold himself up much longer. His entire frame was shaking, consumed by pressure building in front and behind. “Fuck, I’m...I’m gonna cum.”

Jared hummed in approval and thrust his tongue deeper inside as he pumped his wrist faster. Grunting through a clenched jaw, Misha came, spilling out through the web of Jared’s fingers and leaking down onto the blanket. His arms gave out, crumbling beneath him, sending him face down onto the bed.

“Shit!” He rolled, stomach still twitching, chest heaving. He looked back at Jared, his cheeks pink, lips ruddy and wet, eyes dark with lust. “Come here.”

Jared was hard, pushing into Misha’s bare thigh as he fell down on top of him. Their kiss was brief, Misha breaking away to shift below Jared, reaching down to unzip his jeans.

“Need you...inside of me,” he begged, jaw slack, eyes rolling.

Jared kissed him hard and pushed upwards between Misha’s legs, rolling his hips upwards.

Banging on the trailer door stopped them both; the very air around them hanging in a dramatic pause.

“Mr. Padalecki! You’re needed on set in five.”

The PA knocked once more and then left, but the damage was done.

Still hard and rocking against Misha’s aching ass, Jared looked down and licked his lips, catching his breath. “Later?”

Misha panicked, suddenly remembering where they were and more importantly, who they were. “I...I don’t know,” he admitted with a cringe. “Jensen... he-”

Jared pulled away quickly, rolling and then jumping up from the bed. “Fine. Fine, that’s fine.” He turned away and adjusted his jeans, keeping his voice as even an as uncaring as possible. “Gen’s supposed to bring the kids up this weekend anyway. I should get the house ready. That’s fine. Whatever.”

Misha scooted to the end of the bed, reaching for his briefs. “Jared, don’t be upset, please.” He stood, pulling the cotton up with him. He reached for Jared’s elbow, trying to pull him back. “I want this,” he said honestly, “I do. I just...I have obligations.”

Jared shrugged his hand away and laughed bitterly. “Yeah.” He was at the door before his sarcasm fell from the air. “Don’t we all?”

2019 Forever Tags:

@akshi8278​ @amanda-teaches​ @arses21434​ @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce​ @because-imma-lady-assface​ @burningcoffeetimetravel​ @colagirl5​ @cosicas-cuquis​ @cosmicfire72​ @courtney-elizabeth-winchester​ @covered-byroses​ @crashdevlin​ @dean-winchesters-bacon​ @deansenwackles​ @deansgirl215​ @deanmonandnegansbitch​   @dolphincliffs​ @dubuforeveralone​ @emilyshurley​ @emoryhemsworth​ @ericaprice2008​ @eternal-elir​ @feelmyroarrrr​ @flamencodiva​ @focusonspn​ @gayspacenerd​ @hella-aj-the-trickers-son @herbologystudent252​ @hobby27​ @ilsawasanacrobat​ @justcallmeasmodeus​ @katymacsupernatural​ @lastactiontricia​ @maddiepants​ @mariekoukie6661​ @meganwinchester1999​ @missjenniferb​ @mrswhozeewhatsis​ @mysticmaxie​ @onethirstyunicorn​ @our-jensen-ackles-love​ @peridot-rose @pisces-cutie​ @risingphoenix761​ @roonyxx​ @roxyspearing​ @sandlee44​ @shadowkat-83​ @spnbaby-67​ @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester​ @spnficgirl​ @supernaturaldean67​ @supernatural-took-me-over​ @thehardcoveraddict​​ @tmiships4life​ @wegoddessofhell​ @winchesterprincessbride​

[shirtlesssammy]

6x07: Family Matters

Then:

The Big Baddie Alphas are building armies and Sam is a soulless sociopath

Now:

Sam is trussed up after Dean beats the living crap out of him. Cas is there for angelic input.

He asks Sam how much he sleeps and they learn that he hasn’t since he’s been back. Then Cas asks what Sam is feeling. Sam doesn’t have an answer for that. A light bulb goes off for Cas and he tells Sam to bite down on a leather belt.

He proceeds to shove his hand into Sam’s abdomen. He finds that Sam’s soul is missing. It appears that when he was resurrected from Hell, his soul was left behind.

Dean wants to know if he’s still Sam and then tells Cas to get his soul out of the Cage. Cas says it’s not that easy.

Sam asks to be untied, but Dean refuses. Sam reveals that he had untied himself anyway. Dean is going to have to face facts and just work with him. Dean relents and makes their first priority to find out who yanked him out of Hell.

Sam has no memory of who got him out of Hell. He only has one lead: The Campbell Compound. Parker Lewis Christian Campbell greets them at the door and sends them to Samuel in his office.

Dean asks about Samuel’s return. Cas flaps in (and I really miss that wing flap sound, guys) to do another thorough investigation. Samuel still has his soul. Sam tells his grandfather that he doesn't have his soul. Samuel had his suspicions. “You’re a hell of a hunter, Sam, but truth is, sometimes you scare me.” Samuel wonders how they can fix this. Cas then announces that he has to go because, oh, he’s just in the middle of a civil war. Dean wants Cas to find something upstairs to help them. “Of course, your problems always come first. I’ll be in touch.” OUCH. Like, OUCH. They all seem mildly annoyed that he left. And I’m slightly annoyed they aren’t paying attention! (Natasha: Rewatching this season, I like to see these nuances. Cas is fighting a war when he learns about Sam’s soul. What must that do to his confidence, knowing that his first victory after his resurrection was a false one?)

The brothers then learn that the Campbells have a lead on the alpha vampire. They want in on the hunt, but Samuel isn’t so trusting of Dean. Dean makes it clear that he’s here to follow Samuel’s orders. Later, when the brothers are alone, Dean admits to not trusting Samuel, but they need him so it’s time to lend a hand.

They set to work in the compound. Dean quickly wanders off to sneak into Samuel’s office. He’s caught and confronted by Christian. He insults Lisa and threatens Dean. Family for the win! Things are going to go just peachy on the run, I can tell!

The family assembles and head out on their mission. Once at their destination, Samuel makes Dean hang back with Gwen. They’re soon attacked by a vamp that Gwen dispatches in no time.

Dean then hears gunshots and takes off to the house. There are dead vamps everywhere. He sees a member of the Campbell group get sucked behind a curtain followed by a spray of blood, and then he hears Samuel yelling towards Sam. He follows the voice and sees that a bunch of them are hauling a vamp with a hood on into the van. Dean has a flash of a memory (idk, I’m not watching this is order so I don’t know if this is in reference to something Dean is going through or what. I should go read Superwiki, but nope.) (Natasha: These are all visions he had when he was briefly a vampire! He was seeing the alpha vamp’s house, but didn’t know it at the time. Now all the pieces are clicking. HEY this must explain why every vampire is suddenly an amazing fighter. Contagious memory.)

Dean makes it back to Gwen just in time for the others to find them. ALLS GOOD EVERYWHERE. Samuel says they killed the alpha. Dean wants to see the body. Too late, they already burned it.

While driving alone, Dean asks Sam about the hunt. Everything went fine! Dean stops the Impala. He gets out and angrily tells Sam that he saw him march the alpha out of the house. “Oh,” Sam says, a perfect response. It seems that Samuel has been capturing alphas and taking them somewhere to interrogate. It was Sam’s idea not to let Dean in on the situation. Dean can’t believe it and wonders if Sam even once wondered how shady this whole thing is. Dean tells Sam that they don’t have to work together, but if they do, he’s in charge because Sam has no instinct and can’t tell right from wrong. Or, Sam can go his own way.

At the Campbell compound, Sam approaches Samuel alone. He’s ditched Dean and wants to join the fight. Y I K E S. Samuel refuses to let him in the inner circle, or give him access to the king vamp, however, on account of the whole “lack of soul” thing. Double yikes! Later, Sam creeps through the parked cars outside and messes with a cell phone.

Cut to Dean, brooding in the Impala. Sam shows up, to Dean’s surprise. Sam’s turned double agent, but Dean still only gave him a 60/40 chance of actually returning to carry out their plan.

When Samuel failed to trust him, Sam enabled GPS on one of the cell phones in the van. He pulls up Samuel’s location on his computer.

They track Samuel to a warehouse. Dead man’s blood is painted on the doors, forming an effective vamp prison. They creep inside, evading Campbells to find Samuel interrogating the head honcho vamp. Samuel’s trying to find something, and he’s willing to cage and torture the alpha vamp to learn its location. The alpha vamp is ancient, and supremely unimpressed by Samuel’s efforts.

When Samuel storms away in a huff, the alpha vamp tells Sam and Dean to come out of hiding. So much for stealth! “How can I help you?” he asks, like a king. Dean pulls out his best snark, only to have some of that smacked away when the alpha addresses him by name. “You were my child for a time.” Awww...family don’t end in blood? Family starts in blood? While the alpha taunts Dean, he slowly scratches away at his cuff with his super mega vamp nail, all he can muster under the influence of a dead man’s blood IV.

The alpha tells Dean that he’s way too old to be concerned about mere Winchesters. “Soon I’ll be ankle deep in your blood, sucking the marrow from your bones.”

Sam wants to know who made the alpha vampire, if he’s the first vampire. “We all have our mothers.” Chief vampire refuses to elaborate, switching to taunt Sam about his lack of soul. (Interesting bit of vampire lore that I totally forgot about: the alpha tells Sam that he “smells cold” without his soul.) Now we’re getting to the good stuff, and by “good stuff” I of course mean metaphysical analysis of the soul. The alpha vamp leads the discussion to ponder the place where all monster souls go. He reveals that Samuel has been interrogating him to find out how to locate Purgatory.

Their revelatory discussion is interrupted by the Campbell crew who disarm the Winchesters. Dean berates Samuel for his nefarious dealings and the Winchesters try to get the drop on their captors. During this confrontation, the alpha vamp taunts the lone guard in the room before breaking free. In seconds, he’s out of the cage and chomping on the guard, whose scream alerts the unhappy family outside.

They take stock of the situation and Samuel grumbles that they need to catch the alpha and lock him up again. Dean’s shocked. The vampire has to die or he’ll kill all of them. They split up to search the warehouse.

The alpha attacks the Sam/Samuel/Christian crew first, easily knocking aside all of them and snapping Christian’s neck. The alpha pins Sam to the wall and tells him that he plans to turn him. “You will be the perfect animal.” Uh. Yikes.

Sam gets saved at the last minute by Christian who wields a syringe of dead man’s blood. Christian’s eyes are demon-black.

In an instant, more demons arrive, then Christian and the other demons zap out with the alpha. Cut to...Crowley slow clapping from a balcony. Surprise, mofos! Samuel demands that Crowley un-demonify Christian. Crowley gleefully drops the news that Christian has been possessed by a demon for ages and ages.

Dean puts two and two together and demands to know how Crowley and Samuel are linked. Samuel’s been helping Crowley search for Purgatory. Crowley insists that he wants the territory and will say nothing further to mere peons. “We ain’t your employees,” Dean snaps. Oh, HONEY, you are. Crowley reveals that the Winchesters have been working for him through their connection to Samuel. In fact, Samuel was a specific lure for them, on account of their general predilection for family loyalty. Crowley brought Samuel back to life and boasts that he brought Sam back as well. If anyone gets out of line, Sam goes right back into the cage.

Instead of a nice, big family hug after Crowley departs, Gwen and Samuel lock horns before Gwen stalks off to see to the vehicles. Sam and Dean try to get into it with Samuel but he just calls them “family” and tells them that they can kill him or step aside and let him work. Sam immediately pulls a gun on him. LOL. (I can say “LOL” at that, right? This scene is so grim.) Dean pushes Sam’s hand down. No, Soulless Sam, BAD! They’re going to let Samuel go, because he’s family and Dean just...can’t.

Sam wants to know if he and Dean are going to start working for Crowley. “Demons bone you every time,” Dean insists. Working for a demon is the worst thing he can consider, but Sam tries to work his soulless logic. They’re dead unless they play ball.

“You with me, Dean?” Sam asks, and we fade to black.

I am the Alpha Quotepire! Is he speaking in tongues? Are you speaking in tongues?

My true form is approximately the size of your Chrysler building.

Of course. Your problems always come first.

Would have asked him to stick around for a beer.

We got some questions for you, skippy, since you're going nowhere fast.

What is it like to have no soul?

Well, if the old man's Kermit... whose hand's up his ass?

You two are so hung up on family-loyalty nonsense, he said jump, you'd get froggy.

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive! 

[kangaroo-r00]

CH4P73R 1

The messy apartment was silent other than the rustling coming from inside the inhabitant’s room. Jay wriggled into his red pants and swung his leg up onto the bed, sliding his knee pad on and securing it in place. He yanked on his red knee high boots and laced them up tight, triple knotting them. He repeated the process with his other leg before pulling his refashioned red hoodie over his head, sliding the elbow pads on afterward. Gloves? Check. Utility belt and backpack? Check, check. He pulled the blue mask on his forehead down, brushing his green hair out of his face and breathed out deeply.

He wasn’t Jay now; he was Jackieboy Man. And he was gonna go out and protect his city.

“SAM? You there, buddy?” He asked the mechanical green eye lying prone on his bedside table, optic nerve hanging off the edge. They chittered in response, blue iris lighting up and shining happily.

Their official name was Surveillance Address Machine and their job was to scan local radio waves and pinpoint areas where crimes were happening. They also doubled as a recording device and camera. It had been quite the task to build them—a combination of scraps, expensive parts, and some other stuff Jackie hadn’t completely understood but used anyway. Powering the little bugger wasn’t easy either. They had to charge all day often times and required many many batteries for the backup power.

“You ready?”

They trilled, leaving their designated spot and hovering next to him.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

Jackie took a brief moment to peer out his window, making sure nobody was watching before swinging a leg out and dropping down onto the balcony below in a crouch. He pulled out his grappling hook, shot the harpoon high above the opposite building towards the water tower, and gave a tug to make sure it had grabbed a hold of the bars properly. With a leap onto the railing and a push, he was swinging through the air with a whoop.

While he couldn’t necessarily fly (that’s what his grappling hook was for), he certainly could jump much further than the average person. And land from higher falls without breaking something important.

He narrowly avoided crashing into the building wall, his boots striking the side of the building. Grabbing ahold of a windowsill, he hit the trigger and was yanked upward. Swinging and climbing like a monkey, he dodged window sills, repeating the process like clockwork until he was hanging off the water tower, looking out over Septic City.

The night was cloudy, making lights twinkle like stars on all levels of different buildings. Giant screens on the sides of tall buildings showed bright, colorful ads. People bustled about on the sidewalks far below, going about their night and cars idled on the street in traffic, honks not uncommon. It was a truly beautiful sight to behold.

Jackie sighed wistfully, electric blue eyes roving over the landscape. “Wouldja look at that…”

Unfortunately he only got a mere moment to gaze out over the illuminated city. SAM let out a repeated chirping sound, and with the sound of tuning stations a broadcast filtered through.

“Attention all units, the gang known as “The Puppets” and their gang leader have attacked two of our Watchers at the corner of Silent Avenue and Night Bend. We’re requesting backup…”

Jackie backed away from the edge before taking a running start and leaping off the ledge, running from building to building, using his gloves to latch onto glass surfaces and scale up vertical surfaces.

Recently there had been this… gang going around (nobody was sure what to call it exactly) causing trouble. The reason Jackie uses “gang” lightly was... well…

There was some kind of virus going around causing bouts of paranoia and laughter called “The Giggles” (some smartass journalist had jokingly called it that in an article and the name stuck). It seemed it was passed through blood contact, scratching, biting, whatever causes pain. Infected people went through a bout of illness and disappeared. As infected citizens disappeared, new puppets seemed to join the ranks…  

Jackie knew he shouldn’t be dealing with people who were infected—he was no doctor—but people were getting hurt! If it involved the citizens of his city getting injured then it was his problem. He’d never met the leader though—the other rarely showed up publicly. All he knew was that he was strong and sly based on the attack on Mayor Sean on Halloween and the illness that sent him into a coma nearly a year later.

He landed on the side of a building, surveying the area. The scene was more… unsettling than they let on. There had to be over thirty people there, all standing silently, heads bowed and arms hanging loosely by their sides.

“The hell…” he whispered softly, squinting and activating his x ray vision. There was nothing hiding behind cars or wheelie bins other than a few out of sight puppets.

“It’s fucked, isn’t it?” A familiar voice said tonelessly above him. “Like some horror movie bullshit.”

His head snapped upwards so hard he pulled something. A bedazzled white cat mask with the suit of cards on forehead glared back down at him, the owner sitting with his legs crossed at the ankles dangling over the edge.

“Magnificent,” he greeted curtly. “How’d you know to come here?”

He tossed his long green hair over his shoulder and winked. “I thought you knew this already; a magician never reveals his secrets.”

Jackie rolled his eyes, huffing in annoyance. One day he would figure out how he pulled this shit off but it appeared today wasn’t the day. “Well, Mr. Magician, how do you suppose we handle this situation? Know anything I don’t?”

Magnificent hummed lightly, turning his attention back to the people littering the streets below. “They appeared to have calmed down. The two Watchers booked it and then they all just… froze up. Haven’t moved since.”

“They all froze up? At the same time?”

Magnificent nodded. “Yeah. It was fucking freaky.”

Jackie was stumped. “So….. they’re what? A hivemind?”

“I wouldn’t say that necessarily—we’ve seen them do different things—but there’s definitely someone pulling the strings.”

Jackie turned to face SAM. “SAM, start recording my voice on 3… 2… 1. This is Jackieboy Man—”

“I’m here too!” The other butted in obnoxiously.

“And Magnificent calling in to say we’re currently handling the situation alone to reduce casualties should any arise.” A prolonged moment of silence so SAM knew to stop recording and cut out the empty bit of recording. “Send it to the Watchers’ headquarters, SAM, please and thank you.”

Magnificent snickered behind a gloved hand. “I can’t believe you say please and thank you to a robot.”

“Fuck off; it’s called being polite.” Jackie snipped back. “And stay out of my fucking calls!”

“Nah, it’s more fun. Besides, people might forget about me.”

“Only cuz you’re a recluse.”

“Oh piss off, some of us have a job to do.”

Jackie’s eyebrows knit together. “At night?” That was the closest thing he’s ever gotten to information about Magnificent’s personal life.

“Yes, through dusk and the beginning of night.” He sighed and stood, cape billowing out behind him as a gentle breeze kicked up. “Shall we go and investigate, my darling hero?”

“We shall, Mr. Magician,” he snarked.

The black cape behind him turned into a pair of large feathery black wings and the other stepped off the edge, allowing his wings to snap out behind him and slow his descent.

“Show off,” he muttered, dropping down and landing in the classic superhero pose. He stood, dusting himself off before saying, “SAM, start recording both scene and audio.” He took a moment to yank off his gloves and slip on his brass knuckles.

Magnificent stalked forward with intent, whistling casually, dress shoes clicking against the asphalt the only sound on the empty streets. He stopped briefly to wave a hand in front of someone’s face and to poke someone else’s cheek.

“Dude, what the fuck!? Don’t do that!” Jackie hissed in horror. He jogged to keep up, weaving between silent figures to catch the other before he did something else reckless. If the media thought he was reckless, they should really see Magnificent.

They stopped in the center of the circle, turning around to see if any movement occured. No change.

Magnificent peered closer at one of the people, pointing at her. “I recognize this one. She was one of the journalists who interviewed me a while back. Doubles as a horror writer.”

Jackie stared at the woman. Glowing white strings were wrapped around her wrists, ankles, knees, elbows, and neck, the other end of the strands disappearing into her skin while the others fell to the ground, coiled in piles around her feet. Her eyes were black and she had a chilling smile frozen on her face. Her face was familiar.

“Didn’t someone report her missing a while back?” The hero asked, his brain suddenly putting two and two together. There had been posters hung up with many others, all displaying different faces and names.

“Yeah, it was all over the news as well.” Magnificent confirmed. “She was one of the first person who many knew who disappeared.”

The one thing that really bothered Jackie more than the confirmation that missing people turned up as puppets was the strings. “What’s up with this?”

Magnificent reached out and grabbed the string, watching as she jerked, startling them both into flinching back. She settled back down and resumed her original position. Jackie cringed as the magician moved to repeat his previous action.

“Maybe you shouldn’t do that again.”

This time he grabbed the string and didn’t let go when she moved, watching curiously as she turned to him with half lidded empty eyes, head bowed down in submission.

“Interesting…” Magnificent murmured, rubbing the string between a gloved thumb and forefinger, staring emotionlessly as she twitched spastically, head snapping to the side. “Someone is quite literally pulling the strings here.”

“Maggie, cut that shit out. We don’t know what that’s doing.“

“H͘a̡s͏n͏’҉t ̡an̴yo͟n͘e eve̴r ̢ta̢u̴g͜ht yo̧ų ̷no̴t͞ tó t̶o̷uch whàt̕ do͟e͟sn̵’͞t͡ bel̸o̸ng to ͡y͠ou͠?͜”҉ A new voice growls from all around them, the pitch jumping from higher to lower than any voice they’d ever heard.

Jackie whirled, heart rate spiking sharply at the interruption. “These people don’t belong to you!” He declared, heart in his throat.

“Ǫh̸ r̢e̶a̷ll͠y̛?͘” The voice split, traveling in opposite directions, forcing Magnificent and Jackie back to back. “T͡hose ̸ştr̵in̕g̴s s͡a͟ý ́o͘t̷h͢erw͘íse~”̵

“They’re strings,” Magnificent sneered, “What’s so special?”

“You҉ ͝s͠aw.͠ ̸P͝upp̛e̢ts͡ ̸mov͢e ͏w͞h̶en̕ t͠h͏e͡ir ͘s͘t͘rin͏g̀s͡ a͝r͡e p̵ul̴léd̕ ̸but͝ ͡o̸n͞l̀y̨ their ͟M̢a̢ster̵ caņ ͘p̷roperly͞ ͞c͞on̨tr̶ol҉ t҉hèm͘. Beside̴s̸,̶ th̶e̷y’d̀ dó whate͢ver̢ I ͠tol͘d ̢t̷hem t͝ơ. ͝T̸hey’d͘ t͜h̡r̀ow th͞e̢ms̕elves ͡o͜ff a͘ c̀l̛i̵ff ́íf i͝t͡ ̡m҉e̕a̵nt͝ pl̴ea̡si͝n̷g̀ ҉m͜e.”̨

“Show yourself, coward!” Jackie spat, stomach twisting into nervous knots at the mention of these people willing to do anything for whoever this freak was.

There was a cluck of the tongue. “A͞wfull̢y̸ ͢b͝old̸ ͞for̶ a͢ h̴e͢r҉o wi̸t͠h́ ͞ha̴r͡dl͡ỳ a̸ny͟ ͡powers̀. I ̶mean,͜ ̨c̛’̡moǹ:̴ ̧s̡u҉peŗ str҉ength̷ a͠nd x͏ ̴r̨ay vi̶sion͝ i̛s̵ s̶o c̨liche i͟t ͞bárely͢ co̧untş.”

His face reddened at that statement, his initial fear being replaced with embarrassment and anger.

“Alright, loser,” Magnificent said before Jackie could blow his top. “Show’s over. Get out here.”

“̀C̸a͢refu͡l͜ wh̀at̷ ̸you̢ ̴w̷ish̕ ҉for.” They said, voice drawing back away from the two and drawing together into one again.

Before their very eyes pixels of shifting colors flew from the puppets’ bodies and strings, drawing together into a form in front of them. He was taller than both of them by several inches, dark forest green hair ruffled and falling into his black and neon green slitted eyes. The wide slit across his throat from one side of his jawbone to the other poured coding and static down his ghostly pale, glitching skin. His shadow violently glitched red, green, and blue, grinning wide on the ground with sharp fangs. There was only one person this could be.

“Anti,” Magnificent said, eyes burning with cyan magic.

The being of code bowed with a giggle. “̕Th͡e o̢ne ̴a͏nd onl҉y.̡”

“What the hell are you doing here? What are you trying to accomplish?” It was easy to slip into his hero persona and start up an interrogation.

Anti grinned widely. “Why̴ I waǹted t͝o m͜e͟et the tw̢o҉ f̵a̵b̛l̷e̛d he̶roeś ̡o̕f Se̢ṕt̷ic Ci͏t̢ỳ.̶ ͘S͘i͝n̴ce y͠o͢u ͜two̧ ćo͟u͠ldn’t͘ b̷e bo͘ther̷éd͡ to͝ ͠sh̶ów͢ u͘p̨ wh̸e͘n ͡ev͞èryone ̨n͟ee̷ded̶ ́y̧ou̷ mos͏t.”͏

Magnificent growled lowly and Jackie could tell his claws were about to tear through his gloves. It was time to wrap this up. The other was dangerous half shifted. It left both of them open and vulnerable.

“Well, you met both of us. Now release those people and beat it,” Jackie demanded.

Anti’s smile wavered, falling flat before taking up half his face again, teeth bared. “͜Y̛ơu see, h͢e͢ŗo͏, ̕I c͏a͞n͘’t juśt do ̛t͠h̴at͟.́ Th̀e ͏s̶t͞ri҉n̷gs̶ run͢ muc͡h dee͝p̕e͜r ͢th͡an you͟ ͏th͢i͏nk.̷ ̶The͡y ̴wou҉ldn͠’͟t ̶k̢n͢ow͞ w͘h̴a͝t to ͏do ҉wi̧th̀ ͝th̨em͏se͝lve̵s if ͜I d̷id҉ ̀th̢a͟t̀.͡”͏

Magnificent took a step forward. “Bullshit. Let them go and piss off.”

“Yo̧u’l͟l̴ ḩa̴v͠e͠ t̡ó ̷ma͢k̸e̢ ́m̶e,͝ kitt͜en̷.”

Jackie grit his teeth. They’d have to be careful. “Challenge accepted.”

Every puppets’ heads snapped up. The strings that seemed to go nowhere slithered across the ground towards them. Anti turned the other way and glitched down the street.

“I’ll deal with the puppets,” Magnificent said, hand alighting with hot cyan magic.

Jackie took off into a sprint, charging forward and leaping over the heads of puppets. If Anti wanted to play that game then he was willing to partake as long as it meant he got to bash his head in for landing Sean in that coma.

The insane cackles led him further and further away from Magnificent and the crowd of people and into the more rundown side of town. Abandoned buildings and silent blocks were all that remained down here, most citizens choosing to move out into the newer, better parts of the city long ago.

Suddenly his foot got caught and he was falling forward, slamming into the uneven, torn up road. The air was knocked out of him in a giant push and he gasped, familiar shockwaves of pain traveling up his arms.

“͞K͟l͡u͢tzy͝, k̷l͡ut̀z͝y he̵r̷o̵,”͢ the glitch taunted. “̨Ca̛ņ’t ͝ev͞e͝n͞ la̸s͜t five m̷i̷nute͏s͞ w̶it̷hou̢t f͞uck̸i̴n̸g̡ śóm̶eth͜ing ̛úp.̸”͡

Jackie chose not to grace the words with a response, shoving himself back onto his feet and turning all around, eyes darting to catch a sight of the villain.

“͝Over h͞e̛r̛e,”̡ the voice sounded to his right. He whirled and saw nothing.

“Oops, I mean͡t͡ ̀b͝e͠h͜ind ̵y̢ou.̨”҉ Nothing.

Fingertips dragged up the knobs of his spine, sending sparks of burning electricity surging through his skin. He yelped, pulling away and tripping over his feet, twisting to try and regain his balance only to fall a second time.

“͜H̨ów pàt̷h͠et͟ic,͞”̨ Anti said, air ripping apart above him in a flurry of glitches to reveal him standing there, leaning over the hero. “Her̨e Į was ho͘pin͏g ͞for ͞a̢ çhal͜l҉e͟nge͝.”̷

Jackie glared at him. “Well, sorry to burst your stupid bubble. Here I was hoping for a somewhat decent criminal but all I got was another dickbag. Guess we’re both disappointed tonight.”

He thought the virus was going to plunge his knife right into his throat and rip out his vocal cords right then and there but an uneasy minute of silence dragged by. Anti merely stared blankly, unblinkingly at him before a wide grin stretched across his face. The most unpleasant, scratchy, high pitched laughter bubbled up out of his throat and echoed throughout the abandoned district.

“At̴ least̶ ̛y҉o͟u̷’ŕe s̨o̸mewh͟át ͜amus̕i̵n͟g. A̵l̶l ͡y̧ou’͡r͟ȩ ̷pro͘ba͝bly̷ good ͟fo҉r͢.”̕ He cackled.

Jackie took the opportunity to lean back on his hands behind him, throw himself back onto his feet, and slam his head into Anti’s, grinning through the throbbing pain at the other’s surprised screech. His brass knuckles connected with his cheekbone, tearing skin and drawing another scream.

“Get fucked, prick,” Jackie crowed, taking another strong swing.

Anti locked eyes with him and disappeared with a burst of pixels. The sound of rising static was the only warning Jackie received. Anti collided with his back, knocking the air out his lungs and driving him into the concrete. A clawed hand gripped his hair and bashed his head down. Stars exploded in his vision, warmth running down the side of his head and matting his hair. A powerful shove of his head scraped skin off his cheek and smeared dark liquid across the street.

“Do̕n’t͟ ge͘t ćo͜ck͟y, l͡i͜tt̛l̸e͏ hero̡. ̢T͞h͏is̨ ̴f҉ig̵h͡t ̵ai҉n’̢t̛ o̴ver͢ yet҉.̴”̛

He was struggling to catch his breath when a burning punch between his lower ribs on his side stole all his air away again. Sputtering and choking on copper, Jackie could only force himself to suck in ragged breaths.

“Y͟ou’͟re ͢n̴ot ̧wor͡t̴h̴ ̢m͏y ti̧me͝. ͡S̀tay͝ ̢o̕utta͟ my w̨a͠y.”̧ Anti muttered in Jackie’s ear, moist, hot breath rolling over his ear. The sensation made him squirm in place only to whine loudly at the sharp lance of pain that shot through his side.

The weight on him disappeared and the lack of static told him he was alone.

He wheezed, knowing he had just narrowly escaped death but not understanding how. His trembling hand went to his side and came away with red on his blue gloves. “Shit,” he breathed. “Shit.” Putting pressure on the wound, Jackie blinked. banishing the black creeping up on the edges of his vision. “Up, up and away,” he slurred tiredly, shoving himself onto his feet and nearly falling forward, barely catching himself. “Hoo boy.”

Stumbling his way down the street, Jackie managed to avoid passing out, limping on his better side with his hand pressed tight to the weeping wound. The stickiness on his hair and skin was beginning to dry and flake off. Every now and then he’d stagger and pause, sucking in a deep breath before continuing.

“Well, this night coulda gone better,” he mumbled to himself, nearly tripping over his own feet again.

Thinking about how he was gonna get more time off from work when he used up all his sick days already nearly made him fall over for the umpteenth time tonight. One step at a time… quite literally.

(A/N) See the mess above??? This is where it all goes downhill.

General tag list: @melasong, @writerwithdepression, @normallyemma, @kitnkas, @iris-the-asparagus, @here-be-becquerel, @maybalator

Series tag list: @kyeabove​, @10th-no-name-person​, @a-septic-writer-of-art​

(tell me if you want to be added to either taglist)

PR3V10US

N3X7

[jamesbvck]

the call | b. barnes | one shot

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Summary: Not all missions were the same. They never began the same and they never ended the same. Bucky’s mission this time was to get back to you. Word Count: 2.9k Warnings: Angst, reminiscing, injuries. A/N: Based on this scene from Furious 7. I was moody. Feedback? :)

Not all missions were the same. They never began the same and they never ended the same. After countless surveillance stake outs and compromised missions, the team finally had HYDRA in their playing hand. Hidden in the deep forests of Bulgaria was a makeshift facility for HYDRA’s latest lab. It was far off the beaten path that no one dared to hike or visit  due to strange energy found there. Locals considered it evil and the devil working up a new hell for earth. However, the Avengers new better and with thorough investigations they had pinpointed the location. This mission was long, body bruising and mentally exhausting. This mission was also in the realm of ‘taking one for the team.’ Steve wouldn’t dare call it a suicide mission but he might as well.

No one said a word as they equipped themselves with their gear and weapons. Bucky sat on a trunk outside of the quinjet. They had a base set up in Sofia. Multiple people were running around making sure everything was good to go and they had everything they needed. Each time they dealt with HYDRA it  set Bucky back. He had new methods of how to deal with the stress and he constantly reminded himself that they did not control him anymore; he would forever be in Shuri and T’Challa’s debt.

They didn’t leave for another hour or so, waiting until dawn broke through the skyline. Bucky’s fist was curling and uncurling. He could hear Tony’s voice to the left of him. It sounded energetic which was odd considering they were going in to one of the most important missions they had ever been on. There was a lot at stake for everyone there. It was the first time he had truly seen Natasha nervous for a mission; he thought she was fearless.

Bucky got up from the trunk and walked away from the jet. The one thing he needed to do was hear your voice even if it was just for a minute. He still wasn’t used to having a smartphone. Some things about it continued to confuse him but he knew enough and it was important to have one to keep in contact with you. He found a secluded area inside the the base, a small office. Tapping your name, he held the the phone to his ear and listened to the rings. He couldn’t keep up with the timezones and perhaps it was too late in New York. Leaving a message didn’t feel right.

The phone stopped ringing and Bucky heard your breath on the other line. “Bucky?” you spoke quietly. There was some sleep in your voice and he smiled to himself.

“Is it late, doll?”

“No! No— it’s not,” you replied. “I just finished some laundry and was catching up on the news.”

Bucky wasn’t too fond of the news. He knew you watched it constantly to see if there were any updates or if they would talk about the Avengers. He understood that you worried but most of the time it was nonsense. The world was still divided on how they felt about Earth’s Mightiest Heroes. Bucky didn’t consider himself one but he was somehow able to fit into a team. He wasn’t just some killing machine or an asset anymore. He had a true purpose of helping innocent people.

“Where are you?” you asked when Bucky didn’t reply. “Are you in Bulgaria still?”

Bucky breathed out a slow breath beginning to pace around the small room. “Something’s about to happen and I can’t guarantee the outcome of it,” he began. “I can’t promise you that I—“

“Don’t say that, Bucky,” you voice diminished to a whisper on the phone. “You’re going to go in to whatever hell storm it may be and you’re going to get the job done like you always do. And then you’re going to come home to us.”

Bucky ran his metallic hand down his face, heaving out another sigh. “Is she sleeping?”

“Yeah, it was hard getting her to go down tonight. She was asking about you and then eventually fell asleep on your side of the bed with her teddy bear.”

He could hear the sadness in your voice. There wasn’t disappointment or angry, it was simply the painful distress that you missed him. He missed you and the daughter you shared even more. This wasn’t the life that was good enough for you. He couldn’t keep leaving for days or sometimes weeks. It wasn’t fair and it hurt him that he couldn’t be there when you needed him to be. But this was his job and he was lucky enough that Tony gave him and his little family a space off in a secluded section of the Avenger’s facility (much of which was help from Steve and even Natasha).

“Buck?”

“I’m here,” he replied. “You’re the best decision I ever made, you know that? You and our little girl. Sam still reminds me that I owe him one.”

You laughed, “If it wasn’t for him you still would have been that guy that came into the diner every other day and never spoke more than a sentence to me. You would have kept ordering that damn sandwich that wasn’t even good.”

“It was good enough for me,” he chuckled in returned. “I think I must have had sixty of them before I finally got sick.”

“I told you not to order it. You never listened.”

“I know.”

“Ever.”

Bucky rubbed the side of his scruff, biting back another laugh at the memory. “You were wearing a skirt and that blouse you didn’t like. You said it made you itchy but it was part of the uniform. You accidently dropped the tray of ketchup and mustard bottles and I helped you clean them up.”

“Even though I told you it was fine,” you smiled on the other end of the phone. “You asked me to go to the movies.”

“Still surprised you said yes.”

He heard you exhale a tiny breath. It was quiet but he knew that reminiscing was only making you more anxious about not being there. “It was the best date I had ever been on,” you admitted. “I still have the ticket stub tucked away.”

The silence that came abound was nearly heartbreaking. Bucky was searching for the next set of words to say and you were hanging onto a thread of hope. There was no way this family was going to be torn apart, it couldn’t happen. If he could imagine it correctly, he knew you must have been curled up on the couch, clothed in one of his hoodies and wrapped up in a blanket. And he was right, too.

“Bucky, come home.” you mumbled to him on the phone.

A lump caught in his throat, swallowing it like a hard pill. “I love you,” his voice was dry and shaky. “So much.”

“Don’t—” you sniffed with eyes stinging as you fought back tears. “Say something else.”

Bucky stared at the cement wall in front of him. It was blank but he painted a picture of you on the wall. His tongue ran along his bottom chapped lipped, shifting his weight from one leg to the next. “Kiss Kira goodnight for me.”

“I will,” you gulped.

“I have to go,” he murmured, switching the phone to his other ear. He could see Natasha, Sam and Clint boarding the quinjet from the window. “Always.”

Your eyes slipped closed, breathing out, “Forever.”

Bucky hung up the phone staring the End Call screen for several moments. His own tears pricked his eyes but never fell. He tucked the phone away into one of his many pockets and exited the building. He headed straight for the jet regaining his game face for the mission. Steve cut across and halted Bucky. The old man looked sympathetic and worried.

“You’re in the way, punk,” Bucky attempted to make it playful but it came out a little harsh.

“I need to make sure you’re okay,” Steve eyed his best friend. “I know it’s not the best situation.”

“What did I tell you all those years ago? It always ends in a fight, hopefully this is the last one.” Bucky didn’t wait for a response. Instead he maneuvered around Captain America and climbed up the bridge into the jet.

Bucky sat himself in one of the seats the furthest away from the rest of the group. The quinjet closed once Steve and Tony boarded. The engines rumbled as the aircraft and began to lift away from the runway and soared off into the pinky orange sky. He took his butterfly knife out of his pocket and twirled it between his fingers to distract himself for the duration of the flight. He drowned out the voices of the others focusing on you and Kira.

“Going to have my back out there?”

He didn’t bother to look up at Natasha who hovered beside his seat. “Don’t I always?” His tone lacked any form of energy.

Nat adjusted her batons on her belt. “You do,” she nodded. “We’ll be out of here before the bastards can even take a shot.”

A half smirk wiggled its way to Bucky’s lips with eyes continuing to watch his knife spin around. Natasha patted his shoulder once then went to sit with Clint. When the jet started to descend, he rose from his seat and equipped himself with the SAW machine gun taking extra ammo as well. They landed amongst the trees not far off from the HYDRA facility. Stark was suited in his iron clad and everyone else was set for the action.

“Captain,” Tony’s voice was tinny with the slits of the red helmet glowing. Steve looked forward as the the bridge of the quinjet opened revealing their new mission. He adjusted his shield before leading the march out.

Even when HYDRA was unprepared, they were somehow still prepared. There were multiple shots and bombs going off. An emergency noise rang through the facility and several HYDRA members were filling out to defend their ground. Steve barrelling through men while Clint and Natasha entered combat mode. Arrows were flying and bullet shells tricked to the ground. Tony was high and low with his repulsors beamed, Sam along with him. It was all a blur in Bucky’s mind. He could hear his gun popping as he shot his way in with the others. He felt like he was on autopilot.

A large explosion rocked the group. Natasha was down, unresponsive for a solid minute. Clint yelled for help as he covered her and continued to rapid fire his arrows. Bucky sprinted his way over, turning Nat over to see part of her uniform shredded and her face caked in soot. He shook her body and slowly she grew back to reality, gathering her surroundings.

“You’re hurt,” Bucky told her.

“I’m fine,” Natasha pulled herself up with the help of his metal bionic arm. “Cover me, Barnes,” she whipped out two glocks and hastily shot at the opposing side. Bucky turned to protect her rear and aimed at men on the upper levels of the facility.

The silence that soon filled the air was suspicious. Bucky sent Steve a glance before walking around to find whatever he could. There was chatter their the earpieces mostly of thing of importance to be found. Bucky wandered into a computer lab of sorts, all the screens blank except for one.

Hello Sergeant Barnes, You cannot defeat the ones who have created you. град гидра (Hail Hydra).

The screen flickered to a 20 second timer, counting down. Bucky’s eyes widened in panic and immediately ran out of the room. “Get out! It’s going to blow!” He shouted. “Go!”

The others had gotten to the large metal doors with Sam pushing them opening using his wings as extra force.

“Buck, come on!” Steve called from the opening.

He was running out of time, internally counting down the timer. There was ten, then nine seconds and he was only halfway to the door. Bucky launched himself over rumble making a wobbly landing. Five, four, three— Black.

For you, it was a typical Tuesday morning. Your daughter had woken you up when your phone alarm continued to blare and you were simply too tired to do anything about it. But you were a mother; you had get up and put on a happy face for your three year old and take her to pre-school for the day. Kira had taken the liberty of dressing herself in a Captain America kids t-shirt and some purple leggings, her sparkly backpack strapped to her back and her shoes untied.

“Uncle Steve would love the shirt your wearing,” you murmured. You took each foot and showed Kira how to tie each. She was getting better every time but some things took time. She could count to thirty and knew how to spell her name easily. “Let’s get you to school.”

“Yes!” Kira exclaimed, running out of the room to go.

You grabbed your car keys and purse off the counter, “FRIDAY, please keep me updated.”

“Of course,” the AI replied.

Tuesdays were also the days you wandered aimlessly around the park. Your thoughts travelled to unwanted places with your phone clutched in your hand. This wasn’t out of the ordinary. Sometimes you wouldn’t hear from anybody for a day or two. You feared for them all that they would be safe and come home in one piece. They had to, they were all your family. You filled the time with mindless errands, picking up things you didn’t necessarily need.

Time moved slowly. Nothing ever felt right unless Bucky was with you. He completed the missing gaps and the empty silence. Bucky was everything.

Kira was bouncing off the wall when it came time to retrieve her from school. She had made a new craft to hang on the fridge for everyone to see. The entire stainless steel appliance was covered in her drawings and artwork, everyone adored it and praised her to be the next Picasso. You eyes watched the road as the little girl rambled on and on in the back from her carseat. She was a happy child, a good one full of life and excitement. Her bright blues dazzled like her father’s eyes complimented by a cheeky grin.

Arriving back home brought you worry. Tony’s AI hadn’t made a peep all day and that never brought in good news. You carried Kira inside, standing in the elevator with her placed on your hip. Her head rested on your shoulder as she watched the numbers go up to the living quarters. Stepping off, there was distant chatter. You feet began to pick up speed to move towards the sounds. Steve and Natasha turned the corner and they both looked rough.

Natasha had a banaged wrapped around her core and one around her wrist. Steve had a bad bruise on his right eyes and a cut over his cheek. His hands looked pretty messed up to. Kira squirmed in your arms to be let down and once she was, she ran to Steve and gladly he embraced her. Kira waved enthusiastically at Auntie Nat, too.

Cautiously you approached your friends, eying them carefully. Natasha was solemn and Steve couldn’t keep his face neutral. It was faltering to sympathetic. His mouth open but before he could speak you pushed yourself passed the two and dashed down the long hallway and off to the left. Busting through the door you entered the small apartment-esque home and called out for Bucky. The bedroom door opened revealing the very battered soldier with a lopsided smile on his lips. You didn’t hesitate another moment and embraced him with all your might.

You could feel Bucky’s body wince and tighten at your hold around him, causing you to let go. His face was decent, a cut or two. It wasn’t until you lifted his shirt that it told the entire story. It was bad, worse then that, he was purple and yellow and blue. His entire left side was wrecked; a large patch of skin scraped with dried blood.

Your eyes were pooling with salty tears spilling down your cheeks.

“I’m here, I’m fine,” Bucky wiped your tears away with his thumb.

“F-fine? Bucky, you call this fine?!” you shouted at him. Bucky’s lips turned into a frown. Perhaps he wasn’t fine. His entire body ached like hell and one of the medics told him not to move around so much. He never truly listened to them. “You scared me.”

“I know,” he whispered.

“I was so scared.”

Bucky brought you into his embrace again, ignoring the bruises and the pain. You buried your face into his chest letting the tears fall down and dampen his shirt. He was here, he was alive and he wasn’t going anywhere. He soothed you, rubbing his hand up and down your back. You didn’t want to know what the hell happened.

“Where’s Kira?”

“She’s with Steve,” you mumbled. “She can’t see you like this right now, I can’t— I just…”

Bucky lifted your chin with his thumb and index finger. “I do this to protect you and her. I will always make sure you are safe, doll. You’re the reason why I’m here.”

You nodded regaining a steady breathe as your tears began to calm. You walked with Bucky to the couch sitting on his lap and cuddle into his chest. His large arms wrapped around you and held you tight. You could sacrifice a little time to be with him in the moment, to make sure his heart was beating and he was truly here.

Not all missions were the same. They never began the same and they never ended the same. His life mission was you. Always and forever.

tag list: @willhrndale @sweetpca @wintersparker @classicalbughead @abbadontherisingqueen @mystic-scripture @stardustparker @bleedlikerubies @fallenaristocat @beanie-betty @bubblybuckybarnes @queenlydias @eventyyr @thorins-queen-of-erebor @buckybarnesappreciationsociety @capbuckybuchanan @sweetpeassweetheart @beauty-who-doesnt-need-a-beast @lovinglokiforever @stanclub @dontpanc @my-world97 @kali-rambles @bvckysmanbun **Please let me know if you wished to be added to the Bucky tag OR removed from the Bucky tag.

[crashdevlin]

Marion-9: Friends In Low Places

Marion Masterlist

Author’s Note: Originally posted to ao3 (This is an edited and improved version). This started as an excuse to write some Castiel/OFC loving, but it blossomed into an epic-length fic and even an AU where Marion was with them the whole time.

Summary:  Dean’s not the best brother, Cas isn’t the best boyfriend. Sometimes, dreams are the best escape.

Pairing(s): Castiel/Marion, Lucifer/Marion

Word Count: 3403

Chapter Warnings: feeling devalued, family drama, manipulation

Marion could only see Sam’s back as she came through Bobby’s study, but she could tell just from how he was sitting at the table, that he was the old Sam again. “Hey, Sasquatch!”

Sam scoffed happily and stood, smiling brightly. “Marion! Where’ve you been?” he asked, wrapping her in a hug.

They sat down at the table. “Well, Dean couldn’t live a happy, normal life with Lisa as long as his angel-resurrected twin sister was pulling on his coattails.” Marion gave a small look over her shoulder as Dean walked in and leaned against the door frame. “So, I went off to find my own normal. I got my GED and some college under my belt. I changed my name and got a boyfriend. And a cat!” She sighed. “But I’ve got a bunch of Dean’s memories in my brain, and hunter tendencies got the better of me. After about a year, I got mixed up with putting down a demon that had convinced somebody to hang four nuns. And hunting just seemed more important than a degree.”

“I didn’t know you changed your name.” Dean spoke up from behind her.

“You didn’t ask.” Marion snapped.

Sam’s brow furrowed as he looked from his brother to his sister. “What’d you change your name to?”

Marion looked down, a bit embarrassed. “Well, you guys call me ‘Marion’, of course. It’s my given name. But I changed it to Barbara… Bobbi… Singer.” Sam and Dean snickered. Marion rolled her eyes. “Chuck told me that Bobby was dead. I wanted to honor him. Shut up.”

“No middle name?” Dean asked, walking over to the coffee maker.

“No one likes their middle name. It’s not important.”

“Yeah, but you chose yours. What’d you choose?” Dean pushed.

“Samantha. Barbara Samantha Adama Singer.” Marion lied.

“Bobby, Sam, and Adam. Isn’t that sweet?” Dean rolled his eyes.

“Everybody who died in the Apocalypse. I’d’ve stuck a ‘Cassie’ in there, too, but the name was already pretty long.” Marion quipped.

Dean slammed the coffee pot back onto the burner and walked out with his mug. Sam’s eyes followed him out. “Okay, what the hell?” Sam asked.

Marion took a deep breath. *Don’t poke the wall.* “Dean and I had a disagreement while you were gone. He was… working hard to get you back. But the way he was working toward it… he was working with a demon, and the demon couldn’t bring you back, but Dean wanted to believe. So, he let this demon use him for favors. For months, he did this creature’s bidding.” Marion looked at the table, her lips pursed in anger.

“I told Dean that it didn’t make sense, that he was being used. But if there was a tiny chance of it working… he would do anything for you, Sam. He won’t even listen to me. So… I’m just letting myself get used to… being so unimportant.”

Sam took his sister’s hand, long fingers curling easily around her much smaller ones. “You aren’t unimportant. Dean and I, we’ve depended on each other for so long, we get irrational when the other dies. It’s not an insult-”

“He thought I was dead for a year and he barely flinched, Sammy. He cares less about me than he did Jo and Ellen. Which I get, ‘cause he didn’t get my mind, I got his. None of you know me. But Dean still thinks he gets to act like he does. And I’m not here to be lied to. I’m here because I’m not cut out for normality and I’m tired of hunting alone. Otherwise, I’d be off by myself, like Chuck… strongly suggested.”

“You’re right. We barely know you, me especially. You were with us for less than a month before you got possessed. And then, you left right after Meg left you. But… I know you can quote Shakespeare at the drop of a hat. I know you prefer the Grimm Brothers over Disney. I know you never felt completely comfortable with the Cornwells, which is why it was such a profound experience when Castiel filled you full of grace. I know you hate Zeppelin, even if you won’t admit it to Dean.” Sam smiled, softly. “If I know all that from a few weeks in the middle of Armageddon, don’t you think Dean knows more?”

Marion smiled up at Sam, a bit sad, with a bit of pity in the gesture. “I can list a few thousand things Dean knows about you. Thousands of things about Dad and Bobby. Hundreds of things he knows about Jo Harvelle. Dean probably knows a fraction of that about me.”

“You think you’re Rapunzel. It’s why your hair used to be so long,” Dean said, from behind Marion. “It was the most read volume on your side table at the hospital. When Meg cut your hair, I thought you’d realized you were out of the tower. You take your coffee with 4 sugars and cream, but if someone accidentally brings you a coffee black, you’ll drink it, anyway. You never had a crush before Cas, and that’s why you fell like a schoolgirl.”

Dean leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. “You miss the Cornwells, and that makes you feel guilty. Just like you feel guilty that you sat in a house for twenty-seven years being treated like the next damn Messiah, while we fought monsters and broke our bones. You’re trying to hide that you’re back with Cas, ‘cause even though you’re pissed at me, you don’t want me to be pissed at you and Cas.”

Dean pushed off from the wall, licking his lips before shrugging. “We’re stubborn, so I know you’ll be mad for a while. You’ve got every right. But you love me, and you’re a lot nicer than I am, so when you’re ready to forgive me, I’m willing to… make more of an effort to show you you’re valuable.”

Marion tried to keep her face stern as she looked up at her twin, but her heart was melting. “How did you know?” she whispered.

“That Cas is the reason you want your own room? He’s been leaving more and mentioning his war less. And you’ve been a lot more successful with your hunts lately. I did the math.”

“I’m still mad at you.”

“And I’m still not cool with you dating Cas, but… we’ll get over it.”

Sam looked awkwardly between his older siblings. Marion took a look at Sam, then Dean. “Eventually,” she said, with a nod, before standing and walking out of the kitchen.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So, Dean knows?” Castiel asked.

“Yes, but you don’t have anything to worry about. He’ll get past it.”

“I’m not worried about Dean.”

“I’m not… it’s not a big deal, Castiel. Dean kinda gave his blessing… in his own way.”

Castiel sighed loudly, sending static through the phone. “His blessing is unimportant, Marion… but it is much easier for us to be together when Dean is oblivious.”

“I understand, but… he’s observant.” She shrugged, feeling a bit confused at Castiel’s rough tone. “So, why don’t you come to Bobby’s and we’ll work through it, together?”

“I can’t. I’m only on Earth to retrieve an item. I have to get back to Heaven.”

“Oh,” she said, crestfallen. “Okay, well… I heard Dean and Bobby talking about a case… I’ll just… see if they would want me to go with them. Or I can stick around and watch out for Sam. I’ll find something to do. You just, uh, call me the next time you’re back on Earth with some extra time.”

“I’m sorry,” Dean said, setting his bag on the table next to her. “Someone’s got to stay here with Sammy.”

“Great. I’ll watch him sleep and try not to poke the wall while you’re gone,” Marion growled, before walking out into the study and flopping down on the couch. Twenty minutes later, Bobby walked in, alone. She straightened, trying to look around him. “Where’s Dean?”

“He and Sam took off together. I’m still on the fence about that boy after what he pulled last week, so… I opted to let Dean take him out alone,” Bobby answered, grabbing a bottle from his desk drawer.

Marion shook her head, anger radiating through her. “Of course. I, specifically, ask to go out on a case and Dean takes Sam, instead. I’m sensing a pattern here, Bobby.”

“He didn’t exclude you on purpose, ya know. It happened pretty quick.”

“He never does it on purpose, Bobby. But Mister always said, ‘It doesn’t matter if you meant to, because you didn’t mean not to’. He never considers, Bobby, never thinks of anyone but himself and Sam.” Marion lied down on the couch and closed her eyes. “I’m gonna take a nap… or a coma.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Marion arrived in her dreamscape in her basement bedroom at the Cornwells’ home. The familiar scene of grey cinder block walls lined with full bookshelves made her smile. She breathed in deeply, a savory and sweet smell invading her nostrils. “That smells like…”

“Meatloaf, mashed potatoes and homemade yeast rolls. Mmm-mh, good,” Lucifer said, appearing on the stairs.

Marion’s eyes went glossy as she looked up at him. “You set up my favorite meal for me? Why?”

Lucifer smiled as he appeared next to her and put a hand on her shoulder. “Thought you might need it. I mean, Sam and Dean went off to fight evil without you. Brother Castiel is too busy to have a drink with you. Bobby’s got his mouth to the bottle, just on the thought of being around Sam after what he did. Thought you’d enjoy a calm family moment, even one that’s not real.”

“Luke! Is she sleeping? What is taking so long?” Mister’s voice called from upstairs.

“They think I’m 29 and I go to your church.” Lucifer winked and pushed her toward the stairs.

“There they are! The food’s gonna get cold,” Missus said.

Marion sat down at the square oak table, across from Mister and Missus and smiled as Lucifer took the seat next to her. This dream, it made her happy. It filled her with calm and well-being, just like Castiel had when they first met.

Mister and Missus smiled at them as they spooned food onto the plates. “I never imagined the angels would send you a disciple. I almost thought they’d forgotten about you, Marion. But Jesus was in his thirties when he started ministering,” Missus said.

“I’m not… That’s not what I’m here for, Missus,” Marion dissented. “I’m sure I’m not anything like the Nazerene.”

“Oh, hush. The angels had us save you for a reason. Now, eat your meatloaf,” Mister demanded. “How’s that taste, there, Luke?”

Lucifer smiled. “It tastes perfect. You should have a cooking show, Mrs. Cornwell.”

Marion smiled over at Lucifer. He was so much different in this setting. He didn’t seem like a powerful, almost omnipotent creature who had been intent on turning everyone into rage zombies. He seemed almost normal, and like the only person who actually wanted to be around her. Marion shoved a forkful of mashed potatoes into her mouth and thanked Lucifer, silently, that he’d gotten the details of Missus’ cooking perfectly. The grin he shot at her told her he’d heard it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As Lucifer helped Dream Missus clean the dishes, and as Dream Mister retired to his study, Marion snuck out onto the front porch to sit on the little wooden porch swing. She swung back and forth a bit as she stared out at the semi-familiar lights of Lawrence down below her.

Lucifer appeared next to her on the swing and looked out at the lights. “It’s kinda pretty.”

Marion leaned back. “I know I should wake up. I can feel Bobby staring at me from his desk. I can smell the coffee he brewed to nurse his hangover. It’s morning… out there in the real world. I’ve been out since last evening. I should wake up before Bobby starts checking for vital signs. But this world… this dream you made for me… I know why djinns use dream worlds now. I don’t want to go back there where I’m nothing.”

Marion ran her hand through her hair and breathed deeply. “When I was a teen, living here with those God-fearing people, I pulled away from God, just a little bit. I couldn’t help but question it, why God would let a crazy old couple turn a little girl into a false idol. They were so sure, I would be something big, someone important. I never had any aspirations for myself. Mister and Missus told me I’d never leave, not until God willed it, but even if I had… nothing I could have imagined would have been close to my life now. I’m around wonderful, powerful, special people all the time. My boyfriend is an angel. My only real friend is the Fallen Angel. I hunt demons and monsters with my brothers… when they let me go with them… I never had dreams so wonderful as my real life. So, why don’t I want to wake up?”

“Maybe… you know something is wrong. Maybe you don’t want to think about whether the vibe Castiel has been throwing off is the beginning of the end. You don’t want to question whether his distance has to do with the heartbreak God told you is looming. But…” Lucifer turned to look at her instead of the lights. “… you’ll never know for sure if you stick around here. I mean, I like the company, it’s a bit of a sausage fest in the Cage, and I like that you’ve finally recognized me as your friend, but… you have to wake up, Mare. Your brothers are facing something… different, to say the least. You need to be awake.”

A ringing sound went through the air and Lucifer smirked. “Bobby’s phone. That’s them. They need help.”

Marion sank down into the swing. “I wish I could stay.”

“I know. I’ll throw together something good for you tonight. Something like this, but better. I promise, you’ll love it. Go on. Wake up.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Dragons?” Marion asked, incredulously.

“Don’t make sense to me, either, but… Dean says it’s the only thing he and Sam can come up with.”

Marion took a sip of coffee. *Luci did say it was something different.* “So, who would we talk to for dragon lore? I mean, actual dragon lore, not Tolkien or World of Warcraft lore?”

“Oh! Dr. Visyak. Gotta find my address book,” Bobby said, digging through his desk drawer.

“Dr. Visyak. Why does that name sound familiar? Did she write a book?”

Bobby looked up at her as he found the address book he was looking for. “Um, yeah, I think. A textbook on medieval studies. She’s a professor…”

“At San Francisco University. My medieval studies professor down South taught her textbook. She’s brilliant.”

“Yeah. She’s amazing,” Bobby said, pulling his phone out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Marion laid down on Bobby’s couch and closed her eyes, excited for whatever Lucifer had planned for her. She appeared in a hotel lobby, with purple and black and gold streamers and balloons hanging from the roof. She could hear pulsing music behind a set of doors to her left. “What’s this?” she asked, a bit awed.

“This is your Prom, Marion. You never got the chance to go. I thought you’d like the opportunity,” Lucifer said, appearing suddenly, leaning against a table with a bunch of pictures on it.

“I don’t think we’re properly dressed, Luci,” she said, turning to him with a smile.

“Oh, silly me. Forgot the most important part.” Marion looked down and she was wearing a sleeveless red ball gown and long white gloves. She looked up and smiled at him, then frowned playfully when she saw him still wearing jeans and the flannel shirt.

“You’re still under dressed, Luke.”

“Oh, I’m not your date. He is,” Lucifer said, nodding toward a figure suddenly in the doorway to the right of her. Marion gasped a little when she saw Castiel in a black and grey suit.

“But… I don’t want to go with him.” She turned back to Lucifer. “As handsome as he looks, and as much as I would enjoy watching him struggle with a corsage… he’s not really here. And if I’m going to be at my Prom, I’d like to be there with someone who isn’t too busy to even show up in my dreams. What do you say, Lucifer? Will you go to Prom with me?”

Lucifer smirked and stood up, finally. He snapped his fingers and she turned to look as Castiel disappeared. When she turned back around to Lucifer, he was wearing a tuxedo. Marion giggled happily. “You look amazing.”

He offered his arm and she took it, walking into the ballroom.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Marion walked outside as the boys returned, semi-victorious, from their dragon hunt. As Dean walked into the house with a bag of gold and shiny trinkets, Sam grabbed her hand and pulled her over to the open trunk. “You okay, bro?” Marion asked.

Sam’s eyes shined with regret as he looked down at her. “I’m so sorry, Marion.”

“What? For leaving me behind? That was Dean’s fault,” she dismissed. “I don’t…”

“No, I’m…” Sam looked toward the door, then back to his sister. “I’m sorry for what I said. I know now that I’m a big part of why you feel so unimportant. I’m so sorry.”

Marion picked up a knife from the trunk and leaned against the bumper, twirling the blade. “Oh. That. Bobby tell you?”

“Cas.”

Marion nodded. “I don’t really hold it against you, Sam. I know that Soulless Sam is different than Normal Sam.” Sam seemed to relax a little, looked a bit grateful until Marion dropped the knife and looked him in his eyes. “But I do know that Soulless Sam was still Sam. And somewhere, in those dark, deep parts of you that your soul hides away, you really do think everything would be better if I’d just stayed dead. If it makes you feel any better, Sammy, I feel the same way.”

“Marion…” The sadness and guilt in Sam’s eyes only barely overshadowed the pity there.

“Sometimes, people should just stay dead, Sam. Don’t feel bad, though. God’s will or not, I’m here to stay. Do me a favor, and don’t dwell on this. We did have a good reason for not telling you the truth.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So, your boyfriend’s an asshat. Should’ve asked one of us before he filled Sam in,” Dean said, sitting next to Marion on the couch and offering her an open beer.

Marion took a sip of it, keeping her distaste to herself. “Yeah. I know. I mean, Sam kinda tricked him, but… he’s an angel, he should’ve known better.”

Dean nodded in agreement and took a drink of his beer. “So, we’re gonna head out. I’ve got Sam convinced that he shouldn’t think too much. I think we’re okay to go catch a few cases while Bobby works on this ‘Mother of All’ thing and-”

“You’re not leaving me here, Dean.” Marion interrupted in a tired, but cold whisper.

“What?” Dean asked, a bit surprised at the tone.

Marion lifted her head from staring at the floor. “My boyfriend is too busy fighting to come see me, but he has time to regale my brother with a year and a half of events. I have no friends, no family but you two idiots. I am sick of looking outside and seeing junk cars. I am sick of walking into that kitchen and finding nothing but beer and condiments. I’m sick of pretending like Bobby’s taste in beer doesn’t suck. I’d much rather drink shitty beer in a shitty motel room with my brothers, knowing that I’m on the heels of kicking the shit out of some creature or demon. You can’t leave me here with my thoughts, Dean. They’re getting a bit dark.”

Dean nodded, obviously not wanting to leave his sister in such a dangerous mindset. “Yeah, okay. Might need help with Sammy, anyway.”

She leaned her head on Dean’s shoulder. “I think I know why you used to leave a trail of floozies behind you. So much easier.”

“They weren’t all floozies. Some were just naïve and tipsy,” Dean said, taking a drink, and wrapping his arm around her shoulder.

KITCHEN SINK TAGS @heyitscam99 @wonderlandfandomkingdom @unlikelysamwinchesteronahunt @mrs-meghan-winchester @henrymorganme

SUPERNATURAL TAGS @letsby @mrswhozeewhatsis @adoptdontshoppets @spnskinnyballs @deansenwackles

[mattzerella-sticks]

Poison From Your Sweet, Sweet Lips

After hunting for thirty-plus years, it takes a lot to really send Dean into a downward spiral. But a recent case stirs up some desires he thought he left far in the past, and leaves him feeling shaken. But just what did he see, what does he want, and how can he recover from the shock and horror of what waits in the night?

(Set sometime after Jack and Mary get back from the Apocalypse World, where Michael and Lucifer were defeated, Gabriel runs Heaven, and Jack hunts with the Winchesters.) (ao3)

           He didn’t mean to break the skin. It just wouldn’t stop tingling, itching – burning. Dean wasn’t even sure how long he’d been scraping his nails up and down his arm, focusing on the sensation more than the words and images and feelings from earlier in the day. Pushing those thoughts and memories down further and further so they don’t rise and spill over from his throat and out his mouth. Now, instead of staring at his wall he’s mesmerized by his bloodstained nails, and how he can’t stop picking, and the trail seeping down his arm, over his pale, unblemished flesh.

           ‘It’s not there,’ he thinks, ‘It’s gone.’

           ‘But you miss it don’t you?’

           He shivers, eyes fluttering closed as his voice speaks up. It scrapes at the back of his mind, clawing its way back up. Sending shivers up his spine like the first hit after years of sobriety.

           ‘The power…’ he continues, ‘The freedom…’

           “Shut up,” Dean growls, digging deeper into his arm. The pain dulls the other’s voice somewhat, but it carries on like a bad song at a party. And no matter how far into the bathroom Dean tries to hide, how powerful the faucet water is, he can still hear it through the thin walls of his mind.

           He hadn’t thought about him in forever, but today’s events have proven that no matter how hard he tries to salt and burn the past, it’ll still be there to haunt him.

           “So what’s the story?”

           Dean leans against Baby, watching as Sam and Cas make their way over to him and Jack. The Nephilim distracts himself on his phone, only glancing up to smile at the two before continuing scrolling.

           Sam reaches them first. “Same as the witnesses,” he shrugs, “There’s no connection between any of the victims.”

           “What’s left of them anyway,” Cas says.

           Dean raises a brow, “…Left?”

           “We were able to see the victims’ bodies,” he explains, “Thankfully whoever did this didn’t take their identifications. Only because the police would never have been able to find out whose parts they found.”

           “Holy –” Dean huffs, stomach turning. It shouldn’t get to him, this many years into the job, but knowing what a half-there corpse means still makes his nerves fry and his knees knock together. “So,” he continues after a deep breath, “what are we thinking? Werewolves?”

           “There weren’t any hearts on the bodies,” Sam says, “But… the spread of the victims doesn’t match up with any lunar cycles.”

           “And we don’t have any reason to believe vampires either,” Cas adds, “At least two of the victims were reported missing early morning, and discovered before the sun had set.”

           “How does that rule out vampires?” Jack, phone away, blinks up at them. “I mean,” he continues, “Couldn’t they have had help? From my conversations with Alex, vampires were not above using humans as bait.”

           “Maybe,” Sam says, “But get this, when they swept the area for clues, one of the officers strayed from the pack.”

           “And?”

           “And they found her,” Cas pulls out the photo from his trench coat, handing it to Dean, “They didn’t hear a thing.” Dean forces himself to look at the grisly scene. The young woman, probably fresh from the academy, hangs from her own intestines. A once blue, pristine uniform was stained with her blood.

           “So,” Dean hands the picture back, “We’re looking for… what, exactly?” Sam and Cas share a look, one that doesn’t sit well with Dean.

           “We’re… not sure,” Sam starts, “Every new angle we get on this pulls us farther and farther away from anything we’re used to dealing with.”

           “So, what?” Dean asks, “We’re looking at something new here?”

           “I’m not sure…”

           Dean turns to Cas, now. The angel is looking at his feet, hands stuffed into his jacket. His face creases, and Dean watching the gears spinning as he tries to work through his thoughts.

           “What’re ya thinking, Cas?”

           “The bodies… I don’t know,” he says, words slow and unsteady, “When we were examining them, I sensed this – this energy. It was… familiar.”

           “So angels?” Dean asks, Jack and Sam leaning in with interest.

           “Not angels,” Cas shakes his head, “Demonic… with a little something extra.”

           “Demons would fit,” Sam says, “But there weren’t any signs – no weird weather patterns, cattle deaths. I even asked the sheriff if he smelt any sulfur! Not a thing.”

           “Still…”

           “Look,” Dean cuts in, clapping a hand on Cas’s shoulder, “We don’t have much to go on but that. I say, until we find anything else, we treat this as a demon hunt.” Cas smiles at him, causing his stomach to flip in an all-new way – a way he likes. He squeezes once more before dropping his hand back to his side.

           Sam waits a beat, but agrees with them. “So,” he says, “since we have an… idea of what we’re hunting, I think we should strike before anyone else gets hurt.”

           “Where would we begin?” Jack asks him, “All these people were taken in different parts of the city?”

           “But their remains were all found at the entrance of the woods,” Cas says, “They weren’t always consistent… but at least four of the victims were found near this stream on the East side.”

           “So we start there,” Dean says, “We should split up –“

           “Split up?” Sam splutters, “Are you serious?”

           “What?”

           “This… this thing –“

           “Probable demon.”

           “Demon, monster – whatever!” Sam barks, “It’s already got twenty-two bodies under its belt –“

           “Twenty-two?” Dean blinks, his throat suddenly dry, “We… why didn’t we get that in the report?”

           “A lot of them didn’t have enough left behind for identification,” Sam shrugged, sadly, “Police think the perp might have started in on homeless people or tourists – those that no one in the town might have noticed.”

           Dean wipes a hand down his face, sucking in a harsh breath between clenched teeth. “That’s just great,” he mutters, “Really freakin’ great… all those… all those people –“

           “It’s strong, whatever it is, Dean,” Sam continues, “we can’t be certain that splitting up won’t just make it easier for them to take us out.” Dean tries not to let his brother’s worry get to him, but he’s still focused on the number of people they were too late to save. He’s spiraling, but thankfully Cas clears his throat before he freefalls.

           “I’d agree with you, Sam,” Cas speaks up, drawing the brothers’ attention, “But I’m going to have to side with Dean on this one.”

           “Cas…”

           “Look at the time, Sam,” he says, “I think that by splitting up, we’d be able to cover more ground before the sun sets and by then numbers wouldn’t matter. The monster has better knowledge of the surroundings, so if we want to put an end to this now, we must act quickly.”

           Sam frowns, his cheeks dimpling in dissatisfaction. “Still…”

           “Jack and I will be in constant communication,” he adds, “That way, if Dean and I find anything, I can alert you and vice versa.” He looks at Dean, “Besides, I think we’ve handled enough crises together that as long as none of us face this threat alone, we’ll be alright.” Dean smirks the tiniest bit, looking at Sam. The look on his brother’s face is exasperated, but fond.

           “Alright,” Sam relents, “Jack? You good with this plan?”

           “I want to end this,” he says, “This seems like the best plan we have.”

           “Great!” Dean claps, drawing all eyes to him, “Let’s get moving, then. Cas, take shotgun – that way he doesn’t have to move when we drop you and Jack off, Sam.” The younger Winchester huffs something under his breath, rolling his eyes and stuffing his long frame into the backseat next to Jack.

           Cas opens the door, but pauses with one foot on the frame. Dean catches his eye, raising his brow in question. “Nothing,” Cas says, “Just… appreciating the power.”

           “Shotgun doesn’t hold much of a sway,” Dean scoffs, “I mean, you can’t pick the music.”

           “…Can’t I?”

           He quirks his own brow to match Dean’s – in challenge. Dean doesn’t want to be the first to turn. But the fierce intensity of Cas’s gaze is like coal under his feet, and he can’t handle the burn. He ducks his head in defeat, “…We’ll see.”

           Cas’s choices aren’t that bad.

           The sun is just starting to set over the horizon. Dean and Cas have been at this for hours, but after passing the same tree for the third time, he’s ready to call it quits. Pressing himself against the small carving, he whistles over to Cas, who has taken to the birds.

           “Yes, Dean?” he asks, trotting over the brush and thistles coating the ground, “Did you find anything?”

           “Only a pinecone in my boot,” Dean grumbles, “I think we’re barking up the wrong tree – pun intended. Whatever was lurking in these woods must only come out at night.”

           “I’m not sure,” Cas tells him, turning, “The energy here is… off. The animals feel it, and it has been throwing certain balances into upheaval.” Birdsong catches their ears, and Dean tries to quell the soft coo working its way up his throat at the sight of Cas, nodding along in conversation.

           He pushes himself off the tree, wiping his hands. “So,” he says, “Did the birds see where the monster went or what it looks like? You gonna make ‘em sing like a canary?”

           Cas looks at him, squinting and tilting his head. “…It’s not a canary, Dean,” he says, seriously, “It’s a blue jay.”

           Dean nearly snorts a chuckle, but someone beats him to it. Its raucous laugh rings out, bouncing against the trees, and startles the birds from their perch. The sound is followed with harsh ruffling and heavy steps.

           Dean meets Cas’s wide eyes, “Shit.” They give chase, Dean taking lead, knocking away heavy branches and jumping over fallen logs, Cas trailing behind. Dean can barely make out the creature, its shadowy figure darting just out of sight – always a few steps ahead of them.

           He’s rounding the bend when he hears it – the crack of wood caving in on itself. Dean looks to his left where a large oak hurdles towards him. He’s frozen, gaping up as the trunk comes closer and closer until –

           “Dean!”

           He’s pushed away, tumbling with the weight of someone else down a steep hill. They roll until they reach the bottom, curving into a barren field. Dean opens his eyes, ready to fight, only to be face to face with Cas. His blue eyes are flitting all across Dean’s face. He’s pinned him there, squeezing his wrists too tight to be comfortable or fun.

           “Are you okay?” Cas asks him.

           Dean sighs, “Yeah… yeah, you got me out of there at the last second.” He pushes up, forcing Cas to kneel between his legs. He scratches at his neck and looks back up at the hill, where the jagged remains of the tree sit ominously. “That was real close,” Dean says.

           “Too close,” Cas says, “I should let Jack and Sam know where we are.“

           “Why bother?” Dean huffs, standing. He holds a hand to Cas, pulling the angel up alongside him. “I mean,” he continues, “Not like we know where he went.”

           “He?”

           “I’m pretty sure,” Dean shrugs, “Height, build… didn’t get a good look at the face but that voice? It’s a dude.”

           “Very well,” Cas powers on, “Still, we should check in. It’s going to be dark soon, and I don’t believe we’ll be out of the woods when the sun sets. If we meet up, we will have more eyes.”

           Dean doesn’t want Sam to make his way over. He didn’t tell Cas, wasn’t sure how to bring it up, but he recognized the laugh. It cut clear through his heart, scraping like nails on chalk in his mind. Made his heart stop and throat close. The only problem is he couldn’t match the sound to a face or a name. His body had such a striking physical reaction, but for the love of him he couldn’t connect the dots. The string is hanging in the wind, dangling precariously over the dark chasm of his memories, reaching out. But either he can’t remember… or he doesn’t want to.

           And if it’s the latter, then it’s for a good reason – one that warrants Sam being far away from here.

           Snap.

           They turn to their right, where the sound came from. Dean pulls out his gun, finger perched on the trigger. From the gleam of silver Dean catches at the corner of his eye, he can tell Cas is ready with his blade. They take a tentative step forward, only to jump back when something flies out.

           Dean fires first, the gunshot echoing and scaring off even more animals.

           It didn’t even matter – all Dean did was waste a round. Lying at their feet was a dead bird – a blue jay. Probably not the one from earlier, but he couldn’t tell. Cas would know.

           Snap.

           “He’s playing with us,” Cas says, kneeling towards the creature. He scoops it into his hands and glares at it. After a few seconds, his concentrated frown deepens into annoyance.

           “Cas?”

           “My powers,” he whispers, going wide-eyed, “I can’t… I can’t heal him.” Dean looks towards the bush, where the monster snaps another twig, more impatient than before.

           “We’ll be walking into a trap, won’t we?”

           “Most likely,” Cas says, leaning back down to let the dead bird slip softly from his hands. He covers it with fallen leaves and offers a few words in Enochian. He stands at full height, the softness in his eyes shedding into a hard fury. “Whatever we’re facing… he’s powerful. And…”

           “And?”

           “Familiar,” Cas says, again, frustrated, “I can’t help but feel we’ve faced something like this before. It’s like hearing a song… but the melody is off, and the words are not quite the same… I’m sorry if I sound –“

           “No, no,” Dean assures him, “I… I get it. I feel the same way… sort of.” Cas tilts his head, as if to ask how, when another animal is thrown from the brush: a tawny rabbit, neck broken. Its lifeless eyes stare up at them, and cut their conversation short.

           “We shouldn’t keep him waiting,” Cas says instead, walking forward. He looks back at Dean, “Coming?”

           “Right behind you.”

           Dean brings up the rear – alert to whatever might come at them from the side. The angel doesn’t look anywhere but ahead. They follow a marked path, the monster slicing and slashing into tree bark, giving the wood an eerie smile. Dean brushes a few fingers against one and bites back a gasp, the electric shock firing up his hand and leaving fresh tingles in its wake.

           He keeps his hands to himself after that.

           Cas and Dean stop soon enough in another clearing. There’s no sign of life – creature, animal, or plant. The grass is dry and grey, crumbling underfoot wherever they step. There’re carcasses and bones littered everywhere, and Dean gags when he recognizes what looks like a femur. It’s too much, the smell of rotting flesh hitting his nose and sending his brain into overdrive. He searches for Cas, gripping his free hand.

           “Any,” he struggles, voice wavering, “Any word from Jack?”

           “I sent out a prayer,” Cas says, “It’s up to them to find us in time.”

           Snap!

           There’s a large cave a few yards away. Its smooth rock entrance is painted in blood, and the bones planted at its ground only serve to make the mouth look more terrifying.

           That’s where the sound came from.

           “I’ll take ‘Creepy Murder Hideouts’ for $2000, Alex,” Dean mumbles. Cas’s stare assures Dean his humor is not appreciated. He squeezes Cas’s hand in apology before letting it drop, re-centering himself, and tuning the horror around them out.

           “Well,” Dean says after a while, “It’ll be rude to keep him waiting.” He steps forward, leading the charge. Cas stays a few inches behind, trench coat fanned around him like a cape.

           Snap

           Snap

           Snap!

           Dean passes the ‘teeth’, stepping into the cave. There are a few tentative steps of darkness, but not for long. He pulls a flashlight from his pocket and flicks it on, letting them catch glimpse of the monster’s home.

           He wishes he didn’t.

           Where the blood around the cave was painted in chaos, its only purpose to serve as warning for anyone who came across it that they’ve found their doom. Inside, each stroke was made with intent. There are symbols and sigils streaked within, the dark red of dried blood shining whenever a beam of light catches it.

           Dean moves forward and away from Cas, pocketing his weapon to trace at one of the symbols.

           “You said there weren’t any angels involved, Cas,” Dean whispers, “Then how come there’re all these?”

           “I… I do not know,” Cas admits, voice warbling “It’s… These are… I…” Dean turns to him, watches as his eyes ping pong across the cave walls, taking it all in. “These symbols… I recognize a few… but not… haven’t seen –“

           “Cas?”

           “Don’t you feel them, Dean?” Cas turns to him, eyes glassy and distant, “Like black tendrils, gripping at you, trying to tear you apart? So many voices… like before but not… I don’t… I can’t…” He trails off, looking to his right, towards something Dean can’t see.

           “Cas…?” Dean reaches out, eyebrows drawn close together in worry, “Talk to me. Tell me you’re – oof!”

           Cas spins on his heel, knocking Dean back as he scurries deeper into the cave. “Cas!” Dean shouts, “Cas!” He chases after him, uncaring of who hears or not. It doesn’t matter to him what’s waiting inside knowing that Cas is vulnerable.

           He follows the heavy pounding of Cas’s footsteps, turning and twisting down the surprising length of the cave’s tunnel systems. Throughout it all he could barely see six inches in front of him. But the light at the end has him picking up his pace, uncaring to the way his lungs were burning.

           He slides into an opening, sagging against his knees in exhaustion, trying to catch his breath. When he feels he has a hold on it, he looks up – and loses it once more.

           The flashlight is pointless, as the room is engulfed in the bright light of the tear in the fabric of the universe. It glows and pulsates with that strange energy, larger than any rip Dean has seen before.

           And standing right in front of it is Cas, his back to Dean. He’s gazing up at it with hands in his pockets, his posture more loose and relaxed than before, frighteningly so.

           Dean is on high alert, taking careful steps towards his angel. “Cas?” he says, “Buddy, is that… we should probably step away. Wait until Jack –“ He loses his voice, unable to speak past the sheer terror and wrongness he feels when Cas turns around.

           It’s not him. It’s not his Cas. This Cas’s collar is flecked with blood, his hair is mussed and his eyes dark, and everywhere across his skin are black tendrils, goo flowing where blood should be. He’s grinning at him with sharpened teeth, predatorily, ready to snap.

           “Lev…” Dean croaks out, “Leviathan.”

           “Hello, Dean,” he says, then glances at something slightly to the left, “And hello, Dean.”

           “What –“

           Darkness. He slumps to the ground.

           “ – try and wake ‘em up… I’m bored!”

           “Patience, love, why must I keep reminding you of this?”

           “Because I’m a naughty piece of shit who loves your ‘reminders’.”

           Dean wakes with a silent groan, trying and failing to stretch his aching limbs. His arms are pulled tight behind him, around a jagged rock that pokes deeper the more he wriggles. His legs were left free, fanned out beneath him in an open ‘V’. There’s a weight pressed up against him, and he blinks to adjust to the tear’s light to see Cas, still knocked out. Dean shakes his shoulder, trying to jerk him awake. There’s a slight twitch behind Cas’s eyes, and Dean keeps going. “Cas,” he whispers, “Cas, come on. Cas –!”

           Rough, calloused hands grab his chin and pull his gaze forward, locking eyes with a recognizable pair of green eyes.

           “Well look here, baby,” the other Dean says, face dirty with sweat and blood, his grin feral, “I guess we can start playin’ after all.”

           Dean shudders involuntarily, backing himself further into the rock behind him. “What?” he asks, “Who are… what?”

           The other Dean lets go, leaning back in a fit of laughter, his arm clutching at his stomach. “Oh man, did I hit you too hard?” he wheezes, wiping an errant tear from his eye, “Don’t you recognize me… or, well – should I say you?”

           “Now don’t patronize him love,” Leviathan Cas growls as he stalks forward, wrapping his arm around Dean’s stomach, tangling their fingers together. Pressing up against other Dean’s back, he hooks his chin over Dean’s shoulder and scrapes his stubble against his. “This must be confusing,” he continues, “It’s not everyday you run into other versions of yourself.”

           Dean wants to make a comment: about how this isn’t the first doppelganger he’s come across, that even if it was he’s a big boy, or maybe even about the tender press of his twin’s lips against the bundle of creatures’ flesh suit. He wants to, but all his confidence and bravado shrivels when his Cas finally stirs awake.

           “…Dean?”

           “The gangs all here!” Dean crows, stepping out of the Leviathan’s hold, “Now we can really get this party started.”

           Cas’s eyes widen at the sight, turning to Dean. He doesn’t know what he can tell the angel, his mind still coming to terms with what he’s seeing.

           “Now come on, keep your eyes on me,” other Dean whines, “I take it personally if I feel ignored.”

           “So, what?” Dean finally finds his voice, “In your universe you’re a big baby? Not impressed, honestly.” Other Dean smirks at him.

           “You shouldn’t be impressed,” he says, eyes flicking black, “You should be scared.”

           And he is. The cloying, sick feeling has returned, choking him with the sheer sense of wrong. There’re no bodies littered about the cave floor, but Demon him reeks of rotted flesh and organs, his clothes as dirty as his face. A sneaking suspicion has him trekking his eyes away from his face and down his right arm, where the veins are red and bulging around scar tissue, and he’s swinging a jawbone blade in hand.

           “This doesn’t make any sense,” Cas says, “You weren’t… at no point should either of you have existed at the same time.”

           “Call it fate… destiny – I don’t care,” Demon Dean shrugs, “Where we come from, we played our cards exactly how we should have.”

           “And it was all happily ever after wasn’t it?” Dean chokes out, “All sunshine and rainbows?”

           “Those don’t exist where we come from,” Leviathan Cas tilts his head, cutting at Dean’s heart, “Not anymore. Our universe is… pure. No mess, no fuss, just survival – people stripped to their most base instincts and desires.”

           “So Purgatory,” Dean says, “you turned your universe into Purgatory?”

           “You’d be surprised how great it is when there’s nothing holding you back, Dean,” Demon him adds, rubbing his hand up and down Leviathan Cas’s cheek, “You get to do all the fun things Daddy tried to beat out of you.” Dean flinches, the words striking below the belt, just as they intended.

           “But the Leviathan,” Cas struggles to understand, “my vess… my body could not handle the strain it… it nearly killed me.”

           “Only because you let it,” Cas’s doppelganger points out, “The Leviathan are repelled by willpower. The stronger you’re beliefs, the harder it is for them to take control. I wasn’t swayed from my convictions… I managed to tame and absorb these creatures. They work for me – are a part of me. I reveled in their power. I stared into the abyss and didn’t blink.” Cas is forced into a stunned silence, eyes trained on his shoes, unable to meet the other Cas’s smug look.

           “And you?” Dean asks the other him, “Obviously why I got the Mark here won’t match with how you got the Mark there so…?”

           “With Cas all souped up on Leviathan juice, we needed something that could take him down,” Demon him shrugs, picking at his nails with the First Blade, “Crowley wasn’t feeling too good about being cut out on all that power, so he decided to ‘help’. Sam and I decided, what the hell, not like we have any aces up our sleeves. This one,” he jerks his thumb back at the Leviathan, the other Cas smirking softly, “wouldn’t listen to ‘reason’. So with Sam setting up base in Crowley’s, we went on a little trip to a bee farm.”

           “Cain wouldn’t budge, no matter how Crowley spun the situation,” he said, “So I challenged him to it. Winner keeps the Mark… loser gets – I think you can guess. It was exactly what we needed on our side. Who needs an army when you have a super-powered demon on your side am I right?”

           “It doesn’t look like you were fighting for long though,” Dean says, “How did you… you and he…”

           “Hook up?” Demon Dean chuckles, winking exaggeratedly at him, “After a while, I was starting to get pissed with Sammy. He was going on and on about the ‘dangerous effects of the Mark’ and ‘you’re losing your humanity, Dean’ blah blah blah blah blah. I was getting sick of it. So… during one battle, Cas managed to catch me alone. Put a deal on the table for me – offered me something I’ve been craving for a long time now.” He twines his free hand with the other Cas’s, grinning, “I’m sure you can guess what that was.”

           “I take it your Sam wasn’t happy with the team up?”

           “If he was, he didn’t put up a fight,” Demon him tosses out, “but when you’re stabbed through the back you don’t have much time to do those types of things.” Dean’s breath hitches at the cold way the Demon version of himself talked about his brother. Like he was just another of a long list of bodies he let hit the floor.

           “After that, there wasn’t really anything standing in our way of taking control,” Demon Dean carries on, “What with Cas sitting pretty on his perch up in Heaven as the new God and me overthrowing Crowley… we had everything we ever wanted.”

           “So why leave?” Cas demands, glaring at Dean’s evil copy, “Why step through the portal.”

           “Honestly we didn’t know we’d end up here when we touched it,” Demon him says, “Things like this don’t pop up everyday, especially in our bedroom.” Dean can see Cas flinch out of the corner of his eye, “And I don’t take kindly to things interrupting our special alone time, just when I was about to –“

           “Anyway,” Leviathan Cas speaks over him, “After… cleaning up, we investigated and landed here –“

           “Got a good look around, took some pictures, held up the Hollywood sign,” Dean rattles off, snarling, “So end your vacation and get out of here.”

           “I don’t think so,” Leviathan Cas says, walking towards him. He holds Dean’s cheek, grazing his thumb under his eye. Dean can feel his Cas’s glare even if he can’t see it. “Do you know how boring it is to have everything you want? When all challenges you’ve faced have been conquered?”

           “Sounds like paradise.”

           “Well it wasn’t,” Demon him says from behind the Leviathan Cas, arms folded across his chest in a huff, “We were just going through the motions for the longest of times. Every morning we’d walk throughout our world reminding our subjects who to fear; there’d be the occasional reminder being dragged forward once or twice to feel the smooth slide of my blade. Then we’d carry on to the afternoon where we would attend the daily gladiatorial battles, watching as humans, angels, demons, and monsters fought for their glory. And later in the evening they’d receive it – a five-minute head start before I hunted them down and skinned them for our collection. It was getting too… easy.”

           “So your little stay in our universe is just so you two can get your groove back?” Dean splutters, “Are you guys for real?”

           “They do say nothing spices up a relationship like returning to your roots,” Demon him says, “I think conquering your world will put us back on track to where we were before.”

           “Dean is right,” Leviathan Cas stands, turning to embrace his lover with a fire burning behind his eyes, “Our first night here was… glorious. We had stumbled upon a vagrant during our scouting, and I watched as Dean had pounced on him, slowly torturing the life from him. He flayed strips of skin from his body… pounded bone into dust… used his intestines to keep him from wriggling away as Dean pulled nail after nail, slicing one finger after the other. It was titillating. Making something spark inside me that hasn’t been lit in years. Soon hours had passed, Dean working his magic. I couldn’t control myself any longer and joined in the chaos. As I was reaching climax, I watched from behind Dean as the man’s eyes glazed over with death, his last sensation that of Dean spurting over his wounds as I came in Dean.” He pulls a string of teeth from his coat pocket, holding them up in the tear’s glow, “He made me a keepsake so we could remember the fun we had.”

           “Not like we could keep the skin,” Demon him had shrugged, “I fried that up for breakfast after we cuddled over the bloody corpse.” He winks at Dean, “Goes great with scrambled kidneys and hash brains.”

           Cas chokes beside him, dry heaving the bile that sits in his stomach, trying to keep it down. Dean can’t even begin to pick apart the story he heard. Each part a cacophony of terror and disgust that are fighting for dominance over which part this reflection of him, this thing that used to be him in another world, did that was the worst. The answer though was simple – Demon Dean himself was the worst part. Because he had done it, had found nothing wrong with doing it, and would do it again.

           “And the others?” Dean forced himself to ask, to focus on anything but the manic glee and arousal on full display, “They played a part in your weird sex games?”

           “A man’s gotta eat, Dean,” Demon Dean snarks, tapping at his stomach, “And chasing people through the woods really works up the appetite.”

           “And you?” Cas asks his copy, regaining control of himself, “Did you… hunt?”

           “It’d be no fun if I participated,” Leviathan Cas shrugs, “They’d be nothing but bones with the snap of my fingers. Besides… my interests are voyeuristic in nature.”

           “A regular ol’ Peeping Tom,” Demon Dean jokes, “But you gotta love him – flaws and all.”

           “From what I’m seein’ you two are nothin’ but flaws – hrrgn.”

           Demon him has pressed the First Blade right against his neck, and the teeth are tugging against his skin. Green eyes have blinked back to black, and Demon Dean’s leaning in close. “Wanna say that again, pretty boy?” he threatens, “I’m not a fan of people who make fun of what’s mine.”

           Dean tries another comment, but the pressure chokes and strangles any word that tries to escape.

           “Down, love,” Leviathan Cas places a hand on his Dean’s shoulder – the shoulder, “Don’t take it out on them. They’re just misguided and… well, weak.”

           Cas speaks for the both of them as Dean splutters for breath, “…Excuse me?”

           “From what we can tell, it seems you two have had ultimate power at the tips of your fingers,” Leviathan Cas explains, “And wasted it. Letting it go because of some misplaced sense of morality. Always doing what you expect is right,” his gaze flitters between the two, “Not because of what you want.”

           “Put it simply you two are nothin’ but wet blankets,” Demon Dean mocks, “Probably spend your days twiddlin’ your thumbs and holding back. Because if you’re happy than somethin’ must be wrong, am I right? I mean, Heaven forbid you feel good about yourselves.” He points between him and his lover, “We feel good. This is good.”

           “What you two share is nothing more than an addiction,” Cas hits back, his words biting into Dean’s heart, “You push each other deeper and darker into depravity, feeding off your worst impulses. No wonder there’s nothing left in your world – you two are toxic.”

           “But isn’t that just love, angel?” Demon Dean asks, gripping Cas’s hair and pulling him close, “I can take the poison as long as it comes from your sweet, sweet lips.” He springs forward, shoving his tongue down Cas’s mouth, battling him into submission. Cas’s legs kick out underneath, eyes open and glaring with such power Dean cowers at the sight.

           Demon him lets go, wiping at his spit-slick lips. “Feisty,” he says, “But not as good as the original.”

           “He is the original, you sick monster –“

           “Now Dean,” Leviathan Cas cuts him off, “Is that any way to talk about yourself?”

           “He’s probably jealous,” Demon him purrs, leaning against the other Cas’s shoulder, “Thinks I’ve probably tainted his widdle angel –“

           “Shut up!”

           “Why don’t you make me?” the other him says, plopping onto Dean’s lap with a giddy laugh. He grinds against Dean’s groin, and Dean wants to vomit feeling how hard the demon is. “It’d be fun,” Demon him taunts, “Didn’t you ever wonder? Oh I know… you have. No one knows your body like yourself, and I can show you a few places you might not have even thought about.” He leans in to whisper at Dean’s ear, “Normally I’d be on the other end, but I’m feeling charitable.” Then he slides his tongue across Dean’s cheek and dives into his mouth.

           Dean can’t move. Demon Dean takes his pliant body underhand and keeps moving up against him, rutting and touching. Blood flecks fly off him and onto Dean, staining his clothes, imprinting him with the stench of his copy. It’s dirty, disgusting, and immoral… but the worst feeling – the one that is niggling at the base of his brain – is that it feels right.

           Through the press of their mouths Dean can feel the Mark singing to him, filling all the cracks in his soul with the promise of being complete. He thought he would never have to hear Amara’s voice again, but that universe’s Darkness is still trapped in the Mark, and knows exactly which buttons to press to mess with Dean’s head. Make him crave the release he thought he didn’t need. He’s flexing his hands against his binds, searching for something he can’t name.

           “Like that?” Demon Dean asks, nibbling at his lips, trailing kisses down his neck. Dean can’t focus, his mind dizzy in a haze. “You know,” the other him continues, “if you want… I can share it with you. I can see it in your eyes… you miss it. Miss this feeling. Like strings being cut – getting the power to do what you want when you want it. It’s intoxicating… such a rush –“

           “Dean, no!” His Cas says, cutting through the fog the Mark emits, “Fight it! You’ve been able to resist it before, you can do it again!”

           “You say that now,” Leviathan Cas snickers, leaning towards Cas, “But are either of you really strong enough?” He clutches at Cas’s trench coat, dragging him forward, “He’s not the only one who can have a second chance, you know? I can teach you how to tame them, give you the ultimate power. Make you useful again.” The Other Cas’s hand starts glowing with a dark energy, and the power leaks out.

           Cas’s eyes go wide, and he tries to lean away. He’s muttering in Enochian, pressing himself against Dean.

           Demon Dean has his own hand held up, the Mark glowing an even brighter red than before. “What do you say, Dean?” he asks, “Want to be the best you that you can be?”

           They’re inching closer and closer, ready to mold them into the same warped versions from their world. Dean doesn’t see a way out, so he focuses all he can on the warm weight of Cas next to him – hopefully they can resist long enough they would die before they turned.

           He doesn’t want this. Doesn’t want this Cas.

           He never wanted them to happen like this.

           Demon Dean’s hand is hovering over his wrist, the intense heat he gives off scalding. His fingers are about to touch his skin and –

           Boom!

           They didn’t have the radio on the entire drive back. Sam tried to find something, but a rough ‘Turn it off, Sammy’ from him kept all hands and minds away from music. Dean didn’t look away from the window the entire time, his hand cradling his right arm.

           He got out of there unscathed, as did Cas.

           Jack and Sam had found them with little time to spare. The nephilim had reacted without thought, extending his powers to push the doppelgangers off of them and towards the cave walls. Sam rushed to check on Dean and Cas, but faltered when he noticed just whom they were facing.

           “Shifters?” Sam had asked. Dean shook his head and pointed weakly to the rift.

           It was two versus two; Dean and Cas too weak from shock to even stand properly. Demon him had taunted Sam, talking about his own brother and how they had handled his corpse: propped above their marital bed, eyes sewn open. Leviathan Cas tried to strike after that – but Jack was more powerful.

           He didn’t kill them – he couldn’t kill them. Their deaths would release only another can of worms they couldn’t face again.

           But Jack could weaken them. He started with one – pulling a small tendril of goo from under the other Cas’s skin and grinding it into nothing. Then another, repeating the process the longer they stayed in the wrong universe.

           It hurt to see the tender way Demon him had cradled his Cas, carrying him over towards the rift. Demon Dean had looked back, speaking directly to him. “We’ll find a way back,” he promised, “If we’re two things, it’s immortal and stubborn. Nothing can stop us.”

           He vanished, as well as the rift moments later.

           Jack caused a cave-in just to be sure.

           When they get back to the Bunker at daybreak, having driven all throughout the night, Dean doesn’t wait for Sam to take the keys out before he’s running off to his room, head ducked down in shame.

           “Dean, your arm!”

           He looks up towards Cas, the angel watching him from the open door. ‘Didn’t I lock it?’ He wasn’t sure how much Cas had seen, or how long he’d been there, and all he can do is make a soft, low pitying sound from deep in his chest.

           Cas gives him a fond look, and steps in. He reaches out to Dean, “Please, allow me –“

           “No!” Dean flinches, hating himself even more as Cas’s face drops into something sadder. “N-no…” he says again, quieter, “I… I need it.”

           Cas sits at the edge of Dean’s bed, giving him distance. “What do you need it for?”

           “It helps,” Dean says, breathing harshly through his nose, “Keeps m’focused. Grounded. From thinking about… wanting…”

           “They’re gone, Dean,” Cas says, “There’s no chance of them coming back.”

           “How do you know?” he hisses, “How can you be sure?”

           “I…” Cas looks away, clenching and unclenching his fingers in thought. Dean thinks he sees dark swirls spinning out from them, but blinks away the illusion.

           “I can’t,” he finally says, turning to Dean, “But I won’t let their threats hang over me. And neither should you.”

           Dean wants to believe, having spent the entire ride back arguing with himself about what’s next. The bloodstains on his sheets clearly show who won there. When Chuck and Amara disappeared, he thought they had taken any lingering influences the Mark might have had on him.

           He was a fool to hope. The curse still held power over him, whether it was from his universe or any else’s. There could be thousands of places where he still has the Mark, and any one of them could break through next and offer Dean the same thing the other version of him had promised.

           And he doesn’t think he’d be able to fight it.

           “I’m just like they said,” Dean says aloud, “Weak…”

           “What?”

           “I’m weak,” Dean repeats, eyes brimming with unshed tears, “I was gonna say yes – again. I forgot how… forgot how good it felt with it – the power. I knew what would happen, knew who was waiting behind the scar, but I still… I still felt I was gonna say yes. Even if it would turn me into him,” A tear slips past, “I’m weak.” His chest is wracked with a loud sob, and he moves to bury his chin in his chest. He hiccups, trying to reign himself in – but once the floodgates were breached there was no stopping him.

           “Dean,” Cas says, grabbing for his hand, “Dean look at me.” He shakes his head, but Cas just puts a finger under his chin and pulls him forward. He’s looking right into Dean’s eyes, shining with a fierce conviction that makes him shudder. “You are one of the strongest people I know. You would have fought the Mark – would have been nothing like him.”

           “You don’t –“

           “Today was nothing more then a bad day,” Cas assures him, “You didn’t expect to face them, didn’t think that you’d ever be offered the Mark again. I could feel your determination to resist near the end, using it to strengthen my own fortitude. You weren’t going to say yes… you were going to fight, even if it was for naught.” He uses his other hand to run his fingers through Dean’s hair, giving him something to focus on other than the pain. Dean’s sobs start to weaken, breaths coming out nicer and more even.

           “They weren’t right,” Cas whispers, “They aren’t strong… we are. We knew that all that power was wrong, and we fought against it. I tried to send the Leviathan back, worked with you even when all I wanted to do was stay in the safety of my insanity. And whereas I took that power to further some selfish, ill-conceived plot, you only bore the mantle of Cain to save the world. You struggled to keep your humanity, and saved the world not through violence but through love. Your ability to care has stopped countless battles, saved millions of people. You’re stronger than that other Dean. You’re… you’re stronger than me.”

           Dean shakes his head. “N-nuh-uh Cas,” he says, “You’re the strong one. I don’t… I don’t know how many times you’ve been knocked on your ass, but you just keep going. You power through all the drama and fight to protect us even though there’s no reason for you to. You could have checked out at any time – after Lucifer was caged, after Purgatory, Metatron, Amara, every day you can just walk away and live your life but you don’t. You stay and you work to help people because you care. Even now, you faced the same crap I did and you’re here comforting me! If I had gone through even half the stuff you’ve been through… I don’t know if I’d be able to…”

           Cas smiles, sliding his hand down from Dean’s hair to his cheek reverently. “To me all of that is but a blink in my existence, Dean. You’ve faced a lifetime of hardships, yet are still as bright and pure as the day you were born. That takes strength.”

           The finality in Cas’s voice erodes any other argument Dean might have. He just lets Cas pad his thumb over his cheek, wiping away any traces of their cracked reflections.

           “Some days,” Dean says, finding his voice, “It hurts holding back. To not go for what I want. It… it sucks not giving in. Things I want that I… I don’t think I can have.”

           Cas tilts his head, “What makes you think you can’t have them?”

           “S’like what they said,” Dean admits, “If I have them… then I’m happy. I don’t get to be happy.”

           Cas smiles at him, sadly. “You, more than anyone, deserve happiness, Dean.”

           “And you?”

           He freezes, startled by the question. “Um,” he blushes, looking away, “What about me?”

           “Don’t you deserve happiness?”

           “I am,” Cas tries, forcing the words out, “I am content as I am now.” He doesn’t dare meet Dean’s eyes, pulling his hands away towards his lap, leaving Dean with cold skin and an empty heart.

           “Well I’m not,” Dean whispers. Cas whips towards him, eyes wide. Dean presses further, “I want more. This… this… whatever we are isn’t enough for me. I don’t want a day to pass where you don’t know you’re special and kind and needed but I can’t… I can’t get the words out right, no matter how I try. But if you’re happy where you are then I… I should learn to be, too. Because my happiness kinda hinges on your-mmph!”

           Cas surged forward, capturing Dean’s lips with his. He squeezes Dean’s cheeks, scratching blunt crescent-shapes into his skin. Dean has barely any time to react, for as soon as Cas was on him, he’s pulling away, focused on a spot beside Dean’s head.

           “I’m… sorry, if that was a bit forward,” Cas says, voice raw with thick emotion, “But I… there were no words I could think of that could… could communicate the sheer joy I felt when you said those words.”

           A huge grin breaks out on Dean’s face. Now he’s reaching out, taking Cas’s chin in his hand. “I don’t mind,” he says, “I’ll never mind. We’ve wasted too much time not doing that.”

           “I agree,” Cas says. He looks down at Dean’s arm, gingerly prodding the area around his wound. “Do you mind if I…?”

           “Yeah,” he says, “But could you… do you mind if you…?”

           “Yes?”

           “Stay, after,” Dean looks away, feeling as his cheeks start to flush. “I feel better, but there’s still… I still –“

           “You don’t have to explain, Dean,” Cas tells him, “I’ll stay.” Dean’s grin softens around the edges, and he presses a dry kiss to Cas’s cheek as he mends the skin on Dean’s arm.

           They don’t take anything off – Dean already knowing he’ll have to wash his sheets in the morning, the dirt from their captivity already staining the clean linen. Cas presses himself on the pillows, and Dean to Cas. He’s twined his arms around Cas’s waist, and looks up through his lashes.

           “You think you could…”

           “I won’t let go,” Cas promises, his embrace tight and warm and right.

           Dean wiggles closer, pressing his face into Cas’s chest, trying to burrow in. Their legs are tangled, and the trench coat is surprisingly soft where it rubs against Dean’s skin. It’s childish and silly, he knows, to try and use Cas as a security blanket. But after today, nothing sounds better then curling up with his angel as Cas’s warm body chases away all the nasty thoughts just waiting for Dean to let his guard down.

           “We’ll never be like them, right?” Dean has to ask, waiting for the answer that’ll either pull him back from the precipice of sleep or push him deeper into unconsciousness.

           Cas gives it to him. “Never.”

           Coming from Cas’s lips, Dean almost believes it. But their lives are lived one day at a time – never knowing what will happen next. Dean might go on his last hunt, Cas could use up his final life, or even their universe could suffer from one last tear, collapsing in on itself. Their past and the actions that led them to where they are never truly fade away. They’re etched under the skin, leaving their marks and surging to life every now and then.

           But being in Cas’s arms, Dean feels that facing those ghosts won’t be as hard next time.

[sagarbiswas]

#MAR #MAKAUT #lockdownactivities #MandatoryAdditionalRequirements Name of Activity: Review a Movie Name of the Movie: Interstellar

My Review: To infinity and beyond goes “Interstellar,” an exhilarating slalom through the wormholes of Christopher Nolan’s vast imagination that is at once a science-geek fever dream and a formidable consideration of what makes us human. As visually and conceptually audacious as anything Nolan has yet done, the director’s ninth feature also proves more emotionally accessible than his coolly cerebral thrillers and Batman movies, touching on such eternal themes as the sacrifices parents make for their children (and vice versa) and the world we will leave for the next generation to inherit. An enormous undertaking that, like all the director’s best work, manages to feel handcrafted and intensely personal, “Interstellar” reaffirms Nolan as the premier big-canvas storyteller of his generation, more than earning its place alongside “The Wizard of Oz,” “2001,” “Close Encounters of the Third Kind” and “Gravity” in the canon of Hollywood’s visionary sci-fi head trips. Global box office returns should prove suitably rocket-powered.

We begin somewhere in the American farm belt, which Nolan evokes for its full mythic grandeur — blazing sunlight, towering corn stalks, whirring combines. But it soon becomes clear that this would-be field of dreams is something closer to a nightmare. The date is an unspecified point shortly, close enough to look and feel like tomorrow, yet far enough for several radical changes to have taken hold in society. A decade on from a period of widespread famine, the world’s armies have been disbanded and the cutting-edge technocracies of the early 21st century have regressed into more utilitarian, farm-based economies.

“We’re a caretaker generation,” notes one such homesteader (John Lithgow) to his widower son-in-law, Cooper (Matthew McConaughey), a former NASA test pilot who hasn’t stopped dreaming of flight, for himself and for his children: 15-year-old son Tom (Timothee Chalamet) and 10-year-old daughter Murphy (Mackenzie Foy), the latter a precocious tot was first seen getting suspended from school for daring to suggest that the Apollo space missions actually happened. “We used to look up in the sky and wonder about our place in the stars,” Cooper muses. “Now we just look down and wonder about our place in the dirt.”

And oh, what dirt! As “Interstellar” opens, the world — or at least Cooper’s Steinbeckian corner of it — sits on the cusp of a second Dust Bowl, ravaged by an epidemic of crop blight, a silt-like haze hanging permanently in the air. (Some of this scene-setting is accomplished via pseudo-documentary interviews with the elderly residents of some more distant future reflecting on their hardscrabble childhoods, which Nolan films like the “witness” segments from Warren Beatty’s “Reds.”) And as the crops die, so the Earth’s atmosphere becomes richer in nitrogen and poorer in oxygen, until the time when global starvation will give way to global asphyxiation.

But all hope is not lost. NASA (whose massive real-life budget cuts lend the movie added immediacy) still exists in this agrarian dystopia, but it’s gone off the grid, far from the microscope of public opinion. There, the brilliant physicist Professor Brand (Michael Caine, forever the face of avuncular wisdom in Nolan’s films) and his dedicated team have devised two scenarios for saving mankind. Both plans involve abandoning Earth and starting over on a new, life-sustaining planet, but only one includes taking Earth’s current 6-billion-plus population along for the ride. Doing the latter, it seems, depends on Brand’s ability to solve an epic math problem that would explain how such a large-capacity vessel could surmount Earth’s gravitational forces. (Never discussed in this egalitarian society: a scenario in which only the privileged few could escape, a la the decadent bourgeoisie of Neill Blomkamp’s “Elysium.”)

Many years earlier, Brand informs, a mysterious space-time rift (or wormhole) appeared in the vicinity of Saturn, seemingly placed there, like the monoliths of “2001,” by some higher intelligence. On the other side: another galaxy containing a dozen planets that might be fit for human habitation. In the wake of the food wars, a team of intrepid NASA scientists traveled there in search of solutions. Now, a decade later (in Earth years, that is), Brand has organized another mission to check up on the three planets that seem the most promising for human settlement. And to pilot the ship, he needs Cooper, an instinctive flight jockey in the Chuck Yeager mode, much as McConaughey’s laconic, effortlessly self-assured performance recalls Sam Shepards as Yeager in “The Right Stuff” (another obvious “Interstellar” touchstone).

Already by this point — and we have not yet left the Earth’s surface — “Interstellar” (which Nolan co-wrote with his brother and frequent collaborator, Jonathan) has hurled a fair amount of theoretical physics at the audience, including discussions of black holes, gravitational singularities and the possibility of extra-dimensional space. And, as with the twisty chronologies and unreliable narrators of his earlier films, Nolan trusts in the audience’s ability to get the gist and follow along, even if it doesn’t glean every last nuance on first viewing. It’s hard to think of a mainstream Hollywood film that has so successfully translated complex mathematical and scientific ideas to a lay audience (though Shane Carruth’s ingenious 2004 Sundance winner “Primer” — another movie concerned with overcoming the problem of gravity — tried something similar on a micro-budget indie scale), or done so in more vivid, immediate human terms. (Some credit for this is doubtless owed to the veteran CalTech physicist Kip Thorne, who consulted with the Nolans on the script and receives an executive producer credit.)

The mission itself is a relatively intimate affair, comprised of Cooper, Brand’s own scientist daughter (Anne Hathaway), two other researchers (Wes Bentley and the excellent David Gyasi), and a chatty, sarcastic, ex-military security robot called TARS (brilliantly voiced by Bill Irwin in a sly nod to Douglas Rain’s iconic HAL 9000), which looks like a walking easel but proves surprisingly agile when the going gets tough. And from there, “Interstellar” has so many wonderful surprises in store — from casting choices to narrative twists and reversals — that the less said about it the better. (Indeed, if you really don’t want to know anything more, read no further.)

It gives nothing away, however, to say that Nolan maps his infinite celestial landscape as majestically as he did the continent-hopping earthbound ones of “The Prestige” and “Batman Begins,” or the multi-tiered memory maze of “Inception.” The imagery, modeled by Nolan and cinematographer Hoyte Van Hoytema on Imax documentaries like “Space Station” and “Hubble 3D,” suggests a boundless inky blackness punctuated by ravishing bursts of light, the tiny spaceship Endurance gleaming like a diamond against Saturn’s great, gaseous rings, then ricocheting like a pinball through the wormhole’s shimmering plasmic vortex.

With each stop the Endurance makes, Nolan envisions yet another new world: one planet a watery expanse with waves that make Waimea Bay look like a giant bathtub; another an ice climber’s playground of frozen tundra and sheer-faced descents. Moreover, outer space allows Nolan to bend and twist his favorite subject — time — into remarkable new permutations. Where most prior Nolan protagonists were forever grasping at an irretrievable past, the crew of the Endurance races against a ticking clock that happens to tick differently depending on your particular vantage. New worlds mean new gravitational forces, so that for every hour spent on a given planet’s surface, years or even entire decades may be passing back on Earth. (Time as a flat circle, indeed.)

This leads to an extraordinary mid-film emotional climax in which Cooper and Brand return from one such expedition to discover that 23 earth years have passed in the blink of an eye, represented by two decades’ worth of stockpiled video messages from loved ones, including the now-adult Tom (a bearded, brooding Casey Affleck) and Murphy (Jessica Chastain in dogged, persistent “Zero Dark Thirty” mode). It’s a scene Nolan stages mostly in closeup on McConaughey, and the actor plays it beautifully, his face a quicksilver mask of joy, regret, and unbearable grief.

That moment signals a shift in “Interstellar” itself from the relatively euphoric, adventurous tone of the first half toward darker, more ambiguous terrain — the human shadow areas, if you will, that are as difficult to fully glimpse as the inside of a black hole. Nolan, who has always excelled at the slow reveal, catches even the attentive viewer off guard more than once here, but never in a way that feels cheap or compromises the complex motivations of the characters.

On the one hand, the movie marvels at the brave men and women throughout history who have dedicated themselves, often at great peril, to the greater good of mankind. On the other, because Nolan is a psychological realist, he’s acutely aware of the toil such lives may take on those who choose to lead them, and that even “the best of us” (as one character is repeatedly described) might not be immune from cowardice and moral compromise. Some people lie to themselves and to their closest confidants in “Interstellar,” and Nolan understands that everyone has his reasons. Others compensate by making the most selfless of sacrifices. Perhaps the only thing trickier than quantum physics, the movie argues, is the nature of human emotion.

Nolan stages one thrilling set piece after another, including several hairsbreadth escapes and a dazzling space-docking sequence in which the entire theater seems to become one large centrifuge; the nearly three-hour running time passes unnoticed. Even more thrilling is the movie’s ultimate vision of a universe in which the face of extraterrestrial life bears a surprisingly familiar countenance. “Do not go gentle into that good night/Rage, rage against the dying of the light,” harks the good Professor Brand at the start of the Endurance’s journey, quoting the melancholic Welshman Dylan Thomas. And yet “Interstellar” is finally a film suffused with light and boundless possibilities — those of the universe itself, of the wonder in a child’s twinkling eyes, and of movies to translate all that into spectacular picture shows like this one.

It’s hardly surprising that “Interstellar” reps the very best big-budget Hollywood craftsmanship at every level, from veteran Nolan collaborators like production designer Nathan Crowley (who built the film’s lyrical vision of the big-sky American heartland on location in Alberta) and sound designer/editor Richard King, who makes wonderfully dissonant contrasts between the movie’s interior spaces and the airless silence of space itself. VFX supervisor Paul Franklin (an Oscar winner for his work on “Inception”) again brings a vivid tactility to all of the film’s effects, especially the robotic TARS, who seamlessly inhabits the same physical spaces as the human actors. Hans Zimmer contributes one of his most richly imagined and inventive scores, which ranges from a gentle electronic keyboard melody to brassy, Strauss-ian crescendos. Shot and post-produced by Nolan entirely on celluloid (in a mix of 35mm and 70mm stocks), “Interstellar” begs to be seen on the large-format Imax screen, where its dense, inimitably filmic textures and multiple aspect ratios can be experienced to their fullest effect.

[imwastingmylifeinhere]

My Einherji Academia Ch2

This came out earlier because why not? Hope you enjoy it. Also, excuse me if any of their costumes are bad, I tried.

Also, I’m sorry.

Their first Hero Practice came fairly quickly. Everybody was buzzing with excitement, thrilled to finally try something more practical than reading textbooks. Magnus and his group of friends were walking together to the locker rooms after practice, Halfborn and Mallory arguing over who would do best in today’s lesson, Sam listening to them amused and T.J practically bouncing with enthusiasm next to them. Magnus was following a bit behind them with Alex walking next to him.

“Excited for today’s lesson, Maggie?” the green haired boy asked.

Magnus rolled his eyes. “Yes, and I told you not to call me that.”

“Aw, why not? It’s cute.” Alex smirked and Magnus tried to ignore the heat in his cheeks. Alex’s eyes were extremely prett – unnerving. They were unnerving.

“I’m not cute,” Magnus told her while also telling himself that he hadn’t almost called Alex Fierro’s eyes pretty. Why would he do that?

Alex put his gloved hands in his pockets. “I’d disagree with that.”

Before Magnus had the opportunity to say anything, or blush any harder (curse his fair skin!), Alex kept going. “Also, it’s funny to tease you.”

“I’m glad my pain amuses you,” Magnus deadpanned.

"I'm glad you see my point," Alex beamed at him with a shit-eating grin. Alex Fierro was an interesting person, to say the least, but Magnus really enjoyed their banter (even if most of it was at his expense).

“We should be getting our hero suits today too, right?” Magnus asked in an attempt to change the topic to something that wasn’t him.

“I think. Can I trust you to tell me if I look good in it?”

Magnus’s heart did a funny little thing in his chest, like he missed a step in the stairs and had a mini heart attack. What the fuck was that?

"I, uh, yes! I mean, ah, well, yeah, uh…" Magnus's lips were moving and words were coming out but his brain didn't seem to be involved in it because nothing he just blurted out even remotely resembled an actual sentence. Alex seemed to be enjoying his short-circuiting. "Uh, yes."

Alex’s smile, Magnus’s decided, was terrifying. It made his insides burn up. Why was he feeling like this?

“So eloquent,” Alex teased him, his eyes glimmering. Magnus had another mini heart attack. Should I go to the nurse for that?

Magnus frowned at Alex and hit him in the arm. It was supposed to hurt, but knowing Magnus’s strength, it probably felt like a child taping your arm. “Shut up,” he hissed at Alex and he simply snorted at him, the corners of his lips tugging upwards.

“Do you know you blush very easily?” Alex asked. As if to prove his point, Magnus’s cheeks burnt even more.

“I said shut up.”

Outside the locker rooms were suitcases, each one with a number and a name on it depending on the student's name on the class roster. They each took their own one before walking inside the locker room, whereupon the students started changing, shirts flying off and the room being generally as chaotic as you'd expect with so many teenage boys in there. Magnus had just come back from the bathroom stall where he had changed out of his binder and into a sports bra, the stiff piece of clothing folded under his arm.

“Hey, I didn’t know you had a tattoo, Alex,” T.J said. Magnus turned to see what was happening and what was Alex’s tattoo, and boy, was it a bad decision.

Alex was shirtless, with his back to Magnus and his shirt bunched up in his arms. On the base of his neck was a tattoo of two snakes biting each other’s tail and forming an elaborate ‘S’. It wasn't a weird scene. They were in a locker room, people where half-naked everywhere - Halfborn was in his freaking undies - Alex without a shirt on shouldn’t have affected him, but it did. It made his face burn and his heart develop an explosion quirk like Mallory’s. His eyes trailed from Alex’s tattoo to the muscles in his back and Magnus should really stop staring or he’ll die on the spot.

He turned around so fast you’d think his quirk was super speed, face ablaze as he threw on his uniform. He was fully dressed by the time everybody else had half their costumes on (at best, some were very weird to figure out) and rushed out of the locker room. He was pretty sure his heart shouldn’t be doing whatever it was doing and there was a single thought in his mind as he sat on a bench at training ground Beta:

What the hell was that?

The answer came to him quickly, not to say that he liked it. Do I like Alex?

He shook his head, as if it would get the thought out of his head. He barely knew Alex for more than a month. And even then, he had a soulmate. People fall for their soulmates, right? That’s what people always said.

Maybe I just think Alex is pretty, he thought. He never really had crushes before (was that weird for a fifteen-year-old?) but he had thought people looked good before. Yeah, that must be what that was, he thought, even though every time he had thought of someone as extremely attractive, he had never… reacted to them so strongly. That was just because I was young, he was quick to explain to himself.

With that little crisis over and Magnus not wanting to dwell on it too much for fear of what it might mean, he finally looked down to his costume. He had put it on so quickly he barely had an idea of what it was like.

When enrolling in UA, students gave a set of instructions on what their hero costume should be like, since it might need to be made a specific way to suit their quirk. Magnus didn't have very specific instructions, since he had never thought too much about his hero costume and all he needed to heal someone was skin to skin contact, preferably with the wound itself if possible. As such, the only instruction he had given was that the costume shouldn't cover his hands, that it should not be too skin tight (because he wasn't comfortable with that) and that it should have pockets so he could carry medical supplies.

The result was quite humble and Magnus had to admit he liked it. Both the top and bottom parts of the costume were dark green, with the shirt more fitted than the pants though still airy. The pants were large and roomy, with pockets upon pockets, each one with adjustable straps inside to keep his supplies steady. Around his waist was a large brown belt with even more pockets and hanging from it at either side of his hips were first aid kits, built into the fabric. They were surprisingly light, considering Magnus hadn’t even noticed them before. The whole costume gave off the feeling of a battlefield medic and Magnus loved it.

He was in the process of tucking pants into the black boots that had come with the costume when Sam arrived. “Hi, Magnus,” she said as she sat down next to him. More and more students were starting to come out by now. “I like your costume.”

“Thanks. Yours is great. Valkyrie?”

Sam's costume reminded Magnus of the Valkyries in the picture books his mum would read to him. It was primarily brown, a shining metal breastplate covering Sam's upper torso. Fur lined her collarbone where her breastplate met the green fabric of her hijab, partially covering her shoulder guards. Her pants were tucked inside fur-lined boots and there was a ton of small details, like laces and wing imagery on her armor, that made Sam look like a Norse Valkyrie.

Sam’s cheeks flushed red. “Yes. How did-“

“My mum used to read me mythology picture books as bedtime stories,” Magnus explained. “I thought Valkyries were really cool.”

Sam seemed surprised, but she smiled. “Mine too. My grandfather loves studying different mythologies, he likes finding the similarities between them, and I guess he rubbed off on me.”

"So you're thinking of your hero name being Valkyrie?" Magnus asked, gesturing to Sam's costume to justify why he's asking.

Sam nodded, her eyes glimmering with the passion that came with talking about your dream. “Yeah. I want to be a rescue hero, mostly, and Valkyries would lift and carry people away from the battlefield. It seemed fitting.” She stopped, as if considering something, then added, “Though most people they carried off were already dead, but the sentiment still stands.”

Magnus giggled, covering his mouth with his hand. “Yeah, I guess it does.”

Magnus and Sam kept talking as the rest of the students came out, their friends walking over to join them, all in their unique uniforms. Halfborn's was less of a costume and more like a simple pair of pants held up by a large belt and no shirt, his eyes covered by sweep of red, like smeared blood. Magnus guesses that with his quirk he didn't need more protection than that. T.J looked like a soldier, ammunition hanging from his belt and a rifle slung over his back (for extra firepower, Magnus guessed, in case he overused his quirk). Mallory's costume was simple, complete with dark green pants like Magnus's and a camo jacket, grenades hanging from her belt and her hair pulled back in an explosion of red curls.

Alex was the last to walk out and – oh, sweet Odin.

Spandex. So much spandex.

Alex’s costumed was tight, hugging his body like a second skin, and while Magnus was too busy short-circuiting over how good he looked, he could see the practicality in it. Tighter clothes meant better mobility and Alex’s agility was one of his strongest points. The costume was a dark pink, making Alex’s green hair stand out even more, and white claw-like marks decorated his sides. The tops’ sleeves cut off halfway down his biceps, leaving his arms exposed (damn him!). He still had his black gloves on, though these were more stylized to fit in with the rest of the outfit.

"Looking nice, Fierro!" Halfborn hollered, doing a thumbs up at Alex as he walked closer. Alex rolled his eyes but smiled nonetheless at Halfborn's joke (even if his imitation of the people drooling over Alex was way too close to what Magnus was experiencing right now).

“Thanks, Gunderson. Did you forget your shirt in the wash?”

“Ha! Who needs a shirt when you have a body like this?”Halfborn punched his rock hard (literally) chest for emphasis and Mallory rolled her eyes at him.

“I’m surrounded by idiots.”

“Very funny, Scar,” Halfborn said wryly. Mallory poked her tongue at him and he did the same in return. Those two honestly acted like five-year-olds sometimes.

“Now, now,” T.J said, walking between his two platonic soulmates, “no fighting yet. Save your energy for the lesson. You can kick each other’s butts as much as you want then.”

Mallory and Halfborn seemed perfectly content to keep fighting, but they shut up anyway. Nobody could deny T.J. They cinnamon roll of class 1A, everybody.

"Okay, you little ruffians, gather ‘round!" Thor shouted, his sidekicks Marvin and Ottis at either side of him. With the entirety of the class gathered around in their costumes it was impossible to ignore the fact they were all heroes in training. "We will be splitting into pairs for this exercise. One pair will play the role of the villains and the other the heroes." Enthusiastic murmurs broke out among the students, the buzzing of their voices drowning out whatever the teacher was trying to say. "Now," Thor continued louder, "I don't want any of you pulling any muscles, so we'll do some stretching first."

The students fell into the routine quickly, going through the motions of each different stretch casually. Some of these had been a bit of a pain at first, given Magnus’s poor physique, but he had gotten better at them over the few first weeks of the school year. He was in the middle of stretching his right arm, his elbow being pulled back by his left hand, when T.J spoke up.

“Hey, is that your soulmark?” His eyes were trained on the exposed palm of Magnus’s hand, the flower on his palm shinning blue and white under the morning light. The healer’s classmates turned around in interest, looking at his soulmark curiously. Magnus felt flustered under their gazes.

“Uh, yeah-“

“It’s so pretty!” One girl said.

“Have you met your soulmate yet?” A boy asked.

“Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl?”

“Can I touch it?”

“Uh,” Magnus spluttered under all the attention. He couldn’t blame them, soulmarks were a big thing, and even his friends were studying the flower on his skin, from  T.J’s wonder-filled gaze to Alex’s unreadable expression. “Thank you, no, I haven’t, I don’t really care what they identify as and I would rather you don't."

The students were asking more questions, most of which Magnus didn’t catch. Thankfully, Thor called them out and started explaining how the exercise would go in more detail, saving Magnus from the gossip-hungry clutches of his classmates. As their teacher announced the pairs, Magnus caught sight Alex from the corner of his eye scratching the fabric of his left glove, his two-tones eyes stuck to it as if in thought. That’s a weird tick he has, Magnus thought, remembering different occasions when he had seen Alex do the same thing. He wasn’t able to think about that much though, because turns out he was part of the first pair along with water-haired girl, their opponents a moth-looking boy and a guy that could change his height.

Needless to say, Magnus got his ass handed to him.

///

Which was why this arrangement had been made.

Magnus’s powers might have turned out to be body manipulation rather than simple healing as he had thought, but that didn’t change the fact he needed skin to skin contact to use it. In theory, he could use his powers on someone without touching them like when he went high-wire in the entrance, but he could hardly stop someone from moving when they were a meter away from him at this point. If he wanted to knock out someone with his powers –like he had learned how to do with T.J as a test subject - he would need to get close to them.

Meaning he would need to know how to fight. You can see where this goes south, right?

He had asked his friends for help, with varying degrees of success. Both Mallory and Halfnorn’s fighting styles relied heavily on the use of pure force, whether by quirk or by physical built, something Magnus didn’t have, and both Sam and T.J were better at long distance fighting. Leaving Magnus with Alex as his teacher.

Which wasn’t bad, per se. Her fighting style worked for him, given that they were both very slim. She relied more on agility and quick movements, using her smarts to exploit her opponents’ strength and size against them rather than brute force. She wasn’t a bad teacher either. Sure, maybe Magnus was late for the first period a couple of times because he was so exhausted after their training that he slept in, but it was really paying off. He had started to build up more muscle and he had become swift on his feet.

Still, there was the unfortunate side-effect that his teacher was extremely attractive and he had a crush on her the size of the school’s training grounds. Yeah, he had it that bad.

So what if Magnus got hit a couple times too many times because his brain thought it was a good time to tell him just how good Alex looked at that moment? Or if she’d take off her shirt when it got too hot and Magnus would get heart palpitations so bad he should probably get it checked? He was still learning.

(That Alex's bronze skin looked gorgeous under the sun and that she put her hair in a ponytail when she trained and that she made the most ridiculous jokes when she was high on after-workout joy.)

Yes, he was crushing hard.

“Come one, Maggie! Get up!”

In more ways than one.

Alex was teaching him how to do a judo flip today (“All you might need to do is touch someone but you always need to be prepared!” as she put it) and Magnus may or may not have gotten distracted and flipped on his back on the ground for the third time that evening.

“Sorry, sorry,” Magnus muttered as he picked up his sore body from the ground. They were in an open training field near the edge of campus, a quiet little corner of the school surrounded by trees that not a lot of people stumbled upon. They had picked this specific location for Magnus’s sake, since he still felt weird about being without his binder around anybody that wasn’t in their class.

“Well, look on the bright side,” Alex said, stretching her arms far above her head. Damn it, Magnus, focus. “You lasted longer this time.”

"Yeah, yeah." Alex wasn't wrong; Magnus fighting had improved. As long as he didn't get distracted by Alex, he did pretty well. "Can we take a break? I think I heard my spine pop."

Alex, of course, laughed at his pain and Magnus should have really been more upset about that but he wasn’t. “Ok, Maggie. I’m thirsty anyway.” Alex walked over to the bench where they had left their stuff and pushed her hair out of her sweaty forehead before taking large gulps from her water bottle.

I am too.

Alex held out her water bottle for him. “Want some?”

Magnus tried not to make that weird. He failed. Cheeks flushed – not just from their training – he plopped down next to Alex and reached for his own bottle. “No, I’m fine, I brought one.”

Alex shrugged. “Suit yourself.” She downed half the bottle’s content in one go, a little water dripping past her lips. She wiped it away with her gloved hand.

“S-say,” Magnus started, because he was flustered and said the first thing that came to him, “how come you always wore gloves? I’ve never seen you take them off.”

“Oh, my soulmark is on my palm,” Alex explained, rubbing her left palm with her thumb. “I don't want to accidentally touch it when I'm feeling down and stress my soulmate up about it.” She laughed, as if remembering something, and tucked some stray hairs behind her ear. “I did that once when I left my parents’ house about a year ago. I’ve never felt him as sympathetic and kind. He didn’t even know what was happening and yet he was trying to make me feel better.”

Alex’s eyes were trained on her palm as she rubbed circles on it and Magnus was sure if it wasn’t for the glove her soulmate would be getting drowned in that warmth and love that made Alex’s eyes go soft. His heart clenched uncomfortably in his chest. Her soulmate is lucky. I wish I was in his place.

Instead he said, “He sounds nice.”

Alex smiled down at her palm. “Yeah, he is.”

“Have you met him then?” Magnus didn’t know why he was asking more questions but the words kept rolling off his tongue.

Alex seemed to struggle with the right words, until finally she said, “In a way. I saw his soulmark so I know he’s my soulmate but he doesn’t know I’m his.”

“Why don’t you just tell him?”

Alex leaned back on the bench, his arm coming way too close to hugging Magnus’s shoulders. “That’s the other reason I wear gloves. I don’t want to just go up to him like ‘hey, I’m your soulmate, let’s suck face!’ I want him to date me just because he likes me, not because the universe or whatever said we should be together.”

Magnus chuckled at the mental image. “I hadn’t pegged you as the romantic type.”

Alex laughed and punched him in the arm. “Oh, shut up, Maggie.”

Magnus rubbed at the place Alex hit him, more from habit rather than actual pain and laughed again. “So have talked to him? Are you friends?”

“Yeah, and I’ve even been hitting on him,” Alex sighed in exasperation. “Very obviously too, but he just won’t take the hint!”

Alex was looking right at him as he said the last part, emphasizing each word and as a fellow pinning teen, Magnus felt her suffering.

“Well-“ he started, but before he was able to say what he wanted a loud explosion shook the ground. The duo sprang up immediately, scanning their surroundings alarmed.

“What was that?” Alex asked.

“I don’t know-“ The hairs on the back of Magnus’s neck stood on edge and he whipped around in time to see a group of villains bursting out of the trees. What the hell?!

The villains run straight for them and Magnus braced himself for a fight. They’re way too many. We need to call help.

“Alex!” he called out but before he could tell her to change into an animal and go find a teacher, a villain in metal armor was upon him, wrapping his arms around Magnus’s torso and pinning his arms in place. Shit!

“Magnus!” Alex tried to come to him but the villains were on her immediately. She changed from animal to human to animal faster than Magnus had ever seen but her opponents were way too many. He kicked and tried to get away but his captor’s grip was too tight. A villain attacked Alex with winds so sharp they made tears in her clothes and gloves, the fabric falling off her hands.

“Leave the kid! We got the one we needed!" one of the villains said – Magnus wasn't sure who, he was too busy thrashing around in the armored man's arms – and the rest of them backed away from Alex. She managed to get a hit on one of them, the claw marks on his face dripping blood.

“You little-!” he growled. His punch landed on Alex’s face, who gasped in pain as she fell to the ground.

“Alex!” he cried out but he couldn’t move.

“Let’s go,” the man holding him said. The villains grabbed onto a rope ladder as it dangled from a helicopter flying over the school. As Magnus’s captor used one arm to hold onto the rope, Magnus kicked as hard as he could and managed to slip out of his grasp.

For a single moment, he hung in midair, out of the villain's grasp. Alex stumbled to her legs, panic in her eyes as she reached out for him. For a moment, Magnus thought he was going to make it, but then the villain grabbed him by the shirt and yanked him away.

The last thing Magnus saw as the villains took him away was the iridescent flower on Alex’s outstretched hand as she cried out his name.

[prettiestsupersoldier]

Obligatory Halloween Fic

Bucky x Black!Reader 

Happy Halloween!!! I forgot the tags because im a terrible person my b.

Series

“Mommy, can we dress baby girl up for Halloween?” Dom asks while you're out shopping. It was getting closer and closer to Halloween and he still hasn't decided on what he wanted to be, so you had decided to stop into a costume store and look around before heading home.

“Baby girl won't be out in time for Halloween.” Bucky and Dom had started referring to your belly as ‘baby girl’ right after you had found out that she was a girl and haven't stopped and over time it had slipped, so very easily, into your own vernacular that it was just a thing now. It was cute and you hoped that the nickname would carry on even after she was here.

His eyebrows were furrowed together in mild irritation. You felt bad that he looked so sad that his sister wouldn't be participating in Halloween but there was very little you could do.

“If you can find a costume for me and baby girl we can dress her up.” His eyes instantly lit up and you could practically see his brain working in overtime to come up with ways to get baby girl in a costume. He had decided that your trip to the store for his costume was over and that the hunt for her costume was on.

The entire car ride home he was laser focused on his tiny notepad, that Tony had given him, scribbling away at it nonstop occasionally looking out the window for something then going back to scribbling, leaving you to your own devices as you drove periodically looking in the rearview mirror to see him kicking his feet and erasing furiously.

By the time you pulled up to your place you could already see Bucky closing the front door of your apartment and heading towards the car.

It took Dom all of .5 seconds for him to notice Bucky walking up. He watched with hawk like vision as Bucky moved around the front of the car to open your door and help you out. Waited impatiently with a pout as he kissed your cheek and moved to the trunk of the car.

“Daddy!” Dom struggled to look back at where Bucky had disappeared to, reaching back as far as his tiny neck would allow.

“Yeah?” Bucky replied as he opened the trunk to grab the few grocery bags you had gotten while you were out, only to find a half eaten container of blueberries. He laughed already picturing the look on his son's face as you tried to walk past them

“Get me out!” Bucky could hear the frustrated kicks that accompanied the yelling. Bucky doesn't move an inch to help yet though just watching over the open trunk as Dom struggles more to unclip the car-seat belt. It breaks heart not being able to get him yet.

You were currently in the process of trying to teach Dom to use his ‘pleases’ and ‘thank yous’ more, which proved to be rather difficult for Bucky rather than Dom. Dom wasn’t really a daddy's boy per se, but Bucky was absolutely a Dominic dad being putty in his sticky little hands a the drop of a hat. He would bring his son the moon and the stars if he could, but more likely it was cookies from the top cupboard. All it took was one teary eyed look and Bucky was at his beck and call in an instant. Which was problematic and exactly why he was in this situation. So Bucky waited impatiently for the magic words so he could run over to his son in an instant.

“Please, daddy” He had finally made some eye contact with Bucky at this point, “get me out, please.” His lips were pouty and his brown eyes were almost swimming in unshed tears. Bucky practically ran over to the side of the car where Dom was fastened in and unclips his seat belt before lifting him up into his arms. Before Bucky can even open his mouth to ask Dom about his day he's being cut off.

“Baby girl needs a costume.”

“Well isn't mommy her costume?” Bucky has a smile as bright as the sun on his face while he looks at Dom. He looks over to where you are standing with the same smile only to see you and Dom giving him identical death stares. He admires, for just a minute, the both of you. The way you both have the same glint in your deep memorizing eyes, the way the corner of your lip turns up, both of you on the verge of laughing and both of you just barley holding it in. 

Its a hell of a sight. Two pairs of strikingly chocolate browns eyes trained on him, they’re disapproving eyes, but that doesn’t matter to him, not right now. The way both of your arms are folded across your chests. You and Dom are practically twins and he loves it.

“No.” Dom says gaining Buckys attention once again.

Bucky just laughs a little before leading the way back to the house.

After you're all inside and you had put the majority of the groceries away, by yourself, you hear Doms ever enthusiastic voice babbling away to Bucky about costumes. His voice is full of excitement and his eyes are wide and beaming as he grabs his notebook.

Bucky was sitting on the couch Dom sitting directly on top of his stomach as he flipped through the drawings in his notebook, forcing Buckys attention down to look at the pages.

“Not a scary face, she can't be scary.” 

“We could, but I don't think that would work, with just a face on her belly, that would be silly. What about a pumpkin?”

“No, mommy would have to be an ugly pumpkin patch.” He flipped through his notebook for a while longer showing Bucky the few drawings he had when Bucky stopped on one.

“Is that a basketball?” He was looking down at an orange scribble on one of the pages. It stood out more than the other scribbles and Buckys brain was already coming up with how to make the costume work.

“Yeah,” He says still flipping through even more drawings, “what else would it be?” An orange, Garfield the cat, some weird orange sick. It could be so many things honestly but Bucky didn't say them instead letting Dom continue his story about why he had drawn, explaining that he saw his uncle Sam playing basketball the day before and though it would be cool.

“Wanna watch a movie uncle Sam showed me?” Bucky asks not waiting for Dom to reply, knowing that of course he would wanna watch a movie, especially this movie because uncle Sam had showed it to him, and Dom loved uncle Sam. 

He gets up easily with Dom still basically sitting on top of him and makes his way to your room stopping by the entertainment center first. He looked for all of 30 seconds before he found the movie he was seeking out. Holding it strategically out of view from Dom when he grabbed it, he continued on his way to your room.

Once they had gotten to your room Dom broke free of his grip and dashed to your bed fully prepared to climb up and bounce on it. 

Bucky absolutely loved the blu ray player. It was hands down one of his favorite piece of technology. Way better than the stupid coffee machine Tony had bought that need a password to work, It was easier to work than his smartphone that Steve insisted he get that took pictures of his face every time he put his passwords in wrong, and was leaps and bounds in comparison to the laptop that sat dusty and uncharged on his desk. It had only taking him 30 minutes at most, with a very upset and crying Dom in the back, to learn how to work it and once he had figured he felt like he could take on the world and he had deemed that one of his top accomplishments.

So he when he walked over to the TV hanging above your dresser it only took seconds for him to slip the disk into place and press play. When he turned around Dom was struggling to get a good grip on your blankets to pull himself up. His hands are gripping tightly at the fitted sheets on Bucky's side of the bed, one leg just barely reaching the edge to pull himself up. It's truly a funny sight and Bucky thinks it's the best part about having such a tall bed.

“Need some help?” Bucky voice startles Dom so much he started to loses his grip on the sheets and started slip off. Bucky wasn’t too far from the bed when his son started to fall, luckily, so in one swift motion he was there and able to grab him before he hit the hard wood floor.

Before Dom can open his mouth to say thank you he’s being tossed in the air by Bucky. There’s a loud shriek and then he’s exploding into a fit of giggles as he lands in the middle of the bed and bounces for a few seconds. 

There was only a few moments where Bucky got to appreciate times like these with his son. He didn’t go on most of the mission that the team got, especially now with you expecting baby number two, but that didn’t mean there weren’t still a ton of missions that came in where he couldn’t say no, missions where he had to be away for weeks on end with out you and Dom. Weeks were all he really wanted to do was watch all the Toy Story movies and eat blueberries until he felt like he would burst open.

So he took in the sight of his son cuddled up against your pillows and the black and white blanket before the faint sounds of the movie started to play and he was forced to lay dwon and pay attention to the screen.

Bucky honestly wasn't sure how he felt about the song playing at the beginning of the movie, it left a terribly bad taste in his mouth given recent events, but the song wasn't the point of watching the movie so he swallowed down the rising bile in his throat and focused on the scene of the kid playing basketball by himself.

“Daddy is this a real people movie?” Dominic definitely wasn't into movies that were not animated at this age. He would pick Lion King a million to one over Osmosis Jones just because there were actually people in it, but a part  of you knew it was really because he was scared of the monkeys at the beginning of Osmosis Jones. 

“Just give it a little bit I promise you’ll like it.” Bucky says arm resting on the headboard as Dom crawls over and into his lap to get even more comfortable.

It takes less than 30 minutes for Dom to fall in love with the movie and in turn decide on your family costumes.

“You have to wear the ears daddy!” Dom said as he watched every stroke that Bucky laid on you.

“Can't I just put my hair back in a bun or something?” Bucky tried to concentrate on making the orange circle as perfect as possible across your round belly, but it was becoming more and more impossible the longer he kneeled in front of you. Baby girl was getting more and more agitated the longer he messed with her sleeping spots. Ever time he moved over the side where she had decided to settle she would unleash a furry of kicks against his hand urging him to move. He didn’t. 

“No, Bugs Bunny doesn't do that in the movie!” Dom was sat on the couch besides where Bucky was kneeling between your thighs, watching and gently rubbing the side of your belly that didn't have paint on it yet, as Bucky continued on with the paint.

You can feel the sigh that comes from Bucky against your stomach and it tickles way more then the cold paint and prickly brush against your skin.

“Fine, bu-” Bucky begins before he dips the brush into the black and paints long stripes over the orange.

“You have to wear the tail.” You're laughing before you even finish the sentence. If you have to wear the ears, tail and a giant orange stomach the least he could do was the tail and ears. It was only fair.

Dom had made the executive decision that you and Bucky were to be Lola and Bugs bunny for Halloween. How he imagined your thick curly hair and deep brown complexion was similar to Lola in any way you didn't understand, but at least the bunny ear headband would stay in place between your thick curls. He had also decide that he would be young Michael Jordan, which was hilarious in it's own right seeing as he could barely hold a real basketball. His final decision was that baby girl would be the basketball because “she's already round!”

“Hurry up all the good candy is gonna’ be gone!!”

“Im tryin’ but she keeps movin’.” Bucky groaned out as you tried to stop laughing and Baby girl kicked him away some more as he tried to get the lines as perfect as your laughing and her kicking would allow.

“Mommy you have to stop laughing!” He looked up at you with the most intense eyes you had ever seen on child. You bite down on your bottom lip trying your hardest to keep the giggles at bay so you could finally go out and get the candy your son was determined to go get. It worked for all of 3 minutes which was just enough time for Bucky to finish up the last of the black lines and smooth out the orange circle edges.

When the time had finally come for you to start trick or treating Dom was more than excited to put on his Toon Squad jersey and the new pair of Jordan Space Jams that Tony insisted he buy to go with the Halloween costume, and bounce out of the door.

There weren't many people out in the area you were in, even fewer out with tiny children so Dom was basically the golden goose for the houses who had gotten too much candy expectations set way too high on having a lot of kids show up.

At every house you had stopped at though after getting his candy, a handful or two, he would run back to where you and Bucky were standing grab your hand and drag you back to the house demanding that he got candy for his little sister as well. The people occupying all of the house he did this to would melt at the sight of how determined he was to get candy for your belly and give him another two handfuls. It didn't take long for his bag to get to heavy for him to carry on his own and for Bucky to take over the responsibility.

Dominic had barley made it 45 minutes before he started to complain about his feet hurting and Bucky being the ever loving dad that he was, was more than happy to carry him to next few house. Until the temperature had dropped at least 10 more degrees and you just couldn’t take it anymore.

“My stomach and legs are freezing!” This costume was a mistake hands down an absolute disaster of a mistake. Your Toon Squad ‘jersey’ was basically a bra, it was tied off in the back so your basketball belly could be exposed, your basketball shorts weren't much at all either barely reaching mid thigh, and the string that kept the bunny tail in place was digging into your hips, but you couldn't tell your baby boy no about your first family Halloween costume so you sucked it up. Now though you needed to be anywhere but outside.

“Let's go to the Tower.” You suggested to Bucky, you were walking in the general direction and you knew it would only take another 5 minutes to get there.

“You ready to call it a night?” Bucky asked to the tiny body slumped against his shoulder. He didn't get a response only a slight head nod and deep yawn.

“Well lets go get you all warmed up doll.” The rest of the walk is mostly quiet and your shirt is fully pulled down before the words are even out of his mouth. 

The walk to the tower is Bucky’s favorite part of the night. There is a warmth on his shoulder that reaches all the way to the inside of his chest that makes him smile like a dopey idiot for the rest of the walk. There is also the occasional snore that rumbles in the chest of the warm body against him that makes him laugh every time he looks over at you.

“I do not snore.” You don’t even have to look in his direction to know hes staring at you now.

“And neither does he.” He’s still giggling away as you turn the corner heading for the giant Avengers building. The end of the night is finally sinking in and Bucky can’t help but to think about the next Halloween where there’s gonna be another body on this late night stroll for candy, another matching costume to go with the first 3. Its exciting and Bucky can’t see the future, can’t predict what it will be like with more than one kid, but he knows it can only lead to more sleepy cuddles and more dopey smiles.

“Next time you’ll have to carry 2 candy bags.” You say as jog a few feet a head of him. 

It only takes a second for you to notice that you don’t hear the sound of his feet crunching next to you. You turn around to see him standing the same few feet away as before. He still has Dominic nestled into his shoulder the pillow case candy bag is hanging off his left shoulder. 

“I think I can handle that.”