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bettyfrommars · 4 months

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Call From a Payphone at the End of the World

Eddie Munson x Reader

18+ONLY, mention of smut, yearning, gender neutral reader but a few pet names are used, alcohol consumption, angst, no Vecna, new crush, star-crossed lovers, strange things happen. Reader and Eddie are over 21.

word count: 1.6k

This a mix of several fic ideas that all blended together somehow. One being a road trip fic where Eddie falls for an older reader that I hope to finish one day, plus something for the Stranger Prompts list. Several of the prompts are used in this, but I wanted to keep them a secret. I wouldn't say this is a hurt/no comfort fic, but there will be a hint of that. It is a hopeful, star-crossed lovers story at its core.

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After Eddie pumped a few bucks worth of gas into the tank, he couldn’t get across the parking lot to the payphone fast enough. He was sure his heart would explode if he couldn’t talk to you again as the few hours of highway seemed to roll out for an eternity.

He punched numbers into the metal key pad and then held a hand over his heart, waiting. Just after the second ring, there you were with that voice he’d come to adore with every fiber of his being.

“Hey you,” his smile was so big it made his cheeks hurt. “It’s Eddie. Wanted to check in, you know, make sure you made it home okay.”

At the other end, butterflies exploded in your stomach. “Hey there stranger,” you ached to reach out and hold him. “I was hoping it would be you.”

He played with the metal cord attaching the receiver to the phone box, tucking his chin so that his next words were mumbled. “What would you say if I told you I missed you already?”

He felt as if he no longer existed in this reality, as if time and space and whatever the hell else didn’t matter as long as he was connected to you somehow, as long as you were real. The words kept bubbling up in his chest, and if he didn’t let them out and tell you how he felt, he might suffocate.

You put down the stack of mail you were holding and sat on the nearby chair to calm your buzzing head. “I’d say you got it bad for me, Munson.”

“I think you might be onto something there,” he chuckled, turning his head to make sure no one from the isolated gas station was lurking nearby. “I wish I could kiss you right now.”

“I wish we could do more than that,” you said, grinning.

“Glad I’m not the only one,” he pinched the front of his Megadeth shirt and brought it to his nose. “I’m never gonna wash this shirt ever again, just so you know. It smells like you.”

“I almost kept it,” you started to doodle spirals on the pad in front of you with a red pen.

“I would’ve let you,” he smirked, remembering the way you straddled him in nothing but that shirt in the back of his van for one final quickie before parting ways. The feeling of being inside of you, that sense of completion and connection, would be his main masturbation fodder for the foreseeable future.

Holy shit, he was crazy about you.

Having such intense feelings for someone after barely 24 hours of knowing them was not reasonable, he knew that, but he also didn’t care.

He’d been on his way home from visiting his friend Ronnie when the storm hit, and some of the roads were blocked off due to flooding. The rain crashed down all night, lightning cracked the sky, and all he could think of as your bodies writhed tangled and sweaty, was that he could die a happy man.

He called Gareth that night, told him he wouldn’t make it to practice, and decided to slink into a dark bar for a beer. There you were, looking all sorts of futuristic and out of place. You had a device in your hand that resembled something out of Star Trek, but you said it didn’t work, that it was “dead” and you couldn’t find your “charger”. You fascinated the fuck out of him. He asked if you were an alien, and without missing a beat, you responded, “would that be a problem?”

Not at all, sweetheart. Not. At. All.

“I kinda want to get in my car and race back to you,” you spoke softly.

Eddie tilted his head back and closed his eyes. “Man, that’s all I could think about the whole way was turning around. I feel like I left my heart on the road back there.”

“I’ll keep it safe,” you whispered, making his entire body shiver with longing.

“When can I see you again? I mean, when do you think…should I come to you or—”

The automatic operator’s voice cut him off, asking him to deposit 25 cents.

“Are you calling me from a payphone?” You sounded astonished. “I didn’t even know those things existed anymore.”

“They’re all over the place, sweetheart,” he huffed, distracted with searching his denim pockets for change. “Not all of us have strange little pocket calculator things we speak into.”

“I love an old school man.”

Hearing the word “love” roll off your tongue in relation to him made him want to reach out and take you in his arms so bad he could scream.

“Hey, I left all my change in the van, this is going to cut me off, but I’ll call you when I get home, yeah?”

“Please do, I don’t care how late it is.”

“Okay I will, and also—”

But then the line went dead.

You pulled your iPhone away from your cheek and stared at the screen with a sad frown. You hoped that one day he’d let you bring him up to speed with the age of technology. Until then, you found it charming as fuck that he didn’t own a cellphone, and loved to act oblivious to anything involving computers.

You had your cell charging on the countertop when one of your friends texted you a few minutes later, demanding the details of the mystery man who’d swept you off your feet in some dive bar out in the boonies.

Usually, you avoided one night stands at all costs. You had to care very deeply about someone in order to be intimate with them, and for some reason, you felt bonded to Eddie after the first hour. It was thrilling, but also scary and uncomfortable all at once.

“What happened to the dude you were supposed to meet there?” Your friend Tina asked. “The one from the dating app?”

“Oh, he never showed,” you chuckled, thinking that you’d totally forgotten why you’d driven almost two hours away to another town in the first place. “But it was for the best. If he hadn’t ghosted, I never would have met Eddie.”

“What was the name of the bar again?” She asked after you dished all of the details on your new crush.

“Wait, I think I have one of their matchbooks in my bag—” you dug around, finally holding it out in front of you. “I guess it’s called The Upside Down? Never heard of it before, but the address was correct, I’m sure of it. My GPS was acting weird, so who knows.”

The bar hadn’t been updated since the 70’s, it seemed. Wood paneling, sticky tables, peanut shells on the floor, and one of those vintage jukeboxes that played nothing but oldies. Eddie remarked that it reminded him a lot of one of the bars he did gigs at with his band.

Corroded Coffin, you doodled the name down, reminding yourself to google it later. Eddie said he wasn’t on social media, and pretended not to know what it even was. Just one more quirk of his that charmed you to death and made you smile to yourself.

You fell asleep on the couch that night with the phone on your chest, and woke up the next morning with a kink in your neck and a dry mouth.

Nothing from Eddie, not even a missed call.

Maybe he got in late and didn’t want to wake you. It was almost 9:00 in the morning when you tried the number he’d given you for his uncle’s place.

The number had been disconnected or was no longer in service.

Panic swelling in your throat, you scrolled back to the number of the payphone he’d called you from.

Also not in service.

Glassy eyed, you sat up and stared at the wall for a long time.

Soon after, you wiped away frustrated tears and got on the internet to search.

“That can’t be right,” you whispered at the screen, looking at a photo of Corroded Coffin at a bar called The Hideout in 1985. Eddie Munson, graduate of Hawkins High in 1986.

You swallowed thickly, shaking your head.

Zooming in on the few photos you found, you couldn’t help but notice the insane similarities between your Eddie, and 1980’s Eddie. The one you knew was maybe a few years older, but that was definitely him.

Could it be a relative? No.

All of the odd conversations you’d had that night began to click together. Had his perplexity with the idea of you carrying a phone been legit? You figured he was just being silly.

There wasn’t much you could find about him, but one final news snippet caught your eye:

“....Hawkins native and Corroded Coffin frontman Eddie Munson has not been seen or heard from since the fall of ‘89 after leaving a cryptic note for his uncle, Wayne Munson. “He had a bunch of letters he wanted me to pass out to his friends,” Wayne explained. “He said he hoped that he would be able to come back to Hawkins, but he wasn’t sure how it all “worked”. That he loved me, but he had to go and find someone.”

You gulped, tears rolling hot down your cheeks.

“He went back,” you sniffed, choking on a sob. “He went back to find me, he…”

You trailed off, looking up at the clock, and then over to your car keys on the table.

What if Eddie circled back to find you and you weren’t there? What if that bar you’d met at never even existed?

But Eddie, he was real, and he was coming for you.

You left a note too, texted Tina, and then you were on the road again.

Pedal to the metal into the gathering storm.

—-

Thank you for reading, I love you.

#stranger prompts #stranger things fanfiction #Eddie Munson #eddie munson fanfic #Eddie Munson fluff #Eddie Munson smut #twilight zone inspired #Spotify

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alyseofwonderland · 2 years

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the ending of the last of us being a point of discussion is one of those things that I know is going to be a breaking point for me. because i have been upset about it since the video game

BUT NOT FOR THE REASONS YOU THINK.

I’m mad that its even considered “a choice” for Joel to get Ellie out of there. THEY WERE DOING SCIENCE WRONG!!!

I’m sorry you don't kill your one immune specimen on the first fucking day! This is not how cures are found. How many tests did they run on Ellie? How much blood did they take? How many lab mice did they genetically alter and infect to see if it a replicalbe cure?

THE INCOMPETENCE OF THE FIREFLIES AND THEIR DOCTORS IS RAGE INDUCING. Living tissue it the key here people. Kill Ellie on day one and they can only test cures for as long as they have well preserved tissue samples which looking at the conditions in Last of Us, they dont have. This is a get it right the first time or you killed her for nothing set up.

That’s before the show decided to give us like an origin story of Ellie’s birth and we now have a clear picture of how she became immune. It was low grade inculcation. Cool neato. Marlene might not know what happened exactly but she certainly can put the pieces together. Marlene could have communicated what she knew of Ellie’s birth to the doctors and the fact that they have proof that Ellie is immune and from that information alone a good biologist could have started making test subject mice.

*pinches nose bridge*

I understand this is not the point. I really really do. I understand that the narrative and the discussion is supposed to center around the morals of One Life out weighting the Lives of Many. It’s supposed to be the exact opposite of all things Star Trek. EXCEPT THEY ARE TRYING TO PASS OFF SCIENCE THAT WOULD ONLY WORK IN A STAR TREK EPISODE. *deep calming breath*

Here’s the problem. The show and the video game want us to believe this is a morality question. Is it morally wrong for Joel to doom of of humanity to save his adoptive daughter? That’s the central question.

But if they were never gonna save humanity. If the Fireflies were just gonna kill Ellie the first day they have her then there’s no moral question. Or at least the question is different. We are now asking “Is it wrong to kill an entire building of people in order to stop them from committing a murder?”

If no cure can come from Ellie’s death (because we have established they would have never found it) then her life is more valuable than the lives of everyone in that building because she can survive situations no one else can. She could clear out whole infected towns one by one.

Anyway. Science Education People. Everyone needs more of it.

#the last of us #joel the last of us #ellie the last of us #fireflies #rant #i can suspend my disbelief until bad science happens and then i have to scream into the void for several years

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dalekowrites · 6 days

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What would your favourite choice of the games interactive stories be? Would you have a favourite type? Romance, Fantasy etc. and did any of the inspire you with the ones you are currently writing? 😁

Oh boy! This is going to be a long answer, brace yourself lol

Let me start by saying that I have a degree in English literature (in fact, I'm going to do a PhD on it), so reading, in general, is one of the core activities of my life.

As for text adventures, even if not from Choice of Games Ltd., I'd like to mention a few inspirations: my passion first came from the original Choose Your Own Adventure series, and I still remember which numbers obsessed me as a child: Mountain Survival #28, The Dragons' Den #33, and more than any other, Space Patrol #22! (The latter may have also fueled my unhealthy obsession with Star Trek TOS, actually). For those unfamiliar with this fantastic book series, the genres of the three books I mentioned are, respectively, adventure, fantasy, and sci-fi. This gives you an idea of how varied my tastes are...

Later on, I discovered interactive fictions and text adventures. Dude, it was a dream come true. I started with Adventure ('76, never finished it, of course) and Zork ('79, never finished that either… of course. How damn hard were they?!). Then Mystery Mansion ('78), Castle Adventure ('82), and too many, many others. I'm a sucker for Sorcery! from inkle, and I deeply loved Magium (RIP Chris, you won't be forgotten). For my Italian-speaking friends, I also really enjoyed the Fra Tenebra e Abisso series (although its current status is unknown).

But back to CoG-related things. I've read a lot, and I'd probably be faster telling you what I didn't like! As you may have figured out by now, I don't have any particular genre preferences as long as a story is well-written, though horror-thriller stories usually grab my attention more easily.

Important note: I've read a lot of stories and, with a few exceptions, I liked most of them. To avoid writing a too-long list, here are the published stories that really impressed me:

A Crown of Sorcery and Steel,

A Midsummer Night's Choice,

Blood for Poppies,

Blood Moon,

Broadway: 1849,

Choice of the Cat,

Choice of the Vampire,

Donor,

Doomsday on Demand (1 and 2),

Gilded Rails,

Golden Rose: Book One,

Jazz Age,

Lies Under Ice,

Life of a Mercenary,

Life of a Space Force Captain,

MetaHuman Inc.,

Noblesse Oblige,

Paradox Factor,

The Evertree Saga (all four books),

Rent-a-Vice,

Revolution Diabolique,

Siege of Treboulain,

Tally Ho,

The Daily Blackmail,

The Dragon and the Djinn,

The Fernweh Saga: Book One,

The Fog Knows Your Name,

The Gray Painter,

The Grim and I,

The Ghost and the Golem,

The Lost Heir,

The Midnight Saga: The Monster,

The Parenting Simulator,

The Play's the Thing,

The Soul Stone War (1 and 2),

The War for the West,

Tudor Intrigue,

Vampire Regent,

Vampire: The Masquerade (all of them),

Way Walkers: University (1 and 2),

Welcome to Moreytown,

Werewolves: Haven Raising,

Zombie Exodus,

Zombie Exodus: Safe Haven.

And now, onto works in progress! There aren’t that many because I barely have time to follow my own (heh…), so here, in alphabetical order, are the ones I'm following with the most interest:

Adoriel's Tears (@adoriels-tears-if),

A Father's Love (@kal-down),

Crown of Ashes and Flames (@coeluvr),

Dawn Chorus (@dawnchorus-if)

Disenchanted (@disenchantedif),

Dragon's Edged (@dragonedged-if),

Elysium (@elysiumcircusif),

Fallen Lights (@fallenlightsif),

For King and Country (@forkingandcountry-if),

From The Ashes We Rise (@kal-down),

Hubris (@hubris-the-if-game),

Kingdoms and Empires (@kingdoms-and-empires),

Return to Misty Cove (@fluorescent-if),

The Abyssal Song (@ri-writes-if),

The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - An affair of the heart (@doriana-gray-games),

The Lonely Shore (@thelonelyshore-if),

The King's Hound (@the-kingshound),

The Reaper Watches Me (@thereaperwatchesme),

The Bureau (@thebureau),

The Unseelie (@theunseelieif),

Van Helsing (@vanhelsing-if),

When Life Gives You Lemons (@when-life-gives-you-lemons-if).

Okay, that was… a lot. As for direct inspirations, I don't have any direct ones, but I can say I felt like writing a post-apocalyptic story after reading Doomsday on Demand! Other than that, I guess the collection of narrative, text adventures, and interactive fiction I've read have led me to where I am now.

Damn, it took me hours to write this answer. I hope it's satisfying at least! Thanks for asking ☺

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variousqueerthings · 1 year

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so on doctor who confidential they talked about how rose was meant to really appeal to young girls, partially because doctor who traditionally had been considered a bit of a boys club in the past (whether or not that was true, I don't know. certainly depictions of classic!DW fandom has been mostly men, but then, that tended to be true of star trek as well and we all know that women were running the fandom show there. however I digress) --

the point of this show from the get go was to appeal more to women and girls, deliberately, because rtd likes writing for women (chris eccleston also said that rtd was better at writing the companion and that was right and good)

so there was the fact that she was 19 (and how that made her really Grown Up and Cool to teens and kids who were tuning into the first ever doctor who for 17 years, which, as the age-group who saw rose as a kid, correct), the fact that she was getting into arguments with her mum and being rebellious and trying to figure her identity out, the fact that she was 2000s era fashion-forward but still dressed within a budget and in a way that seemed realistic -- and speaking of realistic, That. she was meant to really make girls feel like they could accomplish things, and in some ways grow up with her. I think that worked so well for those of us who started with her era at a Certain age (whether or not we still ID as girls of course....) and she really was the perfect first companion. her story was based in that joy of leaving it all behind and fear of the responsibilities of adulthood and growing up and the real pain of that. in many ways a bit of a wendy darling, but more relatable and from the estate. she was growing up and it was tough

it felt like rose really was the beating heart of the show, giving it life those first couple of seasons as it was allowed to grow from a new exploration of what its identity was going to be and into what came next. and of course then she haunts the narrative for ages afterwards, which is always fun (I mean heck, we've got a "rose" character coming up in 2023! nearly 20 years after she was there)

billie piper was such an iconic and important part of what made doctor who work. the companion now had this depth of feeling about her and you knew this person, you knew why she wanted to run away, because you did too. just cannot overstate how much I adored rose

#rose tyler #doctor who #dw #ive said this several times to people i know but rose is one of the only women on tv that ive had gender envy type feelings for #and the other women tended to be... quite readable as not-women

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woman-of-many-fandoms · 2 months

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It's really odd being a Star Trek fan when almost everything you love about it is the minority. Like I've seen posts on other sites and someone refers to AOS and no one know what's being talking about. They think it's Animated Original Series. Like no?? I thought this was common knowledge. And I see posts not knowing Jim had a brother and not knowing both his dad and brother are named George. And these are people who say they've been watching for decades. Maybe it's me knowing trek lore from character driven fanfics? I remember being in grad school (over 10 years ago) and I was working with a girl who's father was a huge Trek fan and I asked if her name was Amanda Grey after Spock's mom. She never made the connection.

THEN there's being a fan of AOS vs TOS which is even more alienating. Like if you speak ill of Shanter's acting, the sexism, or point out how TOS Bones was racist you imminently get" "Shanter made trek what it is today!" "Everyone knows Spock and McCoy are great friends!" "It was progressive for its time!" It like we're watching different things.

And don't even get me started on being a spirk shipper in general fan spaces. So many people love Spock/Chapel. Don't get me wrong, I see the appeal, they are both attractive talented actors but it seem wrong to me. (I will fully admit watching sex/ heavy romance scenes makes me uncomfortable, I didn't make it past the first ep of Bridgerton due to the sex scene, if I want porn I want to see it in my own time)

I know I've posted how I really want the 4th trek movie and honestly it's because I want the AOS fans to come back so there is more content to engage with. I really don't care (well I do) what the story is. I feel most of the fans have moved onto other fandoms. The engagement in 2009-2016 was amazing.

#star trek #spock #jim kirk #strange new worlds #star trek snw #star trek tos #spirk #st aos #star trek aos #tos mccoy #tos kirk

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elephant-in-the-pride-parade · 3 months

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Prodigy Recap

I love it I love it I love it I could watch it forever

I'm truly irrevokably in love. I'm done for. I'm probably going to rewatch this all month before I am satisfied I've fully taken it all in. I NEED to rewatch Mindwalk and Supernova again ASAP because knowing what I know now about the memories HJ had just recovered. I know it is going to wreck me to watch her in those episodes with S2 in mind.

My ship HELD HANDS GUYSSS. HE TOLD HER SHES HIS HOME. HE DIDNT FEEL LIKE HE BELONGED ANYWHERE UNTIL THEY MET. SHE BROKE TIME FOR HIM AGAIN AND AGAIN. HER EYES GOT SO BIG! THAT HUG LOOKED SO GOOD. (I'm getting off topic a lot but i need to get the "my ship is canon - in a way i don't hate!!!" fangirling out of my system.) breathe. breathe. okay gonna keep going.

Its gonna take me a few more watch throughs to fully wrap my head around the paradox. And around how you fit a humpback whale in the original ISS Voyager (seriously. has that been there the whole time? does OG Voyager have a whale? was she retrofitted in the AQ? did Mirror J steal a whale from 1996?) And if that timeline where KJ was lost on the infinity means shes also trapped on future solum with Chakotay or just dead. and and and... so many things. so many fic ideas. so many plot bunnies

(wait no -- shoves the plot bunnies away -- go away. not ready for more wips yet)

There. was. so. much. that I loved. it was such an ambitious story to tell in 2 seasons and oh my god, i really feel they mostly pulled it off. They brought back Voyagers legacy characters and put them to work in a plot that fit them, and it was such a joy to see them again. They stay true to who they were on Voyager - thoroughly wonderfully 100x better than on Voyager in Chakotays case. and i really believe theyre the same characters with a few more years of life since ive last met them.

And the new characters too. I love Dal and Gwyn and Rok and Murf and Zero and Jankom and Maj'el to pieces. (Majel!!! is such a perfect tribute!) I want to see so much more of Noum and Tysses. I am in tears over Adreek. God how much i want Season 3 just to see how their stories continue.

But I think... what strikes me most and what I appreciated the most was how much this show wholeheartedly respects its fans!!!

It never dumbs things down or babies it's younger audience. its very mature for a kids show. it is a great introduction to star trek and the universe without over explaining. there are storylines in these 40 episodes that would be right at home in TNG or Voyager. it's really more of a fun for the whole family show than a kids show in that way. (it says something that it's the first "cartoon" my parents have ever cared for and they are watching it wholely for themselves.) It really manages to tell the story in a framing thats aimed at kids without taking anything away from the story its telling for all ages.

And it's adult audience...

I worried about how it would feel to have enjoyed such a rich fanon universe in the 3 decades since the show ended. There were advantages to having a ship with very little canon. the fan universe thrived on how much room there was to work within. After that - having headcanoned and written and imagined so many futures for the characters - I feared having some new canon come in and make a new story for them that would invalidate so much if that imagination, or create something so unsatisfying or rigid or antithical to their last canon encounter that nothing new would be inspired by it. (P/C in Picard was like that for me)

Prodigy didnt do that. Prodigy made no grand sweeping canon for the years in between Voyagers homecoming and the new show. Prodigy didnt shoe horn any character into a rigid relationship status. Prodigy picked them up, set them on a new adventure, sprinkled in tantalyzing new details, and left a wealth of room around the events of the season and the relationships between the characters for so much fan imagination to thrive. The possibilities before and during and after the seasons for the characters are bountiful and perfect for imagining their other adventures. I couldnt have imagined my ship becoming canon (or maybe affirmed by the canon is a clearer way to put it) in a better way.

And then they went and added Tank Top Action Janeway in there as a treat.

Truly a masterpiece. i'm so grateful for this show. i hope it gets the 3rd season it so dearly deserves.

#star trek prodigy #prodigy spoilers #prodigy

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specialagentartemis · 1 year

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Black Women writing SFF

The post about Octavia Butler also made me think about the injustice we do both Butler, SFF readers, and Black women SFF writers by holding her up as the one Black Woman Writing Sci-Fi. She occupies an important place in the genre, for her creativity, the beauty and impact of her writing, and her prolific work... but she's still just one writer, and no one writer works for everybody.

So whether you liked Octavia Butler's books or didn't, here are some of the (many!!! this list is just the authors I've read and liked, or been recommended and been wanting to read) other Black women writing speculative fiction aimed at adults, who might be writing something within your interest:

N. K. Jemisin - a prolific powerhouse of modern sff. Will probably have something you'll like. Won three Hugo awards in a row for her Broken Earth trilogy. I’ve only read her book of short stories, How Long ‘Til Black Future Month? and it is absolutely story after story of bangers. Creative, chilling, beautifully written, make you think. They’re so good and I highly recommend the collection. Several of her novels have spun out of premises she first explored through these short stories, most recently “The City Born Great” giving rise to her novel The City We Became. Leans more fantasy than sci-fi, but has a lot of both, in various permutations.

Nisi Shawl - EDIT: I have been informed that Nisi Shawl identifies as genderfluid, not as a woman. They primarily write short stories that lean literary. Their one novel that I’ve read, Everfair, is an alternate-history 19th century that asks, what if the Congo had fought off European colonization and became a free and independent African state? Told in vignettes spanning decades of political organization, political movements, war tactics, and social development, among an ensemble of local African people, Black Americans coming to the new country, white and mixed-race Brits, and Chinese immigrants who came as British laborers.

Nnedi Okorafor - American-Nigerian writer of Africanfuturism, sci-fi stories emphasizing life in present, future, and alternate-magical Africa. She has range! From Binti, a trilogy of novellas about a teenage girl in Namibia encountering aliens and balancing her newfound connection to space with expectations of her family; to Akata Witch, a middle-grade series about a Nigerian-American girl moving to Nigeria and learning to use magic powers she didn’t know she had; to Who Fears Death, a brutal depiction of magical-realism in a futuristic, post-war Sudan; to short stories like "Africanfuturism 419", about that poor Nigerian prince who’s desperately sending out those emails looking for help (but with a sci-fi twist), and "Mother of Invention" about a smart house taking care of its human and her baby… she’s done a little bit of everything, but always emphasizes the future, the science, and the magic of (usually western) Africa.

Karen Lord - an Afro-Caribbean author. I actually didn’t particularly like the one novel by her I’ve read, The Best of All Possible Worlds, but Martha Wells did, so. Lord has more novels set in this world—a Star Trek-esque multicultural, multispecies spacefuture set on a planet that has welcomed immigrants and refugees for a long time, and become a vibrant multicultural planet. I find her stories rooted in near-future Caribbean socio-climatic concerns like "Haven" and "Cities of the Sun" and her folktale-fantasy style Redemption in Indigo more compelling. And more short stories here.

Bethany C. Morrow - only has one novella (short novel?) for adults, Mem, but it was creative and fascinating and good and I’d be remiss not to shout it out. In an alternate-history 1920s Toronto, scientists have discovered how to extract specific memories from a person—but then those memories are embodied as physical, cloned manifestations of the person at the moment the memory was made. The main character is one such “Mem,” struggling to determine who she is if she was created from and defined by one single traumatic memory that her original-self wanted to remove. It’s mostly quiet, contemplative, and very interesting. (Morrow has some YA novels too. I read one of them and thought it was okay.)

Rebecca Roanhorse - Afro-Indigenous, Black and "Spanish Indian" and married into Diné (Navajo). I’ve read her ongoing post-apocalyptic fantasy series starting with Trail of Lightning, and am liking it a lot; after a climate catastrophe, the spirits and magic of the Diné awakened to protect Dinetah (the Navajo Nation) from the onslaught; and now magic and monsters are part of life in this fundamentally changed world. Coyote is there and he is only sometimes helpful. She also has a more traditional second-world epic high fantasy, Black Sun, an elaborate fantasy world with quests and prophecies and seafaring adventure that draws inspiration from Indigenous cultures of the US and Mexico rather than Europe. She also has bitingly satirical and very incisive short stories like “Welcome to Your Authentic Indian Experience” about virtual reality and cultural tourism, and the fantasy-horror "Harvest."

Micaiah Johnson - her multiverse-hopping novel The Space Between Worlds plays with alternate universes and alternate selves in a continuously creative and interesting way! The setup doesn’t take the easy premise that one universe is our own recognizable one that opens up onto strange alternate universes—even the main character’s home universe is wildly different in speculative ways, with the MC coming from a Mad Max-esque desert community abandoned to the elements, while working for the universe-travel company within the climate-controlled walled city where the rich and well-connected live and work. Also, it’s unabashedly gay.

And if you like audiobooks and audio fiction (I listened to The Space Between Worlds as an audiobook, it’s good), then Jordan Cobb is someone you should check out. She does sci-fi/horror/thriller audio drama. Her works include Janus Descending, a lyrical and eerie sci-fi horror about a small research expedition to a distant planet and how it went so, so wrong; and Descendants, the sequel about its aftermath. She also has Primordial Deep, about a research expedition to the deep undersea, to investigate the apparent re-emergence of a lot of extinct prehistoric sea creatures. She’s a writer/producer I like, and always follow her new releases. Her detailed prose, minimal casts (especially in Janus Descending), good audio quality, and full-series supercuts make these welcoming to audiobook fans.

Nalo Hopkinson - a writer who should be considered nearly as foundational as Octavia Butler, honestly. A novelist and short story writer with a wide variety of sci-fi, dystopian futures, fairy-tale horror, gods and epics, and space Carnival, drawing heavily from her Caribbean experiences and aesthetics.

Tananarive Due - fantastical/horror. Immortals, vampires, curses, altered reality, unnerving mystery. Also has written a lot of books.

Andrea Hairston - creative and otherworldly, weird and bisexual, with mindscapes and magic and aliens.

Helen Oyeyemi - I haven’t read her work but she comes highly recommended by a friend. A novelist and short story writer, most of her work leans fairytale fantastical-horror. What Is Not Yours Is Not Yours is a collection of short fiction and recc’ed to me as her best work. White is for Witching is a well-regarded haunted house novel.

Ashia Monet - indie author, writer of The Black Veins, pitched as “the no-love-interest, found family adventure you’ve been searching for.” Magic road trip! Possibly YA? I’m not positive.

This also doesn’t include Black non-binary sff authors I’ve read and liked like An Owomoyela, C. L. Polk, and Rivers Solomon. And this is specifically about adult sff books, so I didn’t include Black women YA sff authors like Kalynn Bayron, Tomi Adeyemi, Tracy Deonn, Justina Ireland, or Alechia Dow, though they’re writing fantasy and sci-fi in the YA world too.

And a lot of short stories are out there in the online magazine world, where so many up and coming authors get their start, and established ones explore offbeat and new ideas. Pick up an issue (or a subscription!) of FIYAH magazine for the most current Black speculative writing.

#books #book recs #science fiction

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shadeslayer · 1 year

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its so funny when people are like.. "shipping/headcanoning/fandom has ruined the way people read and watch things" . because people have been doing all that shit since stories were first being told. and i dont mean just the old star trek spock/kirk zines i mean talking to my completely non fandom normie parents and my mom and dad have discussed what they headcanon happens post-canon in the music man, my mom has strong opinions on what happens to charlotte post-canon in pride and prejudice. theres fields of academia dedicated to close reading and analyzing and Overthinking different classical works. theres holmesian/sherlockian meetings from the 19th and 20th centuries where people wrote papers and presented them about what they headcanoned holmes' childhood to be or what watson did in between stories - watsonian and doylist both come from different ways of approaching the text, almost explicitly from how people wanted to explain watsons wives. ive had conversations with normies about the shakespeare play much ado about nothing where we talked about how benedick and beatrice have so much chemistry / hero and claudio have almost none.

enjoying a story and then continuing to think about it, thinking about the romance in it or possible in it, thinking about what happened or what could happen to the characters in it, are all things SO MANY PEOPLE do regardless of whether they do it in a group (and regardless of if that group is called the holmesian society, a book club, or internet fandom) and regardless of the terms they use - headcanon or "this is what i think happened," watsonian or in-fiction, doylist or meta, whatever. fandom isnt rotting peoples brains and ruining the way they take in or think about or seek out stories bc if thats true fucking everyone is doing that even if theyre not in some internet fandom u hate even if theyre a 50 year old man who thinks harold hill and marian lived a happy long life together even if theyre a 60 year old woman who thinks in another world darcy and bingley would date

#anompolili

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alpaca-clouds · 1 year

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The Power Of Media

I need do address one thing, because I see that kinda mindset creep up again and again.

Basically, under postings about utopian media, be it Star Trek, Solarpunk, or - heck - just bare Hopepunk, sometimes people will just go: "Media does not do shit. It does not change the world."

And that just is... demonstrably fault and a very defeatist attitude.

Now, one thing first: Yes, media on its own will not change the world. It will not. If you have this mindset, you are right in so far. We can have endless amounts of hopeful media and the world will not change from it.

But...

We live in capitalism. Its power seems inescapable. So did the divine right of kings. Any human power can be resisted and changed by human beings. Resistance and change often begin in art, and very often in our art, the art of words. - Ursula K. LeGuin

This quote of Ursula K. LeGuin is very powerful to me. Because it really captures the issue very well.

See. Right now we get bombarded with capitalist propaganda left and right. It already starts in school, we will often get it at home and obviously in media again and again.

It is so hard to escape, that to many it is hard to imagine that there ever could be anything else. I mean, we even have the issue within Solarpunk. When I read through those Solarpunk Anthologies, I will again and again find stories, that feature either capitalist worlds - or a world that has to be rebuild after the apocalypse. Because people really struggle imagining how it could be otherwise.

And this is why fiction is so important. Why Hopepunk is so important.

A lot of young people right now are able to see that the system is broken, that it has left them behind. Most young folks, who do not come from generational wealth, see that they will under the current system never own their own house. Their own retirement seems to be rather unlikely. And that is, if they do not die before from either the effects of climate change, from some pandemic through which we have to work because line needs to go up, or just in general because the health care system does not take care of them.

And these young people are willing to fight. They are. But right now they are only fighting against a system. They do not know what they fight for.

I know, for some this might sound like a small thing. But it is not. Especially not in a world, where more and more people are struggling with their mental health.

People need hope.

And again: No, it is not enough on its own. Just hopeful fiction on its own runs the danger of just being endless escapism.

We also need to offer mutual aid for each other. We also need to organize. And, yeah, we need to protest and actually get out there to fight.

But don't underestimate the power of fiction, when it comes to giving people something to fight for.

We know that media and stories have these powers. It is, after all, why those in powers dripfeed us the kinda stories that vilify those, who want to change the system. That tell us, that "everything is fine, okay, just trust the good billionaires" and what not. Because they understand this power.

And we should not leave this power to them along.

#solarpunk #lunarpunk #hopepunk #utopia #utopian fiction #the power of fiction #the power of media #hope is a dangerous thing #it only needs a spark #fighting climate change

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bulbabutt · 7 months

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not to still be all up in arms about the transformers religion but holy fuck, robots having religion is nothing new, they can have theology! that makes sense! robots who are fully sentient seeking out a reason for their souls is totally fine! im not saying the transformers shouldnt believe in primus or the all spark or believe in the 13 primes that whole thing works, it just bothers me that the canon of their religion is canon to the story. why is their planet LITERALLY their god. why is their religion based in literal history. i shouldnt even call it their religion, its just their canonical history. thats the problem! it comes from the perspective of writers who see religious doctrine as real history!

it also sucks for the nature of the robot as a concept! instead of being machines so advanced they are sentient, they are now fully formed beings granted souls by their god. thats no longer synthetic life conceptually, is it? that is a higher being creating life out of nothing. the concept of robots comes from slave labour, machines created by man to further their own advancements. machines created by organic life, not machines granted life by an ethereal being. they were created as commentary on capitalism. it asks the question "if this life is created synthetically, but it forms sentient thought, it is alive?". most other stories containing robots do this. think about overwatch's omnics, mass effects geth, star trek characters like data and the doctor, we the audience see them as alive but people in their worlds have to debate about it. that is the point of science fiction, to have theological discussions about robots.

what disappoints me about transformers isnt the changing of the lore, but the fact they couldnt conceive of anything more interesting to say about robots. i was watching g1 thinking "i cant wait to see future adaptations take this concept and flesh it out", and watching these adaptations strip the nature of the robot entirely from the lore in place of some all powerful god really sucks! imagine if their theology was the same, but their history was not. imagine robots who believe their planet is their god in spite of not actually knowing that to be true. wouldnt that be conceptually more interesting? wouldnt that say something?

instead of a unicron who is just a cosmic horror, a rogue planet who hungers for other worlds to sustain itself, unicron now represents all evil in the universe. hes a being of pure evil, existing as the equal and opposite to the canonically good god primus, the planet of cybertron. that ruins the concept to me. theyre taking the fun of science fiction out of it, turning it into basic "all good in the universe comes from god". it takes the choice of being good or evil out of it. giving them literal souls takes them choosing to say they have souls out of it. it takes the choice of valuing biological life away from the robots themselves to say that it is simply evil to not.

maybe some adaptation i havent gotten to yet will say something else, but as it stands right now im just so disappointed that this is the route it took.

#the tf binge thoughts

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literary-illuminati · 3 months

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2024 Book Review #34 – Children of Memory by Adrian Tchaikovsky

Overview

I have had this on my list for long enough for my request that the local library get a copy actually result in me getting my hands on it. It’s the third instalment (the last? I’m not sure – the ending here felt like far less of a natural conclusion than the ending to either of the previous two) of what is for my money some of the absolute best space opera (maybe even just science fiction writ large) of the last decade. I actually opened it with a real sense of trepidation; Children of Ruin had ended on an optimistic, open-ended note, with the creation of an interstellar and inter species society that was both deeply aspirational and incredibly alien. I wasn’t sure how a book from their perspective would even work. Thankfully, my fears were basically misplaced – there’s definitely a drift in tone and focus from where the series started, but the thematic heart’s still there, and this was overall a joy to read.

Synopsis

Following the end of Children of Ruin, we have a nomadic society of uplifted spiders and squids, Humans (the capitalization signifies infection by an engineered retrovirus to help with empathy and accepting/valuing the Other), the formerly all-consuming alien microbal parasites of Nod (who have agreed to only assimilate the identities of those who expressly consent to the process), and various instances of Avranda Kern (millennia old upload of a meglomaniacal mad scientist who is by a quirk of history now the OS all computers run on). After making tentative Second Contact with a half-terraformed world now inhabited by a civilization of debatably-sentient crows, an exploration ship takes on a pair of them as ambassadors before finding their way to way what seems to be a struggling but holding on colony founded by one of the last arkships of refugees to escape the ruins of Old Earth. .

Intercut with this is the narrative of that arkship arriving, very much the worse for wear after two thousand years and change hurtling through the void with its crew and cargo in cryo. The world is hardly what they hoped for – only ever half-terraformed, breathable atmosphere and some basic engineered microbal life, but entirely lacking any sort of biosphere – but it’s not like they have another option. They make the best of it they can, using what working technology they have to bootstrap a basic ecosystem of pigs and trees, a few species of bugs and fungi, enough to farm and build with. And the core crew holds out hope that the faint trace of a strange signal buried in the hills near their colony might lead to something more.

Intercut with that is the story of Liff, a young girl in the colony as things take a turn for the worse. That’s when things start to get weird.

Xenophilia

The best way for me to get across the central theme of this whole series is ‘more star trek than star trek’ (or at least, than any star trek produced since I’ve come of age). It believes is absolutely nothing so strongly as it believes in the pure and perfect virtue of curiosity, that the point of existence is to discover, and to share what you have discovered with those around you. It is an oft-repeated point that the overwhelming majority of the universe is cold and empty, and anything different is worth seeking out and treasuring for its own sake – that every shred of diversity is the cosmos is a wonder in its own right.

Which is the entire purpose our protagonist’s civilization has set themselves – the distributed fleet of pathological scientists and novelty-seekers, leaving behind teeming cities and orbital habitats for a life seeking the mysteries of the universe with tiny circles of peers. It’s very Starfleet, in its most idealistic and elevator-pitch form.

And even beyond them, curiosity, discovery and exploration are treated as basically heroic wherever they’re found – Captain Holt and the Enkidu might have been doomed, but they’re still presented as deeply and wholly admirable for trying.

It goes beyond that, too. This is one of vanishingly few space opera settings I can think of with a cast full of distinct and dissimilar species, where none of them are orcs. Or dragons, for that matter. No matter how monstrous and horrifying a species seems – spiders the size of your head, the mad remnant of an ancient demiurge, all-consuming and replicating alien parasites – the answer is diplomacy, outreach, communication. Both sequels in the series have begun with a civilization formed through the total (though not seamless) integration of alien societies from the last book into a greater whole. The parasites from Children of Ruin best exemplify this, I think – convinced that consuming and assimilating everything it can reach will result in nothing but a universe of itself, compared to walking through the world with a soft touch and appreciating all the different dynamics that can develop through so many myriad perspectives. And now one of them is basically the book’s main protagonist (and very guilty about all the nonconsensually-eating-people thing).

Whereas in Memory it’s not exactly subtle that the intolerance and violence against social deviants is presented as basically a symptom of material scarcity and desperation. When Landfall is doing well, the little band of infiltrators – strange, nonverbal artist, discomfortingly informative schoolteacher, standoffish and thoroughly gender nonconforming woodswoman – are affectionately tolerated and appreciated for what they can do. When the harvests are bad and the forests are rotting – well who even needs abstract art or history lessons to begin with? They’re lashed out at, used as just one of a growing set of scapegoats, and when things are dire enough, again and again, they end up on the noose. Intolerance is a self-harming reflex, a wounded animal lashing out because it can neither understand nor change the actual source of its pain. Again, Star Trek but moreso.

The ‘moreso’ does a lot of work in this comparison, to be fair. The series shares Star Trek’s deep love of science just like it shares its pathological liberalism – it’s just consistent about it. The crew explorers are casually transhuman (transarachnid, transcephlopod, etc) - immortal and physically enhanced, capable of sharing and downloading both memories and skills, visibly aging or carrying scars only as a fashion statement. It is treated as a casual fact of life that letting an experiment progress might mean going into cold sleep for decades or centuries, if there is no better way for a group of six on a small ship to while away the time while they wait. Technology has conquered scarcity on anything like a personal scale, and the explorers take full advantage.

Which is probably downstream of the books not being particularly caught up on ‘humanity’. I mean, humans are there – are very important! - but to the extent they’re the axis the universe turns upon, it’s only the ghosts of the old empire. Modern humans are just one part of interstellar civilization, and not even its most numerous or prominent. Humans have a unique way of thinking (as does everyone else) but no monopoly on heroic drive or virtue.

Curious Corvids

Each book in the series feels marketed around a different uplifted animal arising from the ruins of humanity’s imperial glory and galaxy-spanning hubris. This is not wrong, but it definitely becomes less right as the series progresses.

Children of Time is about the spiders. There’s humans too, sure, but I’ve yet to see a single person who read for the Gilgamesh plotline. By wordcount and thematic focus and just what makes it an interesting book, it is about the evolution of Portid intelligence and civilization across the millennia. The real protagonist of the novel is the species.

Children of Ruin is still kind of about the uplifting of the Squids. Senkovi’s efforts and relationship with them gets a decent amount of focus, as does the development of their civilization after the terraformers’ death. They just share top billing with the alien aliens, and rather than just being the climax of the story Second Contact is the real meat of the entire plot.

In Children of Ruin the introduction of the corvids almost feels like a publisher mandate – their history and backstory is basically brushed over in the prologue and one interlude, Second Contact basically a triviality. It’s not that they’re not important to the book or its themes, or that they’re not interesting (in both cases they very much are!), but they feel like a b-plot. Supporting what the book is about, not defining it.

Which to be clear, is from a writing perspective almost certainly the correct choice – ‘Children of Time but with a different species’ would still be fascinating, but it really doesn’t cohere as a continuing and linked series. I just think you could have dug some more meat out of the abbreviated history given there. What fanfic is for, I suppose.

It’s a funny sort of distinction that unlike the others, the corvids aren’t technically uplifts – the considered opinion of the series is that while spiders and squids would require millenia of nanite-assisted directed evolution to develop anything that looks like human-level sapience, in the right environment crows would just Do That (admittedly with the addition of alien radiation scrambling DNA and increasing mutation rate by an order of magnitude or two).

The other trend with the different uplift species as the series has gone on is that with each book they become neurologically and psychologically weird. The spiders had Understandings and a bunch of predator- and cannibal-instincts, but they’re still each an individual intelligence. The squids are a central brain and a bunch of semi-autonomous limbs which are only barely on speaking terms with the conscious mind. And now the crows are not individually intelligent at all – they think and live in pairs, one observing and recalling, the other analyzing and inferring, actual intelligence appearing only in the dialogue and interaction between the two. Which makes chapters from their POV very entertaining, at least.

Sentience and Identity

The book’s very interested in both – it’s probably the most central and explicit theme of the entire thing. Our crows, having given the matter thorough and careful reflection, eventually decided that they weren’t sentient at all (that nothing is, really) – or at least, that’s the series of sounds they make when asked. Our other main characters include:

an alien parasite which has assimilated a copy of a woman’s consciousness and now imitates her so well she often forgets she’s anything else

a copy of a sliver of an instance of an upload of an ancient terraformer, who for a nontrivial period of time was running on hard that was mostly ant colony

an extremely detailed simulation of someone who could have but never did exist

(arguably) the simulation they are running on.

The book comes down pretty solidly on a ‘if it quacks like a duck’ model of personhood – and cheats a bit in terms of giving most of the above POV chapters and obvious internal monologues – but the question of who counts as sentience and as a person, and of what ‘sentient’ and ‘person’ even mean – are ones that various characters spend a lot of time and angst on.

The answer the book arrives at isn’t exactly a surprise – see above, more star trek than star trek – but it’s still an interesting angle to look at everyone from.

Genre Ambiguity

The book is clearly, self-evidently science fiction, but Tchaikovsky still has a lot of fun playing around with some fantasy tropes and imagery in it. Liff is an adolescent who dearly loves her book of ancient fairy-tales, and so our view of Landfall and the world beyond it, which means basically her entire plotline is narrated with a fairy-tale sensibility. In fairness, Kern and the crows do an excellent job accidentally seeming like a witch and her familiars. Landfall’s whole deal seeming a lot more like a fairy curse than anything from the inside doesn’t hurt, either.

While it’s science fiction, Memory is definitely softer science fiction than the previous books in the series. In general, human- and human-descended technology all at least has the convincing appearance of rigour and plausibility, while anything alien falls solidly into the real of space magic plot devices. So we get elaborate narration on the exact details of how the crew of the Enkidu bootstrap a functional ecology around Landfalll before their high technology begins giving out, but the simulator buried in the hills Just Works. Which as neat a way to do the division as any, really, but there’s a real shift in tone from Time where just about everything feels like it’s from the first category. I mean, they have fTL now!

Conclusion

This isn’t really a book I’d call groundbreaking – Children of Time has much more of a claim to novelty in both subject and presentation – but it’s one that I think solidly achieves everything it tries to? The writing’s good, the characters all cohere, the themes are explored intelligently. Plus, Kern is probably one of my favourite characters of all time.

So y’know if you don’t have major issues with spiders, multiple POVs and unclear timelines, or existential angst, would solidly recommend.

#book review #children of memory #adrian tchaikovsky #sff #space opera #xenofiction

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vivs-fics · 1 month

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Just As It Is

Bucky Barnes x Reader

College AU

No minors allowed. Read at your own discretion.

TW: Swearing, religious imagery, smoking, mention of underage drinking

Part 1

Dark clouds linger overhead, far too close for comfort. A twinge in the air and rain birds circling the sky makes unease swell in the pit of my stomach. A storm is brewing, something dark this way comes- and here I am walking down the street with no jacket, no umbrella and Bucky’s place nowhere in sight.

I quicken my pace. Shoes stomping heavily on the asphalt, desperate to outrun the impending shower- to no avail. Thunder claps, electricity crackles, the birds make their descent in the sky behind me and the floodgates of the dreaded downpour open. I feel the rain spilling through my hair, the chill crawling down my spine and soaking my clothes. I wish more than anything just to be inside, warm and in good company.

The D&D campaign tonight is one I’ve been looking forward to for weeks. Bucky let me in on a few minor details now and again. This story was meant to be his most enticing yet, described by the man himself as “a fuckin’ mind-blowing maelstrom of malice, monsters and murder.” He added that the alliteration was meant to captivate and create anticipation- fucking English majors.

I have a feeling we’ll be trekking through some haunted castle, infested by a lonesome vampire luring innocents into his clutches. I recall when the theory solidified for me, it was just a few days ago- after classes had ended for the semester. Bucky and I were meeting up on the benches on the edge of campus for our afternoon chit-chat and I convinced him to act out a snippet from the forthcoming adventure.

Bucky slinked behind me, fallen auburn leaves crunched under his boots and the chains on his pants clinked together- I held my breath as he brushed his fingers over the side of my neck. The touch was light, almost untactile- nevertheless my skin felt like it was lit ablaze. The flames spread, embers sizzled deep in my stomach, the red blaze surged through my arms, and it settled in the tips of my fingers.

Blood rushed to my ears and my heart pounded against my chest, I could feel his breath on my neck. “Are you scared, little bird? Or do the pleasures of the night entice you? Are you willing to take this journey and receive your hearts desires, or do you fear the lurking horrors may consume you before you reach the summit?” Bucky whispered. A shuddering breath escaped my lips, and I took a moment to compose myself, a shoddily concealed smile on my face, “Jamie is the whole campaign going to be voiced in that sultry, bad guy accent?”

He beamed, “I guess you’ll have to wait and see, sweetheart. You should, however, expect to be wowed beyond your wildest dreams.” He raised his right hand and touched it to his heart, “That’s your beloved dungeon master’s guarantee.”

He sat himself down on the bench next to me, the wood creaked under his weight, and I brought my eyes up to him- I found myself lost in the vast blue of his eyes.

God, he’s beautiful. Gazing upon the pastels of a rococo could not compare to him. The glittering of all Klimt’s work would never be able to culminate to the way he shines, my Bucky glows from the inside. The light in his eyes are millions of stars burning in the sky, had Van Gogh’s masterpiece been done today, surely Vincent would have drawn inspiration from them. The figures taken out of stone by the great Michelangelo wouldn’t amount to the statuesque beauty I see in him, skin smoother than marble and a face that could have only been carved by the divine.

“You alright, Birdie? Somethin’ on your mind?” His voice was smoother than honey, it dripped from his lips slowly and it covered me in its splendour. I shook my head. I couldn’t tell him. I wouldn’t allow myself to say just how much he means to me. I couldn’t risk ruining years of friendship and muddying the dynamic we have. We’re in tandem, parallel lines that are destined to run beside each other for as long as the universe allows.

“What’s up with the ‘Birdie’ thing, Buck? Were you inspired by my beady eyes or the way I flew down from the trees to see you today?” I jested in the hope it would cover up the black hole that would in the pit of my stomach.

His eyes drifted down, and his ring-clad hand pulled a fallen leaf fragment from my sweater. Bucky shrugged, “I don’t know, it was in my dialogue for the campaign. I thought I’d run with it, it’s cute. It suits you.” He leaned back, palms flat on the dark wood of the bench. He tilted his head back and flashed me a bashful smile.

I look toward him in earnest, and he continues his ramble, “No, actually, it’s stupid. Sorry, sweetheart.”

He shook his head, the beautiful cascade of brown hair framed his face and I retorted, “No, no. I was joking Jamie, I do like it. It’s just different, is all. You had me thinking someone usurped my title of your cherished sweetheart. I was just brainstorming my plan of action- you know- setting my targets and ensuring I could retrieve the name that’s rightfully mine.”

He sat up and rubbed his hands down the length of my arms, a comforting gesture. A reassuring one. Hands caressed me like the singed spine of a book salvaged from the fires of Alexandria- as if I were a priceless artefact not to be handled precariously. “Nobody could steal that from you, Birdie. And if you catch me callin’ anyone other than you, sweetheart, know that I’ve been body snatched and you need to come save me.”

A laugh escaped me, he knows just how to make me feel safe when I’m with him, in every capacity. Bucky wrapped himself around me, encompassing me in the warmth that melts the welts of my worries. It’ll be fine, I thought to myself. I can do this. Right?

Rain beating down on me like the mighty wrath of Zeus hauls me out of the fond memory and pushes me back into my very cold, very wet reality. In the distance I can see the living room light turn on in Bucky’s home, the exterior of it seemingly harsh and bitter but it’s filled with more love and acceptance than I’ve experienced elsewhere. The wind whistles riotously as I bang on the door, “Jamie! I’m getting hypothermia out here! Can you open the fucking door please?”

He emerges, brows furrowed, “Birdie, what are you doin’ here? The campaign isn’t for another hour,” Realising that I look like a drowned subway rat he ushers me inside, “Shit, sorry! Come on in sweetheart, uh- let’s get you dry.”

“Thank you, Jamie, truly. Really glad you didn’t decide to leave me outside to die.” I shiver out. He looks at me apologetically. Jesus those eyes. He could get away with murder with those eyes. He could glance at St. Peter at heaven’s gates and Bucky would be admonished of all his sins. He’d be allowed in and be given the best resting place Heaven has to offer without so much as a word. They’re soft, an endless Mediterranean blue- so captivating it would rival Narcissus and his reflection.

He disappears for a moment and emerges with a dry article of clothing. Bucky extends his hand to me, the soft grey fabric now within my reach.

“Here sweetheart, fresh shirt. You can go to the bathroom and change if you want. I’d offer my room but… truth be told, it’s a mess and I’d be embarrassed if you saw how I really lived.” He ducks his head and rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “I- uh- I can also grab a sweater for ya, if you’re still cold.” He adds, with a smile.

“Thanks, Buck.” A small grin graces my features, the cold that clung to me dissipates in the confines of his kindness. “My god, the Zeppelin shirt?” I clutch it to my chest and gasp dramatically. “Maybe I should walk to you in the rain more often, I don’t get this five-star treatment all the time.”

“Hush, sweetheart. You know I’d give you anything if you asked.” He retorts, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

After changing into something significantly more comfortable than the soaked fabric that clung to my skin, I return to the living room to find my knight in shining armour lighting a cigarette on the back porch. He turns to look at me and inhales, “You feelin’ better now?”

“Much,” I move to sit beside him on the battered porch swing, and tilt my body towards him, “Can I have a puff, Bucky? Light of my life, saviour of my world?” He smiles and puts the orange filter up to my lips, I breathe in. Letting the nicotine fill my lungs, I feel the menthol spread across my body, it tingles down my arms and a calm settles over me.

“You want one for yourself sweetheart, or would you prefer to smoke half of mine like always?” He cocks his head to the side and smiles.

“I’m fine with our arrangement just the way it is, Jamie.” I shift over and place my head on his shoulder. He kisses the top of head, a familiar gesture. For him it was a sign of reassurance, as if he was saying: ‘you’re going to be okay as long as I’m here.’

“Why’d you decide to come here so early, Birdie? You miss me that much?”

“Don’t flatter yourself James, I just needed a smoke.” Taking a long drag of the cigarette, I close my eyes- happy to finally be where I needed to be.

He hums in acknowledgement. “Of course, sweetheart.”

“You want me to help you set up?” I enquire and he shakes his head.

“Nope. I got it all sorted out, you can just sit and look pretty.” He places his thumb and index finger onto my chin and squeezes, his nose scrunches up and a smile graces his face. “Although, that shouldn’t be a problem for you sweetheart.”

“Are you calling me lazy, Barnes?”

“I’m callin’ you beautiful, Birdie.” He says simply, the words roll off his tongue with no more effort than a breath.

What I wouldn’t do for him to always look at me like this, with those azure eyes full of contentment. They’re warmer than the embrace of a summer’s day, than the encapsulating feel of steamy water in the bathtub, than a balmy breeze whispering past me on the beach.

“Oh, uh, Buck? I got you a little something.”

“What? You didn’t have to do that, sweetheart. You should know that you bein’ here is a gift in and of itself.”

A smile makes its way on to my face, and I chuckle, “Sure, but this is something that you absolutely need,” Sifting through the contents of my bag, I find it. A small black box with a glittery red bow on the top, “Here. Open it.”

With the unveiling of the contents of the box, Bucky’s face lights up- like a Christmas tree on December 25th. “No fuckin’ way, sweetheart.” He shakes my shoulders excitedly and promptly goes back to admiring his new possession, running his fingers over the cold metal links, “Holy shit, this is so cool. A fuckin’ chainmail pouch? Is this for my dice?”

“Yes! You can keep them all together now, I know they always end up in weird places after campaigns so I thought this could help.”

“Thank you, Birdie. This is amazing.” He laughs.

What an angelic sound- comparable only to the trumpets of heaven or the symphonies of a divine orchestra. He wraps his arms around me and squeezes, “I love it.”

I turn to face him, bending my leg up on the worn porch swing, the wood is soft under my skin, such a familiar feeling- upon which so many memories were made. Bucky moves closer to me, an indistinguishable look in his eyes. My breath halts, it feels as if my lungs were dipped in iron. My insides are hot and there’s a fluttering in my stomach. Why’s he staring at me like that? Am I melting? It feels like I’m melting. Come on, get a hold of yourself. It’s just Bucky, looking at you the way he always does.

A small smile graces his face, the edges of his lips lifting ever so slightly and the corners of his eyes crinkling up. He tilts his head to the side and places his hand on my cheek, his thumb shifting up and down so gently I almost don’t notice. I wonder if this is how people experience religious euphoria. Is this how it feels to be touched by the hand of God? Could the promise eternal peace be held within the fingers that are caressing my face? Is it possible that the divine culminated in this Adonis of a man?

An abrupt knocking at the door startles me and Bucky recoils, “Let me, uh, I- I’ll get it.”

“Bucky, open up already!” A woeful gust of wind screeches outside the door. “Jesus Christ, Barnes, I’m gonna grow old and rot before you let us in!” Sam yells, announcing his presence.

“Alright, alright! I’m comin’.” Bucky shuffles to the door, a twinge of annoyance laced in his tone. His demeanour, however, shifts when the boys come inside. He’s happy to see them, he always is. I am too, they’re some of my best friends. I won’t lie to myself though; I would have appreciated them arriving just a few minutes later- if for no reason other than quelling the sheer curiosity about what was going to happen.

“If it took you any longer, Buck, I would have assumed you were dead.” After hugging him, Steve sets down his bag and greets me, “Y/N, Hey! It’s so good to see you. We didn’t interrupt anything did we?” He raises his eyebrows suggestively.

“No, no, Stevie- you’re all good. I missed you.” I ruffle his hair when he comes over for a hug, my actions are met with a disgruntled groan from the six-foot-three puppy of a man.

Nat pulls up behind me and I embrace her excitedly, “Nat, baby! How have you been? How’s your girl?” She slinks her arm around my neck and in return I put my arm around her waist.

“We’re alright, hon. Why? Have you reconsidered our request for a threesome?”

“Aw, Natasha don’t flatter yourself. We agreed to do it without you, obviously.” I give her a light pat on the back and turn away, going to greet Sam.

The rest of the group starts filtering in after a bit, Steve and Thor creating their usual ruckus.

“Alright sinners, are we ready for the campaign of the century?” Bucky announces, as he stands at the head of the table- a king ready to lead his troops into battle. A Greek god, blessing his subjects with the greatest gift- a myth, a legend, a story to be passed down ear-to-mouth and mouth-to-ear for generations to come. And we, his loyal subjects listening in earnest, hanging onto every vowel, every consonant as if it were our life force- sustaining us. His words igniting a bonfire to provide light and warmth as we make our way through this ominous cascade of casting spells, battling beasts and me trying not to visibly sweat because of that sultry voice Bucky is speaking in. Anxieties fly high as the six-hour campaign draws to a close.

“Xanaphia of Excelsior, you have travelled a distance incomparable to any other, you have seen nations built and destroyed, you have brazened the path to my home- a journey no man before you had been able to conquer. A path, little bird, no man should be able to survive.” Bucky narrates, his character so carved out and precise I almost don’t recognise him.

“Luckily for me, Alaric... I am no man.” I smile up at Bucky, he reciprocates- a genuine beam shines upon my face. I knew the Lord of the Rings reference would get to him. The rest of the room melts away, the cries of Sam telling me to finish the job and Scott excitedly banging his fists on the table become nothing but distant memories. Bucky stands, in all his glory- broad shoulders block the light behind him and a halo encompasses the edges of his physique. Is he an angel, or just the devil in ambient lighting? With his eyes piercing into mine like they are, I don’t think I could bring myself to care.

“No man indeed.” A corner of his mouth turns up, a devious smirk creeps onto his face. “So, little bird. What shall it be? I am completely at your mercy. You have me on my knees.”

Everyone perches on the edge of their seats at the final roll of the D20, the last dance between my character and the Vampire at the top the Hill approaches. To stab or to seduce, that is the question. Will I succumb to the pleasures of the night or fight my desires and kill him for my brethren, currently surrounded by ghouls? I should kiss him, right? A move to seduce could ensure that the Vampire lets the surviving members of my party go, whereas a move to kill him could result in everyone being murdered. This is purely a selfless choice.

“I’ll roll for charisma. I want to kiss you- him! Ahem- Alaric.” Heat rises in my cheeks and a pit forms in my stomach. Oh, my God.

A hush falls over the room, the booming of the dice upon the table is all that can be heard, save for the thudding of my heart that pounds in my ears. The resin contraption stills, and Bucky leans over to inspect what the gods have decided my fate shall be.

“A… a fuckin’ nat’ twenty.” He says in bewilderment, his voice barely above a whisper. And the crowd goes wild- jests and jeers come from all around the table.

“Alaric of the Hill concedes! Your kiss has bewitched him, congratulations. He decides to let your party go on the condition that you keep him company. Will you, Xanaphia, stay with Alaric and forgo all other quests?”

“Fuck yes.” I state triumphantly, relieved as all heaven that the risk I took paid off.

Celebratory drinks are raised, and toasts are made in my honour- to Xanaphia of Excelsior, she who could warm the heart of even the most cold-blooded of creatures.

Bucky gets the music going and Thor pours the drinks, perhaps the most dangerous of combinations. Bodies push against each other, the sounds of Def Leppard’s Pour Some Sugar on Me intertwine with the heavy breathing of the people in the room, dim lighting overhead makes for a danse macabre-esque sequence to play out around me. We are neither here, nor there. Dead, nor living. Could this be a man in front of me, or an angel? Deep shadows are carved under his cheekbones and his jaw is sharp under this light, threads of walnut hair are strewn across his face, moving with him to the music.

Rhythm flows through me, I lift my arms up close my eyes in sheer delight- being here with these people is all I could ask for.

Bucky is beckoned over to the kitchen and upon arrival, he laughs boisterously at something Sam says. Steve claps his shoulder and throws his head back as he always does when someone makes a stupid joke. I wonder if he knows that he lights up the room the way he does, if he has any idea of the fact that he could put the Nevada sun to shame, that all the bonfires in the world couldn’t amount to the warmth he brings to a room.

Well, perhaps this exact situation is not all I could ask for, but it will do just fine.

As the song reaches its summit Nat approaches me with an inebriated smile on her face, she reaches her hands out to me and interlocks her fingers with mine.

“Hey pretty girl, you havin’ fun?” the red head exclaims, her voice barely swimming above the music. We move together to the rhythm of the song; I sway my hips and look around the room, to find Bucky over by the counter, pouring himself another drink.

My eyes shift back to Nat, and I smile, “Of course, babe! It’s always a good time when you’re here.”

She lifts my hand and spins me before resuming our prior position. She raises a quizzical brow, “You sure, hon? Because you keep looking over in that direction.” Nat tilts her head towards Bucky. Of course she’d know. She’s like a bloodhound when it comes to people’s feelings, sniffing out the source for minor ticks in their facial muscles, every dilation of their pupils and apparently each longing stare in their direction. “Y/N, do you have something to tell me?”

I shake my head, grimacing slightly, “Don’t worry about it, babe. It’s fine.”

“No, uh-uh. Come on.” Nat takes my hand and pulls me through the room and to the restroom. She points at the clawfoot tub, “Sit. Tell me what’s going on.”

“Nat, I really don’t want to talk about it right now.” I turn my gaze from her, mortified at the prospect of having to spill my feelings.

“Baby, if you like Bucky it’s nothing to be ashamed of. I’ve suspected it for a while now.”

“How the fuck did you know? I thought I was good at hiding it, Nat.”

“Freshman year, orientation mixer. Do you remember that Y/N? Because I do. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you that drunk. You vomited into a flower pot- really not a good look for you, baby. Bucky showed up in that black leather jacket and you physically faltered when you saw him. I had to hold you up for the better part of five minutes because your legs, and I quote, ‘couldn’t possibly stay solid with how fucking hot he looked.’”

“Oh my God!” I exclaim and put my head in my hands, “I have to dig a hole and hide away in it forever. Nat- that’s fucking awful. You never told me!”

“I assumed you’d bring it up when you wanted to talk about it,” She shrugs, as if she hadn’t just unearthed the one dirty little skeleton I would have liked to keep buried, “And you never did, hon. But it’s been years and you’re clearly still enamoured with him, and I feel like I’m entitled to a little bit of an explanation.” She takes a seat on the cold porcelain next to me, a half-smile decorates her face.

“Okay- you’re right and I’m sorry for not telling you before. I just couldn’t- I didn’t want to make it real. You know? Because if I admitted that he’s on my mind constantly and that he’s the only person I’ve really, truly wanted for fucking years, and that he makes me feel seen and heard and cared for in a way I never thought was possible- then there was a possibility of all that going away.” An exhale escapes me, and I look away from Nat- who seems less flabbergasted at this admission than I’d expect.

She places a supportive hand on my shoulder, “Baby- you know that man loves you, right? You’re his best friend, he’d never let you go like tha-”

“I know, I know.” I interject. “He’s my best friend too- but if it ever came up that I wanted more than what we had right now and he didn’t want that, then everything would fall apart. And you know that, Nat. Everything is perfect the way it is. I wouldn’t want to jeopardize it for anything, not even for my own feelings.” It’s a lie, deep down I know there will always be a part of me yearning, wanting, needing something just out of reach.

Perhaps it is a sacrifice I’d be willing to make. I could be the slaughtered lamb on a pyre, if it meant Bucky would be happy, if it meant he could get love and support and care from me and everyone around him, without me fucking everything up.

We’ve all been together since freshman year, some of us before that. We’re a family. For me to toss it aside in favor of this childish crush, it would be selfish. It would be building your home and setting it on fire, pushing a boulder up a hill just to push it down the same way, it would be Icarus flying into the sun and dying a horrible, fiery death.

“Hon, I love you but you’re really fuckin’ stupid sometimes.” Nat shakes her head with a small laugh.

“Stop it, Nat. I mean it. He’s never said anything about that- us, you know in that way- and… And he was dating that girl a couple months ago- what was her name? Jo-Ann?” I retort quickly, attempting to repress the feelings that arise from her steadfast argument.

“And do you remember when that ended? Less than two days after you and that asshole you were seeing broke up.” She bumps her shoulder against mine to drive her point forward. My eyebrows knit together at that, she’s not wrong. Technically.

“We all knew that was never going to last. She was so mean and self-involved. I mean- I know I can also be those things… and there’s nothing wrong with being a little bitchy and vain but at least when I do it, it’s classy and everyone loves it.” I jest in an attempt to shift her focus away from Bucky and I, but to no avail.

“Come on, hon. We all know why it didn’t work out. The real reason why.”

“Oh yeah, Nat?” I tilt my head to the side curiously. Music bleeds through the vacant space under the door and I can hear Sam singing along to the song, loudly and off key. It makes me smile. “And what is the real reason?”

“Because she wasn’t you.” She lays it out plainly. Her shoulders shrug in an almost exaggerated display of nonchalance.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Natasha. There- there’s no way.” My voice comes out a bit more strained than anticipated and I stand up from my seat on the bathtub.

“Fine, since you clearly don’t want to listen to reason... I’ll drop it for now, but you’ve got to understand that I meant everything I said. We can all see how head over heels he is for you, baby. You just- maybe you should talk to him about it.” She follows my lead in standing up- there’s an air of finality in her voice and I know our conversation is over.

I take the quick reprieve as Nat leaves the restroom to collect my thoughts. If the alcohol in my system didn’t make the room sway slightly, the revelations that Nat unleashed on me certainly did. I rest my hands on either side of the cool, white basin and look at myself in the mirror that stands proudly on the wall. Good god, pull yourself together. An abrupt knock on the door interrupts my much-needed mirror reflection time. “Occupied!” I yell out in the general direction of the door. For fucks sake, I can’t even get a moment of silence to think.

“Sweetheart? You alright in there?” Bucky’s voice sifts through the door and caresses my ears. His tone so soft, so full of warmth and concern- it makes my heart clench in my chest.

“Yeah, just give me a second.” I smooth down my shirt that had crumpled and gathered in the worst possible way as Natasha berated me about my lack of perception and emotional intelligence while we balanced on the edge of the bathtub.

“Can I come in?” He asks, almost tentatively- or at least as tentative as James Buchanan Barnes could sound. I quickly move to unlock the door and I let him in. His hair is slightly damp from what I assume could only be vigorous beer pong playing or dancing drunkenly to the music. Either way, I’m thankful for it. It's hot.

There’s a slight dusting of red along his cheeks, it is amplified as he gives me a lazy smile. “You alright, Birdie? Do I need to be concerned as to why you’re hiding out in the bathroom when you could be dancing or singing or losing to me at beer pong?”

“In your fuckin’ dreams, Jamie. Do I have to remind you about Thor’s Halloween beer pong tournament?” I raise my eyebrows in challenge and step closer to him, my arms folded across my chest.

Bucky lets out an exaggerated scoff, “That was beginner’s luck on your side. Had to be, sweetheart.” He follows suit and takes a small step toward me.

“Beginner’s luck? Three games in a row? I don’t think so, pretty boy.”

He smiles at me, his eyes searching my face. “Pretty boy, huh? That’s new.”

“Don’t change the subject, Barnes. I could beat you blindfolded, with one hand tied behind my back.” Smugness drips off my words and Bucky’s gaze darkens.

“You want to bet, little bird?” He towers over me now, arms on either side of the basin, confining me between him and the cold tile.

“Sure, why not? There’s no way you’d win anyways.” A deceptively sweet smile is plastered on my face in a challenge to him. My heart thumps loudly in my chest. I feel the blood rushing to my ears and butterflies erupt in my stomach. He’s so beautiful, it’s nearly impossible to stop myself from thinking about how much I’d like him to grab my face and kiss me.

“State your terms, sweetheart.” He backs up and folds his arms over each other across his chest.

“One round, first one to no cups wins. We can have one redemption shot each. And when I win… Hmm…” I tap my finger against my lips in contemplation for a moment, “When I win, you have to let me drive your car.”

His eyes widen slightly, and his lips move to form a small ‘o’ shape. “Sweetheart, you- you can’t possibly be serious. I don’t even let Steve drive my car.”

“I’m deadly serious. I’ve had my eye on it for a while now, to be quite honest. I would love to drive her down to the coast… Put the top down, play some trashy pop music on the speakers…” I taunt, my voice low and melodic.

“I…” He starts, but I cut him off before he can argue.

“Unless you’re chicken, that is. You scared, Jamie? Shaking in your boots over your inevitable, devastating loss?”

“No- I mean-” He takes a breath in and lifts his hands in surrender, “Fine. Fine. If you win, you can drive the car down to the beachfront. But I’m ridin’ shotgun.”

“I expected nothing less. It’ll be fun- we’ll make a day of it.” I say with a smile, my eyes light up at that prospect.

“You don’t want to know what I get if I win?” He pivots.

“Nope. Don’t need to. Because it’ll never happen. Come on, let’s play.” I tilt my head in the direction of the door and smirk at him with as much cheek as I could muster.

Bucky grabs my hand, returning the smile. He stops for a moment and stares at me, that same indecipherable look in his eyes from earlier. Our fingers are interlaced, one continuous string moves in between him and I.

It felt as if I’d be able to hear a pin drop, despite the hustle and bustle of the party raging on outside. I move to grab the door handle and exit the restroom when I feel him pull me back towards him. He grips my hand and pulls me flush against his chest.

“Bucky, what are you d-”

“You- I-” He clenches his jaw and exhales sharply. “I just- I wanted to tell you that you look beautiful tonight. Your- uh- your outfit looks good on you.”

“You mean your shirt? You mean to tell me that your most beloved article of clothing looks good universally?” I laugh out nervously, not wanting to mention the proximity.

“No- just on you. It looks- you look fuckin’ incredible, sweetheart.” He flashes me a lopsided smile and gives my shoulders a squeeze. “You can keep it. If you want.”

“You don’t need it? I thought this was your secret weapon that you used to bend all of mankind to your devilishly handsome will?”

“I could do that with or without the shirt, believe me.” He drawls out, the cocky bastard. His smile falters the tiniest bit, unease flashes across his features. He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. He clenches his jaw one final time and finds my hand again.

“Let's go.” Bucky leads me out of the bathroom to the outskirts of the party. The beer pong table is left uninhabited, red solo cups stacked messily from rounds passed.

Bucky quickly sets up the cups and I fetch the most tolerable beer I can find and start filling the cups in preparation of the battle ahead. I roll my neck and crack my knuckles before we begin- Bucky rolls his eyes at me with a laugh. “You ready, sweetheart?”

“The real question, James, is… are you ready?”

“Just play, smartass.” A cheeky smile appears on his face.

Something is wrong. Dear God, something is horrifyingly and incredibly wrong. Bucky is winning at beer pong. Never, in the history of us, had he even come close to beating me- except for tonight.

“What the fuck, Barnes? Have you been getting private beer pong lessons just for this?” I shoot and miss again. Third time in a row. I haven’t even hit the rim in the past few turns.

Could it be because Thor got too tipsy and spilled his drink all over Bucky’s little conservative long sleeve sweater and he had to go and change into one of those ridiculously stupid, sexy, (did I mention stupid? And also so, so very sexy) wife pleaser vests. His muscles are on full display- arms toned and chest rippling. Dear God. The alcohol buzzing around my system is screaming at me to bite his bicep- surely it wouldn’t be that weird, right? Just a little nibble...

No. What the fuck is wrong with me? I need to get a fucking grip. Perhaps a grip on those sculpted pecs while- No. Not doing that now.

Looking like the cat that ate the canary, Bucky wears the smuggest, filthiest grin on his face. “Oh, sweetheart…” He saunters over to my side of the table and picks up my last red solo cup- there is a small, orange ping pong ball floating tauntingly in the cool brown liquid. He fishes it out with his fingers it and sets it down on the table.

“Drink up.”

I flash him a glare, my eyes narrow as he brings the cup up to my lips. His eyes are trained on me as I gulp down the last of my drink.

“Good. Now let’s discuss my prize.” He removes the cup and wipes away a stray droplet of beer that escaped out the corner of my mouth, with his thumb. Without stopping, he brings that same digit to his lips and licks it. I feel frozen, dumbstruck, and I’m quite sure I look it. My jaw hangs open slightly as I watch him. I gulp, suddenly very thirsty.

“Cocky, weren’t you? Sweetheart?” he smirks and pinches my chin lightly with his pointer finger and his thumb. He gives me a light squeeze and retreats. The touch sends a shiver down my spine, goosebumps erupt down my arms and the delicious burn of desire settles in my stomach.

“Shut up, Barnes. I don’t know which devil you gave your soul to for skills like that, but I have got to say… that seems like a pretty good deal. You're alright." I admit defeat, my shoulders rise and I hold my hands up in surrender. I smile at him cheekily as he approaches. His steps are slow, deliberate. Wrapped in confidence and assuredness.

“So, Jamie. Your prize- what’ll it be?” I ask, after a small beat of silence.

We look at each other for a moment, just a single moment. Although, it doesn't feel that way. Lifetimes could have passed us by, empires could have risen and fallen- and I would still be lost in his eyes. The deep azure pierces my very soul. He blinks and clears his throat, looking to the floor almost embarrassedly.

"Buck? You alright?" I enquire, moving closer to him.

He chuckles and nods his head slowly.

“You know my cousin, Emma? She’s uh- she’s gettin’ married next Saturday and... And I need a date.” Earnest fills his words, and an irresistible, infuriatingly beautiful smile appears on his face.

I have to resist the urge to pinch myself, because this could only be a really fucked up, steamy dream. I’m silent for a beat, trying to comprehend exactly what he said and the implications behind that.

“I mean, sweetheart, only if you want to. If you- uh- like if you’re not into that, I can just go solo.” His voice holds a slight tremble at the end of his sentence. Holy shit- is he nervous?

“No, no! I am- I’d be into that. We can definitely go together.” I reassure him. My heart pounds against my ribcage, my cheeks heat and a bright smile finds its way onto my face.

“It’d just be better for my ma to think I’m seein’ someone. I know she’s gonna try pair me up with her neighbour’s daughter. Again.” His hands are dug deeply in his pockets, his Adams apple bobs as he swallows.

Realisation flashes on my face. Friends. He wants to go as friends who are pretending to be dating. Right, of course.

“Yeah, for sure. Uh- I’ve got you covered, Jamie.” My smile falters, only for a moment. His eyebrows scrunch together, concern flashing across his features. I give him a half-hearted smile.

“Alright, thanks Birdie. You’re a lifesaver.” He removes his hands from his pockets and claps them together. “You want another drink? I can make you somethin’ quick.”

“Sure, yeah. Do you still have that margarita mix? It was yummy.” I suggest, clumsily. I need to find my footing after that absolute emotional rollercoaster, so he will just have to excuse my unbecoming behavior.

People start filtering out one by one and soon, the disco lights are turned off and the soft, warm glow of the lamps fill the living room. I find myself leaning against Bucky on the worn leather couch, exhaustion weighs heavily on me, and I find my eyes flitting shut for a few moments at a time.

“Birdie? You wanna go to bed?” Bucky coos.

I grumble in response, not fully committed to giving him a proper answer.

He chuckles, it’s rich and dark and perfect. “You can take the guest bedroom if you want… Or do you want to sleep here, sweetheart?”

“Bed.” I manage to mumble, with half lidded eyes and a stifled yawn.

“Do you need me to walk you there? You good to do that, baby? Or should I carry you?” His voice is soft, full of compassion. Even drunk and exhausted, it makes my heart swell. I can’t help but smile- it’s lazy and probably not my most picture-perfect smile, but it’s there now.

“Just fucking carry me. I know you want to- you know I want you to.”

He laughs out and hops up to scoop me up from my position on the couch. His strong arms come up under me and Bucky carries me to the guest bedroom, he doesn’t even break a sweat. You’d swear he was a goddamn superhero or something.

Bucky lays me down gingerly and I shift to get comfortable as I feel the softness of the mattress beneath me. “Thank you, sweet Jamie. My sweet… sweet Jamie.” My eyes flutter shut and I nestle into the pillow.

“G’night, Birdie. Sweet dreams.” He leans down and presses a chaste kiss to my forehead. If I'd been more cognizant, perhaps I would've seen the way he smiled down at me from the side of the bed, eyes soft and full of care. Maybe I would have noticed his hesitance to leave, or the way he brought his fist up to his chest and rubbed it soothingly. Perhaps I would've picked up on the fact that his heart burned inside his chest for me, the same way mine did for him.

Hello everyone! This is the first part of my first ever series, I really hope you like it!

Please let me know what you all thought of it!

xoxo, Viv

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