#yeah wilson ​why DO you know so much about the village people?

[starlightseraph]

one of the best things about house md is that throughout all 8 seasons both house and wilson randomly bring up tidbits of queer culture that they would have absolutely no reason to know if they were straight

[grimmywrites]

So, about Infinite Darkness...

I’m gonna try to be as succinct as I can (I failed) about all the problems I had with it, but my list is pretty long... Yes, this has spoilers. Let me state upfront: if you’re not a hardcore RE fan, you can skip the show. Below I’ll tell you why.

Story: What a mess. Honestly, they turned me off right at the beginning with all the military stuff. It’s the same reason people didn’t like Chris’ campaign in 6; didn’t they learn anything from that? So, the story wasn’t the best thing I’ve ever seen. Honestly, it had more plot holes than anything and so many points where I went: “I don’t care about this.” Again, it was a jumbled mess. Capcom, hire me and I’ll do better, I swear. Let’s just sum it up by saying it’s a rehash of things we’ve seen SEVERAL times in the series before. If you’re gonna do it AGAIN let’s make the story unique and interesting. Oh, there are shady people in the military that want to use bioweapons in war? Okay, we’ve known that since the first game. We’ve seen it time and time again. Look to re8′s ending for example: the BSAA are now starting to use engineered soldiers - THAT was a reveal that was far more interesting. The way it was addressed and overcome in this show was just... so lackluster. Ultimately, it just felt like this entire thing didn’t need to happen. It changed nothing, it impacted nothing, and I’m aware that it really couldn’t since it was after re4 and before re5. There was just no lasting point and all the ‘themes’ (if you can call them that) made absolutely no sense, but I guess I’ll get into that with the characters? Pacing: Absolutely god awful. One minute we’re in the White House fighting zombies then I blink and it’s over and I’m like: Oh, we’re done? Another we’re in a sub and then I blink. Oh, that’s over, too. Also, the creators must’ve taken a page from the last couple of seasons of Game of Thrones (which is an abysmal idea, don’t fucking do that) because with a few cuts here and there we went from Guam to China back to DC. Guess everybody learned how to teleport so they got exactly where we needed them to for the “climax”. Let’s talk about that climax: There was none. Let’s look at Degeneration and Damnation (no I won’t talk about Vendetta). Both had their weaknesses but Leon and the climaxes were BADASS. Leon doing parkour in Degeneration? Leon going against Lickers and the huge Tyrants in Damnation? Those were amazing scenes. He did a few cool things here and there but nothing that got more of a laugh out of me. My man is coming off re4 where he rampaged through a village, a castle, and an island of mutated creatures to save one girl. C’mon now. Characters: By now (if anybody is even reading this rant), you’ve noticed that I’ve talked a lot about Leon. But what about Claire? Yeah, they lied to us about them working together. She got sidelined again. A lot of people are upset about this -- and yeah, it sucks because I do love Claire. Leon has just happened to be my favorite since 1998 so I wasn’t as heartbroken. That doesn’t mean I’m not disappointed, I’m just not very surprised. Leon - My main problem with Leon is Nick, his voice actor. I’m so sorry for all those who like him, but he just isn’t good enough for me. Paul Mercier (re4, Degeneration, Darkside Chronicles) and Matt Mercer (Damnation, Re6, Vendetta) would have been more appropriate. Nick tries his best, but he’s just too soft sounding to be post-re4 Leon. This is a man who is quipping one-liners left and right a couple of years ago. Now he’s barely smiling and doesn’t feel confident at all, and I think a lot of that is because of his portrayal. There are times where the lines hit, but more often than not they fall flat. I never felt that way with Paul who is my favorite Leon or Matt who gave emotional performances every time. Also, his decision at the end? I can understand it, but explain to Claire! Claire - I like Stephanie as Claire, I have no problems with her. She makes her sound tough and ready to do what she thinks is right. Unfortunately, the story completely sidelines her and makes her role obsolete. Everything she uncovers (because that’s her role apparently, just there to Nancy Drew) is already told to us through flashbacks and other characters. Why even have her? Was it just to show us WHY her and Leon don’t talk often? A waste. Shen Mei - I don’t care. I felt nothing for her. They tried really hard, but they just failed to flesh these new characters out and when her time was up I once again went: Oh? That’s it, then. ‘Kay. I think I laughed a bit, sorry girl. Her whole plotline was to get that chip in Leon’s hand, nothing more. Jason -  I don’t care. A character I thought I felt sorry for with his ptsd but nope. Once his story unfolded - messily, I might add (I hate the REPEATED flashback shit. Tell me once and stop teasing me.) I just went... okay, what the hell is your plan? To spread fear? ‘Kay. It was dumb and made no sense. What, he wants everyone to feel terror so they know? It needed to be clarified. It’s like they couldn’t figure out more synonyms for fear and terror. So, what? It helps keep Leon from going public with the chip and that information? Because he knows it’ll just cause mass hysteria? And then you’ve got Claire’s side - she’s not an agent and she believes the people have a right to know. They’re both right, but there’s no goddamn communication between ANYONE in this show. I just felt exhausted by it, nothing else. Not to mention it’s useless angst because of the plot of Degeneration. Wilson - Our bad guy. Let’s just sum up really quickly in case people were confused by the plot: He was putting infected soldiers into war zones so that even after they died they’d kill anybody involved, then he’d bomb the area and clean up the evidence. These soldiers didn’t show any symptoms because they had inhibitors that kept the virus at bay until they died, so they had to take regular shots to stay human. He’s the one who gets the zombies into the white house so that he could blame it on China and get the US into a war with them. That way he could send in his soldiers and infect the populace. From there, he’s the only one with the cure so he could rake in LOTS of money selling it to the world. AKA: he wants to use the US military to infect everyone so he can make a profit. He gets infected by Jason and gets away... then meets up with someone who gives him an inhibitor. This someone is working for Tricell, the big bads of re5 who work under Wesker. So it leads right into the fifth game. That’s all he is, a tie in and yet another example of someone in power trying to profit off the viruses of the RE world. Honestly, nobody else is worth mentioning. Animation: They’re getting better at it. Leon and Claire looked especially pretty, but there’s still a stiffness here and an issue with everyone’s mouths while they talk. I want to praise how different SOME of the characters look - the president and his aides all look appropriately aged and grizzled and distinct. Same with Jason. Other characters (side characters mainly) kinda look generic. Shen Mei for example isn’t very distinct. I mean, her grandpa and brother (both one scene wonders) were more realistic looking than she was. Even Claire - they gave her a bigger nose and made her look more in line with her Revelations 2 model (thank god I love that model). Movement was pretty fluid, I wish we’d seen more fighting and cool action -- though not to the extent of Vendetta. Maybe that’s what they were trying to avoid, but it didn’t make it any fun to watch. Enemies: This is the last thing I’ll comment on. The zombies were fine - they always are. I heard a ton of reused sounds from remake2, as well, but I thought of it as an Easter Egg more than anything. They looked good, their gore was good, all set there. Problem was, they were basically the only bad guys. That’s a huge fucking disappointment. I know people recognize this series as ‘the one with the zombies’ but that’s not true. Every game (save 7) had MULTIPLE enemy types all created through bio engineering. In this show we see three types. THREE. Zombies. Zombie rats - a one-scene wonder that Leon dispatches fast and easy. I’ll admit, they looked cool but there was nothing else to them. “They’re a bioweapon” and then Leon fries them all with some electricity and we’re done. Jason’s mutated form. Okay, I have to admit, I really loved his design. He was cool, I liked that he could talk and emote. But, other than that? He didn’t DO anything cool. He mutated once and hopped around a lot. That’s it. I mean, a bioweapon that keeps his mental capacities? C’MON! We could’ve done so much more with him. Again, this goes back to why the climax was so bad -- he and Leon didn’t fight. One jumped, the other ran around to catch up and fired a few bullets and a rocket at him. Then he used an acid bath to finish the job. (Also, explain to me WHY he mutated into a tyrant-like creature while everyone else with that specific virus was another form of zombie? We see Jun (Shen’s brother) mutating almost crystal-like at one point but... what? You leave them off for a while and they turn into crystal zombies? Make it make sense.) I’m sure there’s more to say, but honestly, unless you’re a hardcore RE fan like me, I’d say you can skip it. It wasn’t a fun ride, there weren’t any stakes, it wasn’t emotional... it just... was. I will end on one good note that made me smile, though: I loved seeing the Ashley Easter Egg.

[buchananssmolbean]

Wings

Chapter Three - Firsts and Feelings; Pains and Grievings

Word Count: 1423

Warnings: Sadness, arguments, minimal swearing, piercing of skin? lmk if i forgot anything

A/N: pls don’t copy or translate on this platform or any others. sorry this took so damn long lol.

Summary: There’s trouble at the Barnes/Rogers/Wilson residence…

1978

January 14

Hanoi

It had been a very long, gruelling mission. You hated Hanoi, mostly because you couldn't go out into the villages and towns. So far, you'd practically absorbed 2 cups of sugar cane juice, and sat on the unsteady hay roof of a little home.

"Y/N? Are you there?" Bucky spoke through the newly planted communication system in your ear.

"Yeah." you sighed.

You bored easily when there was nothing to do but stare at people much happier than yourself. Combine that with the blistering heat, and you've got yourself an irritable Y/N.

"Don't sound like that, Маленький."

"Why can't I come with you?"

"You know why, Маленький. Now, meet me by the bay."

2018

February 15

New York City

"Bucky?" you whispered into his ear, nudging the tip of your nose against his soft, long locks of chestnut brown hair. "Yes, Моя любовь?"

He watched a thin strand of hair fall from the crown of your head and down between your eyes.

"Why am I here?"

Sadness flashed before Bucky's eyes, a tinge of hurt in his soul. "Do you not like it here?"

"No, no; I love it—I guess I just thought that you forgot about me."

Guilt welled in Bucky's internals, sloshing around with whatever he had for dinner last night.

Never had Bucky forgotten about you. How could he?"

"Моя любовь, you know I couldn't do that."

"Y-You never... came back." your voice cracked, and Bucky urged more water down your throat—maybe in hopes of making up for a past lack of presence in your life.

"I know, I'm sorry, Маленький. I thought all of Hydra was gone, forever," Bucky's hand caressed the side of your face, cradling it just how you liked. "I thought—I thought you were—" He struggled. "Well, it doesn't matter. I have you back again now."

You quickly rubbed your cheek against his calloused hand, slightly less harsh than you'd remembered it being at Hydra.

"How about breakfast? Hmm, Y/N?"

"Oh-kay." You exaggerated the letters, almost individually. Though somewhere in the back of your head, you'd wondered what you would do in Bucky's position.

You were pulled to the dining bar, a little L-shaped nook in the corner of the apartment. Bucky opened the tinted fridge door, revealing a plethora of both healthy and unhealthy foods. "What are we thinkin', Y/N?"

"Um... food."

Over the years, you'd lost any type of pickiness that you could've had before. Pretty much anything went now—not that much went, with Hydra, and all.

So Bucky fumbled his way clumsily around the kitchen with whisks and forks, humming and whistling short, little 40's tunes.

Before you knew it, crêpes and spinach sat in front of you. Mm, you thought, delightful. Bending 45°, you took a light whiff of the French cuisine, eyes sparkling with what could almost be described as beaming excitement.

"Thank you." You waited, not quite sure if what for. Picking up the fork was an impossible task, despite the extreme want. So, why? Why couldn't you eat it?

"Eat, Soldat." Bucky chanted sadly.

No longer was there a restraint against the fork—in fact, your hand couldn't help but tug towards it.

"Thanks..." you mumbled.

"Sorry."

You nibbled away at your food until Sam and Steve ended up by the bar, both of them sitting on either side of you; as if one man beside you wasn't intimidating at all.

"Mornin'." Steve flashed a Captain America-type smile that Bucky hated when directed to you.

"Hello." you greeted both men at once, then looked to Bucky, who shrugged, and started on his own crêpe.

"Buck, I didn't know you could cook."

"Why don't you ever cook for us? Smells amazing."

Bucky rolled his eyes, sitting across from you and the boys, only looking into your eyes. "I only cook on special occasions."

You squirmed, blushed; anything, you name it. The boys noticed, deciding not to comment, for your sake and Bucky's. You were special for him.

"Can we have some?"

"No."

Sam huffed in annoyance, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Come eat some more, Маленький." Bucky gestured to the plate in front of him.

•••

"They're really..."

"Close." Steve finished Sam's statement. "It's good. I think."

"Yeah, I guess. I just wonder if she'll hurt him."

"Please, I don't think that woman could hurt a fly." Steve snorted, almost admiring the scars on your back, where your wings would shoot out from. "Quite the tough cookie, huh?"

"It's not like she signed up for the program." Sam shrugged, tossing his paper towel into a garbage bin, like a basketball.

"Pow, pow! Three pointer!"

Apparently, to Sam, a victory dance was in order—an absolute necessity.

Your knees slung over Bucky's thighs, him holding yours gently, caressing the skin through your thin leggings.

"We should go shopping, Маленький. Get you some warmer clothing for the winter."

"Mm, okay." You agreed, because you were always agreeable when Bucky was the one who asked, that much certainly hadn't changed.

On the tele was a 90s sitcom, something with girls in short skirts, men in unflatteringly tight pants, and grandmas with gigantic afros.

"I can't believe tele is in colour now!" you whispered into Bucky's ear, though Steve could hear—serum running through his veins, much like you.

"Crazy, right?" His hands lightly massaged your tired shoulders.

That's when it happened.

The thing.

You weren't sure what to call it, actually, you didn't even know what it was. "FBI! GET ON THE GROUND!"

"Shit!" Sam yelled, pulling Steve under the counter with him. You stared, scared, confused, at Bucky, who only tugged you into his chest, then lifting the both of you from the couch. "I'm sorry to ask, Моя любовь..."

•••

You sat breathlessly beneath the tree's shade, panting relentlessly to increase oxygen flow. You couldn't see Bucky. So this is it, you thought, I've lost him again.

A mopey bag of bones, that's what you were as you walked on the trail, dented wing dragging on the dirt below. The sharp angle pierced the ending of the wing into your shoulder blade, but the pain was nothing compared to your emotional state.

"Y/N!" You heard a voice call, followed by a low whistle from above.

It should have been a relief, and it almost was, until you remembered that only yesterday had you been with a terrorist group. You ducked behind a bush.

"Y/N! It's Sam!" The voice called again.

Sam? Sam! Of course it was Sam! Bucky would surely send someone out to find you! You smiled quickly, accidentally snagged a finger on the rose bush that you were hidden behind.

"Sam!" you shouted, hands cupped around your lips.

It was a swift dive for Sam to get to you, meeting you on the dirt. "Come on—" he urged. —"we need to get somewhere safe. I'll explain there."

As Sam took off again, your wings miraculously took flight themselves, sharp wire bending into the skin coating your spine. "Fuck."

1978

January 14

Hanoi

"It's raining, Маленький."

You sat by the windowsill, still bored out of your mind. Sure, the accommodations were astonishing in the coupes up motel room, but you were busy thinking about all the things you could do.

"Let's get ready to sleep, Маленький."

You shook your head stubbornly, admiring to drops of water, matching pace, sliding down the glass window.

"Моя любовь." Bucky said more sternly.

"You don't let me do anything."

"Enough! Everything I do is to protect you! Why don't you understand that I need you! I need to keep you safe!"

You shuddered at the sheer volume of his voice, used to the calming nature of his tone.

"Моя любовь, I'm sorry. I just need you to understand that everything I do from now on is because of you. Everything I ask you to do is to make sure you survive."

You sat, back to Bucky while he explained himself, repeating "I'm sorry" over and over.

"You're selfish." you spat.

"Моя л—"

"I need you to survive too! I don't know what to do without you!" you cried, finally collapsing onto the springy shit mattress.

Bucky was listening. Bucky was understanding. Now he knew.

He knew that you would always save him, like he would you. He knew that you would protect you the best you could. And he knew that you cared; a feeling he'd deeply missed.

"Okay, Маленький. I understand. Let's head to bed."

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Love Is Not Forced ~ 19

MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 1,800ish

Summary: Y/N and Steven spend an afternoon together.

Notes: I’m feeling a little nice today.... so here’s this chapter, one day early. (Plus it’s kinda been a hard day. And seeing people enjoy my series makes me happy.)

Making conversation during dinner was hard for both Steven and Y/N, but they pushed through it. Y/N just continually moved her feet back and forth in the sand when it was becoming hard for her to be there. She wanted to grabbed the small necklace around her neck and fiddle with it nervously. But she knew that if T’Challa had figured out who the gift was from, Steven would too.

Once dinner was over, Steven and Y/N quietly walked back to her room. She wasn’t ready to leave the beach yet, but she knew it would be there when she woke up.

“Thank you for introducing me to the beach,” Y/N said upon arriving to her door. “It was truly as beautiful as you said.”

“I’m really glad you enjoyed it.”

“I can’t wait to see it tomorrow.”

“About tomorrow, I was wondering, have you ever been on a boat?”

“A boat? I can’t say I have.”

“Would you care to join me for lunch on my boat?”

“Um… yeah. That would be nice.”

“Okay then. I guess I’ll see you then,” Steven shifted around awkwardly. He wanted to grabbed her hand and place a kiss on it, or even place a kiss on her cheek. But he didn’t want to over step.

Y/N stepped back, allowing her back to hit against the door. “Goodnight, Your Majesty.”

“Goodnight, Your Highness.” 

When Y/N woke up in the morning, she instantly thought about the night before. And how it actually wasn’t all that terrible to spend time with the King, especially when he’s watching his tongue. Y/N took her time getting up and ready that morning. She had breakfast brought to her while she wrote toe her family and Loki. She wrote to all of them about how much she had fallen in love with the sea already. To Loki, Y/N specifically wrote that, when they run away, she wishes that they stay by the sea.

Lunch time rolled around and Lord Samuel Wilson was sent to bring Y/N to where the ship was docked. They chatted as they headed to the dock. Sam telling stories about the King that made Y/N laugh. King Steven’s so big in stature and strong in leadership, that it came as a surprise to Y/N to hear that he actually is a giant push over. Mostly when it comes to those closest to him. When it comes to matters of the kingdom though, King Steven would do whatever’s best for Brooklyn.

“That’s not a boat,” Y/N exclaimed, when the dock came into view. “That’s a ship!”

Sam chuckled. “I guess that His Majesty didn’t want to brag.”

Y/N noticed that Steven seemed to be nervously waiting at the bottom of the ramp. “I thought you said you were taking me out on your boat?” Y/N teased as she and Sam walked up to the King.

If it weren’t for the beard, Y/N was pretty sure she would have seen a blush rise on his cheeks. “Oh, yeah… I didn’t want to—“

“It’s completely fine, Your Majesty. Your ship is quite beautiful. Shall we get going?”

“Yes. Thank you Sam for bringing her here.”

“The pleasure was all mine,” Sam responded, winking at the Princess.

“Thank you for the company,” Y/N smiled at Sam as she slipped her arm through the King’s. 

She missed the look of surprise that overtook his face as she did so. But Sam didn’t, he simply gave his King an encouraging smile and walked off. The King guided the Princess up the ramp and onto the ship. Neither of them made a move to remove their arms from each other’s as the King let Y/N lead him around the ship as she explored. The crew quickly got the ship onto open water. The Princess ran over to the side as the ship picked up speed. 

“What are those?” She asked, pointing to some grey animals that seemed to be swimming with the ship.

Steven peered his head over the edge as well. “Those are dolphins,” he responded. “They enjoy swimming against the ship. Sometimes, we just stop out in the middle and watch them jump.”

“They jump?” Y/N looked excitedly at the King.

“Yes.” He nodded. “Actually, if we move to stand in the bow, we might be able to see a few of them jump.”

“Can we?”

“Of course.”

The Princess took the King’s arm, before he could even offer it again, and the two hurried to the bow. Steven allowed her to stand in the very front, while he stood behind her. Y/N placed her hands on the edge as she leaned forward to see the dolphins.

“Woah,” she exclaimed as she wobbled haphazardly. 

Steve quickly placed his hands on Y/N’s hips. She gasped and tensed a bit at the unexpected touch. It was weird. A buzz shot up her, she couldn’t even describe it.

“I’ve got you,” he said softly.

Y/N glanced back, and up, to look at Steven. He was looking down at her kindly. It was weird. But a good weird. She took notice of his eyes, for what seemed to be the first time. Steven’s eyes were blue, like Loki’s but at the same time not. She looked at them a little longer, unable to tell if she was falling in love with them or drowning in them.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Anytime.” He gave her a small smile. His eyes suddenly looked past her. “Look, Y/N.” He pointed over the bow, still holding onto one of her hips firmly. “There they are.”

Y/N followed the King’s hand to see two dolphins jumping just in front of the ship. A grin grew across her face as she watched the dolphins jump in and out of the water. Steven watched Y/N instead of the dolphins. It made him so happy that the Princess seemed so happy. The two lost track of time as they stood there and watched as more dolphins joined. Before the two royals knew it, the ship had turned around and docked.

“It’s already time to go in?” Y/N asked, sadness lacing her tone. She turned around, facing Steven, suddenly realizing how close the two fo them were.

“It is,” Steve said, looking at her in a way Y/N had never seen someone look at her. “I’m sorry that we didn’t stop for lunch.”

“That’s fine. I had a nice time.”

“I’m glad.”

“I hope that you had a nice time as well, Your Majesty.”

“I did.” The two got lost in each other’s eyes, slowly moving closer to each other. “I am sorry about lunch though. I owe you one.”

“I’ll definitely be holding you to it.”

“Wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Steven’s lips quickly captured Y/N’s. His hands, that were still near her hips, pulled her closer as her hands moved to hold onto the back of his neck. His beard was scratchy, but nothing that bothered her too much. As they kissed, she began comparing Loki’s kisses with Steven’s. Loki’s were full of passion and a little forceful, where Steven’s seemed to be soft and full of care. It was nice. As she got lost in the moment, the necklace moved against her skin, reminding her of where her heart lied. Suddenly, Y/N placed her hands on his chest and pushed him away.

“I’m sorry,” she panted. “I… I had a good afternoon. But I’m tired and I should go.” She hurried passed Steven.

“Y/N, wait!” He called, following after her. “I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t. I’m just tired. I’m going to turn in for the night.” Y/N continued towards the castle as Steven continued to follow, not far behind.

“At least let me get you some food. You can’t skip two meals.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Y/N,” he reached to grab her arm, “I didn’t mean to—“

She pulled her arm away harshly when Steven’s fingers brushed against it. “Don’t touch me.” 

They both stopped and faced each other. Steven felt as if the whole sea was between them, even though he could just reach out and touch her. He watched as Y/N’s eyes became watery. Guilt began to consume him. He shouldn’t have kissed her. It was too much, too soon.

“I’ll have dinner sent to your room,” Steven said softly. “If that’s what you want.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty. I’ll see you in the morning.”

The King stood on the beach, watching the Princess hurry into the castle. He had messed up once again, with no clue how to fix it this time.

“Your Highness,” Wanda called, wheeling a cart in. “Dinner’s here.”

“Thank you, Wanda,” Y/N said. “Can you just push it around the bed?”

“Of course.”

It was hard for Y/N to hold the tears in until she reached her room, but she did it. She cried as Wanda, without questioning, helped her get ready for the night. The Princess was so confused. She loved Loki, she knew that much. But then why did she enjoy the King’s kiss? And why could she feel feelings begin to form for him? 

Wanda left quickly after pushing the cart to the Princess. Y/N ate in silence, trying to comb through the avalanche of thoughts in her mind. As she was just about finished, she noticed a note hiding beneath one of the plates. Carefully, she picked it up and opened.

My Dearest, Y/N,

I am sorry if my actions earlier upset you somehow. I never wish to upset you, yet it seems that is all I’m good at. 

I had a wonderful time this afternoon. Watching you, watching the dolphins brought me happiness. I only ever wish to bring you the happiness I witnessed today. 

I would not blame you if you never forgive me. I keep messing up when it comes to you. But, I do hope that you will continue to give me a chance to show you that I really do wish to get to know you and bring you happiness.

Tomorrow morning, I am to visit one of the villages. It would be my honor if you would accompany me. You do not have to, if you do not want to. My carriage and I will be leaving at nine. I do hope you join me. 

Forever Apologetic and Your Servant,

Steven

As Y/N finished reading the note, her heart became increasingly more torn. It wanted Loki, but it also started to want Steven. For herself and her kingdom. And she had no idea what she was going to do.

next chapter >

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[peachesndreamss]

Drops of Jupiter

Pairing: Pietro Maximoff x female reader

Warnings: None! Lil angst if you squint, some language. Lots of fun avengers dialog, because Idk I love the team dynamic

Summary: You just got back from being away for six months in Africa, and your team has missed you! But you're unsure about a certain someone, who you left behind because he broke your heart.

Word count: 5.9k :)

When you stepped out of the quinjet, the first thing you noticed was the sound of snow crunching beneath your boots. That, and the immediate windchill, turning the tip of your nose pink. The pilot had told you to put your coat on... and for good reason. It had been so long since you'd come back here, you'd almost forgot how cold the winters on base could get. You turn your head to the sky and notice it's still snowing. The snowflakes were falling, hitting your skin and melting almost on impact, settling in your hair. This feeling, it was so familiar to you that it made you smile.

Now that she's back in the atmosphere, drops of Jupiter in her hair

It had been at least six months since you last set foot on this landing pad. It had been at least six months since you had last set foot on this landing pad. Six months since you'd last lived here, six months since you'd been without your team. Six months since you'd been without him. Your heart lurches at the thought, though you can't tell whether it's from excitement or dread.

Six months ago, you left for Africa to do work there under SHIELD's relief program. You had heard about them before, but never took the initiative to join until then. Fury had introduced you to the job opportunity a while before you took the offer, saying you'd be a hell of a good fit for it. And even you had to admit, you had fit quite well there. The people you worked alongside were kind, as were the people in the villages you helped.

Before you were a part of the Avenger's initiative, that would have been your dream job. It was always your dream to help people the way you had been the past six months. You wanted to make a difference, make good on everything you had learned in your training.

But of course it all changed when you became an Avenger.

Every footstep you took crunched with the snow underfoot, and it set your mind a little more at ease. The snow made you happy. After being in hot dry weather for so long, you hadn't realized how much you missed the cold. The way it settled onto your skin, the chill of the crisp air as it blows through your hair. The pure enjoyment you get out of sitting by the fire to warm your bones, cup of hot chocolate in between your cold hands. The love you feel for your team when they're gathered by the fire with you, sharing stories and laughing together after a long day in the frigid weather. That was the part you enjoyed the most.

Becoming an avenger had turned your world upside down, more than you could have ever expected and in more good ways than bad by far. You had found family in a group so diverse and different from eachother, but so alike at the same time. You had found home in newfound friendships, strong bonds strengthened over long missions and near death experiences and trust so unbreakable it could stand the test of time.

Or so you thought.

A door opens across the landing pad and out steps a very familiar face, one you found you had missed very much. A million dollar smile splits your face, one to rival that of the playboy himself, but even he seemed happy to see you.

Tony had been your very first friend when you joined the team. You formed a bond instantly, though you never quite figured out what brought you so close, considering you were two very different people. He was like the big brother you never had, a shoulder to cry on, someone who no matter what could bring a smile to your face.

"Tony..." you breathe, almost a relieved sigh as you cross the short distance of snow to wrap him in a hug, which he gladly reciprocates.

"Good to see you too, kid." He hums, and a laugh bubbles up from your chest, genuine and warm. He grips your shoulders gently and pulls back, giving you a once over and grinning.

"Look at you. Six months away from home and you haven't changed a bit." He muses and you roll your eyes good naturedly.

"Oh please, I couldn't change it up too much! Then you'd hardly recognize me. I might show you up." You retort, which causes him to snort.

"You wish. I'm happy about it!" He points out, putting an arm around your shoulder as he leads you inside, away from the cold. He continues, a satisfied smirk on his face and it causes your brow to arch just like it used to when you'd banter back and forth.

"I made a bet with Nat. She said you'd either cut or dye your hair, change your appearance somehow before you got back. I said you absolutely would not, and now she owes me fifty bucks." And then you starts to laugh.

"I cannot believe you made a bet about that! As if you need fifty from Nat anyways, mister billionaire playboy philanthropist." You muse. He shrugs in response, closing the door behind you, engulfing you in warmer air inside.

"It's all about principle. Bottom line, I was correct." He seemed so proud of himself... you didn't want to burst his bubble just yet with the tattoo across your back, so of course you let him have his moment.

You slip your coat off over your shoulders and hang it up, gloves coming off next. They were wet from the snow, and it was much too warm to keep them on anyways. This left you in a long sleeved gray shirt and some jeans, and you were already feeling at home again.

On the plane ride back you were worried about not quite fitting in anymore... it had been six months after all. Things change, people change of course. But the greeting from Tony and the playful banter? It felt just like it used to.

"C'mon, I'm sure the team has missed their resident tie breaker." He comments, which makes you laugh again. It was true. Often there would be team disputes, and you were always the deciding factor. Mostly because several people were impartial, like Vision and Wanda. So naturally, you, ever opinionated, became the deciding factor. You were anxious to see them again, your friends. Your family.

You could hear the warm chatter of voices down the hallway, and your steps faltered a little. Tony notices your hesitation and looks at you curiously.

"Hey, what's got you all nervous? I promise they've missed you. Tin man hasn't shut up about you coming home since yesterday. He said something about having movies to watch." That makes you smile. Bucky was your movie watching buddy. He was the only one with the attention span to sit through your favorites with you, to actually listen to you explain the lore and history involved with the actors and the way they were filmed. He was a film nerd you both had discovered, much to your delight. You were really looking forward to seeing him again too. But he wasn't why you were hesitating.

"Does he know I'm coming?" You ask meekly. Tony's brows furrow in confusion, not quite catching what you meant.

"Of course. I just told you! Your hearing going out? Because I can start calling you old instead of the walking museum exhibits in there." He quips, talking about Steve and Buck, and you hit him lightly on the shoulder, causing him to scowl.

"Not him, Tony." You snap, but there was no real anger behind it. It was more like... fear. Apprehension at the exchange that was bound to happen.

"Oh... him. Yeah, Wanda told him a day or so ago. He hasn't said anything about it though, and he doesn't know when." He replies, tone a little softer than before. Tony was a handful, sure, but he knew when to be sensitive to emotion. And in this situation, that's exactly what you needed. Tony notices the way the tension slips into your shoulders and he purses his lips.

"Hey, it'll be alright. I'm sure he missed you too. Who wouldn't miss you! You keep this team together." He says, his voice gentle yet firm in his statements, and a small smile tugs at the edge of your lips.

"If he isn't happy, that's his problem." He continues, speaking your name with an air of comfort that washed over your nerves. "Truth is we've all missed you. And if he hasn't, then he's stupid and he can stay in his room until he gets over it." He concludes. You couldn't help but smile.

"You always know just what to say, don't you?" You hum, and he chuckles.

"I pride myself in it. Now come on, everyone's been waiting all day. I'm not even sure if they know you're here yet."

You could never say no to him. Even when something inside you knew damn well there was one person that might not have missed you at all, you were still going to see your team. Tony was right, even if you'd never admit it, lest it go to his ego. You'd be damned if one man would make you reluctant to see your family.

The sounds of voices got louder, and you could clearly hear what they were talking about. Well, more like arguing about. That definitely hadn't changed a bit.

"Why'd you have to say anything about it, I'm just trying to enjoy my evening!" You hear, and instantly recognize the voice as Bucky. He sounded whiny, and you had to hold back a snicker.

"How could I not! That mug is damn ugly. It's my duty as a citizen to tell you that." Now that was Sam, another one of your boys you'd missed dearly. One of the first things you'd noticed when you went to Africa was the silence... the lack of arguing from Bucky Barnes and Sam Wilson.

"It is not your duty as a citizen, it's your duty as an asshole." Bucky gripes, and Sam's laughter rings through the hall. You felt the need to stay where you were out of sight just to listen to them.

"I dunno, Buck. It is pretty ugly." Steve chiming in as usual, always deriving enjoyment out of getting Bucky riled up like that. He liked to see him mad sometimes. As prim and proper as everyone thought Steve Rogers was, he sure did love to instigate.

"Well, his word is law." Sam continues. Bucky groans.

"He's not god, you know!"

"As a god I can confirm. The mug is atrocious." The deep voice calls from a different point in the room. Thor was here, which made you even more excited. He was back and forth a lot, but when he was here you really did enjoy his company.

"Everyone is against me and my coffee mug. I don't see what's so ugly about it." Bucky retorts, and Sam is quick to jump on that.

"It's neon green with pictures of cartoon cats all over it. How can it not be called ugly."

It dawns on you that you had bought that mug for Bucky actually. You two had been on a mission in Yosemite, and it had caught your eye because it was, in fact, the ugliest cup you had ever seen. But when you showed it to Bucky he had absolutely loved it. Why, you had absolutely no idea.

"You just have shitty taste in mugs. All of you." He decides, and that makes several people groan. Bucky Barnes was stubborn, that everyone knew. There was no getting through to that man once his mind was set.

"Oh, don't be so bitter, Buck. We're just being honest with you." Steve tries to reason, and the outraged sound that falls from Steve's mouth immediately after along with Sam and Thor's laughter meant one thing. Bucky had flipped him off.

You turned to Tony and found that he had already walked into the room, leaving you behind in the hall. He must have known you wanted to surprise them. Besides... who would Tony be if he didn't give his two cents in the argument.

"What is the married couple fighting about this time?" Tony asks, even though he had been listening right alongside you.

"Sam has told Bucky that his mug is ugly. And everyone agrees." Thor informs him, to which Tony looks at the mug, pretending to mull it over.

"I dunno... it isn't that bad. I've seen far worse ones in my cabinet." He says, and Sam makes a face.

"There is no way in hell there is a mug uglier than that one in the cabinet."

Tony smirks. You already knew which mug the bastard was going to bring up, which also happened to belong to you.

"Have you seen that Captain America mug in there? Tacky as all hell." He says, and Bucky almost spits his coffee. Steve became red in the face

"That's not even mine! I don't even know how it got there!" Steve defends.

If there was one thing Tony was good at, it was bothering Steve. That, and making entrances... which you realized was exactly what he was doing for you. Setting up an entrance. That sly bastard. You take a deep breath and decide that this was a better time than any. And if you didn't take this chance, Tony would complain that he set that up perfectly for weeks.

You step into the doorway and cross your arms over your chest, amusement dancing across your features.

"I leave for six months, and you boys bash my mug taste? Maybe I should have stayed in Africa." You sound your opinion and heads turn to see you standing there for the first time

She acts like summer and walks like rain, reminds me that there's time to change

It was the cutest thing, seeing the surprise on their faces turn into the biggest smiles, accompanied by happy exclamations of your name. You couldn't help but mirror the expression. Steve was the closest, and he was always a hugger so of course you find yourself wrapped in a strong hug much sooner than you expected.

"We didn't know you'd be getting in today!" He exclaims, and you laugh.

"Well, I couldn't pass up an opportunity to surprise you guys since it almost never happens." You point out. Steve pulls away and rubs the back of his neck, still grinning that million dollar smile.

"Yeah, you've got a point." He admits. Pulling a surprise over the eyes of assassins and superheroes and gods was quite the task, so you relished in the reactions.

You walk further into the room, and Sam beams over at you.

"Been a while! And to think we were talkin' shit on your mugs." He teases

"I know! Gonna have to teach you guys a lesson. I got Bucky that mug as a gift, you know." You inform, and Sam scoffs.

"I stand by my statement."

"Good to see you too, Sam." You reply warmly, giving him a huge grin.

Bucky was up off the couch, mug forgotten on the coffee table as he came over to greet you.

"Did you hear them being mean to me and my mug? The nerve of these assholes." He quips and it makes you giggle.

"Oh I know. Such mistreatment, Bucky, how did you ever survive without me here." You muse, pouting playfully. He gives you a hug too, giving you a good feeling as he tells you it was good to see you again.

Tony pours himself a drink at the bar, and Thor tips his own glass of something your way.

"My Lady, it has been too long." He rumbles and you put your hands on your hips, tilting you head backwards a little to meet his eyes better. The tall bastard.

"It has indeed... more than six months I believe." And it really had been. Thor hadn't been there when you left, important business in Asgard regarding his brother and you completely understood. There was no way you could be upset with someone who was the embodiment of a giant teddy bear. He sets his glass down, wrapping you in a close to suffocating bear hug, squeezing a laugh out of you.

"Dear friend, how we've missed you. Are you here to stay once more?" He asks, letting go of you so you could meet more than expectant faces. Truth was, you hadn't told them you planned to come back permanently... Tony knew, but they weren't entirely sure. You didn't want to tell them in case you changed your mind.

But the warm greeting really reminded you why you loved this place, why you loved these people.

"Of course I'm here to stay. How could I keep away from my favorite team?"

The cheers and the hugs that followed made you so absolutely beyond happy, you could hardly take it. It had been so long since you'd felt this loved, so at home. Africa had been wonderful, but here was where you felt you truly belonged.

♡♡♡

Bruce and Clint had made their appearance later, giving the same warm greeting of course. Everyone had settled around the couches and chairs, wanted to catch up with you, talk about your experiences. And to continue the debate about Bucky's mug, much to his discontent.

Nat had popped in at some point, and that had been a warm welcome just the same. She settled in next to you on the couch and handed you a mug of coffee, and you'd never felt more at home, at peace. You were so warm, legs folded beneath you with comfortable socks and friendly conversation among friends. But of course it doesn't take long for that to crash in on itself.

You heard the familiar rumble of a landing quinjet before you even had time to panic and hide away somewhere. The team hardly seemed to notice, too busy being wrapped up in their heated debate. It had moved on from Bucky and his ugly mugs to a better topic of conversation: why Titanic was a better movie than Jurassic Park. The only person who noticed the way you tensed was of course Nat, who was sitting so close. But she could have noticed that from across the room.

She squeezes your knee, a silent reassurance. You'd need all the help in the world right now to get through this.

You could hear the familiar slam of a door from outside, the sound of soft accented voices in the hall. Steve had told you the twins had gone on a short mission... that they might not be back until the end of the week.

Apparently they got home early.

Everything about your posture screamed I don't want to be in this room when he comes in. But you know you should be... if you were going to stay for good, then damn it you could stay if you wanted. Besides... he was the one that broke it off in the first place.

Since her return from her stay on the moon, she listens like spring and she talks like June

Wanda emerged from the hall first, always better at packing up her stuff on the ship before her brother. He always took his damn time, that much you remembered. It used to annoy the hell out of you.

She puts her bag down and breathes out a long sigh, turning her head towards the commotion in the living space. She only takes notice of you when she was halfway to sitting on the couch, and she has to do a double take.

Wanda was like a sister to you, and you really did try to keep in touch, but after what happened it had just been so difficult. But she smiles at you, and you're not so worried about whether or not she forgives you anymore.

"I knew you were coming, but it still managed to surprise me a little." She admits, and you can only laugh. You wanted to drum up a good reply for her, but it dies in your throat at the sound of heavier footsteps coming down the same hall. Everyone else was still engaged in heated conversation, but it was white noise to your ears when he entered the room.

He looked as good as ever, even when he had that mission-worn expression on his face. His silver hair was pushed back off his face, which was smudged in dirt, sharp jawline peppered in stubble aside from his usual facial hair. He wore his tactical suit, which clung to him in all the right ways so it wouldn't get in the way when he ran. You used to love when he put that damn suit on... it made you hot under the collar. It still did, and you realize this with a bit of resentment.

You could tell he was tired, and you almost felt bad for being here because you knew once he realized you were sitting on the couch he'd get ten times more exhausted. But it was too late to hide away now.

Normally he would have noticed you right away, but his exhaustion seemed to be overwhelming his vigilance. He knew you were supposed to show up, he just didn't know when. That's what Tony had said at least.

Speaking of, Tony casts a glance over to you, a sort of brotherly reassurance. He wanted to make sure you were alright. You send him a barely-there nod in confirmation.

Pietro groans and throws his stuff down on the floor alongside Wanda's things, scrubbing a hand through his hair. That's when Tony decides to speak up.

"Welcome back, speedy. You missed an enthralling debate, and we'd love your input. Titanic or Jurassic Park? There's only one side to this that's correct, so choose wisely." He calls over, and Pietro looks at him quizzically.

He seems to ponder it for a moment as he makes his way towards the couches, not quite looking your way because Tony had already captured his attention, drawing him in so he couldn't run off. Clever man.

"Jurassic Park. No question." He decides, and there's a collection of groans from certain team members. You felt just a little pride bubble in your chest. Jurassic Park was your pick too. Tony was among those who groaned.

"How dare you choose a dinosaur movie over the cinematic masterpiece that is Titanic! This team lacks taste." He gripes, and Bucky is quick to jump his case, protesting something like 'the movie is historically inaccurate and there was enough room on the door for both' and then Tony called him a fossil. So on and so forth.

Pietro laughs, a sound that made your heart ache, and he makes his way over towards the couch to sit down, towards where you were sitting. Which makes sense... you sat in the spot he normally occupies on the couch. You were just so used to sitting there alongside him that you forgot it was his spot.

Tell me, did you sail across the sun? Did you make it to the milky way to see the lights all faded? And that heaven is overrated?

He casts his eyes up to the seat, maybe ten or so feet away, and he stops dead in his tracks as his eyes lock onto yours. For a moment, you forgot how to breathe. That gaze, steely blue, flooded with emotion caught off guard like that? It could bring you to your knees. It has before.

Tony had been watching the exchange with baited breath, seeming to sense the rising tension. He wasn't the only one who had caught on, several teammates were watching now, anxious to see what would happen. They knew your history, remembered the sounds of explosive arguments from the past. Before anything could escalate too quickly, Tony decides to do something.

"Alright, guys! Movie room, asap! We'll watch both movies, and decide which one is better than the other then. Mandatory team bonding! C'mon, let's go." He quips, and as a few teammates start to protest he shushes them.

"And people who have been traveling and recently got back are excluded." He adds. Thank god for Tony Stark.

Everyone rises and starts to leave the room, save for you and Pietro, who were still locked in a silent staring match, both a little too caught in the moment to say anything. Natasha gives your knee a little squeeze before she goes though you hardly register it, leaving the two of you alone in the room.

The air felt suffocating, even moreso following the silence that engulfed the room when they were gone. No one has said a single thing yet... you didn't know what to say to him. So many thoughts were running around in your head, emotions you had bottled up and shoved deep down. Thankfully, after a long while of agonizing silence, he takes the liberty upon himself.

He says your name, softly, like it hurt him to form the syllables at all. His voice was rough around the edges, raw and so quiet that if anyone else had been in the room you wouldn't have heard him. You still say nothing, even if the was he sounded knocked the wind out of you.

"I uh... didn't expect you back today." He continues, trying to find some semblance of control in his emotions. It didn't seem to be working.

"...Yeah. I didn't think you'd get home today either." You reply, and the faltering of your own voice surprises you. God, you hadn't even been here with him more than an hour. His effect on you was ridiculous.

He sighs, though his posture was still rather tense. "Recon mission, ended early." He mumbles, and the way he shifts from foot to foot portrayed his anxiety with the situation. He was nervous... but you didn't blame him. You felt as if your heart would leap out of your chest, even though he caused you so much pain the last time you were with him.

You simply nod, watching him closely. He seemed to be thinking over his next words, long and hard. Like he wasn't sure what to say at all, which was so unlike him. Pietro Maximoff, who always knows what to say, always having a sharp reply on the edge of his lips for everything, a charming smirk to follow. Finally, he speaks.

"I missed seeing you around, you know." The way he said it was so tender, like he really meant it. But the phrasing made you surprisingly angry, and your hands ball into fists in your lap.

"You don't get to miss me." You say, tone even but laced with hurt and venom. He broke you. He doesn't get to pretend it wasnt his fault you left.

The words strike him like a punch to the stomach, and his brows crease. You expected him to argue, but he almost looks resigned to the matter.

"I... I know. I wanted to call, but..." he begins, but you feel your temper flare. All the pent up anger, and hurt, and sadness you felt when you left were finally rising to the surface, settling in your chest and lighting a fire that refused to be put out.

"But you didn't. No call, no text, not even a letter or a post card. I got nothing from you for six months, so I don't expect anything now. You don't get to apologize because you're guilty. You meant what you said before I left, own up to it." You snap. He could hear the way your voice rose towards the end, knew you were angry. You had every right to be.

"Come on, you know I'm sorry-"

"No, I don't. I don't know that. Not once did you say you were sorry before now." Your voice was rising, and you didn't care. You just didn't care. He hurt you, and he needed to feel it damn it.

"I know I let you down, but please, just hear-" he starts, voice rising with an air of desperation but you cut him off again.

"I don't want your apology. I want you to leave me alone." You retort, trying to edge your voice with finality. You didn't want to open yourself to be hurt again. Not by the man who broke your heart so completely. Not by the man who once owned it, dominated your mind with his laugh and quick wit and impish smile. The man who still owned it.

"You know I can't leave you alone. I could never leave you alone, even if I wanted to. Believe me, I've tried." His voice cracks towards the end, and you meet his eyes again. He looked so... broken. But so were you.

Just leave me alone! I had to pick up the pieces of what you broke, I don't want to have to do that again. I-I... I'm still healing... Let me heal. Leave me be..." You plead. Even if you were so damn angry, you were tortured by this. You didn't want to listen. But he kept talking anyways.

"I... after you left, I just couldn't get over you. I couldn't get you out of my mind, how much I missed you. I missed you, damn it." He says, and the way he spits his words out makes you want to believe him so badly. You bite your tongue so hard, you think it might bleed.

"I missed everything about you. Waking up to you in the morning. Hearing your laugh. Making you smile. The way you'd wrinkle your nose when I said something that you thought was stupid. I never realized how completely and utterly in love with you I was until you were gone. And fuck, I love you. I love you so much it hurts." He sounded so desperate to get his point across, so hopeless and anguished. You hadn't noticed you started to shake. He notices and starts towards you, closing the distance slowly with paced steps, gauging your reaction. When you don't protest, he doesn't stop coming closer.

You had never heard him say that before. That he loves you. You told him you loved him for the first time about six months ago, in his room laying on his bed. You meant it so wholly, with every beat of your heart you loved this man. And as soon as the words left your lips, he closed himself off to you. You'd never felt that rejected in your life, that alone.

He'd broken up with you a week later... said that it wasn't working for him anymore with no other explanation than that. That's why you took the job in Africa and up and left a week later. Being around him every day, knowing he'd brushed off your declaration like it was nothing was too much, caused too much pain. You couldn't deal with that. So you left, leaving him behind so you could heal in peace.

Sitting in front of him here, with him pouring his heart out to you, you just didn't know if you had the strength to withstand it. Not when you still loved him with everything you had.

"I should have told you then, I know. I've felt it since the first day I met you, and god it scared me, and I really fucked up. It scared me to love someone like this... the way I love you. And I know, I don't even deserve to talk to you right now, but I just wanted you to know. I'll tell everyone in this tower, damn it. I love you."

He was in front of you now, watching you with eyes so stormy they were more grey than blue. You take in a shaky, gasping breath, and his hands twitch like he wanted to reach out and touch you, comfort you the way he used to, but he doesn't. He doesn't know where the relationship stands now, and honestly, you don't either.

You sniffle quietly, on the verge of tears, just staring at him trying not to cry. You didn't like to cry, not in front of anyone. He used to be your shoulder to cry on other than Tony, but now you just didn't know.

"I-I want to forgive you so... so bad, Piet. But you... you really hurt me. You broke me. I wasn't ready to say goodbye to you." You say quietly, the words meddling together as you try to get them out. You wanted them to come out strong, firm, but the crying didn't help. Instead they were hushed, broken up in between as you tried to breathe. You felt like you couldn't breathe.

His face falls even further, and then he does something that makes you feel so utterly helpless to stay angry. He falls to his knees in front of the couch, like he was begging. And technically, he was.

"Baby, please. My love. My princesa. My everything, please." He whispers with soft urgency, eyes so wide and anguished. He was baring his soul to you, and it made your resolve crumble. He'd never been this emotionally vulnerable before. His hands reach out slowly, testing the waters, and when you don't recoil he takes your hands in his own. They were warm, steady, unlike yours which in the moment were ice cold and shaky. He lifts them to his lips and kisses each finger, and god if that didn't melt your heart. Damn this man.

"Please come back to me. I'll never hurt you again, I promise. Please."

You had half a mind to say no, out of principle. But damn it, he was looking at you like you hung the moon, and you find that you really really missed him. You missed him so much, and here he was, apologizing and saying he loves you and touching you the way he used to, and you just couldn't.

You manage to give him a watery smile, the gesture making tears fall and streak across your cheeks. His hands reach up to cup your face, thumbs brushing them away, waiting for your response with baited breath.

"Pietro Maximoff, if you break my heart again so help me god I'm going to kill you." You mumble, and his face lights up like a christmas tree. It makes your heart trip over itself.

"I won't! Never again my love. I wouldn't dream of it." He whispers quickly, and when you nod in response, still smiling he surges forward in a very Pietro-fashion to kiss you with everything he has. Everything that says he loves you and missed you and that he was wrong, lips kissing you senseless. His hand drifts to the back of your neck, and somehow your own find themselves gripping onto dirty blonde locks of hair.

He was kissing you so deep and passionately, conveying just how much you mean to him, a hidden language only spoken through touch, and god have you missed this. Missed feeling so openly and wholly loved by someone. By him.

Missed feeling at home.

And did you miss me while you were looking for yourself out there?

[justjessame]

Starting Over Chapter 51

How does someone get ready to meet a Master of the Mystic Arts?  Well, if Bucky Barnes is in control of your preparations, you first are pampered into a state of utter contentment after being brought to the very edge of heaven, but that’s ONLY if you have Bucky as your tour guide.  Once he felt certain that I was in better shape than I woke up in, and while I was a gasping mess again, I can assure you that I felt far more content than I had when I woke up - he pulled me into the bathroom and helped me shower.  

“Let me help you out, Mrs. Barnes,” shaking my head, I gave him my hand, but he took more initiative than that, scooping me up and lifting me from the tub so I didn’t have the slightest chance of slipping.  

Laughter bubbled out of me, even as I tucked my face into his bare neck.  “You’re ridiculous,” he didn’t put me down, not until he carried me into our room and I was going to complain that I was wet and we didn’t have towels in our bedroom, but I missed him grabbing a couple before he left the bathroom.  When he set me down, holding up a towel to start drying me, after wrapping one around his waist to keep from distracting me - I reminded him of just WHY he was ridiculous.  “We’re not married YET, Bucky Barnes, so you’re jumping the gun on calling me that -”

He was grinning down at me as he dried my hair, so at peace that it made my heart beat faster.  “YET being the important word in that sentence, Brooke.” Leaning down he stole a soft kiss, before continuing to dry me, moving the towel to my neck and shoulders.  “I like how it sounds, don’t you?”  

The smile that spread across my lips told him more than my words ever could.  And that kept us on task - drying and dressing, Bucky did let me take control over my hair and makeup, then with a promise that Dr. Stephen Strange wasn’t nearly as formidable as I might be afraid of, then together we headed to the shed to get into the car and drive into Greenwich.

“Greenwich?” I buckled in and had a travel cup of juice while he had his cup of coffee.  “There’s a magical power base in Greenwich Village?”  

Bucky chuckled and we were off.  

“OK, so give me a head’s up,” I finished my juice and so far our little bean was letting me keep it.  “What am I about to walk into?”  Bucky was driving with more confidence than I would through the streets to get us to my appointment with the doctor/magic person.  

Squinting out of the windshield he considered my question.  “Sam says there are the Big Three,” I turned so I was facing him as he drove, listening to the wonders of what Sam Wilson had to say on this subject.  “Androids, Aliens, and Wizards.” Bucky’s dimple came out and he glanced over to see if I was paying attention, seeing my rapt pupil stare, he went on.  “Now I disagreed, because that’s ridiculous for so many reasons, not the least because Dr. Strange identifies as a sorcerer, I think.”  

“Yeah, I can see why that would be problematic to Sam’s well thought out logic,” my dry tone had his teeth coming out to join his smile.  

“He’s arrogant, and a bit of a know-it-all, but he was one of the best neurosurgeons in the world before his accident,” I nodded, that made sense, most people who had that kind of press let it go to their heads.  “He gave it all up to study with a master, and ended up in charge of protecting the Sanctum here,” he was parking in front of a beautiful building in Greenwich Village.  “He might come off a little -” he turned off the engine and turned to face me.  “The important part, Brooke, is that he might be able to figure it out - whatever is causing you so much pain and trouble when you’re sleeping.  And with our little addition,” his hand fell to my flat stomach and mine covered his automatically.  “I just want you to have some kind of peace, sweetheart.”  

I met him halfway for a kiss before he got out to help me out of the car.  Then with a very deep breath, linking our fingers, we climbed the steps so I could finally meet the good doctor.  

Dr. Stephen Strange did not answer the door, instead a man dressed as I imagined a Tibetian monk might have opened the door and introduced himself as Wong.  Before I could say a word, or Bucky could, a man wearing a cape and bearing an incredible resemblance to a magician my dad hired for one of my birthday parties descended the massive staircase with a flair that I thought many an actor would envy.  The doctor was in, I presumed.  

“Ah, yes, Sergeant Barnes,” he greeted Bucky with a pleasant voice, somewhat warmer than I was expecting.  “And this must be your lovely fiancee, Brooke Ashley.  A second congratulations is in order, I believe, since you are going to be adding to your family as well.”  He offered his hand and I tried to close my mouth - how had he?  “I apologize, Miss Ashley, I like to prepare for my appointments ahead of time.”  His hand was cool and enveloped mine easily.  “Now, while Wong keeps Sergeant Barnes company, why don’t you and I take some time to chat privately.”  

He took me into what looked like a library, but it wasn’t only filled with books.  Offering me a comfortable chair, he sat across from me and the silence descended as he studied me.  I looked around with interest, wondering if he’d allow me to photograph the Sanctum sometime, it was gorgeous - the way the light came through the windows and struck -

“We can discuss your photography at a later time, Miss Ashley,” my head snapped back so our gazes locked.  “I think you’re here for a more delicate reason.”  

Great, the therapy part.  “Yeah, my fucked up mind is filled with nightmares that I can’t possibly be having because those of us who got Snapped into nothingness shouldn’t have any memories of anything since NOTHINGNESS.”  I sighed.  “And they’re getting worse.”  

Dr. Strange, leaned forward and stared straight into my eyes.  “I don’t think you believe that, Brooke, and I don’t either.”  My eyebrow rose.  “Well, not the part about them getting worse, that’s a common side effect with your current condition,” he waved it off, like that part wasn’t important at all. Bucky had warned me - arrogant and I think he might have wanted to say brief and impatient.  

“Are you saying that we weren’t all just GONE?” I stared at him, a challenge clear and heavy on every word.  “That isn’t what every other person seems to think.”

“You’ll find that I’m not like every other person, Brooke.”  At least he wasn’t intent on calling me Miss Ashley.  “And I’m not insinuating that ALL of us were somewhere defined and definite, but I do think that you were.  I think that you were somewhere very unpleasant, Brooke, and I think that it’s because when Thanos snapped his fingers, instead of you being Snapped out of existence, you slipped through the cracks into a -” he stopped.  “It’s difficult to explain, so let me show you -”  

Whenever a mystical magical guru with a medical license offers to “show you” anything, ask for some sort of guarantee that you won’t experience a more extreme form of vertigo than you ever have in your entire life - and also some sort of contract that stipulates that he won’t hold you responsible for the vomit that you WILL end up liberally applying to his lovely cape, that may or may not have a mind of its own.  

What he showed me was how layered time was, how vast and infinite the universe, dimensions,  and choices could be, and how easy it would have been for someone like me to slip through a crack when the huge purple turd tried to go halfsies with the population of EVERYWHERE.  While he admitted it could take time to pinpoint where I’d been, if we even needed to, he felt that unlocking the mystery to break me free from the pain of whatever I’d witnessed or experienced while trapped there for five years might be simpler.  

The cape had whipped itself off and flapped away, clearly upset that it was wearing my breakfast juice after my stomach had gone on a magical ride that I hadn’t had fair warning about, and we were reseated in the chairs facing one another.  

“The easiest beginning,” Stephen, as he gave me permission to call him, offered as I took a deep breath.  “Would be meditation.  Clearing your mind of any fear or worry about what you MIGHT see when you go to sleep.”  I nodded, thinking that I’d tried it, but not with the knowledge that I was actually RIGHT about the five years I’d been gone.  “Don’t try to replace it with butterflies and rainbows, just empty your mind, allow your consciousness to replace it with whatever YOU need to - trust yourself to heal yourself.”  It sounded a bit woo woo silly, but why not?  “Two nights,” he held up two fingers as if I couldn’t count it myself.  “Just two nights, Brooke, and then come back.”  

We found Wong and Bucky in the foyer waiting for us.  Bucky looked relieved to see me, as if I’d have gotten lost or sicker - but then he noticed the loss of the cape.  

“If you send me the dry cleaning bill for,” I offered to Stephen, but he waved it off.  “Are you sure?”  

“We have a way to clean it up,” Wong assured me, and I bit my lip.  Mystic magic freaked me out a bit, but if it helped I’d be a believer.  “Do you need something to help with the nausea?”

I didn’t actually say yes or no, he was handing me a bag of tea, explaining that it would help if I drank it every morning and when I was feeling ready to throw up everything I’d ever thought to eat.  “Thank you,” he smiled, patting my hand and telling me that he’d see me in a few days.  

Bucky helped me into the car, and as we drove away from the curb he asked me how it had gone.  

“Aside from covering his cape in vomit?” I shrugged.  “He says that I wasn’t where most of the other Snapped went.”  Bucky nodded, glancing at me to get me to keep going.  “He thinks that I slipped through some crack and went into a different dimension or timeline?”  It wasn’t clear, but at least I wasn’t crazy.  “I’m going to try meditation for the next two nights, a mind dump, basically.”  

“Makes sense,” he offered, reaching for my hand and bringing it to his lips when I gave it to him.  “Wong swears by that tea, by the way.”  

“Does Wong have that much experience with morning sickness?”  He chuckled and shook his head.  “At this point I’ll try anything, I’d like to keep SOMETHING inside of me for more than a few hours.”  

“Yeah, I know.”  He sighed.  “But I guess now it’s been confirmed, right?”  

I smiled at how excited he sounded.  “Yes, Bucky Barnes, now it’s been confirmed.”  His grin grew.  “All that’s left is dinner with Connie so you can announce our engagement.”  His Adam’s apple bobbed so I knew he swallowed hard.  “Do you want a cup of my anti-puke tea for courage?” 

[doc-pickles]

it’s nothing funny just to talk (p. 1)

What happens when you text that random number graffitied on a bathroom stall in your favorite bar? Jo Wilson is about to find out. - In which Bar Princess and Doctor Evil Spawn meet via text.

More Jolex on your timeline because y’all seemed to love what I posted before! Also I’ve posted this whole piece on AO3 as well so it might look familiar.  

this idea came to me in a fever dream and i am not sorry that y'all have to deal with it. 99% of this fic will be in "texting" format, so be prepared for that. 

Jo is regular Alex is italics

Saturday 11:04 PM

heeeeey is thiss doctor evil?

I gotta say ur phone sex namee needs sum weerk

u soud like a comic book village 

fuck

village

VILLAIN

Who the hell is this? And how did you get my number? 

i’m just a girl at thee bar!!!! 

Joe’s Bar?

noooooo

i’m at enerlad city bar

You didn’t answer my question. 

u asked a quesitoon?

whata was it?

i’m goos at takifjg tests 

How’d you get my number?

it qas in the bathrooom!!!

it said “for a good tiem txt dr evil spawne” 

so I did

I am ready to havee fun

You’re drunk, obviously, and I’m going to have to kill Cristina for putting my number up. 

ooooooh is thatt ur girleifnd?

hirlefiend 

girlfriend**

Wow you’re really gone. And hell no, she’s my roommate. One of them. 

ooooh how many do u hav

roomees not girlfriends 

Three. Two girls and a dude. 

intereeesting...

well it’s tome for fireball shoots

steph is yeeling at me 4 txting too much

goodbey doctor eviel apawn!!

Oh lord. Tell Steph you need water. Or an IV. 

I’ve got her. she’s throwing up on her shoes. thanks doctor. - steph

  Sunday 10:11 AM

You know you’re pretty funny, Bar Girl. 

jesus christ what fucking time is it?! 

10 AM

I’m assuming you have a massive hangover. 

hold on I can’t hear you over the sound of me vomiting

TMI as the kids say these days. 

what’re you a grandpa or something?? 

No I just don’t know how to use text lingo. Except WTF. I know that one very well. 

quick question

who the fuck are you?

Dr. Evil Spawn. You found my name graffitied in the bathroom of Emerald City Bar. 

holy shit

I thought I dreamed that... WHAT THE FUCK

Nope. I’m real. 

holy shit i’m so sorry

my texts were so annoying

Who hurt you? I mean you were shitfaced, I’m assuming someone broke your heart into tiny pieces. 

the opposite actually, I was at a bachelorette party

not mine, i’m so single it hurts

Ahhh that makes sense. So you got shitfaced in solidarity? 

exactly you get it

you seem like you’d be the DD at a bachelorette party

Well seeing as I’m a dude I don’t do Bachelorette parties. 

Well I did go to one, but that’s a different story.  

hmmm you seem like a very interesting man doctor evil spawn 

going to bachelorette parties, living with women who aren’t your girlfriend 

OMG ARE YOU DATING THE GUY YOU LIVE WITH?!

George? No absolutely not. And before you ask, my other girl roommate is gay. 

so you’re single?

i’m only asking so when you murder me the police have as much information as possible

Haha very funny. I would be a terrible murderer. 

you didn’t answer my question

Fine. Yes I’m single. 

i’ll note that in the “serial killer file” i’m building 

gotta go, I have to do work :/

Have fun, don’t die. 

  Sunday 8:38 PM

Arizona is trying to set me up on a blind date. 

who’s arizona?

My gay roommate. She wants me to meet this “bubbly blonde” she knows from her pilates class. 

ahhhh. why don’t you go?

Bubbly blonde is not my type. Sounds like she’ll spend the whole date talking about how much she loves dogs or her knitting hobby. 

Plus she does pilates, that tells me more than enough. 

you’re making some good points. I don’t pity you. 

You better not. How was work?

the longest day of my life

it was just paperwork, I don’t actually work on the weekends

What do you do?

hmmmm that’s exactly what a serial killer would say

i’m an elementary school teacher

Oh so you sing and dance and paint pictures all day?

what school did you go to?

were working on multiplication tables and basic photosynthesis tomorrow

Wow that sounds like a lot.

it’s may, ive got three weeks of school left so I have to cram all the crap we didn’t cover into these last few weeks 

Ahhh that sounds more accurate.

and what do you do? 

besides text strangers that you don’t know

I’m a pediatrician. 

oh so you make kids cry and wipe snotty noses all day? two can play at that game

Well we both have to deal with snotty noses sooo...

I GET IT!! Doctor Evil Spawn!! 

why evil spawn though? 

I wasn’t this nice when I started med school. My personality is an acquired taste. 

ha! that’s a funny joke. 

so if you’re a fancy schmancy doctor why do you live with three other people?

I’m only a resident, not making the big bucks yet. Everyone else is a doctor too. 

are they all pediatricians?

No. Arizona is too but Cristina is a cardiologist and George is a trauma specialist. 

interesting!! I too live with my coworkers. it’s not fun. 

the table is always covered in craft supplies. 

Well I can never read the grocery list on the fridge. Stupid doctors script...

oh that’s a classic. you’re pretty funny Dr. Evil Spawn

Thanks Bar Girl. 

I gotta go. monday tomorrow and you know how fourth graders can be. night!! 

Night . 

  Monday 9:47 AM

there’s not enough coffee in the world for monday mornings. 

  Monday 10:52 AM 

Sorry I was yelling at the interns. We have a decent coffee cart here. Keeps me alive. Are you texting in class?

no it was recess

now they’re at spanish class

i’m not totally irresponsible 

Oh good to know the future of America is in good hands. Teacher Princess is “not totally irresponsible”

teacher princess?

Well, Cinderella lost her shoe, you puked on yours. Same thing. 

wooooooooow

that was so uncalled for...

I thought it was funny. Gotta go set a broken arm. 

broken arm vs. adverbs... can we switch? have fun lol

  Monday 3:26 PM

I don’t even think I know what an adverb is. 

how did you become a doctor??

Don’t need to know adverbs to fix a couple broken bones and snuffy noses. 

oh darn I should’ve gone to school for seven more years then

Haha. How were the adverbs?

better than expected, grading papers while I wait for my roomies to be done

we carpool, saving the environment and shit

Okay Eco Warrior.

you text like a 60 year old man

you’re not a 60 year old man are you?

No I’m a 28 year old man though

28 a doctor and you’re single? your personality must be worse than you described 

I’m a busy man, I don’t have time to settle down. And I have no desire to. 

yet you have time to text a complete stranger? 

hmmmm interesting...

Ouch, that one hurt Princess. 

steph is making me socialize with the other teachers

if I don’t respond, they killed me or dragged me to an essential oil party

Hahahaha

  Monday 5:18 PM

Did you get roped into a pyramid scheme?

nooo but therew as wine

I should sotp drunk texting you so often 

It makes your presence that much more entertaining. And bearable. 

woah woah dude

i’m a gem 

I can tell. Elementary school teacher with a heart of gold. 

awwww your too sweet tome

It’s a Monday. Who the hell gets drunk on a Monday?

teachers

we deserve it

You’re a teacher and you’re single and still going to Bachelorette parties. You’re what, 23? 

i’m 25 and i’m doing greta thanks you very nuch 

cnat believe that i’m supplying my perosnal info to a serial killer

What makes you so sure that I’m a mass murderer? 

ur weird nickname and ur intimate knowledge of the himan body

Mmm yes well a good amount of women do find themselves screaming around me often. Or under me. On top of me...

omg are you sending me dirty jokes

you’re crazy 

What can I say. 

Gotta go, I’m on call tonight. Get to bed safe, Bar Princess. 

mmmkay thanks Doc

  Wednesday 11:29 AM

What do you think is worse: School lunch or hospital food?

hospital food, no doubt

thursday is mac and cheese day here... I could bathe in that stuff

We have Spaghetti Wednesday but that’s the only good thing here. 

mmm how depressing

the teachers do a pot luck once a month and that’s always good

the art teacher next door to me makes the BEST blueberry muffins. 

Lucky. All I get here is vending machine cookies. Anything interesting happening in the elementary world? 

a first grader got lice last week so naturally we all have it now

I had to chop off six inches of my hair

Holy crap. Lice can be vicious, be thankful you didn’t have to shave your head. 

it feels like I did, my hair hasn’t been above my shoulders since the backstreet boys were still touring

Wow. I’m glad to know you’re well cultured. 

of course I am

gotta go, kids are back from music class

Don’t be too hard on them, they deserve a break every once in awhile. 

  Thursday 3:06 PM

Incoming Voice Call

“Jenna you forgot your lunch pail. Have a good day!”

“Hello?”

“Hi Mrs. Peters. I didn’t grade Henry’s test yet, I’ll have it tomorrow. Thanks bye!”

“Helloooo?”

“Steph I gotta grab my things, I’ll be there in a seco- oh shit. Hello?”

“Bar Princess?”

“Doctor Evil Spawn? I must’ve butt dialed you, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay I... I don’t mind the interruption. Are you leaving work?”

“Just about, we’re wrapping up the solar system and I have to bring home the diorama.”

“I was never good at the models, I prefer working with the real thing.”

“Oh ho, a man that works with his hands. I can appreciate that.”

“You know now we’re officially talking and we still don’t know each other’s names.”

“Well around here I’m Miss Wilson, but you can call me Jo.”

“Jo. Hmm I like chicks with dudes names. I’m Dr. Karev but you can call me Alex.”

“Well nice to kinda meet you Alex. I’ll talk to you soon, I gotta get out of here.”

“Talk to you later.”  

  Thursday 4:34 PM

I wouldn’t mind if you were my teacher.

how did I know you’d send me something along those lines

I’m predictable. I’m still calling you Bar Princess. 

as you wish doctor evil spawn

I get to assist on a surgery today. Tonsillectomy. 

like removing tonsils? that’s awesome

for you, not for the kid

Oh she’ll be fine, she gets ice cream and jello for a week.  

okay yeah I might be jealous of her now

id love to be off work for a week and have you waiting on me hand and foot

the ice cream is a nice bonus

You think that’s my job?

well you said you aren’t making the big bucks yet so.... yeah 

Keep dreaming. I’ll talk to you later, gotta scrub in. 

have fun!!!!

[cha-lyn]

interrupted affection

Chapter 8

Bucky Barnes x pocReader  

Warnings: actual smut (finally lol), cussin’, angst

Words: 1554

Summary: Y/N is Wakandan, just returning from a mission as a War Dog. Set a little while after Bucky wakes up from cryo-sleep.

A/N: This is the last chapter. Thank you for reading!!! Reblog/comment/like to show ya love.  

- - - - - - - - - - - 

Wedding planning was going almost perfectly. You had picked out your dress mere days after Bucky proposed. It was about three months after he had been promoted to White Wolf, when he had taken you on a sunset walk to the lake where you shared your first kiss. Bucky was acting nervous, wringing his hands. You figured he was just about to tell you he was going on another week long mission. Instead, he lead you to that shared rock and held you while you watched the sun set. As the stars and the moon made the night bright, Bucky told you how much he loved and got on one knee. Of course you said--screamed-- yes and tackled him to the ground. After 5 minutes of kissing him, 20 of staring at the ring and another 15 kissing him, he was finally able to drag you back up to the palace where your family, Sam Wilson and Natasha Romanova were waiting to congratulate you both.

Champagne was opened and glasses were clinked as people hugged you and chatted. You didn’t miss Sam pulling Bucky into a hug, saying, “Steve. He wanted to make it, but ya know-”

Bucky tensed ever so briefly, shaking his head. “Stop. If he wanted to be here he would.” Sam frowned, not about to argue with the audience. 

The festivities died down around 1am and you and Bucky retreated to your apartment. Bucky took a shower while you stood on the balcony to get some fresh air and watch your ring sparkle in the moonlight. The honking of horns and the laughs of the villagers below making you smile softly and you miss the whoosh of the door opening. Your smile grows as two strong arms wrap around you from behind. Bucky sighs into you and pulls you tighter. You turned around and take him in. His long hair wet and clinging to his face. 

“I love you, doll.”  You grin as he pulls you back inside. 

“I love you, Bucky.”

Bucky pulls your shirt over your head, sending it across the room. Your lips find each others, unrestrained. Bucky find the zipper to your skirt and you help him get rid of his pants. You push him towards your bed, watching him fall onto it and his eyes wash over your body. You moved to get on top of him and ran your hands up his broad chest. He sighed as his eyes fluttered. You kissed his chest and his arms wrapped around you again, hands finding your ass, squeezing enough to get a moan out of you. You moved up to find his mouth. He took the opportunity to flip you on your back. You gazed at him again. 

“Bra off.” Your heart jumped and you obeyed. Bucky hissed, “Damn baby.” His voice sent a shiver through you. He leaned back down to kiss you and caress your breast with his metal hand. The sudden coolness of his touch made you arch into him with a whimper as you tangled your hands in his hair. He moves his hand down to pull off your underwear. His fingers found your clit and started rubbing slowly, torturously. 

“Do not tease me, White Wolf.” You bit his lip and he growled into your mouth. Your hands found his boxers and pushed them down. You knew what you wanted. You found him, hard and ready. He pushed two metal fingers into you, making your eyes roll. You gripped him more firmly, stoking him and running your thumb around his head. He pulled his fingers out and spread your wetness around. You lined him up, “Bucky please.”

He pushed into you, while he kissed you slowly. You moaned when he reached his limit, stretching you like nothing you’d ever experienced. He broke the kiss to nuzzle and kiss into your neck as he started to fuck you, slowly at first. You were a moaning mess underneath him. Bucky sped up his thrusting and moved a metal finger back to your clit, rubbing as you reached your high. You came hard around him, legs locked around his waist and hand pulling at his hair as he moaned with you. Bucky pulled out quickly, coming on your stomach.

“I’m sorry, doll. I didn’t wanna—” you stopped his apology with your lips. 

“Don’t be.” His hair hung down and tickled your face and you giggled. He got up, disappearing into the bathroom and reappearing seconds later with a washcloth. He cleaned you up and you threw on a t-shirt. “I need a nap. You wore me out.”

Bucky laughed, nuzzling his face into your neck. “Let’s go to bed then, doll.” 

“I can’t wait to marry you, Bucky,” you tuck his hair behind his ear. “With all our family and friends with us, celebrating.” Bucky grinned until you said family. “What’s wrong, Buck?”

“Nothing, doll.” He shook his head. Unconvincingly. He got up to pull the covers back and get into bed. You followed. 

“Steve.” He hadn’t spoken to, much less mentioned Steve since telling T’Challa that he’d left. “Shit. I’m sorry. We can call him. I’m sure he misses you.” Bucky gave you a sad smile. 

“Let’s just go to bed. Fuck him. He’s made no effort to amend things. I don’t want him ruining this day or our wedding.”

You sighed. Bucky fell asleep quickly, buy you lay awake. You had to figure out a way to fix the Steve problem. 

- - -

“Shuri! We have a problem.”

The princess’s brows furrowed. “Is it the flower vendor? Did he up the price again?” She stomped over to her computer.

“No! No Shuri, this isn’t about the wedding.” Shuri relaxed. “Well actually it is. Kind of.” Her eyes narrowed. “We need to go to America.”

“Why would we go there?” “Captain America, that’s why. It is supposed to be the happiest day of both of our lives and it won’t be for Bucky unless Steve is there.”

Shuri nodded. “Okay. What's the plan?”

You grinned as you hopped up on the nearest table.- 

- - -

“Are you sure this is okay?” Bucky scratched his head nervously. 

“Yes, White Wolf,” Shuri repeated for the fifth time. “You have diplomatic immunity now. They can’t touch you.”

He nodded. You put your hand on his leg and squeezed. “So, Princess. What are we doing at the Outreach Center?” 

“I’m giving a lecture. You are here as security and Y/N are here to assess the center’s needs and strengths as they pertain to the community.” You nodded at the bullshit answer. The plan was in motion. 

You were greeted by the Center’s supervisor. “It is a pleasure to have you here, Princesses. White Wolf.” She eyed Bucky tentatively. “Right this way to the conference room where we have you set up.” Shuri followed the supervisor, tailed by you and Bucky.

You watched Bucky, in security mode. His eyes searching for threats, escape routes, memorizing the details. You’d made the necessary arrangements and everything was going flawlessly thus far. The four of you got to the conference room. 

“Here it is, I’ll let you all get to it. My office is down the hall if you need me.” She nodded and turned down the hall. 

Shuri turned to you, “I need to ask her something. I’ll be right in.” Bucky moved to go with her. “No, you two go in. It’ll just take a second.” 

Bucky glanced between the two of you, cocking his head, but he went in.  You followed him. 

His entire body tensed when he saw what--who-- was waiting for him. You closed the door. “Steve. Bucky. It’s time for two to make up.” Bucky turned to you, annoyed, as you crossed your arms and blocked the door. Yes, either of them could move you with their pinky toe, but you were hoping it wouldn’t come to that. 

“Doll. Seriously?” Your betrothed clenched his fists. You shrugged, pointing with your eyes at Steve, who had yet to move his eyes off his own hands. He sighed.

“You two are so damn stubborn. Man up. Talk about your feelings and move forward.” Silence. 

For a good ten minutes. 

Finally, “I’m sorry Buck.” Steve looked up at him. “I crossed a line. I was afraid of losing you.” Then he looked at you. “I’m sorry Princess Y/N. I was jealous and that’s on me. I hope you’ll both forgive me.”

You smiled. “I forgive you, Steve.” You stared hard at Bucky. 

“Buck. I-” Bucky held his hand up and Steve stopped talking.  “Why didn’t you come back? If you felt so bad, why didn’t you do something about it?”

Steve shrugged, shaking his head. “Pride I guess. I regret it Buck. I do.” He smiled then. “I’m glad you have someone who isn’t as dumb as me though. She gets things done.” You smiled. 

Bucky nodded. “Yeah. She’s great like that.” 

Another period of silence that felt like an eternity. “I forgive you, man. I want you there, by my side.” You beamed. Steve got up, extended his hand. Bucky smacked his hand out of the way, Steve looked past him at you, caught off guard. Bucky laughed and pulled him into a massive hug.  Bucky turned around to grab you and added you to the hug. “C’mere, doll. This is all your doing.”

“Indeed it is. Now we can get married.” You beamed as the last bit of wedding planning was taken care of. Now for the fun part: the rest of your lives. 

[natsubeatsrock]

Should our heroes exist?

This one might feel weird to tackle. I mean, the idea that people shouldn't exist in a story is reserved for the annoying side characters. We ask if Mineta needs to exist, not if Deku should. I've seen people question if we need Juvia, but no one asks if Natsu was really necessary. The idea that we're following a series in the first place implies that a specific character is necessary for the series to exist and fulfill a specific goal.

And yet do we need that specific hero to exist?

Almost a year into writing this blog, I made the case that Lucy is integral to the series. I've never considered her to be the main character of the series. However, I still maintain that her specific contributions to the series are worth recognizing and worry whether fans recognize that, even and especially on this side of the series finale.

At the same time, a lot of what I'm doing now involves thinking about how the series can and should be reworked. Can I rework a lot of things that made Lucy important to the series? So far, I've cut Natsu and Lucy out of at least one arc each in my rewrite. I have a series devoted to justifying insane ideas like killing off characters and changing dynamics between characters. I absolutely could make Lucy as important as Lisanna is in canon or even non-existent. (Of course, I don't plan on doing this.)

Though, this might be the wrong question to ask. Again, a series needs a hero to exist. So, maybe the proper question to ask is why. Why does this hero exist? Why are we following them?

This is one of the more interesting things about Fairy Tail. In explaining the different members of the Strongest Team, I described them as "a team of five protagonists". Each member has their own goal and could have been the protagonist of another series. And yet, Lucy seems to be the character Mashima has chosen as our lens to view the series, even as she doesn't do the most stuff people would consider to be important. Why would she be the focus?

Lucy serves as our lens into the series because she starts the series in a similar position as the reader: an outsider to Fairy Tail. A lot of her reactions to stuff are the kinds of reactions the average outsider to Fairy Tail has. That tone is set as soon as she questions why dragons would teach magic that dragon slaying magic. Even as she knows more about the magic world than we do, she still has much to learn about it and we learn of these things alongside her. We learn about the guild and its history as she does. In a sense, we join the guild around the same time she does.

Another example of what I'm getting at is Black Clover. That series involves the race between Asta and Yuno to be the Wizard King. The series could easily have been about Yuno starting as a poor villager. getting a rare grimoire, joining the top squad, and rising through the ranks to become the Wizard King. But the story follows Asta, someone who has near-identical qualifications except for the small details of being in the worst squad and not having any magic. Why is he the hero?

As the series progresses, it becomes clear that the Wizard King isn't a title easily received. A lot of hard work goes into becoming the Wizard King. Now I'm not saying Yuno isn't a hard worker as his skills are no doubt the fruit of such works. However, it would be wrong to say that many people work harder than Asta. Being born without magic, he had to train to compensate for his lack of magical ability with his physical ability. Once he gains powers, he still has to work both to control it and fight against the biases associated with being a commoner and still not having magic. (Note: I said he has powers and not magic.) Even as Yuno was from the same orphanage, he's had an easier life, relative to Asta. (As far as I can tell from episode 132.)

Thankfully, it's rare that a series that has a main character who shouldn't exist is allowed to live for long. I don't have examples of this in the media I've been following. What I do have examples of is poor answers to another question: is this character a hero? Even as we can't tell that a character is and should be the main character, should we see them as a good person?

One of the more controversial examples of this is (the movie version of) Captain Marvel. Yeah, we're doing this. There was a deleted scene where she almost destroys a man's hand to get his motorcycle and clothes. This wasn't seen as a good look and the directors and many outside of the audience. (I remember seeing gifs of the scene being filmed and wondering where it was when I saw the movie.)

Of course, the scene was cut and that should be enough of a sign that this didn't give the impression that she was doing the right thing (to the chagrin of the people who'd argue otherwise). But the reason this scene posed an issue is that Carol is supposed to be a hero with a "normal" moral code. (Jury's out on how they did with that.)

Deadpool isn't built the same way. While I could talk about a similar deleted scene in his first movie, I want to talk about a scene in the actual cut. The movie involves him trying to get revenge on the guy who forced powers on him. When he's about to get it, on two different occasions, he's almost talked out of it. And while there might have been reasons to think he will change, as the sequel addresses, he gets his revenge and it isn't much of a shock.

Wade Wilson wasn't built up to be a traditional hero and the movie doesn't do much to give us that expectation. He gives answers and takes actions that are atypical of someone who'd be learning to be doing the right thing and becoming a typical hero. Wade does good things, but he is not a "good guy".

As always, it's important to think through what the story is fundamentally about first. Assuming you know what the story is about (an idea that takes for granted that there is a point to a story that can be ascertained) work through how the characters in a series work to that end. Is the main character of a mystery a good detective or the audience insert? Does the action series lead beat up the bad guys and reinforce the secondary themes? These are the kind of questions to ask yourself about the main character.

To be continued...

[buckybabybaby]

Mr Hollywood (Chapter 10)

Summary: Bucky Barnes, an underpaid teaching assistant in a small English village, dreams of a movie career back in his home country of America. He finally gets the break he's always wanted, and if it wasn't for you, his best friend, he wouldn't have been able to take it.

But is that fact enough to save your friendship when it's tested by the pressures of Hollywood?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Reader (Gender Neutral)

Word count: 1929

Chapter summary: chapter 10 - double figures! And Bucky finally explains himself.

Warnings: One swear word. Some angst.

A/N: this is 6 days late and I'm so sorry :( Hopefully a few people still remember what’s happened nearly two weeks later...!

Previous: Chapter 9

Mr Hollywood Masterlist | Main Masterlist

*****

“Do I need to remind you of the no alcohol on school premises rule? Even fancy Hollywood types like you aren't exempt.”

You announce your presence a couple of meters away from Bucky's shadowy form, not wanting to get too close in case his flight or fight response results in a fist to your face. He still jumps, understandably, it is three in the morning inside a locked playground after all. The chains of the swing clank together as he twists in his seat to face you, and you maintain eye contact, acting braver than you're feeling, aware that there's no running away.

He's gaping at you in an almost comical way. You feel bad for giving him such a fright, but a minuscule part of you is pleased, wanting to hurt him like he hurt you.

“What are you doing here?” His voice is strained.

“I could ask you the same.” You gesture at the bottle he's clasping. “What's that? Didn't think you liked wine much.”

“Oh, no.” He offers it towards you, dropping his arm when you scrunch your nose up, baffled. “It's the apple juice we made last year.”

A hundred bitter-sweet memories flash through your head as he says that, of golden leaves, laden branches hanging low over the lawn, and you and Bucky splashing each other with the hosepipe meant to rinse the fruit. It also reminds you that you never gave him this years efforts, not having the time at Christmas with his flying visit. The glass has long since been forgotten to collect dust.

You move to take the swing next to his, and for a long moment you sit silently together, listening to the branches creek in the wind.

Eventually he turns to you. “Can I talk to you now?”

Arching an eyebrow in permission, you wait for him to continue. As he gathers his thoughts, his gaze flits across your face, over your hair, down to your shoes, raising half a smile at the mud covered wellington's.

You can't have him laughing at you. “Don't even think about being disrespectful about my choice of footwear. I was not dealing with laces at three in the morning.”

He snorts. “Fuck, I've missed you.”  

That was unexpected. “I thought I was pathetically clingy?”

His smile drops. “Probably help if I apologised.”

“Probably.”

“Definitely.” He fidgets before continuing. “There's so much I need to say, I don't know where to start. You deserve a proper explanation, a proper apology, but my heads still so over the place.”

“Don't worry about any of that. I just want to know why you hate me so much.”

“I don't hate you at all!”

“Sure got a funny way of showing that.”

His grip on the chains tightens, trying to catch your eye. “Y/N, please. I didn't mean any of what I said.”

“Then why?”

He doesn't answer immediately, pushing his feet into the soft rubber flooring as he swallows, emitting a small noise not unlike a whimper.

“I suppose it's okay to tell you, it'll be in the news soon enough.”

You're intrigued, confused and worried all at once. “What will?”

Taking a deep breath, he glances away as he begins to speak.

“I thought I was going to live my dream when I got this job. And I was, for the first weeks and months. It was going so well, how could it not? Especially when I was working alongside people like Sam Wilson, you know how much I admire him.”

You fight off a smirk. He's making it easy to fall back into the familiar playful ways, but you need to hear him out before you start showing any cracks in your armour.

“Coming back at Christmas was when it started to go wrong. That was when I realised that maybe I had everything I wanted when I was still here. It was hard to be reminded of my old life and everything I missed when I was severely sleep deprived and nearly losing hair to the stress my directer was putting me through.”

“We wrapped in early spring, then it was just voice-over work. I didn't have to be on set every day and I came back here straight away, needing a break from it all. Then I all but knocked you over outside the shop and just snapped.”

“I wasn't coping and all I could think about is how I wouldn't have even been in this position had it not been for you. As stupid as it sounds, I blamed you for the shit I'd found myself in, for pushing me to go.”

“That doesn't exactly explain-”

“I know. I'm getting there.” You keep quiet and let him talk. “Once it was confirmed the show would get a prime time slot, it all got real. Suddenly all the 'unknowns' like me had dollar signs hanging over our heads. Representatives knew we'd be bringing in money now, and fresh faces attract sponsorships if you work it right. My agent was not the sort to know that though, or anything useful really. Other managers would do a much better job, I wouldn't have chosen him if I had a choice, he was just assigned to me at the start and I hadn't had the chance to do anything about it until then. I hadn't signed any extension contracts yet and he wasn't pleased. So he tried to keep me in his collection.”

“Collection? Eww.”

“Yep. He didn't want to lose me, and so he started with the threats.”

“What do you mean by threats?”

“Dayton's got his own security, even now, and couldn't be touched, so he threatened you. Said he had people close by who could get to you if I didn't do as I was told.”

“What the hell?” You hiss. Your brain can't keep up. “I never...” Thinking back over the last few months, you can't recall ever feeling unsafe or watched in any way.

“No, you wouldn't have. He probably wouldn't have ever done anything but I couldn't take that chance, not when he hinted at links to the Mafia. I just wanted you safe, and the only way I could see that happening was if I made it so you never wanted to see me again. If you weren't even my friend that dick couldn't hold anything over you. That way we'd both be happy. Happy-ish.”

His eyes are glassy as he looks over at you. You're finding it hard to take it all in, trying to find the correct response.

You start with a question. “You said you could tell me 'cos it'll be in the news. Why is that?”

He blows out a breath. “Dayton. Soon as he realised something was wrong he was straight on a plane to force it out of me. He must have got a private detective or something on the case because a few days later my agent was arrested. Turns out he wasn't just awful at his job, he was also involved with manipulating young girls into seedy parties. You don't want to know,” His haunted look proves his statement. “All that matters is he's in custody now. Definitely a prison sentence, a long one hopefully.”

“Day got me a good lawyer too. My names not going to be involved in any way. I didn't know any of that stuff was going on, you have to know that. And there's more than enough evidence without me taking the stand as a witness anyway.”

He seems to have come to the end and you sit wordlessly together again. It's too early in the morning for you to process what he's said, leading to you blurting out the first thing that comes to mind.

“You do realise this sounds like you made it up, right? I'm having trouble believing such an improbable seeming story.”

“I wish I was making it up. I'm not surprised you don't think I'm telling the truth, what with the way I've acted, but when you see it on the news you'll know.” He laughs humourlessly. “Not exactly how I wanted to start my career.”

You bet. “You still didn't have to be so mean to me that night.”

“I know.”

“The Bucky I knew wouldn't have talked to me like that.”

“I know. I wasn't myself at all and I can only apologise. It hasn't been a fun couple of months but it's over now. I promise no matter what happens I won't let it involve you again.” He sighs. “It's not worth it if I lose you along the way.”

“You haven't lost me Bucky,” You whisper, meaning it.

You share a tearful look which says more than words ever could. However strong you told yourself to be, he's always been your weakness, and time hasn't changed that. As you stare at each other, you can see he's telling the truth, and now you've got to work out how you move forward together.

The moment is brought to an end as you shiver, a particularly strong gust lifting the ends of your hair.

“I should walk you home before you freeze to death in your pyjamas,” He teases.

“Hey! My pyjamas are cute.”

“Never said they weren't.”

He smiles softly, standing up and offering you a hand. You take it, the warm skin against yours so familiar you pull away as soon as you're stood, too many emotions flowing through you at the slightest touch.

Following his lead back across the playground and into the lane, a comfortable silence surrounds you, almost like all those times you'd make your way home together when he lived just a few streets down from you. Almost.

Bucky opens your gate for you, and comes to a stop outside your front door, hesitating before patting you gently on the shoulder. Turning around, he walks slowly back up the front path, and you can't just let him leave. Not again.

The hurt is still there but tonight’s revelations have changed everything and the chance of having him back in your life is all you can think of.

“Bucky!”

He whips back round. “Yeah?”

“It's half-term next week. It you're still around, maybe we could do something?

“Really?” You nod. “Yes. Definitely! We have to wait and see if we're recommissioned, so I was just going to hang around for a while. You can text me when you're free.” He fishes for his phone in his jeans. “I've got a new number, let me give it to you.”

“Mines upstairs, wait a minute.”

You rush up to your bedroom, shaking your head at Bucky's incredulous, “Seriously, who goes anywhere without a mobile these days?” Floating up after you.

Coming back down, you open up your contacts so he can add himself. “Not everyone has Sam Wilson on speed dial like you,” You counter, causing Bucky to blush. “Oh my gosh, you do! Which number is he? One?”

“All right, that's enough.”

You grin at him, a real smile, and his face is similarly bright as he hands back your phone and steps away.

“I'm glad we ran into each other Y/N. Even at such an unsocial hour.”

“So am I. Hey, have you got somewhere to stay tonight? Or do you want to-”

“I'm good, don't worry.” He pauses at the end of the garden. “See you soon, hopefully.”

This time you let him leave, and as you climb up to bed again, it feels as though a great weight has been lifted and a peaceful nights sleep is within reach once more.

*****

Chapter 11

[bibliophileiz]

An Ode to Spoilers: How ‘shock value’ flies in the face of conventional storytelling

My name is Iz and I love spoilers.

One of my favorite books I’ve ever read is an epic tragic love story that ends with the lovers dead. The first dies suddenly and horribly, and the other is left embittered, hopelessly navigating his now empty existence until he too dies in an unmomentous scene that feels almost more like a sigh of relief than the gut-wrenching destruction of a character I spent 353 pages with by that point. 

Here’s the thing though: I knew all that was coming when I started Madeline Miller’s The Song of Achilles, because I know how Homer’s The Iliad ends.

I’ve read a handful of retellings of the fall of Troy, and I never expect them to have happy endings. (I was pleasantly surprised when David and Stella Gemmell’s Troy trilogy ended with two of the characters living happily ever after.) Same goes with any stories that take place during destructive moments in history -- The Other Boleyn Girl will end with Mary watching her sister’s execution, The Titanic will always sink, and any book you read about the Holocaust may be about hope, but it will also be about trauma. 

So let’s take it out of the context of history and into fiction. One of the most famous tragic love stories of all time, Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, tells you in the prologue in Act I that Romeo and Juliet will die at the end -- presumably so that people who wanted a happy ending know to leave right then and come back when Much Ado About Nothing is playing. 

Shakespeare wasn’t the first or only storyteller to do this either. The audiences of Greek tragedies knew good and well Antigone was going to die for her loyalty to family and the gods. Even the muses in the opening of Homer’s The Odyssey kind of tell you what’s about to happen. Which suggests that in many of the most iconic and long-lasting stories in Western culture* the storytellers haven’t been too concerned with spoilers.

This is not what we’re seeing with storytellers today.  

Possibly because fans are now obsessed with getting online and talking out theories for what and how certain plots will play out, writers -- and TV writers in particular -- have become obsessed with “subverting audience expectations.” Some have even come out and said they’ve changed endings after fans correctly predicted their plans. Think about that for a second: audience surprise is now more important to some storytellers than having a plot-driven narrative.

There’s a scene in the CW show Jane the Virgin where, in a flashback, a precocious young Jane at her first ever book reading asks a romance author why she ended a particular book with the couple NOT living happily ever after. The author tells her love doesn’t always work out.

“Yeah, in real life,” Jane says. “But this is a romance novel. In a romance novel, they get a happily ever after, not happily until a mortar shell explodes just when Jean Luc’s finally coming home from the war!

“Everyone knows in tragedies they end up dead, in comedies they end up happy and in romance novels they end up together,” she later adds.

Of course the author tells Jane basically what head show writers David Benioff and D.B. Weiss told us about the end of Game of Thrones earlier this year: “Sometimes you need to subvert the ending for the element of surprise.”

The takeaway for Jane is that she has to read the endings of books first so that she knows what happens. This is something that comes up in other meta stories about storytelling. (In the 2003 movie Alex and Emma, Emma, played by Kate Hudson, tells professional novelist Alex, played by Luke Wilson, that she always reads the ends of books before deciding whether she wants to invest her time in the whole thing. Alex is flabbergasted. Also, I need to rewatch that movie.) 

Does this mean I think all TV shows, books, movies, etc. should be spoiled? No. But it does raise the point that audiences want to know they’re on the same page as the storyteller. I don’t want Rob Thomas to manipulate my emotions and make me think I’m watching a particular type of story only to blow Logan Echolls up in the last 10 minutes. I don’t want to read 10,000 pages and watch 7 seasons of a Jaime Lannister redemption arc that ends with him riding back to King’s Landing for a pointless death scene with the woman who sent him down the path of self-destruction in the first place. And I better fucking not have watched Kylo Ren oversee the massacre of a peaceful village at the beginning of The Force Awakens for The Rise of Skywalker to end with him banging Rey. Because those stories weren’t presented to me as the kind of stories that would have those endings.

If Game of Thrones the TV show had told us at the outset that this was the story of The Tragedy of Danaerys Targaryen, would as many people have been shocked, pissed off, bitterly disappointed in the ending to a show they’d spent literal years watching and being invested in? 

The other side of that question, of course, is: If Game of Thrones the TV show had told us at the outset that this was the story of The Tragedy of Danaerys Targaryen, would as many people have watched it in the first place, knowing it would inevitably end with Danaerys’ downfall?

Call me crazy, but I think yes. The show would still have been successful. Hell, I’d argue it would even have been better -- with everyone knowing the end, getting there is tighter. There are fewer false starts and unnecessary characters, the writers, actors and audience are all on the same page, that whole Dorne subplot probably doesn’t happen. With a general consensus on the destination, it all becomes about the journey.

And if we’re really being honest with ourselves, that’s what storytelling is actually about. Because I read 369 pages of The Song of Achilles, knowing damn well it wouldn’t end happily for Patroclus and Achilles but also getting to see how happy they were in the middle -- how their choices brought them to Troy to fight with the Greeks, even though they didn’t start the war themselves; how they spent 10 years making a life there together; how Achilles brought love to Patroclus’ life and how Patroclus kept Achilles human throughout the war. And instead of being a bitter love story, it was a beautiful one, and it was worth the ending.

Having an audience that understands the writer’s storytelling goals will always be better than leaving an audience shocked, angry, and confused at the wholesale destruction of characters they’ve invested in. Intentional storytelling will always be better than shock value.

*I say stories in Western culture because, unfortunately, I am not as familiar with stories in other cultures. (I know/have heard of some of them, but don’t know them well enough to know what the prologue says. Someone who knows -- does The Epic of Gilgamesh tell you at the outset that Enkidu dies?) But I’d be interested to know if some cultures care about spoilers more than others, and just generally would like to see more discussion on this whole topic.

[whatthefoucault]

A Chronological List of Works by me, whatthefoucault: the Everything Edition

So it turns out I’ve actually written a very good number of words.  Almost all of the superhero things I’ve written fall into the same timeline/continuity, which I like to call Earth-212, adjacent to a few canons and then sort of also has a life of its own. I wasn’t sure how best to organise this, but here’s an attempt at placing all of these works into a vague chronological order, though almost all of them can be read independently and the reading order doesn’t really matter. Largely stucky, with some other Cap Fam shenanigans, and also a lot of entries for frostmaster and other Revengers business, some Hawkeyes, and various others. Heed the tags in each fic, but bear in mind I’m here for softness, recovery, finding one’s place in the world, and that’s largely what I’m here to write about.  If this list of everything-in-chronological-order is overwhelming and you want to get more specific, here’s:

Cap Fam

Revengers

Miscellaneous

The Stargazer’s Field Guide To Constellations

By the time Bucky happened upon him, doubled over on the front steps of the library, Steve was already as green as a plate of creamed spinach.

And My Heart Beats So That I Can Hardly Speak

Steve doesn't dance, but this was a special occasion.

(A Few Inches Too Far) Underneath The Mistletoe

It was purely by chance that Steve happened upon a scruffy little sprig of discarded mistletoe on their way back from dinner with the Barnes family.

So Take It From Me, Captain America

"Ok, Captain America PSA number four, take one, and... action."

Sextown, U.S.A.

The message was vague on details, but the urgency in Wade’s voice told Steve it was serious, and that he should come alone.

“Help me, Steve Rogers,” he pleaded. “You’re my only hope.”

Steve had to admit that that got to him.

(It would be three months before Steve would see Star Wars for the first time. Needless to say, he was not amused when he did.)

... In which two supersoldiers form a very special bond across several time zones, many states, and more all-you-can-eat breakfast than anyone should ever eat in their life.

Advanced Seminar In Postmodern Cultural Analysis, Lesson Five

In which Steve Rogers and his very good friend Wade Wilson hang out.

The Sand And The Sea

Clint and Kate have not talked about that thing that happened.

Bring Your Silver Arrows

After that thing that happened with Kate, Clint's going through some stuff.

Continental Breakfast Not Included

Sam had definitely asked for separate beds, but they had been driving since before sunrise, and it was almost midnight.

This Is Going To Make For An Interesting Expenses Claim Form

The scene before him as he rushed to the bathroom door, one pant leg still flapping awkwardly underfoot, would have to anyone else been highly out of the ordinary, but they were superheroes, after all.

The Season For Plums

One day, a man went to the market to buy plums. 

Notes From A Dirty Attic

I don't know what I'm doing.

My name is Bucky. I come from Brooklyn. I died in the war.

Particle-Wave Duality

While Bucky is napping, Steve reads to him.

Blackout Nights And Tight Spaces

It was cold, then sleep, but it was different this time. He was dreaming.

Caprine Management

In which Steve meets Bucky's new friends.

Everyone’s A Winner

Little did the Grandmaster know, when he settled in by the pool, that his evening was about to become much more interesting.

The Art Of The Co-Operative Endgame

The Grandmaster surveyed the board as Loki prepared to make his move, and - oh, this was interesting, he thought - there was a very good chance indeed that Loki might actually win.

Moonshakes

"Hey Scrappy," said the Grandmaster, "what do you think of the new guy, uhh, Loki?"

Gamalost

In which the Grandmaster has found the right companion with whom to share one of his very favourite things.

or

When Loki falls out of the sky and into the Grandmaster’s lap, he gets everything he hopes for and more. The more comes in the form of cheese. A lot of cheese.

Two Seat Sofa, Hensta Light Brown

"So..." Steve hesitated to finish the question, "are we dating?"

(In which Steve and Bucky come home.)

I Guess That This Must Be The Place

He closed his eyes, and prayed his words would project over the distance, somehow:

Count down from a hundred, and then come and find me, my sunshine.

... in which the Grandmaster embarks on an intergalactic road trip in search of his love.

A Constellation Of Sunlight, Beneath The Cherry Tree

It was well into the night when they lay together, but it was not until the morning that they made love.

Rugbrød, Fløtemysost, og Molter

There were some things the Grandmaster needed to know about Loki, and it seemed, from the shift she felt in her bones as she awoke, that this was the morning to address them.

No Less Than Three Kinds of Cheese

The sun was out and the park was beautiful, but it was still too cold for a picnic.

Sugaring

Every morning, Steve sets out from the little cabin to tend to their maple trees. 

Solskinnsboller

The fact that no bakery in the entire staggering metropolis he currently called home had ever so much as heard of solskinnsboller was tragic, but Loki was nothing if not resourceful. He would just have to make them himself.

Butter, Sugar, Flour, Eggs

"What was my grandma's name?" asked Bucky, apropos of nothing.

Syzygy

It was cloudy enough that most people chose to forego the beach that Tuesday, but such things would not deter the Grandmaster and Loki from a day out.

American Globs

Objectively, he knew everything was fine. He knew they were fireworks, and that they were beautiful, and back in the day, he and Steve used to sit under the stars together and watch them light up the sky with wonder and delight.

But time had passed since then.

It’s Like Right Now

Nat and Sam visit a street food market.

Me And My Baby Gonna Touch That Leather

"I think we should fuck," said Bucky, as Steve began climbing back under the duvet.

Say The Magic Word

"Hey, if you're going past the kitchen, do you think you could get me another coffee?"

Two Brooklynites and One Big Apple

“You did good out there today,” Captain America said, brushing a layer of detritus from his unfathomably broad shoulder. “I’ll see you around.”

“Not if I see you first,” replied Miles, fingergunning with one hand as he sent a web rope fwipping off into the distance with the other, catapulting himself away at tremendous speed.

… in which two superheroes battle with bad guys, embark on community art lessons, and a friendship forms along the way.

The Nemophilists

“Conspicuous,” said Steve, apropos of nothing. Bucky was putting away the last of the clean dishes.

“Conspicuous?” asked Bucky, nesting the heatproof glass bowl precariously in a short stack of significantly smaller cereal bowls.

“Yeah,” said Steve, scooping last of the leftovers into a container that, it turned out, was a tablespoon too small. “I’m.”

Nemophilist: (n.) One who is fond of the forest.

The Shape Of A Snake In A Defensive Coil

In which Loki's not very well, and the Grandmaster volunteers a solution.

Long Hair Problems, And How To Outsmart Them

“So I guess we’re not getting up early to line up for brunch?”

The End Of A Century

This is the story of a sister and her brother.

As the shadow of the war fades and gives way to new conflicts, Becca Barnes battles the constraints of the twentieth century: an education, a marriage, a career, with the ghosts of her youth never far from her memory. As the twenty-first century barrels on through its awkward teenage phase, Bucky Barnes builds a new life, with new friends, and a burgeoning relationship with his lifelong companion Steve, the erstwhile Captain America, as they struggle to find their place in the world. The last time Becca saw her brother was on the eve of war; neither of them expected, some seventy-something years, a hip replacement, and one new arm later, to be reunited.

This is a story about family.

And Our Dreams Are Making Us Nice Stories

Steve had been adamant that a party was unnecessary; however, his friends had insisted, bundling into his little Brooklyn apartment with pizzas and a selection of local microbrews and seven-layer taco dip and two dozen supermarket cupcakes emblazoned with the most neon buttercream he had ever seen piped into the stripes of little American flags.

A Ghost That The Others Can’t See

"What'd you tell her about me?"

"Only the good stuff."

From the Mighty Forest of Vacherin to the Belegen Fields

When it came to special events, the Grandmaster did not do understated.

The Littlest Balsam In Brooklyn

In which Bucky and Steve get a tree.

When Life Gives You Limoncello

In which Bucky has baked a pie. 

Blessings

At last, the shape of life after everything had begun to come into focus. Bucky and Steve consider the next steps, and some friends come to visit.

Kinugoshi

When the Grandmaster had suggested somewhere special for lunch, Loki was not expecting a small, four-table restaurant in an unremarkable suburb of Kyoto, but there they were.

Stargazing

"You know what? Let's get out of the city," Steve suggested after dinner.

(In which Steve has a very quiet birthday.)

The Mighty Hrothgar

"Uhh, I dunno about this place, stardust," the Grandmaster said to Loki, his tone hushed. "I've introduced myself to, like, five dogs, and none of them have said a word. Why don't they like me?"

The Fundamentals of Sciurine Linguistics

Sam Wilson was sure about three things: the words Captain America were enough to nab a table for two at the most popular noodle bar in the East Village on short notice, everyone loved a good noodle bar, and ramen was up there with corn on the cob and chicken wings as the worst possible food choice for a first date.

Eight Evenings In The Kitchen

The Barnes-Rogers Hanukkristmas season was always going to be one spent almost exclusively in the kitchen.

Light Showers And A Gentle Breeze

They had been under no illusions that there would be a guarantee of snow, but nothing could have quite prepared them for the abundant, relentless sprinkle of rain.

In which Bucky and Steve go somewhere quiet for Christmas.

Nine And Three-Quarters

"I don't get it, stardust," puzzled the Grandmaster. "It was supposed to be right here. Between Platforms 9 and 10."

Strollin’

"Hot dogs?" asked Steve.

"Hot dogs," agreed Bucky.

The Greatest Thing

In which the Grandmaster plays an early afternoon slot at his very first Midgardian jazz festival.

On A Quiet Morning In The Last Forest In Brooklyn

“We said we wanted to keep the guest list short,” protested Steve. “Just close family, and close friends. Nothing expensive, nothing... tacky.”

“As if you’re one to complain about tacky,” countered Tony. “I got my invitation by group text. Who does that?”

...in which Bucky and Steve get married.

The Witches Of Føroyar

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, nestled in a little cottage just beyond the rocky shores of a tiny, windswept island, lived two very special people indeed. The green witch drew his power from the moon and the stars and the deep, dark night sky; while the gold witch shone with the power of the sun, dazzling and bright. They loved the island and the mountains and the stormy sea, but most of all, they loved each other very much.

[vagrantblvrd]

Infinite Possibilities (1/1)

Summary: When it comes down to it, it’s not that Ryan and Jeremy refuse to tell the others how they met, no. It's more that depending on who asks (and how and why and when), the story changes.

Or: Five ways the Battle Buddies didn't meet and one they did.

Notes: Inspired by exchanges with @miss-ingno and YorkandDelta who wanted to know how the Battle Buddies met in this AU and gave me the idea for this ridiculousness. <333!

AO3

Gavin’s the first one to ask.

Too curious for his own good, and takes the opportunity provided him when Lester calls them in for a risky job he claims he can’t trust anyone else with.

It’s an odd decision on Lester’s part, bringing the four of them in on this, considering the history they have with each other.

Not quite allies, not quite enemies, and not quit sure which side they should land on because there’s gut instinct and stupid human want.

Jeremy’s wary around Michael and fondly exasperated with Gavin. Michael’s eyeing all of them like he can’t believe his fucking luck to be stuck with so many idiots. Gavin is vaguely amused by the whole situation because aside from Lester, everyone here has tried to kill him at least once. And Ryan -

Gavin still unsettles him. Something about him makes it easy for Ryan to let his guard down around him even though he knows better. (Los Santos is a good teacher in that regard.)

“The two of you seem to know each other,” Gavin says, examining the array of weapons Lester’s acquired for their use.

If he was anyone else, Ryan would think it’s an idle comment. Just a simple observation, like what a nice day it is or my goodness, Lester certainly did get them a lot of explosives, didn’t he?

But this is Gavin. The only person to survive the Vagabond, extenuating circumstances or not.

Ryan shrugs, tugging a grenade out of Gavin’s hands because no.

He remembers what Gavin can do with those, and he’d like to keep his car in one piece this time if it’s not to much to ask for. (It really, really shouldn’t be.)

“You could say that,” he agrees, because Gavin’s not wrong.

========

Ryan’s separated from his squad on an operation when he runs into a kid in the same boat.

Young, probably straight out of boot. Clean-cut with his jaw set, and a good little soldier who has no damn clue what happened to set things off like this but damned if he isn’t going to do his job. (Because orders, and it hurts remembering how young Ryan was when he figured out the people giving them weren’t always right.)

This mess isn’t his fault, though, and Ryan really should have listened to his gut on this one, that bad feeling he had during the briefing and every moment after that up to the moment things went to hell on them.

Bad intel, and part of him wants to think it wasn’t intentional, but considering how quickly things went to shit on them – how prepared they were for his squad - he knows it was.

“Landmines that way,” Ryan says, and feels a twinge of guilt as he takes ammo off fallen soldier.

One of theirs, maybe even this kid’s friend with the way there’s a spill of chain and a set of dog tags hanging from his clenched fist. The way he watches Ryan with narrowed eyes, but hasn’t made a move for the rifle he’s carrying.

There’s no rank insignia or anything to give the kid to work with, which is kind of the point since Ryan and his squad were never here on a mission that didn’t happen.

The fact that things went to hell so badly that this kid and his unit got pulled into things going to make it a hell of a lot harder for the brass if (when) word gets out about this one.

“Landmines,” the kid echoes, hint of an accent to it – Boston maybe?

“Yeah,” Ryan says, mouth twisting. “My squad found them the hard way.”

The damn minefield wasn’t the start of things, but damn if it didn’t do just as much damage.

Killed Hopkins straight off, and enough blood to think Wilson was living on borrowed time. Kerrigan could still be out there, stubborn as anything, but he’ll be making his way to the extraction point with the package they came here to for.

There’s no route out of here that will get him there in time for a chopper ride out of here, not with how much is relying on that package getting home, so Ryan’s on his own here.

The kid hisses in sympathy, and Ryan looks away, tapping his fingers against his thigh as he thinks.

The mountains here play merry hell with communications, and the only road in or out twists its way though several villages and small towns. They might be able to get their hands on a vehicle, get somewhere safe they can call a chopper in, get the hell out of here.

Ryan looks at the kid as he realizes the direction his thoughts have gone. His own squad is fucked, which is something he’s deliberately not thinking about now, but this kid -

This kid’s squad is out there somewhere, but there’s enemy militia combing the area who tend to shoot first and ask questions never. Ryan doesn’t want to leave the kid here, but he doesn’t have time to stand around arguing with him if he’s determined to regroup with his squad.

“You have a plan?” the kid asks, looking to Ryan for answers as if Ryan knows what the fuck he’s doing.

“Follow the road. Steal a car. Get the hell out of here,” Ryan says succinctly, and shrugs at the look it gets him.

It’s not the best plan, but they’re short on options. There’s a route through the mountains, old hiking and game trails, but in the dark it’s all but a death sentence. A few miles to their east there’s a supply camp, but with the militia out there -

“We’re fucked, aren’t we?”

“Not necessarily,” Ryan hedges.

“Right,” the kid says with a resigned little laugh, “that’s real convincing, pal.”

Ryan cocks his head as the kid sticks his hand out, this look on his face that says he knows they’re probably going to die, but fuck it.

“Jeremy,” he says. “I’d say it’s a pleasure meeting you, but uh, you know.”

Ryan laughs, and shakes Jeremy’s hand.

“Ryan,” he says, “and yeah, I do.”

Their odds aren’t great, but things could be worse, so there’s that.

========

“I don’t buy it,” Gavin says, soot smudges on his face and this cut on his cheek from flying debris.

Ryan groans, ribs aching from the force of the explosion, and somehow manages to sit up, putting his back to the trunk of a fallen tree for support.

“Yeah?” he asks, smiling in spite of himself at the look on Gavin’s face.

Job’s done, and Jeremy and Michael are on their way to pick them up because someone - Ryan’s not going to name names (Gavin) - blew his car up.

Again.

Gavin makes his way over to Ryan and drops down with a groan, hesitating before he leans against him.

Ryan freezes for a moment before he realizes it’s pretty cold out and neither of them are exactly dressed for it. (Of course Gavin’s trying to steal his body heat like the clever little thief he is.)

He watches as Gavin stretches his legs out, hissing softly as he checks his ankle’s range of motion after that spill he took earlier.

“Yeah,” Gavin says with a quiet chuckle.

Ryan hums, putting an arm over Gavin’s shoulder when he presses closer, because because heat conservation or something along those lines.

========

Jeremy calls him a mother hen for this, but Ryan needs to make sure his body armor’s on right before they go out. Superstition or something else, Ryan doesn’t know or care.

Michael’s watching them from across the room, eyes tracking Jeremy as he heads over to talk to Gavin. (The whole reason Ryan’s so insistent on double-checking everyone’s body armor because he’s so...cavalier about wearing his own, and that worries Ryan.)

“Something wrong?” Ryan asks, moving to check Michael’s body armor.

After a brief altercation that Ryan refuses to call a slap fight Michael relents with moderate grace, and lets him check the straps, the way the armor lays.

Michael shrugs.

“You and Jeremy,” he says, making a vague gesture in their direction. “You work together before all this?”

Another job for Lester, and the four of them have worked together enough that genuine trust is starting to form between them. (Which is nice, because stealing a fucking SWAT truck isn’t going to be easy.)

“Occasionally,” Ryan says, wondering what brought this on. “I’ve worked with you before too, in case you’ve forgotten.”

Michael scowls at the deflection, before it morphs into a sly little smirk.

“Yeah,” Michael says, because he’s never going to let Ryan live that one time – one time – Ryan had wasn’t great at driving, “and you still cant drive for shit.”

========

Ryan’s been out on medical leave, but the team’s kept in the loop when it comes to gossip.

All the little scandals like the one involving who keeps eating other people's lunch out of the break room fridge. What idiot fell on their ass running the obstacle course doing something they shouldn’t have for a stupid bet. How McCallister wrecked a squad car he had no business driving because someone questioned his skill behind the wheel, which.

Wow, yeah, didn’t see that one coming.

The new sniper they brought in from Boston - Dooley? - to replace Hammond when he fucked up his shoulder helping his cousin move. (Hammond’s never going to live that one down, because who the hell does that?)

Ryan doesn’t see the guy at all until the third day he’s back at work, and when he does all he can think is that the rumors about him have to be true.

Dooley either managed to impress someone high up or has amazing blackmail material on same, because there’s no way he meets the height requirements to get into the police academy, land a spot on SWAT

To be fair though, people have done worse than having that bit of their records fudged or wearing shoes with lifts in them to make the height different less glaringly obvious in person for the job. (Watching him shoot, makes Ryan wonder if someone saw that and knew fudging his records was worth it.)

“Impressive, wouldn’t you say?” Carter asks, glint in her eye as Dooley trots over to the target examine the shot grouping, and she knows how Ryan gets.

“Rumors say he has a problem with heights?” Ryan says, because he knows how she gets.

Protective of her people, and if she called Ryan down here like this she wants a favor.

And true to form, Carter slides him a look, corner of her mouth ticking up just the slightest bit.

“Figured you’d be the best bet to help him out with that,” she says. “Theater kid right? Used to handle lighting?”

There are days Ryan regrets sharing that part of his life with his teammates, but seeing the bright smile on Dooley’s face as he heads over to them, he thinks it might not have been his worst mistake.

“I think I could figure something out,” he says, earnest little smile on his face when she shoots him a look.

“Just don’t break him, Haywood. He’s a good kid,” she mutters, as if Ryan would ever do something like that, heaven forbid.

========

Michael’s not wrong about being a better driver than Ryan. Whipping the SWAT van around tight corners and slinging it through narrow back streets with ease as they they evade the police chasing them.

Choppers in the sky, and it that would be a problem if Gavin and Jeremy didn’t have that angle covered. Black gunship lifting off a roof overhead as they pass by just as planned.

Michael sliding Ryan a grin at Gavin and Jeremy’s whoops of excitement over the comms as they smoothly drop into place behind the police choppers.

“Thought he had a fear of heights?” Michael asks, nearly putting the SWAT van on two wheels as he takes a sharp right, Ryan bracing himself against his door as he does.

Ryan smirks as the police choppers realize they’re being hunted, too slow to move out of the way  in time as Jeremy opens fire.

“Give him something to shoot and he’s fine,” which is more or less the truth.

========

This job requires more finesse than the usual ones Lester sends them on. Has Ryan and Jeremy being fitted for tuxedos, which is new.

Gavin’s absolutely delighted watching as Jeremy holds still for the tailor as they scrutinize  the fit of his tuxedo. Michael’s leaning against the wall looking highly unimpressed with Lester’s latest plan, and Ryan -

“Oh, you look lovely,” Gavin says as Ryan steps out of the changing room, tugging uselessly at his too-tight collar.

Ryan’s eyes narrow, but Gavin seems to be sincere. Circles around Ryan making these little noises of approval before stopping in front of Ryan again, gleam of amusement in his eyes.

“Not your first time wearing one of these?”

Ryan’s eyes cut to Jeremy who looks a little harried as the tailor and his assistant position him him this way and that.

“No.”

========

Officially, there’s no such thing as rival agencies when both parties work for the same government.

Unofficially -

“Jesus Christ,” Ryan mutters, shoulder aching where the other agent shot him.

Impressive aim with the clear intent to kill, and Ryan needs to have a talk with his superiors about what constitutes need to know information when he gets back.

If he gets back.

“Come on out,” the other agent calls, acoustics taking his words and twisting them, adding an eerie echo that sends a shill up Ryan’s spine. “I just want to have a little chat.”

Ryan’s bleeding through a tuxedo that costs more than he makes in a year. He’s trapped in the underbelly of the hotel an auction dealing in state secrets and being hunted by an agent from another agency. He thinks it’s fair to say that this is not his best day.

This was supposed to be an easy mission.

Get in, get the files and out again without being caught. The cover he’s using is an established one, reputation built up over the years, and well-respected in this community.

Trusted, even.

“No?” the other agent asks, sounding disappointed. “Guess that means I’ll just have to find you.”

Ryan’s got a bit of a reputation at the agency for being creepy when really it’s more that he has a knack for theatrics.

This agent, however, is making him reevaluate his fellow agent’s concerns because it’s amazingly unnerving.

The worst part is they’ve been manipulated into this position, someone looking to use them to further their agenda.

Setting them at cross-purposes, his handler had mused before Ryan lost contact with them.

Playing their agencies against one another and no way to tell who was in the right, or how high up any of it went. (Ryan and this other agent mere pawns in whatever game they’re playing, and it burns realizing how blind he’s been.)

Ryan’s earpiece is long gone, abandoned near the beginning of this little cat-and-mouse game, and it’s just him and his wits and whatever luck he has left to get him through this.

Ryan checks his weapons, and realizes he’s down to half a magazine and his last throwing knife. Regret for that foolish decision to leave his garrote in the agency drop box because he felt it wouldn’t be needed after all.

Hindsight and all that, he supposes, and pushes himself to his feet to finish this one way or another.

========

Gavin’s side-eyeing Ryan so hard he can’t help but laugh.

“Stop it, you’re bleeding you idiot,” he chides, but it’s tempered with this exasperated sort of fondness as he puts pressure on the gash along Ryan’s ribs.

His hands are cool, soothing, and Ryan relaxes into his touch.

He can hear Michael fussing over Jeremy a few feet away, snapping and snarling at him in worry. Jeremy deliberately provoking him every now and then because he’s an asshole.

Another of Lester’s jobs out of the way and a few more scars to add to their collection.

“Haywood,” Ryan says in an atrocious mockery of Gavin’s accent as he takes over the job of making sure he doesn’t bleed out on them. “Ryan Haywood.”

Gavin scowls at him, but it’s belied by the mirth in his eyes and gentle touch as he checks Ryan for other injuries.

========

“Hey,” Michael says, keeps his voice down so Jeremy won’t notice. (Won’t look over and know they’re talking about him.) “He going to be okay with this one?”

Jeremy’s tough, can take a hit better than any of them.

Used to throwing himself fist-first into a fight, wild grin on his face and a snarl behind his teeth. Worse than Michael, really, and he’s the one with the wolf on his back.

Know that doesn’t help when this latest job of Lester’s hits a little too close to home for comfort.

Someone setting up fight rings that don’t play by the rules Los Santos abides by when it comes to them. Doesn’t care if a fighter dies in the ring so long as they bring in a paying crowd beforehand.

Rumors that they’ve been forcing people into the ring, grabbing them off the streets and worse. No way to know how long it would have gone on if they hadn’t made the mistake of snatching one of Lester’s contacts and brought his attention to what’s been happening.

Jeremy volunteering to act as bait before any of them could say a damn thing because he knows his way around the fight rings, who else better? Stubborn set to his jaw and this look in his eyes that said he’d rather it was him than any of them.

The look of surprise on his face when Michael stepped forward to volunteer as well. (Eyes flicking to Jeremy and his, “What? You think you're the only one here who's gone into the ring? Get over yourself, asshole.”)

“Jeremy will be fine,” Ryan says, because this time he’s not alone. “You’ll be watching his back in there the whole time, right?”

Ryan’s needed elsewhere, much as it galls him, and none of them want Gavin anywhere near the fucking place. (He’s fast and agile, resourceful as hell, yes, but the people they put in the rings are goddamned vicious. Desperate and terrified and all the more dangerous for it.)

Michael looks to where Gavin’s talking to Jeremy. The two of them with their heads bent over Gavin’s laptop as they go over every step of the plan again, Jeremy pressing close to Gavin.

“You know,” Michael presses, worried and angry and scared because he’s never seen Jeremy like this. “About this.”

That -

“He’s got us,” Ryan says, because God help anyone who tries to hurt one of them now.

========

There are rules to the fighting rings in Los Santos, ones Ryan’s worked hard to keep in place.

Every so often though, someone thinks they can get creative. Think they’re being clever with their little loopholes. (That he won’t find out.)

His contacts tell him about some asshole with a ring on Elysian Island, close to one of Simeon’s operations.

When he goes down to check it out, he leaves the mask and face paint at home. Doesn’t want to spook the people behind it before he makes his move.

He finds a kid facing off against a behemoth of a man nearly twice his size.

The kid’s got blood on his teeth and a manic look in his eyes. Looks to be running on nothing but sheer will-power and he’s winning>.

Fights mean, dirty, and doesn’t give a fuck about it as he drops his opponent and turns to face the crowd, eyes landing on Ryan like he knows.

“You next?” the kid demands, bravado running high.

Ryan watches as the kid prowls closer to the chain link fencing meant more to protect the crowd from the fighters than keep them inside the ring.

The crowd around him is losing their minds at the challenge, voices yelling for blood merging to create a nightmare cacophony of sound.

The kid’s.

Ryan’s, if he accepts his challenge and steps into the ring.

Anyone but theirs.

Ryan looks around him. Sees the faces looking back with this horrible hunger in their eyes that sparks that steady burn of anger in his chest into a blaze as he  rises to his feet to bring it all tumbling down around them.

========

“It didn’t happen like that, did it?” Michael asks, tired and hurting, and trusting Ryan not to hurt him as he cleans the blood off his face.

Ryan sighs, looking over to where Gavin has Jeremy. Quiet words and gentle hands, one curled lightly on the back of Jeremy’s neck to help ground him. Ryan picks up the tweezers to pick splinters out of Michael’s hands, jaw clenching at the choked off  noise Jeremy makes as Gavin carefully enfolds him into a hug.

“No,” Ryan says, because he’s not infallible, and Los Santos is full of people worse than he could ever be. “But I wish it had.”

Maybe then he could have gotten Jeremy out of the fucking ring sooner.

========

Gavin’s on the good stuff, dopey grin on his face and a mess of uncoordinated limbs and messy hair and-

“If you aren’t careful you’re going to tear your stitches.”

- injuries.

Deliberate, intentional, and bound to scar. Ribs that have to hurt like a bitch, and this new fear of being left alone that makes Ryan want to break something.

Gavin makes a face, pulling the sleeve of his shirt up to look at the bandage on his arm, hitching his shoulder slightly because he’s got another one there too that limits his mobility.

He’s a mess, and Ryan doesn’t know why the hell Michael and Jeremy trusted him to keep him safe while they deal with thee fuckers who did this to him when he should be the one out there looking for them.

Michael knows Gavin the best out of the three of them, and Gavin’s always been comfortable around Jeremy. Ryan is -

“Ryan,” Gavin says suddenly. “Are you ever going to tell us how you and Jeremy met?”

Ryan makes the mistake of meeting his eyes, and while Gavin’s puppy-dog eyes aren’t nearly as effective as Jeremy’s or Michael’s, they’re not to underestimated.

“Gavin - “

Gavin needs to rest, sleep, and is fighting it with everything he has even with the painkillers working their magic, stubborn as always. Fragile look in his eyes, and God help him, Ryan understands.

He can see the moment Gavin realizes how close to giving in Ryan is, this little a-ha moment reflected in his eyes.

“I’m injured, Ryan,” he says, manipulative asshole that he is.

“Fine,” Ryan sighs, pulling Gavin’s sleeve down to cover the bandage because the heat’s being finicky and it’s cooler in the room than he’d like.

The last thing they need is for Gavin to get sick on top of everything else.

========

There’s a certain level of irony in Ryan going to a vet clinic when he can’t patch himself up. (There are rumors out there comparing him to a rabid animal that needs to be put down, and some days he even believes them.)

If Lindsay has opinions on the matter she never lets it show when he shows up on her doorstep. Just chatters at him about the weirdest things with steel in her eyes daring him to insist that no, he really doesn’t need stitches for that knife wound or a mild anesthetic while she removes the bullet in his thigh.

Certainly no need for a blood infusion after dragging his half-dead carcass to her clinic and texting her a sad smiley face to let her know he was around back.

“Okay, well you can just shut the fuck up right now, asshole.”

“Lindsay - “

The cops are probably still looking for Ryan, and while he appreciates her putting him back together again, he can’t stay here.

“Swear to God, I will neuter you right here and now if you try to tell me you’re fine,” Lindsay growls, sounding like she means every word.

Ryan blinks at her, stunned speechless.

Lindsay nods sharply and strides over to the door, opening it just enough to bark out an order for someone to bring her a blood bag.

“Nice,” Ryan mutters, shrinking back when Lindsay walks back over to him.

She crosses her arms and glares at him, and it would be more intimidating than it already is if he didn’t know her anger is born out of concern.

“Not to quibble,” Ryan quibbles, “but I don’t think whatever blood type you have on hand is compatible with mine.”

Ryan’s no expert, but science and all that. (Although he does remember reading something about pig blood a while back, so maybe - )

Lindsay arches an eyebrow at him, and with impeccable timing the door opens and someone walks inside.

“Ah, blood bag, you're here,” Lindsay says, not unlike an evil villain in a movie.

The guy sighs, like he’s talked with Lindsay about this before.

“We’ve talked about this before, Lindsay,” he says, faint thread of amusement in his voice. “You know how I feel about that.”

Lindsay gives him a delighted smile and gestures for the poor bastard to come closer for introductions.

“Vagabond, meet blood bag - “

The guy clears his throat pointedly, and Lindsay sighs as though he’s being completely unreasonable in this.

“Yes, yes, fine. Vagabond, meet Jeremy.”

There’s a pause, a look on Lindsay's face, and this long, tired sight from Jeremy because he knows what’s coming next.

“He’ll be your blood bag for the evening.”

...what.

Lindsay smiles beatifically at Ryan as though she’s not one of the most terrifying people Ryan’s ever met.

“Now be good and do what Jeremy tells you to do, or I’ll be back,” Lindsay warns as she turns to leave “And believe you me, buddy, but you do not want that to happen.

In the silence that falls after her exit, Ryan and Jeremy stare at each other, not really sure what to do now.

“Uh,” Ryan says, because he doesn’t know what else to say.

Jeremy, though.

“Nice mask,” he says, like he’s complimenting Ryan on something completely normal.

“Thank you?” Ryan says, watching Jeremy gather medical supplies and God knows what else before moving over to roll up one of Ryan’s sleeves. “What the hell is going on?”

Jeremy shrugs as he swabs a patch of skin on he back of Ryan’s hand with a prep pad before inserting an IV needle.

“Universal donor,” he says, gesturing at himself, like he’s completely unbothered with this whole situation. “And I owe Lindsay for saving my life, so. Blood bag.”

That.

What.

Jeremy raises his eyebrows and looks around the room in which they are the only occupants like he’s checking to make sure no one’s looking. Checks again one last time and lifts the hem of his shirt to show Ryan the handle of the gun tucked in his waistband.

“I do crimes,” he says, grinning at Ryan. “This is just a side gig.”

Ryan still has no idea what’s going on, but he’s more terrified of Lindsay coming back and making good on her threat. (More of a promise with her, really.)

“Okay?” he says, watching Jeremy as he pulls up a seat beside him as he finishes setting up for the transfusion.

Easy, practice motions like he’s done this before and knows exactly what he’s doing, and then he looks at Ryan as the transfusion starts.

“So,” Jeremy says, waggling his eyebrows at Ryan with ridiculous smile on his face. “Come here often?”

========

Gavin buries his face against Ryan’s side, soft, helpless laughter squeaking past his lips.

“You’re a terrible liar,” he says. “Lindsay would never call Jeremy a blood bag. She’s too lovely for that.”

Ryan raises an eyebrow at that because Lindsay is a terrible human being who absolutely would call Jeremy a blood bag, and they both know it.

========

“They’re going to figure it out one day,” Jeremy says, infinitely amused as they watch Michael tackle a squawking Gavin off the couch for some offense or other. “You do know that, right?”

Ryan shrugs, because he’s fairly certain Michael, at the very least has an inkling about the truth. All the things he and Jeremy have let slip in the past, but it’s just so fun fucking with them about it.

“Yeah,” Ryan says, popping open a can of diet soda and sitting back to see who’s going to win this tussle. “But it’s more fun this way.”

========

Ryan’s in line at the grocery store because even notorious criminals need to eat. It must be payday or something like it because there are several people ahead of him in line with full carts, the other lanes just as full.

Not ideal, but he’s in no rush at the moment with his latest job behind him and nothing lined up for a while.

He’s watching the woman at the register arguing with the cashier over an expired coupon when there's a clatter behind him and a panicked cry of “Oh shit, no!” before he feels a cart hit him.

When he turns, it’s to se a guy with a look of utter dismay on his face, apologies spilling out of his mouth as he wrestles his cart back under control.

“Oh my god,” he says, sounding mortified. “I’m so sorry, are you okay? I didn’t mean - “

Ryan misses whatever the poor guy is saying, because Ryan is busy staring at his face.

It’s a nice face.

A very nice face.

A very nice face Ryan is staring at like an idiot because he likes looking at it that much.

A very nice face Ryan is staring at like an idiot because he likes looking at it that much that is now frowning at him, and, oh, fuck, he’s being creepy about things again isn’t he?

“No, no,” Ryan says, remembers that smiling is a thing people do. “I’m fine, really. Just surprised me is all.”

The guy looks skeptical about that, but there’s something cautiously hopeful to it as he asks Ryan if he’s sure about that.

“I’m fine,” Ryan reassures him, even though his ankle stings like a bitch and he’s sure he’s going to have a bruise from the cart with how hard it hit him.

“Are you sure - “

“Ryan,” Ryan interrupts, holding his hand out because he’s an idiot and this poor guy has apologized more than enough for an accident. (Also his face and how much Ryan likes it.) “My name’s Ryan, what’s yours?”

Ryan’s secretly pleased he managed to get that out without flubbing, and almost misses the once-over the man gives him.

“Jeremy,” the guy says, hint of color on his cheeks as he realizes Ryan caught Jeremy checking him out. “Uh. Sorry?”

Ryan smiles, stupid bit of hope in his chest because maybe Jeremy likes his face too.

========

“I do,” Jeremy says, laughing like an idiot when Ryan looks at him, because he’s had a few drinks and working on another in a bid to catch up to Michael. “I like your face a lot, Ryan.”

Jeremy’s expression goes all goofy on him as Gavin’s voice reaches them, indignant only the way Michael can make him.

“I like their faces a lot too,” he says, stupid soft and far too damn honest.

“Yeah,” Ryan says, and stops to clear his throat because these idiots do that to him. “Same.”

Jeremy snorts, and Ryan reaches out to take his drink from him because he knows Jeremy’s itching to help Michael gang up on Gavin.

Jeremy beams at him, darting in to smack a loud kiss to Ryan’s cheek before stumbling over the others.

Ryan watches him, and then decides to borrows a page from Gavin’s book as pulls his phone out to record the disaster sure to come for posterity. (Definitely not for blackmail material.)

[borkingbarnes]

The Price of Kindness

This is my submission to @withstarryeyes‘s writing challenge. Congrats on 300, babe! 💕

Prompt: “That is way too expensive!”

Characters: Steve Rogers, Avenger!reader, Sam Wilson

Word count: 1.5k 

Warnings: Mentions of PTSD and war, veteran coping, but happy ending? 

A/N: This took a waaaaay different turn than I intended when I first started writing, but here it is. I’m not sure how I feel about this one because of the turn but feedback would be lovely! 

ps: I’m going to link the Veteran’s Support Foundation donation link here if anyone wants to donate. I think the work they do is very important. And of course, a thank you to all the men and women that serve/have served. 

pps: thank you to @jaamesbbarnes for giving this a read ahead of time and giving me feedback! I have hella love for you, babe! 

Walking through the automatic doors of the grocery store, a blast of cold air hits you, making a shiver run down your spine. As you’re about to go grab a cart, you see the super soldier beside you freeze in place from the corner of your eye. Looking over to him, you can’t help but smile at his expression. 

His eyes are wide, mouth slightly parted as he takes in the expanse of shelves before him. The view was so surreal to him that for a moment he just stood there. 

“You alright, Cap?” You ask him, right before he stumbles forward as Sam runs into the motionless man in front of him. 

“Sorry. Just never seen so much food in one place before”, Steve mumbles and give him a small smile before grabbing his hand so he wouldn’t continue to block the doorway. “There’s enough food here to feed a small village.” 

A sympathetic frown makes its way onto your face, though you try to hide it. You can’t help but feel sadness for the super soldier. He was so young when he enlisted for war, still a kid. He had fought battle after battle as Captain America, but no one bothered to think about Steve Rogers, the kid that never got to grow up normally. From missing so much time of his life to having practically been shoved into the future and having to cope with the loss of his past and readjust-- it made your heart ache for him. You had certainly tried to help Steve whenever you could, and though his amazement at advancements was endearing, you couldn’t help but feel for the man. 

Shaking your head slightly to clear your mind, you rip the grocery list in two and hand half of it off to Sam as he comes back with two carts. You part ways with him as Steve trails along behind you, still looking around with an awestruck look on his face. 

You had been sentenced to grocery duty after drinking the last of Tony’s chocolate milk. In your defense, you hadn’t known it was his, it hadn’t been labelled or anything. It had simply been in the shared kitchen’s fridge. How were you supposed to know it was his?

Steve had volunteered to come along, knowing how extensive the Avengers’ grocery list was. With such highly intensive lifestyles, the amount of food that passed through the compound put buffets and restaurants to shame. He also had just wanted to see what modern day grocery stores were like since he hadn’t been in once since the 40s. 

Sam had owed you a favor which you decided to call in, but not without some grumbling on his end. It was no unknown fact that it took way too many trips to carry in all the groceries. 

“Alright. First thing’s first, we need milk. Birdboy drinks so much milk we should just get him a cow,” you grumble as you walk beside the cart that Steve is now pushing. It wasn’t uncommon to see Sam walking around the compound drinking out of a 4 litre jug of milk casually. The worst part was that he went through multiple jugs a day. Was it possible to die from calcium overdose? 

As you picked up a jug of milk an incredulous “WHAT?!” sounded from beside you, effectively startling you as you drop the jug back into place. 

“WHY IS MILK MORE THAN FOUR DOLLARS?!” Steve exclaims as a few people around you begin turning their heads your way. You duck your head, a little embarrassed by the scene the super soldier was causing, but can’t help but find the whole ordeal to be quite funny. 

“Inflation,” you giggle, taking the jug he held in his hands and placing it into the cart. 

“But—But it was only 10 cents back in my day! That is way too expensive! How the hell do people afford to live these days?!" He asks, brows still furrowed. 

“No idea, Stevie, I guess it’s a good thing Stark is rich” you say, piling in five more jugs into the cart before practically dragging Steve from where he stood, still ogling at the price. 

The two of you continued along, with Steve occasionally exclaiming things such as, “what do you mean a sack of potatoes is almost five dollars?! They were only fourteen cents back in the day! Fourteen CENTS, Y/N!!” and, “why is a carton of eggs five dollars now?! Are they breeding super-chickens now?? Will these eggs cure people of diseases? They have no right being so expensive!!” 

However, despite all the comments, you still caught Steve sneaking a few things onto the cart. Mostly sugary snacks. The man had a major sweet tooth quite possibly due to growing up during a time where sugar was scarce, so he just couldn’t get enough of it now. 

“Hey Steve, you think we could use your senior citizen’s discount?” Sam asks after you guys have met up again. The joke earns him a snort from you as you try to cover up your laughter. Steve however, looks displeased, shaking his head at the both of you. 

After checking out your groceries and stuffing the back of the car with everything that was bought, you made your way back to the compound. 

“Stop the car.” Steve says suddenly, barely waiting for Sam to pull the car up to the curb before he’s getting out already. You hear the trunk open and turn around, looking at the super soldier confusedly as he rummages through the groceries in the back. However, your heart soon swells at the sight of Steve carrying an armload of food towards a homeless man sitting against a building a few feet away. 

You couldn’t help but let a smile make its way onto your face as you see Steve kneel down and begin talking to the man. He wasn’t in uniform in front of cameras or speaking at a public event; this was all Steve Rogers, the man with a golden heart. He wasn’t just an act or a face to the values that Captain America symbolized, he fulfilled them. Steve Rogers really was the kind, loyal, and giving man that the suit was meant for. No charades, or facades, or acts, it was all him. 

You reach for the door handle and get out of the car too, emptying a bag out and replacing its contents with non-perishable foods for the man as Sam does the same after parking the car. Walking up beside Steve, he’s already in deep conversation with the man. 

“Thank you, God bless your souls” the man says as you and Sam hand him the bags of food. 

“Y/N, Sam, this is Frank, he’s a veteran” Steve says, sadness tinging his tone. You knew that this hit home for him and Sam. Since he had known about suffering war veterans, Steve had volunteered countless hours to give talks and offer support. Sam also routinely donated to Veteran’s Aid support groups as well. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Frank” you say to him, offering him a kind smile. 

“It’s nice to meet you too, ma’am. Not many pretty dames stop by to chat with a fella like me anymore. Think I’m finally beginning to accept that I’m not as handsome lookin’ as I was a few years ago” he says, and you can’t help but smile. It was clear that despite his conditions, he had not lost his humor and charm. 

Sam’s phone began to ring and he walked off as you and Steve continued to talk to Frank. He had grown up in Manhattan, enlisting at the age of 21. After he had served, he was no longer able to locate his family and his PTSD prevented him from being able to hold a steady job. Your heart broke for this man. It just wasn’t fair that he had risked his life for his country and received a life on the streets in return. 

“We’ve gotta go,” Sam says frowning, as he walks back over. “Mission briefing from Fury himself.”

Steve and you nod as Sam reaches into his wallet, pulling out the remaining money he had and handing it to Frank with a nod. 

“I’m going to make a call to a VVA Service Officer friend of mine,” Steve says, taking out a pen and the small sketch pad he kept in his jacket pocket. “This is his address and phone number. You can even head on over now if you’d like. He’s just a couple blocks from here. I’ll let him know to expect you, okay?” He says, ripping out the sheet of paper and handing it to the man. 

Frank nods, a smile on his face now. “Thank you, guys.” He says as you give him one final smile. The whole encounter had truly humbled you, making you realize just how good you had it. 

Your mind wanders to Steve and you realize that maybe there were other reasons that had made Steve relate to Frank. Steve too had gone to war and came back to having almost everything stripped from him. From his family, to his previous life, and even certain emotions he was allowed to show. You really hoped Steve’s VVA friend could help Frank find some peace, and even more so, you hoped that Steve could find some peace as well. It was sad that the world could take advantage of such a kind soul and continue to batter it for so long. 

It was silent on the rest of the way home, each person lost in their own thoughts. 

“So uh, I’d say your first trip to the grocery store was a success, huh Cap?” you say as the three of you pull up into the garage of the tower, trying to ease the mood. 

“Yeah,” he replies, “The prices of food may have grown, but it’d be willing to pay just about anything in the name of kindness.”

Tags: @withstarryeyes @wildlifepixie @sgtjbuccky @silver-starburst @chrevastan @boopboopbarnes @goldenkillmonger @just-add-butter @1xxmrsalphaxx1​ @sadbhabie2020 @coal000 @jaamesbbarnes @dewy-biitch

Masterlist

[cksmart-world]

  The Completely Unnecessary News Analysis

by Christopher Smart

March 12, 2019

DESTROYING LOGIC, CANADA'S BAD EXAMPLE

& THE COOL INLAND PORT

Inland Port and Apple Pie

Here at the crossroads of the West, our political brain trust has come up with something called the Inland Port, where trucks and trains and planes from all over will bring cargo to Salt Lake City for distribution. The huge operation will spur the economy but somehow will not cause lots of air pollution or other environmental impacts. The Inland Port is as American as Apple Pie. It has something for everyone — drama, intrigue and comedy, too. Magnanimously, the Utah Legislature usurped the land for the port from Salt Lake City and set up a powerful governing board with special interests that has the public's best interest at heart. It will guide development and set taxation and make the port totally cool. Oddly, Mayor Jackie Biskupski feels cheated and is suing lawmakers for being shitheads. The City Council, by contrast, is negotiating with lawmakers for the very best crumbs legislators will give. Meanwhile, environmentalists are waving red flags at lawmakers, who understand that sustainability is a fad touted by the quiche-and-white-wine set. It's all quite entertaining. It reminds the staff here at Smart Bomb of an E Ticket at Disneyland: there's Futureland, Corruptionland, Poison-Airland, Litigationland and even something like the Electric Light Parade, where excitable legislators form a Conga line and dance around the Capitol Rotunda to Colonel Bogey's March.

Canada's Bad Example

You've got to love those Canadians. They are so friendly and even send their troops to help us out of messy wars. And don't forget the time they rescued American hostages when the Ayatollah took over in Iran. Of course, the Canadians aren't perfect. They have backward ideas on health care and gun control. Their government pays for all their expensive medical procedures and you can hardly find an AR-15 in Montreal. The Canadians are very sensitive, too. Right now Prime Minister Justin Trudeau is on the ropes for something that wouldn't even make the nightly news here. His attorney general quit when Trudeau allegedly pushed her to look the other way on corruption allegations concerning one of the country's top engineering firms. BFD. Our president is now the subject of 17 different investigations. BFD again. And we couldn't care less about hush money paid by our president to porn stars and Playboy bunnies. But can you imagine what would happen if Trudeau planned to build a multi-million dollar high rise in Moscow while running for election? They'd probably roll out the guillotine and chop off his head. Fortunately, President Trump doesn't live in Ottawa. Down here in the states we're far more... what's the word... cosmopolitan. Yeah, that's it. We're just a lot more sophisticated.

Let's Throw a Constitutional Convention

Here's a grand idea: Let's convene a Constitutional Convention and do a make-over of the document that has guided this country since 1776. Why do it? Well, because, according to Utah's Republican lawmakers, the country is a mess. This is a chance to fix it real good. For starters, let's do away with the First Amendment. All it does is cause problems for those in power. And we could write a ban on abortion right into the new Constitution — no more baby killing. Then, lets pen a balanced budget amendment so that we can never borrow money from ourselves ever again — no matter what. And We also should do away with affirmative action — it's just discrimination in reverse. Our new Constitution would ban discrimination altogether so that minorities would no longer have to worry about things, like jobs, housing or getting shot by police. We would make socialism illegal, too, of course. That would keep us free from things like Social Security and Medicare that are ruining the country. And no more taxing for public education or highways. There are just so many reasons to convene a Constitutional Convention and get this country on a righteous path once and for all. Brilliant. What could possibly go wrong.

Destroying Logic To Save It

We had to destroy the village in order to save it. No, Utah Congressman John Curtis didn't coin that, but he understands the logic. See, there is this thing called checks and balances outlined in the U.S. Constitution and it's real important, the congressman says. Nonetheless, he joined his Republican colleagues in the House, who would not deny President Trump “emergency” funding for The Wall — money Congress had earlier refused to allocate, even though the president said it would stop rapist and drugs from pouring in from Mexico. “I voted against  the legislation because it was largely a partisan bill that dealt only with this one-time instance rather than a serious attempt to permanently rein in executive authority,” he said in a Salt Lake Tribune epistle. “They did not send me to Washington to be a rubber stamp...” Well, that clears that up nicely. Over in the Senate, Mike Lee has a new proposal up his sleeve so “the president can’t act like a king.” It’s just what Curtis was wishing for. Of course it won’t help out now. But at least Lee and his Senate Republican colleagues can talk about that, rather than consider the thousands of women and children fleeing the dangers of lawlessness in Central America who are seeking asylum at ports of entry along our southern border. Yes, immigration officials and facilities are overwhelmed. It is an emergency — that much is true. But why not save face with a little hocus-pocus now to get out of the terrible fix terrible fix there in regarding the emperor’s clothes.

That's a wrap for another week here at Smart Bomb, where the staff keeps track of Fox News, so you don't have to. Speaking of which, the Democratic National Committee has announced it won't allow Fox to a host any of its presidential debates. That's fine and dandy, but how do they plan to reach all those people who don't read? You're right, Wilson, we shouldn't even think about it for another year or so — the election is 18 months away. With that, Wilson, can you and the band take us out with a little something that won't offend Laura Ingram or Sean Hannity: You hurt the ones that I love best and cover up the truth with lies / One day you'll be in the ditch flies buzzin' around your eyes / Blood on your saddle / Idiot wind, blowing every time you move your teeth / You're an idiot babe / It's a wonder that you still know how to breathe...

[pedalfuzz]

The Sea And Cake

The Sea And Cake have been making elegant, assured, and singularly unique music for over two decades. The band is made up of a who’s who of Chicago experimental/indie/jazz/post-everything musicians that include Sam Prekop, Archer Prewitt, and John Mcentire.

Their latest album on Thrill Jockey Records is Any Day. Sam Prekop (singer, guitarist) sat down to talk with Pedal Fuzz about writing and recording the record, just after a soundcheck in Durham, NC, ahead of their performance at The Pinhook.

 Pedal Fuzz: Your Last album Runner came out in 2012. When did you start working on the songs that would make up Any Day?

Sam Prekop: So it was probably February 2017. Got a bit of a slow start I guess. I started actively playing guitar for that mainly on my acoustic, roaming around my house cooking dinner for the kids. Strumming the guitar, getting it together kind of. And then Archer Prewitt (guitar) and I spent a fair amount of time together before John McEntire (drums) showed up. And then the three of us rehearsed at the practice space for probably about a week with the new material. And then we went into the studio to record the basic tracks.

PF: Is that generally how it's worked in the past, you starting just with the guitar then bringing everyone else in?

SP: So Archer and I spend a lot of time without drums to work out the intricacies of the arrangements. Of course John contributes as well, but to get the ball rolling usually I start, get the basic gist of it, and then I have Archer come in. There's a few songs on the new record that Archer and I came up with just sort of messing around improvising and stuff. So it happens that way as well. "Any Day," the title track comes out of that, and also the last song "These Falling Arms."

PF: Did you record in John’s studio, Soma Studios?

SP: His studio in flux now because he moved to California. So it was different in that regard, so we used a different studio in Chicago. He had already moved right around the time I started working on the guitar stuff.

PF: So did you track in two locations, or just go out there to L.A. and track?

SP: We never made it to L.A. actually. The original plan was to go and mix it and finish it in L.A. And John moved to L.A. but then he bought a house more northern, east of San Francisco. So that kind of threw our plans for a loop a little bit. So John would mix, and then he would send us the files and we would give input on it.

PF: As far as the songwriting. how collaborative does it get once everybody else joins in? By that point do you already have the structure set, or is there room for change?

SP: So when we have the basic tracks, it can still change because I haven't done any singing yet. So I get the basic tracks into my home studio - and I have been doing it this way for a while where I record the vocals at home and mix them later with John. So I spent quite a bit of time writing and singing and recording the vocals on my own basically. I spent more time doing that this time around than other records I would say. I'm not sure why, I think I just found myself with more time.

There were a few setbacks. One was how we thought the studio would be ready in time, so we were kind of waiting for it. Things were hinging on different factors as we were working, so I wound up like, “OK, I have another month to do other stuff,” and so I ended up redoing a lot of things this time around which was good. I think because I got a little bit of time away from what I had done, I got a slight amount of perspective. I could discover that it could be better if I tried to rewrite certain lines or words.

PF: Was it mostly lyrics and vocals you were changing, or other elements?

SP: Sometimes it was just the delivery of it, like I can sort of get more out of the performance. Other times it might be some slight adjustments to the words, or rhythm things, but usually it was that I felt like I could inhabit these vocals more...not intense exactly, but just be more familiar with them. Just to be able to really perform the song.

PF: That's something striking about the record too, it kicks right off with the vocals.

SP: I know - this is the most vocal-centric record of all, and when rehearsing for this tour and playing some older stuff I'm like, "Oh my god I hardly sing at all in long spots." And I have to say the shows have been quite the vocal workout. It's an hour and a half show and I'm singing the whole time. I'm quite burnt by the end.

PF: Are you having to come up with like a honey/lemon regimen?

SP: I should maybe! It's getting better, you know. So this will be maybe our seventh show tonight, and each night it's getting a little easier. It depends on if the monitoring is good and if the sound is good on stage. If I have to over-sing, that's a problem, and sometimes that's the case if I don't hear it properly.

PF: It seems that on this album, compared to some older songs like "The Argument" or even "Harps" from the last record, there's less electronic elements. It has much more of a band feel. How did you decide that was going to be the vibe this time?

SP: Well, usually with these things the project tells you what it wants as you're working on it. I feel like my job is to pay attention as much as possible to what the material is leading you towards. So I didn't start out like, "Oh this should be a super vocal-heavy record and it should be all about that." So as it was leaning in that direction, it seemed like there was just less room for electronic stuff. And I think I think there would have been more of that if we had been in the studio together during the overdub process - which we had planned, but didn't quite happen because of logistics. So that's also part of the reason I think.

PF: Let's talk about gear a little bit. What guitar and amp are you using on the record?

SP: So I started writing on my acoustic. It's a pretty old beat up Martin 000-17. It's a Mahogany, small body kind of deal. And so I write a lot on that. I've never played it live and I don't plan on it - too many problems involved with drums and stuff.

And my main guitar is not actually a Fender Telecaster, though it looks like one. I got it maybe 15 years ago. It was built by Greenwich Village Custom Guitars (GVCG). It's sort of a legendary builder (Jonathan Wilson) which I didn't know at the time. But as soon as I tried it I'm like, "This is my guitar." So that's been my main guitar for a while.

And I use a Fender Bassman amp - but it's not actually a Fender. It's made by Victoria Amp Company out of Chicago (Victoria 45410 Tweed, modeled after a 1959 Bassman). And I've been using that for a long time as well, at least 10 or so years.

PF: What do you like about the Victoria?

SP: It sounds very acoustic. Not like an acoustic guitar, but the sound of the wooden box is very forward in a way. It feels very lively and unveiled in a way that feels very direct. It's very responsive to the way you play, very quick and responsive. There's no reverb or anything, it's a very direct, classic amp design. I imagine it's probably pretty simple. It's designed originally for bass players but it works really well as a guitar amp.

PF: And are you putting anything between the guitar and the amp?

SP: Yeah, I have a few BJFEE pedals, from Norway. Björn Juhl made them, he went on to design Mad Professor pedals. I have one that’s a very subtle overdrive I use all the time called the Honey Bee. And a BJFE EQ pedal (Sea Blue EQ) that’s amazing. I also have a Mad Professor Deep Blue delay pedal I use for a little color – I’m not big on changing my sound per song very much.

PF: You have a very crisp, but full, clean sound.

SP: On the song “Color The Mountain,” I play some pretty distorted guitar. On that I use this Swedish Himmelstrutz Fetto Nord 70 distortion pedal I’ve had a long time. But I don’t use it much.

PF: You’re in a band with people that are in so many other bands, and so many different collaborations. Does that become difficult for everyone to juggle what they have going on?

SP: There’s no real difficulty. That’s why there’s sometimes longer breaks in-between records. So Tortoise had a record in-between, so that was about two years of the lag time. I also make solo records and usually tour on those. No problems really, it’s just a matter of making the plan and it works out.

EDDIE GARCIA PLAYS GUITAR AND ALL THE PEDALS AS 1970S FILM STOCK. YOU CAN ALSO HEAR HIM REPORTING ON NPR AFFILIATE 88.5 WFDD IN WINSTON-SALEM, NC. IN THE WEE HOURS HE RUNS PEDAL FUZZ, WHICH IS A PROUD RECIPIENT OF A GRANT FROM THE ARTS ENTERPRISE LAB / KENAN INSTITUTE FOR THE ARTS.