#I just want to read about mama Darlene | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

epicbasher65685 · 4 years

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(Soo yeah a few people wanted to read this so here it is. sorry I can’t write for anything but I tried my hardest to get my head cannon across)

TW: descriptions of blood and gore, abuse

“What a fantastic song! No one could ever go wrong with the brilliant song “Let’s Misbehave” by none other than the darb Cole Porter!” Alastor exclaimed excitedly with his powerful transatlantic accent into the microphone. “Truly a marvelous performance. Anywho! The bayou killer strikes again! That’s right folks you heard it here first! The bayou killer claims their 11th victim! Oh the tragedy! There seems to be a pattern in this killer’s cycle. The moon cycle! Who would’ve guessed? And who will be the twelfth on the full moon? What kind of monster from hell could possibly cause this much pain and torture to both the victims and their families?” He questioned the listeners. His smile grew bigger at his sarcastic yet genuine sounding empathy. Deep within him he knew there was none. If he tried to look any deeper in himself the only thing we would find would be the rumbling of his stomach and it’s almost snickering like sounds, laughing mischievously and knowingly at his sarcastic line of questioning. Alastor reached over and closed the report he was reading from with a resounding thud, a look of accomplishment graced his face. The listeners were shocked with the news, seeing that the killer is still at large and could pounce on them or their loved ones at any moment. “Lock your doors and stay safe ladies and gentlemen! This concludes tonight’s broadcast. Oh oh! Almost forgot the regularly scheduled joke! Just to lighten the mood a bit. What happened when the cannibal was late for dinner? He got the cold shoulder! Ahahahahaha! See you tomorrow folks, stay safe!” He said brightly as he ended his radio broadcast, turning off his equipment and microphone.

The streets were full of Ebullience and joyful spirit. The year was 1933. New Orleans, Louisiana was really quite a marvelous and interesting place to live. Alastor McCarthy walked down the sidewalk in his clean white shirt and suspenders, shoes polished so thoroughly you can see the bright sun and the blue sky reflecting off of it! All the Cadillacs and Buicks cruised down the smoothly paved road. Almost everyone in this town knew Alastor. And Alastor knew almost everyone just as well. The lovely people waved as they saw him walk by, and he of course would wave back with a friendly smile on his face. He was always smiling! One happy fellow indeed, everyone would imagine. He walked down the sidewalk with a pep in his step softly humming to the bustling jazz that played from the gramophones in the nearby shops. He was making his way home now, it was almost supper and he needed to help his mother prepare it! Oh yes, Alastor loved his mother dearly, she was a true light in his life. People like to tease him sometimes and call him somewhat of a mama's boy. He would be lying if he protested this though. He truly loved his mother. His father, however, he did not. Just the thought of him made Alastors smile falter, just a smidge. He was a real goof, and a drunk. Alastor despised him, but only put up with him because his mother still loved him. Alastor could never see what an amazing woman like herself could ever find in a hunk of junk like him.

The noise of the streets died down as he started to approach his neighborhood. The walk from the radio station to his house was only a 30 minute or so walk. He figured it was good exercise and also an efficient way to build up his appetite. When Alastor wasn’t doing his radio broadcasts, he would find himself hunting deer in the nearby bayou. His father showed him how to hunt when he was a young boy. He had mastered the art of hunting and butchering the creatures he captured. Whether it be deer, rabbit, boar… human. His mother taught him the culinary arts, which he soon too mastered. He would help his mother prepare jambalaya, his favorite dish, when he was younger. He reminisced about those good ol’ days. Well, most of it at least. He had finally arrived home.

“Hello mother! Father.” He called out into the calm house. He took his shoes off and saw his mother appear from the kitchen.

“Oh! Alastor, how I’ve missed you dear.” She said lovingly as she ran toward Alastor to hug him. “How was your day? Anything exciting happening down in that ol’ radio station? I completely forgot to tune in today. Silly me. Apologies!”

“No need mother, it was just business as usual, quite copacetic! We had our top music hits and, well, a quite shocking report on the bayou killer.” Alastor explained

“Oh? Was he murdered? Oh oh! Caught by the fuzz? Hot dawg!” She exclaimed in excitement.

“...No mother, he was not. Always jumping to conclusions! Ahahaha. My, that’s just like you!” He said. Her words pained him only in the slightest. She obviously disliked this killer. Yet she unknowingly loved this said killer more than anyone else. He felt a sick giddy because of this. Why, he found it quite humorous! How twisted. “He’s claimed his 11th victim, unfortunately.” He said with a softer voice.

“Oh dear… how horrible. I can’t believe he’s getting away with this! Someone has to stop him eventually.” She said with sadness in her eyes. Alastor didn’t like to see her like this, not ever!

“Yes I know, quite the tragedy I’m sure. I heard he was a rude man however, a real dewdropper as some may say! The man had nothing going for him anyways.” He explained, or rather explained himself, for that matter.

“Darlene, when the hell is that dinner going to be finished?” Gus, Alastors father, yelled from the living room couch. He had just finished his twelfth beer of the day. Alastor could hear the subtle clinks of the glass bottle against the cup holder. Indicating that yes, he had indeed gotten drunk again.

“It’ll be ready in about half an hour dear!” She yelled back, Completely forgetting about the news of the bayou killer. An audible groan sounded from the living room in response.

“Alastor, would you be a dear and help me peel the potatoes for dinner?” She questioned

“Of course mother! Let’s get started then shall we?” Alastor asked joyfully.

Once dinner was prepared and the table was set, Alastor’s mother called for Gus to come and eat. Another audible groan sounded from the living room as Gus managed to stand up, very blotto from all his drinks. Without anyone seeing, Alastor was quick to drop a pill into Gus’s drink at the table. He then turned away and started to whistle an innocent jazz tune.

“Oh, Alastor, I almost forgot about the pie in the oven. Would you mind taking it out for me and cutting it’s pieces?” She asked him kindly. Alastor responded with a quick ‘yep!’ and put on the oven mitts. He took the pie out and put it on the stove. He took his mitts off and placed them back on the counter, only to replace them with a knife. Without hesitation he stuck the knife into the steaming pie. It smelt like delicious baked cherries. The pie oozed red juice and covered the knife. He continued to cut even slices into the beautiful pie. He stared longingly at his work, admiring the precise cuts and the knife dripping red juice. He licked the knife clean and saw his father's reflection walking into the room when he looked at the knife. He stared for a moment, then put the knife into the sink. Gus finally arrived at the table as everyone sat down.

“So what do we have here?” Gus questioned as he occasionally hiccuped. He had messy black hair and his eyes were half lidded. He wore a black vest with his tie sloppily tied.

“Well I made venison, mashed potatoes, and beans for tonight. That damn venison was quite tricky to cook, but hopefully I got it just right.” She explained

“I’m sure it turned out great, mother.” He smiled at her. Alastor eyed his father as he sat down. Gus started digging in with the slightest amount of politeness. Hungrily shoving the food into his mouth. Alastor sighed and picked up his utensils to start eating.

“What is it boy? You’ve got something to say?” He snapped at Alastor. Glaring at him with whatever amount of sobriety he had left.

“No, sir.” Alastor responded while staring at his plate. He hated this. He hated his father and he hated how he treated both him and his mother. Not to mention how rude he was. All of the bayou killers victims reminded him of his father. What a coincidence huh? No, he chose them very carefully, and he planned out every bit of it. Every time he killed them he imagined as though the person was truly his father. It gave him satisfaction and it quenched his thirst, for the time being. But this thirst would always reappear. He could never get rid of it through these involuntary murders of his, and he knew this. He knew it would only be a matter of time before… he would claim his final victim. That’s all Alastor thought about when he looked his father in the eyes. The twelfth. The twelfth. The twelfth. The second full moon. It will complete his design.

“Whatever,” He sneered at Alastor. Gus downed his drink in a few gulps. Alastor watched with a smile. Then Gus began to cut into the venison, and suddenly there was an irritated look on his face. “This venison is overcooked.” He started while he looked up at Darlene.

“Oh, yes I was afraid that might happen…” Darlene quietly said with a look of disappointment appearing on her face.

“Isn’t that just perfect? Maybe you should learn how to cook properly instead of having a gay ol’ time dancing swing like a flapper at the club down the road. Dumb-Dora can’t do anything right can you? Darlene was taken back by his sudden outburst. She apologized and told him it wouldn’t happen again with a tinge of fear spreading on her face and tears threatening to breach her eyes.

“Well, actually, I do have something to say,” Alastor said as he interrupted his mother’s apologies. “Maybe if you stopped getting bent everyday like a normal person, maybe people might actually like you! You’re such a flat tire and a real boozehound. You think it’s ok to treat us like this? For crying out loud you’ve been doing this for years! You just futz around and do whatever you want, when you want, and how you want!” Alastor exclaimed loudly at his father while eyeing him with a scornful look. He wasn’t going to let him talk to his mother that way, no sir! Enough was enough. Darlene looked at Alastor in shock. She really can’t believe he said that to him. A wave of panic hits her knowing what’s going to come next.

“Why, you little! How dare you talk to me like that? I come home after a long day and this is what I get? A cheap meal and a disrespectful family?” Gus’s voice grew louder and louder with every word he spoke. He pointed to Alastor. “You… I’ll wipe that stupid smile off your face permanently!” Gus stood up and walked over to Alastors side of the table. Alastor and Darlene stood up quickly, knowing this situation is about to become physical.

“Don’t you dare touch him!” Darlene shouted as she grabbed hold of Alastors arm. Alastor backed up while the adrenaline started coursing through his veins. Gus took hold of Darlene and threw her against the counter. She fell on the way down with a yelp hitting her head on the edge of the counter. Darlene’s vision started to blur and soon after she drifted into unconsciousness as she heard the faint yelling of Alastor.

“You absolute madman! Now look what you’ve done. You’re some real tough guy hm? Well, I’m sure you’ll enjoy my next show, you’re the super important participant, after all!” Alastor said with a growing smile. His creole accent slipping out for only a moment as he yelled. “Aren’t you excited?”

“What are you… talking about..?” Gus talked as his words became sloppy and quiet. The once calming and peaceful kitchen warping and turning in place as his vision grew cloudy and dark. His eyes lidded fully, the last thing he saw before he fell to the ground was Alastors prideful smile. Alastor thought Gus would pull something like this. All this commotion, that is. Yet it was in the back of his mind as was planning out his demise. He stared at Gus for a good while, lying there helplessly. Although this isn’t exactly how he planned it out, he was still ultimately satisfied with the outcome. That is, until he remembered his mother lying on the ground. Her nicely combed and silky brunette hair in a bun was now frizzing out everywhere, the bun loosened from the altercation. Her lids shielding her innocent blue eyes to what has become of her husband, and the truth of her faithful son. Alastor slowly picked her up and placed her on the couch. He took an ice pack from the kitchen and placed it on the noticeable bump on her forehead.

“Do wake up soon, won’t you?” He whispered to her. He kissed her forehead and made his way into the kitchen. He managed to pick his father up with a few strained breathes, grabbed the knife out of the sink, and walked out the backdoor.

It was about 8pm now, and the sun had already cast its final flare. Only to replace it, was a thoughtless moon. Alastor navigated his way throughout his backyard and soon into the bayou unseen. Gus remained unconscious and hung over Alastors shoulder. Once Alastor traversed deep enough into the bayou. He tied Gus up to an old bald cypress tree. It’s leaves spaced out enough to let the moonlight fall and flicker between them. A few moments later, Gus finally awoke to a conscious state. Confused and dazed to where he was, and how he got there.

“Hello lucky contestant! Welcome to my show!” Alastor exclaimed in a cheerful announcer voice.

“Al? Where.. where the hell am I?” He said in a choked voice. He tried to move his arms, but they were restrained by a tightly tied rope. “What the hell are you doing?” He said as his voice wavering. Alastor took out his knife and walked slowly up to Gus. Gus watched every little movement Alastor made, his adrenaline rising with each step.

“Oh you poor thing. Haven’t you realized what’s happening by now?” Alastor teased as he lunged playfully forward, causing Gus to gasp and defensively lean back in the tree. ‘How pathetic’ Alastor thought to himself. “What? Don’t tell me your giving me the cold shoulder! Ahahahahahaha!” Alastor laughed at his silly little inside joke. He lowered himself to Gus’s level on the ground and pointed the knife at his chest. “Boy that thing must be pounding! I think I’ll eat your heart first!” Alastor exclaimed once again. Gus’s face was pale with fear as the knife slowly etched its way inside of his chest, blood soaking his already stained shirt. He screamed in excruciating pain as Alastor carved all the way down to his waistline. Exposing his organs and blood to the everlasting moonlight. Gus writhed in pain as he looked Alastor in the eyes.

“Y-you…killed them?” Gus managed to choke out. Disbelief filled his eyes.

“Hmm? Oh! That’s correct!” Alastor said while he backed up, admiring his work. Alastor looked down at his hands and his cuffed sleeves. The blood dripping off of his hands was much more black then the usual dark red.

“My! The mother was right! Blood really does look black in the moonlight,” He said. His smile unwavering and as prominent as always. That was the last thing Gus saw as his vision started to melt away for the last time. Alastor kneeled beside Gus and pulled out his heart behind his rib cage. He took a big bite from it without hesitation, just like how one would eat an apple. He noted that it tasted almost the same as a deers.

Soon after, a sudden rush of panic struck Alastor as he heard a males voice calling close by. He quickly turned toward the sound and saw multiple men in the distance holding flashlights pointing in Alastors direction. He hopped to his feet in a frenzy and ran deeper into the bayou. It was dark and he could barely see where he was running, but all he knew was that he needed to get away. It was only a matter of time the cops had found him. The pattern was quite obvious, Alastor knew. Yet, he thought it was orderly and scheduled, and that was something he’s always taken to heart. As he was running, he recalled his fondest memories and previous murders as the cops chased him on his tail. He knew this was it for him, unless he could throw them off somehow. Quickly, he noticed out of the corner of his eye a figure. It was a lone deer. It looked him in the eye without movement. The deer eyed him knowingly. The full moon shining between its broad antlers.

Suddenly, the night and day remembered how they came to be. Alastor glared back at this deer, his smile wavering as he was shot dead in the forehead with a rifle. He fell to the ground as his smile fell completely. A hunter had missed the deer, accidentally shooting Alastor killing him instantly. Surely it was too dark for the hunter to have seen him. There was no hope for him. Then, the deer quickly ran off into the deep bayou startled from the shadow of nobody there.

#um chile anyways so #alastor #hazbin hotel #heres my poorly written head cannon #fanfic #human alastor

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avintagekiss24 · 5 years

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Piper’s Creek [10/10]

Pairing: Sam Wilson x Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers

Word Count: 1478

Warnings: none

Rating: G

Link: AO3

Summary: Sam Wilson is a simple man. He likes to do simple things, like going fishing on a warm summer day. Little does Sam know, this fishing trip will not only lead him to his soulmate, but into a world of ancient folklore.

Square Filled: K2 - Always for @buckybarnesbingo

I2 - Found Family for @stuckybingo2019

A/N: This is it!! Thank you all SO much for reading! I’ve so enjoyed all of your comments and interacting with you! This is nothing but pure, unadulterated fluff to bring us to a happy close. Thank you again so, so, so much!

Another major shout out to @waltermittie for putting up with me! I thank you to the moon and back for the beautiful art!

“Do you think Uncle Sam will like it?”

Steve steps back, crossing his arms over his chest as he squints his eyes. Alex laughs as he places another silver ornament on the Christmas tree and then steps back next to Steve to check out his handiwork.

“I’m not sure. Chris? What do you think, bud?”

Christopher glances up from his spot on the couch, dropping his iPad to his lap, “The lights are crooked.”

“That’s what makes it unique,” Bucky says as he moves out of the kitchen. He ruffles Christopher’s curly hair as he passes by, setting the bowl of salad on the table, “I think it looks great, guys.”

“Alright,” Steve chuckles, holding out his hand for Alex to slap, “Bucky approved. There’s just one last thing.”

“Hello, hello,” Sam chirps as he comes in from the garage and throws his keys on the counter. He’s met by a chorus of greetings as he moves into the living room, followed by quick kisses from Bucky and Steve.

“We’re about to do the star, Uncle Sam!” Alex calls as Steve hoists him up.

Sam loops his arm around Bucky’s waist, pulling him into him as they watch Alex set the silver star on top of the tree. Steve drops him to his feet and takes as step back as Alex wiggles behind the tree and plugs it in, everyone clapping when the star illuminates.

“Why don’t we wash up for dinner, huh? Aunties will be here any minute.” Sam calls, watching as the boys hurry off toward the bathroom.

“How was work?” Bucky asks minutes later, turning into Sam and placing his hands on his chest.

Sam smiles, pecking his lips again before sliding his palm along Steve’s shoulders as he approaches, “Let’s just say, I’m ready for Christmas vacation.”

“You’re home until after the New Year, right?” Bucky asks.

Sam nods, “Correct, and I will get right to that honey-do list you’ve have for me dear, I promise.”

Bucky rolls his eyes playfully, swatting at Sam’s shoulder as they break apart, “You’ve been saying that since we moved in.”

“Steve,” Sam laughs, popping an olive in his mouth, “Help me out.”

“We’ll get at it tomorrow.” Steve nods toward Bucky as he grabs a slice of cheese from the spread on the table, “Promise.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Stop picking at the food!” Bucky warns, slapping at both their hands, “You two are worse than the kids!”

The doorbell rings and the sound of excited feet fills the room, “Guys, don’t run,” Sam admonishes, jogging toward the door as Alex throws it open, “And what did I say about opening the door?”

Alex buries his face into Wanda’s stomach as he throws his arms around her waist. She lifts him up and holds him to her chest tightly, covering his face in kisses, “My baby boy!”

“Hey auntie,” Christopher says lightly, bumping fists with Natasha.

“What’s up, Mr. Cool? It’s been a while since I’ve seen you.”

He shrugs as she slides her hand over his shoulder, pulling him into her side, “Ball is life auntie, I told you.”

Sam pulls the women into quick hugs before they move deeper into the house, Steve and Bucky intercepting them in the living room. Natasha pulls out a bottle of liquor from her purse and shakes it at Steve, before embracing him, “I’ve got the hooch, boys. We’re getting Stevie here drunk.”

Steve laughs, “It’s really hard to get me drunk, Nat. I’m Irish.”

She winks at him, “We’ll see about that.”

“Bucky, I love this new haircut.” Wanda smiles, pulling him into a hug, Alex still cradled on her side, “Very chic.”

“Yes, it is very Seattle,” Sam quips, dodging a slap from Wanda, “What? I’m still upset.”

Bucky runs his hair through his new short hair and offers a sheepish smile, “Thank you, Wanda. At least someone likes it. How’s school?”

Wanda rolls her eyes playfully, setting the now antsy Alex to his feet before running her hands through her hair, “Exhausting. Listen, I love teaching, but I should have stayed part time. College kids are pure, unadulterated assholes.”

“Auntie!” Christopher and Alex shout in unison.

Wanda shrugs, “Butttt,” she sings, digging through her purse, “I did find that stuff you were looking for regarding your cousin and your aunt.”

She hands Bucky a stack of papers and old pictures as Sam peers over his shoulder, tilting his head to watch him as his eyes light up with happiness, “That’s incredible! Thank you.”

The doorbell rings again and Sam loops his arm around Bucky’s waist, “You ready?”

Bucky’s laughs nervously, running his hand through his hair again, “I thought so, but now that they’re here I don’t know.”

“Come on, they’re gonna love you.”

He pushes the two of them forward, keeping his arm around Bucky’s waist and his chin on his shoulder as he widens his legs as they move. He steps out from behind him once they’re at the door and reaches for the handle, “Take a breath.”

Bucky inhales, and then releases it slowly, taking a hold a Sam’s free hand with both of his, “I’m ready.”

Sam pulls open the door, a large, happy smile on his face, “Mama.”

The older woman laughs as she embraces her only son, rocking him back and forth, “Samuel! Honey, how are you?”

“I’m fine mama. Dad.”

He extends his hand and pulls his father into his arm, squeezing Bucky’s hand softly all the while, “Mom, dad,” he says after a minute, pulling Bucky forward, “This is Bucky. Bucky, my mom Darlene, my dad Paul.”

“My goodness, it certainly is nice to meet you.” Darlene starts, wrapping her arms around Bucky in a warm embrace, “We’ve been waiting a long time for you.”

Bucky’s face reddens, “The feeling’s mutual. I’ve been waiting for Sam my whole life.”

“She’s not joking,” Paul starts, grabbing Bucky’s hand for a handshake, “I think she was more anxious for Sam to find you than he was.”

“Where’s Tonya and Mike?” Sam asks, closing the door behind them and shoving his hands into his pockets.

“They’re on their way, traffic is getting a little heavy,” his mother responds, waving at Natasha and Wanda as they move into the living room.

“Guys, this is Steve,” Sam points. “Steve, my parents, Paul and Darlene.”

Steve shakes Paul’s hand, and then hugs Darlene before the chatter starts up again, “Who exactly is Steve again?” Paul whispers, leaning into Sam.

“Um, we’ll uh, we’ll get into that later, dad.” Sam answers, rubbing his hand over his head as he widens his eyes at Bucky.

Paul is an understanding man, but Sam’s not quite sure if he’s ready to hear that his only son has not one, but two live-in boyfriends. The night wears on peacefully. The drinks are flowing, the food is good, the company even better. Laughter fills the warm house as Paul shares stories of Sam as kid, embarrassing him wholly and thoroughly.

Steve squeezes Bucky’s thigh underneath the table before sliding his hand into his and rubbing his thumb into his palm, “You okay?” Steve whispers.

“I am better than okay.” Bucky smiles, his eyes twinkling, “I’ve always wanted this.”

“Always?” Steve winks, as his own smile grows wider.

Bucky nods, and then rests his head on Sam’s shoulder, “Always.”

“Always what?” Sam asks as he brings his lips to Bucky’s forehead.

Bucky shrugs as he glances around the table at his family, “I’m just happy baby, that’s all.”

“That’s my top priority.” Sam winks, “Always keep Bucky Barnes happy.”

Bucky laughs, “You’re doing a great job.”

“I hate to break up a moment that I’ve been eavesdropping on,” Wanda starts, her eyes glassy from the vodka, “But Steve, Natasha and I have been thinking -“

“Wanda!” Natasha shouts, slapping her hand over her mouth.

“What?” She mumbles through Nat’s hand, “It’s Christmas! We just need a little bit of your spe-“

“Oh my god.” Sam drops his head into his hands as laughter fills his chest, “Nat, you better keep an eye on her before Steve comes up missing tonight.”

“What does that mean?” Christopher asks as his face scrunches in confusion.

“Nothing.” All the adults answer in unison, causing another roar of laughter to fill the room.

Sam sighs happily, linking his fingers with Bucky’s as Christopher starts to go on about his basketball team. Bucky glances at him, a slow smile creeping on his face before he lowers his head to Sam’s shoulder again. Sam kisses the top of his head and lets his nose linger, breathing in his minty shampoo. Christmas dinners, a warm house, a big family - it’s what’s he’s always wanted too.

It’s a good thing he talked himself into going fishing that Saturday afternoon.

He would have missed out on the rest of life if he hadn’t.

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loveforpreserumsteve · 4 years

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Home for the Holidays: Bonus “CIWYW” Story (Trans!Steve and Pan!Bucky Modern AU)

One:

"How does this look?" Sarah entered Steve's room and stopped at the front of Steve's bed. Hands smoothing down the large soft maroon red sweater and velvet black leggings.

Setting his phone down on the bed beside him while petting the sleeping mama cat, Meatloaf, Steve looked over his mom. Shrugging, Steve appeased, "You look fine."

"Fine?" Sarah deadpanned, gazing blankly at Steve. He nodded and Sarah shook her head. Looking heavenwards as she took in a breath to steady herself before explaining, "This is the first time that we're all meeting in person rather than on a skype call, and I want to make a good impression."

"Mom," Steve shifted -- annoying Meatloaf in the process, but not caring -- as he explained, "They've just spent hours on a plane, and I can guarantee that they're going to look a lot worse. Even if you were wearing those ratty pajamas that dad tries to throw out every laundry day before you catch him."

A smile tugged at Sarah's lips and she crossed the room to leave. Sweetly petting Meatloaf before leaning over and pressing a sweet kiss to Steve's forehead. Attempting to fix his floppy blond hair, but ultimately messing it up, Sarah assured, "Thanks, sweetie."

"Any time," Steve smiled up at his mom, noting how the worry lines etched into her face had smoothed. Sure, Steve knew that Sarah was stressing the way that she normally did when guests would be joining them. But Steve was also certain that Winifred and Darlene would get along with Sarah like a lit match and kerosene.

Steve's stomach fluttered at the thought. Since touching down in New York, he had gone a total of three hours before messaging Bucky. It had given him enough time to weepily hold the cherished bowl, unpack, and realize just how much he thoroughly missed the brunet. Wishing that he could just walk down the hallway and find him in the living room. Realizing that he had grown too attached to, not only Bucky, but the whole Barnes clan.

Laying there in his bed reading some story that should've been published in an actual book rather than just on a platform that typically held terrible fanfiction by the truckload, Meatloaf's purrs calmed Steve's nerves. Well, calmed them about as much as Steve calmed Sarah's just a moment prior. So, Steve tried to distract himself the best that he could. With the story, and with thoughts of Bucky.

Steve couldn't remember who suggested it first, but somehow they started making plans for the holidays. There were talks about the Rogers heading down to Arkansas, but Natasha wanted to see her family too, and knew that, thanks to her dad and his fiancée breaking up, there was no way that she'd be allowed to be gone over the winter break.

Just then, Steve's phone vibrated. New message.

Steve's heart stuttered and the butterflies in his stomach started fluttering. Especially once the commotion from downstairs started up.

The front door opened and Meatloaf jumped off Steve's lap as she scurried off for his closet while Steve quickly climbed off his bed. His socked feet slipping on the hardwood floor, but that didn't deter him one bit. Hearing the familiar and deeply missed voices as they greeted Sarah and Joseph. Just as Steve predicted, everyone was getting along swimmingly. Eddie's giggles matched Tibby's and Steve's heart soared as high as the corner of his lips did as they pulled up into a smile that crinkled all the way up to his blue eyes.

When Steve's gaze landed on Bucky, his grin grew even more than he thought it could. Even painfully so. But Steve couldn't stop smiling even if he wanted to. Steve blamed Bucky. How was he expected to keep his emotions in check when Bucky was looking at him like that.

Of course, Steve wasn't the only one to notice.

It was like chain mail. Joseph noticed first, who whispered something to Sarah. As Sarah looked over, a look of adoration crossed her face and, like the sap that she was, she covered her mouth with her hand. Which then clued Winifred and Darlene in. While the parents whispered amongst each other, watching the boys like hawks, Becca overheard and immediately looked towards the staircase where, sure enough, Steve was standing like a dork. And since Becca knew, she elbowed Mandy, who, in turn, nudged Sam.

Clapping a companionable hand on his brother's shoulder, Sam grinned up at Steve and cheerfully greeted, "Steve, get your cute butt down here and give us all hugs before I go up there and carry you down!"

In his embarrassment, Bucky covered his face with his still mittened-hand and shook his head at the ground. Yet, even in his discomfort, the smile didn't slip from his face, causing Steve's heart to melt all the more.

Like a spell had been broken, Steve climbed the rest of the stairs down and accepted Sam's hug first, since Sam was the one who made the first move. Steve had almost forgotten how great of a hugger Sam was. One of those all-encompassing hugs that made Steve feel truly cared about. A way that only a few people had ever been able to.

"I missed ya, man," Sam admitted as he pulled back from the hug to look Steve over. Quirking a brow, Sam complimented, "Have you gotten taller?"

"Ha," Steve sarcastically laughed and playfully rolled his eyes, "I can honestly say that I didn't miss you at all."

"Bruh," Sam feigned hurt as he touched his chest.

"Try living with him," Bucky interjected, regaining Steve's attention.

"Ouch," Sam scoffed. Shaking his head, he pointed accusingly at Bucky and Steve, "This is the season of love and you two are proving the exact opposite."

Steve pressed his lips together to stop himself from laughing, but once he saw that Bucky was doing the same, he couldn't stop the jovial giggles. Which only spurred Bucky's laughter too. And even that was a chain until everyone crowding in the foyer was laughing.

"We really have missed you, dear," Winifred confirmed with an affection grin that brought tears to Sarah's eyes.

Sarah knew just as much as anyone else how difficult and hard the world could be, so when she got emotional at kindness, she really got emotional. While Steve hugged Mandy and Becca, he caught Sarah's eye and simply quirked his brow. Sure, they weren't the only people they had anymore, but they still understood each other better than a lot.

In silent reply, Sarah simply waved off Steve's concern before encouraging their house guests, "Well, c'mon in. How's hot chocolate sound? I'm sure you're simply freezing!"

"Hot chocolate?" Sam questioned, intrigued as he slipped out of his coat.

And finally, Steve and Bucky were left alone.

#call it what you want #home for the holidays #bonus #stucky #steve rogers #transsteve #bucky barnes #panbucky #marvel #fanfic #wattpad #ao3 #modern au #holiday au #ho ho holidays #happy holidays #tis the season #fa la la la love

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remedial-wit · 5 years

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Sunlight Echoes - 1.8k, Winged!Sam Wilson kid-fic

Sammy never gets to go to school like Sarah or Gideon. It's not fair he'll think petulantly at five and six and ten and eleven, even when his siblings complain after a long day. It's not fair.

It's not Sam's fault he has feathers.

When Sammy is four, his mama takes them to the countryside for the weekend. A little seafront town. A five hour train ride from Harlem. It's beautiful, with its salty fresh air and peaceful sounds. There are beaches and sandy shores and rocky caves. And cliffs. Tall and devastating and beautiful, with sharp walls, steep climbs and sudden drops. And Darlene Wilson has got three small children and only two hands.

So imagine her fright when little Sammy gets just a little too close to the edge. There's a bird, a peregrine falcon, big and grand and with fiery eyes, hopping just lazily near the end and Sam has slipped out of her grasp, is letting go to coo and say hello, the way four year olds often do.

"Stay close, Sammy," she warns her middle child softly.

Beside her, a six year old Gid has taken his brother's place and takes to clutching her hand. He's a little less adventurous than Sammy but has just as much heart.

"Yeah be careful Sammy," says Gid, imitating his mother. "It's a long way down."

Naturally, Sammy sticks out his tongue, rolls his eyes and continues to chase his falcon, disregarding it -- like both children and adults do when they think they know better. Which Sammy thinks he does.

"I'm gonna call you Redwing," decides Sam, mostly to himself. The bird tilts it's head in that inquisitive avian way and caws loudly.

And hops a little closer to the edge and Sam follows, hopping along behind it eagerly as well. And hops a little further from his mother.

Why're you hopping? Sam thinks to himself. You're a bird, ain't ya? Why don't you fly?

And then, as if the falcon has read his mind and understood, it suddenly takes off, spreads it's wings and soars, arching into the air.

Right over the edge of the cliff.

And, like a lot of small children might, Sam's little feet follow, stumbling over themselves and the slightly marshy ground. Entranced and unthinking. Little red rainboots and all.

Right over the edge of the cliff.

Darlene Wilson is fishing out sandwiches for lunch one second, and the next she hears tiny Sarah Wilson shriek and her youngest son nowhere to be seen.

"Sammy?" she hears Gideon say distantly, and hears her daughter start to cry. Croaky and high pitched because even she, with her three year old brain, seems to know what has happened.

The sounds from the beach -- the crashing waves, the caw of gulls, the rippling thrashes of wind-- washes away. Her mouth feels dry. Everything slips out of focus and fixes on the spot her youngest son and the falcon were last. Right near the drop.

"Sam?" she hears herself whisper this time, though she cannot feel her mouth move. Nor her chapped lips or her lead tongue.

But she hears herself again: screaming this time, voice cracking through the air. Gideon is crying now too.

"Sammy!"

Perhaps this is just a dream. Surely, this cannot be real. In a few seconds she will gasp awake in her the bed and creep over to her children's room and weep, kiss Sammy on the head and hold all her children close to her chest and vow to never let them go.

Sammy…Sammy doesn't really remember much of the falling, he figures he blacked out or something. But he looks down and the jagged rocks at the bottom are -- not getting any closer but further away. His heart is pounding in his ears and the rush of the wind tunnels through them to the other side.

And then he registers the strong beating of wings. The controlled, steady lilt of his path in the air.

Looks up and sees his falcon (Redwing) clutching his shirt with sharp claws and looking at him with a glint in their eyes.

Sammy is flying. Kinda.

Awesome, he thinks, and looks down again. It does not look quite so scary.

Redwing, his bird who saved him, drops him off back on the cliff but not quite so close the edge. Wisely and politely, Sammy says, "Wow, thank you," because his mother has always taught him to say please and thank you.

The bird catches his eye, then, and looks at him with his golden eyes. Sammy suddenly thinks he hears something akin to "you're welcome. Be more careful next time," ring through his mind. His jaw drops.

"Did'ya hear that?" he gasps, turning to his family in astonishment. "Tha' birdy just talked to me!"

But Sammy's family haven’t been listening. Darlene Wilson is staring agape at the bird who saved her son and feels overwhelmed by it. She'd dropped the sandwiches a few seconds earlier; dropped them when she'd seen her Sammy had dropped first; but now she has her hands free. Free to cling onto her little boy and never let him go.

Sam's mama grips onto the back of Sam's shirt for the rest of the day, even when they make it back to the train, and the whole journey home as well. She holds on tight to Sarah and Gid too, and whispers as many prayers, thanking, that someone above that seems to be looking out for her children. Her small, tiny, silly children.

When they finally arrive home -- a nice little three-bedroom, which Darlene is thankful for everyday -- Gid and Sarah's tears have all dried up, the shock of the day long forgotten and behind them in that easy way children have. It's dark out and long past the children's bedtime.

Sammy's mother tucks him into bed, and its only then that she allows herself to weep. She does not mean to wake her son, but she does anyway. And her son crawls up into her lap and hugs his mama tight with little arms and gives her cheeks tiny kisses, soft and light.

"Sorry mama." he whispers to her solemnly, after a moment. "I won't chase the birds no more, promise."

But Darlene looks at her son, sleepy and tired eyed but kind and so gentle, and shushes him. Shakes her head. "Oh Sammy," she replies, looking forlorn. "My baby boy, don't ever worry about that. If you wanna chase falcons, chase 'em. But you only gotta promise me you'll look where you're running before you run."

Because Sammy is four. Little kids are supposed to be free to run happily and carelessly, and chase birds if they wish. Darlene Wilson will be damned if she lets a few seconds get in the way of her children living happy. Living free.

"Okay mama. I promise."

When he gets home, Paul kisses his wife on the lips, short and chaste and tender, and Darlene sits him down and tells him all things which have conspired today. Paul does not cry, but he frowns, clenches his knuckles and peeks into the rooms of his children, and pecks their cheeks, and thinks long and hard about how precious they each are. How fragile.

He decides then, and promises it to himself silently, as he had when they'd each been born only a few years ago but he'll keep promising it, that he is gonna protect them, see them grow up fine and strong and brilliant.

Darlene takes her husband's hand when they finally settle into bed for the night and holds tight.

The morning after, over oatmeal with two much honey, Sam has started to cry. He's crying because "Redwing really did speak to me, and I ain't a liar!" and Darlene Wilson looks over the breakfast table tenderly and feels relief, because this is normal. This is good.

It's only a couple hours later of Sammy still being insistent of a damned bird speaking to him, that she pays any mind.

Maybe it's the shock, she thinks to herself. Maybe he's in shock and thinks he heard something impossible. Or perhaps his big four year old imagination had cooked it up and he actually believes it. Birds can be imaginary friends right? Yeah. That's probably it.

By lunchtime, though, Gid and Sarah seem have started playing along; Sarah sees a squirrel and calls it Jane and says that she too can speak to the animals.

"This is Quickly" Says Sam, pointing to grackle on the window. "Mama, say hi to Quickly."

She waves a hello tentatively, and he smiles, satisfied.

Sammy is usually a happy child, easily complacent and doesn't really complain unless he feels something is truly wrong. But at dinner, even after the joy of the day, he is grumpy and snaps at his siblings irritably over who gets to sit where, and that his plate is greasy, and that his water tastes gross, and complains the whole time. His face is getting paler and greener and his forehead looks shiny with sweat.

"Sammy, you okay?" she asks finally. "Do you want to lie down?"

It's like an elastic band snapping back--Sam lurches forward over the table and almost gags, keeling over his meatloaf and roast vegetables.

His jaw is clenched tight and she can see him curling into himself and his wrists vibrating with tension. He has his eyes closed but he gives a small shaky nod.

"My back hurts," he tells her later, after she's ushered him up to his bed. There are still tears in his eyes and all his thin muscles are straining painfully. He looks at her, the way little boys should look at their mothers, as though she can fix this. Kiss all the pain away and make it better. She should. The quivering of his body from the pain seems to make it hurt even more.

She wants to cry for him.

She can't, though. Instead, she goes downstairs and fills up a tin bucket with warm water and finds a soft towel, soaking it. He's lying on his tummy when she returns, his fists clutching the bedsheet tightly and burying his face into his pillow.

"I'm gonna wash your back now, okay?" she says, squeezing the cloth in her fingers.

"Okay," he mumbles, muffled and quiet now.

Warm and damp, the cloth touches his back, brushing lightly. His limbs go taut and rigid, straight as a ruler.

A broken sort of mewling sound escapes from her little boy.

Darlene wishes they could afford a doctor.

The next three days Sam spends lying in his bed, weak, on his tummy, passed out from exertion or the pain, only strong enough to lift his head to swallow vegetable broth, or awake enough to go to the toilet. It's getting worse, gradually. Once, Sam is coherent enough to describe it. Like his spine is being ripped out of his back, is what he says, slowly being wrenched away and pulling the skin with it.

It takes two more weeks before the feathers finally appear.

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caranfindel · 6 years

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Recap/review 14.01: Stranger in a Strange Land

The Road So Far: Well, this montage pales in comparison to the one at the beginning of 13.23. Conspicuously absent: Sam being killed by vampires and resurrected by Lucifer. Also, it's set to an AC/DC song, and I dislike AC/DC, so let's just skip this, shall we?

(But Caranfindel! We thought you LOVED all that crappy old 80s music!)

You kids behave or I'll turn this car around.

Anyway. We open with Sam, driving the Impala alone through the night. He feels the same way I do about AC/DC, and turns off the radio (Sidebar: Have I mentioned before that I love when the soundtrack becomes part of the actual scene? Because I do.) Let's just take a good look at Sam here, looking magnificently angry and beardy. Because of course he's been too busy/depressed/other reasons to shave. And honestly, I'm not normally into beards. I love some heavy scruff, but a heavy beard doesn't generally do things for me. But this is just, rawr. I don't want him to keep it. Mama needs to see those dimples. But for right now? Let's enjoy it.

Mmmmm yes.

We cut to a (presumably) Muslim man being awakened by a call to prayers. He puts out his rug, begins to pray, and is suddenly shocked to see The Flying Squirrel sitting in his living room. Still wearing the hat, unfortunately. Michael informs Jamil that he's read about him, and quotes what is presumably the Koran (and Jensen speaking what is presumably Arabic isn't quite as hot as Jared speaking French, but is still very, very enjoyable). I wasn't aware that Gabriel and Michael were mentioned in the Koran. (Is this not actually the Koran? I'm going to feel like an idiot if it's not.)

Yes, you are the better one, but only because of your pretty, pretty vessel.

Michael is there to ask Jamil the question he's been asking a variety of people ("holy men, leaders, killers") for weeks. "What do you want?" (Sidebar: speaking of holy men, I still wonder where Michael and Lucifer found all the ingredients for the spell to open the rift in AU Land. How did Lucifer recognize that the blood came from a Most Holy Man and wasn't just average blood?)

Jamil says he wants peace and love, and Michael snidely points out that if he'd really wanted peace, he wouldn't have left Syria and abandoned his friends to die, and that's cold, man. That's really cold. He also tells him that if he cared about love, he wouldn't have gone into that broom closet with Darlene and his wife wouldn't have left him, and I'm with you on that one, Michael. Avoid going into broom closets with chicks named Darlene. Michael then throws Jamil about the room and tells him he's lost, and not worth saving. And for his part, Michael wants what he's always wanted: a better world. Oooh, like ours, maybe? Duh duh duuuuuhhhh!

New title card! I don't really like it. The blue flames are cool but the wings are too cartoony.

Bunker. The place is bustling with activity. A poor Sam substitute with long hair and a plaid shirt is laying out different types of bullets for Mary. Maggie is tending to someone who was injured by a rawhead. Someone shows up with food. Sam comes downstairs, apparently having just returned from Atlanta, and gets a hug. Aw. I guess the silver lining to Dean being gone is that Sam gets to be Number One Son for once.

His lead in Atlanta didn't pan out, but Mary reminds him that Ketch is working on a lead in London (and just like at the end of s13, there is no evdience at all that Mary remembers or cares what Ketch did to her in s12, so... okay then) and Cas is doing something in Detroit (Sidebar: How does Sam feel about Detroit? Can he hear Castiel's in Detroit without hearing Lucifer tell him I think it's gonna happen in Detroit?) and then she thoughtfully expositions for us that it's been three weeks since Dean... and she trails off without saying whatever she was going to say. I know it's awkward to say since he agreed to be an archangel vessel in an attempt to save your life but you could just say since Dean's been gone.

She assures Sam that "something will break; it has to" (and I'm thinking yes, and it will be Sam) and he says "yeah, you keep saying that." Oh, Sam. You used to be the one assuring Dean that you'd be able to fix/find/kill/save whatever, and now you're on the other side of that conversation.

He yawns, and she tries to get him to get some rest. Poor Sam never had a mother and now he's being mothered within an inch of his life. Then Not!Sam calls him Chief \o/ and gives him some soup and some bad news about vampires on I-90. Sam gives some instructions, because he's Leader Sam now, and then he asks Maggie if she can hack into the traffic cams and she says "Um. No."

I don't know if this is just supposed to be amusing, or if it's a sign that Sam is cracking under the pressure and has forgotten that this is Maggie, not Charlie. Or if it's just a demonstration of how useless Maggie is, although she's performing first aid so it's not like all she can do is sneak out to meet the cute guy at the Gas N Sip.

Sam hands his food off to Mary, because you can't hack and eat at the same time, everyone knows that, and sits down at the laptop, pointedly ignoring some mothering from Mary. "I'm good, I am," he says.

YES YOU ARE, MY PRECIOUS LITTLE LUMBERJACK, YOU ARE SO, SO GOOD.

He asks Mary about Jack, which is our segue to Jack sparring with AU Bobby. Jack's learning how much life sucks with no angelic powers. While Sam has ignored his grooming routine, Jack has changed his hair. It's shorter, without so much swoop in the front. It's okay.

Cut to a barbeque joint in what must be Detroit. We see a pair of shoes and too-long pants walking in, and then a guy wearing a pair of Agent Smith sunglasses says "Castiel, darling" and greets Cas, who is sitting at a conspicuous table right in the middle of the dining room. The fireplace behind him looks very much like the one we saw in President Lucifer's hotel room. Coincidence? (Spoiler alert: No, I don't think it's a coincidence that there’s a Fireplace from Hell in this restaurant.)

Cas is surprised Agent Smith chose this place to meet, and Agent Smith is surprised that Cas wanted to meet at all, considering that he's (dramatically removes the sunglasses) a demon. (gasp!) Cas asks if any demons know where Dean is, and Agent Smith says he's surprised that Cas lost him, considering that they're "joined at the... you know, everything." Oh, wait. Is Andrew Dabb a Destiel shipper? Because it's getting awfully shippy in here. I feel like I should complain about him pandering to the baser desires of a certain contingency of fans, but on the other hand, he's give me Bearded Angsty Sam, so let's just agree not to discuss our various base desires, shall we?

Carrying on. Agent Smith asks the eternal question, not "what do you want" but "what's in it for me," and Cas threatens to kill him if he doesn't spill. Oddly enough, even though Cas could tell if someone was evil or if they were lying in s13, he didn't realize that everyone else in this restaurant is a demon. Your powers are oddly specific, Cas. There's a fight, in which angels and demons use fists, because that's just what you do now, and Cas is predictably beaten to a pulp. (Also of note: one of the beer signs in the restaurant is for Fast Jack's Ale.)

Cut to a church. Sister Jo? We're back to that, then? Okay. Anael walks out, counting a wad of money, and meets Michael in a dark alley. He calls her Jo because... because that's how he was introduced to her? No. Because that's her angel name? No. There is no reason for any angel to call her Jo. What the fuck ever. She recognizes that he's not Dean, and then I don't know if he reveals his wings, or if she just sees him in Angel!Vision (Angel Radio is so old fashioned), but we get a special effect and she realizes who he is.

Do I like this or is it cheesy? 🤔

She even knows he’s not from our world. But I guess the AU angels recognized that Lucifer wasn’t from their world. Just not so quickly.

Oh God.

People keep calling me that.

Hee! (Although I don't think angels would use "God" like that but whatever.) She asks why Dean would have let Michael possess him, and Michael answers "love," and YES. I am here for Michael recognizing that Dean loves Sam (and maybe Jack but we know this was about Sam) and would have only done this to save him. Michael asks her his question, what do you want, and she spouts some designer labels. (Sidebar: What is the deal with her, anyway? Why does she need money?) He doesn't believe she's telling the truth, and I hope he’s right, because Show has given me no reason to think an angel would be interested in material things, even if they're covered with big tacky double-C logos.

Michael says he knows all about her, because "the other angel" knew all about her. Lucifer? Is he talking about Lucifer? (And one of the things Lucifer knew was that her name was not Jo, but whatever!) He knows that what she really wants is love, a home, a family. "It's very, very human of you." Hmmm. Interesting that Anael kind of liked that "almost human" feeling she got when Lucifer was sucking down her grace. Michael knows there are very few angels left, and thought he might be able to help, but if they're all as lost and fallen as she is, maybe they're not worth saving. Careful, Anael. The last person who heard this speech was Jamil, and it did not end well for him.

Bunker. Jack is sitting on his bed when Sam comes in. He's heard from Bobby that Jack had a terrible no good awful day (although I thought Jack was actually okay at the end of his scene with Bobby?), and he's so kind and encouraging about how hard it must be for him to be without his powers. "I have faith in you, Jack," he says. "And I believe in you." Which is basically the same thing but daaaaaawwwww! Mary interrupts to say "Sam, um, he's awake." Sam sighs and looks distressed and I know what you were all thinking. Who is awake and why does this distress Sam so much? He tells Jack "We'll talk later, all right?" but Jack stays in Quiet Angst mode and doesn't respond as Sam sadly creeps out of his room.

In the hall, Sam and Mary are talking about him.

Did he say anything?

I didn't talk to him. I can barely look at him.

Sam is clearly fucked the hell UP over him, and Mary peels off as Sam hesitantly opens the door. The room is dark, and a figure in a white shirt is sitting on the bed. Sam sighs nervously again and turns on the light and walks into the room. The man on the bed is facing away from us, but we can see his bed is in the middle of a devil's trap. Sam comes closer, radiating fear the way he did when he was locked in the jail cell with Jack in 13.01, and the figure turns around.

Hey, Sam.

Hey. Nick.

OH GOD, GUYS, NICK IS ALIVE.

We get a flashback of Lucifer convincing Nick to be his vessel, but we don't get Lucifer promising revenge against the people who murdered his wife and baby. I think anyone who hasn't been watching long would have benefited from knowing why Nick said yes. But maybe we'll get back to that later.

Sam and Nick discuss his nightmares, and I can't help wondering how much he remembers, if he knows what his body did to Sam, if he knows how many of Sam's nightmares feature his face. Sam cleans his angel blade wound, and they speculate on why the archangel blade didn't kill him. I assume they're setting us up to accept that the archangel blade will kill Michael and not Dean. Oh, those crazy archangel blades and their bizarre rules.

(Sidebar: Why is Sam the one taking care of Nick? Because no one else will do it? Because Sam won't make anyone else do it? Discuss.)

(I'm not crying, you're crying.)

Nick is a little whiny and "poor me, I almost ended the world." Okay, that's not fair, I can see why he'd be upset. But do not whine to Sam Winchester about it. Sam is so tentative and kind. When Nick says it must be weird to look at him, Sam surprises me by saying "yeah," instead of brushing off his own trauma. He asks Nick if he remembers anything, and Nick says it's still "bits and pieces" and nothing about Dean. He does remember Michael saying he "wanted to do it right this time." Duh duh duuuuhhhhhh!

We see Sam in the hall, shutting the door with a long shaky sigh and rubbing at his face, and STOP IT I CANNOT DEAL WITH THIS I AM ONLY HUMAN.

This is the sound of my heart breaking.

I have so many feelings about this scene. First, so much love for Jared, because he shows Sam's terror of this guy SO WELL. And, like 13.01, that conflict between his fear and his need to be nice to this person, to care for him.

And I have conflicted feelings about Nick being alive and well. First, it's bizarre, because (1) why would the archangel blade not kill the vessel along with the angel, because that was definitely human blood, and (b) why is he sane? Why would Lucifer have taken better care of his vessel than Raphael did? (And does it mean Gabriel's vessel is alive over in AU Land?)

And does it mean Lucifer is coming back? Because I DO NOT WANT. Although I have one tiny speck of hopeful joy, because if this isn't really Nick, if this is, in fact, Lucifer? Or if Lucifer's grace will grow inside him (because we know a bit of grace remains inside the vessel) and he becomes Lucifer? That means Sam could still kill him. (Oh, please, baby Jesus.)

But I also have a lot of anger. Because this should have been a shocking reveal, and it wasn't, because the SHOW ITSELF SPOILED IT. I don't know if this happened to everybody, but in my time zone, we had a commercial for the movie "Halloween" that was apparently a tie-in with the show, and it showed Sam asking Nick if he remembered Michael. AND THEY SHOWED IT BEFORE THE REVEAL. WHAT THE FUCK, SHOW??? I assume it was a mistake, and judging from my Tumblr feed, it didn't happen in every time zone. So to those of you who actually got to be surprised, congratulations. I'm sure it was awesome.

Carrying on.

Sam's phone rings. It's Cas's phone, but it's not Cas talking. It's Agent Smith. The next shot is Sam loading up his weapons bag, confidently agreeing with Mary that yes, it is a trap, but of course he's going anyway. He's bringing Mary and Bobby, which makes sense, and Maggie, which doesn't. I guess all the good hunters are off looking for vampires on I-90. Jack wants to come too, which Bobby finds ridiculous, but Sam explains that Jack needs this. OH SAM.

Back at the restaurant, Agent Smith gets a coffee refill and asks Cas if he's sure he doesn't want anything hot and black. Which reminds me... what happened to Michael's previous vessel? Shouldn't he be around somewhere? Agent Smith says he's trying to be a good host, "like mother would have wanted," which makes me think we're going to find out something interesting about his mother and/or a female boss, perhaps an awesome Queen of Hell. (Spoiler alert: false alarm.)

He expositions that he needs something from Sam, because someone recently asked him what he wanted (Michael! It was Michael!) and he didn't know. So he thought about it, and he realized he wants everything. Hmmm. Would Michael have accepted that as an answer? Apparently so, because Agent Smith still walks the earth.

Impala. Sam's driving, with Mary riding shotgun, and I guess everyone else is in Bobby's truck. Mary tells Sam again that everything is going to be fine, and he shocks me by saying "Stop saying that, please." He's tired of her relentless everything will be okay and says "Dean's gone, and we have no idea where he is, or if he's even still alive, you know? Michael could have burned him out, or worse..."

Mary says she knows that, but she has to think about the good, "because if I don't, I will drown in the bad," which reminds me of Sam once saying there was so much evil that he thought he could drown in it. And I like this scene a lot. I like Sam breaking, telling Mary what he thinks instead of burying his feelings. I like the fact that Sam knows so much better than Mary ever could what can happen when you're in an archangels hands. I like that Sam knows how Raphael's vessel ended up, alive but gone. I like that Sam's voice gets shaky when he talks about what could be happening to Dean. I like this all, very much.

In the other car, Bobby tells Jack that they've got his back. Jack looks sadly out the window. I don't know why. I don't understand what's going on here. Is he concerned that he's so useless, someone has to have his back? Is he having second thoughts about coming along? Is he regretting his haircut? I just don't know.

The gang arrives at the restaurant and Sam gives Mary the demon-killing knife. "They'll search me," he says, because he's so damn smart. Then he tells the others "you know what to do," which suggests some kind of plan, and heads for the restaurant. Once inside, he is patted down as predicted, and Agent Smith fangirls all over him. "You are a damn legend, Sam. An icon! The shoulders, the hair! You are my Beyonce!" Same, Agent Smith. Same.

Sam ignores him to ask Cas if he's okay. Cas says he's more embarrassed than hurt, and, well, he should be, because this is pretty embarrassing. Agent Smith introduces himself as Kipling, Kip for short, but I'm sorry, it's too late for that. He's stuck with Agent Smith as far as I'm concerned. Sam refuses to shake his hand. Don't feel bad, Agent Smith, he refused to shake Mick Davies' hand too.

Smith points out that Sam didn't come alone, as he was supposed to, and his minions drag Jack and Maggie into the room. "Found them outside," a minion says; "they didn't even put up a fight." I assume this is part of the plan, that Jack and Maggie are a diversion or something. Agent Smith says he needs more from Sam now. He wants to make a deal.

Turns out Hell is in "a bit of a pickle." Crowley is dead and Asmodeus is "Kentucky-fried" (see, it's funny, because he looked like Colonel Sanders) and Sam interrupts him to say "I don't care" but Agent Smith thinks he does. Or he will. He wants to be the new King, and he wants Sam to work with him. "You see, I want the Crowley deal. I give you information, a spot of help every now and again, and in turn, you choose to turn a blind eye to the crossroads deals, the demon-on-demon violence, etc." Well, good for you, Crowley. Your mother thought the Winchesters were your weak spot, but Agent Smith here realizes it was a mutually beneficial relationship. Sam tells him they didn't actually have that deal with Crowley, and also that he's no Crowley, and aw. I miss the little limey bastard.

Agent Smith doesn't appreciate this, and growls that in his day he rode with Genghis Khan. He pokes Sam's chest and says "If I had my way I would eat your heart," and I feel you, Agent Smith. If I had my way, I'd also be removing that unfortunate orange jacket and that shirt and nibbling at whatever I found underneath. It's a sad day for both of us.

Agent Smith tells Sam that he's not afraid of him, but his minions are, and he should take the deal before he "stops trying to be Crowley," which I guess means stops not killing Sam's friends. So, is Agent Smith going to be the new Big Bad? The new King of Hell? I mean, he's not the most boring demon we've ever seen, but he's not really grabbing me, either. On the other hand, a King who's more of a Sam fan than a Dean fan could be fun. (Though, let us never forget that no matter how much Crowley craved a bromance with Dean, he was still Not Moose in Crowley's phone.)

Sam acts like he's considering the offer and then calmly says "no," and then Mary and Bobby burst in and there's a weirdly long, weirdly slow-motion fight. Really, it goes on way too long. There's no reason for an extended slow-motion fight when there's no suspense about who's going to come out of it alive. The only person who might conceivably die here is Maggie, and even she survives. Jack defends a fallen Bobby, Mary tells Maggie how to use a knife (seriously?), Sam gets some nice hair-in-the-face action, but really, we could have skipped 90% of this melee. And I'm still confused about why sometimes demons can pin people against walls, and sometimes they can't. Or just choose not to.

Eventually Sam kills Agent Smith and then shouts enough! and oh, you know I like that, don't you. Everyone stops fighting, because Sam Fucking Winchester said so. "There will be no new King of Hell," he announces. "Not today, not ever. Anybody wants the job, he can come through me. Understood? So, what's it gonna be?" Apparently it is understood, because the demons immediately smoke out. The humans (and Cas) look at Sam, shocked, and he pants (hubba hubba) and says "that's what I thought."

Well. What do we think about this? I mean, on the one hand, it's awesome. It's Sam Fucking Winchester taking charge. On the other hand, the only possible way it makes sense is if the demons have a reason to fear him. And that would have to be because they see him as Boy!King Sam, not as Sam Winchester the hunter, right? There's no reason for them to fear him that much as a human hunter. But there's no way he's getting his powers back, so why is Show teasing us like this?

Carrying on. Sam is back in the bunker, wearing a dark shirt with rolled up sleeves showing his big veiny arms (YAAASSSSS), holding a beer bottle against his head. He's on the phone, telling someone to keep looking. Cas comes in and Sam tells him the call was from Ketch, who's in London looking for the pulse generator they used to remove Lucifer from President Rooney. Hmmm, I'd forgotten about that thing. So, is Ketch searching in the BMoL headquarters? Is he welcome there? Or are they dead/disbanded because of what happened over here? So many questions. No answers.

Mmmmmm... ❤️

Cas asks if he's okay, and since he's on an honesty streak, Sam admits he's been better. But also that he's been worse. Oh, Sam. Cas apologizes for going to the demons, and Sam says he'd have done it himself if he'd thought of it. "If it meant finding Dean, I'd work with... I'd do anything."

Have you considered watching The Weather Channel? They’ve been tracking Michael for days.

In the kitchen, Mary and Bobby drink beer and make cute googly eyes at each other. He calls her "Sunshine." They're precious.

In his room, Jack stares angrily in the mirror and tells Cas he's fine, which is obviously a lie.

All I did was get punched in the face.

To be fair, we all got punched in the face.

Hee! But Jack misses his powers, and the ability to actually do something. Cas tells him his grace should regenerate with time, which answers THAT big question. Jack complains about being useless without his grace, and this is a good opportunity for Cas to point out that no one else in the bunker has magic nephilim powers and yet they're not useless, even Maggie, so why does he think he can't do anything? But he doesn't. He just tells him he has a family, which isn't really what Jack's complaint is right now. Jack still looks unhappy, so I guess this is setting us up for some future conflict. Yay.

Sam goes into his room, empties his pockets (he still has the money clip from Tall Tales!!!), and gets a phone call from an unknown number. It's Jo. "We have a problem,” she says. I don’t know about you, but I think she’s working for Michael!

And finally, in a dank damp basement somewhere, Michael has finally found someone who answered his question correctly and knows exactly what they want. "You don't pretend to want to help people, or save the world. Your want is pure, and simple, and clean. And that's why you are worth saving. That's why we are going to work so well together. Because you? You just want to eat." Oh, because you're a vampire. Well. That's not good.

So! I know the first ep of the season needs to set up the story arcs, so it's not necessarily going to be great. It has a lot of work to do. And I think this one did okay with that. We've got some interesting irons in the fire - Angry Chief Sam and his Beard of Despair, who has (probably temporarily) stopped telling people what they want to hear, and is telling his truth instead. The Nick situation. Whatever conflict is going to brew with Jack while his grace regenerates. Michael's hunt for the perfect thoughtless killing machine. Sam as default King of Hell. There are things brewing that I don't like. Jack turning his self-loathing against Sam or Cas. The potential return of Lucifer. There are things that make no sense. An angel who wants designer bags. Michael's hat. Hopefully they will all go away. And there were things I adored, which is basically ALL THINGS SAM. Chief Sam, patient-but-angry Sam, lord-of-all-demons Sam, terrified-but-caring Sam, hair-in-his-face Sam, BEARDY SAM, ALL THE SAM, ALL THE TIME.

But I miss Dean. What do you think about Jensen as Michael? I think he's doing a pretty good job. I don't think he plays Not!Dean as well as Jared plays Not!Sam, but I do think he's doing well. It makes me wish we'd had more of Demon!Dean.

Please help me stay unspoiled, thanks!

#spn #14.01 #spoilers #recap #your face your fucking face #beard of despair

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shreyamistry · 6 years

Text

XI. Family

Ivy x MC

Summary: Ivy invites Jamie back to her hometown for a family reunion. The pair reminiscing on the past they’ve lived and further to come, and Jamie gets to know Ivy’s mother and her past in pageantry. The night falls and Ivy wants nothing more than a few quiet moments with her lover, but her mom may have other plans for her.

A/N: Check out my masterlist here! See my specific Choices September Creates mastelist here! Requests are open, find my rules here! Don’t know what to request? See my prompt list 200 Prompts here, OTP here, Angst here!

Tagging: @choices-september-challenge

Thanks for reading! I hope you like it!

Ivy brushes her hand through her curls, curled up on the swing outside her parents house leaning against Jamie’s frame for support. Their arms around her waist listening softly to Ivy humming a tune to herself. Her mind heavy with thoughts about her family, she thought they liked Jamie, but she couldn’t be sure. And she knew her parents would be disappointed when they found out she lost America’s Most Eligible, but she met Jamie so hopefully that would make up the loss for them.

“You have a huge family.” Jamie laughs against the back of her head taking her away from her thoughts, their lips grazing her hair with a gentle a kiss. Delighting in the scent of her shampoo, a mixture of fragrant berries with honey, delighting their nostrils. Ivy stretches into their touch, her arms raised above her head as she moves to rest her hands on the back of Jamie’s head. Her fingers brushing through the strands of Jamie’s hair, moving gently against their scalp.

“Do you like em?” She asks softly, looking up to half meet Jamie’s gaze, her fingers delving deeper into Jamie’s hair as she moves with more gusto with her massaging motions. Jamie sighs into Ivy’s comforting touch, enjoying the warmth from Ivy’s smaller form against the cool night breeze passing over them.

“They’re very sweet.” Jamie admits, placing a kiss onto Ivy’s skin. “Besides shoving more and more food onto my plate, they kept calling me a hero.” Jamie smiles.

Ivy laughs, tucking her face to the side of the bench. She smiles happily, looking back up at the night sky, the light of the stars twinkling in the sky above them making her heart swell with joy. The stars reminding her of a safe and happy time, the warmth in her heart from her family accepting the amazing person she fell in love with, for them accepting her family as large and crazy as it is, she didn’t think she could ever be happier than she was in this moment.

“Mama loves her feta and cheese noodles.” Ivy giggles, “At least she didn’t give you seven pieces of pies yet. She made my ex-girlfriend leave with 3 helpings of everything.”

“Meaning she’s probably preparing a plate for me as we speak?” Jamie jokes, as their fingers trace the skin of Ivy’s hands down her shoulders Ivy shivering softly under their touch. Ivy simply laughs in response, pushing her body against Jamie’s seeking the warmth of their body. “Oh you’re serious.”

“Mighty so.” Ivy laughs, as she shifts in her spot bringing down her arms heavy with soreness as she rests her hands against Jamie’s knee. “You should know southern hospitality is taken seriously here. When I won my first pageant they gave the runner up a medal to make her feel better.” Ivy reminisce of the little girl crying beside her before her parents offered her a broach from her mother’s own dress her tears suddenly becoming happy before the pair grew to be best friends.

“High stakes.” Jamie jokes, “What did your parents say when you won?”

Ivy shifts again in Jamie’s grasp, sighing with a gentle smile as she laces her fingers with her lover’s. “My grandma took me to this pag, against my mother’s wishes. I’d saw pictures of my mother competing when she was young and I wanted to do it. Mama was always adamantly against the idea, but grams didn’t fret she helped me practice a tap number and we went.”

“So, you not only went against your family’s wishes, you also won first place?” Jamie asks, a smirk on their lips as Ivy rolls her eyes with a soft smile. They bring her hands to their lips pressing a gentle kiss against her cool skin, “however does this story end?”

“Turns our mama found out and was in the audience, she planned to yank me from stage when she saw how happy and proud I looked on the stage. She couldn’t bring herself to do that to me.” Ivy smiles at the memory, “A beautiful memory.”

“Thanks for sharing that with my, Ives.” Jamie replies, hugging her body close to them, brushing her hair off her shoulder as they lean in placing a gentle kiss onto the skin of her neck. “You always continue to surprise me.”

“Oh hush you.” She smiles, tilting her head off to one side, enjoying the sensation of Jamie’s lips against her skin, a soft moan leaving her lips. “If you wanna continue you this in private, my high school bedroom has a beautiful view on the balcony. And a few questionable posters on the walls.”

Jamie smirks, helping Ivy out of the bench swing holding her hand tightly as she settles herself on her feet before standing up after them. Hand in hand they make their way inside to come face to face with Ivy’s mom’s cheeks flushed red as she turns her back to them pretending to fiddle with a few pieces of paper on the table. Grabbing one in particular.

“Mrs. Fisher were you spying on us?” Jamie jokes, getting a shy smile in response as Ivy rests her hand against her forehead with a flush of embarrassment coloring her cheeks. Ivy bites onto her lip refusing to meet her mother’s gaze, as she slips adjusts the hem of her dress with her free hand.

“Please, just call me Darlene darling, or mom.” She winks at Ivy, getting a deep blush in response from her. Jamie laughs nudging her in the side with their elbow, causing Ivy to blush further her eyes averting the gaze of both her mother and lover again.

“Well mom, Ivy and I are going to her bedroom for the night, too much excitement for the both of us.” Jamie smiles, placing Ivy’s hand onto the crock of their elbow. “We’ve has a long day after all, and your food has given me a slight food baby coma.” Darlene laughs, settling into a bright smile.

“Mama-“ Ivy goes to speak, only to get cut off with a wink from her mom.

“No problem, rest up well be up bright and early for the family picnic.” Her mom leans in placing a kiss on Ivy’s cheek before pushing them towards the stairs. “Breakfast will be ready by six on the dot, hun. Don’t be late!”

“Yes mama.” Ivy smiles pulling Jamie up the stairs with her glancing at her mom with a stern frown before leading Jamie to her room. By the time the door closes, Jamie’s lips are pushing against Ivy’s holding her against the door both of them savoring the moment and taste of each other. Ivy’s hand exploring the strands of Jamie’s hair. Ivy traces her left hand down the curve of Jamie’s jaw.

“I’m happy you came with me Jamie, it means everything and more to me.” Ivy smiles, her body flush against Jamie’s resting her forehead against their with a smile. “Now, onto the view from the balcony I told you about. Hopefully the wine I’ve left is still up here.” Ivy leads Jamie towards the door with a sheepish smile, pulling them into the night air excited for the rest of their stay.

#ivy fisher #ivy x mc #mc x ivy #america's most eligible #playchoices #ame #choices ame #csc #choices september challenge #choices america’s most eligible #prompt #yeah thanks for reading #suggestive

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iamnesta · 6 years

Text

SUMMER. (pt. 1)

Prompt: “You’re hiding something and I don’t know what it is but I’m sick of the lies.”

Pairing: Sam Wilson x Reader (gender neutral)

Word Count: 2.9k+

Warnings: Mild language. Infinity War spoilers.

A/N: Sam Wilson deserves more love, so I decided to write about him for @hollandroos‘s 12k Writing Challenge. This piece takes place after Thanos’s snap and describes Sam’s time in the afterlife or whatever parallel universe the soul stone took him to. I may have used Anthony Mackie’s comment about Jamaica from the dreaded ACE Comic Con panel as inspiration. I apologize in advance if this fanfic is boring; it’s more of a character-driven story than a plot-driven story. Anywho, I hope I do Sam’s character justice, as this is my first time writing for him. Enjoy!

Read on Ao3

***

Death was far less painful than Sam Wilson imagined it would be. He had been dragging himself across the forest floor of Wakanda, his fingers clutching at dirt and brush as he desperately tried to haul himself upright, and then — nothing. Darkness enveloped his mind and body, caressing his skin and pressing chilly kisses against his cheeks. He felt weightless, his limbs held aloft by some unknown force, the once-incessant pounding in his skull now gone. If he had known dying would be this pleasant, Sam would never have feared it. He may have even welcomed it.

Thoughts drifted through Sam’s head but floated away before they fully formed. Soon, he had no recollection of who he had once been. His struggles and successes were eaten up by that soft, encompassing darkness until he was nothing but a name. The rage and guilt and sorrow that had plagued Sam when he was alive vanished, and the sensation was so liberating that he did not notice when he could no longer recognize his friends’ laugher or his mother’s face.

All of Sam’s cares and worries had spiraled into nothing like smoke on a summer breeze; he lost any concept of time as seconds or hours or decades passed. Eventually, the comfort of cold shadows slowly melted away and Sam’s body began to regain its normal heaviness, though his soul remained airy and light and empty.

Wooden slats dug into Sam’s bare back as he lay beneath a harsh sun that heated his bones. A salty wind lazily soothed the sweat already beginning to pinprick Sam’s skin, the sound of gulls and gently rolling waves lapping against a sandy shore reawakening his senses. He cracked his eyes open, blinking rapidly and bringing a hand up to protect his gaze from the bright white light that beat down on him.

Sam eased himself into a seated position, observing the reclined chair beneath him and the thin linen shorts he wore. In front of him a calm blue-green ocean burbled happily, and everywhere else there was fine, pale sand that stretched for miles. For as far as Sam could see, the beach was flat and empty, completely devoid of any life other than himself.

Once, Sam might have found the abandoned expanse of land and utter lack of human voices or activity to be eerie. But as he swung his legs over the side of the chair and buried his toes in the scalding sand, all Sam felt was peace within his deceased heart.

With nothing else to do, Sam began to walk along the surf of the sea, savoring every deep inhale of briny air.

He walked until the sun fell and the sky blackened, billions upon billions of stars blinking to life. Sam was not tired, but he lowered himself to the ground nonetheless, curling up in the frothing foam and willing his eyelids to slide shut.

The warm water crept forward, sliding over Sam’s legs and shoulders and neck. Salt clung to his lips, although perhaps the saline was from the tears sliding down the bridge of his nose rather than the ocean waves. Sam did not know why he was crying, as he had no memories, but the sobs wracked his entire body. He wrapped his arms around his knees and hugged himself tight, his breath slowing as sleep claimed him.

***

Sam was sixteen and sitting in the kitchen of his childhood home in Harlem. He was wearing ratty plaid pajama pants and a t-shirt depicting the album art of an old jazz musician as he hurriedly shoveled cereal into his mouth. He was hoping to finish breakfast and slip out the back door before —

“Sam, baby?” His mother poked her head into the cramped kitchen, immediately frowning when she saw him scarfing down cheerios in his sleepwear. “Why aren’t you dressed?”

Glancing guiltily at his mother’s church attire and the decorative blue hat she held in her hands, Sam said, “I’m not going to church today, Mama.”

Mrs. Wilson’s face twisted and her cheeks reddened as if she had just been slapped. Her voice was low and deadly, fury fluttering beneath her words as she uttered, “Excuse me?”

Sam sat up a little straighter. “I said I’m not going to church with you.”

A child’s hands appeared, little fingers grasping at her mother’s skirt as Sarah Wilson peered into the room to stare at her eldest brother. From the hall, Minister Wilson called, “Is everybody ready? If we don’t leave soon, we’re gonna be late.”

Sam’s mother crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing. “Samuel says he ain’t goin’. Thinks he’s above the Lord, now.”

“Mama,” Sam tried to protest, his spoon falling from his hand and hitting the bottom of the bowl noisily.

Another head poked its way into the kitchen doorway, and the middle Wilson child declared, “If Sam’s not goin’ to church, then I’m not either!”

Mrs. Wilson gave Sam a withering glare before turning and saying in a placating voice, “Gideon, baby, if you wanna be a minister like your daddy then you gotta go to church.”

Gideon looked down, kicking at the floor with the toe of one of his scuffed dress shoes. “I don’t wanna be a minister like Daddy,” he said under his breath.

Before Mrs. Wilson could start yelling, Minister Wilson squeezed himself into the doorway. He placed one of his large hands on his wife’s shoulder and ruffled his daughter’s messy curls with the other. “What’s going on?”

“Tell your eldest son to get off his ass and get ready for church,” Mrs. Wilson demanded.

Minister Wilson tilted his head to one side, squinting his eyes and running his tongue along his lower lip like he always did when he was thinking. “What’s wrong, son?”

Sam slouched in his chair, the woven wicker seat groaning beneath him. “I just don’t wanna go,” he muttered.

“What was that, boy?” Mrs. Wilson snapped.

“Hey, now,” Minister Wilson tried to cool his wife’s temper before it could fully explode.

Mrs. Wilson stepped away from her husband’s touch and stalked closer to Sam, her expression stormy. “I just don’t understand why Samuel thinks he’s so high an’ mighty all of a sudden,” she seethed, “What’s wrong with goin’ to church, huh? Got a problem with God?”

Sam’s nostrils flared, his jaw clenching with anger. His gaze darted to his father, who was still contemplating the situation at hand, before returning to his livid mother. “I ain’t got a problem with God, Mama.”

“Then what is it?” She snarled. “I didn’t raise no heathen.”

Uncoiling from the corner of the kitchen that he had shrunken into, Sam sprung to his feet and yelled, “It’s not God, Mama, it’s you! I got a problem with you. You act like there ain’t nothin’ wrong so long as we got food on the table and the Lord up above. You’re blind, Mama! People — our people — are dying out there and you just turn the other way be-because what? You think black men and women would stop being shot at if they started prayin’ like you do? I’m sorry, but that’s bullshit!”

“You watch your mouth, boy,” Mrs. Wilson breathed, fury simmering in her deep brown gaze. Beside her, Gideon’s face was torn between awe and horror at his brother’s recklessness, and Sarah looked like she was about to cry.

Minister Wilson had been watching the exchange very carefully, his infinite wisdom missing nothing. He cleared his throat. “Darlene,” he said sharply, “Let’s get goin’ now. I got a service to preach in fifteen minutes. Samuel’s old enough to make his own decisions; he can stay home if he wants to.”

Mrs. Wilson gritted her teeth but didn’t argue. “Sarah, Gideon, let’s go,” she ordered, taking each of them by the hand and storming out of the room. Neither child dared to argue as they scrambled to keep up with their mother.

Sam slowly met his father’s gaze, his shoulders tense with fear of what he would say. Minister Wilson, however, simply looked sad. Understanding filled his eyes, and he gestured for his son to come forward. Sam tentatively stepped in front of his father. He froze with surprise as Minister Wilson swept him into a tight embrace. When the shock wore off, Sam wrapped his arms around his father’s shoulders.

“I know it’s not easy, son,” Minister Wilson murmured, his voice thick with emotion, “The world is a fucked up place and your mama…well, she doesn’t always know how to cope with it.” Minister Wilson pulled away so he could examine Sam properly. Tears shone in both of their eyes. “Stay strong for me, Sam-boy, a’ight? We’ll make it through this.”

Sam nodded, not trusting himself to speak without crying. With a final smile, Minister Wilson clapped Sam on the shoulder and left. This would be the last time Sam ever saw his father.

***

A gull shrieked and a violent wave crashed against the sand, startling Sam awake. He gasped, his throat working, his fists opening and closing, all of his muscles tight from a visceral reaction to a dream he could not remember. Squinting up at the sun, his brain wracked itself for some recollection of the images that had played on the backs of his eyelids just moments before. But nothing surfaced, and the hollowness that rested beneath Sam’s ribcage remained.

Beside him, a page crinkled as it turned.

Sam scrambled to sit up and looked over at the source of the noise. You sat atop a wooden chair identical to his, your legs crossed one over the other and a magazine balanced on your knees. Oversized sunglasses perched themselves on the bridge of your nose, but your feet were bare and you wore an outfit made of the same white linen as Sam’s shorts. You licked your slightly chapped lips and turned another page.

“Hello,” Sam said, his voice rough with disuse. You did not reply; you didn’t even glance his way. Frowning, Sam slid his legs off the side of his chair so that he way fully facing you. He cleared his throat and tried again: “Hello.”

A sigh hissed through your teeth. “Hello,” you echoed, your attention never drifting from the magazine.

Many quiet minutes passed. You continued flipping pages and Sam stared at you as if expecting you to start explaining who you were and what this place was. When you didn’t speak up, Sam introduced himself, “My name is Sam. Sam Wilson.”

You chewed the inside of your cheek, contemplating whether or not you should reply. Finally, you said, “I’m (Y/N).”

“Where are we?” Sam asked.

“Paradise.” Your gaze flickered briefly toward him. “Yours, specifically.”

Sam’s forehead creased as his brows drew together in confusion. “I’m sorry?”

It was as if Sam’s mind was short circuiting. He had no idea what events had led to his arrival in this so-called paradise, but when he pressed his fingers to the inside of his wrist, the shadow of a pulse still persisted. If he was not dead, then he must be —

A bitter smile twisted your mouth, your focus never shifting from the magazine in your lap. “You aren’t dreaming.”

Sam’s expression remained baffled. “If this is my paradise,” he said slowly, “Then why are you here?”

You coughed, amusement coloring your words as you replied, “I would imagine it’s difficult to come up with entirely unique utopias for half the universe. But I’ll try not to be too offended that you’d rather spend eternity alone.”

“Eternity?” Sam echoed, that dreadful, lonely word heavy with despair.

There was a pause. Then, rather abruptly, you snapped your magazine shut and stood up. Folding the glossy papers and tucking them beneath your arm, you tilted your head and gestured toward Sam with coaxing fingers. “Follow me.”

Sam obliged, trailing after you as you led him away from the water. The journey proceeded in silence, the only sounds coming from the shifting sand underfoot. After what felt like hours, you stopped atop a particularly large dune, smiling softly as Sam’s feet froze and his jaw dropped. Before him lay a sprawling oasis, towering palm trees casting shade over tiny waterfalls that cascaded into a natural pool of sparkling blue. A quaint, wooden structure with a straw roof and honey-gold fairy lights dotting the porch railing overlooked the slice of perfection.

You spread your arms wide and said proudly, “Welcome to your paradise, Sam Wilson. It takes the form of wherever you feel most at peace.”

A low, impressed whistle slipped from Sam’s lips, and he felt as if he were levitating as he entered the oasis. The beauty of the land surrounding him was more than surreal — it was impossible. But as you pushed past him and marched over to the glittering pool, Sam forgot about impossibility and instead joined you by the rocks bordering the water.

Sitting on a large, flat stone, you dangled your feet in the pool, kicking them absentmindedly and creating ripples along the otherwise tranquil surface. The magazine from earlier was once again open and resting upon your thighs, your rapt gaze fervently scanning its pages.

Sam lowered himself beside you, leaving a comfortable space between your bodies. He stole glances at the paper that had ensnared your attention, but the magazine appeared to be entirely blank; each page that you flipped was completely white. He couldn’t help but wonder aloud, “Why’re you reading a blank magazine?”

You blinked up at him, looking mildly surprised. “Is that what you see?”

Sam frowned, scooting closer to you by a fraction of an inch. “What are you seeing?”

Taking one last peek at the magazine before shutting it and setting it out of reach, you gave Sam a strained smile that didn’t quite meet your eyes. But your voice still sounded cool and unruffled as you replied, “Just a blank magazine. Shall we?” You gestured toward the glinting water.

Something snagged in Sam’s mind, and he couldn’t help the inexplicable apprehension that washed over him. The feeling was heavy, palpable — he could taste the wrongness on his tongue. But the more he tried to place where the foreboding in his gut had come from, the less it seemed to plague him. Eventually the sensation wilted and withered away, the lingering residue of uneasiness gobbled up by the glaring sun.

Shaking himself out of his daze, Sam squinted at you. “Sorry?”

You let out a breathy laugh and pushed yourself off the rock, gracefully slipping into the pool. “Come on,” you urged him, “It’s nice.”

Sam sighed, but followed you nonetheless. The water was not very deep, and only reached the middle of his torso. Small waves lapped at his ribcage, the temperature pleasant and cooling in the dense heat. He peered down at his hands through the translucent, aquamarine water, the corners of his lips tugging upward in a bemused smile at the sight of his fingers appearing to ripple and bend.

When Sam lifted his gaze, he found you already watching him from where you stood a few feet away. You looked pensive, your brows pinched and your mouth pulled into a tiny frown. Sensing his shift in focus, you quickly wiped away your concern. “Eternity here doesn’t seem so bad, right?” You asked, trying to keep your words casual and devoid of the hope that gripped your heart.

Tipping his head back and closing his eyes, Sam breathed deeply. “I guess it could be worse.”

Without even thinking about it, you confessed, “Honestly, this place is everything I needed after what happened.”

The instant the sentence left your lips you knew it had been a mistake. You swore inwardly, mentally bashing yourself for your stupidity. Sam straightened abruptly, his attention snapping to you. His voice was low as he uttered, “What?”

You shrugged, suddenly finding your nails extremely interesting. Your eyes darted to him before swiftly lowering once more. “Never mind.”

Sam surged toward you, ignoring your alarm as you steadily backed away. He halted when you were pressed against the edge of the spring and he could feel your rapid breathing on his chest. He didn’t say anything for a moment, fighting the startling impulse to glance down at your body, which was now on full display since the water had turned your white clothes transparent. He struggled to keep his voice even and prayed that he wasn’t staring at your lips as he demanded, “What do you mean after what happened?”

You gulped nervously. “I don’t — nothing. I don’t know. Forget it.”

The two of you lapsed into a tense silence, frozen in place and unwilling to back down. Finally, you tore your gaze away from Sam’s and looked toward the sky. Calmly, you remarked, “It’s going to rain tomorrow.”

Sam glanced upward. The sky was an endless swath of cloudless, brilliant blue. “Doesn’t look like it,” he told you.

A taunting smirk quirked your lips. “Wanna bet?”

With an annoyed grunt, Sam turned away. You watched as he heaved himself out of the pool and onto the rocky shore, water sluicing off his body and dripping in his wake as he began to walk away. “I’m gonna go explore,” he said over his shoulder.

Your shoulders slumped with disappointment, although you weren’t entirely sure why you were so crestfallen to see him leave. It wasn’t like you were friends with him; all you knew about Sam was what you remembered from when you were alive, and your memory was hazy at best.

You sighed. “Have fun,” you called dully after Sam.

***

Part Two (coming soon!)

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angielou7 · 3 years

Text

My Father’s Demons

The drive home from the airport was a stark difference in comparison to the drive there. The silence that had dared us to defy it had boarded that airplane with my father. Now, my mother, baby sister and I were on our way home. WITHOUT HIM! Silence no longer ruled in our realm. The windows were down, the radio was blaring southern gospel music and my mama was singing along. She let me sit up front and I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. She was so beautiful. I can close my eyes to this day and see her as though there is a polaroid in the forefront of my mind. Her hair with its rich Cherokee heritage was untamed by the wind’s embrace. Her dark, freckle sprayed complexion could make the mythical Aphrodite mad with envy. And those eyes, so warm with love and affection for her children, for my sister, for me. She would look over at me from time to time as though every word she was singing was just for me and I knew that it was. When she turned the radio down my stomach twisted inside me. I knew she wanted to talk about events that I had been witness to over the past few weeks. Things I had tried so hard to erase from my mind. She started with an apology. An APOLOGY! Why is she apologizing for what my father did to her? For what HE did to the man in the car? I tried to tell her, “Mama, it wasn’t your fault.” but, she wouldn’t listen. She was ashamed that she hadn’t left him, but she was afraid of what he might do if she tried to. It was at that moment, at five and a half years old that she first told me why she was too scared to leave my father. Over the years I have heard the story many times, but I only really needed to hear it once for it to be branded onto the fabric of who I am. Before I tell you that story let me give you a little background on my upbringing in the Pentecostal Faith. My paternal grandparents, James W. Wilkins Sr. and Darlene Wilkins(yes, my father’s parents)were Pentecostal. My Papa Wilkins was an evangelist, pastor, preacher and a teacher until the day he died. My Nana Wilkins was the organist for his ministry. They had two biological sons and in addition they raised two of my half-brothers. They were both beautiful, warm and loving people who dedicated their lives to the ministry. My maternal grandparents, Bunnie and Nellie Lee, were poor sharecroppers who worked the cotton fields of Dothan Alabama along with their eight children, two boys and six girls(of which my mother was the second youngest). Papa and Granny Lee moved to Florida when their children were young and they settled in an area known as Plant City. There they attended a small church known as Southside Pentecostal Church of God. It is this church that I grew up in as my family attended this church until I married at seventeen. As far back as I can remember it was normal to have a deliverance during a church service. Our pastor, Sister Edna Mae Royster, was truly a woman of God and she was gifted with many gifts one of which being discernment. If someone came to church and they were possessed by an evil spirit she and the elders of the church would pray and cast it out of the person. There would always be one elder who would come around to the children and anoint our heads with oil while praying that the blood of Jesus would cover and keep us lest the evil spirit try to possess one of us. I have seen so many things as a Pentecostal that would be hard for anyone who is not Pentecostal to believe. I recall one instance where a woman, who could not have weighed more than one hundred and ten pounds, physically threw four grown men who were not so small, across the room before the spirits were cast out and she expelled the evidence of them into a garbage can in the form of vomit. I feel that it is imperative as I tell my story that you know I have never been sheltered from the reality that evil exists and that we are in a constant battle with it regardless of age, race, religion, gender or relation. With that in mind, please understand that my mother was attempting to prepare me for battle that day by equipping me with the knowledge of what we were really fighting. It was not my father, but an evil that had such a stronghold on him it would eventually take him to his grave. My mama started by telling me that she loved me and that she knew my daddy did too. Then I watched as she gathered her composure and prayed for God to help me understand what she was about to tell me. This story took place shortly after I was born. My mother had not long been filled with the Holy Ghost during one of my Papa Wilkins’ tent revivals. She was excited and full of joy as a result of a renewed relationship with God after falling away from her faith for a while. While my mother was finding her way back to God, my father was reconnecting with a friend of his who was a minister himself and the two of them had become inseparable. Little did my mother know that they were two scheming con-men who were preying on unsuspecting people who attended this “Minister’s” revival services. This man was holding a tent revival in the heart of Tampa every night and, after very lively and exciting performances, he would instruct my father to take up an offering. The offering was portrayed as a way to help feed and clothe the poor and homeless in the area so people would give even when they really couldn’t afford to give. On the last night of the revival my father insisted that they all stay in a suite at the motel across the street from the tent and “celebrate their success”. My mama said that she had gone to the room as soon as the service was over so that she could nurse me and put me to bed. Shortly after putting me down on a pallet beside the bed she heard my father, the “minister” and a woman come in the door. They were laughing and carrying on and she immediately knew they were all intoxicated. She was shocked to see that the minister was with a woman she recognized as his piano player and not his wife, whom she had met on several other occasions. My mother was in shock that this man, who presented himself as a minister of God, would be so irreverent and cruel, not to mention evil. He had fleeced God’s people for profit and she wanted no part of it. My father, on the other hand, insisted that she join them in their jubilation and libations. She refused. Her refusal was more than a dark cloud raining on their triumphant celebration, it was an embarrassment to him that she had disobeyed his order in front of these people. He punched her in the face, knocking her to the floor. He then excused himself to his friends and pulled her to the bedroom by the hair on her head. Once there he proceeded with her punishment, blow after blow until he could no longer stand. At that point he undressed and passed out on the bed. With me still asleep on the pallet by the bed, my mother tried to muffle her cries as she crawled over me and eased onto her side of the bed. She reached into the bedside table and took out the Gideon’s Bible that had been placed there and she started to read. She took turns reading, then praying both in silence for fear she might wake him. She didn’t understand why this was her lot in life. She didn’t understand why this man couldn’t be the charming, charismatic man that she loved all of the time. Mostly she didn’t understand how she could not have seen this side of him before she tied her life to him forever by having his child. No, that is not right. This is her child. I am her child. As she sat there making that silent declaration in her spirit, he sat up instantly, eyes wide and head turned toward her. He started speaking, but the voices coming from him were none his. She recalled a child’s voice, a woman’s voice and a malevolent voice as he asked her, “Who am I?”. With all of the strength she could muster she replied, “You are Skip.”. Again and again he asked “Who am I?” and each time she would reply “You are Skip.” Then all of the voices faded with the exception of the malevolent one and he looked in her eye and demanded, “I said, WHO AM I?”. At that moment she knew to who it was she was speaking and it was not my father so she answered, “You are Satan!”. He replied, “That’s right. I have got him and I will soon have you.”. My mama defied him as though she was standing on the shoulders of a giant facing down a measly ant when, in all actuality, she felt it was the other way around. With the backbone of Samson she told that demon, “You will NEVER have me. I belong to God”. The demon replied, “Oh yeah? Watch this. I can make him do anything I want him to.”. That is when my father got up from the bed and walked around to the side where I lay sleeping on the floor. He picked his foot up and put it on my head and said to my mama, “I can make him do anything I want him to do. I can make him crush her head with his foot if I want to.” That is when my beautiful, beaten, skinny little mama told the demon that she and I were covered by the blood of Jesus and “Satan, you can’t cross the bloodline!”. Immediately he removed his foot from my head and walked back to his side of the bed and laid down without another word. Mama said that when he woke up the next morning he did not remember any of what had happened, but she did....

#domesticviolence #mystory #demonicpossession #abuse #writer #installment4

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izukukuzi · 7 years

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sad fic that will end sadly cause I can’t write the happy thing

i dunno

Darlene watched her son as he toyed with the cloth on the dining room table, wrinkles forming in the material similar to the ones ridden on Sam’s forehead. He had called her an hour ago, asking if he could come visit, but the silence and stillness that followed him into the house once he arrived had Darlene worried.. Very, very worried. But she chose to sit in the quiet with Sam, waiting for him to tell her what’s wrong if that’s what he needed.

And, sure enough, ten slow minutes later, Sam’s eyes finally trailed over to his mother’s figure, exposing the empty and fear and sad and “I don’t know” behind those dark orbs.

“I broke up with Steve and Bucky today.”

Maybe it was the shock of it, the confession having honestly caught her off guard, or maybe it was the defeated tone Sam used when saying it, how his words seemed to crumble half way through their journey across the room to her, but Darlene couldn’t help the sinking feeling that settled in her chest. Without much thought, Darlene was up and moving, taking the sit next to Sam as she reached up to place caressing fingertips at his cheek. He leaned into the touch but only slightly, as his tense posture kept him upright and rigid with even his mother’s comfort doing very little to help.

Darlene pressed on, though, not being discouraged by the fact. “Honey, what happened? I talked to you last week, I thought y’all was fine?”

Sam’s face morphed through several different emotions before it found standing in a heartbreaking expression that was enough to bring tears to Darlene’s eyes. She watched as Sam worked through his thoughts, letting time stretch again until he was able to find his voice.

“It’s not… I just, for the longest time, mama, I thought it was just me. You know how fear can be, how it can get into your head and convince you of things that ain’t true, and I tried to be good about that. I tried to remember that they were so important to me, still are, and so it makes sense that the idea of something going wrong would be terrifying, right?

“But then it started to bleed out into everything, not just my thoughts and how I was perceiving things when I was being insecure, but every aspect outside of even what I could control. I don’t fit mama, there’s no room for me. When it’s me and Steve or me and Bucky, everything is fine and we work that way. But me, Bucky, and Steve?” Sam paused, seeming to lose himself in a thought. Darlene waited, agony singing within her veins as she watched her son break before her.

“It’s like they’re connected, you know? And I used to be okay with that. If I couldn’t figure out what was wrong with Steve or if Bucky needed something but I couldn’t figure it out, the other always knew what to do. And that made me happy, knowing there was always a way to find a solution even if I couldn’t do it, but where does that leave me? Steve knows Bucky better than himself and Bucky can read Steve’s emotions from the slightest change in body language, but what about me? Who’s reading through my bullshit, or giving me what I need before I need it, or loving me by more ways than just saying it?

“I… It hurts, and I tried to bring it up before, but nothing changed, nothing’s different, and I’m convinced they can’t help it. They both love me, I’m not gonna question that, and I love them, but that isn’t enough. The love they have for each other, how strong that is, means in any set up, even with them wanting me there, I’ll always be in the way instead of welcomed.”

What did Darlene say to that? How did she ease that sort of heartache? How did she remind her son that he’s a prize, a piece to complete someone’s puzzle and worth having, just not for the someones Sam found?

She didn’t know.

So, with so many words flying through her mind, hoping to give anything to lessen the pain, all Darlene could utter was, “I’m sorry, baby.”

Like he knew there was nothing else to say, Sam nodded, casting sunken eyes downward as he wiped a tear trail from his own face. He tried to clear his head, from worrying his mama and the situation at hand and all the examples of things-of-threes that always wind up better as duos.

And there were too many.

#haaaaaaaaaa #samstevebucky #but not really #sad sam #cause same #st_cky?#i guess but also not really #sam wilson #steve rogers #bucky barnes #oh and darlene's in here too #sad fic #writing stuff #also i no reread #so fuck the mistakes

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theunholygrails · 7 years

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Milestones pt. 2

More family adventures with you, Spencer, little Maximilian, and the new addition!

This was completely unprecedented and unlikely to be recreated anytime soon, but now for the second Milestones installment because I was overcome by more familial feels and needed to get them out.

Also, thanks to Mr. Stevie Wonder for the song.

Milestones pt. 1

Masterlist

Spencer had gasped gale-force when you broke the news to him. Eyes wide, hands grasped in his hair, spinning once in a frantic circle before running over to crush you in a hug.

A girl! There was gonna be a little Miss Reid!

You prepared Max well for the new addition to your family, reading all the right books and talking it out as you took the second pregnancy in stride with a little more ease than the first. You and Spencer scoured and debated names back and forth as vigorously as with little unborn Maximilian and it was you who finally breathed the perfect name into your quiet bedroom.

Darlene, "tenderly loved".

That was awhile ago, and now Darlene Diana Reid was one year old and rested on your hip as you made your way to the front door of the massive house with your two boys in tow. It was a family dinner party at the Rossi residence and the man of the house himself answered the doorbell.

"Ciao bella!" he sang and smooshed kisses to both your cheeks and the little one, who giggled gleefully at the greeting.

Spencer and Max were next inside the door dressed to the nines in complementary blue and purple blazers and Dave welcomed them in kind, though Max was excited because he got to practice his new favorite thing – a very strong handshake.

"Wow kiddo!" Dave dramatically cried once he got his hand back. "You're gonna be the world champ of arm wrestling with a grip like that."

You laughed as your son ran off with the older man toward the table of delicious unending food while Spencer sidled up to you, arm resting around your lower back as you both beamed and he snuck a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

"Ready to party?"

You hummed a note of contentment. "Since I've got my best party people by my side."

Darlene reached over and placed a soft hand to Spencer's jaw, the sleeve on her maroon dress casting glitter as she did so. "Par-ee, daddy!"

"You know it, sweetheart." He gazed at her with tender eyes that made heat blossom in your chest.

Max may look like his father but a little bit of Spencer's very soul had been plucked and placed in Darlene. She wasn't quiet by any measurement but she was the more curious, the more delicate and perceptive child. She could entice anyone to listen with her massive eyes and the quirk in her little lips and had Spencer wrapped around each one of her fingers. She was constantly pointing at things for him to explain to her and loved falling asleep tucked under his arm as he read book after book.

The night was warm and the three of you made your way out to the patio to join the rest of the party goers, where you were met with a familiar face once again among the milling of so many.

"Oooh man! Isn't she lovely!" Derek crooned and danced his way over to you and more importantly the little girl in your arms. He kept singing and she squealed and clapped in delight as he scooped her up. "Isn't she wonderful!"

You put a hand over your fluttering heart at seeing Derek so enchanted with your daughter and it was only after they'd swung in a few happy circles that he slowed enough to greet you. "Mr. and Mrs. Prettyboy, how's it going?"

"We're great, Derek," you gushed, "thanks for charming her as usual."

Spencer piped up and pointed behind the other man. "But I don't think you'll have her to yourself for long."

Just then a streak of blonde came rushing up and her heels came to a clacking stop next to Derek. "I already got a giant hug from Max, how about my Didi?"

"Gigi!" Darlene cried and reached her little arms out for a squeeze from the favorite aunt.

Derek and Penelope hugged with your little one in between feasting on all the affection and after a nod from you they trotted off with her, no doubt to brag to many others about how they were the favorite pair of babysitters for the Reid children.

Spencer squeezing your hand brought your attention back to his sloppy curls. "You want anything to drink?"

"Whatever's in that big red bottle by the cheese tray looks amazing."

His gentle smile shone at you momentarily before he walked away for proper husband duty. The soft glow of the lights strung up in the rest of the back yard called to you and you strolled about until another favorite face caught your eye.

"JJ!" you called.

She turned away from her southern beauty of a husband and gladly embraced you once you made your way to them. "Hey, you look great! How are you?"

"Really well, thanks. It's all crazy bliss at home."

"What are they, one and three now?" she mused, following your gaze to young Max bouncing around with a handful of crackers to eat and no less than two agents fondly watching him. "Can't imagine them that close in age. But Spencer's always raving about how good you are with them and how much he loves being at home as the perfect four."

You cocked your head with a wry grin. "Right before he launches into –"

"Into the spiel about the nuclear family, yes!" she finished and you both laughed as your lovely husband in question approached and handed you just what mama's night out ordered – a glass of red wine filled precisely to the halfway mark.

"Should I be worried when I hear two girls laughing and looking at me?" he ventured.

JJ knocked him in the shoulder. "Always, Spence. I was about to tell her about how you still look at her the same way as when she was first introduced to us, you big softie."

Spencer blushed, a bright pink dusting on his cheeks that you hoped would never stop returning over the years. "I can't help it, you know. I somehow got the most talented and beautiful woman in the world to be my wife and the mother of my kids, am I not supposed to gawk?"

With a hand intertwined with Spencer's, you carried on and chatted with JJ and a few more passersby about anything and everything from the swish in your dresses to the latest parenting gossip, as well as a few dirty jokes in between. The wind drew lazily between the trees and the people and when it finally carried a child's laugh to your ears you bounced a nod to the group.

"Let me go put eyes on my two real quick."

Spencer was hot on your heels. "I can actually see Darlene on Morgan's shoulders from here but you should make sure Max isn't eating his fill of the buffet, which if left unchecked will be twice his weight."

You tossed a smile to your vigilant husband as he broke away to go check in with Derek and you were just passing the dessert table in your search for Max when a voice from underneath it startled you.

"I'm not sure you need to be under there, buddy," the familiar voice coaxed and then one Emily Prentiss was leading your son out from under the tablecloth.

"Maximilian! Did you make Emily crawl all the way under there to get you?"

The little boy simply giggled and ran to clutch your legs as Emily took long strides around the table toward you. She gathered both you and Max in a hug before quickly retrieving her own wine glass as you exchanged pleasantries.

"I didn't see you or Reid come in but suddenly I saw two little shoes and had to investigate!"

You smiled wanly and pointed behind you. "You haven't missed Spence or Darlene yet, I promise."

While Max munched away at the snack in hand you and Emily watched Spencer retrieve your daughter from Morgan's grasp, only to have her grab her father's pinky and immediately strut around asking questions about everything from the tablecloth colors to people's names and then almost touch a candle flame. Thankfully Spencer swooped in and tossed her up in his arms and her shrieking giggles tugged at your heartstrings.

"Reid could always charm the right kids so well," Emily pondered from beside you.

There were probably sparkles in your eyes as you answered, "He's the best with ours."

The night wore on long and warm and lovingly as you and your family were surrounded by some of the best people you knew. Eventually little eyes got droopy and little mouths started yawning and you and Spencer led the charge out the front door, waving and blowing kisses as you each balanced a toddler and plates of food in your arms.

You watched as your husband pressed a kiss to two little temples and thought maybe you could stand to listen to his nuclear family spiel a few more times. Whatever kept his lovely mouth murmuring words in your ears as your children slept peacefully in the back seat.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #reid x reader #spencer and kids #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid oneshot #criminal minds oneshot

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