Bucky kept staring at the door the mysterious girl who had kissed him completely out of sudden had disappeared through. Even though a few minutes had already passed, he couldn’t take his eyes away from it. Secretly hoping that if he’d just stare long enough at the door she’d return again.
The kiss had caught Bucky by surprise. He hadn’t even seen her walking towards him because he had been deep in his thoughts while texting his best friend Steve, who was currently at a party. Due to the fact that Bucky had moved only recently to New York, he only knew Steve who was his best friend since childhood. They had lost contact for a few years but now that Bucky was back, it was like he and Steve had never been seperated.
I almost forgot arguably the most important birthday in the MPU. Thank goodness I remembered! Anyway, March 22, 2016 will be Miles’s sixteenth birthday. And because my MPU headcanon is now and always shall be that the high school years are tough on Miles, well, this story reflects that. Meaning: feels. Many feels. Arguably all the feels? We’ll see.
With all that in mind: happy birthday, Miles!
sixteenth birthday, Miles wakes up and stares at the glow-in-the-dark stars on
his ceiling, exactly the same as every other morning. Even when he stretches, his body sort of
reassembling after being balled up under the covers, he feels
unremarkable. Same height, same speed,
same brain full of the same crap (assignments, projects, his stupid text conversation
with the girl he sort of likes). Sixteen
feels like fifteen and fourteen, and he drags himself into the bathroom before
Amy and her eight thousand hair ribbons claim it.
Captain Fluffybritches Makes a Friend (And So Does Sam Wilson)
Remember how I promised to post an adorable fic I wrote about when Sam and Riley met Steve and Bucky? Yeah, I almost forgot about it.
Lucky for you, I remembered.
A couple years back—a lifetime ago, really, in the days where he slept like a caveman and waited for letters from home (not home the place but home the person)—Sam overheard one of the guys talking about how, sometimes, little kids are drawn to broken people. “Well, kids and dogs,” the guy’d joked, and Sam’d grit his teeth to keep from reaching over and punching the laughter right out of him.
Broken people, he’d scrawled in a letter a couple days later, the sand beating against the roof like the world’s most persistent hail. Who the fuck says that, huh? Who the fuck thinks we’re not all coming out of this broken?
“I am not stealing my dad’s car, Dottie,” Emily huffs, crossing her arms and trying her best to give her friend a stare down. Since she was little, she has learned to respect her fathers’ wishes and rules and the most important one has been to not touch Lola, her dad’s vintage cherry red corvette that she only got to drive once in her life on her 16th birthday.
“It’s not stealing per say, it’s more like borrowing,” Dot counters.“And I HATE when you call me Dottie.”
“Okay one, it’s totally stealing if I don’t ask him or daddy permission. Two, it’s probably got an alarm system that activates if you even breathe on it and gives my dad a warning on his phone. Or it has laser protection, who knows.He’s crazy about Lola.”
“And three,” Emily says, counting off her fingers.“I only call you Dottie because I love teasing you and calling you that is my way of saying that this is a bad idea that will get me in trouble with my dad and have him send my sorry ass to a boarding school in Siberia.”
“I’m pretty sure there’s no boarding schools out in the middle of Russia,” Dot says, rolling her eyes and then ungracefully rolling off of Emily’s bed till she landed on the carpet.“He won’t even know we went by it, let alone breathed on it.”
“Dot,” Emily warns.“There’s a reason why the rule of the house and at my dad’s work is ‘Don’t touch Lola’. And I don’t want to find out in my lifetime why nobody should touch her so let’s just finish this damn project so we can goof off the rest of the weekend.”
“Fine!” Dot whines out and throws her arms up.“Not my fault your dads haven’t bought you your own car yet and we’re stuck here till they come back from their date with the one car you’re allowed to drive.”
“They’re at the store getting us food for the weekend because you’re staying over since YOUR parents are out of town!” Emily counters, finally getting up from her desk and stretching out her poor back.“Or did you forget about that too?”
“No I didn’t and they’ve been gone for almost two hours now. I’m pretty sure they went on a date and are going to bring us pizza for dinner instead of the cookout they were planning on doing.”
“Whatever. Let’s just forget the car nonsense and my parents and let’s go outside before it gets too dark,” suggested Emily, giving her back a quick crack and going by Dot to give her a lift.“I need an effing break from this stupid project and so do you apparently if you wanted to get out of the house and go for a drive.”
“Not my fault we got stuck with a lame history period that’s driving us both crazy. It’s just lucky we have to run you like a collie every now and then to get rid of the crazy,” Dot grins, grabbing Emily’s hand and standing up.“Seriously, you have too much energy sometimes.It’s crazy.”
“Not my fault I need an outlet and so do the dogs, now that I think about it,” she replies, before dragging Dot out of her room and down the stairs, only to see the dogs waiting for them to come down and let them outside.
Today is Dot Barnes’s birthday! How can we fail to celebrate such a momentous occasion? Oh wait: we can’t.
Dot grows like a weed.
Bucky thinks sometimes she’ll put them in the poor house
before they hit forty, because every time he turns around, she’s outgrown
something: her shoes,
her winter coat, her Brownie jumper, her favorite dress. He trudges through the little girl’s section
of department stores (or worse, through little girl stores) and feels like he’s
returned to war; everything’s brightly colored, heinously patterned, or some
combination of the two.
“You’d have to be colorblind to work here,” he mutters at
Steve one afternoon.
CAN YOU JUST IMAGINE EITHER STEVE OR CLINT GETTING THIS PHONE CALL AT 3 AM FROM THEIR RESPECTED DAUGHTER AND JUST BEING ON THE LINE OF BEING SO PROUD AND WORRIED AS FUCK BECAUSE WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO THAT YOU DIDN’T GET ARRESTED YOUNG LADY?!
Which then wakes up their respected husband because of all the yelling and then they have to talk to their kid(Bucky would be proud there’s no denying that but I have a feeling Phil would be a bit disappointed and feel like he’s REALLY too old for this kind of shit)
(And then either Dot or Emily would text this to each other to make sure they’re still alive and got home okay after running from the police or something.)
Clark invites the batfam to spend a weekend at the Kent farm in rural Hamilton County.
Pulls up at the tiny airport in an old farm truck, smiling. The truck legit looks like it could break down any second.
Bruce: “Clark. We can’t all fit in the truck…" "Sure you can! Tell the kids to hop in the back. Don’t worry, everyone does it here.“ "That doesn’t mean they should.”
Half the family wear jeans and flannel shirts to “fit in with the locals.” Bruce, Damian, Barbara and Tim abstain.
Driving on a dusty back-road, passing cornfields dotted with red barns, wheat silos and windmills under a cloud-streaked sky.
Everyone sleeps where there’s space: the girls are set up in Jon’s room; Bruce sleeps in the guest room; Dick, Jason and Tim sprawl out on couches and by the fireplace in the lounge.
Damian and Jon are sent to sleep in a creaky old bed in the attic and spend the night arguing and starting at mysterious noises. It’s just the wind.
Breakfast in the morning: Dick and Cass help the Kents cook breakfast while the others are still asleep. They cook eggs and bacon fresh from the farm, sausages, country fried potatoes, grits, warm flaky biscuits… the real deal. The smell of freshly brewed coffee quickly wakes Tim up.
Clark has everyone help out with a few of the chores to give them a taste of farm life. “Hopefully this’ll teach you city slickers a thing or two."
Jason cuts firewood, Steph shucks corn then gets bored and makes Jason switch with her, Damian helps Jon feed the chickens and milk the cows, Bruce gets to drive the tractor under Clark’s supervision ("I prefer the batmobile”), Tim shovels manure (“Why do I have to do the dirty work?”), Dick works on repairing and painting the fence with Babs, and Cass joins Lois in their small garden to help her pick tomatoes and other fresh vegetables for supper.
Damian gets attacked by a possum after Jon convinces him they’re tame. Becomes paranoid that he might have rabies.
Cass and Tim help make a beef stew with vegetables and cornbread while the others relax in the lounge, reading, watching tv or playing card games. Steph and Jason teach Damian and Jon how to play poker, much to Bruce’s disapproval.
The girls talk with Lois about her career in journalism (they all have mad respect for her) and get into a conversation about sexism, the patriarchy and the struggles of being a female crime-fighter.
Jason argues with Bruce and storms out of the house, ends up lost in a cornfield in the middle-of-nowhere. Clark drives up in his beat-up truck (“Need a lift?”). The two go to a local bar and complain about how difficult Bruce can be over a drink.
When they get back, Bruce and Jason sit outside on the porch and talk it out beneath the stars.
Everyone goes outside as Clark starts a bonfire (using his heat-vision, obviously) and cook s'mores, wrapped up in blankets to fend off the end-of-summer chill.
They talk and laugh for hours before heading off to bed, everyone in the batfam feeling refreshed and ready to face whatever Gotham has to throw at them tomorrow.
He left Sleepy Hollow like the coward he was. It was too hard to stay, to confront, to remember. So fled. But it seemed that the moment he passed that damned “Welcome to Sleepy Hollow” sign, he entered a world without music.
There was color, still. The verdant hills of New England, dotted with pristine white barns. The flat, broad plains bristling with gold more valuable than any the Spaniards coveted. And the aching blue of that peaceful ocean at the edge of the world.
But it was as if he viewed it all from a great distance. He could see its beauty, for he was no blind man, but he could not feel it.
It was the loss of Katrina, of course. It was the sight of blood on his hand and the clatter of a knife to the ground. It was the loss of Jeremy, certainly, or at least the possibility of the son he’d never known. There was no other explanation.
So he roamed this lovely but unaffecting country alone until he could bear the silence of his heart no more. He went home, the only home that now mattered. And slowly, he built a life in the stillness.
Until Abbie returned, her edges sharper than ever. Until she cut him an unimpressed glance and said, “Look who decided to come back.”
Then a symphony filled every fiber of his being. Looking at her he overflowed with rising crescendos, thundering choruses, delicate sonatas.
It hurt, this rush of music and life pouring through him. But even as tears sprang to his eyes, he regretted them not. He had found his song once more.
Does Bucky have army buddies he still hangs out with? Super tough guys who are forced into a tea party with Dot.
“Hold up your pinky, Gabe!” Dum Dum snaps, and Bucky bites back a laugh.
Bucky’s army friends only visit about once a year, descending on Suffolk County and dragging Bucky and Steve out for junk food and beer. But Steve’s laid up with the same flu that’s rendered Tony useless, and without a babysitter, they’re here.
At Dot’s tea table.
Drinking iced tea out of tiny cups.
“Can I get another cookie, Dot?” Jim asks.
“What do you say?” Dot replies haughtily.
Jim glances at Monty, who shrugs. “Please?”
“Okay,” Dot says, and nods at Jacques to pass the plate.
Thank you for all the lovely lovely words, even if they make my brain short circuit. All the best for the new job application process! As for prompts since you mentioned how much you love writing Wade, could I please have Wade taking Dot, Amy and Hope out for an elaborate tea party at some fancyish establishment, please?
I like making people’s brains short-circuit. It kind of brings me joy. Which is probably mean-spirited of me, but I never claimed to be a nice girl. I submitted my application Friday morning (after some drama with a tax form I needed, but it all turned out okay in the end), so we will see what happens from here. In the meantime:
“On second thought, this was a horrible idea,” Wade tells absolutely nobody, because that’s how many people are listening. “This was the worst idea I’ve ever had, and I once tried the whole ‘coke and mentos’ thing in my dorm room.”
Nobody’s listening to Wade because everyone is fawning over four little girls in ridiculously frilly dresses. Rented dresses, because one of the many services provided by Tea for Two are dresses in all sizes and colors. Did you know that Beth Fury, the daughter of Nick “Terrifying Eye Patch of Horror” Fury, loves pink sparkles? Did you? Bet you didn’t. But she’s in a sparkly pink dress. As is Dot Barnes. Amy Jimenez (don’t call her Amy Stark, she glares like she wants to kill you) is in a green one with extra taffeta. Hope’s is orange, and clashes with her hair, but that’s a secret that Wade keeps completely to himself.
He thought it’d be cute, carting Hope and her brand-new friends to this fancy tea party venue, where you can rent dresses and china and a private room with petit fours and finger sandwiches. He thought it’d be fun, and good for his not-really-step-daughter, because lord knows she has about three friends at school. And, most importantly, he thought that maybe, just maybe, it’d earn him some serious boyfriend-and-pseudo-step-father bonus points.
Except have you ever seen four little girls hopped up on very sugary tea and petit fours? Have you? No. Okay. Then you have no idea the horror that awaits you, or what it’s like to—
“More tea, servant,” Beth Fury says to him, and all four of them, including Hope, giggle like they’re plotting world domination.
Wade heaves a sigh. “I regret all of my life choices,” he tells exactly no one, and pours the girls more tea.
I don't know if this is drabble length, but I would like to know more of Steve and Bucky interacting with their church community.
The following is probably not what you wanted. But it is: (1) a double-drabble, (2) wouldn’t leave my head, and (3) establishes a relationship in the MPU that is important to me but hadn’t yet sort of slotted together in my head. And I think you know, it’s cute. Or whatever.
“Well, if it isn’t the belle of the Grace Lutheran Sunday School singers—and her dads, of course,” Sam Wilson says, and under her coffee cake crumbs, Dot beams.
“Long time no see, Wilson,” Bucky says, offering a hand.
Next to him, Steve grins. “We thought with 3L year starting, you’d be avoiding—”
“We are not talking about 3L year,” Sam interrupts, and Steve laughs. “However, I’m applying for some jobs right now, meaning that we do need to talk about Carol Danvers from legal aid.”
Steve pulls a face, and Bucky snorts. “You don’t know the lion’s den you’re stepping into with that one.”
“Yeah, but you do, which is why I am buying you some totally free after-church coffee.” He jerks his head toward the coffee carafe, where his “semi-permanent wingman Riley, just ignore him” is currently being chatted up by four middle aged ladies. Bucky cringes, but Sam just smirks. “Riley’s on duty to protect us from all the church ladies who wanna thank us for our service to this country. I’m making it up to him later.”
Sam waggles his eyebrows, and Bucky and Steve both crack up.
Dot, mother nature (aka Dot's first period) and/or Dot, Breaking the rules
“I can’t deal with this,” Steve says, shaking his head. “I can’t talk to her about tampons and toxic shock syndrome and maxipads—”
Bucky cringes. “Maybe don’t call them ‘maxipads.’”
“—and menstrual cramps. I’ve never experienced a menstrual cramp. I’m not qualified to—”
“I swear to god, if you say ‘menstrual’ one more time, I’ll run the car off the road.” Steve tightens his jaw, his whole body going all steel-honed and tense, and in the driver’s seat, Bucky rolls his eyes. They’ve braced for this moment for years, and now, finally, it’s here: Dot’s first period. Or menstruation, as Steve keeps saying, like the technical term will soften the blow of their seventh grader stopping at the bathroom before gym class and discovering that, no, she’s on her way to full-blown puberty.
And Bucky’d thought training bras were bad.
They pull into a parking spot at the middle school, and before Steve can rocket out of the car and head for the front doors, Bucky catches his wrist. “Look,” he says, and his heart hurts when Steve flashes all that big-eyed worry in his direction. “This scares the shit out of me too, okay? But we need to not make it worse for her. She’s probably embarrassed and freaked out. Don’t go full Rogers on her.”
Steve scowls. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yeah, you do,” Bucky replies, and releases his arm.
In the end, they find Dot in the nurse’s office with her eighth-grade best friend and—
“Did you draw bird faces on a dozen pads?” Bucky asks, frowning.
Dot rolls her eyes. “They have wings, Dad!” she announces.
Amy falls off the nurse’s cot, she’s laughing so hard, and Steve sends Bucky a tense look. “Yeah, she’s traumatized by this,” he deadpans. "Completely scarred for life, just like you said she would be.“
“I’ll give you a menstrual cramp if you’re not careful,” Bucky mutters, but he’s relieved when Dot grins at him, too.