#bucksquared

[sweaterkittensahoy]

Buck and Bucky where Buck knocks out the British officer and the reaction. I hope I did it right, don’t use this very much

(Did great!)

Handsy.

The moment the RAF man says it, Buck knows a fight is on the horizon. Usually, he tries to talk down Curt and Bucky. But the way this RAF man is looking at him. The way he's been poking and prodding at them about their daytime missions. Part of Buck sees it's insecurity. These boys have been holding onto their country by their fucking fingernails, and Buck is sympathetic to what feels like fear they haven't done their work good enough on their own.

Buck reads people, and these pilots are tired and drunk and a little pissed off because they wanted to do the jobs themselves. He can sympathize. He really can.

But it's one thing to tease about how Bucky touches. It's another to imply that it's wrong somehow. Bucky's touch is one of the few things that brings Buck a little quiet in this fucking war, and he won't have it insulted.

So, there's going to be a fight.

Buck's father taught him to fight. Not in a bonding way, but in the way a man teaches a boy to fight because the man is a degenerate gambler and the boy may be taken for collateral. Buck delivered his first knock-out punch at age 10. He was thin as a rail, arms bruised from being grabbed by a loan shark's underling, and terrified he would be murdered. He was also certain this would all happen again because it had happened before.

If he can help it, Buck doesn't fight. He knows too much about how to really hurt someone, and he doesn't want to take any chances. Curt and Bucky, they fight like boys who like to tussle. Who grew up wrestling around with other boys their size. Who went home at night and went to bed and didn't worry that their fathers were going to stumble in drunk and raging and blaming them for costing them money they could use to win big.

Buck punched out his father at thirteen. It didn't gain him the man's respect. It didn't make Buck feel any better. But for a little while, it was quiet.

This fight, now, the one they're all tumbling out of the bar to have, it's not about getting a little quiet. It's not about saving his skin. It's a fight he should had to Curt or Bucky and let run the course these fights always do. A punch or two, some shit-talking, and then it's all fine again.

But the way the pilot had said it rattles in his head. Handsy. Like it's silly or stupid or wrong.

"I'm taking this one," Buck says to Bucky and Curt as they argue over who's going to fight. They both still and stare at him.

"You don't fight," Curt says.

"Buck?" Bucky asks, his inflection doing the work of asking if Buck's okay.

"I don't usually fight," Buck says to Curt. "But I'm taking this one."

"Hey," Bucky says. He touches Buck's arm, same as he always does. Casual as anything.

How dare those men mock that touch.

Buck gives Bucky a sharp grin. "I love boxing," he says. "Two men facing off in a one-on-one challenge."

Bucky's eyes go bright with amusement. He skims his fist against Buck's jawline in the softest imitation of a punch. "So, you do like sports," he says.

Buck chuckles. "I like boxing," he says.

There's a shout from behind them, the RAF boys want to know if they're gonna do this or not.

"Gimmie your jacket," Curt says, holding out his hands. "You're gonna move better if you don't have it."

Buck strips it off and hands it over. He squeezes Curt's shoulder, then turns and cups Bucky's face for a moment. Bucky's whole face shifts. He knows why Buck's doing this. Know's why he's chosen to fight.

"My honor can take another ding, I promise," Bucky mutters.

Buck grins and slaps him lightly on the cheek. A love tap. A little affection. A connection. "Place your bets, boys," he says and steps over to show these British boys how it's done.

It's over in less than a minute. The other pilot's got good form, but he's never fought for anything more than some momentary pride. Buck lets him jab at him twice, then pops him in the jaw hard enough he drops to the ground.

Bucky and Curt whoop, and then Buck's feet are off the ground, Bucky's arms wrapped around him as he holds him tight and spins in a circle.

"Got a world champion here, boys!" He shouts.

Buck holds his arms up in the classic boxer's victory pose. Curt whoops again and slaps his chest. Bucky carries Buck down the street hollering that if the boys want a rematch, they know where to find them.

Half a block down, Bucky puts Buck on his feet and grabs his face in his hands. "Hot damn, Buck. You really know your stuff."

"That was the most beautiful jab I've ever seen," Curt says. "Fucking magical."

Buck shrugs. Now that the fight is over, he feels a little silly he felt the need to participate.

Bucky pulls Buck to him and lands a loud, smacking kiss on his forehead. "Curt, this man has defended our honor. Let's get him a piece of white bread and a glass of water."

Curt cackles and leads the way down the street. Bucky cups the back of Buck's neck and presses their foreheads together.

"Some mouthy idiot in a bar is never got stop me touching you," he says, as serious as he was light-hearted a moment ago.

Buck licks the corner of his mouth and reaches up to hold Bucky's arm. "He was insulting you," he says. "That's my job."

Bucky chuckles, and he steals a kiss, his thumb ruffling the hair at Buck's nape as he does so. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah, it is."

[sempervera]

Part 5 - δοκιμασία • (dokimasía) • ordeal, a painful or trying experience

Iris, a Persephone!John and Hades!Gale AU | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Interlude | Part 4 | Part 5

(if you want to feel the vibe while you read, click here)

Run. Run. Run. Every shred of instinct screamed at Persephone to keep running, his powers felt foreign, unresponsive and useless in a way that made him sick to his stomach. He could feel his body wanting to give in, panic threatening to overrun him, exhaustion wanting to drown him into the earth. The world around was swallowed in darkness, no light in the dark black forest. He was certain it had been a crescent moon when he had walked out of his father’s temple.

He had to have been running for miles, he could see nothing farther than a couple steps, not that he imagined anything would look familiar. Whatever power was at play here was making sure he was lost, not able to orient himself in any way.

John stumbled down the small decline he could feel beneath his feet, small stones protruding from the ground scratching his bare legs. He hissed through the pain, catching himself against a tree, bark smeared with the ichor seeping out of the cuts in his skin. He tried summoning again, hoping to feel the familiar warmth beneath his palm.

Nothing, he felt nothing. Persephone had no idea how this was possible, it should not be. Demeter’s son not able to feel anything from a living plant, it sounded ludicrous to his own mind and fear gripped his heart even tighter. What could be interfering with powers granted by Olympian lineage?

A crack sounded in the distance, a long screeching whistle, terrifying guttural noises that were looking for him. A lance of pain shot through his temples, they were closing in, John could feel it. He could feel it like any other prey would. His nostrils flared, trying to feed him more oxygen, trying to fight the terror telling him to freeze, telling him that everything was useless, that he was prey and he was done for. 

Persephone tried, he tried one last time, pushing sweat sodden hair away from his eyes, his usually delightfully chestnut ringlets now a mess of dark tangles and dirt. He had to try, he had to try to fight the hurt. But gods, it hurt, father, it hurt. He cursed the deep gash on his leg, burning like all seven hells, it jolted pain throughout his entire frame. Pain. Pain. Pain.

He felt whatever was hunting him, closing in from all directions. He knew he had to try, he knew he had to get away. But damn, knowing it did nothing to make it come true. There was nowhere to run to.

His pulse throbbed in his ears, deafening the sounds that could have helped him locate an escape route. John kept on trudging, following the small rocky mound he had been leaning against, moving towards what looked like an opening not far ahead. A cave? Shelter? 

He could feel nothing threatening inside. But again, he could feel nothing. His powers were silent once again as he tried calling them for help. He begged, he despaired, he leaned against the entrance and he begged. For what not even he could have told you.

Nothing answered, nothing rose, just the terrifying taste of ichor in his mouth, dripping from the wounds on his face. Pain. Pain. Pain. He should not have stopped. It hurt so damn much. His face hurt, his chest hurt and his right leg was an entire mass of pain. He risked a glance at it and that was that. So much ichor stained his shredded meat and through all that godly ichor, he could see the white bone.

Stupid John, stupid stupid John. That's what they always said of you, wasn't it? Demeter's delicate flower son. All beauty and spring. You walked on your father's path, never straying too far, lest you lost yourself.

Well, Demeter’s son lost. Himself and the fight. Drained of every drop of energy and powers, alone and hurt in the darkness. The last bit of consciousness left his body. Without any grace, the godling of spring and nature fell. He fell into the mud at the entrance of a grotto with marked stones at its entrance.

The beastly sounds only drew closer.

In the cruel and violent darkness, with no help in sight.

And yet, any good counselor would advise you to remember that in the world these tales take place, there are many things unseen.

[kindsummer]

reunited - kindsummer

sequel to repressed. -- Buck knew that he smelled differently now that he was claimed because of the way that Crosby looked at him. Though Rosie hadn’t known him long before he crashed, he knew to keep their amount of touch to the handshake only, respectful of a claim staked by a man who would most likely die before the end of the war. Their reactions only served as reminders that Buck was missing half of himself, separated by an army and several borders.

[sweaterkittensahoy]

I found your post about inbox empty and no camp requests literally five minutes after opening the tumblr post episode 8. Were you summoned? Was I? Who cares.

I haven’t had the time to properly comment on your 2buck sexy prompt fill but please do know I will BECAUSE IT HAS BEEN LIVING RENT FREE IN MY HEAD. So fucking well written (pace, words, characterizations, aaaaah). I ramble, sorry.

Back to the point at hand, PROMPT(s) for my two favorite idiots (Buck/Bucky):

- post war bliss, let’s heal the boys a bit and give them their happiness

- set whenever, possessive Gale (boy is 100% unhinged, called it day 1 when Greenland tower control told him to circle back and he just floored it like a goddamn pro)

- magpie behavior John, he just collects stuff for Gale and brings it to him, it’s a character trait (bikes, shit needed to make a crystal radio, boy just does)

- observer Gale, he just loves the physicality John moves in when he’s in Major mode and when he gets the rare chance to look without being seen or having to worry what is seen on his face he just looks and lets himself feel it

- talismans, I love the idea of both of them having something that means ‘I am of my beloved and my beloved is of mine’

- literally whatever other sexy scenario you can concoct, your whiskey one has rewired a couple of circuits in my brain

- soulmarks, on the basis that I’m a sucker for them

Bonus for good ole Benny De Marco as Gale’s keeper when John isn’t around while at the same time John’s handler when Gale’s not there (ngl this is because of the way Buck yells De Marco’s name in the pilot, my boys are MATES™️).

I am afraid I single-handedly murdered your inbox, please forgive me.

Thank you in advance and cheers ✨❤️

(These are all amazing, and I would like to encourage anyone who is reading this and gets an idea from one of these to write you one of the ones I don't [or write the one I did but as your own thing!])

In the barracks, each bed comes with a side table. It has a drawer and a lamp. Most of the boys keep a photo of a loved one on the top, a skin mag in the drawer, and whatever they carry in their pockets each day next to the photo.

Buck's is different because he keeps whatever he carries in his pockets in the drawer, and on the table itself is a collection of random objects that look like he's collecting odds and ends with no real sense. Amongst the clutter are the following things:

A skeleton key with a filigree 'G' carved into the head.

A rock that shines when the sunlight hits it during the day.

A broken bracelet made of blue stones.

A tiny piece of foil shaped into an oak leaf cluster.

The first time a replacement asks about it--because Major Cleven doesn't seem the type to collect odds and ends--Demarco barks a laugh and buys the replacement a drink.

"It's not Cleven's collection. Well, it is. But it's not."

The replacement stares at Demarco. "Uh-huh. Clear as mud."

Demarco sighs. "They're all his, but he didn't pick them, okay?"

"That's no clearer."

Demarco shrugs. "You'll figure it out."

A week later, the replacement is reading in his bunk when Major Egan walks in, giggly and flushed from drinking. He drops hard onto Major Cleven's bed. Major Cleven is--or was--sleeping, but he wakes up and huffs a laugh and says as calm and even as he seems to do everything. "What are you up to?"

Major Egan holds out a hand. "Look what I found!"

Major Cleven squints at Major Egan's hand. "It's a penny."

"No, look closer," Major Egan says. He picks up the penny with his other hand and holds it very close to Major Cleven's eyes. "Look."

Major Cleven grabs Major Egan's wrist and pulls it back a few inches. He squints at the penny, then reaches over and flicks on his lamp. He squints at the penny again. "It's still a penny, John."

"No, it's your birth year," Major Egan says. "See?" He points. "And I found it heads up! It's double good luck for you."

The replacement suddenly realizes neither of them have clocked that he's there. He coughs politely, and suddenly, both Majors are looking at him.

"Is this your first time experiencing Major Egan in his magpie form?" Major Cleven asks.

"Uh," the replacement says.

"He acts like it's silly, but he keeps all of them," Major Egan says, gesturing to Major Cleven.

The replacement expects Major Cleven to scoff or shove Major Egan off his bed. Instead, he smiles and holds out his hand.

"I don't act like it's silly," Major Cleven says and looks at his table for a long moment before setting down very precisely. "I just can't follow your booze-soaked reasoning when you wake me up in the middle of the night."

Major Egan flops sideways so he's taking over half of Major Cleven's bed. "It's only ten, you old man."

Major Cleven stares at Major Egan. "We have an audience, John."

"Eh," Major Egan says and rolls over, stealing Major Cleven's pillow.

"Hey, give that back!" Major Cleven says, yanking the pillow, but Major Egan isn't giving it up.

The replacement doesn't know what to do, so he goes back to his book. The next night at the officer's club, he buys Demarco a drink.

"What was it this time?" Demarco asks.

"A penny from his birth year that he found face up."

Demarco bursts into laughter. "Oh, that's a whole new level of lovesick."

"Are they together?"

"Joined at the hip and a few other parts," Demarco says, then downs his drink. He slaps the replacement on the back. "Come on. I'll let you tell Brady what the latest one is. He'll love it."

[sweaterkittensahoy]

Gale decided to go with John to London and they make it to the hotel room and Gale is just touchy feely in a way that John has never seen from him before cuz they always had to hide behind friendly playfulness or be quick or quiet about their affection. I just want Gale wrapping his arms around John's neck, sitting on his lap, all the above and just absolutely blowing John's mind with how much he loves him.

[No queerphobia but also Buck keeps his feelings right here in his chest and one day, he'll die]

"Come to London with me," Bucky says. "We'll paint the town red." His offer is sincere, but he truly doesn't know if Buck will agree or not. He watches Buck chew his toothpick and wishes he could lean in and pull it from his mouth, hold his jaw and kiss him in front of Meatball and everyone.

But Buck's not affectionate like that. He's funny and smart-mouthed, giving Bucky affection with teases and little nudges. Bucky's just glad Buck doesn't mind how affectionate he is. How he needs to rotate around Buck like the Earth to the sun. Have an arm around him, grab his chin, sometimes even bite at him through his uniform.

"Sure," Buck says, breaking Bucky from his thoughts. "I'll go to London with you." His smile builds slowly as Bucky stares at him. "Oh, come on, I'm not a complete wet blanket."

Bucky grins and wraps an arm around Buck's waist. "Just slightly damp sometimes," he says and laughs when Buck shoves his shoulder. "Come on. Let's make tracks before they stop us."

*

Bucky only means to stop at the hotel for a quick shower and a change of clothes, but two minutes after he steps under the water, Buck crowds in with him.

"Oh, hey," Bucky says. "You want to--" He cuts off when Buck grabs his hips, digging in his fingers, and presses his cheek between Bucky's shoulder blades. "Buck?"

Buck rubs his cheek back and forth and wraps his arms around Bucky's waist. He softly kisses the back of Bucky's neck, and then he nudges Bucky forward so they're both under the water.

"Buck?" Bucky asks again.

"I can't--" Buck kisses behind Bucky's ear, then drags his hands up Bucky's torso. "You're so much better at this."

Bucky shakes his head. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Buck traces Bucky's ribs, making him shiver, and then he drags his mouth down Bucky's neck and shoulder and halfway down his bicep. "This," he says. "Touching."

"You're doing just fine there," Bucky says as another shiver works its way over him. Buck's nosing his spine, running his hands up and down Bucky's side from armpits to hips.

"I want to. All the time. Touch you. But I--" Buck shakes his head. "There's reasons, Bucky. I wish I didn't have them but--"

Bucky turns around. He touches Buck's chin, and Buck lifts this head to meet his eyes. "Hey, you don't have to explain to me, okay? We're usually around people, and you don't like to share. I know you."

Buck grins faintly. "It's not that I don't like to share. It's that it's..." He sighs and presses his face against Bucky's colllar bone. Licks once, then bites down lightly, just like Bucky does to him sometimes. "I used to be jealous about how easy you are with touching everyone. Not that you were touching everyone. Just that you could. Can."

"You touch me as little or as much as you want anywhere, anytime, Buck. Just mean it when you do it, yeah?" Bucky feels Buck nod against him. "But if you wanted to work on it," he says, intentionally adding a sing-song quality to his voice, "you could just try to play a little more grab ass once in awhile."

There's a pause, then a snort, and then Buck is lifting his head to try and glare at Bucky, but he's smiling too much for it to be intimidating. "John, for fuck's sake."

Bucky shrugs. "I'm a man of simple needs," he says.

"You're a stone in my shoe," Buck replies.

Bucky laughs. "Yeah, you say that a lot. I know what it means."

"It means I love you," Buck says, going serious again. "It means I can feel you with me, even when I don't want to."

Bucky doesn't have an answer for that. He just pulls Buck close and holds him under the hot water.

*

After their shower, they sit in their robes and look out over London. Buck's leaned into Bucky's side, and Bucky's got his arm tight around Buck's shoulder.

Bucky strokes Buck's hair off his forehead and watches the furrow between Buck's eyebrows slowly deepen. He kisses the spot but doesn't ask what Buck's thinking about. He'll say it or he won't.

Buck turns and throws his legs over Bucky's lap. He scoots closer, wrapping an arm around Bucky's head and pressing his forehead to Bucky's temple.

"Can I tell you something?" Buck asks, the whisper barely carrying.

"You can tell me anything," Bucky says. He wraps his arm around Buck's calves, smiling when Buck turns his knees in a little so there's even more contact.

"My dad," Buck starts. He closes his eyes and sighs. "He taught me not to show affection. Not any kind. It could be used against me. Against him. If anyone thought I actually liked him, I might get taken for whatever he owed someone."

"Jesus Christ," Bucky breathes out.

"And I've tried to learn not to listen to the part of myself that learned that lesson. But it's hard. Especially when..." Buck opens his eyes and tilts his head back to stare at the ceiling. "We're in the middle of a war, John. One of us could get an engines shot out tomorrow--"

"Buck--"

"No. Shut up. Listen to me, okay. Just listen to me."

"Look at me at least," Bucky says. "If you're going to talk this shit, talk it to my face."

Buck sighs and meets Bucky's gaze. "It's not shit, and you know it. It's so bad up there you didn't even warn me."

Bucky winces but doesn't try to defend himself. Buck's right on the money, same as usual.

"We could die tomorrow, John. That's the truth. We both know it. And I--" Buck's breath shudders and he touches Bucky's neck, traces the shape of his ear. Presses his thumb to Bucky's mouth. Bucky kisses it, and Buck smiles, just a little. "I want to be better at this," he says. "I want to touch you all the time, but I also want to touch you all the time." He rubs Bucky's bottom lip.

"I hear you, Buck." Bucky says. "And I'm not kidding, okay? Whatever you can or can't do, just mean it. Just mean it, and we'll get on just fine."

Buck sighs and nods. He kisses Bucky, then rests his nose just behind Bucky's ear. "Whatever happens, John, just know I always mean it."

"Don't gotta tell me twice," Bucky replies, thinking of how often Buck's right at his side, leaned towards him with their arms pressed together. How often they're sat so their knees can knock. He thinks of the way Buck grabs his shoulder to steer him places, or just barely taps his elbow to get his attention. He touches Bucky all the time. Knowing he wants to touch him like this, all curled up on Bucky like he wants to fit exactly right in his lap, it takes Bucky's breath away.

"You know what? You don't ever have to tell me again if you don't want," Bucky adds, turning so his own nose is pressed against Buck's temple. "You're a man of your word, Gale. You ever change your mind, just say so."

"Don't think I could change my mind about you if I wanted to. "

And that warms Bucky from his head to his toes, that warm raspy voice rolling out a truth that makes Bucky feel ten feet tall.

"You're a maniac," Bucky says. "I fucking love you."

"I fucking love you, too," Buck replies.

Bucky dips his head down and kisses him, then leaves them pressed forehead to forehead, mingling their breath as they stay where they are, in a moment of bright and quiet happiness that Bucky swears he'll never allow himself to lose.

[sempervera]

Part 4 - ἄρχω • (árkhō) •  to begin, to be first in order

Iris, a Persephone!John and Hades!Gale AU | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Interlude | Part 4 | Part 5

“They are fearsome beasts you know,” a rumbling voice came from behind, “one should be careful with them.”

Persephone turned, breath held, one palm clutching the small creature tighter against his side, the other one open towards the voice. A sense of danger charged the air, razor sharp thorns and poisonous pollen ready to answer their godling’s call for protection. 

This was not going to happen again. He would tore them all to shreds before one hand could reach him. He knew he could, this time.

Still, no target seemed to be within reach, nothing was in sight but the dark bushes, Selene’s light bathing the greenery in their silver glares. And yet, a brow twitching with nervous energy, John could feel something looking at him with the same translucent glare as the moon. Someone who’s eyes manifested just a moment before their body materialized out of shadows and wisps of a spring night mist.

Well, one should be worried about the fact that every bit of defensiveness left John’s body as soon as the Master of the Underworld appeared next to a cypress tree. And yet, as natural as the breathing that came back to him, John’s frame relinquished every line of tension. The bramble enveloping his upper right torso receded to rest back into the godling’s skin, in a manner not so different from the way lynxes would sheath claws back into their paws.

Hades fixed his sight on a thorn, closing itself right under one of Persephone’s ears, the action disturbing a ringlet of brown curls that settled back as if moved by a light whiff of night air and not by a lethal spike hiding under fair skin. A sense of pride Gale did not bother to scrutinize too up close swelled into his chest, would you look at that.

John’s voice brought his attention back to the godling, a challenging expression on his face, “Others should be careful to thread so suddenly near me in dark forests.”

Gale acknowledged the words with a nod and a slow showing of teeth that very few would have dreamed, let alone dared, calling a smile, “Others definitely should,” he vaguely conceded in his low voice.

A scoffed laugh, “It is good to see you again,” an earnest tone in John’s words, “It has been on my mind, to thank you for your help.”

The Ruler of the Underworld regarded him for a moment, before moving towards the younger deity with elegant strides and passing him by, “Your offerings have been received but there was no need for their plenitude,” he knelt next to the cooling body of the dead animal, quickly picking a cherry from the bramble bushes surrounding it and making sure a soul was on its right path, “Shouldn’t you be focusing on the oncoming grain season? Farmers will need that to be plentiful.” 

Demeter’s wildest followed him, a confused expression but a mirthful smile, “Offerings?” he asked motioning for the scene in front of him, “These are not offerings to the King Below,” he was now kneeling next to the much, much older deity, “Honestly, I didn’t even realize I was doing it, I was just out walking one night,” Gale observed the other’s face up close now, you could see lines of unrest around his eyes. A slight asymmetry in the features under his right eye the only apparent trace of what he had experienced. Gale wondered if these nightly walks had been a habit before and from the faraway look in the younger’s eyes was reasonably sure hadn’t been.

“When I noticed what I’d done, I just thought you would have liked it,” John murmured, “so I kept doing it,” he picked a cherry from the same branch and slipping it between his lips, concluded “It’s a good way to practice with my powers too,  they’re coming back with some novelty in them I think.”

If the godling had been paying a bit more attention to his companion then he might have noticed the sharp intake of breath, the delicate brows raised over unbelieving eternal eyes and the way Gale’s usually marble-like countenance had a storm of emotions painted all over, much like colors on a statue. 

“Not to mention that dear old Demeter might just cover the fields from here to the Aegean out of sheer joy for my prodigal return,” he added absentmindedly, getting back on his feet and looking at the boar piglet now resting in his arms, “Still, I have a feeling us wild ones will enjoy this season.”

The immortal Master of the Underworld did not have to shake himself back up to gather back a semblance of composure, just as it did not take him several moments before realizing he and the godling had started wandering the forest. John talking, cradling and shushing the small animal when it fussed while Gale reached and waved his hands guiding souls to him and away to his realm.

If small flower beds of blossoms sprouted where the souls had laid within their original bodies, well, no one would have dared mouth a word about it, the woods shielding the godling with affection and a mercurial wind making the words exchanged between the two as incomprehensible to an outsider’s ear as the Zephyr.

It took until rose fingered dawn started showing for the two to stop, sitting on a ridge, admiring the view of Eos’ painting the sky, Nyx’s slow and elegant retreat and Apollo’s impatience.

They had walked for hours, Gale’s hood was now resting on his shoulders, dawn’s rays shining on his golden hair as his sight settled on the scene in front of him: John leaning back on his elbows, playing with the shoat, making it run after marigold blossoms he summoned with flicks of his fingers. The happy squeals brought smiles upon John's face, visibly much more relaxed then it had been when Gale had first appeared. 

It was with a regret tinged voice that he broke the silence, “I have to go now,” he paused registering John’s sorrowful face with inner, and not too closely looked upon, delight. John kept swirling marigold petals around the shoat as he spoke, “I imagine it would be pointless for one to ask when they would be seeing The Unseen One again.”

Gale chuckled despite himself, it had been happening all night, John’s words bringing unusually charmed reactions out of him. Assured by this response, John continued, “I do not mean to assume, but you know, it’s not as if I can show up out of darkness and into your realms.” 

Oh, Gale thought mischievously, Thanatos would just self implode if that were to happen.

“I’ll be back,” the words were out of his mouth before he could consciously stop himself from pronouncing them, a gorgeous smile from John was his reward, “In the meantime take care of this terror,” the small boar was now running into the hem of Gale’s robes with no trace of his earlier wariness with the greater underworld deity, “I would not care to see his flowery appearance down under.”

John regarded him with a confused look but Gale had already started walking back into the forest and with a promise laced voice bade him farewell, “Go rest, Wild of the Earth, I’ll be seeing you.” 

John feared the shivers running down his spine had absolutely no dealings with the fresh morning breeze swirling his chiton, he tilted his head back, staring at the rapidly brightening sky, and willed himself back home.

A faraway rooster’s crow was the last sound echoing the deities' leaves.

[sweaterkittensahoy]

Hello!

Just saw your post about prompts… 👀

If you’re interested, I’ve been dying for a very particular Buck/Bucky fic, where, during the interrogation scene, the officer has Gale brought in to try and get answers out of Buck ✨

Im a sucker for the extreme angsty stuff, but other than that, I’ll leave the prompt broad and up to your interpretation!

Thank you! ♥️

(This went more "two Steve McQueens fight a couple nazis" and less "oh god why must I watch you be hurt" but I hope you enjoy! Personally, I think Buck's likely the shithouse crazy one of them when it comes down to it, and Bucky just tags along when it happens.)

[cw: blood mention]

After several minutes of going back and forth, the interrogator questioning and Bucky replying over and over with his name, rank, and serial number, the interrogator pauses, then says, "Well, let us try something else."

Bucky expects the man to stand up and threaten him. Instead, he pushes a button on his desk. There's a buzzing outside the office.

Bucky expects guards and guns, maybe a fight. He keeps his seat even as the door opens, ready to spring up if needed but trying to hold himself in check.

There's two sets of footsteps, and then Bucky looks to his left where they stop.

It's a guard, all right. And next to him, still in his uniform, is Buck. He's bruised and busted, though not as badly as Bucky. He's standing at ease, like he's not shocked to see Bucky.

But Buck looks not shocked to people who don't know him a lot of the time. Bucky, though, he can read that face like his favorite book. And Buck's face is stoic, but there's mayhem in his eyes.

"John Egan," Buck says, and Bucky leans forward, ready to go, "What took you so long?"

"Well, I had to come back from London, you know," Bucky replies. "Told you you should have come with."

"Maybe next time I will," Buck says. He licks the corner of his mouth where there's a spot of blood. He looks at the interrogator. "I suppose I'm here for a reason."

The interrogator smiles thinly. He rests on his desk and waves at the guard, who takes two steps back.

Stupid, Bucky thinks. Absolutely and fantastically stupid.

"Major Egan is not being forthcoming," the interrogator says. "And you have also not been forthcoming, Major Cleven."

"Attaboy," Bucky says in his most obnoxious drawl. It makes the interrogator glare at him. Perfect.

"If you think showing me Egan's alive is going to be make me cooperate with you, you're wrong," Buck says, cool as you please. He scratches his wrist. The guard behind him doesn't even twitch. Bucky catches the way Buck's hand doesn't fully uncurl when he drops it to his side again.

"What he said," Bucky adds.

"You Americans and your confidence," the interrogator says, looking like he wants to spit. "Always so certain you can't be stopped."

Bucky shrugs and slouches further in his chair. He finishes his cigarette, stares at the interrogator, and flicks the butt to the floor. The man's nostrils flare. "Buck, when we're out of here, I'm taking you dancing."

"You can try," Buck says, and Bucky moves at the same moment Buck does, grabbing the interrogator by the throat and snatching the letter opener off of the desk. He stabs him through the jugular, holding him up as he bleeds all over his pristine uniform.

He lays the interrogator on the floor and glances at Bucky. The guard's down, too. His neck slashed clean across. There's a razor blade with fabric wrapped around the dull side next to him.

"How'd you get a razor blade?" Bucky asks as he takes the interrogator's gun and knife and searches through his pockets. He finds money and a gold watch.

"They made me scrub their bathrooms," Buck says. "I think it was meant to emasculate me. I found it in the wastebasket."

"They didn't search you?" Bucky asks. He walks to the door and presses his ear to it. There's no noise outside.

"They're undisciplined," Buck says. "Not lazy or dumb, but undisciplined."

Bucky reads between the lines. It won't be easy or simple to get out of here, but the men here won't be expecting a fight. "It's quiet out there," he says.

Buck walks up next to Bucky and hands him a box of ammunition. He tucks two folders into his jacket, then tucks another two into Bucky's. They all have a large stamp on the front that seems to imply importance. "Where's your sheepskin?"

"Traded it out," Bucky says. "You hated it."

Buck stares at him for a moment, then pulls him in and kisses him. "You ever fly without it again, I'll shoot you down myself."

Bucky kisses back. "I'm telling Marge you paused my heroic rescue to kiss me like a bad movie."

"I'm telling Marge you were dumb enough to get captured," Buck replies. He pulls Bucky into a quick hug that Bucky happily returns. "Ready?" Buck asks, holding up the knife he's stolen. His gun's tucked into his waistband so he can grab the doorknob.

Bucky stands behind him, the knife in his right, the gun in his left. The box of ammunition in his pocket makes him feel lucky. The sharp concentration and determination in Buck's eyes makes him feel sure. "Let's get the hell out of here."

[sweaterkittensahoy]

Bucky calling Buck 'Gale' over the radio. The war's nearly over. He trusts they're done. He can take back his name, which he placed on Gale as a form of superstitious protection. If Gale had his name, Bucky can't ever be really lost, and neither can Gale.