#i think the show gives snippets of their human lives for the purpose of humanizing them and emphasizing the fact

[wackywatchdotcom]

Rewatching episode one, I noticed that when Ragatha and Jax are talking to each other about Jax having a key, Pomni flinches away from, and lifts her arms to protect her face and head, when Jax toys with the key and catches it near her.

I wonder if she is that jumpy around others normally or if it's just when she's in a stressful situation (like suddenly being trapped in the circus) what do you think?

OK. ok. you mention this. and ive never said anything about it but i have genuinely noticed this almost every time ive seen that scene. i think about it a LOT but i havent been able to figure out my thoughts on it. but i think about it genuinely a LOT...

(i went on a huge tangent abt her thats like. only sporadically related to this specific moment SORRY. it was hard to address this moment without discussing a LOT about her i feel)

for the sake of clarity in the event someone reading this is unfamiliar, what this ask is referring to is this:

with the way that she so quickly dissociates and HARD (not that most people Never experience dissociation or smth, but its the intensity of it and how quick into this situation she starts dissociating is like. it makes it seem like its smth her body and mind are Used To Doing) she REALLY gives off the feeling that she had pre-existing mental health problems (i struggle to place anything TOO specific with the limited information we have but i feel like theres definitely a few things she has going on) before she even got to the circus, and like she COULD just be a naturally jumpy person, but with the dissociation thing and general distrust towards others, it feels like her jumpiness is also related to these issues

while her being naturally nervous is sort of implied and clear (though i think the extent of it is exaggerated by the circumstances of the pilot in particular) there ARE a few other examples that stand out to me

i THINK this can largely be passed off as her just being on edge from the horror adventure, but i this is IS notable that she reacts genuinely pretty strongly to what is a relatively minor 'jumpscare.' it happens later too w kinger pressing the tape recorder

in general she seems VERY easily startled by people, and frankly it reads a lot like it stems more from people being near her than just things happening abruptly. she notably doesnt jump hard when the angel arrives- she DOES get scared, but she isnt necessarily startled. she DOES react very strongly to ghostly, but i think its notable that she seems to find his visual appearance frightening and debatably not necessarily startling, but thats not really 100%. the times she reacts the strongest have to do with people, which imo ties HARD into her not trusting people

episode 2 breaks down her distrust of people well, and i dont think its a self consciousness thing. it seems more that she just doesnt tend to find people trustworthy- if something bad was happening to her, she would sooner assume theyd let it happen rather than help her. it could be argued that its partially a guilt or projection thing with ragatha, but im not actually so sure. pomni seems to be ashamed of leaving her behind, but particularly through ep 2 she doesnt seemed Plagued With Guilt by the way she acts towards ragatha, which implies that the dream didnt have to do with her projecting that shame in a way shed assume ragatha would turn back on her, too

it instead seems to be that she doesnt trust ragatha just... in general. the 'im not a child' thing, while a legitimate problem for pomni to have with ragatha (i love ragatha, and from my place in the audience i know her concern is genuine, and that she truly wants to encourage pomni, and is trying, but from the perspective of people around ragatha, its not an unreasonable assumption that shes JUST being infantilizing and belittling), does illuminate how pomni is seeing ragathas attempts at cheering her up- that it comes from a place of seeing pomni as immature or generally unstable. that pomni is incapable of managing herself and needs to be coaxed. it implies pomni doesnt see ragathas attempts at help as genuine. combined with her dream, that ragatha would allow the worst to happen to her even when she was asking for help, makes it very clear that, even with the 'nicest' person in the circus, pomni just... doesnt really trust her

(it is worth noting that pomni DOES seem to genuinely want to help ragatha in the pilot. she DID try to find caine. but she bolts at the first opportunity. she does care about people, but when stressed, she operates on keeping herself safe first and foremost, that she needs to do anything to get out of a bad situation even if that means leaving someone behind- and with her dream, it does seem that she generally assumes other people operate similarly, or otherwise in their own best interest)

this does, of course, improve by the end of eps 2 and 3. the funeral, and ragatha offering to include her, and how the others talk about abstracted players (combined with her conversation with gummigoo, someone who she has to assure has genuine friendships with those around him despite the lack of a true reality for them to be based upon), are able to convey that oh, these people do actually care about the people around them. theyre being genuine. they arent just looking out for themselves and thats it- they care when bad things happen to each other. and theres no true reason for me to be an exception. which is ALSO why i dont think its a self consciousness thing, she seems able to reason that shes not an exception to the intents of others, so much that when she cant assure herself that others' intents hold her safety as any sort of priority as well, any trust goes out the window. she WANTS to help if she can, but esp in the pilot, as far as shes concerned, its everyone for themself when shit gets bad, including herself

ep 3, she seems more trusting of ragatha- she has neutral and positive interactions w her, rather than assuming a lack of sincerity in it. but its not just ragatha, actually, because even before her talk with him, you can see it in how she interacts with kinger as well

she initially tries to help him run, which isnt too out there- with how she genuinely DID initially try to help ragatha, it doesnt require her to go out of her way to grab him and RUN. she can run AND take him with her. she can help without putting herself in extra danger. but then she DOES go back, which is one of my favorite and imo underrated pomni moments. because THIS is what i think actually highlights an improvement in how she sees the others before her apologizing to ragatha or taking kingers hand. because she puts herself BACK into (percieved, since its not actual sure WHAT the angels intentions were her) danger in order to get kinger away too

(theres probably a case to be made that ragatha didnt seem to be in immediate danger- she was in pain, that much was clear, but kaufmo had ran away by then. but even still, pomni couldnt have known kaufmo would shift gears and start chasing her instead of ragatha that first time. and i dont know if she actually knew death wasnt possible here yet. which isnt very flattering for pomni but also people do not act in flattering ways under extreme stress, esp given a predisposition to not trusting others, which ill elaborate more on in a second here- not that pomnis abandonment was ok OR that it was like evil of her or smth. shes just a person. there is no way she was prepared to know how to act correctly in this situation, and she didnt)

theres also this

which is SUBTLE but highlights a genuine increase in trust even before their heart to heart. now that she knows the cast (save for jax, who she seems to react to the harshest, which is worth noting imo) are not acting solely in their own best interest, that they WILL consider the wellbeing of those around them including her, that their concern for one another is genuine (which is concerning that she even assumes that to begin with, which ill circle back to momentarily), she very clearly has way more faith in them and the idea that she should stick around the others for safety

and of course, ive said it before, but her taking kingers hand has little to do with her enjoying holding hands. its her knowing that, if kingers wrong, this is going to end very, very badly. if holding their breath isnt the solution theyre BOTH going to get possessed, and who knows how theyd get out of that situation. but she decides in that moment that her trust in the others isnt ONLY about looking out for them and believing that theyre sincere in their concern for her. but that she is willing to let the others put her at a potential massive risk. getting possessed was a blatantly immediately traumatic experience- and she lets kinger put her at risk of it happening again. THATS why she holds his hand, at least symbolically. she doesnt like contact. but she can brave something that she doesnt like, she can let him lead her into and through something potentially horrific, because shes deciding to trust him and the others, that theyre not just people she can interact with without fear of ill intentions, but that theyre people who she is going to coexist with. the best thing she can do for herself and the others is trust them and work with them actively

anyway that got off-track, the point being that her having to have these ideas instilled in her at all through shared experiences and trauma implies that, while these issues with distrust may have been exacerbated by the stress of everything, they didnt come from nowhere. these are problems she likely already had to some degree. its great that theres been improvement but that improvement directly implies thesse were improvements that needed to be made to begin with. and the fact that the person she gets repeatedly most startled by is jax. who, even with episode 2, she explicitly doesnt trust. in the pilot, at least, her distrust is more vague (i think the dream sequence in ep 2 IS what highlights it best) so her flinching from jax can be passed off as related to a general lack of adjustment to the new environment and situation shes in. but it happens again with jax in episode 3 (and, notably, she pauses afterwards but it takes a moment for her to relax even knowing its just jax), after shes adjusted somewhat, and after shes gained some trust with everyone except for jax (given his absence from the scene at the end of ep 2). it also happens when barons voice plays abruptly next to her

point being that imo, she IS naturally jumpy. she says herself that she doesnt handle jumpscares well, which somewhat implies this even outside of the circumstances of the circus. but with how she reacts to things, it feels like her general jumpiness is far, far worse when it comes to people she doesnt trust (be it because jax is Like That, or because shes not familiar with baron). the way i see it, then, her distrust extends to perceiving physical threats easily around people she hasnt ensured are safe to be around. she IS able to gain this trust in people, but she seems to automatically place the intents of others as being Potentially Unsafe from the jump, especially under stress. she can jump back from it fairly quickly for what its worth, but to be honest, it seems more like she operates on some general, everpresent level of hypervigilance thats just sometimes worse based on the situation

and frankly i dont think we know enough about her as of ep 4 to fully determine if there IS a reason for this. because someone can have a reason to be this jumpy around others, or they can just... be nervous and dislike people moving suddenly near them. combined with the dissociation thing, though, im inclined to think the circus did not cause this, just made it more extreme with more unpleasant stakes. there is hardly any time between her entering the circus and this happening. she hadnt even seen kaufmo yet in that very first example, but she was already on alert for a physical threat, and i just. i think about it all the time...

i think the main takeaway from all of this is that i think she isnt necessarily jumpy like that all the time, but i think trust is not a given with pomni, and her jumpiness massively depends on how much she trusts people near her and the situation shes in to not be a physical threat to her. its definitely worse in the circus, but i think it was probably still something present in a different context in the real world, too

[sleeplesssmol]

Finding the moment Schneider and Vertin's dynamic shifted.

This scene inspired me because we see Schneider's anger emerge, albeit subtly.

It almost seemed like Schneider was planning on letting Vertin live once again, like in the beginning when they first met. She was going to give Vertin a chop on the neck during their duel to knock her out.

But then Vertin repeats the lie that Forget-Me-Not Me Not told her. After hearing Vertin promise her a shelter, she turns her gun on her instead. Why would she trust the words of someone from the Foundation who rejected her and her family?

Hearing this proposal must have hit a nerve. It's important to note that at this point in time she only likes Vertin's looks and she respects her fighting skill. She has absolutely no reason to trust Vertin's words and every reason to resent the Foundation's dog. It's easy to forget since she's such a flirt in the main story but there is a lot of anger in her. She is a Mafia Boss. She provides for her 11 sisters and her parents in a world that constantly takes from her without giving a shred of mercy. If you’re curious about this, the link below has Schneider's snippets from the atlas, but for my purposes I'll only use a small section.

The Opportunist and the Sticky Gum

“Her figure might be frail, but her eyes are filled with cold anger. Maybe she had been rejected just now or even insulted. She walked up to the square center with a firm step, like a warrior.”

This is Schneider as she watched Sonetto take the mission capsule she tampered with back to Vertin. In the Walden, we see this warrior fighting for her family and Vertin is now an obstacle.

Also, she seemed genuinely annoyed at the lack of concern Vertin had for the wounds she inflicted. Her voice starts off in that same playful, flirty tone when she says “that's really annoying” and then she sounds genuinely pissed when she talks about shooting Vertin in the thigh (I'd place a clip here but there's a limit. Would recommend going back and listening to get the full picture). She is getting frustrated.

However, things change when Vertin and the others help her sister. I think the true turning point in their relationship is when Vertin pushed Sonetto out of the hole to escape Druvis and Schneider did the same for Marian.

Earlier when Schneider was talking to Forget-Me-Not, she mentioned the importance of family and brotherhood. We also know she loves her family dearly which is why she's in this mess.

Schneider and Vertin sacrifice themselves for the people they love. She's finally met someone who gives a damn about loyalty and they are on the same side as her.

While they're fighting together, Schneider is heavily injured and Vertin covers for her. If Vertin, the one with the gunshot wounds, is in better shape than Schneider then it's a very rough situation. Nonetheless, she respects Vertin's fruitless attempts of resistance and considers her brave. She tells Vertin to shoot her in the chest when the time comes. Here, she is putting her faith in Vertin because she has no other choice. This is her only chance.

Later on in Popular Literature Vertin brings Schneider a healing potion and food she stole because she assumes Schneider must be hungry. You know what she brought?

Cake!

If we ignore the horrors of hindsight where Schneider is a human so the cake must not have looked like cake due to Storm Syndrome, it's a very sweet gesture. The healing potion tastes awful, so maybe she chose the cake over other foods as a way to make it easier to deal with. This is the climax where Vertin follows through on her promise and proves she is someone Schneider can trust. The cake also shows Vertin's empathy, something we see Schneider doesn't receive often. She's trying to make her as comfortable as possible instead of treating her as a pawn in her greater plan. They're working as a team, not as lord and subject.

[gee10120]

The sacrilegion of falling in love - 1

Part 1 - Nazareth

Vessel x Sleep but it's more of an exploratory piece than it is outright fanfic.

words: 2890

tws: graphic depictions of violence, blasphemy-ish, manipulation, description of gun, minor character death, kidnapping, sleep is terrible, and so is vessel.

a/n: so i wrote this on what i can only describe as a three day writing bender, and it's the first i've written properly in a long time, so it's not perfect by any stretch of the imagination, but it's something. I'm planning on writing more for this, a second part, maybe a third, sort of snippets of Vessel and Sleep's relationship as opposed to a whole linear story, part two will add on, but i haven't planned for anything more to. it's all supposed to be hella vague and unsettling because it's sleep token.

i think this is best read while listening to the instrumental version of nazareth, but the reg ver works fsfs. English is my first language, i just know 2 others and am crap at grammar in all of them x

all the weird punctuation is intentional though, it's supposed to sort of be read aloud or at least have the punctuation be followed when read. yeah anyways, i'm yapping x

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The deer is in the garden again. It’s staring right at him. It’s eyes big and brown and shining and he knows it’s her. It’s always her. Sometimes it comes as the deer, big brown eyes with its impossible stillness. He knows it’s her when the deer doesn’t run at the sounds of the city around it. It just stares, watching and waiting for him to notice it.

Sometimes it comes to him in his sleep, it did the first time. She comes in dreams less now, but sometimes it graces him with its presence, whispered praise, stroking his battered ego, reminding him of his place to follow her. Of his duty to worship her.

Sometimes it comes a woman, the most enticing woman he’s ever seen, her presence, when she makes herself known, is intoxicating, he knows she does it on purposes, changes her chemistry, her very biology to appeal to him, to keep him on the tightest leash, and unfortunately, it works.

Regardless of which form it shows itself in, it always comes. It always comes. He’s elated to see the animal outside the window, he’s been so lonely now, he can’t remember the last time he saw it, or any trace of her for that matter… probably weeks ago. She comes and she goes as she chooses, and he’s a slave to her whims.

He doesn’t bother to open the door, she knows how to get in, and he knows he can’t be too eager; she gets offended when he treats her too much like a human. If he doesn’t allow it the space to be itself.

The living room is dark as he slumps into the chair, waiting for her. The minutes tick by, the sound of the clock in the corner of the room lulls him into something of a trance.

“I know how much you’ve missed me,” The voice in his ear is honey, its caramel, its saccharine and he slumps even further into the seat at the sound of her voice, letting her take over. He wants to focus on her voice so much that it bounces around his brain. So that he’ll never forget the sound when she leaves.

He wants it to control him, to make him forget every sore thing that brought him to her feet in the first place. All the worlds woes that beat him to where he is now.

“I had some things to take care of,” at her words, he finds himself nodding, telling her it’s alright, that he doesn’t mind, that she’s here now. Her rich laughter echoes off the crevices of his brain, drowning out any doubts he had about her return.

“You’ve been looking for a new task, haven’t you? A new way to prove yourself. I’ve heard your whispered prayers for me.”

“Please,” his voice comes out before he can stop it, a low, broken whisper. He’s desperate to prove himself to her, to get her to stick around longer than the few hours a night she gives him every once in a while. “I’ve prayed to you so many times. I’ll do anything you ask, you know I will.”

“I know you will.” Her voice is closer now. He holds his breath. She’s in the room. He can feel her; he can almost make out her shadow in the corner. He has to hold back a desperate whine, shove it down his throat until he chokes on the humiliation of aching for her presence, for her touch. How long had it been since she’d touched him? Longer than the last time since he’d seen her. He wished she would touch him in some way, any way but he understands the delicate position he’s in, one wrong move, and she’s gone, until he doesn’t know when.

She moves, slowly, steadily, around the room, her movements are delicate and practiced, the long cloak over her makes it seem like she’s floating, and as far as he knows, she might be. She’s stalking him now, sizing him up, weighing him up, trying to decide if whatever she’s about to say is worth being said to him. He knows this, but he’s a slave to her, a loyal worshipper, he’s a fly trapped in her web, and so, he doesn’t move.

“So, I have a task for you,” her voice is so casual as if the next words out of her mouth won’t be the worst trial he’s faced to prove himself. “You’re angry, I know you are. I can smell your rage, it comes off you in waves, especially when I leave.” She begins to pace the room again. It’s one of her tactics, he can’t focus when he follows her, his eyes so intent on finding her in the darkness that it swallows his other thoughts.

“You think I owe you something. I do not.” There’s a pause, to let the words sink in.

“Do you wish to prove yourself? Do you truly wish to be freed from this? To give up everything to follow me?”

He nods almost too frantically. Too eager, but she doesn’t say anything.

“You don’t want to be alone,” she pulls his deepest insecurity from him, tosses it into the room as if it were trivial. “If you do this for me, I’ll make sure you’re never alone, I’ll make sure you know I’m there, that I’m always there.”

His heart leaps into his throat. It’s lodged in his windpipe. He can’t breathe. “Always?” he whispers into the room. She laughs again, this time, it’s cruel, jagged and harsh, she’s laughing at him. The moonlight glints off a tooth. Proof that she’s here, that she can be tangible when she chooses. That fact melts any hurt left from her laugh.

“Yes, and I’ll make sure there’s always someone else there, for when I’m not able to be around. To be there in my stead.”

“You haven’t told me the task yet,” he reminds her, he knows it’s bold, to talk back to her, but she chooses to ignore his disobedience.

There’s a thunk as something heavy hits the floor, she kicks it and it spins across the floor towards him.

There, at his feet, the metal glinting in the moonlight, is a gun. A pistol. He picks it up, fingers trembling, and he looks up at her, trying to look for her face, for something within her. He can’t find it. He makes a twisted noise, somewhere between fear and intrigue. Perhaps wishing he’d just shut his mouth.

She retreats into her corner again, looking over him in the armchair, testing him to say no, to tell her he won’t do it. But he doesn’t. Instead, he picks it up, his grip on the barrel tightens as he nods, waiting for her to continue. Her head cocks to the side, not impressed but pleased that he’s doing as she’s asking.

“You used to have someone. She was close to you. But as mortal lovers tend to, she got in the way of us, didn’t she? She thought you were sick. But you’re not sick, are you?” Her voice makes his head spin, he’s hypnotised by the way she puts the words together, she almost sounds like she cares about him. He shakes his head in response.

“Prove to me you’re not sick, prove to me that you have what it takes, prove how much you love me,” the word drips off her tongue like a threat, it’s a trap that she’s caught him in. Love.

He was so lonely when she came to him first. He’d been left so many times before. One night, deep in his dreams, a whispered voice he couldn’t ignore, told him it would reward him with all his desires if he followed it. If he worshipped it. Over and over and over again, the voice would come to him in his dreams, whispering praise and promise to him that he couldn’t ignore. He tried sleeping more in the day, to see if the voice would come, but it didn’t, only at night. He started to hear it when he was awake too, the same voice, late at night, promising him all the attention he wanted. He’d never be alone again. Follow me. Love me. Worship me. Follow me. Love me. Worship me.

He couldn’t pronounce its name, a tongue ancient and foreign to his. It told him Sleep would do. That it’s real name would wear away at his mortal tongue like sandpaper. So, he called it Sleep, befitting for how he met it.

And worship her he did. He did anything to hear that voice again, for three weeks he did everything, put apples on his mantelpiece, said words of praise, he even tried to write letters addressed to no one. Anything that he imagined would be well received by a god.

And then one day, she showed up at the bar by his flat, he knew it was her, she was sitting alone in the corner, her finger slowly but surely tracing the rim of her glass. When he walked in, she disappeared. It was then he knew that whatever he was doing was working. So, he kept doing it, kept worshipping, kept leaving gifts and writing letters and praying.

His grip on the pistol tightened again, pulling him back to the room, but when he looked up, she was gone. He swore, throwing the gun across the room. It hit the wall with a thump before clattering to the ground. She was right. He was angry. So angry. She played with him, toyed with him, and the worst part is that he knew she would sink her teeth into him regardless. That despite what he did for her, one day, she’d grow tired of him. His resolve shattered as he pulled on his jacket and trudged towards the door. If she thought he was weak. He’d show her. He’d show her the monster she’d pulled from him. He’d show her what this rage could do.

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The tiles of the public bathroom are dirty and decaying, the once pristine white surface, is now aged. Cracked and yellowed, fading, the mould climbing across the cracks like ivy, weaving its way across the gout like an infection. The metal tap is white with limescale and the smell of disinfectant masking shit stinks out the whole bathroom.

It’s almost four in the morning when he hauls the girl in. It was a real job to get her here. He knew where she lived, given he’d lived there for two years before they broke up but hauling her down the stairs to the public toilet across the road was the hard part. Maybe his ex was right, he could have used the gym.

He leaves her lying unconscious on the floor and locks the door to the bathrooms, shutting them in and the outside world away. He looks over her, taking her in, remembering her. She had been, unlike Sleep, nice to him. She’d treated him well for the most part. She was as pretty as he remembered, despite the couple of years it had been.

“Load the gun,” She isn’t here, but her voice is clear in his ear, he finds himself obeying, opening the barrel and putting all six hollow point bullets into the chamber. He tapes her mouth and tapes her feet and ankles together.

“Take her clothes off,” The voice resounds of the tiles. He looks up and around, finding her still not there. He doesn’t ever know why she asks the things that she does, but, despite being in the dark, he follows her commands. Reminding himself why he’s here. If he doesn’t want to justify it by means of religion, he could use any of the other rewards she promises. Fame, wealth, love,

He cuts at the fabric of his past lovers clothing, peeling the layers back and revealing her body. He stills. Memory clinging to the nights they shared, heavy breathing, skin against skin, the skin his fingers remember, her fingers that touched his skin in the same way. He knows this is wrong. It’s all so wrong. It’s worse to compare the girl on the floor to the being he knows is bigger than both of them. Yet he does, if only to try desperately once again to justify the position he’s found himself in.

“Let’s fuck her up.” Let’s… Let us. As if she is doing any of the dirty work, as if she isn’t only commanding him, his body a vessel for her will.

“Put her in her place for ever thinking such things about you, you were never sick, no, your eyes were open, wide open to the truth, it was she who was blind. Wake her up.”

He does, he shakes her awake, splashing her face with water from the dirty sink till she comes to. His past lover’s eyes widen, she tried to scream but her mouth is bound by tape, she tries to run, to scramble back, but she’s bound. The thick duct tape sticky and burning against her wrists as she struggles.

He watches her, like a scientist watches new bacteria through a microscope. He watches her with new interest, like he’s seeing her differently. He’s so aware of her mortality, he’s so aware of her life in his hands. She shouts through the tape; it’s muffled and incoherent. He traces the gun along her skin. She starts to cry, fat tears falling down her cheeks, eyes wide and fearful as she shrieks through the tape. She looks at him, her eyes big and glassy, like she doesn’t recognise him.

“I have to do this,” it’s the calmest he’s been all evening. Sleep is whispering praise and promise in his ears and it’s the only thing keeping him from slipping away.

“It’s all her fault, no one will miss her,” Sleep whispers. He nods, she’s right. It is her fault. He thinks of all the times she nitpicked him, all the times she looked at him funny, all the times she brushed Sleep off a figment of his imagination. But they’re here now, she can’t deny Sleep now, without Sleep this wouldn’t have happened, without Sleep, he wouldn’t have had the power to do this. He whacks the gun against her, the weight of the metal causing her body to shake, her exposed flesh ripples in it’s wake.

She cries out. He does it again, watching the impact. He does it again and again, watching the bruises bloom across her skin. He feels it, the anger that Sleep talked about. He feels it rise up inside him with each whack of the metal against skin. Each bruise that flowers.

Sleep stands in the corner, a grin across her features, she watches his wrath build and manifest like the crescendo of an orchestral arrangement, she doesn’t have to say she knew, because he knows too. She knows him better than he knows himself. She knows just what to say to unravel him, to pick him apart and leave him waiting and panting and angry. She knows how to whip him up into that animalistic frenzy he finds himself in.

Each whispered command in his ear, he gets angrier and angrier, the wrath welling up and up as he hits harder and harder and her cries get louder and louder, he can’t stop it, it, the butt of the gun coming down hard against any free bit of skin he can find. The repetitiveness of the movement is almost soothing, despite the wailing in the room. His movements get more rapid, more frenzied, faster and faster and faster.

Until all at once, there’s a loud bang.

He shot her. The hollow point bullet cut through her stomach.

And for a moment, a lovely moment, everything is quiet, the gunshot rings in his ears, the blood seeps from her wound, it pools below them, staining his clothes and his hands as he dips his fingers in it. Feeling it, tasting it, smelling it. And in an instant, he’s pulled back to reality.

There’s a dead body below him in a public bathroom. He fired a gun. He beat her with that same gun. Blood is pooling out of her; her eyes are wide and blank and vacant. Her body is covered in bruises, the side of her head is bleeding from a nasty gash, presumably made in his rage. She’s dead. He can feel the anger dissipate, and in its wake. Panic. It rises like a hand around his throat, curling around his neck and choking him until he can’t breathe. He presses his hands to the wound, doing nothing but staining them with more blood.

He looks around for the voice, staring at the ceiling, trying to look through it, for Sleep to guide him.

“You’ve proven yourself,” is all it says. He’s caught between every emotion. Elation, panic, leftover anger, exhaustion. He doesn’t know what to do or how to feel. So, he does what he knows best. He picks up the gun, and he runs.

He runs as far and as fast as he can. Down streets and alleyways, past cars and hurtling into the woods nearby. He doesn’t stop running until daylight, and even then, he doesn’t stop running.

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a/n: if you read this, thank you!! i hope you to some degree enjoyed this, let me know if you'd be interested in more to this (i'd probably post regardless but still, it's nice to get feedback). overall this is messy but i hope as i sort of get back into writing, it all straightens itself out again.

[lifeisasham]

my understanding of the character progression on number five

preface: i don't ship five with lila and think it more along the lines of forbidden love. what happened in season 4 is something i wish didn’t happen but could understand what was likely plotted out by the writers.

five from pre-s1: he was surviving a post-apocalyptic wasteland where he should’ve died for all intents and purposes. however, he did survive against all odds with his family as his guiding lights. or rather the idealised versions of his family that he envisioned in his head and what was written in viktor’s autobiography. while he may have also seen some of their exploits and characters through the infinity switchboard, those were probably more of snippets that served to reinforce his illusions of them. he can’t possibly watch what he missed of his family’s lives because the infinity switchboard would be very tightly guarded, especially if five is around; he would probably escorted and shown those snippets rather than allowed control over it.

five from s1: the first disillusionment that was blatantly presented in the show was when viktor dismissed his trauma. five expected viktor to go along with the revelation of the world ending, likely not even expectecting help to figure out what causes it, but that viktor would listen, at least. another disillusionment is likely that klaus was, unexpectedly, better in reality than five had imagined him to be; more than just a junkie and the family’s disappointment.

five from s2: another disillusionment with viktor was when they came to a head, with five seeing viktor if free of the drugs and the memories of the umbrella academy. there was also another disillusionment with mostly everyone when they failed to arrive within that hour he set for them, just expecting everyone to drop everything they’re doing and the lives they’ve built.

five from s3: here, we see five finally showing signs and effects of being disillusioned from s1 and s2, willingly giving up trying to save them. by this point, he was already so tired and had retired before being pulled back into the thick of things. we also see his relationship with lila progressing from enemies to frenemies to neutral or even cordial.

five from post-s3 pre-s4: from an interview with the actor, we learn five is lost in life and without purpose, disillusioned with his scattered family living their new lives, no longer seeing them as his guiding light.

five from s4: we see his relationship with lila has already become at the same level as his family’s. five and lila just diving into the multiversal subway and getting lost in it together wasn’t really how i would’ve wanted that relationship culminating but i find more potential for them together than with lila and diego due to an understanding of their shared trauma that they would likely have kept sealed and hidden away.

side note: i think that, if she wasn’t pregnant from s2, lila and diego wouldn’t have lasted one year and that she would’ve been on the wind.

another side note: on the fandom, i think most people idealizing five as this immutable and unchanging character focused solely, tunnel-visioned on and can only live for his family, just as five was idealizing what he remembered and what was written of his family. this likely stems from all the fanfictions that writes him as such, disregarding the fact that, just like the other characters in the show (except reginald, abigail, grace and pogo), he is, in fact, human. he should be allowed to be selfish, to live for himself, to seek and accept love from others (platonic, romantic, etc.) he already tried to seek love from his siblings and where did that get him? he likely won't be able form any sort of lasting romantic relationships with anyone else other than lila (and isn't that just sad?) unless most his memories were removed (even then, there is still the possibility he would regain those).

[daretobeking]

Okay okay okay

TR in VTM @coolcattime (if you want an explanation of what my silly words mean i have much to share)

Sonja would be a Gangrel 100% especially with how the Gangrel treat their fledgling vampires. On their own from the moment they die until they meet another Gangrel and answer their riddles correctly (aka tell them they’ve been on their own for a year and lived)

Tucker I’m on the fence for, leaning toward Tzimisce cause of the body horror but also the Tremere are the ones with blood magic…. I think he'd probably best settle as Banu Haqim with the eye for an eye you kick me I break your leg type justice

Tom would be a Brujah with the same certainty that Sonja would be a Gangrel. Silly cockroach guys with issues with authority who have a history of fucking with Bad Things. If we were to translate him becoming mecca-dianite then he could get Baali’d cause they’re the only vampires who can just eat your bloodline if I remember right

Jordan as a Salubri. Ianite’s either his Sire or in his bloodline and doing the ancestry whisper thing to him. It’s so silly over there in 3 eye land

Wag could be so funny in about any of the clans but there are two main ideas i have. 1. He'd fit in with the Tremere because of the them previously being mages before they became vampires thing. Also I think it'd just be really silly if all the Wizards are in the vampire cult on a technicality. They're not bound or anything they're just there for research purposes. Also for their medical access. 2. He's a Nosferatu! Human shaped but by god does he not look human. He's just chilling though he lives in the sewers like the rat he is (affectionate) Grey skin red eyes dripping what looks like blood sharp fingers big cloak animal-ish legs. Also Nossies doing illegal shit is so funny to me. bullets cant kill him and whats someone gonna do if they see him? "hey officer i saw a demon selling coke down that dark alley"

And for snippets of just. Things I think about them

Tucker and Tom’s predator type is Montero. They hunt together and make a whole fucked up game of it. Speaking of predator types, Sonja's is Alleycat so she just drops in on people and leaves, Jordan's a Pursuer because he gets to get silly with it as a treat, and Wag's a Sandman where he just sneaks into peoples houses and gives them a munch and crawls away like a lizard.

Tom also totally diablarized Dianite. It was really fucked up actually he pukes when he drinks kindred blood now because of the taste

Sonja never really got a Gangrel mentor even a few years after she was turned because she never figured out it was __ winters like what sane person would respond that way. She figured most things out on her own though

Jordan with his three eyes is so silly to me. His hair's kind of long in the front to cover it up but that's not the best solution so he literally has one of those big thick fabric headbands covering it. he says its to keep his hair out of his face. he looks RIDICULOUS

Wag stole his cloak from a larper and embroidered it himself to make it fit his vibe more. He also just shows up in random places through sewer grates like a horror movie monster because he can. More than once he's scared the SHIT out of the rest of the team by just talking when they don't know he's there or reaching out and grabbing their ankles. He has a tally for who he can get to scream the most

Tucker's perhaps gone a little insane and given in to the Voices but that's okay. It's not like there's an old as fuck vampire at the end of that path who wants to eat him or something. Also his old name when he was mortal was in fact Jericho, and sometimes the rest of the Coterie call him that to get his attention when they're in a rush. He hates it but damn does it work

[bluberimufim]

The Sheep

Wassup. I realized I can post snippets literally whenever I want without there being a tag game as an excuse. Soooooo I decided to share a snippet from "Devourer of Souls" that I just wrote and am pretty proud of. I even gave it a title for the purpose of this post bc I'm Fancy like that.

trigger warnings: horror, animal death, animal body horror, vomit, gore mention

This snippet is nothing like the rest of DoS in terms of vibes. Please don't be scared. I promise this story is (mildly) normal. This also technically has a lot of context behind it but I like this bit and it works somewhat independently so fuck it we ball!

Taglist: @wildswrites and @little-mouse-gardens

(I tried to post this multiple times but tumblr stopped me, so I's like to thank the nice people who helped me, @ellierenae and @owlsandwich, they were very lovely <3)

Some days later, at the market, the sister whose arm she'd healed approached Seth. She had a messy air about her, with bags under her eyes and thrown-on clothes. Her expression showed panic she seemed to be trying to hide, with little success.

"Seth..." she began, hesitantly.

"Yes?"

"I have a... strange request for you."

Seth raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

"What is it?"

The woman seemed to grow more nervous.

"Can you heal sheep?"

She stared at her for a moment, still processing the words.

Heal sheep?

"I must confess I've never attempted it, but I can try now."

The woman nodded.

"Thank you. Come with me, please."

Still a bit confused, Seth followed her, giving Theo a signal to do the same.

They already knew the path to that house. They'd traversed it less than a week ago. But now, the farm seemed to be steeped in silence. It took her a while to identify what was missing, but, when she did, she felt a chill creep up her back.

The sheep, she noticed, were quiet.

With grave steps, the sister guided them to the stable.

Was there a disease among livestock? She'd heard of them, but, in all of her time living there, she'd never been through one. She'd heard it said, from the oldest inhabitants of the town, that they were almost always devastating and that they could ruin the town for months – sometimes, years.

She took a deep breath. If she could heal people, she could heal animals. The life force that flowed through all living things was the same. Healing magic should work on them.

When she was about to enter the stable, she was pulled back. Theo held her wrist tightly, stopping her from going any further.

"Theo..."

"Something's wrong with the sheep," she whispered. "Their bodies..."

"Can you see if it's a disease?" she asked, also in a low voice.

"They weren't sick when we came here. If it's a disease, it acts extremely fast. Their state... it's not natural...

"Not natural? How?"

"Their organs, Seth. They're all... I can't describe it... They're distorted. I can feel them. I can feel the shape they are inside, and that shape doesn't make sense."

Theo loosened her grip on Seth's wrist and she took the opportunity to hold her hand and squeeze it.

"I have to check. If it's a disease, I should eliminate it now. It could put the whole town in danger."

Theo nodded and let her go, but she seemed reluctant to do so.

As she grew closer, Seth noticed a stain on the floor, right in front of the divide where she knew the sheep slept. It was hard to discern from that distance, spread over the irregular straw. When she was close enough to tell what it was, she had to force herself not to trip.

Blood. In a trail leading to the sheep.

"I think it's an illness," said the woman, with her eyes trained on something inside the divide. "But it's much more horrible than any I've ever seen."

Seth reached out with her magic. She could feel the souls of the sheep, although weak. Something was interfering with them.

"Please be careful," the woman asked. "I don't think it's contagious for humans, but..."

Seth finally reached the other side of the divide. She had to swallow the scream that threatened to escape her throat.

The sheep were lying on the floor, some with their bellies up. Their paws were stretched before them, with some contorting in painful spasms. Their eyes were blown wide, but they were looking at nothing, as if they were blind. Their mouths were open, ready to scream, but they made no sound.

Through their sheared skins, she could see shapes trying to pierce them. Some were thin and sharp, like broken bones, but some were made of soft flesh and muscle, almost like bubbles. And some of their organs appeared to have changed places. One of the sheep, closest to the entrance, seemed to have a heart where its stomach should be, stretching the skin every time it beat. Another, in a corner, had its ribs turned upside down, jutting out of its back. Another still, clearly dead, had wool growing out of its mouth and nose and, by the shape of the bulges that filled its abdomen, on the inside of its body too.

The sheep spasmed in agony, turned into something that only vaguely looked like an animal. Their mouths remained open and their eyes wide.

Seth had seen many horrible things when she'd been at the hospital, near the front lines of the war. She'd seen men disfigured, burnt, missing limbs. But this was the first time one of those things had made her puke.

After she emptied her stomach onto the straw, still heaving and with her back turned to those horrifying sheep, she felt a hand on her back. When she straightened, she was hugged from behind and let herself slump onto Theo's chest, comforted by the presence of that soul with hints of divinity.

"You saw them too, right?" she asked.

Theo said nothing, but she felt her nod against her hair.

"How are you taking this so calmly?"

Theo still did not respond, pulling her closer.

"Um... Seth?" called the woman who'd taken them there, her voice shaking. "Can you heal them?"

She vehemently shook her head.

"No," she replied, breathless. "Each one of these sheep would need a huge amount of energy just to make them look close to normal again." She turned to the woman, who took a step back. "End their suffering. Buy new sheep."

Everything I touch turns to supernatural horror. Help.

Btw the sheep thing is 100% Theo's doing (but on accident). She just came back from the Plane of the Gods and has divine body horror powers. Not my fault where my ideas are taking me. B&W originally also wasn't horror but then it just happened, ok?

Please tell me if you feel the snippet is too long. It feels a bit big, but I wanted to include the whole scene. I've never posted a snippet like this before. Still a bit confused about what to do.

Anyway, hope you enjoyed! Can't wait to share more snippets!!

[girls-are-weird]

a fragment

so... i wrote this short fragment of a scene ages ago... maybe a month or so after YR S2 premiered, when i was trying to wrap my head around what i wanted S3 to be like or what i thought would happen in it-- either/or. i'm not sure.

i wanted to write it early on in the break, before the real S3 came and jossed it, but although i had some idea of the beats i wanted to hit, i was never able to fully crack the plot, and now that S3 is firmly in postprod territory, i realize i probably won't have time to write the full thing. but i think it's a pretty good piece of writing, and i don't want it to just languish in my hard drive without anybody ever reading it, so i figured i might as well put it out there just for kicks.

you don't get much of the plot in it-- it's just 650 words of wille complaining about being grounded at drottningholm-- but the gist of the fic was going to be: sara runs away after telling the police about what august did, her family thinks she's missing and the police starts searching for her, august gets arrested but he promises to not implicate simon with the drugs as long as the crown puts all of its resources into the search, wille demands to be allowed to stand with simon and linda during public appearances to support them/give the case more visibility, and eventually they get a tip from the public that leads them to sara alive and well in some other city she ran away to because she couldn't take the guilt of what she did to her brother. they all make up. august goes to jail. something something happy ending. your guess is as good as mine. xD

anyway, here's the little snippet i did manage to write. it was supposed to be the very beginning of the fic. hope you like!

Four days Wilhelm spent by himself at Drottningholm, completely disconnected from the outside world and without a clue as to what was happening with Simon or any of his friends at Hillerska. His mother had confiscated his phone before leaving the school that day; his computer was presumably still at Hillerska or elsewhere with the rest of his belongings, which hadn't been returned to him as of yet. He could watch tv in the family lounge but all they were doing was speculating about his sexuality and his relationship with Simon without any response from the Crown, and that only made him even more anxious, so he'd given up on the news altogether. His parents' room and offices had been unused and locked for the past four days so there was no way he could use their desk phones even if he knew how to do that (which he didn't), and the entire house staff had been instructed not to lend him theirs no matter how much he begged. Labor contracts and NDAs outweighed pity when it came to the palace staff, unfortunately.

He hadn't even heard from his parents, who had probably spent the past few days at the Royal Palace dealing with the fallout, and his only interaction with another human being other than the house staff was his one daily check-in with Minou. He was sure his mother had done that on purpose because Minou was the "nice" one— Farima would've gotten a door slammed in her face, and Jan-Olof better not show his face around Wilhelm any time soon if he valued his life at all. But even though polite, Minou was still loyal to the Queen, and the most Wille had gotten out of her was that the team was figuring out how to proceed after his reveal at the jubilee and he should stay out of the public eye until further notice.

Not for the first time, he cursed having to live in a place watched over by the Royal Guard; their job was just as much to keep him in as it was to keep intruders out. He swore he'd haunted the palace like an 18th-century ghost, pacing trenches in every carpet to be found within the 162 hectares of the property in search of some exit that would allow him to get outside undetected and maybe hail a cab or jump on a bus— fuck, at this point he'd even try and hitchhike back to Bjärstad, even though every horror movie in history warned against doing that.

But even that was a no-go. Every known exit to the building had at least one guard posted outside of it, and he was certain he'd be bodily brought back inside if he so much as poked the tips of his toes beyond any external doorway. By this point, he'd even begun contemplating the physics of jumping out a window, but he'd concluded there wasn't one that was close enough to the lake that he could fall into it and maybe, with some luck, not break every bone in his body.

This had to be some kind of kidnapping, right? Except even if it was, he was screwed because his captor just happened to be the queen of the fucking country, who probably couldn't even be charged with a crime— he wasn't sure; he'd never asked. Erik would probably know, but that was… a whole separate issue, wasn't it? And even if he raised a stink about neglect or something along those lines, he was nearly seventeen, not seven, and nobody would buy it, anyway, because the place he was being held captive in happened to be a bloody palace with a whole fleet of servants at the ready to attend to his every need.

Except when that need happened to be talking to the boy he loved.

[jesse-cosay]

So there was THIS deleted snippet from the wasteland car and I wanna talk abt it

First of all, the importance of this scene is carried on in heart through things Lake says to Mace later on, but it's words not actions.

"You're a coward! When your prime died you chose to be a flec because you were afraid to let go of your identity!"

It humanizes Mace. Shows us that all reflections are human. Fully human. Not just the ones who go through the Chrome Car as Mace implies later on.

We understand his motivations through Lake's eyes and explanations. It doesn't matter that he denies it. It doesn't matter that he gives another justification. We as the viewers know it's true.

Mace's whole personality is an act. (Which pairs will with the hc that his prime used to watch cop shows.) He's romanticized it in his mind to the point he believes he's doing things for some "greater good" when it's really just an excuse to play dress up and act tough.

"Why are you like this!? Was your last prime this much of a jerk or is this pure you?"

And he looks smug when they ask this. He does enjoy bothering them. Him personally.

Through his responses we realize he does do things for himself. For his own wants and needs, no greater purpose.

This scene was removed because it was an attempt to show him as a person, a real person, but it lacked... what type, so to speak.

I think people would have misinterpreted this original scene as making him out to be a "good person", when really it isn't about what kind of person Mace is at all. Just proof that he is a person. Not just a big, bad villain.

Because people who do horrible things, are still human. They can still do nice things. Like feeding a deer.

That doesn't make Mace a good person. That doesn't mean he's right. It doesn't prove that what he's done is okay or even that he's redeemable.

It proves that Lake is right. Reflections are people. People who want to live their own lives sometimes, and don't have the means to. And some, like Mace, like to kick the ladder out when they reach the top.

[ownerofthisaccount]

Hello! For once I’m posting original stuff and not just fan drawings!

See, I’ve been working on my own graphic novel or comic series titled Atelo. While it will be a long time till I ever finish, I will give snippets as I progress like I have on my other medias.

The plot is that some people in this world have an ability called code control gives them an ability based on which form they have. Pink is physical, yellow is mental, teal is emotional, and purple is a mix of physical and emotional. But along with this, there are also creatures of fear call Phobos that live outside a bridge where they are mostly kept out using a barrier. The safe zone despises these code controllers labeled the Zodiacs and if one is found, they are banished to the other side of the bridge to wander till their inevitable deaths. A small group of them decide to band together and, with the help of one of their siblings who isn’t a zodiac, they are able to get in contact with the government. There they strike a deal: the Zodiacs will be allowed to return to the safe zone and live peacefully if they complete a favor for them. At the heart of the Phobo filled wastelands lie twelve beings labeled the Astrals, and are believed to be the number one threat to humanity. If they break their barrier and get their way into the safe zone, everyone will die. So to fulfill the deal, the Zodiacs head out to find the base and kill the Astrals, but it won’t be as easy as they believe.

There is definitely more to this story and as I go along, I’ll be excited to see what people think about it. To start off though, this will be part one of the Astral designs(they can be changed in the future as I have drawn out their parts yet) but these are what they are…some at least

Pisces:a pair of twins, though one never shows their face under that strange mask, nor do they seem able to understand empathy. Their sibling is very protective of them, but something seems off in her behavior…

Taurus:constantly wearing a a device around their mouth and a choker, though the purpose of it is unknown. They stay close to the Astral Cancer and warn intruders to stay away, but they appear to be apathetic and harmless beyond simple threats.

Aires:a rare Phobo that has intelligence and the ability to speak, this creature desires nothing more than the deaths of humans. Responsible for the murders of several government agents, this being has strangely let one person go during its carnage. Despite this act of kindness, he has no intentions of letting anyone else survive once he breaks his way through the barrier.

Leo:unknown what it is, though has features resembling a Phobo. She is timid, yet will guard Gemini with her life. Unlike Aires, she is incapable of speaking yet still to have some intelligence.

Sagittarius:an Ai under the control of Aires, they don’t appear to be able to think for themselves. It is unknown who created this machine or it’s original purpose, but it seems capable of wielding all four abilities of Code Control with ease.

[forbidding-souda]

Hey Mod Souda! How are you? Can you please do Mikan, Sonia, Kirumi, and Ibuki with an S/O who has a healing factor like wolverine but they still worry about them?

Mikan Tsumiki, Sonia Nevermind, Kirumi Toujou, and Ibuki Mioda with a S/O who can heal like Wolverine

my favorite artist posted an instrumental probably snippet of a song thing and it really just boosted my mood enough to force me to write. very exciting. new music from him coming soon? i hope. the last album came out when i was in high school.

-Mod Souda

Mikan Tsumiki

❤ Her fingers will wrap around your wound, her eyebrows knitted in worry as she watches it close on its own.

❤ "Is-Is-Is there any pain?"

❤ "None at all." You respond softly, moving your muscle to show her that it is completely gone.

❤ Still, she wraps bandages around the area ("playing it safe").

❤ Her brain tries to find an explanation. Something scientific. Something that can go beyond supernatural tendencies.

❤ She even walks in the cold morning, a jacket around her shoulders (one of yours), heading to a hospital off her shift to ask her coworkers if they have ever seen anything like it.

❤ She talks about you a lot to other people. You are like a crazy anomaly.

❤ Whenever you get hurt, there's always the thought that pops into your head: should I hide it from her? You know the wound will eventually just go away. Is it worth keeping her sane?

❤ But there's also the fact that she finds pride and happiness in bandaging you up. It makes her feel useless. Shouldn't you give her that?

❤ When she asks why you heal so fast, you simply respond with a don't worry about it - which promptly embarrasses her enough to get her to stop talking.

❤ It has never crossed her mind to be scared of you and your abilities, though. She just accepted you for what you are, not overthinking it, not wanting to put you in danger.

❤ If you're something beyond human then that just makes her even more special: you choosing her to be with.

.

Sonia Nevermind

❤ She heals surprisingly fast. But this is because she lives her best, healthiest lifestyle, getting tons of sleep and eating healthy foods. So when you told her that you heal fast, she didn't think anything of it.

❤ But when Saionji had pushed you down onto concrete, making you scrap your elbow horribly, Sonia came rushing to your rescue. Her cheeks were red with anger but she didn't lash out on anyone. Her soft hands lifted you up, to which she examined the wound, eyeing it as it slowly patched itself.

❤ It was magical.

❤ Her mouth was agape and she ran her hand over the area, feeling your new skin.

❤ She thinks about Tanaka and his alleged healing spells. Maybe you're like that - dark magic and occult-like? A magick user?

❤ She doesn't ask about it. But the longer the two of you spend together, the more she realizes that this might be something a little strange for a human.

❤ What if you weren't a human? The idea makes her flustered. Are you a vampire? Some sexy monster like that - oh, how she loves them.

❤ Whenever you get hurt and bleed, she will always gasp and go to your rescue. In the midst of the moment, she forgets what you are, and the fact that you aren't actually in danger.

❤ For when other people are around, she is going to pretend to patch you up.

.

Kirumi Toujou

❤ When you first got hurt around her, she immediantly went to the first aid kit.

❤ "No, no, no," you tried to explain, "I don't need it - really."

❤ "I am making it my job to take care of you."

❤ You stand up, putting your hand over hers, standing close to her. "No, seriously, I don't need it."

❤ Throughout the many times she has seen you heal yourself, she has never commented on it. She just nods and puts the first aid kit away, going to busy herself with whatever chore she was doing before.

❤ It makes you a bit insecure. Has she even noticed? Or is she purposely ignoring it - the things she doesn't understand?

❤ Now, you notice that when you get hurt, she's stopping going for the first aid kit. She will glance your way until you give her a thumbs up. And then she will nod.

.

Ibuki Mioda

❤ Her gasps are loud and they are filled with worry.

❤ When you hurt your arm, she will kiss all around it (forgetting bandaids even exist - is this sanitary) and hold your hand. You let her do this, of course, and you wait it out until the moment your arm heals itself.

❤ It feels like an eternity before it does, too.

❤ When she notices the wound isn't there she assumes she just made up the fact that you were injured.

❤ She doubts her own reality like - every time until you explain it to her.

❤ "Like a superhero!" She exclaims, covering her mouth with her hands.

❤ That's better than a monster, certainly.

❤ You agree with her, letting her bask in her admiration before kissing her cheek and telling her to keep it a secret.

❤ "Ibuki is amaaazzing at keeping secrets - so don't even worry about it, babycakes!"

❤ When other people see your get injured, she just smiles, knowing that the two of you are in on a secret and absolutely loving that fact.

❤ She hates seeing you in pain, however. So she will hold your hand and cover you with kisses until the wound and all its neurons leave.

[keijislove]

I’ll be there: Bucky Barnes X Reader

A/N: WARNING: Slight mention of PTSD, insecurity, basically Bucky not realising what a blessing to humanity he is.

Screams.

They erupted in an instant as the sound of glass shattering pierced the otherwise peaceful night. Screams were all he’d ever known. Screams sounded like music to his ears. It was just a small snippet of what people really deserved after they dared to show their faces in public, knowing the pain they had caused to this world.

Amidst the endless assassins, stood a certain soldier with eyes as dark as his name, hair long and unkempt about his face, and two arms – one regular, which clutched a gun that seemed to fire itself – and the other, made of vibranium, which was busy throttling a man.

The winter soldier.

That name commanded fear. Fear of being killed, knowing that the monster HYDRA had created didn’t have enough human in him to feel emotions like pity or regret.

Bloodlust.

That was all that James Buchanan Barnes had ever known.

“Please, please not my son!” a woman cried, watching tearfully as the winter soldier fought an urge to scoff.

Not caring in the least, he pointed the gun at a little boy of nearly seven years of age and smirked beneath his mask.

The trigger was pulled, deaf to the cries and bloodcurdling screams of the boy’s mother. A gunshot pierced through the hall filled with screams. A bullet shot towards the tiny, unsuspecting boy, reaching to hit him squarely in the head –

“NOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Bucky screamed, sitting up straight.

He looked around. Nobody was there, he was alone. Like he’d always been.

Panting slightly, he looked around, fumbling for the water jug and he poured himself a glass before taking a sip – his hands shaking so badly that the quantity of spilt water was greater than that he drank.

“Just a nightmare,” he feverishly muttered to himself, “No – no big deal, nightmare.”

His lies sounded so untruthful, even Bucky had to scoff at himself.

Just a nightmare.

If he didn’t understand himself at times, who could?

It was almost foolish to admit it, but Bucky felt something he had no way to overcome. Lonely.

His ‘friends’ were leading important lives, either with family or training at the Avengers compound, wanting to make a difference. Yet, here he sat, feeling useless.

He wanted a purpose in life – a gaping hole in his chest nothing seemed to be able to fill. Apparently, the gods had heard his prayer, for that day was one he treasured most in all of his memories.

-----

“This is the last time I’m working the night shift!” you furiously exclaimed to Leah who just shrugged, saying, “It’s not me who decides the shifts.”

“Meh, well,” you admitted guiltily, “You have a point. But you’re the only I can rant to about this prison.”

“Well, job’s a job, isn’t it?” Leah murmured.

“I guess so.”

The door of the restaurant flew open as somebody walked inside. You didn’t bother to look up, you had way to much experience and hate for this job to care who wanted to eat what.

“Welcome, I am Y/N L/N, just name whatever you want, I’m sure we have it in here and if we don’t, I’m sorry but that’s not my fault and I have been working long hours since weeks and would appreciate a little customer cooperation to ensure the safety of my mental health, okay? What do you want?” you had never talked this way to a customer before – you were known to be a polite employee, but today, you just lost your temper with life.

Receiving silence from the figure that had stopped in front of you, you looked up questioningly and your mind went blank for a second. Standing there was literal eye candy material who looked confused and slightly alarmed. You flushed – great job scaring away a finally nice guy, Y/N.

“Sorry,” you sighed after a while of staring, “Not in the greatest mood these days.”

“I can see that,” the stranger chuckled despite himself, “Rough day?”

“Month,” you corrected moodily, “What can I get you?”

“Meh, the usual, some beer please,” he said.

“Right,” you nodded, turning around, pulling faces at yourself for being so embarrassing. You blindly groped for a bottle and thrust it his way, saying, “Glass?”

“No thanks,” he waved off, uncorking the bottle and downing it, “I’m Bucky, by the way. Bucky Barnes.”

“Hey, I’ve heard of you,” you frowned.

Bucky’s heart dropped into the floors below. Of course you had heard of him. Of the countless, ruthless murders he had performed.

“You’re – that guy, right? Steve Rogers’ best friend?” you asked, “My condolences,” you added quickly.

“Yeah, thanks,” he said, “That’s me.”

“I can see you’ve been through a rough life,” you remarked causally.

“You have no idea.”

And so, Bucky began visiting your bar regularly – a feat that made your shifts more enjoyable and something to look forward to in your mundane life. Bucky understood what a stressful job could be – he felt that if he couldn’t help himself, he’d at least try to help you.

After around a month of knowing him, you decided to do something you had been gathering the balls for for weeks

As soon as you finished your night shift, you spoke, “Can I walk home with you? It’s late – and the night sort of scares me. My house a few blocks away from yours.”

You crossed your fingers and toes behind your back.

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Bucky said, “I wouldn’t want you to walk alone anyway.”

Your heart rose – this was a good sign.

You grabbed your coat and threw it on, shivering slightly as both of you made your way out. You locked the door behind you and placed the keys in your pocket as you resumed walking.

“So,” you began, “How’s life going on for you?”

“Crappy, mostly,” Bucky shrugged, “I mean – there’s nothing to do. I just sit around all day, come to your bar, go home, and sit around again.”

“Sounds like a nice life,” you sighed, “I wish I had some peace. I’d trade with you any day.”

This declaration made him laugh.

Now or never, Y/N, you wimp! Do it! Ask him out!

“Hey, listen, Bucky, I was wondering,” you began as he hummed in response, “Uh... we’ve known each other for some time now... don’t take this the wrong way, but I... really, really like you.”

Bucky felt his heart drop again – this was exactly what he’d been afraid of.

“Y/N...” he began.

“It’s okay, you might not feel the same,” you hurriedly said, swallowing back a few overcoming tears.

“No, Y/N, it’s nothing like that,” Bucky assured you, “I really like you too – but are you sure you’ve thought this through?”

“Thought what – what are you talking about?” you asked, nonplussed.

“I’m just saying – think about it,” Bucky began, “You – you’d be throwing away your future – I don’t want to do that to you. You’re a smart, beautiful woman, and you honestly deserve so much better! I can’t make you happy – I can’t make myself happy, I don’t know anything about commitment. I can’t give you children or a family – and the people who know of my past – almost everyone – will look down on you, I don’t want you to have that burden. I’m – a monster, Y/N, you can’t –”

“Stop,” you whispered, shaking your head, “Stop doing this to yourself. Who on Earth – Bucky, you are not a monster. I would never think like that – and it’s okay if you can’t give me a family – all I want is you. Just you.”

“Yeah, but you’re forgetting the most important part,” Bucky whispered, “I’m dangerous. I can’t trust my own mind. Trigger words, remember? Even if I’m not a killer anymore, I’ve made a lot of enemies – I don’t want anyone to use you to get to me.”

“What if I don’t care?” you asked angrily, “Let them try. And your trigger words – nice try, Bucky, you wanna be more careful what you tell others about your past. I know that that problem was taken care of years ago. You’re jut scared to open up.”

“I get nightmares....” Bucky’s voice trailed off in a feeble attempt to coax you to change your mind.

“And now you’ll have someone to calm you down next to you,” you firmly stated.

Bucky sighed, “Coffee shop down the street, tomorrow, noon.”

“Don’t you dare be late.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, doll.”

[kdramabrainrotstation]

for the WIP game, the day the moths died sounds super intriguing... please tell me more

ahh thank you! it's...a huge wip. i'm still heavily planning out a lot of things about it, but i'm super excited to write it out once i've got it all sorted.

it's also a remake of an old fic i had started back in one of my old fandoms. i never got past the first chapter because i realized it didn't really...work for the characters in that fandom? but it honestly fits perfectly for tdj, and for the dystopian aesthetic of the show

it's gonna be super niche, though, so it probably isn't for everyone lol. it's also pretty self-indulgent. by that, i mean it's got elements of things that i personally find fascinating. concepts of alchemy (less fullmetal alchemist more haunting ground), homage to an indie game called 'inside', a detroit become human-ish plotline (actually that's the first fandom i was going to write this for back in 2019), the list goes on and on lol

basically, it takes place in the wake of a disaster that wiped out a great deal of the human population. in anticipation of said disaster, the united nations had come together in an underground project to create artificial human placeholders for jobs and other economic needs in order to keep society functioning as closely to normal as possible. they'd been steadily integrating these beings into society over the course of the past several decades, and following the disaster, sped the process up.

these artificial humans were meant to coexist with society fluidly as if they were human themselves, but giving something that was supposed to be more like a robot autonomy usually doesn't pose good results. not being given choices as to who they would be or what they wanted to do with their lives--simply expected to perform the task they were given at creation--these beings eventually rebelled. some of them violently, some of them running away. and as more and more begin to do so, governments all across the world are forced to act.

i'd like to point out here that these beings aren't robots or androids or anything like that. they're artificially-created humans. this is important.

in south korea, a special police force is created for the sake of tracking them down. they call them 'moths'--a blatant reference to them being considered a pest, and the fact that most of them have short lifespans. they also exist solely as an indirect aid to human reproduction.

enter kim gaon, a newly promoted detective, who is assigned to this group. he and his cohorts (you guessed it--soohyun and jungho) investigate reported sightings of escaped moths as well as places where people have been attacked by them. on one mission, gaon finds himself diving headfirst in a chase after one of the most infamous of the moths--a rogue from the early days, coined 'atlas'--and his view on society is turned on its head.

i'm gahan trash, so it's definitely going to be the main pairing.

i couldn't find a short way to explain this fic, and this still doesn't cover all of it. i do have a bit of the first chapter typed up, so here's a little snippet:

How do you feel during a storm? What do you think of when you see the violent flash of lightning? Hear the clap of thunder reverberating around you after? Are sheets upon sheets of thick, heavy rain chaotic? Or are they cathartic?

What is your perception of the things surrounding you? Do you tremble in fear and anticipation? Are they ominous—a sign of terrible things to come? Or are they opportunities? Can you latch onto them and change them into something that makes a difference for yourself and those around you?

Is it the end of the world, or is it a new beginning?

It’s strange, how such broad questions have always been posed to Gaon in small, square rooms. With politeness and anticipation, a quick bow, silent acknowledgement of the words being spoken to him. Pondering, wringing his hands in his lap, while his mind works to try and understand the purpose of what’s being told to him. As far as he knows, he’s never had need for a therapist, but the higher-ups insist on counseling—it’s a necessary part to being a detective in today’s world, they keep telling him.

And Gaon wants nothing more than to make a difference. So, mental health visits, whatever the station tells him he needs to do, he’ll do it. For that reason, he always tries his absolute hardest to bring reason into the questions the man typing away on his laptop is asking. He closes his eyes and breathes deeply—envisions a tempest of pouring rain and wind ravaging the city—and tries to understand his interpretation of it. Other times, he scans the bland gray-beige of the empty, lifeless walls in the small room and tries to make something more out of them. The colors are intended to be calming, most likely, but Gaon feels stifled more than anything. Still, he does as he’s told and insists to himself that in order to escape these four walls, he must handle this session correctly.

seems unrelated to all the description i put above, but it's actually super important. i won't spoil it, but these initial paragraphs are a HUGE foreshadow toward the route the story takes in the fic. things are not what they seem, and i'm hoping when i do manage to get this written out, y'all will enjoy it as much as i'm enjoying working on it.

but again, it's suuuuuuper niche. as you can probably tell haha

either way, thank you so much for this ask!

[helpinghanikan]

Sleeping arrangements

Avengers (and Matt Murdock x Reader)

Sum:  It's late and the bed is so nice. It's time to sleep and to bring your heroes along with you. (Fluffy little snippets of sleepy time with the Avengers)

Steve Rogers:

It’s the last train home and only one thing in this world is warm. The wall of Steve Rogers your head rested against was beating softly through the jacket and shirt he wore. Keeping your arms around his center to keep any of the heat from getting away. His own arm protects around your shoulders, keeping you in and gibing his hand something to do instead.

He could’ve driven, he should’ve driven, instead he wanted to take the train. He wanted to walk around like he did years and years before, but this time with your hands intertwined.

Although far away the train has started to shake the earth. Taking you out of the almost sleeping world and back into this cold one. The change in worlds brings out a yawn and lets the cold back in. It’s been a long day. With your eyes closed and clothes heavier than they could ever be Steve was the only thing keeping you up. His chin rests on your head after a while, thumb rubbing over your shoulder as the train finally pulled to a stop.

Inside it was the same story but in a seated position. Guided into his lap and landing with a groan as it was just so much work. The practically empty strain allowed your legs to stretched straight out over the seats.

Steve could stay awake longer than most, but he was tired. He was cold and annoyed and really wished he had driven instead of taking this stupid train. He took his frustration out on squeezing you tight, holding on as if you were liable to fall right out of the seat if he let go. At least it was warmer inside the train.

Tony Stark:

Someone staying up late, not getting enough sleep, and making exhaustion their personality trait is funny for maybe week. But After days of trying to coax him to come to bed, to try something other than just giving up on sleep or even talking to a doctor it gets concerning. After weeks of these same issues, it becomes frustrating.

Everyone, from Pepper to Peter have done their fair share of lecturing. Happy has gone out of his way in helping you get the dumbass to appointments. All of which he has walked right out because, unfortunately, he was still an adult who could make his own decisions.

It’s only after using the nuclear word that he pays attention.

“Anthony,” You say just before he leaves the room.

Although speaking to his back he does stop. His shoulders have tensed under the t-shirt and he’s listening in.

There’s an audio book’s worth of things you could say about this issue. But it would all be a repeat that he’s heard before, from many different mouths. Instead, you kept it simple, not even bothering to turn on the light.

“You didn’t even try.” It comes out from a tired partner just wanting the best for him. Yet Tony walks away from the advice, again.

Thor:

Power doesn’t stop for sleep. It’s still in the air when he’s laying sideways towards the window. Because of the whole nighttime thing it’s hard to tell if clouds are actually coming in or darkening. Maybe you’re just insane but Mr. Weatherman didn’t say anything about rain tonight, right?

It was a jolt that really woke you up. Looking over your shoulder at the expanse of muscular back. Thor movements were always a bit too…loud for this world. Whether running through a fight or moving in his sleep it calls attention to everyone. He doesn’t mean to, but it does wake you up enough to see your glass is dryer as a bone.

As if reading your mind, the rain has come down. It could almost be described as torrential how hard it was all coming down. Matching the dramatics of rain, a lightning strike coming straight down into some poor tree.

This wasn’t the first time Thor had a nightmare. Asgardians just seemed to be humans 2.0, making Thor just as a victim to horror as we humans are. At the same time, he was still another worldly being, translating to giving him a few feet when waking him up.

Another strike of lightening and another tree is taken out of this world. Without the lights on that blast was your only moment of lightening. The rest of the journey made to Thor’s side of the bed was done in darkness and pounding rain. Following the outlined Asgardian until reaching his shoulder. A gentle hand on his should does nothing. A little shake and a whispered “Thor,” finally does the trick.

The two strikes of lightening outside somehow reached his eyes. For the briefest of seconds blue, cracking energy is directed right at you. Stopping just as quickly as they appeared, replaced with Thor’s regular blue eyes that blink a few times.

“What is it?” he asks.

There’s no point in telling him the truth about his nightmares and their effect. Then again, there’s no point in lying either. Instead, it’s better to distract. “It’s still super early. Back to bed.” You say instead, kissing with until he takes the hit and holds you.

Bucky Barnes:

Sleep is a luxury that isn’t worth chasing. With the pillows and sheets there were nightmares and enemies that could sense his weakness. Trying to get at least six hours and all that guarantees is waking up sweaty and a call to doc, making sure to get everything back in order before you could ever notice.

Instead, he takes walks. Maps out the city at night, the changes and differences that happened without him. He recognizes the buildings, the structures and bricks that were too strong to be a victim to time.

Most of the time he does this alone. Watching a show about nothing until you were asleep before starting his walk. But there were times you catch him, calling out to him like the neighborhood cat trying to get away. Getting on your own shoes and jacket quickly. Then enforcing the handholding during the little adventure.

It’s only when passing by something important that words are shared. “One of my buddies worked here when this place was a mechanic. Broke his leg just before the draft, I still think it was on purpose.” He’d say then never bring it up again.

These walks are always shorter than most. After two times Bucky learned when to make the loop back home with you. When your building comes back into view the handholding has gotten sweaty. The walking had slowed to a crawl and you were dragging him down by the arm. Even less talking was done after getting through the door; just landing face down onto the bed without bothering about the shoes.

These kind of walks were Bucky’ favorite.

Natasha Romanoff:

The bed was used almost exclusively for sleeping. As the couch was both comfy and expensive. And, as Nat puts it, “Should we do it with the lights off too? Under the covers like grandparents?” Although it was probably another reason to use the overpriced couch more often.

Like any good, and overworked, soldier Nat could sleep anywhere. When a mission is done, and there’s nothing to worry about, a shower and a nap is the best in the world.

“I smell nice,” She says walking into the living after the shower. Steam still behind her, hair wrapped up and a sweater purposefully bought to be several sizes too big.

She stretches and lays over you like a cat. Resting as close as possible so you, too, can smell the expensive shampoo she uses. Making sure that the body wash isn’t ignored either as that, too, was expensive.

“Might as well spend this pay on something,” She says when asked about the prices.

Although she asks what you’re up to she won’t be awake for the answer. Already teetering into sleep land when you answer.

Natasha was as athletic as she was heavy. Only sometimes managing to carry her bridal style and most of the time having to walk/guide her into the bedroom. Either letting her drop onto the bed with the same weight you had carried in, or she holds fast and takes you down with her.

Just like a cat, Natasha gets to decide cuddle time.

T’challa:

Although the mattress was new, the bed’s size was traditional, and passed on through generations of rulers. Forget California king bed, A Wakanda king bed was that and a half. Ten feet length, twelve feet tall. Combined with blankets, pillows and more it was easy to disappear into the thing. But it was also easy to get lost in it all.

In the middle of the night, in the very center of this ocean of bed, you can reach out forever. Finding pillows (both the decorative and the usable kind), smaller blankets or stuffed animals that have managed to be added. But it’s a tiresome journey, one that doesn’t seem to have an end even as you stretched to pointed toes and fingers.

It’s only after touching body heat that you can relax. Finally finding your king that turns to your touch. Making his own journey through sheets and bedding. Using you as the trail into his love. Neither of you thinking about the absolute nightmare it will be to make this bed tomorrow.

Pietro Maximoff:

For most of his life Pietro is moving. Be it running or just running his mouth, he’s not the kind of guy to sit still. Unfortunately, this also applies to sleeping.

“He’s been sleep walking since we were children,” Wanda once said. “Our father once found him crying in a puddle. He had slipped and woken up in the street. He’ll deny crying, though.”

As an adult Pietro doesn’t actively get up and walk around anymore. The man made up of strong and lean muscle still moves quite a bit. Waking up from freezing feet finding yours or because he’s sat upright in bed again. Using soft, but firm, pressure to get him to lay back down or to guide him back to his side of the bed. If you weren’t careful his arms would find you, almost dragging you back to his side of the bed.

He'd deny it in the morning. Smiling with barely open eyes as you’re still pressed against him. No matter how much you’re going to insist this was his fault he’d still mock you. Nuzzling in since you insist on cuddling so much.

Peter Parker:

There’s a time limit next when sitting next to Peter. You have ten minutes before his head finds your shoulder. If you don’t shrug or lean away he’ll stay there, slowly leaning in until he’s all settled.

Although not completely asleep he does rest. If your hands are held in those moments you could probably feel his pulse slow down as his breathing slows. Maybe his eyes manage to stay open, but his eyes do get heavy. Someone could say his name, and he’d respond, but it be from his throat. An annoyed groan directed to whoever was ruining this moment. Even if it was usually a teacher or adult.

It’s only when traveling, and you’re sitting for a while, that he completely falls asleep. Progressing past just leaning his head and adding his arms. If you allow him, putting an arm around your back and the other over your center. With your own arm over his back, he sleeps in a position that, although sweet, always left a pain in his neck. Something he’d complain about until you ask if he want’s you to rub his shoulders.

Stephen Strange:

During aura projection Stephen’s body is dead weight. No muscles or bone working with the individual trying to help them. It’s just taken over by gravity and his entire weight wants to be on the floor. Sleep does the same thing.

Short of a bucket of water to his face he won’t wake up. Part of his experience in med school was taking every bit of use sleep could give him. Which leads to sleeping fast, and sleeping hard, usually opened mouth. No snoring yet, but the moment he does there’s an open target for shutting him up.

Matt Murdock:

It’s a mixture of meditation and caffeine that he is still functioning. Too busy, much too busy, as a lawyer for the two of you to share a bed most of the time. Making any comments you have about his sleep schedule mute.

Watching him doesn’t change give any information either. Coffee in the morning, some deep breathing and self-centering in the between moments at work, and sleep ins on days off were all you could gather. Between that it’s easier to just assume he’s fine.

Just laugh at his “not like I need to rest my eyes,” jokes and move on.

Carol Danvers:

After going through every time change known to man, alien and beyond Carol has developed a very specific still. Carol Danvers, woman with the power of a star and to sleep literally anywhere at any time. Be it a cleared-out corner of some ship, an open floor that keeps her hidden from passersby or on your lap. The latter being her personal favorite.

Like a massive golden retriever, she wants to be in the middle of your lap. Close as possible with a arm holding around your shoulder and the other on her toy, or phone.  A being of wiry muscle and heat keeping you pinned to the couch. Most of the time she’s out ten minutes into the movie, most of the time the remotes’ out of reach, and most of the time you gotta go pee.

[thanks-mike-stamford]

Fics that inspire my writing - Part II

This is Part II. Read Part I or Part III

Continuing the discussion, I grouped these fics together for something they have in common: author style! It was actually a bit hard choosing them because they are all written by authors who have a distinct style. Something in them that makes you recognise the author right away, that makes you think - oh yes, definitely is a story from this person. When you have a bunch of stories with the same kind of feel, it's hard to choose one to illustrate my point. Tip is: binge read the authors below!

Part II

I Used to Live Alone Before I Knew You by etothepii Back when there wasn't even s2 yet I was already reading stuff from this author. I absolutely love their fics. This one is super interesting, a Good Omens fusion book version - beyond numerous screaming posts on the internet I'm not really familiar with this universe.

Something I like in all their fics and it's worked beautifully in this one is that there's more than it seems under the surface. The characters are not an open book even to the reader, and the narrator (close Sherlock POV) doesn't give all the information. The narrator sometimes doesn't even explain the information we are given. The facts are presented piece by piece, building the layers of a character, making it clear that even if right now, for this story, it's not relevant, this person is a complex human being (or angel. Or demon) that doesn't exist solely for the purpose of the plot. Two factors help with this: the non-linear narrative, that permits we only know a part of someone when it becomes relevant; and the sort of omniscience of Sherlock. I say sort of because yes, he's a demon and he has access to the core of someone. He's able to fish for stuff that happened in someone's life and how they feel about that as a way to build their vulnerability to sin. However, this is not necessarily mind-reading or future prediction. He makes deductions based on the soul, let's put this way. But because he can't use it to predict exactly what is going to happen, he still gets surprised. Because the characters are layered, they are able to be consistent with what we know and yet unexpected, up until the end.

The combination of giving powers to the narrator and using non-linearity is brilliant, working to enhance the themes behind the plot, which are about the complexity of the human soul. I'm working on a WIP that has similar themes and I try to play with these aspects to make it smooth like this story, instead of a philosophical essay using voices of characters. I've tried the non-linear narrative in a published fic, but it didn't have the same level of success in serving the story. Let's see if it goes better when I try again.

What It Is by toyhto This author has two main things going on in their fics: the type of angst that makes you question yourself, and the type of humour that is not really about trying to make you laugh, it's a very weird type of humour. I love weird stuff.

This fic is not Toyhto's best angsty one or best humourous one, but it's one that creates a good mix of both, like a tragicomedy (but without a tragic ending). You have John not knowing how to feel about Sherlock, and Sherlock gambling possibilities on how to fix the situation. It's the narrative that fascinates me. The story keeps its cards close, the reader is often a bit uncomfortable, a bit wrong-footed. You don't know where the story is going (hell, sometimes you don't even know where a scene is going), so you keep hanging up until the end. There's an underlying panic in how characters interact, but it's never hysterical, it's never loud or obnoxious. And then you find yourself snorting in situations that shouldn't have been funny. Life is usually not one genre or the other, so why literature should be? I love that the story never tries to be something (sad, funny, intriguing), and yet it is. It's not easy to pull something like this.

I have a WIP currently on my drive folder where I try to play with this tragicomedy narrative thing. This fic inspires me in trying to keep the reader on their toes all while looking effortless.

Borrowed Ghosts by DiscordantWords DiscordantWords has been out there since 2016 showing how there's more than a way to fix canon. In fact there are multiple ways. This is the author you want to go if you watch the show and think eeh this should have gone a different way. There's probably a story in here which takes the same premise you thought about.

This one is just too incredible. Because it picks up right from a crucial point in canon and said - ok, what if everything still happened, but they actually make sense? For this story consistency is key, and if canon gave us a John Watson making bad decisions while nursing an unreliable brain work, that's what you get. But make it make sense! This is what happens when you are on a roll of bad decisions, this story tells me. This is what happens when you're isolated from what before kept you on track. This is what happens when on top of everything your mind is playing you tricks: they don't just stop because you decided to. That's not how it works. This story acknowledges the bad stuff, but to fix them it doesn't propose miracles, and it definitely doesn't ignore them. We get the consequences but we also get the process of change that is necessary for things to be good once again. Like John says: there's a difference between wishing something happened differently and wishing it hadn't happened at all. But it did happen, so now what?

Make it canon divergence but character consistency and twist it to fix it, it's what inspires me in this fic.

The Ancillus's Tale by Chryse I reiterate that everything by Chryse is a must, but everyone that follows me on twitter had to deal with me constantly gushing about their most recent work for months, so it will be this one here. I just have a lot of feelings about this fic. Oh, yes, omegaverse again, inspired by The Handmaid's Tale.

The one aspect that comes to my mind when I think about Chryse's works is dark themes. If I want to read about fucked up stuff happening, I will go to them. And this particular fix has fucked up stuff from the first to the last chapter. And it's very immersive: you get inside the head of whoever is POV at the moment, Sherlock or John. You get their physical reactions, their thoughts, you know what they know. And the world building is on point: detailed enough that is totally credible, you can see reality becoming that way, but it's not described to exhaustion. We are presented the info about what we need to know, and rest is there, somewhere at your peripheral vision where you know it exists but it doesn't become a nuisance to the plot. But more important than that, it's how the dark themes are treated. It's never on black or white situations, surprisingly, despite the universe setting. The characters especially - they are allowed to have conflicted feelings, they are allowed to misbehave even if they are supposed to be on the good side, they have nuance and complexity. And the cherry on top: just because it has a dark premise, it doesn't mean it can't have a super satisfying happy ending that even brings comfort to the soul after letting it being hurt. We get snippets of comfort, the promise it's going to happen all along the fic, to compensate the extreme suffering the characters are going through. It's glorious.

I have been toying with the idea of writing something on the dark side. In fact my next multi chapter is super fucked up (but as always, with the certainty of a happy ending), and I hope it can see the world soon. I'm writing with this premise in mind: characters are allowed to have conflicted feelings, and they are allowed to misbehave, that won't make them the bad guys.

This was part II! If you missed part I, just click here. Part III is up!

[captainsimagines]

To Topple A Giant || Chapter Seven

Summary: You had made it your mission to destroy even the smallest evils. When the opportunity arises to finally take down your own family after years of gaining their trust, you reach for it. And so does Steve, the man who represents a symbol of everything you hate.

Pairing(s): Steve Rogers x Reader || Avengers x Reader

Part 7 of 10 ~ Mini-Series

Warnings: This story contains mature themes and discussions such as extreme canon violence, strong language, emotional angst, mentions of Endgame deaths and recoveries, sexual situations, and emotional/physical abuse. This is purely fanfiction.

Warnings in this Chapter: abusive parental relationship; strong language; canon-level violence (explosions); mentions of alcohol poisoning; mention of Infinity War/Endgame deaths; perceived domestic partner abuse (no such thing actually happens!); concussions and minor injuries; mentions of arranged marriages; mentions of drug smuggling and human smuggling; lying; ANGST!

Word Count: 14,100+

A/N: So close to the finish line...

~

Spain, 2024, 5:07 pm.

    “Get the damn ice cream, Peter. I’m not holding you back.”

The kid sped down the sidewalk as fast as his feet would let him, skips in his steps and ignoring the chastising yells from Bucky. 

“You’re letting him have sugar?” Bucky whines, sluggish in his own steps. The Spanish summer sun was blaring, burning your forehead and building the same cold craving in your throat. It was just the three of you, carefree but melting, happy but annoyed with the constant proximity of each other. The villa (if you could call it that, it was more of a cottage) was listed as having three rooms - not the two you were stuck with. Bucky was at the last inch of self-control, begging you to switch with him - if only for one night - because ‘the kid fuckin’ talks in his sleep, doll! One more night and I might smother him.’

It was Bucky’s idea to take a little vacation. A year after the blip and only a few months after Peter’s world was turned upside down, a vacation seemed like the best choice. Preferably somewhere that was quiet and somewhat rural - somewhere you guys won’t be easily recognized. 

So the three of you packed and flew across the pond. In all honesty, you hadn’t even told the rest of the team where you were going besides Wanda. One day you were greeting them in the common room and preparing lunch, the other you were throwing your suitcase in one of the two vacant rooms in this little Spanish cottage. The three of you were truly off the map in terms of late notice. 

“Let the kid live. He’s having a mid-life crisis at eighteen.”

“I’ve had more mid-life crisis’s than his age combined. He’s not special.” The pointed look on your face had Bucky sighing in small defeat. “Okay, okay.”

These past two weeks in shared solitude, even if this trip was supposed to be relaxing, was beginning to melt into a tiresome routine. Well, just nights. The days were mild at best. And to make matters worse, you and Bucky had been dodging the team’s calls, messages that you left for voicemail. Bucky had clicked ‘end call’ more times than he could count and his excuse was always, ‘ the kid doesn’t want to leave, doll.’ Even annoyed with Peter, Bucky wanted only the best. 

It was only a matter of time until your phones were tracked and you were forced to come home. Everyone probably knew where you were anyway - you weren’t exactly hiding. But since you already got a good two weeks in, you figured they had taken some sympathy. 

“Think we can get him to visit a museum today or something?”

Bucky shrugged, lining up at the coffee stand near the ice cream cart. “Saw him checking out banana bread recipes last night. Seems more like a baking day.”

You could go for some banana bread. Ordering two iced coffees and making more miscellaneous small talk while waiting for Peter to order, you studied the streets of Spain. The country had suffered greatly when, cruelly, more than half their population disappeared. Left in proper ruins, no one believed it would ever recover. But then there was an election, a change in the structural government, and it just… did. They rebuilt themselves better than any country had, in your opinion. 

It was a rather calm day with minimal people out and about. It was exactly what you guys deserved after every mission - in your case, after a long month of PR recovery after that bar fight alongside Sam. 

“You bake, Barnes?”

He smiled fully, “Any chance I get.”

“You guys want anything?” Peter yelled out, bouncing lightly on his heels as he waited. You waved him off. “You sure? It’s pretty cheap for summer prices!”

After rejecting Peter’s dozen ice cream questions and offers, the three of you decided the heat was a little too much to bear, even with sunscreen. Peter spoke most of the way. Something about that banana bread.

Bucky, being the baker, helped him choose the best recipe of the four Peter had bookmarked and soon the kitchen was only half dirty with eggs and mashed bananas.

“What do you mean a cup of baking soda, kid? Use your eyes,” Bucky yelled in second hand embarrassment. “I don’t think a cup of baking soda goes in anything.”

“Read right here, dude,” Peter poked at his tablet. “A cuuuu... okay. Okay, I see what I read wrong.”

“You two better be making me some good ass banana bread today. I don’t want to throw up!” You had opted to let the two men have their fun in the kitchen. You tried to bake, but you were more of a cook than anything else.

“You could be reading out the directions.”

“I could do a lot of things,” you respond with the emphasis on “could”.

The doorbell interrupted your no-so-real argument. Peter snickered, “You could get the door.”

With a displeased grunt and a straightened middle finger to the kid, you opened the door to find two people who were definitely not invited. Clint, with this magical and massive smile on his face and Steve, with his eyebrow cocked and arms crossed.

“Oh, would you look at that. Guests! Welcome to our humble abode!”

“Now, how and why?” Bucky groaned. But his actions contradict his words as he went to give Steve a hug, covered in flour and all.

“Hey, Clint,” you mumbled, purposely ignoring the super soldier side-eyeing you. “Care to tell us what you’re doing here?

Clint returned your warm smile, “See, Cap? They’re safe. Can we go now?”

Steve rolled his eyes, arms crossed over his chest in a rather demanding way. “We’re here to take them home, Clint.”

Bucky scoffs.

“Eh, you might be. But I’m here to soak up some of this Spanish sun.” A low grunt sounded in the back of Clint’s throat as he spoke. He was already making his way to pick at the mashed ingredients. 

“You heard the man, pal,” Bucky slaps Steve’s shoulder, leaving him at the door as well. Awkwardly left alone, you blow a small raspberry and step aside to let Steve in. Bucky continues, “We’re here to soak up some sun. And I’m not done soakin’.”

With great protest, Steve maneuvers Bucky away from the kitchen and into the hallway beside the master bedroom. With both super soldiers out of the way, you finally go to help Peter with mixing. “Why did he come, really?”

Clint shrugs, arms deep inside your cabinets and collecting whatever desserts you had pre-packaged. “Honestly? I think he missed you guys.”

“All this drama because he misses Bucky? He could have just shown up declaring truce and had a nice little vacation,” you mumbled, glaring at Steve from behind. 

“Think he felt like he needed an excuse to even show up. But they really are asking for you guys back home. Threatened to arrest your ass.”

“Lucky me.”

You could make out snippets of their tiny argument up ahead. 

‘You could have called.’

‘You haven’t been answering the phone, Buck.’

‘I’ve been relaxing.’

A heavy sigh. 

‘I just thought we told each other everything.’

‘Believe it or not, Steve… but I’ve got more friends now. Isn’t that what you wanted? I’m not trying to ignore you, I - I just needed to help another friend out this time.’

Peter, with great care, washes his hands and makes sure there aren't any random mashes of banana on his clothing before he side-steps you and Clint to interrupt the very ‘private’ conversation between the super soldiers. “Hey, Mr. Steve- Cap, hey.”

Steve immediately lets his hard gaze falter. “Hey, kid. You doin’ good?”

Peter nods in response. 

“He’s doing great! Much needed vacation that still isn’t over.”

“Buck.”

Inserting yourself may not have been the best option. “Give it up, Rogers. We’re on vacation. And until the kid says he’s ready to go home, we go home.”

Peter fumbles, “Oh, please don’t put me on the spot like that. I’m not good with confrontation.”

Bucky quickly answers before Steve can, “It’s not confrontation, Peter. We love being out here and if it’s helping your mental health, we’re not going to take that away from you.”

Steve blinks and his expression looks like one of hurt. “You think I wanna do that? The literal president has been asking for your location. You’re not allowed to leave the country.”

You shrug, “Well, no one told me that.”

“Buck, you were just granted immunity three months ago. And you go and drop off the face of the earth?”

“I’m literally in Spain.”

Steve blinks again. He really can’t believe he’s got to deal with two people with similar personalities. “Your point?”

“On Earth…?”

Clint decides to make his presence known. He has even inserted the poured batter into the glass tray for you guys. “Why don’t we just stay with ‘em, Cap? God knows you need a vacation, too.”

“We have two rooms. You’d be bunking on the floor,” you say, pointing to random areas on the floor.

Clint waves his hand in the air, “Not the worst place I’ve slept in.”

“I’m being hounded day and night to bring you three home.” Steve looks about ready to burst into tears of frustration.

“Turn off your phone?”

Steve whips his head and stomps to close the few feet of distance between the two of you. “You really think it’s that easy? You really think I wasn’t worried when my two best friends just disappeared one night and didn’t tell me?”

Two.

Best. 

Friends. 

Before you could even comment, Bucky puts on the dramatics.  “We ran away together, Stevie. We meant to tell you.”

Steve takes a moment, just staring at the ceiling and piecing together his thoughts. “Joke all you want, Buck. I’m bringing you home.”

“Ste-”

“No!” He’s stomping back to the front door now. “I’ve had enough! I can’t stand not knowing where you guys are all day when bad things keep happening in this world. Just… just come home.”

All is quiet besides the quiet munching of Clint and his rogue cookie. Steve’s face did this thing when he was at war with himself, anxiety crawling up his arms or panic weighing his empty stomach down. His face drained color and that perfect renaissance oil lost its blush, blended paint that turned a murky gray. A masterpiece lost in storage.

“I can take the couch,” you whisper, arms erupting in goosebumps. “You guys can stay the night and we’ll go home tomorrow, okay? Or somewhere pre-approved, I guess.”

Bucky didn’t argue. Neither did Peter. 

Steve's imaginary painter adds the softest pink back to Steve’s cheeks as you compile a mess of blankets and pillows for him.

Present Day, 2025, 7:15 am

     There’s a warmth near you as you begin to lazily shuffle against the sheets, heavy on your chest but comfortable all in all. 

There are no worries, no sudden bursts of Avenger business, no fights needing to be fought. Simply Steve warm against you with sunlight draping over his bare and freckled shoulders. 

The serum enhanced for the sole purpose of strength and survival. And sure, it healed the body quicker than the average human body could naturally, but the one thing it couldn’t do was strip personality. 

Steve had freckles splattered along his broad shoulders and down to in between his shoulder blades, light in color and all similar in size. Something a lot of people hated about themselves and tried to cover up while others tried to mimic. The serum was supposed to heal damaged skin, sunburnt areas, birthmarks, and even moles - at least, that’s what the official 1943 report had claimed. 

But over the years, Steve had continued to age and grow into his new body. And while he couldn’t get dangerously sick anymore, anything unknown could still occur. No one had the same serum as Steve and last Tony had heard, Peggy had spilled the last remnants of Steve’s original DNA (blood they took before the procedure) in the Hudson. Bucky seemed to be experiencing the same natural changes as well. 

It had been proven that neither Steve nor Bucky could carry or transmit diseases, experience abnormal cell production, nor could they develop a lifelong ailment without severe reason. 

So imagine everyone’s surprise when Clint called one morning while deep in a routine mission (somewhere in Africa, you really don’t remember) to relay the news that, ‘you guys aren’t gonna fucking believe this - yeah Rogers, I’m telling them the hilarious news right now - Steve’s appendix just up and exploded last night - hey! He just stole - hold on. Give me back my hearing aid, you abelist fuck!’. 

Steve had stretch marks on his back from the procedure, his elbow still hurt from time to time after he had snapped it a year ago, and the white scar above his right hip reminded him that even super soldiers are not exempt from the wonders of the appendix. 

His breathing was slow and his eyelids flickered. Seemed he was enjoying his first deep sleep in a while. You craned your neck to try and read the cable box across the room, slightly making out a seven in the front before you gave up. You were due for your annual eye appointment, anyway. 

Steve did have perfect eyesight though, so damn him.

You shrugged the sheets from your arms. He was on his stomach, cheek planted on your chest and right foot dangling off the side of the bed. His left arm was draped over your middle and his right was tucked inside a pillowcase. His hair draped over his forehead and some of it was still tucked behind his ears. 

Careful to not wake him, you gently traced the ridge of his nose with your index finger, resting it on the tip that always turned bright pink regardless of mood. Once at the end, you went back up to trace it again. 

“Beak,” you whispered more to yourself, and you bit your lip to suppress the overwhelming urge to giggle. 

Steve was here, next to and near you, and he was so warm. 

You could have stayed in bed for hours, sleeping and cuddling and fucking, and you would bet your left kidney that Steve wanted that too. It was impossible to question it, it had to be, because Steve was too genuine. You had met hundreds of men in your life: some the literal devil, some cowards, some reserved, and rarely, some genuine at heart. Steve fit some category that didn’t even exist. 

You wanted to love him and hate him. You wanted to make love and fuck him. You wanted to kiss him and annoy him. He checked a box that didn’t exist but that you would just have to reserve for him. The annoying little shit who could lift Thor’s hammer. 

The door almost ripped off its hinges by the brute force of someone’s leg. You didn’t even fully register being crushed by Steve until his elbow stabbed you right in the gut. 

“Rogers!” you groaned in pain and half trying to reach for your pistol on the bedside table. 

There was a collective gasp of surprise (and maybe terror) from the people that just broke down your door. After yesterday’s unplanned run-in with Ramirez, no doubt this was called-for.

“Oh, hell…” Sam grumbled, lowering his gun the second he realized two of his friends were sharing one bed. “Lemme guess, the other bed’s mattress was too firm but this one’s just right.”

Bucky stood behind him, a knowing smirk plastered on his smug face. He looked between you and Steve, ignoring the way Scott was practically pulling his shoulder down in pure fits of laughter. Didn’t take much for Scott to tip himself over and almost drag Bucky down with him. 

“Couldn’t you knock?” Steve nearly yelled, body still trying to shield yours even though you were fully dressed. You were struggling to push him away in pure embarrassment, but he seemed intent with this form of protection. 

“You weren’t answering your phone! We changed our check-in times to seven instead of eight, remember?”

Steve, ever the gentleman, brought the sheets up higher for you and finally lifted himself out of bed. 

And Bucky, ever the gentleman who has been spending way too much time with Clint, nodded his head toward you. “You two fuck?”

Mouth dropping in humiliation, you pulled the sheets up over your head and screamed into the temporary cover. Steve sputtered over whatever explanation he was thinking of pulling out of his ass. 

“You two fucked,” Bucky smugly confirmed. 

Steve pulled on the nearest shirt and went to kick Scott, who was ‘criss-cross apple-sauced’ on the floor and laughing way too loudly. “Is it really any of your business?”

“Man, that’s an answer!” Sam was about to fall into the same fit as Scott. 

Annoyed, and fueled by that annoyance, you ripped the sheets off and marched for the bathroom. “You really want to know, you nosy little fucks? We did fuck and he made me come three times. Ask him how, I’m sure he’ll teach you a thing or two, no matter how embarrassed he may seem right now.”

You left him alone. You literally just exposed him and you left him alone with the wolves. 

All was quiet until Sam blew a small raspberry. “Three times?”

     Bucky didn’t need to speak to show he was about to tease the hell out of you. He simply sipped his coffee until he emptied it, and then refilled it. You couldn’t even finish a single mug yet because you were waiting to break the tension. 

Looking around the hotel bar because he still valued your privacy, Bucky made sure to keep his voice low. “Three times?”

Half wanting to slap the smirk off his face and the other half wanting to announce Steve’s naughty accomplishment, you settled for pouring more coffee into your mug. 

“Don’t you dare hold what I said against me, I literally had just woken up.”

“Mm, yeah. I remember how you literally moaned Thor’s name when you were startled awake from a nap in the living room.”

“Bucky!” you yelled, turning your shoulders inwards when you received a few odd looks from other early risers. Well, some were early risers. The person closest to the door was an agent, as was the other eating breakfast at the bar. “You promised you would never mention that again!”

He shook his head with amusement, “I can’t believe you swore me to secrecy when Loki basically told everyone.”

“He-!” Choking on your own spit, you slid lower into your booth. “That mischievous, conniving, son of a bitch.”

“In all honesty, I think that was his way of flirting with you.”

“Telling everyone I had a wet dream about his brother?”

“Oh, you wouldn’t be the first.”

You smirked, “Oh, trust me. I know.”

Bucky squinted, guilty in his spoken words. “All I’m saying is, it’s nice that you didn’t just write Steve off with us, as if nothing happened.”

It made your heart swell that even in a moment with you, Bucky would still always protect Steve. 

“I would never. We actually talked last night and he really apologized.”

“Really?” His eyes were hopeful. 

“He did. And as cliche as it sounds, one thing led to another.”

You realized your earlier words were contradictory when Bucky sighed sadly, “This better not have been a one time thing. I’ll strangle you both.”

You scoffed and finally took a piece of that blueberry muffin on your plate. “Screw you, Barnes. It’s Steve we’re talking about. I’d give him the world if I could.”

That made Bucky blush. “God, I’m stupidly happy for him. I always said he’d need to find a dame who had as big of a mouth as he does.”

Rolling your eyes, you offered him some of that muffin. He gladly broke off a piece. “Don’t go marrying us off just yet.”

“Doll, he almost imploded when we discovered you slept together. Teasing him about proposing might just kill him.”

You laughed at that. Although Steve had admitted he regretted the time you lost, there wasn’t any chance he would push you any further. He was probably comfortable with taking things slow, no matter the history. You had that in common. 

“Seems we’re all just gonna have to make sure we don’t cause his demise.”

Smiling as he chewed, Bucky played with your feet under the table. Safe moments like these always occurred before a mission, no matter how simple or heavy they were. And like people love to say, you never fought with each other before. Just in case. 

Going to bed angry was another thing entirely. That, the whole team was proficient in. 

“You ready for tonight?”

Yesterday had definitely turned you against the very concept of family reunions, what with the small ache between your shoulders. You were angry with Seda, with Ernesto, disappointed with Ramirez, and neutral toward your sister. 

God, your sister. This would be the first time since you left Mexico for school and SHIELD that you would be seeing her, as well as your other siblings. Jackeline was perhaps the only sibling you had some real memories with. Everyone else was already deep in the business or far away from the chaos. The team only knew of two other siblings who rsvp’d. The others: radio silence. 

“Part of me just wants a normal family wedding. I’m kinda hoping we can just end it all tonight.”

“Be careful what you wish for,” Bucky chuckled, finishing off your muffin for you. “You’ll get some closure soon enough.”

There was no such thing as closure. Just less of a constant sting. 

“Bucky,” you spoke seriously now. “My father made Steve sign something yesterday.”

“He told us at the debrief yesterday.”

“When did you have a debrief?”

Bucky scooted in his booth, quickly explaining. “Uh well, it wasn’t so much of a debrief as it was a simple overview. Just a heads up.”

You tilted your head, somewhat unconvinced. “Uh-huh… but we could void it, right? He had a fucking notary there and everything.”

“We can declare it void, yeah Y/N,” he grabbed your hand over the table. “He won’t get tangled in this.”

With a heavy sigh, you gripped Bucky’s hand tighter. “I’m really glad you guys are gonna help us.”

He returned your smile. “Anything for family.”

Family. 

After all these years of self-hatred and despising your own blood, you blinded yourself of the simple truth that you already had a real family. Whether you were accepted after Sokovia, or after you helped Steve escape with Bucky, or after those long five years, you were accepted. And you accepted them right back. 

    The briefing goes as expected. Didn’t seem like anyone was going to live down the now obvious fact that you and Steve had slept together after years of unnoticed pining. You simply took the teasing in stride, better than Steve even, who stuffed his face full of chips in embarrassment.

The plan was simple but ever-evolving. The three of them will hang back: Bucky at the hotel, Scott and Sam at the nearby base with Torres. The base was fifteen minutes from the estate, hidden behind those same pine trees but the perfect cover - it was a nearby diner. Steve will still take the shield, FRIDAY was installed on your personal phones, and any weapons you attached to your person were specifically made to deter metal detectors. Once in, it was mingle, mingle, mingle.

There were going to be a thousand questions to answer: What in the world is Captain America doing here? Is he here to cause trouble? Are you two seriously dating? So, Captain America being one of us means holding Thor’s hammer was a myth, aye?

Then you would move on to the more important guests. Jackeline’s greeting would be more of a reunion. But flying under and over the radar had to walk the same line - you needed to mix in with the crowd and make sure they see you participating, but then escape for a little while to continue the mission.

Once in, the task was to electronically and physically retrieve everything Scott didn’t have time to yesterday, plus the new information Ernesto got for today and tomorrow. His latest emails, list of contacts, checks, birth certificates, video evidence.

“Do we all know our duties?”

You wanted to wrap up Steve’s commanding voice and keep it a special secret, a secret that was yours and the team’s to share.

“We got it, Cap. For the tenth time this week - you two okay?”

Sam was rewarded with a slanted smile. “Everytime you ask me that, I’ll lie.”

He nods, “At least you admit it. You’re not alone in this.”

“For years,” you continued, “It’s been that way. I guess I’m both ready for it to end and not. I want them behind bars. I don’t want the repercussions.”

“Makes sense,” Bucky agrees. “At least part of the fight will be over.”

Beside you, Steve clenches his jaw. “We’re always fighting.”

Bucky grins at him, “Yeah.” There’s a sparkle in his eye as he leans forward to squeeze Steve’s thigh. “At least it’s not with each other anymore.”

     They weren’t lying when they said vibranium was lightweight. Felt different from nano-tech and was an obvious change from your regular body suit. You felt protected and stylish. Good, because even though you weren’t obligated to impress those vultures, there were still a few cousins and extended family members you wanted compliments from. And?

The black turtleneck was warmer than you expected and didn’t strangle you. You were a bundle of velvet bliss right now. The cuffs were a golden brown, completely made from vibranium. Modeling in the mirror, you whispered a few ‘pew-pew’s as you blocked pretend bullets. C’mon, golden bracelets? You were basically Wonder Woman. 

The tights were your own, thin and black and you could still see there were faint bruises on your knees from training. Once all that was situated, you pulled on the long skirt and tucked in the bottom of your shirt, glad the way the high-waisted design sucked everything in. The skirt was the same golden brown as the cuffs, shorter in the front and wavy as it draped down the back, barely reaching your ankles. You tied the skirt’s belt in a tight bow and pulled on the black boots Shuri had also sent you. The heel was thick and short, and the boot was pretty tight around the top of your ankle. 

Time was ticking on that well-deserved goody basket you were meaning to send to the royal siblings. 

Hoop earrings, three rings dressing your left hand, a simple golden necklace - now you need to do your hair and make-up. 

Steve was just patiently waiting for his turn in the bathroom, bless his heart. 

     “Scott said the files are in his personal belongings. We suspect he’s planning to smuggle over fifty people tomorrow. Their records should be hidden away in those belongings, too.” 

Sam always kept a leveled head in dire situations like these. He was rational and helpful, always waited until the job was done and everyone was safe before he had a drink or a cry. It was safest, perhaps the most fair thing the Avengers could do for the public after destroying half the cities they fought in. The media didn’t need to know about the late-night fights, alcohol poisoning, or frequent therapy sessions. Your coping methods were all different - Steve has no doubt Sam will immediately pack an overnight bag and Bucky to visit his sister and nephews once the wedding concluded. 

Steve? Well, Steve was surprisingly calm, all things considered. 

“You get any hits yet? Anything from Ramirez that could help us find those people sooner?”

Sam sighs sadly, shaking his head. “It’s looking like we’re heading into a full-on fight.”

That’s not what Steve wanted to hear. A ‘full-on’ fight almost always had accidents, misfires, innocent casualties, and a few cuts and scrapes to add to his own personal collection. 

“Sam,” Steve puts down the files in his hand and shuts off his monitor to signal he’s done researching for the night. “I really don’t know how to thank you.”

“You know,” Sam smiles at him, “I’m gettin’ real tired hearin’ you say that.”

Steve huffs out a laugh. Sam gently exhales - Steve can feel it. 

“You two really are the same.” Sam points at Steve and to the bathroom door. “Always apologizing for shit you can’t control.”

Steve looks down to his feet, a blush in his pale cheeks. After failing to clip his cufflinks on his own, he holds his arms out to Sam who happily clips them for him. 

“Is it real?”

Steve pauses. He doesn’t really need to think about it because he knows. He’s known for a while even if he was on autopilot. The pause only serves to help him catch his breath from the happy prickle that crawls up his spine. “As real as second chances go.”

Sam laughs and claps his shoulder, “I get it. We seem to get a hell of a lotta those.”

      Now that the mission was truly kicking into gear, fucking full speed ahead, Steve had no other choice but to pull shreds of Captain America from that metaphorical attic of his. Took everything in him to revert back, never fully, and each time would be different from the last. Sometimes it was mentally draining being responsible for a whole team and creating the plans, other times he regretfully felt like a colonizer, an intruder who followed orders from the top and was forced to execute them. This time around, he was stepping into uncharted territory, but still familiar, and he had a million roles to mime. 

“Steeeve.”

His smile was instant and he gravitated to your voice. “Hmm?”

“So, I have an idea for a hairstyle,” you reply, throwing open the bathroom door with a brush in one hand and the other holding the top layers of your hair up. “I got enough hair for it.”

“Tell me about it. It gets in the way of everything.”

“Haha.” You rolled your eyes, still trying to shovel more hair higher. “I curled it, so all I gotta do is tug this upper half up into a ponytail while the rest stays down. But can you help? My shoulders still hurt and I haven’t taken my advil yet.”

Steve shuffles back into the room to grab you two pills before he replaces his hands with yours. “So, just lift it up?”

You hum confirmation, watching Steve in the mirror as he pulled your thick curls higher, snapped the hair tie between his teeth, and tied it all. He pulled the strands outward so the high curls still fell around your face. The hairstyle would have been easier with extensions (for a much fuller look) but if you had to throw your body around these next two days, you’d rather save yourself the embarrassment of having them pulled off. 

“Thank you,” you blush. These moments were so intimate, so sweet, just you and Steve. “You need any help?”

Steve looks down at himself. He had already tied his own tie. He could style his own hair and comb his beard. “I think I’m good. Forgot to pack cologne, though.”

“I’ve got some perfume in my suitcase. There should be one in there that isn’t too flowery.”

Steve rolls his eyes and turns to leave. “Not really a problem, doll.”

Pulling on his suit jacket and reaching for your suitcase to set it on the bed, he miscalculated the balance he was so obviously lacking. Instead of toppling head first himself, he fumbles your suitcase and spills its contents on your bed. He stills for a second, looking to the closed bathroom door to see if you popped your head through to ask what the hell that sound was. But it remained closed, and Steve silently groaned because of his clumsiness. 

He tries his best to roll the clothing items back in, cursing whenever he would accidentally squeeze a perfume bottle you had hidden in there. He counted three. The one he picks smells like roses.

Amongst the ruins he finds your passport, multiple IDs, and two pairs of sunglasses. He chuckles to himself and thinks, we’ve been here for four days and she hasn’t worn these once.

A torn piece of paper stood out from the pile, folded neatly in its own envelope but still damaged. 

     CLINT

Curious, Steve opens the envelope, wholeheartedly expecting to find the written contents from the archer himself, but pauses when he reads the simple sentence, in your handwriting. 

‘After careful deliberation, I have come to the conclusion that I want you to have all my video games.’

If Steve didn’t know any better, and judging by the multiple other letters peeking through the torn tape from the corner of your suitcase, it sounded like a goodbye letter.

“What’s taking so long?”

Startled, Steve shoves the letter under the pile of clothes. “Uh, my clumsy ass spilled your clothes everywhere so I’m being good and fixing everything.”

“...annoying.”

Still, you stayed inside the bathroom.

He glanced back just to make sure. And he knew he shouldn’t be snooping, the guilt was already eating away at him, but he now noticed the lump under the torn tape and another envelope poking through. 

They were all signed for different people. Bucky, Wanda, Peter, Rhodey - 

The devil on his shoulder drowned the cries of the angel. 

Opening his, he prays for his quick reading skills to aid him before you realized what he was doing.       

Steve, 

     Believe when I say that I thought I would put a bullet in my father before he could. Whoops…

I don’t really know why I’m writing these letters besides the thrill of morbidity for my untimely death or because I’m an amateur writer on the side. I never know what to say to you, anyway. Whether it’s in person or on paper. I’ve got a hundred drawn-up speeches in my head I almost say to you. But they don’t come out when I want them to and it seems a bit much to write out the words to several imaginary crumpled pieces of paper. 

This will have to do. 

Steve, I know for a fact, deep in whatever soul I have left, that you are a good man. 

When the world fell apart, I held on to you. I don’t know why. Natasha bugged me about it, sent me those signature smirks of hers whenever we did anything remotely weird. She believed something was going on between us and I would get so angry with her because it was like she saw something I couldn’t. And I wanted to see it. Wrap it up for myself and live in the softness.

You slept by my side when I would ask, you let me look through your private sketchbook to help ease my mind, and you would jump at every chance to shield me from danger. Even when you know I can take care of myself. I don't know how many times I have to remind you. 

I don’t understand why you shut me out after we brought our friends back. And at the time, it hurt like hell. I literally wanted to kill you and then myself. It made no sense, it still doesn’t. I won’t lie and say it still surprises me or that it no longer hurts. ‘Cause I’m numb to it now and the pain is more of a dull ache. 

But I guess you had your reasons, no matter how hurtful, how ridiculous, no matter how stupid. 

Fuck, why didn’t you get some of that life Tony had always wanted for you? The question eats me alive. Maybe you did move on, maybe you would miss us too much, I truly don’t know. When you confessed to wanting some form of that life when we rescued Wanda, it just confused me more.

Then my father basically declared war and you cut me out. I can’t help but think you stayed behind to help me finish this, what with that righteous streak of yours, but if it is the case, then I am so sorry. 

You deserve to live, Steve. 

Guess what I really want to close with is this: find that life you always wanted. Buy a boat, or a cabin in the secluded woods and become a lumberjack, travel, open your own art museum - hell, erase all traces of your identity and sell painted landscapes for a living. 

In any form you find it, just try. You know I’m always rooting for you, and I’m always by your side. No matter how annoying and smart-mouthed you may be. 

There’s nowhere in the world I’d rather be than here, there, and everywhere with you. 

With as much love in me, 

    The swirl of your name leaves him disoriented, and slightly paralyzed. Steve licks the envelope closed.    

     Steve puts the very existence and contents of your letter to the back of his mind for the time being. He doesn’t have time to dwell on it, no time to dissect it word for word. He’ll focus on it later. He still doesn’t know what reaction he should be experiencing. The letter was unexpected, yes, but it’s the matter of you writing a goodbye letter - as if you weren’t going to make it out of here alive. And that about saws Steve in two. 

Steve thinks the elevator comes too fast and wonders what he could do to stop time. The mics on your neck generate enough noise for you to hear the static on the other end. No one is currently online, and Steve cherishes the little moments he’s getting before having to transition into ‘Captain America’ mode. 

There wasn’t much time today to truly bask in the afterglow. The moment the elevator opens Steve literally drags you inside and captures your lips in a rather chaste kiss. It surprises you momentarily but you’re responding, and it’s fluid and familiar. The kiss is brief, but it feels as if your years mold into this single act, and Steve’s smiling wider than he has today when the first thing you say as you part is that maybe you chose the wrong shade of lipstick because it looks too damn dark on his lips.

The elevator reaches the ground floor and he looks over at you one last time in the privacy you’re afforded. He’s got that good ache in his chest again and it’s both calming and a little bittersweet, because staring at you is like staring at the sun - it hurts to look at for a long time but oh, so tempting. 

   The lawn was separated into two halves with only one fully decorated and the other still under a tarp, hidden because it was mid-construction and to not spoil the surprise. Over to the side, just left of the large lake, there was an extra tarp the workers were manning in case the clouds in the sky decided to cry. 

Jackeline had chosen violet as her main color scheme, with golden hues stitched alongside. The flowers, soft lights, marble floor, and desserts were all violet; the curtains and tarps, plates and glasses, flowers on the wall, and Jackeline’s rehearsal dress were all gold. Ernesto must have spent over a million dollars in the decorations alone. 

Everyone donned their best designers and since only family was in attendance today, the little amount of people were easily outdone one right after the other. In total, there were fifteen guests, and that included you and Steve: Ernesto, Seda, the groom’s father, Jackeline’s mother, two of your half-brothers, three aunts (sister’s of Ernesto), two cousins, the maid of honor, and Marcus White. 

They have already fawned over Steve, some with a major guard up as expected, but as Ernesto explains the specifics, everyone becomes more pleased than weary. ‘It was just too good to be true that the Avengers were all good’, someone announces. Steve grips your hand just a little tighter. 

The mere absence of Ramirez was enough of an answer: he really was going to be eliminated.

Across from your private corner, cheers and claps sound as the happy couple finally emerges. Even your father leaves mid-conversation to go greet her. 

She’s a fifties masterpiece. Her dark hair cascades in uneven but gentle layers, framing her face and she’s both glossy and matte. Her skin is darker and her eyebrows are fuller, widow’ peak and strong jaw, thin neck and perfectly rounded shoulders. She has a painted blush on her high cheekbones, dark eyeshadow and a faint cat eye, and the reddest, fullest lips that are already spitting wit as she greets her more serious guests. Her voice is high but steady and she’s so obviously the center of attention, she’s the literal bride, but you bet she could take over the room even if she wasn’t. Her fiancé, surprisingly enough, trails behind her as if he too is in a trance, greeting the same guests and attempting to match her enthusiasm. She’s making herself known, and she’s succeeding.

It isn’t until she locks her sight on you that Steve finally mumbles a quiet ‘woah’ underneath a shaky breath and you can’t blame him, dear god you can’t, because seeing her for the first time in six years is eating away at you. She’s nineteen, young and sweet, and still trapped in the world you were planning to destroy.   

Her first reaction is to run into your arms and hold you tightly, the force swinging you from side to side. Her giggles are contagious and you find yourself reacting similarly, grip tightening as she begins to ramble about how much she missed you and how proud she is that you have saved the world ten times over. The statement is overwhelming, but you find yourself nodding along in place of anything verbal.

Steve is patient as he witnesses this family reunion, standing at your side with respect and a tint of scarlet staining his cheeks. Finally, Jackeline turns to greet him and for a scary second, Steve sees Peggy.

“No way!” She keeps her voice low. “I could have sworn my bit-... uh, my bunch of tias were lying about you really being here.”

Steve shakes the fifties image from his head. The resemblance, even if Jackeline has more slanted eyes and a larger forehead, is uncanny. “Thank you so much for inviting us. The ride up was a bitch but we made the most of it.”

Jackeline stutters over her own laugh. “Oh.” She looks to you with a wide grin. “Oh, he’s a keeper.”

“Thought so myself,” you grin back. “You should hear him swear during a football game.”

“All men turn into animals when their teams don’t live up to expectations.”

Her accent is thicker than yours. Living in New York for over 10 years definitely helped smooth over some dialect and create your own voice. But Jackeline’s, considering she had never lived outside of Mexico, was thick and silky and resembled a place you no longer called home.

She pulls the man behind her forward, effectively interrupting and ending the conversation he was having with one of your cousins. “This is Julian. Julian, this is my one and only sister and her boyfriend!”

Julian, bless his heart, holds out a slightly shaking hand for you to shake. You do so, and try to convey calmness through it. When you watch his glance fall to Steve and feel his hand start to shake yours more rapidly, you can’t help but stifle a laugh.

“It’s an honor!” Julian finally says, voice deep and wracked with some nerves. He shakes Steve’s hand when he gets the chance. “Captain.”

“Please,” Jackeline rolls her eyes. “He’s just like us! You should be swooning over my sister, who is probably going to be the one to kill you if you ever hurt me.”

Julian blinks. His eyes go from Steve to you, contemplating his next move without wanting to seem rude. He nods in your direction. “I don’t doubt you would. Excuse me if I came off as rude. I’m just starstruck by this one here, is all.”

His accent matches Jackeline’s.

Steve waves his hand through the air. “You are not the first tonight, son.”

Sometimes you forget that Steve is an old man. Biologically, he’s in his mid-thirties. Ever changing and growing old as normal, but his soul is old. From a different time and out of it. The mere nickname he just gave Julian, no doubt because of his young age, leaves you averting your eyes and turning away to smile up at one of the many golden chandeliers.

“I really hope you enjoy tonight. The party may seem small right now, but trust me, half of Mexico will be dancing with us tomorrow night.” Jackeline bounces in place, hand intertwining with Julian’s, and she leans in to speak more clearly with you. “Meet me later? We have so much to catch up on.”

Agreeing, you watch the happy couple leave to converse with the few other guests.

Steve turns toward you, eyes squinted in amusement. “Is she really cheating on him with a man of the cloth?”

You can’t help the involuntary snort that leaves your nose. “The photos were watermarked, right? Time stamped? Maybe they’re old.”

Steve huffs a laugh and grabs two champagne glasses as the tray flies by him. “She’s got a way about her. Reminds me of a dame from this book I read a while back.”

Sipping your drink, you ponder. “What book?”

“The one where the dude gets shot at the end.”

“Oh, you mean every book from the 20th century?”

Steve laughs, “That twenties one!”

Mouth dropping, you push at his chest and turn to walk away. “You did not just compare her to Daisy from The Great Gatsby!”

Steve follows. “That’s the one! Honest! She has this way about her!”

    It’s not long after a few dances and photographs that you’re all seated for the actual dinner. There are three long tables, two parallel to each other and the main one perpendicular. You don’t know if it’s a power move or whatever, but your name cards are placed on one of the parallel tables. But it doesn’t bother you much since you have a front view of Seda and your father. 

Dinner is a six-course meal. Not that you assumed any different - Ernesto really went all out for his youngest child (that you know of). Your mics are picking up conversations left and right so you’re actually able to enjoy the meal. Salad, soup, a weird looking appetizer that’s actually quite delicious, the main course of either chicken/fish/or steak, and two desserts. All throughout, Steve is actually having the time of his life being fed so well. 

“Answer me this,” Steve leans in to whisper in your ear. “Are those hearts or paper airplanes hanging from the ceiling?”

You smiled against the ridge of your champagne glass, “You mean those clay flowers?”

“Is that what they are?” He pauses for a long second, squinting.

“Are your eyes going bad?” 

“Eyes don’t go bad.”

Your mouth falls open. “Your eyes are going bad!”

“Again,” Steve holds up a finger. “My eyes are just fine, not bad.”

Something else to add to that list you had made in the morning.

“This is fucking fantastic.”

Steve, still trying to casually squint, huffs. “Annoying...”

You bump his shoulder and lean in to whisper quietly. “Turns you on.”

Steve just blushes.

    It’s like he forgets where he is for a second, what with the great food and surprisingly good conversation with one of your brothers beside him. Steve’s already built a much stronger rapport with the thirty-something year old man than you have. There’s a stab of guilt for a second, a need to duck and drown in shame, when you realize you can’t even remember his name.

Ernesto stands to announce toasts. His is brief and not all that fatherly, but it’s the longest you’ve heard him string some nice words together. Seda follows, brief as well, and includes a childhood anecdote about her. Jackeline’s mother is a young woman, somewhere between forty and fifty, and her toast is only a sentence long - ‘Solo quiero que estas contenta, mi amor.’ For the first time tonight, Bucky voices his thoughts over the mic with a quiet and sad sounding hum.

Ernesto lifts himself from his chair, swatting away his men who go to help him. He has the microphone again and he’s walking toward you, face neutral. You know better than to refuse in front of this big of a crowd. Steve squeezes your hand before you stand and he remains beaming up at you from his seat. 

You’ve seen it in the movies - raise the glass, say some words, end it nicely. It’s what you do. But it feels surreal, almost unnerving when you don’t recognize the faces looking back at you. 

     “Here’s to you,” you lift your champagne glass, looking around at the happy yet solemn faces at the small table. 

“You deserve all the happiness available to you. You are so lucky to have each other,” you finish the toast and drink your whole glass. There is no applause, just sad smiles in response. You’re not asking for much, you never had.

Tony and Pepper share a quick kiss, thanking everyone around the table quickly as the two cakes are being cut. Their wedding was limited, with only a few people in attendance. Whoever was left. Tony’s cabin could obviously accommodate more people, but he had only requested the gathering of those he could stomach to see. But when that turned out to only be Pepper and Happy, he was forced to open the doors to more. 

So, you accepted your chocolate cake from Rhodey as he handed it to you. Shared some quick chit-chat with Steve and Natasha; greeted Thor as he made his first appearance in a while, hair now longer and baggy clothes hanging from his body, a tortured smile on his aging face; and sat through Happy’s own speech, enjoying his refreshing and joyful attitude. 

But now you stood in front of the kitchen sink, staring at the hidden picture frame behind the mugs - a reminder of what was really missing from this special day. 

You studied Peter’s awkward smile and demeanor, his expression youthful and frozen in time. He became foggy, silver clouds blotting his cheeks and his hair went white, and soon the sink sounded with a tiny ‘clunk!’ as you wept silently. 

You felt a hand slide into your own, squeezing with care and understanding. You looked up to see Steve, his eyes watching your face. He gave you one more gentle squeeze, the same tortured smile as Thor’s on his beautiful face, and walked to his room to retire for the night. 

     Glass raised in the air, you swallow in hopes of not choking over any word because of your nerves. 

“Here’s to you,” you start, already deciding this was going to be like pulling a band-aid. “May this world treat you kind, and that you are kind to each other, and that it’s all that matters.”

Steve forgets to drink. He can’t seem to shake the feeling of wanting to cry.

     Everyone watches as Steve leads you onto the dance floor which is intimidating with its glittering violet light and marble that resembles polished glass. If these were the decorations for the rehearsal dinner, Steve can’t even begin to bet on how tomorrow’s going to look. 

Steve holds you close, one arm wrapped around your waist and the other framing your spine. It’s like a tight hug. “Do you enjoy dancing?”

You step on his foot once again. “Shut up, Steve. Tell me your real thoughts.”

“Who, me?”

“Steve.”

“You suck at dancing.”

“There it is.”

     It isn’t hard to sneak away once everyone piles onto the dance floor. Steve shares a few dances with your aunts before excusing himself to use the bathroom. 

The mission itself goes rather smoothly. Infiltrating and collecting information was childsplay. Amateur. You’ve done it a thousand times and your father isn’t exactly a tech wizard. Neither is Seda. 

You find the electronic bank records Scott couldn’t yesterday, as well as a detailed spreadsheet (more like a hitlist) dating ten years back. In the same file, this actually only slightly encrypted (slightly), are the names of high-level players involved. It’s color-coded, some names familiar because of their involvement with Hydra, and it’s only a matter of seconds before you notice that red means eliminated, black means still at large, and blue means ally. 

There’s a lump in your throat as you scroll through and find Steve’s name, thankfully in blue. It’s expected, so you simply move on, until you find yours. And it’s in black. 

It should terrify you, have you running for the hills and tucking your tail between your legs but you’re won’t because Steve’s name is blue. 

That’s all that matters. 

There’s still no concrete information about the shipment, nothing online or on a loose post-it note. It’s non-existent and that’s suspicious and you don’t know why you don’t voice that to Steve. He’s listening at the door and responding to Sam’s questions. You and Scott are the hackers of the group after all. 

You scan through drawers and cabinets, snapping photos of things you can’t take just yet and filing the papers you can. Papers detailing contracts and miscellaneous connections: lawyers, doctors, politicians, police. Once that’s done, you shrink the evidence to the size of a fingernail with the help of Scott’s tech and hide it in your bra. 

Surprisingly enough, the two of you are able to slip out of the office and the first couple living rooms undetected. Until Jackeline herself appears, pulling down her dress as she exits the bathroom. Steve, stunned by the presence of anyone, pulls you toward his chest with unfocused strength. You hiss loudly and naturally go to cup your injured elbow. It takes a moment for Steve to realize what he’s done and who he’s done it to. 

Jackeline nearly stumbles over her heels out of pure clumsiness but her mouth parts as she notices you and the harsh sound you make. If she truly saw or heard anything, she’s keeping it to herself it seems. 

“Ernesto wanted to see me before we called it a night,” Steve says, letting go of your arm and taking a step back. He doesn’t outright say he’s sorry; he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to. So he braves a smile, sends you a look, and excuses himself. 

No conversation ever comes naturally - or, rather they take at least minimal effort from either party. You say the first thing you can think of and that’s to congratulate her again. 

Your rambling sort of sounds like the toast you gave earlier, but Jackeline either doesn’t want to embarrass you or simply doesn’t notice. She waits for the pause in your voice before she finally speaks.

“Before I start, don’t hate me for this.”

“That’s not a good way to start a sente-” Your face is smacked to the side absurdly hard and you can feel the sting at the base of your neck. You look back at your sister with wide eyes.

“You couldn’t leave the world dead? He was finally dead!”

Baffled, you rub at your sore cheek. “Why am I the one getting the most blame for that? I followed a fucking raccoon around and I didn’t even snap my fingers!”

“Sorry,” she blinks, eyebrows scrunching as she thinks of the next thing to say. “Sorry, I just… it was that easy to kill him and then he just… wasn’t.”

“I don’t know if you noticed, but you were also dead.”

“I was.”

“And we brought back trillions.”

“I know.”

Never once did you wonder what your siblings might have thought. More than half of them were separated from this life, while a few remained and conquered their allowed sectors. Ernesto had never discussed which of his children would take over his seat. But when he was dusted and Seda assumed power, it was clear not one sibling wanted anything to do with it. Or they were just too scared to outright disobey Seda and his tyranny.

Jackeline stands tall, shoulders straight and chin held high. She didn’t seem to worry about the repercussions of her actions - she knows who you are and what you are capable of. The smack seemed deliberate but restrained.

“So?” It’s the only word you can muster up.

“Please don’t judge me.” Her confidence falters and her eyebrows push down even further. “I know you know.”

“You gotta spell it out because I know a lot of things.”

Sighing deeply, she grabs the hand you’re using to rub at your cheek. She grips it tightly as she speaks. “I love him. But he’s impossible to love now and I can’t do anything about it.”

“Oh, Jackeline…”

You could have contacted her. You were on social media - you could have followed her, maybe messaged her annually - hell, called her once in a while to simply check in. The ticket you got was always a temporary one: go to school and find a way to make the trade routes easier to travel. School finished, you found Fury, and you created an alternate identity and background plan to trick your family into doing just what they ordered. And during all that time, Jackeline was barely in her pre-teens, probably scared and alone and missing her only sister. This was just you throwing that smack out of proportion but there was truth in it all. Wasn’t there?

“Julian’s okay. I agreed to this arranged marriage. I’m sure I can grow to love him,” she shrugs, biting her lip as it begins to quiver.

Her eyes are no longer happy - perhaps that was the wrong word to use after she had just confided in you about the reality of her upcoming union. But they definitely seem more dull in comparison to the joyfulness she presented earlier tonight.

“Jackeline, you don’t have to-”

“No, I was gone those five years. He had to move on.” You drop your shoulders and lean forward to give her a hug. No matter how badly you wanted to wrap your hands around Ernesto’s neck, they had more use tenderly wrapped around your sister. 

Relishing the feeling for only a moment longer, Jackeline is ignited once again. “Besides, I should be telling you that! I saw the way that… that fascist pulled you. If he’s hurting you, I’ll kill him.”

Your eyes must be bulging out of your head. “Oh.” 

She looks at you as if you’re going to admit abuse and confide in her like she did you. “No, it’s okay. Steve’s perfect, he’s… wonderful.”

Jackeline shakes her head rapidly, “Don’t you lie to me. I know what I saw.”

“I’m not lying. But you gotta trust me. I’ll explain later-”

“Explain what?”

Seda breaks the conversation and you forget to curse inwardly. Instead, a mumbled ‘fuck’ is heard. It only serves to fuel the flame. Jackeline flashes a rehearsed smile, and she truly is your sister because for a sad moment she looks exactly like you.

“Explain why she never returned my calls to be my maid of honor! I swear, this one is always so busy she forgets I exist!”

“She is,” Seda agrees, grinning like he already knows what the original conversation was about. “Always busy.” 

Jackeline keeps the same smile and is about to continue fanning the flames when Seda interrupts again. “Jackie, your father wanted me to speak with your sister alone for a moment. It has to do with tomorrow’s shipment.”

“Yes, of course. Don’t keep her for too long, okay? Tomorrow’s a late start but we all need our beauty sleep.” Jackeline leaves and fails to look over her shoulder to double check on you.

Seda steps closer, arms swinging casually like he’s pondering the possibilities of what he could do without Steve present. But instead of focusing solely on him, you listen to the soft sound of Bucky’s voice through the mic as he tells you that he’s listening in and he’s here.

“What did she say to you?”

“Is it really any of your business?”

He snaps immediately, gripping your cheeks in one hand so you can’t move your head. “When will you learn to keep your goddamn mouth shut around me?”

“You asked.” Smacking his hand away would have been frowned upon before, but not anymore. Free reign if need be. “Besides, when will you learn that that will never happen?”

“You can’t believe anything she tells you. Ernesto’s only two daughters are mistakes, both threats to his reign. Never submissive, always asking questions-”

You grunt almost comically, “Men and their irrational fears of women… What did I ever do to you?”

He pauses and you notice how his angry eyes always seem to water from his frustration. “You brought him back.”

“I also brought back trillions.”

“You know,” his face does something unpleasant. “Before Jackeline was dusted, she had been seeing that priest.”

“How could you possibly know-”

“He was so devastated by her loss. Found God, became a changed man.”

“Seda, what are you playing at?”

“She came back.” He lifts one finger. “He couldn’t resist.” He raises another. “Didn’t take long for Ernesto to find out.” The third one is the last, and he mimics a small explosion as he concludes. “But don’t worry, we took care of him.”

You never once believed the Devil was this angry, red demon with horns atop his head and a sharp tail, voice booming as he ruled the underworld with the weapons of pain and suffering. He didn’t possess or haunt random places. If anything, the Devil himself was simply a metaphor, a representation of the evil in a living world. It only made people comfortable to create an image, no matter how ridiculous.

Once you even thought the Devil was Hades, and he wasn’t all that bad when it truly came down to the root of all problems. He oversaw the underworld but he didn’t take life, he didn’t cause the pain, he simply watched and ruled. That maybe Hades was real considering Thor was, and he was just chilling in the underworld bored out of his mind.

But the evil the Devil represented was a constant in this world already, in your life from start to finish, and Seda’s eyes held something unspeakable. Dark brown eyes almost black, left cheek twitching with the urge to smile grotesquely, the tense nature of his broad shoulders. He was no massive man, a few inches taller than you, but he was a giant in a world in which Hades lacked and the Devil persisted.

“But Julian-”

Seda scoffs, “Julian was her rebound. Got mixed up in the business, with Ernesto  - but I don’t doubt he loves Jackeline.”

You’re this close to breaking the man’s fingers. He doesn’t stop counting his supposed triumphs. “When were the pictures taken?”

“Don’t do that,” he laughs as he finally steps away from you. “Ask your real question.”

Your smile was involuntary. So was Seda’s. It was the one thing you had in common: smiling at things that weren’t funny. “Did you threaten him? Torture him? Kill him yet?”

“... Jackeline will never know.”

Your mouth parts slowly like you’re still digesting his words. “You unimaginable bastard.”

If you had to bet, you would have placed all your money on Ernesto being the giant to fear. He had hurt you in countless ways, used you and discarded what he didn’t like, put you in the line of fire for his own gain. He had taken pleasure in knowing you hurt, in knowing what you had lost and suffered. He mocked your sacrifice time and time again. And there was a sentence you had never uttered out loud for fear of what you might do, or what anyone hearing you might do, that Ernesto had said one chilly November night only a year after the world returned. It was a thought so suppressed you almost always forgot it had been real. ‘A shame the Widow did what she did - what an unbelievable asset wasted over something pointless.’

No one outside your circle could possibly understand. They didn’t have to - but to dismiss the main reason he was retaking his tainted throne... insanity. 

But something in Seda’s voice moved even the most dormant areas in your soul. The giant was a man with nothing and everything to lose but with the power to choose which. Staring at him for too long prompted an uncomfortable sting across your waterline like his glare burned. Such a normal looking man with short dark hair and an aging face. He stared at you with a set look, one that told you he knew something you didn’t. Like he controlled giants even bigger than him. He wasn’t Hades, who restrained himself and hid in the shadows of a world he was forced to rule - he was the Devil’s metaphor, with red strains licking his tan skin and eyes sharp enough to puncture.

With a small tilt of his head and a strangled grin, he finally turns to leave. “Have a safe drive home.”

     After saying a quick goodbye to Jackeline and securing the estate, you hurried to get to your car and leave. Ernesto had just sent you a quick nod of the head and reminded Steve he needed to see him again before the wedding started. All your leftover energy literally went into pulling open the passenger door. 

Out of instinct now, you wait until the car is past the gates and a good mile from the hidden entrance before speaking freely.

“We get everything?”

The night is dark and you can barely see the outline of the trees. The sky is covered with gray clouds and there are no lampposts to provide light. It’s really just your headlights. “I think so. I think.”

Steve can sense the hesitancy in your answer. “What’s wrong?”

You shake with an exaggerated shiver, “Seda was being creepy… just more than usual.”

“What do you mean?” Steve was probably communicating and online with Sam during his conversation with Ernesto and completely missed the one you had with Seda.

“Fuckin’ didn’t think it could get weirder, but Jackeline mentioned how this was basically an arranged marriage and then Seda,” you stop suddenly. The uneasiness was creeping back. 

“An arranged marriage? Fuck, what else is this mission going to throw at us?”

‘Captain?’

Steve’s hands accidentally swerve the steering wheel as response to the small fright. “... Was that your phone or mine?”

You fumbled through your mini purse for your phone. “Me. Hey? Friday?”

‘The one and only. I hope that didn’t frighten you because I really need your attention right about now.’

Steve chuckles, eyes straight ahead as he drives. “That doesn’t sound ominous at all.”

‘My readings are picking up something strange. The vehicle, even if I’m not able to virtually connect, seems to be stalling.’ Torres did curse you two before you left for renting a car made before 2013.

“What do you mean? It’s working just fine.” 

You set your phone down on the dash to start looking around the interior of the car.

‘The pedal, yes Captain. But I’m afraid my readings are focused on the brakes.’

You bite your tongue and scrunch up your nose. What else could possibly happen tonight? “That’s always fun to hear, great. Greaaaat.”

“Friday, what are you picking up?” Steve’s voice is more stern and even if he’s not doing it on purpose, he’s trying to ignore your coping mechanism of joking during dire situations.

‘It seems that when they took the vehicle for parking, they attached something to the brake lines. Sort of like a trigger sensor. Do not slow down.’

“We’re stuck? We can’t stop?”

‘Everytime the Captain de-accelerates, the sensor heats up. That’s what my readings are.’

“Fuck,” you unclipped your seatbelt and turned your body toward Steve. “Fuck!”

“Friday, what do we do?” The least Steve could do is be the level-headed one here.

‘Exactly what you’re thinking, Captain. The shield’s in the trunk.’

“We can’t exactly get to it!” You don’t mean to scream at Friday. You’re sure she’s used to adrenaline induced attacks guided toward her and never about her.

‘The burners were produced by Stark Industries for our very own spy unit. They are equipped with a taser, flashlight, and laser.’

Jumping so your feet were planted firmly on the passenger seat, you make sure everything is in place: the stolen files, your gun, your phone, and earpiece. “Keep your foot on that pedal, Rogers. I don’t feel like blowing up tonight.”

He releases a shaky breath, hands turning pale from the grip he has on the steering wheel. “You and me both.”

“Friday?” Your voice is only slightly timid, but you manage to move your body out from the front seats and to the back.

‘The laser, Agent Y/LN. Cut through the seats.’

Nodding along to her instructions, you search for the burner under your skirt and unstrap it from the holster. Pulling its ancient antenna outward, Friday verbally guides you through the very simple instruction. The laser blasts out unexpectedly at first making you squeal, which in turn causes Friday (a literal AI) to chuckle. You’re thankful the antenna was facing the back seats already.

“Doing good back there?”

You respond with a low grunt as you carefully carve out the largest rectangle you can create. “You better have shoved the thing close. Any stop signs up ahead?”

Steve’s getting worried now, but instead of putting you more on edge, he hides it pretty well. “Thank god this place is in the middle of nowhere.”

You don’t even give his response acknowledgement as you finally pull the leather, metal, and weird cushion filling away and spot the shield. “I got it, got it, got it.”

‘My sensors suggest you’ll have a good five seconds to escape the vehicle once the Captain releases the pedal.’

You make sure your hair is in the tightest ponytail known to man and that your skirt is bunched up in your free arm. You strap the shield onto the other. “Steve, you gonna be alright?”

His eyes are still focused on the road, but he braves a look in the mirror back at you. His voice is stern but not demanding. “I know you hate the damn shield but bend your legs, jump sideways, and tuck your head.”

“Yeah,” you nod along. Damn straight you’ll put your hate aside for one second if it’s here to save your life. “You better jump on time, you understand me?”

“Sam,” Steve keeps the speed steady and tries to ignore the way his heart is pounding from the sound of you kicking open the back door. “Sam, Widow. Widow.”

Before you jump, the asphalt a never ending, rapid glare of absolute darkness, you leave your phone on the seat in case Steve still needs her. “Friday, send Sam and Torres our location. They’re the only ones who can fly in undetected. Tell them what you told us.”

‘Will do, Agent Y/LN.’

“Be careful.”

You smirk at him, “Don’t be a hero and crash this one into the ice, yeah?”

You don’t wait for his reaction and instead take the plunge. The shield makes a hard impact with the asphalt down below, screeching for what seems like an eternity before slowing down. You did as instructed: knees tucked into your chest as far as you were able, head doing the same. By the time the ride finally ends and you’ve gone partially deaf, you can make out the sound of a loud explosion a close distance away. The heat from the sudden burst of wind nips at your face. You’ve also gone partially blind. 

Your poor boots are definitely ruined and there’s a faint tell of a bruised ankle in the works. The arm attached to the shield will also need to be popped back into place - it shouldn’t feel this loose. Luckily, your head and torso were completely unscathed. 

Lifting yourself up the best you could without straining anything too much, you noticed the car still in flames but driven off the road. 

“He jumped, he jumped, he jumped,” you repeat, limping as quickly as you could, shield still attached to your arm. The closer you get the clearer everything becomes, regardless of the smoke. “Steve.”

You squint through the orange light and the dark of night. The fire wasn’t all that loud in its crackles and it doesn’t take you long to realize while tapping your ears that you lost your earpiece. 

“Steve,” you try again, adrenaline still pumping but panic seeping in. As if on cue, you can make out his body laying far away from the car relatively unharmed. “Ah, shit.” You drop down on your knees and wince involuntarily. Slapping his cheeks doesn’t wake him up, neither does gently shaking him. You don’t want to do anything to hurt him more. 

The sound of gravel popping kicks you back into spy mode. Hide. This was a hit, of course it was, and they were coming to see their job done. 

“You so owe me,” you groan as you unstrap the shield to throw it into the woods, the faint tell of it hitting a tree enough to make you work faster. You hook your arms underneath Steve’s armpits and bend your knees, breathing in deeply and out a few times before pulling him with all your strength. There’s pain shooting up your arm but you try to ignore it. Small whimpers escape you as you pull harder and finally make it a good distance from the wreckage. You sit Steve, still unconscious, behind one of those massive pine trees and sit next to him after retrieving the shield. 

It’s only two black SUV’s that come to check their hard work. They’re bending down and using their own fire extinguishers, snapping their own photos, the works. It isn’t until Seda walks over to admire the wreckage that you have to bite your bottom lip to keep from screaming. 

You’re seated in front of Steve now with the shield in front of you when a sudden movement to your left startles you. Before you scream, however, a hand covers your mouth. 

“Shh, shh.” Sam. Your eyes fill with tears. 

“I’ve got him. Torres is coming for you, alright? I’m the only one who can carry him out.”

It doesn’t take much to convince you. You’re silently helping Sam strap Steve against his chest as Seda and his men are now investigating the woods. You can hear them close, cursing and yelling about finding you. 

“Go a little further. Down there,” Sam points in front of you. “Torres is parked and waiting. Go.”

“Don’t drop him.” Sam stifles his laugh. 

You follow his directions, limping as quickly as you can, and finally find Torres, your second knight in shining armor of the night. 

    After an all clear from the medical team, Steve is left alone in your hotel room to rest. He still hasn’t woken up but Helen isn’t worried since his scans show no major damage. Small talk with the rest of the team fills in the time but it’s like you’re not really there, merely a participant on a loop. There’s a bitter taste in your mouth and you’re covered in scratches and smoky ash and you can’t shake the feeling of wanting to kill something. 

Your father wanted you dead. And showing up to the wedding was just going to anger him more but it had to be done. But you were tired, so fucking tired, tired to the point where you couldn’t sleep or rest.

You let your hair down but stay in your tattered clothing, making yourself useful as best you can. You answer questions, you review footage, you draft up some reports. Bucky tries to sit you down at one point, but he backs off when you simply shake your head and give him that famous broken smile. 

You’re sitting at your desk trying to save some of your phone’s cloud through the connected email. Sam has already ordered you a new phone. On the computer to your left, you’re scanning and uploading the files you stole tonight. On the right, your little butterfly is transcribing conversations from yesterday. 

The transcription is finished before the uploads. It prints. 

SEDA: ‘Ernesto needs to know how many more women we can get from Jonathon. I thought you said your Italian contact was up to date?’

UNKNOWN: ‘He is. But the women are coming from here instead. Got a load of ten just now.’

SEDA: ‘The shipment goes out during the wedding. Not before, not after. We can’t fuck this up for Ernesto and we cannot have the stars and stripes finding out.’

UNKNOWN: ‘Ernesto plans to mention it to him tomorrow.’

SEDA: ‘Then make sure he keeps quiet about it.’

The bitter taste in your mouth returns and you have to run to the nearest bathroom.

     Steve wakes just an hour after, disoriented but able to discern who he is. “What happened?”

You’re standing at the foot of his bed, having just got there a few minutes before, practically on the verge of tears. “... Did you know?”

There it was. Any hope of truly coming to terms with this new world order or his role in it, any hope of feeling like he did before he succumbed to the American war propaganda and became a science experiment, crumbling before him. The heavy weight that were your shoulders, crumbling like shaky mountains. His own, tense and straining and urging him to get out of bed. 

He’s been in the trenches when the smell of gas and blood clogged his nostrils and made him dizzy. He’s experienced loss a thousand times over, just heinous instances of despair where he swore he was torn in two. He’s lost on his own accord and pretended like the world was still on its axis. 

And he knew his time was up. He just thought he’d have more than a day to enjoy it.  “I was going to tell you.”

It’s like the air is punched out of you. “You knew?”

“Please, listen, please,” he scrambles out of bed.

“What the fuck, Rogers?”

“Ramirez told us yesterday. I swear I only found out yesterday. Yesterday.”

“Yesterday?” You’re stepping away from him. He’s almost on his hands and knees and you’re stepping away from him. “Before?”

Steve makes a pained noise. “Yes, but please-”

“No! You kept this to yourself and you had the fucking audacity to share the same bed as me?”

“Please, let me explain-” He tries to reach out but you side-step him. He reacts like you’ve shot him.

“Don’t touch me, Steve!”

“Please, just let me explain. We all know - Bucky, Sam, Torres, we all know.”

Your face does something he’s never seen it do. “Fuck?”

He’s talking faster now, words just spilling on the floor and into the air and he doesn’t know what else to do. “We’re tracking it. We have a plan set. We were supposed to tell you tomorrow before the wedding.” He stops to take in a breath. “I was going to tell you.”

“You went behind my back.”

“If I would have told you, you would have done something horrible tonight! We need your father alive to find those people!”

Eyes wide in shock and anguish, you step further away from him. Each step was the equivalent of a dagger plunging deep into Steve’s heart, twisting and burning its way to the depths of his vulnerability. He wanted to succumb to the pain - after all, he deserved it.

“That would have been my choice to make!”

Now he pushed forward, shoulders hunched and palms turned upward as if he was pleading for a crumb of understanding. “I was gonna kill him.”

He drops to his knees, arms wrapping around your waist. You remained perfectly still, a tree stump with no cover. “I was gonna shoot him between the eyes when I first found out. But if I had done that, then we would never know the location of those people.”

His weight was pulling you down and you felt his wet cheek against your stomach. “I deserved to know.”

His grip tightened, “You did. But if you would have known-”

“I would have known. Period.”

He had to know how much he weighed. But Steve leaned his body onto yours harder, afraid you would vanish and god forbid turn to dust. It didn’t really register in his mind that, even though he was holding you in place, you weren’t exactly trying to escape his hold either. 

He had let you go once and he’ll be goddamned if he let you go again. 

“It ate me alive. I hated doing this-”

You pushed against his shoulders and sensed his reluctance to let go. Instead, you look down at him and tense your jaw. “Steve, you don’t hate me, do you?”

His face dropped and his grip loosened. You should just slap him across the face, Steve thinks, because how in the world were you thinking that at this moment? Never did he think you would find a way to twist this - to somehow blame yourself for his mistake. Took a long time to see it, but you were just as righteous as he was. It would get you both killed someday. 

“Why do you think that? What in the world would make you think that after all this time? After everything?”

He lets you push him away so he could stand but he makes sure to keep his hands on you. A tangible promise that you are real. 

“You agreed to help me catch a drug lord. You didn’t sign up for this extra mess.”

“We may not always know what we’re up against,” Steve began, sniffing and wiping at his wet face. God, he felt like such a mess. “But I could never fucking hate you. Don’t even think that.”

“You sure?” your voice cracks, hands slightly shaking from the need to touch him too. “Captain America didn’t sign up for this.”

He shakes his head almost violently, “No, no. Don’t go there. I am not him, I haven’t been him in a long time.”

“Steve-”

“No! I’ve hated the title for a while now. I’m done. I’ve hated my reflection for years and years.” The tiny whine in the middle of your throat gurgled and your hands moved instantly to cup his cheeks.  “I represent no one but myself. I’m tired of others thinking I’m the same man from ten years ago, or the same man from the forties, or the same man from last week just because they’re enamored by that star on my chest.”

He tilts his head to lean into your touch, “I am helping you because it’s the honorable thing to do. I signed up for this work, I intend to finish it. Not Captain America, but me - Steve, me.”

“You’re still making me feel like it’s something you have to do.”

“I admit that I was never overly fond of the idea of being wrapped up in this,” Steve admits, hands now cupping yours over his cheeks. “But toppling this empire will keep you safe.”

As heartwarming as that sounded, you broke the fantasy. “The minute we take the giants out, they’ll elect someone new.”

“But we take the giants out. The giants that hurt you.”

He’s right, like always. 

“Steve,” you say quietly, bringing his face closer to kiss away his tears. You’re struggling to keep the tippy-toes and your ankle is screaming for a break, but you persist. “You should have told me.”

“I know.”

“No more secrets.”

“None, I swear, I promise.”

Biting your lip to keep from crying, you make sure his eyes are locked on yours before you speak. “I’m not walking away this time. I’m not leaving you. Not again.”

Steve’s mouth releases a big burst of air like he was holding it in, and he wraps you in a hug that promises the same.

~

TAGLIST: @dumb-ass-writer @justab-eautifulmess​ @supraveng @mycosmicparadise @missnighttigress​

A/N: Wooooo that took forever lol xxMoni

[sunkensubtext]

any director’s commentary on anthromance 101? or whatever you want to talk about most!

Oh HELL yes. I love this story, so this might get a little long, and I apologize in advance. There's so much that I know I won't be able to shove into this fic, so here are some miscellaneous snippets and thoughts that I've come up with while plotting it out!!!

My first thing I definitely wanted to include from the start is Shouta being this kind of disillusioned person who's just so over the idea of being a god. He's just mentally and emotionally exhausted, and despite his power, he's purposely crafted his image to the mortals in a way that ensures he won't be worshipped alongside the more popular deities. His lower ranking status is by design, and he's extremely powerful on his own--the gods use conduits (mostly humans) to get their power and status, but Shouta practically owns the forests. The life within them is enough for him to match the power of the upper ranking gods, all while allowing him to remain relatively unknown. It was a good system, until Hizashi came around.

Because of this, I really wanted their relationship to be strained at first--all anger and confusion. I don't know if it'll ever be added in, it depends on which way I go, but I at one point intended for their relationship to initially be strained in a different kind of way--Shouta is mourning the loss of the gods but keeping it under wraps, and feels isolated and like there's a huge weight on his shoulders because he knows it's up to him to solve the issue. Hizashi, though, is so starstruck by the idea of meeting a real deity that he treats Shouta like a novelty. Shouta responds by playing with Hizashi's thirst for knowledge; he constantly answers Hizashi's many questions with fake or exaggerated anecdotes, like Dionysus only being the god of wine because the other gods tacked it onto his descriptors after their intervention didn't work. Shouta also makes an exaggerated show of pointing out wood furniture or structures he finds hideous, deeming them a waste of his trees and reclaiming ownership of them just to get Hizashi fired up.

I have a couple snippets that won't be included, so I'll add them here too!

--

[["So, if you've rejected all the romantic advances of the other gods, does that mean you've, uh….?"

"I'm as old as time itself. I'm, in fact, older than the very concept of fucking. What do you think the answer to that question is? I want you to look me in the eyes and say it." Hizashi is dead silent. Shouta smirks, nudges him. "Think critically about everything, or this fight is already lost. That includes about me."

And Hizashi thinks critically about Shouta, then--about his soft smiles, his fierce devotion, his deadpan humor; and he aches.]]

--

[["You think us  gods are immune to adaptation?" Shouta's eyes narrow as he spits the words out, and the sound of it alone is enough to raise the hairs on Hizashi's arms. "All of us, humanity included, were scraped from the clay by Chaos. And you dare to think we're the only ones able to live on this earth without being touched by it?"]]

--

[["No, not now. I'm a god, but for the first time in my life, I get to decide what that means." He nods to himself, knocks his shoulder against Hizashi's, and shoots him a toothy grin. "What about you, Prof?"

"Ah, I plan to do some more research, put together some academic papers so they're easily found if something like this happens again in the future," he mutters, unsure. "After that, I imagine I'll go back to teaching."

Shouta frowns, silent for a long time. When he turns to face Hizashi, there's an intensity in his gaze that he's never seen before; a fire bubbling just under the surface.

"You've spent your whole life researching these legends and stories," he starts, voice charged with emotion. He leans forward, and for a moment, Hizashi thinks he's going to kiss him--instead, he just stares, makes sure Hizashi is listening as he continues. "With everything you know now, don't you think it's time you took a break to create some of your own?"]]

ANYWAY I gotta stop myself here or I'll go on forever. Thanks so much for the ask, and for giving me the chance to ramble about this!!!