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ronearoundblindly · 1 year ago

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The Right Partner (2/3)

Steve Rogers x lab tech!Reader

Take My Whole Life, Too, Part One (see previous or series)

Summary: Your honeymoon with Steve Rogers begins.

Warnings for vague smut (don't worry, I make up for it in pt2), cuteass!Steeb being extra, unrealistic adorable sh*t, and my complete lack of shame about it. MINORS DNI. There is plenty for you to read on my Light Masterlist instead, but this one isn't for you! WC 3.1k

It’s bright and loud.

Well, there is light—a pale blue that gnaws at your heavy eyelids—and the song of birds.

The birds are, frankly, irrationally aggressive even for late morning.

You groan and turn over toward the inside of the tent, hoping for an hour more of darkness, maybe two.

Dehydrated. That’s what this heavy, sluggish feeling is. You should have had twice the water you managed to drink yesterday. No one would fault you for having other priorities on your wedding day though.

Your fingers branch out to find the bed empty.

From your exposed shoulder beyond the comforter, you gauge it is quite chilly here wherever you are. You didn’t even ask Steve if he found out what state (or country) you two landed in. Who cares? You burrow deeper, peeking over the thick quilted seam to see—

“What are you doing?”

Steve’s back is to you when you hear a metallic clatter in the utility sink. He whips around in just his boxers, raising a hand to cover his mouth and garble out “nothing.”

You’re prone and below eye level to the countertop, so you sit up to look while Steve poorly hides his sin by leaning over the surface.

He swallows heavily.

“You want some tea,” he rushes to ask in a failingly casual tone. “I’ve got water heating.”

“Steven Grant Rogers,” you jump up to stand on the mattress, knocking your head against the springy ceiling, and step down. “Are you eating our wedding cake without me?”

“You wouldn’t even give me some yesterday,” he whines, placing himself protectively between your approach and the confection. His guilty brows raise with sincerity.

“Oh, please! You got cake, and then you—” you poke his bare chest, glancing at the now quarter-demolished top tier “—you complained it wasn’t your flavor!”

“But…” Steve simply points. No other words come to mind based on his still-stunned expression.

“Fine,” you chuckle, relaxing to stretch your large sweater over your chilled hands and thighs, “I won’t tell anyone you’re nothing but a little sweets-thief. Hot tea sounds lovely though.”

“Allow me,” he smiles and leans in for a kiss, tasting of sugar and lemon like the night you got engaged, the night you first…oof. After just one reminder, the sweater is suddenly plenty warm.

“Thank you.”

The flood of mental images rushes from your brain, down your body, to your full bladder.

Next stop: the bathroom.

While he sorts out your morning boost, you chug a bottle of water to help with the rough, sluggish feeling weighing on you. No soreness though, which is good.

Steve returns triumphant with a camping mug and steeping, steaming wakeup juice, and you give him your own soft peck on his cheek.

No doubt he continues his dessert for breakfast the instant you step out to use the facilities aboard the jet. Good, he deserves all the cake, as much as he wants, whenever he wants.

The tiny mirror isn’t as scary as you thought it would be, but you do have to rummage around for a few straggling hairpins. A splash of cool water on your face just before you emerge is more refreshing than expected, too. The day is fresh, you are fresh, and your marriage is fresh.

You cradle the mug in your palms, making to leave, when your gown catches your eye hanging at the locker closest to the ramp, right beside Steve’s uniform.

Yesterday feels like the most wonderful, blinding blur.

All the military men (and women) wore their first uniforms, and you have to admit it created a sharp-looking bunch. Geeta’s uniform was only from nine years ago, Wilson’s just over fifteen, Rhodes’s nearly thirty, and of course, Steve and Bucky’s come in at eighty years old. Not shockingly, their uniforms were replicas, but the boys were very picky about the details.

Gracie, Natasha, Ro, Pepper, Tony and Bruce all kept their fancy dress within the same neutral palette. Morgan and Felicity were flower (leaf) girls. Standing at the alter as a bride, a groom, and their ‘besties,’ you amassed a punk, a jerk, a nerd, and a Booboo.

Your subdued red, white, and blue gown made the boldest statement of the day.

You were so worried yesterday morning. You thought the statement would read as if you were devoting yourself to an ideal, harping that you are in some ways ‘Misses America,’ but it’s more than that. You didn’t want to walk down that aisle and sign over who you are, to belong to someone else, even someone as magnificent as Steve Rogers.

Then you saw his face.

That man belongs to you as much as you belong to him. The look of pure, undiluted, delighted adoration nearly knocked you over. You’re lucky you made it through your vows. You melted inside to help your poor, fumbling Sketch with his own speech. Bucky winked once you finally got his buddy to the important bit.

Then that kiss.

Gosh, all this time you thought maybe the desperate heat of your first kiss in an evacuated AvIn hallway couldn’t be recreated—much less topped—but you were wrong. The boning in your bodice is the real hero, that’s for sure. Girl’s gotta have good support when it counts.

Speaking of being weak for a man, you think, sipping at hot tea, better get back in there. That, plus your legs are freezing.

A polaroid snaps the instant you cross the zip-up threshold, along with praises of your beauty. You blink rapidly but smile.

“What’s that?”

“Your wedding present,” Steve beams. He fakes a frown at your following ‘we weren’t doing presents’ look. “Not big ones. They’re just for fun.”

He picks up another Canon film camera, a hefty black and silver thing from his hard-sided suitcase, and hands it to you.

“Thought they’d be nice for the trip.”

You weigh it in your hands, eye the Polaroid, then switch with Steve.

“That one’s more of an artsy-fartsy Sketch thing,” you say, stepping around him with your new toy, rushing to grab toasty sweatpants from your own bag.

As you bend over to pull out the garment though, you hear a mechanical click and whip around.

Steve still faces away from you, but his head is slightly turned and he softly whistles, so of course, you lift your Polaroid and snap a picture of his ass, too. He wrinkles his nose, looking over his shoulder with an unhidden smile. You shake out the photo card provocatively while he suits up for the fireside in a sweater and jeans.

He glances at the developed shot and, seeming satisfied, plants one more kiss on your forehead.

He hums as he holds up his picture of you entering the tent, thumb tracing the line of your hip exposed like it was on the glossy magazine pages after your bear debacle.

“Yes, ‘m out there distracting all the wild animals,” you joke.

“It’s working,” he mutters. “Hungry, Misses Rogers?”

Yeah, you think, but you’ll need fewer clothes again. Instead, your stomach gurgles in response.

“Why? Do I finally get some cake?”

“Just a taste.” He kisses your lips, which you lick immediately after. “But I was thinking more like eggs. The fire’s ready.”

Your stomach growls louder. “Shhh, peanut gallery.”

Steve puts a hand over your stomach, chuckling. “At least she’s honest.”

The light pressure of his wide palm lingers even when he steps out to the camp ground. It triggers a potent flash of life with him.

You’ve spoken about kids and it will happen (or at least you’ll try) in due course, but he’s come home from missions with doubts about bringing children up in this world. What matters to both of you is having each other, and you know he’d be enough good and love for your lifetime. Even though you can always revisit the issue, that deep flutter ravages your gut while you watch him cook breakfast.

With another hunger pang, you remember how your stomach voicing her opinion is one of the reasons you’re together. One, solitary growl started the first real night of hanging out with Steve. Without it, he wouldn’t have shared a leftover meal (and cake—hint, hint, buddy), he wouldn’t have let you in his apartment, he wouldn’t have driven you and your car home the next morning, and he wouldn’t have given you some of his own clothes to wear.

You pull the sleeves of his sweater over your chilling hands and bury your nose in the fabric, inhaling deeply.

You wonder which one of those incidental, accidental moments was the tipping point, whether removing just one experience of you would have stopped Steve from seeing you, stopped him from loving you.

After a while, you pick up the polaroid. You can see his ease through the lens. Steve is in his element, chatting away while preparing a meal, planning what you two can do together next, complimenting how you look in his sweatpants and meaning it so profusely that his eyes light up whenever he looks your way.

You thought you caught it on camera, all of him, all of his happiness, but the shot isn’t close enough to do it justice. Your heart will just have to remember.

Yes, Steve Rogers on his own is more than enough. He is the gift. He’s your treasure.

You can’t decide what you want to do next, but a strong shiver running through you gives a hint: get warm.

Eggs are a good start.

When the food is done, Steve refills your tea and makes his own.

You snuggle up into the covers of the bed again, leaning your head into the dip of Steve’s sternum, using your furnace husband to full effect. The birds aren’t so annoying now. The air is so crisp and refreshing, laced with the smell of Steve’s skin. The rise and fall of his chest is so soothing as you sip and ponder the future.

Steve fiddles with the dials on the vintage camera above you. That’s the last thing you remember before waking up again, this time wrapped in his warm, toasty arms.

For once, he hasn’t woken up yet. He’s stretched, out-cold and perfectly content, unmoving as you wiggle out of the covers.

He never rests in the middle of the day, so you have to capture his sleepy form, eyes still tucked beneath the comforter, keeping the light out for just a little longer. He’s so beautiful.

Your husband is so beautiful.

Steve desperately wants to take the wedding presents for a spin out in the woods, so the afternoon is entirely consumed by a hike.

The Polaroid makes too much noise for wildlife and can’t focus on the tinier details among the branches and leaves, so you settle for jotting down some fanciful descriptions that come to mind and watch him sneak closer to birds, bugs, and color-changing foliage.

He gets so distracted with excitement that you two walk much farther than intended. Steve insists on carrying you the last few miles of your return, and you spend the entire piggyback ride with your chin tucked over his shoulder, your cheek against his neck, quietly discussing what you’d like to change in your lives now that you’re officially married.

Nothing. The answer is nothing.

Nothing needs to change because you two are the exact same people as forty-eight hours ago. Perhaps the rings on your fingers mean more for your life, but they just transmuted the love already in existence to matter.

Steve’s bright blue eyes go dreamy with philosophizing.

Your husband is beautiful, smelling of fresh air and optimism.

Steve refuses to miss another sunset, so you two lay in the hammock before lighting your evening fire.

You snuggle and chat, teasing each other, telling stories. You watch the Milky Way bloom to life above you.

Something Steve never figured out was how the Team knew about his plan to propose. He’s been going over it and over it, but he can’t see where he gave himself away. Steve says, when he asked Bucky yesterday in the men’s ready room, Bucky smirked.

Apparently, Steve, only once while you two dated, told his friend “there’s an order to these things,” and that was enough. Buck knew Steve’s intentions immediately, watching for the signs, the clues. Everyone understands that for a long time now Steve has resented his birthday is a holiday—not in a disrespectful way, but it annoys him that the day is already a big, loud affair,—and the whole group guessed (correctly) Steve would rather replace the symbolism with his own meaning.

“And hey,” Steve rumbles, faking Tony’s nonchalance as he quotes the billionaire playboy, “if you chickened out, fireworks are fireworks.”

His added shrug for effect shifts you and rocks the dangling net.

“Almost did, didn’t you?” you chuckle. “Chicken out?”

Your husband’s whole body tweaks harshly.

“You know I was scared shitless, Keeps! Almost fainted.”

“Or at least fell off your one knee…”

His hands fly up to scrub at his stubbled face, pinning you. “Oh! It was so bad,” he groans.

You sit up carefully in the wobbly fabric of the hammock, barely suppressing more laughter, and pound a flat palm at his chest. “It’s ok, soldier. You got the job done. We got there in the end.”

Steve’s hand covers yours, his peaceful smile glowing in the soft starlight.

He reaches to cradle your cheek, sweeping a delicately callused thumb over your skin.

“I almost can’t believe it,” Steve says quietly.

“Believe what?”

He could mean the beauty of the sky, or that Tony knocked it out of the park with your escape of a honeymoon, or that he didn’t croak instead of getting through all those mental and physical hurtles to be with you. You’re just not sure. Personally, you’ve ‘almost not believed it’ since the Captain America started talking to you, so it’s hard to judge.

Steve doesn’t answer right away. His voice grows even softer. “Happy. That’s all.”

Your heart breaks and mends in an instant.

“You can’t believe you’re happy?”

He goes shy, ducking then raising his gaze even higher towards the treetops. He clears his throat before admitting, “I lead…an unusual life. Not many would want this.”

“I dunno. Seems pretty nice to me,” you giggle.

“Yes, but—“ he pulls you into his chest and squeezes “—I get no guarantees. Not like others. We couldn’t even set a date. We could have been waiting years to get married.”

It’s your turn to shrug.

“You got something else to do?”

“No,” he sighs, “just more of this.” He nudges your body closer and closer to his, until all your arms and legs are tangled together. “As much as possible. I only meant…I love you.

“I love you, and I don’t think I had any faith left that I would find you.”

You. Not someone like you. Not someone for him.

You.

Even without a fire, even without sunlight, even without shelter surrounding you, Steve provides everything you could ever need: heat, comfort, safety. He provides, and it’s only right that he should have the favor returned.

Happiness. That’s what this is. Happiness that wasn’t guaranteed. Happiness that wasn’t expected. Happiness that was hard-earned.

Your muscles shiver and your skin tingles, all with need of him. “Sweetheart,” you whisper, clawing at his sweater.

He knows. He sees. He feels it, too.

When Steve lunges to kiss you though, the hammock swings with your combined weight and tries to topple you.

You giggle and squeal, flipping out and onto the ground with zero grace, and he follows.

Steve crawls over you, starlight and the glow from the tent painting his face in primary colors.

“Here, Mrs. Rogers?” He fakes shock. “In the dirt?”

“You fucked me on that picnic table just last night,” you joke, a dark, taunting edge to your voice which he matches.

Steve leans in again. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t.”

He holds your gaze, his focus flickering to your lips while the crickets’ song roars around you.

It sounds silly after all you’ve done to get Steve out of his shell, but what you crave most in this moment is the familiar, traditional love-making that he offers best. His tenderness leads you on a merry dance not unlike long wilderness walks. He’s consumed by discovery and attention to how you feel in that very second. To him, you change as frequently as the landscape. He yearns to explore what’s the same, what’s new.

Steve never phones-in sex. He never just goes through the motions. Somehow, he makes an art of reevaluating your body, your pleasure, each and every time. He’s the proof vanilla is an infinite flavor.

But…

That doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy the chase.

Steve is leaning in to kiss you when your knee raises to his chest, halting his progress. You bite your lip and scramble to the ‘door’ of the tent. Obviously, he lets you win because he could easily have snatched you into his grasp.

Steve’s laugh stays close, but he follows all the way to the bed.

There’s something to be said about a good ol’ fashioned undressing, garment by garment, that dance of who leads and how much they touch the other as each piece of clothing falls away. Steve’s become a very good dancer.

Nothing is rushed. Nothing is missed.

He doesn’t combine the acts of maneuvering you and dragging open mouth kisses along your skin. He moves you, and then he lingers.

Time spent mapping you is time well spent to Steve Rogers.

You’re drunk on him. High on him. It’s an out-of-body experience that has you watching his broad back curve sharply while he thrusts and traces your collarbone with his tongue, noticing your toes seize up from force of your first orgasm, and admiring how fine his ringed finger looks laced in with yours and pinned over your head.

No one leaves the tent. The evening fire never gets started.

After a long and sweaty fuck in the bed, you’re filthy, gathering food for Steve who’s hungry, following you around with wipes. It’s comical how thoroughly you try to take care of each other.

No. Sit still. No. Let me just grab this. No. Fine. Together?

You two finish the top tier of cake after cleaning off…because Steve Rogers is the most stubborn, beautiful, and optimistic husband.

[Next Part]

[Main Masterlist; Fools Rush In Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

#fools rush in series #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x wife!reader #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers fic #steve x reader #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x reader smut #captain america x reader #captain america x you #captain america fluff #captain america fanfiction #steve rogers x you #sketch and keeps

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starlit-soothsayer · 6 months ago

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how many blogs on tumblr are in the sai cocksucking server 🔥🔥🔥🔥 i want names 🔥🔥

This is quite the request, but I have done my best to link names to blogs. Keep in mind this is far from complete. The server has over 800 users, so this list is non-exhaustive. Discord usernames will be in bold, then the socials will follow. Tumblr blogs are shown as usernames, and everything else is shown as the site it links to. The list is not in any particular order. (It's important to note that most of these are side blogs and not main accounts.)

Users who have a Tumblr and Discord account that I've been able to link together:

btart131305 | btart1313 | Bluesky | Cara

plagueofchaos | thetepes

flybiteeye | liquidorcard

societyslostone | societyslostone | lab-raised-steven | Bluesky

antgr | agramuglia | Twitter | YouTube

couchsloth | thecouchslothv | Twitter

bannanarama | gerrysherry

lucky.ducker | luckyduckwrites | luckyduck-main

vexfidel | thelilypit

nix_or_whatever | beast-in-moon-shadow

bruceboinkers | stitchieau-the-actual-one

bresley4386 | confused-rat

hatoheart | hatoheart | Twitter

draco_system2 | draco-system

cybermagusnex | cybermagusnex | britts-galaxy-brain

Users who have a Discord account but I could not find a Tumblr to link to (yet); however I did find other socials for them:

krislucy | Reddit | artistree | Twitter |

ratical_dude | Twitch

gabethegm | Twitch | Reddit

neokaiser_ | Twitter | YouTube

caffienatedsalamander | strawpage

Users who have a Tumblr but could not be linked to Sai's Discord server specifically (and that I would still recommend blocking if you want to minimize contact with Sai):

collecterofthecritical

3456boidone

batsguanoposting

that-one-kiddo-in-the-back

theespeakerboxxx

Users I could not definitively link to any social media accounts (though I have my suspicions):

coollyghost

Bluebuu2k

wokadora

#If there is a mistake here then I will correct it once notified.#system/PRINT.AmberDot.Info #archival

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slasherslittlesimp · 2 months ago

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Loving Legends (Steve X Reader X Bucky)

Part Two

Tony had you brought back to the tower while you were unconscious, wanting to get you treated by Bruce rather than a normal doctor. He's not entirely sure why but it felt like the right move to make. Maybe it has to do with the fact they can put you in the Regeneration Cradle which will fix you right up without leaving a scar.

Once you're in the medical bay of the compound Bruce gets straight to work. He pulls out a pair of medical scissors as he cuts away the blood soaked fabric around your injury in order to reveal it better. His brows are furrowed in concentration as he makes sure that the bullet went completely through without making too much damage. Once satisfied, he begins to move away only to freeze as his eyes glance over your chest.

He didn't mean to read the names inked into your skin. He hadn't even realized he had cut that far into your shirt in the first place when he was trying to reveal your left shoulder. However, the two names are startling enough to make him freeze, momentarily forgetting that you're currently bleeding still. He continues his work, putting you into the cradle before starting it to let it do it's work. It'll take a few hours to finish so that gives him time to process this new information.

Bruce nervously rubs his hands together once the constricting medical gloves are removed and disposed of. "Hey Friday? Can you tell Tony I need him real quick?"

Tony swaggers into the room a few moments later with a steaming cup of coffee in hand. "How's the chick doing?"

"She's uh... doing good, for now. But that's not why I called you down here." Bruce sighs as he removes his glasses to rub at his tired eyes. He was up all night in the lab and didn't get much sleep before this. "It's about her soul mark."

"Oh god. Is she yours?" Tony raises a curious brow as he starts to make his way towards the cradle where you're still resting peacefully.

"No, she's not mine. I don't think you'll believe me unless you look yourself."

Tony nods slightly as he steps around to the left side of the cradle where your bare shoulder is being worked on. He lets his eyes roam over your peaceful features first, mentally trying to figure out who your soulmate could possibly be before taking a glance. When his eyes finally do trail down to your partially exposed chest, they widen just a fraction at the two names forever inked into your skin.

James Buchanan Barnes

Steven Grant Rogers

He lets out a breath in disbelief. Everyone knew the two super soldiers were each others soulmates but they never once mentioned a third. Now that he's thinking about it, he's never seen them without their shirts either. If he had to guess, the two probably assumed you either died long ago or that you're too old to really bother tracking down.

"Well, looks like I have some interesting news to deliver." Tony hands his cup of coffee to Bruce before quickly exiting the room to search for the two soldiers. It doesn't take him long to find them both in the gym training together. He watches the two exchange blows as they spar for a few moments before interrupting. "Hey Capsicle, Terminator."

The two men stop and turn towards him with curious yet apprehensive looks. "What do you need, Tony?" Steve questions, moving off to the side to grab his bottle of water.

Tony's gaze flickers between Steve and Bucky before settling on the Captain. "What's her name?"

"Who?" Both men furrow their brows at the question, having no clue what he's talking about.

"Your third soulmate." Tony watches as they both exchange surprised looks. "What's her name?"

"How do you know we have another soulmate?" Bucky tries his best to keep from panicking. Him and Steve didn't talk much about their third soulmate with each other. Only enough to agree that while it's sad they never got to be with her they at least have each other and that they shouldn't dwell on it.

Tony scoffs, waving his hand dismissively. "Just answer the question."

"(Y/N) (L/N)." Steve spits out the name that he's forever had committed to memory. Sometimes he finds himself mindlessly tracing her name with his fingers without realizing he's doing it. "Are you going to tell us what this is about?"

"Well, I have some good news and bad news for you both." Tony rocks a bit on his heels, enjoying seeing the two tense up. "Firstly, she's alive and here. However, she's here because she got shot during a robbery and I brought her here without knowing who she was."

Steve and Bucky both straighten up at the news, their minds racing as they process the information. Steve is the first one to make a move to leave only to be stopped by Tony. "I don't think you should see her yet."

"Why the hell not?" Steve snaps, barely staying calm. "We've waited over seventy years to meet her, Tony."

"And you can wait a bit longer." Tony reaches up to place his hands on Steve's biceps in attempts to calm him enough to see reason. "She's not awake yet and is still inside the Regeneration Cradle getting treatment. Plus, I doubt you want your first time seeing her to be while she's sleeping. I also think you two should shower and change so you're not looking and smelling gross when you do see her."

Steve huffs, knowing he's right. He was so caught up in the thought of finally meeting the girl he's wondered about his entire life that he didn't think of how he looked or even how she would look. Though, now he's concerned as he finally registered what Tony had said.

"She got shot? What exactly happened? Is she alright?" The questions pour from his lips in rapid succession. He only stops once Bucky steps forward to place a reassuring hand on his shoulder despite feeling equally as anxious.

Tony steps back as he crosses his arms over his chest before recounting the story to them. How you were a hostage at the bank that had the misfortune of being picked to tag along on the way out. How you were scared yet brave all at the same time. He tells them everything he knew, including that you took a risk just so he could get a clean shot on the guy.

Bucky and Steve are understandably worried as they listen. In their minds, they're picturing a woman who is damn near one hundred being harassed and shot. Of course, this is only because Tony failed to mention that you're actually young and very beautiful. He figured it'd be better for them to see themselves. They probably wouldn't believe him otherwise.

"Now, I suggest you two go get cleaned up. I'll let you know as soon as she's awake and ready for visitors." Tony waves off the two of them before exiting the gym to go check up on you.

Now that he has a name he can also do some research. Double check that you're who they say you are and that you're not secretly a threat. He knows he should've done all of this before bringing you to the compound but you didn't have an ID on you- likely taken by the robbers along with everything else. He didn't exactly stick around long enough to search the bags since he was more concerned with the fact that you fainted in his arms. He'll have to contact the police later to see about retrieving your items.

Until then, he has homework to do.

Taglist: @kipperzz @keshet2k

#reader insert #x reader #the avengers #marvel #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes #marvel x reader #avengers x reader #soulmate au #theundyingavenger #mcu #mcu x reader

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justinspoliticalcorner · 2 months ago

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Steven Beschloss at America, America:

Those of us committed to saving our democracy share the same task: To expand the awareness of people we know and meet about the dangers in our midst. For all of us who’ve been paying attention to the dismantling of our democracy and the cruel, arrogant and reckless way this has been happening, it seems almost ridiculous that we need to explain this. But we’re in this fateful moment because far too many Americans failed to grasp what could happen and what was at stake. And, sadly, it seems far too many still fail to recognize that there is a five-alarm fire that could soon burn out of control, making dousing it and repairing the destruction an increasingly tall order.

Why are we facing this dilemma? Part of the reason stems from normalcy bias which, as summarized by The Decision Lab, “describes our tendency to underestimate the possibility of disaster and believe that life will continue as normal, even in the face of significant threats or crises.” Think how often you hear about people who lost their lives because they refused to leave before a major hurricane or other natural disaster wreaked havoc; they may have falsely assumed they were safer staying in their home or ignored warnings that they believed were overstated. In 2016, people said Donald Trump wouldn’t get the Republican nomination. Then they said he wouldn’t beat Hillary Clinton. When he won, many doubted he would be that bad, despite everything he said and promised to do.

That same tendency—to underestimate the potential for disaster—facilitated his reelection in 2024; it made it easier for many voters to ignore the warnings of his dictatorial ambitions or minimize his hateful threats of retribution, mass deportation and terminating the Constitution. It’s also true, of course, that many voters—enough to elect Trump—were cut off from such warnings or persuaded to disbelieve them by Fox News, Newsmax, Elon Musk’s X and a host of hateful propagandists like Tucker Carlson. You may recall a survey soon after the election which found that voters who paid a great deal of attention to political news were eight percent more likely to vote for Kamala Harris than those who paid no attention who were 15 percent more likely to vote for Trump. Democrats failed to adequately penetrate both the right-wing information ecosystem and other key non-political spaces.

But put aside the 77 million-plus who voted for Trump. We would be facing an utterly different reality if even a small slice of the 89 million Americans who were eligible to vote—yet didn’t—had been sufficiently motivated to do their part and help ward off disaster. And it’s not like the warnings were insufficiently pointed. Recall Vice President Kamala Harris’ rally in Washington, D.C. on October 30 that drew a crowd estimated at 75,000 people. “We know who Donald Trump is,” Harris said as the election neared. “This is someone who is unstable, obsessed with revenge, consumed with grievance and out for unchecked power.”

To assess the part I played in this, I returned to the first essay I wrote that raised the specter of fascist rule if Trump were to retake the levers of power and the role that Project 2025 was playing in creating the conditions for it. That was on July 23, 2023, in an essay titled “Aiming for Dictatorship.” The subtitle read: “While Trump hungers for retribution and extremist Republicans mock successes of modern liberal government, a network of right-wing groups plot a fascist takeover with an all-powerful U.S. president.” It was a reminder of how knowable the stakes already were. Drawing on strong reporting from The New York Times, I summarized what a potential second Trump term portended: “This plot is committed to concentrating power in the hands of the president by ending liberal government and the independence of the Department of Justice, the civil service and other federal agencies that have been largely protected (by law or tradition) from presidential political interference.”

I noted that many people were struggling to understand why Trump continued to get support not only from a cultist base, but also from Republican leadership and their policy professionals. That’s why the threat of Project 2025 and their desire to dismantle liberal government needed to be taken with utmost seriousness.

Steven Beschloss wrote an excellent piece earlier this week about Americans should heed the warning signs of the USA’s fascist turn.

#Trump Regime #Trump Administration II #Donald Trump #Unitary Executive Theory #Project 2025

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thestobingirlie · 1 year ago

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steve harrington has powers

and they will be revealed in s5

steve’s power reveal has been hinted at from the very beginning, and now we’re in the final season, all our waiting will have paid off, and his status as an escaped child from the lab will play a key role in defeating the upside down and vecna for good.

first things first, let’s think about two factors that define steve as a character. ask any fan, no matter how casual, about steve, and they’ll know these two things; he gets into fights every single season and his hair is a key part of his character.

steve’s hair plays a role in his character arc.

as steve grows fully into himself as a character, his hair changes with him, becoming longer, wilder, less neat and styled. his hair represents his growth within his current arc.

who else is a character with an arc that can be well represented by their current hairstyle? eleven.

as el’s hair grows, we watch her figure out who she is as a person, learn to style it, grow and even lose it. this is no coincidence.

steve’s hair growth is directly tied to his status as a lab child. his rejection of the abuse he faced growing up can be seen in the care and attention he directs towards his hair. as he becomes a more fully developed character, who is learning and changing as he interacts with more environments, his hair changes with him.

not to mention that steve using women’s hairspray and stying products for his hair clearly show that he was raised outside of the bounds of normal gender roles. he has no issue with using woman’s shampoo and condition because he wasn’t taught to. his ideas of masculinity don’t revolve around social expectations, much like el.

steve’s fights are the biggest indicator of steve’s abilities.

or rather, should i say the aftermath of those fights.

we watch steve get obliterated in a fight scene every single season, and yet not five minutes later, he’s walking it off! he has zero repercussions of these fights. no headaches. no scars. no lingering wounds.

he routinely throws himself back into the fray. no matter how badly wounded.

this is NOT an accident, nor was it a choice made so that the duffers could beat up their favourite punching bag and still use him as a key player in fights. it’s obviously there as a hint to the audience as to the true nature of steve’s ability.

now, it’s fairly obvious where i’m going with this: steve has accelerated healing as a result of the experiments performed on him by hawkins lab.

now, you might just say, “so what? he healed from battling humans.”

but it’s so much more than that.

steve fought and was eaten by upside down creatures.

no other character has survived that. no other character carries wounds and scars from surviving a run in with a demo-creature.

bar one.

eleven.

coincidence? of course not.

steve is the only character that wears a wristwatch in near every single scene he’s in.

not only is his watch constantly on, it’s takes a prominent place in key scenes. the duffers want you to look at it.

why else would they refuse to show his wrist in every single scene? they don’t want us to see what’s underneath. so what could the duffers be hiding under there? his number.

and the number, god it’s so obvious. STEVEN. SEVEN.

i mean, it’s staring us right in the face!!!

steve’s past

now, this point is so obvious, everyone can see it: we’ve never even met steve’s parents.

the only teenage character from prior to s3 whose parents we haven’t met. we don’t even know their names.

in fact, tommy and carol even seem used to the fact that steve’s parents aren’t home. implying that they’re never there. because they don’t exist.

we’ve seen his house! and yet… empty. the room is blank. there’s nothing in there to even suggest it is steve’s house. he has no personal effects.

every single other character has identifying objects in their room. but not steve. why would the duffers do this? because they’re hinting to the audience that steve doesn’t belong there.

there’s not even any reference of steve prior to the beginning of s1. jonathan? we see flashbacks. nancy? we get mention of her playing dnd years before. all the party have pictures. we watch max’s childhood memories play out.

and yet. the closest we get to characters remembering steve in their own past, is steve from the year 1983. naturally, that isn’t the year that steve escaped the lab, but it does bring up interesting questions about steve living on the edge of hawkins population. he may have been the most popular boy around, but it seems no one truly knew him.

steve didn’t go the college.

and it’s not because he didn’t get in.

steve was getting c’s in classes nancy found difficult.

steve was in at least two different sports (basketball and swimming), he was a lifeguard and co-captain of the swimming team. that takes work and dedication, and it looks good when applying to college.

to be in all these sports, steve had to have been getting above a certain grade level. certainly high enough to get into college.

the duffers know that steve could’ve gotten into college, so why would they make it so obvious that steve is lying?

because steve didn’t apply in the first place. because as an escapee from the lab, he doesn’t even exist in the real world. he has no birth certificate, no records from being a child. attending some high school in the middle of nowhere would’ve been easy, but attending college? drawing attention to himself? steve couldn’t risk it. he knew he’d be found.

TL;DR

el and steve are purposefully paralleled to hint towards steve’s past and secret abilities. there’s a reason the duffers have never allowed prolonged interactions between el and steve, because they want to drag out the reveal as long as they can. there is so much more, but god, it would take forever.

we still don’t even know the full extent of steve’s abilities (i personally believe that steve has some variation of a charisma ability. i mean. every single character that’s disliked him has spent a very short amount of one on one time with him and immediately come around.) and we likely won’t until s5 finally comes out. and then the world will know…

#if you get it you get it. if you don’t you don’t #i personally can’t wait for the steve and el sibling reveal #steve harrington #el hopper #stranger things #my post #liv’s meta

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evaiskindaweird · 3 months ago

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Uhh drew Icy again +new lore

Her new lore is that she was made in a lab (hence the hair and powers) while a group of scientists was trying to perfect cloning. She came out wrong, so they were planning to give her away, but one of the scientists took her in and raised her

She pretends she isn't insecure about the fact she should've been somebody else, and she has a love for puns (something that annoys the everliving daylights out of Wordgirl) in her spare time, she works at the library restocking books. She hates it.

She sometimes has memories that aren't hers, but she assumes they're just nightmares

New character and lore inspo as of now: Steven Universe because Amethyst and Steven core

Hc voice: AJ Michalka (as Catra)

#wordgirl #wordgirl oc #Icy wordgirl oc #I love drawing her sm...

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lab-raised-steven · 2 months ago

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Still proud of this page. Ruby and Sapphire argue soo bad that they fall apart.

Sapphire tries to rationalize and calm Ruby, but Ruby is emotional and obviously more vocal/louder of the two.

#lab raised steven #steven universe #steven universe au #r053 #su onion #su garnet #su ruby #su sapphire #comic page #chapter 2 #please know this is my favorite page so far

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suau-raised-by-corrupted-gems · 8 months ago

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Different Worlds

Massive apologies to the OG writer, but after the first fanart, I kinda wanted to play with the concept of Lil Quartz meeting R, and getting a feel for how different R's world is to little Q.

R belongs to @lab-raised-steven

"This is... "the Yard?"

Lil Quartz looked around the small room, his eye brow lifted in interest.

"Yup! Me and Pearl play and color in here all the time!" R replied cheerfully, as he ran into the room, giggling as a pink squirrel emerged from a cat house on the other side of the room to greet the boy. "Pretty cool, right?"

"Uh..." Lil Quartz looked around the room.

It was cozy, he'd give it that. And it had cute designs on the walls that somewhat mimicked the outside with a ball here and little table for drawing there. There was even a tire swing there! But he couldn't really find himself 'playing' in such a small space. He wasn't used to the cold ground against his paws, rather than the feel of grass. He sniffed the air, fighting off a sneeze at the stiff, sterile air that stung his comparatively nose. When he looked up, he was a bit surprised to find that the ceiling was a glass window pane; and he saw as clouds rolled across the sky.

He shuddered. He wasn't used to seeing the sky, but feeling no wind.

"It's... cool." He said a bit uncertain as he idly scanned a small bookshelf nearby, taking out a book to read its cover. "Not a lot of... running space though."

"That's okay, you're still new to all of this." R smiled reassuringly as he placed his squirrel friend on his shoulder. He then ran over to the ball, picking it up. "Come on, let's play a game of catch! I think this'll help get you used to things!"

Despite his instincts telling him otherwise, he smiles with a little nod, letting himself feel excited.

"Yeah, okay!"

Mama did say to keep an open mind to things.

Maybe his situation isn't as bad as it seems.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'm hoping this isn't too inaccurate or out of date >_<'

It's short because this is a bit of a toe-dip, cuz I don't wanna butcher another person's AU with too much inaccuracy. [That and I didn't want to make it seem like I'm picking at it, because I'm not trying to-]

#steven universe #steven universe au #su raised in corruption au #alternate universe #lil quartz #R #lab raised steven #crossover #au crossover #fan writing #sorry #i hyperfixated-#hope this is okay!

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xianjaneway · 5 months ago

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So, here's the thing.

I was in a cult.

I had no idea I was in a cult, because NO ONE KNOWS when they're in a cult. I thought I was just REALLY devoted to Jesus. 🙄

I got out of the cult. I got my husband & my kids out of the cult. I helped a lot of other people get out of the cult.

After a while, though, I just wanted a life that didn't involve cult-y things. What would I be like if I'd never been in the cult? Would I have still been a musician? Would I have had as many children? Would I ever have been diagnosed w/ADHD? What would my career have been? Would I have married the same man? Would I have healed from my upbringing in some different way?

We'll never know, but we can know what life is like AFTER the cult. THAT is the option open to me now.

You know what I didn't do while I was in the cult?

Read.

I didn't read fiction books anymore.

And I had a degree in Creative Writing!

Know why?

Because I was supposed to, "....take every thought captive, & make it obedient to Christ!"

Thoughts lead to actions, and sin in real life begins with your thought life.

Aaaaaannd, if I were to read a book with, let's say, a sex scene in it, & it made me have sexy thoughts about someone who was NOT MY HUSBAND, then that's a sin.

Not just against God, but against MY HUSBAND.

Yep. My sexy thoughts are supposed to start AND end with him & him alone. Anything outside that is like bringing other people into our marriage. It's LIKE ADULTERY.

Folks, as you know, most fiction books don't have a rating system like AO3.

You can't filter them quite as easily.

I could be reading a hardboiled-detective noir mystery set in Appalachia in 1987, thinking we're about to explore a hidden robotics lab that's tucked behind a waterfall, but SUDDENLY, SEX!!!

And, regardless of how I reacted to the words on the page, by letting myself read any of them, I was (seriously!) giving the Devil a foothold.

To my neurodivergent brain, (which was also raising up to 4 small children & working night shift) it was simply easier to stop reading fiction written for the secular market, than it was to try & research which authors would do a fade-to-black.

A researcher named Steven Hassan came up with the "B.I.T.E Model of Authoritarian Control." He shows how cults control:

Behavior.

Information.

Thought.

Emotion.

Look him up, if you want to understand why your Trump-loving relatives have lost their minds. 💔

I'm just sorry.

On behalf of all the Christian nationalists who are making life hell for everyone now, I'm TRULY sorry that I ever believed any of this bullshit.

Cults get ahold of you when you're vulnerable. It can even be argued that the churches (yes, plural) that I was in were at one point NOT a cult, & slowly became a cult, over a period of decades.

As I'm trying to live my non-cult-y life, I'm just so damn thankful that fanfiction exists.

See, there are only so many things I can talk about in therapy, & there are only so many experiences I can go have in any given day.

However, I have HYPERLEXIA, baby, & a job with plenty of boring-AF tasks!

I read over 700 wpm.

And since I'm a woodworker & eBay seller, (who also has Long COVID--thanks Anti-vaxxers!) I work by myself a lot.

I found a lovely app called Evie, which lets me download fics, & it READS THEM ALOUD to me.

And, as I've re-discovered fiction, I've realized that I'm processing a lot of emotions that simply HAD NO LANGUAGE OR OUTLET before I read your stories.

Yeah.

If I left you a bunch of weirdly-vulnerable comments in your fics, THAT'S WHY.

Because that's what cults do: they take your language away, your emotions away, & your choices away, & then, to add insult to injury, they use your energy, your fucking life-force, to further their own agenda, whatever it is.

And yet you people....

You brain-rotted, fandom-obesessed, encyclopedias of pop culture that you are, have churned out incredible, moving, healing, BEAUTIFUL, SKILLFUL pieces of fiction that are HELPING ME HEAL FROM IT ALL.

I'll never forget the day my husband said something that irritated me, but I'd read the sweetest Good Omens fic earlier, where Aziraphale had responded to Crowley's grumpiness with a funny quip. I'd invited something *kind* to be planted in me, & was able to respond to my husband in kindness.

I'd spent such a long time marinating in the cult's expectations, & their promises for eternity.

It's so damn nice to read about real human emotions, experiences, struggles, relationships, or whatever, just to wash my brain with a different perspective.

Maybe it's old news to all of you who didn't spend the last 25+ years in a cult, but fiction helped develop my under-nourished empathy. It lubricated the rusty gears of my brain, with new words & new experiences. It gave me a new dictionary & thesaurus worth of words to describe my experiences & inner life.

Limiting information limits language, which limits thought, & ultimately limits action.

Every time you write, you help set someone free.

#fanfiction #fanfic writing #fanfic #good omens fanfiction #ofmd fanfic #marvel fanfiction #fanfiction is therapy #marvel #stuckony #stucky #cult #recovery #sherlock fanfic

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sjsmith56 · 2 days ago

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Stopping Winter, Chapter 3 - Azzano

Summary: September, 1943. Steven Grant is an agent in Army CIC, trying to keep the 107th away from Azzano without raising suspicion. When the order is given to the Regiment to prepare to move north, Sergeant Bucky Barnes tries to prepare his squad for the worse.

Length: 4.9 K

Characters: General Phillips, Steve Rogers, OMC, Bucky Barnes, Dum Dum Dugan, Gabe Jones, Major Montgomery Falsworth

Warnings and other notes: Explanation of Romani terms were taken from the American Journal of Comparative Law https://repositories.lib.utexas.edu/server/api/core/bitstreams/2efc49d8-e2f3-48dd-897b-15450cae8fa2/content. If you are of Roma descent and wish to correct me if I got anything wrong, please do. The Romani leader referred to, Jovan Sakić, is portrayed in the one shot Starting From Scratch in the collection From There to Here. He is part of Steve Rogers original timeline before the latter’s return to the past.

<<Chapter 2

Final week of September 1943. Main US Army base, somewhere north of Rome.

"Special Agent Grant, I don't need someone from military intelligence telling me how to do my job," drawled an irritated General Chester Phillips, looking at the man in front of him.

"Sir, with all due respect, my job is to advise you of the possible consequences of the orders you give, especially when they involve full units of soldiers, like the 107th Infantry," replied Grant, who had showed up about a month previous with orders from General Eisenhower himself to provide information to the General on the deployment of HYDRA forces in northern Italy, near the border with Austria.

The fact they were forged orders hadn't yet been discovered. Nor had General Phillips, Agent Peggy Carter, or anyone else who had been in the secret lab when Dr. Erskine was killed been able to notice more than a passing resemblance between Special Agent Steven Grant and Captain America, Steve Rogers, currently finishing up his war bond tour in the United States before coming to Europe to entertain the troops. No one that is, except Howard Stark, already in the know, who had been able to pull strings to get Grant a legitimate commission equivalent to that of a Major in the Counter Intelligence Corps (known as Army CIC). This was the same division that would implement "Operation Paper Clip" at the end of the war, taking custody of German scientists before the Russians did and bringing them to the United States to continue their work. It was the same operation that would allow Arnim Zola free reign to continue his research, an event that Steven Grant wouldn't allow to happen.

It helped that Grant's hair was now dark, and he wore glasses. Like other agents of Army CIC, he wore plain clothes, except for a U.S. collar insignia, to signify he had a rank. He wore a fedora hat and had grown a beard to further disguise his appearance. Unlike other agents he "apparently" didn't speak another language but with Howard's help did find a young corporal, David Rose, whose name was provided to him in 2023 by an American Romani leader who had helped Bucky get to Bucharest in 2014. Apparently, Rose was known to have been involved in undercover work during the war. Fluent in German, Polish, and some Russian, as well as the Roma language, Rose became Grant's translator, and right-hand man in the army camp in Italy, where General Phillips oversaw the deployment of the land army infantry units. That future Romani leader, a man named Jovan Sakić, provided a list of words and symbols to the former Steve Rogers, that would identify him to Rose as a man to trust implicitly. Getting Rose transferred to Army CIC after finding him had been easy, again with Stark's help.

There were times when Grant wondered if this part had happened before as he navigated through this timeline trying to change it enough so that Bucky didn't get taken prisoner in Azzano. Right now, as he looked at the stubborn general, he resisted the urge to grab the man by the throat and shake some sense into him.

"You see, that's what bothers me about you," said General Phillips, interrupting Grant's thoughts, placing his stony gaze on the agent. "Your fixation on the 107th. They're infantry, Special Agent Grant. They're supposed to go into the field, fire their guns, and meet the enemy on the battleground. If you were a real soldier, you would know that."

"Sir, I served," answered Grant, struggling to stay respectful. "I've seen my share of battle, more than my share. That's why I do what I do now. I make sure that no one is sacrificed if they don't need to be. You sending the 107th into the Azzano area to form a second front could result in them being surrounded, cut off from reinforcements, and almost certainly end in major casualties and capture. Why submit them to that if the objective isn't important?"

"All objectives are important," declared Phillips. "That's been decided by better minds than you or me. They're already halfway there so they're the only ones who can be sent in. Now if you don't mind?"

Just like that Grant was dismissed and he stepped outside the tent where Rose was waiting.

"No dice, huh?" asked the brown-haired corporal. "Explain it to me why it's so important to delay the 107th?" Grant glared at him. "Right, you'll be interfering with the natural order of things. You being here has already done that." Grant looked at him with some alarm. "Relax, I heard you and Stark talking over a whiskey. The man isn't exactly discreet when he's had a few."

Taking the young corporal by the arm Grant led him to an area out of earshot. "Just what is it that you think you know?" he asked Rose.

"I think you know about stuff that hasn't happened yet," he said carefully. "It started with the symbols and words you gave me. No outsider I know of is aware of what those words mean to a Roma. Another Roma would have had to give that to you, and no offence, Grant, but you don't seem like the type who would be in with my people. How did you know my background? It's not on my enlistment papers so someone had to tell you and no one in my family would, unless I was needed for something big. I'm not going to blow your cover. I just want to know what's going on."

The taller man looked around, making sure they were still quite alone. "You're right, the words and your name were given to me as someone I could recruit to help me in this time," he said, fixing his gaze on Rose. "Have you ever heard of HYDRA?"

"Yeah, Nazi science division, headed by a guy rumoured to be crazy," said the corporal. "They're up to some crazy shit as well. There are rumours he uses Jews, queers, Roma and PoWs as slave labour and as subjects for experiments."

Steve nodded, realizing Rose knew a lot more than the average soldier. "If the 107th are sent to that northern front it won't work," said Grant. "Most of them will be killed or captured and taken to a HYDRA factory in Austria as slave labour and for several unlucky few, subjects in a project to create their own super soldier."

"You know that as a fact?" It was said as a statement and a question. "Are we going in to hit that factory?"

"It will be hit but not by us," said Grant. "I'm just making sure that the 107th aren't sent in there too early because the guy who does go in to get them doesn't get here for another month. Unless things have changed ...."

Corporal Rose smirked. "My kirvi, my godmother, sometimes sees things," he said. "She's a drabarni, a seer. She'd pull one of us aside at a family gathering, or a wedding, and say she dreamed that we did something or that something will happen to us. Before Pearl Harbour, I was at a gathering and all of the men were sitting, having a drink while the women prepared a feast. My kirvi calls to me. Čhavo, that means boy, come, I must talk to you. Until I get married, I'm considered a boy." He looked up at Grant to make sure he was paying attention. "Someday, you will be in Italy as a soldier and a gadžo, that's a non-Roma man, will need your help. It is meant to be, it is kintala, which is kind of a pairing that balances things. So, I'm here to be your guide in whatever you need to do because what you are doing here is patjivalo, honourable. You can tell me more, if you trust me, but if you don't, I'll still help you. Do you understand?"

Steven nodded, puzzled by this Romani soldier who had so far done everything he had asked of him. Although he had tried to keep the man somewhat at arm's length he realized that perhaps he was meant to confide in him. His knack for languages, and ability to scrounge resources had already proven helpful.

"I'm here to keep my friend from being taken by HYDRA, although that's seeming to become more difficult," said Steven. "I'm also here to prevent some people from being killed, including a pair of Polish-born sisters. They're part Roma, through their mother. They've already been conscripted by the Nazis and will be forced into HYDRA, against their will. In my ... time ... they tried to help my friend who was taken by HYDRA to become their super soldier, completely under their control. Obviously, I'm trying to prevent that from happening to him but I'm also trying to prevent their deaths, and any other people they have as the subjects of their experiments."

"So, you're not from this time?" asked Rose, tentatively.

"Not exactly," said Steven, deciding to go all in with the man. "I was but I ended up frozen in a glacier for over 65 tears. When I was awakened it was the future and I didn't know that my friend had been a prisoner of HYDRA all that time." Rose frowned, not quite understanding. A couple of soldiers were walking nearby, and Grant stopped talking for several minutes before resuming. "Originally, I was Steve Rogers, Captain America. I'll try to change it so the current Captain America, also Steve Rogers doesn't end up in that glacier. So, I'm him but a future him but obviously not the him he is now ... does that make sense?"

A grin spread across Rose's face. "No, but Kirvi Marie said I had to help you so I will. Even if it doesn't make sense. But if you're looking for two specific women of Roma descent, well, that might take some doing. Do you know where they are?"

"I know their names and the countries where they were killed but my coming here may have changed the times." Steven shrugged. "I have leads but basically I'm working on faith here."

"Alright," said Rose, as if he was all in. "We could probably do with some others. I can keep an eye out for the right sort of person, open minded people. It doesn't necessarily mean Roma but you're going to need a team of some sort for us to get to certain places. Let me know where and when things were supposed to happen, and I'll see what I can do."

He stuck his hand out and Steven looked at it. "Is this some secret Roma handshake?" he asked dubiously.

"No, it's just a regular one between two men who have agreed to work together," said Rose, then he muttered. "Secret Roma handshake. Where did you hear that?"

Grinning at each other the two men headed towards the Jeep that had been assigned to them. Rose was right about one thing. This was too big of a job for one or even two men. Special Agent Steven Grant needed to form his own group of open-minded people who could help him find the people that needed saving. He just hoped that Bucky's capture didn't happen this early, well before the USO tour and Steve Rogers arrived to undertake the rescue. That rescue is what led to the Howling Commandos, something that was necessary to the overall task of eliminating HYDRA before they ever infiltrated further. Grimly, he remembered what the Ancient One told him after his arrival that was two years earlier than was expected. It was possible he couldn't stop Bucky from being captured but he still had to look at the big picture, of keeping him from becoming the Winter Soldier.

"Special Agent Grant?"

He knew that voice, having dreamed of it for years. Even when she was an old woman in the throes of dementia it held his attention. Turning to the dark-haired Englishwoman approaching them he tried not to let his thoughts betray him.

"Agent Carter," he replied. "How can I help you?"

"What was that all about?" she asked. "Do you have intelligence on HYDRA movements that we don't?"

"What makes you think I was talking about HYDRA?" he countered. "I didn't mention the name."

"You didn't have to," she replied. "General Phillips is right about one thing. You are fixated on the 107th."

"I read the casualty reports. They've lost about a quarter of their men and now they're going up against some very experienced units of the Wehrmacht. Nothing good will come out of it." She stood there staring at him until he sighed, realizing he had to give her something. "I'll admit that I know some people in the unit. Good men who will give their all. There's nothing in the regulations that says I can't be looking out for our soldiers."

"I didn't think that was a function of Army CIC," she answered guardedly.

"I'm not a regular agent either," he admitted. "Let's just say I've been given the latitude to act independently at times. I may have intelligence that you don't." She began to interrupt but he put his hand up. "I don't have permission to share that intelligence as it may put the sources of it in jeopardy. That's all I can tell you."

Both he and Rose got into the Jeep as she came up to the side of the vehicle. "Then tell me this much," she said, pulling a paper out of her pocket, showing Captain America's upcoming itinerary. "Why did you have this?"

Grant looked at it and allowed the edges of his mouth to curl up in a slight smile. "You've been in my quarters. Let's just say that I disagree with General Phillips decision to leave the man back home, playing at being Captain America. I think he should be given the opportunity to be what he was supposed to be." She looked at him, surprised. "I know all about him, about the process, about the serum, the Vita-Ray radiation. I'm in intelligence, Agent Carter. It's my job to know. When he gets here, I want him to show the world that the war effort needs him. Have a good day, ma'am."

He smiled at her, then nodded at Rose to drive, leaving her standing there, wondering how this strange man from the Army Counter Intelligence Corps knew one of the biggest secrets of the United States war effort. There was something else about him, something familiar, but so far she hadn't been able to figure out what it was. She looked at the itinerary. Whatever Agent Grant was up to it had to have something to do with Steve Rogers, of that she was certain.

Somewhere north of Rome, Italy - 107th Infantry Regiment, last week of September 1943

The company wasn't going to like it, thought Sergeant Bucky Barnes as he left the command tent with the lieutenant and three fellow sergeants. Even the West Point graduate was fuming and stopped to take a cigarette pack out of his pocket, offering one to each of the sergeants and lighting theirs before lighting up his own. They all took a drag then Lieutenant John Heston looked around them to make sure no one was close by.

"Well," he drawled, "at least we know what the objective is. How the hell we're supposed to achieve it with our numbers is beyond me."

Barnes said nothing; neither did the others. It wasn't their job to contradict the lieutenant, especially when he was right. Taking another drag of his cigarette Barnes looked around the camp of newly erected tents, glad they had those finally. Those tents had followed them for weeks as they fought north from Rome, pushing back against the German Wehrmacht infantry divisions but only catching up with the 107th now, giving them decent shelter, including showers and a real mess tent. But now ... now they were being rushed back into action instead of being allowed to rest, heal from their wounds, and wait for reinforcements, as they were down to about 15 men per squad, instead of the 20 each that originally made up the four squads of A Company. The two other companies were facing the same issue. Going north towards the Gothic Line, the plan was to break through and fight right up to the Alps bordering Austria. It was supposed to be a pincer move, cutting off the German divisions still in the eastern half of Italy. Sure, it might work, but with their numbers Barnes doubted they could hold that line long enough. More likely was the chance they would be surrounded by the Wehrmacht and slaughtered.

"I'll give the guys in my squad the bad news," he said to the lieutenant. "At least we get two nights in the tents and hot food."

"Thanks," said the young officer, gratefully. "Gentlemen, I'll see about getting some extra ammo and rations. We're going to need it."

Nodding at each other, Barnes and the other sergeants left Heston there. He felt bad for the guy, as he took his first command seriously and had gone out of his way several times to make sure the men had what they needed. When you got right down to it, he was just as much at the mercy of the generals who thought up this cockamamie scheme as the enlisted men were. As he approached their grouping of tents, he saw Dum Dum sitting out in front of the one they shared, whittling a piece of wood; trying to make another whistle for one of his kids, probably. Even out here, thousands of miles away he was still a doting father. The big man looked up expectantly at Barnes.

"Sarge? What's the news? Are we getting a break from the action?"

"Not likely, Corporal," he said, making Dum Dum wince, as Barnes only ever addressed him by rank whenever it was bad. "Gather the men to meet here asap."

Ten minutes later Sergeant Bucky Barnes had his squad gathered around him. He looked at Dum Dum and Gabe, guys he had been close with through basic training. Most of the others had also been at Camp McCoy in Wisconsin for basic but he didn't get to know them well until they shipped out. A couple of guys were transfers from other units; ones that had been decimated in action. In the three months since they arrived, they had been in the middle of some pretty heavy fighting, going non-stop since landing in Salerno. He coughed, feeling some congestion bothering him, pretty sure his cold was going to get worse before it got better.

"What's the deal, Sarge?" asked Hoskins, a guy from Yonkers. "Are we waiting on reinforcements?"

"No, we're not," admitted Barnes. "We'll get tonight and tomorrow night here then we're back out in country. All three companies. We're headed towards the Gothic Line."

There were groans, not that he could blame them, but it was his job to make sure everyone was ready to do theirs.

"Stop being moaning Minnies," said Barnes. "The lieutenant is going to get us more ammo and rations. Make sure you take as much as you can carry. Wash your socks, check your boots for leaks, make sure your weapons are operational, you know the drill. If you want to write home, do it now or tomorrow morning at the latest. Mail goes out at 16:00 tomorrow. Hand your letters to Corporal Dugan before then. Any questions?"

"Yeah, how do we get out of this chicken shit outfit?" asked Spumoni, a nickname meaning "ice cream" as his real last name was Spinosi, another Brooklyn boy.

"When you find out let me know," joked Barnes. "That's it, that's the announcement. Dismissed."

There was still some mumbling but the others, except for Dum Dum and Gabe, dispersed. Gesturing with his head to follow him, Barnes went inside the tent. Taking his cigarettes out he offered them each one, although they lit theirs up themselves.

"Bucky, how bad is it?" asked Dum Dum.

"We could end up surrounded on all sides," he replied, tiredly. "No chance of reinforcements either. I'm only telling you because I trust you two not to say anything. If I buy the farm, I would appreciate you writing my parents. I'll do the same for you."

"Anyone else?" asked Dum Dum.

"Yeah, Eleanor Warren and I are still friends," smiled Bucky. "Thanks. You can write to Steve Rogers and send it to my parents. They'll make sure he gets it."

The other two men headed out leaving Bucky there as he laid back on his bunk. These latest orders were crazy. They were already low on numbers, plus many of them were fighting illness, either colds like him or worse, dysentery. Still, those weren't considered reasons to stay back, not unless you passed out in front of the general. Even then the stone-faced old bastard would tell you to shake it off. Bucky reached into his pocket for his wallet, pulling out the group picture of his parents, his sister Rebecca, and Steve.

"Glad you're not here, buddy," he said out loud. "Wish I knew what you were doing."

His mother had written him about Steve suddenly being drafted into a special division of the army. It was all hush hush but at least he was back in the States doing whatever it was he was doing, and not here where the conditions would likely kill the little guy. A fit of coughing overtook him again and he rolled onto his side, hoping it would lessen. Fuck, he felt like shit.

Two days later the men of the 107th boarded trucks, heading to a rendezvous closer to the front. They were replacing another battalion; one whose numbers were worse than theirs. Those lucky bastards would get the ride back to the base camp while the men of the 107th would begin advancing deeper towards enemy lines. For several weeks the three companies pressed forward, fighting many battles against the Germans and pushing the line closer towards Austria. With more casualties and injuries that sent soldiers off the line the luck of all three companies of the 107th finally ran out in the third week of October. As feared by Special Agent Steven Grant most of the 107th Regiment became surrounded by five mortar divisions of the German army, near the village of Azzano in northern Italy. They were pounded relentlessly by the bombs, losing many of their commanders, including Lieutenant Heston, in charge of A Company. Barnes, aware that B Company wasn't yet surrounded ordered contact be made for support from them, but their radio had been rendered useless by shrapnel damage. Before he could send a runner, they came under attack by an advance of the German infantry unit attached to the mortar division and retreated to the craters left behind by the mortar attacks, to begin what looked like the final defence of their position.

Out of the darkness blue flashes of light sped towards the German infantry, vaporizing the soldiers as they were hit. Puzzled by what seemed to be support of their position the remaining men in the 107th stood up, watching as a behemoth tank came over the rise, firing at the now retreating German infantry. Suddenly, it stopped, then the turret turned towards them. With several men yelling to take cover in the craters left by the mortar blasts the remaining members of the company huddled there, defenceless against the strange cannon that shot those blue flamed flashes. As quickly as the attack happened it ended and Bucky Barnes, along with the others still alive in his company, were surrounded by troops dressed in black armour-like coverings. As these strange soldiers pointed large rifles at them, seemingly powered by a glowing blue component, the Americans heard a word, aufgeben being yelled at them.

"They want us to surrender," said Private Gabe Jones, fluent in German. "Bucky, what do we do?"

The young sergeant grimaced. "Tell them we surrender. What choice do we have? We can't fight against those guns."

As they were rounded up Barnes asked Dum Dum to estimate a head count. While they were herded away from the battlefield they could see the dead, as well as the other survivors being brought to their position.

"As best as I can tell there's about a hundred of us," said the corporal. "There aren't many from B Company in the dead or in this group so maybe some of them got away and can bring reinforcements to rescue us."

"From that tank?" asked Barnes. "You saw what that cannon fired. We've got nothing that can defend against that. Our war is over, Dum Dum."

More German was yelled at the Americans by the mystery soldiers which Gabe translated into an order for the survivors to march. At first, they stumbled in the dark, overwhelmed by the carnage around them. As more orders were given to increase their pace it seemed anyone unable to keep up were shot and the healthier soldiers began supporting the weaker ones. After marching for what seemed like a long time they were finally ordered to stop and allowed to sit. It was then that transport trucks arrived, and they were loaded into them, jammed shoulder to shoulder, even sitting on the truck bed. It was a rough ride that lasted hours. When it ended and the truck flap lifted from the back of the truck a blast of cool air hit them. Stepping out of the trucks as best they could the men saw they were at a large facility, surrounded by forest and the mountains.

"Where are we?" asked Gabe, in German, receiving a blow to the head for his trouble.

Bucky and Dum Dum sprang to his defence and were both hit down as well, sent to their knees with rifles poked into the back of their necks. At that moment Bucky began coughing and was hit again. Raising his hands in total surrender he calmed himself and was helped back up by Dum Dum and Gabe. The order was given for them to move, and they were shoved through a doorway, into what looked like a factory. As they were pushed and herded through the space, they noticed the workers were PoWs, definitely against the Geneva Convention. Dum Dum brought it up and received a shove in his side that had him ready to fight.

"Easy, Dugan," said Bucky, putting a hand on his arm. "These guys aren't German. Look at their uniforms. They have an octopus symbol with a skull for the head."

"What do you think it means?" asked the big man.

"I don't know but they don't seem to care about treating us right," said the young sergeant. "I need you, Dum Dum, so take it easy."

The prisoners finally reached their destination, a series of round cages with a walkway above it. There were no beds, or chairs, or bathroom facilities. Whoever these people were they didn't seem bothered with treating them as people and Bucky began wondering just what was going to happen to them. The three of them were pushed into a cage with two men already in it. Dugan fell against the one and the man, an Englishman, pushed back against the bigger man, telling him to bloody well stand up. That brought Dugan's fists up, ready to fight the Englishman, a major, by the look of the insignia on his collar.

"Stand down," wheezed Bucky, as he doubled over, coughing again. "Don't waste your energy on fighting amongst ourselves."

The major relaxed then pushed his hand out to Dugan. "My apologies, Corporal," he said precisely. "Major James Montgomery Falsworth. The bastards have been forcing us to compete for food, water, everything. Your sergeant is right that we should stick together."

Dum Dum nodded and grasped the man's hand, shaking it once. "Dum Dum Dugan. What's the deal with these guys?"

"They're called HYDRA," said Falsworth. "Originally the deep science division of the Nazis but their leader has set himself against the Nazis. This factory is in Austria and they're using PoWs to build their weapons and machines. This facility is under the command of a sadist named Colonel Lohmer. Try to avoid his notice. He has killed several men just for displeasing him."

The others introduced themselves but when Bucky began coughing again Falsworth looked at him with concern.

"Try to get better," he suggested. "I know that's an impossible task in these conditions but if you show weakness they will treat you worse. There's a scientist here, a Dr. Zola, who has been performing experiments on the prisoners. He takes the ones who can't work anymore and we never see them again."

Bucky nodded and stood up. From what Dugan told him when he did a head count, he was the highest-ranking soldier left of the 107th Regiment. The other lieutenants were dead or had escaped and there was just him and one other sergeant who was worse off than him. Those who were left of the 107th were his responsibility now and he didn't want to lose anyone. He just hoped that some of B Company managed to escape and would be able to raise the alarm about HYDRA. These guys needed to be stopped but at least they could sabotage what was being built in the factory until they were rescued. At least that was his plan.

Chapter 4>>

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