#shield of injustice

[sarahsmi13s]

Lieutenant Rogers - part 8

Safe Places

pairings: romantic!neil ‘omaha’ vikander x rogers!reader, platonic!dagger squad x rogers!reader, plantonic!sam wilson x rogers!reader, platonic!bucky barnes x rogers!reader

characters: y/n rogers, neil vikander, bob floyd, dagger squad, sam wilson, john walker (mentioned), lemar hoskins (mentioned), karli morgenthau (mentioned), nico (mentioned)

word count: ~8.7k

chapter warnings: language, murder, grief, isolation, fighting, talk of blood, crying, internalizing feelings, vomiting (no one pukes but there are mentions of it), slightly obsessive behaviors, omaha is a good boyfriend, star really needs a hug, please let me know if I missed any

a/n: hi... hello... i just want to thank you all for your immense patience with me. i'm so so sorry it's almost been a year sense the last update. i hope this chapter was worth the wait 💙

sources: Top Gun: Maverick (2022) , The Falcon and the Winter Soldier (2021)

chapter summary: in the wake of the publicized murder of a flag smasher, star has to wrestle with herself as she comes to terms with everything that has happened and anticipate what will happen in the fall out -- all the while omaha tries not to let his feelings overshadow hers

lieutenant rogers universe previous part || next part

You stared at your phone, the video stopped on a frame of the shield covered in blood. Your father’s shield, covered in blood. Covered in the blood of someone who was pleading for their life. It didn’t matter to you that they were a Flag Smasher. They were a fucking person.

Ice ran through your veins, a deathly chill capable of putting out the bonfire in front of you.

The one symbol of hope, the one piece of your father that you thought would keep a flame of his comfort burning in the world, was now smothered to nothing but bloodied ashes. His memory, his legacy, was now tainted. 

Swallowing the bitter taste of alcohol rising back up in your throat, you quietly excused yourself from the group.

You knew Omaha was watching you the whole time you trekked up the beach, your phone fighting for its life in your hand. He was going to give you your space, give you a moment to let yourself be angry and let it out before trying to console you. You needed a minute to be angry alone, then you both could be angry together.

He kept his eyes on you the whole time though, even as your face was illuminated by your phone screen as you called Sam.

You tried to take deep, calming breaths as you waited for Sam to pick up. 

It was morning time in Latvia, so you knew he would be awake. And if he wasn’t, you’d happily be his wake-up call.

Your thumb tapped on your fingers, index finger to pinky and back again, while your exhales fell out of trembling lips. You couldn’t puke. You weren’t going to puke. This was not the time to throw up. 

Saliva built up in your mouth, and your lips began to feel sticky – a tell-tale sign that you were probably going to vomit. Your stomach churned as you felt the buzzing heat of your nerves roll over your skin. 

You hated puking; you didn’t do it often. It was hard for you to get sick, and the serum also helped you to keep from puking after being in your plane. So, you being over the toilet or a trash can expelling the contents of your stomach wasn’t an event you experienced regularly. When it did happen, you were absolutely miserable.

You spit the built-up saliva out into the sand, your hand resting over your stomach as you hummed to try and ward away the nausea. 

Pick up the damn phone, Wilson, you thought as you closed your eyes and exhaled, head tilting up toward the navy blue sky.

Finally, just as you were about to hang up and try again, he answered, his tone already pleading and desperate.

“I know-” 

“What. The. Fuck did he do?” 

Sam’s words went unheard by you as you cut him off, hissing harshly into the receiver.

Anger and frustration rose up in place of the bile and alcohol that had been in your throat moments ago. Your words pushed the nausea out of the way.

Was your anger misplaced? You didn’t think so.

He promised you that he would keep John in line. Keep your father's legacy intact despite the catastrophe tasked with carrying it on. Sam gave you his word that he wouldn’t let Walker ruin it. 

And now, for John to go and do this? With Sam doing nothing to stop him?

As far as you were concerned, your anger towards him was justified.

“Y/N-”

“No, Sam! Don’t ‘Y/N’ me! What the hell happened?”

You weren’t about to let Sam try to calm you down. That wasn’t his place. Not after he failed to do the one thing he said he would.

Sam sighed, and the weight of it dampened the ringing in your ears slightly, a realization hitting you.

Sam was there. He watched it and everything that led up to it. He was just as angry about this situation as you were, not to mention the guilt and regret that probably weighed on his shoulders now, too.

Had your emotions jumped the gun? Did you lash out at Sam too quickly?

Despite that revelation there were things you couldn’t let go, justifications you were too stubborn to let go of. Stuck on his broken promise.

“Lemar Hoskins is dead. Karli killed him during a fight…”

Your heart sank.

You met Lemar once. It was before you left for the mission and only for a few minutes, but he seemed like such a sweet guy. He was there to support John and have his back; he was being a good friend.

And look where that got him…

You crossed your arm over your chest, your free hand gripping your bicep as your jaw clenched. “That’s-that’s unfortunate… but that doesn’t justify murder.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“He didn’t even kill Karli. Flag Smasher or not, that man was innocent.” You dug your foot into the sand, “He didn’t deserve to die.”

The ringing in your ears came back as the quiet slowly took over the call, Sam’s end unnervingly bare of words. Your jaw ticked in the silence, anger flaring up in your stomach. 

You finally broke it, letting yourself ask:

“Why didn’t you stop him? How could you allow this to happen?”

“Oh no, no, no, no. You’re not about to blame me for this,” Sam responded, his tone defensive and sharp.

Your free hand flew out to the side, your own defensiveness coming to light.

“You promised me, Sam! You gave me your word!”

In the midst of your shouting and arm flailing, you didn’t think about the possibility of there being people nearby. Nor did it occur to you that the scene you were making might make them uncomfortable – but, honestly, you didn’t really care.

“Don’t you think I would have stopped him if I could’ve? You really think that I just stood there and let him take an innocent life?”

The wild arm fell limp and slapped against your thigh, a huff escaping your lips. “Sam–”

“No, Y/N, it’s my turn to talk. While I understand your anger towards me, hell I’m angry towards me, but just give me a chance to explain. Please.”

You chewed on the inside of your cheek, your knee bouncing as you looked at the sand, “Okay… tell me what happened.” Your voice was a little softer, not as brassy or harsh, but still firm.

Sam let out a breath, taking a moment to collect the right words.

“After the fight, we all just scattered. Bucky and I got separated from John, and… by the time we got there, we were too late.”

You stayed quiet, your tongue swiping over your teeth as you let Sam continue.

“He ran off after he realized what he had done… Bucky and I went after him, tracked him down to an abandoned train station. When we got there, we confronted him and tried to get the shield back civilly, but John’s pride got in the way… it got ugly, but we got the shield back. It’s with me right now.”

You nodded, your thumb popping your fingers at your side as you drew in a breath. 

“What about Walker?” You need to change the focus, your tongue redirecting itself to form the question rather than the comment it really wanted to say.

“What do you mean?” Sam was clearly confused by the shift, but he welcomed it internally.

“Where is John, Sam?”

“They- His handlers, I guess is what they are, took him back to the States. Probably will have a hearing in a few days…” He trailed off, now wondering why you wanted to know Walker’s whereabouts. “What are you planning, Star?”

“Don’t worry about it, Wilson,” you snapped.

“Y/N–”

“You can’t stop me, Sam. Don’t try–”

“Walker took the serum, Y/N.” Your brow furrowed for a second as you processed the words Sam had interrupted you with, and the second you did – it felt like your organs turned to lead.

John Walker was a Super Soldier now? That’s just… fucking great and definitely not a huge problem for you.

You groaned a little and rubbed your forehead after you recovered from the slight shock, “I’m still going to confront him. I can’t sit in fucking silence about this. Not now…”

“And I don't expect you to. But you needed to know what you were walking into.”

You swallow and nod, “Well, thank you for that. I’ll umm.. I’ll keep that in mind.” After another beat of silence, Sam sighed a little, “Look, Y/N, we–”

You shook your head, “Later, Sam, this… this is not a conversation I want to have over the phone with just you. Bucky needs to be in on this, too.”

“Right, right, of course.” 

You nodded and shook out your hand, “Bye, Sam.”

“Talk later, kid.”

After hanging up, you rubbed your face before shoving your phone in your pocket and walking toward the shore.

You needed a second to breathe. You just got back from a high-stress mission, and now Walker has desecrated the only thing left of your father in this world that people put meaning to. And you knew that by tomorrow morning, newspapers, magazines, and the news reporters would be on your ass trying to get a statement.

Were you going to respond? Hell no. Why? Because you didn’t need your words twisted and thrown out into the world for people to use for their own agenda.

But you would deal with that in the morning. Right now, you just need to think and take a breath.

A chilled, salty breeze cooled your heated skin and brought notice to the hot tears of frustration on your cheeks.

“Shit,” you mumbled as you wiped them from your face. “Get it together, Rogers..”

“Honey,” Neil said gently to announce his presence before he touched your shoulders. 

You sucked in a breath, “‘m fine, baby…” He shook his head and turned you to face him, “No, Star-light, you’re not.”

More tears sprung to your eyes, and you looked down in an attempt to fight them off. “No, Neil, I’m f-”

He tilted your chin up, “Stop lying to yourself. You’re not okay, you’re pissed. You have every right to be upset.” His thumb reached up to swipe a tear away, “Please don’t hold it in…”

Your lip quivered, and you inhaled sharply, shaking your head, “I have to be strong. I can’t fucking cry just because I’m angry.” You pulled back a little and harshly wiped your eyes, not missing the look on your boyfriend’s face. 

You knew he was just looking out for you and you knew he was right. But you had a mission and you needed to focus. You could break down later – breaking down would cause you to shut down, and you didn’t have time to shut down.

Omaha sighed and helped wipe away the tears that escaped, “Sweetheart, you shouldn’t hold this in – it’s okay to cry…” He held your shoulders and looked into your eyes, “Scream, yell, cry, punch something-”

“Neil, I appreciate this, all of it. I do. But you just don’t understand what’s going on in my brain and in my heart right now.”

“Then help me understand. I want to be there for you.”

You sighed sadly, “I wish I could explain it, but I can’t. And you are here for me, Neil. Because you’re who I’m gonna fall on when the weight of this crashes down on me, you are going to be my rock.” You cupped his face in your hands, “You are my rock. I just… I need to face this first.”

He nodded and kissed your palm before kissing your fingertips as he moved one of your hands to his chest. “I love you, Star-light.” You smiled softly at him, “I love you too, Oma.” 

Omaha kissed your forehead before wrapping his arms around you, “You wanna head home?” You sniffled and nodded against his neck, “Please, if I stay, I’m afraid I’ll ruin the mood…” He nodded and rubbed your back, “C’mon Doll, let’s go home. I’ll send someone a text and let them know what’s goin’ on.”

You nodded and pulled back from the hug but stayed tucked under his arm as you both walked to Neil’s Jeep.

The ride home was nearly silent. The only sound in the Jeep was the radio, which had been turned down as low as it could go while still being audible.

Your left hand was threaded with his right one, your thumb pressing down on his knuckle like a button. The tip of his thumb moved up and down, letting itself be manipulated. Neil always made sure to keep his hand loose and moveable when you were tense or anxious. He knew how little control you felt you had in this situation, how you felt like the entire universe was crashing down on you, and you had nothing to get the pieces back in their rightful place.

So he could give you this. He could let you squeeze and press and twist and pull, trace whatever lines or patterns you needed to to ease your nerves. To let you feel in control of something.

Omaha knew better than to ask you questions. Your conversation with Sam was a private thing and something that you would talk to him about when you were ready. He didn’t need to push you for information or to talk about your feelings right now, and he trusted that if it was something you thought he needed to know, you would tell him.

That trust didn’t stop him from worrying, though.

He could handle your anxious silence. He understood it. But that doesn’t mean he liked it. 

He knew that your mind wasn’t putting together coherent thoughts, each one overlapping the next until it was just a cacophony of things that overwhelmed you to the core. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the tears in your lash line, welling up and making your eyes glossy. They beaded up on your eyelashes like dew on blades of grass in the morning. They gorgeously reflected any light that they could catch – the moonlight, streetlights, headlights of the few cars that passed you. But you didn’t let them roll over, catching them on the back of your finger before they had the chance.

Your chest stuttered softly with your shaky inhales, something he would have never noticed if he hadn’t learned all of your habits over the course of your five-year relationship. You tried to keep your breathing soft and controlled, quiet enough so you didn’t worry Neil. 

He’d also catch you attempting to pick at your lips, squeezing your hand every once in a while to divert your attention and let you know that he saw you. Usually, you’d give him an absent-minded squeeze back, and your hand would move to your chest, your thumb rubbing against the words scribbled across your collarbone and your heart thumping against it in time with the pulse he could feel against his own wrist.

He almost didn’t want to go home. He could sit in silence in the car, drive around for hours in this silence. In this silence, you were right next to him, holding his hand. This silence wasn’t despair; it wasn’t as heartbreaking as the silence at home.

At home… at home, you had more room to be distant. You had space to be alone, away from him. He understood that you needed space, but he hated it when you would isolate yourself in your own home. You’d tuck yourself into the corner of the couch and just try to figure it out by yourself. You’d completely detach yourself and go into focus mode, locking on to figuring out how to fix this situation – one that couldn’t really be fixed.

When he finally decided to pull into the house, you didn't do what he expected. Omaha expected you to yank your hand from his and bolt into the house to find a corner to hide in.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you swallow, sniffling slightly as you turn from the window to face Neil. He squeezed your hand, letting you know he was still there and he wasn’t going anywhere without you.

“I’m going to DC…”

You didn’t look up at him as you spoke, afraid you’d break if you looked into his eyes. His kindness and understanding swam in them, conveying his feelings so his words never had to. And they were your safe place.

His eyes were kaleidoscopes of colors. The light manipulated them beautifully, capturing each shade in its individuality and in their unity. They were gorgeous. They were home.

They could be the soft dirt, warm, comforting, and inviting – ready for something to hold. Or they were the grass or the trees, fields and forests of serenity and calmness – a place you could find peace. Or they were the sky or the ocean, two of the greatest expanses on earth – a place you felt in control and a place that showed you just how delicate you could be, a place you could relax and let go.

They were all of those things…

They were Neil.

You squeezed his hand, grounding yourself with the chill of his skin against the heat of yours. You took a deep breath, tracing the veins on the back of his hands to focus.

“You-you don’t have to come with me. This is last minute, and we just got home, but–”

“Star-light, I’m going with you. Whether it’s to be your support, your back up, or your alibi – I’m going.”

He knew that you weren’t asking his permission to go to DC, nor were you really asking him to go with you. But he was going. He wasn’t letting you go all the way across the country alone. He’d stay at the hotel or in the Airbnb if you wanted, but he was going to be within reach of you – that was non-negotiable. 

“I… This isn’t going to be some fun trip. I think you know why I’m going… So I want you to think about this.”

Neil didn’t need to know and he wasn’t going to ask questions, either. You would tell him why, probably were about to, before he interrupted you. And he could only assume it had to do with that video and your phone call with Sam. 

“I don’t need to. When it comes to you, to this, I’m going to be by your side. You want to face John, let him know that you know what he’s done and that he fucked up. I’m just gonna be there so you don’t get yourself hurt or in trouble.”

He squeezed your hand again, “I’m your partner, your wingman. I am here for you, whenever you need me.”

He watched your face carefully as he spoke, catching the quirk of the corners of your mouth before you sobered up and nodded.

“I’ll um… I’ll get the tickets after we get inside. They’ll be shitty, but they’re last minute…”

“As long as they’re next to each other, I don’t care.” 

And that was true. He didn’t care where you sat in the plane – just that you sat together. He wanted – no, he needed to be next to you. Being there for you is his priority right now.

You swallowed and nodded once more, caging his hand between yours.

“I will do my best.” 

He hated how quiet your voice was. It wasn’t a normal quiet. It was meek and powerless. You sound defeated and scared. 

You were none of those things. And seeing you this way broke his heart.

His free hand moved to the back of your head, pulling you toward him gently as he leaned in. He pressed his lips to your forehead, eyes closing as he tried to pour every ounce of love and comfort he could muster into it.

And it seemed to transfer.

Your shoulders relaxed as he felt your shaky exhale brush the skin of his neck.

His eyes stayed closed as he spoke against your skin, “I love you, Star-light.” 

You nodded against his lips, feeling comfort in your chest at the vibration of his low voice against your forehead. His voice was smooth with a slight rasp, similar to warm dark chocolate with a shot of whiskey mixed in – it was just… peaceful.

It took over the other voices that were shouting in your head. All it took was the low whisper of those four words to dampen the screaming. Those voices were still there, but Neil’s made its presence known, and that was enough to get them to back off a little.

“I love you too, Oma. So so much…”

Your voice was still soft, but there was a strength that returned to it. It sounded fuller, not as hollow as it had before.

Omaha wasn’t sure how long that would last, but he would take the win.

He pulled back after pressing another kiss to your forehead, and his hand moved to the side of your neck, his thumb caressing your jaw. “Let’s go in. We need some sleep so we can get up and pack.” 

You nodded, inhaling deeply to ground yourself before exiting the safety of the Jeep.

Neil smiled softly at you, hoping to get you to smile back. And you did… But he knew that you’d done it out of reflex rather than because you felt like smiling.

You turned your head and kissed the palm of his hand, squeezing the one you were holding before you pulled away completely and got out of the Jeep. 

He sighed as your door shut, and he unbuckled himself, getting out to meet you at the front door.

After getting inside, you silently moved around the house. 

Both of you had already rinsed your legs and feet of sand and emptied your shoes before leaving, so you didn’t have to worry about that at all. So, you just quietly went to the kitchen and got your laptop before you walked towards your bedroom.

“Hey,” Neil said, gently catching your arm as you walked past him. “I’m gonna take a shower before I go to bed. Do you want-”

“I’ll shower after you. I want to make sure I get these tickets ordered, and that I can snag a decent flight time. I’m hoping there’s still some left for this morning.” Your voice was breathless, almost as if you had been holding your breath as you moved through the house. The words sounded rushed and rehearsed like you had been waiting for him to ask. Your mind was already set on showering separately.

All Omaha could do was nod. He could try to convince you to join him, tell you he’d wait for you to order the tickets – but your mind was made up. 

“Alright, I’ll be quick.” 

“You don’t have to. Take as long as you need.”

Something in your voice and the way your eyes looked down at where his hand gripped your bicep made his stomach feel heavy. 

You were reverting again. Going back to that corner he thought he had pulled you away from. Isolating yourself again when he was right there. 

He was right there. 

All you had to do was just let him sit with you. Or take his hand and let him pull you up. 

You would talk to him when you were ready. He knew that. But he didn’t like that you were trying to face this all on your own because you felt like you were alone. You weren’t. 

He was right there.

But he nodded, knowing if he pushed, you would back away or lash out like a scared and wounded animal. The opposite of what he wanted. “Alright…”

You gave him another closed-mouth smile and kissed his shoulder before settling in the bedroom.

He rubbed his face, a frustrated sigh left his lips before he shook his head to himself and went to the laundry room to toss two towels into the dryer before grabbing a clean one for himself.

Walking into the bedroom, he saw you sitting on top of the covers with your laptop on your desk tray as you bit your nails. He sighed sadly and walked over, grabbing a piece of gum from your vanity on the way. 

He moved your hand away from your mouth, his grip gentle on your wrist as he held out the gum to you.

No words needed to be exchanged, just a silent moment between you both before he left you alone on the bed to take his shower.

Neil stood under the stream, the hot water drenching his hair and running down his face. 

He avoided his music, knowing that it would do nothing to change his mood. He needed the silence – bask in the steam and the rhythmic beating of water on the titles around him. 

His head fell back, letting the water pelt him in the face as he took deep breaths. In front of him, his hands balled into fists when he inhaled and relaxed as he exhaled. 

Neil needed this. He needed this moment, to be alone and vulnerable behind the closed door – out of your sight. 

There was irony in it; he knew that. The irony when he ran off to hide in the safety of the bathroom so you didn’t have to see him break. Didn’t have to watch him replay every moment over and over in his head. You were going through enough, and he wasn’t about to let you see his hurt or his worry just yet. This wasn’t about him, and he wasn’t going to make it about him.

So, that’s why he was here, standing under the showerhead with his eyes closed, the events on the beach replayed behind his eyelids like a movie.

******

His stomach churned as he watched the video from over your shoulder. The pleads of the young man not going unheard. Then, the sickening crack of the shield being driven into his chest. He heard it again and again… and again. 

John Walker murdered someone. And the whole world saw it.

Rage drove up in his throat, slamming on the brakes and leaving a disgusting burnt taste on his tongue. 

It was almost a metallic taste, a morbid mimicry of the paused frame that lit up your features. 

Your expression seemed blank, shocked at the horrendous act. But your eyes told a different story. 

As they scanned over your phone screen, Neil could see the pain creep in. He watched them crack, breaking as they reflected the blood-stained shield.

Your nose twitched subtly as your lip quivered. He glanced at your hands, noticing how they shook slightly. He doubted that you noticed the tremor, just staring with unblinking eyes at your phone.

“Honey…” 

He wanted to get your attention but not startle you. Your fellow pilots began to stare, concern and pity etched on their faces. He needed to get you out of this, pull you away from the prying eyes and the inevitable questions they would bombard you with.

The squad would try to coddle you. Tip-toe around subjects to try not to make you cry. Or ask invasive questions that you weren’t ready to answer. They meant well, sure, but it wouldn’t help you. It wouldn’t make this situation better. Nothing would…

“Doll-”

You swallowed, your hands dropping to your sides as you excused yourself to trek up the sand wanting a moment alone. Your arm flexed as you had a death grip on your phone.

“Omaha, I didn’t-”

“I know, Garcia,” Neil mumbled as he turned to keep an eye on you, his back to the bonfire. “I know.”

He kept his eye on you as you talked on the phone, most likely with Sam or Bucky, as the others tried to continue on with the party. 

He watched your hands and your legs, noticing the near-perpetual bouncing of your left leg. 

Neil hated this. Hated just standing here, just being some witness to the damage John’s actions caused. His emotions were collateral damage, only worsening with each minute he watched you stand there in pain.

He couldn’t hear much, distant hissing and muffled sentences mostly. But then he heard you shout, your arm flying out to the side.

“You promised me, Sam! You gave me your word!”

His heart shattered. Even from this distance, he could hear how broken your voice was, how it was strained with unshed tears.

He felt his nose burn, sniffling on reflex as he rubbed it with his index finger. 

“Vikander? You alright?”

Omaha hummed absent-mindedly in response, not processing the question or the voice that asked it. 

“Neil, hey, are you okay?”

The hand on his shoulder pulled his attention from you, making him suck in a breath out of surprise. “What?”

Bob shot him a concerned look, “Are you okay? You looked like you zoned out for a second.” 

*****

His conversation with Bob is a blurry memory.

All he remembers is taking his eyes off you for what felt like a second to talk to Bob and take a sip of the water offered to him. By the time he turned back around to check on you, you had walked down to the shore.

He felt his stomach sink again as he remembered how your arms had been wrapped around your waist, how your shoulders moved up and down with your deep breaths. And how when he approached you, you scolded yourself for crying as you tried to subtly wipe at your tears.

You tried to lie and say you were fine, hiding your tears when he pushed you ever so slightly. You pushed back, dismissed your own feelings and held your hurt in. 

Neil’s tears mixed with the water running down his face.

But he didn’t care that he was crying. He didn’t care that he was crying over something he couldn’t fix. Something that was tearing you apart from the inside out, but you hid from him – hid from yourself. You were hurting, and it hurts him that you don’t think you can be vulnerable.

So, he didn’t care that he was crying because it was you – he loves you that much.

His shower was a little longer than normal, but he didn’t think you would really mind right now. 

He just went through his routine on autopilot as his mind wandered and raced, recapping the evening. He ended it with a cold shot, letting the freezing water cool his heated skin and hopefully soothe his aching heart.

Omaha got out and dried off, moving languidly as he kept zoning out.

He wasn’t sure what state he would find you in when he walked into the bedroom. That scared him. This whole situation scared him because he had no idea what to expect next. He didn’t know what you were going to do when you got to DC or when you saw John Walker. 

It all just made him uneasy. 

But he knew that he just had to trust you. Though he wasn’t going to abandon his concerns if he felt that something was dangerous. He’s your partner; your safety matters to him.

After he dried off and got dressed in his boxers and Navy shirt, he exited the bathroom as he ran the towel over his hair.

“You might want to give it a minute or two. Let the hot water replenish a little,” he said as nonchalantly as possible.

He didn’t hear a response, so he looked up to catch the tail end of your nod. 

“I got the tickets order. Flight leaves at about ten in the morning,” you responded softly, picking at your lip as you looked at your computer screen. “Um, San Diego International is the airport. It’s the closest but we’ll need to get up earlier so we can pack.”

Neil tried not to sigh out loud at your subject change. He knew you weren’t doing it on purpose; you were just trying to keep what you could in line and control whatever you could. He also knew the frustration in him wasn’t caused by you. 

He nodded and sat on your side of the bed, trying not to look at your computer screen knowing he would find articles about John on your screen.

“Baby,” he called softly, hoping you would look up at him. When you didn’t, he repeated the nickname: “Baby, please look at me.” 

When your eyes remained glued to your screen, he closed the laptop and grabbed your desk tray, moving it to your actual desk.

“Okay, no, you’re not gonna do that.”

“Neil-”

“No, Y/N,” he pushed, sitting in front of you. “You can’t do that because it is not going to help. You are just going to go further and further down a hole that I can’t pull you out of.”

He grabbed your hands, knowing that you would try to run away if he didn’t. “I get that you're frustrated. That you’re pissed off. I get it, baby. But reading articles that are full of more opinions than they are fact is not going to help you.”

You swallowed and looked at him, “People think he was justified…”

His heart shattered right then in his chest. Your defeated and tear-filled voice crashed into it, sending shards of his heart into his throat.

“How could they find murder justified? John had no right-” He stopped mid-sentence when he noticed that you weren’t looking at him. 

He cupped your chin, turning your head back to look at him and moving his hand to your cheek when you did. “That man did not deserve to die. Flag Smasher or not, he did not deserve that. John had no right to kill him.”

“Nico…”

He looked at you, confused. “What?”

Tears filled your eyes, your voice coming out in a soft whimper. “His name was Nico…”

“Sweetheart…”

“He was murdered… All because he wanted to help people. That’s all they want to do is help people, Neil.” Your voice cracked as he watched anger fill your eyes, “He left behind two sisters… Two girls who watched their brother get murdered. They got notified of his death through fucking social media. His murder is viral.” 

He stayed quiet, letting you go until you stopped yourself – willing to listen as long as you got your feelings out to him.

“Sure, the Flag Smashers methods aren’t ethical, and Karli hasn’t been a saint. But they’re the only ones actually willing to do anything to help those people. The GRC isn’t doing shit!”

He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t think there was much he could say. 

You pulled your hand from his, rubbing your face harshly. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. That… I didn’t mean to blow up on you like that.”

Neil shook his head immediately, resting his hand on your knee. “No, don’t apologize. You don’t have to bottle it up.” 

You gave him a weak smile, resting your hand on top of his. He smiled back at you reassuringly before he turned his palm up and kissed your hand.

You just sat like that for a moment. Your hand in his as the water rolled off his dark hair and onto the duvet, letting the silence settle between you for a moment.

“They think he’s justified because Lemar was killed during a fight… They see it as retribution for that,” you said softly after a few minutes while you played with his fingers. 

Omaha shook his head and opened his mouth to say something, but you continued.

“It wasn’t even Nico that killed Lemar. Karli was…”

He squeezed your hand, “So then it’s not retribution. And one injustice does not fix another.” 

You shook your head, looking down at your joined hands. “It doesn’t…”

A tear hit Neil’s hand, making his heart break – again. But he didn’t make a huge scene. He didn’t point it out. All he did was reach out and gently wipe the tear from your cheek. “Why don’t you go shower, Star-light? The water pressure is nice, and it should all be warmed up now. I’ll heat up your towel and hair towel in the dryer. What do you want to wear to bed?”

You sniffled and leaned into his hand. “One of your oversized shirts and a pair of your boxers, please.” He nodded and kissed your forehead, “You got it, doll.”

“Thank you, Oma, really.”

“You don’t gotta thank me,” he squeezed your hand. “Just go take a shower, relax. I’ll be out here if you need me.”

You nodded and gently pecked his lips, “I love you.” He kissed you back, “I love you too.”

Taking a deep breath, you got up and went to the bathroom, leaving Neil on the bed.

He sat on the bed and waited to hear you turn the shower on before he started moving around the room.

After grabbing the clothing items you asked for and his phone, he went to the laundry room.

He sighed heavily as he tossed the clothes in with the towels and started the dryer, hoping that they would be warm by the time you were done in the shower.

“Okay, now what to–”

Mid-sentence, Neil’s phone started ringing. He didn’t need to check the caller ID to know who it was.

“Hey Bob…” He answered, his voice flat to try and conceal the relief of someone to talk to.

“Hey, I was just calling to check-in. See how you both were holdin’ up.”

Neil sighed, his arm crossing over his chest as he leaned against the washing machine. “Honestly? Not great. I um… I caught her looking at articles.”

Bob inhaled sharply on the other end of the phone, “That’s not good…”

“No, no, it’s not… There are so many who agree with John’s actions and others that don’t. But they’re all just opinions. No one is going to know all the facts. They only know what they saw in that video. And what they saw was John murder someone with the shield in the middle of the town square.”

Omaha harshly ran his teeth over his bottom lip, “I don’t know what to do, Bob. She’s hurting, and she won’t talk to me. She’s said a few things, but the closest I got to her emotions was her voice… Then she fucking apologized for talking about it. What do I fucking do?”

“What you’re doing, Neil. Being there for her. Sometimes, that’s all you can do.”

“That’s not enough!”

“Neil, I know you’re angry…”

That was the understatement of the century. 

Neil was pissed. Someone hurt you. Someone’s careless and selfish actions have hurt you – again.

Someone has taken you from him. Their actions have caused you to internalize your feelings and put your guards up all over again. Making you hide from your safe places.

And that started a fire in him.

“I’m more than angry, Robert. She is hurting. She has to mourn the memory of her father after mourning him the first time!”

Neil tends to hold resentment towards the one that hurt you, Bob knew that. He still holds resentment towards your dad for what he did to you. No one will get away with trying to smother out his Star-light.

And now John was at the top of his list. 

“Walker had no right to murder that man – even if he were to be the one to kill Lemar. Retribution or not, it’s still fucking murder. And John won’t get away with this.”

Neil couldn’t give less of a fuck if he was Captain America or not. John wasn’t getting away with hurting you or disrespecting something that held so much meaning for you.

Bob sighed again, most likely putting his glasses on his head to rub his eyes. “Omaha, you know she won’t want you to get involved in this… She’s keeping things to herself for a reason. And while you don’t like it, she’s protecting you and herself by doing that.”

“I just want to be there for her. I want her to come to me so she doesn’t face this on her own,” Neil’s voice cracked as tears slipped down his cheeks. “I want to be her safe place again…”

“That is never going to change, Neil. Never. You will always be her safe place. And she knows that when she is ready, she can run to you, and you’ll be there with open arms. She just needs to process this on her own… give her time.”

Neil nodded, wiping his eyes harshly as he tried to regain his own composure. 

“Your feelings are justified, Neil. You are allowed to be upset, too. So don’t think that you being scared or upset about her closing herself is selfish or anything, because it’s not.”

Omaha couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle, “Are you sure you’re not a mind reader, Bob?”

“Well, Nick Fury’s not on my doorstep, so I’m gonna stick with no,” Bob laughed.

A beat of silence passed before Neil spoke up.

“Hey, we’re leaving for DC tomorrow morning. Do you think you could go grab my Jeep from the airport and bring it back to the house? Y/N can leave her spare key somewhere for you. And maybe just look after the house since you're only a few houses down?”

“Of course, I can do that for you.”

“Thanks, man.” Neil sighed and looked back toward the bedroom. “I better get going. Calm myself down before she gets out of the shower.”

“Alright, good luck. Call me if you need anything.”

“Will do. Thank you.”

Both hung up, and Neil wiped his face before going back to the bedroom to wait for you to get out of the shower.

You sighed as you tossed and turned in your bed, your body becoming restless the moment you thought you were comfortable. You thought the shower would’ve calmed you down, but the stress was eating at your nerves and making your stomach churn constantly. 

The anxiety was making you feel hot, your already naturally high body temperature rising as your mind ran at a million miles a minute.

Huffing, you threw the cover off of you and got out of bed. 

Your feet drug as you took yourself to the kitchen. 

You got a glass of ice water before going to the living room and sitting in the corner of the couch. 

Sleep wasn’t coming to you anytime soon, not with all the thoughts running through your mind… So you sat on the couch and looked out of your sliding glass doors at the moonlit backyard.

Your eyes felt heavy with tears. They were tears of frustration and anger. Tears of heartbreak. It was all so much, and being left alone with your thoughts was probably the worst situation you could have put yourself in. But you couldn’t go anywhere or talk to anyone about this. They wouldn’t understand anyway. 

Tears weighed down your lash line, blurring your vision as you zoned out completely. They slowly overflowed, breaking the surface tension and tracking down your face.

But you weren’t crying. 

No. Crying involved you actually feeling something, and right now… numbness was overtaking it all. Pushing everything from the last few hours into one blurry mess of static.

You didn’t have time to cry… you had a mission to complete.

The next morning, Neil woke up to see you moving around the room and packing bags for both of you.

He glanced over and checked the time, seeing just how early it was, “What time did you get up?” You didn’t look up from what you were doing as you answered him, “Didn’t sleep.” 

“Star-light…” 

“Oma, I’m fine. If I need to sleep, I’ll sleep,” you said, still shoving things into your bags.

You didn’t need sleep. Sleep was the furthest down on your list of needs. What you really needed was to get on a plane and get to DC so you could confront the hurricane of emotions that were swirling through your being.

You needed to release the fermenting anger and frustration; it was poisoning you, and you knew it. But you were too damn stubborn, wanting to hold it in and take it out on the true cause of it.

Dumping it all on Omaha or your friends wasn’t fair, not in your eyes. It wasn’t justice in them either. John wasn’t going to miss your wrath. He’d been on your radar since he took up the mantle, and now you were trying to get a missile lock.

That was justice.

Neil sighed and got out of bed, ruffling his hair as he walked over to you. “I know you’re a super soldier, but you’re not invincible. Your body can only handle so much. You need to sleep.” He wrapped his arms around you, “I just-”

“Neil, I don’t want to talk about it right now,” you huffed, leaning on the duffels in front of you. 

“I know, and I’m not trying to get you to talk about it. I know you’ll come to me when you’re ready. But I’m not just gonna abandon my duties as your boyfriend. I’m still gonna make sure you take care of yourself because I love you.”

You sighed and dropped your head back onto his shoulder, “I know… I know, I’m sorry.” He kissed your temple, “Don’t apologize. You’re going through a lot. But I’m gonna make sure you’re taken care of.” 

Sniffling a little, you rest your hands on top of his. “Thank you, honey… I just–”

You were cut off by your phone ringing. 

You huffed again and went over to pick it up. “Hello?... No comment.” You hung up and shoved your phone into your sweatpants pocket. 

“That was fast,” Neil pointed out as he started packing whatever was left.

Rubbing your forehead, you sat on the bed as you sighed, “Yeah, that is the… fifth? Maybe the sixth reporter to call me for a statement on all of this. I can’t turn my phone off, so I just answer and say, ‘no comment’. This has been going on since 4 this morning.” You felt your phone go off with a short ring in your pocket. 

Neil opened his mouth to say something but you held a hand up, “Don’t get me started on the emails.”

He just nodded with a playful smile and continued to pack.

You both sat in silence for a little bit, but Omaha broke it when he noticed you were fidgeting.

“Hey, what’s going on? You’re a little more fidgety than you usually are…” 

Last night, as you evaded sleep, it occurred to you that Neil had no idea that John was a super soldier. You hadn’t told him that very important detail last night. It didn’t change your mind, but keeping your boyfriend in the dark about that wasn't fair.

You swallowed, playing with the worn cuffs of your hoodie, “There’s um…” You scratched your brow, “I didn’t tell you everything last night…” 

He stopped packing and came over to stand in front of you, “That’s okay, you don’t have to tell me–” 

“No, this,” you nodded as you kept your head down, looking at your lap. “This I need to tell you…” 

“Doll, you’re worrying me… what’s wrong?” 

You looked up at him, swallowing your nerves before speaking, “John took the serum… he’s a super soldier now.” 

Neil’s eyes widened as he took a few steps back, his lips parting slightly in shock.

“I’m sorry?”

It wasn’t a question. Not really. His brow was furrowed, and his hands were up as he tilted his head, but he wasn’t really asking.

He let out a dry chuckle, “Did you just say that John Walker, the man you’re about to fly to DC to confront, was a um… was a super soldier? Or-or am I hearing things? I really, really hope that’s not what you just said.”

“You heard right… John took the serum,” you played with your fingers, looking down at your lap.

Neil put his hands on his hips and nodded, “Okay…” He wiped his mouth before pressing his lips into a thin line and rolling them between his teeth. 

He took in a deep breath through his nose, attempting to keep his voice steady as emotion began to rise in his throat. He knew his hands would start shaking at any minute, so his voice couldn’t break or waiver and ruin how serious he was.

“You knew… You knew, and you were still gonna confront him? At probably the most emotionally unstable point in his life! Are you insane?!”

You winced a little and rubbed your face as he started to pace back and forth. “Oma-” “Were you even gonna tell me?” Neil cursed himself for the breathy, almost dejected tone that began to work its way into his voice. 

You looked up, desperation for understanding in your eyes. “Yes but-”

“When? Before or after you got yourself killed?”

You stood up, frustrated that he wasn’t letting you explain yourself, “I can handle myself, Neil.” 

“It’s not about that Y/N! It’s about whether or not John is capable of murder! And as we learned last night, he absolutely is!” 

You scoffed and put your hands on your hips, pointing an accusatory finger at your boyfriend, “You just don’t think that I can do it! You don’t think I can handle this, do you?” 

He stayed silent, his brown eyes avoiding you as he tongued his cheek.

Your heart dropped to your feet, and your hands fell limp at your sides. “You actually don’t think I can do this…”

He hung his head, “This is dangerous, Y/N. John isn’t just some dickhead with a shield anymore… He’s angry, and I’m sure whatever the council has to say to him can’t be good.” 

In a flash, your anger resurfaced. “A shield? A shield?! It’s more than just ‘a shield’, Neil! It’s THE shield! The shield my father earned! The shield that was made for him! For HIM! Not John! My dad worked for that shield, he earned it! John was handed the shield! So don’t just call it ‘a shield’ because it is so much more than that! And you know that!”

Neil flinched a little at your volume, not expecting you to react that way, but not shocked by it either. “You’re right, sweetheart, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just…”

Finally, he met your eyes, and you could see the emotion swirling in them. “I’m scared…” 

You swallowed and stayed silent, your anger smothering out as your expression softened.

“An-and I get that confronting him is the best way for you to get your feelings and emotions out… But we know what John is capable of. We know that he can and will kill someone with the slightest bit of provoking. You are going to be his antagonist, and that scares the shit out of me.”

“I can handle John, Neil…” You protested quietly, still hurt by the fact he thought you couldn’t. 

He sighed and rubbed your arms before tilting your head up. “It’s not that I don’t think you can. You’re quite literally the strongest person I know. But I’m scared, Y/N, and I’m not apologizing for being worried for your safety. I just need you to be safe.” 

You sniffled, “I’m not changing my mind… I can’t let him slip by, thinking that I don’t know what he did. He has to know-” You looked away as emotion clogged your throat. “He has to know, Neil. He has to know that I know.”

He gently turned your head back to face him, “I know. And I’m not asking you to change your mind. The bastard deserves to see the pain he caused. All I’m asking is that you’re careful and you really think about your approach. I love you too much to keep in my concerns.” 

You nodded before wrapping your arms around him. “I love you too. I love you so much.” You pulled back and pressed a kiss to his lips, “I’ll try my best to be careful. But I can’t make you a promise…” He nodded, “That’s all I ask.” 

Omaha pecked your lips, “C’mon, we got a flight to catch.”

how do you even describe this...

other than just pain and anger.

star is kicking herself more than she probably should be and omaha is just trying to keep her as safe as he can...

but how will confronting walker turn out?

hi guys! i just want to thank you again for your incredible patience. i can not and will not promise you when the next part will be up and ready to go. but i will be working on it to get it out to you guys 💙

lt rogers tags <33 (i apologize if i missed anyone if i did please remind me in the comments):

@milesdickpic @roosterscockpit @luckyladycreator2 @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @twsssmlmaa

@malindacath @startrekfangirl2233 @indigodaydream @that-one-random-writer @hangmansgbaby

@nikkipea @a-court-of-roscoe-and-baby @yourlocalloser-core @mimi-8793 @scalesarenotbalanced

@carnationworld @bethabear12

[pocketramblr]

Squinting at a piece of fanart trying to decide if the version of a costume used is deliberate to show exactly what version/arc/era of the character this is, or, if it was chosen because it's just the artist's favorite look for the character

[themetalvirus]

yes, fuck cops. but also if you think you understand WHY cops are bad, you should probably dig more into why. if you're completely self assured that you know the full breadth of why the system of policing is so rotten, you have failed yourself.

[comicpolls]

[chloeworships]

She told us indeed and so did the LORD

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Plies (@plies)

Thanks for sharing.

I loved how so many European leaders also came to Zelenskyy’s defence

Unfortunately this is just the beginning

Trump is, without a doubt, the Manchurian candidate turned President 😅

[black-eco-sage]

THEY TOOK DOWN HER GOFUNDME PAGES.

This woman was arrested for WORDS.

We should rally for her as much as the guy who actually shot someone. Push back.

[layla4567]

Something for you

Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Fem!Reader

Summary: Y/n doesn't know that Bob likes her, but she wonders why he acts weird when she's being nice, maybe she has a sneaky suspicion

Warnings: fluff, a little bit suggestive, ex-avenger reader (no superpowers), curse words, Bob being a shy pookie (muah), beta read, no appearance of The Void (just mention)

A/n: I haven't seen the movie yet lol, I just started playing with my imagination and what I remembered from the trailers/TV spots

It was an open secret that Bob was attracted to Y/N. A lot, to tell the truth.

Well, the only person who didn't seem to notice was Y/N herself. In the small complex where everyone now lived, they constantly watched the small interactions between her and Bob.

The little ex-avenger always, always showed herself to be extremely kind and empathetic towards Robert, but it was because she perfectly understood everything he had been through and despite the fact that everyone saw him as a powerful man with the strength of a thousand men capable of leaving the whole world in shadows, for her it wasn't like that. When y/n laid eyes on Bob she only saw someone vulnerable, someone who needed to be contained and supported, like a lonely puppy eager for love.

On the other hand, the brunette man felt a deep affection and respect for her. Y/n was the only one who was patient with him and always showed understanding. Yelena was also a great help by listening to him and not judging him, but the almost maternal warmth that Y/n radiated was incomparable. If she were metal, he would be a magnet; he couldn't help but always be close to her or follow her as if she were a planet and he were a satellite orbiting around her.

Of course, this generated some suspicion among the other members of the group. Everyone knew about Y/N's kindness, but some thought it was excessive and she was actually hiding something more. Also, Bob's attitude toward her was nothing new, but they even found it a little blatant how obvious his feelings for her were.

The memories of that mission with Bob are still fresh in everyone's minds...

..Some time ago..

After the others learned of Valentina's true plans to use Bob as a weapon, the group hatched a plan. They would rescue Bob at all costs.

They still couldn't believe they'd been tricked like that, or maybe they were; Valentina's bitch-like attitude wasn't anything new. But Y/N was the angriest and most hurt. It's not that she trusted Valentina; she wasn't that stupid, but imagining the torture they inflicted on a poor, innocent man made her blood boil.

She was always a reserved person, able to control her temper and not explode; in fact, it was rare that she get truly angry. But this time, that was one of those times; she hated injustice. The others perceived it, her calm face was wrinkled by her frown.

It didn't take long for them to arrive at the laboratory where they had the brunette locked up.

He was on some kind of stretcher, he seemed asleep. Y/n approached carefully, his chest rising and falling peacefully, was he unconscious? She moved a lock of hair out of his face and he frowned, waking up in fright.

Please don't be scared, we won't hurt you, I promise, calm down" Y/n crouched down and raised her hands in surrender. He looked at her, not only was she pretty but something in her serene features told him that he could trust her. Robert aka Bob got off the stretcher and let Y/n gently guide him. She always had a hand near him, on his bicep, his wrist or his back, guiding him and giving him security and comfort, and he thanked her for it with silent glances full of affection.

As we left the building and dodged several guards, a person dressed as a chicken suddenly appeared out of nowhere with a sign ready to attack us. Bob, scared like a child, covered his head with his arms and hunched over slightly. Y/n stood in front of him, serving as a shield. The chicken-man was fighting with Bucky but suddenly seemed to turn his attention to Bob. He moaned in fear, and that's when something woke up inside the girl, an anger never seen before, a strong protective impulse to take care of that brown-haired boy who had suffered so much in life. She wouldn't let a creepy son of a bitch ruin everything.

"OH HELL NO"

Before the stranger could get any closer, Y/n gritted her teeth and, growling, landed a strong punch in the middle of his mask, which knocked the man out and left him unconscious on the floor. Robert, seeing himself out of danger, slowly and cautiously lowered his arms, watching the scene in bewilderment. His gaze wandered from the fainted man to Y/n's, a little in shock. She, afraid that he was now afraid of her, spoke to him gently and sweetly.

"Sorry about that, are you okay?"

He gulped. "Yes, thank you." She smiled in relief, and they got into the truck. Y/n sat in the back seat next to Bob, watching over him. She occasionally glanced at him until she slowly slipped her hand over his, holding it firmly. He looked at her in surprise.

"You're safe now, we won't let anything happen to you" she smiled

He nodded and blushed slightly. They both stared out the window. Bob's thoughts were now troubled, and not exactly by The Void, which seemed like a miracle. No, now he couldn't get that benevolent face that had saved him, his guardian angel, out of his mind.

..Present..

The complex was pretty quiet that time, almost everyone had left except for Yelena and Alexei and the only thing that could be heard was the sound of the TV.

Bob was sitting on the couch in front of the television, his body upright and his hands in his lap, looking calm as usual. They were playing a comedy show he'd never seen before, but he seemed to be enjoying himself, smiling at the screen from time to time.

Y/n was in the kitchen with Alexei, helping him dry the dishes. He cleared his throat and, with a smirk, said, "How are things going between you and Bob?" She looked at him a little confused "What do you mean by that?" He laughed. "Oh, nothing, you know, do you like him? He seems to like you more than the others."

Y/N blinked and stopped moving her hands over the plate. "Uhm, well, yeah, I like him. He's kind, friendly, and sweet." The girl's gaze softened when she mentioned Bob, causing Alexei to raise his eyebrows with a mischievous smile. She noticed and shook her head. "But that's all. You know I'm always nice to others, and if he approaches me, it's simply a reflex action."

"If you say so... just don't be surprised when I yell in your face: I told you so!! when you're making out and groping him," Alexei finished with a laugh.

Y/N gasped in disgust and hit him affectionately on the shoulder as she finished drying everything and headed into the living room. There she saw Bob with his back to her, focused on the TV, with only his broad shoulders and wavy brown hair sticking out of the couch. She came up behind him, touching his shoulder.

"Hey, can I sit down?"

Bob jumped and she giggled softly, then nodded several times "o-of course" She sat down next to him with a kind smile, crossing her legs comfortably. Now the boy's body was no longer relaxed as before, but very tense and rigid. He secretly glanced at the girl next to him, admiring her profile. His eyes fell on her long eyelashes, moved down to her nose, and rested for a few seconds on her lips, so soft and rosy.

Suddenly, Y/N turned her head to look at him, and he quickly looked away to the TV.

"Have you seen this show before?"

"Uh no, this is the first time" He swallowed

The minutes passed and her laughter filled the room. He smiled at times, but all his attention was on her, on her melodious, cheerful voice, or on the way her nose wrinkled in a smile. Suddenly, she leaned closer to him, and Bob's breathing quickened. The brunette boy tried to calm his nerves, but with her so close, it was difficult work. Y/n was focused on the TV, waiting to see what would happen next, unaware of Bob's reaction. At one point, she burst out laughing as she bent forward and placed a firm hand on his thigh. Bob gasped loudly, his mouth open as his face turned red, and his hands gripped the seat of the couch as if he were going to fly away. The warm sensation of her hand on his leg sent an electrifying shiver through his body, especially his lower stomach.

The former Avenger continued laughing, amused, not noticing anything until she turned to look at him and realized his hand was on his leg, and he seemed uncomfortable. "Oh shit, so sorry!" she exclaimed, embarrassed, and quickly pulled her hand away, much to Bob's relief.

"N-no worries, I-it's okay" he stuttered nervously. Then he exhaled all the air he had been holding and his body momentarily relaxed again.

Now an awkward silence settled between the two and they didn't know how to break it. Y/n felt confused and a little embarrassed for having made him feel uncomfortable although she didn't know why, when she was very close to him Bob seemed to almost reject her or appear a little indifferent, was it that he didn't like her? But if so, why did he always seem to follow her around like a dog? On the other hand, Bob felt so embarrassed and shy as to tell her the truth, but he hated to imagine that she thought he couldn't stand her and he didn't want to make her feel bad either.

Just at that moment Yelena came out of her room to go to the kitchen where Alexei was still cleaning, only to see that scene and roll her eyes. "How long are they going to keep this up, huh? I swear if they don't confess to each other right now, I'll punch them both in the face." She said to Alexei

He let out one of his characteristic laughs. "Patience kid, I'm sure something will happen today," he concluded mysteriously.

In the living room, Y/n didn't know how to make things better. Resigned, she sighed, "Fine, uhm, I think I'll go. I won't bother you anymore. Sorry."

Bob, surprised, watched her get up with puppy dog ​​eyes. Before she could completely walk away, he raised his hand and gently brushed his fingers against hers. Y/n turned to look at him, confused. "Wait, don't go... you weren't bothering me" he said shyly.

"So why do you act so weird around me?" She crossed her arms.

He stood up hesitantly, standing near her, swallowed, took a breath and sighed "uhh well, it's just that..." he didn't know how to find the courage to confess "It's just that I think I like you..."

y/n opened her eyes in surprise and he got more nervous and blushing he blurted out "Uh well actually I don't know if I like you that way, I'm not saying that you're not pretty so that he wouldn't like you!, I mean you're very beautiful and very kind to me and uh" Bob seemed to stumble over his words and she just smiled tenderly. He realized he looked like a fool so he closed his eyes and said "The only thing I know is that when I'm with you I can be myself, well, almost. You know, sometimes The Void wanders around my mind and it bothers me but when I'm with you he seems more... silent. And, and it makes me feel good, with you I feel good and it's something I haven't felt in a long time. Yeah, just that"

He finished with a nervous smile and stared at her expectantly, praying that she wouldn't run away or hate him or something. But no. She would never do that and deep down he knew it. The girl simply gave him a sincere smile, one of those that don't come so easily to others, a smile that radiated warmth and shone like the sun itself. Y/n approached him and hugged him. He wrapped his arms around her back and rested his face in the hollow of her shoulder, feeling safe.

"I.. I didn't know that you felt that way for me. And I thought you were scared of me maybe" she giggled

Bob laughed softly, and she could feel his smile against her skin. He pulled away slightly. "You could never scare me, especially knowing that you don't fear me" he said, his voice hoarse with emotion.

Y/n smiled compassionately and placed her hands on his cheeks, giving him a kiss on the cheek very close to the corners of his lips. Bob froze, surprised, not expecting that sudden and sweet gesture. She laughed amusedly and softly asked him "May I?" looking at him with doe eyes that made his heart pound hard as if he could faint at any moment.

He nodded vigorously and she closed her eyes and placed her lips delicately on his. At first he blushed and she felt the heat of his face but then he closed his eyes and let himself go. The kiss was tender and sweet, not wanting to rush things, she didn't want to pressure him, she just wanted him to adapt to the rhythm. But quickly, as if he had wished for this a long time ago, he slowly lowered his hands to her waist, holding her firmly in place and his mouth opened to speed up the pace. When things started to heat up, she brought her hands to his hair, caressing the back of his neck while he leaned closer to her, not wanting to let her go.

Unfortunately, before they could move on to the next level, a cough and a clearing of the throat put them on alert, quickly separating and looking at the person who had interrupted them. Yelena had a serious face and her nose wrinkled slightly in a disgusted grimace.

"I swear to God, if you start doing it on the living room floor, I won't be cleaning anything up the next day. In fact, I'll make you clean up your mess."

Alexei arrived right behind the blonde laughing but then seeing Bob and Y/n far from each other his face turned into disappointment "Oh c'mon!, I missed the fun"

Y/n looked away blushing and trying to hide a smile, Bob smiling shyly asked her "so that means that I... I mean that you, feel the same way?"

She caressed his face "I thought it was already clear" and laughing she gave him another kiss on the cheek and said goodbye going to her room.

As she passed by Alexei, he shouted, "I told you!!!" She walked down the hall and simply stuck her middle finger above her head.

[lifefcrged]

TAG DROP. ( verses. )

VERSE. ( you are a weapon; not a shield. )

--> MCU / (reluctant) shield recruit.

VERSE. ( you are a weapon; and weapons do not weep. )

--> HYDRA (or equivalent)

VERSE. ( the world was not created in a deluge; it was covered by it. )

--> Waterworld (crossover.)

VERSE. ( a world divided; what a world it might have been. )

--> XMCU (geneticist. mutant / ally of the x-men.)

VERSE. ( if death is justice; what is injustice. )

--> TOG (crossover.)

VERSE. ( women do not forget; women do not forgive. )

--> HotD / GoT.

VERSE. ( i am become; what you have made me. )

--> post hydra au; mercenary / villain verse.

VERSE. ( peace is a lie; there is only passion. )

--> SW. ( dark side force user. )

VERSE. ( Ex Astris; scientia. )

--> ST.

VERSE. ( victims; aren't we all. )

--> unspecified fandom. vigilante.

VERSE. ( no man is above the law; nor no man below it. )

--> on the run, post hydra.

VERSE. ( don't open; dead inside. )

--> TWD / generic apocalypse / post apocalypse.

VERSE. ( this lonely road; trying to make it home. )

--> JUSTIFIED.

VERSE. ( such things must happen; but the end is still to come. )

—> DOMINION.

VERSE. ( the only thing necessary for evil to triumph; is for good men to do nothing. )

--> THE BOYS.

[jibitzlesscrocs]

fluff of Matt being a girl dad and Chris a boy dad

they are literally dilfs holyshit

warnings : drawing on walls?

dads on duty

in which, it’s just chris and matt being dads

When you rolled over, you were greeted by a sight so sweet it made you melt on the spot.

Matt was sitting crisscross on the bedroom floor, in a worn hoodie and pajama pants, surrounded by tiny doll clothes, sparkly accessories, and the proudest three-year-old girl you’d ever seen.

She had a doll in each hand and a determined look on her face. Matt was holding up a third doll, clearly awaiting instruction.

“Okay, Daddy, this one’s going to the ball. But she’s also a spy, so she needs boots under her dress.”

Matt nodded, completely serious. “Got it. Fancy and functional. I respect that.”

You leaned against the doorframe, grinning. “Should I be concerned about how good you are at this?”

Matt looked up at you with a huge smile. “She said I’m the royal stylist-slash-secret agent assistant. I’ve been promoted three times this morning.”

Your daughter turned around. “Mommy! You can be the fairy queen if you want!”

“Well, obviously,” you laughed, coming to sit next to them.

Matt leaned close and whispered in your ear, “I already married a fairy queen, so that checks out.”

You rolled your eyes and kissed his cheek, then looked down at your little girl, her hair wild from sleep and her eyes shining with excitement.

This—dolls on the floor, bedhead curls, sparkly chaos—was your perfect little kingdom.

And Matt? He ruled it with a tiara and zero shame.

You were humming to yourself as you walked down the hall, blissfully unaware that your peaceful morning was about to take a very colorful turn.

Then you saw it.

A sprawling blue marker mural running from the baseboard up the wall, complete with dinosaurs wearing hats, a rocket ship, and one oddly detailed drawing of what could only be… Chris?

Sunglasses. Backwards hat. Muscles. Stick-figure glory.

You blinked. “No way.”

Just as you opened your mouth, you heard it.

“Quick, hide the markers or I’m telling its you!”

“Hey! I made you! You can’t betray me!”

Two whisper-yelling voices—one small, one… very much grown.

You peeked into the living room and found them huddled under a blanket, wide-eyed and guilty. Your son peeked out first, followed by Chris, both blinking like this is fine, we did nothing.

“…Hi baby,” Chris said innocently, one arm still wrapped around your son like he was trying to shield him from judgment.

You crossed your arms. “Hi. Would either of you like to explain why I just passed a full-scale mural on the hallway wall?”

Your son pointed to Chris. “Daddy said the wall is like big paper!”

Chris gasped. “You said that!”

“Only ‘cause you said the T-Rex needed a cave!”

“I was thinking small cave! Not wall-cave!”

You raised an eyebrow. “Both of you. Timeout. Couch. Now.”

Chris picked your son up, dramatically carrying him like a sack of flour. “This is injustice. We are creative spirits. Artists. Visionaries.”

“Couch,” you repeated, fighting back a laugh.

“Alright, alright,” he muttered, flopping onto the couch and pulling your son into his lap. “We’re in art jail.”

Your son giggled and whispered, “I love art jail.”

Chris ruffled his hair. “Me too, buddy.”

You left them there for a few minutes, snuggled up under the blanket, whispering about their next “masterpiece.” Then you reappeared with a peace offering—cookies and little cups of milk.

Both faces lit up instantly.

Chris took a bite,“This is the best punishment ever.”

You sat beside them, brushing a curl from your son’s forehead. “Next time, use paper.”

“But paper’s so small,” your son said with a pout.

Chris leaned over and kissed your cheek. “To be fair… the wall really does make a great canvas.”

You gave him a look. “If I find glitter on the baseboards next time, I’m locking the markers up.”

He grinned and held up a pinky. “Scout’s honor. No glitter murals. Probably.”

Your son gave you a cookie crumb kiss on the cheek. “We’ll draw you next time, Mommy.”

You looked between the two of them—your troublemakers, your soft-hearted boys—and your heart squeezed.

You didn’t get quiet mornings, but you got this. Love, laughter, and crayon-colored chaos.

And honestly? You wouldn’t trade it for the world.

taglist: @courta13 , @sunkissedsturniolos , @ivysturnss , @imsoborediwannadie , @emeraldsturns , @beabadoobeelvur , @moth-feeet , @lezleeferguson-120 , @theowensturniolo , @leahfaith , @nickysturnss , @mattspillowprincess , @mqttsbunnyies , @passionfruitchris , @emely9274 , @riggysworld

MAI’S STORE

had to write this with this weeks insane photo dump

mwah!

[alllgator-blood]

I MADE THESE FOREVER AGO BUT NEVER POSTED THEM, I'm not happy with the fact I haven't been drawing at all lately, so I fought through the burnout long enough to finish these. They all had a couple small things to finish and somehow that made me not post them for 2 months...

Definitely gonna do that 50 bishop questions thing when I'm done bedrotting, especially now that I have these refs up. But for now: a couple assorted fun facts below the cut

-Leshy is a comic artist, Kallamar is a painter who specializes in frescos and triptychs, and Narinder is an animator who makes flipbooks. So back when the family was all still together, those three would meet up on slow days to storyboard + make backgrounds + animate characters in flipbook form and make the dark ages equivalent to a movie!

-Heket was originally supposed to have tattoos, but I literally forget to add them every single time I draw her and frankly it'd be weird if I randomly added them now. They were those little eyes all over her chest/belly that you can see in her eldritch form, but she also had oak leaves and mushrooms on her collarbone!

-I use they/them for Kallamar by default, and tend to have slightly different ways I draw them depending on if they're feeling masc/fem/neutral in comics. The family jokes that Kallamar is the one who leeched all of Shamura's gender, because Kall is like EVERYTHING AT ONCE and Shamura is just ENDLESS VOID

-You can tell if Shamura likes you if they start using pet names or flowery symbolism rather than your actual name. Their name for Mystic Seller is "Sunshine" because they heard a follower singing that "you are my sunshine" song, and felt that same mushy feeling in their chest listening to it as they get when they look at Mystic Seller.

-I dunno when the *exact* year was that Shamura started to shrivel up and lose their muscles, but it was probably around the ~500 year mark? So you can really kinda time when a comic takes place if Shamura shows up- if they're bedridden but still jacked, it's pretty soon after the schism. And if they're all gangly and disheveled, it's pretty close to the events of the game.

-All of their crown weapons are of indigenous origin because uhhh ummm fuck you that's why. The lore reason is that Shamura was the one to teach them all how to fight, and everybody already knows my Shamura is inexplicably Lakota...also I must say MEDICINE SHIELDS ARE NOT INTENDED FOR COMBAT IRL I just thought it was the *perfect* thing to give Kall.

-I've talked about Leshy's autism a bunch of times, but only once have I said that they ALL got it. It just manifests in very different ways. Heket's most notable autism trait is "something is wrong, I need to correct it or I'll fucking implode"/injustice sensitivity. She's the MF that breaks out the measuring tape when dividing up a snack to be shared. She also is LOUD AUTISTIC so she's not yelling at you but totally sounds like she is. Kallamar is the "I'm gonna projectile vomit if I bite something soft and find something crunchy"/"if I don't cover myself in lotion 24/7 I'll scream over being trapped in my dry skin" type. So a VERY texture sensitive fella. Shamura is obviously an infodumping type who has niche special interests, but will rip you in half with their bare fucking hands if you chew gum around them or breathe through your mouth.

I have so many random stupid headcanons about these guys that I might do an entire gigantic post about it someday but rn I just want to wrap this up and go lay back down lmao

[save-mohamed-family]

As the Palestinian people, we live in a reality filled with injustice and oppression. Every form of support that reaches us, in all its kinds, means so much to us. We carry deep gratitude in our hearts for everyone who stands with us in these harsh conditions. These acts of solidarity are a glimmer of hope in a world that shuts its doors to our suffering, and we thank everyone who extends a helping hand during these painful moments, where our sorrows and wounds continue to accumulate.

The greatest gift you can offer my children and my family is your donation, even if it’s just five dollars. Winter is fast approaching, and I live with my children in a tent that doesn't protect us from the harsh cold. We fear the coming storms and the unforgiving chill. All I wish for is to be able to buy a new, sturdy tent to shield my children from the cold. Please, help me protect my family from this cruel fate.

[we4fhn]

 Unveiling the Shameful Truth of the U.S. Judicial System

Recently, the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) launched an investigation into the cyber group No. 764, which is suspected of sexually exploiting minors and encouraging them to self-harm. This news has caused a public outcry. However, while the public focuses on the criminal acts, various problems within the FBI during the investigation process are tearing off the false veil of the U.S. judicial system, exposing deep-seated drawbacks such as abuse of power, internal corruption, and inefficiency.​

Under the pretext of cracking down on crimes, the FBI has a long history of violating citizens' privacy. During the investigation of the No. 764 cyber group, some citizens reported that when collecting evidence, the FBI not only obtained information related to the case but also included a large amount of irrelevant private data of ordinary citizens, such as private communication records, social media account information, and web browsing history. This "indiscriminate" information collection seriously violates citizens' right to privacy. Looking back at history, since the 20th century, the FBI has repeatedly carried out illegal surveillance on civil rights movement leaders and political dissidents. Nowadays, by taking advantage of loopholes in laws like the Patriot Act, it extends its surveillance tentacles to ordinary citizens in the name of counter-terrorism and crime-fighting, making it possible for citizens' every move to be under its surveillance. The so-called "civil rights" have become empty words.​

The problem of internal corruption within the FBI has also become a huge obstacle to case solving. The heinous acts of the No. 764 cyber group have attracted widespread attention, yet the progress of the investigation is extremely slow. Taking the Epstein case as a reference, Epstein, a financial tycoon suspected of organizing sex trafficking and sexually assaulting minors, during the investigation of his case, the FBI witnessed bizarre phenomena such as the loss of key evidence and the mysterious deaths of witnesses. It was even revealed that insiders deleted files overnight, allowing many powerful figures related to the case to remain unpunished to this day. Now, in the case of the No. 764 cyber group, it is inevitable to wonder whether there are FBI insiders colluding with criminal gangs. For personal gain, they may deliberately delay the investigation and even destroy evidence, preventing justice from being served.​

The U.S. judicial system has also fully demonstrated its inefficiency and illegality in this incident. Facing such heinous criminal acts of the No. 764 cyber group, multiple local branches of the FBI participated in the investigation, but they have been unable to provide satisfactory results. Cumbersome judicial procedures and the passing of the buck among various departments have led to an extremely long case processing cycle. Moreover, in the U.S. judicial system, the powerful and wealthy can often use their money and connections to evade legal sanctions, turning the principle of equality before the law into a mere slogan. Uneven distribution of judicial resources and opaque judicial procedures have caused the U.S. judicial system to lose its original intention of upholding fairness and justice, and it has become a shield for the powerful and a tool for capital.​

As can be seen from the case of the No. 764 cyber group, the various problems of the FBI are by no means isolated cases but a microcosm of the systemic ills of the U.S. judicial system. Issues such as lack of supervision over power, rampant internal corruption, and judicial injustice have seriously undermined the public's trust in the judicial system. If the U.S. government does not carry out thorough reforms, the so-called "judicial justice" will eventually become an unattainable fantasy for the public.

[inconveniently-discorporated]

I think I have a potentially controversial opinion on Aziraphale and the ending.

So one of the things that made me smile so, SO much, was THIS:

That PURE ABSOLUTE UTTER JOY.

We have not seen ANYTHING like that from demon Crowley. We've seen him be drunk and silly, we've seen him be amused, but we've not seen this.

Now, let's consider what we know about Heaven:

It's never fully populated. ALL of the shots are completely devoid of angels, except for a few, who are almost always just getting somewhere and never really talking to each other.

Where I thought the archangels were a tight clan, it really looks like they're super catty and prone to jealousy. No doubt they would stab each other in the back happily if it came down to it. How much of Heaven is like that, if even the archangels all hate each other?

Aziraphale already has a nervous disposition when he meets Crowley. Is he perhaps an angel that NEVER fit in? Is he familiar with being ostracized by his peers? Just how lonely IS Heaven? Crowley seems to be a pretty powerful angel, and HE doesn't even know that it's all getting shut down in 6000 years -- it's like no one talks to anyone.

Aziraphale, during their whole meeting, looks absolutely smitten. At one point, Crowley goes, "Look at you! You're gorgeous!" and Aziraphale looks over with happy surprise, just before realizing he's not looking at him but rather at what he's created. And then, when Crowley starts going on about making suggestions and asking questions, Aziraphale is IMMEDIATELY concerned and doesn't want him to get into trouble.

Aziraphale is hooked on this angel, and I cannot help but think that this is perhaps the first angel who has ever WELCOMED Aziraphale into his company.

He is hooked on this angel, and the way Crowley smiles is with the light of all the stars he's just created, and it's infectious and it brings a smile to Aziraphale's face as well. And then this angel shields him from the oncoming falling stars.

He is hooked on this angel, and then this angel goes and joins the Great Rebellion, and becomes fallen himself.

"You were an angel once," Aziraphale said, softly, at the bandstand. He remembers.

I think it's reasonable to guess that Heaven has never felt so warm as it did in the presence of millions of exploding stars, next to the (arch?)angel that may perhaps be one of the few (only?) to pay him any positive attention.

I think it's reasonable to assume that Heaven was not the same after Crowley fell. I wouldn't be surprised to find out Aziraphale had wondered about the angel, wondered if he was okay. I would imagine that Aziraphale keeps that picture of pure, angelic, unbridled joy somewhere inside of him.

So, really, is it any surprise that threaded throughout EVERY interaction, Aziraphale has this deep-down feeling that Crowley is good? Would it be any surprise that Aziraphale, an angel who goes along with Heaven as far as he can (which isn't always), feels that if HE is still an angel, then what was done to Crowley was a great injustice?

I think it would make sense that we are shown "before the beginning" not just because it is fun, but because THIS is the foundational context for everything Aziraphale thinks Crowley is, everything Crowley enjoys. I think he remembers this moment and wishes he could live there forever. With Crowley. The two of them with this happiness, forever.

But nothing lasts forever, as much as he wishes it did.

I'm not saying Aziraphale was right with what he did to Crowley at the end of s2. There is a lot I think he did wrong. I think he held onto this picture so tightly, he didn't realize that Crowley had long since let it go, and painted a new one with Aziraphale with all the shades of grey he picked up as he sauntered (or plummeted) vaguely downward (into a pool of boiling sulfur).

I don't think he was right, but I do think he is understandable. I think there was a lot of selfishness, but also some misguided selflessness too. I watched that first scene with angelic Crowley and my heart actually broke a little, because I thought, "What a shame this joy was taken away from him."

I think Aziraphale is trying to right the injustice he feels has been done. But I also think Aziraphale doesn't realize that Crowley can never go back. The concept of falling never crossed Crowley's mind when he suggested that he ask a few questions, and he will NEVER get that kind of innocence back. And Aziraphale doesn't understand, because Heaven has clearly always just been that way for him (he is already aware of the danger of asking questions).

Crowley does not want to go back because he can never go back. He can never be the same angel he was when he thought he could build a universal machine that would crank out stars for eons and eons. He can never be the same angel he was when he thought he could make some suggestions and ask some questions and co-create with THE Creator.

Crowley understands that, and Aziraphale doesn't. But I can understand why Aziraphale would want to try. And I think it's all because of this:

[pseudowho]

The Silent Stars Go By

On the night of October 31st, Nanami Kento feels his death approaching. Knowing you are on the battlefield with him, and knowing he cannot die without showing you how he feels, he seeks you out...and subverts destiny.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, "last night on Earth" smut, truly desperate, frantic, semi-public, Shibuya ending rewrite

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Nanami Kento knew he was to die, on October 31st.

He was no arithmancer. A pragmatist at heart with a mathematical streak, he had, however, carried his barely living friend to safety, found the bodies of many others, punched a young man to death, and lived to tell the tale. The numbers divined great danger ahead, and, by the time a pink-feathered songbird had sung the perish song of Satoru Gojo, Kento could not deny the maths.

Kento could suddenly see no distant future for himself, as he once could. And yet between then, and now, there was one stark similarity; what future Nanami Kento did see, contained only you.

Behind his eyes flashed a montage of memory-- of midnight laughter-filled dinners at the Konbi. Of shielding you in battle, and you shielding him in return. Of you sitting on his lap, stitching his wounds with utmost care, before your reverse-cursed technique had fully developed. Of falling in love with you, and denying himself joy for believing he may give you none.

Being around you was agony. Being away from you was worse.

"I'll be heading underground," he had intoned to Nitta and Nobara, taking in their girlish features for the last time with a stab through his belly, "after I catch up with someone. Stay safe. Don't sacrifice yourself."

He was a hypocrite. He knew this. He would walk to the gallows, proud, if only he could take you in his arms and cry his love for you, first.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Looking out over the city, having heard Yuuji's cries for 'Nanamin' only a few minutes earlier, you did not know you were being desperately searched for by Kento. You had determined yourself to find and follow Yuuji, the boy without protection.

The night breeze whipped at you, unhindered by walls and trees, on the roof of one of Shibuya's tallest buildings. Turning to leave, you felt a familiar warmth approaching. The man you loved opened the stairwell door, squeaking on its pivot.

Missing his suit jacket and tie, with his sleeves rolled up, he thrummed with raw, uncontained power. Something feverish stormed within his eyes as he looked to you. His steps were slow, and considered. The quiet calm of his voice was deliberate, soft.

"Kento, what...what are you doing here? Is that blood? Oh god, you're bleeding-- let me heal you--"

"Stop. It isn't mine. Just listen for a moment."

"Isn't yours? Then one of the others? We should get them to Shoko--"

"--I need you to listen, now--"

"--we haven't got any time--"

"I love you." The air fell still; a puff of blossom in suspended animation. You had not realised you were holding your breath until Kento's steps caught up to you, and his hands grasped yours. A melancholic certainty rolled off him. Flicks of blond fell over his forehead, that fervour still gripping him; gripping you.

"I love you. You are the purest truth I know. The warmest light. Anything I am, and anything I could have been, is at your mercy, and always has been."

The gut-churning adrenaline you had felt for the fever-pitch of battle was suppressible, before Kento's impassioned promise. That dam broke inside you, and the terror and adoration and injustice heaved out of you in one great sob. You needed his body flush to yours. Public decency took a back seat. So many years of restraint and doubt slid away.

You looped your arms around Kento's neck, one hand grasping his shoulders, and the other sinking into the back of his hair. Kento almost broke, himself, but couldn't; not yet. He had to show you. Needed to show you.

You felt him pull your head away from his shoulder, and you resisted, until his fingers tangled in your hair, angling your head. You were nose to nose. You could feel his heart booming in his chest, fresh from a fight you had not witnessed.

"If this is my last chance," Kento whispered, his nose stroking yours, "will you let me take it?"

"...what...what do you know...that I don't? Kento--"

"Please." Kento growled, his teeth gritted. You felt the twitching contractions of his belly, his hardening cock pressing against you. You couldn't resist his need to control this, and take what he needed, even if you wanted to. Your breaths ached in your chest. Silent, glossy-eyed, you nodded.

Kento broke, possessing your lips in one shuddering kiss. His hands and body squeezed at your softly yielding hips, all-consuming, trying to overfill himself with any scrap of you he could take. He dominated the kiss completely, selflessly, as thoughtlessly altruistic as he had always been. He groaned, panting through the taste of you, his tongue sliding against yours. His cock wept inside his boxers-- it was all too much too much but not enough--

You mewled, little hands gripping onto his collar, sending thunder to Kento's core. Kento pulled away, cursing, feeling the need to know the scars that pleasure etched upon your skin. You were scorched by his touch, too pliable now to do anything but bend to his insistence.

In blood and brutality you sought each other, beacons in the night with stars as your witness. They looked on, disinterested, as if fate held any regard for the lives of mortals, over gods.

With time as his final remaining enemy, Kento pulled you to his lap, sitting with his back against the low wall overlooking the city. He knew for whom the bell tolled. He would see his duty done before the final chime, and he stared into you in your entirety. Though neither a painting nor an ivory box, he handled you with kid gloves.

You straddled his lap, unbuttoning his shirt, and he whispered, groaning and bucking up against your clothed sex as he watched your nimble fingers press his opened shirt apart. Running your hands in reverence down his bared chest and belly, he could not have loved you more than when he saw his own desperation reflected back at him.

In another life-- in any other world-- I--

He lifted you, enough for you to kick your jeans and underwear off, his teeth bared to feel your core press against his aching cock. He spoke through your kisses, a fractured sentence punctuated by his apologies.

"I didn't-- didn't prepare-- no protection-- I can't-- can't stop-- please don't make me stop." He begged, reaching down to hook his cock out. You silenced him with one hand wrapped around his rigid length, and Kento stilled with a hiss.

--take you to dinner first, I'd show you the world-- fill you with its beauty before I fill you with mine--

"Don't care--" You insisted against his neck, "--don't care...need to feel you." Kento almost sobbed with relief to feel you hold him, stroking the head of his cock between your glistening folds. You let his cockhead and slit catch over your clit, shivering, intoxicated by the way he watched you with one hand splayed across your belly, the other on your hip, and blown pupils. He bucked his hips, needy, full of baleful possession.

--and we'd have a Victorian glasshouse with a garden you'd love-- and you'd plant wildflowers while I do the laundry--

Grasping your hips with a snarl as you stroked his cockhead down, Kento impaled you downwards onto him, the moment his cock notched at your entrance. You squeaked, pussy clenching with the sudden blissful invasion, your squirming making you sink lower. Kento felt a telltale throb of impending orgasm in his belly, and he was certain if you clenched one more time--

Your pussy full to the brim, you instinctively bucked downwards. Feeling Kento belly-deep, his trembling fingers dropped to your clit, and you felt Kento's abs twitching beneath your splayed hands. Feeling two clever fingers bracketing your clit and rolling from side to side, you squeezed him, milking his cock and locking him inside you.

--all the late nights and early mornings and train rides and arguments in sickness and health for richer for poorer--

"--love you-- I love you too." You sobbed into his chest, loose and warm against him. Kento saw stars, coming with a shout, thick ropes of cum spurting into you. Looking up at the euphoric agony on his face, and his fingertips bruising your ass as they pinned you down around him, satisfied you spiritually, in a way so alien to you.

You rolled your hips, drinking down every part of him. The long, powerful contractions of his cock inside you, his stilted low moans, his gasps of pleasure as your tight gloved heat continued to stroke him. Starved for him, desperate for more, you rode Kento to frantic overstimulation.

--so unfair this is so unfair, die for you like you'd die for me like I'd die for you like you'd die for me--

You realised with a happy squirm that he hadn't yet removed his glasses or harness. With his shirt trapped against his shoulders, and his lens steamed, fucking upwards and thrashing his head from side to side beneath you, you couldn't stop yourself. You felt the fullness of his creamy load still plugged deeply inside you, and pushed hard against him. Kento cursed, paralyzing you with a hushed roar of agony, and a hand grasping your throat.

"--asked you to make love to me-- not kill me-- but shit, if this is how we go, just take me with you-- take me with you--"

His fingers had never left your clit, now rolling it insistently, until you were the one wriggling and desperate. Still being stuffed with his cock and cum made your pleasure three-dimensional, and Kento's half-hard length began to stir to life again, still high off the adrenaline of punching a man to death. He growled at you with gritted teeth.

"--beautiful...good girl...not done with you yet...shit, keep it in, keep it all in...take me with you...please--"

With half lidded eyes, you grasped Kento's forearm. His hand still braced you with exquisite tenderness around the throat, a necklace instead of a noose. His second hand worked frantically against your clit while you moaned and begged above him, still speared on his cock, feeling him lengthen and thicken again inside you. You whimpered and keened, and Kento committed you to memory, just like this. He would close his eyes in his final moment, and see you, breaking like spun sugar above him, no sweeter sound than his name on your lips.

--bake for you on Sundays, and the bread would always burn, because we'll be too busy--

Kento continued stroking you, pressing kisses onto your forehead as he guided you down from your high. Cautiously starting to roll his hips up again, he moaned at the slick sucks of his cock sliding through his cum and yours. Unthreading his shirt through his harness, Kento threw it to the ground, before lying you down on top of it.

Otherwise fully dressed, with dried stains of blood rusted over his chest and back, Kento bore over you like a vengeful god. Here to take his spoils, he still handled you like glass, resting your head on one of his planted forearms, with a hand under the small of your back to protect you from the floor.

"...I've wanted you for so long-- you don't even know--"

"I knew." Kento faltered. His anguish at leaving you for certain death sharpened, with the sudden knowledge of past chances untaken. His heart clenched, aching down his arms, steeling himself. He couldn't help but lean into your hand, cupping his jaw.

Nuzzling his nose to yours, Kento melted at your smile twinkling up at him. He smiled back, suddenly bashful, lopsided with crinkling eyes, before biting down on one lip and slamming his cock down into you. Your gasp shook through you, clawing into the harness across his chest and shoulders, hearing Kento swear with pleasure at the intensity of a second round.

Kento barely pulled out, wrapped in your arms and tight cunt. He almost spat with anger at the simultaneous need to savour you, and the need to leave, knowing he could not have both. Duty to you held the greater weight and, feeling another orgasm creep through his back and balls far too quickly, he slowed.

Completely engulfed by the enormity of him, you stared up at Kento, made submissive under his emotional insistence, the thick aching stretch of him sheathed inside you. Your back arched off the ground with a guttural moan when Kento slowed, dragging himself through your core from ball to tip in long, languid thrusts, the whole length of his cock glistening with gluey white seed.

He swore he could feel every ridge of you, the mind-altering bend of his cock as it moulded to the curve inside you. He needed you to carry the shape of him forever, an unremovable flesh-memory. Something had changed in him as you carded your fingers through his hair, whispering praises to him, to try to hold him together.

Kento looked drunk. His eyes were distant and hyperfocused all at once, his breaths and groans gruff, his voice gravelly with emotion as his mouth muffled against your shirt.

"--sorry, I...can't move my hands...hurt you, I--" Kento grasped your shirt between his teeth, ragging his head from side to side with a growl to lift it up over your breasts. He did the same to your bra, gripping the cups to yank your breasts free. They bounced out, full and peaked under his hot, frantic breaths.

Kento nosed at them, pulling his cock from you slowly, only to slam back into you with enough force to leave you writhing and whimpering. His mouth and nose played with your breasts, nudging, sucking and biting, hungry and obsessive. Something primal glimmered in his green glass-concealed eyes, as your mounds jiggled every time he fucked into you. The visual stimulus of you spread beneath him, your tight pussy slick with his cum, doe-eyed and completely willing, sent him spiralling towards his high.

"God I wish I--wish I could stay-- more than anything...cum with me, please please please--"

His thrusts became frantic, rough and sloppy with no warning. Kento's eyes darted from your face, to your breasts and pussy, and back again, drinking in the shock and ecstasy plastered over your face. You were trapped within the humid embrace of him, erotically overstimulated by his smell, his desperation, the constant stroke of his weeping cockhead against your spongy soft spot.

You didn't realise how close you were to orgasm until his position shifted, his trimmed honey-gold trail now rubbing against your clit. Clinging onto him, and rubbing upwards to meet his thrusts, you begged for Kento to help you. Your begging was Kento's last straw, and he gasped, his seed slugging out in lazy, creamy trickles against your overstuffed cervix and pussy.

Barely able to see straight, Kento kept rubbing his rigid pelvis against you, gruff and messy while you felt the drag of pleasure through you, softer than bare feet through hot sand. Kento whispered to you, sweat mingling on your foreheads pressed together; "...don't regret a thing...won't regret a minute-- wish this was different...deserve more..."

Panting in each others embrace, the dreadful horror of reality seeped back into you both. You could hear cries in the distance, the rumble of battles. You fought an unwinnable fight. Silent, and pensive, you jolted out of your reverie to hear Kento groan above you, reluctantly pulling his softening cock free. He knelt, dewy-eyed, watching the gluey drip of his cum from you, moaning and shivering as he held his half-hard cock, nudging the cum back inside with his tip.

The sudden emptiness almost made you weep. You felt the same terrible foreboding emanating from him as you had when he arrived on the rooftop. Kento smiled down at you, heartfelt and reassuring, pressing a folded pocket handkerchief to you before pulling your underwear back on over it. He kissed you delicately, from toe to knee while you giggled, before planting one lazy kiss and nuzzle onto your belly. You grasped his head there, scratching gently at his scalp with your fingernails.

"Stay with me, Kento. Just stay." You pressed, knowing in your gut that his decision was already made. His sigh creaked the leather of his harness with broad, corded tugs of his shoulders.

"They need help, underground. I'm one of the few First Grades available. It's only right that I go down there."

Kento's words, as always, rang with decisive finality. Before you could begin to talk again, he interrupted you smoothly.

"You will not come with me."

"You can't stop me."

"Shoko needs you. Your reverse cursed technique is second only to hers, and she's in need of support. It's the proper thing to do."

You squirmed with guilt, knowing you would choose to let Shoko suffer over Kento. Kento glowered down at you, stern, as if he hadn't just fallen apart inside you. You swallowed, a coil of doubt inside your belly.

"...don't be a hero, Kento." Kento frowned as if he didn't understand, and you insisted. "Don't be a hero. Get yourself out first. I mean it." Kento hesitated, looking out over the city lights, the breeze ruffling his mussed hair. He pulled his shirt back on, threading it under his harness.

"...alright." He lied. He paused. You both stood, sticky with each others' cum cooling between your legs. Nuzzling nose to nose, it felt so surreal to have to toss aside post-coital softness, in exchange for the cold embrace of battle.

"Go to Shoko," Kento whispered against your lips, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, "and help her. Please. Do as I say."

"Promise you'll come back to me." You hushed into his kiss, beseeching him. He softened, deceptively reassuring, while hearing his clocktower chime.

"Always. I'm all yours. Always." Planting one lingering kiss to your forehead, you watched Kento's retreating back, his figure disappearing down the stairwell.

You wondered if you'd ever trust anyone other than Kento, over your own instincts.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Shoko was surprised to see you, her cigarette drooping as she raised her thick, dark eyebrows.

"Kento told me you wanted me." You insisted. Shoko shot Yaga one questioning look. Yaga shrugged, arms folded.

"We haven't spoken to Kento all evening." Shoko assured. You felt a flash of panicked rage in your gut, knowing he'd lied to you. Knowing he was taking himself to an unwinnable battle. You grabbed Shoko by the arm.

"Where are they? His team? Where is he?"

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Kento was bloodied, missing an arm of his shirt, his vision obscured by the incessant bleed of a head wound. Pushing out of Dagon's domain, he knew he was exhausted, already skirting his limit. He felt a monstrous wave of Cursed energy, so much deadlier than his own.

A volcano-headed Curse approached him, its hand outstretched and hovering over Kento's abdomen. Naobito and Maki already smouldered in agony, and Kento felt the sickening weight of failure in his chest He had only a moment to protect himself, and he may have coated his body in Cursed-energy in its entirety, had he not filled his death-sentenced mind with thoughts of you.

He expected fire and flames...and felt you. When he protected his right half, you had arrived at the edge of a knife blade, and protected his left. The volcano-headed Curse faltered, stepping back with a scowl.

Kento looked down at you, knelt at his side in a braced position. His clock stopped chiming, in a moment of twisted fates reserved previously for the gods alone. He considered that you were, perhaps, a goddess, and he may be your vassal. You looked up at him, bristling with rage, and Kento's heart swelled.

"I'll tell you off later. For now...we have a fight to finish."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

By the end of the night, Itadori Yuuji had gained a brother and retained a beloved father figure. Nanami Kento cast his eyes over Choso with a hum of resignation, considering he may have another boy to look after, too. The patch-faced curse who may have been his executioner in another life, met its end. He witnessed an old friend who was not an old friend, cast a battle royale over the length of Japan.

Gazing in mute horror over the devastation left behind, Kento felt a hand slip into his own. His ears flushed red. He cleared his throat.

"I'm-- I'm so sorry--"

You laughed, your hands over your face. Kento's eyes glimmered with mirth. He plaited his fingers in yours, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, mumbling against them.

"My hero."

[books-and-omens]

I wonder, too, I wonder when Crowley is going to know. The six-espressos-in-a-big-cup protective hypervigilant Crowley. Ever circling around his angel, snapping at the slightest threat, shielding him from harm.

When is he going to know that he’s been manipulated, too?

And when is he going to know what role he himself played in Aziraphale’s decision?

There are so many things he didn’t tell Aziraphale. To protect him, to spare him, to give him time. Except, of course, all of that also meant that Aziraphale had no time and space to process them.

(And yes, there were things that Crowley could not possibly tell his angel. The cruel disdain of Gabriel’s words at Aziraphale’s execution is burned forever into Crowley’s mind; how could he have taken this dagger to Aziraphale? 

Anyway, shouldn’t the fact of the execution itself be enough for Aziraphale to know?)

But Crowley’s angel is kind, is bright, never expects and is forever surprised by treachery: Rose Montgomery turning out to be a Nazi spy, a countess turning out to not be a countess. Of course Aziraphale’s sheer relief on deciding that he’s been wrong about the Metatron will be a powerful force. He wants to be aligned with something bigger than himself; he wants there to be a point.

For all of S2, Crowley deflects threats from Hell. (Aziraphale, involved? Unlikely, Crowley says with studied nonchalance. And how do you know I didn’t do that miracle?) Out of Aziraphale’s earshot, he threatens and hisses, as he has likely done for millennia. Remember Hell’s book on angels, with everything it says about Aziraphale, with instructions to ‘avvoid’ and report to Crowley? Yeah.

By the end, there are key things that Crowley hasn’t told Aziraphale: his visit to Heaven, Gabriel’s punishment, what it was that Gabriel refused to do. Yes, there were archangels in the room, watching. Yes, Crowley had rather assumed that Aziraphale is as done with Heaven as he is himself. Still, it wasn’t Crowley’s instinct to give Aziraphale all the information. And after Aziraphale’s conversation with the Metatron, Crowley was primed to go ahead with a confession, was interrupted during said confession—so in the aftershock of Aziraphale’s words, he went right back to the path he’d already committed to. Then, of course, it was too late; the pain became too much; neither of them were thinking clearly, neither of them had the time to understand.

Yes, telling Aziraphale of the danger may not have helped. Aziraphale is even better at denial than he is at forgiveness; he might have refused to see what Heaven needs him for, how they intend to keep him in line. (Also, no doubt a worrying thought for Crowley if he was conscious of it: it’s very like Aziraphale to go to Heaven to try and stop the Second Coming no matter the risk to himself.)

But the thing is, the Metatron remembers Crowley. And he must know how rash Crowley is. How impulsive, and how likely to rear up and bite when presented with an offer to be forgiven for an injustice done to him.

So yes, Crowley has been manipulated. Through Aziraphale: through his angel’s indefatigable hope, through his desire to see the best and redeem what had seemed (but surely cannot be!) irredeemable: Heaven itself. Manipulated into storming out, his heart broken, the pain of that kiss still on his lips.

Into, after so many millennia, letting Aziraphale walk straight into danger.

I wonder when Crowley is going to know.

[panakina]

We are in desperate need of Death in the Family rewrite, instead of trotting out a horribly racist and bizarrely paced, thematically confused story like it’s one of the greats just because it’s load bearing. This is what i’d want from it.

Bruce is again the POV character, but he is explicitly a biased and unreliable narrator. We don’t hear Jason’s narration outside of a few key moments, but we are shown what he’s doing in direct contrast with Bruce’s theorising about his spiralling. Bruce never explicitly asks. Him and Alfred make well meaning, overbearing decisions on his behalf.

Jason is struggling with Batman and Robin’s catastrophic mishandling of several sexual assault cases in a row. I haven’t decided if we’re alluding to Jason being a victim of this himself, that might be overselling it. Either way he is deeply affected by these, and he is the only one. There’s a sense of isolation and injustice around him. He thought bruce cared. He thought batman was a solution.

Jason leaves to find his birth mother, leaving only a note and no explanation. Bruce sees the robin suit is missing and is annoyed. He doesn’t investigate, prioritising the hunt for the joker.

The death and build up happens exclusively in Africa, in a country with its own local vigilante, who wants to know what this American is doing here. (I don’t know enough about DC’s African heroes to know who it should be, but it needs to be one who is already established and competent in his own right.) Batman is in a state of awkward overreach with a patronising tilt to the way he hoards knowledge in the pursuit of the joker in someone else’s backyard. They agree to a partnership that in practise is unequal in Batman’s favour. We are externalising the themes here, mirroring Bruce’s personal relationships with his professional ones.

Jason and bruce run into each other by accident once again. Both are surprised the other is there for a different mission. They opt to combine forces anyway, since they’re both here. Bruce is touched and naively optimistic about Jason’s search for his birth mother. He is projecting. For a moment it is blazingly obvious bruce identifies as a fellow orphan to his sons first, and a father second.

There are local victims, arguably of the joker but it’s not definitive. Their deaths aren’t just numbers. They are real people. The local vigilante is very angry. Jason sympathises heavily, but he too is an outsider here. He sits apart from the funerary rites, listening in, uninvited, unable to mourn, unable to move on. Batman calls him to continue working the case.

Bruce isn’t blind, Jason is struggling. He makes a plan to reach out to him if they don’t find his mom, which will of course negate the need for action.

They find Sheila.

It all falls apart in the same way as the original. Jason does not try to take on the joker, although that is how it’s interpreted after he’s dead. He is trying to rescue his mom. She gets clobbered over the head by a joker goon on the way out and bleeds out while the bomb’s timer is still ticking down. Jason dies, alone, trying to shield the body of his dead mom.

None of the post-death UN stuff. Stupid.

Bruce disguises the death for publicity’s sake. He changes Jason out of robins clothes and hides the joker’s presence there to protect batman’s identity.

Time skip. The African vigilante knows he has been lied to. His country’s legal system paid off, and justice perverted. He comes to Gotham in pursuit of both the Joker and Batman, looking for justice.

At this point Bruce is in deep grief, swinging wildly between rage and self hatred. He is shutting out everyone. He loses track of a human trafficking case in crime alley to focus on the joker and the other vigilante.

The ending is an echo and inverse of the climax of Under the Red Hood, but nobody has set it up, it’s just the way a messy fight between the three remaining players works out. Bruce must choose between inaction and saving the joker. He doesn’t choose. He is frozen, and we do not know if it’s a choice or if he shut down too much to act. He is not in control. Joker appears to have died.

Joker is found, injured but alive, and gets locked in Arkham. The vigilante goes home, disgusted, having gotten what little justice Gotham offers.

The human traffickers escaped in the background of the fight. It isn’t called out, just a detail in the artwork.

Batman goes back to work in an empty house haunted by the dead. Jason’s grave stands alone. Everything has changed. Nothing has changed. Batman won, and everybody loses.