#(they said 'we see you write fanfiction on these. would you like something nicer?' and i said 'yes please!')

[wiseatom]

opened my laptop to find the rain fight scene paused btw.

[precious-little-scoundrel]

Dear John || Pt.1

Masters of the Air Fanfiction

Requested: ☑️ My sweet Bri begged for a love-letter-centric Egan fic and with her wonderfully infectious ideas this was produced, the first part of many.

Summary: Major John Egan wasn’t the pen-pal sort but a couple of hours into a dark night full of writing condolence letters, he finds himself wondering why he never tried his hand at the nicer forms of correspondence. Who better to reanimate his numb inspiration than the glamorous Miss Lana Tierney? -the army’s girl next door, the pinup so prolific she was practically a wall paper print and Bucky’s long-standing cinematic crush. It’s not like she’ll read it anyways, tucked up in luxury in Beverly Hills with carts of tedious fanmail burned in her back yard each day, his letter will get lost in the mix. It’s harmless. That thought -and the booze- may loosen his pen a little too much but it’s alright, it’s not like she’ll read it. Right? Right.

It was specified in the request to use or create some of those old WWII dirty acronyms, so in here you have Bucky making up his own for his starlet crush (acorn). I’m ripping off a few ladies here, Lana Turner, Betty Grable, Hedy Lamarr to name a few -the moodbaord is for general aesthetics, I try to keep my fem!readers and oc’s as ambiguous physically as possible. (Besides the fact Johnny Egan finds you mouthwatering, which -be honest with yourself here sweet thing!!- he would.

Rating: 18+ this is the letter writing, vintage form of sexting. i kid you not, this man swings wildly from sweet as pie to downright filthy and vintage slang for anatomical parts is used freely. This would make a better shameful diary entry than a letter but he’s a rogue and he’s in a war, cut him some slack.

Fun game: how many times can Major Egan manage to mention Buck in a horny fan letter to his crush?

Dear A.C.O.R.N.

It is highly unlikely that you remember me, but, all the same, we have met. Now, hear me out, I’m sure fellas say that to you all the time but my point still stands and to match them I’ll do you one better, seeing as how I am not buttering you up for something in return -I have met you, yes, but I have also sung to you.

There. Said it.

Not that you’d recall that either, but then again maybe you would, but either way it doesn’t matter as the entire reason I am writing to you is because it is entirely unlikely you will ever open this god-awful endeavor made of pen and ink.

I am quite drunk, you see.

A necessary medicine. And they do make good whiskey here, one of the few joys they haven’t rationed yet. It’s got me wondering what’s your poison of choice. Something fruity? Or are you an olive sucker? Like that salt on the rim? Or maybe you go for somethin’ silky and warm goin’ down your throat? Which-ever it is, I bet you’d be a surprise, sweet ACORN, I just know it. You were a surprise at the canteen. Back in Jersey? Before shipping out? I know you were on a whole tour and kisses were goin’ for dollars but still, you were a surprise.

A lovely one, really. And that’s the point of this letter. To tell you that you're lovely and while I’m not the pen-pal sort, I’ve written home 80 letters tonight to families whose boys I was supposed to bring home. It got me thinking: Bucky, why the hell don’t you write nice letters? Whyd you only write ‘em now that you gotta? And it occurred to me then that the one silver lining in this whole Air Exec job is the desk, the lamp and the office.

I could write anybody from here. I could write you.

And you wouldn't read it so I could write anything. And it could be a nice letter. ‘Cause I don’t know anybody of yours to tell you anythin’ sad about them and you don’t know me except that I’m alive and drunk. Which is better than those poor eighty two bastards. Which reminds me, I’ve still got two more but maybe Buck will take those, he took seventeen off to his bunk to write from there. Buck doesn't have a desk because he’s not as important as me and he has all the luck.

You’ve met Buck, too, Acorn. He was the appalled pretty one with the straw colored hair pulling me off you after we had our duet. He objects to your nickname, see, even though you didn’t seem to mind. You were lovely, A.C.O.R.N. And I’d not wanna ruin this letter by telling you what it means, not now that I’m actually writing to you and determined to be nice but Buck knows and while he agrees with me as much as any man in the nation that you’ve got the most robust rack on the silver screen -he has objections, you see. So it wasn’t the song or the canoodling he didn’t like, and I still say, he broke up a little love affair that night. Bastard. So I’m writing to you now because as the acronym suggests, I’ve got a goal in my mind in regards to you. I tell myself -Bucky, there’s reasons to make it back.

Reasons, Bucky, reasons. Like Acorn and her halo of gorgeous hair that smelled like coconuts and the way she thought my new lyrics were pretty clever. That’s what you said, acorn, you said they were pretty clever. Now I may have been a little drunk then, too, but I think you might’ve been tipsy, that coke smelled too strong to be straight. I still have the straw you gave me, it’s bent to hell but I’ve taken it up each mission. I’m not counting on it for luck so much as a reminder of the aforementioned reasons. To come back. Your lipstick has mostly worn off but I figure it’s still the same.

You had your precious lips around it. That’s what matters.

And that’s the sorta sentence that makes Buck think I shouldn’t write letters.

But what he can’t accuse me of is being dishonest or vague. I’m being straight with you. You deserve that much, you were lovely and very straight shootin’ yourself, dear little girl. I could pinch your cheeks right now, you’re so sweet. And don’t think me a coward for sayin’ all this under assumption that you won’t read it. I hope you don’t since it’s not worth your time and if you do I wish I’d written less about me and more about you but I need you to know if we were face to face I’d say the same:

You were lovely, you ARE lovely!!!! and I think all your work for us boys is swell and you’ve got the bestest set of knockers any of us have ever seen and I’m stayin’ alive in hopes to see ‘em again some day and while the girls here are swell and sweet they aren’t zippy like you. At least not the ones who’ve put out so far. And if I had you face to face, I’d find a way to make you laugh again and I’d tell you to your face you’re lovely and if I’d been David Nivin in Love Trap with you, I’d have stayed in that little kitchen with you and ate all your burnt flapjacks and watched you in your apron and made babies with you till we were old.

Anyway. It needed saying. And maybe I’ll say it to your face given the chance again. I was working my way up to a proposition for burgers and milkshakes when Buck ruined it. But maybe you’ll tour? Here!! Over here. In England or maybe in Europe once we kick the Nazis bastards out.

Now that’s motivation. That’s a reason! -clear out a nice little swath of land through fortress europe so Miss Lana Tierney can sing in the city of lights surrounded by nothin’ but wine and good food and a buncha boys who love and appreciate her.

Because we do, ma’am. We do.

And make no mistake, I do this to keep the country safe and try to bring as many boys home as I can but every second I also think - it’s where you are too, and so I must continue keeping it safe.

If you, by some godawful chance, do read this letter, please don’t feel pressed to respond or pull out a restraining order. Think of it this way, it’d just be one more “Dear John” letter and the system is clogged as it is. You just deserve a nice letter and my wrist is past sore, one more doesn't matter. And being unable to deliver nice, I’ve written this.

~ I am ever your respectful (and hammered) admirer, Maj. John Egan

P.S. if you do happen to read this I’m sorry. Buck told me not to do this but I just had to Acorn. You’re just too swell and I really have got to get myself to a theater before long, I miss your Angel face.

Masterlist

Thank you for reading! This was entirely out of my usual comfort zone but I’ve had fun writing it and I’m trying to tune my ear to pick up his voice, that’s been stretching. This series will have many letters in it but there will also be fic, so fear not. I’ve got some plans already figured out for this series but I do love a suggestion or ten so have at the inbox with what you’d like to see play out.

Hope you enjoyed, if you’d like to be tagged in future MOTA fics, drop a note below.

[castlebyersafterdark]

OKAY so inspired by that post about 'going down on' each other - to that anon, i salute you; writers are so very excited about turns of phrases and words so picking up on this is not weird at all, in fact it means you've recognised the way words in fact do paint pictures. after all, words are all writers have!

so vinny, please impart your opinion on the following descriptors of dick and when you'd use them if ever in fic/hcs 🤭

dick

cock

prick (seems like an insult but it has such a good reverence, halfway between the two above)

manhood

arousal (lmao)

erection

hardness (kinda love)

length

penis 🤭

Ooooooh, FUN!! What a lovely topic hahahahah 😂😜😈 Time for some cawwwk tawwwwk lol

Words as our ways of painting pictures - yes!! I think language choice contributes to the mood in writing. There are certain phrases and terms that lend to a more humorous approach to a story. Or making something sound like traditional erotica prose - even if we poke fun, readers do have a certain expectation and vibe when engaging with certain genres. Genre too! The era, the time period. The personality of the characters. Action versus dialogue versus exposition and prose.

For writing purposes:

Dick/cock - Pretty much use dick or cock for the most part in writing. I think cock is a sexier word, great word, one of my favorite words 🤭Use it a lot more and will dip more into that once a story moves into the sex scenes. It's hard to describe, but there's a certain point and vibe for when a dick becomes a cock in the action of a scene hahaha. But it's true!! I'll switch in other terms to give writing variation and not become monotonous, but cock is the #1 Prick - I don't think I'd ever use this. Unless writing a character using regional slang. It's not in my own vocab so it wouldn't be a natural choice. Probably would be restricted to dialogue only for me. I've definitely said "don't be such a dick" but I can't imagine myself saying "don't be such a prick" Manhood - Lofty language for traditional erotica. Seems kinda straight to me. Like a woman would use this to describe a man, because it's a differentiator. And that's fine. Maybe that's just me. Arousal - Yeah I think I'd use this one. Variation when describing the lead up before the actual sex of whatever type happens. "He could feel his arousal hot beneath his jeans..." or something like that. It's fine. Erection - More matter of fact, descriptive rather than sexy. Not for the spicy sexy parts of the story. It's word choice. You can say either "He could feel Mike was aroused" or "He could tell that Will had an erection" and take your pick for writing style. I think the former sounds nicer, but it's not jarring to use either. This body part gets hard, it gets erect. Writing style. "As subtly as possible, he crossed his legs to his his erection" works just as well as "...he crossed his legs to hide his arousal." Neither are better or worse. Hardness - It's a state of the thing itself, yeah? It's what's going on. I would probably word sentences to say "he's hard" or something instead of calling a dick someone's hardness. Probably hardness more as an adjective rather than a noun if that makes sense? Length - Use this for physical action rather than just calling the cock a length. "He stroked up his length and..." or "He slowly sunk down the length, inch by inch..." etc. It's part of an action rather than just dick alone? Penis - Is what it is, too clinical. Can't really say most in general use it in sexy scenes in fanfiction in particular. I think it could make an appearance in dialogue out of a character choice. "So, you really want me to just lie there naked, fully penis out, and you're gonna sketch me? Really?" See what I mean? It's not to be hot, but it has personality! MORE CHOICES: Bulge - Specifically useful to refer to the dick as still covered by clothing or underwear, because that's what it is at that point. Especially underwear. Pole - Prob not gonna use in writing, but this is one that's pretty common in casual conversation? When using slang terms at least, personally. Shaft - I think this is similar to length, useful more for describing an isolated part of the dick rather than just the whole thing itself, which sounds kinda silly that way. Seen in cheesy erotica when used badly. Member - Can't explain why, but I really don't like this one! But I see it here and there and hmmm. Not into it. Boner - This one is very personality based, wriring style if it's a little more silly or even playing into combining your narration voice, if it's leaning into the vibes of the character who is leading the story. See above but another option: "As subtly as possible with his friends nearby and unaware, he crossed his legs to hide his unfortunately timed boner." I added more to give the line some personality to demonstrate it working in prose where it might otherwise seem childish. It's a little juvenile of a term, so giving the narration some sass kinda works? Junk - Conversational and silly, definitely not super sexy. Dialogue only.

[dramionediscussion]

I would give anything to watch/read/head a comprehensive analysis of the dramione fandom. Like how/if famous fics influenced the fics that came after them. Trends through the years. The main differences between fics written before the HP books were completed and after the fact. Character arcs and how commenters reacted to them. Some other aspect I wouldn't even think to note... It would be so interesting!

I can't give you a proper analysis but I can't try to answer your questions.

Many authors will tell you if another fic specifically inspired them. There were a few that were inspired by "Manacled" by SenLinYu. A few people wrote sequels to "Master" by Akashathekitty, with her permission.

With regards to trends, whenever a new trope pops up, many people write about it. Marriage Law started in the Hermione/Snape fandom in the mid-00s, but somehow came across here and has been a very popular trope in the fandom since. In the early 00s, when Harry Potter fanfiction started, many Dramione fics were very OOC. They didn't include Voldemort. They had the Malfoys not being involved in the war. A lot of the stories were based in Hogwarts and were very "high school drama teen romance" types. You also have a lot of very AU fics popping up in the late 00s/early 10s. Like fics, where authors include their own magical systems, their own magic theory, and wandlore.

As the books and movies came out, authors started to change their themes to reflect canon. So you started to see more war Era fics, more darker themes, and what we will call true to character fics. Fics with Draco being a death eater, fics with Hermione being on the run, fics showing the war and battles and strategies and the horrors of war.

By the time the movies were completed, there were still a lot of war fics, but you started to see more post-war fics. Fics of what happens now. Year 8 fics, head boy and head girl fics, the character being working adults, Draco getting his redemption, etc. Of course, all these tropes mentioned were being written about since the beginning, but to me this is what I saw more of as time when on.

As for feedback/comments, I think as time went on, people got nicer in their comments and remarks to authors. If you look back at older stories, people didn't hold back when it came to the comment section. They were mean and insulting. As time went on, people became nicer and more careful with what they said. Also, more people were giving constructive criticism rather than "i love this!! <3".

Another thing that changed over the 2 decades of dramione is the quality of the stories in terms of planning, writing, spelling and grammar, and length. Before no one had a beta, now it is seen as a requirement. Some even have multiple betas. People will definitely call you out if you have plot holes, if something doesn't make sense, etc. Authors put in a lot of work into writing their fics, planning in advance about what is happening in their stories and their characters. Some even take weeks of planning before even writing something.

How a person advertises their stories have also changed. With social media being very prominent in our society, a lot of authors use it to promote their stories, give readers sneak peaks of new chapters, make moodboards to give readers a better idea of their characters, the moods, the setting. They commission artwork for their stories, and someone might even do it for free. They are able to reach out to their fans and directly talk to them. Before, you just posted a story online, and that was it.

The hate and negativity of the fandom have also changed. Before, no one cared for fanfiction in general. People thought it was weird, and those who read or wrote it were also weird. But as time we on, nerd/geek culture became more popular, and people expressed it more. People got a better idea of what fanfiction actually is and started to get into it. So, more people were exposed to non-canon ships, which led to people not liking it and more hate to anyone who did.

Social media also allowed fans to have a community where they can talk about fics, critique it, and help each other out. But of course, this led to bullying someone for liking one fic over another. It led to insulting authors for writing about a particular topic, and it led to people getting together to make sure someone who they didn't like didn't get readers. It led to people just up and leaving the fandom because people just constantly picked on them.

For the character of Draco, as time went in, his characterization went from "normal" school bully to indoctrinated racist young boy. Authors gave a better background to his character, which explained why he did what he did. They humanized him and started to write realistic ways in which a person like him can change. Also, as people in the fandom grew up, people started to understand the themes and characters of the original books better, so we too saw that it's not black and white when it comes to Draco. So we have a lot of support to authors who wrote a Draco the we saw him, which led to newer tropes in the fandom popping up, like Draco going to Azkaban for a few years, Draco becoming an Auror, Draco being involved in chariry work.

That characterization of Hermione to me hasn't really changed. She was always a fan favourite. Older stories were a bit of a self-insert. They also had her character being very "Mary Sue" like. You still see that now sometimes. I think authors have also done a good job in keeping her very much like her character in canon.

Of course, this is just what I observed over the years. I started to read Dramione fanfiction around 2008-2009, so we'll over a decade in the fandom, I've seen a lot. But this is just my experience and my POV.

- Lisa

[sailor-toni]

I posted 545 times in 2022

That's 355 more posts than 2021!

109 posts created (20%)

436 posts reblogged (80%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@ii-zi

@moonlightsdreaming

@13thcat

@sailor-toni

@auroraphantasma

I tagged 128 of my posts in 2022

#art - 48 posts

#danny phantom - 39 posts

#writing - 21 posts

#fanfiction - 20 posts

#reading journal - 18 posts

#youtube - 13 posts

#journal - 12 posts

#bullet journal - 12 posts

#book journal - 10 posts

#video - 9 posts

Longest Tag: 54 characters

#three studies for figures at the base of a crucifixion

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

The Grandfather You Never Wanted

You can also read on AO3, FF.net, and Wattpad

“Danny? Danny! Danny I can’t understand you. You're gonna have to use actual words,” Tucker said, his phone pressed up against his ear.

“Walker, and my Mom, and him! And ME!” Danny sputtered.

“Is Walker also after your Mom? How many ghosts want to bang your Mom dude?”

“What! NO! Ugh!” Danny took a breath, before restarting his tirade. “I was in my attic with my Mom, and we found some old photos of my Mom’s side of the family, and and and I saw my grandpa, I mean I’ve seen him before but like I’m pictures and such but I know him Tuck, he’s in the ghost zone -”

“Your Grandpa is in the ghost zone? That’s awesome, maybe you can get in more time with him or-”

“No Tuck, my grandpa is Walker.”

The Casper High library was quiet, it’s maroon walls and wooden bookshelves look like they jumped out of the 70’s. Wherever there could be, that shade of deep forest green penetrated the room.

In the far corner, jammed between Emily Dickinson, and the complete 1967 collection of Time magazine sat the trio. Holding a thick scrapbook.

“Your Mom never told you Walker was your grandpa?” Sam said.

“She mentioned him a few times. Like his name isn’t walker but Daniel, and that he died in a prison riot. Also one Christmas he almost burnt the house down with Christmas lights but not much else,” Danny said.

Sam held the picture of Walker up to the scrapbook image of Daniel Walker Smith. In the image he held his wife’s hand as balloons and streamers rained upon them. The next image showed him with his daughters, one looked uninterested to be there, the other had a diamond in her eyes. A shiny new first place trophy in her hands. Walker held them both, a big smile on his face.

“It’s so weird to see him like that,” said Tucker.

“Alive?” replied Danny.

“No, the smile.”

“Walker has never smiled before.”

“Not like that.”

“True.”

“What if you showed Walker this?” Sam spoke up, “Maybe it would jog his memory? Get him to be nicer to you? Or give you a free pass?”

“Oh! Hey Sam's on to something here. Maybe you can pull a few strings and we could finally get somewhere without a ghost map,” Tucker said.

“Yeah, but what if he doesn't care and wipes the floor with me again?” Danny said.

“You never know until you try?” Sam

-----

            The cold stone, polished to resemble a large granite wall. Its walls were void of any crack or crevice for one to shove a foot or hand into.  And bare of any markings or signs of age. It was the ghost zone eternal prison, where rule breakers could stay for the rest of their afterlife. A dismal existence for sure, and one Danny did not want for the remainder of his mortal life.

What was he even doing here? Even if Walker had forgotten most of his human memories, like some ghosts did, he wouldn't suddenly turn good. Maybe?

Danny envisioned Walker in a pink Hawaiian vacation shirt, khaki cargo shorts, and flip flops with socks on, walking to see Danny's science fairs, or treating him and his sister to a movie, or just hanging out and sneaking him money. Like what Sam's grandma did. But instead of him being dressed in all black, he would be glowing, and floating a few inches off the floor.There was a fat chance of that ever happening but if there was a chance, Danny would like to know if this man was actually his grandfather. Does Walker know already? Does he know and just not care? That would match up with how his Mom described him. 

A scream from the prison echoed across the stone walls, the sound bounces off its surface. Danny cringed. Maybe he wouldn't be like that, but if he knew, maybe he would do crazy stuff like frame him for kidnapping the mayor. Actually no, this was a horrible idea. Danny's thought, as he retreated from his grandfather's castle of nightmares. Why would the guy who did that? ! Suddenly try to become grandpa of the year? This was a dumb idea and he knew it.

“Hey who’s there?” Danny froze, behind him was a guard, green oily skin, red eyes, and a face that only a mother could love. Floating there, a baton charged with energy in his left hand. A flashlight in the next.

“Freeze! Ghost boy!” Danny flew, his feet were swept off the ground by his own flight response, their ghostly trail trying desperately to catch up with his torso.

See the full post

90 notes - Posted November 3, 2022

#4

Watch me do a speedpaint of this picture here!

91 notes - Posted September 3, 2022

#3

The Danny Phantom fandom is cool and all. But it really feels like the people in here would willingly stomp you to death in order to maintain the image of a small peaceful, no issue fandom. An example might be "hey, can you not say you don't like ghost hunger fics? B/c someone who really likes ghost hunger fics might become discourage and leave the fandom. Thanks and try to be a better person next time! 💖🥰"

Fam, people are allowed to leave fandoms for whatever reason no questions asked. Its not a social club, its a bunch of random people online who like the same 2007 children's show. If someone wants to leave after such a cold take. I would let them. Why force them to stay in a place where even a slightest disagreement makes them wanna run?

104 notes - Posted September 22, 2022

#2

You were only 14 when you decided to fight the world.

Ectober day 6

150 notes - Posted October 12, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Am I the Asshole for trying to ask my college sweetheart out after her husband disfigured me?

I (42M) was friends with (names changed for privacy) Molly (42F) and John (44M) in college. John and I were good friends and we both had crushes on Molly. I was going to ask her out on a date, when during an experiment John dumped the wrong chemical down the hatch and the experiment blew up in my face, disfiguring me for life. I spent the next ten years in the hospital fighting for my life. While John asked Molly out. They are now married and have two kids (16F and 14M). I have mostly recovered and have reconnected with my friends. While they never visited me in the hospital I have forgave them. I still have a crush on Molly so I asked her if there was any change between us. Her son overheard and now the family won't talk to me. Am I the asshole?

EDIT John claims he never meant to disfigure me EDIT 2 Some of you have been asking why would I ask a married woman out? I feel like my life was stolen from me and the least they could do as my friends was give me a chance.

172 notes - Posted May 7, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[alexisaflop]

On my mind - Steve Harrington x Reader

Been reading fanfiction, wanted to write something :) not what i normally do on this account but it's fun and I've missed it. anyway im a basic bitch who loves Steve Harrington so I guess that's what's coming first??

Set after the events of Season 2, after the reader saves Steve from a demo-dog. The reader is Dustin's sibling and chats with Steve whilst they wait for him to get ready.

Warnings: brief canon-typical violence, nightmares, literally just pure fluff

Henderson! reader, gnc! reader

2222 words

Had a lot of fun writing this, so let me know if you want anything else from this show :)

You watched as your little brother Dustin frustratedly styled his hair, rerunning the comb through and then inevitably changing his mind moments later.

"Stop watching me, Y/N, this is very delicate work," he exclaimed, closing the bathroom door behind him.

You receded into the living room, trying not to laugh at the antics of your brother. His crush on Max was cringy to watch, but it was classic middle school. Just as you had coaxed Mews 2 to sit with you, you hear a car outside, and shortly after the door goes.

"That'll be Steve, I'll delay him for you," you half-shout to Dustin, as you go to the door. He makes a disgruntled shout of gratitude in response.

"Hey," you say, opening the door.

Steve looked the same as ever, as if the recent events of demodogs and alternate dimensions never happened. He wore a simple red jumper that comfortably complemented his brown hair, that was - as always - impossibly perfect.

"Hey, Y/N. How's it going?"

"He's just getting ready, the suit looks good, but he's just, uh, perfecting the look. Do you want to come in and wait?"

He nodded, stepping inside, the wind from outside danced round him, his hair joining in sync, he was effortlessly handsome this way. Mews 2, seemingly instantly, appeared, purring and rubbing against Steve's ankles.

"Traitor," you commented, smiling slightly, "I spent ages getting her to like me, of course she loves you straight away."

"Oh, is that how it is?" Steve asked, leaning down, lifting the cat, who, much to your surprise, did not protest, "You would have thought that me saving your life and everything would have put us on the same team."

"You saved my life? Come on, Harrington, you know that's not how it happened. If it weren't for me, you would have been demo-dog food."

"Yeah, but that's only because I was only in that position to protect you anyway."

"Whatever, Harrington, I saved your life," you said half-jokingly, slowly approaching him.

It was silent for a while as you reached up and played with the cat, you couldn't believe how much nicer she was being to him. Up this close, you could smell a mixture of his hair product mixed with a seemingly natural scent of pine trees.

Unbeknownst to you, Steve was also watching you, the way your currently messy hair framed your face, and the slight vacancy of your eyes as you seemingly absent-mindedly petted the cat.

"So, how have you been doing, y'know, after everything?" Steve asked eventually.

You slowly looked up at him, calculating how serious an answer he wanted. His eyes looked into yours earnestly, almost intimidatingly so. Noticing you pause, he sat down on the sofa, just waiting for your response.

"I, I mean I'm alright, we all made it out alive - despite your multitudes of protest," you said, smirking at him, "but even though I know it's over, I keep wondering what if it isn't, y'know?"

He smiled sympathetically, it struck you again how pretty he was. "Hey," he said, you wondered vaguely how long it had just been silent, "El closed the gate, you know that, everything's okay now," his voice impossibly soft.

"I know," you nodded, "but sometimes, at night, I just see -"

"Alright, how do I look?" Dustin said, appearing from the bathroom. He paused slightly, noticing the intensity of the eye-contact between the two of you.

You smiled, "You look amazing Dusty, you know Mom promised me I'd get a picture."

Steve watched as you smiled and said this, noticing the easy switch to cheerful and supportive, all for the sake of Dustin. He tore his eyes off of you and turned to look at Dustin. His hair was teased into a curly copy of Steve's own.

"You look great, kid," he said, standing up with a grin.

He stood behind you, pulling faces to force Dustin to smile for a photo, before you insisted him being in one. After all, he was Dustin's chauffeur, and self-proclaimed best friend.

"Alright, have fun okay, and keep an eye on Will, yeah?" you said, dusting off Dustin's shoulder.

He nodded excitedly, already half out of the door, "See you tomorrow, Y/N!"

Steve followed, before turning back to you, "You sure you're gonna be okay?"

You just nodded, but something on your face must have been giving you away, because Steve tilted his head slightly, and those soft eyes of worry made a return.

"Yeah, Harrington, I'm all good, I'll see you around, alright?"

He looked like he was about to say something else. Right on cue, your brother called for Steve, insisting they were going to be late.

Steve muttered something about Dustin being a little shit, before half jogging down to his car.

You waved them off, before closing the door and sinking back into the sofa where he had sat moments before.

*****

In the car, Dustin asked, "Hey, what was all that with them?"

Not looking up from the road, Steve said, "what was all what?"

"With Y/N, you kept staring at them whenever you thought they weren't looking. I'm not blind, Steve."

"It was nothing, really, I just care about them that's all"

"So do I, so don't lie to me Steve, come on. I thought we talked about this type of stuff, now, since I love Max and all."

Steve could have sworn he sounded slightly genuinely put-out. He smiled slightly, "I just meant that ever since in the tunnels, when they saved me. They got hurt for me, and I feel kinda guilty about it, and then I couldn't get them out of my head. And they are beautiful, which doesn't make it any easier to forget."

"Hey, that's a blood relative of mine you're talking about there," he exclaimed.

"You did ask, and beautiful is hardly graphic, come on."

"You should tell them", Dustin said, "they'd prefer you were just straight with them. Plus, I hate having to watch you staring at each other, it's gross and distracting."

Each other? Steve thought, were they doing the same, and he hadn't even noticed?

"Fine, fine, maybe I will. But enough about that, here we are" Steve announced as he pulled into the school.

"So remember, once you get in there..."

"I don't care," finished Dustin.

Steve nodded, hyping him up, "That's right, you don't care."

Still unconvinced, Dustin checked his reflection, which Steve did not allow, as he closed the mirror he said, "hey, you look great."

"uh-huh," mumbled, Dustin doubtedly.

"You look great, you look great, okay?" Steve questioned insistently.

"Yeah".

"You're gonna go in there, look like a million bucks"

"YEAH"

"And you're gonna slam dunk"

"Like a lion," agreed Dustin, before making a weird noise with his teeth.

"Uh, yeah, don't do that."

Dustin nodded, defeated, and got out of the car.

"Go get 'em tiger!"

Steve smiled slightly, as he watched Dustin go, shaking his head, wondering how he became friends with some random kid. All because of Nancy - speaking of whom. He saw her through the window, talking to Jonathon. Steve leant back in his chair, and decided he was glad she was happy with someone else, as he pulled out of the car park, turning back towards the Henderson household.

****

You were still on the sofa, now curled into a ball as you read a book.

And then there was a knock at the door.

"Hey, Y/N, can I come in?"

You nodded, letting him in, he was holding a VHS and a plastic bag of snacks.

"I thought, if you can't sleep, I might as well get you to relax... if that's okay."

"Steve," you said, starting to say that he didn't need or have to.

But he shook his head, gently pushing you back into the sofa, he was warm, and even after he had removed his hands, you could feel a sparky outline of them.

"No Y/N, I owe you, you did, after all, save my life."

That got you to smile slightly.

Steve settled next to you on the sofa, a respectable distance, but close enough to reach out to him. You could almost hear his breathing, and you could smell him again. It was comforting, he was really here, unlike all the things you relived in the dark, and he was grounding. As the film ended, you realised how tired you actually were, and tried, but failed, to hide your yawning.

"So, when was the last time you slept, like properly?" asked Steve.

You just shrugged.

"Come on," he said, having switched off the TV, he pulled you gently out of the sofa and you both meandered to your room.

"What if you stayed?" you mumbled, you were almost embarrassed to ask him, but his presence was keeping you calm in a way you hadn't felt before, which wasn't something you were ready to lose.

"If you're sure, that's okay," was all he said.

You vaguely wondered if that was something he actually wanted, but you were too tired from your shift at work earlier, and then getting Dustin ready, that you didn't really want to start questioning that.

Steve went to the bathroom whilst you got ready for bed. As he washed his hands, he looked at himself in the mirror, pausing in slight disbelief that you were letting him stay around. The truth was, he loved your company too, like he had told Dustin, you hadn't left his mind since that night when you had fought that demo-dog away from him.

When he returned to your room, you were already curled up under the covers. So, he laid down opposite you, on top of the covers, but under a blanket. You were staring in front of you, your eyes vacant, as if looking at something that wasn't really there. But when he settled next to you, you smiled slightly in recognition.

"Hey," you said softly.

"Hey," Steve responded.

You really did look beautiful wrapped up like that. So, he reached out, brushing your hair from your face, when you didn't protest, he carried on. Slowly, he played with your hair, letting it run through his fingers. The entire time, he made sure to be gentle with you, just trying to distract you, as slowly, but surely you fell asleep.

For a while, Steve carried on, just looking at you, but slowly he fell asleep too.

****

Suddenly, you were back in the tunnels, you had reached the hub, and there was one stalking the group. It was staring you down. You were all alone and as it charged, you could do nothing. Your feet were stuck to the ground, it opened up its mouth about to -

You lashed out, swinging your arms in a last minute attempt to protect yourself, before realising it wasn't real.

Steve caught your badly formed fist in his hand.

"Hey, hey, hey," he said softly. He didn't wait for a response, just pulling you into him until your head was buried in his chest. He wrapped his arms around you, one hand resting on the back of your head, starting to play with your hair. The other hand slowly drew circles in your back.

You leant into him, letting him know he was okay to keep going, and eventually returning the hug, with one arm settling over his shoulders.

"You're okay, I promise, I'm right here," he said softly.

You nodded into his chest.

****

In the morning, you were both still entangled. He was watching you with an absent-minded smile on his face.

"Morning, beautiful," he said.

You hit him playfully, "oh shut up," you said, barely daring to believe this was real.

He was still looking at you. "I meant it."

"What?"

"I meant it. I think you're beautiful, I haven't stopped thinking about you since everything that happened. You're brave and kind, and maybe too good to your shithead brother."

You just stared in shock, you couldn't really believe it. Until you had seen him getting his ass handed to him by Billy Hargrove, had you really started to like him. But he had always been gorgeous himself.

You realised he was waiting for you to say something.

"Me too," you admitted, finally looking back up at him.

His hair was falling into his face, so you reached up to fix it for him. It was only then you realised just how close together the two of you really were. His eyes were on you, following your every move. As you fixed his hair, he leant into your hand. Neither of you could break eye contact, until his betrayed him, slipping down to look at your lips before flickering back up.

You smiled slightly, only drawing his attention back to them, as you leaned in, and gently pulled him most of the way.

It started off slowly, his lips unbelievably soft. And then he was pulling you close, one hand coming up to hold your head, the other sliding up your back. You wrapped one leg around him, each of you keeping the other close.

When your faces pulled apart, the rest of you stayed wrapped together. Safe.

You rested your forehead against his.

"Okay, Harrington, we're even now."

He laughed gently, before kissing you again.

[fonulyn]

Why do writers always bang on about getting comments on their fanfictions? I'm sorry but I really don't get it.

If you love writing and enjoy creating stories then why do you need comments? Is it just an ego thing?

this ask does not feel like it's been sent in good faith, tbh, it's phrased so provocatively it sounds more like an attempt to guilt-trip than a genuine question. but I'm gonna give you the benefit of the doubt and answer it as if it was a genuine question anyway, because maybe the tone wasn't intentional.

have you ever in your life actually created something? imagine a scenario: drawing a picture or writing a story as a child and running to your parents with it, I bet you expected them to actually say something about it instead of just glancing at it and turning away. you liked making it so why should they react to it in any way then?

it's very human to want some acknowledgement to your hard work. and that's what writing (or drawing or any creating) is, even if it's enjoyable, it's also a lot of work. so why is it such a bad thing to want some engagement for it? why do you feel the need to shame writers for wanting something back for the hours of work they put into creating something?

or I've seen it phrased online like this: you love baking, you enjoy the whole process and it's one of your ways to decompress. but when you bake a cake for a party and no one takes a slice, no one enjoys what you created, it is going to feel like crap. as fun as the hobby is, sharing it with others is a whole different thing and you do expect something back when doing it. and comments are it for fanfic, because you can't be there to see the happy faces when people actually do eat your cake.

another way i've seen it said before: fanworks are gifts to fandom. in general, if you give a gift to someone, you are going to want to know if they liked the gift they got. granted, fics and other fanworks aren't often directed at only one person but at a collective bunch of people, but the expectation still remains. you'd still want to know whether people liked your gift or not.

besides, writing something and posting something are two very different things. I enjoy writing and I'm not going to stop doing that and creating stories. but if no one engages with my work online, why should I go through the tedious process of posting it online? sharing is done with the expectation of engaging in some sort of community, in whatever capacity, and if there is no sense of community there? it's wasted effort.

I don't know when writers wanting comments suddenly became a bad bad thing instead of a natural part of the entire process but it's really something that we should take a step back on and reassess. fandom, for me at least, is about connections and community and sharing things I love with other people who love those same things. but if it feels like I'm just sitting here screaming into the void and no one even tries to scream back, then why bother.

sure it's partly an ego thing too because it feels really damn good to know you were able to create something another person enjoyed. but that's not the main thing. and even if it was, I don't see what would be so bad about it tbh. again, writing is not only enjoyable it's also hard work, so if one goes through the trouble of putting those words from their head onto a word document, then why is it so bad to want something back from it?

so just… why is it so bad that writers "always bang on about getting comments"? how would it hurt you to spend fifteen seconds of your life leaving a nice comment on something you enjoyed reading and spent some time on? would it be so bad to make someone a little happier? someone literally took time out of their life to post it online in the hopes that it would make someone's day a little nicer, so why is it so bad to hope someone would repay the favor and make the author's day with two nice words?

I'm sorry but I really don't get why it's such a bad thing to want to feel a part of the fandom instead of a mindless and emotionless machine who's supposed to churn out content for others to read and wordlessly dismiss. because that's how your attitude translates. that wanting some kind of a human connection is something bad.

I'm tired and I should be sleeping and I'm sure this could've been phrased better but there.

besides, anon, if you're that annoyed about writers asking for engagement on their work, you can always unfollow and ignore them. problem solved.

[bi-bard]

Please Say That You're Joking (Pt.1) - Chuck Shurley Imagine (Supernatural)

Title: Please Say You're Joking (Pt. 1) [You can read part 2 by clicking here!]

Pairing: Chuck Shurley X Winchester!Reader

Requested: Nope

Word Count: 2,930 words

Warning(s): mentions of sex, threats of violence

Summary: (Season 4; Season 11) (Y/n) had a single one-night stand while coping with loss in a not healthy way... if only they had a clue about the weight of their actions.

Author's Note: I was recently going back through some of the "lighter" episodes of Supernatural because I wanted to watch something I could chuckle at. That's where this came from.

This might be the most crackheaded thing I've written in a while.

Also, the amount of things I had to bullshit my way through this is actually ridiculous.

Hey! I did a rewrite of the ending of Supernatural. It took a really long time to complete, so it would mean a lot to me if you check it out. Here’s a link! (it’s on my personal account)

-------------------------------------

Sam, Dean, and I walked into the motel room. We were all confused and slightly scared.

We had gone to a comic book shop to do some work on a case. However, we were then called fans.

Fans of what?

Well, fans of a series of books about our lives.

I was the middle Winchester child. Two years younger than Dean, two years older than Sam. I was beyond confused when I saw some weird, romanticized version of me on the cover of a book.

"This is so weird," I mumbled, plopping onto one of the beds in the room.

Sam jumped onto his laptop and started researching. Dean was holding one of the books, reading through it. I didn't even want to touch it.

"I don't like how he describes (Y/n)," Dean commented. "It's weird. It's like he's in love. Listen to this..."

Dean dramatically clears his throat and starts to read in an even more dramatic voice, "'Even after a hard hunt, (Y/n) could easily be seen as the most beautiful of the siblings. They mimicked the beauty of their mother more than their brothers. There's no bruise or cut that could take the loveliness away from the natural curves of (Y/n)'s face. If only they could see how everyone else would stare-"

"Okay, ew," I muttered, walking to the table. "What'd you find?"

"Well, it seems like Carver Edlund is a pen name," Sam shrugged. "And the fans are intense."

"As in," Dean asked, closing the book and joining the two of us at the table.

"Well," Sam handed me the laptop so Dean and I could look at it, "there's fanfiction. About all of us."

"What's this, 'Sam/Dean'," I asked.

"It's... me and Dean... together."

"They just don't care that we're related," Dean asked. Sam nodded.

"God, this is so weird."

"So, how do we find this guy," I asked.

--time skip--

We managed to find the publisher of the novels and found her house.

"So, you published the 'Supernatural' books," I asked as we walked in.

"Yep," she nodded. "Yeah, gosh. These books... they never really got the attention that they deserved. All anybody wants to read anymore is that romance crap."

"Could not agree with you more," I said. "We're hoping that our article can shine a light on an underappreciated series."

"Yeah, because, you know, if we got a little bit of good press, then maybe we can start publishing again," she replied excitedly.

"No, no, no," Dean immediately shut her down. "I mean, why... why would you want to do that? It's such a complete series with Dean going to hell and all."

"Oh my god, that was one of my favorite ones," she rambled. "Dean was so strong and sad and brave. And Sam... I mean... the best ones are when they cry... like in 'Heart' when Sam had to kill Madison; the first woman since Jessica he'd really loved. When Dean had to call John in 'Home' and ask him for help. Or when (Y/n) went back to the motel room after getting kidnapped and just had to sit in their own head and had to truly process not only the death of their mother but now their father. The mixed feelings were amazing."

"You're a really big fan," I noted. She nodded.

"Gosh, if only real men were that open about their emotions."

"Real men," Dean asked.

"I mean, no offense," she replied. "How often do you cry like that?"

"Well, right now I'm crying on the inside," he muttered.

"Is that supposed to be funny?"

"Lady, this whole thing is funny."

"How am I supposed to know this is legit?"

"Oh, trust me," Dean mumbled. "We're legit."

"Well, I don't want some smart-ass article making fun of my boys," she snapped as she sat in her chair.

"Oh, never," I replied quickly. "We actually are big fans."

"You read the books?"

"Cover to cover," I promised.

"What's the year and model of the car?"

"1967 Chevy Impala," Dean smiled proudly.

"What's May 2nd?"

"That's my- uh... Sam's birthday," Sam replied.

"Sam's score on the LSAT?"

"Umm... 174," Sam said nervously.

"(Y/n)'s first hunt?"

"Vampire in Washington," I answered. "Dean was at the motel sick and (Y/n) almost chopped John's head off when he scared them."

"(Y/n)'s favorite memory that's not related to hunting?"

I smiled, "Helping Sam get ready for a date when he was a teenager because Sam didn't trust what Dean had told him."

"Dean's favorite song?"

"It's a tie," Dean replied. "Between Zep's 'Ramble On' and 'Traveling Riverside Blues.'"

She finally laughed and smiled again, "Okay, okay. What do you wanna know?"

"What's Carver Edlund's real name," Sam asked.

"Oh, no. I can't," she shook her head.

"We just wanna talk to him," Sam continued. "You know, get the 'Supernatural' story in his own words."

"He's very private," she shrugged. "Like Salinger."

"Please," Sam tried again. "Like I said, we're um... big fans."

Sam unbuttoned his shirt enough to show his anti-possession tattoo. Dean pulled his shirt to the side to do the same. I rolled my eyes and yanked the arm of my jacket down and pulled up the sleeve of my t-shirt. I don't wear as many layers as them and I had opted to put the tattoo on my upper arm because I thought it looked nicer.

"Awesome," the lady mumbled before standing up. "Y'know what?"

I looked away as she pulled her pants down.

"I got one too."

"Wow, you are a fan," I slapped Dean's arm. The lady fixed her clothing before grabbing a pen and paper.

"Okay," she said. "His name's Chuck Shurley-"

And I stopped listening after that. I knew that name... why did I know that name... oh... oh no. I'm gonna kill him. We're going to meet this man and I am going to end up killing him.

I followed Sam and Dean as they started walking out of the woman's house.

"Excuse me," she called as we reached the door. We looked back at her. "I'm sorry, but you look exactly like how I picture (Y/n) when I read the books."

I chuckled, "Thanks."

"He describes (Y/n) with so much detail," she smiled. "You could play them in a movie."

"Thank you," I waved as we walked out.

"'You could play them in a movie,'" Dean teased.

"I know who Chuck is," I said, ignoring him.

"What," he asked. I nodded. "How?"

I pointed to get into the car. I got in the back seat and Sam and Dean sat upfront. Dean started driving to the address the lady gave us before I started speaking.

"Okay, when you went to hell, Sam's not the only one who ran off," I explained. "I wasn't gone for four months... just two weeks. In those two weeks, I got involved in a single one-night stand. The name he gave me was Chuck Shurley."

"You screwed the man who wrote books about us," Dean asked, sounding angry.

"Do you think I knew he was writing books based on our lives?"

"He had to have known who you are," Sam added. "This isn't an accident. He has to get visions or something."

"Yeah, I know," I nodded. "He made money off of my name and then screwed me."

"Damn," Dean mumbled. "I missed a hell of a lot."

I rolled my eyes.

--time skip--

I knocked on the door loudly. Sam grabbed my arm, shaking his head at me. The door was opened and I smiled obnoxiously as Chuck. He was in a robe, his boxers, and an old white shirt. He looked tired and like he hadn't had a goodnight's sleep in days.

"Chuck Shurley," Dean asked.

"Chuck Shurley that wrote the Supernatural books," Sam added.

"Nice to meet you," I said. "This is Sam... Dean... and I'm (Y/n)... the ones you've written books about."

Chuck sighed and went to shut the door. I stepped in, stopping it with my foot.

"Listen, I appreciate the enthusiasm, I really do and I remember you," he motioned at me, awkwardly grinning before seeming to shake the memories out of his head. I almost slapped him right then. "But please... go get a life."

"You see," Dean followed me, helping to force our way inside. Sam made sure the door shut behind us. "We have a life... and you're selling books about it."

"Okay, this isn't funny," Chuck mumbled.

"You're right," I said. "We just wanna know how you're doing it?"

"I'm just a writer, I'm not doing anything."

"Then why do you know so much about demons and tulpas and changelings?"

"Is this some kind of 'Misery' thing? Ah, it is, isn't it? It's a 'Misery' thing!"

"No, it's not," I shook my head. "Believe me, we're not fans."

"What do you want then," he asked.

"I'm Sam... and that's Dean and (Y/n)," Sam tried again.

"Those are fictional characters," Chuck yelled. "They aren't real!"

Dean grabbed him and pulled him outside.

"Wait, wait-"

"We aren't kidnapping you, calm down," I rolled my eyes. Dean opened the hidden compartment in the impala's trunk.

"Are those real guns?"

"Yes," I nodded. "And real rock salt, real fake IDs."

Chuck let out a laugh at it, "Well, I gotta hand it to you guys. You really are my number-one fans. That... That's awesome. So, I-I think I've got some poster in the house."

"Chuck, stop," I rolled my eyes, grabbing his arm as he went to walk away.

"Please don't hurt me," he begged.

"How much do you know," Sam asked. "Do you know about the angels? Or Lilith breaking the seals?"

"How do you know about that?"

"Have you not been listening," I asked. "The real question is how do you?"

"Because I wrote it," he explained.

"You kept writing?"

"The books never came out because the publisher went bankrupt," he furrowed his eyebrows.

I stepped back, letting go of his arms.

"Okay, wait a minute," Chuck crossed his arms. "This is some kind of joke, right? Did Phil put you up to this?"

"Oh my god," I muttered, pinching the bridge of my nose. I grabbed his robe. "I'm sorry but I'm really tired. Nice to meet you. I'm (Y/n) Winchester, these are my brothers, Sam and Dean Winchester. You wrote and published books about us, probably knew who I was, and then you still slept with me."

He stared at me in shock.

"What," I asked.

"The last names were never in the books," he mumbled. "I never told anyone about that. I never even wrote that down."

"Then I guess we have a lot to talk about," I let go of his robe.

The three of us followed him inside.

--time skip--

"I got a visit from Cas," Dean explained as he walked in. "I've some important information."

After talking to Chuck and getting a draft of what was supposed to happen, we were all panicking. Dean told us to wait here. Lilith was going to come for Sam and we both thought it'd be harder if there was more than one of us here at all times.

Now, Dean was coming back from seeing Chuck.

"And that important information is...," Sam trailed off.

"He's a prophet of the lord," Dean said, smirking at me.

I shut my eyes, letting my head fall forward.

"Please say you're joking," I mumbled.

"Nope," Dean replied.

Sam looked over at me. He only started chuckling after his brother broke.

Dean was laughing his head off within seconds, "You screwed a prophet!"

"Shut up," I groaned. "I'm gonna kill him!"

"Archangel will kill you."

"I'll happily pay that price," I muttered. "I slept with a prophet."

"At least that means he didn't write himself to sleep with you," Sam tried to comfort me.

"Yeah, God just decided I was supposed to sleep with the guy publishing books about my life," I replied sarcastically. "That makes me feel so much better."

"Come on, it could be worst-"

"Sam, love you, but don't finish that sentence if you even kind of value your life," I muttered.

I was desperate for this conversation to just end.

--time skip--

After all was said and done, and Chuck accidentally helped us chase Lilith away for a while, we gave Chuck a lift back to his place.

I followed him up to his door, offering to look around and make sure that he's safe. He shook his head.

"I have an archangel protecting me," he reminded me. "Can't get any safer than that."

I nodded.

"I'm sorry, by the way," he said. "About us. I didn't recognize you until after... it all... and I didn't say anything because I didn't really know how to explain it. The whole event makes me feel all scummy."

"It's alright," I replied with a chuckle. "It's fine, I promise."

He offered me a nervous smile, "Y'know, in all of my visions, you're the most vivid thing."

With a grin, I leaned over and kissed his cheek gently. I stepped back and headed back toward the impala. I made sure to take note of his nervous and flustered face.

"See you around, Chuck!"

"You... You too," he called after me. I got in the backseat and got comfortable.

"So... screwing the prophet wasn't that bad," Dean asked.

I just rolled my eyes, waving through the window at Chuck as Dean pulled away from the curb. Leave it to a Winchester to end up in a situation like that.

--time skip (season 11)--

Sam and I followed Dean with our guns ready. Dean was following the amulet that he had owned for a long time without even knowing it could show us where God was.

Everyone had been infected by Amara only minutes ago but now it was okay and Dean's amulet was glowing.

"Holy shit," I mumbled, seeing who was walking over to us.

Chuck.

He was supposed to be dead. That's why Kevin's prophet powers had been activated.

"No way," Dean said.

"Hey," Chuck... or God said. "We need to talk."

Despite our understandable hesitation, Chuck reached forward, teleporting all of us back to the bunker. I stepped away from him, slightly overwhelmed.

"(Y/n)," Chuck walked over and tried to grab my arm. I instinctually slapped him. I was nothing but confusion and anger. "I deserved that. Just, please?"

I stepped away again.

From behind Chuck stepped Kevin's ghost. My breath caught in my throat. The poor boy had been through so much shit because of us.

Kevin told us about how we looked stressed and that we should listen to Chuck.

Then, Chuck waved his hand. Kevin turned into a ball of white and blue light before ascending beyond the bunker.

"Where'd he go," I asked.

"Heaven, where he deserves," Chuck promised. I nodded.

I listened to the rant about how Chuck had abandoned us all and how awful things were. Then, the conversation turned to the plan to stop Amara. The boys talked about needing Lucifer and Chuck got incredibly upset. In a fit, he went to leave. I stepped in front of him.

"No," I said bluntly. "Even if you want to avoid the subject of your estranged son, you can't just leave."

"(Y/n)-"

"Sam, Dean," I looked at them. "Give us a minute?"

They both nodded, glaring at Chuck on their way out. I tried to ignore the instincts that were telling me that Chuck was just selfish.

"(Y/n)," Chuck mumbled.

"Just answer my questions," I said. "Then we can discuss what to do with Amara without you storming away recklessly. Okay?"

He nodded.

"Have you been God the whole time," I asked.

He nodded.

"You wrote all of our stories?"

Another nod.

"Did you write that I was going to sleep with you?"

I felt manipulated and angry. I was desperate for an answer. I knew that this could've made me feel like dirt, but I needed to know.

"No," Chuck said. I clenched my jaw, ready to call him a liar. "I told you. I had been pretty much hands-off for a long time. Did I know who were? Absolutely. I'm sorry I lied to you about that. But I didn't plan anything between us. We weren't some divine plan."

I nodded, looking down.

"You know how Dean and Amara are connected," he asked. I nodded, looking back at him. "We're like them."

"And that's not a divine plan-"

"I'm not doing a good job explaining this," Chuck shook his head. "It feels like we're like them. Like there's this bond that just happened as soon as we met."

"You lied to me, for years," I said. "Saying we have some bond isn't gonna fix that."

"I know."

We both fell silent. Slowly, I started laughing. Chuck furrowed his eyebrows, "My only one-night stand... and it was God."

Chuck started laughing with me while I really processed what I had done.

I slowly stopped laughing.

I didn't notice until it was too late that Chuck had slowly gotten closer to me. As soon as his lips brushed mine, I pushed him back. Not hard, but enough to get him to step away.

"No," I mumbled. "Not that, no."

Chuck nodded, "Got it."

"Now," I sighed, "we need to actually plan to stop Amara, and if we need Luci-"

"We don't," he said bluntly. "We can do something else. We don't need him. Okay?"

I nodded. In my gut, I trusted him. Maybe that was me being an idiot but I did trust him. For now at least.

-------------------------------------

Masterlist

What I Write For

Request Guidelines

Musical Prompts

Small Moments With…

When Worlds Collide (Doctor Who Crossover Series) Masterlist

Some Original Characters

folklore/evermore Writing Challenge (and Masterlist)

[butwhatifidothis]

In the analysis of CaptainFlash's fic, a common theme of the notes is "this is not how Edelgard is", as in the claim is that she is being mischaracterized. But for how much the claim gets thrown, there's little in the way of "this is how she SHOULD be written". And so a question I have is - for fanfic writers, how do you think Edelgard SHOULD be written in order to be true to canon? Assume both from a perspective of BL/GD fic and a BE fic.

Well, I believe that I have put in guidelines at the very least lol, but I get where you're comin' from.

Edelgard is bold, fearless, arrogant, self-serving. She is detached from others for the most part, she does not like being challenged (and not just because the other person is oh so wrong and it just annoys her because how could they be so wrong - no, when her flaws are pointed out to her she does not listen to what the other person says). She allows those in her care to be hurt - sometimes mortally - to get what she wants, and almost always without any guilt or regret. She thinks she's the smartest person in the room, the most capable, the most correct. She uses people, lends out her men like tools. Violence is the first option, and peaceful surrender something she will never consider when asked to do so. She looks down on those who oppose her, no matter how they do so, whether they stand their ground and fight to the end or if they try to surrender - that they've fought against her at all is worthy of derision in Edelgard's eyes. She's racist towards the Nabateans and will always kill them. She looks down on religion and those who believe in it. She's deceptive and manipulative. She's selfish and power-hungry. She has no self-awareness, saying things that are factually incorrect without knowing that they're incorrect often, accuses others of doing the morally reprehensible actions that she performs often.

Those above traits ought to always be incorporated into her character no matter what the route - at the minimum, these are the traits an author must work of off from a ground level in the beginning of their fic, because these traits are always present in Edelgard. Of course there are nicer traits - she's a romantic, she's secretly childish (and not in the strictly derisive way either, but that she likes sweets and teddy bears and is embarrassed about it), on the rare occasion she'll try to accommodate for someone (Bernadetta... when she's not setting her on fire that is), she very obviously cares a good deal about family (again, I don't really count Dimitri here for her since she forgot him and even then didn't know they were step-siblings). Edelgard isn't literally, actually, 100% No GMO's evil evil, she has her traits that can make her likeable, but there's a very big reason why she's not just an antagonist, but a villain.

If an author genuinely wants to make Edelgard grow out of a villainous status and be a genuinely good person, they must work through the numerous flaws she has. Her moral bankruptcy, her selfishness, her hunger for power, etc. etc., these must be actually addressed in order for her to have even a chance at being better.

Like, take Flayn's kidnapping for example. In canon, we know that Edelgard willingly hands over the Death Knight to Thales with quite literally no fear in her at all, and we know she must have had, at the very least, some clue as to what the guy was using the Death Knight for (since she teleports to directly where Flayn and the Death Knight are, and will even take them both away if over 25 turns have passed). There are a couple ways to go about this scene in a fic trying to make Edelgard a better person: either 1) have sufficient build-up of Edelgard's very gradually growing morals, have her commit the crime anyway, and then feel a twinge of guilt that steadily grows larger as she grows as a character, or 2) have her commit this crime with little to no guilt at the current state of her character arc, keep building her character until she gains more self-awareness over what all she's doing, and then have her feel guilt. These possibilities (and likely more that I can’t think of at the moment) keep her flaws intact while still allowing her some room for growth; the flaws are acknowledged, and so they can be properly grown out of.

But look at Cap'n's version of events. Remember, in canon, Edelgard was directly involved with the kidnapping. Cap'n, however, not only has it to where Edelgard was forced to hand over the Death Knight, not only was she terrified of Thales while doing so, but she had no idea that Flayn was being kidnapped. It ignores all of her flaws and places her into a status of helpless victimhood, and places her on a higher moral ground than Thales when in reality, in that moment, she is just as bad as him. Her flaws can't be grown out of because they've been erased. This is a prime case of canon!Edelgard being swapped out for Woobiegard - we aren't seeing Edelgard feel guilt for allowing Flayn to be kidnapped, we're seeing Woobiegard feel guilt. Woobiegard doesn't have these flaws that Edelgard has, so she doesn't have to have them acknowledged - which, I don't think needs to be said, is terrible from a fanfiction writing standpoint.

Edelgard has been morphed and twisted so much as to not even really resemble her canon iteration much at all. Woobiegard isn't bold, she isn't arrogant, she isn't morally bankrupt - or at least, isn’t intentionally these flaws, or other flaws - she lacks so many of the deep, troubling flaws of Edelgard because, frankly, they make her too mean and Cap'n very clearly doesn't like that. But, in erasing those flaws in her, instead of writing a fic where Edelgard grows as a person due to the positive influence of Byleth (and, through Byleth, the Black Eagles), he’s writing a fic where Woobiegard feels oh so much guilt for things she just shouldn’t feel guilty for because the poor little darling didn’t have any way of stopping anything. 

Edelgard is a conqueror, as said by her creators themselves. She mows down anyone who stands against her convictions and ideals, even if she knows them personally. This is true for all routes, even and especially CF (as it is known as the Military Rule route), and so this must be kept in mind when writing Edelgard whenever someone tries to write her base character as someone better than she is in canon. What Cap’n is doing is basically writing an OOC crack-fic, except he’s doing so unintentionally. He flat out removes every single flaw Edelgard canonically has, pretends as though he didn’t do that, and then flaunts how much Woobiegard has “grown” thanks to Byleth. But, again, since Cap’n doesn’t want to write Edelgard’s flaws he’s never really written Edelgard. It’s the same idea as keeping Claude never fully trusting his friends in mind when writing him - this is a large part of his character, and leaving that out means leaving out a significant portion of who he is as a character. That has to be acknowledged before having him grow out of it, or else you haven’t really written Claude, as that is a huge part of who he is.

So I guess a TL;DR version of this answer is that to properly write Edelgard, one has to keep in mind her flaws and have her actually act them out before having her grow out of them. It’s just that for Edelgard, because of who she is, it would take a lot of time and effort for the fic to realistically have her grow out of all of these flaws (or at minimum grow out of the more severe ones). That stays whether from a BL/GD perspective or from a BE one. Hope that answers the question!

[captainsimagines]

To Topple A Giant || Chapter Four

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

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

Part 4 of 10 ~ Mini-Series

Warnings: This story contains mature themes and discussions such as extreme canon violence, strong language, emotional angst, mentions of Endgame deaths and recoveries, sexual situations, and emotional/physical abuse. All trigger warnings will be listed before the chapter. This is purely fanfiction.

Warnings in this Chapter: reference to past sexual assault (very minimal); misogyny/sexism; mention of Infinity War deaths/Endgame deaths; abusive parental relationship; canon violence; heavy drinking; reference to cocaine use

Word Count: 13,900+

~

Tony’s Cabin, 2023, 8:56pm

      “Uh…”

You and Steve stared at the little girl in front of you, bouncing up and down with excitement as she held up one of Tony’s repulsors, the safety on but pointed right at the two of you. Steve instinctively pushed you behind him, the obvious fact being that a blast would most certainly kill you and not the super soldier himself. You were having difficulty holding in your laughter, watching as the girl kept poking at the metal, awaiting its true power. 

“Can I have that, Morgan?” Steve asked, his voice raising ever so slightly to try and seem nicer to the kid. 

“Talk to her with your regular voice, Steve. She’s five, not a toddler.”

“Yeah!”

Now you laughed at Morgan’s declaration of approval, still standing behind Steve with your hands braced on his back. 

Steve sighed and rolled his eyes playfully, “Alright, Morgan. Can I please have that back? It’s not a toy.”

“But daddy left it for me!”

You smiled at her, “Yeah, but he didn’t expect you to use it so early! Wait until you’re like… ten, then you can look through his things!”

“Y/N, ten?” Steve gave you a bewildered grin, eyes bright and laughter restrained. 

“Okay, twelve.”

His shoulders sagged with a heavy laugh. He reached over and took the chance, grabbing Morgan’s wrist softly and ejecting the glove from her small hand. 

“There we go!” you cheered, stepping out from behind Steve and scooping her up in your arms. Morgan started laughing loudly, kicking her legs to try and escape your hold. “Ah, don’t kick me!”

You had offered your time to Pepper whenever she needed it. You didn’t expect that she would call so early asking for a huge favor, her husband’s funeral not even four months ago. But you didn’t hesitate and packed an overnight bag, reassuring her that nothing would explode on your watch. On your way out of the temporary safe house, Steve had caught you just in time. A quick question of your future whereabouts and he was joining you, a tiny twinge of guilt in his chest from not seeing Tony’s daughter in so long. He was one of her godparents after all, just after Happy and Rhodey, beating out the third crowned position from Bruce. 

He had been hurt by that initially, asking why he wasn’t even considered. 

‘Bruce, the first time she comes into your room and stands over your sleeping body to let you know she had a nightmare, you’d scream.’

‘I wouldn’t be angry, just scared!’

‘Okay, after Cap here, you get custody.’

‘Oh, yay. Drafted fourth.’

Steve was happy to go see her on such short notice though, racing back up to his room to gather some overnight supplies as well. But you didn’t think anything of it - it was just a godparent wanting to see his godchild. 

“Ouch, that hurt,” you laughed and placed Morgan down in her bed. “Nighty night time.”

“Daddy said he left things for everyone, not just me.”

Steve’s eyebrows shot up with curiosity, a sudden interest to know what his gift was exciting him. He had already given him the shield back... but then Thanos broke it. Maybe, another shield? No, T’Challa had already offered to send him a new one.

“Ooo, that’s interesting! I wonder if he got me that pretty bracelet I saw in that department store window that one time,” you gushed, pulling the blankets over Morgan. You fluffed out her hair, smiled at her, and told her goodnight. 

“Night night!”

Both you and Steve called out from the doorway of her bedroom, “Night night!”

Several minutes had passed before you brought up the prospect of secret gifts again, knowing Steve was just as interested as you were. 

“Want to go find them?”

Steve immediately stood up, clapping his hands together and giddy with excitement. “I won’t tell if you don’t!”

“Deal.”

You searched everywhere - living room, the garage, kitchen cabinets - even racing into the master bedroom, stealthy and secret, shame rising as you carefully picked up items around the room. “This feels like an invasion of privacy.”

Steve chuckled from outside the door, “Hurry up!”

But you found nothing. There was only one more spot to look - his office. You almost didn’t want to intrude any longer, this being his most sacred space, but the mere chance of Tony giving you a gift from the afterlife made you extremely happy. So you and Steve searched, stacking and restacking random papers and pushing away gadgets and books in the bookshelf. Finally, a small opening in the third shelf alerted you of your mission success. 

“Oh, fuck yeah,” you cheered, reaching in and pulling boxes and clipped pieces of paper, all different colors and sizes, from the compartment. They were labeled with various names - Rhodey, Pepper, Happy, Clint, Thor, Steve, Nebula, you - and Natasha. 

Steve sucked in his breath, his gasp similar to yours. “He got these before…”

“Yeah,” you nodded, handing Steve his labeled box. It was light blue, a white ribbon delicately wrapped around it, and with a cute little red ribbon with Steve’s name on it. It wasn’t big, but it was more than enough. 

“Open it,” you said. 

Steve shook his head, “Let’s open ours together.”

You agreed to his terms, taking your folder into your hands. It was one of those same art folders you had when you bought some new planners or notebooks. It was black, custom-made it seemed, as it had your name on the front in gold, cursive writing. 

On the count of three, you both opened your presents. 

Steve pulled out two sets of dog tags from the box, the sound of them clinking together reminding him of the times he would hug his fellow soldiers on the battlefield, cheers of victory mixed in with the smell of sweat and dry blood. He read the names on the metal. 

‘Steven G. Rogers

987654320 T42 O

Brooklyn, NY. P.’

‘James B. Barnes. 

32557038 T41 42 O

R. Barnes

Shelbyville, IN. P.’

He had not known they recovered his dog tags, faintly remembering clutching them tightly as he flew the plane into the ice. But SHIELD must have kept them for the museum, and Tony had recovered them. Bucky’s, however, were lost as soon as Bucky fell from that train. They were more rusted than Steve’s, almost as if HYDRA kept them underwater or stored for the majority of Bucky’s sentence. But no matter how Tony had gotten them, he was eternally grateful. 

“Wow,” Steve said, clearing his throat. But you were too caught up in your reading. 

      ‘Target whereabouts discovered mid-May of 2017. Only T. Stark and N. Romanoff approved for mission.

      Transport at 20:00 hours. Target(s) confirmed and exterminated at exactly 0802 Pacific Standard Time.’

You choked on the sob that suddenly broke through, hand instantly reaching up to cup your mouth. Steve put his tags back into the box, shushing you to get you to calm down. “What is it? What’d he get you?”

Four pictures accompanied the short report, each face crossed out with red paint. A tiny laugh escaped and tears of joy started to flow. To say Steve was confused was an understatement. 

“He… he got me justice.”

Steve took the file from you, reading over every word to somehow understand what you meant by justice. His eyebrows were furrowed in concentration and he looked up at you for more explanation.

You brushed your hair back and rubbed at your cheeks, the smile on your face now straining. Whether it was a sudden change of mind or the closure of your trauma was just that satisfying, you told Steve exactly what Tony and Natasha had done for you. 

“After I joined you guys in New York, Fury sent me on a mission to infiltrate and bring back information about this dude my father was trying to literally destroy. But I had to play both sides  - the good and the bad.”

Steve set the file down, his full attention on you.

“I got the information but for some reason, it wasn’t enough for my father. I had forgotten to get the most vital piece, something he thought I would automatically know,” you scoffed, your smile faltering at the next part of the story. 

“I cost him ten million. And to teach me a lesson, he let these men do whatever they wanted to me. Anything.”

Steve’s breath hitched as he understood what you meant. And it was no longer a mystery why you had been planning to kill him ‘again’ after everyone came back from the snap.

“I returned to the compound in such bad shape. I only told Natasha. She cleaned me up, she took me to med-bay in the middle of the night, she brought me breakfast in bed,” you chuckled at the memory, hand reaching out to hold Steve’s. 

“And Tony’s gift was murdering the men that hurt me.”

Steve let a few tears slip himself, his hand gripping yours tighter. “Y/N, if I would have known-”

“Hey, it’s okay. You didn’t know, though. I thought only Natasha knew. She promised me she would take care of it. I just didn’t think she would actually find them.”

“I think we know that Natasha could find literally anything and anyone,” Steve said. 

You agreed with his statement, a smile returning to your face. 

You jumped from your sitting position and went back to retrieve Natasha’s gift. “Hey, should we?”

Steve eyed the small, black box in your hand. He sighed as he walked over to you, eyes returning to the box. 

“It was meant for her.”

You frowned, “Yeah, and I’ll ask Pepper if we can give these to everyone else.”

You paused and shook the box near your ear. It felt heavy in your hand, and the contents gave a little jingle. 

“But this one was for Nat. I think she’d want us to at least see it.”

Steve chuckled and just nodded, awaiting the reveal. You pulled the ribbon and opened the box, surprised that Tony had given her a piece of jewelry. “Oh.”

Steve took the bracelet from the box, oblivious that the movement would unlock the charms from their heavy chests. In a matter of seconds, charms of similar size but different designs dropped to encircle the silver band. You inspected them in Steve’s hand - a red/white/and blue shield, Mjollnir, a pair of wings, two arc reactors, a singular arrow, a silver arm, a spider, an emerald heart, the letters ‘W’ and ‘V’ intertwined, a black cat, an ant - and your symbol, an intricately carved silver charm no bigger than your thumbnail, of your face. Tony knew no specific object or symbol was tied with your Avengers status, no one had ever given you one, but this was perfect. 

“Wow,” Steve whispered, examining each charm closely with a lazy smile on his face. 

“We were her family. This was an ode to that.”

“What do we do with it?” Steve asked.

You just shrugged, “Frame it? It would feel wrong just taking it for myself.”

Steve agreed. Later that night when Pepper returned home, you showed her what Morgan led you to. She let you keep your gifts and take the others, absolutely loving the idea of framing Natasha’s bracelet in the new compound being built. 

Present Day, 2025, 8:10 am

     The bright light from the open windows hadn’t hit you as suddenly as the random throw pillow that connected to your face, startling you with a quick gasp and causing you to choke on your spit. You snapped up, belly down and hair wild, eyes still half-lidded as you searched for the aggravator. And he stood there with a stupid grin on his face, already dressed in his stupid old man clothes, and stupid blond hair perfectly pushed back. 

“What the fuck was that for?” you tried to yell, voice cracking at the end and just the slightest hint of drool threatening to spill from the corner of your mouth. 

“I ordered room service. Plus, we have to leave in an hour.”

You grabbed as many pillows as your one free hand could hold, the other still tucked into the pillowcase below your head. You flung them wildly, none actually hitting the super soldier directly. His chuckle pulled a deep groan from you, and no longer wanting to look like a fool, you stumbled out of bed and pushed passed him roughly. 

“You could have woken me up the same time you got up.”

“But you looked so peaceful.”

His sarcasm was not helping your souring mood. Steve headed over to the monitors to turn them on, already setting up the morning video chat with Bucky and Sam. “Do you always sleep like a mounted spider?”

You flicked him off, “Leave me alone so I can take my morning piss in peace!”

You slammed the door and made your way to the toilet. Now, you were no morning person. But it was simple enough for you to crawl out of bed with only minimal protest when your awakening was a peaceful one. Having a pillow thrown at your head while mid-dream was practically excruciating and no one, not even the grandest morning person in the world, could possibly awake happy from that. And to top it all off, you couldn’t even remember what you were dreaming of. Just another thing to blame Steve for. 

After you had done your morning routine and slipped into a really comfy outfit, the breakfast finally arrived. You muttered a quiet thanks to Steve for ordering your favorites and damn him for knowing you preferred waffles over pancakes and a variety of creamers to choose from, and quickly filled Bucky and Sam in on what the plan for the day was. 

You had been on missions with Steve before, but no matter how many times you regrouped in the mornings, you had never actually seen him wake up. After your rude awakening, you wondered at what point during sunrise he opened his eyes - ‘cause you’ll be standing over him with a pillow of your own. 

“Torres has the air footage scheduled for around five today, then he’ll link you to the camera for the remainder of the mission,” Sam clarified. 

“Is it possible to link earlier?” Steve asked. 

“Not unless you can get the Wi-Fi password of the estate.”

You chuckled, still funneling mouthfuls of waffle into your mouth. “So, we can hack the Pentagon whenever we feel like it, but we can’t hack into my father’s estate without the Wi-Fi password?”

Sam cleared his throat, “You are so lucky this is a secure line.”

“Wait until she finishes her breakfast and her head will be screwed back on straight,” Steve joked, taking a long sip from his tea. 

Almost immediately, your phone dinged with a new message. You angled your phone away from Steve but your smirk was enough to alert him of a side conversation happening under his nose. 

Bucky: Ouch, I wouldn’t mind if you hit him upside the head.

Y/N: he threw a pillow at me to wake me up :(

Bucky: hit him

Y/N: bet

“Stop talking about me over the phone.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Steve grumbled, the rough sound catching Sam’s attention as well. His eyes flashed back and forth between the two of you - Steve desperately trying to catch a quick glance at your messages, and you leaning away from him with thumbs moving at a rapid pace. 

“Y/N, how you feeling?”

You put your phone down and pretended to not notice how Steve was trying to get a glimpse of your screen. 

“A little queasy, in all honesty.”

A myriad of emotions were present and coiling in your body, each trying to sprout and bloom and gain their five seconds of fame. And for the past several years, it was easy to downplay their true power. Because the power they held wasn’t one of distressing strength, but rather one that tip-toed to the front of your anxiety driven worries. It planted itself there, up front, but ever so silent. For it to finally meet its match, to possibly be freed of such a coil - well, you were more worried about not succeeding in its erasure than its final blooming. 

“We’ve come up with a system to make sure we both don’t go overboard or to tell the other that we’re alright,” Steve said, eyes on the monitor but hands loading bullets into your trusty handguns. 

“Alright, that’s good,” Bucky spoke, finally. He typed away on his keyboard, “Give us a word we all use in case we need back-up immediately.”

“Mm, you should ask Steve. He loves his safe words.”

Steve rolled his eyes, “Something Avengers related? Or something no one would ever say?”

“Pick anything you want, just don’t let it be awkward to repeat out loud,” Sam joked. 

Steve pondered for a few seconds before he settled on his chosen word, a hint of a smile forming. “Widow.”

You nodded, “That’s sweet. She’d like us using her alias for a dirty little safe word.”

You huffed suddenly, shoulder colliding with the carpet, the realization that Steve pushed you from your chair causing you to stare at him with your mouth hanging open. “Hey!”

“Steve, every single day I accept your fate from her murderous hands,” Bucky grumbled, Sam’s loud laugh causing the speaker to give a quick halt of static. 

“She’s okay- hey!”

You flew across your chair and onto him, lunging your body as your main weapon in taking him down. You both tumbled to the floor, the sofa chair you collided with scraping along and pushing the coffee table with it. A lamp shattered on the floor right when you wrapped your arm around Steve’s neck and hooked your legs from underneath him and around his waist, his back to your front, both his arms coming up to tug yours out of reflex. 

“Yield, you little shit,” you grunted, the grip of your arm remaining loose on purpose but your legs tight, heels now digging into his slim waist. 

Steve groaned, both from your pointy heels and the sudden impact his body made with the ground. “I’m letting you win.”

“You seriously got a mouth on you.”

You let him go anyway, choosing to save your strength for the mission and not waste it on a petty little fight. Besides, you could always smother him with a pillow in his sleep. 

“You two done?”

Both you and Steve stumbled getting up, faces back in your teammate’s view as you smoothed down your clothing and wiped at your foreheads.

“Now that that’s over,” Sam continued, clearing his throat. “The only task for today is to get a feel of the place, establish a legit backstory providing you some leverage, and to swipe those ID’s.”

“Got it,” you acknowledged, standing again to begin hooking your weapons in discreet locations in your clothing. 

“And we’re not responsible for that broken lamp so it’s coming out of your paycheck.”

     California really wasn’t like any other state. There was a vast difference from Northern and Southern, the difference being the amount of green fields visible. In Southern California, the mountains and desert areas took up most of the landscape, with an industrial complex here, a growing city there, and then nothing for a good ten miles. Since most of the landscape was below sea level, the atmosphere was almost always dry, modest dust storms forming only to quickly pass a freeway and disintegrate once it found the other side. It was more urban, more lively with people. But Northern California, even if it experienced the same weather patterns as the south, was mostly humid during the winter season. The mountains here were covered in lively agriculture, livestock roamed freely in the gated areas near the freeways, and the overall environment provided a rural look. 

 And the differences just stood out to you, your excitement for the livestock starting to annoy Steve as you kept pointing out every cow you drove past. He threatened to stop the car and dare you to tip one. 

“So, how did we meet?”

Steve chuckled, “We’re coworkers, Y/N. Thought that question was obvious.”

You whined, “Steve, we have to put some drama into it! How about we say we met during one of Tony’s parties after Fury assigned you to this?” 

“And what? I asked you to dance?”

You leaned over your seat and poked his arm, teasing him. “Would you have asked me to dance?”

Steve shrugged, “I mean, sure.” 

He glanced at you and then back to the road. “Can’t we just be honest? I like the way we met.”

 You pouted, “The way we met is a matter of national security.”

   “You brought that thing back to an unguarded planet?” Loki seethed, his voice still a whisper as he followed Thor through the hallways of Avengers Tower. A tower he had been prisoner of for a few weeks now, but would soon be released from once Thor decided to return home. Besides, it had been more than a year since his unfortunate attack and after thousands of apologies, brainwashing excuses (which were true!), and quite a few long labor hours equivalent to Midgardian community service, his leash was extended somewhat. 

“How am I the more level-headed one right now?”

Thor grumbled in response, now on his hands and knees as he searched for the tiny animal that had already eaten its way through the plush of the interior walls. “It couldn’t have gotten far. And how was I supposed to know the oxygen levels here would cause it to go crazy?”

“You couldn’t. In fact, I don’t know why it’s here in the first place!”

“Keep screaming, Loki. I bet that would make it come to us quicker!”

Loki was about to come up with another quick quip, but was interrupted by a quiet mumble down the hall. 

“Oh?”

You rocked back and forth on your heels as you stared at the two brothers - one sweeping the floor on all fours and the other ducked down to scream into his brother’s ear. “Whatcha looking for?”

“Now, don’t be alarmed, Agent. But I may have misplaced my dog.”

“Dog?” Loki tilted his head, hands now cupping the side of his head in disbelief. 

Your eyebrows shot up from his reaction, “Not dog?”

“It’s… an animal from Asgard.”

“Okay, what does it look like?” you asked, now more interested than ever. 

Thor cleared his throat and rose to his feet slowly, “Like a dragon.”

You stepped back, almost tripping over your left foot. An involuntary laugh escaped from your lips and you brought a hand up to try and stifle it. “You brought a dragon into the tower?”

“He brought a dragon back to Midgard,” Loki clarified as he walked over to the wall and pressed his ear against it. 

“Oh, yeah. That’s much worse,” you agreed. “Fury’s gonna shove his foot so far up your ass-”

“Yes, yes. I know what awaits me. Now, help us find it!” Thor begged. 

This wasn’t how you expected to spend your first day as an Avenger. After all the training and promoting, the paperwork and oaths, you thought you would have a pretty chill afternoon. Arrive at the conference room, get the name badge and a rundown of your new field suit, and meet the rest of the team. Freshly nineteen and energetic as ever, you accepted this as a test. Find the dragon, make a good impression. 

It only took a few more minutes before you three stumbled on an otherwise empty hallway, staring down the colorful creature as it licked one of its paws. 

Your eyes widened, “It looks like an alebrije.”

“You have these creatures on your planet?” Loki asked, surprise written over his face. 

“Nope, alebrije’s aren’t real. They’re fantasy.”

“Nevermind that, help me catch it!”

Loki began shushing his brother, hands swatting his massive shoulders in the process. You leaned down to the floor and tapped it with your fingernails, hoping the nice gesture would cause the creature to meet you halfway. 

“Hey, buddy,” you cooed. “Can you come here please?”

The creature raised its head, colorful eyes on full display. Similar to rings of fire, but face like a fox, and fur as soft as silk. It titled its head, interested for only a second, before it kicked back and rushed toward the three of you at full speed. 

“Oh, shit-!”

As he was the closest, Loki pushed Thor to the wall and lifted you from the ground. But before he could throw you out of the way too, the creature leaped. Loki shielded you with his body, wrapping his arms around you and picking you up as the creature kicked his back and sent the two of you flying through wall after wall. Loki was taking the force of it all, his chest angled in a way to protect your head. It was about ten walls you two flew through before you landed in what seemed like conference room B… or C… or A. Loki rolled you over and groaned in pain. You landed on your back, bright lights blinding you as you tried to adjust. Then a figure came into view as your blurry vision cleared. 

You blinked rapidly and stared up at your new Captain. You smiled, a bit delirious, and raised your hand up for a handshake. 

“Y/N Y/L/N, new recruit!”

Steve just stared, eyebrows scrunched, an expression resembling a scowl and bewilderment painted on his face. He took your hand in his and shook it. 

“Forgive us, Captain,” Loki spoke, coughing as he turned over. “But you might want to get that shield of yours.”

    “When did we become a couple?” you continued once you agreed on the ‘party meet-and-greet’ as your previous answer. 

Now, this was a question Steve was wondering about since before you mentioned the necessity of such answers. Although he didn’t fantasize about being your significant other, he did wonder what possible event could jumpstart it. If anything, and he would take this to the grave, he assumed a line would be crossed during a particularly tempting mission. Bucky had admitted to him that on one mission, and Steve promised to take this to the grave as well, Bucky had to kiss Wanda to keep their cover. The feelings subsided soon after the mission was over, but Bucky confessed to real feelings developing. So if Steve had to bet, a particularly tempting mission. 

“When we were searching for Bucky?”

You nodded, “That works. We can say the fall of SHIELD basically led to us to realize how weak the system was and how we could easily manipulate it.”

The road veered off to the side, now dirt and unevenly layered. You checked the directions Torres gave you just to make sure. 

“And when is my birthday?”

You didn’t expect Steve to answer so quickly, and to get it right. Perhaps he looked over your file and remembered, because you were certain only your little friend group knew it. It was Bucky, it had to be him, the little shit, he told- 

“Surprised?”

“A little. How do you know it?”

“Nat. Who do you think sends you those chocolates every year?”

You were overjoyed, really. “Wha-? Natasha said she did it.”

Steve smirked, “She covered for me.”

“Why?”

“Because for five years after the snap, you and Nat did nothing for yourselves and did everything for everyone else.” He had been witness to the two of you pulling all-nighters, washing the sheets of your fallen teammates as if they were going to return that weekend, celebrating their birthdays in secret with a small candle and a prayer. Moving from the compound and into his own apartment was hard enough, but seeing his remaining teammates wallow in cursed self-determination was worse. So, he asked Nat about your birthday to send you chocolates and a lovely handwritten note, careful to write in a font different from his natural one, and he would fold tiny paper airplanes and leave them around the compound where only Nat could find them, providing her a sense of playfulness in her busy day. Little joys to make up for such an impact.  

“If it makes you feel better, I sent gifts to Nat and Bruce, too.”

But because Bruce had no forwarding address at the time, Steve settled for quick text messages here and there. 

“And here I was thinking I was special.”

Steve laughed at your statement. He reached into the middle compartment to grab the mics you would be wearing. “By the way, make sure to hide this behind your neck. My mic will blend in as a button.”

You inspected the flat, button-like mic, awed by how intricate their design was. “They connected to Bucky’s?”

Steve clipped his onto his shoulder, the camouflage effect throwing you off. Yup, you loved science. “Yeah, they record everything and immediately send it back already transcribed.”

You unfolded the sun visor and watched how the mic picked up the color of your skin and blended naturally. “Remind me to send T’Challa and Shuri a gift basket.”

“And more.”

The estate was exactly how you remembered it. Modern and simple all at once, a brown exterior to easily blend into the surrounding forest, and massive front gate that only opened with a specific code. You leaned out the window and typed it in. There was no speaker this time, probably evidence of newly installed cameras. 

“It’s beautiful,” Steve muttered, pulling into the long driveway and following the brick road. 

It truly was. Even from where you were, you could see into the mansion as the walls were all practically made from glass. The walls in the back were normal, however, as that’s where most of the business was conducted. There were no swing doors, only large and heavy double doors made from cooled lava rock. And even though your father was a very organized man, the house was littered in trinkets of all origins: professionally stuffed exotic animals, roman and oriental statues, porcelain eggs, multiple pianos, and first editions of some of the most popular books in the world. There wasn’t any set theme for this house, but it was screaming ‘money’. 

Steve parked the car away from the others, careful to leave enough room around it to ensure an easy escape if needed.

“Remember what I said - play the part. Leave the smart mouth to me, they know me. It’s what they’ve come to expect.”

Steve clicked his seatbelt and sighed heavily, “I apologize in advance.”

You gave him a small smile, “Nothing to apologize for, Steve. Like I said, this is a mission. Don’t stress about it.”

He shook his head, “Still.”

The sincere look in his eyes sent a tingle down your arms. You cleared your throat, “I feel dirty saying this, but know your place. You may be a Captain but you’re not manning this boat.”

For some reason Steve felt that he truly needed to apologize in advance. For the past several years, it wasn’t entirely real to him. He had not been directly involved. But now that he was here, parked and staring at you - the one person who had a first hand account of the horrors inside - he needed to make sure you understood he would never actually hurt you, or you him. “I trust you.”

You removed your seatbelt and opened the door, “I trust you, too.”

It was windy today, the ruffles from the trees almost disguising the labor coming from the back. You assumed they were still building the reception area. Steve jogged over to your side and hooked your arm in his, his body tenser than yours. Someone opened the heavy doors, immediately swallowing the oxygen for miles with merely their presence. You couldn’t help yourself from a small grimace, lips spreading into a straight line as you forced any other expression besides hatred. 

Seda, standing at barely six foot and a smug look plastered on his aging face that worried even Steve. This was the man that had shot you when he was on the run - the man that would most likely do it again. 

Seda quickly stepped down the stairs, “Y/N, so lovely to see you again!”

You let go of Steve to walk ahead, arms extended to match the idea of a grand entrance. “Really? Because the last time we saw each other, you shot me in the gut.”

Steve swore he saw Seda’s upper lip twitch. “You hold too many grudges. I was just following your father’s orders.”

You rolled your eyes and finally came to a stop in front of him, arms crossed over your chest. “Obviously.”

“And I’ve finally got the chance to meet Captain America! You’re much larger in person.”

No matter the acting skills one must obtain for this line of work, it was still obvious Seda was speaking through clenched teeth. He scanned Steve up and down, somewhat intimidated.

It was such a sudden shift, one you obviously knew was coming, but the deepness of Steve’s voice still caused unnatural goosebumps to rise. “I get that a lot. Helps in this business, though.”

Seda let out a low chuckle, “I would think so.” He turned and instructed the two men who had followed him out to reopen the heavy doors.  “This way.”

Steve tried not to gawk at the amount of decorations and old-timey artifacts he swore should belong in a museum. So much furniture, so much history that shouldn’t mix but somehow worked. And was that… was that a stuffed polar bear?

“So, how you doing, Seda? Besides the usual,” you asked, hooking your arm back with Steve’s. 

Seda walked with his head held high, only tilting his head downward when giving a silent greeting to those who walked by. You tried to memorize faces or see if there was anyone you recognized. But your father barely kept the same team for more than a few years. They either left voluntarily and luckily, or were simply never heard from again. 

“Excited for the wedding. Jackeline has been running around nonstop on her finishing touches,” Seda responded. 

You huffed out a laugh, “I bet she has. She used to have a scrapbook that outlined six different wedding themes.”

“And I haven’t seen the end of it.”

Only a few more twists and turns and you were finally near the familiar hallway that housed your father’s darkest work. The interior design was purposeful, no windows and no cameras. Steve unhooked your arms, opting for a more formal presentation between the two of you. Seda was difficult to please, but your father was near impossible. Better to not have his hands all over his daughter during their first meeting.  

“Hey, what’s the wi-fi password? I’m expecting a few important emails today,” you asked before Seda opened your father’s office door. Steve had to restrain himself from blessing the ground you walked on. Bless you for remembering. 

“‘Guadalajara’.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled, sending the password to Torres as quickly as you could. 

It wasn’t the grand entrance you expected, truly, but you didn’t expect to see your father simply chilling behind his desk signing a few papers. He usually paced, was in a random meeting, or on the phone. Here, he was just… strangely normal. 

He looked up, eyes locking with yours for the first time in seven years. “Now, I haven’t seen you since your little weekend trip to Jalisco!”

Yeah, since you had me shot. 

Stepping into the office, the smell of cigars was heavy. Musty and daring, enveloping you like the times it did before. But now you had Steve - sweet Steve whose warmth you could feel behind you. 

You shrugged, “I’m not traveling much outside the country these days. Too much shit going on.”

Your father stood up and let out a dry laugh, “No lie about that. Seda was telling me how loose the borders were when half the world croaked.”

“Emigration was common, yup.”

He smiled at you, walking over and placing his hands on your shoulders. You did your best not to tense your muscles. “I wish I could have been there. You guys made millions those five years.”

You swore you heard Seda scoff near the corner of the room. 

“It’s about time we met! Ernesto Vega,” your father introduced himself, holding out his hand for Steve to take. 

It was instant, the change, and you found yourself pushed softly to the side as Steve stepped forward. “Steve Rogers, sir. It’s an honor to meet you.”

Your father was practically beaming, “Y/N isn’t giving you a hard time with all the business, aye?”

Steve chuckled, “None at all. She steps back when asked.”

Okay, maybe he was a better actor than you took him for. 

“I can’t believe you even have to ask,” your father hummed, glancing back at you with a disapproving look. 

Steve shrugged, “More like ‘ordered.’”

It was scary how easily Steve was making your father laugh. “So, she listens to you? I wonder what that’s like.”

You interrupted, scoffing quietly. “I have literally done everything you’ve asked.”

And without glancing at you this time, your father quipped. “Everything but learn how not to complain.” 

You rolled your eyes and met Seda’s stare. He always enjoyed the torment your father caused you. When he ordered you do something sketchy and you objected, Seda always had a front row seat to the slaps and harsh language spit in your face. He had a way of bringing up the abuse in almost every conversation he held with you - like it gave him some form of sick satisfaction.

“Regardless of my daughter’s inability to listen, I was still surprised when she named you as her partner.”

“The whole hero game was getting boring. I needed excitement.”

Your father agreed, “Don’t we all?” 

Before he continued, he squinted his eyes at Steve and scanned him once more. Almost like he was double checking his initial choice. 

“And you’re fine with breaking the laws of the country you’re the mascot for?”

“America has changed over the last hundred years. Trust me, I should know.”

Steve was answering exactly how you two practiced. You couldn’t help the small tinge of pride that it ignited. 

“Oh, I can’t believe you’re older than me. I mean, look at you.”

“The positives and negatives of being America’s science experiment, sir.”

“But here you are now. Working for me.” Your father stepped back to sit behind his desk again. “I’m very happy.”

“Likewise, sir,” Steve replied as he shuffled closer to you, trying to not seem so suspicious. Last time Steve wanted to crawl out of his own skin was when he was barely being introduced to the new world. Times Square really was a concrete jungle, his and Bucky’s old apartment building had been demolished in the fifties, and inflation… don’t get him started on inflation.  

“I’d like you to meet my two friends.” Your eyes widened. No, you weren’t supposed to meet them today. You hadn’t planned for this. 

“Friends and competition alike.”

You tried to keep your voice steady, “Shouldn’t you warm them up before you invite them in? They’re gonna take one look at Steve and freak.”

Your father motioned for Seda to open the door. “Then prepare your speech quickly.”

Before you or Steve could come up with a game plan, your father called out to the new arrivals. “Amigos! Me gustaría presentarles al hombre detrás de toda mi operación.”

The men summoned were completely different from the last time you saw them. Given you saw Ramirez long before the snap and White even before then, change was destined. Ramirez was skinnier, no more protruding stomach, wrinkles almost nonexistent and eyes lively. He hadn’t disappeared with half the world, but one of his daughters did - so getting her back definitely helped his overall health. White, on the other hand, aged overnight. His hair was now gray, eyelids sullen but eyes wide, and his nose was tilted awkwardly, like a surgery to counteract the powder he sniffed. You couldn’t remember if he was dusted or not.

“Tienes que agradecer a mi hija por esto.”

He did not just give you credit for this. 

“No fucking way?” Ramirez spoke, almost like he was out of breath. 

Curse your father for not preparing these two. You quickly reminded yourself where your gun was hidden in case things got out of hand. 

White stepped forward, circling you and Steve as if you were displayed in a museum. “Do we each get our own Avenger?”

“Maybe in the future. But this one’s mine.”

“I’m an Avenger, too. But okay,” you mumbled, offended by his singular statement. Steve’s lip twitched slightly but the look he threw at you let you know he wanted to smile. 

“¿Cómo lo hiciste?”

“Ya sabes cómo es... La gente simplemente sigue mi ejemplo.”

You decided to speak, anything to get White to stop inspecting you like some ancient artifact. “Steve green lights the routes and passages. He’s been a main player all along.”

White squinted at you, “And how long has this been going on?”

“For almost ten years,” you answered. 

White shook his head in surprise, eyes wider than you thought possible. His accent was more slurred than you remembered. “And you’re telling us now because-?”

Your father cut in, “The world is still in ruins. If we combine our forces like we discussed before that unfortunate disappearing act, we’ll be unstoppable.”

This seemed to catch Ramirez off guard, as if he truly didn’t remember the conversation your father brought up. You shoveled his reaction deep into your memory. Maribel would have to look into it.

Still, Ramirez played along. “And you’ll be loyal to us, too? Not just Ernesto?”

Steve nodded, his posture straightening. “I would.”

Now, the two new arrivals looked at you. You raised an eyebrow. 

“Don’t look at me. I do what he says,” you admitted, nodding your head toward Steve.

They seemed to accept that answer. 

“And he’s here to help us move the shipment this Saturday?” White asked.

“That’s the plan,” your father confirmed.

It was time for Ramirez to circle you both. But he did so more casually and without the intent of kicking you in the shins, it seemed. He went to sit on the couch nearest the door, away from the crowd. You could sense Steve tensing up, so you turned your body slightly to the side so you could see Ramirez through your peripheral.

“How do we know we can trust him? What those stars and stripes have to do with us?”

“You hear that Captain?” your father asked, leaning back in his chair with that twisted smile that always made your stomach drop. “Time to prove your loyalty.”

“Are you seriously going to haze him?” you spoke, a hint of a teasing tone on your words. It was time to liven up the conversation, for both your sake, or else your father was sure to go overboard. His hand… where’s Steve’s hand?

“Does she speak for you?”

Steve stepped forward, “No, she doesn’t.”

“Prove it.”

You should really punch your chest to get your heart beating again. Was he going to make Steve try the product? Record something as blackmail? Kill someone?

“Wha-” you began, but were immediately silenced as an arm wrapped around your neck and held you in place. The coldness of the gun’s muzzle tickled just below your chin, still and steady, but nonetheless terrifying. Your father had held you in this position before - hell, most of his men did when asked. But it wasn’t any of your father’s men threatening you under orders - it was Steve.  

“Obviously, I’m not going to kill her. You need her for this whole operation to work. But a little roughing up never did any bad.”

He removed his other arm but kept the muzzle under your chin, grabbing both your arms skillfully and pinning them behind your back. 

You had never seen your father so pleased. “Why are you dating my daughter?”

Steve chuckled and clicked the safety. No, no. 

You scrambled to open your right palm and squeeze what you could reach. Steve seemed to understand right away, and he loosened his grip and placed his other shaking hand into yours. You squeezed tightly. 

“Now, that’s like asking a man why he breathes air.”

No matter the position he currently had you in, you still praised his acting skills. 

“Perhaps. But I know my daughter. Why you?”

Steve kept a firm grip. “Luck?”

“It seems so. Let her go.”

He released you immediately, clicking the safety back on. Seda was in front of him before Steve could place it back on his person, grabbing the gun and emptying it. Seven rounds tumbled and scattered to the floor. This seemed to please both men, as Steve wasn’t presenting himself with an empty threat. He really could have killed you. 

“I’m assuming Y/N has told you stories about me. About my men.”

The floor beneath you was uneven, it seemed, but once your mind stopped playing tricks on you, you settled. You shot a quick glance to Ramirez, his eyes closed and hands clasped in his lap. He seemed distant.

“Only the ones worth repeating, sir.”

“Oh? And which are those?”

“Orders and the like.”

“So, you don’t know much? Nothing interesting? Nothing that could make me seem like the bad guy?”

The room grew hot, whether it was the natural air or the bubbling anger boiling in your stomach.

“Like I said, sir. I ask her what I want to know and she tells me. Other than that, it’s your call.”

The room fell silent as they debated their other questions. 

“How much do the other Avengers know?”

You were about to respond when Steve spoke instead. “Oblivious. I’m still the stars and stripes for them.”

White scoffed, “Those symbols don’t mean shit in this new world. Ridiculous of them to still assume you’re the same man.”

Steve’s jaw tensed, “Exactly right, sir.”

This seemed to be enough for your father. He stood from his chair, walking over to shake Steve’s hand again. So righteous and personal, almost like he hadn’t just ordered the assassination of an old friend a few days ago. “I like you, Captain. You’ve boosted my business, you’ve handled my daughter, you’ve made me a lot of money.” 

He looked away from Steve to look at you now, laying eyes upon a person he hadn’t bothered to reunite with in person. You had fought so hard not to be in the same room ever again, but now you were. A small little office, holding whatever air you were forced to share, on a mission that could change everything. You hated him, absolutely detested the ground he stood on, blamed him for the fallout, the change, the hurt. 

“Seda, you trust him?”

Seda opened the office door and started ushering the other two men out. “I’m getting there.”

Your father laughed, “Always so cynical.” 

Ramirez stood from his seat behind you, already gunning to make a good impression on your Captain. He shook Steve’s hand, “Until next time.”

“Sir,” Steve returned the handshake. Ramirez only adjusted slightly, and held his hand out to you. You looked down at it, momentarily stunned from any attention, but shook it in the way you were taught. Firm, short, and ready for business. You grinned at him and he returned the same emotion. 

“Two Avengers. Wow,” he mumbled, and tilted his head in a farewell. You watched him go, a silly smile on your face. 

You went to take your leave, cautious of being left alone with your father. But as fate had it, he stopped you from leaving so simply. 

“Oh, and Y/N?” 

You turned on your heel, lips plastered in a straight line. You raised your eyebrows at him, already annoyed from the request he most certainly had, no doubt. “Meet me in a few minutes. Alone.”

You forced yourself to nod, turning quickly and leaving the room. You shuffled down the hallway, Steve hot on your trail and reaching for your hand. 

“Hey, hey. I don’t want to leave you alone.”

He tugged you back to him, but you pushed him into the corner room you were originally heading for. You shut the door softly, and allowed Steve to grip your hands in his. 

“Well, you gotta. Link our mics. You’ll hear everything.”

“Safe word?”

You chuckled lowly but retracted the teasing attitude when you saw genuine worry written on Steve’s face. “Widow, Steve.”

“I didn’t mean to scare you back there. I couldn’t think of anything else to do-”

You shushed him, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s okay. You didn’t hurt me.”

“I fuck with you all the time but I would never take it that far.”

Where was this coming from? Steve looked like he was about to start hyperventilating. “I’m good. You didn’t hurt me. I’m fine, see?” you placed his hand on your chest, making sure he could feel your heartbeat. “I’m good.”

“You’re good?”

“I’m good.”

Steve removed his hand and placed it over his own chest, rubbing slightly. “I’ll be right outside when he talks to you.”

“I know you’ll be. Now, stand guard, whistle low to alert me.”

“This the room? You know the code?”

It was a simple office as well, but resembled more of a library than a workspace. It was dimly lit, cluttered, smelled of the wooden cabinets and the dust collecting on the books, and lacked any windows as well. You nodded to confirm Steve’s question, heading over to the farthest bookshelf and pushed it away from the wall. The loose dust swooped from the wood surface and into the air instantly, and you had to pause to sneeze down your shirt. 

You wiped your nose, “I’m third in command. My father may have some things hidden but I have to know the codes to shit like this.”

Steve leaned his ear on the door gently, “You’re clear.”

You gave him a thumbs up and fiddled with the outside of the safe. It was built into the wall, black in color and definitely made way before you were born. It was quite rusted, the gold numbers on the lock almost faded. 

“Let’s hope he didn’t change it.” You turned the dial - seven, thirty-three, eighteen - and it clicked on the first try. “Bingo.”

“Did you have a backup plan if that didn’t work?”

You snorted quietly, “Smash?”

Steve rolled his eyes and pressed his ear back on the door. 

Everything inside had been recently rearranged. You figured your father used some of these ID���s when entering the country for the wedding and left them stacked on one another for the quick heist on Saturday.  “We’re in luck! Both my father’s and Seda’s ID’s are here, along with-”

You cooed, taking out your phone and opening the camera app. You snapped multiple pictures, with and without flash. “Stacks and stacks of cash.”

You pulled your purse in front of you and pulled out your wallet to make room, shoving it into your back pocket instead. 

“Help me put this in my purse.”

Steve left his post to help you shovel the ID’s discreetly into every pocket your purse provided, shoving things into corners so nothing protruded. 

“Damn, we gotta leave the money,” you pouted. 

Steve chuckled, “What a horrible thing.”

A sudden, boisterous laugh right outside the door caused you to rip your arm away from the safe, thankfully pulling the last of the ID’s with you. You pushed them into your purse, zipping it up. Steve reacted quickly as well, shutting the safe and rotating the dial, pushing the bookcase back into its original position. 

“It’s Ramirez and White,” Steve whispered, looking around the room for any help. “What do we do?”

“Ramirez…” you blinked, eyes wandering around the room as well. Think, think, think. The doorknob jiggled. “Trust me.”

You ripped your purse off and threw it to the nearest couch. You hooked your arms around Steve’s neck and jumped to wrap your legs around his waist. 

“Oh my-”

In any other scenario, the whimper that left your throat would have been caused by a surge of ecstasy. But you were frightened of being caught, the whimper a blatant signal to just follow your lead. 

“Slam me into the wall, Captain.”

The door flew open just as Steve did as he was told. 

“And I told him it was ridiculous - oh my…”

You lifted your head from Steve’s neck, wide eyes to accompany your surprised state. “Oh! I thought we locked the door!”

Ramirez covered his eyes bashfully, turning around and staring at the wall. “Don’t mind us, we were just looking for loose smokes.”

Opposite to his intruding partner, White laughed at the scene before him. He dipped low, hands on his knees as he joked. “Didn’t think Captain America had it in him! Been a stiff ever since the ice, huh mate?”

You could feel Steve tense against you, and he froze entirely. You drew your hand up to play with the strands of his hair, putting on your best flirty tone possible. “Oh, trust me. He’s pretty stiff right now.”

Steve seemed to calm under your touch, so he turned his head over his shoulder and gave an embarrassed smile of his own. 

“Excuse us again, Y/N. You two enjoy your time,” Ramirez apologized, pulling at White’s jacket to guide him out of the room. Once you heard the click of the door, you jumped from Steve’s grasp and immediately began patting his back. 

“I’m sorry.”

Steve chuckled, his blush rising from his shoulders to his cheeks. “It’s okay, you saved us.”

You inspected him closely, a little embarrassed with yourself. It was a bold move, but one that needed to be done. You stood in silence for a few more seconds, each of you adjusting to such a sudden change of breathing pattern. 

You shut your eyes and groaned silently, “I need to speak with him.”

“Can I wait outside the door?”

You picked up your purse and swung it around your torso, “No, you need to wait in the car. Or smother Ramirez and White, your call.”

The lines on Steve’s forehead deepened, “Y/N, I can’t leave you alone with him.”

You wanted to argue further because Steve really over exaggerated. You fought a whole army of aliens, robots, and even the infamous Winter Soldier. Sure, you lost the battle with Thanos on the first try, you lost a teammate with Ultron, and gained a collapsed lung from Bucky’s insane roundhouse kick, but you were positive you could take your father. “You’re gonna have to. I’ve been alone with him before.”

Steve placed his hands on his hips and gave you a blank stare. “He shot you last time.”

“Ehh, Seda did.”

“Y/N.”

You laughed softly, “Then wait in the living room.”

“The shield’s in the car. If you need help, I may not have enough time-”

Steve and that goddamn shield. The guy was acting like he wasn’t a super soldier. You were annoyed. Annoyed with a pinch of salt?

“You whip that shield out to save me and I swear to god-”

“Okay, okay. I’ll link our mics.”

He fumbled around on his phone for a few seconds before you heard the softest beep from below your ear. 

     The last time you had entered that room alone, you left with a bullet lodged deep in your abdomen and with the threat of having it done again. Stumbling and crashing into the walls and random trinkets, leaving your blood stains on anything you used to steady yourself. This time would be different - it had to be. Your father wouldn’t shoot you with the Captain America waiting in the other room. Then again, your father always seemed to top himself each time you were forced to interact personally. In an instant, he dropped the good guy act. Or, hyped joy. 

Now, his stare was cold and calculated, posture upright like he was awaiting your arrival. You couldn’t help but smile and roll your eyes, a tiny scoff breaking the silence as he returned it. 

“You’re one damn good actor.” 

He chuckled deeply, “We do what we have to do in front of the people who threaten our reign.” 

You kicked the leg of a nearby chair to turn it toward you. Sitting down, you retorted with a chuckle of your own. “You’re not royalty.” 

“We are... you are.”

Third in command. Daughter of the biggest drug lord south of the border? In most cases, you could be considered goddamn royalty. Did you want to be? No, because the title that seemed to fit was ‘a chess piece in the middle of a mad supremacy’. But that was too long.  

“So, what is this? You scared my Captain is gonna knock you off your feet and take your place?” 

His hands slammed the desk. His little basket of pens and pencils toppled over and spilled onto the floor. “I have waited seven, long years for you to bring that man to me. And each time you defied me. Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you right now!” 

You remained seated, a blank stare boring into your father’s. “Uh, probably because he would avenge me. Get it?” 

He wasn’t one for jokes, though. “It would be so easy.” 

Aggravating him further was not the smartest thing to do. And Steve had the same thought as he fumbled with his own thumbs outside, hearing the conversation from afar. He almost wanted to barge in just to put your ass in time out. 

But you had seven years to make up for - a little joke here and there shouldn’t hurt much. 

“You do know I’m an Avenger, right? Trained by Natalia Romanoff herself?” 

You worded your sentence carefully, her alias need not be spoken out loud unless you needed backup. 

“Answer me.”

When his nostrils flared, you knew better than to twist the knife. 

“Steve didn’t sign the accords. He was on the run for two years before you asked me for him. This is public knowledge.”

He pointed his index finger at you, shaking it wildly. “You lie. Why you lie?”

You had to blink multiple times through your shocked state, mouth agape and involuntarily racks of laughter spilling. He couldn’t be serious. You could only repeat the same thing so many times. 

“Like I said all those years ago - He. Was. On. The. Run. No contact. I had no way of contacting him!”

He struggled to grab whatever on his desk to raise toward your face. In this case, he pointed his phone in a threatening manner. “Excuses! Remember the last time you made such a poor excuse?”

The laughing stopped, your mouth immediately shutting. You clenched your jaw to work through your murderous impulses. 

You wondered how your hands would look wrapped around his neck. Red and angry, tightening as each desperate second passes, nails forming crescents as they pressed in his skin. If there was a window, you would definitely kick him out of it. Wave goodbye as he fell dramatically. But the mansion was one story high and you couldn’t magically conjure up a window. God, this would be the absolute best time to have Wanda or Loki here to use some of that dark magic. Either way, you just wanted to wipe that shit-eating grin off his face right now. 

“He. Was on. The run.”

“And I thought you learned your lesson.”

You stood from your seat and leaned on the desk, arms holding you up and face inches away from his. “You gonna send in your men to remind me? With my Captain a few feet away?”

His lips were trembling as much as yours were - face blotchy with silver droplets of sweat and an angry blush now reaching his forehead. For a seventy-five year old man, he still had such a rage in him that didn’t risk a heart attack. Lucky bastard. 

“He best not interfere if it’s what I choose to do.”

Outside, Steve gripped the back door handle to the point it squished in on itself, metal twisting awkwardly and splintering the paint. His free hand was balled into the meanest fist, even his stubby nails wreaking havoc on his pale palm. He was making himself bleed by the restraint. He took slow breaths, eyes closed but ears fully alert. He wouldn’t cry. Not right now. 

“I called you back alone to invite you to breakfast the day after tomorrow.”

Whether it was because he knew you were only a few seconds from lunging yourself across his desk to break his neck or because he was tired from all the energy he had just exerted, your father slumped back into his seat as he spoke. 

“The hotel has free breakfast.”

He shook his head in complete astonishment, “You’re not getting out of this. I have important business to discuss with each of you.”

You continued to stare him down, “Over coffee?”

He shrugged his shoulders, “I can’t leave the estate so close to the wedding. Your sister is flying in tomorrow and I have to make sure construction is done by then.”

“Right, ‘cause you’re the best father in the world.”

Being in the same room was suffocating, but you couldn’t help but be fascinated by the man. How unbelievably thoughtless yet calculated he could be. How unbelievably fake yet so damn real in all his hidden meanings.

“Jackeline likes to think so.”

Your sister was sweet, sure, and there was an unspoken agreement between the two of you to not fight one another, being the only daughters and all. But you were eight years old when she was born, already tainted by the world in which she was just born into. Forgive your lack of sisterly bond. When you were sixteen, you dipped. Now, at the sprouting ages of twenty-six and eighteen, you two couldn’t be more different. 

Actually, yes you could. If she thought your father was a good man, she was entirely ignorant of the world she lives in. 

“Good for her. Why don’t we discuss the shipment transport during the most important day of her life?”

“Nice try. That’s what the rehearsal dinner is for - rehearsal.” 

You gave your father a sad smile, “You really won’t trust me. After all these years of following your orders.”

“Now, let’s not go bringing up the past.”

You interrupted, “Why not? You’re trusting my Captain and I to help you move that shipment but won’t trust me enough to tell me where it is right now?” 

He was back to standing but he was much calmer. “Right now, I trust your Captain more than you. What kind of man would leave everything moral behind for a bunch of criminals? A bad one.”

“You’ve known him for like, two seconds.”

Your father searched his pockets for loose cigarettes. “He left everything moral behind for me. For you. And you left me behind for everything moral.”

Rolling your eyes, you backed away from his desk and headed for the door. “Sometimes you don’t make any sense. Is that it? Are we done?”

“You accept my invitation?”

“Do I really have a choice?”

“No.” 

     The mansion seemed larger than when you entered, the hallways longer, the walls closing in, the trinkets reaching out to stop you by the wrist. The longer you stayed in this hell hole, the more likely you were probably going to unleash the rage attached to your body in the form of your favorite weapons. Bomb the hell out of this place. 

You marched to Steve’s car. He was already waiting, leaning along the passenger door like he was going to open it for you. If he did, you might kill him too. So, you repeatedly snapped your fingers at him and pointed around the car, silently but angrily motioning him to get in. He didn’t need to be told twice. In fact, he thought it might be therapeutic for you to throw the door open and slam it yourself. It was. 

Steve started the car. He didn’t need to ask, there was no reason to since he heard everything. And so did Sam. Bucky. Scott. It was being transcribed as you swerved out of the estate. God, you wanted to throw up. 

“I’ll tell you when to stop.” 

Steve choked on his breath, “Stop?” 

You rolled down the windows to breathe in the crisp cold air, teeth becoming sensitive as it passed into your lungs. “Once we get past the cameras and nearby neighborhoods.” 

“Did you need-“ 

“When I say stop, stop. Fucking damn, Steve! Listen to me for once!”

Steve didn’t know why he was challenging you. Your father had just brought up one of the most traumatic moments of your life, basically called you a hypocrite and a coward - he tried to tear you down. And here you were, holding it all together like the champ he found you to be. But he never handled your outbursts well, even if they were completely justified. 

“Don’t fucking give me orders if you won’t tell me what they’re for!”

“Stop the fucking car!”

He slammed on the breaks, instincts still kicking in during your argument and he reached his arm out to your side to hold you back from the powerful surge. His body lunged forward, however, chest hitting the steering wheel and horn. 

You scrambled out of the car and ran into the woods, feet guiding you through mud and prickly bushes until they reached a more secluded spot. Steve stumbled along after you, nearly tripping over the same rocks you had avoided masterfully. 

Before he could ask what you were doing, you pulled your gun from its hidden holster and clicked the safety. Steve’s eyes bulged out of his head just in time to see the first round sound off mid-air. He crouched down to the floor and shielded his head. You shot away from him, obviously, until all seven rounds were dislodged, aimed in the sky diagonally. 

Once the last bullet exited, you simply packed everything up. Now calm and collected, you turned around and headed back for the car.

Steve’s voice cracked as he spoke, “Seriously?”

You pushed branches away from your head as you walked, “Seriously.”

“Do you know how dangerous that is? Those bullets don’t just disappear into thin air,” Steve scolded, jogging up to speed walk beside you. 

“So fucking what? I’m keeping the rent low in this area, then.”

Steve sighed in defeat, “Talk to me.”

“Sorry, I’m shutting down.”

“Y/N-”

You groaned, tears of frustration not entirely formed, but in their beginning stages. “You already know what’s stressing me out, Steve. Do you need it in writing?”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Steve lowered his voice. “What do you need me to do?”

“Just,” you paused, stopping to face him. You opened and closed your hands mid-air as if that would help you formulate your sentences better. “I don’t know. But when I find out, I’ll let you know.”

This Steve could accept. So he simply nodded, guiding you the rest of the way with his hand gently placed on your lower back. 

     The drive back to the hotel was fairly silent. The radio provided a calming relief from such drama. Steve would glance at you every so often to check on you, but you were always resting your eyes. This was only the first day of the mission - officially. If you were this drained from one encounter, Steve needed to rethink this whole operation. Whether it was healthy to keep you on, or if the threat was just too large. But no matter the alternatives, Steve understood that this week was going to be difficult either way, and you needed to be present. This was your mission after all. He was just your partner. 

Even with a thousand things on your mind, you were still conscious enough to check your surroundings, check-in with the agent posted behind the front desk, and reconnect your mic with the teams. 

Steve pushed open your room door and threw the car keys on one of the nearby tables. “Nap time?”

You ignored his initial question, “I didn’t think seeing them in person again would be so draining.”

Steve watched you carefully, somewhat scared that you would pull out your gun again and shatter a window. “It was pretty cramped.”

You started to disarm yourself, tearing off your sweater and holsters clumsily. “And they acted like we were all on good terms! Around you, at least. I know they’re acting for my sister’s sake and then we can go back to hating each other after, but really?”

Steve sat on the edge of his bed, eyes sorry. “I really don’t know what to say.”

You threw yourself onto your bed, burying your face into the pillows. You continued speaking, albeit muffled. “You don’t have to say anything - just let me rant.”

“You’ll tire yourself out, Y/N. C’mon, we gotta draft up this report-”

You lifted yourself up and started smoothing down your hair, “I need a drink.”

Steve pointed to the computer, “The report.”

“A drink.” 

“Y/N, it’s getting late. The sooner we draft it, the sooner-”

You grumbled out again, already opening the door and shoving your boots on. “Steve, I need a drink. You know what they do to me, what they’ve done to me, what they continue to do every single day. Now, join me or not but I am going downstairs for a drink.”

Steve paused for a moment, looking around the room hesitantly. “Can I at least take the laptop?”

You threw your head back and walked out the door, “Take the goddamn laptop, jesus fucking christ, c’mon.”

     If there’s one thing you were happy about today, it was that you booked a hotel with a mini bar on the second floor. It wasn’t an outright full bar, but it was low lit, clean and the counters were made from fine wood, and there was a variety of flavors to choose from. There were only a few hotel guests spread out and a single bartender. You and Steve took seats at the counter. 

“Whiskey sour,” you called for the bartender, trying and failing to give him the nicest smile you could. 

Steve settled in his bar stool, “Thought you wanted to drink to drink hard.”

You chuckled at him and extended your arms in a stretch, “I’m mad, not depressed.”

He grinned at your movements - as if just sitting in a bar already loosened you up. “In that case, get me a beer.”

     Natasha had called Steve for help after your fourth beer and fifth whiskey. Her coaxing proved to be pointless, each request of a safe passage home seeming to enter one ear and leave the other. And you’ll end up killing her when you were sober enough for sending unwanted reinforcements, but even she didn’t want to fight you. If you wanted to drown in liquid courage, that courage churning itself into raw despair, then she would allow it. 

Steve stared at you for a few moments. Head hanging low, a deep frown etched into your tired expression, index finger tapping your glass as if you were debating whether to down it in one go or to leave it. Steve had never seen you like this, guard destroyed and face practically pale, just begging to be left alone. And it seemed the whole bar felt the same way, as there was no music playing and everyone was wallowing in their own grief. 

“I can spot you from a mile away, you know?”

Your voice immediately pulled Steve from his own mind and he was surprised you could still form coherent sentences given the amount of empty glasses in front of you. 

“I don’t mean to interrupt.”

You scoffed, leaning away from him as he sat down in the stool beside you. “Natasha sent you. Don’t tell me otherwise.”

“I’m not saying anything.”

“Good.”

Steve ordered a beer for himself, and although he was driving, one beer wouldn’t impair him anyway. It wouldn’t even cause a dent in his 20/20 vision. 

“Fucking ridiculous, it’s fucking ridiculous!” 

The bar patrons seemed to wince simultaneously and the bartender simply gathered a few of your empty glasses to wash. Steve didn’t hush you, didn’t touch you, didn’t try to reassure you. If you needed to cause a scene, it was time. Your silence for the past week had been frightening, but when Tony returned last night, half dead and without the kid, it seemed to be your breaking point. 

“Wanda destroyed it. She destroyed the fucking stone and all he did was use another to bring it back.”

Steve took a sip of his beer to disguise his quivering lip, but his eyes had no curtain. His waterline swelled with fresh tears, eyes instantly reddening, an undesired sting pinching the corners. 

“Strange must have had a reason. He must’ve, but - how can that reason include the death of trillions?”

“We’re going to find a way-”

“And if we don’t?”

Steve kept his lips on the bottle, incisors biting down only slightly as he took in your rhetorical question. You continued speaking.

“He destroyed the stones.”

“Carol is looking for answers.”

You shook your head and pulled out your wallet, leaving whatever cash you had on the counter before standing up. You stumbled but Steve latched onto your arm and pulled it to hug his waist. 

“Loki?” you mumbled, raising your head to lock eyes with Steve. He didn’t know if you were calling him another name or if you were asking for the God’s whereabouts. “Bucky?”

“Hey, stop, stop.”

“Peter?”

Steve could only nod. What use was it to lie to you? Your new vertical position seemed to magnify the true extent of your intoxication as your eyes finally glazed over and limbs trembled. 

“Let’s get you home, okay?”

Gripping his shirt, you apologized each time it would crumble and you would accidentally tug it downward. But Steve didn’t care. You were practically limp in his arms, heavy and without proper use of your legs. 

“You’re a good man, Steve.”

Steve sighed sadly but couldn’t help the small smile that formed as he looked down at you and found you sporting a silly one of your own. 

“A really good man. I’m happy you’re still here.”

Steve paused for a moment, taking in your words and holding back his own tears. If there was a time he wanted to be drunk off his ass, it would be now. He was somewhat jealous of the brief relief alcohol had given you, loose and not fully aware of the drama of the world. “I’m happy, too.”

“No, you’re not,” you slurred, allowing Steve to guide you to his car. You slumped against the passenger door as Steve searched his pocket for his key. “I heard you crying last night.”

Steve halted his search mid-pat, a hard crease forming between his eyebrows as he lifted his head. “I wasn’t-”

“I cry too,” you admitted, a drunken pout on your face. “You don’t have to lie to me.”

Perhaps it was a dirty thing for him to do at this moment because you wouldn’t remember a single word of this conversation in the morning, but he figured there was no immediate harm. He found his key, unlocked the car, and helped you inside. Only once he entered the car himself did he take advantage of your blurry mind. 

“I cried for Sam and Bucky. Who do you cry for?”

You clicked the seatbelt on, mind clear enough for safety precautions it seemed. “Poor Wanda.”

Steve nodded and started the car. “Anything else?”

“Did I ever tell you about the time Loki asked me on a date?”

Steve immediately shut off the car and turned to you. “Huh? When?”

You grinned, small giggles bubbling from your chest. “A few months ago. He was so shy, too. I said yes.”

Steve ignored the twinge in his chest, “How was it?”

You leaned your head back and tilted it towards him, your smile faltered slightly. “Never went on it. And now he’s dead.”

The urge to lean over and wrap you in a much needed hug was there, eating away at him since you called him a good man. But he had taken advantage of this situation far too much, so he simply nodded in understanding and started the car again. 

“I’m sorry.”

You barely heard him, but you mumbled a quick response before letting the alcohol fully consume you. “Me too.”

     You thanked the bartender when they slid you your drink. “I hadn’t seen him since before the world went to shit.” You took a quick sip. “Kinda strange.”

Steve nodded, wondering if he should dive deep into the issue at hand. Instead of outright saying his outdated spiel, he eased into it. He gave you a few needed sips of your drink, at least.  “Y/N, can I ask an honest question?”

You hummed, “My toes are already tingling. You could probably ask me what my kinks are and I’d tell you.”

Steve suddenly burst into a fit of giggles, “You never could handle a sip of alcohol.”

Your eyes rounded at his reaction. Perhaps the alcohol affected him in other fun ways that he didn’t know. “Nope, I’m a lightweight.”

Steve contained himself before clearing his throat, “The question…”

“Go ahead.”

He rolled his shoulders and took a sip of his beer. Leaning in closer, he lowered his voice. “If it comes down to it, and god forbid you’re incapacitated, do you want me to kill your father?”

Your mouth opened slightly, the words stuck behind your tongue. You looked down at your drink, as if some special response was swimming in it. You knew your answer, but the way to phrase it was lost. 

“I don’t want his blood on your hands.”

“But if it was the last choice?”

You sighed, “If you pull that trigger, they’ll never stop coming after you.”

Steve’s eyebrows scrunched together, “But if you pull it?”

You shrugged and raised the glass to your lips. “That’s my life, Steve. Let me deal with the consequences.”

“That’s just it - you don’t have to. At least, not alone.”

God, you hated how perfect Steve sounded all the time. Whenever he was annoying you, fighting you, or protecting you, his syllables were stretched in the most glorious way, dipping into every crevice of the person they were delivered to and warming inches of body slowly. You wanted him to have somewhat of an evil side for once in his life, but no matter how many times you thought he would explode, he didn’t.

Two years ago, when he dropped you from his life in an instant, you had assumed you finally caught a glimpse at this evil side. It was the only time you were truly scared of him. 

“You really are a good person.”

Steve swished his beer bottle around, “I wish everyone would stop being surprised by that.”

“I’m not surprised. I guess I just want to hate you, and I can’t.”

Steve’s shoulders slumped like crumbling mountains and you couldn’t stop thinking about how vulnerable he looked. You wanted to pull him closer and rest your head to his chest, hear his heartbeat and apologize for theorizing a possible hatred. 

“Why do you want to hate me?”

“When you wouldn’t sign the accords, part of me saw that as the mascot of America not caring if he invaded and pillaged everything in his path.”

“But I-” Steve interjected, but you stopped him by raising your hand and waving it gently. 

“I know why you didn’t. Hell, I helped you escape.”

“Why did you help if you hated me?”

Being vulnerable with Steve wasn’t anything new. You were each other’s support system for those lonely five years, but it all changed the moment you defeated Thanos. So, for the last two years you didn’t quite get along. But here, now, you could always tell when Steve was being honest and open. 

“Guess I thought that if you were willing to help me with my family, I should help you with yours.”

His therapist desperately tried to rationalize the experiences Steve would tell, instructing him to look past hard exteriors and accept help from others. That his old friends were still friends, and enemies should never be compared to those he loved. And he knew he was easily blinded when something or someone had the slightest mishap, instantly writing it off as harmful. 

He spoke of you often during his one hour sessions - stories of your blatant silliness and crude jokes; how you would poke your finger into his sandwiches when you thought he wasn’t looking; how you almost beat up a kid and his little gang for baiting Peter after his identity was exposed; and how you and Sam had gotten into a bar fight over something so trivial, so unnecessary, that it was almost unbelievable to see you innocently scoot away from the body on the floor in the police video, as if you had nothing to do with it and those few feet of distance automatically cleared you. 

His therapist would just listen. 

“Did I ever thank you?”

You smiled sadly, “You went into hiding soon after. Then we went to battle, lost everyone, went to battle again, and then…”

“And then.”

‘And then’ wasn’t really something you two liked to bring up. It was still a fresh wound, somewhat patched up, but still open. 

You spaced out for a few minutes, both of you enjoying your drinks. You were no longer drinking to get drunk, not that it was your original goal to begin with. You just sat in comfortable silence, reliving the events earlier that day and drafting an internal report. 

“What are you thinking about?”

You pursed your lips and thought, clicking your tongue when it finally dawned on you. “This was the first time I saw Marcus White sober.”

Steve sat up straighter, “Are you sure? He didn’t look it.”

“Yeah, he usually speaks quickly and he fidgets. But he was coherent this afternoon.”

“Should that be a red flag?”

You took out your phone and sent a quick text to Torres for him to monitor White closely for the next few days, just in case. “A big one. My father referred to him more often than he did Ramirez.”

Steve tackled every idea in his head quickly, speaking as a new one popped up. “They could be planning a move against Ramirez. He’s close to overthrowing your father.”

You raised your head from your phone, “And the wedding would be a perfect distraction.”

“He would kill his greatest rival on your sister’s happiest day?”

You let out a low chuckle, “This man has nothing to lose. It won’t matter who he topples along the way.”

Steve opened the laptop, silently congratulating himself for bringing it despite your insults, and began drafting the report. The two of you worked for the next hour, nursing a couple more drinks before you sent the final copy to Bucky. 

~

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

[metalbuckaroo]

Hiya Darcy!!!! I see the hate anons are at it again and I am going to go on a tangent because guess what? I love pointing out haters’ mistakes, it’s a wonderful kind of irony.

First off, hate anon, starting off a new paragraph when someone speaks is not grammar, it’s formatting. You going to bitch about someone’s writing at least get your issue right.

Second, there’s this thing called writing style and every author has their own and when it comes to fanfiction, or fictional writing in general, their style trumps almost all those little rules your English teachers taught you in school. Their goal is to tell a story and not every character is going to be sophisticated and know and speak/think in “basic grammar” as you so eloquently put. It would be really hard to distinguish characters from each other if they all spoke the same way or didn’t have emotions in their voices. When you are upset or mad, do you speak “correctly” 100% of the time? I’m guessing not.

Third, technically a lot of people on this site (and others) don’t use correct formatting when it comes to fictional writing. Did you know if you’re writing fiction you’re also supposed to indent every new paragraph? And if it’s non-fiction or a report of some kind you leave the indent out? A lot of authors here do not have beta’s or someone to go through and find every little mistake like professional authors do. Almost everything you’ve ever seen printed in a book, newspaper, or magazine has probably had at least 2-3 or more people look and review it before it’s published. Also keep in mind, some bloggers do everything on mobile and between autocorrect and fat-finger typos, it’s very easy to not realize a mistake until after posting.

Fourth, you could have been a hell of a lot nicer than that. These authors are amazing and talented and providing content for your selfish rude little ass for FREE! FREE! You realize some of them are writing stories with more words than some of your favorite published series? Go look up the word count of them and take in just how much content these authors provide for fun. They don’t have to write and give us these wonderful stories, they do it out of the goodness of their hearts and because they love these characters and love to write. Assholes like you have driven away more talent than should be allowed because you can’t be mature enough to mind your own business or provide constructive criticism, if you truly can’t help yourself.

I’m sure you’ve heard the phrase “If you have nothing nice to say, don’t say it at all” if not you have now. On here, my take is “If you don’t have the balls to criticize off anon, fuck off entirely.” Have a good day.

Darcy, you’ve already had people come to defend you so I’m not going to reiterate (they are right though, you’re a wonderful writer). Your style is unique to you. Every writer has one and I can always tell when something was written by you because of the style. You are giving us amazing stories and I get so excited when I get mentioned in something new. There is nothing wrong with how you write. Frankly I can’t recall ever coming across any blatant grammatical errors in your works. And I’m one of those that has a horrible habit of correcting people in real life when the use the wrong form of a word or the wrong word entirely (I’m getting better about it 😂). Please don’t let this rude anon’s words bring you down.

Stay warm in this winter weather we are having (I got more cold and ice than snow, but not a fan of either🥶)💕💕💕

Well said bby, I think sometimes it’s forgotten that most blogs do this as a hobby and for fun. Not bc they’re publishing a book that will be in stores.

Much love my darling 💙💙

[quirklessidiot]

Title: coward :: obliviousness Pairing: Y/N x Miya Atsumu Genre: angst, romance, and very slow burn [ex to lovers au] Warnings: Cursing, alchohol, mentions of unprotected sex, unplanned pregnancy, and mentions of abortion

Synopsis: Atsumu seems nicer these days and you seem to see him more than before. Meanwhile, your kids meet someone they probably shouldn’t have.

notes:

three more chapters till the end!!! I’m so happy by all of the love! really! its definately been one of my favorite fanfictions to write since its angsty and im in love with angst stories skjsksksksks 

i think this chapter is the shortest one amongst the rest idk shhshshshs anyways i hope yall still love it wuwuwuwu. Hope you all are doing well and ilyasm!!!! have a gweat day!!!

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You thought you’d never see Miya Atsumu again but here he was, in your son's sports club, helping out Sugawara. Wasn’t it supposed to be volleyball season? What was he doing here? Helping the kids and picking up volleyballs? Didn’t he hate kids?

“...We train every morning and I personally train every night. You know my sched, it's what I did back then in college too.” He shrugs nonchalantly, “Plus I wanted to personally apologize to the brats too because of what ‘samu and I did.”

You tilt your head in curiosity, “What did younger Miya-san do?”

“Beat’s me, your brat told me that ‘samu made you cry when he confronted you,” he blinked, recalling the first meeting he had with the kid, come to think of it, they did had a pretty good reason to be wary of him from the start, “Must’ve said something really shitty if you cried, L/N-san. You never cried except that night at the frat party when I first actually got to talk to you.”

Nostalgia hits you when you recall that day, it was a shitty day indeed. The only upside was seeing and talking to Miya Atsumu for the first time and getting him to bandage your leg.

“Oh.”

“Oh indeed.” the blonde stated, wiggling his eyebrows, “He’s just overprotective sometimes which is weird since we used to get into fist fights. Doesn’t excuse him for being an asshole to ya though.”

“He was being rational.” You expressed, watching him pick up the last volleyball.

“He has no right to though.” he retorted, annoyed that you were letting it slide, “Let’s be honest here, who did you left six years ago?”

“What-”

“You left me.” He cuts you off, giving you no chance to talk, you’d think he’d sound bitter by it but he anything but that. It was as if he was proving a point, “And I’ll admit I was angry at first by what you did and how it ended but that doesn’t give my friends and my brother the right to intervene. I’m not a fucking kid, I know what I got into when we started dating.”

“Miya-san, I-”

“So let me make it up to you, alright? Before we started dating, I was your friend first. Now that we’re both responsible adults and you’re a single mom at least let your friend help you. You can handle that shit right?” He replied but before you could even agree to him, your kids went out of the comfort room, fully changed to dryer clothes.

“Kaasan!” They yell in unison but immediately stop in their tracks when they see Miya Atsumu standing next to you.

“What’s this jiji doing here?” Yuuto spat out bitterly, looking the other way. The younger twin followed suit and looked the other way too, making Atsumu laugh and bend down to their level, “I heard from your kaasan that you like to eat cake. How about a truce? I know a good place that sells good cakes.”

Yuuto and Youta eyed him warily and you patted the oldest twin’s head, “Baby don’t you have something to say to Miya-san too?” your voice was softer towards him, Atsumu still couldn’t get used to your personality switch with the twins. He watches in amusement as the twin tries to sputter out a sorry.

“S-so...sorry…” he frowned, “I should’ve been a big boy and not call you names.”

“Youta, you too.” You urged the younger one.

The other twin frowned and also had trouble apologizing to him like his twin, “S-Sorry...I won’t do the same…” he apologized under his breath.

Atsumu couldn’t help but laugh at the dynamic they seem to have created, at least they weren’t as close-minded as they were before, “No sweat, kid.” He said, “I’m sorry for making you feel bad and for what my brother did too. Now, let’s get that cake shall we?”

You hold Yuuto on one hand and Youta on the other as you head to his car, after helping the kids at the backseat, he opens the front seat for you, “Oh, um…” You blinked, the sudden feeling of embarrassment creeped in, “You didn’t have to-”

He rolls his eyes in reply, “Get in, L/N-san. I don’t bite.”

The boys were quiet at the back first until Atsumu tried to strike a conversation with them, “What made you guys like volleyball?”

Youta, being the more open one, suddenly jumps on his seat, “ ‘Kaasan has an old volleyball at home! We saw it and started asking her about it!”

“Oh?” he stops at the traffic light and stares at you, quite surprised since he never pegged you to keep something of his after the break-up, “Didn’t know you kept my old memorabilia with you.”

Yuuto’s eyes seem to widen when he hears that, “No way, that was yours?” he sputters out, shocked.

“Yeah.” he laughed, starting the car again when the light turned green, eyes crinkling in amusement, “Your ‘kaasan and I used to be very close before. I used to sleepover and leave some of my stuff at her place.”

“Hm.” you clicked your tongue, recalling those times when Atsumu would just come in your home unannounced like you both lived together, “He was incredibly all over the place and messy like you two.” 

“Wow!” Youta grins, seemingly excited, “What was kaasan like, jiji? I bet she was super nice and caring and a super good friend!”

The look of amusement never left his face as he agreed to the young boy, the rest of the ride was filled with Youta being overly-excited and asking Atsumu about you during college and about how you met him, “We were in the same class.” You replied, seemingly indifferent by it. You were used to this question before.

“Nope.” He replied, popping the p, an amused smirk worming its way to his face as he recalls differently since he never told you how he met you, “I saw your mom around a lot during the first few months of school.”

You were turned silent by his story, you didn’t know this part. You always thought that the first time you and Atsumu got acquainted was in that minor class you took during the second semester, “...I had also accidentally hit your mom with one of my serves while she was looking for a friend.” He recounts, parking the car in front of a very aesthetically-looking cake shop.

Your brows furrowed in deep thought, that was him? How come-

“Your ‘kaasan’s too famous, she probably doesn’t even remember the minimal interaction we had.” he joked, feigning hurt.

“Wow mom, I bet you must’ve hated jiji when he hit you with those super powerful serves!”

“She probably would if she remembered.” 

You take the kids out of the car but Youta was still too entranced by Atsumu that he went ahead and wobbled next to him. The tall volleyball player was nice enough to match the younger one’s pace as they walked towards the shop, “Traitor.” You heard Yuuto mutter as you trailed behind him.

“I thought you forgave him.” 

“Won’t stop watchin’ at him though, ‘kaasan.”” He grumbled but you can tell he was starting to slowly soften up to the blonde.

Atsumu (after much persistence) paid for the cakes and even got you a sugar-free one, Youta was very elated as soon as his cake was served and Yuuto was muttering something about how unfair it was as he started to stuff on hiw own slice, the blonde laughed at the contrasting personalities. They were so alike yet so different at the same time.

It reminded him so much of ‘samu and him back then.

“Oh, wait a moment. I have to pick up this phone call. Would you mind watching them for a sec?” You asked, Atsumu shakes his head to the side and he watches you exit the shop and take the call, the familiar expression of your creased forehead and narrowed eyes coming into play.

“Jiji, have you ever met our otosan?” Youta suddenly asks.

Atsumu feels his heart waver, this was such a heavy topic to ask but Youta didn’t seem to know the weight of his words. Yuuto was quiet this time too, observing him intently, the blonde setter suddenly cleared his throat, “I heard your kaasan met your otosan right after she graduated early and left me suddenly.” he tried to smile, looking unaffected, “So no, I haven’t met him.”

“Is that why you're mad at ‘kaasan?” Yuuto suddenly asks, head tilt to the side, “Because she left you su-suddenly?” The boy seemed to have a problem with longer words but he seemed very perceptive for his age. ‘Gee, were kids always this nosy?’ the blonde setter thought.

 “Did your mom tell you that?” Atsumu lilted, dodging the question well, munching on his cake.

“She said that she broke something really bad that you owned.” Yuuto disclosed, brows furrowed together as if he was thinking very hard about what you said, “And that she deserved it”

Silence engulfed the table for a moment as he felt his throat dry up with the new load of information, “Your ‘kaasan is a very strong woman,” he began. The boy's eyes,especially Yuuto’s, lights up at the compliment they heard, “And she doesn’t deserve anything bad. So when someone tries to do something bad to her, even me, make sure you give’em a good spike.”

“Really?”

“Really, kiddo.” He hums in agreement, “You have to protect your ‘kaasan since your otosan isn’t here anymore.”

Youta’s eyes flicker at the mention of their father, “Jiji, you’re so funny.” he laughs very suddenly.

Atsumu’s brow upturns at the sudden statement of the twin.

“Otosan isn’t dead.” Atsumu feels his shoulder tense at those words, it seems like the twins were giving him such a field day today with questions and new information, “ ‘Kaasan says that he’s off somewhere following his dreams and he’ll come back soon.”

Atsumu wants to ask about a lot of things.

He wants to ask about what Youta said, he wants to ask who the fucking asshole was, he wants to ask why you’re waiting for him when he left you hanging by a thread there with two kids.

He really does but when he drops you off at your home and a sudden troubled expression graces your features when you see an older woman standing there, he knows that it isn’t the right time. Instead, he quietly says goodbye and watches the interaction closely from a distance. A bit of worry filling him since he didn’t like that expression you were showing.

The twins didn’t seem to know who the older woman was but judging by her body language she knew you very well.

Come to think of it, her features were very familiar. Cold eyes, (h/c) hair, a very familiar facial feature.

Could it be-

“Y/N…” she tries to call out but you immediately walk past her, paying her no attention. He feels nervous, “Y/N, please don’t ignore me. I’m your okaasan-”

Suddenly he realizes why he has never met your family at all.

Judging by the interaction he sees, you were anything but close with them and that your relationship with them was stagnant (it probably worsened since you got kids at an early age and the father left you to dry). The kids probably don’t even know who that woman was, you continue to ignore her as you sons look at her warily.

When she starts to get physical, he gets out of the car and tries to stop the women from getting any closer to you and the boys, “What are you doing? Don’t you know who I am-” the woman tries to yell her way through but the blonde notices how you flinch away from her as soon as you hear her loud voice and hide the kids behind you as if you were protecting them.

“She doesn’t want to see you or have her near her kids, so please leave before I call security.” Atsumu tried to calm the situation down, not wanting to raise his voice, he could be wrong about his assumptions and he didn’t want to let your mom see him in a bad light.

“You don’t understand-”

“Obaasan.” his voice was anything but nice and friendly now, he wanted to try and respect the woman who brought you to this world, he really does, but right now he wouldn’t mind calling the cops on her if she resorted to making a scene here,  “Please leave before I call for security.”

Your mother grips on her expensive handbag tight and with one last glance to you, she immediately walks away. You don’t notice how you’re shaking and that Youta is crying behind you while Yuuto is trying his best to calm his twin down by insulting him and calling him a crybaby.

“L/N-san, are you-”

“I’m fine.” You cut him off, taking in a few deep breaths to calm you down, “I’m fine.”

He grabs your wrist and stares at you dead in the eye, “You’re shaking, Y/N.” He suddenly says your name softly, you're scared that if he goes nearer, he’d hear your ranging heart beat so you take a step further back and let go of his hold.

Atsumu narrows his eyes and tightens his lips at your response but decides against it, instead he turns to Youta and Yuuto, “I have a game next week and I got extra tickets, would you like to watch? The adlers and I will be playing, I heard one of ya likes Tobio-chan so much.”

Youta finally stops crying as soon as he hears the mention of free tickets and turns to a bundle of excited energy. Yuuto even starts jumping up and down at the mention of Kageyama Tobio. 

Atsumu still has a lot of questions for you though, about your family, why you haven’t mentioned them, or the fact that their asshole of a father just left you to fulfill his dreams (he’s angry, very angry especially about this one) yet when he sees the small smile on your lips as you watch your kids jump up and down.

He holds back.

Those questions can wait another day.

taglist [closed]

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[thequeenopower]

Blind, both Literally and Figuratively.

TW: PRETTY LONG FOR SOME REASON, SWEARING,  JUST MATT BEING SOMEWHAT NICER IN FANFICTION THAN IN THE COMICS AND TV SHOW.

Quinn Davis was a freshly graduated law student, looking for any type of intern job she could find. She had gone through every newspaper in the state of New York, applying to any law firm that she seemed fit. The only problem was, they never accepted her and she was slowly losing hope of getting her dream job started.

That was until she saw one final hope at the bottom of the newspaper. 

She hoped this was the place that would give her a chance, I mean, she didn’t go thousands of dollars into debt just to have a piece of paper with her name on it. Walking up to the door that had the writing, “Nelson and Murdock Attorneys at Law”, she bawled her hand into a fist and knocked on the window. After only waiting a short minute for a voice to call out for her to come in, she opened the door to see a woman rummage around her desk for something. 

“Excuse me?” She looked up, confused. Then she smiled once she remembered that I was let in by her.

“Sorry! I was distracted trying to find something for my boss, what can I do for you?” I looked around, trying to find where her boss was, before walking up to her.

“I’m here to see if you guys needed any help with running things. I saw an ad about your law firm, granted it wasn’t an ad for hire but I just wanted to come here and try.” I handed her my work papers written on by all my other bosses I had previously. 

“Oh, well we actually have been looking for someone new to help us out around here.” She smiles and stood, taking the papers I handed to her, and starting towards an office door.

“Just wait here a second please Miss -?” I looked towards her.

“Davis, Quinn Davis.” She smiled once more before walking into the room, closing the door behind her. 

This moment of solitude let me look around the small space. There were two office type rooms to either side of me, blinds drawn so no one could look in. The waiting area didn’t have much, just a couple of armchairs and a side table. I couldn’t make out the two other rooms that were there since the woman returned with two men. 

One was a man of good stature, had a sweet face, someone you know would wait by your car and tell you the license plate of the one who hit it. The kind of guy a person would want to live the rest of their life with, just you’re not that person.

The other man had red tinted spectacles, he also wore a sweet face but it had some edge to it. His face was littered with faint scars, scares won from past battles. He had a beard that was neatly trimmed and a suit that had not one wrinkle in it. The only thing that threw Quinn off was the fact that there was a walking stick in his hand.

Was he blind?

If he’s blind, how does he present himself this well?

“Hello, Quinn. I’m Mr. Nelson.” This earned him a slap to the back of his shoulder from the woman standing next to him. He just smiled and tapped the other man with his elbow as if to try to get his attention. 

“And I’m Mr. Murdock. Welcome to the team!” He smiled brightly, but it couldn’t hold a crown to mine as I smiled so big my cheeks hurt. 

“Oh my goodness, thank you. You won’t regret it!” I shake Mr. Nelsons hand. 

“I promise, we won’t.” Mr. Murdock said. 

I went to shake his hand as well but pulled back before I could make a fool of myself.

“Here, Quinn. I’ll be somewhat like an overseer to the things you’ll be doing the next couple weeks.” She motions me to her and it finally dawns on me that I don’t know her name. 

“I’m sorry, what was your name?” She looks at me and laughs a little, clearly forgetting that she hadn’t told me at all.

“Its Karen, Karen Paige.” We both smile at each other before getting to work. 

                     ☠◉☠◉☠◉☠◉☠◉☠◉☠◉☠◉☠◉☠◉☠◉☠◉☠

“Quinn! Those papers please!” Mr. Nelson called. 

Two years. Two years I’ve been working here and I have yet to actually use the grade I earned on my bar exam. It’s alright though as I have been getting a lot of experience through it. I mean, how many people know the exact measurement of milk to put into coffee to make it the “Best Coffee Ever!”? That was a joke, but the measurement is 2 ounces. But, other than the random and un-educational coffee runs, Karen has been teaching me how to do all sorts of things. 

“Here you go. Sorry, the printer was acting up.” Mr. Nelson nods and takes them from me and then points to a folder.

“Here, take this to Mr. Murdock for me, will you?” I take the folder from off his desk and give him a nod before hurrying off to Mr. Murdock’s office. 

The only reason I’m doing all of this is because Karen’s on holiday. Well, not exactly holiday, I wouldn’t say a relatives funeral is very festive. So with Karen gone, and both of my boss’ being lazy pieces of sh-, I have to do everything. 

“Mr. Murdock?” I knock on his door. I hear nothing so I decide to knock again.

“Mr. Murdock?” I raise my voice slightly. In me doing so, I hear some shuffling on the other side and a ‘Come in’.

“Mr. Nelson wanted me to give you a folder.” I say quietly as I walk into his dark room. 

“Ah yes, please, bring it here and read it to me. I swear, he does these kinds of things on purpose.” He laughs lightly.

Feeling around the wall near his door I switch on the light and walk towards his side of the desk. 

“It says, “To whom it may concern, there has been an advancement on the Haroldson case. More evidence has been brought up against Mr. Haroldson. A date to meet him and go through his case again has been made on the 7th of February. Be there or be square, Matt!” Mr. Murdock laughs a little and nods his head.

“Thank you, Quinn.” I wait a second, wondering who Matt was. As I start to leave though, I see the 13th of January circled with a cake sticker on it.

“It’s Matt, if you were wondering. My names Matt.” I look towards him to see him smiling. 

“That- The name suits you.” I smile, looking back at the calendar. 

“What’re you looking at over there?” He gets up and slowly makes his way toward me, only stopping when he felt he was right by me. 

“Just your calendar. It has a little cake on today.” 

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A cake? Why the hell would there be a cake on the calendar? 

Then, it hits me. Foggy must’ve put that there for my birthday. Clever little shit, he knew I’d never see it.

“Oh it must be for my birthday.” I smile in the darkness. 

“Today’s your birthday?” Her heartbeat increases when I put my hand on the small of her back and try to lead her out of my office.

“It is indeed. But no need to fret over it, it’s not that big of a deal.” She doesn’t say anything as I hear her turn towards me outside my door.

“Yeah, ‘cause getting free cake and opening presents are no big deal. C’mon, lets all celebrate you birthday!” I can hear the smile in her tone, in turn, making me smile.

“No, No, I couldn’t deal with Mr. Nelson’s constant nagging to get more drinks from the bar or trying to tell me about how all the woman in the place look at me.” She laughs at that, she must not know the look I’m talking about. Then again, she might not give me that look most woman gave me.

“Well, how about just us two? You and me. I could come to your place with stuff?” I can hear the persuasion in her voice.

God, why did you make her so good at that?

“Sure, why not? I’ll meet you at 8 then?” She doesn’t make a noise. She probably nodded, forgetting I was blind. 

“Sure, just give me the address and I’ll meet you there.” 

                  ☠◉☠◉☠◉☠◉☠◉☠◉☠◉☠◉☠◉☠◉☠◉☠◉☠

Eight o’clock came and went. Matt sat there wondering if he had just been stood up by a woman who planned it herself, and of course its the kind of thing that happens on his birthday.

He plans to go to bed, already dressed in nothing but sweats, but the noise of a heartbeat that he listens for whenever he goes to work, catches him by surprise. A hurried knock on his door pulls him from his thoughts and pushes him to get up from the sofa.

“Sorry I’m late, Mr. Murdock. You won’t believe the amount of people trying to buy a cake at this hour, me being one of them.” Her smiley tone brings a smile to his face, even though he’s not sure it’s really there or not. 

“It’s alright, come in. And my names Matt, Mr. Murdock sounds too business-y.” She laughs at the statement and walks into the dark apartment.

“Do your lights work or...?” He chuckles lowly as he searches for the light switch. 

“I guess not.” She says quietly as the lights do not turn on.

“Well, you’ll see why I don’t need lights in a second.” She walks behind him and further into his home. 

“Oh wow, yeah, that’s really fucking bright.” He smiles at her statement and falls back onto the couch.

“You can put the cake in the fridge for right now. Unless you were thinking of having it now.” 

“No, no. I picked up some food on the way here, Chinese, if your still hungry that is.” He nods and pats the spot next to him for her to sit on. 

After putting down that wrapped presents, and stuffing the cake into the barely full fridge, Quinn sits besides her boss and starts naming the foods she got for the both of them.

They eat in silence, the occasional honking and passing by cars breaking it. 

“Can I ask you something, Quinn?” She shifts herself towards him.

To her, he was devilishly handsome. The light coming from the huge billboard outside made a shadow on his sharper features and made them stand out more. His smile was the thing she liked most about him, it was like a smirk but it was warmer, inviting. And now she was able to see his full face, his glasses having been taken off due to the late hours of the night. She thought it kind of nice that he was looking at her, straight in the eyes, even if he didn’t mean to nor knew he was doing it.

He takes her movements as a yes and speaks.

“Why is there absolutely no record of you being a person?” Her face drops. 

“What- What are you talking about?” Her guard was up now, he knew it even if he couldn’t see it, both literally and figuratively.

“I looked you up the first day you worked with us, well we looked you up. There’s not a single birth document or any personal record of you being a person, never mind being born. So either you know some people, or you’ve been lying.” She moves, ready to get up, but Matt grabs hold of her, pulling her down a little too hard. 

She lets out a yelp as she falls onto him, the heat coming off of his bare chest sent shivers up her spine and made goosebumps appear on her arms. 

“My apologies, but I do need some answers from you. Now.” His grip on her wrist tightens, not hard enough to hurt her but enough to try to get her to talk. 

“Fine, I’ll talk.” She pulls on her wrist, expecting him to let go but he doesn’t and instead nods his head as a way for her to keep going.

“My name is Wendy Young. I grew up in a terrible family and erased it all when I became 18. That good enough for you?” Matt shakes his head.

“Tell me more, tell me the names of your family members, tell me what they were like. Just give me more information and we can forget this whole thing and go back to eating.” The woman huffs, not wanting to have to go back into her memory to remember how her parents and siblings were.

“My mother, Tiffany, was a terrible mother growing up. Granted, she did stop doing drugs, drinking, smoking, all that stuff when she was pregnant with us. She would stay sober for a few years after we were born, then went back to doing all that stuff again. Being the youngest though, I don’t remember her ever being sober, only my older brother and sister do. My father, Levi, owned an under-the-table wrestling joint. He was drunk most of the time but he brought home money so we didn’t have a say. The only good thing that he did for us was almost killing one of his friends who came onto my older sister, he went to jail but once he came back he beat her because she was wearing provocative clothing. My sister, Candy, she was the oldest of us all. She’s working most corners now, she could’ve gone places, she was the smartest one in the family. My older brother, Joseph, he was the trouble maker. Since he was the only son my dad ever had, he was put into a lot of different sports. The only one he really tried at though was wrestling. Today, you can see him working at my dad’s wrestling ring. My siblings are 10 and 12 years older than me, you could say I was a mistake. And me, well lets just say I got the lesser of all evils. I was able to maintain good grades throughout school even when I can’t remember having any time to do homework. I know how to fight ‘cause of my father and brother. Even though I hate them, I’m much closer to my father and brother. Is that enough for you?” He smiles brightly, sitting up from his laying position so that she sitting with her legs on either side of his.

“That’s plenty enough, Wendy.” The woman groans in annoyance and gets off of him, sitting in her own spot now and continuing to eat the food she bought.

Matt sits up now, questioning the warmth he felt in his stomach from when she was on him. He brushes it off as just normal human body heat, but it sticks to the back of his mind like a snowman stuck to a summer arts and crafts project. You’re not sure why its there but you know its there and you question what made the artist glue it there. 

“Sorry if that was rude or intrusive. I won’t tell anyone else about this.” He looks in her direction. This makes her smile, of course he’d be concerned about crossing boundaries.

“It’s alright, Matt.” This makes him smirk.

For the rest of their supper, they remain quiet. But, only one of them was quiet because of their thoughts being too loud. With them being in their own little worlds, they don’t realize the time or remember the reason they were here in the first place until Quinn’s phone goes off.

She jumps a little before frantically grabbing her phone, without seeing the persons I.D. she speaks.

“Hello? Who is this?” A muffled voice could be heard on the other end. 

“Oh, hello, Mr. Nelson.” 

“No, I’m not home right now.”

“No, I will not have sex with you.”

“No, I will not make fun of you for this in the morning at the office.”

“Go home, Foggy.” There seems to be muffled sobbing on the other line. 

“Yes, love you too, Foggy.” There’s a muffled voices on the other line, most likely saying goodbye. 

Matt sat, confused. Were they dating? Surely not, Foggy would’ve said something. And plus Foggy knew how Matt felt about the woman sitting beside him, he knew Foggy would never do such a thing. So he asked, with such jealousy in his voice; 

“How long have you two been dating?” Matts hands were clenched around each other. Quinn was confused by the action. 

“We’re not dating. You think Mr. Nelson and I are dating?” Matt seems almost relieved when Quinn says this, like a huge stone had been lifted from the bottom of his stomach.

“Good, then that means I can do this to you.” And in one swift, quick movement, Matt was kissing her and Quinn was kissing him.

Quinn was confused as to how he was such a good kisser and how he found her lips so easily, but she did not think of it for a moment longer as he pushed her onto her back. After what felt like a few seconds, but what was really a few minutes, they pulled away. Both of their lips were swollen and their breaths were uneven. Matt held himself up with his hands, smiling when he heard Quinn’s racing heartbeat.

“Wow, I wasn’t expecting that, that’s for sure.” She smiled, breathlessly.

“Expect the unexpected, Wendy.” She groaned in annoyance once again from the use of her real name. 

Getting out from underneath him, she cleans up the trash and puts the candles on the cake. 

“Happy Birthday to you!” She walked over to him, setting the cake down on the coffee table and finishing the rest of the song.

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Matt didn’t saying anything about the kiss for the rest of the night, so I didn’t either. We ate cake in piece and we opened presents in piece. It was getting quite late and I was planning on leaving soon so I can be back at the office early.

“Wendy, can we talk for a second?” He must’ve thought I would be leaving soon.

“Sure, what is it?” 

“Well, obviously now you know I like you. But, that doesn’t mean it needs to be awkward. You can still go and date someone else, it won’t affect our friendship.” I look at him oddly, what the hell is he talking about?

“You do know I like you too right?” His eyes widened before he blinked a bunch and stuttered his next sentence out.

“Yo-Y-You do?” 

“Are you blind?” I ask without realizing.

“Yeah, I am actually.” He smiles and I laugh once I realize what I said.

“Well I know you’re actually blind, but that doesn’t mean you can’t feel the tension whenever we both enter the room.” Matt nods in agreement with this.

“So, do you want to see where we can go with this?” He asks after a moment of silence. 

“Yeah, that’d be nice.” He smiles and goes in for a kiss. But because of how off he is I can’t help but laugh.

“Hey, cut me some slack and come kiss me yourself.” 

Laughing, Wendy does as she’s told. And maybe even a bit more than that. ;)

[kaypeace21]

Hey Kay! I was wondering... I'm thinking of writing a Byler fic. Is there anything that's missing from the current fic library that you think would be good to see, in terms of tropes, characterisation, things to explore, etc? I would also appreciate hearing from your followers. Just any ideas that people would like to see in a fic.

yeah sure ...

1)We need more povs from Mike’s perspective. (Almost all are from Will’s pov - let’s mix it up sometimes)

Mike in canon is the pinning-gay -(overly romantic) whipped one , but we never see it. And he’s pretty much never written this way! Mike in s3 has 6 drawings from Will on his wall  (he kept them up since s1-for years- despite replacing the poster on the same wall). Has even caressed extra drawings of Will’s that he’s kept in his binder.  In s1 wrote a whole story for Will about defeating a monster and giving the king it’s  7 heads (cause Will rolled a 7 when the demogorgan attacked him.) And as a Star Wars fan he had his own character be given a medal by the king (like how leia gave the medal to Han for his heroism.) He attacked people for insulting Will. Literally hates apologizing -but is quick to do so for Will . Boy ran in the pouring rain twice for Will- disobeying cops, the government, and his parents to do so. He initiates every byler moment (arm thing, hand touch, ‘best thing i’ve ever done’, ‘crazy together, right?’, always asking Will “what’s wrong?” or “are you ok?” etc). And was upset at Will dancing with a girl + insecure about Will replacing him -after he moves away.

-but 90% of byler fanfics (don’t get me wrong some are good) are from Will’s pinning perspective. Also do people realize Mike is clearly the more romantic/ emotional open of the 2 while Will is clearly the more emotionally closed off/aloof one?  He loves Mike too- but he’s def less obvious about his feelings- based on how he behaves. Will rarely opens up to people (Mike being an exception). But, it’s never written that way (usually it’s the opposite).  

2) as a gay women all the reductive stereotypes annoy me. it’s obvious when fic writers try to have the gay romance be modeled after het romance- and try to make one into the ‘girl’/ ‘guy’. Duffers don’t stereotype  Mike or Will but a lot of fanfiction writers do in order to make the gay romance resemble a straight one more (canon character traits, be dammed). Please, stop pushing heterosexual dynamics on gay and lesbian couples and trying to make one “the girl” and “the guy”. It’s very offensive and innaccurate.

Because he’s taller and most people head canon him as bi they make Mike a jock (despite in canon having horrible aim and not being able to run as fast as the rest of the gang). And Will (since most see him as gay) is weak/ sucks at sports compared to mike...despite knowing how to use a bat, shoot a gun, and being able to tear castle byers apart with his bare hands . Also nothing in canon shows Will likes to wear makeup and dress in drag (but it’s a constant thing that i’ve heard come up or heard others mention). It would be fine if he wanted to express himself in such a way. And if it only came up in an occasional fic it wouldn’t be a big deal. But it’s such a common theme that comes up (despite no canon evidence) that in most cases it just screams ‘straight writers trying to make Will into “the girl”’.  Not to mention the huge emphasis of their height difference (shows this too). It can get annoying calling him “short” & “petite” (a term used for women) when will isn’t even the shortest guy member- and now his actor is way taller than gaten (dustin) a bit taller (I think?) than caleb (Lucas) and barely shorter than finn (Mike’s actor). But writers even in future fics write him as short...ok? ya’ll really can’t let go of making Will “the girl.” Cause ya’ll incorrectly equate shortness to femminity. It’s tiring. Some writers straight up say he’s “pretty “, “feminine” or “looks like a girl” 🙄

3) it’s not byler if it’s unrequited- stop tagging it as such

4) more emphasis on Will’s passions(art, writing, horror movies). Maybe in his upbringing with Lonnie.And jon being a good bro to him. Will’s Mental health issues maybe ?

5) mike is a socially awkward, clumsy, unathletic, (caring) science/sci-fi /D&D loving nerd. In au whatever- but mike is not a bro-y jock, or a cool bad boy. 😂 plus , more writer mike would be nice to see

6) headcanon him all you want -but at this point it’s pretty obvious (to me at least) Mike never loved el,and was just lying/confused/ projecting Will on her. And El is/was also confused and never loved mike.   so it would be nicer to see that instead of Mike just ‘falling out of love’ with her. Mike is gay. people say in s3 Will saying “a day free of girls” is gay coded but everyone ignores Mike in s3 saying “BOYS ONLY”. same energy. writers even threw in a telemarketing joke so Mike says in s3 “El? no. sorry not interested.” And Mike has more rainbow refs than Will.  Boy is clearly gay not bi (way too much evidence to talk about here) .  They even  compare mileven to ted/karen who “never loved each other.”   The  writers make fun of mileven constantly and say over and over it’s not actually romantic - (if you choose to read just 1 link read this one  and get with the program) . plus, most Bi dudes  wouldn’t stop being attracted to a girl the more fem she gets (and only be attracted to her when she looks like a “guy”(specifically their guy friend).which yes the characters in s1 said over and over again that El looked like a “boy”/“will”.  And then they have him Makeout with her while putting up a  drawing of said male bff on the wall (cause now she looks less like him) and so he needs to look at said bro, to stomach the makeout seshes/ and in an effort to transfer said romantic feelings from guy friend to gf. Then push his gf’s hands off himself during the kisses- sing to stop kissing, and  kiss to mostly show off how straight he is. And without said pic- not kiss back and just keep his eyes open and not reciprocate. Nor would they have Mike equate het romance to something he thinks he has to do as a part of growing up . Bi dudes consider falling for a girl as simply romance not a foreign idea that has to be done cause there’s no other option and that’s ‘just what old people do’. Mike claims el is the only girl he’s ever had feelings for - but like dustin said mileven is “bullshit “ (stancy parallel -where nancy was not in love but faking it). So mike’s never been into a girl and is also into Will... so...

7) it’s the 80s they can’t just be open/ have pda in public (you could have gotten k*lled or beaten severely.) And most of their friends/fam would not take it well initially. (I think jon, Karen , and steve/robin would take it well... but not most of the crew.) although they’d all prob come around eventually . -Takes me out of a fic to have such historical revisionism when everyone is just totally fine with byler and they’re out to the public/strangers.

but that’s just me. What about you guys?

[streets-in-paradise]

Family Matters

Troy (2004) reader insert fanfiction - Part 5

The option to vinculate links on words is not working right now for me, i don’t know why. I will add the links to the previous parts later. For now, all can be found in the Troy (2004) tag of my blog. 

Word Count: 2.858

Characters: Agamemnon, Menelaus, Achilles, Myceneaean Princess Reader. 

Relationships: Family relationships of the House of Atreus, Agamemnon and Achilles’ rivality. 

Warnings: Agamemnon and Menelaus being dickheads, hints of casual sexism. 

Summary: Agamemnon finds out about his daugther’s new friendship and his brother tries to stop him from making a big deal about it. 

Disclaimers: As i explained before, i try to follow Troy’s characterizations of most of the characters as much as i can. The Atrides are going to be douchebags because that’s how the movie portrays them. I just discovered i have lots of fun writing about this two scumbags, this was super fun to write. I felt them like the fun kind of scumbags while doing this. 

Tags: @yerevasunclair​ @hrisity12​ 

Thanks for reading!! 

Once the celebrations concluded and the guests started to return to their homelands the princess of Mycenae begged her father to let her stay in Sparta for a longer while instead of returning with him to their kingdom. Agamemnon didn't find major inconvenients on her request. He seemed pretty pleased with the image of family unity that the friendship of his daughter and his sister in law was reflecting. As long as Menelaus could be able to keep her under his watch and bring her back when she would wish it, he didn't have issues against it. For once, he didn't have anything to criticize. 

They discussed the topic early because she wanted to make sure of having enough time to convince him in the case of getting a straight negatory as first reply. She did it shortly before saying goodbye to Odysseus and Penelope, so she would be able to count with her biggest supporters in case of need. Before leaving, the king of Ithaca reminded her in a teasing tone to keep going with the good behaviour. The queen showed her gratitude for the help she was providing to her cousin. She hugged both of them with a great amount of enthusiasm and love. 

The situation became more complicated a short while after. Achilles was leaving the same day, joining his friend in the first stages of his travel. Without any consideration and staying true to his carefree style, he personally greeted the princess in front of her father. 

It was then when the king found out about their meeting. 

" Odysseus introduced us." she tried to excuse herself after seeing the horrified expression in her father's face. Achilles was trying to act in a cautious way because he didn't want to upset her, but the gesture was enough to make Agamemnon's blood boil and it was visible in his reaction. " It was just a formal introduction, very brief."  she lied. 

" I imagined it was a possibility. I wonder why I wasn't informed about it?"  the king recrimined her, looking at her with a deadly serious stare. 

" We didn't consider it necessary. " Achilles added. " As she said, it was very brief. Although, i felt i needed to approach her for a proper goodbye." 

" Since when do you have good manners? You are a killer beast." 

" I can be nicer when i want to be." 

Anticipating a new fight, she interrupted them in an attempt to calm them down. 

" There is no need for hostilities." 

" I didn't give you permission to speak." her father shut her up.

" You should, your rulership would be more stable if you listened to her from time to time. She is very clever and she loves her country. She told me some very interesting things about it, her eloquence makes you feel curious. She does a better job than you in selling off your unity ideal. I have the feeling that she could rule the country better than you. '' Achilles mocked him. 

She wished she could laugh openly at the comment. 

" Like if you knew anything about rulership. You are nothing more than an insolent soldier!!!"  Agamemnon replied, emphasizing the last sentence.

Before the argument could start to escalate they were interrupted by Menelaus. She felt relieved because all the work would not rely on Odysseus again. 

" What's the problem, brother? He is just teasing you." the spartan king commented in a relaxed tone. " Great joke, very appropriate. Polite but innocent. I'm not entirely sure of which one of you is supposed to insult more."  

" Why would it be insulting to me? " she asked, trying to hide her annoyance. 

" Because it is so irrelevant that it's funny. '' Menelaus started to laugh." If he truly wanted to compliment you he should have said something about your face or your hair, he could have praised anything else instead of your talent with words. You are not a diplomat, you are a young princess. That's not how you talk to a girl, that's how you close a negotiation. If all he has to say about you is that you talk a lot then he doesn't have anything too valuable. If I was your father I would be very calm about it. " 

" To praise a woman's intelligence is like to value a bird for its feet, absolutely pointless." Agamemnon added. " I must assume he is in the mood for strange jokes. " 

" Take it as you prefer, but I wasn't talking to you. "  the warrior replied, as sharply as usual.

The girl felt touched by his implícit defense. 

" It was an honour and a pleasure to meet you. I wish you good luck and a safefull return to your home." 

" You don't need to worry for him, darling. Danger itself is afraid of him. " Menelaus joked , interrupting them again. 

" I'm as used to danger as your uncle is to chaze girls young enough to be your cousins. " 

Instead of taking him seriously, the king of Sparta laughed again.

" You are a madman, but you never fail to amuse me. I think that the real reason why you two don't get along is because my brother doesn't get your sense of humour. He is a very serious man, always has been. " 

His niece was very happy because she guessed Achilles said that sharp commentary as a hint for her. From the many they had over the week, at least he remembered their deepest conversation. He took the bother of acting as her voice, saying to Menelaus at least a bit of everything she wished she could yell at him. It was a beautiful, kind gesture, more than she ever expected of him. 

She would have shown herself in absolute awe if it wasn't for the rampant rage she felt after witnessing her uncle laughing at something that would have enraged him if it would have been said by her. Pretending to keep engaged in the conversation, she defended Agamemnon. She hated to do it, but it was necessary to look less partial. 

" The weight of the crown makes him more wary but he has his moments."  

" It is the first reasonable thing i heard from you so far." he replied, with a bit of sarcasm." Go with your aunt... NOW!!" 

The young lady obeyed because she had no other choice. Without daring to emit a single sound, her gaze followed Achilles's one last time in a silent goodbye. He smiled at her with the same intention.

 She had to stand a long nagging session afterwards. Once the public gaze was no longer a concern Agammenon was free to show all his disgust and disappointment, threatening about how he was going to drag her back to Mycenae and lock her in the palace until she learned how to behave. 

She barely listened to him, her focus was almost entirely centered in her happy thoughts about Achilles. She was thinking of his beautiful blue eyes, his sweet smile, how much she enjoyed his company and how amazing he was for defending her in front of the biggest authorities of the place. He was so subtle that neither Agamemnon or Menelaus noticed anything. It felt like a last secret gift from him, something only them understood. 

Nothing else  mattered anymore. Not in a hopeless way but in a happy one instead. She was there pretending to care while keeping the happiness in her mind. It was the strangest and most amazing sensation. 

Her uncle was trying to defend her, but that didn't matter as well. She knew he was doing it for his own selfish reasons. He needed her there so she could stay to keep Helen calm, helping her to adapt and teaching her to ignore how much she hated him. She was going to use him for her own reasons as well, making him believe she was helping him when in fact her only objective was to protect Helen from him.

" Look at how happy she is. I can't be more pleased, I would love to have her around some more time" Menelaus was claiming. 

" SHE SHAMED ME!!! DO YOU WANT TO PRAISE HER FOR WHAT SHE DID TO ME ??"  his brother complained, yelling annoyingly.  

" Achilles was going to find another way to laugh one way or another. That's how he is, you don't need to punish her for it. " 

" Can you stop protecting her? We always face the same situation. She does something wrong and you want me to ignore it. Why was she talking to Achilles in the first place???" 

" Because we were in a party, a place where it is expected for you to meet people, and we were introduced to each other? "  she answered, trying to reflect some logic. 

" An introduction shouldn't last more than the time and words required to say your name and rank." 

" I wanted to make you look good in front of him. As you always say, I'm representing you. You wouldn't have liked me to act rude, you say it looks terrible in a woman. Some casual talk is needed to keep the appearances. He is important to you, I needed to keep him happy. " she defended herself. 

" Circunstancies force me to need of him, he is not important. You don't have to make him feel important. It is the worst thing you can do. Do you have any idea of how hard it is for me to deal with his ridículous pretensions???? "

" You didn't give me proper instructions on what to do. I had to guess and I did what i would had done in any formal meeting. "

" YOU TREATED HIM LIKE A KING!! He is nothing but a soldier!! You don't owe him any sort of formality, kindness or attention. He is nothing to you, NOTHING!" Agamemnon  emphasized.

Menelaus did his best to soften his speech. 

" What your father tries to say is that he thinks a soldier, despite his fame and recognition, doesn't deserve the same treatment you would give to a royal. A lady of your position shouldn't bother with him, not even regarding positive impressions. That kind of behaviour, even with good intentions on your part, feeds his idea of considering himself higher and greater than his general and king. "  he explained to her in a condescending way, like if she was completely ignorant on the matter. " You can't treat him like you would treat Odysseus. It feeds his ego and that makes things harder for your father.”

" I just tried to be nice. I heard he is a bad tempered hero who gets easily offended. " she fakely apologised. 

Menelaus was smiling at her with his usual enthusiasm. It hurted her a bit to not be able to correspond it but, in her cheerful state, fake it was easier than ever. 

" I know, you did good." he praised her." It's not your fault, you weren't sure of how to react.  Nobody prepared you for it." 

" NOW IT IS MY FAULT??? WHY DID YOU HAD TO INVITE HIM???"  Agamemnon complained, hysterically. 

" Have you seen my wife? She is the prettiest thing i have ever seen. I wanted her to be seen by everyone, you can't blame me. I bet not even Achilles himself had a woman as beautiful as mine. I had to ask him myself." 

" Did you actually ask him? His niece questioned him, laughing a bit and hiding her awkward reaction. Something of that did make her laugh for sure. Both kings were talking of Achilles like if he was a nobody that didn't matter, yet Menelaus had the need of proving himself in front of him. He made him come to his wedding so he could satisfy his masculine needs using Helen as a symbol. He wanted to show off to a godlike handsome man desired by many women that he got a particularly splendid woman he could only be able to dream of having. She was very amused while hearing his response. 

" Sure i did. He had to recognize I was right. There is no woman on this lands as gorgeous as mine. We may have our differences but nobody denies that. It's the only fact every greek agrees with. " 

" A good symbol of unity, the best idea you came up with lately. " she added, keeping the facade of cheerful approbation. 

" You always get me so quickly. That's my girl!!" he replied, hugging her sideways.

" I DON'T CARE ABOUT YOUR PRETTY WIFE, MENELAUS! THAT'S NOT THE POINT NOW!!" Agamemnon kept shouting. 

" Brother, you know i follow and support all your choices but you don't need to question her now. She had good intentions. " 

" Intentions don't justify terrible results. MY DAUGHTER , OF ALL PRINCESSES, WAS THE ONE TREATING HIM WITH HONOURS!! " 

" I already told you i'm sorry. What do you want me to do? Insult him the next time I see him?" she joked, fed up of his stupidity. 

"Let's hope there will be no next time. " her father assured her. " I try very hard to gradually trust you in the spaces a woman of your age should start attending. I know it is important but you keep bringing me more headaches. You are my daughter, ACT AS SUCH!" 

" Ajax says I'm lovely." she excused herself. 

" I CAN'T GET YOU MARRIED TO A BRUTE FROM AN INSIGNIFICANT KINGDOM!!" 

That was all he seemed to care about, his only obligation as a father. She was so relaxed that she barely cared about the mention of that delicate issue. Her good mood was a good push to keep inventing excuses to delay the talk.

" You have plenty of time to think about it but the world is not going to be conquered by itself. Soon you will rule every corner, being crowned as the greatest emperor of our history. I will be swimming in a sea of suitors, maybe even bigger than Helen's. This little incident will feel funny, we will be so powerful that men would embarrass themselves in front of me to get my approbation regardless of my behaviour. "

" Did you hear that? She is proud of you" Menelaus teased. 

" Of course i am. My dear father is the greatest conqueror this world has ever seen. Free cities tremble to the mention of his name. " she exaggerated to flatter him. As always, she was going to get what she wanted with lies. " I know some people like to spread lies and exaggerations claiming that you would be nothing without Achilles but the truth is that he would be nothing without you. You made him who he is, that ungrateful bastard is becoming a legend because he is fighting for you."  She said exactly what he wanted to hear, knowing she would get a positive response. 

" That's what i always say but nobody listens!! Nestor and Odysseus expect me to stand back and accept his pressures, your uncle thinks everything is a joke. That man doesn't respect me, he never listens to me! He is a threat to my position as commander of the army, I can't allow him to do as he pleases. What kind of example is that to other soldiers? To the kings whose armies are under my command???" 

" A seed of rebellion, you can't hold a weapon you can't control. That's why you do your best to keep him at bay. " she reassured him. " I'm sorry if my intervention ruins your plans. I tried to be a pleasant company to show off and make you proud. "  

Agamemnon was backing off slowly. He never used to make his changes of mind evident. She noticed it because his expression, still severe, didn't show the same rage anymore. 

" I can let it pass... for now,"  he sentenced. 

She gave him her sweetest fake smile, pleased with the outcome of her manipulation. 

" You are the best." 

" Don't make me regret it. " 

" You never asked how the meeting with Achilles felt for me. '' she reminded him, trying to stay on his good side. " He is the most insufferable vain man I have ever met. He thinks he is the best thing that happened to mankind since the flame of Prometheus. I don't know how you stand him. I deceived him because making him feel important was all I could do to keep him calmed. " 

Her lie amused both kings and they laughed in approbation. 

The young lady considered the discussion concluded in her favour. Explicit recognition was impossible, but she read it in their attitudes. Usually, hostilities ceasing and the matter being dismissed was the clearest sign. Disengaging was their way of losing without admitting it. They simply changed the subject and continued as always. She didn't even need to ask again if she could stay in Sparta, the agreement was implicit between both brothers. 

She left the family meeting with airs of triumph, secure of her possibilities. She managed to deceive Agamemnon and Menelaus at the same time. Her ability to fake was intact after all. As she handled both sons of Atreus at once, she started to feel perfectly capable to keep doing it with just one of them for the sake of Helen's wellbeing.

[lifeofroos]

ToN spoilers!!!!!!!!!!!

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Nobody else did... so I guess I had to do it myself.

Nico’s first therapy session fanfiction, let’s go. I might write more in the future. 

This might be crazy

When I woke up, there was a juice box on my nightstand. At first, I figured it was Wills’ doing. An attempt to get me to consume more calories. Yet, that just did not feel right.I sat up and pushed my curtains aside a little. Outside, it was still pitch black. Alright, now I was absolutely certain that Will was not the one to put the juicebox on my nightstand. When healers do not have a night shift, they tend to sleep as much as they can.

 I thought about the dreams I had had that night. I was at an amphitheatre and I could hear people talking, but nothing really happened. It was nicer than my usual dreams, which always seemed to come straight out of a Stephen King novel. The amphitheatre. What the hell, it was worth a try. I climbed out of bed, picked up the juice box and walked out the door (I had forgotten to take off my regular clothes when I went to sleep. I wasn’t wearing shoes, though - I regretted that when I was just too far away from my cabin to get them anyway). 

The campfire flared up a bit when I got close enough. Someone was sitting on the first row, near the flames. I sighed deeply when I noticed two glowing, purple eyes. Hell, help me. ‘Nico Di Angelo.’

‘Sir.’ 

‘I asked you to come to the Big House a couple of times, and you never did. I figured you might come if I added some mysticism.’

I tightened my grip on the juice box. ‘So you laid a juice box on my nightstand in the middle of the night. A box of…’- I looked at the carton - ‘Demeters’ Divine Orange Juice.’

 ‘It can be whatever you want. I can give you apple juice or pear juice, if that makes you comfortable.’

I looked at the box. A little grin grew on my face. ‘Can it be dragon fruit juice?’ He sighed deeply. ‘Whatever.’ The picture of an orange on the juicebox changed into a picture of a dragon fruit. I put the straw into the box and took a sip - it tasted weird, but weird in a good sense. I sat down next to Dionysus. 

‘Whatever Will said, it is not true.’ 

‘I sensed myself that there was something wrong. Although your boyfriend did tell me about your issues as well.’ 

I stared into the flames. They were slightly grayish. ‘I feel… fine enough.’

 ‘That’s not feeling good, though.’

 ‘It’s feeling good enough.’ 

‘It isn’t. You deserve to feel better.’ 

I took a swig of dragon fruit juice. ‘Children of Hades do not feel happy. They never have.’ 

‘I know for a fact that you just repeated what everyone else was saying. Because Chiron does not teach old myths about Hades’ children. Because not a lot of them survived. The myths, I mean.’ 

I kept looking at the flames. ‘What problems do I have then, that should and could  be fixed?’

‘Well, you tend to summon skeletons when you get upset, for one, and you tend to zone out during activities, and...’ the god of wine probably had a lot more interesting things to say, if it wasn’t for the fact that my juice box was empty, but I kept sucking on the straw, so that the god got interrupted by the weird slush-sound an empty carton makes. It worked for a few seconds, until Dionysus magiced more juice into the box. The next moment I had a mouth full and almost choked. I coughed loudly. ‘Be careful,’ was all the nearby god had to say about it. 

When I could breathe again, Dionysus sighed deeply. ‘You need to stop messing around, Di Angelo.’ I sighed and looked at the seats. Will had encouraged me to seek help. I might need it, even, I could agree with that. But this felt ridiculous. I wasn’t insane. ‘Just take as long as you need. If you come up with something, just tell me.’

 I don’t know how much time I took. I paced around the campfire and  jumped up and down the first row of seats, trying to think. When I got back to Dionysus, he was reading a few documents that looked important. However, he put them away when he saw me. I sat back down. Another juice box appeared. ‘The voices,’ was all I said, while I picked up the juice carton.

‘In your head, I assume.’

 ‘Those. They… I don’t know. They don’t sound human.’

 ‘Well, they aren’t.’ 

‘I mean… I think they are from the Underworld.’ I had no idea why I was telling him that. Yet, I had not told him about…

‘Are we talking about the regular underworld, or Tartarus?’

‘Sorry for the rough question, Di Angelo, I did not mean to immediately ask something so difficult and personal.’ Dionysus stared at me. He clearly meant exactly what he had asked.

‘...Alright, tartar sauce.’

‘Tartar sauce?’

‘Who is the one going around telling everyone names have power?’ 

He actually smiled. ‘Touché. Tell me what you want to tell about it.’ 

‘I do not think it’s… monsters.’ Did I not? ‘It might be… I don’t know.’

 ‘Divinities?’ 

‘Could be. They call out to me. They tell me to… they don’t exactly tell me to come to them. But they don’t tell me to stay away either, if you understand that.’

‘Hm. But you do think that they are outside forces?’

‘How about you try to slap them out of my brain and if they are still there, we can be certain of that.’ 

‘That’s not how it works.’ 

‘Hm.’ Useless. ‘But I do certainly think there is something out there giving me these messages.’ 

‘That would make it one of the most important parts to not let the voices, what or whoever they are, make you go crazy.’ No brainer. Although I must admit it is difficult. I took a few sips of dragonfruit juice. The carton would not empty out this time, so that I could block this whole therapy session out with a slushing sound - I figured Dionysus made it bottomless. ‘Probably.’

He was silent for some time. I put my juicebox down. ‘How do I not become crazy?’ It felt like he wanted me to ask something like that. Maybe not exactly the way I worded it. 

‘That is what we are going to figure out.’ He smiled at me again. ‘Is there anything else that might be bothering you?’ I did not immediately respond. The voices that were bothering me now reminded me of different voices - those of Otus and Ephialtes, which I could constantly hear while I was locked in their iron jars. The voices had gotten into my dreams, even now, more than a year after the incident had taken place. ‘It makes me feel… trapped. The voices, I mean.’ 

‘Can you yourself think of a concrete reason for that?’Yes, yes I could. Except that that reason made me almost cry and him asking that made me angry. And so I said nothing. ‘Too much for this session?’

‘What a concrete observation. I could not be so concrete’ 

‘The voices were already quite concrete.’

‘Maybe.’ I brought the carton to my lips again. I took a sip, but it tasted a little bitter. I heard Dionysus take a deep breath. ‘What do you think about continuing next time?’

‘I said almost nothing!’

‘Not a lot of words, no. But you very clearly told me about one of the big issues you are having. That takes a lot.’ I realised I had emptied out the juice carton. ‘Will I find a new one when it is time again?’

‘Perhaps. Now go back to your cabin before you act like one of your zombies tomorrow and Chiron blames me.’

Chiron would probably blame Will, I thought. However, taking a nap sounded like a good idea. ‘Alright then.’

‘Sleep tight.’

‘Yeah, you too.’ I walked away from the campfire. When I looked around, Dionysus had vanished. I could, however, see a woman sitting close by the flames. She smiled, which made me feel warm inside. Alright, therapy was scary. Therapy with the god of madness seemed like… well, madness. But perhaps it could work out, if I gave it a shot.