#I almost made a web weaving about this but it was too much work

[professorlegaspi]

Indaba as the Abraham who was not prevented in the act of sacrificing his son. Indaba as the Abraham that only discovered after lowering the knife that he didn’t want a dead son. Indaba as the Abraham who chose wrong. Indaba as the Abraham the chose right

[shogunish]

𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝘁𝗶𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘀𝗶𝘀.

synopsis. “you made me feel like i was a threat to you.”

contents. a bit of angst, comfort, miscommunication/lack of communication, implied friends-to-lovers, soft! satoru, takes place after the star plasma vessel incident, satoru's trauma response, unedited, something i whipped up on a whim lmao

wc. 1.3k

note. had a sudden urge to write this when i watched dazai edits and i hope i'll find more inspiration to write like..i just wanna be consistent for once 🥲

comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! <3

the inverted spear of heaven was no more.

the star plasma vessel incident — mainly toji fushiguro — had carved its mark into satoru’s flesh. after satoru had killed the man, he had made sure to destroy the cursed tool until not even ashes remained of the sharp blade that used to spill the blood of innocents.

it was almost like the sorcerer wanted to destroy the things that could destroy him.

however, he failed to notice how he had almost destroyed his relationship with you, too.

no longer did satoru wrap you up in his bear hugs. no longer did he let you rest your head on his shoulder on movie night. no longer were you welcome in his space.

always were you kept at an arm’s length. satoru was close enough to admire but so far out of reach like the constellation of stars dotting the night sky. what you thought was no more than a phase turned out to be so much more until, in the safety of your bedroom and underneath your blankets, your vision blurred with tears.

if the sun wasn't there, the moon would remain hidden in the vast void of space. and without satoru, you couldn't shine, either. in fact, your smile dimmed until it was almost extinguished by the pain satoru put you through — but it wasn’t his fault. or so you'd like to tell yourself.

satoru had danced with death when he was meant to only protect a girl.

you couldn't possibly blame him.

after all, you could neutralize the only thing that kept him safe.

the ability to nullify any cursed technique upon touch was as convenient as it was, literally, cursed. with zero offensive abilities, you always relied on satoru or suguru to cover for you in case your plans didn't work out. one miscalculation and your head would roll — that much you knew.

among every student attending jujutsu high, you were the weakest while satoru was the strongest.

it was enough to tie your fate to satoru, weaving a web of complicated feelings which usually tasted like those sugary gummy bears the sorcerer carried with him. it was sweet and warm like his embrace, but the blade of toji fushiguro had effortlessly cut through the fine webs. nothing but a cold void remained where laughter and silly inside jokes about digimon danced along the velvety threads.

almost like a black hole that swallowed the constellation in the skies, leaving behind broken galaxies and lonely stars that swallowed moons to fill the loss of their companions.

“he's so stupid,” you muttered to yourself, threw the teddy bear in your arms into the corner of your bed and sat up to blow your nose.

the teddy bear was a polar bear adorned with button eyes and a red bow tied around its fluffy neck. it looks like you, you had mindlessly said during last year's summer festival. satoru had spent the entire evening shooting little rubber ducks to earn enough points to win the silly bear, but it was worth it for your eyes lit up like the fireworks that followed soon after.

the clock read two am when you poured boiling hot water into a cup of instant ramen, ripped open the package of spice and stirred the meal with disinterest written all over your face. not even the scent of cheap cup noodles made your tummy growl anymore. how could it when it was so full of dread, guilt and worry for the sorcerer who stole your heart and refused to give it back? it was an unfair bargain, really.

just a moment later, you heard a knock on your door. you considered ignoring it and pretending to be asleep, but alas, the lights were on and likely snuck through underneath the crack of the door to your dorm. what kind of idiot knocked on your door at two am?

satoru — the only idiot who'd knock on your door in the middle of the night and look like a kicked puppy.

“satoru? it's two am..,” you spoke first, standing between him and the warmth of your dorm.

satoru didn't look like satoru. even through the pitch black glasses of his shades could you see the storm brewing in those sky-blues of his. with a sigh, he rubbed his neck. “why does everyone keep telling me how late it is? ah, no matter.”

you wanted to ask, but decided against it.

“look, i know it's late, but i can't help but think you've been avoiding me for the last couple of what? weeks? months?” satoru shifted his weight from one fuzzy slipper to the other. “was it something i said?”

in that very moment, you realized you were doing the same things as he was. as soon as class was over, you'd go home alone. you'd have lunch alone. you'd spend your weekends alone. all those things once were shared with satoru in your space, but as soon as he avoided you..you avoided him, too out of fear of getting hurt.

“satoru..don't you realize that you've been avoiding me first?” your voice was quiet as you hugged your middle. “ever since the incident and the destruction of that cursed tool, you always kept me at arm's length. you no longer let me get any closer nor do you spar with me anymore. nothing..”

“you made me feel like i was a threat to you.”

a painful epiphany coiled in satoru's stomach like a snake. was he so busy destroying the devil's tools and refining his technique that he..forgot about about you? the person who'd steal his fries and snore on his shoulder on movie night? no, no way. he would never see you as a threat even though your touch could dissolve his infinity like sugar when it touched water.

“[name], that's not..” the words got stuck in his throat. for the first time in his life, he was speechless. “you are anything but a threat.”

“then why..” tears brimmed your eyes until they overflowed, ran down the apples of your cheeks and met the warmth of satoru’s thumb. it was not his stupid infinity wiping the tears away, but satoru himself.

to be touched by satoru felt like the first sunrays of spring gracing your skin. warm, familiar and hinting at the end of a long, unforgiving winter that had taken root in your belly. soft sobs bubbled in the back of your throat, rocking your shoulders and interrupting every word you wanted to say; how stupid he was, how much you missed him, how much you needed him.

“shh..say no more,” satoru whispered and took you in his strong arms so you could sob into his chest all you wanted.

satoru didn't care about the tears or snot wetting his shirt. all that mattered was the feeling of you in his arms, and even though it pained him to know that he caused those tears, this was better than receiving your cold shoulder and dismissive smiles.

quietly, you and satoru went back inside the warmth of your dorm where both of you shared some cheap cup ramen which satoru spiced up with some peppers, egg and a conversation which neither of you would remember in the morning to come. no amount of time seemed to have passed between you as you both laughed, bickered and exchanged glances like lovers-to-be would.

“what are you doing?,” you asked, long comfortable underneath the sheets of your bed — or you would be if satoru didn't hold them up and almost looked offended by your words.

“sleeping with you, duh,” he said like it was the most normal thing in the world and maybe it was.

ignoring your protests and pouts, satoru crammed himself into bed with you, one arm around your waist and the other one underneath your head. his broad chest gently pressed against your back, his warmth enveloped you like a blanket.

“you're stupid,” you smiled to yourself while a blush as red as roses crept up your cheeks.

“and you're lucky i love you,” satoru grumbled underneath his breath, blowing some strands of your hair away from his nose and mouth so he wouldn't suffocate while holding you so tight.

taglist. @torusmochi, @cinnamonmon

[mandareeboo]

Unfinished Work #60: "Untitled" (Finished)

I never felt up to publishing this, but I've been rewatching BoJack and felt it'd be good to put here! A little goodbye to an old friend between Hollyhock and Diane.

Title: N/A

Summary: N/A

"Sorry about this," the horse said. "You're probably really busy with writer things."

"You wanna know what I was going to do before coming out on the porch to have a smoke and chat with you?" Diane asked dryly. "I was about ten seconds away from telling my husband I was going out onto the porch to have a smoke. It's not even half the inconvenience you think it is."

"Oh," she responded, and fell silent.

Diane let out a gust of lung cancer in a long, drawn-out sigh. Texas is pretty in postcards but hotter than the sun in person, with the added bonus of all sorts of creepy crawlies straight out of the official nightmare catalogue, but it's kind of nice? There's trees everywhere. Lots of open, bumpy land. The spider currently weaving its web a few feet from her isn't even venomous- it's an orb weaver of some sort. All in all, better than death.

It'd be nicer if her company talked, though.

"Let me guess," Diane prompted, making her jump. "You're Hollyhock, right?"

"Bojack told you about me?" Hollyhock asked, ignoring her question.

"He told all his friends about you. He was really excited to have family he didn't loathe with all his being."

"Oh," she repeated, softer this time.

"Relax, you're not gonna end up on his wiki page or anything. And, for what it's worth, I'm really happy to meet you in person. You're shorter than I thought you'd be."

Hollyhock looked at her hands, where her phone was situated, then back at Diane. "Bojack's told me about you, too. He talked a lot about a lot of things, but you especially."

"And that made you think I had answers?"

She shrugged helplessly.

Diane took another drag. "You want the truth? He's an asshole. Whatever you feel or suspect about him is absolutely vindicated."

"Yeah." she said. "But I miss him anyway. Isn't that... awful?"

"No? I don't think it is. I mean, the part that sucks about people is that they're more than just one thing. Sure, Bojack is a sleezy, emotionally-abusive jerk who's slept with almost every woman he's ever met, but he also sends stupid little text messages about stuff he saw on his drive home, and one time when he got drunk he sang the lollipop song and it was actually the prettiest thing ever, and he helps you pack even though he complains the whole time. He's all that shit."

"He once threw his mom's doll out a window."

"I know. He told me."

"He did?"

"He's always drunk-dialed me. Fifteen years now, and I'm his drunk-dial SOS." Diane considered her cigarette a moment. It was her first one of the day. A new record low. "I never met her, but I spoke to Beatrice twice- for his book."

"Oh, yeah, that thing. I never read it?"

"It sold alright, but it wasn't the next great American novel. Anyway, I called the retirement home to get a statement- got the phone number off of Bojack's long-time manager and friend Princess Carolyn- and called. This was before the dementia really ate up her brain- think, I dunno, almost nine years before you knew her- and she was still pretty sharp. I said, 'hi, this is Diane Nyguyen, I'm ghost-writing a novel about your son, Bojack' and she said, 'what, is he too lazy to write it himself'?"

Hollyhock winced. "Woof."

"Oh, I'm just getting started." Diane flicked some ash away. "We went in circles a bit, but eventually I laid it out for her. 'Mrs. Horseman', I said, 'I'm writing about your son's life, and as such I have called to see if you had any note-worthy stories or quotes you'd like to add'. She was pretty quiet for a minute. Then she said, 'sure, why not, I'm dying anyway. Might as well debase myself even more.' She told me all about her husband, Butterscotch-"

"Bojack never said much about him."

"There wasn't much to say, honestly. Bojack took after him and he always hated himself for it. Beatrice despised her husband for being unfaithful, bitter, and sexist. And she told me, 'now, put this in your little book, girl, and put it word-for-word. Bojack took after him, but he had the sense to be a bit quieter about it; which is a bit like saying the hissing roach is less disturbing to the eyes than the American one because it eats leaves instead of garbage. They're both insects, and they're both a waste of the paper their books were written on'." She paused. "Gotta say, she was damn eloquent."

Hollyhock winced again. "Double woof."

"It's the one story I never put into One Trick Pony. Not because I thought she'd regret saying it, or because it wouldn't fit the tone of the book, but because I knew it'd rip Bojack apart. Even back then, I was putting him above my own job. He has a way of worming into things like that." Diane stamped out the rest of the smoke, then pulled out another one. "I used to smoke like a freight train, but now it's only when I get worked up. Sorry about the second-hand."

Hollyhock was quiet again, but this time it was more pensive than anything else. "I... wrote him a letter. I actually don't even know if he read it, because he kept sending me voicemails telling me he would, but he never told me he did before I changed my number. I thought it'd be over. I thought I was moving on, but..."

"Moving on isn't the same as moving away," Diane said. "Trust me. I've packed houses before. But even now, I still find myself looking for him in the news, or thinking back to the good times we had."

"Mhmm. He tried to learn sports for me, you know? Because he wanted to cheer me on. And that still means a lot to me. But then I remember that interview, and I just... I just can't do it. I can't talk to someone who's done stuff like that."

"That's completely in your right! I know you're a grown-up, but you're still pretty young, you know? Bojack's in his fifties. His problems shouldn't be on anyone, but they especially shouldn't be on you."

"You won't tell him I came, will you? I know you're friends, but..."

"I think your definition of friendship is a bit different from us, kiddo. I mean, we haven't spoken in almost a year now. I just go see his movies, and he sends me long rambling reviews about my books, and we follow each other on social media."

"That feels like friendship," she concurred. "Mrs. Nyguyen?"

"God, don't. Diane."

"Diane. Did you and Bojack….?"

"Nope. But not because he didn't want to. I was dating when we first met, and married a good chunk of the time I lived in L.A. Now I'm married again. If I hadn't been... well, he would've tried, if nothing else."

"And you?"

She pursed her lips. "There was a time where I lived in his house and spent every day getting shitfaced drunk, and nothing skeevy happened. He'd come home, I'd be drunk and when was Bojack not drunk? We'd drink more and we'd watch reruns of Horsin' Around. I liked that. It wasn't healthy, but I liked it. And I liked him. I try not to think too hard about it, but... I dunno, honestly."

Hollyhock pulled her knees to her chest. "I came here hoping to find a way to stop missing him. Now I just miss him even more? I hate emotions."

Diane smiled. It was bittersweet. "Now you sound like a true Horseman."

[possessionisamyth]

Thought of Sherry and made myself sad because she was 10 (retconned from being 12) during the whole Raccoon City incident and didn't have her pseudo parents (Claire and Leon) for a week before she's being shifted into Simmons' hands.

I was thinking of what kind of lie and the strings of control Simmons would have to cast in order to make Sherry trust him. I can believe she was tutored the year the incident took place partially because they wanted to check her danger levels as a bioweapon and partially because she was a traumatized child so her mental state would need to be balanced before being thrown back into school. The best place for her would be private school the whole time. There's a level of control money brings, and Simmons would be able to pay off or make disappear anyone who might see something strange about her. He'd funnel her to private doctors and nurses for all her appointments where she might be out of school for a week here and there, but her absence and lack of work wouldn't be punished either because, again, money talks.

I can think of her as suspicious and untrustworthy of Simmons at the beginning because Leon promised to protect her, and she's hearing nothing from him. I'd think Simmons would extend an olive branch to keep that control and lie appropriately. If he says Leon abandoned her, it would incite rebellion, and he needed Sherry to trust him. He'd probably tell her Leon was paying for everything with his job so she could live a normal life. Her acceptance of this would come in tiny waves. She did hear other student's parents talk about how expensive tuition and supplies and uniforms are. She is getting the nicest toys whether they're limited edition or sold out before they appear in her room all wrapped up with a bow. She can decorate her room however she wants and anything she needs is provided quickly.

She can't see Simmons weaving the web where sometimes her gifts would read "From: Leon". It's not his handwriting, but Sherry wouldn't know. She doesn't get that an extended school vacation after breaking an arm which healed in a week instead of 6-8 weeks was a means of keeping up the air of normalcy to her peers. She's told over and over Leon's working hard to make sure she has the best of everything, and does she really want to stop him? Does she know what'll happen if she does? Suddenly it's like she's with her parents again. That if she makes too much of a fuss she'll cause problems for them. She'll cause problems for Leon. So she oh so gradually stops asking where he is and what he's doing and when she can see him. Besides, the excuses for why she can't know that information were getting old and tired anyway. "He just left the country", or "He's getting special training," or "He's moving again". It was like they weren't even trying to not lie to her.

Until Claire comes to visit. What better way for Simmons to cement the trust he needs then to let Sherry see the other important person in her life as much as she can? Which does work. When Claire visits on her school breaks and holidays, the lies do feel a lot more like the truth. Sherry doesn't expect Claire and Leon to be attached at the hip, but if Claire can visit while being busy with college, maybe Leon was as busy as Simmons said. It helps that Claire admits she also struggles getting in contact with Leon. So maybe Leon was almost always out of the country and getting training and working all hours since everything Sherry needed was so expensive. Maybe he was working so hard to make sure Sherry had the best life she could. Maybe she should stop trying to see deception that wasn't there and work hard herself to make sure Leon's efforts went to something good. So she stops asking for Leon except maybe around the milestone events like the 13th birthday and 16th birthday and 18th birthday, and highschool graduation, and college graduation, and by then? By then, all the little red flags of Simmons control hadn't registered until RE6 where the mask comes off.

She sees Leon for the first time in 15 years, and it's him telling her everything was a lie. Simmons was a traitor and never had her best interest in mind. Never had their best interest in mind, and too many things are happening for her to process the information. She just has to swallow it all.

What's worse is she probably would try her best not to beat herself up about it, but I don't know how well she'd succeed. The looping mantra of knowing at 10 years old she was right about the lies and fell for them anyway. Having the hindsight of an adult to notice every single time Simmons nudged her life this way or that way to make sure she did everything he wanted. Questioning how many of her decisions were her wanting to be better than her parents, to make Leon's effort worth it, to be as well-adjusted as she could be around Claire, how much was actually her and how much was Simmons' manipulation? How much of her choices and personhood were hers and not a result of what Simmons wanted her to be? Fingers crossed she took a long vacation after RE6, and a longer vacation to really comb through that contract Simmons definitely gave her for her current career.

[stormyoceans]

The dark season is nice for some, but quite hard for others.

To tackle this, we're launching once again this year's "Secret Helpers" and everyone is invited to join in!

How does it work?

It's very simple!

Choose 5 fan works. It doesn't matter whether they are gifs, video edits, fanarts, metas, analyses or fanfictions. Do you have something that has completely changed, inspired, destroyed or touched you? THAT'S what you need!

And now it goes on

Step 2: Write feedback to the creator of your favorite. No matter how long, how short, no matter what language, no matter if anonymous or under your official account, write what you liked and why. Jump over your shadow and let them know that this work of theirs has given you a good time.

Step 3: Spread "Secret Helpers" anonymously to others. No matter who you come across on tumblr or elsewhere on the internet, whether mutual or random, send them the instructions and let them keep spreading good news.

A lot of things are not going well lately. So we try to let those who give us a little break in the chaos know that we're glad to have them.

FAQ:

I have only seen one fan work that I liked. - No problem, write to the person anyway.

Isn't that weird? - Nope. (We are on the internet. Everything is kinda weird and ey, you don’t have to use your official account to send the feedback)

There. Are. TOO MANY! - 5 is a minimum number. If you have the time, write to as many as you want, everyone will be happy to get some compliments on their work!

The creators I like are all totally unknown - Especially for fanartists who don't get much feedback yet, each of those is worth its weight in gold. The fanfiction is amazing, but only has 2 comments? Become number 3! The fanart has 36 likes, but looks like a fucking work of art? Write that to the creator! Motivation is all babeyyy, regardless of whether it's the fandom favorite or someone completely new.

Have fun and good luck Secret Helpers!

THIS IS SUCH A LOVELY PROJECT!!!!!!!!! it's so important to spread positivity, especially to content creators who often have to deal with a lack of feedback and their works getting stolen, so im glad you gave me the chance to do this by sharing it with me, anon, thank you!!!!!!

i think that to follow the rules of the project i should probably write to the creators in private or by sending them an ask (?), but to try to give them more visibility and help them reach new people who maybe aren't familiar with their works yet, i thought i could talk a little about some of my favorites here (not that i have that many followers but you know. also for the two creators who aren't on tumblr i WILL make sure to leave them a nice comment too), so here we go!!!!!

in no particular order:

the entire vice versa web weaving series by @daymork. i tell you i wish i could have all these edits collected in one of those fancy ass art books with a hard cover that cost almost a hundred bucks just so that i could flip through it at any given moment to contemplate the beauty of said edits and cry myself to sleep holding it to my chest as i think about puentalay. i have no idea how jessi did it but every single quote she used for these is so perfect that no matter how many times i reread them they never fail to reduce me to a sobbing mess of a woman who is in dire need of receiving mental health care provided by professionals in an institutionalized setting. my point is. i love them. i love them a lot.

the quote by ocean vuong last twilight edit by @morkofday. i could literally put any of vish’s vice versa edits here because it’s like they’re all specially crafted to deal as much emotional damage as humanly possible to me personally, but in the end i decided to pick this one because, to this day, it’s still my favorite last twilight edit ever made. there's just something about it that stayed with me since i first saw it a whole year ago (im not even kidding when i say i think about it an average of twelve times per day) and even if it was done based on the mock trailer alone, vish was somehow able to perfectly capture the spirit of the show, not just by using that particular quote (which is incredibly spot on like when day and mork were talking about tenderness in episode 4 i thought of this edit right away and had to go punch through a wall to cope) but also because of the colors and the pictures that she chose.

the the man who can't be moved puentalay gifset by @seatawinans. you think episode 11 of vice versa has already reached the pinnacle of life altering emotional devastation and cathartic experience, and then you see this gifset and suddenly you find yourself decaying into subatomic particles to cope, committing grand scale larceny and arson to deal, and doing daily affirmations like 'this is affecting me a normal amount! :)' in front of the mirror every morning to survive. truly i have no words to properly express just how much the 'thinking maybe you'll come back here to the place that we'd meet/and you'll see me waiting for you on the corner of the street' lines over the glasshouse scenes make me sick in the head, it's the parallelism romanticism soulmatism of it all and somehow cassi managed to make it worse (read: better).

the underneath the stars by the cure morkday fanart by twitter user @bleu1te. i honestly love all of bleuité's puentalay and morkday works so much, there's just something so soft and tender in the way this artist draws them that every time i look at their art it gives me the same feeling of safety and comfort that i so deeply associate with these two pairings. i picked this one in particular because i fell in love with it as soon as i saw it, i love the colors, i love the starry sky behind them, i love their expressions, and most of all i love the hand placement. idk how to explain it, but i think the way they're touching just really conveys how much they adore each other.

the enchanted by taylor swift morkday video by twitter user @jimmyseagatitos. you know when someone punches you in the stomach and it hurts so much that you just start laughing hysterically? this is the closest description i can give to try to explain what this video did to me on a psychological emotional spiritual mental and physical level. and because apparently im a masochist i've been rewatching it only like 92649626 times in the span of three days. i also think it's pretty damn genius to end the edit on the 'i'll spend forever wondering if you knew' line of the song because it leaves everything unspoken just what mork never got to say.

this is obviously very far from being a comprehensive list (especially since my memory is pretty bad and my main interests are currently very limited ;;;;), so for the next couple of weeks i will try to reach out to my favorite creators (in private this time, i promise) and give them some love!!!!! and if anyone sees this, please consider doing it too!!!!!

[6billionyearsold]

Are You Real? (Miguel O'Hara x Reader)

Miguel x Reader (Potentially will add Part 2?)

Alternate Universe, they were married to eachother in their respective universes but died. Reader lost Miguel in her universe and became Spiderwoman. An anomaly reaches your universe and you meet Miguel from earth-928. You're both so shocked to see eachother.

Fluff, angst, death

"Dios mio, what the shock are you supposed to be?" You looked at the man standing in front of you, unamused, "Un payaso de rodeo?"

You were just trying to stop this weird villain that came out of nowhere when a portal opened up on the rooftop. Out came a large man in a blue and red suit, a woman on a motorcycle, and two . . . Kids?

One of the kids in a black suit started laughing hysterically at your comment, while the other's eyes widened. You could feel the waves of anger seething off of the tall man, his eyes seemed to bore into you from behind his mask.

You smirked, walking backwards towards the edge of the building, "Well whatever you are, you're in my way." You let yourself free fall before shooting a web from your wrist and swinging towards the havoc being had below you.

Miguel has put up with a lot of shit in his line of work. But that? That was a first. "Pinche mocosa" he growled as he went after you. A rodeo clown? He was seething. Sure when he first put on his suit it was for the Dia de Muertos celebration, but it didn't look too ridiculous. Right?

The other spiders watched you with great interest as they followed suit. Your swinging style was almost identical to Miguel's, which was really weird. As he swung beside you, it was almost as if you were in sync. The only difference being that you weren't 6'9 and hulkingly huge. Yours was almost graceful, the way you weaved through disaster vs how Miguel seemed to barrel through it.

You landed on top of the giant lizard-person-thing before it could even notice you.

"Now where did you come from?" You asked, wrapping web around it's maw so that it couldn't bite. "I thought the rumors about sewer gators in Nueva York were fake? Welcome to the genetically altered club pal!"

Miguel's eyes widened as you flexed your talons and your mask fell back to reveal the lower half of your face, and your . . . Fangs? What the fuck was happening? And why couldn't he stop focusing on the way your tongue ran over the sharp canines. It brought back a rush of memories of y/n, but he knew it couldn't be true. The dark scar on your upper lip didn't belong to the y/n he knew. She had died years ago.

Miles gasped, "OH God, there's another Miguel?! The multiverse doesn't need more!"

Miguel turned around to glare at him, starting to say "Callete, there can't be another one of me!" When he got slapped by the monster's tail and flung into the nearest building.

But he didn't miss the smile that appeared on your face as you laughed at him. It ached something fierce in his heart, and he had to shake his head to clear the thought.

Oh man. This guy is seriously a clown. "If you can't hang then get out of the way!" You called out, hanging onto the bucking lizard like it was an angry bull. The other spiders were helping corral it, quickly wrapping it in web and subduing it.

"Does this belong to you guys?" You asked, hopping down from the beast and landing in front of the other spider people. Miguel had made his way out of the rubble and was stalking towards the group. He might have been a little embarrassed. He doesn't get caught off guard normally. "You should really keep your giant lizards more secure. And fed. And. Out of my city preferably."

Jess went on to explain the multiverse to you, and their purpose as you took it all in.

"OH, so you must be their leader then!" You smiled at her, then pointed to Miguel. "He needs some pointers. Is he new?"

And suddenly, Miguel was in your bubble, towering over you with his broad shoulders obscuring your view. He grabbed your face, much to your dismay, and pushed at your lip until he could see your fangs. He tilted his head, turning your face side to side before he seemed satisfied. Then he grabbed your wrist, causing you to clench so he didn't activate your spinneretts.

"Hey buddy, don't you have any manners?" You growled, trying to yank your arm back from his strong grasp. "You don't see me groping you for fun!"

He pushed the fat of your palm and your talons flexed from your fingerpads, against your will. You had a strange sense that he was smirking under his mask at your discomfort. And it only pissed you off even more.

"Alchemax experiment?" He asked, releasing you finally and looking you up and down. "Stone is a piece of shit?"

You didn't like that he knew so much about you and you knew nothing about him. "What are you, a shocking mind reader?" You turned away from him to face the other spiders who were setting up to head back home. "Did you guys want to get something to eat before you go? I've never met any other spider people before!"

Miguel started to say how they need to go, but Jess interrupted him, tossing you a blue bracelet. "You can come with us, we have a great cafeteria and I'm sure the boss has more questions for you. I know I do."

.

You got a tour of the building, ooing and awing over everything and everyone. Miguel had gone to his lab, probably to sulk or something, Miles informed you.

"El se llama Miguel?" You asked Miles around a mouthful of empanada. It was a really weird coincidence, you thought, but it couldn't be more than that. A coincidence. You were in Nueva York. There were hundreds of Miguels.

"Yeah! He's our leader around here. He actually asked me to bring you to him at the end of the tour. Are you ready?" The younger boy said chipperly as he walked you through a long corridor.

You smiled and waved at some spider people you passed, it was really nice to know that you weren't alone. "As ready as I'll ever be!"

You arrived at a large door and Miles gave you a salute before heading off on his own. "Just a heads up, the lift is SUPER SLOW when he comes down!" He called out as he left. You felt yourself getting nervous. Another Miguel in your life? Whoever he was, it couldn't get any weirder than discovering hundreds of other spider people exist and so do multiverses. You wondered if there was a multiverse where you hadn't lost your husband. Where you had a kid or two and didn't have to worry about villains of the week, your identity, closing yourself off to everyone else.

The doors opened and you called out into the abyss. "Helloooo? Sulking spiderman? Miles said you wanted to see me?"

The light was comfortably low in this room, almost as if it was made for your overly sensitive eyes. You saw the lift that Miles was talking about, and the payaso from earlier slowly descending with it.

Your heart felt like it stopped in your chest as you saw him this time. From behind, you got a good look at a very familiar head of beautiful curly brown hair before he turned to look at you, unamused. You fucking gawked. It wasn't a coincidence.

"Miggy?" You gasp, eyes welling with tears as you looked at the man in front of you, now unmasked. "How--I buried you!" You fully took off your mask and revealed your face to him, using everything in your power not to grab him and never let go.

"Y/N?" He asked slowly, taking a tentative step towards you, as if he wasn't sure you were real. "Is it really you?" He reached out a hand towards you, it was shaking with emotion and you noticed that his eyes were getting teary also.

You caved, a sob wrenching itself from your lungs as you leaped towards him and wrapped around his middle. You shoved your face into his neck and breathed in the scent you thought was long gone. Memories flooded your thoughts, flashes of time you got to spend together before he was taken from you. Before you became Spiderwoman. When he was killed in front of you, it felt like you lost a part of yourself.

His arms wrapped around you instantly, familiar and comforting. Rationally, he knew that you weren't HIS y/n but God if this wasn't almost the same. You still fit in his arms perfectly, you smelled the same, you still had the same crooked smile. When he lost you, it truly broke his heart. It hardened him against ever seeking love again, the way you were cruelly ripped from his grasp. But he would allow himself this moment at least. You could talk later, just knowing that another y/n exists and is a Spiderperson . . . He couldn't believe it.

After holding eachother for what simultaneously felt like forever and only an instant, you looked up at him. "You're not . . . MY Miguel . . . are you?" You murmured into his shoulder as he ran his hands along your back like he used to. There were subtle differences that you started to notice when you really looked at him. His eyes were red, he had fangs like yours too. But mostly, he looked beyond tired, as though he had been carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. The Miguel you knew wasn't a Spiderperson, he was one of Alchemax's greatest minds, but didn't have any superhuman abilities otherwise.

In your universe, you'd gotten married after being together for 3 years, you'd talked about starting a family when one night he was shot by a mugger while you were walking home. You weren't able to save him, he died in your arms as you screamed for someone, anyone to help. After that, you dove even further into your work at Alchemax, trying to bring the company down from the inside. When they found out what you were doing, they decided to experiment with you as their human subject for splicing animal genetics with humans. That night, you became the Spiderwoman you are today. You escaped the lab and set out to make Nueva York a better place. It had been years and you'd never let yourself love again.

He sighed and fished out the necklace he wore under his suit, showing you the ring on it. "I'm from Earth-928," he said quietly, "In my universe we were married and had been together for 5 years until you were killed in front of me."

You gave him a sad knowing smile as you also pulled out your own ring that you wore on a chain. "It was in front of the convenience store on 6th, right? A random robbery gone bad. God Miguel, even if you aren't the person I knew it's just nice to . . ."

"Hold you? I know, no se siente real." He finished for you, holding the ring that you wore and observing it. "Did I ask you at the flower festival? In fall?" It was the same one he gave you in his universe. The inscription was there, glinting in the low light. 'Forever Yours'.

"And we got married in the Spring," you hummed, "Everyone was there, it was wonderful. I haven't let myself think about it in years, honestly. And I'll always remember that you cried during our vows. I did too, of course."

You sighed, running your fingers down his face and tracing the frown lines that were unfamiliar to you. "I know it's probably selfish to ask, but can I maybe . . . Stay a little while? I've never met other spider people and maybe since you and I seem to be spliced the same . . . I'd love to see any tricks you have that I haven't learned."

Miguel gave you a genuine smile, tilting his face into your touch and nuzzling your fingertips. "After you called me a shocking rodeo clown?" He teased you, one eyebrow lifted as if in a challenge. "You may not be my y/n but you sure dish it like her. Of course you can stay, I've missed you querida hermosa. We could do some . . . Catching up?"

[vazelbeak]

Whos your least vs favorite character in HH and HB and why?

Hm, now this I'd say takes some thought, both because of how we don't have Hazbin out right now to entirely judge (how much they change from the pilot to the show like designs can very quite a bit Not just because of more or different writers but because of generally more resources provided like time and money, but that varies studio to studio.) But also because it depends on criteria, which if up to me, I find a lot of Vivs characters are good in certain areas but unfortunately lack components in others needed to give them well rounded personalities, motivations, backgrounds, ect.

Hazbin

Least favorite: This likely isnt too shocking as I find Angel Dust is for a lot of people is kinda both a least and most favorite simultaneously. He has a very distinct character design workable for a silhouette test which I can easily give credit to! However He doesn't appear to look much like a spider in those as much as a general insect. My mind immediately goes to a stick bug not because of the legs but just proportionally he doesnt really have any spider proportions and even non silhouette speaking if the spots under his eyes were his other eyes, my problem with that is the both only look like spots, and don't act like eyes. I also find myself not a fan of how his design thus far hasnt tied into his capabilities. Personally I'm a fan of zoology, I loved catching bugs and lizards as a kid and my grandpa worked in pest control so he actually did at times teach me about insects. So when I see Angel dust, a spider next to someone like Val (who ive heard a varied cockroach and moth) my immediate thought goes to "Angel youre a spider, youre arguably the most capable of taking him out".

Looking it up the animals that are largely immune to spider venom are hedgehogs, skunks, ground squirrels, and pigs (points for his pig I will presume it intentional!) While the idea perhaps he has gold teeth replaced his canines that could be used for that, it also brings to question why didn't Angel use them prior? Or did he and somehow fail like not using enough? How did Val get the upper hand when to my knowledge Angel had 40 more years in hell than him? What was angel even doing before Val even arrived? Overall I find him to have interesting bits to him, but he has the development reminiscent of OCs I made in highschool where they were largely based upon aesthetics, but the substance that ties those pieces together is largely lacking. I'd also enjoy his character more if the whole "sinners being based on animals and objects" wasn't aesthetic (hell if they actually meant something symbolism wise, like Angel being a spider bc he himself for lack of a better term in life was toxic. He got by in life by weaving nice webs of lies and false promises, and the moment someone fell for it and got caught, he would poison them and turn them into Husks.

And maybe thats part of what weirdly works for him and Husk to become close. Be it Husk is already an aftermath of what Angel turned people into, making him almost redeem himself by helping someone that represents all the things he did wrong to people, or maybe its just Angel is put in a place of for once needing to see someone not for what they can do for him, but for who they are, because he never had to face anyone in the aftermath of what he did to them.

Most favorite: It may just be the personal family stuff, and it may just be my love of animals, but Husk has to be a favorite. Its very possible and likely because unlike the others we haven't had as much of Husk shown or given to us to really dislike. He comes off as your grumpy older dude who even just seeing the basic details of characters before watching the Pilot, I could see him playing a father figure role to someone like Crymini (or Crimini? I don't see enough of her to remember the spelling.) a rebellious teen which iirc was part of the original idea, and seems to semi carry into the show now if the leaks gave any idea since he was listed as a shoulder to cry on. And that bit is good! We should be able to see that pose and expression on his face and read that! Overall unlike Angel his personality reads as more charming by contrast to Angels constant jokes and being mean. (Unfortunately for Angel hes given traits that for some people like me, that gets grating fast when theres nobody he's going back and forth with and theres direct consequences to his actions that only appear to hurt others. This is funny when theres acknowledgement of a character having tried their best or theyre a jerk but there is a invaluable ability that makes their behavior a sort of price to pay for which also makes said character come off as despite the behavior having good intentions or at least good for helping the people we're supposed to root for) but Husk while he can come off as a jerk as a grumpy character has it balanced by having other characters provoke it and appear unbothered by his annoyance. It makes him a jerk to the audience, but not to the other characters that would make him hard to like. His design id say while not the worst, also doesnt entirely make the most sense I know he was apparently made by Viv's sibling so I'm not gonna look to style, but I am like angel gonna look at the function. With a magic and slot machine themes I'm left wondering why he's a cat mixed with a bird and not a dove mixed with a lion (two animals associated with magic and even vegas wheres slot machines are associated with) or even just a dragon theme in general as theyre seen as magical creatures. Looking at his design it does leave a lot to be desired, but hes meant to be a cat with wings and looks like one. I will say I'm not a fan of his outfit as it stands. Both because it doesn't really read as a ba tender outfit, and because his lack of shirt just immediately makes me think "theres gonna be so much hair in those drinks" which is specifically an issue because a bartender outfit would help remedy this to a degree. I think as it stands Husk is a favorite for me because what little of his character we have is relatively consistent, we don't know enough about his backstory for it to drastically contrast with his current life in hell yet, and his design tells us his personality, but only in pose and expression. I also wish his design meant something such as if he's essentially a sorry excuse for a dragon because a Husk implies he's a shell of what he once was and so instead of looking much more like mythical creature he's reduced to looking like a cat with bird wings. Wings that based. Being dark on the inside would either be fake or poorly maintained to the point he's incapable of flying. Itd be cool if his appearance tied into a theme of someone who's somewhat lost sight of all the magic in the world/become desensitized to it all (and therefore good in the world). He is one of the last people next to Vaggie to fall for tricks that rely on you being overly trusting of people. He does however fall for stuff that feeds into his need to be the smarter person it makes him feel validated because you have to be smart to pull off magic tricks and not being smart makes him feel like he has nothing. Imply he won't take a card because he can't read it and he'll snatch it out of your hands to prove you wrong. But he really likes seeing peoples eyes light up at a slight of hand trick.

I would like to think bc Husk has stopped seeing good in the world its the ways others like Charlie and Vaggie try and fail at things that almost force Husk to care because despite him being that way, he can't stand other people going down the same path. So he may not say anything when you fail at something and get upset over it. But the next morning after a night of complaining youll see whatever it is completed. I really hope they manage to make his character work i think it could be done really easily with what we already have.

Helluva

Least: I think as much as I would like to say Millie for how under utilized and how much potential she could hold as someone who grew up on a farm and became an assassin, it doesn't compare to the shift from concept to final product that Blitzø had as well as his constant screen time that doesn't help. Starting visually Blitzø doesn't really look like a clown turned assassin and the spikes on his back give an iguana esque look to him as an Imp. I like the stylized head shape that a 3/4s angle can give his head a heart shape, however i find his forehead marking both overly complex and that it doesn't appear to serve much of a purpose to where it would benefit being simplified. Naturally I think it would be cool to see how Blitzo's iguana traits tie into his design such as not being very aware of social ques because iguanas often communicate visually. However my biggest problem with Blitzø is how he seemed to work much better conceptually. Which is to say Blitzø is a jerk.

Now, jerk characters have to be handled well. The more of a jerk they are and the more it touches upon real life forms of unpleasant behavior the more you need to work to make their behavior palatable enough to keep the audience engaged. We're supposed to root for Blitzø after all! But when Blitzø calls Moxxie the r slur, he sexually harasses his employees, those are very real things that are not very funny IRL (having experienced some of these things, it especially makes them all the more grating which is something that should be somewhat accounted for in making jerk characters by balancing their traits). And luckily there are ways these jerk traits can be remedied. Ill keep it to three I type long enough and my talking tends to be worse.

Jerk characters are very case by case due to the varied nature in which theyre a jerk. However there are general balancing methods.

-Karmatic repercussions. Karmatic repercussions are often the use of am almost cosmic force punishing a jerk character for their actions. It often is more employed in kids cartoons but the idea is to make fun of them for how they act or make them. A good example id point to is Squidward who is often an annoyed grumpy jerk who refuses to engage with the fun of spongebobs antics but this is remedied by often having a sort of punishment that is funny. Its funny for Squidward to be run over by giant rock because he naturally doesn't believe spongebob can ride a rock, as well as being comically squished in the sand.

- Heart of gold where is counts. I am under the impression this was the goal for Angeldust but functionally this is where your jerk character frequently is a jerk however will show their kinder side after things go too far or to prevent things from going too far. Usually youll see this is persistent for villains who team up with the protagonist against another far more evil forces but sometimes its out of remorse for a protagonist. A workable example id point to would be Cotton from King of The Hill who's a jerk, but when Peggy loses her teaching license he does help her get it back despite largely being a unpleasant person. He's unpleasant but when it counts he helped her. (I dont have a good gif for this one so this will have to do)

-Who cares he's a loser. This one is fairly simple and utilized in a lot of cartoons. CodeName: Kids Next Door, The Grim Adventures of Billy and Mandy, Pokemon, Invader Zim, ect. Where a character is a jerk but theyre a loser which both downgrades the seriousness of what they do and makes us take what they say less impactful. A decent example I point to is Jack Spicer from Xaolin Showdown. He's a bad guy but we take his evil actions less seriously and are able to believe him becoming a good guy because we don't take those evil actions seriously.

And thats where Blitzøs concept art comes into play. i think a lot of his unpleasant and jerk traits would've been much more tolerable and able to be put up with if he was meant to be loser. He could insult Moxxie only to trip and fall into a mud puddle and it would work because it takes away any of the gravity of what he says. Quite literally "who cares what Blitzø says about Moxxie hes a loser". But on top of that its the way Blitzø is made a focus that also contributes to him being so grating. Youd think an episode focusing on where Millie grew up would focus on her and tell us a bit about maybe where and why she went from a farm to the assassin business and how she found the job but we got Blitzø and Striker. Youd think an episode that seemed meant to focus on Loona and Octavia based on the thumbnail and implication we'd see Loona's backstory would be about them, but instead it's Blitzø and Stolas on a sitcom set that we've had no indication really had any meaning or purpose to the story beyond Blitzø for some reason having trauma over seeing Loona at the pound. Which in itself was one of the big things that made me dislike his role im the story. Typically when you set up a flashback giving a characters backstory through the eyes of another person its to present a contrast in how they respectively viewed the situation or how that effected the character.

It would make sense if it was about why Blitzø is so over bearing towards Loona, because he's really trying to make her feel like she could do something with her life and that she's not a hopeless cause like she was told. But the way Blitzø is the one traumatized and we don't see how Loona was effected or how this looked through her eyes makes it feel like a last minute jumpstart to get Blitzø and Stolas out of the building after writing them into that situation.

Looking at it on a writing stand point and setting aside how unnecessary it felt to the plot akin to Millie and Moxxie's plot, a set up like that would have been a perfect for Blitzø to confront what happened that made him no longer perform on stage and why it was so significant. It felt like a perfect set up where Blitzø after having a flashback to how he met Loona would disregard the teleprompters and make a grandiose speech about how you can't just replace family the moment they become inconvenient to you. That in choosing to raise them as your own you have to take responsibility for not properly training and teaching them to behave and so he needs

Blitzø would be talking about its not right for him to just replace Loona when he adopted her knowing she had issues and made no efforts to actually correct her behavior. (In which Blitzø being overbearing would make sense as seeing this his responsibility even if Loona's an adult). But to the people on set, their actor just went of script and improvised a touching and impactful speech about the importance of responsibility. And as they end the episode, Blitzø gets the applause and cheer that makes him think he'd should consider becoming an actor as he makes his way to his dressing room until he's handed a paycheck and can't believe he's making so little. What do these guys take him for?! Do they have any idea how exhausting it is go be on camera for that long without commercial breaks?!

From their he and Stolas sneak out of the building while everyone else is preoccupied leaving the check discarded on thr floor of the dressing room and part of the joke is the actor Blitzø was mistaken for is later found dead is mourned for having died after giving the best performance of his life. Maybe someone sees Stolas discard his human form and they think he's the owl man cryptid known for hovering around people or places before tragedy but only conspiracy theorist types believe that.

But the sitcom plot didn't amount to much and the excuse Blitzø has a panic attack over Loona's trauma to a point of on camera claiming to see a kid snorting coke in the dressing room (which let me say with the amount of child actors that have come forward regarding how they were mistreated and knowing they turned to drugs either over stress or over their parents giving it to them, it comes off rather tasteless) doesnt even come off funny as unlike Darla Dimple in Cats Don't Dance, she wasn't mean or rude in a way to make it feel funny as though Blitzø was actually doing some good by revealing she did something horrible.

And because of that it just makes it harder to enjoy because Helluva Boss ends up this big show where Blitzø is the center of attention but he is arguably the least enjoyable character to have on screen. He's overall not a balanced enough character to find engaging on screen but its arguably made worse knowing theres such a massive contrast between who he is on screen vs the conceptual work that made his character feel much more balanced for the role he plays that feels like came to be from self fandomization.

Most: I don't know if this may be the personal connection speaking but to me, my favorite character is Octavia. Visually she doesn't look much like a hybrid between a swan and Owl as much as the crow owl hybrid Stolas is reminiscent of. I think it would be more interesting if her outfits had more variety in which she had royal clothes she has to wear but her outfit we currently see her wear is meant to be causal and comfortable but because she's part of the Goetia that is her only outfit meant to be because she's heavily expected to embrace her royal status and get used to walking around in royal attire. (Perhaps this is even an outfit she made herself and she would love to design clothing if given the chance?). I wish we saw more incorporation of the animals Stolas and Stella were and how Octavia inherits those traits as it could be a means to expand on how whether we like it or not we inherit our parents traits and not just physically. (Also perhaps expand on how Stella may be so against divorce because Swans mate for life meaning if Stolas leaves her she intended to kill the both of them. Meanwhile for Stolas as a tawny owl, while some mate for life its not universal potentially reflecting why divorce is seen as a problem. And in a way its their contrast in mentalities regarding marriage). Id argue she has the most interesting and compelling narrative of having to learn the harsh reality of your parents not being perfect and how to handle that. A struggle that you especially become aware of when your parents split and actively despise one another. My only issue with it is how often her feelings are dismissed or diminished as though an "id never forget about you" erases the times Stolas did ignore her or forget about something important in favor of Blitzø and Stella. (Viv your claim to writing the moments that everyone praises ignores how you as the creator of an indie production greenlight the worst moments too and its shameful to see you throw your fellow writers under the bus like that.) We've never seen anything meant to make these moments outliers or implied such outside of Stolas's insistence he does care for her and often times far too late.

And as much as it can be argued "why would Stolas remember, why didnt Octavia wait until he was done on the phone?" I both admittedly sooner sympathize with a kid who misunderstood their parents over a parent who to my knowledge would face no consequences to hanging up or holding the phone away to quickly ask "what" incase of an emergency as well as find it to be rather bad writing to make such a reach for why Octavia would feel so upset that she'd run away, just to flip it and insist "no actually she doesnt realize how much her dad loves her though". It feels inconsistent especially when we see Stolas in the audience of a sitcom set and not (what i feel wouldve made the focus on him more justified) ditching Blitzø because unlike his assassin boyfriend, Octavia has no means to protect herself and no familiarity with the human world.

To me Octavia would be an interesting figure to give us a sort of parallel or contrast to her and Stolas's upbringing. Did Stolas stay with Stella because in being raised by Paimon he assumed two parents was better than one based on what he wanted? Does Octavia need to produce an heir? Why not?

I think it would be an interesting direction if because Stolas was forced into an arranged marriage he has an aversion to anything that feels more than causal because his only experiences with love as a kid involved being forced into molds chose by other people and by result while he spared Octavia from needing to produce an heir, he's struggled to allow her form much in the way of any relationships outside her immediate family and it makes her likely struggle to understand other people since her interactions have been so limited. Overall I like her as a character, visually her design doesn't really work with what we know but could be expanded on to work if we got more of her character, and I really hope they actually give us more to her than just being "Stolas's sad daughter who just tragically doesn't realize he loves her"

A lot of it boils down to their intended ideas may be interesting and hold a lot of potential, but if you can't balance them out enough to be entertaining on screen and interesting characters both visually and writing wise, its gonna be really hard for me to root for who you want me to.

[havethetouch]

Life Update

Dere! I am still around guess what :) I just took a bit of a longer break again from the web and stuff because honestly stuff got a bit much and there was so much other stuff that needed my attention and time. Not looking forward to clear my inboxes across all my accounts again but eh, it is what it is. Prolly gonna filter out the important stuff and reply to what I need to and just delete the rest for a clean start.

But hey, all that stuff that kept me busy and mostly offline was the good stuff. I had my mother over at my place almost every weekend for a month now to help me out with some of that stuff and it really imporved so much about my situation and my livin space and a lot of other stuff across the board like literally anytime my mother came over I would be weeping at the end of the day in joy and relief. So yah, lotsa improvements going on that would've taken me a lot longer by myself. Love my mom.

There was a bit of an issue with the water supply, it got tainted and I got a little sick from that but thankfully I am young and my immune system is a beast so I was a lot less affected from that than other members in the community. Still sucked though. For a couple of days I was hauling water rations around to the elderly folks in my neighbourhood who were unable to get it on their own. It was a whole thing. It also lead me into the house of my vis a vis neighbour who sometimes talks down from her balcony with me and used to talk a lot to my grandmother and my father as well when they were still around. Let me tell you this woman is a master crocheter - everything in her flat is basically crochet. Wall decorations, seat covers, couch throws, pillows, there was a computer chair decked out in crochet sleeves... lotsa nicknacks hell, every flower in all the vases I could see were crocheted. I was surprised to find items that were not decked out or complety made oud of thread tbh. That visit was like.. a revelation bc ages ago, maybe two or three years ago, there was this image going around of a rainbow hue shift blanket with a pattern included to crochet that yourself. And i was like... man, wish I could remember how to crochet I would love to do this. Which also lead to me two or so weeks ago walking up to my aunt and asking her if she by chance has knitting needles and wool and if she could teach me knitting. Long story short I can knit now I have a huge bulky scarf in the works and because I wanted some fexibility on what I work on I started a second project last Monday (I can either hyperfixate start to finish or I need at least two wips in any given craft so I can switch back an forth) and now I have a triangle shawl that I just finished this morning. Very lovely. I also bought a shitton of wool which raised some eyebrows with my aunt and both my mom because they assumed I would not somehow get really really into it? Well. Jokes on them. I am already planning arm and legwarmers, maybe a sweater. Lotsa shawls. It is very realxing for me and my hands really could do with a new craft that forces me to not grip stuff too hard and get into more fluid and flowy movements while creating. I am also really fast at this stuff apparently according my fam so like... yay knitting :) Which is also a reason why my absence from the web got extended. New hyperfixation on new hobby unlocket it is getting colder outside and I get urges to make myself warm comfy shit. I also have some sensory issues with some fabrics so being able to make my own shit is hella nice especially since I found the softest whatever bulky thread that feels like those soft cheaps synthetic fluffy blankets and I love that shit and that is the material of the scarf I am working on and that is also what imma make the arms and legwarmers out of and yeah idk if you can tell how excited this stuff makes me because it does and I am already thinking about if and where to get a huge loom from maybe next year because I did weaving once as teenager and mhhhhhh I kinda wanna do something. (The knitting stuff also basically started with I want a thing imma make it myself how I want it.)

So.. yeah. Ah and in between I was also in Venice in September I can't remember if I mentioned that but I had a short trip up there and it was a blast and very inspiring. All in all life's been going up n up and as the seasons shift again I feel at ease and peaceful with everything going on. I also finally got my old landlord to fork over the security deposit so that's another loose end tied neatly and I do not have to go to his workplace to have a talk after all :) I still have a couple of things to do before winter hits because this will be my first winter out here (remember I moved in around March this year so it was still cold but it was more the tailend of winter in my area so yah that will be interesting. But I got my self made teas, I bought all I need to operate my fireplace and heat the house already in Summer and oh. I am finally financially stable again. Like fully stable. And bruh that is... a huge weight off my back (and also the reason why I was able to buy lotsa wool lets be real.) But yeah.. yeah only good stuff around on my end. All is well. And I feel great.

[whirlybirbs]

               (   another gif by @unearthlydust​ from this beautiful set !   )

✪   —   VACANT MIRRORS  ;  B.B.  |  3/?

summary: you find out about bucky’s past, he finds out about yours. 

pairing: bucky barnes / f!reader

tags: set before & during tfatws, friends to lovers, therapy positive, trauma healing techniques, ptsd mentions, the normalization of anxiety disorders, and a good ol’ slow burn

word count: 6.4k, va va voom

a/n: oh look out here comes the plot, charactization, and growth between to pals who are maybe starting to feel a little something begin to take shape. but ignore that, there’s danger afoot. no spoilers for tfatws here!

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“You know I have to ask these questions. It’s part of the check-in.”

“Yeah,” you fire back, flat enough to warrant Dr. Hart’s scowl to grow. You can’t see it over the phone, but you know the way her words whip around you means she’s upset, “I know.”

“If you’re not following the action plan set out by the judge,” she begins, leaning forward as her tone drops into a scalding hot sort of seriousness on the other end, “You will go to prison. You know this. So, do you want to spend ten years of your life behind bars? Are you trying to get yourself locked up? Come on.”

You can’t look up from your computer’s screen. Or maybe you can, but right now, there’s a dangerous mixture of anger and guilt and frustration boiling under your skin.

“I’m trying.”

“Trying isn’t good enough for the GRC,” Dr. Hart snaps, “You know this. They’re giving you a chance — they know you’re talented. You have the ability here to go straight, to earn a living, to finally make up for those years of blackhat work.”

“Everything I did,” you fire back, ripping your eyes up to meet Dr. Hart’s, “Was for others. I didn’t get a fucking penny.”

“You’re not Robin Hood,” she shakes her head as her tone softens, “We all make mistakes. But, everything has a consequence. You know this. And this conversation isn’t even considering the other charges.”

“You know the extortion case would never hold up in court.”

Dr. Hart sighs raggedly. “And I don’t intend on ever seeing it play out in court, because you’re going to follow the conditions of your pardon.”

“The GRC is a bunch of fascists—”

“Enough,” she snaps, “If you want to go and appeal your case with the judge, be my guest, but I can almost guarantee you’ll be perp-walked out of that Federal courtroom in cuffs.”

She’s right.

Dr. Hart is right.

Your knee is bouncing, up and down and up and down. You’re wound up around yourself, arms crossed tight, brows knotted. With a shaky exhale, you just nod. You breathe, and you remind yourself that she’s right. She’s right, she’s right, she’s right. It’s not worth it. Dipping yourself back into that world, the layer of the web beneath the surface, isn’t worth it.

The GRC is your way out.

Just be a good little girl and do as you're told.

“So, I’m going to ask you again,” Dr. Hart begins, pen clicking alive on the other end of the phone call, “...Have you engaged in any illegal activities online in the last seven days?”

                                                       ◦   ◦   ◦   ◦   

Inessa Sidrova’s photo stares up at him from its place on the speckled marble counter, stacked neatly next to his notebook where her name is scrawled in chicken scratch — between two other names: Zemo and Henrikson.

His laptop, technically on loan from the FBI, sits beside both.

(When Barnes had agreed in that closed doors meeting to the conditions of his pardon, a certain FBI agent by the name of Jimmy Woo had been rather insistent that Barnes needed a personal computer in order to carry out his portion of the conditions insofar as tracking down the remaining HYDRA pawns in the States. Woo had also insisted, to the agreement of Dr. Raynor, that a personal computer would help better acclimate Barnes to the new world he’d been dropped into.

Woo was even nice enough to take an hour of his own time to show Bucky enough to get started — but was whisked away for some investigation out in New Jersey.)

Bucky rubs the cold vibranium of his left palm into his eye, then exhales long and slow.

He’s done all he can. And still, no leads on the woman.

Rounding the kitchen island, he digs his cell from his pocket. He goes back to staring at that text — the one he’d laughed out loud at the moment it lit up his phone — and he can feel that ol’ bite of anxiousness creep into his arms. His fingertips tingle.

On the television, a laugh track plays over a clip of The Three Stooges. Blue eyes flick upward, and he partially wishes a ladder would put him out of his own self-induced misery.

Outside, the antics of a Saturday night in Brooklyn roll on.

In the last few days he’s parsed through his thoughts enough to realize it’s not telling you that scares him — no, it’s telling you the truth. The whole truth. All of it. After all, the good comes with a lot of bad; the sort of bad you chain in a chest and sink in the ocean. And Bucky finds that, even still, the good is questionable at best. The good is… small. Microscopic. Completely and totally tainted by the fuckin’ decades of brainwashed, war dog bullshit.

He groans and drops his head back against the wall.

He tries, for the next twenty minutes, to formulate some sort of reply to your text message. But, half the battle is figuring out what to say, and the other half is actually typing it out. This whole flip phone purchase was really starting to sting like regret — and as much as Bucky loved technology back before the war, and all the magical possibilities it held, he can’t help but feel like an ornery old man now.

It’s the change. Steve was right. Too much change.

He can’t find the space button and he can’t figure out how to delete the random 3 he’d accidentally punched in — so, with a grumpy huff of disapproval, Bucky simply dials your number.

You pick up on the third ring.

“Don’t you know it’s Saturday?” your voice is a welcomed sound, “The History Channel is running a bunch of old war documentaries you might enjoy, grandpa.”

Bucky snorts, fiddling with the hem of his hoodie. “What makes you think I’d wanna watch that shit?”

“Everyone knows that old men like two things,” your voice is light, half-distracted from the sounds of it, “World War Two, or grilling. And honestly, you don’t strike me as the grilling type.”

“I like a good burger.”

“Yeah?” you snort, and Bucky can hear you shift your phone from one ear to the other, “Is that why you called? To hint at being hungry?”

“No,” he exhales, looking out the window, “No, I was trying to reply to your text but I can’t find the fuckin’ space button. Calling is easier.”

“Oh my god—”

“Shut up,” he barks with a laugh, sitting up, “Don’t even start — are you hungry?”

“Almost always, why?”

“Got any plans tonight?”

“... You do know who you’re asking, right?”

Bucky grins, a little boyish and a little tired. “Good point. Loser.”

“Oh, shut up. You’re the one calling me to hangout,” you snort, leaning to prop your feet up on your desk and lean back. Your chair wheels backwards, far enough for you to get a good look down the street. It’s a nice night, cool enough, and it seems like the whole borough is awake, “But, I’m only hanging out if you tell me what the fuck is up with court mandated therapy. I can’t wait another three days.”

Your anxiety has been pricked the last few days over it.

“... Do I get to pick the place?”

You roll your eyes. “Fine.”

“Great,” he exhales tightly, “I hope you’re in the mood for sushi.”

                                                       ◦   ◦   ◦   ◦   

Izzy’s is busy, but there’s privacy in the bustle.

Bucky had buzzed your apartment’s ringer and you’d flown down the stairs, looking… alive. The sort of alive that was new — like a fresh bud beginning to bloom in spring. It had made him grin, and he’d watched you push a tress of hair behind your ear as you decided it was warm enough for no jacket tonight. The light of the crosswalk sign lit you up like a star.

He was sweating.

Dr. Raynor was right — that was it, of course it was — that it was getting too warm for his usual outfit. So, he’d settled on the next best thing: a sweatshirt that was big enough and black enough that he could bury himself in it. His hands are tucked neatly into the pockets.

No gloves tonight.

He feels naked.

He shoulders the door and holds it open with the toe of his boot as you duck towards the back of the restaurant. There’s a booth in the back by a large bamboo plant — you weave through the place with a new found confidence. There’s anxiousness in your shoulders but it melts when you look back at Bucky. Like a watchful guard dog, he nods.

You settle into the booth, toss your jacket in the corner, and smirk.

“I get out sometimes,” Bucky remarks before you can even say anything. He shifts in the booth and reaches up to scratch his cheek with his right hand, “Not often, but I do.”

“I didn’t say anything...”

“You were going to,” he nearly smirks back, his brows raised as he adjusts the chopsticks on the table, “I know that look.”

You snort, nudging his boot under the table. That works a huffed little laugh out the man across from you. Almost immediately you can sense anxiousness rolling off him — it’s the tightness in his mouth that gives him away, the way he’s fussing with the soy sauce dish and trying to get it to line up perfectly with the marbling on the table. Worry flashes in your eyes.

“Bucky.”

He raises his head.

“You alright?” you ask quietly.

“You have to promise not to flip out.”

Your brows knot tightly — but before you can even question what the fuck he means, he’s casually dropping his other hand onto the table.

And you almost don’t notice at first. Your brain fills the gaps in, figuring it’s his glove. But, then you blink and his hand catches the light and you realize it’s not leather. It’s glittering obsidian, garnished with gold, and it’s moving. Flexing. Seams bending and warping and there’s a gentle hum coming from the appendages and you squint because he’s tapping his fingers on the table and there’s a metallic tik-tik-tik that meets your ears.

Then, your eyes jump to his face.

He looks pained.

You’re confused.

And then you’re not.

“You’re —”

You slap a hand over your own mouth. You have to promise not to flip out. Your eyes are eighty miles wide and your jaw is falling open and you’re leaning forward, whispering in a rushed tone because what the fuck.

“You’re that Bucky?!”

Oh, you feel stupid.

The hostess appears, suddenly. You snap backwards in the booth, Bucky tucks his hand away, and you both muster forced smiles to the waitress. She’s young. Pretty. Her name-tag says Sarah.

She asks about drinks.

Bucky gets a beer.

Slowly, you knock your knuckles against the table and drop your head into your hand. The look on your face is exhausted. “Do you guys have Mai Tais?”

The answer is yes. And you’re glad. Because you’re going to fucking need it.

The two of you are quiet until the drinks come — avoiding one anothers gazes for completely different reasons. Bucky is sheepish, a bit mortified, like he always is when people recognize him. It’s why he shaved his fuckin’ head. It worked well enough but… the arm was usually a dead giveaway.

Meanwhile, you’re wondering if you could shave your own head and disappear. Because there’s no easy way to explain the weird elation swirling in your chest right now.

Bucky’s first to speak. His beer is in his good hand. He inhales quickly, eyes darting to you as he leans forward and whispers incredulously. He speaks quickly and his words are pointed with an edge of curiosity.

“...What do you mean ‘that Bucky’?”

“Y’know, I knew there was a reason you acted like you needed a senior citizen discount. And you know exactly what I mean,” you rush out all while waving your Mai Tai and jabbing the side with the umbrella towards him, “Listen, this is a lot to take in, Mr. Avenger.”

“I am not an Avenger—”

“You helped reverse the Snap. You’re the Winter Soldier. That makes you an Avenger—”

Bucky’s shaking his head, eye screwed shut tightly because the sudden equation to his past self being considered a hero is like being socked in the mouth. He stutters over his words and shakes his head more vigorously, like he’s trying not to hear what you’re saying.

“I am not the Winter Soldier. Not anymore. And it’s not like I’m not on the fuckin’ roster, doll—”

You hold a finger up, stopping him there, and take a long sip of your sunset colored drink. You swallow. You exhale. Bucky swigs his beer.

“One, don’t call me doll,” you say curtly, then raise a second finger. You lean in and squint, “Two… Christ, the haircut really makes a big difference, doesn’t it?”

“That’s what everyone keeps saying,” he sighs raggedly, dismissing your scrutiny.

You puff your cheeks out and exhale. Leaning back in the booth, you try not to feel so fucking insane.

“...I can never have you over now.”

Bucky’s brows narrow quickly and his eyes snap to yours. “What?”

“I can’t have you over,” you explain slower with your eyes rooted to the soy sauce in the corner, “Because I don’t think I could ever handle you seeing my signed and framed Captain America poster from his USO tour in 1943.”

Bucky’s face is deadpan. “You’re kidding.”

“I really wish I was,” you gripe, “It’s an original.”

“...You’re a Cap girl,” he says suddenly, leaning back with this look in his eye. It’s less of a question. You can’t pin it down. It looks like he's damn near traumatized.

Bucky thinks — honestly — that this is the cherry on top. Every girl back then was a Cap girl, too. It figures, now, in this new century where he’s making new friends that… as per usual, Steve gets the cake. That fuckin’ pint sized bastard.

He’ll have to tell him about this.

You yank your eyes up to Bucky’s face. His mortification is shifting to surprise to amusement. You’re fast to sit up, mouth opening to fire a retort — but Bucky’s suddenly really enjoying the look of pure horror on your face at the insinuation. He’s smirking. Plain as day. He swigs his beer.

“No, no—” you raise a finger, “No, stop it. Don’t make it fuckin’ weird, Bucky, it’s not like I have his name tattoo’d on my ass. And I knew a girl in college who did.”

His brows rise sharply and you’re finding you’re regretting everything that’s coming out of your mouth.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you guffaw, gesturing for him to show you his hand again, “I wanna see.”

Bucky sighs and plucks his hand from his hoodie pocket.

With a sort of tenderness Bucky wasn’t prepared to handle, you take his metallic hand into your own. There’s an immediate twinge — one that’s procured by flashes of violence from years of being a walking weapon. He breathes, and he reminds himself that this arm is not the same that tethered him to HYDRA all those years ago.

This arm is his, it is not him.

The sensation is different. He isn’t used to anyone touching him like this; he’s used to the feeling of flesh on the other end of a punch, or a throat caught in his palm. Not the gentle pass of your fingers, delicate and purposeful, over his knuckles.

You turn over his hand, eyes alight with curiosity — and Bucky, desperate to stamp out the hotness growing in his gut, moves quickly to flick your nose.

“Ow—”

“Don’t stare,” he says coyly, “It’s rude.”

The waitress is back. His hand is tucked away, and you wrestle the stupid expression off your face long enough to order a plate of assorted maki rolls and some fried tofu. Bucky orders what seems like his usual — shrimp tempura and spicy tuna rolls.

The waitress, Sarah, disappears with a smile.

You’re grinning.

“So… Does this make me the sidekick?” you whisper playfully.

“Shut up,” Bucky laughs, his lips almost darting into a smile.

You cock your head, pushing your chopsticks across the table with a horribly coy look on your face. It’s comical. “...I think this makes me the sidekick.”

“It — stop it — it does not make you the sidekick,” Bucky says slowly as he sips his beer and pins you in the booth across from him, “I’m not a hero. You’d have better luck asking Cap on that one.”

You grow silent. There’s a question hanging on your tongue. You’re wrestling with yourself — Bucky can see that much. He frowns.

“Spit it out, Goose.”

You blink. “Was that a Top Gun reference?”

“You wanted to be the sidekick.”

You wave it off, blinking into your Mai Tai. Your voice is quiet. Even as you speak, there’s a hesitancy akin to walking on eggshells. “What happened to Cap? Is he… alive? He’s gone off the grid. It’s, like, this massive conspiracy theory online.”

“He’s upstate.”

You blink.

“That’s ominous.”

Bucky shrugs. “Someday I’ll take you. It’s… nice.”

You go quiet. You freeze, drink halfway to your mouth. Bucky can’t help but smirk at that. His laugh is more of a scoff than anything.

“Relax, Miss America.”

“Shut up — do you mean that?”

“What, that I think you’re in love with Captain America?”

“No, you bastard, that you’ll take me. To meet him.”

Bucky’s words are easy. They roll off his tongue without a second thought. He feels… okay. Like this part is okay. Not as bad as he thought it could be. His anxiousness isn’t as heavy now. He feels like he isn’t losing you. But then again, he hasn’t gotten to the bad part yet.

“He’s my best friend,” Bucky explains plainly, “And so are you.”

The admission is warm. As easy as breathing. Two months in the making.

“Your only friend,” you say quietly, offering the joke as a cover for the softening tone that dances over your words. It’s affection, you realize, as you mimic his shrug, “But, go on.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” Bucky chirps, “But, yea, I mean it. He’d like you.”

You raise your chin, wiggling a bit in the booth. It’s pride — and as much as Bucky likes the look of it, he can’t handle the ridiculousness that comes along with it. But, it’s sort of comforting. He knows this playfulness, this easiness, it’s all because he’s him. You trust him. In.a way, it strikes Bucky with guilt. There are wall of his still built up high. Maybe they’re slowly coming down, but… he’s like a stray dog, slow to trust.

“Safe to say,” you breathe, “I have a few questions.”

“I figured as much.”

You sip your drink and swallow. You raise a hand. “But — I wanna know the boundaries. I don’t want to… I don’t want to pry about shit I have no business knowing, alright? It’s your life and even if we are friends, I don’t need to know everything.”

The relief is almost immediate. He thumbs the label of his beer.

“Ask anything. But I can’t promise I’ll be able to give you the answers.”

“And I’ll leave it at that,” you say sternly, propping your elbow up on the table and offering your pinky finger, “Until you want to talk about it. Promise.”

He crooks his pinky in yours, squeezing gently. You smile.

Sarah comes back with the food, and then Bucky offers his usual half-exhausted, half-amused smirk.

“You get three questions now. Then, we shut up and eat.”

You fold your hands neatly over themselves, eyeing your food as you try your best to sort out what questions come up with the most urgency. There’s… a lot. I mean, everyone knew about the Avengers — and everyone had their opinions. The Sokovia Accords, Lagos, the Blip… and SHIELD. Years of bullshit culminating around those who were considered the heroes. The kickback usually ended up on everyday citizens like you. After the initial amazement, the reality of it all set in.

But, to Bucky’s point, he wasn’t really an Avenger.

Nowadays, there really wasn’t a team at all. No up-state compound, no leader, no Stark and no Rogers.

You’re sure the GRC will try — that the military will try. Morale and hope and blah, blah, blah.

You narrow your eyes. “How old are you?”

It’s quick. “One hundred and six.”

“How’d they keep you alive that long?”

There’s a wince that flashes across his face like he’s been stabbed with a white hot poker in the ribs. You see a twitch of irritation bubble across his lips. Not with you. No, it’s that this question is still hard for him to answer. Bucky exhales sharply.

“Next question.”

You feel a pang of guilt flare in your chest. You move along.

“Who kept you alive that long?”

“The Russians. HYDRA, if you wanna get specific.”

You exhale and settle on the fact you now have more questions than answers. But, you nod and snatch up your chopsticks. Enough of the twenty questions game.

In all honesty, it’s not like Bucky’s existence was common knowledge. The Winter Soldier was known mostly, sure, to those who had floated in the same circles as him when he was nothing but a rabid cur on a choke chain. He can’t help but be a bit thankful for the minor erasure of his new self — sure, in the eyes of the U.S. government he was a high-level threat to be reintegrated as soon as possible and surveyed at all times. But, to the average New Yorker, he was just another person. Everyone was so used to seeing the heroes in their costumes with their bigger than life personas and…

Bucky was just Bucky.

Even he didn’t really know who that was. He was starting to.

His pardon had come with some flak from some of the more political news outlets but… somehow, the details of the Winter Soldier’s exact crimes were being kept silent. Probably to avoid panic. And, even then, the connection between the newly alive James Buchanan Barnes and The Winter Soldier hadn’t been made yet in the public eye. He was glad.

The haircut definitely helped.

It’s like he was a walking classified redaction.

Bucky has a sushi roll in his mouth when he finally speaks. “For such a Captain American fan, I’m surprised you didn’t recognize me.”

“Oh, you’re really not gonna let that go, huh?” you say as you chew, covering your mouth. You swallow and waggle your chopsticks at him, “Listen, it’s been a while since I’ve… y’know, had my Avengers phase. That was years ago. It was at its peak when I worked for SHIELD. And besides, you’re kinda new to the whole superhero scene.”

Bucky frowns. “You worked for SHIELD...?”

“For a year,” you say tightly, “Back before the collapse.”

“Only a year?”

“It was for my graduate program,” you wave it off, “I won out on the most competitive internship NYU had to offer. I was working within their cybersecurity division. I will say I spent more time trying to sort of email phishing scams than anything else, though. I’m sure they saw my record and wanted to keep me away from the juicy stuff.”

Bucky squints.

You offer a sheepish shrug.

“I got into trouble when I was younger,” you sip your drink and sigh, “I always liked computers. I used to spend all my time on forum sites just… reading and talking to people and figuring out how these sites actually worked, so learning how to write my own code was just the next step. When I was fifteen, I learned how to tap phones. At sixteen, I was hijacking my neighbor’s internet conenctions and remotely controlling his laptop.”

“Sounds like a good time.”

“Yea, well, he was a sitting Senator who was having an affair with the nanny,” you mutter, “And I was stupid enough to try and blackmail him for cash. I wish I could say I learned my lesson.”

Bucky exhales long and hard at that, like he knows where that snap of misguided judgement goes. It’s not like he’s passing judgement onto you, but… like he knows the feeling. And you manage to not feel so small, then — telling him this is easy. It’s not your favorite part of your life by any means, but Bucky is listening. Really listening.

He fiddles with the paper wrapper of the chopsticks.

“So, less a Goose and more a Kevin Poulsen type, huh?”

You snort. “For an old man, I’m surprised you know who that is. But, I wasn’t hacking into the Pentagon at seventeen. I was too busy doing community service.”

“HYDRA had their eyes on him in the 90s,” Bucky mumbles through a bite of spicy tuna, the memory popping into his mind and flying out before he can stop it, “I remember… I thought his username was stupid.”

“Oh, you didn’t like Dark Dante?”

“Like I said,” Bucky chortles, “Stupid.”

“You wouldn’t have liked mine, then,” you smirk lightly, “It’s worse.”

Bucky raises his brows, somehow doubting that entirely. “Really?”

“...I was hackrabb1t for a long time. Y’know, with a ‘one’ for the ‘i’,” you cringe, “People kept thinking I was a furry.”

There’s a pause. Bucky’s face is set in an unreadable emotion. It’s confusion mixed with amusement mixed with… something else. When he speaks, he clears his throat and tilts his head.

“It’s clever. But,” a pause, “What is a furry? I’ve been seeing that word all over PlentyOfFish.”

Your jaw flies open. You raise your hands as your head reels around. Bucky has a look on his face like he knows, he knows he shouldn’t have asked and he definitely shouldn’t have given you enough context to know where he’s seen that phrase before, because now you’re looking at him like he has seventeen heads and they’re all on fire.

“Y’know what, nevermind—”

“—Oh, no, no, there’s way too much to unpack here,” you lean forward, “You’re on PlentyOfFish?”

“ChristianMingle wasn’t really my speed — stop laughing.”

“Shut up — stop it, stop — this is too much,” you say with a high voice, “If you get catfished, I’m not helping you track the person down…”

“—What the hell is a catfish?” he nearly cries, raising both hands in a desperate shrug, “I don’t even know what any of these words mean.”

“Oh, you sweet, naive, innocent, man—”

“No, no, no, no,” he chirps, raising a finger with a deadly look of seriousness on his face, “No, I am not naive or sweet or any of the above. I’ll take ‘cute’, sure, but none a’ those.”

“Is that what the furries call you on PlentyOfFish? Cute?”

He drops his head back against the booth and stares at the ceiling.

“Our friendship was a mistake, rabbit.”

You choke out a laugh. “Shut up, you walking claw machine.”

You’re both laughing now — quieter but sustained and everytime you think you’ve calmed down enough to sip your Mai Tai, you just have to look at the distraught, scruffy man across from you to break into another fit of muffled laughter. Finally, after what feels like forever, you both manage to calm down enough to finish the plates in front of you.

There’s a warmth that’s settled in Bucky’s chest — it’s eaten away at the usual jitter in his legs, the anxious twitch of his fingers. It’s a different emotion. Acceptance, maybe. Comfort. Affection.  

Then, while you’re piling the last bit of sushi rice into your mouth when your phone, set on the side of the table, begins to go off. It hums erratically, dancing in a circle, and all you do is stare at the name flashing across the screen. You’re smiling, hugging her. It’s from Jaimie’s wedding — out in some big, wide open orchard with the sun setting behind you. The picture there is old; you were both different people then.

Before… everything.

MOM Morristown, NJ

You scowl and stare.

Bucky blinks.

“You gonna get that?”

Quickly, you snap out of it. You reach and silence the buzzing with two quick taps. Quietly, you offer up a somber sigh.

“I never do.”

Bucky frowns again, this time with a worried look that digs deep into his eyebrows. You ignore it on purpose, pushing your plate away and leaning back in the booth. He knows what you’re doing — you’re avoiding his gaze, and therefore his own questions.

“Rabbit.”

“Oh, is that my new nickname, then?”

“It fits,” he chirps before crossing his arms, strategically hiding his metallic hand, “What’s up?”

You grow quiet — then it spills out.

“I can’t talk to her.”

“Why?”

You chew your lip. You bite your tongue and you hold back on the finer points of your anger — ones dredged up by the still present sting of your check-in with Dr. Hart this afternoon.

Here it comes.

“As a part of my pardon, I was ordered no-contact with my family,” you exhale, controlling the level of your voice, reciting the court papers you’d read over and over and over, “It was deemed that further contact would impact my progress towards reformed behavior and judgment.”

Bucky’s eyes are wide. His jaw is tight.

“What the fuck do you mean ‘pardon’?”

It’s your turn to cross your arms now, to ignore the sting of his look. It’s the kind that screams disappointment more than anything. You hate that you’re getting it from Bucky of all people.

“Like I said, I didn’t learn my lesson when I was a kid,” you shirk, “Last year I was arrested on a number of counts — I’d been evading the FBI, CIA, all of them, for years. I was doing it all for people like me. The ones who got left behind.”

Bucky’s tone is flat. It’s serious. His next sentence is less of a question, more of an order. The cadence is rhythmic and it reminds you of your brother the night he found out about the first time you’d been arrested; you decide, then, that Jaimie and Bucky would have gotten along.

“What did you do?”

“Whatever I could,” you wave your hands, “Identity theft, falsified documents, insurance fraud. Anything. There were people, like me, that in a blink, lost everything. Accidents, deaths, evictions and no one did anything for us. The insurance agencies wouldn’t cover damages related to The Snap. Life insurance policies, social security… It all got snatched up by people at the top while the system collapsed around us. I had to pay for my brother’s funeral out of pocket. And there were hundreds of thousands of people just like me, just trying to get by. And everything failed us.”

Bucky is stuck in silence. It’s like mud, dragging him to the bottom of a pond — the sort that’s dredged with misery. In an instant, his veins are on fire with an anger he hadn’t felt in a while. It manifests itself in the tightening of his jaw. He rubs his face and props his elbows up on the table.

“Why won’t they let you see your family?”

You fiddle with your napkin.

“My brother… His wife was on maternity leave when she disappeared in the Blip,” you mutter, “She came back to no job, a dead husband, and no home. Their apartment complex had been abandoned. She’s trying her best to make ends meet. She lives with my Mom in our old home. Neither of them can find work. They… The court thought that I’d be influenced to do something if I was around them.”

“What, like help?”

“They see me as a criminal,” you manage, “But I’m useful, so they’re keeping me around.”

Silence falls between the two of you once more — and the sad look on your face makes Bucky’s chest tight. He can see anxiety beginning to spill over; you’re wringing the napkin, fiddling with the edges. Suddenly, Bucky realizes you’re feeling exactly how he was an hour or so ago.

Your voice is soft. “I’m sorry. I was going to tell you.”

“Looks like we’re two birds of a feather,” he says, knocking the toe of your sneaker with his boot, “Listen, we all do stupid shit. I’ve got a lot worse weighing me down. I get it.”

You look up, sadness glistening in your expression like sun off a lake. It’s harsh. He wants to look away.

He doesn’t.

“... So, that means you’re good with computers?”

                                                      ◦   ◦   ◦   ◦  

That’s how you find yourself in Bucky’s Brooklyn apartment at almost midnight, wandering behind him in the long halls and watching curiously as he digs his key from his pocket and shoulders the door open.

It’s a small apartment. One bed, one bath, a kitchenette and that’s really it.

For its size, it’s hardly lived in.

You suppose it makes sense — Bucky didn’t have a lot of personal belongings, and with the hints he’d dropped about his life before The Blip, you were beginning to understand that he may have never really had that much to begin with.

There’s a blanket on the floor by the television and a single couch pillow. It’s tucked in the corner, behind a small sofa. There’s a chair in the living room, one from an old dining set. At the kitchen counter, there’s a stack of papers and a single laptop. Even though all the kitchen’s wares are older models, the bones of the apartment are good. Bare, but good.

You stop in the doorway to the bedroom and stare at the untouched bed. The sheets are tucked tightly in the corners — there’s something militaristic about it. Across the hall is the bathroom. It’s small. You can see a few amenities scattered across the sink’s top.

Being in here feels something like an open wound.

It was lonely. Quiet. Cold.

“We need to make a trip to HomeGoods,” you mumble as Bucky flicks on the lights, “I get the whole minimalist thing, but sheesh.”

“I don’t have a lot,” he says, kicking off his boots by the door and shrugging off his jacket, “And I don’t need a lot either.”

You watch as his shoulders sag a bit, like he can finally let down his guard just a little in his own space. It’s endearing. You perch yourself up on the kitchen counter as your eyes follow him; he moves to fling open a cabinet and grabs a mug. Then, he hesitates.

“You want tea?” he asks over his shoulder.

“Tea?”

“Dr. Raynor said,” Bucky reaches for a container of tea bags from the top shelf. His henley lifts enough to flash a bit of skin along his lower back and you swear you see a scar, “It would help with my anxiety.”

You swing your legs a little. “Then sure.”

“You can use my Captain America mug,” he chirps, laughing a little to himself, “Seeing as you’re such a big fan…”

“God, I regret even saying anything to you,” you spit as you hop down and lean around him to get a look at the mug, “Did you seriously buy that?”

“It was a gift.”

“Bullshit.”

Bucky snorts as you shake your head and wander backwards, eyeing the rest of his apartment with a bit of astonishment. It’s really nothing impressive — but, you suppose it makes sense. Whatever meager disbursement that the government was willing to give Bucky for his efforts in fixing the Snap was better than nothing.

Your gaze hangs on the blanket in the corner.

He watches you; and he notes the sore sadness that dissolves your posture at the sight of the nest in the corner. A bit of shame colors his cheeks as he heats up the water. When Bucky speaks, it’s slow.

“The bed was too soft. I couldn’t sleep on it,” he shifts from foot to foot and focuses on taking the tea bags out and methodically wrapping the strings around the handles, “Dr. Raynor said that’s a typical thing for soldiers to experience when they come home from war.”

You’re quiet for a while after that, only speaking when he rounds the counter with your tea. He offers it up with a tilt of the head.

“You never got to come home, though, right?”

“No,” comes the short reply as you both watch the lights outside the window, “No, I didn’t. Not until now.”

You nudge his arm with yours. You lean a bit. Bucky leans back.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he manages after a sigh and sip of the tea, “I can’t just feel sorry for myself anymore. I’m trying to fix the wrongs I did — and that’s why I need your help.”

You quirk a brow. He reaches around you and grabs the stack of papers on the counter. With a steady grip, Bucky presents the photo of a woman who looks strikingly familiar. You can’t place her face, but there’s something about her that feels like a slap across the cheek. She’s young here, in a faded photo with tattered edges. Beside her is a man who is laughing. The photo is candid, and they’re both beautiful. They’re both  wearing a uniform — but you can’t place the era or location.

You turn to Bucky for answers.

“Back in the 70s, at the height of the Cold War, HYDRA was working in tandem with the Russians to spy on American forces,” he offers easily, staring out the window, “The American HYDRA cell hadn’t yet been planted. This man, Andrei Kuznetzov, was a spy. He was feeding the Americans information on the Russian nuclear program. His wife, the one in the photo, was ordered to kill him. She refused.”

Bucky’s fingers twitch.

His words are soaked through with pain.

“I,” he continues, “killed him.”

You hold your breath. Then you spare him a mournful look.

“Inessa Sidrova went on to help form the same HYDRA cell that ended up taking over SHIELD here in America,” Bucky mumbles, “She’s dangerous. There’s others like her, ones who I helped create, all over the world. But, she’s my top priority. I just haven’t had much luck tracking her down.”

“That’s why you need my help.”

“I’m 106 years old,” Bucky deadpans, “The microfiches at the library were getting a little tedious.”

“But,” you chirp with a sly smirk, “You figured out how to set up a PlentyOfFish account?”

He shoulders you again as you sip your tea and laugh.

“Shoulda never said anything,” Bucky grumbles, “Dr. Raynor thought it was a good idea. Y’know, to get back out in the world.”

“I can promise you,” you say with a stern shake of the head, “The metal arm will get you plenty of chicks and dudes in due time.”

“Good to know,” Bucky replies as his words lilt with a playful sort of questioning that you purposefully ignore. You’re not feeding his ego today. Maybe tomorrow, after you take a crack at figuring out where this woman is.

It’s going to be a long night.

[fireinmoonshot]

SPIDER | BUCKY BARNES x READER | PART ONE

CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR TFATWS EPISODE 3 ONWARDS.

PART ONE OF ? Summary: Bucky doesn’t know what to make of you when he meets you. You’re friends with Sharon, and you seem pretty easy to read on the surface. But the more time he spends with you, the more he seems to uncover, and the more he becomes tangled in the web you unwittingly weave.  Pairing: female!Reader x Bucky Barnes Fandom: Marvel / The Falcon and the Winter Soldier Word Count: 1,138 Warnings: SPOILERS FOR THE FALCON AND THE WINTER SOLDIER EPISODE 3 ONWARDS A/N: Title is taken from the song Spider by Hoshi! The lyrics really inspired me for the dynamic between reader x Bucky in this one. This does contain spoilers for Episode 3 of The Falcon and the Winter Soldier and it will probably contain more as the parts go on. I’m not sure how many parts there will be at this point, I’ll just see how I go! Please let me know how you enjoy it and I’ll try and get the second part up relatively soon!

Bucky specifically makes sure he doesn’t look at you for too long just so he can avoid the teasing from Sam – because he knows Sam will tease him. Sam always teases him. He also avoids looking at you for too long because he’s worried you’ll catch him and he’ll have to explain himself. He’s not good at explaining himself.

From where you’re sat across from him in your and Sharon’s apartment, you cross your legs and take a long sip of your drink. Zemo has made himself at home, Sam and Sharon are having a conversation by the wardrobe and Bucky is sat on the couch looking more uncomfortable than you’ve ever seen anyone sit before.

“We don’t bite, you know?” You say.

He looks at you for a second. “You’re funny.”

“I wasn’t trying to be. I’m telling the truth. Sharon and I – we genuinely don’t bite. And that couch doesn’t either, it’s actually rather comfortable.”

Bucky narrows his eyes at you. You smile.

He doesn’t know what to make of you and it bothers him.

When Sharon had found them in Madripoor and essentially saved their lives, Bucky hadn’t expected to see her, let-alone see her with someone else. In the time it’d taken you to get back to your apartment Sharon had explained the basics. You’d met accidentally one night when you were both on the run from different people. A friendship had been struck and you’d been by each others sides ever since, saving each others asses on a nearly daily basis. The blip had taken the both of you, but when you came back things were just the same, if not stronger.

Sharon crosses the room and sits down rather comfortably on the couch next to Bucky. You smirk at the difference in their posture and Bucky flashes a glance at you once more, and thankfully you don’t catch him.

“Karli Morgenthau and at least seven others have taken the serum,” Sam sits down on the chair beside you, ignores Bucky’s comment about your best friend and instead, focuses on the situation at hand.

“You guys really should steer clear of all of this… for your own safety.”

Sam shakes his head. You’ve only known him personally for a matter of hours, but it’s clear to you that he’s the type of man who never backs down. You find it easy to trust people like him. “We know it’s a risk but we’re not gonna leave until we find the person who cracked the code.”

Bucky speaks up. “We got a name. Wilfred Nagel.”

You recognise the name. Sharon meets your eyes and you can see the apprehension in her face. “Nagel works for the Power Broker.” She stands up and goes to get her drink. The protective instincts you feel for her nearly make you stand up and order the three men out of your apartment, though you truly doubt they’d listen. You and Sharon have been through too much to get yourselves tangled up in more, right?

“We need your help, Sharon,” Sam starts again. “I can get your name cleared.”

Unintentionally, you suck in a harsh breath. Bucky looks at you, the only one in the room who seems to have noticed your intake of breath. He notices that you’re tense now, no longer comfortably slumped in your chair. He also notices that the grip you have on your glass is much tighter.

Sharon raises an eyebrow. “You haggling with my life?”

“Not like that.”

“I don’t buy that. You pretending like you can clear my name.”

“Okay, maybe it is hypocrisy. Maybe you’re right. What happened to you. But I’m willing to try if you are,” Sam stood up and walked over to Sharon. “They cleared the bionic staring machine, and he killed almost everybody he’s met.”

“I heard that.” He speaks without looking away from you, not caring that he’s living up to Sam’s nickname. You don’t notice.

“I don’t trust charity.”

“Okay, a deal, then. You help us out and I get your name cleared.”

Your grip on the glass tightens as you watch Sharon sigh and reach out a hand to shake Sam’s extended one. Bucky, at this point, is surprised that the glass hasn’t shattered, but then again – you’re not a super soldier, and the glass is pretty thick.

Sharon lets go of Sam’s hand. “Well, I sell to some pretty connected people. Lay low, enjoy the party. Try to stay out of trouble. I’ll see what I can find.”

You’re on your feet in seconds, putting your glass down a little too heavily on the table and walking out of the room after her. Bucky is smart enough to put two and two together as Sam comes and sits back down.

“Only Sharon’s name?” He asks, raising an eyebrow.

“What? I don’t know her friend. She’s barely said a word. We know Sharon. Her friend could be anyone. We’re not in the business of trusting people we don’t know. Not when this much is at stake.”

Bucky looks across at the glass you’d left on the table. “You’re judging people based off of first impressions now?”

“Don’t you?”

Bucky can’t bring himself to reply to that. He stands and wanders over to one of the windows that overlooks the city and the streets below. He pretends he’s looking out at the view, but he doesn’t see anything except for his reflection staring back at him darkly. He does. He did. He judged you, and then he judged Sam for doing the same thing. He shakes his head and turns back around.

“Let’s just get this damn party over with and find Nagel. I want to get out of here.”

He’s about to walk back over to Sam when you come downstairs. You grab your coat from the coat rack by the door and tug it on, pulling the hood up over your head. Sharon is nowhere to be seen and Bucky has a bad feeling your conversation hadn’t ended well.

“If anything the three of you are doing is going to end up hurting her, I’d rethink your plans.” You take a moment to look around the room and Bucky could have sworn your gaze lingered a little longer on him.

And then you’re gone, disappearing out the door without another word. Bucky ignores the tug deep in his stomach that pulls him to follow you and stays firmly rooted to the spot.

Sam frowns. “See? I knew something weird was up with her.”

***

Bucky doesn’t see you at the party that night. He looks, though. He spends too long looking. He sees Sharon talking to several people, he sees Zemo dancing and wishes he could erase the sight from his mind. But he doesn’t see the one person he doesn’t realise he wants to see. You.

[poptod]

Hiya, can u do a ahkmenrah x reader request where the reader is ill and ahk is ofc panicking but trying his hardest to help you, thank u <33 n can it be at the museum

notes: thanks for requesting! ive done similar stuff so i decided to change it up a little, still follows the prompt tho. hope you like it!

warnings: cancer. WC: 1.3k

+

You hadn't spoken since the news. Voices of doctors and relatives faded out as your vision zeroed onto nothing, willing yourself into an abyss of silence. There were options, of course––they said something about chemical treatments, healing mushrooms to help you along, CBD oil and lotion to soothe the soon-to-come, overbearing pain. And, of course, the reminder that new treatments were coming out every day.

Archivers in museums didn't get paid much; that meant that, unfortunately, you couldn't really afford much more than basic, more dangerous treatments. A pit inside you whispered it was pointless, that death was closer than you thought. Still, you returned to your place of work in the evening, your feet dragging along the floor as you stared blankly forward, automatically unlocking and locking the door without thinking.

Moving like sludge through muscle memory.

You stood in the middle of the room, crowded by people––exhibits, at least––who didn't know your ailment, or the words of the doctor that still rung in your ears…

"Stage 4," he'd said, but you didn't hear the words surrounding that piece of information. Actually, the ongoings of yesterday were lost to you, absorbed by only a few words and blank stares.

"(Y/N)?"

The darkness on the edge of your eyes began to fade.

"(Y/N), are you alright?"

Ahk was standing in front of you, his hand on our shoulder as he attempted to meet your wandering eye.

"Oh, uh, yeah, I'm okay," you mumbled, unable to look at his face.

Despite your words, it was clear to anyone who saw you that you were not in fact alright, and Ahk frowned, wishing you would speak the truth.

"Let's go somewhere quieter," he suggested, and led you up the stairs to the marine exhibits.

Dark blue light rippled around you, the sound of bubbles and swishing water the only accompaniment to your quiet walk. Ahkmenrah stood as always at your side, matching your crawling pace, and pausing with you to stare at the massive tanks.

Still, you didn't speak, and Ahk was forced to coerce you into giving up whatever was bothering you.

"What happened?" He asked, standing in front of you to keep you from walking. You had your arms crossed, and your shoulders pulled up tightly.

"I went to the doctors," you said with clear discomfort.

Ahk nodded––you told him what a doctor was a few months ago by now.

"It's cancer," you said as you sucked in a sharp breath, nodding shakily. "I don't expect you to know what it is, but.. it isn't good."

"You'll be alright though, won't you?" He asked, his brow knotted tight. "You people have so many different medicines than we ever had access to."

"We don't have all the answers," you said softly.

"Then... what will you do?"

He stepped closer to you, sharing his warmth with your dull, ashen skin. But his question––despite its relevance––left you spinning, staring out past his shoulder as your expression fell into further disrepair.

"... nothing," you finally breathed out.

Answers and possible outcomes were swirling around your waking and sleeping consciousness for hours on end, without pause or rest. The price of treatment, the methods, and how you would continue to live after chemotherapy, if you even lived at all. You could kill yourself slowly in two different ways––by cancer and by chemotherapy, or you could die a more natural death with sickness like black ink stretching over your organs just as a spider weaves massive webs.

"Nothing??" He hissed. "You can't do nothing, have you lost your mind?!"

"I can't really afford the treatment, Ahk," you whispered, as tears who had been building for hours finally fell over flushed cheeks. "And if I do get it, I'm never going to be the same after. And that's if I live. Even if I get it, the doctor said it's not likely it'll help in time."

His hands pulled your face in, the bottom of his palms on your jaw and his fingers stretching out behind your neck to pull you in.

"I can't let you die," he said, his voice breaking.

You stared at him with weary eyes, dragged down by the dark circles beneath them. There was little else you could think to say to him, so you leant forward on shaky toes, and pecked his forehead in a kiss that was barely ever there.

"I'll think about it," you mumbled, and left.

For weeks you kept coming to work faithfully, only calling in sick when the chemotherapy side-effects left you bruised and exhausted. Your hair was already falling out, but Ahk insisted he didn't mind, and you believed him––in ancient Egypt, it was customary to shave your head for religions undertakings.

Each evening when you entered the museum, Ahk would come greet you and take you to the pillows and blankets he piled up in the marine exhibits, allowing you the comfort of soft light and whale calls while he prepared a tea for you. He wouldn't tell you what it was, but you could tell it was some sort of ground root you assumed was a healing tactic from ancient Egypt. While you were sipping at the warm concoction, he massaged the aching muscles, and applied an ointment Larry had gotten for his arthritis.

Sometimes he would tell you stories––only if you asked, of course, but you enjoyed the gentle rumble of the Pharaoh's voice, and the magic happenings within his tales. Rueful Gods and Goddesses littered the stories, within vivid imagery he piece together in your failing mind.

"Ahk," you murmured on one of those harder days that, for some reason (Ahk), you returned to the museum.

He stopped mid-story, turning expectantly to you. You raised your arms to him.

"Come here," you said, and he obeyed, gingerly sliding himself down next to you in the makeshift bed.

"Are you feeling alright?" He asked, his nose brushing yours.

"No," you chuckled with a weak smile.

You fell asleep within a minute, passing out in Ahkmenrah's embrace holding you tight to his chest. When your breathing settled into a slower in and out, tears welled in his eyes, falling upon your shared pillow as his shoulders began to shake. His thumb gently rubbed your cheek, relishing in little touches and gestures.

Memorizing. Just in case.

He took care of you, as much as he could within his own death, and continued to warm your tea, make sure you were eating, and comfort you with various medicines and stories. Curled up in the blanket nest, you did your best to smile whenever you met his eye.

And then one day, you didn't come to the museum. Ahk caught McPhee saying something to Larry; something about you, and something along the lines of 'they didn't call in sick'. Larry took a visibly deep breath, speaking in hushed tones Ahk couldn't hear from his distance.

You didn't come the next day, either, nor for the entirety of the week. In attempts to find answers Ahk grilled Larry for what had happened, but he didn't know, as you were an intensely private person who only gave their number to their employer.

But you never came again, and Ahk could feel himself slipping, the image of you in his head already blurry and unclear. He tried to remember your warmth, the softness of your skin, and your breath on his bare chest, and at times he could feel your weight still on him. It only made him yearn all the more, reaching and almost feeling something that no longer existed. Lain on his chest and too far to reach.

He learned that silence is an answer in the most hellish way possible.

[imthepunchlord]

What are Spider Calamitous's special abilities (and what Mari(o)nette feels about using them)?

There is Weave Magic, which is essentially Peafowl's canon power, but it makes more sense for the animal, and its more making animated puppets through thread than "real living beings", though depending on the user, the puppets can come out complex and seem alive.

The other is Snare which is full on puppetry over a target, though you can only puppet one individual at a time.

And if Spider is set up to be a more powerful miraculous/calamitous, the 3rd power would be tied to prophecy: Tangled Web. The user will bring target(s) to a web that will show one true prediction of the future, one that is false, and one that is unknown, that you can't be certain if it will even happen or not.

At the core, it's meant to be a nod to spiders being regarded as oracles and a nod to the Three Fates.

Spider also has an extra ability to enhance/alter miraculous armor.

For Marinette, Spider is one of those miraculouses/calamitouses that I could say was made thinking of her as a character, just like Bee was designed more for Chloe than thinking of actual bees.

With Weave Magic, Marinette is thriving and it is her favored power. Her puppets come out very complex and seem alive, but it's also made clear to her that they aren't truly alive. These puppets are made to act out one purpose at a time, they don't fear "death", and there are things they can't connect to or get. She actually can have trouble making too many puppets as their animation is tied to her energy, and if you make too many, you're going to pass out and sleep for almost a week. By that point, Weeve will terminate them herself.

Snare Marinette was uncomfortable with at first, but it has come in handy to reel hero!Adrien in if he's about to be too reckless and about to make a pointless sacrifice, grab anyone misusing a miraculous (Chloe), and get full control of an akuma before they can do too much damage.

Tangled Web is a power she hardly uses, especially knowing that one prophecy is true, one is false, and one is up in the air. She'd rather work with what comes than possibly know what's coming and come to the wrong conclusion.

And she has stepped up to alter miraculous armor, nullifying the need for those stupid potions.

[glitter-garbage]

12. — thread

Shadowgast, ~1600 words, gen, red thread of destiny, soulmate au (spoilers for the eiselcross arc)

Sent by @quinn-of-aebradore 💜 ...ps: this is not edited at all (one word writing prompts: send me one and a pairing if you like. I might fill them some day!) ---

When Bren learned he had magic, he also learned that he could see things that not everyone did. It wasn’t natural, he had to focus, and later on, he even found out there was an actual spell for it. Still, on more than one occasion growing up, Bren would see the delicate red threads that connected people around him.

“Those mean whoever is connected to you is your soulmate,” his mother explained, “Can you see mine?”

And, sure enough, his mother had a little thread connecting her ankle to Leofric’s. He longed for his own thread to appear, though his mother explained that not everyone had one.

Bren didn’t have to worry, though. He was only fifteen when not one, but two threads connected his ankle to his best friends of all people. By that time, he had already been whisked away to the Academy along with them and the experiences they shared, the successes, the pain, the power, all of that just cemented their connection in his mind.

Until he broke, that is.

After the fire came the Sanatorium, and for eleven years Bren, now Caleb, did not think about that again. Only when he got out did he notice that his ankle was free. Nothing connected him to anyone anymore. It was okay, he was a garbage person. He didn’t deserve love like that anyway.

---

Nott had a red thread. It vanished out to the horizon, and Caleb never saw the thread move in a way that indicated that her soulmate was closer. He wondered if she knew, for a while. Then, he learned the truth. Veth’s soulmate, her husband, kidnapped, imprisoned. He was happy she had met him though, and confident they'd free him. She deserved happiness, he would help her in any way he could.

Two couples in his little group had threads connecting them to each other from the start. Fate worked in mysterious ways, Caleb thought. Beau and Yasha did not seem that close, though Beau’s attraction was obvious, and cringe-worthy at times, but Caleb was sure things would go well for them in the future. Jester and Fjord’s thread almost made his heart break- he had allowed himself to get way too attached to the two, but neither of them were for him, obviously. Destiny had other plans.

Molly did not have any threads, like him. After learning about his past, Caleb wondered if he had gone through something similar to Caleb, the snapping of a thread after a traumatic event. He allowed himself to grow closer to the tiefling tentatively, allowed feelings to bloom slowly. Molly was warm to him, and he thought perhaps it was another form of destiny that would tie them together.

That had been a mistake.

The last one to join their family was Caduceus. He had no thread too, and Caleb had no curiosity about it anymore. His interest in destiny had all but faded.

He loved his friends. He had friends. That was enough, for someone like him.

---

“The Luxon is the basis of how we've been able to free ourselves from the binds of the lineage the Betrayer Gods left for us and to carve our own fates, choose our own paths and sidestep these destinies placed upon us nonchalantly by gods that use us as playthings.”

The Shadowhand was interesting. Dangerous, powerful, enticing. Caleb considered what he said about freedom from destiny, the ability to find your own way. He had certainly strayed from his path, but perhaps that was not the worst thing.

Essek Thelyss, too, had no thread attached to him.

Perhaps because Caleb was no longer obsessing over what destiny had in store for him, perhaps because he was beginning to accept that his own imperfect path was better than the one that had been set for him, Caleb felt empathy towards the drow even after he had betrayed them.

They were so much alike, and Caleb kept his heart more closely guarded now. He did not feel his heart breaking when they learned of Essek's schemes, and that too helped. In any case, he did not see Essek again for a long time. Did not think much about him. There was too much on his plate for that.

---

Astrid smiled at him from across a dinner table and his stomach dropped. Caleb felt the wheels of time turning, felt again like Bren, determined and ambitious and blind to the truth. Eadwulf looked at him with a raised chin, a smirk on his face. He too remained handsome, impossibly so.

When they walked out of Ikithon’s tower, Caleb could make out the thin red thread that still connected their ankles. He thought he was stronger, that perhaps he was ready for this.

“Race you to the top,” said Astrid with a childish smile, before turning back to the tower.

It hurt. He could feel the emptiness of what could have been, what would never be again in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time.

---

Imagine his surprise when arriving at the Vurmas outpost in Eiselcross, the powerful figure of the Shadowhand could not meet his eyes. Imagine his surprise, when he saw his eyes lighting up when they chose him instead of his old teacher to go down into the ruins. Imagine his surprise when he saw Essek battling, using gravity itself as a weapon, and felt only fondness and admiration for the man. When he showed off his tower and saw the same in the drow’s eyes. And attraction, of course. That went without saying.

It all came to a head when, together, they worked to cast a spell that would shorten time itself and give the Nein their much-needed rest.

Thought it might have felt like seconds to their friends, Caleb watched for long moments, holding magic in his palms to assist, as Essek opened a gash through the fabric of space and time. Real fabric, made of threads of all colors that together seemed to make up what he saw as the world around him. Time seemed to stop around them as Essek carefully worked around the fibers.

“This… Have you been able to see this the whole time?” he asked.

Essek’s jaw was clenched and there was sweat running down his forehead, but he nodded, “Not really. It takes a lot of effort to see this. A lot of energy.”

Caleb hesitated but gave in once Essek’s questioning gaze found his for a moment, “I have always seen the red threads. I- I had my own, for a while.”

“Annoying little things,” muttered the drow, focusing again at the slow-going task of weaving time with his bare hands, “There was a time when I hated them more than anything.”

“You used to have yours, too?”

“Hm? No,” said the drow distractedly, “I hated them because I had none, and I thought I should. The Dynasty looks like a tangled web if you watch for them since so many entanglements are made complicated by consecution. But I never had one, and even though I looked for… someone that could perhaps make it appear, it never did.”

He moved his wrist to the side, and the universe seemed to shift with it. Caleb felt a little dizzy.

“But I had never heard of someone who lost theirs. I thought they were supposed to be, ah, perfect,” Essek smirked, “Unless you did what we are doing right now to yours. That is, changing it fundamentally. Somehow, I do not think that is what happened.”

“Nein,” Caleb chuckled wryly and then held himself straighter, keeping the spell steady as Essek continued his labor. “I… strayed from the path, I think. I did something that was not meant to be.”

Essek looked at him like he was the most fascinating thing he had ever seen, even though the elf himself had the building blocks of reality in his hands at the moment. Caleb flushed.

“I think Caduceus would say that you did exactly what you had to do.”

“Maybe so. But isn’t it hard to know that others will have this… this gift, this sure thing while we will not?”

Essek looped a bright white strand against a colorful, prismatic one while he hummed, thinking.

“I felt the same way for decades. But whatever we will have or not, in that sense, will be of our own making. And isn’t that a gift on its own?”

---

The moonlight shone down on the beach, turning the sea a glittering mass of waves. Other than the full moon, magical globes and luminescent beetles illuminated the space around them. Their friends gathered around smiling tearfully in perfect dissonance. Caleb himself felt his heart beating so fast he thought it might leave his ribcage and seek quietude somewhere far away from his anxiety-ridden body. He stood beside Caduceus, who hummed a sweet song under his breath as they waited.

Finally, the glittering door at the end of the path opened, and Essek slipped out, bare feet delicately touching the sand. Jester came from behind him, and once their arms were locked, they walked on slowly, passing their friends and family on the way to Caleb and Caduceus.

He looked stunning in delicate iridescent robes, and Caleb tried to swallow down his anxiety. Violet eyes framed by silver lines, mouth poised in a gentle smile, cheeks flushed, Essek walked slowly until he was face to face with his intended.

Essek reached for his hand, and they stood silently, gazes locked while Caduceus conducted the ceremony. When it was time, Caleb drew a small spool of red thread from his pocket. Gently, he took Essek’s hand in his and tied a knot around his little finger. He offered the spool, and Essek repeated the gesture, biting his lips nervously. Caduceus cut the remaining thread, leaving their hands connected.

“You are now joined together, not by destiny, but by your own choice. I think that’s very nice,” Caduceus smiled placidly until Veth cleared her throat, “Oh yeah. You guys can kiss now.”

Caleb smiled at the phrasing. He lifted his hand, pulling Essek’s forward until the drow was close enough for him to count his freckles. Their hands tingled as he came impossibly closer. Essek’s mouth was warm against his.

For the first time in Caleb's life, he felt destiny favored him.

---

[allegra-writes]

"Bad together"

Prologue: Benjamin Reilly

Peter Parker x Reader

General audiences

Warnings: none.

"And if I'm dead to you

Why are you at the wake?

Cursing my name, wishing I stayed"

My tears ricochet - Taylor Swift

"... It's a disaster! Look at her! It's like someone took a look at Black Cat, selected everything that made her sexy and then took it out!"

Black Cat. The name froze the young photographer on his tracks right outside his boss' office. He hadn't heard that name in a long time, the last sighting had been well over a year ago. He would know.  After all, it had been him, the very last person to have seen Felicia Hardy, alive or dead.

"What are you talking about? That looks hot af, not to mention badass!" Jade's persuasive voice reached his ears, making him smirk: It was no secret the chief editor had a soft spot for the young intern. And, on her part, the petite brunette was a firecracker. Poor old Jameson didn't stand a chance. "Come on, dad. Single handedly taking down three of the Kingpin's goons? That's impressive. It deserves to be one of the slides!" 

"Not if we don't get a higher quality picture. That blurry video is good enough for a thumbnail, but not for a slide" Slides were a big deal, they were the Dailybugle.net's equivalent of a front page, and if J. Jonah Jameson took something seriously, it was his web site. He prided himself in the quality of the "receipts" of his "tea", as if that validated the trashiness of the bullshit articles he posted, more fiction from hyper imaginative wannabe writers than serious work from real reporters. 

"Well, then let's get the pictures. Where is that star photographer of yours?" 

The photographer rolled his eyes, typical Jade. As if the queen of cool didn't know his name. As if she hadn't graced his bed a handful of times already. 

"That's a good question. Dolores, get me Reilly!"

"I'm here, Jonah" Ben finally stepped inside the office, throwing an envelope on Jameson's desk before throwing himself on a chair across it. He could feel Jade's eyes on him, almost like a physical caress, trailing from the long, slick back curls on the top of his head, to the muscles of his arms, threatening to rip open the seams at the sleeves of his white t-shirt, to his jean clad thighs. Still, he didn't turn to look at her, refusing to give her the satisfaction. 

"What do you have for me today, boy?"

Ben gesticulated vaguely with his head in the direction of Jade, and Jameson caught the hint. 

"Jade, out!" 

"But, dad, my story!" The petulant reply left her mouth before she could stop it, undoubtedly the product of years of habit. But she had the grace to look embarrassed and leave the office without another word, trying to save whatever professionalism she had left. 

Once she was gone, Jameson opened the envelope, flipping through the various pictures of a masked figure swinging around New York in a black and red suit. 

"Hmmm… these are good" the older man praised, staring at the images of a frustrated robbery at 5th avenue

Ben snifled nocomitically,

"There was a fire at 16th avenue happening at the same time" He offered, "we could use that. Spider-Man forgets his roots and leaves his old neighborhood to fend for itself, running off to save some pretty socialite…"

"Oh, that is excellent! See, this is why I like you, kid. You have initiative. Unlike these snowflakes out there. Oh, but Spider-Man is a hero. Hero, my ass"

"Well, when you watch your so called hero sit back and do nothing as your life gets destroyed" Ben shrugged, "the rose colored glasses tend to fall off…"

Jameson made a face at that,

"Yeah, about that… I'm sorry. For the role the Daily Bugle played on that…"

Ben shook his head, 

"You thought you were getting the truth out there. It's not your fault to have been played, along with half the world. Plus," he added, sounding genuinely enthusiastic, "you gave me this job. And now we can really tell the truth"

"Even when our idea of the truth is somehow different" The older man scoffed, flipping around a picture of Spider-Man sat on what appeared to be a hammock of his own webs, eating a hamburger and reading something that looked suspiciously like a comic book, "Still hung up on that high schooler theory of yours?"

"Well, if it talks like a brat and acts like a brat…" Ben took out another envelope, this time containing a few burger king wrappers and, effectively, a spider-man comic book. 

"Where did you even get these?"

"Harlem" was Ben's curt reply, and Jameson knew that was as exact a location as he was going to get. 

"So you still believe this is a copycat? Some kid playing dress up"

Ben simply shrugged again. 

"Well, there seems to be an epidemic of those lately" Jameson admitted, indicating Ben to come closer, passing a tablet to him, "Jade just handled me this, take a look"

Ben took a deep breath, steeling himself, already knowing what he was going to see in it. Yet, a part of him couldn't help but hope to be wrong. To hope the silver haired figure facing three much bigger, stronger looking ones as he pressed play, wasn't the same one he had spent weeks memorizing last summer. Wasn't the body he had found solace in, when everything fell apart, once again, for the hundredth time in his life. 

To hope it wasn't you. 

But when in his twenty-two or so years of existence, had things ever gone his way? 

Ben felt the screen crack under his fingertips.

"I've heard of her" he lied through his teeth, "didn't even think she was real, to be honest. Extremely elusive, and cunning." That much was true, "I don't understand how something as mundane as a security camera managed to catch her…" 

Unless you wanted to be caught, that was. 

"Well, I don't care if she's the fucking Loch Ness monster, I want an HD picture of her on my desk tomorrow to go with Jade's article. I already have a headline: New Catastrophe Jen wreaks havoc on Hell's Kitchen" Jameson's eyes lit up with glee as he weaved his hands up in the air, like writing on an invisible marquee. 

Ben snorted

"Don't you mean Calamity Jane?"

Jameson's face fell, the color rising to his cheeks, characteristic vein popping on his forehead. 

"I meant what I meant, boy! Now, what are you still doing here? You have 24 hours to get me that picture"

"I'm going to need 72," came Ben's unphased reply, "and I want twice what you pay me for the spidey pics"

Jameson's vein looked about ready to explode,

"48 hours. And deal."

Ben jumped from his seat and bolted out of the office before his boss could change his mind, not realizing until it was too late that he was on a collision course with a sweet looking short haired blonde girl. 

"Watch where you're going! Jeez!"

"Me? You're the one who crashed against me!" 

Ben rolled his eyes, but crouched next to the girl anyway, helping her gather the papers that had been sent flying on impact back together.

"Peter? Oh my god, is that you?"

Of course. What an idiot, he should had recognized that annoying, shrilly voice the second he heard it. It had caught him off guard, something he knew he couldn't afford. But how could he had ever imagine he could run into Betty fucking Brant, Yale cum laude, in the freaking dailybugle.net headquarters of all places?

"Sorry, sweetheart. You must confuse me with someone else…" He mumbled, lowering his head even more in a vain attempt to hide his face.

"Of course not!" She insisted, "You're Peter, Peter Parker, we went to Midtown together!"

"Miss, I have no idea what you're talking about…"

"Don't be silly, Peter!" She chuckled, completely deft to his tone or the way his whole demeanor had changed the second she had called him by the old name. "How have you been? Oh, just wait until I tell Ned, he's going to be so-"

CRACK.

At last, the tablet that had been in peril ever since Jameson had put it in Ben's hands, the one that contained his assignment, met its demise, both broken halves falling to the ground, along with all the papers he had picked up for Betty. It was several moments before he could get the shaking of his hands under control, before the tar black rage inside him subsided enough for him to be able to move without shifting. But it had.

"Peter Parker is dead." He deadpanned, dark brown eyes finally meeting Betty's stunned blue ones, "Tell Ned that, he'll probably be glad to hear it"

With that, he stood up and walked away, leaving a confused and agitated Betty behind. 

To be continued...

[wayward-mikaelson]

I Still Want You, I Still Need You- I. Civil War

Word Count: 2576

About: You are on Steve’s side of things and that upsets your brother,Tony. Showing that you and Tony are two different versions of your guys father, Howard. 

Characters: Reader, Bucky, Tony, Steve, Natasha, Sam, Clint, Wanda, Zemo, and T’Challa

Pairing: None

Warnings/Trigger Warnings: Language, Blood, Injury, Mention of past death

A/N: This has been in my head forever. So while I write both this mini series and Winter’s Doll, please bare with me. 

*This contains content made for the 18 and up crowd. Read at your own discrestion

**Please do not copy and paste this work anywhere. I work too hard on all of my stuff and would hate for it to stolen. You may, of course, reblog and copy the link to share other places.

***This work is posted on other sights. Links can be found on the pinned post in my profile

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*****Currently NOT taking any Requests

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Forever Tags: @hobby27 @donnaintx @myinconnelly1 @elansaidaris @magssteenkamp @440mxs-wife

Marvel Tags: OPEN

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Story Tags: @mysticalfestivalkoala @cspr-2 @tanyaherondale @lilithknight1111 @lpzallana @snlsamantha

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The two sides were lined up like the soldiers in during war time way back in the day. You couldn’t see it, but you knew that your brothers face was upset and disappointed in you. He knew that the two of you were similar but, yet, so much more different than each other. There was nothing he could say or do to make you change your mind. He was wrong and you knew it. He was just too blind to see it.

“Really, Y/N, you too? You’re on the wrong side of the line, dear.” Your brother said shaking his head. “I thought you were smarter than this? Dad would be so disappointed in you.”

You couldn’t help but let out a fake laugh. “You’re right, Tony,” You gave him the look that you knew pierced through his mask. The look that many people have said to have been a look that Howard Stark gave, to make himself so intimidating. “I’m smart. I’m smart enough to make decisions for myself and darling, this one is the right one. And bringing Dad into this isn’t going to change anything. You Know that.”

“Is that what Cap told you?” Tony pressed. “That his way is right and mine wrong?”

From the corner of your eye, you saw Steve shift his feet around. “He didn’t have to,” your voice grew cold. The way it always did when you and Tony bickered. “I came to that conclusion myself.”

“Well, then, that’s make you a criminal like the rest of them,” Tony stepped back with both his hands up. “It’s not too late to change your mind, Y/N/N.”

You could hear it in his voice when Tony called you by the nickname he gave you when you were little. He was trying everything he could to get you to step out of this and join his side. He didn’t want to fight his little sister. You didn’t want to fight your brother. 

But yet, here the two of you are.

“I’m sorry, Tony,” you pulled out your retractable bow staff and opened it.

“I’m sorry too,” Tony said.

“What do we do?” Scott asked Steve.

“We fight,” Steve answered starting to lead the way. “Y/N, make sure you guard Bucky. Everyone knows that if they hurt you too bad, Tony will not hesitate to return the favor. Doesn’t matter what side you’re on.”

“Got it Cap,” you said. You knew that Steve was right. Didn’t matter what side you were on, if someone on Tony’s side hurt you to the point that you were hospitalized or near death, he would not hesitate and return the favor. He was still your big brother after all. You had your differences and disagreements. The two of you wouldn’t let the other get seriously injured.

You guessed the new kid didn’t get that memo.

While both teams were fighting, you and Bucky were weaving in and out of the fighting. The new kid, who shot out webs and talked way too much, threw something very large at you. But Bucky tackled you out of the way. The kid came at you again but when you swung your bow staff at him, he caught it and tossed you off it a good ten feet away. You were sure that you were going to wake up sore in the morning. You stood up and then saw red surrounding the new kid who as tossed into a giant pile of boxes. Your bow staff breaking in half.

You nodded your head towards Wanda who nodded back. She ran back towards the fighting.

“You okay?” Bucky asked.

“I’m fine, let’s keep moving.”

The two of you weaved in and out of the fighting again until Steve caught up with you. The three of you crunched out of the line of fire. You looked back to see your friends fighting. One side to be regulated by the government despite what happened to SHEILD a few years back and to bring Bucky in for something he didn’t even do. The other side, to help you and Steve get Bucky to safety, because you, too, believed he was innocent.

“We’re not going to be able to get everyone to that jet,” You told Steve. “It’s going to be impossible with everything thing going on.”

“Some of us are going to have to loose this for us to win it,” Clint’s voice is heard in your coms.

You knew he was right. You hated it too. The three of you ran towards the hanger. A few tiny missiles whizzed passed you guys from above and hit the hanger. That didn’t stop you guys from running, Wanda managed to stop the debris from the building long enough for the three of you to slide right under it.

“He’s innocent, Nat,” Steve said.

You turned around to see Natasha, your best friend, who was almost like a sister to you, standing there. A firm and disappointed look in her face. Natasha rose up her arm and you knew what was coming. You were prepared to tackle the female Russian assassin. “I’m going to regret this,” she said and slightly moved her arm to the side and shot out a taser. It whizzed passed your head.

You looked to see that Natasha’s taser hit T’Challa. “Go,” she yelled and shot another at the Wankadan king. Making him hit the ground once again.

You guys board the quinjet. You strapped into the pilot seat and started to press all the buttons you need. Even disabling the tracker. Steve and Bucky strapped in and soon, you had the aircraft in the air and flew through whatever you could. Looking down at the airport below, you saw law enforcement showing up. You still knew that you made the right choice in taking Steve’s side.

While you flew to Serbia, Steve and Bucky talked. You drowned them out and thought about your brother. A brother you knew all to well. You’d be on his radar until he found you. Until he had Bucky in his clutches. Until you and Steve were behind bars. Unless something there was something that gave him a reason to stop looking. You just hoped that you can get the information you needed before that ever happened.

Bucky needed his name cleared.

“We should be coming up on the base here soon,” Bucky’s voice brought you back to reality.

You looked a head and saw a snow covered mountain. At first you didn’t see anything but after the fog lifted you saw what looked like a bunker. As you landed the aircraft, from the corner of your eye you saw Bucky’s body stiffen up. You could only imagine what was going through the super soldiers head.

“You got this, Bucky,” You turned to him once the quinjet was landed and secured.

Bucky gave a small smile before he and Steve left the aircraft.

Then you were alone.

With your thoughts.

Time passed slowly as you literally twirled around in the pilot chair. You thought about your only memories of your father, Howard. You were really young when he took you in after your mothers death. Gave you the Stark name and all but that didn’t stop people from calling you his bastard child from one of his flings. Even after his and Maria’s death. But Tony had put a stop to that when he was asked what he thought about having a bastard sister. Let’s just say that night, Tony almost ended the night in handcuffs.

Some movement made you stop turning in your chair. You squinted your eyes to getting a better look through the snow being blown around the wind. The movement seemed to be black and upon a clearer look you saw that it was the King of Wakanda himself.

You gathered whatever weapons you could find in the quinjet and ran outside. The cool brisk air hit your face and tingled your nose. You didn’t let that stop you, you slowly followed T’challa to the door.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Your Highness,” you snapped open one of Clint’s bows.

The Wakandan king turned around slowly. “And why is that?” The thick accent came out slow and firm. You didn’t want to go up against this man at all but you would if you had to.

“Barnes isn’t who you want,” You noticed your voice started to shake. “All the answers we are looking for, it’s in that building.”

“I’m sorry, but I have to do what I must do,” T’challa started to open the door.

You reached behind you and pulled out a random arrow. You loaded it on the bow string and shot it. Luckily, for you, it had been one of those electric arrows. It shocked the Wakandan king and he fell to the ground. “I’m sorry too,” you ran passed him and into the building.

You wandered around looking for Steve and Bucky. Abandoned or not, the place gave you the creeps. You didn’t want to think about what this place did to Bucky. Then you turned a corner and saw a huge contraption that looked like the thing that Steve and Bucky talked about.

That thing that shocked the shit out of Bucky when he was under Hydra control. Suddenly your heart fell a million feet when you thought about the constant pain Bucky had been put through.

“Poor Bucky,” you whispered as your hand touched the torture device. “I’m so sorry this happened to you.”

You moved on and began to hear voices. You slowly followed the voices until you found them. The voice that spoke had an accent. He talked about the Battle of Sokovia, a battle which almost took your life. Then he spoke about the Vienna bombing and how that was all his doing.

“I told you it wasn’t him,” you spoke as you approached the group. “But you didn’t believe me or trust me.”

Tony turned to you. “I know and I’m sorry.”

“Oh good, the whole family is here,” the strange voice said. “Now the show can really begin.”

There was soft click and hum somewhere in the room. Everyone looked around and spotted an old television set. You guys approached it and when the screen popped up of an old road, you heard Tony suck in his breath.

“I know that street,” he said.

You watch the events unfold on the screen before. Your father dying at the hand of Bucky. You shot a look at Bucky whose entire face had fallen. Your eyes shifted to Tony who looked like he was about to either snap or pass out. You turned to the tv and stopped the video.

“Tony,” you turned back him.

“Don’t you dare say anything,” Tony snapped at you.

“Tony,” Steve cut in.

“Give him to me, Rogers,” Tony’s mask flew back on and turned toward Bucky. You knew he meant business.

You jumped in front of your brother. Bow loaded with an arrow.  “Tony, no,” you rose your voice. “It wasn’t really him. He was brainwashed.”

“Stand aside, Y/N,” Tony started to fire up his suit.

“It wasn’t him,” you yelled as you rose the bow up and aim it at him.

“I don’t fucking care,” Tony yelled back. “He killed our parents. No move or so help me.”

You let the arrow go and it hit Tony’s armor and stuck to it. Before he even had time to grab it and toss it, the arrow exploded, sending Tony back into the television set.

“Go,” you told Bucky and Steve. “I’ll be able to hold him off.” You loaded another arrow and pointed it at your brother who slowly got up.

“Are you sure about that?’ Steve asked.

“He won’t hurt me too much,” you stayed focused on Tony who stood and stared at you. You could only imagine that thoughts of anger and surprise he had. “Just go!”

“You don’t want to do this, Y/N/N,” Tony held up his hand again. “You’re giving me absolutely no fucking choice.”

“Then don’t fucking make one,” you kept your weapon in place. “Drop all of this and let us go. No one has to get hurt anymore.”

Without warning or any other word said, Tony hit you. With what, you weren’t sure since he upgrades his suits whenever he’s bored. You flew back into something hard and smacked your head hard enough to put you out.

***

When you came to, your sight was fuzzy and your side was killing you. You were still in the old Hydra base so that was good, Tony hadn’t thought about taking you back. You looked down and as you saw a piece of metal poking out of your side. Biting your lip as hard as you could until you tasted blood, you pulled the metal out of your side.

You placed your hand over the wound to clot the small blood flow. You stood up and swayed some. It felt like your brain was rolling around in your head. Tony must have used some force and it pissed you off.

In the distance you heard the clanging around and yelling. You knew that Tony cornered Steve and Bucky. You followed the the sound and when you found them you saw Bucky on the ground. His metal arm blown off. Blood flood from his head and nose.

“Bucky,” you ran and slide over to him. You checked his pulse and pressed an ear to his chest. “Thank God,” you breathed when the soft sound of his heart reached your ear. “We’ll get you fixed you up.” You swore you saw a small smile on his face when you said that.

Then you looked up.

Steve had Tony in the air and threw him into a wall. You gasped and stood up only to fall to your knees when the pain in your side ran sharp through your body. Steve straddled Tony and grabbed his shield and started to hit his mask with the edge of it. The shield managed to break the mask. You saw fear in Tony’s face as Steve rose the shield once again.

“Steve, no!” You screamed as Steve brought the shield down. But it didn’t hit Tony’s face. It his the arc reactor in the suit. Making the suit shut down.

Steve looked back at you and got up. Pulling the shield out of Tony’s suit. Steve walked over to where you and Bucky were. He pulled Bucky up and looked at you. “Are you okay?” He asked softly.

You nodded as you stared at Tony. Tony stared back at you. His eyes on your bloodied hand that covered your wound. His shifted to Steve who started to walk away. “He gave you that shield,” he yelled. “You don’t deserve it.”

You turned to Steve, who stopped and drop the shield where he stood. You slowly and painfully got up and began to follow Steve you.

“Y/N!” Tony yelled after you. You turned to him. “You leave with them, you won’t have a home to come back to. You’d be forced to be on the run. A criminal. Dad would be embarrassed by your actions.”

You stared Tony in the eyes. “No, Tony,” your voice firm and full of anger. “Dad would be embarrassed by you.”

You turned on your heel and walked away with tears threatening your eyes.

[mxvladdy]

wait holy shit youre taking requests???? okay first of all, im in love with your writing skills especially those true forms they are *chefs kiss* magnifique. second, may i request for an angst but fluff ending prompt for barbatos/simeon/solomon (im an absolute simp for them) about MC having a really bad asthma attack and coupled with anxiety attack? (totally not me lmao) please and thank you! sorry for being too specific!

A/N: Oshbagosh! I hope you are good fam! You have excellent taste in simpin ngl Barbatos came out of left field for me, though I am weak for a quick wit and sharp tongue lol. And thank you for liking my works! Sorry, this took so long;.;

I hope my research was good and accurate! 

Barbatos

Does not know what is going on at first. Were you having an allergic reaction to something you ate? Had you gotten into some Devildom spices he hadn’t secured well enough?

Panics internally. He is very ready to spend the exurbanite amount of energy it would take to turn back the clocks before you started wheezing. 

Externally he keeps a level head, glad his gloves hide how sweaty his palms are. He remembers then your human medical file. 

He tends to you quickly grabbing your medication and carrying you away from whatever triggered this attack. 

“Do you need a doctor?” Barbatos asks for the umpteenth time. He runs a gloved hand up and down your back. You shake your head weakly coughing to try and dislodge some phlegm now breakdown in your throat. You take a shaky breath feeling your airways loosen, the fresh air that fills your lungs taste so sweet. 

“I’ll be ok Barb.” You wheeze taking another deep inhale from your inhaler. “Stop hovering and sit please, you are starting to stress me out more.” The demon makes a weird tutting noise in distress but comes to sit next to you. You lean back with a groan. The garden wall was rough on your back but you didn’t care at the moment. It had been so long since you had a flare-up you had almost forgotten what it felt like. You shift over slightly seeking out the heat of your companion's body. Exhausted you flop over to rest your head on his shoulder.

“Here let me.” He pulls out his ornate handkerchief and starts whipping at your nose and eyes. “What triggered this love? Have I missed someplace in my cleaning?” He knew he didn’t, never in all his years had he ever missed a spot. He would retire in shame if he did, but he felt like he had to fill the silence. If you were talking that meant you were alright. Right? He curses at himself. He thought he knew more about humans than this, yet you somehow threw curveball after curveball at him. He needs you to be safe and happy yet he choked on something like this? Perhaps he would suffer more of Solomon’s companionship to pick his brain on human ailments. As long as he could dodge eating any of his cooks.   

You fidget as he cleans your face and fusses over you, but you let him. This was for his benefit more than yours. “No, I think it's pollen. Your plants are not something I’m used to yet, and with the wind, it just hit harder.” He grunts, not pleased with your answer. He could do anything about the plants, and things out of his control were few and far between. You catch the inner argument he was having with his many selves and scoff. “Barb-” You take the cloth from him and tuck it in your pocket. “You and all your selves absolutely cannot control my illness, and that's ok.” He doesn’t look convinced, no doubt looking for a loophole in the webs he weaves. 

“Given the time I-” He stops at your withering look. “I don’t like not being in control.” Your look softens. 

“Who does?” You clear your throat finally feeling a bit more like yourself. Well, at least the garden wasn’t spinning anymore. “There. I think I can manage. Can you help me to the nurses' office? I should get a check-up since it’s been a while since I’ve had an attack. Then I think I’m going to call it a day.” 

Barbatos nods helping you to your shaky feet. His hands locked around your arm like he was afraid you would crumble again. You give him a reassuring look and lean into his weight. You didn’t need it, but it was a nice feeling, being looked after. Besides, it was so rare to get his sole attention. “I’ll inform the young master  that we will be taking the rest of the day off.” 

“We?” 

“Of course.”  He says resolutely. “Unless you wish for me to leave?” He barely contains his smile when he feels your hands squeeze tighter around his bicep. 

“As long as I’m not impeding.” Your words are half-hearted at best. You don’t give a damn if it throws off some super-secret agenda, you were happy to have more time with him. He calmed your nerves. 

Simeon

He hadn’t meant to trigger an attack. The weather outside was simply lovely.  It was dry and warm with a breeze that made grass dance in a mesmerizing way. The track around one of the Devildom’s many bodies of crystalline water was beautiful at this time of the day. He had to share his enthusiasm.

He just wanted to go for a walk with you. He had so much to talk about with you that he forgot how long his legs are compared to yours. He was so excited he didn’t realize how fast his gait is and how much you were struggling to keep up with him. He didn’t realize your troubles until he felt a sweaty palm on his wrist. 

Openingly gets panicked but knows about human medicine and where you store your inhaler. 

Simeon breathes deeply through his nose and out his mouth. One deep inhale and one long exhale- focus just focus. His chest clenches in alarm at your shallow pants, his eyesight narrowing down to pinpricks. Blessedly he keeps a steady hand.

“Slowly now my dear.” He shakes your inhaler before bringing it to your lips. His strong fingers massaging your jaw to loosen it. Squeezing your cheeks he slips the apparatus past your teeth noticing how glassy your eyes were becoming. “Inhale.” He orders thanking his father you understand him enough to comply.  He watches you like a hawk till he hears your heartbeat steady. Once he is sure he could look away he calls Lucifer. He doesn’t remember what he said, but he knew it was a panic-fueled rush.

“Simeon,” He looks up from his phone. “I’m ok…” You wheeze blinking up into the afternoon moons. Simeon shushes you running his warm hands over your cheeks. They were ice-cold despite the heat. He warms his palms with magic watching the fog clear from your gaze. “Thanks.” 

“You shouldn’t thank me.” He pulls away, shaking his head. “This is my fault. I apologize, my dove.” You chuckle breathlessly becoming aware of your surroundings. Last thing you remember was walking up the shoreline. Now the hardwood of the bench pokes at your back. Had you collapsed here? Or did Simeon carry you over? “I should have been more aware of the situation.” He pulls at his hair in frustration. His lower lip turns red as he worries it with his teeth.

You swat his hand away from his hair wincing in sympathy when a few chunks of hair that follow. Linking his dexterous fingers with your clammy ones, you trace the lines in his palm with your thumb. You try to breathe in time with the steady rise and fall of his chest letting your meds take full effect. Your breathing was better, but you still had spots in your vision. “It’s not your fault really. I should have told you when I started feeling bad.” 

“I should have noticed. How can I protect you if I can’t even realize your limitations?” He bemoans. You exhale a jerky laugh. Your lungs throbbing with the sharp movement. It ached for sure, but not enough that you couldn’t get up. Ignoring his protests you get off the bench and pull him up with you.  

“None of that!” You wag a finger in his face. I’m allowed to panic, not you. You try to make light of the situation but your finger trembles in his face.  “You did exactly what you should have so don’t doubt yourself. Sides’-” You clasp yours. hands together playing with your thumbs. “I got horribly distracted too, and pushed myself.” 

“By what?” 

“You.” Your cheeks heat in embarrassment. “ You were so excited to have the day with me I didn’t want to ruin the mood.”

Simeon blinks. “You-didn’t want to ruin the mood by telling me you were having an asthma attack?” You shrug, a childish smile crossing your face. Unbelievable. Simeon swears under his breath. “I-I am at a loss for words.” He places both his hands on your shoulders squeezing them. “I will find them later and then we'll talk about your amazing lack of self-preservation, but for now, Lucifer is waiting for us at the nurses' office.” Not giving you time to argue he scoops you up, arm holding you under your knees and securely around your shoulders.  Once he knew you were safe, he would make sure to have an eye on you at all times.

Solomon

The dusty old library located in the catacombs of the school was a dead giveaway to be trouble for your lungs. You both knew that. He warns you, the moment you feel ill they are leaving, no questions, no arguments. Very much the calmest of the three. He is human...mostly… so he knows the signs and can catch it much faster than the others. 

Still worried about you though. You aren’t a mage,  just his regular old human. 

When he gets nervous he makes jokes. Not appropriate given the circumstances but they just come out. So while he is dragging you from the school he is making the obligatory joke about him taking your breath away.

He will have whatever medications or potions he can think of at the ready for you to use if you need them. Won’t baby you or hover, you’ve lived with this for long he doesn’t want to insult you in any way. But he will keep close and have his ringer on loud in case you need him.

But now he wants you to rest and recover. He’ll keep you company though.

You gaze sleepily out of the bedroom window propped up on an exorbitant amount of puffs and pillows. You breathe out with caution, testing to see if you were still having any lingering effects from being down in the catacombs. It wasn’t anything too serious this time, thankfully. The moment you started clearing your throat and breathing just a little too hard to be considered normal, Soloman had grabbed both your bags and dragged you from the moldy and dusty space. You were a little put out at how quickly your asthma had acted up. You had just found the book you were looking for too. 

“If you keep squirming out of your blankets I’ll seal you in there with magic.” Your captor friend appears, pulling aside the drapes around his bed to sit next to you. He flashes you a cocky grin placing a tray on his bedside table. Solomon scans your face looking for any inkling of pain that might linger. “Is something wrong?”

“I’m hot.” You lie. In truth, the many blankets he wrapped you in felt marvelous, but you were being cantankerous. You wanted to get up and go back to work. The mage raises a pale brow, not believing a word of it.

“Of course you are, my little scholar.” He tucks you in again a little tighter then props your cocooned feet on his legs. “How are you really?” 

You shrug. Compared to other attacks you’ve had this one was thankfully mild.  Most likely because he had whisked you out the winding maze-like library faster than you thought possible. The jitters from the panic attack that followed took more out of you. Luckily for you, Solomon handled that easily too. “You know I want to go back.” You had your hands on the book you wanted when you started feeling a little breathless.  You wanted to believe it was out of excitement for the tomes. But the back of that section of the library was damp, cool, and dark. The perfect trifecta for your lungs to riot. 

Solomon nodded unfazed. “Yes, I’ve come to realize that whenever danger is present you seem to gravitate towards it.” He smiles fondly at your pout. Your thirst for knowledge was almost as insatiable as his, and both of you seemed to have a knack for attracting danger. He watches you fidget in your confines for a little bit more before sighing. “Alright-alright, I get the drift hold still.”  Leaning over you he loosens the covers around your arms to give you a little bit of freedom. As soon as you were free you pinch his nose hard in retaliation. “Oi!”  He laughs pulling back to rub at his nose. “Such violence! And here I came bearing gifts!” 

“That’s for insulting me!” You huff settling back down. “I hope it’s food, I’m starving.” You eye him expectantly. 

“Feed you? After that assault? My, you are brazing.” He picks up the tray he brought despite himself. The school cafe was serving your favorites today. Placing it on your lap he brushes his lips across your cheek. “Plus, I made tea.” You hum in excitement, eyes lighting up with glee. While he couldn’t cook worth a damn (you chalk it up to him irretrievably destroying his sense of taste and smell tolling over potions for years). He did have amazing luck with blending tea leaves and spices. A skill he severely took for granted. 

You pick up the tea and breath deeply only to have a coughing fit. His warm broad hands are there in an instant pushing you back into the pillows. “Sorry-sorry. Still a bit tender.” You smile through watery eyes. “It smells great!” 

“Does it? What do you smell? I admit, I just picked out things that looked pretty together.” He flushes pink rubbing at the back of his neck. 

You take the cup again and sniff. It had a hint of springtime in it, warm and sharp. Something earthy mixed with fire. You take a sip. “Hmm, spicy. Is that licorice?” Solomon nods. 

“It is indeed, I read that licorice and black pepper can help with asthma symptoms and circulation. I figured it could wash the  taste of your meds away.” He jokes watching you eat and take small sips of the steaming brew. He smiles to himself, glad you could get so comfortable in his room. Perhaps once you were dozing he could slip back into the library and conveniently “borrow” the book you had to leave earlier.