#SA Transcripts

[biglisbonnews]

Codere Online Luxembourg, S.A. (CDRO) Q2 2023 Earnings Call Transcript https://seekingalpha.com/article/4632546-codere-online-luxembourg-s-cdro-q2-2023-earnings-call-transcript

[faultfalha]

Welcome, shareholders, to Mettler-Toledo International Inc.'s Q2 2023 earnings call. Our Chairman and CEO, Dr. Dirk Mettler, will be leading today's call. Now, before we begin, I want to remind you that our remarks today will contain certain forward-looking statements. Actual results may differ materially from those projected, and we undertake no obligation to update any forward-looking statements. With that, I'll turn the call over to Dr. Mettler. Thank you, operator. As always, we appreciate your time and attention. Our second quarter results were in line with our expectations. We continue to see stable demand across our core markets, and we're making good progress on our key strategic initiatives. Looking ahead, we remain confident in our ability to deliver on our long-term growth targets. We're seeing a number of positive indicators, including the continued expansion of our product portfolio, the growing adoption of Industry 4.0 solutions, and the increasing demand for our services. Thank you, shareholders, for your continued support. And with that, I'll turn the call back over to the operator. Thank you, Dr. Mettler. As

[faunandfloraas]

fav skz // There's one more skill Felix and Chan also had to master- Something the Korean's call "Aegyo".

[heycrymeariver]

five and many more: a timeline summary

(For legal reasons, all of this is alleged.)

Ref. links: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

1984, is the first time Neil Gaiman released a book. 

In 1985, he got married and started his career as a comic book writer and in 1986, he assaulted Julia Hobsbawm.

This took place in Chalk Farm, London, where he forcibly kissed her and shoved her down on the sofa at her own studio flat before she escaped. According to The Crown Prosecution Service, “sexual assault is where one person intentionally touches another person sexually without their consent. The touching can be done with any part of the body or with an object.” In her own words, she described it as “an aggressive, unwanted pass” and that she still remembers it even now. 

Through 1987 and 2002 he progressed his career and published the famous book Coraline. A new year happens and he is in his early-forties and is thriving off of the success of his several money-making works, at a book signing event in Sarasota, Florida. There he hits it off with a young 18 year old (K) and they start dating. Two years later, in 2005, with two more awards under his belt, he forcibly penetrated that young twenty year old who told him not to because of a painful infection.

After another two years, he and his first wife divorced.

It's 2012, five years later and one year into a new marriage and at another book signing, Neil, age 52, immediately assaulted Claire (pseudonym) with a non-consensual kiss. Throughout keeping contact Neil had escalated this with video and phone calls that had a heavy sexual connotation where he appeared to either be naked or tried to instigate something. All of this accumulated into sexually assaulting her on a tour bus. Neil’s contact with her lasted until 2014 where he had promptly accused her in a text message that she had used him for sex.

Within the same year, Neil had enough money to buy a property, and met Caroline Wallner, 55, and her at-the time current husband. With a deal to do odd jobs for Neil and his wife to live there until she could own a five-acre plot, it wasn’t long before things turned sour. A divorce in 2017 sent everything spiraling, with her former husband fired, she in a once financially stable position, was now completely dependent on Neil Gaiman who used that to his advantage. Using her lack of financial stability to get himself sexual favors, he coerced her into a sexual-only, notably uninformed BDSM-entering territory while she was emotionally vulnerable, not accepting denials. This lasted until the summer of 2021, and in December of that year she and him went to court, what awaited her was $275k of compensation and a non-disclosure agreement (nda).

It wouldn’t take long for another woman to experience Neil Gaiman’s repeated offenses as well because in February of 2022, Scarlett (a pseudonym), age 23, a newly hired nanny, was sexually assaulted in the bathtub at his house. Neil, age 61, climbed into the bathtub with her and coerced her into having sexual relations. He too, in his coercion of her, made her financially dependent on him and brought BDSM elements to an inexperienced young woman who could not say no.

Since July 3rd of this year, 2024, five women have come out with sexual assault allegations aimed at Neil Gaiman. They all have several things in common with each other: either being young and naive, a fan of his, or put in a vulnerable spot financially or emotionally. Throughout the years and according to the stories, Neil progressively gets more bold and aggressive in his attempts for sexual gain. There are many more stories out there and whispers on the internet of how predatory Neil Gaiman has been in the industry. However, focusing on the five women who came out to speak and pushing their voice is an important part of the discussion.

Staying silent will only protect his peace.

(If you want to help keep this topic alive, please check out this post by @taraljc to see what steps you can take.)

[genderqueeradrien]

ive been thinking about this scene from criminal minds a lot recently

[phovaries]

phil: *bites glasses cuntily*

VIDEO TRANSCRIPT

D: Actually it’s the- the Japanese philosophy. Y’know it’s Wabi-Sabi.

P: Yeah.

D: It’s natural. The things that are organic- Nothing is perfect in nature.

P: Mmmhmm.

D: Ergo, the weirder your roof, the- the better.

P: Ergo.

D: It goes. Vie sa vie. Turtleneck.

[embracing-the-ineffable]

Beware clickbait accusations

Hi fandom, here's what happened yesterday: A reporter named Rachel Johnson, who is the sister to Boris Johnson and a big terfy supporter of JK Rowling, released a 4-part true crime podcast featuring two women accusing Neil Gaiman of SA. Yesterday. The day before the UK elections. This post explores the possible political links in more detail.

CW: this post is free of graphic details, but if you follow these links, there may be explicit descriptions of sex, kink, and bdsm, plus mentions of mental illness and suicidal thoughts.

I want to believe and support survivors, and I also want to base my thoughts and actions on facts. I thought the xitter livestream commentary from Not Becky for all 4 episodes was very insightful. There's also a first episode transcript without extra commentary. (Edit: released after I wrote this post: the full audio plus transcripts for all four episodes of the podcast are now available to download here, or you can read all four transcripts in your browser.) I have since concluded (pending more time to think and read and learn, or any new information, of course):

This seems like the worst kind of clickbait, an unjustified mess that will hurt everyone involved (except possibly a few politicians who might benefit somehow, we'll see). The evidence the "reporters" present directly contradicts their accusations. They're counting on people reading headlines and not digging any deeper.

They tried to make something sinister where there was apparently consent and a caring relationship. Have they exploited one or both of these women? S, in particular, is described as vulnerable and with a history of unspecified mental illness. They have all of the message history between S and Neil, and her messages make the sexy stuff between the two of them sound enthusiastically consensual. There are even messages (multiple!) where she specifically says everything was consensual. Here's one:

They're playing horror music in the background to try to make us feel horrified, even as S reassures us that things were consensual. It's emotional manipulation by the reporters.

The times S sounds upset during the interview are the times she talks about Neil leaving her behind or not paying attention to her. Not the times she talks about consent violations. Her stories during the interview are inconsistent, and they contradict her messages with Neil and with others. Maybe we'll get better information from a more reputable news source, or maybe not, I don't know. I also don't know why anyone who cares about her would have advised her to do this interview.

Then they tracked down lots of other women who know/have dated Neil and they all had glowing things to say, except one other lover from 20 years ago, K. She described some bad sex, and then pointed to a time in their 2-year relationship when she felt something wasn't consensual and he thought it was. And after their breakup, they continued to text and flirt, for decades.

This podcast "exposé" feels like explosive clickbait with political ramifications. The evidence here doesn't support a pattern of poor conduct so much as establish Neil as a fellow well-meaning human with imperfect judgement. That doesn't mean the accusations are all made up; intimate partner violence is complicated, and the responsibility for checking in and getting regular enthusiastic consent from partners is very real, especially when kink or bdsm are involved.

I don't know what the right balance is here between supporting survivors, thinking critically, assuming good intentions, and waiting for better information, but I feel confident that this podcast alone is not enough to condemn anyone aside from the irresponsible journalists who inflicted it on the rest of us.

PS/edit: I'm tagging my relevant posts (mostly reblogs) with #ineffable grief, and you can see all of them here.

[biglisbonnews]

Fosun International Limited (FOSUF) Q2 2023 Earnings Call Transcript https://seekingalpha.com/article/4632500-fosun-international-limited-fosuf-q2-2023-earnings-call-transcript

[faultfalha]

Welcome, shareholders, to Hexagon AB's (publ) (HXGBF) Q2 2023 earnings call. Our results are in line with expectations, and we are pleased to report that our growth trajectory remains on track. As always, our success is due to the hard work and dedication of our team. Hexagon's future is bright, and we remain committed to providing our shareholders with the best possible returns. Thank you for your time, and I look forward to answering your questions.

[thepinkdreamganjaqueen]

The Problem With Portals

Stiles Stilinski x Supernatural Fem!Reader

Masterlist 🩷

Summary: Y/N is new to beacon hills but not new to constantly having to move. She only hopes for temporary stability and kindness from others when her past begins to catch up with her as it always does. Will she explain herself to the boy she's gotten the attention of, or will she move again to avoid destruction? (Characters in college)

Warnings: SMUT, NSFW, 18+, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, piv, unprotected sex, breeding, begging, obsession, groping, angst, oral (m recieving), mentions of mental health struggles, mentions of violence, mentions of abuse, mentions of SA, mentions of NonCon, swearing, self-doubt, fem!reader, romantic smut, fluff

A/N: Coming back to rewatch MTV's Teen Wolf and falling in love with Stiles all over again so we had to do a smutty fic. It's heavily inspired by my love of fairy lore and cryptozoology as a whole... and of course... Stiles. Duh! Thinking of void Stiles as well. More to come, stay tuned. Please, enjoy!! And as always, i love all the support and appreciate all the interaction!! Cheers!

Word Count: 8k

THE PROBLEM WITH PORTALS

Walking into class late was the worst. You knew everyone's eyes would be drawn to you. Especially when you're the new girl, and not just the new girl, the creepy loner new girl with a sketchy checkered past who is also a supernatural being. So that's cool.

You could hear the other people snicker and whisper behind your back. The rumors they created in the absence of knowledge just basic human nature. They'd say you kept moving because you're violent, that you set your last school on fire, and that you were a killer. It wasn't your job to make them smarter, to explain yourself in any way. You liked it this way. If they thought you were unapproachable, it saved you time. No attention, no trouble. Trouble is what you've been trying to avoid, hence the reason you had to move. Again.

This was the second school this year. You had already grown tired of trying to make friends long ago after years and years, nor connections of any kind. There was no way for you to know if it was ever genuine anyway. Every man, student, and faculty member alike pined for you. The women hated you because their crushes and boyfriends' attention was always lured away. You were deemed a slut even though you never spent more than a few months at any school, not long enough to even get comfortable talking to someone let alone sleep with them. It was no fault of your own, just a by product of who you were.

Unfortunately for you, your secrets weren't as simple as the others had postulized. You wished you were "kicked out of your last school for inciting violence." However, that wasn't actually the case, just what's written on the transcripts. No, the male population went berserk fighting over who would get you as if you were a prize to be won. It caused a fire to erupt from the violence that ensued. The school was going to blame you anyway, but you moved once again due to the pressing dangers.

They were drawn to you, wanting to posses you. Their eyes void of emotion, just blank. You felt like you were being hunted every day of your life. No one could ever know or understand your truth. Your family wasn't like other families. You felt you stood out like a sore thumb. You did everywhere you went. Why would Beacon Hills be any different?

Your presence caused chaos amongst men. An incomprehensible obsession like a trance would take over, drawn helplessly to you. It led to trauma from your past. Men had tried to kidnap you, assault you, or worse, try to kill you if they couldn't have you. Always controlled by some unknown urge you didn't even understand. Friends, teachers, doctors, neighbors, if they were human, they couldn't resist your pull. It was a curse. You just wanted to be normal, to live a normal life. Have friends, go on dates, to know what it's like to have something in common with someone... anyone. Scarier even were the creatures that hunted those like yourself. Wanting to steal you vitality, your essence, and use you as a conduit between worlds. An ever-present fear.

Your mother had told you about the creatures of the woods and the woods themselves before her untimely passing, and the part it plays in your identity. "Y/N," she said. "We were born to the trees. We live our lives amongst them while we're here. That's why you love nature. it's within you as a nymph to be drawn home. The trees are the closest we can get for now. " She went on to explain that the reason why human men suffer this fatal attraction to them is because they are not of this realm. Their beauty alone is too powerful for this world. It's unnatural. The things a Fae is calable of here are just survival traits in their natural realm and too much for humans to bear. They are rendered helpless, weak, and unable to understand their urge. But the window to their plane was closed long ago. Your mother was long gone, no family to speak of. You only had your deity guardian. She spoke in riddles and had become increasingly weak to the point that you were now her caregiver. It was hard. She was all you had, all you knew, the only true protector. As a nymph cursed to the mortal coil, it caused so many divides in your life. You stopped trying to please anyone, stopped trying to have relationships, whether platonic or romantic. You did your best not to be perceived. Easier said than done when you are late to class and have to walk in front of everyone.

You walked down the aisle, avoiding prying eyes, holding your books close to your chest as you chose a seat near the back. It was only your first week here, and already you could feel this place was different. Still, your problems always seemed to follow. Not just the unwanted attention, but the missing time and missing memories, waking up in the woods, people disappearing, and the mushrooms and flowers that sprouted at your feet as you walked, creating cirlces in the mulch. You were always quick to make sure they never encirlced you. It always left you worse off, made you dizzy, feeling like you were torn between two worlds, neither here nor there. Still not truly understanding what it all meant.

As you took a seat in the back, an announcement came over the loud speaker. It said something about missing persons and the power of numbers and a possible curfew to be updated by the sheriff. It was starting again. Two boys sitting in front of you spoke in hushed voices in what seemed like a serious conversation. You couldn't help but overhear. "That's two this week, Scott!" The boy on the left said. "I told you it was something! But its different this time, theres no trace of them, its something new." He stole a glance looking over his shoulder, catching your gaze before returning to his conversation. You quickly shot your eyes down. He was remarkable. He had a lean build, brown hair with a buzz cut, and deep brown eyes that burned a hole through you. His friend he was talking to 'Scott' he had said was of similar height, more athletic build with longer black hair, you couldn't see his face yet. Something about him was darker, though. You could sense it. You twirled a pencil on the desk pretending not to listen. "Stiles! Something you'd like to share with the class?" The professor interrupted. The boy who caught your gaze, Stiles, the teacher, had said, shook his head and stammered unexpectedly. "Uh no, no." The professor turned back to their lecture as he again turned to his friend in a hushed voice."I did some research on portals, and we gotta figure this out, man. i have an idea. Later." he whispered. His friend looked over his shoulder. A smoldering gaze caught your eye before he turned back to Stiles and nodded in affirmation. The gazes felt targeted, but you couldn't be sure it was just your default thought as your own mechanism of protection against others. Class continued on without much excitement. You wondered to yourself, who those guys were, aside from their names, how did they expect to find the missing students? They had no idea what they were dealing with. Although, a noble effort, you hadn't even managed to figure this out yet, or you'd be able to maybe stay in one place.

You rushed out of the back doors, avoiding the crowds using the front. You wandered over to your favorite reading spot for respite amongst the trees that lined the field. You walked past the lacross team, filling the open space. Equipment strewn everywhere as they practiced. You noticed two familiar faces from class earlier. Stiles and Scott were on the field. You sat in a pile of leaves, quickly encircled by oily caps, and babies' breath starting at your feet. You didn't mind. You were distracted today. The woods were a buzz, leaving your skin tingling. You couldn't lie to yourself, stiles had a certain air about him. Something you couldn't quite define, but drew you in nonetheless. You tried to shake the thoughts out of your head as you picked up your book but found yourself watching him again.

Of course, you always wanted a relationship, some kind of connection. Craved it for years and years, but it was never real. It was lonely. As much as you would push yourself from the thought and remiss to just being ok alone, a part of you still yearned for companionship for a somewhat social life in any form. What it must be like to have someone who sees you for you, who knows who you are in your heart and not what they see or can't understand. You watched as they one by one took turns shooting goals. Something about him, you thought. He looked at me but didn't see through me. His eyes didn't immediately glaze over into that half lidded trance of a stare. But he was human, you thought, what kind of human could resist that urge. You felt a mixture of shame and interest, wanting to know more, wanting to know why. You caught Stiles looking in your direction quite often. You chuckled when the coach called him out on it, demanding, "Keep your eyes on the prize, Stilinski, or you'll be back on the bench!" He seemed unphased by the coaches words only a quick head nod before pulling his mask back down and turning to aim.

After a while of watching, you were able to find the strength to zone out in your book. You were unsure how long you had been there, but the sun had already begun to set over the lining of the trees. You gathered your book bag and started making your way off the field. There were still a few people from the game lingering on the field as you neared to pass. You saw the two you had been watching from class earlier. Scott was sitting down on a bench, removing his safety gear while Stiles stood in front of him, holding his helmet with one hand and wildly gesturing with the other. Scott looked up to see you heading in their direction, book in hand clutched to your chest. He looked at Stiles and motioned toward you. Stiles immediately shot a look back and turned back to his friend. They both stopped speaking and watched as you passed. It made you feel nervous, but they didn't follow. You were thankful yet perplexed. Unusual behavior, not typical of what you were used to. It was nice in a way, but it made you question things a little more deeply.

Upon arrival at your home, you went to check on your guardian. She was in her room in a chair facing the window. She was like this every day. You thought you would try and speak with her today. Maybe get some answers about this place. "The woods here feel different." You spoke. "They feel electric almost, everytime i step within them, my skin buzzes and mushrooms and flowers grow around me, but not like before, the windows open right away! It's like, theres a power here I can sense but can't see. What is this place? Why did we move here?" You asked, hoping to get answers and not riddles. Something with meaning, something tangible bit knowing you wouldn't. "We came for the trees, dear." She said blissfully. "The trees and water that run through the woods in Beacon Hills is special to us. Revitalizes us and invigorates our true being. Beacon Hills is a place of much power. It draws to all supernatural creatures alike." She said without ever looking away from the window. "The claws, teeth, and scales of this place do not fear us. Isn't it nice?"

Your jaw nearly dropped. She spoke in a way that actually made sense to you. No riddles, full sentences. Her posture remained the same as well as the look on her face. But something was different. Perhaps it was the trees, perhaps it was this place? A hot spot for the supernatural? Was it somewhere you could stay? Where people weren't affected by us? As if reading your mind, she spoke once more. "They are the only ones who can tolerate us. Them, and sometimes those close to them who have opened themselves up to our world and have been touched by the other side. We still deal with present dangers from typical humans, so it's best to still keep a distance." The conversation ended abruptly with your guardian motioning to her bed. You helped her in, watching her gaze never leave the window.

You wished her a good night and headed to your room. Your mind weighed heavily on what she had said. Still, it changed nothing. People were still going missing. You knew it was because of the fairy rings that sprouted at your feet in the woods. It created the windows, the overlap of worlds, and people were walking in and not coming out. You didn't know how to stop it, never did. If this place was truly a supernatural persons territory. Perhaps there were those more knowledgeable than you on this. Perhaps there were others like you, nymphs who understood and controlled their reality, lest your guardian really started communicating. Something you didn't count on.

Your rest was tinged with excitement and anxiety. You could use this information to deduce who was a supernatural and who wasn't in a way. All you had to do was see how people reacted to your presence. It was all in the eyes. Those two boys in class, they had barely paid any attention to you, and your mind wondered what they could be. What kind of creatures inhabited Beacon Hills? Were they fae friendly? What if they found out the recent disappearances were because of you? How would they react? Would they help, or would they hunt you as well?

This morning, you skipped reading and headed straight for class sitting in the back again. As students poured in the class, you looked for the faces you had become familiar with but only saw one. Stiles entered and threw his bag down on the seat next to him in front of you. You pretended not to notice as he stole glances at you over his shoulder. You were in class, but he was studying you, your every move. As uncomfortable as this made you, it was nice as it wasn't paired with the crazy eyes that usually came with those glances. He seemed nice, a welcome feeling.

The professor announced that everyone needed to pair up. This was the worst. You would obviously rather work alone. Before even looking up from your textbook, the boy in front of you 'Stiles' turns around and speaks to you. "Wanna team up? Names Stiles by the way, " he said while turning in his seat and leaning a hand out over the back. You glanced at his face, then to his hand. A look of bewilderment must have crossed your face and been obvious as he immediately shrunk down and pulled his hand back, tightening his lips and shaking his head, mumbling something under his breath.

You had never seen reactions like this from men. They were always so confident in their approaches to you, running off pure pride with a gluttonous need for you. They way he acted was endearing. You felt your face soften as you tried to respond. "Im sorry, im just not used to people being nice to me. Im Y/N. You want to come sit here or me there?" He nearly fell out of seat at the words, frantically scrambling to grab his books and backpack to sit next to you. He did so in a huff before pulling his seat close and settling. You watched in amusement as he picked up items that fell in his haste. He was cute. You felt a smile touch your lips. How long had it been since you could smile? You thought.

After he had sat, he turned to you, saying, "I find it hard to believe no one's nice to you." he said in an awkwardly flirtacious way. "Really?" You say. "Have you not heard what people say about me? How certain people look at me?" His face went blank, and he looked away as if thinking of a response. He stammered. "Well, I think some people are bored... and being new and so uh... yeah... uh yeah, they're just you know, dumb." A smile crossed your face. "Wow, truer words have never been spoken," you chuckled sheepishly.

You two spent the rest of class working on an electrophoresis lab stealing glances at each other. The casing kept leaking buffer. You joked about the electric current, possibly shocking you, knowing it wouldn't. Electricity acted differently around you. Still, he took the lead, sensing your apprehension masked as a dark joke and carefully connected the currents. It was straightforward and pretty simple after that, yet you struggled with measurements for whatever reason. Perhaps it was molecule size. No matter what you thought. His presence was reassuring. He spoke kindly to you. You found yourself wanting to scoot closer but holding back. He was adorable, the way he focused when working sticking his tongue out as his thoughts coalesced into words on a page. You watched in admiration. You haven't liked a guy like this in so long, always avoiding that potential pain, not wanting to put yourself or others in danger again. There was just something different about him.

"So, i heard you talking with your friend yesterday about the missing students. What do you think happened?" His eyes widened, and you immediately felt intrusive. "Yeah, you uh, heard that, huh? Well, it's been sort of an 'ongoing' issue. My friends and I are just trying to get to the bottom of it before it's one of us, " he said while tapping his pencil to the desk, head cooked, and a thousand yard stare. "I hope you find them." You spoke thoughtfully in a hushed tone. You felt the weight of your words as they left your lips. You felt terrible, but knew there was nothing you could do except maybe move again. But you were starting to like it here. That was always the way it went. Even if this place did feel different.

You watched him, his mannerisms. Trying to figure out what he was, how he withstood the urge so many have around you. He fawned over you. Sure, you could tell he had an attraction. You could see it in how you made him act, how he reacted to you and around you. You had gotten really good at reading people. He was a bit harder to read just because you weren't used to this behavior, so far from the norm you had adjusted to for so long. After having dealt with false attraction many times before, you could tell he was genuine. This is just how he was. Silly, awkward, caring, and kind. It was refreshing. It almost felt unreal, the conversation flowed, and there were no innuendos or comments about your body or beauty. It was like a breath of fresh air. He was boisterous and cracked jokes. His humor dry, sometimes dark. You found yourself laughing, actually laughing with him. He was sweet, funny, charismatic even, and his smile made you melt.

It was tricky, knowing your nature, you could be just as entranced with the humans as they were with you, however dangerous it could be. But you could feel your longing within you like a being of its own, inhabiting your mind, body, and spirit. Begging for the day to see the light. That day so far, has not come. With age, that desire only grew, causing friction within the confines of your own mind.

The bell rang, and you gathered your things when his voice spoke out. "Hey, do you wanna come over after school today and study? Maybe work on some of this stuff? I could uh, really use the help." You examined his expression, feeling uneasy and not fully trusting his intentions. Yet, you found yourself nodding in agreement despite your ever-present worries and fears. His face remained as it did when he asked you, eye brows raised, lips parted, awaiting your response as he shifted his books in his hands and straightened his backpack straps. "Yeah? Ok, yeah." He said in surprise. "I live just a block over from you. Meet me after school?" A block from me? How did he know, did he follow you yesterday? You shrug your shoulders, pushing your thoughts back. "Sure sure," you mumble. As if sensing your trepedation, he blurted out, "My dads the sheriff. So, you dont have to worry or anything... if you are... worried," he fidgeted, turning his head rubbing his face in frustration as if he embarrassed himself. He avoided eye contact with you, and stammered when he spoke to you, perhaps your presence did make him uncomfortable, but it was in a way you haven't seen before, not in any type of hypnotized state. It intrigued you. You found yourself excited at the thought of a friend possibly, maybe more?

It felt intimate. He was inviting you to his home. Just you two. Was this a date? You'd never been on one, never being asked sincerely, so you always declined. It's easier to avoid disappointment, right? Especially if it could have led to your potential assault or possible death. There were creatures out there that wanted to kill people like you. Something you still didn't fully understand but remained aware of that potential danger. No one has ever wanted to spend time with you other than to possess you. You had to see what it was like and took full advantage of that opportunity. You thought, why not? His dads the sheriff, what's the worst that could happen? You didn't finish that thought because you already knew but hoped for a better outcome this time.

Stiles had handed you a folded note with four numbers scrawled across the inside. His home address he lamented. "Look for the blue jeep," he said as you left for home. You wanted to drop some things off before heading over. Make yourself presentable. You never wanted nor ever needed to dress any other way than comfortable. You weren't even sure you had anything that could be considered cute or attention getting. You changed, opting for a pair of black joggers, white sneakers, and a white tank top. The only thing you had that was somwhat revealing, but only in the way it fit your shape and peeked out with a bit of cleavage. Everything you owned was to avert the male gaze. You felt bold wearing it. You felt actually comfortable, not like the loose fabric you normally hung from your slender frame. You threw on a black pullover hoodie to cover yourself. Force of habit, plus, there were still people outside your home you would rather avoid. Knowing that loose clothing was a ruse, truly no one even needed to look at you to be pulled into your gravity. If you were close to them, they felt they needed you.

You walked over, breathing shallowly, not knowing what to expect, but a feeling of anticipation laced each step you took until you reached his front door. You reach a hand up while your mind second guessed whether you should be doing this or not. Your knuckles rapped on the wood four times. You took a step back to wait. You could hear Stiles somewhere inside yelling he was coming, followed by running steps that got louder as they crashed towards the door. The door swung open inwards, Stiles stood with his arm extended, out of breath but smiling.

You timidly raise a hand in a shy wave, feeling like you interruped him in the middle of something. "H-Hey. Come in." He led you through a hall to a room in the back on the left. His room presumably. He stepped in first clutching papers and books off the surface of his discheveled looking bed. "Sorry, I was trying to clean this all up before you got here," he said while trying to collect all the items at once. "That's ok," you respond. "Wow, you really do study a lot, huh?" You said. There were school books on his bed as to be expected, but there were a few interesting choice books you observed him quickly put away out of your view on a shelf behind him. "Weird World Compendium, Cryptozoology 101, and one titled Lycanthropy." Surely he didn't get those from the library. Perhaps it was some sort of project. You tried not to think too hard about it after what your guardian had said. This place was supernaturally charged. Maybe some humans were interested in that sort of thing. Although in your experience it's always been a topic that's more hush-hush.

You sat cross-legged in the spot on his bed he had cleared off and smoothed over for you. Settling in and opening your backpack to bring out your notebook. He sat next to you on the opposite side of the bed, legs outstretched as he placed a book and notes in his lap, searching through the papers. While he gathered his notes, you took the time to take off your hoodie, lifting your arms to pull it up off over your head. It pulled your hair tie out in the process. When you pulled it off fully, your hair covered your face, falling in long locks about your face. You brushed them away, smoothing your hair back as it fell to the sides of your face. You looked for your scrunchie in your hoodie where it must've gotten tangled. When you found it and went to put it on your wrist, you looked up to see him staring at you. A perplexed look tinged with want. It's as if he was looking at a beautiful deadly creature. Scared, yet highly intrigued. You watched his eyes scan your body until he met your eyes, and immediately, he turned beet red. You could feel your face flush as well. Both of you averted your gaze. Too self concious to address the tension in the air. So you both continued on studying like nothing happened. Engaging in light conversation and school talk. The actual studying only lasted a half hour.

You two went over your notes together quickly and then started talking. A few things that caught your attention that he said were about the woods, something about the history of the woods in Beacon Hills, super vague. Although he was cryptic as well, like there was some truth he was holding back. He asked about your move and why you chose Beacon Hills, "the weirdest place you could have chosen," he'd said. You told him your family who you stayed with moved a lot for work. A lie. You had no family, just your guardian, that and you would never truly divulge the reasoning. You'd sound insane to any somwhat sane person. Stiles seemed to be a sane person, a very hyperactive one, and a total smartass, but sane nonetheless. You enjoyed his energy, really, so you didn't want him not to like you. A thought you've never thought before. Perhaps he knew more than he let on. After all, he did talk about helping his friends find the people that went missing. You knew he wouldn't even know where to start unless he had some sort of supernatural inkling. Perhaps that's why he was able to still remain himself around you.

You stood to stretch, arching your back and sliding your hands down your backside as you did, trying to crack out a few knots from sitting on the bed. There was a large empty whiteboard in his room that was pretty hard to miss. Curiosity stole your attention away from him as you wanted to see what was on the other side, if anything. As he went to put his notes away, he looked up to see you flip the board. It was covered in intertwined strings, pictures, and what looked like newspaper clippings. It looked like complete chaos. You stepped closer to observe the images only to see a picture of you, images of the fairy rings, and old articles from schools you attended in the past. "Teen incites crowd violence at UNI leading to fire," one had read. Another stated, "At risk youth terrorizes fremont school district and local community" and "Local youth suspected in missing peoples case and 10 year cold case involving family disappearance." mentally, you remark at the headlines. They were all about you, your past, and they were not only wrong and super sensationalized, but outright mean you thought.

A look of worry and lost hope immediately plagued your features. Survival instinct kicked back in, and you were immediately aware of the bad decision you had made. Your heart began to race, and your palms got clamy. You could feel a low humm of electricity burning from within. He knew it was you, how easily you fell for it this time. Shame and fear filled the pit in your stomach. Stiles saw you remarking at his 'crime board'. He immediately went to try and grab the articles off to cover the evidence he had infact been following you. Researching your past. Why? Did he want you dead like some? The thoughts raced through your mind in a blur of negativity. Is that why he was asking the questions he was? Realistically, and even more painful, was the realization that he knew it was you or had something to do with you. The reason people were missing people he knew.

"No, no no no. It's not what it looks like. Just. Just let me explain," he insisted. You had turned to him with the article stating, "Menace linked to missing people," with tears welling in the corners of your eyes. It felt like betrayal. These feelings you were so used to and built yourself up to avoid, here again. Because you dropped your guard! "What are you?" You asked. "How are you like this? Are you a satyr? A changeling?!" You all but screamed at him. Fear, clear, and present in your voice. You were scared and hurt. He stood frozen looking at you, mouth agape. He tried to speak, unable to find the words. How could he be shocked at your reaction, you thought. The evidence was here, all of it, his research on you and the "portals" he talked to his friend about. It was embarrassing, demoralizing, and hurtful. "Uh-im..im a human being," he spoke in a broken sentence, unsure how to respond to that question. Human? How? How could he be, knowing what he knows? You look up from the article in your hand, tears streaming down your cheeks. Presented with everything you had tried so hard to get away from. "Why did you invite me here?" You spoke through breathy gasps. "I thought for once someone actually liked me. So I'll just go," you said in a hushed breath. You dropped the paper and turned for the door when you felt his hand on your arm.

"Dont go." He said defeatedly. You turned to face him, to confront him. "I-I do like you. Okay? I do. I just didn't know how to say it, to tell you, i'm scared." He said, stepping closer to you and grabbing your shaking hands. "Please let me explain." You looked up at him examiningly. Taking stock of his features, observing his body language. He appeared to be truly apologetic, especially when confronted with your tears. You quickly wiped them away, no weakness to be seen. "You do?" You said, seeking his validation and reassurance. "Why?" You asked. The question perplexed him. Why wouldn't anyone like you? They all did, well, only in that possessive way.

"Why?" He repeated, chuckling nervously as you tried holding his gaze. He would look down, then back seeing you were still looking into him."Yeah, why? You see all this about my past. People are disappearing around me, right? Why would you like me at all?" You questioned him. "Look, I can tell you put on a hard front, but when we were working together, I could see that wasn't who you were. I was cautious sure, a lot of crazy stuff happens here, you have no idea. I'm just trying to help my friends, I thought what I was doing was right, and I thought you could help." he said candidly. He spoke calmly and directly, unlike his usual cadence, taking your feelings seriously. "So what did you find out?" You ask him, gesturing to the board. Tone still firm yet softening. "That you're not what people say you are. That you are not those articles. And yes, youre fucking gorgeous". He gestured at you. "but youre kind, and... good."

His words poured over your fresh wounds like a pain killer. Numbing the hurt, a lovely feeling. You looked him in the eyes, a gaze he returned purposefully. "Im sorry i hurt you, it wasn't my intention, and I will take all the time you need to explain everything, you desrve that." The words he spoke were foreign to you. An apology. Bare minimum, but something you've never received in all your past traumas. Not once did anyone take the time to validate and quell your negative feelings they caused.

Without thought and acting upon pure emotion, you leaned in and kissed him. Pressing your lips hard to his. You pull away just as quickly. Too forward, too much you think to yourself. What have you done? You look to observe his face his reaction. His eyes still closed, and his lips still perched. After a moment, realizing you pulled away, he opens his eyes and looks down at you. Letting go of your hands he steps forward to you once more, leaving no space between you. He grabs your face a palm on either cheek and pulls you in for another kiss. Returning your affections heartily.

He pushes himself against you, holding your face in his hands as your lips continue to collide, tongues roaming and exploring, teeth clashing as he breathes heavily through his nose. A soft moan escapes your mouth as you bring your arms around his neck. He then slid his hands behind your back, pulling you closer to him. You reveled in his embrace. It's so warm and inviting. There was no pressure, no obsession. It felt natural, a feeling never shared with a human before, or any being for that matter you thought.

Something came over you, or rather melted away. The fear, the worry about being around him, all but vanished in his embrace. It didn't feel forced or like possession. Just pure chemistry. Your kiss led you to the edge of his bed where your knees buckled and you fell backward. You grabbed Stiles' hand, pulling him on top of you. He was clearly nervous but happy and more than willing to participate, his breathing was fast, hands shakey as he placed one on the side of your shoulder and grabbed under your thigh with the other raising your leg up.

He spread your legs apart with his knees, scooting closer. He continued kissing you, circling your toungue with his. The electricity in your core buzzed furiously beckoning to you in unintelligible whispers. Everything spun out of control so quickly. His hands roaming your body, lightly caressing your abdomen, sliding his fingers underneath your top. His fingers left traces of vibration on your skin. You wondered if he could feel it, too. The exhiliration filled your senses, taking over rational thought as your hands roamed his body. You could feel the stillness in his pants as your soft movements brushed up against him, eliciting small gasps of breath through his teeth.

He stopped suddenly, pulling away. You looked on pleadingly, searching his face for a reason. His face was soft as he expressed concern. "Only if you want this," he said. You nodded almost as he spoke, sitting up on your elbows and meeting him with another kiss. "I do, please," you said with eybrows raised and puffy glistening lips. He relaxed and leaned into the kiss once more, pushing himself against you.

You put both hands under his sweater. He quickly shrugged it off his head, pulling it from his shoulders. You lifted up your tank top, sliding it off as he did, then unhooked your bra, dropping it to the floor next to the bed carlessly. When he looked back down, a smile curled on his lips before biting them and returning to kissing you. He took a moment to bury his face between your breasts, inhaling you deeply before using his tongue to lap at your hardened nipples, the cold air on your wet skin making you shiver under his touch.

The heat rising in your body matched the warmth in your psyche. A true gentleman he had been. Asking for consent was unheard of for you. Most just took what they wanted, turning you off of the whole idea of intimacy. But Stiles was different. You felt yourself softening under his touch. His words soothed the darkest corners of your abused mind.

His body was ridgid and warm against your torso. You could feel goosebumps rise across the flesh you touched upon his back. He quivered with every embrace. Your hand slipped down to his waistband, where his belt sat. You slip a finger just inside, trailing it against his skin left to right as you gently tug. He meets your gaze, and you smile up at him innocently. He quickly stood once more, chucking off his shoes carlessly. One landed on his desk, and the other hit the wall. You chuckled lightly. He was so eager. As he gathered his bearings to pull his pants down, you grabbed hold. "Let me," you say while grabbing his hands. He nodded in agreement, running his fingers through your hair as he curiously watched.

You undo his belt and pull the strap through each belt loop until it hits the floor, followed by the button, then the zipper until you pulled down his pants to reveal him. His boxers stood tented. He sucked in a breath as you slid the pants over his length. You could see partially through the hole in the boxers that his hardness exaggerated, almost poking out. You removed them carefully, sliding them down to the floor. His length stood at full attention and laid against his abdomen, a burning red. You run a hand over his chest, moving down and tracing the lines on his hips that led to his cock. He twitched under your touch, so did his cock. Perhaps it tickled.

You looked up at him as you claimed him, holding him firm within your grasp. His hands moved to the back of your head where he gathered your hair into one hand. You watched his reaction as you ran your tongue across the tip, collecting the precum that had coated him. His jaw dropped as he gasped at your intimate touch, eyes watching in awe as you took him into your mouth. You circled your tongue around his head before pushing further down, forcing him past your lips. Coming up and then forcing him down again, stretching your throat and causing you to gag. Tears streamed down your face as he began pushing you further onto him, wrapping your hair in his fist as his other hand held lightly under your chin, caressing your throat. He met every movement of yours with his own thrust. Drool began seeping from the corners of your mouth before dripping down your chin and onto your chest.

He pulled your head back, his hand still intertwined in your hair. His other hand grabbed your chin, using his thumb to wipe the drool from your face. He then slid his finger into your mouth, rubbing your tongue and pushing on it before moving his other finger inside, shoving them in and out of your mouth as you helplessly looked up at him. You heard a low hum form in his chest before he placed both hands on your shoulders, pushing you down gently. You follow his lead, sliding back just enough to give him space to put his knees between you.

Stiles scooted between your legs, using his hands to grip the seam of your panties and pull them downward and off of your legs. Slipping them so softly off of your body, placing them on the bed beside him. He then grabbed your hips, pulling you flush against him, his length stood at your entrance. Pushing against your slit, covering him in your slick as he leaned in for a kiss.

You prop yourself onto your elbows, meeting his lips with your own. His length throbbing against you, you found yourself slowly grinding against it. Wanting him more than you've ever wanted anyone in your life ever. The passion and intesnse pressure burning you from within. You felt a deep pressure well within you, an unstoppable urge to fulfill.

You wrap your legs around him, pulling him closer, feeling him nearly penetrate you. A soft moan escaped your lips as he reached down and guided himself to you. Slowly forcing his way in. As he pushed himself inside, your walls began to grip him. "Fuuuck," he whispered. He had to push harder as you tried to accept him. You cry out, and he looks at you with concern. "No, it's ok, feels sgood" You manage to speak in broken words as he begins to slowly thrust himself in and out of you. His eyes watched you almost with fascination as you squirmed beneath him, meeting every thrust of his with your own bucking motion. Wanting more. You felt the room get lighter. Everything took on a hazy ethereal glow with flickers of light that looked like stars as he pounded into you, increasing his speed and strength with every thrust.

Each push, sending you closer and closer over the edge. You looked him in his eyes as he shoved himself heartily into you. Pawing at your breasts, squeezing the flesh through his balmy hands. Small breathy moans would escape his trembling lips. You pulled his face close to yours, gazing into eachothers eyes as he filled you. Marveling at his expressions, how his face tightened with every thrust, how he gritted his teeth and persed his lips. He kissed your chest and neck, causing you to moan loudly from sheer lust.

He had reached for your panties that lay beside him, crumpling them up and stuffing them in your mouth. "My dad will be home soon, we have to be quiet," you nodded, letting him know you understood. You were being very loud after all. No fault of your own, just the sounds he elicited out of you from the pleasure he provided. He began pounding furiously, you cried out in muffled moans behind your soaked panties. Looking up at him as he continued with eyes of want.

Your body felt light, like you were floating. His eyes never left your face as he grunted softly with each push. Your skin tingled and buzzed with vibration, nothing you have ever felt before. He watched as your eyes beamed light from within, a sparkling like a galaxy within your pupils. A buzzing concentrating in your back and shoulders. You could feel it slowly lift from your skin as what looked like stars erupted from your shoulders glittering behind you into the bed sheets and filling room, hovering in ace.

You pull the panties from your mouth, tossing them somewhere within the room. Waves of pleasure began crashing over you as you approached your climax. Stiles remained streadfast, unabated by your sudden supernatural display. "S-Stiles, im gonna cu," you gasped. "Please, dont st-stop," you pleaded, looking deeply into his eyes. His face was a look of pure concentration, grimacing with every thrust that filled you. Your body began to shudder beneath him. His cock trembling and twitching within you as ropes of his essence spasmed within you with every forceful push. Your orgasm bringing him to his own. You wrapped your legs tighter around him as your body convulsed, your walls contracting around his pulsating length. You could feel his warmth fill you as his eyes rolled back and a low deep moan coalesced from his throat. Stiles' room, for a brief moment when your orgasm was most intense, had been glowing, all you could see was him, behind him was almost otherworldly.

The room had filled with the stars that emenated from your shoulder blades. Flickering and twinkling out one by one. They shined like small spheres of light, emitting streams of light out in every direction before fading into what looked like the flicker of a flame and dissapating completely. You had never seen this before, a shock to you, and you were sure it'd shock Stiles, too, if he wasn't already preoccupied. You're sure you'd have to explain later... if you could find the words.

Stiles lay on top of you, exhausted and breathing heavy. You lightly caressed his head he again shivered under your touch and smiled, eyes closed against your chest. You watched as his head rose and fell with each breath you took. "Y/N," he sofly spoke, a large grin painting his face. "You're so beautiful," he said euphorically. "Best sex ever," he said as he slipped off you and lay beside you. You giggled at his rhetoric. "So, I feel like there's something you want to tell me." He spoke once more. How could you even begin to explain what happened when you weren't quite sure yourself. You've never had this happen, but you've also never had consensual sex that you initiated. There was still so much to learn about yourself and what you were.

"Well, if you've got time, I guess I'll just start from the beginning. Starting with me being a Nymph," you said hesitantly. His eyes widened slightly, staring at you in disbelief, "A nymph! Like a fairy deity... Nymph?!" He stammered. "Why didn't I think of that?" he said jokingly to himself. "Uh yeah, I guess, I really dont know much about it, though. I didn't even know I could do... that" you said. "But I'll tell you everything I know. I'll help you find them if I can. I promise," you declared. He looked on, eyes half lidded. "I had sex with a god," he said, staring at you, ignoring everything else you said. You looked into his eyes as he searched yours, moving a strand of hair away from your face. "You'll have to tell me more when the blood rushes back from other areas," he said playfully. "Ok, one more thing though, they're called windows, not portals." You said tongue in cheek. "Really? What's the problem with portals?" he jested, kissing your forhead.

[redroomreflections]

Paint It Black Chapter Seven

Teen Natasha Romanoff x Teen Reader

Masterlist | General Masterlist

Summary: Natasha Romanoff has never known love—or at least, that’s what she tells herself. During her time in the Red Room, she encountered a girl whose memory was forcibly erased from her mind. Now, as an Avenger, she faces a new enemy who turns out to be more than just a threat; they share a tangled history that challenges everything Natasha thought she knew about herself and love.

Chapter Summary: Natasha learns that she and R aren't friends

W/c: 3.9k

Warnings: This is a dark story, so read at your own risk. Mentions/hints of SA, violence, guns, and abuse. We're exploring the Red Room and Natasha's origins, kind of.

The car was too quiet. The sound of tires gliding along the pavement of I-95 was barely a whisper.

In the backseat of the large sedan, Natasha blinked slow and groggy. Her head leaned against the cool window, hair splayed against her forehead and a faint line of condensation where her breath had touched the glass. She attempted to orient herself.

It was still night. Or was it early morning? It was too dark to tell. Natasha was vaguely aware that the car was moving, and the driver seemed to be navigating. But where were they going? Natasha closed her eyes again. She was so tired, but she forced her mind to review the details of the last few hours, the last few days.

"Hey, are you awake?" You whispered from somewhere beside her.

Natasha opened her eyes again, this time blinking at you. She sat up straight, her hand twitching toward her side instinctively. No weapons. No harness. No blindfold. From what she could see, you looked different. Dressed in a simple black zip-hoodie, pleated plaid skirt, and a pink backpack at your feet. You sat with perfect posture, eyes trained forward, and hands folded neatly in your lap like you’d always known how to be still.

“Morning,” you said. Your voice—no accent. Just pure, effortless American.

It was jarring.

Natasha blinked again. “Where—”

“We’re almost there.” You kept your tone light, like girls on a school trip. “It’s not far. Do you want the briefing now or once we’re inside?”

Natasha’s eyes flicked to the front seats.

The man driving looked mid-40s, tall, clean-shaven. Sunglasses. The woman in the passenger seat had cropped hair and flawless skin. She tapped something on a map and didn’t look back.

“They’re with us,” you murmured. “Their names for this mission are Ken and Karen. I know.” You smirked a little, almost like it amused you. “They do black ops usually, but Dreykov wanted them on this one. You’ll be playing my best friend from boarding school. Your name is Lizzie. You’re here on vacation with my parents for spring break.”

Natasha’s brow furrowed. “Why Lizzie?”

“Because you look like a Lizzie,” you said simply. “And because someone already took Emma.”

You didn't smile, but there was a glimmer of humor in your voice. Something that sounded almost like an inside joke.

Natasha's mind reeled. It had been so long since she was outside the Red Room's walls. And she had never been to New York City.

You turned your head slightly, watching the highway pass by. “We’re staying in a penthouse overlooking Central Park. Karen has documents in her bag—IDs, school transcripts, letters from ‘friends’ back home. Our goal this week is to observe and record. Target details will come after dinner. First, we act like normal kids.”

Natasha studied you. Your voice. Your confidence. You sounded like a girl from Connecticut, not a girl raised in shadows.

“Have you done this before?” she asked.

You nodded once. “Yeah. A few times.” A pause. “It’s been a while, though.”

The man driving glanced at you in the mirror. “We’re one hour out.”

Natasha didn’t have to ask what that meant. The change was immediate.

You leaned into the seat, your expression relaxed. The lines on your forehead softened, and you slumped your shoulders just a bit.

She wasn't ready for this mission. She barely understood the objective.

But you did.

*****

The revolving doors spun you into a quiet lobby of marble and air conditioning. The lobby was sleek and minimalist as if it were designed not to be remembered. The floors were polished and reflected the soft yellow lighting from above. There was a citrus smell wafting in the air. It certainly wasn't the most expensive apartment building in New York, but it beat the Red Room any day. You walked over to one of the couches, your backpack slung low on your shoulders, as you plopped onto the soft cushions. You grabbed last month's cover of Seventeen Magazine and flipped through it curiously.

Natasha stayed a step behind, shoulders relaxed but alert. She wore a light hoodie and sneakers, her hair tied back like any twelve-year-old on a family vacation.

At the front desk, Karen leaned forward with a practiced laugh, chatting with the doorman as she lived there. Because she did, she’d been building this life for months. Ken stood nearby, keys in hand, nodding like a man who’d just flown back from a conference in San Diego.

The doorman greeted you like old friends.

“Glad to see you back, Mrs. Porter,” he said.

“Thank you, Paul,” Karen replied warmly. “This is our daughter Emma and her friend Lizzie. They're back from boarding school for the week. Girls, say hello."

You glanced up from the magazine. You gave a polite wave. "Hi, Mr. Paul."

Paul smiled kindly. He looked at Natasha. "I hope you have fun this week, Miss Lizzie."

"Thank you," she said.

The elevator dinged.

As Karen and Ken stepped over to it, Ken glanced meaningfully at the suitcases. “Ladies?”

Natasha moved to grab two of them. You didn’t budge.

Karen turned sharply. “Emma,” she said—your alias. “What did we talk about?”

You blinked slowly like a teen dragged into something you didn’t care about. “Ugh, fine.” You tugged a small bag half-heartedly.

Natasha didn’t miss the flicker of annoyance in Karen’s eyes before the mask slipped back into place. The act mattered. Every detail. Every look.

Inside the elevator, you leaned casually against the mirrored wall while Natasha stood beside you, bags in hand.

“You’re good at this,” Natasha said quietly.

You shrugged. “You get used to it.”

There was a pause, which felt too big for the space you were in.

“You sound different,” Natasha added.

You gave her a sideways look. “You mean American?”

“You sound like someone else.”

You smiled—but it didn’t reach your eyes.

"Isn't that what we are?" you said.

The doors opened with a soft chime.

Natasha felt a strange weight on her chest, and she wasn’t sure what it meant.

*****

The penthouse was massive—three bedrooms, floor-to-ceiling windows, and a view of Central Park that stretched out like a painting. Natasha had never seen anything like it. Everything gleamed as if it had never been touched, as if the air was filtered and expensive.

The kitchen was fully stocked and spotless. The master bedroom had a tub big enough to swim in. It didn’t feel like a safe house. It felt like a life that didn’t belong to people like you.

Karen and Ken disappeared into the study with the equipment they had retrieved from the suitcases, already arguing in that quiet, clipped tone adults used when they didn’t want the kids to hear. Natasha couldn’t make out the words, but she caught the edge in Ken’s voice, the way Karen’s jaw tightened before she shut the door.

You turned to her, all casual, all ease. "Come on, I’ll give you the tour."

You opened doors like a game show host, voice light, but a little too rehearsed. “Living room, obviously. That’s the TV. The couch is for show—it's terrible. Kitchen’s stocked with fake healthy food.”

Natasha followed silently, watching your body language more than your words. You weren’t bouncing like you usually did. Your shoulders were a little too tight. She wondered if you noticed those things about yourself. Were you as self-conscious as her?

"My room's here," You opened the bedroom door. There was a queen-sized bed, a desk, a bookshelf, and a dresser. The closet was half-full, and the bathroom was spotless. If someone was looking, it would look lived in, but not by you.

"You can have this one," you said. "It's closest to mine."

Natasha watched how your fingers twitched at the edge of the door, the subtle way you held your breath like you were waiting for her to notice something.

She stepped inside. "I'll take it."

There was a brief flicker of surprise in your eyes.

"We can do whatever here in the week," You said.

"Like what?"

"Sleep. Read. Whatever." You shrugged like it didn’t matter. Like none of it did.

Ken’s voice echoed faintly from the study, low and impatient. Your jaw clenched for half a second before you smoothed your face again.

“You okay?” Natasha asked.

You looked at her. Not surprised. Just tired. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Natasha didn’t answer. She just nodded once and glanced across the hall towards your room.

"So, how close of friends are we supposed to be?" she asked.

"Close enough to have sleepovers." You shrugged. "But not so close that we're in each other's rooms all the time."

"That's specific."

"I have a reputation," you replied with a slight grin. "I'm popular."

Natasha snorted.

"It's true," You insisted, still grinning.

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Right. I’m sure they cried when you left.”

You laughed softly, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. Neither of you said anything after that. The conversation hung for a moment too long, like a thread someone forgot to snip.

Neither of you wanted to keep it going. Natasha crossed her arms and leaned against the wall outside her new room. You shifted your weight, folding your arms too, mirroring her without thinking.

That’s when Karen appeared in the hallway, her tone clipped, mission-focused. “Girls. Living room. Ground rules.”

You straightened, all business, all roughness.

A switch was flipped, and the mask was on.

Karen glanced between the two of you. Her expression was neutral. "You've met before. So I'll keep it short." She held out her hand. "I'm your mother for the week. Ken is your father. This is our vacation house."

"We know," You murmured.

"This is your first time here," Karen continued. "So there are ground rules. We are only on the top floors of the building. Only the four of us have access. If the front desk calls, I'll pick it up. Don't answer unless it's an emergency."

"We're not babies," You said.

Karen's eyes flickered dangerously. "Excuse me?"

You froze.

There was a tense silence that made the skin prickle and the bones shift. Karen had the same stare as the handlers in the Red Room, who could break the strongest girls just by looking at them.

“I don’t care if you don’t like each other. You don’t have to hold hands, but will not draw attention. Got it?” She continued.

“Yes, ma’am,” you both muttered.

Karen’s eyes narrowed. “Louder.”

“Yes, ma’am,” you said again, in unison this time.

Just then, Ken passed through the room. He didn’t stop. Didn’t even look at you properly. Just a glance—calm, indifferent. His eyes paused for a beat too long on you, then flicked over Natasha, unreadable.

Then he shut himself in the master bedroom without a word.

Karen didn’t look surprised. Just sighed. “Don’t bother him unless you’re dying. And even then—make it interesting.”

She turned and left, leaving the two of you in silence.

Natasha stared straight ahead.

“Popular, huh?” she said eventually.

You didn’t even turn to look at her. “Undeniably.” You stood to head to your bedroom, leaving Natasha sitting on the couch.

She didn't move for a while. Simply sat with her hands in her lap and her back straight. The apartment was silent, and the skyline was starting to brighten.

It was going to be a long week.

*****

Manhattan Mall was like an amusement park for teens—loud, crowded, glittering. An endless tableau of shopping bags, neon signs, and smells wafting from food courts. Every corner promised something new: ads of 30% off, arcade machines, and the smell of cinnamon pretzels. You and Natasha trailed behind Karen as she guided you from store to store under the excuse of buying “more American clothes.” In truth, it was cover practice. Exposure. It was an opportunity to be seen acting normal, just in case anyone came looking. Just in case the mission went sideways.

You’d never really been shopping, not like that. Your idea of the outside world was fragmented and distorted, filtered through observation windows, briefing folders, and missions that always came with conditions. You’d been shopping before—but always alone, always focused, always with purpose. Never with other girls your age. Never like that.

Natasha didn’t seem nearly as phased. She flipped through the racks like she’d done it a hundred times before, and this was just another normal Tuesday. Karen, meanwhile, kept her distance, eyeing a few racks but never really looking.

You padded up to a rack of jeans and hoodies, fingertips brushing against the fabric. You tried to memorize the colors, the smells, the buzz of the mall around you. Tried to chase the fading, blurry edges of something you weren’t sure was ever real.

You’d been taken when you were four. Four-year-olds remembered things. You should have remembered things. Like your mother’s hair. The tone of her skin. The sound of her voice. What it felt like to be held. What kind of clothes she wore?

But you couldn’t. Not really.

And no matter how hard you stared at the sea of strangers in the mall, no one looked like they might’ve come from your memories.

You'd been taken from a mall like this one. That's the only thing you remembered. One minute, you were riding on a carousel or maybe something else.

The next, your face was pressed against a stranger's shoulder, and you were screaming.

It was all a blur now, but the memory of the scream was clear. It was a scream from the deepest, darkest part of your gut. The type of scream that made your throat raw. The kind of scream no one heard. You wish you remembered more. Memories would help.

"Do you want that shirt?" You heard a voice next to you.

You blinked, glancing up to see Natasha a step away. Her arms were folded, casual, a little bored. 

You blinked, realizing you'd been wearing the same sweater too long. You let go. "No, just looking."

"It's nice," Natasha said.

"Yeah," You agreed.

"You should try it on," Natasha suggested.

You hesitated. You were supposed to be practicing. Supposed to be making decisions like a girl your age.

"I have too many," You said. "Besides, it's not my color."

Natasha studied you. She didn't ask any questions. Didn't push or pull. She simply nodded, then wandered away.

You stood there a moment longer, the noise of the mall coming from all sides. You felt something rise in your chest—something cold and lonely.

"Emma?" Karen appeared suddenly, a bag in her hand. "Let's go. Time to check out."

You blinked. The feeling was gone. "Okay." You moved to follow her but instead turned back to grab the hoodie. She would buy it for you. And you would wear it.

That's how things were done.

Karen took her time paying, and Natasha drifted through the aisles, picking out random things she thought looked interesting. When you finished, the three of you walked out.

Karen turned her wrist to glance at her watch. "It's 3:15. You have 45 minutes to do whatever you want."

"You're not going with us?" Natasha asked.

Karen shook her head. "I have errands to run. Be back at 4:00 sharp."

"Yes, ma'am," you and Natasha both said.

And just like that, she was gone.

You and Natasha walked out into the main corridor.

*****

You walked in silence at first, not knowing what to say to each other and not wanting to look too much like spies. It was strange to think this was your first time speaking to Natasha outside the Red Room.

You passed the arcade.

The glow of neon signs spilled out into the hallway with pulsing reds and blues and greens, the chime of digital prizes, and the crash of video game explosions clashing like some chaotic symphony.

You slowed. Just barely. But Natasha noticed.

She glanced at you, then back at the arcade. “You wanna go in?”

You shook your head quickly. “No.”

She gave a little smirk. “Why not? Afraid I’ll beat you at something?”

“No,” you said too fast. “It’s just not part of the mission.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “Karen said we could do whatever we want.”

You didn’t respond. You weren’t used to… whatever this was. Making decisions. Having options. Freedom—even if it was pretend—felt like a trap.

Natasha bumped your shoulder with hers, just a little. “Come on. It’s not a real mission without a little recon.”

You frowned but didn’t stop her when she veered toward the entrance.

And after a second, you followed.

Only to keep her safe.

Natasha exchanged her dollars, which Karen had given her, for coins. Then she walked over to a machine with a yellow fish with colored ghosts.

You watched her curiously. She slid a coin in and started moving the joystick, pushing the button. You didn’t get the appeal. It was loud and crowded. Pac-Man, the screen said.

You stood behind her, arms crossed, watching the little yellow circle gobble dots across the screen. It made no sense—chased by ghosts, only to chase them back when they turned blue. She didn’t look like a killer. But her fingers were fast, sharp, practiced. Like everything else, she did.

“Ever played before?” she asked, not taking her eyes off the game.

You shook your head. “No.”

“It’s not hard. You just keep moving.”

You didn’t say anything. You were too busy watching the ghosts close in.

She lost a life and groaned. “Wanna try?”

You glanced around the arcade. No one was paying attention. No one was watching. Still, you hesitated.

Natasha moved aside. “C’mon. It’s not gonna bite.”

You stepped up. The joystick was a little sticky. You slid a coin in and started the game. For a moment, you were just a girl chasing lights. Then, two ghosts came from opposite ends of the screen, and you panicked, running straight into one.

“Okay,” Natasha said, suppressing a laugh. “That was bad.”

You scowled. “I didn’t know they could corner me like that.”

“They’re not real, you know.”

“I know.” You huffed.“I just didn’t like it.”

Natasha smiled—not smug, just amused. “You wanna try something else?”

You looked around. “What’s that one?”

She followed your gaze to a flashing game with two plastic guns attached to the front. “Time Crisis,” she said. “Now that’s more your style.”

You didn’t smile. But you stepped forward.

And this time, you didn’t hesitate. You were in the zone,

A row of zombies flashed on the screen, and you fired without hesitation, moving side to side, reloading, taking down wave after wave.

"You're pretty good at that," Natasha said. You nodded, way too in tune with the video game. This was nothing like real life. No pain. No consequences.

This was something else.

You didn't stop until the round ended. The timer flashed, and you relaxed.

Natasha studied your face, and you knew she was analyzing your every movement, looking for a flaw.

"Not bad," she said.

You didn't smile, but a part of you felt lighter. "Thanks."

"You don't know how to be a kid, do you?"

"Of course, I do," You raised your chin in challenge.

"I didn't mean it as an insult," She said. Before you could argue back, a boy approached you. He was about your age, sandy brown hair, light eyes, and a blue hoodie on his back. His eyes went straight for Natasha.

"Hi," he said, "I was watching you play, and I just wanted to say it's really impressive."

"Thanks," Natasha replied.

"How do you get so good at games like this?"

"Practice," You murmured.

He smiled at her, not hearing. "You want to go a round together? I'm a total noob, so it would be nice to have someone to play with."

Suddenly, you felt something. A shift, low and heavy, like your stomach had dropped and forgotten how to climb back up. It wasn't anger. Not exactly. It was a quiet irritation that settled in your chest like static—hot, uncomfortable, and impossible to shake off.

You watched as Natasha tilted her head slightly, her lips twitching like she might smile. She didn’t say yes. But she didn’t say no, either. And that was enough to make the feeling sink deeper.

You stepped aside, arms folded tight across your chest. Not because you wanted to make room for him. Not because you cared. But because standing there suddenly felt too loud, too much.

She could play with whoever she wanted. It didn’t matter. It shouldn’t.

But it did.

You hated that it did.

*****

After a while, you got bored watching Natasha and this boy flirt. So you went for a walk, not venturing too far away from the arcade, only wanting to clear your mind. Natasha was a big girl, and she could figure it out. A perfume store was just up ahead, and you wanted to smell the scents. You weren't interested in the subject, but you were all for new experiences.

As you entered the store, a saleswoman looked up and smiled. "Hi. Can I help you?"

"Just looking," You answered, glancing at the rows of glass bottles.

She smiled again. "Sure. Let me know if you have any questions."

You nodded politely and wandered the aisles, reading labels and sniffing samples. Some of them smelled good. Some of them were too strong or downright terrible. People didn't wear perfume in the Red Room. That wasn't the point. It was a luxury you'd never thought of before.

You wandered quietly between the shelves, fingers grazing the curves of glass bottles. The store clerk was busy helping another customer, so you didn't feel so suffocated. Then you picked it up.

Giorgio.

Giorgio Beverly Hills.

The scent hit you before you even sprayed it—something about it was already in the air like it had been waiting for you. One sniff, and your nose filled with something warm. Something familiar.

Your chest tightened.

It wasn’t just perfume. It was something else. A memory, half-formed and blurry. A woman, maybe. Arms around you. The soft brush of fabric and the faint scent of this very thing clinging to her neck. It filled your head so completely that, for a second, you weren’t in the store anymore. You were…somewhere else. Somewhere you couldn’t reach.

You didn’t realize you were crying until a tear hit your thumb.

You glanced around. The saleswoman was busy chatting near the register now. You didn’t know why you did it—but your hand moved quickly, almost without thought. The bottle slipped into your hoodie pocket.

You didn’t plan to leave with it. You didn’t even know what you were planning. It just felt like something you couldn’t leave behind.

You turned to go, brushing past a display of body lotion, when a sharp voice cut through the store like a wire.

“Hey! Excuse me—what did you just put in your pocket?”

Your stomach dropped.

You froze.

“I saw that,” she said, stepping closer. “You need to give that back.”

You didn’t think. You just moved.

You grabbed the nearest thing off the counter—a sample spritzer—and tossed it to the display like you were swapping it out. “Sorry, thought this was mine,” you lied, already backing toward the entrance.

But she didn’t buy it.

So you bolted.

The perfume bottle thumped once against your side as you ran. The woman shouted something after you, but you didn’t stop to hear it. You ducked out of the store, pushed through the crowd, and didn’t stop until the arcade was in sight again. Your heart was racing. You could still smell the perfume clinging to your wrist.

It smelled like home.

Whatever that meant.

*******

Later that night, the penthouse felt too big.

Natasha lay in her new bed, wondering if she should get the cuffs in her suitcase to help her sleep as she thought about the day she'd had. Across the hall, your door was closed. Had been since you got back. No words, no explanation. Just the sound of you retreating behind it and not coming out again.

She didn’t get it.

One second, you were laughing with her over stupid hats and cinnamon pretzels, and the next—it was like you’d flipped a switch. Cold again. Distant. You didn’t want to be near her, like she’d done something wrong without knowing what. She hadn’t even talked to that boy. Not really. Not like that. And it wasn’t like any of this was real anyway. She wasn’t supposed to care. That was the rule. The mission came first, always. No attachments. No friends. Especially not girls like you, who looked at the world like you didn’t trust it to stay.

But she did care. And that was the problem.

With a sigh, Natasha climbed out of bed in hopes of getting a glass of water. She hadn't heard any rule about leaving her room, so she supposed she could come and go as she pleased. When she went to open her door, she found Ken, standing right outside of yours. His hand was on the doorknob, and she couldn't tell if he was coming or going.

"Sir," she said, unsure what to call him. He didn't even know her name, so she was unsure what to call him.

"You should be asleep."

"Couldn't," she lied. "Did I miss the meeting time?"

"No, no," he waved her off. "I'm just checking in."

She frowned. "I think y/n is asleep."

"Right, right." He took his hand off the knob and backed up. "Good night."

She watched him carefully. "Good night, sir."

Then he disappeared into the darkness, and Natasha was left standing there.

That was strange.

But then again, so was this whole operation.

She shut the door, not wanting to get too caught up.

She wouldn't realize until later this night, and the ones to follow would change the both of you. 

-----> next part

[thedoctorfat]

Yosuke's Confession

So THIS is the Japanese Audio for Yosuke's cut confession

And THIS is the English audio (I dunno if we just have more of the English than the JP or it I could easily find a more complete version of the JP audio on the Japanese internet)

But this is hopefully the transcript of the JP confession, my sister did it herself (and she's really fucking good at writing down what's being said in JP because that's how she learned it in the first place): "初めて知ったよ。俺の中にさ、こんな…なんか熱いのがあるなんて " "言わせんなよ！" "行くなよ" "俺、お前が好きだ"

In Romaji this would be: "hajimete shitta yo. ore no naka ni sa, konna... nanka atsui no ga aru nante" "iwasenna yo!" "ikuna yo" "ore, omae ga suki da"

Properly translated/localized into English (as the official localization is really awkward), this would be: "I didn't realize I could feel like this." "Don't make me have to say it!" "Don't go," "I love you." Suki isn't always romantic according to my sister, but in this context/phrasing it absolutely is romantic.

[lxgentlefolkcomic]

First page || Previous page || Next page

Start reading Episode 1

Dialogue transcripts:

Panel 1

Griffin: …Hmph!

Panel 2

Aronnax (offscreen): Comme tous les céphalopodes, l’argonaute nage à reculons, en refoulant l’eau au moyen de son tube locomoteur…

Irene: Oui, oui, très intéressant…

Panel 3

Aronnax (offscreen): …Madame?

Panel 4

Irene: …Mais c’est merveilleux! S’il vous plaît, monsieur, continuez!

Panel 5

Aronnax (offscreen): Si quelque danger se présente, si l'approche d'un ennemi se fait sentir, si les vents commencent à rider la surface des eaux, l'argonaute fait rentrer promptement ses rames, ses voiles et son gouvernail dans sa coquille, [trails off]

[k4is4rion]

In the Wake of Us - PROLOGUE

Parent!Bucky x Child!GN!Reader x Bob Reynolds

‼️⚠️TWs: Canon typical trauma+violence, brief allusions to SA, Brain washing, MCD (or so you think)⚠️‼️

HELLOOOOO MY NEW GAGGLE OF FOLLOWERS! YOU HAVE BEEN HEARD! Ask and you shall receive, I must give the people what they want. I’m still working out how I want this fic to go with how early or late in the timeline it starts, though I might mess around with the idea of flashbacks when they’re relevant. Bob’s not quite in this yet, but it felt necessary to provide a little somethin somethin beforehand. I hope I am up to Tumblr’s standards as a long time reader of fanfic, because I cranked this out over two days between prepping for finals and other activities (and wrote this entirely on my phone)

I am not very confident in this one because it is just providing basically a summary ofthe necessary information the best I can to set stuff up for the future, rest assure the normally paced story will be MUCH better 🙏

Feel free to comment suggestions or feedback (but please be nice to me I haven’t posted publicly since wattpad in 2019)

WC: 2540

MY LOVELY SUPPORTERS/TAG REQUESTS: @marcsb1tch @moonyseyelash @sarcazzzum-blog @iamtrasch @marvel-z0mbie @amaris444 @usuallyunlikelyfox @p4arll @tatsunesworld @amoebadue @marvelouslittleone @mynicknameisgasoline

The faint buzz of the lights was the only sound in the room as a moment of silence passed between the two who sat across from one another. The woman with the clipboard looked up at you overtop her glasses, which now sat on the lower bridge of her nose. She shifted her position slightly, still looking at you with the usual intensity— or rather the lack thereof. She had an unsettling air of neutrality about her that always seemed to irk you.

“Barnes, for the last time, if you do not participate fully and truthfully in this session, you will not be given release. I don’t want to delay you any further, but rules are rules. I have to make a final report.” She spoke, her pen sat between her index and middle fingers as she gripped the clipboard. You meet her eyes for the first time as you slouch back in your chair.

“It’s been.. what, five years and you’re still calling me that? Even though I’ve told you that calling me anything else is fine? Barnes doesn’t belong to me. You wound me, Doc.”

“It’s what you selected to be put on your official documents.” She adjusted her glasses before looking back up at you. “Consider it for old time’s sake, then. But still, Y/n, you’re avoiding the question. In your own words, describe a brief history of your life. Including everything you’ve begrudgingly discussed within our sessions. We’re doing this so we can send a transcript to your next specialist. Wouldn’t you prefer to give your side of the story instead of just your records?” Taking in her reasoning, you glance at the microphone recording this session. They were usually recorded for security purposes but this in particular was for just for documentation. With a deep breath, you reluctantly began explaining your very.. humble beginnings.

Your conception was begun roughly around the late 60s, although conceptualized much earlier with the apparent success of the winter soldier program. A series of roughly twenty children were to be conceived from hand-selected pairs of up-and-coming male and female super soldiers, all based on their first and only success; the original Winter Soldier. You were lucky enough to receive your genetic makeup from the blueprint; as well as a promising young woman. It was an unfortunate truth that your conception was not a happy story. Genetic engineering was rudimentary at the time and they did not care to what extent their “donors” suffered. Even with this reluctant knowledge, the intimidating man with the metal arm has cared deeply for you even in the circumstances you both found yourself in. He said you were a beautiful little test tube baby from what he remembers. Hydra quickly introduced you to one another in hopes of forming an early bond between soldiers, primarily in pairs with their best-suited parent. This was to not only establish partners that functioned perfectly together but to have something to hold over these people even when they previously had nothing. You called this guardian of yours “Soldat”, but much like you, he had no real name.

One by one, the adults failed the program or their children did. One by one there would be one less soldier. It was survival of the fittest, not only for being put against one another but for general survivability. Genetic modification was a large factor in many of the children’s deaths until few remained, then in your early childhood- only you. You were all that remained. In a desperate attempt to not have this all been for nothing, they put everything they could into you. Biomechanical enhancements to help your physical condition and functionality and a steady stream of serum to keep you healthy. For the first several years of your life, it was spent exclusively learning and training. Occasionally when the winter soldier was due for a mission, his break from cryostasis would be extended by higher-ups to train her. It was rough, of course, being a child training with such a violent force, but he cared whenever he could. For some reason, kneeling down before you to aid your wounds felt oddly familiar. Like he had done it routinely before to another little girl he cared deeply about. Hell, you even looked similar. But at the end of the day, his thoughts were irrelevant. His job was not to think, his job was to do as he was told. You learned this very quickly as it became clear that failure to understand this would result in something awful. You were a quick learner— you had to be if you were to continue surviving.

Once they decided you were adequate enough to be functional as a weapon, you began your cryogenic stints, only being woken up when it was time for another task. This wore heavily on your already fragile condition, even despite your inhuman strength. This also happens to cause another subsequent issue with you, your aging being incredibly messed up. Yes, you were conceived nearly 60 years ago, but you’ve only been conscious for a small part of that. In 2014 you were still practically a young teenager when the Winter Solider made his great escape. In his emotional distress, he made perhaps the most regretful decision of his life. He left you behind in the hands of the enemy, escaping without you. You only followed much later after being sent after him to end his life, but when you were met with the opportunity to, you simply couldn’t. You ran off, not back to Hydra, but going into hiding for the time being. You used what skills they taught you in case you needed to be self-sustainable until you could be recovered by backup, but it was hardly enough. It was incredibly challenging having to figure out how to get by on your own after being constantly monitored and treated by professionals. Not only that, but you were suffering from withdrawals due to Hydra forcing your dependency on the serum, as well as an injury from when you dug out your tracker from your bicep. You had a nasty infection by the time your “Soldat” found you, but he was joined by a strange new man who offered you help. His name was Steve Rodgers, that Captain America fellow you and the Winter Soldier were sent after a while ago. He was incredibly kind to you, even if you didn’t trust him. He was patient with not only you but him as well. The two seemed close- you hadn’t ever seen this side of him. This is also when you decided on your new name; Y/n Rebecca Barnes. Bucky chose your middle name, saying it was after someone special.

This is also when you learned a lot about the man you previously thought you knew. It turned out his name was James, James Buchanan Barnes. Even if his name was James, he seemed to prefer Bucky. He was also from New York City, where he grew up alongside Steve during the Great Depression. Over time you felt more and more distressed upon the realization that you didn’t know Bucky at all, let alone yourself. You realized early on that you were a reminder of a profound amount of trauma for a man who got mixed up with something he never deserved. You desperately tried making yourself better, especially for his sake, but there was only so much you could do. You still stuck to your habits, your purpose— to serve alongside the winter soldier.

You fought valiantly for your freedom, doing what you could to protect Bucky against these people who wished to get ahold of you both. Between half of the Avengers coming after you as well as the United States government, you were stretched pretty thin. Bucky swore that you both would get through this, that he would give you the life you deserved. He struggled to believe himself sometimes, but he knew he had to try. He would get better for you. He would atone for his sins by doing what he can for you. He had a life outside of Hydra before being captured, but you never got the chance. Without realizing it, you both became devoted to the safety of one another.

It would become apparent the world was against you both, as during a fight attempting to exit Siberia, you were wounded as you defended him from a harsh blow. Steve and Bucky were forced to decide between saving you or escaping, but you pleaded with them to follow through with the latter. They did, albeit begrudgingly, after Natasha promised Steve that she would look out for you until they could come back for you. Nat did this as best as she could and for as long as she could, but instead of going to the raft with the others, you were imprisoned in a top-secret base to be studied. You only got to experience freedom for a short time prior to this, so even if the conditions were considerably better than Hydra, it was still awful. You spent so long wondering if Bucky was alright, hoping your sacrifice wasn’t for nothing.

Nearly two years later, you were allowed visitation with Steve. It was a sweet reunion, almost immediately bringing your worry over Bucky to an end, but it ultimately was to discuss something very important. None other than your possible pardon. There was something brewing and all hands on deck were needed; including you. After all, you were a world-class assassin. Plus, Wakanda was developing a cure for Bucky whilst being a refugee there. It was nice to know he was somewhere safe even if he missed you as much as Steve said he did, based on what he’s heard from communicating with T’Challa and Shuri about his condition. With vague permission from the United States government, you headed out with Steve’s team to Wakanda. You and Bucky were going to be together again and fight together, just like it was for old time’s sake.

When you walked through the central part of Wakanda, your mind was elsewhere, not taking even a moment to admire your surroundings. You were only focused on getting back to him as you walked silently behind Steve. You weren’t used to being in foreign places without Bucky so you were completely on edge, even with Nat doing her best to make sure you didn’t freak out completely. Steve was the first one to greet Bucky as he was led by T’Chally. The two were happy to see one another again, Steve giving him a hug and exchanging fond remarks. Once they parted from the hug, Bucky saw you standing there. You had grown up slightly, a sight he wasn’t used to seeing. It made his heart ache as he took you into his arms as tightly as he could without harming you. It was hard not to allow the tears brimming your eyes to fall in front of your allies, but Bucky still held you close and buried his face into your hair as you instinctively nuzzled into his neck. Quiet exchanges of how much you missed one another were shared. As you both parted, he moved his hands to your shoulders. He looked at you with the most love you had ever seen before quietly remarking. “You’ve grown up. It’s good to see you, kid.” It was a very genuine sentiment he shared, as for the entirety of his time caring for you, your survival was not guaranteed. He never thought he’d be able to see the day when you look like you’ve gotten a chance to regroup yourself.

You spent what time you could together discussing what life had been like over the last two years for the both of you. He lived a peaceful life as a farmer, while you were under the care of the United States government. You both received very different treatments for your brainwashing, with his somewhat holistic treatment being more successful than your purely clinical and scientific one. Your brain was poked and prodded, while he received therapy. Bucky told you that once this was all over, the Wakandans said they could help you too. It gave you hope, more than you’ve had in a very long time. Soon after this conversation, it was time for what you came here for. Saving the world.

Loss was a thing you had become accustomed to a long time ago. But this felt incomparable. The fight was over, Thanos had won. He had successfully removed half of all life and with just the snap of his fingers, you watched the only person you’ve ever trusted turn to dust. He was gone and it felt like you had nothing left. With the chaos that followed this, you returned home with Steve. He did his best to console you but he was struggling with the loss of his best friend for the second time. Because of the aforementioned chaos of the situation, the government essentially went on lockdown while it attempted to regain control over the situation. This unfortunately meant your incarceration for the second time with no end in sight. You had no one left to fight for you. Steve certainly tried, as he knew that’s what Bucky would’ve wanted, but he could only do so much. He was spread thin after the blip and you fell through the cracks.

You would remain in prison for five years, with constant experimentation traded for frequent monitoring performed. It felt as though you were forgotten about and would never taste that sweet, sweet freedom again. You always thought you’d die alone and without any freedom, but after having it for such a brief moment in your life, it only seemed to twist the knife into the wound. You forced yourself to adjust and get used to it, just like you always had. You grew accustomed to the monotony of constant scheduling very quickly. It became a cycle of government-mandated therapy, frequent checkups, and doing what you could to use up the passage of time. You received permissions for good behavior that were enough to keep you somewhat sane for the most part. Steve visited you when he could, but one day he stopped coming. You learned why when you saw the news: the 50% that had been lost were returning.

Now here you were. About a month or two later, still in here. The only word you got was from the news on the television, making the theory you genuinely had been lost to time all the more real and fearful. That was until a week ago. You received mail for the first time in a long time— an official government document. Your case of a pardon was being reopened; alongside Bucky’s. That’s what brought you here. You were having your last mandatory session within your prison before you were being released, and boy were you thankful to get out of here.

“Well, aren’t we both glad I remembered to hit record? I believe we are just about out of time.” Doctor Miller spoke as she placed down her clipboard.

“What, no ‘same time next week’?”

“Not this time. Enjoy your long-awaited freedom, Y/n. It was good treating you.”