#being shot out of the sky towers reminds him once of how he was shot out of a canon

[bioswear]

Some things I really like in ToTK as someone who considers Zelda games loadbearing:

the reuse of the Dragon Roost Island theme strikes an extremely specific feeling in my heart and it makes me want to cry from an emotion that isn’t quite nostalgia (it’s like the equivalent of seeing an old friend)

The reuse of parts of the tune of Faron Woods from Skyward Sword in the Korok Forest

That drop-down into the Great Deku Tree threw me straight back to the first time I dropped down the Deku Tree in Ocarina

Seeing Gohma back was like “oh fuck yeah this bitch!” And knowing exactly how to fight her 👌

The reintroduction of Sages but I wish they had kept 7 as the number of Sages as a True Callback to Ocarina of Time

The Stable Trotters really bring a Spirit Tracks/Phantom Hourglass kind of vibe and it’s probably bc of the tiny little chocolate chip of a Hylian Man that’s the conductor - his design is just so DS zelda and it tickles me

That Ganon is an Active Threat again and that the world feels more reactionary to the events and ongoing caused by his return. It feels like Classic Zelda problems

The way Hyrule Castle is suspended above Hyrule is really reminiscent of its sectioned off fate in Twilight Princess

The phantom soldiers that hold weapons down in the Depths feels like the spirit soldiers from TP

Love that the Depths mirrors the Overworld like an homage to ALTP

[morallyinept]

Northern Lights - A Joel Miller One Shot

Summary: You and Joel watch the Northern Lights together whilst cold camping.

Pairing: Post Outbreak Joel Miller x F!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. It’s you, bub.)

Word Count: 2.3k

Scoville Smut Rating:🌶️🌶️ “It's the emergence, of.”

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.

Warnings/Triggers: Established relationship/fingering/hand job/kissing/lots of snuggles/Joel being a grump - mostly fluff, but you get the spicy too.

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ.☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.

I write for me, and I share with you. If this story isn't to your taste, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

Author’s Note: I was watching The Last Of Us (again), and this idea came to me. Have you ever seen the Northern Lights? I've been fortunate enough to see them in Iceland, which was incredible. Would have been better if Joel was there, mind... 😍

MAIN MASTERLIST | JOEL MILLER MASTERLIST

Enjoy! 🖤

A cold-tipped nose brushes against your cheek, rousing you from sleep.

The shadows of his face blur into clarity in the dim natural light of the camp. Your back, hard and cold on the ground, aches. The layers help, but it still seeps into your bones when you camp out so exposed like this, in the middle of a trying winter.

The steep, shadowy jags of the snow-capped mountains cut into the horizon; a deep midnight sky spackled with the twinkle of stars. A clear night, which means it’ll only get colder.

You rub your eyes, yawning. “What time is it?”

“Hell do I know.” Joel mutters as he reaches for the tin mug and pushes it into your hands. Your eyes fall on the broken watch he still wears around his wrist.

The scent of burnt, bitter coffee mists into your nostrils as it sloshes around the inside like a muddy puddle.

Your mouth becomes a vortex as you yawn, eyes dry and heavy.

A dense canopy of towering trees stretch skyward as you sit upright in the little clearing; their branches reaching out like gnarled fingers to brush against the star-studded awning above.

Despite the desolation that grips the world beyond, the forest offers a sense of tranquillity - a reminder that life, in all its beauty and complexity, still thrives in the most unlikely of places.

It’s a good place to pause; two survivors, traversing the decaying landscape of a once-thriving world, seeking refuge to rest your tired bones wherever you can.

Striking a balance between coasting in the woodlands out of sight and only daring to penetrate fallen cities or urban landscapes when you’re in dire need of supplies. It’s what's kept you both going for so long.

“Did you sleep?” You ask him as he gulps back his own coffee with fervour.

He shakes his head under a furrowed brow, greying curls billowing. You frown at him and he rolls his eyes.

“You’re going to keel over one day.” You blow on your coffee, fingers heated as you grip round the mug.

“M’not dead yet-”

Suddenly, a distant howl pierces the stillness, sending shivers down your spine. The infected are never far away, a constant reminder of the dangers lurking in the shadows.

Joel stiffens, reaching for the rifle.

“That’s not infected.” You say, listening to the shrill, barking moans emanating from deep in the forest surrounding you, and he nods, eyes darting about.

“Maybe a coyote.” He keeps hold of the rifle anyway.

The air is bitterly cool and heavy with the scent of damp earth and pine resin, creating an atmosphere of eerie stillness, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves or the distant screech of a hungry mammal.

Sipping your coffee, feeling it warm down the centre of your chest despite its acrid taste, you close your eyes again.

“Ya gon’ miss it.” Joel murmurs.

“How do you know it’s gonna happen tonight?”

“I can feel it.” He says, pottering about and with the gas stove. He pauses to glance up momentarily at the glittery sky.

“Right. The same as you can always feel it’s going to snow.”

“It snowed, didn’t it?”

“Yeah, two weeks after you said it would.” You scoff with a wry smirk.

“Just be grateful it ain’t snowing now.” He bites back.

“If it snows now I’m sleeping in the cab. You missed your calling as a weatherman, clearly.” You chortle.

“Drink ya damn coffee.” Joel grumbles, dumping the stove in the back of the truck.

“It’s really gross.” You say, offering it to him.

You smirk as he comes and sits beside you.

“You’re a coffee snob.” He remarks as he gulps it back.

“Yes I am.” You concur with a grin.

Tucking his body into the sleeping bag with you and rubbing his hands, Joel opens his arm out. You shuffle into it as you wrap your fallen scarf over your shoulder.

“Any minute now.” He gruffs, looking up at the sky with stretched eyebrows when he’s eventually settled.

“Mmhm.” You retort sceptically. “If you woke me up for nothing, expect a black eye.”

Joel snorts. “That’s some mighty big smack talk for a lil’ lady.”

You put your fists up and he kisses your knuckles with deep, big browns peering at you over the ridges.

“C’mere,” he lays right down with you horizontal, and sighs out.

Within moments, small ghostly wisps of green fleck across the sky; a gentle birth of colour that seems shy in its solo performance.

“Told ya.” He mutters, trying not to smirk.

“No-one likes a smartass, Joel.” You quip, nudging him gently.

“Yeah they do. Are ya warm enough?” He wraps the mottled scarf around you further with soft eyes lancing at you as you shiver.

As you gaze back at him, you can't help but notice the delicate web of lines that radiate outward from their corners, framing his stare with a quiet wisdom and warmth. With each smile, the crinkles deepen, forming gentle crow's feet that cradle the corners of his eyes like little parentheses of joy.

Despite the hardships you’ve faced, swinging on the precarious, fraying threads between life and death at times, there’s a lightness in the way Joel's eyes crinkle when he smiles, even if it’s a rare occurrence; a resilience that refuses to be dimmed by the darkness of this world.

And as you trace the contours of his face with your fingertips, you feel a sense of gratitude wash over your skin, warming you.

Despite the ruggedness of his facial hair, there’s a surprising silkiness to the touch, a reflection of the affection and intimacy shared between you. An unspoken tag-team who keep each other alive and well without having to utter the words out loud.

His moustache, once meticulously groomed in another life, now boasts a craggy charm, with patches of grey peeking through the remnants of its original dark colour as his youth stubbornly tries to hold on that bit longer. Each strand curls softly at the edges, adding a touch of character to his weather-beaten features.

As your hand cups his cheek, you can feel the gentle pressure of his fuzzed beard against your palm, thumb stroking at the edge of his lips where the hairs riot in a cluster of different directions as you smooth them down. You’ll probably need to help him trim them again soon and the thought makes you smile.

Despite the weariness etched into his face, there’s a quiet dignity in the way Joel carries himself, a sense of pride born of the challenges you’ve overcome together. He’s more than just a man who’s dragged you through this world with bloodied knuckles and kept you alive - he’s your confidant, your ally. Dare you even admit, a soulmate.

A shared story of love and loss, of hope and despair, woven into the fabric of your mutual beings, Joel’s gentleness in moments like this offer a sanctuary - a place where you can be yourself without reservation, without the tough bravado where your fears and doubts melt away in the pull of his hypnotic eyes.

“Lookit.” He breaks the spell and pushes your chin gently with a thick finger toward the direction of the sky.

Above you, the Northern Lights paint the firmament alive with their mesmerising hues, casting an otherworldly glow upon the world below. Soft tendrils of pink and violet unfurl like delicate petals around the spectacular emerald green.

They pulse and flicker with a rhythmic cadence, casting a soft, iridescent glow that bathes the landscape in a surreal, spooky light.

Joel wraps his arm around you, pulling you in closer as you share the warmth of the sleeping bag and your layered up bodies crushed tight against one another.

"Look at that," you whisper, your voice barely audible above the gentle rustle of the leaves carrying with it the faint scent of pine and earth. “I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of seeing this.”

Joel nods in silent agreement, his gaze fixed on the swirling display of colours overhead.

In that moment, it feels as though you’re the only two people left in the world, cocooned in your own little bubble of warmth and intimacy from the brackens of an oncoming harsh winter that’ll test both your resilience over again.

You both watch in silent wonder, lost in the beauty of the moment, for moments like these are hard to come by. A respite in the doom-filled survival that snaps at you daily, for a moment of shared awe.

Joel pulls the sleeping bag further up as you nestle into his arms. As you huddle inside, you can feel the plush, ragged interior cushioning your bodies, moulding to your contours like a second skin.

The sleeping bag is large enough to accommodate you both, yet intimate enough to foster a sense of closeness as you lay side-by-side.

“So beautiful,” you say.

“Yeah, you are.” Joel remarks and you turn to see his eyes watching you and not the sky. Face illuminated in a green glow, lost in how your curious orbs reflect the ethereal beauty above.

The pull of need floods your body, tingles pitching down your spine as he loses himself inside your eyes.

“Kiss me, Joel,” you murmur to him, nose pressed against his as you pull him by his collar to your face. His lips pursed, they find yours - cold and chapped as they graze.

A warm tongue slips inside, sucking gently as he explores; tiny, soft nips felt peppered across your lip.

You already feel warmer, the prickles of the heat blooming under your armpits and on the back of your neck. His cool fingers stroke you there, engulfing your mouth with a growing need of his own as he crushes you closer to him.

You find his skin under the layers; stroking at the softness of his belly that overhangs his jeans a little more now, as he gasps into your mouth at the intrusion of cold fingers. Traversing gently over the welts of scars where the texture changes underneath your tips.

You can feel his fingers within the depths of the sleeping bag fumbling at your button, tugging at your jeans clumsily with deep pants before he gives up and just slides his hand in when the zipper won’t give.

You whine into his mouth as he finds your clit, rubbing with the thick pad of his middle finger against it.

Your hands do the same, releasing him from his scuffed denim, warm and heavy. Breaking your kiss to spit into your palm, he hisses into your mouth as you stroke him; succulently wet around his thick cock, weeping as you pump.

You fist at his collar, face buried into the plush heat of the crook of his neck. He grunts as your teeth dig into golden, weathered skin, muting your gasps from the pulsing between your legs as he strokes and taps; the heat begins to engulf you inside the sleeping bag.

He growls as you bite harder, nudging your face with his so he can kiss you again, his own teeth gnawing at your lips as he pants harder now.

Hard and pulsing in your palm, his whines upping their tempo as he closes in on that moment when he’ll dissipate.

“Come-” he wheezes, words barely audible as he breathes. “-M’gonna come,” choking breaths get tangled in his throat.

Eyelashes fluttering agasint your skin, breathes seeping into your mouth, his grip on you tightens as his back stiffens and hips thrusts his cock further into your hand.

“Fu-fuck,” he jolts, spilling into your palm, warm and thick.

Joel trembles, body shaking as he empties, face pushing against yours as he breathes out in satisfaction, a small bewildered snicker in confoundment as you nuzzle against him.

“You kill me, darlin’.” He whispers, breath warm on your lips and chin as you wipe him away on your scarf.

He moves his fingers still inside your jeans, stroking over the swell of nerves. Your grip around his wrist keeps him there, feeling him dip his middle just inside your hole as you contract, thumb smoothing over the oil-slick bead of your clit.

“Joel!” You gasp, tonguing the sparse tracks of sweat-salt hairs grazing down the side of his throat.

His finger slides right into the hilt, palm up and stroking deeply; thumb still pushing on your clit. Your nails cut into his wrist, pulling him against you as you subtly grind.

The hooked end of his nose notches against yours as you whimper.

Gentle, broken commands lose their endings as he loses his breath. “Give it,” and “want,” snuffling out of him as he strokes faster on your wet, fleshy spot.

Your body shakes as you come; his finger sopping as you clench and rib around it, knees jerking against his as you float in the lights, bathed in fuschia and jade strobes.

He stops stroking as you kiss him. Tiny, soft pinpricks of his moustache tickle your lip, making the insides of your cheeks tingle. Coarser, wiry greys prominent in the fading roots, mingling with the softer ones that still reside.

You run your fingers through patchy, bare spaces, smooth and free of any growth. You make patterns in them, trace their random shapes with your tips; an oval here, a heart there.

You both turn and look up at the sky together. The display falling into your eyes in that glow of emerald and pink as the Aurora shows off for an entrancing encore.

The heat envelops you both as you snuggle in together, his arm draped around you and your head resting on the muscled pillow of his shoulder.

You press a soft kiss under his jaw, of which he grunts with throaty appreciation. Your eyes continue to roam the falling curtains of colour in sky.

“Is it everything ya ever hoped for?” Joel questions gently, voice rolling around that familiar grizzle as he tucks you in closer to his side.

“Freezing my ass off in the middle of the forest with you?”

He chuckles with a wheeze. “Yeah.”

“It’s everything.” You smile.

I hope you enjoyed watching the Northern Lights with Joel. He gives the best snuggles, right? Would love to know your thoughts and if you enjoyed it, I'd appreciate a re-blog so others can enjoy it too. Thankies 🖤

MAIN MASTERLIST | JOEL MILLER MASTERLIST

[the-speyeral]

They didn’t know.

Grian had to keep reminding himself of that. The emperors didn’t know. How could they? How would they know that Grumbot was what Grian considered to be his son. He couldn’t blame them really, for not believing that he had made a functioning AI. He couldn’t blame them for not believing that he and his friend Mumbo, whom they didn’t even know for sure existed, had originally made Grumbot for a mayoral campaign.

But it was too late.   It was far, far too late when the avian watched the TNT launcher move through the sky to his beloved robot. Sure, Grumbot had threatened this entire server, but Grian knew that the bot just missed Mumbo. He missed the days of season seven, and Grian couldn’t really blame him for that.

Grian’s wings weren’t working properly. It hadn’t even been a minute since he respawned, so of course they weren’t. He desperately placed blocks down before being knocked off the tower and falling once again.  

This time when he respawned, he immediately went to the barrels in front of him, grabbing whatever blocks he could and rushing out the building. He began towering again, thinking he was safe, but he had been too fast and hadn’t paid attention as to where he was towering.

He tried so hard, breaking a few blocks below him and bridging out to continue upwards. He tried so hard to get there on time, to save his son, but he was too late. He cried out, still trying desperately to save Grumbot but knowing it was useless.  

Time slowed, and the launcher hit, imploding in on itself as it did. Then, Grumbot was gone and all Grian saw was red.  

How dare they. How dare they kill someone Grian cared for.

He moved to his Watcher eyes and shot straight towards the culprits, staring so deeply into their souls that he knew it would hurt.

He watched with one of those many eyes as his friends made it safely through the Rift and returned to his body.

Grian wanted to collapse in a pile of tears, but that had to wait. It wasn’t safe for him here, and every one of the alarms in his mind were going off.

He dove off the tower, opening his wings to slide gracefully and discreetly to the ground. He made his way to the Rift and for once was glad that the emperors were too occupied with their talking to pay him any mind. Until it was too late for them, of course.  

He stepped in the Rift with one heart and an inventory that was basically empty.

He emerged safely back in his cave with the other hermits in front of him and all his gear back. Immediately, he raced to Grumbot and hugged a part of him. He wasn’t the same Grumbot Grian has first made, nor was he the one that was on Empires. Grian didn’t care. This was still his Grumbot.  

He knew he was crying and he knew some of his friends noticed, but he didn’t care.

Grumbot then spat out a piece of paper, Are you okay? Grian smiled softly at the AI as he read the message.

“Better than I was on the other side.”

Where’s Mumbo?

“He’s-” Grian glanced at the ground, “he’s not here. He’s cycling somewhere, but I’m sure he’ll be back.”

The avian sensed something was wrong at that point and remembered the one thing he had heard before entering the Rift.

“They’re coming here. Oh gods. I will not let them lay a finger on you Grumbot, I promise,” he turned his attention to the other hermits and wiped his tears away.

“Before I left, I heard them saying they were gonna come through. Just be alert. Please.”

This new bit of information caused a small commotion as the hermits began debating on what to do when the emperors came through.

Xisuma suggested they give them a warm welcome, and most of the hermits agreed, overshadowing the ones who didn’t. Grian didn’t agree. Maybe some of the emperors were fine, sure, but the majority did not deserve a warm welcome. Not after what they did to Grumbot. He didn’t have time to make his point before the log in messages filled Grian’s phone and the emperors appeared in the Rift.

The avian armed himself with his axe, prepared to defend Grumbot with his life. That was a good decision too, because as soon as Fwhip and Jimmy saw the bot, they ran to attack. A foolish decision on their part. Just like how the hermits had lost their items when they went to Empires, the emperors lost theirs when they came to Hermitcraft. The goblin and the sheriff were dead withing seconds and respawned in the Rift.

Fwhip seemed to understand that he couldn’t win against Grian right now, but Jimmy continued rushing at him over and over. The rest of the players just watched, not knowing what to do.

“Stop, Tim. You know you couldn’t win even if I had no gear. If you lay so much as a feather on Grumbot I will not hesitate. I don’t care what reason you have and I do not give a damn that we’re brothers. You come near my son and I will kill you.”

That seemed to get Jimmy to snap out of it, and the canary backed off.  

“This goes for every one of you. I am not letting you kill this one.”

Everyone was silent for a moment before Grian spoke up again, this time telling them to get out of his cave. They all listened, but not before Pearl and Xisuma agreed to talk with the avian later.

Grumbot was safe, and that was all Grian cared about in this moment.

[dancingamongstdust]

MHA Scenarios - First Meeting (Part 3)

All Might

There was an ache in your shoulder despite the painkillers. It was persistent, a constant reminder that your time in U.A. was beginning to lower your reaction speed. Perhaps you should consider returning to a full-time career in the hero world instead of taking random jobs here and there.

Sighing, you finished up with your costume and opened the door to find none other than Principle Nezu waiting for you.

“Great timing!” he chirped. “I was about to come and tell you that you’ll be sharing your second-year physical training class today.”

“The class that begins in twenty minutes?”

“That very one. When I found out that you had injured yourself, I thought that it would be best for you to take on an assistant of sort.” Nezu hummed softly to himself, as if wondering if he should continue. “And perhaps it will be a good experience for Toshinori to see how one can balance their time.”

You chuckled, catching onto the principle’s plan. “I don’t think a hero of All Might’s stature would have anything to learn from somebody like me.”

“There’s no doubt that he’s the better hero –“

“You could put that more nicely.”

“But you have far more experience teaching,” Nezu finished. “You take it easy to ensure your continued health and even though you whine about your lack of excitement, you never go out and chase it.”

That was true. Every year, you told the principle that you would be quitting and each time, he would laugh and tell you that you never would. You blamed the students. They were way too easy to get attached to.

All Might was waiting at the training grounds, his hands on his hips and a smile on his face. The latter looked almost painted on. He absolutely towered over you, seemingly taller in person.

“We haven’t met properly before,” you said, giving your name. “But may I just say that I have endless respect for your heroic accomplishments.”

He laughed proudly. “Thank you. Nezu says that you got injured during a fight with a villain, is everything alright?”

There was something about his voice that you didn’t quite like. It just sounded so patently fake. Perhaps that was why you hadn’t been surprised when the news about his true form was shared amongst the faculty. It seemed to you that it should have been a given. Nobody spoke like he did in their day to day lives.

“It’s a shoulder injury,” you said. “In a similar line, you can drop the All Might moniker for a short while if you want. This class is incapable of arriving less than ten minutes late.”

“That’s alright! I’m sure this is a far more useful form.”

“Suit yourself,” you said with a nod. You rolled your shoulder and winced. “I’m going to need to have you taking over the majority of the hands-on training if that’s alright with you? If I push myself now, I’m just going to do more damage to the muscles.”

All Might gave an affirmative and then pondered your words. It was unsurprising when he seemingly vanished into a cloud of smoke, dropping the vast majority of his muscles and showing a far-more human façade.

“Perhaps you’re right,” he acknowledged. “Some rest before teaching would be easier on my injuries.”

You smiled. “The last thing you want to do is let these students think they’re strong enough to take you on just yet. Don’t need that going to their heads.”

Endeavor

It was an accident that led to your first encounter with the recently elected number one hero. And it had mostly been as a result of a very long day filled with endless bad luck.

You had been walking through the parking garage after having coffee spilled on you, losing your keys, and nearly breaking your ankle when an escalator stopped working. It was overall an awful day. And it was about to get even worse.

It must have been as a result of some kind of villain but the exact situation escaped you. All that you knew was that somebody got thrown from out of nowhere. They flew into one of the pillars and cracked it. You jumped and immediately rushed over to them. It was only once you were right beside him that you realised the fire was part of him.

“You’re Endeavor…” you breathed. “Are you alright?”

The hero stood, clearly shaken. A deep scowl covered his face. He was much, much taller than you had thought he would ever be. “Get out of here before you get hurt.”

Before either of you could do anything else though, the ground seemed to tremble, much like an earthquake. You looked up wearily. This was the ground floor so it wasn’t like you could fall through anywhere.

And then the ceiling started to crumble.

You barely had time to react, just screwing your eyes shut and hoping for the best. A wave of heat washed over you. Dust filled your lungs and you coughed as all around you, a cacophony of collapsing rubble filled the air.

An unnatural silence took over.

Slowly, you opened your eyes. It was far too dark with a flickering light illuminating a large cavern of rubble held up by a few of the pillars that were still standing. Powder swirled around you, filling your lungs and making you cough heavily. Then you noticed the reason that you hadn’t gotten so much as a scratch.

Endeavor stood over you, shielding you entirely. He showed no visible discomfort but as you stared, you realised that part of his suit had been ripped and blood trickled down his side.

A few seconds passed and he moved away. In the tight space, he was unable to even stand straight. “Damn it,” he cursed. “There’s no way that Hawks can move any of this nonsense. We’re going to be stuck here until rescue teams arrive.”

You sunk down slowly, sitting against something sharp and putting your hand over your mouth. “I’m going to die,” you whispered. “There’s no air here…”

“Don’t be dramatic,” the pro-hero snapped. “We have plenty of time before the air runs out. If it was just me, I could blast through here in no time.”

“Why can’t you?”

He stared at you as though you were stupid. “Either I would risk bringing the rest of this concrete down on your head or you would stand too close and get burnt. Somehow, I don’t think you would prefer either of those options.”

You shook your head and tried to hold back tears. This day had been worse than any other in your life. Should you call your family and friends? Was it worth worrying them just to hear their voices? Endeavor didn’t seem worried so maybe you should just trust that you would get out and everything would be fine. Or maybe you would die and –

Your thoughts were cut off by him suddenly appearing in front of you. “Relax,” he said. “If you panic, you’re just going to make the entire situation worse.”

“We’re trapped under concrete,” you said. “We could die.”

“You’re not going to die. Now stop being pathetic and find a way to occupy yourself that doesn’t cause a panic attack.”

You swallowed and took a deep breath. “Alright. Alright.”

He nodded, moving considerably further away and then his flames flickered off. And that was your first meeting with Endeavor. Surprisingly, you ended up speaking until you were rescued.

Eraserhead

It had all begun years ago.

You remembered distinctly how you had been sitting in the garden and watching the bees happily buzz past. It was a warm day with a slight saltiness to the air. A perfect time to enjoy the summer as though you had no worries in the world.

Conversation filled the air and you perked up, recognising one of the voices. You had only managed to stand up when a blur of blue hair slammed into your side, pulling you into a tight hug with a happy shout of your name. Laughter filled the air as you nearly fell, unable to even hug back.

“Oboro!” you giggled. “I thought you were only getting back next week!”

He finally let you go and shot you a smile that made the sun look dim. “I was but then my parents said my friends could stay over! Come meet them.”

Oboro had been your closest friend for years but since going to U.A., you had seen less and less of him. That wasn’t to say that you hadn’t kept in contact of course but you missed him greatly.

His friends were… not what you expected.

The exceptionally loud blond was Hizashi Yamada and his quirk was volume-based. He greeted you with a booming shout, apparently having been told about you several times before arriving.

But Shota Aizawa interested you far more. He didn’t speak much and you never did find out his quirk when you were younger. When you’d asked why he wanted to be a hero, he just told you that he liked it. The rest of the week, you developed a bit of a crush on him and spent most of your time trying to impress him.

When the week ended, you didn’t see him again for a very long time and the next time you saw him, it was under circumstances you had never even imagined.

You were wearing a veil to hide your face. There was no dramatic rain or dark thunder on the day of the funeral. Rather fittingly, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. You liked to imagine that was Oboro’s final gift. A beautiful day to celebrate him.

Yamada had put his hand on your shoulder, subdued and quiet for the first time. He was a pro-hero now and you often saw his face on magazines.

Soon, he left to speak to others and you remained by the grave with only one other.

“Being a hero is more dangerous than I ever thought,” you said, not sure why you were speaking but feeling the urge to regardless. “You and Yamada have to stay as safe as you can, alright? He would want that.”

Aizawa glared at you from the corner of his eye. “How would you know that?”

“Because you were the most important people in the world to him,” you said. “Of course that’s what he would want.”

Aizawa didn’t speak anymore but after a while, he turned to leave. Before going, he paused and looked as though he wanted to say or do something. You met his gaze. It felt as though he could see straight through your veil, revealing the tears that streaked your face. The atmosphere wasn’t uncomfortable. It was just sad.

Still, standing there and just existing helped you to remember the loss wasn’t just your own. When Aizawa left, you turned back to Oboro’s gravestone feeling less alone in the world.

You were going to miss him like hell but you wouldn’t be remembering him by yourself.

Fatgum

As a solitary and underground hero, it was quite rare that you were contacted for big jobs. Rarer still that you took them instead of passing them on.

But something was different about this time.

This time, you had a personal vendetta drawing you to one of your least-favourite jobs – working with other heroes. It wasn’t that you didn’t get along with them but many weren’t in it for actually helping people. That put a bad taste in your mouth.

The job wasn’t technically being led by you purely because the information had come through a larger agency. They hadn’t wanted to pass it off to you alone so now you were sitting in the briefing room, listening to them going over everything that your investigations had revealed. No credit given, of course.

You stood toward the end and offered a simple warning. The villain that you were after had little concern about causing collateral. If anything, he relished in it. Your warning was primarily targeted at some of the heroes whom you knew dealt more with casual villains.

Many of them got overwhelmed when they came up against drug dealers and sex traffickers instead of pickpockets.

And then everybody dispersed, each having their own orders about how they would contribute to a safe arrest.

Leaving you alone. At least, you thought you were alone until somebody spoke behind you.

“Do you know what always calms me down? Taiyaki.”

You startled, though you didn’t let it become noticeable. Instead you turned to find yourself absolutely dwarfed by the BMI hero, Fatgum. Somebody you had always known about but never gotten a chance to meet.

“Do I really look that stressed?” you enquired.

He chuckled. “Not to be rude, but you definitely do.”

You sighed and looked at the documents in your hands. It was probably best that you didn’t have a mirror on you. “I’m worried about this case,” you said. “This guy has slipped through my hands a few too many times.”

Fatgum nodded. “I know how that feels but don’t worry too much. Everybody here is a capable hero and together, we’ll get him for sure.”

You raised an eyebrow. Perhaps a few were capable but not everybody.

“You’re too cynical,” he reprimanded though there was little malice to his words. “You should try to trust the rest of us. At least for long enough to get a little sleep.”

You reached up and touched the bags that had formed under your eyes. “Thank you for your concern but I’ll be perfectly fine.” You shoved the documents into a small bag and slung it over your shoulder. Once you dropped them off at home, you could head back out and see if anything had popped up.

“It’s still pretty early,” Fatgum mused. “What are your plans?”

“I’m going to go and see if any of my sources have found new information.”

“Uwabami was meant to be doing that tonight accourding to the schedule,” he pointed out. “But you’re probably not going to be taking the night off. Why don’t you join me for my patrol? You can keep an ear to the ground and also not continue exhausting yourself.”

Sighing, you glanced over your shoulder at him. “We hardly know each other. Why are you so worried about me?”

He shrugged. “Too many heroes drive themselves crazy with this kind of stuff. Come on. My work study students are great, you’ll love them both.”

There was a reason that you didn’t take any of those on but admittedly his two students were entertaining.

Gang Orca

It was all for the sake of the cameras.

You had to remember that when you were getting up before the sun rose. Everything had to be absolutely perfect about your appearance. If it wasn’t then your little ruse would be seen through by every reporter with half a braincell.

Then you had to get to the setup site and speak with the marketing team secretly. You stood with the team leader to one side, discussing everything like old friends over a cup of coffee.

“Essentially, what we’re looking for is a very breathless and awe-struck victim,” he explained to you. “When you speak to the media, try and make it like you never even thought of Gang Orca much before but now his rescue has made him into your favourite. We’re trying to build a greater trust with the public especially amongst children.”

You pulled a face. “I don’t much like working with kids but for a small increase, I can become quite the lover of them for a short while.”

The guy smiled. “You’re one of the best, otherwise I wouldn’t have hired you. You can get your increase.”

“Thank you. Now let’s get to work.”

You made your way to the ‘accident’ site. The costume team ripped your shirt and you had some fake blood dotted around your head. Nothing to make your injuries too severe but enough for some pity.

And then you climbed under the wreck and waited.

Approved photographers snapped their pictures as you were rescued from your metal prison by the tall Gang Orca. His strength alone was enough to pull the door free. He held his hand out to you while using his other to lift the car high enough to help you out. You made a show of crawling free and then stumbling a little.

With one hand on your head, you leaned against him and stared up with a grateful expression. Cameras flashed and he checked the wreck once more before leading you away for ‘medical treatment’.

Once out of view of the media circus, you straightened and wiped some of the fake blood away from your mouth. “Thank you for the rescue,” you said.

Gang Orca didn’t seem very happy about it at all. It was good that his hero image didn’t need too many smiles.

“I’m going to guess that this wasn’t really your idea?”

He sighed. “No. I don’t like the need to fake rescues when there are real people who should be getting help from a hero.”

“But those people aren’t getting paid to better the public’s opinion of you,” you said. “Twenty minutes here can be what knocks you off lists like ‘scariest heroes’ and similar stuff. That way, you get even more opportunities to save people.”

You couldn’t tell if he was grimacing or not but he definitely appeared to be. It made sense. While some heroes relished in the easier work, many didn’t like the media part of their jobs.

“If you’re happy with it, I’d like your autograph,” you said. “It’ll help me sell the whole situation a lot easier.”

“Alright.”

“For what it’s worth, I don’t have a warm opinion of the media either,” you said. “They’re vultures who benefit from the fall of good heroes. What I, and others, do helps stop the best from being sidelined just because they’re intimidating or unmarketable. You’re in this for the right reason but the news organisations don’t care about that.”

He sighed deeply. “It’s unfortunate that you’re right. Of course, that doesn’t mean I have to be happy with these kinds of arrangements.”

“Few people are.”

Hawks

Being a photographer was competitive work, especially in a world where people could have quirks allowing them to grow cameras from their bodies.

You had to go the extra mile in order to compete with them and carve out a name for yourself. Either you had to be there first or you had to see something that nobody else did. A good intuition never led you astray.

And so, when you found yourself walking down the right street late one afternoon, you just knew that it was time to take out your camera.

The event was nothing catastrophic. Indeed, it seemed that the main danger was people’s stupidity. A fire had started on the bottom floor of an office building and instead of waiting for first responders to do their jobs, people were choosing to make things more difficult by climbing out of windows and stuff like that.

Soon enough, heroes were on the scene and you had your camera ready.

Naturally, Backdraft was the first to arrive and you got some great photos of the rescue hero doing what he did best. The light from the flames perfectly illuminated the hero and made the entire situation feel a great deal more dramatic than it was.

The second hero was a young woman whose name escaped your mind. She assisted the civilians as best she could but, no sooner did she help one down, and the person was practically taken from her arms.

Bright red feathers flew across the scene, darting into the building and pulling every person free by their clothing. They were lowered safely to the ground though many stumbled.

You didn’t lower your camera but you cursed out Hawks under your breath.

Never, in your wildest imagination, did you expect to hear him respond.

“Well, that’s not a very nice thing to say.”

You startled, just about dropping your camera on the ground in shock. He was perched above your head, atop one of the streetlights, a smirk on his face and his visor down. His wings were shorter than usual and the only way you could tell he was even helping with the incident.

“You ruined my photo,” you said. “And she had him, you know?”

“She was moving too slow. The poor guy would have been stuck in the air for several minutes longer and that’s just not good on the heart. Besides, I can make up for your lost photo if you snap a shot in the next three seconds.”

You scoffed. “A photo of you sitting on a streetlight? From this angle?”

“What? Not dramatic enough for you?”

“Not unique enough, more like. You’re the most photographed hero in the whole of Japan. The internet is teeming with images of you from every possible angle, distance, and situation. I’ve seen them all.”

For some reason, that seemed to get to the pro-hero a little and you were surprised when he landed beside you. You were very rarely this close to a pro, your bravado disappearing now that he was actually standing there.

“So you’re saying I’m not worth a photo?”

Part of you felt like saying that he was and quickly taking one but your pride didn’t allow it. “Not when there are lesser-known heroes here. They don’t have crazy stalkers willing to chase them around the city for any picture.”

“And aren’t they luckier for it,” he sighed. “Ah well, your loss. I’ll see you around.”

With a flap of his wings, he was gone and you watched him go, fighting the urge to snap a photo the entire time.

Midnight

Some would call you shallow but interviews were one of your favourite parts of being a hero. Getting to answer questions and engage with the people who admired you was an experience that you just adored. Not only that but they were often the best place to clear up rumours or speculations so long as they were edited well.

With a reliable broadcaster and positive outcomes on all of your latest jobs, you were extremely excited to be offered an interview. You knew there was an ulterior motive of some kind but you hadn’t been sure as to what.

But still, you arrived early, dressed in your hero costume, and had your makeup done up as best as it could be.

And then you watched the interview before you and you quickly realised that the broadcast was doing a segment. One focused on hero costumes.

Your own was quite unique, a step away from the usual appearance of heroes. Personally, you loved it.

The public however was divided on whether it was fashion forward or just a flop.

And clearly that was why individual heroes had been chosen.

Being interviewed at the moment and practically being drilled on the ins-and-outs of her costume was nobody other than Midnight herself. She looked absolutely amazing as ever. A natural on the stage and in the field.

You had to admit however that you didn’t feel comfortable with the questions they were asking her. She answered smoothly but mostly in deflection.

The other heroes around you agreed with your assessment. This felt like an attempt at creating a media circus. Few were interested in participating anymore.

The moment Midnight gave her leave, the producers began gesturing at you. You gave them a look and turned around with the rest of the heroes there.

Midnight was in a bad mood but she put on a smirk when you made eye contact with her.

“We’re leaving,” you told her. “None of us were told that this was going to be working off controversy.” You wanted to apologise that she had been the first to get interrogated but you didn’t know how to do that.

She laughed. “You weren’t expecting there to be a catch?”

“I mean, I was but I thought they were a little better than running a segment that’s so clearly focused on… well…”

“Sex appeal?” Midnight asked.

You awkwardly rubbed the back of your neck. “Yeah. It probably should have tipped us off that we were all around the same status. No real big names aside from your own have worked with this broadcast channel.”

“And nobody will again once I speak to a few contacts,” Midnight said, a hint of bitterness finally seeping into her voice. “Guess that will teach me to give new places a chance. They’re all looking for the big ratings instead of actual interest. Maybe I should just go into being a teacher full time at this rate.”

“Aren’t you already doing that?”

She shushed you. “Not if I don’t say it out loud.”

You laughed and stuck by her as your group exited the building, ignoring the clamoring from the higher-ups who were desperately trying to convince you to stay. The type of people who would take advantage of being able to pressure people into things. Lovely.

“Don’t you hate how rude they are to you?” you asked her. “I get so furious sometimes and my questions are always tame compared to yours.”

She shrugged. “At some point, you get used to it. I don’t think there’s a question out there that would shock me anymore.”

You really hoped you never reached that point.

Mirko

The villain pulled experimentally at his cuffs. He twisted around and began shuffling when he met your eyes.

“Where exactly are you trying to go?”

He grumbled something under his breath and stopped moving. You raised a hand to your head and sighed. At this rate, you were going to wind up with wrinkles. One of your favourite outfits had been destroyed by this little altercation and nobody had even bothered to show up yet. Somebody had called emergency services, right?

“Stop moving, I can hear you,” you snapped.

The villain would have been a greater threat if you hadn’t happened to be shopping in the area. Your quirk was the perfect match for his own and it allowed you to quickly take control of an otherwise dangerous situation.

Now you sat on a bench, him tied to the nearest building support bench, and you waited for somebody to arrive and take him off your hands.

There was a thump somewhere to your right and you lazily looked up from your phone. Only for your heart to kind of stutter.

“Aw, come on! I was told there was going to be some excitement over here!” Mirko complained. “What gives?!”

The rabbit hero was absolutely gorgeous with white hair and legs that went on for literal days. She was the epitome of everything you aspired to be as a hero. What she did was on her own terms and she fought for the thrill of it all.

You had just never expected to actually meet her.

“I’ve dealt with it,” you said once you had gotten over your shock. You gestured towards the villain. “No problems here.”

Mirko bounded over and stuck her face way too close to his. Her nose seemed to twitch in excitement. “You don’t seem so tough,” she scoffed. “I got the call and it said that this was setting itself up to be a good clash! Are you just that good?”

Her eyes fell on you, bright and teasing. A strand of hair fell in front of her face and she huffed it away without breaking eye contact.

“I am,” you said, mostly joking but feeling unable to deny it.

She threw her head back and laughed. “That’s a good answer. I like your confidence.” She eyed what you were wearing. “Your costume could use some work though.”

You chuckled. “It’s actually pretty similar to yours when I’m not interrupted while shopping. I’ve always loved your style.”

She nodded firmly as though that was a given. Then she looked around and raised an eyebrow. “If this moron interrupted your shopping, then what are you doing hanging around with him? You have things to get back to, don’t you?”

You gestured around. “I do but the police haven’t shown up yet.”

“Don’t worry about them,” she scoffed. “I’ll bounce this guy down to the station for you. Don’t waste time just standing around.”

She turned back to the villain just in time for you to both see him run around the corner. He nearly tripped but managed to keep his footing. You glanced at one another and Mirko laughed heartily. “You stay here,” she said. “I can deal with cowards in well under a minute. They always do the same things to ‘throw me off’ or whatever.”

“I’ll come with you,” you said. “It’s technically my fault he got away. And I could always learn a thing or two from the best, right?”

She grinned. “I knew I liked you. Let’s see if you can keep up though.”

Natsuo

On a good summer’s day, there was nothing better than the beach. The waves gently lapping at the shore, soft clouds drifting across the sky, and few children due to the earliness of the day. It was well worth getting up early to watch the sun creep its way over the ocean and begin what was scheduled to be the hottest day of the year.

Not that you would be outside when it hit noon. By that time, ice cream and a nice spot of shade became necessary.

For now though, you waltzed along the beach and enjoyed the sand beneath your feet. As you walked, you kept an eye out for shells though there were scarce. People came every day to collect this time of year.

In a way, that made you sad.

But the lack of shells did mean that you didn’t need to watch where you were walking quite as much. At least, that was your thought process. Shells cut your feet and there were none so why keep an eye on the sand.

The answer is broken bottles.

It was a sake bottle, probably stolen away by some kids to be drunk where their parents wouldn’t see. The searing pain made you think you’d stepped on a jellyfish. Cursing, you jerked your foot away, blood running down into the sand below.

A small wave washed up, taking the bloodied sand away to reveal the culprit.

Struggling to balance, you hopped away from the bottle and sat down, lifting your foot to see the damage. It was a rather deep slice that made you feel quite woozy. Sand was already sitting around the injury and your only option to wash it off was the very salty sea.

“Sorry, do you need some help?”

You glanced behind you to see a guy standing on the boardwalk. His hair was pale and his expression kind. Something about him seemed oddly familiar but you weren’t sure why.

“I stood on a bottle,” you said. “It’s alright.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Do you need some help getting off the sand?”

You were going to deny the offer but your entire leg felt like it was on fire. The pain was undoubtedly because of your brain flicking through reminders about the danger of stepping on glass. “If you’re alright with it.”

He made his way down to where you were sitting quite quickly and glanced at your foot. “That’s going to need stitches,” he said. He offered his water bottle to you. “You should clean it off and then put some pressure on it before we move it.”

The cut hadn’t seemed that bad to you but you hadn’t really been looking carefully. “Are you sure?” You still took the water though, hissing as you poured it over your cut.

“Very,” he said. “Do you mind your towel getting blood on it?”

“No.”

He used the towel to put pressure on the cut and then helped you stand, hobbling your way off the beach. Once there, he quickly listed off the nearest hospitals.

“Are you a medical student by any chance?” you asked, trying to keep your mind off the pain.

He blushed. “Sorry, is it obvious?”

You laughed. “Just a little but that’s okay. It was good that you happened to be nearby then. Can I get your name?”

He hesitated but then said, “Natsuo. Don’t worry about my family name.”

Curious now, especially given how familiar he looked, you were tempted to push. But you didn’t and instead thanked him again for his help. He turned out to be correct, of course. You did need stitches.

Present Mic

You stretched before going into the office. Everything was sore – an unfortunate result of your late night. It couldn’t have been helped. Train wrecks were rarely planned.

Principle Nezu greeted you warmly when you arrived and then asked you to sit down. “As I’m sure you’ve heard, there was a recent incident on the grounds. Thirteen was badly injured and we’re in need of a new teacher with expertise in natural disaster management.” He smiled at you. “I thought you would be the perfect match.”

You raised an eyebrow. “I was under the impression you were going to try convince me to take a work study student.”

“I’m sure you will one year,” he joked.

“Unlikely but you can always offer.” You sighed and turned your gaze out the window. “I have little care for children. This will be a temporary position, yes?”

“We’ll see how it goes.”

You gave him a look but the principle just sipped at his tea. He already knew that you were going to accept – if only because you had always been a close friend of Thirteen’s. Taking over one class wasn’t going to kill you.

“I don’t have any experience in this,” you reasoned. “Other schools must have teachers who can come and cover classes?”

“None who are as experienced in the field as you are. So I’ve organised with Hizashi Yamada to take you through his methods of teaching and you can convert them over. He’ll be here soon.”

You sunk further into your chair, rubbing the bridge of your nose. “What would you have done if I said no?”

“Been very disappointed, of course.”

Present Mic was a hero you had always admired but you hadn’t ever expected him to be as loud in person as he was in the media. You just about jumped out of your skin when he entered the room dramatically, calling out a greeting.

Nezu gave the introductions and informed you that before doing an actual class, you had a week of acting as an assistant instructor alongside Present Mic.

“Should I invest in earbuds?” you joked.

He laughed but then actually lowered his voice as though you had reminded him. “Don’t worry. If I yell too much in class, Shota tends to come and glare through the doorway until I quieten down.”

You chuckled. “Do you have similar teaching schedules?’

“No but he claims that he can hear me from anywhere in the school. It’s the best way to find him actually. You just yell until he shows up.”

“I’ll take that as lesson number one in how to teach at U.A.”

“Lesson number one is to not take Nemuri’s flirting seriously,” he corrected. “I know it’s very flattering to think that she’s interested but she’s not. If it makes you uncomfortable, you can tell her to stop but she doesn’t always listen. It’s part of her image, you know?”

You raised an eyebrow at Nezu but he just shrugged. That didn’t seem like it was too professional but alright.

You took a deep breath and tried to pretend that this was just going to be temporary. It wasn’t like Nezu had been trying for years to get you involved at the school.

Temporary.

“Which subject do you teach?” you asked as you followed Present Mic from the office.

“English. No crazy action or anything which means you have to work double time to keep the students interested. You’ll have it far easier.”

Nobody really prepared you for the fact that Class 1A didn’t know how to do things the easy way.

[love-takes-work]

Notes on SU Commentary Tracks

I watched the commentary tracks on the Complete Steven Universe DVD Set and I took some nerd notes.

The episodes with commentary tracks are “Reunited,” “Change Your Mind,” and “The Future.”

I’ll bold stuff that was maybe bigger news or more surprising for easier reading. And yes, some of this was already known from podcasts, other Q&As, or interviews, but I listed it if they said it again here.

Read on after the jump to read these and other highlights:

Steven’s original wedding speech

Older ideas on dialogue for Lapis when she came back to the beach

Scrapped concepts for the scene that ultimately included Steven communicating with the others in a mindscape

Discussions of earlier concepts for White Diamond having a power to “freeze” Gems into statues to make them perfect and having a gallery of them on Homeworld

Pink Pearl’s original fate

The translation of the writing on Obsidian’s sword

The origin of Pink Steven’s design

What Rebecca did to pitch the “SHE’S GONE” scene

Earlier plans to include Shep in “Change Your Mind”

An unused concept of how Steven feels about Biggs

The inspiration for the Heaven and Earth Beetles’ healed design

How Volleyball/Pink Pearl was almost a mini-villain

Discussion of how they did not get to share the origin of the Diamonds

Jasper’s scrapped participation in the movie

“Reunited” - 

Commentary with Rebecca Sugar, Ben Levin, Matt Burnett, Hilary Florido, Joe Johnston, Ian Jones-Quartey, and Kat Morris.

In 2015, an episode idea called “If You Love Yourself So Much” was discussed but rejected. It included some early ideas that ended up getting incorporated into “Reunited,” most notably Garnet marrying herself and putting rings on both hands.

The idea of the Cluster arm wrestling was planned for a long time. A scrapped idea of Steven banging his fist on a vending machine to get some Chaaaaps was supposed to visually parallel some of that scene, but it was axed.

When they got pushback on the wedding idea, they kept adding more and more “high entertainment value” items like a big musical number so the episode would be absolutely unmissable and appealing to everyone.

The song at the beginning of the episode was meant to check in with the entire cast and sort of remind you they exist and what their state of mind is going into the wedding.

Ian made a comment joking about “All 15 people in Beach City” being in the audience.

Just about everyone on the Crew touched this episode, despite that there are four main storyboarders credited for “Reunited.”

In 2016 Ian Jones-Quartey proposed marriage to Rebecca Sugar. They felt like the characters based on them (Sapphire and Ruby) HAD to get married in the show now because otherwise it wouldn’t be honest. But then their characters got married before they did.

They really love the idea of having characters get married who have known each other for a really long time, versus the fairy tale trope of movies ending with weddings between people who have met very recently.

Steven’s speech as officiator at the wedding used to be longer in its first draft--it was described as being weird and full of jokes, and there would have been a scene with Pearl getting weepy and pulling tissues out of her pearl.

Ian mentions loving a joke Jeff came up with having Greg play one chord to make Steven fall asleep--it’s sort of a “dream” chord you hear in cartoons a lot before a dream sequence.

The Crew discussed what it might be like if someone had never seen the show before and started with this episode.

Ian really wanted Steven’s psychic powers to figure into the episode.

Blue using a sadness wave to attack the Gems was a very old idea they’d planned for a long time. So was Lapis’s arrival.

There was a discussion of having Lisa Hannigan performing her lines as Blue VERY early in the morning.

Ian was happy the sword got broken because it was so momentous but it was just a sword. And later appeared on a shelf in the house as an artifact.

Miki had drawn a torn dress for Garnet at one point so she could be shown fighting and moving around more accurately, and this led to a long discussion of whether Gem clothing can even actually get torn the way human clothes can. They concluded that no, it shouldn’t be torn, so they backed up and gave Garnet an open-front dress from the beginning so the fighting version would make more sense.

Lapis originally might have had a longer speech upon arriving back on the beach. They eventually decided to just have her say “Hey.”

The barn falling on Blue Diamond was an intentional Wizard of Oz reference.

They point out that Steven even once said “drop the barn on the beach” (in a previous episode, “Can’t Go Back,” which was also a Miki episode).

Destroying the house was a big deal, and they always thought they’d end up doing it but backed away from it until “Reunited.” They almost even did it back in “Coach Steven”! But it just ended up with a little damage to the porch.

The Crew thinks Miki is really good at drawing ensemble shots.

Rebecca was always overwhelmed whenever she got to have Patti LuPone record for Yellow.

Originally the giant figures of everyone’s statue bodies in the mindscape were too dark and had to be revamped so they could be seen.

An earlier idea of Steven’s “psychic-ghost-situation” had him as a ghost actually trying to interact with the other characters during fighting action, but it was pulled back to this mindscape so there wouldn’t be as much confusing action to keep track of and more focus on what Steven was doing to encourage his teammates and contact the Diamonds.

Hilary was glad not to have to block out a fight.

Ian mentions loving having Bismuth back in the group.

They originally wanted the “Diamonds sensing Pink’s energy” plot to happen when Steven was in the palace somehow, but everything got moved to this scene--which the Crew all agrees turned out incredible, like how cool it was to have Steven essentially reminding each character why they fight and summing up their whole arc in a sentence.

“Change Your Mind”

Commentary with Rebecca Sugar, Ben Levin, Matt Burnett, Hilary Florido, Joe Johnston, Ian Jones-Quartey, and Kat Morris.

They like to refer to this episode as “The movie before the movie.”

They loved incorporating “princess tropes” into Steven’s time on Homeworld, which is why there were so many references to “mice” (well, Pebbles) making clothes, being locked in a tower, being reminded of his manners, loving animals and freeing imprisoned pets, etc. 

Deedee did the voice of the rainbow worm pet. She apparently didn’t find it memorable and was surprised when she was reminded she did the voice.

Rebecca was super excited for the confrontation with Blue.

There was some discussion of how Steven would have died of starvation if he didn’t have someone practical like Connie to remember to bring food.

They love working with the huge scale the Diamonds present.

The Crew always wanted to put someone in Blue’s hair loop. Originally they wanted Blue to tuck Greg in there when she kidnapped him, but they didn’t end up being able to do any hair-loop-carrying until this episode.

The Crew bantered back and forth about what the heck those Pebbles’ names were and how hard it was to track them.

They agreed that Paul draws the best Yellow Diamond, which makes sense since he also drew the first episode with Yellow (and her stink face). 

The scene where Yellow asks Blue to stop using her powers on her and then realizing she’s crying on her own was one of Rebecca’s favorite scenes to get to finally.

Steven Sugar thought Gems would spend a lot of time in their own chambers/rooms just not really doing much of anything unless they had to fulfill their purpose.

Some of the Homeworld ideas were based on a Soviet artist’s concepts, Boris Artzybasheff, and also many ideas were inspired by Busby Berkeley regarding how people were objects and furniture.

The mech was an old idea. Once they had the hand ship from “Jailbreak,” they knew there had to be bodies somewhere.

They focused a lot about what could be the coolest and funniest way for something to happen. The concept of the yellow and blue spaceship arms appearing out of the sky to smack the White Diamond mech around was one of those.

Rebecca really wanted things to look more and more cartoony and bizarre as you get deeper into Homeworld.

They spent a very long time trying to decide on characters’ new outfits.

The trash can lid is said to be a reference to “a flying bear cartoon” and they dance around speaking a direct reference because they’re not sure they’re allowed to say its name.

In discussing the powers of the Diamonds, there were debates on what White’s power would be; with Yellow being physicality-based and Blue being emotion-based, they thought White as identity-based made the most sense.

Different ways to express this were played with before settling on the idea that she thinks she’s perfect and others’ colors make them less like her and less perfect. But then she becomes a hostage to her own beliefs about herself because if she does anything that reflects on everyone else, so it’s best to do nothing.

They had some cool earlier ideas of White’s powers making statues out of other Gems and having a gallery full of frozen Gems, frozen by White to make them perfect.

They also weren’t sure what fate befell the original Pink Pearl and discussed whether she might have been destroyed. 

Rebecca discussed how creepy it was to have White Pearl speaking in Christine’s voice and not Deedee’s--that we should find it fundamentally disturbing at this point.

Tom Herpich came up with the crack on White Pearl’s face.

In real life, pink diamonds aren’t understood as well as yellows and blues. It’s more known what makes a diamond yellow or blue, and some of those facts Rebecca researched were originally woven into the speech White gave about their “impurities.” But it turned out to be too dry and most of it got cut.

Rebecca loves having Lapis with pants and sandals for easier cosplay.

Ian had to draw the scene where Steven is falling and fusing with inert characters--he wasn’t able to properly explain it to Rebecca so she had him draw it.

They really wanted Rainbow Quartz 2.0 to have a scarf, but they couldn’t figure out how to get that into Pearl’s design. They miss the scarf.

It was really important to have these Fusions display call-forwards of the Gems’ new outfits which we hadn’t yet seen.

Rebecca points out that Sunstone’s design breaks a design rule and she feels like Sunstone should have Garnet’s pant leg colors on their legs, but at the same time she understands the rule of cool and likes it like this.

It’s discussed how none of Steven’s fusion weapons are exclusively offensive weapons either.

Rebecca still really wants a suction cup Sunstone toy.

Sunstone’s ability to transcend reality and break the fourth wall was a joke that exploded in the discussion room among the Crew. As soon as the idea was pitched everyone kept coming up with ideas. Sardonyx’s fourth-wall-breaking is more snarky, but Sunstone’s is helpful.

Rebecca was disappointed that the rule about Steven’s clothes wasn’t always followed with having his clothes appear on Obsidian’s hand, but she was delighted that you could see them in one scene.

They spent a lot of discussion time on making sure Steven-Obsidian was different somehow from Rose-Obsidian. The hair is different.

Old versions of Obsidian were drawn with wrapped-together Twizzlers legs, which sort of is reflected in the present design.

The sword had been planned forever--and it first appeared in “Bubble Buddies.”

Miki worked on the Ninja Turtles show so Rebecca was really excited to see her depictions of Bismuth and Sunstone.

An early plan to have Obsidian draw the sword from their mouth was complicated because fusion weapons should be combinations, so they finally reached the solution of having them combine to make the hilt, then get the blade out of Obsidian’s mouth.

The blade of the sword is thought to say “We’ll always save the day,” but you’d have to ask Steven Sugar.

Another really old idea was climbing into the White Diamond mech eye.

Rebecca was disappointed that some of the merch made of White Diamond did not feature her cape sparkles.

There were many debates early on about where Rose might “actually” be. There were tons of references to this fundamental question throughout the show--introducing Lapis as a Gem trapped in an object, having Pearl ponder pulling Steven’s Gem out as a baby, straight-up wondering what would happen to him in “Bubbled” when Eyeball was trying to take his Gem, etc. They all decided Rose was definitely gone but that the idea of her possibly being inside him should be on his mind a lot, leading to disturbing images like dreaming about coughing up her hair.

Yellow Diamond and Blue Diamond both challenged Steven about things he was very confident about, but White’s question of his identity got to him because he in fact is not confident about that.

The black and white eeriness of the fuzzy background and the other characters having their colors washed out helped make the scene in White Diamond’s head so disturbing and creepy.

The split screen showing Steven’s two perspectives was exciting to Rebecca, and was a pretty old idea. And she points out it sort of “breaks the show.”

The Gem Steven, Pink Steven, was represented by a slightly modified version of his model sheet. Everyone laughed when they saw what was getting used.

They decided that an earlier idea of Pink Steven looking angry should be replaced by an emotionless version of him. All the emotion should be with Organic Steven.

In the pitch meeting for this episode, Rebecca herself screamed “SHE’S GONE!!” and shocked the hell out of everyone. She pointed out how no one expected this of her because she’s pretty quiet, but she just wanted to shock everyone the way Steven would in the show.

They point out this is the first appearance of the geometric shield that got so much use in Future.

The fact that Steven is Steven is the ultimate reveal of the show. Usually in fantasy shows there’s some other kind of revelation, but Steven just being amazingly human and amazingly Gem and amazingly himself is wonderful here.

They like having the pilot reference with “What’s your excuse?”

If Rose had somehow still been alive in him, all of this would have been cheapened.

Ian loves that you can faintly hear Sadie’s concert from way out in space as the camera approaches Earth.

They got a lot more use out of the Beach-A-Palooza stage than they thought they would when it had to be designed for “Steven and the Stevens.” There was a joke about how at one of the conventions a real Beach-A-Palooza stage was constructed and they had a thought about how oh good, it’s getting reused.

Sadie having green hair in the finale was a late change but they liked showing her progression. 

They had originally kicked around the idea of Sadie already having her new partner Shep at this point, but decided to develop that in Future instead.

They compare White Diamond’s stepping gingerly into the fountain to skeptically getting into a public pool.

Some silliness they didn’t get to use was that Biggs would be “beloved by everyone” except Steven. They never got to cover it, but originally Steven was just going to not really understand why everyone loves her so much and doesn’t personally much care for her.

The Heaven and Earth Beetles are based on the Mothra Ladies.

The healed Gems’ horns are supposed to be side effects of the corruption that they continue to bear in the present.

Larimar and Orange Spodumene ended up different in the ending scene than they became in Future. Many of the designs were retroactively pulled into this scene after being designed for the movie.

Rebecca wrote “Change Your Mind” as a personal song to express her feelings surrounding her fight for the wedding.

“The Future”

Commentary with Rebecca Sugar, Kat Morris, Alonso Ramirez Ramos, Hilary Florido, Joe Johnston, and Ian Jones-Quartey.

The animatic for this episode ran SO long--they’re supposed to be just over 11 minutes but this one was 17 minutes.

Steven’s calisthenics routine, a callback to “Future Vision,” was on the chopping block to make the episode shorter but Rebecca wouldn’t allow it to be cut because she wanted to show that Steven’s been taking care of himself.

They were very excited to get a chance to cover some of the things in Future that they couldn’t squeeze into the original show, like the unbubbled Rose Quartzes, Volleyball, etc.

The new writers on the show also helped bring forward the idea of Steven finally making some of his OWN mistakes to fix.

This also helped construct the idea of Steven essentially being the “final boss” of his own battle.

Usually stories that involve someone being in a fight and winning don’t explore the effect just being in a fight has on a person, regardless of whether you won. 

Rebecca really wanted to play Ocarina of Time after beating it so she could go back to all the places and see how people were doing. She wanted this epilogue series to explore that a little too.

Little Homeschool is sort of a Tiny Toons reference--older cartoons teach younger cartoons how to be cartoons, and this is Gems teaching other Gems how to be Gems on Earth. 

Lamar came up with the silly joke about receiving that art set with all the different media types in it--the one artists are always getting from a well-meaning relative at holiday time.

A scrapped plot idea involved Volleyball/Pink Pearl as a sort of “mini-villain,” with a focus on her activating the un-activated Pearls.

There’s discussion of how victimization turns people into villains sometimes. But since showing that happening with Volleyball wouldn’t have served the interests of Steven’s arc, they couldn’t fit it in.

There was also a “very specific” Gem origin and Diamond origin story that’s quasi-religious in nature--it’s very cool and complicated. But they do not tell us what it is.

Ian and Joe both really wanted to have Jasper living alone in the woods and stacking rocks. They’re glad they got this series to do that with her.

There was originally an idea for a B-plot involving Jasper in the movie. They don’t discuss the specifics.

There were many ideas they didn’t get to work on because they would have started new arcs and Future was not about kicking new plots into gear.

“Mr. Universe” was the last episode they wrote/finished.

Miki really wanted to include a kiss between Connie and Steven to show their relationship was okay. Among the Crew everyone knew their relationship was basically eternal but Miki wanted to make sure WE knew that.

Steven driving conveyed momentum for Future; in the original show, we always came back to the laundry hand, back to home, but in Future that’s changed and home isn’t what it was. 

They were really excited that a gourd family made it to the crowd scene in Future.

Thanks for reading!

Note: The movie had some commentary tracks too, but the one on this DVD set is the same as the one released on the original standalone movie DVD, so I did not outline it here. Here is my post about the DVD commentary from the movie.

[hford0311]

He's Back

*Where the reader is also from the 1940s, and is now a part of the Avengers. Now, she has learned to deal with her displacement in time and moved on from the idea of love, especially after the death of her love, Bucky. Until, one day Steve calls for an emergency meeting where her world is turned around. Word Count: 2.2k*

Whispers were indistinctive around the Avengers Tower that you could never end up being a part of. When you made your entrances in different rooms, people would instantly stop talking, even if you were nearly silent coming in the room.

"Okay!" You exclaimed and threw a glass cup in the sink when it happened once again. "Do I need to set up a meeting, so I can be told what's being whispered around or something?" You yelled at Nat, Tony, and Bruce. They were shocked by your response. "I'm tired of this stupid silent treatment." You added, almost panting in anger. "Y/n," Bruce started to speak before the other pair in the room shot him disapproving looks. "No, tell me, Bruce. I can handle it." You stated. "Yeah, the cup can really tell that you can handle something," Tony dully remarked. "So you're going to stop everything to make sure that I do not know the stupid secret that everyone else in the tower gets to know but me. Cool, thanks, Tony," you stomped out of the room.

Steve was gone, the only person from your time, and he was the only person that you could confide in at times. You were also from the 1940s. You were friends with Steve and actually Bucky's girl up until his death in 1945. You were a nurse during the war. They shipped you off to Germany. There, you were one of the captured nurses that were forced to treat the German soldiers, and HYDRA decided that you were useful enough to keep around for decades. On and off ice for decades.

You kept messaging Steve to know when he was going to be back and where he had gone. It took hours for him for him to respond Emergency Meeting at 8. You tried knowing the content of the meeting, but he did not give you a response. You huffed and stayed put in your room until 7:55. That's when you walked into the main living area, where everyone was surrounded, including Steve. There was chatter, they obviously have not noticed you yet, this time. Steve asked everyone to back up and give them room. Them? You mentally questioned, who else is here?

The mini crowd back up and dispersed more in the living room. That's when you saw him. You were slightly embarrassed yourself when you noticed how you had pinched yourself. When you met his eyes, you felt time slow. He was not paying attention to anyone else either. You walked a few steps closer, "Hey, Sarge," you gently said. Bucky's body and face softened at your voice. "Long time, no see," you gave him a small smile. You could tell he wanted to reach out to you, but something was holding him back. Suddenly, you felt your stomach drop and a large amount of feelings suddenly attack you. For over half a century, you've known of his death, and it took you so long to accept that he was dead. Now, everything had backfired. All of that had now changed. You felt yourself beginning to sob. Bucky, your Bucky is alive. "This can't be real," you whispered and ran to your room.

The nightmares came back to you. There were incredibly recurring and were from your, what you call, main past being the 1940s and 1950s. However, they did not just include the horrible reliving the past like they used to be when you experienced them before. They included the screams and cries from Bucky to you. Your name and cries for help kept repeating, but you could never find where they were coming from until it was all dead silent, and you awoke panting and sweating. A few of the times included you crying out for him too and patting over the bed until you realized it was a dream.

This time after waking from the nightmare, you grabbed your throw blanket, quietly escaped your room, and went out to one of the patios. It did not matter how many times you did this, the view was always something that distracted you from the nightmares that occurred. The lights from all the apartments and other buildings were something that you always appreciated about living in the city. It did not matter that you were awake because you were not the only one. Sometimes, you would people watch and make up stories of the shapes of people that you go in and out of their lit living areas. It was all comforting. The opening of the sliding door made you jump in your seat a little, but you were fine when you saw it was Steve.

"Another one," he questioned and sat in the chair next to you. You nodded and wrapped the blanket around you tighter. "You know you can talk to whenever about them." Steve reminded you like he always does. Sometimes you debated making up a fake one to tell him about, so he could leave you alone about it. But like always, you pursed your lips and shook your head, "I'm fine," you quietly spoke. Steve sighed and looked out into the city. "It makes you wonder why their all up sometimes." He changed the subject that he knew he could get you to talk about. You gave a silent, second longing laugh before answering, "That's when you make up people stories. Like that building," you pointed at one about the height of where the patio was, the third closest building on the right, "on the third floor down from the top and fourth one to the right that couple are planning their wedding, it's going horribly, but they keep having fun along the way." You had a comfortable smile.

"Ever wonder what's that like anymore?" Steve asked while he looked at the window you exposed to him. You audibly scoffed, "Maybe almost a century ago, but I haven't ever since." Steve gave you a sad but understanding look. "Dedicate myself to fighting with the Avengers, I don't think any dreamboat could handle it. Just a single dame till the day I die...whenever that will finally be," you finished by rolling your eyes. You watched Steve looked at you with shock. "Well, Y/n, I'm surprised by you," he stated and leaned back in his chair, "I thought you would think differently with Bucky here. I know I have." You gave him a sad smile, "Steve, you and I both know that that person is not the Bucky we know and..." You faded into silence and looked back out. "Y/n, you haven't even-" "I know!" You paused after hearing yourself echo slightly, "I know, I haven't." You added much quieter. "The thought terrifies me, especially after coming to acceptance that my....was no longer, and being kidnapped with no hope in sight, I turned into a cold person. I saw him, a-and I-I..." you paused again, "I wasn't--fuck, I still don't know how to react to it, and I...am very mixed emotion about everything with him. On one hand, there's....what we had," your hands really helped you do the talking, "and now...I'm sure he has gone through worse than me. I'm sure he doesn't want to add anything to my plate of trauma, and I don't want to add to his." You finished.

"Y/n, you can't even get yourself to say Bucky's name." Steve pointed out to you. That's when emotions started. "Steve," you heavily exhaled, "that's the problem. Some nights, I wake up screaming for him. I pat my bed looking for him! I haven't done that since his mother told me about the soldiers coming up to her about his KIA in the '40s, Steve! I have nightmares of him screaming for me to help him, and I can never find him!" You took a large breath. "I am in an internal battle of wanting to run and jump in his arms like I wanted to do so badly when I daydreamed about the war being over and becoming a wife of an American hero while also wanting to stay the hell away from him because...well, everything after that to now!" You rubbed your forehead. "Y/n, he's here. Try something. Do you think he doesn't have the same feeling?" You looked up at the sky and shook your head. "It's terrifying." You breathed. "So is waking up from the ice, but we survived that." Steve said before getting up and going back in the tower.

***

Right on time again, up and terrified. You repeated your routine of going outside. You hummed old, familiar songs as you did. One of your favorite couples were dancing by their window. "You really have it all figured out, don't you?" You whispered, even though you knew you would never get an answer back. They were comfort characters in your world. You were so entranced by them that you did not noticed the other human walk out onto the patio as well, until he spoke. "Old habits never die." Your neck swiftly changed directions in shock at the voice. You tightened the blanket from a nervous habit. "Somethings never do," you simply added before turning away. However, your eyes kept glancing towards him. You noticed the recent haircut compared to when you saw him the other day at shoulder's length or a little beyond. "But so many things often do." He responded. "Can't ever go back even if we truly desired to." You added back to him.

There was silence. Eye contact never fully met. Under different circumstances of no history involved, some would say it resembled high school crushes. He finally gave in first and turned around to face you, hands on the railing of the patio. You noticed then that the left one was vibranium. You sighed and looked back at the couple near the window while humming songs from the '40s. Then, after a short while, you heard Bucky add to your humming. You stopped and shyly smiled back at him. "Music is nothing like it used to be," you mentioned. He lightly laughed and nodded. What came from your mouth next, you didn't really have control over, maybe it was an instinct like when you talk to Steve, maybe it was something you did not know you truly desired now.

"Want to head to my room and listen to it?" You couldn't avoid eye contact when he looked back at you now. You said it loud and clear enough that he looked over at you with a hint of shock. "That'd be nice," Bucky responded with a hint of a smile.

At first, it did start as simply that, listening to the records while sitting on your set of velvet wide wingback chairs. The occasional glances and small smiles shared. Then, Bucky made a move. He stood from his chair and stood in front of yours, offering you a dance. "Oh, Bucky, I haven't danced since-" "1943?" You nodded at him finishing your sentence. "I haven't either," he added and as gentle as he could be, he grabbed your hand to pull you up to dance with him. You allowed it to happen, resistance did not feel right to you in that situation.

The dancing started stiff and cautious like neither of wanted to frighten the other. However, it grew into a more fluid dancing, the pair of you getting more comfortable with each other. After a couple hours, you felt comfortable enough to rest your head on his chest. "Don't fall asleep on me, Y/n doll." He quietly said, which made you look up at him with curiosity at the old nickname. "I'm sorry," he admittedly said. "I shouldn't have-" "Don't apologize," you deeply whispered and leaned up, kissing Bucky's cheek. Then, his lips, after so many decades, had reconnected with yours, quick and short turned into long as well as passionate.

The world around you both felt like it turned back to 1943. The room was now Bucky's apartment, his clothing turned into his sergeant uniform, yours into the red shirtwaist dress, and time didn't hurt the pair of you like the present. "Never leave me again, James Buchanan Barnes." Your lips drew together and bodies grew closer. "Wouldn't dream of it, Y/n doll," Bucky would mutter against your lips and pulled your closer by the waist.

As your back landed on the bed, you physically felt your breath being caught. "Bucky," you exhaled in a tone that was no longer flirtatious or excited, rather it was a sad realization. The dimly lit apartment, the uniform, the red dress, all of it turned back into reality of your room in the Avengers Tower. You can see that the dream ideal world had broke from his eyes as well. "Bucky," you breathed as you stood and softly grabbed both sides of his face, "you were gone. You were gone for so long." You lightly cried. He embraced you, holding you close to his chest. "I know, doll." Bucky lightly kissed the top of your head. You gripped the back of his shirt. "Don't ever do that again." You whispered into him. "Why would I ever do such a thing?" Bucky held you tighter.

[jadelotusflower]

take these broken wings and learn to fly (The Matrix, Neo x Trinity)

The Matrix I Neo x Trinity I Post-Resurrections I One-Shot I 4093 words I Rating: PG-13

IO was halfway through its night cycle, the biosky set to mimic a starscape none of them had ever seen, at least not with their real eyes. Perhaps some of the machines - sythients - had seen it once, a relic from before the war; before humanity had seeded poison into the cloud that would never again lift, and sealed their own fate. 

In the Matrix Neo had often looked to the sky, to the great swathe of unrelenting blue. He’d watched murmurations of starlings fly free above, feeling he belonged among them without not quite knowing why. But at night there had been no stars, no vast quilt of pinprick light that inspired awe and beckoned exploration. Instead the sky was a dark shroud, keeping them earthbound and never daring to wonder what lay beyond. 

But was IO’s simulacrum sky any different; a mere reproduction of a lost past intended to give them comfort that they were sleeping under a great, endless expanse rather than buried under earth and rock like humanity’s tomb? Even in the real world they were not immune to comforting lies, although perhaps accepting the artificiality of what made IO a step removed from the Matrix - the knowledge that the lights above were not the beckoning call of distant stars, but a reminder that there was a universe out there beyond the electric storm, that one day may be seen again.

Neo would leave such ruminations to the philosophers, and simply enjoy the beauty of it.

Niobe had suggested for the time being that he and Trinity remain in what Morpheus had dubbed the “Rapunzel Tower” - for peace and quiet as much as anything else. Their return had not been officially announced, but surely gossip had spread and Neo was quite happy for Niobe and Bugs to field questions so he and Trinity could enjoy their reunion before facing the barrage of expectations that would no doubt be thrust upon them.

It had hardly been a prison the first time he’d been put there anyway - warm, furnished with the basic necessities, and as Morpheus had pointed out - a great view. Neo stood on the small semi-circular balcony overlooking IO, feeling the artificial night breeze on his face and remembering that luxurious yet sterile apartment the Analyst had trapped him in - too much space for one person, fitted out with the latest technology and stocked with expensive food and wine, but no one to share it with. He’d stood on the balcony there too, watching the lights from a million city windows that only served to remind him that he was surrounded by people, and yet utterly alone.

Warm arms snaked around him from behind, and he felt the pressure of Trinity’s body as she leaned against him, pressing her cheek between his shoulderblades. He sighed and closed his eyes, hands folding over hers where they were clasped around his waist.

“Can’t sleep?” she asked softly, and Neo wondered how sixty years could have passed when it seemed like only a week ago she’d been asking him the same question on the Neb.

Of course then he hadn’t answered; when he had looked across the table at her he could only see her face bloody and bruised as she plummeted to her death. How could you tell someone you loved that you’d seen them die, and had no idea how to stop it? Of course Trinity had found a way - in the bike shop, when she told him about her dream. Always reflections and cycles keeping them trapped, walking the same path over again but playing different roles.

“I think I’m afraid to,” Neo admitted, opening his eyes again. “Afraid that I’ll wake up back inside.”

“You won’t,” she promised, and squeezed him gently around the waist. “You won’t ever have to wake up alone again.”

Neo’s hands tightened over hers, fingertips running over her knuckles to remind himself that she was real and not some illusion conjured up by his fractured mind like so many times before. But then his throat tightened, his heart beating almost painfully in his chest. 

It had been one of the exercises the Analyst had convinced him to do; touch an object, or a piece of clothing, or rub his own fingertips together and focus on the motion, the texture, the feel of it, to bring himself out of a fugue state and back to reality. That had all been a lie, but with the Analyst pulling apart his brain and remaking it so many times, how could Neo possibly know what was real anymore?

“Neo.” Trinity moved around to stand in front of him, as he took quick, shallow breaths. “What’s wrong?”

But even that was an echo from long ago, and in his growing panic Neo feared that this was all simply another layer of control, that he was being placated with a simulacrum Trinity pieced together from his memory - that he was still in that pod, trapped and alone. 

That it was matrices all the way down, and every level he breached another barrier was placed in his way, meaning he would never come to the end.

“Neo,” Trinity said again, cupping his face in his hands as his mind began to unravel. “Look at me.”

He did; they stood before each other, sluggish and thin from years of intravenous feeding, skin weathered, lines deepened, hair shorn, almost mirrors of each other. But her eyes were unchanged - her desperate concern for him the same as when they’d held each other in Zion, her steady blue gaze he’d fallen into the first time he woke up on the Neb, and every time since then. 

His eyes were new but hers were old, the same eyes that had watched him on a monitor and found faith, that he’d always looked to for reassurance even in those early days after his first awakening, that he’d gazed into at the coffee shop and somehow knew he’d found home. 

Her eyes that had seen the real sky.

Neo’s heart slowed, and his breathing evened out. Trinity kept her gaze locked on his, her hands traveling down his neck and collarbone, fingers running lightly over his homespun shirt, placing pressure on his chest plugs underneath. The sense memory of it returned to him, the slightly puckering of his skin around the plugs to accommodate touch - not quite pain, but that slight twinge a machine would never understand enough to replicate.

Neo blinked first, and she gave a sigh of relief. He closed the distance between them, burying his face in her neck as his arms folded tightly around her, never wanting to let go again. He inhaled her scent, the one she only had in the real world, where there was dirt and sweat and engine grease.

She stroked the back of his head, fingers running lightly over the stubble of his hair, triggering a light pleasure that rippled down his spine. He’d forgotten what it was like to actually feel her, not just imagine her in his arms and then berate himself for being a fucking loser who’d fallen in love with a character in his own game.

“A code Galatea, he called you,” Neo murmured into her neck, recalling that the Analyst once asked him to keep a journal to record his thoughts after their sessions. That day’s entry had only contained two words: pretentious fuck.  

Trinity’s soft touch travelled over his original neck plug and down to the new, obscenely large one that had been installed beneath. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to it, mounted there like a spider that had sunk its fangs into his spine and would never let go, that had drawn their very life force from them and given nothing in return but sustained misery. 

“The Analyst.” Trinity said in a low, dangerous voice, and as she pulled back he could see rage in the sharp quirk at the side of her mouth and cold fire in her steely blue eyes.

“I am going to rip his fucking throat out,” she growled. 

That made him chuckle, a warm rush of love for her that confirmed this must be the real world, because such strength of feeling could not be manufactured.

“I’d like to see that,” he said, leaning his forehead against hers. Trinity smiled for a moment, but he could see she was still agitated - and it went deeper than fury on his behalf.

“What is it?” he asked gently, running his hands lightly down her arms. “Trin?”

She sighed heavily and turned away to look at the cityscape, the muscles in her slim shoulders tensing as she grasped the railing.

“It’s just…he  kept such a close eye on you, but he didn’t seem to bother that much with me.”

“Probably knew you wouldn't fall for his bullshit.” He moved to stand next to her at the railing, always her mirror as she was his.

“But I did fall for it.” Trinity frowned as she looked out at the city. “I accepted the pretty but dull family life he designed for me. I never tried to jump off a building or program my own rescuer.”

“But you said it yourself,” Neo pointed out. “I had my analyst, and you had your bikes. That one thing that was still you, still Trinity, that gave you just enough joy.”

The more he thought about it, the angrier it made him - how perfectly he’d played them both. To the Architect they’d just been cogs in the machine, but the Analyst had enjoyed the suffering he’d inflicted upon them. But the bitterness turned inward too - Neo had gone to that coffee shop every day just to see her, never brave enough to speak to her, to take the chance. He’d been torturing himself.

“I don’t know if that makes it worse,” Trinity said, hand moving behind her neck to touch her own spider-plug. “He put me in a cage, and I just sat there. Always wondering if it was the life I’d chosen or one that had been given to me, but never doing anything about it.”

She gave a harsh sigh and started to pace the balcony, anger seeping from every pore. “If there was one thing I trusted about myself, it was following my instincts. My gut kept me alive too many times to count - I was ten years old when I knew absolutely the world wasn’t right, and I didn’t stop trying to find answers until I got myself unplugged.”

She turned back to him, smacking her palm against the railing. “I spent twice as long in the new version - maybe more - and I just couldn’t see how wrong it was.”

“It was different this time,” Neo said. “He knew exactly how to tether us - used our own instincts against ourselves.”

Trinity looked up at him, a deep pain in her eyes lain bare. They had never discussed it - the possibility of having children wasn’t a topic so much ignored as deemed irrelevant. In fact they had never talked about the future at all, a life after the war so unfathomable despite the prophecy that promised imminent resolution. And deep down, perhaps Neo had always known that when the path of the One ended, his life would too. The bringer of peace rarely gets to enjoy it.

But she’d spoken - once - about her life before being unplugged, and then told him firmly that she never would again. Never knowing her parents, bounced around between care facilities and foster homes, although the streets were often safer than they were. No one had ever shown her a scrap of kindness, and she’d learned to rely only on herself - to fight and struggle and survive.  

Morpheus was a father to her in every way that word meant something, she’d said. He’d done more than save her, he’d believed in her - relied on her strength, let her push herself further than anyone else because he trusted she could handle it. And in time, she had become that protector for others, always the first to jack in when another rebel needed help, to lead the agents away because no one had ever slipped through their net as many times as Trinity.

So it wasn’t a surprise that she had felt bound by the children the Analyst had placed in her care. Perhaps deep down she knew they weren’t hers, but that did not erase the obligation and instinct to protect, the same she’d felt towards every newborn redpill, to her crew, to her fellow rebels - to the children in Zion’s orphanage she would often visit on furlough, if only to ensure that they were being treated better in the real world than she had in the Matrix.

“I guess they were probably just programs, like…Chad.” Trinity’s mouth twisted on the name, hand grasping the railing so tightly her knuckles turned white. “Ugh, we had the stupidest fucking names ever,” she growled, “why couldn’t I see through that?”

Neo said nothing. He watched the muscles in her neck stretch as she turned to her head to gaze back out over the city. Their skin was still papery after many years in fluid, so thin he could almost see her carotid pulse beat. He watched her throat work as she swallowed heavily; all comforting reminders that she was alive. 

“I have all these memories of a life I never lived,” she said eventually, still looking out at the unfamiliar city. “About children I gave birth to, and fed, and watched grow, and who needed me. That I was responsible for.”

She exhaled harshly and leaned back against the railing, propping her elbows on the ridge. “The sick thing is, looking back - they could have been ours. That sadistic fuck gave me children who looked like you.”  

But most of her anger had faded - instead she sounded very tired, and perhaps a little wistful.

“We can find them,” Neo suggested, moving closer to her. “Programs can be just as real as us. Well, not just like us,” he conceded, since it seemed a disservice to sythients not to acknowledge they were something new. “But life, all the same.”

“Maybe,” she said quietly, gaze dropping. “But what would I be to them? What am I now, having lived that life?”

He put his hands either side of her on the railing and leaned in close. “The Matrix cannot tell you who you are.”

She looked up at him, lips curling slowly into a smile. “You really do remember everything don’t you?”

“Part of the code,” he explained, kissing the upturned corner of her mouth. “You’ll see.”

***

Later, they lay on the narrow bed, legs and arms entwined as if they could not bear for there to be any space between them. Neo traced idle patterns on her bare back with light fingertips, feeling her smile against his cheek and quite certain he’d be content never to leave this room again. Of course he knew they would have to, and much sooner than either of them would like - in Zion believers had begged for his blessings and left offerings outside his door, he could only dread how those in IO would treat them after sixty years of mythologising. 

So he closed his eyes and held Trinity just that little bit tighter, inhaling her scent and revelling in the warmth of her body against his, the way her lithe fingers idly, almost rhythmically, worked the tight muscles of his shoulders. 

“Can I ask you something?” she spoke up just as Neo was drifting off to sleep.

His eyes snapped back open, and he pulled back to study her face. It was unlike her to be hesitant, biting down on her lower lip and hands travelling back over his shoulders to rest flat against his chest.

“Of course.” Neo would not deny her - he would never keep any part of himself from her again.

“In Simulatte…” Her brow furrowed, and Neo’s chest tightened to think of it - even with that the Analyst had been hiding the truth in plain sight.

“You didn’t try to convince me to go with you. Didn’t explain, didn’t tell me what had happened. Almost like you were…resigned.” Trinity looked up at him with that probing blue gaze. “Like you weren’t sure I would choose you.”

Neo nodded - it must have seemed that way,  since he hadn’t tried to dissuade her when the handler program had kicked in and tried to draw her away. He’d felt the disappointment around him, from Lexi in particular - she must have wanted to shake him and exclaim fight for her! Instead he’d let himself be restrained by the Analyst’s goons, willing to go back into his cage if it meant she would be safe.

“Sati said it had to be completely your choice,” he said softly, reaching out to lightly stroke her cheek. “I didn’t know what the Analyst would do if I said too much.”  

He’d rehearsed all the things he was going to say to her - about what had been done to them, the Analyst’s plan, about the real world that surely she could remember if she tried. But in the moment, Trinity sitting there so close and vulnerable with a hundred guns pointed at her head, the words had died on his tongue. 

“But…” Neo took her hand and held it tightly in his. “I remembered this. “

He sighed softly, drinking in the vision of her, alive and safe and Trinity, who had chosen him twice over - lonely, awkward, insular Neo - who loved him more than he ever thought he would deserve. 

“You told me once you’d never let me go,” he said softly, fingers intertwining with hers. “I believed you.”

Trinity tugged on his hand to pull him closer and pressed her lips to his. Neo gave himself over to the kiss, arms folding around her and pressing his hands firmly against her back, hers winding around his neck; the same passion between them there had been the very first time, a joy Neo never thought he would feel again.

He touched his forehead to hers, not needing to take the kiss further - it was enough for a few moments to be breathing the same air and existing in the same space. To be alive, and together.

“Is there anything you want to ask me?” Trinity asked after a while, and as she pulled away he saw her eyes bright with happy tears.

One day, he’d want her to tell him about her life - every detail of the years they’d spent apart, even if it hurt him to hear. But for now he couldn’t bear to think about it, not when they’d come so close to losing each other again.

“Do you remember dying?” The words slipped out almost without him realising it, and Neo berated himself for ruining the moment. But it had been a topic constantly on his mind in the Matrix - freedom or death - and at that point he hadn’t really cared which one it was.

“I remember being pierced by those bars,” she said softly. “But after that it didn’t hurt, not really. And I remember your face,” she smiled, and reached up to cup his cheek. “I just wanted to keep talking, because I knew when I stopped I would be gone, and I didn’t want to leave you.”

It still hurt to remember; he hadn’t even been able to see her as she’d died. His vision had been awash with light from the machine city, but Trinity had been a dark spot, unable to look into her eyes, her beautiful blue eyes that had just seen the sun. He’d only been able to hold her, kiss her, and then even that was gone. 

“It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done,” she said, drinking in her face with his new eyes. “Climbing out of the Neb, when all I wanted to do was lay there beside you.”

“I knew you would though,” her thumb stroked his cheek lightly. “You were always so much stronger than you thought you were, Neo.”

He turned his face slightly so he could kiss the inside of her palm, as always overcome by her overwhelming faith in him.

“After that, there was only my life as…Tiffany.” Her mouth twisted on the name. 

“But nothing of the inbetween?”

She shook her head, and he breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Good.”

Her brows came together, eyes staring deeply into his. She had always examined him, from the night they first met, but he liked it that way, her knowing what he was feeling without him needing to express it.

“Why?” she asked. “What happened?”

Of course sometimes she urged him to express it, which was probably right - he’d spent too long typing into a computer screen before he met her, able to close down and log off whenever the conversation headed somewhere uncomfortable.

He wanted to lie, to tell her that his passing had been just as peaceful and he remembered nothing, but knew he could not - she would see it in his face, and he’d just promised himself never to keep anything from her again.

“It hurt,” he admitted, swallowing the bitterness that came with the memory. “Letting Smith override my code in the Matrix - I felt each line of myself being rewritten, being made into him.”

He’d made the necessary surrender, knowing that his end would be Smith’s as well, and in truth it had been somewhat of a relief. But it hadn’t been the end, not by a long shot. The pain that had coursed through his body as the machines had used him as a conduit to purge Smith had been nothing compared to the agony he’d felt being resurrected.

“And then they…rebuilt us,” he managed to choke out the words. When the Analyst had triggered deja vu in Trinity’s garage and explained what had happened it had unlocked his memory, and Neo could now recall every cut they made into his skin, every graft, every electrical trigger they sent into his brain. How they’d extracted the blackened, dead flesh and rebuilt nerve endings that had been shorted out by the charge sent through his body to kill him. How they’d torn the seared eyeballs from their sockets and replaced them, spider-bots knitting new retina and blood vessels back into the optic nerves, and he’d been awake the whole time so they could know if they were getting it right. It was new to them - damaged human bodies got flushed away not fixed, and so it was an excruciating trial and error that the Analyst had been all too gleeful to have him remember.     

“It hurt, Trin.” His body began to tremor, and Neo was unable to stop tears from falling. “It hurt so fucking much.”

Her expression broke, and she pulled him close, arms tightening to soothe his trembling, hands stroking the back of his head and between his shoulder blades, lips kissing his cheek, his forehead, his eyelids. 

He cried in her arms as he had not been able to over her body with his tear ducts burned away, only able to produce dry, heaving sobs. He’d hadn’t cried in the Matrix either, his sorrow so all encompassing he’d been unable to produce the requisite emotion to express it, and could only lay wrung out in the bed or bath, the occasional tear escaping but denied the catharsis of true release. 

She cried too - for him, for herself, for all that they had lost and regained, their tears intermingling in a sorrow shared and so alleviated. They cried until there were no more tears, only the comfort of each other’s arms.

“We’ll make it worth it,” she promised as she held him so tightly their hearts seemed to beat in tandem. “There’s two of us now, and we’ll make that world whatever we want it to be.”

“It’s worth it now,” Neo said softly, eyes fluttering closed and relaxing into her embrace. “Just being like this.”

But the thought gave him comfort - and hope. He had so much to show her, so much that she could do now she too had transcended the code written to confine them - in some ways he felt it should have always been that way, that they were and always had been two halves of a whole, and her rightful place was soaring in the sky beside him, not watching from below.

After all, starlings didn’t fly alone; but in formation.

[fairytalesofthewind]

Can I request The Avengers with winged!male!reader, who is a new member of their team? Reader is a ball of joy and love, he's like everyone's kid, until he gets snatched by Hydra agents and later is found with one of his wings cut off, leaving a permanent and ugly scar on his back. After that he shuts down completely, lays in his bed all day long and doesn't talk to anyone : he became a wreck of the person he used to be.

I really would like to see The Avengers helping him cope and Tony coming up with some crazy idea, which lead to Reader receiving a prosthetic wing and once again becoming an official member of The Avengers.

Anon, you are a true genius!

warnings: hydra (so also torture, a bit of gore, and kidnapping)

+ implied Stucky 

I called the male reader Icarus, you’ll find out why ;) I may be a little bit too obsessed by mythology. Sorry that I didn’t write with ‘you’. 

wordcount: 2424

Requests are open!

Icarus was found by shield at age 15. He had been an experiment of hydra for 3 years. He remembered the day the Avengers had infiltrated the facility where the majority of hydra worked. He remembered hearing the explosions and screams while he was trapped in the many cells of the building’s basement. The only occupied cell what that of his.

He had felt his surroundings shaking, had felt the dust falling on him as the building was ready to collapse. And then the bombs stopped getting fired. The screams had stopped. Icarus had thought the fight had completely stopped and that the people were either dead or that the people had fled. Icarus had thought no one was coming for him, and that he was trapped in his cell, no way to escape.

But then he had heard a single loud bang. It came from the door leading to the basement. He saw that the metal door had an imprint of a fist in it. Then he heard another loud bang, and saw how the imprint expanded. After a few more hits, the door gave away and fell to the floor.

A man with a metal came walking up to him. Icarus knew who he was, emphasis on was. Because the man ushering towards him wasn’t the Winter Soldier anymore. That was what the agents had told him.

“Hey kid. Hang on in there, we’ll get you out as soon as possible.” He said and came closer and inspected the outside of his cell. More specifically, the keypad in front of it. “Hey Stark, I’m gonna need your help here with some tech.” Bucky came even closer to his cell and Icarus’ eyes widen as his hands neared the glass.

“Stop!” Icarus yelled. Bucky froze at the command, and dragged his eyes up slowly to the panicked boy in front of him. “You can’t touch the glass.” Icarus warned him, his tone a bit softer. “It’ll trigger the alarms and then gas will come out of the ceiling.” Bucky frowned looked up at the top of the cell. In each corner was a camera, along with a small metal tube coming out of the walls. He supposed that the gas would come out of there.

“Is the gas deadly?” He asked the boy, there were probably going to trigger the alarms trying to get him out. But they would have to find another way if the gas is really dangerous.

“No,” Icarus started, “it just makes me go to sleep.” Bucky nodded as stepped away from the glass container. They would have to wait for a few minutes until help – the help being Tony- arrived.

“So…” The boy drawled out, “Are you really a 100 years old?” He wanted to look at Icarus with a ‘are you serious’- look but as he saw the curiosity written on his face, he responded a soft smile.

“I’m 106 years old.” He felt a pang of amusement as he watched Icarus’ eyes widen.

“Isn’t that a bit weird?” Bucky tilted his head, silently asked the boy what he meant by that. “You know…with friends, and lovers. You’re much older than them.”

Suddenly Stark entered the basement and said: “Well, Bucky doesn’t have any problem with that seeing as his boyfriend is also a super soldier and also very old.” He strutted over to the keypad on his cell. Icarus stared at him with wide eyes because – oh my God this is The Tony Stark.

“Friday baby, tell me how to get the angel out.” He said. Icarus blushed a bit, most of the agents didn’t call him an angel because of his wings. But rather demon. He didn’t which one fit the best seeing as he had neither white wings, nor black, but brown wings.

Tony was quiet for a few long seconds. He looked concentrated, not that they could see his face through the helmet, but his head was tilted just a bit. He let out a loud drawn-out sigh and said: “Yeah, no can do, that’s going to take hours. I’m just gonna blast it.”

Icarus straightened up immediately, if he were to do that he would just trigger the alarms. It wouldn’t do much to the glass either, because it was made of something special. Before Icarus could let out a warning, he heard the zooming of Iron Man’s blasters and then he heard a small explosion.

The boy made eye contact with Bucky after he saw gas coming out of the metal tubes. Just before he slipped into unconsciousness, he picked up the curse words both of the men let out.

Only a few hours later did Icarus wake up. It was very quiet around him, but there was also an unfamiliar sound that he didn’t recognise that made him realise that he wasn’t in his cell anymore. Did the agents change their mind on waiting a few more months to send him on a mission? Did they suddenly decide to get rid of him? Did they-

“Ah, you’re waking up.” The voice was so much more gentle than he was used hearing. It reminded him of how his family used to talk to him.

They were dead now, by the way, with courtesy of hydra.

Icarus opened his eyes and looked to his right where the voice had come from. He recognised the man, he was the Falcon. Sam was still wearing his suit, with his metal wings. Icarus eyes fell to the said wings and frowned.

“You know, you guys are in big trouble.” The people around him straightened up. Already thinking of the possible things the boy could say. There was something you didn’t think about, this was just a distraction and now the shield base has been taken care of properly. You lost-

“These are copyrighted.” Icarus pointed to his own wings. “I could sue you for plagiarism.” Sam lowered his head in relief as he let out a little chuckle.

“I’ll pass it on to the boss.” He said as he looked to the other side of Icarus. The boy followed the line of sight and saw Tony sitting on the other side of him. He was immediately attacked with concerned questions about how he was feeling. Tony told him that they were going to bring Icarus somewhere safe, there were going to give him a home. But all Icarus could think about was, oh my God, this is The Tony Stark.

Icarus was 16 when he started his training. He was done basically living in the hospital wing of the tower. Apparently hydra had really taken a toll on him. Physically and mentally.

He had begged the captain to train him. But Steve had refused time and time again claiming that Icarus wasn’t ready yet.

Between recovery and asking for training, he became friends with Sam. Well, he became friends with everyone. You could even say that he became their family. But it happened with Sam the fastest. Sam took care of him from the start. He visited Icarus every day to check up on him. He helped the boy get comfortable. Icarus saw Sam as a…dad?

They would fly together almost every night. They would soar over countless buildings in New-York. They would stop on skyscrapers and talk about everything and nothing. Sam became his best friend, he became his family.

Icarus was 17 when he realised how much the Avengers truly cared about him. It was his first mission, and the Avengers were acting like overbearing mother hens. It wasn’t even a big mission, it was just to pick something up and bring it from place A to B. But due an unexpected rainstorm Icarus couldn’t fly back. He arrived hours later than he should’ve had at the meeting point.

And to say he had received an ear full about it was an understatement. For the next few days after that mission, he had heard one rant to the other. It was all the same: about how he was precious, about how bad it would be to lose him because he was their family. He was their ray of sun- no scratch that- he was their sun. He was their kid.

Icarus was 18 years and 2 months old when one of his mission went seriously wrong. Sam wasn’t there to support him in the sky. And Tony was needed on the ground. But as multiple planes left to escape, he had to go after them. There weren’t only hydra agents on those plane, but also innocent hostages. Hostages that would probably get used for the same purpose Icarus had been used for.

So he couldn’t just let the planes go. He went after the plane of which he thought was filled with hostages, but was only filled with agents. He had entered the plane just before it’s backdoor had closed. He realised his mistake as he was suddenly surrounded by a dozen men with guns.

One of the men closest to him raised his gun towards him and shot. Icarus felt a sharp prick on his neck and he already knew what was going to happen. Just before he slipped into unconsciousness, he picked up the curse words his family let out on the comms.

Icarus was 18 when he was recaptured by hydra.

Hydra had claimed they had no use for him. They already had a better reproduction of him.

But that didn’t mean that we are just going to get rid of you, no stupid demon boy. We are going to have a bit of fun with you.

Icarus was 18 years and 5 months when he lost one of the most important things of his life.

He lost of one his wings. That means that he not only lost one of his limbs, but he also lost being able to fly.

He wouldn’t be able to do the thing he loved the most, he wouldn’t be able to fly anymore.

Icarus was 18 years and 8 months old when the Avengers had to save him again from hydra. But the boy they saved wasn’t the Icarus that had been captured. He was missing something –besides from the obvious; his wing.  

From the moment Icarus had returned home, everything went just a bit worse day by day. He was unhappy, of course he was. Not only had he lost his wing, but he also had a very large scar where it used to be.

He felt terrible. He would spend almost every hour buried under the safety of his blankets in his bed. He didn’t leave his room, no matter how much his family tried to get him out.

One day Bucky entered his room, he brought some tea and breakfast with him. “Good morning, little angel…” The rest he said fell on deaf ears. Icarus had buried himself under his blankets himself.

A few seconds later felt the cold rushing over him. The bed dipped beside him, Bucky sat on the blanket so that Icarus couldn’t use them to hide anymore. But it didn’t really help much as the boy just turned his back to him, his one wing currently hiding himself.

Bucky cleared his throat. “Look, I know how much this sucks. I lost my arm, I know how it feels.” Suddenly Icarus had sat up, and was now looking at him with an angry face.

“You think you know how I feel?!” Icarus pushed him off the bed. They were now both standing with Icarus pointing a furious finger at him. “You just lost your fucking arm! I didn’t just lose my wing, no I lost the thing I loved the most! I can’t fly anymore, and you know whose fault is that?” Icarus kept walking closer and Bucky kept stepping further away from the boy.

“It’s my fault! I was overtaken by my giddiness of the mission and I got distracted, I was too overconfident.” Bucky was almost in the hallway with the way he kept backing up.

“And besides, James. You got a metal arm in return. You can still do everything!” Unlike Bucky, Icarus didn’t have another wing.

And that, had given Bucky an idea.

Icarus was 18 years and 11 months when Tony had dragged him out of his wing towards his lab. He didn’t give him any choice to struggle back, he was coming whether he wanted to or not.

Tony had covered his eyes just before they entered the lab. He had made him sit on a stool. He heard a few nervous coughs, so he knew that the other were there as well.

Tony granted his sight back after a few seconds of rambling something that Icarus was too tired to listen to.

“-and we hope you will like this…”

In front of him, on a stand, was a metal wing. It was a similar size of his own. He had thought: what is the point of a monument? But then Icarus realised that what he was seeing wasn’t just a metal wing, it was also a suit. He felt a few tears roll down his cheek and immediately afterwards felt someone’s arms going around him.

“Oh, it’s alright, angel. It’s going to be alright.” They let him cry his heart out, patiently being there for him.

It was a few days later that Icarus sat in the craftsman’s lab again. Tony was securing the many straps on his new suit. He explained him the rules of the new suit, of what it could and couldn’t do. “Now, Sam will help you fly again. He knows how the metal wing work. My advice for now is to not fly too low, or too high. You don’t want to hurt yourself.”

Icarus was 19 when he was given back the thing he loved most; being able to fly. He was able to be happy again. He picked up the nightly flights with Sam again. Sometimes staying away from the Tower until 5AM. He was almost back to his normal self; he was already back to being the most energetic member of the team, and he showed how grateful he was almost every second of the day.

This night he was sitting on a building with Sam eating his pepperoni pizza.

“You know, you’re in trouble, right?” Icarus looked up at Sam with raised eyebrows.

“These are copyrighted, and you know, I could sue you.” Sam pointed at his metal wings with a small smirk.

“Copyrighted my ass, you can’t beat the original.”

[babylooneytoonz]

The Vessel [Pt. 2]

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Fem! Reader

Chapter Summary: It takes two to make a baby, even with the Mage's spell and the Witcher's seed.

Warning: SMUT, 18+

[My Masterlist]

A/N- I wanted to wait until tomorrow to publish this but I got such an amazing response to first chapter i was emotionally tormented to post this. Thank you all. 💗✨

The Great Mount stood tall, the only place that Yennefer's portals could not open a door to— and this journey from Redania which had lasted over thirty days had finally come to an end.

And it was finally time—

Yennefer smelled like dirt and lavender at the same time, and not a single strand of her hair was out of place, as she hopped off Roach and you followed, getting off the mare so Geralt could tie her to a nearby tree.

The summit of the Mount didn't look unusual, like you had expected but you noticed how there were massive boulders lined in a circular shape with carved imprints on it.You remembered Yennefer telling you about this place once— it was like a sanctuary for the mages, a place that had its own sanctity, that not even the most powerful mage could open a portal to reach here faster. It was like all the spells and all the magic outside of this place was cut off, and the Mount stood disconnected from it all.

Your heart was now thumping wildly inside your chest, and Jaskier could feel it. You felt him place a comforting hand on your elbow and you turned towards him, giving him a frightened smile. You knew he could understand how you wanted to back out now, but you were too knee deep into this little tryst that even if you tried, Yennefer will not let you go.

You looked at the Witcher, noticing how he now sat against one of the shallow heighted boulders, sharpening his sword. It looked like he was least interested in what Yennefer was now doing, but there were times his eyes lifted and fixed on her and then he withdrew them again. You frowned, forcing yourself to look away as nervousness slowly drained your insides.

The man didn't even look at you— and it won't be long when this man will be ruining you, fucking his seed into you so you could carry their spawn.

Jaskier nudged at your arm, and it was only then that you realized that Yennefer was calling you, and Geralt was already there, "Jas', I'm not ready for this. Tell me I can run away." You whispered into his ears, and his low chuckle reached your ears.

"If you didn't have a viable womb, I would have said, run away and she won't follow you."

You knew the bard was right; you couldn't run away, Yennefer would find you with a blink of her eye. Slowly, you exhaled, your fingers nervously fiddling with each other as you walked up to where Geralt and Yennefer were, your steps slow and forced. Your knees felt like they were going to give up beneath you.

The minute you reached Yennefer, her hand lashed out, abruptly grabbing your wrist, her dagger slashing against the flesh on your palm. Instinctively, you let out a hiss, trying to yank your arm away but her hold on it was strong. She held a wooden bowl underneath your bleeding palm, letting all your blood collect until there was no more oozing out of the wound. She then let go off your palm, and you pulled it back, wincing as you pressed it against your chest.

You couldn't help yourself when you lifted your tear filled eyes, but found the Witcher's eyes fixed on you. He was standing face towards you, almost towering over you, his white hair messily sticking to the side of his face, but that didn't seem to bother him. His face held no expression whatsoever, but you could feel his burning gaze on you, that looked even more fiery because of the colour of his eyes. Geralt gave Yennefer his palm much more gracefully, and you watched as she made a cut on his palm and he didn't as much blink when his flesh was cut. He then squeezed the blood out into the same bowl that had your almost coagulating blood in it until the bowl was brimming with red until the top.

Yennefer moved away, holding that bowl in her hand until she was kneeling inside the circle of boulders. You could see her lips move, as though in an enchantment, her hands drawn out and hovering over the bowl.

After a few minutes, her chanting stopping. She stood up, the bowl still in her hand as she walked up to the two of you and her gaze turned towards you.

"Drink, both of you," her voice lacked any emotion.

"If this doesn't work—" Geralt began, in his low, irritated voice, but Yennefer's nostrils flared, and she looked at him with looks that could kill, causing him to grunt and stop speaking as she cut him off.

"It will work, Geralt. It has to work." She snapped, handing the white haired man the bowl. All the while, you remained quiet, but you could sense it— their relationship was not as ideal as it looked like, and there were cracks that were beginning to form. You watched as Geralt brought the bowl to his lips, and he swallowed a mouthful of the blood, until a droplet was trickling down the side of his lips. He then handed the bowl to you and you looked down at it, swallowing bile before your trembling hand brought the bowl up and you also took in a mouthful, although swallowing it was difficult than what you had imagined.

You thought it was awkward at first when not just one but two pair of eyes were gawking at your naked form while you and Geralt performed the ritual of being slathered by the remaining blood— by each other.

But you couldn't deny how soft Geralt's hands felt against your skin, his touch having a raw, tantalising effect on you. His fingers brushed adeptly over your breasts as he spread the coagulated blood over your ivory skin, and it wasn't like you didn't notice, but instead bit your lip to refrain from letting out a moan when a barely audible groan erupted from the Witcher's lips, the minute he felt how taut and erect your nipples were.

He guided you to the ground so now you were laying right in the middle of the circle, your face shot upwards towards the starry sky. His fingers moved, rather gently, from your breasts down your waistline until he was running his fingers against the insides of your thighs, causing a sudden heat to pool up in your core. You knew what he was doing— he was indeed preparing the lamb to be slaughtered, yet your body didn't want him to stop.

"Geralt, fuck her senseless and get it over with. Fill her up until there's not a drop left inside of you."

Geralt grunted in response to Yennefer's words, ignoring her as she walked off, grabbing the bard's arm as she pulled him along with her, something you were thankful to her for. You didn't want them to stay and watch the two of you fucking on display.

"Call me when you're done, my love," her cold, distant voice called out.

Geralt let out a throaty grunt, straight from the pit of his throat. There was no denial inside of you, this man was beautiful, beyond beautiful. But you had grown up to understand that all things that were beautiful on the surface were in fact, corroded from the inside. And so was the Witcher.

"Open your legs," he ordered, his voice low and overbearing, just like a command that you knew you had to follow. Geralt's eyes darkened when you listened to him, without hesitation, his wolfish stare fixed on you as you spread your legs for him, your core heated up and aching for him already. There you were, dripping wet for the man to take you, the way he wanted to and he grunted in appreciation, his slick finger sliding through your folds, making you arch your body and let out a mewl.

"Look at you, little pet, all wet for me already when all I've barely done is look at you," he rasped through your ear, while at the same time, a second finger slid through your folds and instinctively, your hands flew to the back of his head, your fingers coiling around his hair, your breathing hitched, and it surely didn't help when he began grunting and whispering against your ears again, "Goin' to fill you up until you're all swollen with my child."

And Yennefer's— You reminded yourself.

With a swift, almost effortless movement, Geralt grabbed you by your hips, lifting your lower body up and pushing your legs to rest against his shoulders, his raging, massive cock already lined with your entrance. This was it—

Without giving you a warning, he pushed his swollen head into you, trying to be as gentle as he could, for he was aware that this was your first time, thus giving you the time to get used to his size as he stretched you up. You couldn't hold back the scream that escaped your lips— a scream that was a mixture of your anguish and your pleasure both.

You felt weird; on one side the burning was clawing out the tears from your eyes, but at the same time, the pleasure was making you begin to shudder, your hips automatically aligning yourself to his as you adjusted to him. His hands flew to your breasts, while at the same time, he released a grunt of pleasure and began rocking into you.

His thrusts into you were a mix of both— gentle when he thought that he was hurting you and quickly picking up pace when your nails instinctively dug into his sides, and he felt you trying to squirm underneath him, knowing that this was your body's way of telling him that it wanted— needed more.

"Fuck, so tight," he let out a groan, as he completely pulled out of you, leaving you all hot and heavy, your core throbbing wildly in rebellion against the sudden withdrawal, before slamming into you again, "Look at you, taking me so well."

You didn't realize when you closed your eyes, your vision going blurry as an overwhelming pleasure shot through you and your orgasm took you. You couldn't help but gasp, your jaw falling wide open into a perfect o, as a loud, screeching cry of pleasure shot through your lips. Your screams, in turn, were met with with even deeper thrusts by the Witcher, his cock ravaging you as he fucked you even harder at the sound of your cries— his own mouth unable to contain a chain of curses and guttural cries of pleasure that flowed effortlessly through his lips.

Geralt's movements finally became sloppy, until, with a guttural groan, he finally collapsed over your tiny frame, his sweaty face pressed against your blood caked shoulder until you felt his cock twitch inside of you, his hot seed filling you up. He rolled off and landed on his back next to you, the two of you staring blankly at the sky, the only sound the two of you could now hear was the sound of each other's breaths.

Neither said a word, until you didn't know why, you rolled over to your side, and let your head rest against Geralt's bicep, and what surprised you even more was the fact that he didn't shove you off, and instead, his heavy words invaded your ears, "Are you okay?"

This was the first time you felt any kind of warmth towards you from the Witcher, and you didn't know whether it was the after effects of sex, that you suddenly felt so emotional, tears brittlly threatening to spill from your eyes.

"I am, I, uh —"

You began speaking but immediately clenched your lips shut when you heard the familiar voices of the Mage, and the bard, getting closer and closer towards the two of you.

Geralt stood up, throwing out his arm towards you, and you looked up at him, your eyes meeting his amber ones briefly, and you placed your palm in his, effortlessly being pulled off the ground, when the bard finally emerged, with your clothing in his hands.

"Tell me all about it, later, " he winked playfully at you, having handed you your clothes as you began sliding your tunic on.

"There's nothing to tell, Jaskier." You pressed your lips together, not wanting to look into Jaskier's eyes. What were you supposed to tell him? How good it felt having Geralt of Rivia inside you?

The Vessel Taglist:

@kawennote09 @viking-raider @raspberrydreamclouds @pterodactylterrace

Let me know if you want me to add you to this list. 💗

[louiseleblancdiggory]

Speedy one night stand

Ok, so this is an old scene that i never posted because I never thought it was good enough, but since I wanted to post smth before ‘Tis the Damn Season, here it goes! I’m sorry for any typos, it’s 3 am and I don’t have the patience to proof read rn. There are mentions of a car accident but I swear it is not a sad or angsty scene. It’s bad and not at all a believable situation, but I hope it’s ok enough to be mildly enjoyable!

Aelin was having a spectacular day.

She had woken up around six, laying near the hottest man to ever walk on this Earth. In the previous night, she had drank enough to practically guarantee her a bitch hangover, but apparently her beautiful, silver-haired stranger had fucked it right out of her. A few times.

Not so proudly, Aelin sneaked out of his house without making a single sound. Maybe she should have stayed, maybe asked for his name. But she was also almost sure she had given him her number yesterday, and so if he wanted to continue things, he could call her. If not… Well, it had been a fun night.

Understatement of the fucking century.

And thanks to her stranger, once she got home, Aelin felt energized and inspired enough to finally give the painting a try.

The painting had become Aelin’s nightmare for the past year and a half. She had the idea, had the ability, but didn’t know how to do it, how to tackle it. She tried a few times every few days, and left the room hating it more and more. The painting started to be a mock to her abilities— she would finish other works, beautiful works, and yet the messy canvas would always stare at her from the corner of the room.

Aelin was mainly a sculptor, not a painter, and so she didn’t even know why it bothered her so much but it did. Oh, it most certainly did.

For the past eighteen months, staring at that taunting canvas was like staring at yourself on the mirror for too long. The vision started to blur, and it didn’t look real, evoked a deep panic.

For the past eighteen months, Aelin hated that fucking painting.

And yet, when she got home earlier, all she could think is that she might be able to finish it. The painting was supposed to be of Oakwald, a beautiful forest that extended for the whole expanse of the west of Terrasen. She hadn’t been at home for so long now, and all she wanted was a painting of how she remembered the forest to be. She wanted to capture its light, its life. She wanted it to look exactly how it was in her memory, but the colors never seemed right. Her fondness of the memory was becoming stained with that stupid canvas.

All she needed was the right palette.

And he had walked in a bar and sat by her side yesterday.

Her stranger was the literal embodiment of her memory, so much so that for a split second, Aelin had thought she had gone officially insane. His silver-grey hair was the exact shade of the sky on the cloudy mornings when she and her dad would go for a walk. Eyes a combination of a few shades of green and small specks of brown that reminded her of how the trees were. His demeanor was cold, and yet Aelin found him somehow so welcoming— just like she felt back at Oakwald, back home.

Her stranger had given her the thing she had needed for the past eighteen months, even if he hadn’t given her even his name.

Aelin was staring proudly at the now finished painting when the phone rang. She was glad her roommate wasn’t at home to witness her staring at the painting for that long like a crazy person, and honestly hoped it was Lysandra calling to ask if she wanted to go out and grab something to eat.

Or maybe it’s your stranger.

Aelin forced herself to shove every single spark of hope down until they were nothing more than cinders. To be honest, Aelin knew that she probably wouldn’t get a call from him. It was his first day in town, they both had been drunk, and, even though the sex had been great, her stranger didn’t seem like the dating type.

At least not the dating type with a woman who left his house unannounced at six in the morning after leaving him with no note other than her number that could potentially be wrong since said woman was already tipsy when she gave it to him.

A fucking shame.

“Hey.” Aelin said, putting the phone to her ear as she looked for her car keys. She wanted to be in the elevator by the time the word “eat” left Lys’s mouth.

“Is this Aelin?” A female voice she had never heard in her life asked, uncertainty and hesitation lacing every word.

Aelin withdrew the phone from her ear and looked at the unknown number.

Aelin rarely gave her phone number to strangers, and lately it had only been to…

Oh fucking shit.

He had a girlfriend?

Fuck fuck fuck.

“Hum, yes?” Aelin sounded as uncertain as the girl. “I’m sorry, but who is this?”

Maybe it wasn’t what she thought. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe—

“Do you know a Rowan?”

Well.

“Maybe?” Aelin wanted to bang her head against a wall. Almost seven months without touching a guy, and the first one in her way back to the land of the social people had a girlfriend. At least she knew his name now. Rowan seemed fitting, matched his appearance somehow. “Silver hair, green eyes, looks really pissed even when he’s sleeping?”

Please say no.

“Oh, yes.” The woman said, sounding… relieved? “I’m doctor Towers, and—“

“Doctor?” Aelin blurted out, all anger and nervousness being substituted for confusion. “Doctor?”

“Yes. Well, actually an intern since I’m still halfway through my first year here and—“

“I swear I mean no offense, but I am a little confused.” Aelin interrupted her after she started mumbling. “You’re Rowan’s girlfriend?”

“No!” The woman shouted loud enough that Aelin had to take the phone from her ear. “Gods, no. I thought you were his girlfriend.”

A moment of silence passed through the two women.

“What the fuck?” Was everything Aelin managed to say. She cleared her throat, mind trying to catch up with what was happening. “Why would you think that?”

“You’re the only contact on his phone.”

“I am?”

“You are.”

“I am.”

“You are.”

“I— Why are you calling me?” Aelin shook her head, her grip on her keys strong enough that started to be painful. She didn’t know if this was some type of joke her friends were pulling on her, or if Rowan was just some sick asshole that was fucking with her now that he had her number but she sure as hell wasn’t enjoying the experience.

“Well, you see.” She cleared her throat, voice tone becoming more serious, more professional. “Rowan was admitted into the Torre’s hospital a few hours ago. He was involved in an accident, and all the emergency contacts we could find are not in town as of now. I know it is not protocol, and I’m breaking so many rules here, but I went through his phone to see if I could find a contact of someone who was around. We didn’t know if his injuries were serious or not, but…”

Doctor Towers didn’t finish the sentence, and dread mixing with some type of anxiety started rolling inside Aelin’s stomach. “But?”

She didn’t respond the question, instead changing the subject. “You’re the only contact, Miss Aelin.”

Aelin slowly sat down, the dead silence of the apartment mixing with the expectant silence from Doctor Towers. She didn’t know the guy, didn’t even know his name until two minutes ago, and yet the image of the painting in the other room kept flashing in her mind, the colors in the canvas mixing with the colors she saw on his face. “I— Is he alive?”

“Yes, yes. He’s in surgery, I believe.” The initial apprehension came back to the woman’s voice. “I don’t know, actually. Again, just an intern. People don’t tell me much here.”

“And I suppose hiding somewhere after stealing a patient’s phone isn’t the best way to pick up on any information they might be sharing in the halls right now.” Aelin said, some amusement for the girl showing through her voice. “Where are you? Storage room?”

“Coma patient room.” Doctor Towers laughed nervously. “I thought I was helping.”

“It’s fine.” Aelin said even though she didn’t feel it.

The line went silent once more, and after a minute, Aelin said. “Well, bye, I guess.”

“Wait.” The doctor’s apprehensive voice sounded again. “Couldn’t you… Can you still come? Even if you’re just his friend?”

Aelin sat frozen on her chair. “I’m not his friend.”

“Oh.” She sounded disappointed. “Ok. Sorry. Have a great night, Miss Aelin.”

Before Aelin could respond, the call was ended.

—————

The first thing Rowan noticed when he opened his eyes was that he was not at the rented apartment he and the rest of his friends had gotten for the summer.

The lights were too white and too artificial, the bed too uncomfortable to be the same one he had slept the previous night.

And there was also the fact it felt as if he had been thrown from the top of a building, broken every single bone in the impact and, somehow, survived.

He tried opening his eyes a little bit more and acute pain shot to his brain.

Unfortunately. Unfortunately survived.

Shit, maybe he was in hell.

“I don’t know if the struggle is amusing or pathetic.” A low and sultry voice sounded from the left corner of the room. “Maybe try not staring directly into the light and then try opening your eyes.”

Rowan turned his head to where the soft voice had come from, pain burning his neck with the movement but he found himself incapable of not looking at her direction. But the woman was right, and Rowan managed to open his eyes enough to see her seating in one of those uncomfortable hospital chairs, legs crossed in front of her and fingers laced on top of her stomach.

Rowan mentally scratched his last thought. If he had actually died, that certainly was tilting a lot more towards heaven than hell even with the killing pain.

“Fuck, I think I died.” Rowan blurted out.

“I’ll pretend you just compared me to an angel, not to the devil.” She said, getting up and walking in his direction. Despite her hurt tone, she was smiling as she approached his bed. “It’s the least you could do after you ruined my perfectly perfect day. I was having a blast, you know?”

Hell, heaven, or Earth— it honestly didn’t fucking matter because the pain was the same, but her voice seemed to soothe his muscled, make the pain secondary to the pleasure of listening to her voice.

“Yeah?” Rowan rasped out, hoping she would continue talking.

“Oh, yeah.” She sat by the edge of the bed, straightening his sheets. The light wasn’t so blinding anymore, and he could see every detail on her face.

Heaven. Definitely heaven.

“I’m an artist, you know. Sculptor mostly, but I’m a decent painter. There’s this painting I’ve been trying to get done for over a year now, and today I did not only make progress I liked, but I also finished it. I thought today was going to be a terrible day, you know? Yesterday I found out my flight back home had been canceled and I would only be able to get another one by the end of summer, so I went to a bar and planned on getting drunk. Today was a day for tears and hangovers.”

“But?” Rowan asked automatically, all too focused on the woman sitting next to him.

She smiled, raising a hand to brush his hair from his face, fingers intertwining with the shoulder-length knots he most certainly had after whatever it was that had happened. She seemed too focused on her hand gently undoing the knots, but thankfully kept talking. “But I met this guy, you know? Definitely not from here, accent gave it away immediately. Also not from where I am from. Just that made him interesting enough. And,” she turned her eyes to him, eyes glinting with mischief. “Very, very fucking hot. That definitely made him even more interesting.”

“What a guy.” Rowan could feel some of the life coming back to his body, and even managed to weakly match the grin she had on her face.

“Oh, yes, what a guy. Fucked the hangover and artistic block right out of me. A hero, if you will.” Her grin extended into a smile, and she shook her head. “So imagine how ruined my day was when I got a call saying my amazing bar guy had been in a car accident.”

Rowan let out a broken laugh, his ribs screaming in pain when he did so. “So irresponsible of him.”

She assented solemnly. “And there I was, hoping he would have called me to go out on a date. I’m not picky but hospital is a huge downgrade from mind blowing sex in his expensive apartment.”

Rowan laughed again, not even caring about the pain.  “I’m sure the guy would have asked you if you hand’t left the expensive apartment at the crackass of dawn without telling him.”

“And instead of calling he let his car be smashed by a fucking truck to get my attention? Tsk, tsk, tsk… Maybe I didn’t dodge a bullet with this idiot.”

Rowan’s lips were taken by a grin. “Well it worked, didn’t it?”

“Next time try something a little less dramatic.” She said, eyes narrowing but Rowan could see how she was trying to contain a smile.

“The girl really seemed into dramatics tho. Gave it away last night when she—“

“Since I didn’t know your name until your doctor called me, Rowan, I’ll save you the embarrassment of asking mine.” She interrupted him, slender fingers going from his hair to the top of his lips. “I’m Aelin.”

“Aelin.” He said against the finger sushing him. “May I ask how you got here?”

She blushed a little, taking the finger from his mouth and straightening her spine. “I was the only contact in your list. They called me.”

“Lost my phone in the airport yesterday and had to buy a new one. Still doesn’t explain why you’re here.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, small nose frowning. “You’re very talkative for someone who could barely open his eyes a few minutes ago.”

“Am I?” Rowan said, hoping to push some of her buttons. Consciousness had been coming back slowly, and Rowan certainly remembered every single detail. Remembered being pissed by losing his phone, impatient because he would have to wait two more days for his friends to arrive.

Remembered all the pissy and impatience leaving his body once he sat on the bar by the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. She had been quick-mouthed, with no filter, and absolutely hypnotizing. She wasn’t just fucking beautiful, but also funny, smart, and had the ability to make him forget every single thing that was making him irritated.

And the rest of the night… It was a shame Rowan was bedridden, he certainly wouldn’t mind reenacting last night again.

And again. And again.

And again.

Rowan had wondered earlier if she had been that amazing because he was drunk. The answer was obviously no.

Aelin pursed her lips, red coloring her cheeks. She cleared her throat, rolling her eyes. “The doctor guilty tripped me.”

“Yeah?” Rowan knew he was smiling like an idiot.

“She said you were in surgery and she didn’t know how serious.” Aelin finally looked him straight in the eyes, and Rowan noticed how beautiful hers were. “No one deserves to have no one in this situation. She said your friends were out of town, and the girl sounded desperate enough that it sounded as if you were fucking died. Again, no one deserves to die alone. Specially someone this good in bed.”

It took Rowan a second to understand everything she had just said. When the last sentence finally registered on his brain, Rowan laughed. Aelin shook her head, a small smile appearing again.

“Also, you’re the first guy I slept with in seven months. Letting you die alone seemed like bad luck.”

“I am honored you put so much consideration into coming to stay with me.”

“Shut it.”

“If it makes you feel less embarrassed—“

“I’m not embarrassed.”

“I would have come too. Make sure my best fuck wasn’t dead.”

“Awn, best fuck? You’ll make me tear up like this, Ro. So romantic.” Aelin pretended to clean fake tears the moment the doctor in darker scrubs and a few on lighter ones entered the room.

“Good to see you awake, Mr Whitethorn.” The man smiled at him, checking his charts. “It’s always good to see wives crying of happiness rather than sadness around here.”

“Of course.” Rowan agreed, turning to Aelin and raising an eyebrow.

“They wouldn’t let me stay if I wasn’t family.” She whispered low enough so that only Rowan would hear. Her face slowly broke into a grin, and she winked at him before turning to the doctor. “So he’ll be fine, right, doctor?”

Rowan had to bite his cheeks from laughing at how obviously fake she sounded, but no one other than him noticed. “Yes, yes. Other than a fracture to his right wrist, your husband is completely fine. Some bruising and soreness that painkillers can help, but nothing major. You two are free to enjoy your vacations when he’s discharged tomorrow.”

“Oh, great.” Rowan said, nodding seriously. “My wife here has just informed me that a hospital is no adequate place for a first date.”

All the people in the room laughed, thinking Rowan meant their first date in Antica.

Not their first date ever.

“I’ll leave you two. Anything you need, ask a nurse and they will page me.” The doctor in darker scrubs said, leaving the room with all the ones in lighter scrubs following.

“Where do you live?” Rowan asked the moment the doctor was out.

Aelin turned to him, fingers going back to his silver hair. “Have been living here for the past two years in an art internship. Going back to Orynth, Terrasen by the end of the summer.” She curled a strand around her finger before looking to his face. “You?”

“Have been and will continue to be a very happy resident of Orynth.” Rowan said, a smirk appearing on his lips. “Definitely happier after the summer.”

“Haven’t even asked me out and you’re already thinking about the end of the summer.” Aelin shook her head and clicked her tongue even though she was smiling. “No surprise you got into a car accident, so speedy.”

His smirk grew into a smile. “My dear wife, would you like to go on a date with me?”

She narrowed her eyes, taking her sweet, sweet time to answer. “I’ll think about it.”

“And, seeing how the doctor talked about all my grave injuries—“

“Grave.” She snorted.

“Do I get kisses to feel better?” Rowan’s tone was full of mockery and some laughter.

“If I kiss every place you’re hurting after being hit by a fucking truck, I think we’d be here for a long while.”

“You didn’t complain yesterday.”

Aelin half laughed, half snorted. Rolling her eyes, she bent forward, and even though she was trying very hard not to, Rowan could see the start of a smile just before she pressed her lips against his. They were sweeter and softer than he remembered, and despite the pain on his arms and specially on his right wrist, Rowan raised his hands and put them in her golden strawberry hair.

“One more thing.” He said against her mouth.

“Has anyone ever told you that you ask for too much?” Aelin said impatiently.

“As our situation is already as fucking weird as it’s gonna get—“

“You don’t say!” Aelin said, voice dripping with so much fake surprise Rowan couldn’t stop but smirk up at her.

“As our situation is already as fucking weird as it’s gonna get,” he repeated forcefully, eyes narrowing at her as her smile widened. “Tomorrow, when my friends arrive.”

“Yes?”

“Can you please still pretend you’re my wife?”

Aelin stared at him blankly for a moment before letting out a full, lovely laugh. The bed shook with her laughter, and Rowan joined her— a little weakly due to the pain, but joined her nonetheless. She bent down to kiss him again, nodding as she did so. “Of course. What type of person would I be if I didn’t help such injured person find some happiness in their lives?”

Rowan kissed her back, fingers playing with her hair. “So this means you’ll go out with me?”

“We’ll see.”

.

.

.

.

.

@in-love-with-caramel-macchiato @jlinez @courtofjurdan @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @ladywitchling @lexflame @sleeping-and-books @annejulianneh111 @perseusannabeth @linshryver @mu-si-ca-l @camilamartinezdunne @dank-queen7 @minaidss @starborn-faerie-queen @booksofthemoon @loveofbooksandwine @jesstargaryenqueen @bluejaberry @multifandommessblog @yesdreamblog @superspiritfestival @ireallyshouldsleeprn @woollycat22 @julemmaes @claralady @abookishfreak @faerie-queen-fireheart @morganofthewildfire @queen-of-glass @heirofthenightcourt @booksbqueen @heirofthrnightcourt004 @fromthelibraryofemilyj @rowaelinismyotp

* if your name is in bold i cannot tag you

[thatslikely]

Detention - D.M.

Detention- Draco Malfoy x fem!reader (gryffindor)

Warnings: none!  just more fluff <3

Word Count: 2.9k

A/N: A fun Draco fic with an enemies to lovers type of situation!  I’m really happy with how this one turned out and I hope you guys enjoy it too!  I’m definitely going to make a Seeker part 2 so don’t worry, but I also have a George Weasley x Reader idea in the works too!  Please feel free to send me your feedback (and you can always send me an ask or message for the taglist).

Just a Reminder: Y/N is Your Name 

----

“Detention!  For both of you!” Professor McGonagall’s voice rang loudly through her office.  The countless living paintings that speckled the candle-lit stone walls shook at her declaration.  

She disappointedly looked at you before marking your name on a piece of parchment that lay on the desk in front of her.  You felt guilty that you had forced your favorite professor (and the head of your house) to give you a detention.  Especially detention in the Forbidden Forest with none other than Draco Malfoy. 

You couldn’t even bear to look at the pouting Slytherin’s face beside you.  It was his fault that you now had to spend your Saturday night roaming through the eerie trees of the Dark forest.  If he hadn’t snatched your Charms essay mid-sentence then maybe you wouldn’t have shot a hex in his direction!  Fortunately for him, however, your clever hex missed the mischievous Malfoy by a single blonde hair, and now poor Neville’s shoes are glued to the worn hardwood floors of the library.    

Your forest escort arrived promptly.  You were thankful Filch was busy with other duties, so one of your Gryffindor prefects was chosen instead.  McGonagall sent your prefect a nod and as he signaled for the two of you to follow him, you finally made eye contact with Malfoy, shooting him a murderous glare.  He quickly responded with a scowl before walking out the door and into the familiar hall towards the forest.  

After several minutes of awkward silence, the three of you finally reached the inviting entrance of Hagrid’s hut.  The warm glow emitting through the windows of the stone shack contrasted greatly against the clear, pitch-black sky.   

Judging by the disgusted expression on Malfoy’s face, it was clear that he wasn’t fond of the half-giant or his home.  Maybe Hagrid would be a little sympathetic for your cause, and you could get away early.  

After a few moments, Hagrid emerged from his hut, a homemade wooden crossbow strung across his chest and a woven basket in hand.  Fang sat lazily at his side, drool dripping from his snout.  The groundskeeper tiredly said, “Tonight, you two’ll be searchin’ in the forest for some knotgrass.  Once this basket ‘ere is full, yer free to go.” 

Draco begrudgingly took the woven basket from Hagrid’s large hands with an eye roll.  Shortly after a bit more detailed instructions from Hagrid, you and the blonde reluctantly embarked towards the winding dirt path leading into the woods.  The only thing illuminating your late-night journey was the pearly full moon overhead and the small beams of light emitting from the ends of your wands.

You two walked through the spooky trees in silence, annoyed looks plastered on your faces.  Once the both of you had been walking around with the irritatingly empty basket for a while, you finally asked with a grimace, “Do you even know what knotgrass looks like?”  

“Of course, I know what knotgrass looks like.  Do you take me for an idiot?  Do I even have to remind you that I’m top of the class for Potions?” he spat, defensive and rude.  

“How is your expansive Potions knowledge going to help us here in the middle of the Forbidden Forest?  It’s your fault I’m even here in the first place!” 

“My fault?  Says the girl who nearly killed me after I so much as glanced at your pitiful Charms essay!  You’re a bloody psycho!”  His over-exaggerated recounting of what happened in the library would surely be a hit with his Slytherin worshippers, but not with you.   

Instead of disputing his accusations, you tore the straw basket from his ring-adorned hands, hissing, “Fine.  If I’m so insane, just leave me alone and let me collect it myself!”  You turned the opposite direction, speeding up your pace, leaving Malfoy alone in the dark. 

Draco stood, mouth agape, for a moment before quickly dashing up behind you, grabbing hold of your wrist.  “Where do you think you’re going.  I’m not gonna die in this stupid forest because of you!  Give me that basket.”  

He spun you around to face him, his grip on your wrist as tight as ever.  His hand was cold and strong; the silver snake rings that wrapped around his fingers dug into your skin.  You looked up into his captivating silver eyes, and for the first time, you didn’t see pure malice.  The starlight made his eyes shine nicely, which you hated to admit.

Your gazes were interlocked for a few electric seconds, which felt like hours, before Draco raised his eyebrows in shock, realizing how close his face had gotten to yours.  In one swift motion, he freed your arm from his grasp, and the basket was now in his control.  He awkwardly turned away from you, simultaneously wiping his palm up and down his black robe.  You caught a quick glance of his face, which was a pronounced shade of pink, visible even in the dim moonlight. 

You noticed your breaths became heavier, and your cheeks were scorching hot.  What just happened? you thought, why did that feel so… strange?  Nothing should’ve felt different.  It was just another irritating interaction with your Slytherin enemy.  He’s just the same old spoiled brat.  

You tried to get the intrusive thoughts of your strange interaction with Draco out of your head by focusing on finding the elusive plant.  You weren’t too sure what it was supposed to look like, so after minutes of searching, you were left with a fistful of mismatched stems and leaves.  

Once you couldn’t hold any more of the mismatched plants you had collected, you silently stepped behind the bent over Draco, reaching down to dump the stems in the basket which he firmly grasped at his side.

Draco, who was lost in thought, didn’t realize you were right behind him until a loud twig cracked right under your shoe as you were mere inches from the back of his head and the basket.  

Frightened by the sudden noise, he hastily turned around with his hawthorn wand ready.  Only, instead of being face to face with a rabid werewolf, his elbow was met harshly with your nose. You immediately recoiled from the Slytherin with a roaring yelp.  You instinctively reached for your nose, where blood was slowly dripping out and onto the ground. Great.  

While you were tilting your head back to alleviate the blood flow, Draco stared at you dumbfounded.  The situation at hand eventually sunk in, and he ran to your side, his hand on your shoulder, concernedly.  After you groaned in annoyance for a few seconds he asked, “Are you okay?”

You cocked an eyebrow, taken aback by his oddly sympathetic question.  He quickly realized the tone of what he said, withdrawing his hand from your shoulder.  With a significantly icier tone, he said, “You should’ve been more careful, Y/N.”  

You embarrassedly turned away from Draco, ready to wipe off your blood-coated hands on your robe when you felt a timid tap on your shoulder.  Draco stretched his arm to you, a white silk handkerchief with the initials D. L. M. embroidered in emerald green between his fingers.  He kept his head turned sharply away from you, his nose in a scrunch. 

You eyed his handsome punchable face suspiciously before you slowly accepted the handkerchief.  Before you put it to your nose, you bluntly stated, “I’ll get blood on it, you know.”

“I’m not stupid, I know that.  I gave you my cheap one, so keep it.  Don’t want your filthy germs anyway.”  

“You’re lucky I haven’t hexed your brains out yet,” you said with a sly smile.   

He mimed himself looking mockingly scared at your comment, but a satisfactory smile soon crept onto his face at the sight of your nose softly pressed into the ivory silk.  He was probably just glad to not hear you complain anymore.

----

The basket was nearly full of what you hoped were knotgrass stems, though it seemed your “expert Potions student” also couldn’t pinpoint the plants.  Both of you had also grown very tired, out for what was probably hours.  At long last, Draco plucked one final handful of leaves, making the basket full enough to your standards.  You and Draco simultaneously let out a sigh of relief, finally being done with this grueling punishment.  

Normally, post-detention, you would attempt to send Draco some of the Weasley twin’s dangerous concoctions for extra revenge, but he was being abnormally kind to you tonight, in his own Malfoy way.  Plus, this night had taken a huge toll on you both; you don’t even know if you had the energy to still be mad at him.

The two of you slowly trudged back to Hagrid’s, a joyful feeling in your chest since this strange night was finally over.  As you continued down the dimly-lit path, the platinum blonde who was previously at your side was nowhere to be seen.  You assumed he had snuck up ahead, ready to jump out at you from behind one of the towering black trees.  It wouldn’t be the first time he’d try to scare the hell out of you, to say the least. 

You kept following the path, your eyes darting around at every noise.  You were on high alert for your Slytherin rival, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of scaring you.  The further down you went without seeing Draco though, the more nervous you got.  Not just for the possibility of him scaring you, but for his safety.  You’d heard so many horror stories about the Forbidden Forest you could probably write a book.  

Finally, you mustered the courage to call for Draco.  You repeatedly yelled “Draco!”, slightly louder every time you didn’t receive a response.  Now you were really worried.  He was your sworn enemy, sure, but you didn’t want him dead in the forest.

After more minutes of shouting and worrying, you heard some rustling around you.  “Draco?  Try and scare me!  Don’t think I won’t hesita-”

You were quickly cut off by the noise you dreaded the most: the piercing howl of a werewolf.  You, and seemingly the whole forest, froze within an instant.  You rapidly placed your hand over your mouth, hoping that even your breaths couldn’t be heard.   

Your thoughts immediately went to Draco, alone in the forest, with a werewolf on the prowl.  While you should have been much more worried about yourself in such a vulnerable position, the blonde Slytherin couldn’t seem to leave your brain.  

Your head was so clouded with Draco that you didn’t pay attention to the sound of claw-steps growing closer to you by the second.  By the time you realized that you should shoot some crimson sparks up for help, a loud and intimidating growl emitted from the shrubbery right in front of you.

Without hesitation, you bolted away from the bushes as fast as your feet would take you.  You couldn’t get far though, as the silver, moonlight-drenched werewolf stood ahead of you once again, this time on full display.

Its sharp, horrendous fangs resembled the pointed stalactites of underground caves; its violent yellow eyes were a match for Hufflepuff robes, though Hufflepuffs were probably slightly less vicious.  

The werewolf stared at you, almost mockingly.  The snarl of its mouth could almost be described as a smirk, similar to the one which your blonde detention-mate often wore.  Your final thoughts before death at the hands of a werewolf would be, of all things, Draco. 

The werewolf reared its arm back, ready to claw you to death, and a single tear ran down your face.  It was too late to run, too late to hide, too late to do anything but die.  

Draco Malfoy, however, had other plans.  He bolted between you and the werewolf, rapidly pointing his wand out at the beast.  He yelled “Stupify!” at the top of his lungs, his voice hoarse and his lungs out of breath.  

You were too shocked by Draco’s sudden reappearance and act of heroism to notice the protective and caring grasp Draco had around your hand.  His touch felt different than when he held your wrist, his hand was now warm and soft.  

Your eyes were blurry with tears, and coupled with the dark night sky, you could barely see.  The only thing guiding you was Draco’s hand, pulling you towards the outskirts of the forest.  

You were too scared to look back in search of the werewolf, but Draco didn’t express worry that it would come back.  Instead, he pulled you closer to him, your head leaning on his chest.  His chest rose and fell quickly, his heartbeat rapid and quick.

After what felt like hours upon hours of running in the pitch black towards nothing, you and the not-so-bad blonde were back safely in front of Hagrid’s hut.  The tears in your eyes had finally dried, though you definitely weren’t looking your best.  

Under the light from Hagrid’s windows, Draco could see your matted hair, smudged mascara, and a bit of dried blood under your nose.  He could have easily made a snide comment at your expense, but instead, he reached to your face, brushing a few loose strands of hair out of your eyes.  

You looked up from your feet at the handsome blonde in front of you.  He held a guilty smile on his face, but he seemed to be okay.  You’d been so terrified these past few hours that all you could think to do was practically jump onto Draco, giving him a tight hug.

At first, he didn’t know what to do when you latched your arms around his chest in a tight hug.  The last hug he ever got from someone was his first day of Hogwarts, at Platform 9 ¾.  His mother tightly embraced him before sending him off to proudly strut onto the train.  

His body apparently missed the feeling more than it let on, for butterflies exploded in his whole body the moment your soft skin wrapped around him tightly.  He could faintly smell your shampoo as he hesitantly latched onto you.

The feeling of his arms around you was like nothing you’ve experienced before.  Sure, you’d hugged people in the past, but this felt different.  You felt your heartbeat quicken, and your whole body felt warmer.  You felt secure and comfortable.

Little did the two of you know, Hagrid stood in the doorway of his humble abode, a knowing smile painted on his lips.  He let out a small “ahem” before the hug was broken.  You and Draco swiveled to face the half-giant, who reached out his arm expectantly.  

Only then did Draco realize that he left the basket behind after the werewolf encounter, and a look of shock and embarrassment coated his face.  

“I must’ve left it back in the forest.  I’ll come back tomorrow night to regather the knotgrass. Just  let Draco off the hook, please?” Your face had a pleading expression, a slightly pained look in your eyes.  

“Don’ worry ‘bout it, Y/N.  I know all ‘bout yer werewolf encounter, I’m ser Snape can live without a bit of knotgrass fer a few more days.”  Hagrid warmly smiled at you.

The castle felt miles away from the outskirts of the forest.  Draco was back to being his usual cold self, facing away from you as you both trudged to the school.

Eventually, you finally stood at the large wooden doors of the main entrance to Hogwarts.  Within moments, you would be back within its comforting walls, which would surely soothe the new pounding sensation in your head.  

You reached for the large, rusted metal doorknobs, ready to be greeted with the castle’s uplifting energy, when Draco grabbed your free hand, pulling you away from the handle. 

You couldn’t bring yourself to be rude to the Slytherin, after all he did for you, so instead, you asked calmly, “What is it?”

The glow of torches which adorned Hogwarts’ stoney outer walls made Draco’s hair look magnificently golden, contrasting the way the pale moonlight made his locks seem almost silver.  His silver eyes stared into yours, and for a moment you swear you saw his gaze flicker to your lips.  

Your face heated up at the sight of his charming gaze and smile.  You hadn’t even noticed how close his face was to yours until you felt the heat radiating from his pale cheeks.  He quickly closed the minuscule gap between the two of you by passionately connecting your lips. 

The electricity in the air was hard to ignore.  The late hours of the night just added to the rush of feelings you got when your and Draco’s lips touched.  You wrapped your arms around the back of his neck, pulling him closer; one of his warm hands cupped your cheek and the other sat around your waist.  

After several moments of slow and loving kissing, your lips disconnected.  Your lips missed the feeling of his’, but you were still satisfied.  Draco pulled the large wooden door open, stepping inside with you, your fingers intertwined.  

“I might just have to steal another one of your pathetic essays soon,” Draco said, a genuine look of love in his eyes accompanied by his signature smirk.

“You’re such a git, Malfoy.  Though, I wouldn’t mind spending some more time with you, as long as there’s no werewolves involved, okay?”  

And with that, you pulled him closer for another quick, affectionate kiss before giddily walking up to the Gryffindor common room.

[peakascum]

On the Edge of Eden

@slither-in-a-half​ hope you like this love! 

Click for song inspo! Moodboard?

His eyes traced your figure in a manner that could only be interpreted as boyish. His ears turned red, voice stammering with a little treble at the end, and his feet moved as if he were a newborn foal. He lacked confidence, his posture told you so- but could you blame the kid? You carried yourself with a graceful stance as if each wave and step were predetermined with consciousness and care. You were the talk of the gala, the name that slipped during tea time, the whispers that made it to the dirtiest corners of Small Heath. The youngest of the family, as was he. Common ground, he thought.

His feet carried him across the room, arms missing his aunt’s fingers by an inch and his brother’s angry whispers for him to stay put. They wouldn't care in a second, they would go back to their champagne and pretend that new money could buy them class and a new identity. He didn't think so or even care, not really; in fact, he didn't even try to hide his brummie accent or pretend to know which fork to use during dinner, even John struggled with that. 

Your eyes had been trained on him for a while, being there to catch his missteps and the occasional excessive laugh he’d hand out before the punchline was delivered. You too were conditioned to laugh at such jokes. At the meaningless banter that resonated through parties between nobles and esteemed families who had always looked down upon new money, like the Shelbys, which set the tone for your dislike towards your kin. Your mother groomed you to be a proper lady, bred to breed the finest that England had to offer in order to purify your name and- what else? How vain. 

The littlest Shelby had stammered his way through the entirety of the gala and held improper posture, which would only, and exclusively, be rectified when you tossed a wink or a silly face in his direction. It entirely went by his family’s head, but you did receive a proper kick to the shin from yours. It was just silly banter and perhaps a tad entertaining, much to his dismay, not in a way that would embarrass him completely, but just enough to taint his cheeks and further earn a glare from his siblings. 

The sillines, although flustered him, spoke volumes as to who hid beneath the expensive jewels and stoic expression. A girl, just a girl, who was anything but proper in the most intriguing and tasteful way. And it was in that utter lack of propriety that ignited a fire in his new dress shoes and sent him treading in your direction. 

He swiped two glasses from a nearby table and situated himself beside you. With a confident smirk he thrusted the glass in your direction, only slightly coating the floor beneath you, “A lady such as yourself shouldn't be drinking alone.” 

“A lady wasn’t, you just offered me a glass.” Your brow quirked in his direction.

“Y-yes, you seemed- thirsty. Had two in hand and you, glassless, appeared- uh-“

Your grin widened and brows shot up to your hairline, “-Unsatisfied?”

“I was going to suggest bored, but unsatisfied works too.”

 You giggled and took the glass from his hand, fingers grazing his smooth ones. You wondered just then how they would feel against your body and craved the touch of his fingertips, even just the the single caress of the tips, to edge across your face, to underline the blemishes that made up your young skin and maybe even leave a mark or two if they pressed hard enough against your hips. 

“For someone who seems to have it all, ‘unsatisfied’ is an odd word to use.”

“How so?”

“You're dripping in diamonds and you seem to walk as if you’d ‘ave a gun to your head.” He said it mindlessly, unbothered even, by the mere thought that you would immediately leave after such a remark. That’s why he detested these things. Upper class women seemed to be put off by talks of guns and mud. 

“Correct,” you hummed, “or a stick right up my arse.” His eyes darted to your face and then everywhere else to see if they heard. You just scanned the room. “My blood is blue and I shit diamonds, Mr. Shelby, doesn't mean I’m happy, or content, or-“

“-or satisfied.” He finished for you, staring intently at your profile. A small smile etched itself on your lips, “Or satisfied.”

“I’m Finn,” he said thrusting his hand in your direction, “Mr. Shelby is my brother.”

“Which one?”

“All- but really the one who does seem to have a whole tree branch up his arse.” This earned a whole hearted laugh from you, prompting a small chuckle from him. He made you laugh, genuinely. You turned in his direction and took his suspended hand in yours, and shook his hand with all the seriousness you could muster. 

“Well Finnegan Shelby it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Now, how about we drop this act, ditch the snobs and you show me how Small Heath does it.”

You welcomed the cold slapping of the wind as you would a warm hug. For a second, stillness and crickets. For a second, wires turned in question as to where should you go from here. Glancing towards his moonlit face you let out a heavy breath and hastily took your heals off, making you a couple of inches shorter than you already were. Finn offered you his arm for balance as the other clutched a whisky bottle he managed to snatch from the bar. With heals in hand, you raced through the filled and into the night. 

The skip in your step created a soothing rhythm with the howling wind, a melody you could get used to, one you prayed would come as often as life would allow it.

You lay on the ground surrounded by ramsons that had just started to bloom as Finn sat by your side, bending down ever so slightly to better view your features. Your hands nervously touched the diamond clad necklace that adorned your neck as you felt his eyes scan yours. For a girl whose entire life was spent under attentive eyes, his were the only ones to bring a jolt to your chest and an exuberant vitality to your entire being. 

“Watchful eyes you’ve got there.” His gaze shifted a little, as they did whenever you caught him watching.

“I can’t help myself.”

You cocked your head to the side and eyed him steadily, “Are you staring at my diamonds, Shelby? How pretty they shine under this light?”

“Shining rocks got nothing on you, love.”

“How flattering.” You scoffed. 

“You sound offended.”

“I despise lies, half truths. Men think that’s all that women want to hear. And some do, some eat it up and out of their hands as if they could never eat from their own.”

“You seem to take great interest in other’s concerns,” he said as you shook your head, “in matters and thoughts that imply your worth”

“I care not! I- I do not. It’s just a pity women are eyed like cattle and assumed to be foolish and of fallen grace!” You said, now agitated. Finn fancied the dark glow that came from your eyes, knowing he hit a nerve. You sat upright unlocking the necklace’s  hatch at the back of your neck. The rocks hit the limestone floor with a small thud no louder than that of a bird’s wings, and created a shimmering glare that adorned your face like small, expensive teardrops. 

“Your fit won’t change my mind if that’s what you're aiming at,” he provoked. You stood up with furrowed brows and hastily undid the back of your dress. His posture remained stoic but eyes widened in concern of your hurried movements. 

“What’s the matter Finn, aren’t women more rabid than men?” You chuckled as the dress slid  under the curve of your breasts, past your belly, and further pooled by your shoeless feet. Finn visibly gulped at the sight of your body in the delicate, silk slip. You stood proudly like a painting, a muse, waiting to be challenged and admired for his eyes, and only his. 

His head turned towards the house, which was only a dot in the mere distance, swallowed by music and acres of field. You stepped towards him towering over his sitting frame, took his hands in yours and placed them on your thighs, just below the seam of the slip. His cheeks turned a deep crimson that reminded you of the red pygmies that swam in the pond near your feet. “Suddenly at a loss for words, Shelby?”

He got up clumsily and towered over your body. Hands blended together in a pool of questions that should not and could not be answered with words, but with the mere touch of light grazes against his skin. How did he ever muster the courage to approach such a creature full of such beauty, whose aggressive approach to life had to be masked by the authoritarian glare of wealth and class. 

He knew where this was headed by your hurried kisses and the race of both hands. He halted your movements causing you to peer at him in a daze. “It’s not a race Y/N,” he said in a hushed manner.

“What’s the difference? You want me, you'll have me, and then leave,” you spat. 

“I want you, I’ll have you, and I’ll be back for more of you,” he paused to kiss your swollen lips, “for this,” he traced his lips over her breasts, “for more nights,” lips trailed to your belly, “no champagne, no diamonds. Just give up control, for once.” 

Your head tilted back as he nuzzled his head between your legs. His hands grazed the curves of your thighs while the wind nipped at your cheeks and flowers tickled your shins. The stars winked as the sky seemed to open up, all witnessing the spectacle that was just commencing. An exciting origin to an undoubtedly sublime love story. 

His soft fingers gripped your leg as he swung it over his shoulder, just as you imagined when you first accepted the glass in your empty glassless ones. 

Your sighs of pleasure mixed with his groans as he savored your juices, drinking you up like expensive cabernet. His tongue grazing the inside of your walls, kissing and nipping your bundle of pleasure, humming at your whines and muttering small praises full of lust and adoration. A garden of sinful pleasure built for the two.

*BONUS SCENE*

In the distance Tommy and Arthur stepped out into the balcony to get some air, the room suddenly seeming stuffed with snobs and meaningless conversation. They shared a cigarette and nursed their drinks, for a moment appreciating the quietness that spring brought every year. As Tommy dragged on about titles and politics, Arthur fixed his eyes in the distance, squinting and questioning if his mind was finally going mad. 

“Tom?” He stuttered. His brother held a hand up, “I know it’s the same shit with Mosely. Like a fuckin’ riddle-“

“Tom,” Arthur interrupted again, eyes widening as he stared at the distance. 

“No, it is! But if we ever catch-“

“Jesus fuck Tom, shut the hell up ‘bout the coppers and the bloody earls!” He said agitated. Tommy swirled his head to look at his brother’s rigid body. Arthur pointed into the distance, “There, Tom. There. By the tree, over the pond.”

Tommy followed his finger, having to squint his eyes to see the clear image.

“Fucken’ hell is that-“

“Fucken’ Finn!” Arthur cackled, choking on his own spit in the process. 

Tommy’s jaw slacked in complete and utter shock, “This fuckin’ kid I swear to God,” he muttered under his breath. Brow furrowing as his eyes scanned the property, suddenly worried that his brother’s laughter would attract attention to the scene that unfolded before them in the mere distance. “All right, all right Arthur- fuck,” he said as a small smirk formed on his stoic face. 

“Tom I can’t breath, I mean this is-“ Arthur howled, “this is almost fuckin’ biblical!”

“Arthur shh, okay okay just don’t-“

“Fuckin’ Adam and Eve shit Tom!”

[lightsovermonaco]

His Good Sweater: Chapter 4

Masterlist

Thank you as always to my best friend and Beta reader @acollectionofficsandshit​ for putting up with me and my ramblings ♥

Word Count: 3.8k

Recommended song: "ily (I love you baby)" by Surf Mesa and Emilee

You'd never been more thankful that you kept a change of clothes in your car than you were after the race at Silverstone. You'd showered again, changing back into the sweaty tee and leggings. The clean emergency hoodie and jeans were a blessing, and casual enough for a night on the town.

Most of the crew had left, only a few poor souls pouring over race data or packing up essentials. James let you into the trailer yard this time without hesitation. "We really should just get you a key," He teases, "Sure would make my life easier."

Rolling your eyes, you give the tower of muscle a pitiful shove. He doesn't move an inch. "Thanks James. I'll ask Pierre to look into it."

A sudden wave of tiredness washes over you when you make it back to the trailer. You flip through the channels on the tiny television, settling on an analysis of the day’s race.

“And a brilliant drive from young Pierre Gasly, wasn’t it John?”

“I completely agree Martin. Gasly took advantage of every slip up by Mercedes and Red Bull and he has to be commended for that. Max made some rare mistakes and…”

You smile to yourself, their praise washing over you. Yawning, you curl up on Pierre's bed, the familiar smell of cedar lulling you into a light sleep in minutes.

**********

A gentle touch to your cheek wakes you some hours later. You crack your eyes open, greeted by a smile brighter than the stars in the night sky. You taste eternal sunshine on his lips when you kiss him, your soul sparking in response to his light.

"Good morning," He murmurs, thumb rubbing along your jaw. "Sleep well?"

You snuggle closer to him, eyes closing once more as you soak up the warmth. "Is it time to go out already?"

"It is. But we can stay here if you want to." He brushes a stray hair off your face. The gesture is so tender, if you didn’t know any better you’d never guess he could turn into the seasoned, take-no-shit racer you’d seen hours before. 

You shake your head. You couldn't let him miss out on celebrating his victory with his closest friends. Besides, you hadn't seen any of them for a span of time longer than a few minutes in months, and truth be told, you missed them all. 

Those boys had a knack for turning the simplest of outings into unforgettable adventures. You had been sworn to secrecy on numerous occasions after Pierre recounted drunken escapades that usually ended with Max sleeping somewhere preposterous, like a claw-footed bathtub in a fancy suite.

“Where are we going?” You ask sleepily. “Somewhere nearby?”

Pierre tugs you up until you’re sitting. He pulls you back against his chest, arms wrapping around you as he sets his chin on your shoulder. “Yeah. Maybe ten minutes away.”

You lean your full weight against him, admiring how perfectly your bodies slot together. “Can I leave my car here?”

“As long as you’re okay with it staying here until tomorrow, that’s fine.” He coaxes you to stand and presses a kiss to your temple as a reward. Your limbs are still heavy and uncooperative. Pierre winds an arm around your waist, supporting you and assuming the position of your rock as he always did.

"You don't sleep here," You state simply, looking at him for confirmation. He shakes his head.

"Wouldn't be enough room for two anyway." He gestures to the tiny twin sized bed and shrugs.

Your brow furrows. “Am I staying with you tonight?” You honestly had not considered it. The jet usually left early and you had assumed he would want to get as much rest as possible. But now that you had experienced waking up next to him, you realize how much you want his face to be the first thing you see when you open your eyes each morning.

“Of course you’re staying with me. I’m taking every second of your time that I can get.”

You bite your lip and lay your head on his shoulder. The idea of falling asleep in his arms was enough to shake any lingering sleepiness. “Okay.” Confident that you could hold yourself up, you step out of his grasp. “Ready.”

The few mechanics roaming about the grounds are enough to keep you cautious. You walk through the paddock a hair's breadth apart, although every nerve screams for you to touch him. Every time your arm grazes his, electricity ripples across your skin. All you want to do is hold his hand, but there’s enough prying eyes that you restrain the impulse.

You can tell he feels it too by the way his fingers curl and uncurl at his sides. And he's biting his cheek, you notice. A nervous habit of his and a clear indicator that he'd retreated inside his own head, likely contemplating if he'd truly deserved to win today or not.

Every few months his doubts crept in, the devil on his shoulder reminding him that Horner hadn't deemed him good enough to keep his seat at Red Bull after only a handful of races.

You'll never be as talented as them, is what you'd imagined it whispered. They're only here because they pity you. What makes you think you deserve a seat?

It couldn't be farther from the truth. Deep down, Pierre knew that. Driving in Formula 1 meant being under constant scrutiny from the public and sportscasters. Making an error meant debates about whether you were good enough and rumors about seat security.

There were no such errors today. You'd heard the commentary after the race; everyone was raving about his performance. Not one person had dared say he didn't deserve it.

Not wanting him to suffer alone, you subtly wrap your pinky finger around his. "You're okay," You say softly, his head whipping to you. "You deserved that trophy today. It was some of the best driving I've ever seen, everyone agrees. You deserve a trophy every time you get in that car. You'll always be my champion, even if the world tells you otherwise."

It takes a moment for it to sink in, but he nods and releases your pinkie. "You're my grounding rod," He says, lips curling in a knowing smile, and you can't hold back your laugh.

"Leave it to you to turn a romantic moment into a cheesy one." Instead of saying you're my rock like any normal person, he had to bring up the time you'd embarrassed yourself at the bar a year or so ago. He'd let you prattle on to poor Dan about building grounding rods of all things, and how you'd thought your professor's way of designing such a system was flawed. Pierre would never let you live that down, it seemed.

Max spots the two of you first, waving from where the boys had gathered outside Red Bull. “About time you showed up! We’ve been waiting for ten minutes!”

“She fell asleep,” Pierre says simply, his confidence back. “Takes her awhile to wake up.”

“Whatever, I’m just glad you’re here,” Daniel says, throwing an arm around your shoulders and tucking you tight to his side. You couldn’t help the broad smile creeping onto your face, twin to the aussie’s as you hug him back. 

“We missed you,” Charles says, falling into step beside you. “I never hear from you anymore!”

You grimace. It was true, while the three boys had texted you quite frequently the past few months, you had barely responded to them. You felt guilty about it, knowing they were taking time out of their packed schedules to catch up. But uni had been kicking your ass and the only one you’d found time for was Pierre. Looking back, you were glad he had been the exception.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” You say. “Lots of projects.”

“And that new internship,” Max points out. Your eyebrows flick up, gaze flicking to Pierre. You had been awarded an internship a month or so ago at a local engineering firm in London. It was only part time work, a few hours a week, but it was enough. The only one you had told was Pierre.

Pierre grins, the gesture a silent apology. “I may have spilled the beans.” 

You cut him a glare, the others laughing at your attempt at being intimidating. But you couldn’t turn away from him, not when he was looking at you with the same pride you had felt when he’d won earlier that day. 

“Uber’s here,” Charles announces, checking his phone.

“Where?” Daniel asks, and Charles indicates a black SUV parked at the curb. Daniel and Max exchange a look, shouting “Shotgun!” at the same time. Both boys break into a full sprint, feet pounding on the pavement. Daniel wins - barely, leaving Max and Charles to squeeze into the back seat.

Pierre follows you into the third row of seats, his hand immediately engulfing yours. Your stomach flips, glancing up to find a reassuring smile on his face. You could barely focus on what was said for the first half of the ride, hyperaware of the callouses rubbing your skin. The world around you erupts into color at the touch, completing the part of you that you’d never realized was missing. 

The remainder of the drive is filled with laughter, jokes, and plenty of selfies with the driver. It wasn’t every day one could brag about having four world class drivers in your car; you couldn’t blame the man for being excited.

By the time you arrive at the bar, your sides are already splitting with laughter. “First round is on you, Ricciardo,” Charles says, wagging a finger at him. “Punishment for bringing up the Abu Dhabi incident again!”

“Jokes on you, I was already planning on it!” He glances at you and winks. “Gotta congratulate the winner somehow, right?” Little did the Australian know, you had already congratulated Pierre a few hours ago, and you doubted that a few shots would outshine that performance. You hope the pink tinge that rises to your cheeks with the memory isn't obvious and you duck your head just in case.

A blast of air conditioning hits you as you all stumble into the bar. All eyes fell to you and the ragtag group of drivers when you entered, silence blanketing the patrons. The bartender slams a fist on the wooden bartop, rattling glasses and making you flinch.

“Been wonderin’ when you lot were gonna show your ugly mugs!”

Daniel, Max and Charles erupt into friendly laughter, shaking the man’s hand and making small talk. You look to Pierre for an explanation.

“Tradition,” He murmurs. The noise returned to a normal level around you, though you could feel the glances thrown your way. “We come here every year, but only if one of us wins at Silverstone. Been awhile since that happened.”

"Ah," You say, nodding dramatically. "Yes, very long time." Pierre grins, shaking his head.

"Who won this year?" The man - William, Pierre informs you- asks. He towered over you when you sat on the sticky bar stool, tall and lanky but well muscled and certainly not someone you would expect patrons to try disrespecting. He was already pouring five shots of a fine Irish Whiskey, waving Daniel off when he tried to start a tab. “My treat.”

Max claps a hand on Pierre's shoulder. "This one claimed the crown, for once!"

"Wey hey!" William says, passing out the shots. "Everyone else crash out or what?"

"You should watch the replay," You say, knocking Pierre's shoulder with your own. "It was amazing. The move he used to get past Max-" you bring your pinched fingers to your lips in a chef's kiss. "Gorgeous."

"Much to Max's despair," Charles adds, raising his shot. "To the underdog!"

You all echo the sentiment, the boys knocking back the strong alcohol with practiced ease. It didn't go down as smooth for you, burning your throat and making you wince.

Daniel laughs. "Not used to drinking with us anymore, huh?"

"Must have lost my edge," You say, the woody taste lingering in your mouth. "I'm sure it'll hit me hard in a half hour or so, too."

**********

Well, you weren't wrong about the alcohol hitting you like a punch to the gut. Two shots later and you were swaying like a sailor on his first excursion out to sea, Pierre's shoulder the only thing keeping you from toppling off the bar stool. 

Pierre's eyes were bright as the others poked fun at him, William joining in with a witty remark now and then. His laugh wrapped around you like a warm blanket, keeping you content and grounded.

"Hey Pierre," Daniel says at one point, "Don't look now but that table of girls has been obsessed with you all night."

Pierre, blitzed as he was, pays no attention to Dan's warning and turns around. A loopy grin was plastered on his face, turning back and shaking his head.

You may not have been able to think straight, but your stomach lurches. Instantly sobering slightly, you follow Dan's gaze to the indicated table to your left. Three beautiful women sat there, whispering behind their hands and clearly speaking about Pierre. One bit her lip and caught your eye, giggling. Her looks were universally attractive enough that she would be anyone’s type, Pierre included. The possessiveness in the gaze she raked over his body set your blood boiling. 

This… was not a scenario you wanted to play out. You didn't know if Pierre was ready to tell his friends about your relationship yet. You knew he wouldn't let any of those girls have the light of day, but he might let them fawn over him a little, just to protect your secret. And it would kill you, but you would have no choice but to let it happen.

"I'm good," Pierre says, sipping the beer he had been nursing all night.

"Come on mate," Max pushes, a wicked grin on his flushed face, "That blonde is so your type."

No she isn't.

You’re already staring up at Pierre when he turns to you. You have always worn your emotions on your sleeve for anyone to see, and it only got worse when mixed with alcohol. Pierre smiles softly, taking mercy on you. Slowly, he takes your hand and threads your fingers together before turning back to the boys.

"One of you can tell them I’m not interested. I already have my girl." 

Heart beating wildly, you scan your friends faces. They were all wide eyed and slack jawed, staring at your joined hands. Pierre gives your hand a gentle squeeze, reminding you to breathe. He read you like an open book, offering reassurance when you needed it most.

"It's about fucking time!" Daniel roars, breaking the tense silence. Your shoulders relax, grinning along with the others. Pierre beams at you, knocking your shoulder to say I told you so. 

"Does this mean I get a break from listening to you obsess over her every weekend?" Max asks, giving you a meaningful look. 

"Likely not," Pierre answers. "I'm still just as obsessed as before. Maybe more." Max pretends to gag, earning him a playful punch from Charles. God, it was so freeing for your relationship to be more open, even if it was just between your closest friends. 

"I'd just like to point out that I told you two this would happen years ago," Charles says matter of factly, pointing at Max and Dan. "Should've taken you up on that bet."

Your mouth hung open. "You were going to bet on us being a couple?"

"Oh come on," Max says, rolling his eyes. "We all knew it was coming eventually. We just didn't know when!"

Pink stains your cheeks, but Pierre laughs and leans in to kiss you. Remembering the girls behind you, you press a little closer to him. Under the guise of placing a kiss to his cheek, you meet the blonde's eyes and smile sweetly.

The woman preens, mouth twisting. Good. Pierre was yours, and now that he'd admitted it, you could let those girls know it. His hand slips to your thigh, squeezing hard. A clear warning that you were venturing into dangerous territory. You didn't care.

The alcohol in your veins makes you bold, and you want to drive your point home. They could look all they wanted, but he was coming home with you. You push the boundary farther and bite the soft skin of his neck just hard enough to leave a mark. Pierre's hiss finally makes you pull back and look up at him innocently.

"Get a room," Daniel teases with a wink. You smile at him, mumbling an insincere apology. Your point had been made. The arrogant smirk had been wiped from the woman’s face, replaced with a grimace. 

"I think it is time for us to get going," Pierre says, annoyance flashing across his face. Oh, you had stoked the fire and now you would have to face the consequences. 

"We're just getting started," Charles complains. Pierre slaps a few bills on the counter and gets up without responding. 

"Bye guys!" You call over your shoulder as Pierre drags you towards the door. They all wave back, Max's lower lip jutting out in a pout. Your eyes slid one more time to the blonde, who had her arms crossed over her chest. You give her a wicked, taunting grin and return her earlier wink.

Pierre halts so quickly that you run into him. “Why are we leaving?”

“You know why,” He growls, flagging down a cab. “You didn't like how she was looking at me, so you did something about it. You might not have noticed, but every man in that bar had their eyes on you. So I’m following your example and doing something about it.”

Your brow furrows. Pierre won’t meet your gaze, and your eyes fall to the purple mark on his neck. You didn’t like his tone; it bordered dangerously on anger. “Are you… Are you mad that I did that?”

Tears threaten to spill when he finally looks at you. God, you were a blubbering drunk.  When your lip wobbles, his anger fades and he sighs. “I’m not mad. I just… I didn’t think you’d want me flaunting our relationship yet. When you did this-” He gestures to his neck- “I could barely keep my hands off you. Not when I saw the guy walking up to you.”

You sniff, trying to conjure the image of the bar. “I didn’t notice anyone.”

“Yeah, cause I dragged you out here before he could say anything.” Pierre pulls his hood up and sighs. “Trying to catch a cab here is harder than overtaking Hamilton.”

You laugh harder than you should at the off-hand remark, following after him as he trudges down the sidewalk. “Why are you not drunk? I feel like you should be drunk. You won a race. They were feeding you shots one after another.”

“One of us had to be responsible and make sure we got home okay.” He smiles over his shoulder at you. “And I knew as soon as you had that first shot it would have to be me. Didn’t you notice me handing the shots to the other guys?”

“No,” You say, rubbing your eyes. “What about the boys? How are they gonna get home?” Pierre stops, forcing you to do the same. He tugs your hood up, makes sure his is secure enough to hide his face, and grabs your hand.

“I already told Seb to come round them up in an hour or so. They’ll be fine.”

You don’t respond, too busy trying to put one foot in front of the other and not fall on your face. It doesn’t help that your vision is a tad blurry. Finally you give up and whine, “How much further?”

“It’s right there,” He says, pointing at a towering glass building just across the street. “In five minutes, you can be tucked into a cozy, fluffy suite and you can rest all you want, my love.”

You hum at the words, warmth flooding your veins from more than the liquor. “I like that.”

“What, the building?” He asks, amused. He helps you cross the empty street, making sure you’re paying attention to where you’re going.

“Noooo, what you said,” You clarify, leaning on him as you try to navigate the handful of steps leading to the hotel.

He’s quiet until you reach the elevator. “My love,” He murmurs, and you grin up at him.

“Mon… mon coeur,” You manage to say, somehow pulling the French phrase out of the dregs of your memory. The words are slurred and you know that you absolutely botch the pronunciation, but the intent is clear. You may have lived in France since you were 18, but learning the language wasn’t a requirement when almost everyone knew english as well. But the two of you had spent many hours watching Pierre’s favorite french films over the years; some of it must have unintentionally rubbed off on you.

A disbelieving smile tugs at his lips. “How do you even know what that means?”

You shrug. “Just do.” The elevator doors open and you step out, Pierre following. You halt, not knowing which hall to take. You glance up at your companion for help, only to find him staring back at you. “What?”

He shakes his head and leads you down the corridor to his room. It's a spacious corner suite, with huge windows facing Silverstone that give him a perfect view of the track. You make for the window but Pierre’s hand on your wrist stops you.

“I don’t think so, it’s time for you to sleep.”

“But I just wanna see,” You protest weakly.

“Nice try. I know you. You’ll sit in front of that window for hours if I let you.”

You give in only because he was right. Cityscapes of any kind drew your attention like a moth to a flame. You pouted anyway, but let him take you to the bedroom. Gentle pressure on your shoulders had you sinking into the plush mattress, groaning at the luxurious softness. Pierre laughs as he helps you out of your shoes and jeans, leaving the hoodie.

Eyelids drooping, you climb under the covers Pierre had pulled back for you. He tucks you in and kisses your temple. You grab for him, tugging on his shirt until he stoops down and gives you a proper kiss. When he steps out of your grasp, you panic.

“Stay,” You mumble, fear bubbling in your chest. He had to stay, he couldn’t leave, not when you only had this one night left-

“I’m just taking off my shoes,” He assures you, his weight sliding in behind you to settle against your back. You sigh, moulding yourself to him as best you could. Being in his arms was somehow familiar, even if he’d never held you like this. It felt like home.

“Pierre?”

“Hmm?”

“I love you.”

Pillowy soft lips press to the nape of your neck. “I love you too, mon coeur.”

Tagging: @flashcal

[captainsimagines]

To Topple A Giant || Finale

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

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

Part 10 of 10 ~ Mini-Series

Warnings in this Chapter: strong language; slight reference to past sexual abuse; fluff 

Word Count: 6,700+

Author’s Note: Guys... the finale! I’m crying actual tears lmao. Thank you for reading my words. It means the world.

~

The New Compound, July 2025, 7:09pm

      The extra hour of sunlight this time of year was the easiest excuse to use for lounging on the roof to watch the sun set slowly. The compound no longer touches the clouds, but it still provides a rich view of the landscape across. There is no blowing of horns or shouts of the road hecklers; it’s a simple hour of solace to rest your chin against your arms, eat your snacks, and watch the sky change colors until nothing remains but the possibility of counting the stars. 

“Hey… can I sit here?”

Your heart does a little jump at the sound of his voice. Traitor, you want to say to the pesky organ, but remain quiet as Steve wanders over to stand by you. He’s close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from his body. 

“Do what you will, Captain.” It’s simple enough of a response, you figure. You look down at the granola bar in your hand, turning it over a few times before rolling your eyes at the silly gesture. “Granola bar?”

He nods, watching as you snap it in half, and grabs the piece. “Thanks.”

You eat in cooperative silence. You take small bites, saving the granola bar so you have something to focus on during the length of time Steve decides to stay up here. He seems to be doing the same. “So what brings you out here? Another depressive episode?”

“I happen to have the perfect amount of depressive episodes, thank you very much.”

You snort, “Ditto.”

He takes a small bite and rolls the granola over his tongue. “No, I uh… I actually came out here to watch the sunset.”

“That’s sweet.” You shrug and admit your reason to him without a second thought. “I came out here to be sad, so.”

“Thor’s visit isn’t doing you any good?”

Thor is genuinely looking better. He’s started braiding his hair again, exercising with the help of Quill and Bruce, and participating in conversation without being addressed first. Seeing him makes you happy, but there’s still a glint in his eyes that reminds you of the lowest point of his life. And his lowest point was also yours. Sometimes you just want to forget. “He looks better. Healthier, got some light back in his eyes. It’s just whenever we look at each other we think of the same thing, I guess.”

Steve hums low and his shoulder brushes yours. “Loki.”

“It’s good to reminisce and all but I’ve got my limits,” you say.

“What was the special connection between you and Loki anyway?”

You grin at such an innocent question. Steve had never been close to Loki, didn’t really like him much, but he tolerated the God wandering about. You figure he genuinely wants to know. “I met him a little bit before I was assaulted. Everyone in the compound had their suspicions but no one asked. It was like they were avoiding me but also trying to help, I don’t really know. It was a weird time. And Loki, after we caught that dragon thing and really, really properly met, just straight up asked me why I was so distant all of a sudden.” Your chest warms at the memory.  “I told him. And you know what the first thing he said to me was?”   

Steve shakes his head a little and his eyes follow the tilt of your mouth. “‘What a cunt’.”  

He startles himself into a laugh, the rough word not expected. You continue, “It was the first time I laughed in four months.”

Steve follows your gaze out to the sunset. He suddenly feels guilty, out of the loop, sad. You had only mentioned your assault to him once when you discovered Tony’s afterlife gifts, and he never brought it up again. “I’m sorry I didn’t notice you were-”

“Bucky had just moved into the tower and all of your attention was on him. I don’t blame you for not seeing me.”

It’s true, but Steve doesn’t forgive himself. He’s had two years to check up on you and because of his own selfish choice, he’s let you slip from his fingers. A question bubbles from the back of his mind — one that he doesn’t think twice about finally asking. If he does, he won’t ask.  “Do you miss… me?”

“That’s a stupid question.”

“Sam put the idea in my head and—”

You sigh, “Steve, it’s the fact that he had to put the idea in your head. I can lie and say I’ve been all fine and dandy, or I can tell the truth and say I’ve been all fine and dandy. Take your pick.”

Steve stares at you for a long moment, mouth parting around invisible words. You’re staring at the sunset, avoiding his gaze but aware of his eyes on you, and he misses you. He truly, terribly, misses you. He decides he’s got nothing more to lose — he’s already lost you. “Well, I miss you. Do with that what you will.”

The two of you sit in silence for a few minutes: wind in your ears, legs shifting when too much weight has been applied, tiny sniffs of the nose. You don’t really know what to do with that information. Steve misses you. And you miss him. But he doesn’t deserve to know that. There’s been no apology from him, just things he’ll do to appease Sam. 

At the three minute mark, you groan quietly and turn to him. “Are you seriously still going to watch the sunset up here?”

Steve smirks and watches you from his peripheral. He really has missed being on the receiving end of your various tones of voices. “I have been told that I’m impossible to get rid of, so yeah.”

His company isn’t all that bad.  

Present Day, 2025, 9:07am

      Perhaps there were good things that came from being locked up for over two weeks, alone. Last time you were locked up with the team and there was absolutely no special treatment after that. Now you’re resisting the urge to burst out laughing as Steve piles on the seventh massive pancake on your plate; or rolling your eyes as Sam keeps asking if you want more maple syrup — ‘What flavor? We’ve got six!’ — and Peter’s drowning Bucky with questions about who he encountered at the wedding. 

“Is it the same as Netflix Narcos?”

“No,” you say bluntly. 

“Is the Amazon series legit? Like, did Omar really kill the DEA agent?”

“No.”

“Is Omar as evil as they say?”

“No.”

“Damn,” Peter groans, piling a forkful of pancakes into his mouth. “Nothing’s as exciting as it seems, huh?”

Everyone looks to him, then to each other.

Steve clears his throat, “I was literally shot.”

Mouth full, you follow. “And I was abused for years.”

“And I had to deal with them while with HYDRA,” Bucky says with his mouth full too.

“Man, they shot at me. That counts,” Sam adds.

“And I finally got to use the shield. While being shot at,” Scott says.

You interject, “Technically I was being shot at.”

Even with such a cloud of violence, with gruesome memories — memories that would just be shoveled into the pile of things that no one is ever going to talk about again  — you all begin laughing. Poor Peter missed out on a lot, but he can put two and two together. He knows this is his only chance to ask before you all lock it away and call it just another mission. It doesn’t hurt to humor him. 

And even though you won’t mention it to any one else unless they ask — this wasn’t just another mission for you or Steve. Things have changed and the both of you know it. The aches within your chest are no longer negative or a bother, but instead are blooming flowers that have laid dormant for years. You’ve been plucking petals for as long as the two of you can remember, and it’s about damn time you both end up on the same page. 

Everything has been quiet. Sure, there are bounties on everyone’s head but when is there not? You’ve pissed off more cartel leaders and gang leaders and political enemies than you can count on two hands, so this enemy territory is not all that foreign. You recognize the high trees, the gray skies, the mud beneath your boots. But you’ve got friends on your team that know how to climb those trees; friends on your team that know how to move the clouds and make the sky the talk; friends on your team that would hump through mud and snow watching your six. 

You can’t believe you even thought about leaving after the mission in the first place. This is where you belong, where all of you belong, because you’re the only ones with good hearts who qualify for the job. 

As breakfast winds down, Steve takes the opportunity to sprinkle in moments of long-awaited public displays of affection. When you go to refill your orange juice, he sneaks a kiss on your cheek. When you go to wash your plate, he makes sure Peter is looking the other way before patting your ass. And when you’re the one to envelope his slim waist from behind, he melts in your combined warmth.  

“So, about our date,” Steve inquires, cheeks turning pink but voice unwavering. He looks brand new, refreshed, and there’s a shine in his eyes that you haven’t seen since forever. You can’t remember the last time you have, but you figure it must have been back when the world hadn’t yet swallowed him whole. Now, he’s burning bright with the youth his soul has missed. 

You jump up and down, “Ooo, exciting!”

Steve takes you by the waist, swinging you in every direction. It’s uncoordinated, messy, and not exactly dancing but it’s pure. “Chinese? Pizza? Just fries?”

“¿Por qué no los tres?” Pursing your lips, you wait for his answer. 

“That can be arranged.”

You gasp dramatically, “You’re spoiling me.”

“Well I have two years to make up for it.”

That startles a laugh from deep inside your chest. “That’s gonna be our inside joke now, huh? Two of the worst years of our lives and we’re joking about it.”

He blushes along with you. “I think that describes our relationship perfectly.”

“Our relationship…” Your voice comes out like a melodic whisper and Steve feels it in his bones.

He grins down at you but before he can respond, someone enters the common room rather cautiously. 

“Oh, now what the hell are you doing here?” Steve demands, pushing you to stand behind him. The gesture is nice, but completely unnecessary. Friday would have alerted the team if someone entered the grounds armed. 

Agent Kavert raises his hands, “Relax. I’m not here to arrest you or anything.”

Steve tries to move his shoulders in a way where Agent Kavert can’t see your head. But you maneuver around him, somehow ending up peeking your head through Steve’s underarm. “If I know the law, and I think I do, you can’t really arrest someone in their own house anyway, right?” You pat Steve repeatedly on his side. “Right?”

Before Steve can respond, Agent Kavert speaks. With Steve guarding you, it seems the only thing Agent Kavert wants to do is get in and get out as fast as he can. “I just came to apologize. Ballistics came back and the evidence does show that you didn’t kill Ernesto Vega. It was Ramirez’s issued gun.”

Yeah, you think. The gun Seda stole.

“Oh, what a breath of relief! I almost forgot I was there.”

He sighs and his lips pull into a small smile. “You’re not gonna tell me where Ramirez is, huh?”

Steve takes this as his cue to leave you two alone, but not before squeezing your hand on his way out. He nods over to Peter, who’s still crouching in the kitchen, unseen by Kavert. Peter gives him an enthusiastic thumbs up,  happy to spy for his Captain. But you know he’s really asking Peter to take care of you while he’s gone.  

You let out a heavy sigh. Omar has been wanted for years for another murder he didn’t even commit. And now, he’s wanted for another. He may be a giant with morals, but even he can’t escape the gruesome reality that plagues the wicked. 

“I don’t even know where he is. If you came looking for answers—”

“No, I just… Everything’s been so fucked up since half the universe came back. And the possibility of an Avenger being bad, having played us for years — I think it just scared a lot of people.” Agent Kavert actually looks sincere. He adjusts his footing and chuckles a little under his breath. There’s a fine line creasing his forehead, but it isn’t formed from stress. He’s smiling, an honest look, and his eyebrows pull inward. “And Shakespeare? Really?”

Rolling your eyes, you shrug and lean back against the counter. “When half the world disappears and takes your family and friends with it, there’s really not much else to do.” 

And besides, Loki was really into Shakespeare.

You continue, deciding at the last second to throw Agent Kavert a bone about your past. “Shield didn’t know but Nick Fury did. So did Pierce. And when Shield fell, Fury just hid it even more.” You give him a half smile. “We weren’t helping the cartel. We were slowly taking it apart.”

Agent Kavert nods, thinking it over. “The deal Jackeline made with us was pretty simple. She’d tell us all the inside secrets that she knew and in exchange, no charges against her and none so serious for you.”

Your shoulders slump and you shoot him a blank stare. “Was it really that simple? Like, I could have just used her as my one free call?”

“Joke all you want. You should have called us when Shield fell. The double agent thing was risky and everyone needs help taking down a giant like that.”

“I did have help. Involving more people was never planned.”

“He was just as much our mission as he was yours.”

Agent Kavert, as sorry as he looks, still doesn’t seem to get it. But that’s fine, you think. Not everyone can. And you’re not in the mood to argue anymore. “No… he wasn’t.”

He seems to read your mind because he simply accepts your answer. “I really am sorry for accusing you. And for the government arresting you alone and letting the white man go free.”

A tiny snort tickles your nostrils. Agent Kavert is white, and it’s even more amusing considering he’s being serious. “Thanks… I guess.”

He turns to leave, seemingly normal, until he spins on his heel and claps his hands. “Oh! And by the way — don’t leave the country. The charges of conspiracy and murder have all been dropped. But there’s evidence of drug smuggling. So, you’re on house arrest.”

Your eyes widen and you reply with a sarcastic yell. “Thanks!” He turns to leave again. “You’re fucking with me, right?”

He glances over his shoulder, “Could not have let you just get away with it. Some of that smuggling was under no order from Shield at all.”

“You know I can easily disable that ugly ass ankle bracelet you’re about to give me?”

He chuckles low, and finally waves goodbye. “Goodbye, Agent Y/LN.”

You stand dumbfounded, slightly annoyed, but you figure it’s better than actual jail time. Peter rises from his hiding spot and walks over to you, blowing air from his mouth. “Friend of yours?”

You whip around to point a finger, scream and laugh mixing into one. “No friend!”

Peter finally hears that accent Steve can’t stop talking about.

       It’s a tiny portrait, sealed in a tiny frame and hidden in a tiny room. The frame is black with professional wooden carvings that make the sides look like perfectly detailed tree trunks. It’s in between the portrait of Tony and Natasha’s bracelet. Tony wears the same AC/DC shirt Steve has somehow stolen and claimed as his own. He’s got this sarcastic grin, some type of wrench in one hand while his other rests on his hip. He stands in his lab, glasses pushed up onto his head and black soot smudged on his cheek. You think Peter snapped the photo back in 2017. 

But the middle portrait is your favorite. It’s the only photo he ever allowed to be taken of him. Brushing your index finger against the glass, you trace the small outlines of Loki’s jawline, to his thin pink lips, to the bulb of his nose, to the waves of his hair. He sits caught off guard, book in his hand and in regular human clothing. He shoots a rather annoyed but joyful look over his shoulder as the camera was shoved in his face. You know for sure Wanda took that photo.

“You’re not dead,” you say as you study the blue of his frozen eyes. A God doesn’t die, you remember him saying. Loki was wrong about a lot of things, but you pray he wasn’t wrong about this. There’s a small part of you that wants to speak the same words to Tony and Natasha, but there’s only so many times the world’s axis can shift for a miracle. You tap the glass, sighing a breath of acceptance, and finally let go. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Smiling up at the ceiling, you think you’re right about this one.

      It’s quiet. The only sounds are the mild ripping of wrapping paper and small ‘thank you’s’ from the team. Everyone got each other something — granted, everyone got something small for everyone. No matter how much Tony joked about still splurging on Christmas shopping, his promises weren’t exactly kept. He’s gotten everyone things they actually need or wanted. Steve, a new drawing pad; Natasha, a bright pink knit sweater; Rhodey, a new watch; Bruce, a pair of sunglasses; Nebula, a dark blue knitted sweater that she immediately presses against her cheek, eyes focused on the ground as she savors the soft brush; you, the full collection of Shakespeare's plays and sonnets. And he finally presents the baby’s crib to Pepper, constructed three weeks after she originally asked him to. 

“I know how much you like to reenact A Midsummer Night’s Dream in your room,” Tony grins at you. Biting your bottom lip, you throw yourself at him and hug him tight. He returns the hug with just as much strength, if not more. 

As the night goes on and midnight rings, your small group exchanges tight-lipped merry Christmas’s and happy holidays. Natasha retires to her room, a distant look in her eyes as she says goodnight. No one knows where Clint is.

Steve nudges your elbow with his once the room empties. He holds out a box with festive wrapping — snowmen with carrots for noses and a variety of pebbled smiles. “From me and Okoye.”

“You got me a gift?”

Steve’s brow furrows as he nods like it’s obvious. “Of course. You’re my friend.”

“Well, now I feel inadequate,” you laugh. It comes out wet and it’s then that you realize you’re tearing up. “I promise to reenact Midsummer for you, okay?”

Steve chuckles, “You got it.”

You unwrap it slowly, half wondering why Steve and Okoye teamed up to get you a present. You. Your stomach churns an innocent whirl. 

It’s a long sleeved vest… or sweater. You can’t really tell until you pull it from the box. It’s intricately designed and it takes a moment for you to finally see it, to finally understand, and the moment you do you exhale a wracked breath. 

It’s not Wakandan fashion. It’s threaded with the colors and swirls of a place you haven’t called home in years. It has red flowers down the vest portion and multicolored rows down the sleeves and back. It’s made from a thick fabric that’s rarely used this century. Vintage — home.

“Steve…”

Steve clears his throat, “Now, I only did the flower parts. Okoye found it unfinished in… um…”

And there, where tags from brands would usually be, is a small threaded engraving. 

‘From Bucky, To our muñeca.’

“He didn’t get to finish it so I thought I would — you know, help? — so it’s really from Buck. Probably an apology for not letting you visit him in Wakanda.”

Steve tries to push out a laugh at his poor joke, but you can see how he’s faltering. You reach up and wrap your arms around his neck, dragging him down so his knees bend, and pour as much nonverbal thank you’s into the hug. He hesitates at first, arms floating awkwardly, until he swallows his fear and wraps his arms around your waist. He holds you to him tightly and breathes in the sweet scent of your vanilla shampoo. 

“Thank you.” Your voice is small, but Steve regards the delivery as powerful.

You wear it once, that Christmas night, enveloped in its warmth as you slept. In the morning, you hang it in the back of your closet. 

        A knock on your bedroom door sounds through your headphones. Bucky peeks his head in, “Is now a bad time?”

Sitting up, you pull the headphones from your ears. “Nope. Just thinking about how I’ve lived several years in the span of one week.”

Bucky lugs in a sports bag in one hand and a manila file in the other. He places them at the edge of your bed and proceeds to bounce in the available space near you. “Yeah, that can be annoying.”

You attempt to shove him away as he tries to steal your blanket. “Did you need anything?”

“Yeah.” He lets you take it, and simply turns on his side to face you. “What’s gonna happen between you and Steve?”

It’s an innocent question, but you know Bucky well enough to notice when he’s stressed. Steve probably told him to mind his business. “We’re good.”

He inspects your face with squinted eyes, “I know what you’re thinking so cut that shit out. This isn’t one of those missions where the feelings will just go away.”

“Funny thing is, I believe you,” you admit, watching as his face does something unexpected. His smile drops suddenly, like he didn’t expect you to agree with him, and then it’s immediately back full force. 

“Peggy and Steve - right person, wrong time. You and Loki - right person, wrong time. You and Steve, all those years ago — right person, wrong time.” A weird thing happens: you agree with him again. “But now, after everything — right person, right time.”

“It’s just weird feeling like it’ll actually work.”

“That makes us seem like we’re all broken, doll. We’re not.”

You turn so you’re facing him; two mismatched parentheses. “We’re just tired.”

“We’re just tired,” Bucky agrees, smiling. “I’m not saying don’t look over your shoulder whenever you feel like it. Hell, I still look over mine.”

Snorting, you roll closer to hug him. He pulls you into his chest. “You give amazing pep talks.”

“Yeah, I don’t know why they gave that trophy to Steve.” Bucky shares the intimate moment for as long as it takes before the blanket starts overheating. He groans as he sits up to retrieve the things he brought with him.  “By the way, our mutual friend sends one last warm regards.”

Bucky throws the sports bag onto your lap. “What’s this?”

“Your shit.”

You don’t even want to ask him how he packed your things without your knowledge. “Kicking me out, Barnes?”

“Clothes, toothbrush, shampoo and conditioner, pads, the quilt I just finished knitting thank you very much,” Bucky lists and hands you the file. “Maribel found him.”

“Ramirez?”

“Your dad.” 

You snap your head up to look at him. Bucky expects to see anger, hurt, maybe even betrayal. He was prepared for it. But you just look confused, lost for words, maybe even scared. “Goes by Richard these days. Lives with his wife in Wisconsin, no kids, keeps to himself.” 

You flip through the files, holding your breath. The file is small, Richard’s information only covering the first page, the rest just drabble. He seems relatively normal, looks normal even; normal job, normal credit score, normal upbringing. It doesn’t even seem real. You close the file and set it aside. “So you are sending me away?”

Bucky smirks, “It’s a suggestion. But I took the liberty of doing the hard part for you.”

“Yeah, because packing my lady products is the climax of this story.”

It didn’t go unnoticed that Bucky called Richard your ‘dad’. Everyone either referred to Ernesto as ‘your father’ or by his name. Steve had said ‘dad’ a few times before he met him, then he never said it again. Hell, even you did sometimes. 

It’s a sweet distinction and you’re certain Bucky said it on purpose. Bucky takes your hands in his, “It’s been a long time coming. But at least we can both say that the people who hurt us can’t hurt us any longer.” 

You can. You really can.

       Bucky’s already packed Steve’s shit as well. Steve’s just shoving extra socks into his bag when someone knocks on the door. He expects Bucky or Sam, final words of encouragement, but it’s Scott. And he’s standing there grinning like a mad man. 

“So, what’s the verdict, Rogers? You going after her or not?”

Steve huffs a laugh, “Think you already know the answer to that, Lang.”

Scott closes the door behind him and leans back against it. He shoves his hands in his sweater pockets, “Not that it should matter, shut me up if I cross any line, but everyone supports this.”

“Weirdly, I think it does matter. We’ve had you guys picking sides for two years. Selfishly. Like we were having a fucking civil war after everything.”

“Yeah, well.” 

Steve huffs a laugh. It’s always going to surprise him just how comfortable Scott is around him now. Not afraid to tease him or call him out on something he doesn’t agree with. It’s refreshing.

“I’m not giving up on her, Scott. Not again.”

Scott nods. Perhaps breaking the mission ethic code wasn’t a bad thing after all, Scott thinks. He gives Steve a proud smile, genuine. “Then I hereby declare our hanging conversation officially closed.”

        Steve wanders from his bedroom, to the conference room, to the main living room without an end destination in mind, seeming to just follow his quick feet as they lead him around the halls of the compound. He’s proud of himself, really, because he truly believes he’s learned to swallow his pride, has opened himself up to the possibility of being happy, and accepted that the world has changed and will continue to alter whether he likes it or not. He was, is, and will always be a man out of time — he’ll never fit but goddamn does he feel settled. He hasn’t felt this sane since before the war — which one? — so he relishes in the feeling for a few calm seconds. 

He feels tears well-up on his water line and feels the pressure in his temples. He’s at a crossroads — both proud of himself for finally choosing the path he wants and relieved that this week, this mission he has dreaded for almost ten years, is over. He doesn’t know if he should sleep for a month or occupy his time with other things awaiting repair. A build up of five years, grief and loss and happiness all weirdly mixed into one pot, and Steve simply hasn’t noticed the improper portions of each ingredient. 

It’s too much.

He thinks about his mental health. Shot to Hell, he jokes with himself. He’s already got the virtual therapy appointments scheduled. He figures he’ll get better with time and if Steve knows one thing for sure, it’s that he’s got a whole lot of that.

He thinks about Sam and Bucky and Scott — his three best friends that have gone to the ends of the Earth and back for him, and who would proudly do it all over again. He thinks about their kind words, their gentle touch, their devotion that Steve still sometimes feels he doesn’t deserve. 

And he thinks about you. To anyone else, this was written in the damn stars. No, there wasn’t anything extremely obvious in the first few years. You were friends. Friends that grew to consider each other teammates. Teammates that drew a drop of blood while fighting on opposite sides. Teammates that recognized the true endgame, teammates that helped each other escape, teammates that went silent for two years. Two years of no contact, no signal of survival. Then again, teammates who stood by as their world crumbled around them. Teammates who grew to be friends again, leaning on free shoulders and seeking help through happy conversations and long nights. Friends that brought the world together again, only to rip each other from their own. Friends into the most bizarre of enemies. And enemies back to teammates. 

Steve wipes a hand down his face as he fixes the strap over his shoulder. The common room is empty — he likes it this way. That means everyone is either napping, getting food, visiting friends or family, simply living life. The silence is therapeutic. 

His eyes fall on a crooked picture frame near the television. He tries to ignore it, almost to the door and ready for another road trip, but he steps back. Then forward, then back again. He groans in frustration of himself and moves to turn the frame back in place, holding it for a few seconds until it stays. But as he lets go, it tilts once more. He tries again — it tilts back. 

He pulls the frame from the hook and turns it over. He rightly freezes, the presence of a small pink paper airplane taped near the edge knocking the wind from his constricting lungs. He pulls it off, careful to not tear the delicate post-it. 

He never found it. Natasha probably placed it behind this very picture frame in the other compound for him to find. Surely the explosion should have destroyed it — but it didn’t. It’s right here, perfectly intact, just a smudge of dirt on one of its wings. The frame hadn’t been damaged either. It’s real. 

He holds the thin piece of paper like it’s the most precious thing in the world. 

Steve turns it over between his fingers a few more times, before he carefully folds it back in half and puts it in his wallet. “You’ve got some nerve, Nat. But I hear ya.”

       Steve decides to write you back. He hides the letter in that sweater he knows you don’t wear anymore, in the far back of your closet, and marvels at the intricate stitching while he can. He poured his heart out, even if it’s not guaranteed you’ll ever see it. 

     ‘Yes, I found your letter. I found it when I was looking for perfume in your suitcase. The tape was loose and I violated your privacy. I’m truly sorry for that. 

But I felt compelled to write you back, in case the reverse happened and I died instead of you. I didn’t write it then, when you were drying your hair in front of that impossibly small mirror you so weirdly called ‘a stupid little bitch’. And you looked so beautiful. But I’m writing it now and maybe I’ll share it with you in person when we’re both ready.      

When the world turned to dust, I held on to you. I know exactly why. Natasha bugged me about it also, teasing me whenever I would glance at you too long, or give you the last remaining Oreos I was planning on eating, or whenever I would leave your room in the mornings after a nightmare. She knew nothing was happening between us, but she had this smile whenever she caught me. Like she was happy I was comforting you, and in turn seeking comfort for myself. 

You remember how her smile would tilt up more on the left side? 

There isn’t a proper way to truly apologize for hurting you. But I will spend the rest of my life trying to make up for it. You at least deserve that. 

I returned a different man. And I think that was for the better.

Yes, I wanted the quiet life. I still think I do. And I think you know this — you have always seen right through me.      

I now know what Natasha saw. You irritate me, you damn near make me want to choke myself out, but I care for you. We hold each other up, and I’m always rooting for you, and I’m always by your side. No matter how annoying and smart-mouthed you may be.      

You’re my best friend — I hope I’m one of yours.

Steve.’

       There’s no one currently in the compound who really knows how to change the battery in your car. Bucky tries, does a rather good job too, but he claims he’s winging it and that you should call a mechanic just in case. He leaves you there with two random batteries on the ground, hood of your car open, and without any idea of what to do next. So you chill and wait for the mechanic you hope isn’t going to jack up the price just because he knows who you are. 

But he doesn’t seem fazed by you at all — or at the fact he just had to drive through countless checkpoints and security checks just to get on Avengers property. He changes the battery and changes the oil, hooking you up with as many upgrades he can. He even offers to wash it until you thank him repeatedly and that Really, really, you don’t have to do that. Thank you so much!

“Quite a garage you got here.”

There are unfinished projects and random wires falling from the ceiling and enough tools to supply five garages. It’s messy, but it was Tony’s. You accept the compliment and see him out. 

“Eh, make sure those windshield wipers work. I hear it’s gonna rain tomorrow.”

You thank him again. The clouds to the west are gray, getting darker as the expanse stretches, but from where you’re standing everything’s blue. You figure the mechanic was right: it’s gonna rain, and it’s gonna rain hard. 

The mechanic did good, all things considered. You never thought your old, beat-up Honda could look a few years younger. You flick one of the wipers lightly, testing its strength. It holds, as does the other, but when you go to lift it up it stops halfway. Without wanting to break it, you don’t force it. There’s something blocking the switch. 

You grab it before it can accidentally fall into a deep slot; the figurehead of a man, curly hair and beard that matches Steve’s, who also has a prominent and strong nose. You turn the coin over a few times before looking around the garage, down the street, at the remote area where the mechanic has just left. Standing there, mouth agape, you wonder just how in the world you missed the mechanic placing it there.

You were lacking in the spy department nowadays. Oops.

You know you’re not going to find Ramirez. But him giving this back to you? It was his way of saying he’s alright and that he owes you many thanks. 

You pocket the coin and accept the fact you just got bested.

It should take a few hours before you hit the first motel. Wisconsin isn’t that far, but you do have to pass through about hundred “middle of nowhere’s”. You pull out of the garage and check your mirrors — completely unaware of the super soldier running full speed to the passenger door. Steve carefully throws it open, somewhat aware of his strength, and lands into the seat beside you.

You hit the brakes hard. “Oh my! Rogers!”

Steve sucks in a few heavy breaths, like he literally ran across the compound to make it. “What? I startle you?”

“What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing? Aren’t you on house arrest?”

You squint at him, “Touche.” Putting the car in park, you turn your whole body to face him. “Answer my question.”

“Thought you were just gonna leave without saying goodbye?” Steve asks, expression much more teasing than serious.

“I’ll be gone for three days tops,” you say, waving your hand in the air. Steve smiles at you, seemingly waiting for you to speak again. You roll your eyes, “You’re coming with me, aren’t you?”

Steve lifts up the small duffel bag you hadn’t seen when he first got into the car. He throws it into the backseat and smiles lovingly at you. “I’ve been told that I’m impossible to get rid of, so yeah.”

“Rhodey said that the ankle bracelet they gave me wasn’t a trusted model. Easy to break off, like they did it on purpose.” You lean toward him, holding your chin up with the palm of your hand. “Should be able to drive free for a few weeks before they suspect anything.”

“Already booked us a cabin for Thanksgiving.”

“What makes you think that I even want you to accompany me on this road trip? Did you like the first one?”

Steve clears his throat and mimes like he’s writing on paper. The next words out of his mouth make your legs turn cold. “No matter how annoying and smart-mouthed you may be, there’s nowhere in the world I’d rather be than here, there, and everywhere with you.”

You blink multiple times, as if that would fix your ears. “...You. Fucking. Didn’t.” Steve reaches over to try and hug you. “No, don’t.” He squeezes harder, smooshing your face in his chest. “Steeeeve!”

“It fell out of your suitcase during the mission and I just… looked,” Steve reasons. He allows you to escape his grip.

“You just looked?”

Steve sighs. He really does look guilty. He pushes a strand of your hair behind your ear, letting his fingers tickle your skin. “I’m sorry I read it. I’ll get out of this car for real if you want me to.”

You arch an eyebrow, “You’re a little shit, but I’m not mad. No one understands privacy these days.”

Steve smiles wide enough for his dimples to pop and his eyes to crinkle. “I’d follow you anywhere, doll.”

“Anywhere?”

“Just name it.”

Humming low, you lean forward. He follows your direction like you’re a lighthouse beaming with light, capturing your lips with his in a sweet kiss. He hooks a large hand behind your head to press you to him harder. You smell like that vanilla scented shampoo he loves so much and feels his heart constrict with a pleasant pulse. 

You pull back for air and smile against Steve’s soft lips. 

“Well, I’m headed for the middle of buttfuck Wisconsin—”

“Just drive!”

Bursts of laughter fill the car until you’re past the checkpoints and well onto the long roads. The clouds continue to turn darker but they’re inviting, alluring, and it’s not insane that both of you desire thunderstorms because they remind you of family. 

Steve watches you from the passenger seat, memorizing the contours and edges of your profile. The roots in his heart begin spreading again; the meat of his heart filling with a soothing promise that his time on earth is no longer rootless. He’s dug his feet in, he’s watered all he’s needed to water, and he feels it spreading within him like newly blossomed flowers in the spring. He has a sudden urge to take out his drawing pad to immortalize the way your mouth tilts higher up on the right side when you smile, to record it forever. 

But he’ll remember it. He’ll remember well into this timeline, several years down the road, and even when he’s resting in his grave. So he leans his head back against the seat and chooses to watch the curves of every expression you grace him with. He immortalizes the sound of your voice, the taps of your fingers against the steering wheel, and the accented way you say his name. 

There’s a long drive ahead, but he’s excited for it. He’s excited for you. Steve promises himself that he’ll ask you a million questions, and give you a million answers, and share a million more stories. 

Right now, he just needs to sleep.

~

THE END.

Taglist: @dumb-ass-3 @justab-eautifulmess @supraveng @mycosmicparadise​ @missnighttigress​

[2manyfandoms2count]

That's what Friends are for

Taking a little break from I love you (not) today, with a one shot that might one day turn into a full fic. Who knows?

Anyway, have some Marichat setting up Ladrien, and trying not to give their identities away in the process. Hope you enjoy!

@marichatmay

Read on AO3

---

Marinette pouted as she leaned on her balcony railing.

Why did all her attempts at confessing her love to Adrien have to end up disastrously? When it wasn’t her own clumsiness or cold feet getting in the way, there was always something, or some one that seemed to volunteer to play the hindrance part. She sighed, thinking about the Akuma that just had to make an appearance at the exact moment Adrien was telling her about the girl he liked. Maybe it had been for the best; she didn’t know how she would have reacted had he told her he liked Lila, for instance (but that was impossible - he was smart enough to see she was nothing more than a flaky façade), but she would’ve liked to know where they stood nonetheless.

Gazing at the panoramic view of the city, she couldn’t help but think how pleasant it would be to share this moment with a loved one. The sky was dark but clear, allowing some stars to shine through. The illuminated Eiffel Tower sparkled in the distance, providing festive lighting in the midst of the warm street lights.

“Purr-etty night, isn’t it?” A voice interrupted her thoughts.

The young girl turned around, finding herself face to face with Chat Noir, leaning on his baton. Her heart ached at his brave face, his small smile not bright enough to distract her from his sad eyes. She wasn’t surprised by his presence; she’d actually been expecting it. It had become a habit for her partner to come around when Ladybug rejected him a little harshly. She winced at the not-so-distant memory of herself snapping at the boy when he’d made an innocent flirty joke while they were fighting the Akuma. She really hadn’t meant to hurt him. She was just still frustrated about her whole situation with Adrien.

“It really is.” She smiled tightly. “How are you, Kitty?”

“Eh…” He trailed, taking a couple of steps to slump beside her on the railing.

“I’m sorry.” She wished he could know just how much she meant it.

“It happens.” He shrugged. “I just wish…” He sighed, shaking his head as he looked for words. “I don’t know, that she’d talk to me about him? Just to know if I have a chance or not.”

Marinette pursed her lips, unsure how to answer. She didn’t know how appropriate it would be to laugh at how similar their situations were. He would probably feel worse than he already did, and the only way to prevent that would be to explain exactly what she was thinking, which she couldn’t do without revealing her identity. She took a deep breath and decided to give him a little something to at least help him. Her feelings were a secret she supposed she could share with him; they were probably long overdue.

“Adrien Agreste.” She whispered. She felt him tense next to her.

“What?” He squeaked. She might have poked fun at him for it in other circumstances. On his side, Chat’s heart raced in his chest. He hoped she couldn’t tell, although the roaring in his ears gave him little hope. Had Marinette figured out who he was?...

“Ladybug told me she likes Adrien Agreste.” Marinette clarified. She hoped he wouldn’t ask any questions. What if he figured out they went to the same school? Then he’d be able to figure out…

“The model?” She nodded silently, trying to avoid his gaze. “That’s fantastic!” Chat Noir’s face erupted in a giant smile. His heart rate picked up, which he hadn’t thought was possible given the speed at which it had already been beating. After all this time, it turned out the girl of his dreams was actually chasing him too, in a convoluted game of cat and mouse where they were somehow both the chaser and the chased.

“Really?” Marinette tilted her head, confused by how well her friend took the news. He looked almost… relieved, for some reason? Had she known this was how he’d react, perhaps she would have told him a lot sooner. “I didn’t think you’d be so happy about the news.”

Chat froze, his expression akin to that of a deer caught in headlights for a split second. He resumed his usual breezy demeanor so fast, though, that Marinette thought she’d dreamt it.

“Well, obviously I’m not ecstatic about it, but… Well, Adrien and I clearly don’t play in the same court when it comes to ladies.” He said, trying his best to look natural, but slightly gutted. There was potentially a date with Ladybug in the bargain if he played his cards correctly, and slipping up on his identity was not that.

“What do you mean?” Marinette frowned.

“Well, you know… He’s a model . I can’t compete with that, I’m just a… an ordinary boy.” He shrugged, internally congratulating himself for his quick thinking.

“You’re Chat Noir though. And you know Adrien Agreste from work.” She pointed out, almost offended by his words. “You can’t be that ordinary.” She smiled warmly.

“I guess...” He trailed, touched by her clear affection for him. Marinette really was amazing. “But Adrien once told me he liked Ladybug, and if she likes him as well… I don’t stand a chance.” He added, dramatically shaking his head as he placed a hand on his heart.

Marinette’s elbow lost its balance on the railing, and she caught herself before her head slammed into it.

“The girl Adrien likes is Ladybug?!” He wasn’t sure if it was a question or a statement. She seemed bewildered, but also… happy? She regained her composure before he could totally decipher her expression.

“That’s what I understood, anyway.” He answered cautiously.

Marinette paused, her eyes squinting as she thought. She was jumping down internally at the news, but she really couldn’t do anything while Chat Noir was there. Although she had lead him to believe that she and Ladybug were close -which wasn’t a complete lie- looking too overjoyed would probably seem a little strange.

“Are you sure?” She asked again, looking at him correctly for the first time since the beginning of their conversation.

“A hundred percent paw-sitive.” He nodded.

“Well, then.” She shook her head, trying to hide the smile she could feel growing on her face. “I guess we don’t have a choice.”

“What?” Chat furrowed his brow in confusion at his friend’s slightly serious look.

“We have to organise a date for them.” Marinette raised her hands in a Gallic shrug, her eyebrows raised in a “I don’t make up the rules” kind of way.

“You really think so?” His eyes lit up. He mentally slapped himself at his hopeful tone of voice. So much for not giving anything away.

“That’s what friends are for.” She crossed her arms, leaning back comfortably on the balcony railing. She hoped her slightly authoritarian demeanor effectively hid how giddy she was feeling. Adrien Agreste liked her. And they were going to go on a date .

“Where do we start?” Chat walked over to her deckchair and sat down. It would prevent him from breaking into dance in front of Marinette, which probably wouldn’t be a very smart move. After all, he was ‘helping out a friend’, not going on the date himself.

His friend looked in the distance, mindlessly toying with her hair. Now that she thought about it, she’d never really imagined going on a date with Adrien. Their future life, complete with house, children and hamster? That was all sorted. How to get there? Not so much. What could Adrien enjoy as an outing? He’d seen and done a lot given all of his ties with the fashion and celebrity industry, what could a simple girl like Ladybug offer him?

Chat Noir decided to take the lead of the conversation, Marinette looking slightly lost. “Do you think she’d enjoy bowling?” He ventured.

The girl’s gaze snapped back into focus. “Bowling?” She frowned. She’d played once or twice, more if you counted Wii practice. “I seem to recall Ladybug enjoys playing, does Adrien like it?”

Chat got a flashback to his younger years, when he and his parents used to go out to a local bowling alley almost every week. His mother had a gift when it came to the sport. She rarely scored anything less than a spare. Had it not been for those memories, he probably would’ve had his very own alley in his room, just like he had a climbing wall and private skatepark. His father couldn’t bear to be reminded of those times, though.

“He told me he likes it very much.” Chat nodded.

“I guess it’s sorted, then.”

They both stayed silent, still processing the fact that they’d somehow scored the date they’d been waiting for since the first time they’d realised how they felt. Who knew it would be that easy?

“Do you think next Saturday would be too soon?” Chat asked. His Dad would be in Japan with Nathalie. He could take care of the Gorilla to ensure his evening with Ladybug went well.

Marinette had to resist the urge to say yes there and then. “I’ll ask her, I’m supposed to see her tomorrow.” She replied instead.

“You’re a good friend, Marinette.”

The girl twitched at the epithet, the intonation way too familiar. She looked at Chat Noir suspiciously, looking for anything that could give away his identity. The way he somehow managed to fall out of her deckchair without any apparent cause made her feel stupid for the thought of him and Adrien being the same person even crossing her mind. They were both great guys, but Adrien clearly was far more graceful than her friendly neighbourhood cat.

“You too, Kitty.” She chuckled.

She had to refrain herself from suggesting that they tagged along to their "friends"' date. It would be too much hassle to plan, even with the Fox Miraculous. She'd have to find him a good gift though; he really was the wingman if the century.

She'd deal with it after her date.

[imagine-loki]

Tear You To Pieces, Chapter 9

TITLE: Tear You To Pieces CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 9 AUTHOR: fanficshiddles ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki was sent to make up for his deeds by helping out The Avengers at the tower. Everyone thinks he’s changed, but he is just biding his time. He manipulates and uses someone who works there, who has a crush on him, to get exactly what he wants.  RATING: M

WARNINGS FOR THIS FIC: DARK LOKI, RAPE/NON-CON, MANIPULATION, MURDER, VIOLENCE, EMOTIONAL ABUSE, KIDNAPPING

Kelly shut the curtains as soon as she got into the rather shabby B&B room. But it was the best she could afford in the meantime, she had no idea how long she was going to have to be on the run for, so didn’t want to blow all of her money too quickly.

She’d managed to budget herself to last on the run for around a year. She had to include hair dye into the monthly budget. As even though it had been two months, she had no idea if Loki was still looking for her or not, so she only went out in disguise to be on the safe side.

She was still not over what happened, what was still happening. And she knew it was all her fault, she would never be able to get over it. She had unleashed the monster, literally.

Not bothering to turn the TV on, she just got into bed and tried not to think about it all. The news was always filled with Loki now, and how he was conquering the world. Country after country was flocking to kneel under Loki’s rule. Otherwise, he was slaying every country that dared to defy him. Which soon brought them to heel, before they lost everyone.

Kelly was really jumpy, every noise right outside her room had her entire body going ridged, expecting the worst. It took her heart a while to stop racing after each noise. She knew she couldn’t carry on living like this, but she didn’t know what else to do.

Turning onto her side she curled up and cried herself to sleep, like she did every night. But her sleep was never peaceful, it was always laced with nightmares. Always of him. Most of the time, he was looming over her with her sisters’ body at his feet.

She woke up in a sweat, calling out for her sister. How she wished everything was just a nightmare, but no. She was living a nightmare.

Keeping on the move was her plan, so since she was awake anyway, even though it was only five in the morning, she decided to move on to the next place to stay. She had made it all the way up to Edinburgh by foot mainly but also a couple of bus trips. She just kept moving around from city to city, town to town. Wherever she could get to.

As Kelly made her way down the road, there was just a few people going about at that time of the morning. But she kept getting shivers down her spine, and not from the cold. It was like someone was watching her…

When she looked round over her shoulder, she caught a glimpse of a tall, black-haired man amongst a small crowd of early risers heading to work. Her heart started racing in fear, thinking it was Loki, she quickly moved on and walked as fast as she could. When she glanced back in the direction of the man, there was no sign of him anymore.

She tried to shake it off, thinking it had just been her imagination. Surely if it had been Loki, he would’ve made his presence more known.

But as she made her way further into the centre of the city, she still had a really bad feeling that she was being followed. So she rushed into the bus station and bought a ticket to head further North, maybe if she headed out of the cities and tried the quieter villages, she might be able to stay under the radar better.

Just before she was able to pay for her ticket, there was sudden screaming and panic within the station.

‘What the…’ She looked around in confusion, but then she felt pure dread run through her veins as she saw the reason for the panic and chaos.

Loki.

He had stormed into the station in his regal armour, the biggest grin formed on his face when he locked eyes on Kelly.

‘No…’ She gasped out quietly, her legs suddenly turned to jelly as she tried to run with the others that were panicking.

Loki made his way towards Kelly straight away, with large purposeful strides as he towered above everyone else that was scarpering around him in terror.

She started running for the back exit, but Loki reached out towards her and Kelly suddenly felt as if there was a collar around her neck that was suddenly pulling her backwards towards him. She brought her hands up to her neck but couldn’t feel anything there, but there was definitely something pulling her back.

She panicked and screamed as she was dragged back towards Loki, who had stopped and was just pulling her towards him. When she was within grabbing distance, the invisible collar disappeared and she felt like she could run again.

But she was within striking distance. And Loki struck like a snake, grabbing her he forced her to the nearest wall and pinned her against it, his large dominant hand wrapped around her neck firmly. Her lower lip was trembling in fear as he sneered down at her, she tried clawing at his arm but it was futile.

‘Mmmm, I finally found you.’ Loki hummed low and squeezed her neck a bit harder in warning when she continued trying to struggle.

‘Plea… please… Let me go.’ She stuttered out between trying to take big breaths, his hand controlling her breathing wasn’t making it easy to talk.

‘Oh no, my little pet. You should be begging for my forgiveness, for that little stunt of running away from me. You have no idea how much of an inconvenience it was when I came to collect you, to find you gone. Ungrateful mortal.’ He growled, squeezing her neck again for a few seconds, making her splutter.

He could see the pure fear in her eyes.

‘However.’ He purred, easing up a little on his grip he rubbed his thumb up and down the side of her neck. ‘I wouldn’t be in the position I am now if it hadn’t been for you. And whilst I should punish you for being a naughty girl and disobeying me, I will give you the benefit of the doubt. This time. Because I know you’re my good girl really, aren’t you?’

Kelly closed her eyes and tried to tune him out. But of course, that could never happen.

‘Look at me!’ He demanded and squeezed her neck again, making her eyes fly open.

‘Maybe once I get you home, you’ll be more talkative. And I shall give you your reward, and finally claim what you owe me.’ His eyes darkened and he smirked, then leaned in and kissed her on the lips, despite her trying to move her head away to no avail.

She had no choice but to endure his lips moving against hers, he was surprisingly gentle, yet there was an urgency within him too. A very deep part of her was longing at his kiss, like it was a reminder of what she thought they once had… But she remembered that had all been fake, Loki had used her.

Loki pulled back slightly, licking his lips. ‘Now come, pet. Let me show you your new home.’ He grinned wickedly and released her neck.

But before she could even think about trying to run, a collar formed around her neck. Only this time it wasn’t invisible, she could feel it too with her hands as she tried pulling it off. There was a chain leash attached to it that Loki held, so she was going nowhere.

‘Come on.’ Loki growled and tugged her along as he headed out the main entrance.

When they stepped outside, some civilians that saw Loki started kneeling for him instantly. Some ran away. But Loki didn’t care about any of them, he had what he wanted.

Kelly couldn’t stop shaking and crying as Loki slipped his arm around her waist and held her in close, then teleported them both to the airport where Loki had a jet waiting for them. He hauled Kelly onto it, she wasn’t sure why she was even trying to still get away, she knew there was no chance.

Loki had the leash vanish, but the collar remained. As soon as it was off, she ran as far back in the jet as possible and cowered down in the corner. Loki chuckled and took a seat near the front, looking very pleased with himself.

‘There is a much comfier seat down here for you, pet. It might be a bumpy ride.’ Loki called back to her as the jet started off down the runway.

But Kelly was quite happy where she was, as far away from Loki as she possibly could be between some seats. Though she knew it wouldn’t be for long, the jet was already taking off into the sky. She didn’t know exactly where home was for Loki. She really didn’t want to know.

‘You know, it has been ok since I’ve been ruling your world. Not quite as fun and exciting as I had originally hoped, but I realised it’s been because I’ve been chasing you. Now that I’ve found you, the real fun can begin.’ Loki said casually as he opened a bag of salted nuts.

Kelly shivered at his tone and words, she didn’t want to know what he meant by that.

It only took half an hour to get to their destination. But it had felt more like ten hours for Kelly, with Loki trying to make small talk the whole way there, as if nothing was wrong. As if she was there of her own accord.

‘Isn’t this a delightful sight.’ Loki chuckled, looking out of the window.

Kelly was curious as to where she was. So she slowly moved onto her knees and leaned up on one of the seats to look out the window. Her eyes widened at what she saw.

They were coming to land in New York, but it wasn’t the New York she remembered.

For starters, where The Statue Of Liberty should be, was replaced with a ten times larger statue of Loki himself. Then as they headed into the city, where the Avengers tower used to be, a new tower was built. But it was much larger too, and on the side of it was Loki’s name in bright gold letters.

‘No… No.’ She sobbed and put her hand over her mouth in horror.