#god they’ve been real generous in giving out rail passes

[nc-vb]

As HSR progresses, I will desperately be trying to keep up with the missions, unlike for Genshin— oh my god, there are still so many I haven’t done there, they’re just so stupidly complicated or long winded and it makes my brain hurt. It ain’t even worth the primos anymore 😭

[squid--inc--writes]

purgatory

so, I decided to finally finish writing that piece from a really fucked up dream I had. this probably doesn`t cover a quarter of it, but I enjoyed it, and its the first solid writing piece I`ve had in 2 years, so I`m proud.

@schwarzekatzen @wettthepottterheadss4120

warning: gore, gross descriptions, vague psychological bullshit, bullying, violence, etc.

word count:  2281

summary: you follow Trith (not mentioned in the story) on her first round to meet some of the residents within this particular realm of purgatory. Because, frankly, who else can?

My eyes open to a hollow ceiling, peering right into an attic where a familiar rocking hair rocks away. Not a care in the world about how it's up there. That would be Granny Gin. Don't know her real name, but still. She's there. Dead as ever, and knitting away. Sometimes I sleep in long enough that her scarf reaches the floor.

Standing up, groggy, I make my way to do my rounds. Someone's got to make sure the dead don't panic. The first round doesn't have to be me all dressed up. Not like they care about the smell. At least I don't think they do. Can the dead smell? I don't know. At Kirby's request, I started keeping a journal so he can remember what last happened and get one step closer to getting out of here. I also want to help everyone else out of purgatory, so this is why I'm writing this. Brand spanking new. Right up on a blank page. Yep.

So, I guess my next ghastly figure is Heidi. She stands in the bathroom all day. Touching up her makeup, not changing a thing. Aside from the usual changes extended stays can cause. I think she starved to death. Couldn't tell you. She's standing there, takes a glance at me in the mirror, nods, then tries another colour of lipstick. She's been here a while, so that means three eyes, each one a distinct colour of red, blue or yellow. She also has glowing skin, and her legs are becoming more horse like. Maybe her puzzle would be solved by getting her life a little STABLE. Hah. Get it? Why would I write down my laugh?

Whatever, I'm not going to erase anything or cross it out. The thoughts of the living might help, even abstractly.

The next is the hallway. Bert walks along, holding a gas can thing. Y'know, an old timey thing they used to gas bugs? I'm not sure, I can't recall ever needing an exterminator.

He tips his hat to mean, "hey there, lil' lady. Didn't the landlord tell ya to keep out of the building for the next day or so? Don't worry. I'll wait to do my work until you get out. I'll just let 'im know I'll be a bit late starting."

I nod, "thank you." Sometimes it's easier to play along. I feel he's been a tad testy, so I try not to agitate him. Usually I can pass by just fine. Maybe he had anger issues. Try and work his puzzle out like that. Ironically, he resembles a cockroach by now. He doesn't have hands, but the rigid limbs that should have been his hands were made of a hardened skin. It chipped away from his bones like it knew it wasn't supposed to look like that. I rarely look him in the face, both because he looks… interesting, but also because it tends to aggravate him. Maybe it's the way I look at him. He's yelled at me for being a large bug before, not always a roach. I just don't want to get hit again. Maybe I shouldn't help him.

Next up, Theodore and Teddy. They have the same name, and they yell at each other from across the hall. They each have their own rooms. Sometimes they switch rooms. They seem to be connected at this point, literally. They have long strings of flesh swinging from between their bodies. At one point, they got cut, and you see everything pouring out. They acknowledge it in their recent arguments, getting mad at the other for not making enough of an effort to keep it all in. Theodore usually doesn't have a jaw anymore, since it melted down, combined with his clothes. I can't check on Mindy anymore thanks to them. I don't think I want to.

However, I think the problem revolves around they're communication. But that's an obvious point. Maybe they need to accept their own responsibility for their misfortunes.

Mindy… last time I saw her, she had dolls connecting to her through thousands of strands of veins, and nerves, and all other sorts of things. They aren't all made of plastic anymore, last time I saw her.

Theodore says to me, as if his chin wasn't sitting where his stomach would be, "hello dear. How are you today?"

"I'm doing well. Thank you. How are you and Teddy today?"

Teddy snorts from the other room, dusting off an old hat, and placing it on his head, "I'm fine. Perfectly."

Theodore rolled his eyes, "we're as well as ever. Just a lovers' quarrel."

Teddy got offended, ripping the hat off, "oh, NOW we're lovers?"

I nod, and quickly leave before they start trying to pull their guts to their respective sides, and spitting insults. It never ends well.

Next up, Patty and Simone, standing on the stairs. They are actually quite friendly with each other. Patty asking Simone about her husband, Simone asking how Patty's been, after her being widowed and all. They swap recipes regularly. Patty very much seems like she killed her husband. And some of the recipes they swap sound as if Simone is trying to kill her husband. If what she says is true, he deserves it. God do I hope it's not.

Simone has morphed into the railing at this point, spine jutting from bloodless flesh so she can lean on the staircase. I feel the one they used to talk at was a lot lower, considering Simone is almost nine feet in the air. Patty, however, seems to be turning to a bone statue. Her legs can no longer move, not that she moved much to begin with. Wait, no, this time she seems to be turning to ice. Her legs are quite transparent, but there's a layer of frost surrounding her feet. They never used to acknowledge me, but Simone seems to have spread to the stairs, and she'll scold me for walking too roughly. Patty gives me the most judgmental look. I think if they could move on from husband's they'd probably be home free. But that is what their lives revolved around for so long, so I'm not sure that could be easy.

Once I sneak down the stairs without slipping, or getting yelled at, it's into the kitchen I go. Sid is at the fridge constantly stuffing his face. Somehow, he's a part of the fridge. Everything drops out of his stomach back into the fridge, into a pile of slop. Like something a pig would eat. If he's particularly frantic, he'll tear chunks out of himself. I don't think they can feel it when they hurt themselves. Not unless they're supposed to…

I have no clues as to how Sid can save his puzzle. He doesn't tend to talk. I'm not sure he has vocal cords anymore. He barely has eyes.

Moving from the kitchen is the parlor. I'm not sure how this place works, so I'm not sure this is in the right place. Either way, the parlor has about seven people in here. Kirby plays checkers with Daniel, Maud watches TV with Lainey, Paula and Shess pick on Lily. 

Paula and Shess would probably be gone if they could stop, and just sincerely apologize. I'm not sure Lily is really a person though, because she's never changed once. I think she kind of looks like a mannequin, but moving. She's meant to play a part, being small, and easy to pick on. Shess shattered her arms at one point, and now just has gooey, bloody stumps with bone shards sticking out that she uses to punch lily with, and her head is being engulfed by her own skin, but her eyes seemed to have multiplied, hair having started to attach and grow off of the eyes. Like the world's grossest ice-cream cone. Paula, on the other hand, started turning into blades. Her fingernails are long and sharp, her arms have started to thin at the edges, and splinter into more blades, even her nose resembles a knife. I passed her once, her hair brushed my cheek, and I had a long cut from my temple to my chin. That wasn't fun. I can't talk to either of them. They're always caught up in bloodlust.

Lainey and Maud try to ignore Shess and Paula as much as possible. They are actually aware of their surroundings. I don't think they need my help out, because they've been fading lately, so maybe they're ready to pass on. They generally talk about the movie they're watching. Sometimes they get new snacks from an unknown source. Usually they just coo at each other about how much they love each other, and what signs to look for to find each other again. They told me that Purgatory allows you the chance to return to when you died, the chance to fade completely, or to join the better place in whatever you believed in. Purgatory is for learning lessons. They both believe in reincarnation, and fully believe they'll still love each other, no matter the timeline. It's one of the nicer conversations.

Daniel and Kirby are next up. Daniel has no idea what's going on ever. His skin seems to be made from webs, and these small black creatures weave over him all the time, anytime something starts breaking down. Which happens at every move.  Daniel seems actually peaceful here. Maybe he needs to take a stand. Especially with Kirby always cheating. He doesn't even do it subtly, he straight up takes pieces, and places them where they shouldn't be. Daniel would probably tear all his 'skin' off at this point if he tried to do something.

Kirby, however, seems to increasingly be made of greasy Hawaiian print shirts. Yes, you are made of shirts. I almost slip when I pass your table because it's not, like, slightly caked on grease, it's literally dripping, and doesn't spread past a three foot radius. Maybe if you apologized for Dan, it would help. How's that sound?

Okay, three more rooms, then I start getting ready. So, I leave the other side of the parlor, head into the hall, and head to the basement. Shimi is down here. They're just a long, skinny eel at this point. With multiple heads that bite at Shimi's main body. I'm not even sure when Shimi showed up, and I've never seen much else, so I'm not sure they can leave. I don't try to go into the water. Too scared. It's undefinably deep. Some places you can see the ground, others are holes, others are so obfuscated by flesh that has yet to melt down and turn into water. I'm sure Shimi's been here for thousands of years.

Heading back upstairs, I check on the, what I can only assume, ballroom. It's huge, and usually has a few dancing couples. This room changes a lot, and has the least mutated people in it. I remember I helped one couple realize the intense emotion they couldn't move on from was rage, at the fact that they had cheated on each other. They both felt wronged, but they were both no better than each other. The puzzle they solved involved them no longer dancing together, and finding new partners. Today it stood completely empty. Not unusual, but still. The room always unnerves me.

Next up, I like to call the nook. It's not quite in the library, but it's very cozy right outside it.

A rough, sweet voice says, "what took you so long?"

I smile at Ronnie. She's very nice. I think she is, maybe was, actually my age when she died. We're both around seventeen. She however has skin made from literal porcelain, although that does mean when she moves too much, her body starts leaking blood, like from her eyes and joints . Her hair is nearly laid around her head, a warm auburn. And I don't mean that figuratively. It literally feels the way a room with plenty of blankets and a fireplace would feel like. The nook doesn't have a fireplace, it just has Ronnie.

She rasps out, "well, are we going to have a nap? You're my favourite snuggle buddy, and I can't have one without you."

I'm pretty sure she can't leave because she's trapped in her childhood. She's told me about all her dolls, and toys. I think her house might have burned down, and she wouldn't leave them behind. I'm not sure if I'll be able to get her to leave.

I give her a closed mouth smile, and step forward, "yeah, I can help you take a nap."

I wind up cuddling up to her. And, I think I won't write much until after I get ready. Too tired. Need to wake up more.

When I'm finally up, I look up to see the hollow attic. No floor at all. Grandmother Gin rocking away in her rocking chair, completely unaware of the lack of floor.im not sure if that's actually her name. Sometimes I get up so late that her blanket actually gets in my way trying to get up. At least I don't usually get dressed up to do my first round. I don't think the dead care about when the living stink. They don't seem to care about much. I do. Speaking of stink, I am doing this for my pal Kirby. Try to keep a record and write down everything that happens. Maybe I can help him, and some of the others, out of here. That's why I'm writing this. Right here. Blank page. Well, not blank anymore. But, hey, first page, first to go.

[whitewolfbumble]

Wild Horses - Chapter 3/5

A Bucky Barnes Biker AU

Summary: Kicked out of school and exiling yourself in a town time forgot, one little incident lands the sights of the locally infamous Avengers biker gang square on you. Wild horses run faster and there was no chance to turn back now.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: About 6k

Warnings: Language, blood/injury

A/N: Brace yourself for this one! Note, I am not a nurse/doctor so if you find any inaccuracies I apologize. This series is written for @softhairbarnes 750 Follower Celebration! She is my muse and a writing goddess. Hope you enjoy this fic, dearest!

MY MASTERLIST // WILD HORSES MASTERLIST // CHAPTER TWO

You should leave. You should keep your distance. Not make friends, not get comfortable. If you were being perfectly honest, you should have never agreed to this arrangement in the first place.

The resolution to keep a modicum of distance, to stay out of their world, dissolved the second you saw those deep blue eyes leave that back office and step towards you. You relaxed back into your chair, releasing tension you didn’t know you were holding. But it all came back when someone else got to you first.

“Care to step outside with me?” Steve asked, walking up quietly beside you, making you perk up and perch on your chair. It wasn’t exactly an invitation for socialization, his tone and expression indicating this was going to be business talk.

Your eyes shifted unconscious behind him, seeing Bucky caught up with Sam, talking about something by the pool table. His eyes connect with yours, unreadable.

“Sure,” you said in slow agreement.

You tried to keep your face from looking concerned as you made your way to the doors, but couldn’t exactly manage. You made a tight smile to Bucky, catching him between the crowd of people as you walked through the bar, Steve following behind you.

The cool air hit you, filling your greedy lungs and giving you a momentary shot of courage. The cloud of people and the imaginary feeling of Steve’s eyes boring into your back had felt heavy and intense, now washed away in the cool, quiet, dark of the night. It left behind nothing but your feelings.

You weren’t a doctor or nurse, and you weren’t a biker. And in that moment all you could think about was that you weren’t doing a good enough job and Steve knew it.

“The team likes you,” Steve said simply. The waft of leather and road and wild things breezed by as he walked passed you to edge of the always unused patio railing, leaning back against it.

You took another breath, following suit and leaning a couple feet away from him leaving space for your nerves and the night air.

“They’ve been easier than I thought to get along with,” you admitted truthfully, no reason to lie because it wasn’t like it could save you anyway.

He was going to fire you then probably kill you for knowing too much, though not a single relevant fact came to mind when you tried to conjure one up. No one would find your body, Steve stopping here to bury you under this very patio no doubt, probably joining countless others.

“We’ve been taking it a bit easy on you, but I’m glad to hear it,” Steve said, approval in his voice. You mistook that approval instead for a decision made, believing you were right about your lifeless body being shoved under this dank bar for the rest of eternity. Oh god.

“And I guess I should be thanking you for that… so thanks,” you added awkwardly. Maybe if you were nice he’d just shoot you point blank and not drag your body down the road til the life was scraped out of you? Or maybe he would just strangle you? I mean, why waste a bullet?

“Your work’s been good,” he complimented. “Really good. No need to thank me, just checking in.”

The silent pause you took broke into relief cascading through tight muscles.

Your work has been good.

He was just checking in.

Thinking on it, you had had interactions with the core of the gang, but not Steve since you made this arrangement. Every time you wanted or thought to talk to him (mostly to try and understand the man) you chickened out. The only way was for him to pull you aside.

Maybe you weren’t going to die tonight... The thought turned your tense muscles into something that felt like jello.

“Oh, well, I’m genuinely glad to hear that,” you said, shoulders relaxing and finally taking your eyes off the blonde beside you. “The team needs a lot of patching up and so far this week’s been pretty easy… though I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“Oh, it will,” he said, both as caution and tease it seemed.

“Natasha I worry about the most I think,” you continued, guard coming down a little more as relief of probably not dying tonight filling your head like a high. “She’ll push the wrong person the wrong way and get her neck snapped.”

“Clearly you haven’t spent enough time with us or her yet,” he remarked with a bit of a grin, casting a sideways glance to you. “I can guarantee she’ll both never get caught and always be the winner of whatever fight she gets into.”

“Well, maybe I should spend more time with her,” you said, thinking that you might actually like too. All of them, really. Fear aside, they had been nothing but nice, believe it or not. Accepting.  “I suppose that means I’ll now have to share my time between them and Bucky.”

“Oh,” was all Steve said, enough not to interrupt, but just enough to keep your mind turning, voice spilling freely out your thoughts without so much as a consideration to what you were actually saying.

“He’s sweet,” you started, head tilted while you looked out to the long shadows of the woods. “Content… maybe free is the right word actually. I think he sees just about everything too, he’s always watching me. And obviously loyal to the hilt, with the whole protection thing he’s been leaning on. Certainly won’t let anyone lay a scratch on me. He’d die before he’d let someone get hurt I think. Said as much to me before...”

Your ramble continue in your head, mind pulling together what you had pieced together of him in the days since you first saw him across the bar, that calm spreading through you. You didn’t realize how much your mind had revolved around the man, or your need to talk about him to someone.

Steve pulled a bit of a face at your words. “I don’t believe anyone except maybe me, who’s known Bucky his whole life, would describe him like that.”

“Does no one else spend any time at all with him?” you asked, more sarcastic than you intended, biting your lip right after. Only as you turned to look at Steve did it click in what you had carried on about…

Expletives filled your head and were written in your wide eyes, watching Steve with embarrassment ringing your stomach.

Steve didn’t seem all that embarrassed himself. He had found someone who saw Bucky as he did, and maybe that was rarer than you had considered before.

“He chooses who spends time with,” he started, thought and seriousness in his words. “But also the person he puts forward. The old Bucky, the new Bucky, or the real Bucky.”

“And why is it just us that see that?” you asked almost timid, wanting an answer and knowing you probably wouldn’t get one if you interrupt his thoughts.

But Steve was more in command of himself than you had been, revealing nothing in look or tone. “You’d have to ask him.”

_____

“If I don’t get home and get out of these clothes, I’ve never get the stench of this bar off me.” you said, smile on your face while you said a pleasant and light goodbye to the trio in front of you.

“Hope not to see you too soon.” Sam remarked, raising his beer to you.

“And I’m sure I will be seeing you soon.” Nat replied. 

You knew from the look on her face, it wasn’t because she getting hurt. Moreso said for the person that found the other end of her fist or was on the wrong side of her sly words.

Bucky was the last of the group of three, and though you wanted to say a goodbye to him particularly, you decided against it, taking your leave of the bar instead. You had parked your truck right beside his bike, so maybe you would just say a goodbye to that. They were practically one unit, it seemed.

You shouldn’t’ve been surprised that instead of staying behind with the others, Bucky followed behind you. And you weren’t. Not even when you felt the hover of his hand on the small of your back as you walked out through the bar door, closing off the world behind you.

Wordlessly his hand dropped away and the pair of you walked side by side, slow and even in the darkness. You couldn’t help but be glad of it.

“Steve and I were talking just back there,” you said, trying to sound conversational, but the way Bucky’s expression changed with a slight narrowing of his eye and reserved posture, he already picked up on the unspoken turnings in you.

“About what?”

“You, actually,” you said, admitting it quietly, gauging his response. Again, it seemed the ease of his presence and cover of the night made you more courageous than usual.

“Yeah, learn anything interesting.” he said, his calm and amusement usually there when you talked starkly gone. It was wary and held back.

“Nothing bad, nothing in detail either,” you assured, dropping the pretense. You weren’t getting passed him anyways. “Just how there are three versions of you. That’s all.”

“Hmm,” Bucky nodded his head back, turning away a little.

You couldn’t be sure, but you wondered if he was uncomfortable. You doubted this was the type of life that encouraged weakness, even if his small inner circle actually seemed nothing but generally kind if not a little rough around the edges. It made you wonder if this reaction was of his own doing. Like something held deep inside him, not put on by his situation at all.

“Just that there was the old you, new you, and the real you.” you said, repeating Steve’s words. Bucky turned back to you at that. “I just wondered why the personality split. You always seemed… well, nice I guess, even from the beginning. Even when you didn’t necessarily have to be. I mean, I was a basic stranger.”

“We’re not strangers now,” he said, as though he had made this point before. For the life of you you couldn’t remember when. “And the version of me you see is who I am, so.”

This was a conversation you wanted to have. You liked talking with Bucky, you felt at ease with him. You willed yourself not to back down or back away from it, trying to will more darkness to cover you both in blind security. He would talk or he wouldn’t, but you would try for the former nonetheless.

Instead of hopping in your truck, you walked down to his motorcycle and leaned back against the firm leather seat. He couldn’t ride away with you there (not that he would, you guessed) so conversation looked like the only other option. You didn’t understand Bucky, and you wanted too. Tonight.

You crossed your ankles and got comfortable, wanting and waiting for him to go on. The pair of you just stared at each other as he leaned against the back tire, neither moving or speaking until Bucky sighed. It wasn’t exactly exasperated you noted, but more like this was inevitable. Maybe ashamed.

“This,” he said holding out his hand to you. “Is the old me.”

You looked down to the hand pulling a face. “I don’t know what…”

But you stopped yourself, noticing finally what should have been obvious. A prosthetic hand. Or on closer examination, one hand holding his and the other trailing up the metal limb, it was rather a prosthetic arm. You were hardly fazed by it in itself (your however minimal medical background didn’t allow for that), only really by your lack of realization.

You had known him for a bit yet. Certainly feeling as though you should have noticed by now, though looking back you did often see him with a leather glove on it. You vaguely figured it had been for riding.

“What happened?” you asked simply, seeing his brow slightly raised before settling back into neutral look. You wondered if he expected a different reaction from you.

“An old gang,” he said simply back. “Used to run with a bad crowd. Got roped into a life I had no place in being. No desire too, really.”

“The guy from the bar?” you said with no context, as a recent memory sparked. But Bucky understood.

“Yeah, the guy that came in while you were fixing my hand. He goes by Rumlow,” he said, understanding. He had been clad in a green leather jacket and looked about the seediest man you had seen. “Part of my old crew, Hydra. Arm was taken off in an… accident, some time ago.”

“Bucky,” you warned as you zeroed in on the way he said “accident”, standing taller and leaning closer, eye blazing and finger pointing accusingly. “Did they do this to you purposely? Take your arm? What’s his name, the guy who did this? Was it Rumlow? Where are they now?”

Bucky watched you, crooked grin growing wide in the darkness as you spoke. As though you would mount his motorcycle and and ride out to face the horde yourself. Timid, anxious you. It definitely was laughable, but you were not in the mood for laughing.

You felt a burn in your chest you hadn’t felt since your best friend’s boyfriend accidentally struck your friend in a drunken stupor at college. A protective bit of fury heated you in a flash, practically expecting steam to rise off your skin in the cool night.

Your head shot forward when he didn’t immediately answer, angry huff billowing out of your nose. Bucky instead got up, standing right in front of you adjusting close so his legs were on either side of yours, locking you in. The fury you felt was real, and maybe actionable after all he must have thought, feeling the need to get close and keep you from doing anything. You didn’t even consider the entire biker gang not thirty feet away, probably better equipped with weapons, skills, and loyalty to handle the situation over you.

He leaned closer, looking down at you, amusement still playing across his face, bouncing from his eyes to his grin pulled along that strong jawline.

“That was the old me, the one some people still think I am,” he started, the heat of anger easing and as fast as lightning sifting into a much different kind of heat. He pressed into you as he spoke, making you arch yourself back a little. “If it cost me my arm to get out alive, than it was worth it.”

You were about to interrupt, make some excuse to step away for some breathing room away from the coals burning in your gut but he continued. More to the point, you let him.

“The new me is the one the group sees, most of them,” he continued, before eyes turned soft. “They don’t all trust me, and I can’t blame them for it.”

“But Steve does,” you said, interjecting this time, needing to validate Bucky for a reason you couldn’t place.

“Yeah,” he said, grin creeping back as he looked down to you still, the heat in you rising again under those cool eyes. “He sees the real me, the one you know.”

You searched him, asking the question you wanted too this whole time. It hadn’t been exactly about Bucky. It had been about you.

“Why me?” you whispered. You had to know why he chose you. Why not someone- anyone- else?

“Because we’re similar, you and I,” he said it, holding back an obvious type of tone as much as he could.

Cryptically, as was his trademark, he moved from you, the cool air brisk against where his body had warmed you. You physically ached to have it back, the night air now feeling bracingly icy in his absence.

_______

Taking the ride back to the house, you went from that heated longing to a heated indignance, his words mulling in your mind, picking up speed and energy as they swirled. By the time you were parked in your driveway and out of the truck, you were admittedly in a bit of a mood.

Bucky stopped the bike, about to get off and walk you to the door, but you were already halfway there, not wanting to address it. Turning around, in a huff you crossed your arms, only making it part way before you broke and told him anyways.

“We’re not similar, Bucky,” you said to him. Even a little perturbed, you still couldn’t work up to being unkind exactly. “And I don’t mean that because you’re… well, you’re you and I’m me. I just… We don’t know each other. Not really. You can’t just stay a statement like that and make it true somehow.”

His kindness and closeness and sweetness and protectiveness and all the “-nesses” were based on a lie. On him seeing you in a way that wasn’t real. On wanting to see something that just wasn’t there. And that wouldn’t sting as much if you hadn’t wanted it to be true.

“So than how are we different?” His voice held that bit of challenge. No anger or frustration in there yet, just needing justification, like he knew you wouldn’t be able to come up with enough.

“You’re… kind, and comfortable anywhere, even with me, a stranger Steve dumped on your lap.”

“You’re not a stranger, not at all,” he said, calm world behind blazing blue eyes. He had said that before you realized, and you huffed out breath yet again tonight, annoyed with the repeated statement.

“I am though! You don’t know me, you don’t know anything about me,” you said, not angry just exasperated. You never had a handle on yourself really, you weren’t expecting anyone else too, much less Bucky.

“I do actually,” The challenging air to his voice came a little more haughtily now. He seemed as annoyed as you denying it as you felt when he said it. “What, you don’t think I’ve been paying attention to you since the first time you spoke?”

He came around to stand between you and your house, determined as you had been before to have a conversation now that it was started.

“Well, you could hardly learn anything,” you said. “I haven’t told you much, if anything.”

“I know you say you left school when you were kicked out.” That was a punch to the gut.

“Well, I-”

“That you’re here, clearly hiding away from that and everyone else. I mean, who doesn’t have a cell phone these days?” He was getting more working up too.

“That’s just-”

“Someone who doesn’t want their past or the people they know be let back into their life.”

“That’s not exac-”

“You’re nervous and confident. Comfortable and out of place. Let me just tell you this? You could belong in this world, Y/N.” His words were pointed and passionate, oddly so for someone who played the role of the quiet, easy-going person. “You could thrive in it. But you’re holding back.”

“Bucky-” you started, unsure of where it was going, but he cut you off for the hundredth time though this time you were glad for it.

“This isn’t about knowing every detail of your life to really know you, Y/N.” he said, passion spilling out from him. “This is about a connection. And we have it.”

“I’m n-” Oh god it felt like a thousand degrees out here.

“I get it, you’re unsure and scared of this world, but what about the one you ran from?”

It wasn’t rhetorical, finally giving you space to speak, though you felt a lot more exposed than when you started this.

“I didn’t run, exactly,” you swallowed, trying to seem a little tougher than you felt, trying to keep from gasping for breath like you had been running, though you barely got two words in. “I’m just… resting. Taking a break.”

“You didn’t belong there, did you. Forcing yourself to try and fit in to a place you just didn’t.”

There was a personal, intimate ring in his voice, and you just knew he had at one point felt the same. You would bet it was his days at Hydra by way of the same look in his eyes as he had when talking about it earlier.

“You hated it, questioned every decision, doubted yourself, and failed time and time again because you knew you shouldn’t be there. You don’t belong in that world, Y/N. You belong in mine.”

You waited, arms crossed as Bucky took a break, breath coming fast and expecting you to throw your hat in the ring and fight him on this.

“Whatever you believe,” you said calm and quiet after some time. “You have a right too. Even to practically yell it at me in front of my own house. But that decision is still ultimately mine, Bucky.”

You stepped up passed him, ignoring his hand reaching up to stop you then pulling back as you walked by. He shifted slightly, settling moreso back into his usual self by the moment.

“And besides,” you added. “Steve and I have a deal, so you get your wish. You’re stuck with me for now. Now, can I say goodnight, or do you have another impassioned speech to give me on the contents of my soul?”

The shake of his head brushed the ends of his hair along his shoulders.

“No ma’am,” he said, sounding a little more gracious after the outburst.

When you closed the door and locked it, you waited, back pressed to the wood and hand still on the handle. Your face broke into one of confusion and nerves, demure expression you held up cracking. Because Bucky wasn’t wrong.

You never felt like you were living the right life. You had always strived to become something you thought you should be, your confidence and adventurous spirit beaten out of you over the years by anxiety and that feeling of displaced in a world you should belong in.

It took longer than you thought, the sound pushing you out of your thoughts, but the motorcycle revved to life outside and Bucky drove away. He must’ve waited like you had been, unsure what exactly to do now.

You took the creaky steps up the little washroom deciding the best course of action was to take a bath in the ancient tub. The water would take forever to get warm, but you doubted you would be able to fall asleep right now anyways. Hopefully the (eventually) hot water would ease away the self-realizations you just didn’t want to have right now. And it all revolved around a few words.

Connection.

World.

Mine.

_______

You had just stepped in not five minutes ago, the bubbles and heat not yet undoing your coiled mind or muscles, when you heard the unmistakable rumble of a motorcycle, rolling into your driveway. The sudden low base vibrating stopped, the quiet and crickets then sounding deafening in the silence.

You jumped up and threw on your robe, wondering if you hadn’t heard an urgent call come in over the sound of the running water, and the gang resorting to come here instead.

In a flash you were at the front door, swinging it open to reveal… well, nothing. Just the front lawn with some wildflowers and Black Eyed Susans on the side of the concrete steps, the jet black sky hanging heavy and dotted with white stars.

Leaning by his bike (as would always be burned in your mind) you saw Bucky, alone and looking uninjured.

You didn’t turn back in to get dressed or call out to him either, but half ran right up to him, wondering what was wrong. Something had to be wrong for him to be back here. He had only left a hour or so ago.

“Bucky, what is it, what’s the matter?” you asked, voice muted in respect to the quiet night but still concerned. You reached up to his face without really thinking, trying to get him to look at you.

He was actually looking at you already, but didn’t seem to be really seeing you. His eyes flitted between yours, trying to make a decision. What that was you couldn’t guess at, waiting for him to clue you in as to what was going on.

“Is everyone alright?” you asked, confused when he didn’t answer immediately. Panic was going to rise up soon enough if you didn’t find out.

“Everyone’s fine,” he said, voice a little low like the rumble of his bike. But he didn’t elaborate.

“Bucky, please…” you murmured, stepping so close your knees were against his, trying to get him to wake up from whatever it was that was going on. Maybe he had a concussion?

You didn’t have time to ask when his arm snaked around your waist, the surprise contact immediately pushing you up on your tiptoes and pressing in closer to him. Bucky’s hand went up your chest to your neck, lightly reaching up and brushing his thumb across your lip. A moment later he leaned down and set his lips there, replacing his thumb.

You breathed in sharply, taking your first breath in what felt like days the moment his lips hit yours. It was slow and deliberate, and you could have pulled away or protested. But you found yourself melting into him as his mouth moved wet and warm against yours. As you sunk in deeper as Bucky’s arms went around you tightly, drawing you up as close as possible, leaning you and himself back on the bike.

The rough feel of his jeans against your exposed thigh, slit in your robe working up higher, you drew back, gasping a little for air again.

Shocked you tried to catch your breath, Bucky’s arms looser but still holding you. You tried not to either launch back into him (god, how long had it been since someone kissed you like that?) or crumble under his contented but fiery blue gaze.

“I came back for that,” he murmured, hand coming up lightly to your hair, watching as his fingers moved through them. “Should have done it earlier instead of shouting.”

“Apology accepted,” you gulped, breath still embarrassingly shaky. You worked to pull yourself together and quit acting like a schoolgirl. But damn, your knees were a little weak.

He just smiled, leaning in again and making your breath hitch. But his lips landed gently on the side of your nose, then cheek. He released you, moving to get up before straddling the bike.

You stepped back, crossing your arms, ignoring your leg exposed almost up to you hip in the cool air, the heat from the kiss and welling up inside you keeping you more than just merely warm.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he said, gaze less fiery but no less contented.

“No fighting or injuries until tomorrow,” you said, finding your voice bit by bit.

He rolled his eyes a tad before his bike came to life.

“Yes ma’am,” he said with a fond look in his eyes, one you hope he only looked at you with.

He nodded to your front door and you took your cue, clutching the slit of you robe with a bit of a glance his way heading in with one last look before he headed off.

It wasn’t until you locked the door that you heard him tear away, and you couldn’t help but lean against it, unable to move for the second time that night, but much for a different reason.

_______

It was just after 3am when for the third time you heard that telltale rumble careening into your driveway. You heard the kicking up of loose rocks and gravel, could practically smell the fume of smoke that billowed out of the muffler from under your covers.

“You’re kidding me,” you croaked, groggy and grumpy. The last visit was more than a little pleasant if not at first confusing. This was decidedly less pleasant and you were too tired to be confused.

As you walked down your creaky steps, you heard heavy knocking at the door. The loud sound echoing through the house and your head putting your teeth on edge.

“If this is some... booty call after one kiss, so help me Bucky,” you all but spat, turning on the light switch to the protest of your eyes, clicking open the locks on the door.

You opened the heavy wooden door to find two figures there- Sam and Bucky- recognizing them in your tired state but not really noticing them.

“Oh god, you must be kidding,” you said before anyone else could speak. “Can you go at least one night without getting into a fight? Just one?”

“Y/N,” Bucky whispered, much quieter much more gravelly than usual.

He held his head up like it a strain to do so, a large bluish purple bruise on his cheekbone. Sam’s arm held around him, keeping him up with one am hung loosely and the other equally as loose around his friend’s shoulders. You realized that he didn’t look like he was standing much under his own strength at all.

You noticed under his black leather jacket, beat up and dull, that a shiny gleam drew your eye to Bucky’s abdomen. It was blood, thick and bright, and was drenching his white shirt. It dripped off him like a light rain heralding death in the oncoming storm.

“Bucky!” you said, instantly awake as the pair struggled to walk in.

Sam’s mouth held in a thin line as he took the brunt of Bucky, whose feet were barely even under him. The thick rubber of his boots dragged and pulled loudly while Sam’s hit the floorboard with the weight of the two men.

“What happened?” you said, voice loud and hard, rushing to get your med bag from beside the door.

All dozy sleep swept away at the sight of blood, the sight of man you kissed just hours before being heaved wretched and battle-torn across the quaint country living room.

“Fight,” Sam grunted. “Bad one.”

“Can you get him upstairs?” you said, mentally trying to take this one step at a time. Bucky wouldn’t fit stretched out on your grandma’s little loveseat. Once he was down it was best he stayed down, so you needed to get him somewhere comfortable.

“I will,” said Sam, sounding more determined than reasoning, if you had to choose one.

You grabbed some extra supplies from the kitchen- bowls and clean tea towels- before following the slowly moving men up. From behind the pair, you weren’t sure if Bucky was staying fully conscious or not, head lulling to the side before snapping up, only to repeat the process.

Eventually Sam got him up stairs and into your room. With a stifled grunt Bucky laid on your bed, eye glassy and thin sheen of sweat covering him.

“Get his jacket off,” you yelled to Sam, running to the bathroom to fill up on some warm water.

You ran back in, dropping it off and spilling it over on your little side table while Sam tried to ease the jacket off his friend. You ran out again, going to the tiny unused office, once a shrine to the delicate art of embroidery under the stewardship of your grandma, now a glorified closet for your medical supplies.

The space was piled high with boxes, labelled and organized thanks to one quiet morning with some foresight, and you dove in, looking for the plastic-wrapped materials you needed, grabbing handfuls of this and that as you tore through boxes.

Back in your room you flew down beside the bed and threw down the supplies on the floor, immediately snapping on medical gloves and looking up to your patient.

Bucky wasn’t looking at you but up at the ceiling, face drawn and pale and with that sheen of sweat now beads. The muscles in his jaw clenched and unclenched but no sound came from him, not a whimper or cry.

Carefully you lifted up his shirt, peeling the blood soaked fabric back. Two stab wounds were there, just on his side, so close together a thin, bloody strip strained to keep them separate, threatening ominously that the wrong move would make for one gaping wound. It was jagged and the skin almost frayed apart at the edges, like the knife used had been serrated and thick.

It would have been terribly painful to endure, but this wasn’t going to be Bucky’s final night. You could fix this. You would fix this.

“You’re going to be fine Buck,” you said, adopting Steve’s nickname for him, trying to reassure as best you could while looking at his inner workings of muscle and bone. “It’s not in your stomach, but looks like the knife hit your ribs.”

You reached down your bloody gloves to open up a needle and a little vial from a tiny box. You stabbed the needle in the tiny rubber dot at the top of the vial and pulled the plunger back, taking in a healthy dose of the painkiller.

Steve had insisted anything you would need should go on the list, so you had put down some heavy duty medications, not really thinking he’d be able to get a hold of the government regulated substances anyway. But low and behold, and luckily for Bucky’s sake, Steve had come through with them after all.

You held his tensed arm, pricking him and injecting the clear liquid in his veins. You got to work quickly, gently inspecting and cleaning and getting everything out to stitch him up.

“That’s good,” you said as you got to it, needing to talk and show there was nothing to worry about. Even if you were only calm yourself of sheer need and adrenaline. “That it hit the ribs. They’re there for support and protection. They did a good job tonight and kept your organs from getting shish kebabbed.”

“Will he need a transfusion? Can you do that here?” Sam asked, worried and hanging by the door. He looked ready to jump in and help at a moments notice, arm crossed like he was holding himself back.

“No, he won’t need a transfusion,” you said clearly and calmly. “It only looks like a lot of blood, but he’s got plenty still. I probably could do one here with all the supplies I have, I would just need the actual blood part of the equation.”

“Right,” Sam breathed behind you, clearly having forgotten that part.

“Bucky,” you stopped, looking up to the face not four hours ago was kissing you, smiling down at you gently. “I need to stitch this up, but if the painkillers haven’t fully kicked in, I can wait. Do you want to me to wait?”

“Do it,” he said through clenched teeth, face still ghostly pale though he seemed to be breathing a little easier. You hoped.

“Okay, but-”

“’S okay,” he managed to get out.

You took in a tight breath and figured he was as ready as you were, before squeezing his hand as signal you were starting.

If he was in pain, he didn’t react much to it, gratefully keeping still, breath not coming too hard or deep. It made it possible for you to be done stitching him up in about a half hour. You weren’t exactly an expert at this, not getting too much practice, but you went slow and were more than satisfied when you were done, considering the frayed skin. With a big cushy square of gauze lined with tape, you gently placed it over the wound and managed to take a deep breath.

“Alright Bucky,” you said, trying not to groan as you got up off your knees, a deep throbbing ache starting in your back and shooting down your legs. “You’re all patched up, okay honey? The hard part is over, you’re not going to feel as bad as when it first happened. You’re going to start healing.”

You pulled off your gloves and placed your med bag on the bed beside him, careful not the jostle your patient. You took every few second to look at him, distant and drawn back blue eyes watching you, threatening to unravel your so far professional behaviour. You wanted nothing more to comfort him, to take that look out of his eyes and replace it with the one you last saw in them.

But it wasn’t the time. You pulled out a pair of scissors and drew up your resolve.

“We’ve cleaned up the wound, we just have to clean you up now, okay?” you said, nodding Sam closer who complied quickly. “I’m going to cut off your shirt, we’re going to slide it out from under you, and place a towel under your side. I’ll give you more meds for the pain, and then we’re going to rest.”

Bucky nodded and you cut his shirt, keeping your face collected as you were so close to him, Sam carefully pulling it out from the other side. He also came around and helped you place a towel under Bucky, needing the two of you to carefully and slowly lift him. With a last shot of pain meds, you gave him one last smile while Sam went to get a pitcher and glass of water.

Clean up was quick with unused supplies shoved in your med bag, blood stained towels and used needles bagged and tied up, disinfectant cloths wiped over every surface you touched, hands and arms washed thoroughly, clothes changed to something much less sweaty.

By the time the frenzy was truly over, a wall of exhaustion hit you just about the same time as it seemed to hit Bucky, eyes blinking slow and lids heavy.

“I’m going to stay,” Sam said, whispering to you in the doorway. “I’ll stay downstairs.”

“Good,” you murmured, spent. “It’s too late to go, you must be tired too. I’ll stay up here and keep an eye on him.”

Sam took his leave with instructions for some extra pillows and linens. You carefully closed your bedroom door, taking creaky steps to the closet where you pulled out a fancy embroidered pillow and a couple thick blankets. The lights flicked off, and you could feel your body and the house just about sigh in relief. It was over. At least, hopefully, for tonight.

You laid down the blankets on the floor beside Bucky, stiffly setting back down on the ground on your makeshift little nest. You watched him, seeing the shadowy and dark curvy lines of his nose and cheeks, his sharp jawline fading behind the mattress.

What the hell had happened in those few hours you had been apart from him? And why the hell had it happened at all?

Your thoughts seeped into your dreams, traitors and enemies, snakes and machines all lurking and silent, waiting breathlessly for something to snap.

CHAPTER FOUR

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[seeroftodayandtomorrow]

The Prince and the Moon God

Chapter 3

Read on AO3

There is a knock on the door just as Blaine finishes dressing.

It's Myron, the cabin boy.

“The captain invites you to break your fast with him,” he says, salutes, and leaves.

Blaine is surprised, but glad. He had feared that with the lies that the captain had obviously seen through, he wouldn't want any more to do with him than whatever are necessary relations between the captain of a vessel and his passenger. And he had found he liked the captain; at the very least, he is well-traveled and would know many a story to tell.

He steps in front of the tiny mirror to make sure his jacket is straight and all the buttons done correctly. The captain had been impeccably dressed yesterday, and Blaine doesn't want to appear slovenly in comparison.

“Ah, Mr, Anderson,” the captain greets him. “Please sit down. I hope you don't mind I started eating already; I must confess I was rather hungry.”

“Please, call me Blaine,” Blaine says, blushing. Mr. Anderson isn't his name, he has never been called anything but Blaine or your highness. Everything else seems strange.

“I suppose it would be strange to be so formal with each other since we'll be traveling together for some time,” the captain says. “Then you must call me Kurt. Only when we're alone, though, please.”

“Of course,” Blaine says. He understands the captain must keep his authority in front of the crew at all times. And Blaine...he likes the implication that there might be other breakfasts, other times he might be alone with the captain—with Kurt.

When they've eaten, Kurt shows him a map—a chart, he says the ones that show the sea are called—and shows him where they are and where they will be going. Then, his finger taps a spot on the chart:

“That's the Moon Isle,” he says. “When you've finished there, we'll take the long way -”, his finger swipes across the chart in a wide arc, “- back home.”

Blaine nods, but his good mood is gone. He won't be taking the long way home, he won't be taking any way home, and suddenly, the way to the Moon Isle seems way to short. He can see it on the chart, it's a space barely two hands wide, and who knows how much of that they've already gone?

He wants to suggest taking the long way to the Moon Isle instead, but it would be suspicious: he is supposed to travel on business for his master who would surely not be glad if it took too long. And there is another thing:

“I need to be on the Isle at full moon,” he says. “Some of the herbs only bloom then.”

The captain narrows his eyes again, but nods. “We'll do our best....if we miss it, you can camp on the island and we'll pick you up again later.”

Blaine leaves soon after, embarrassed that once again, he was discovered lying, though again, fortunately not called out on it.

He discovers early that he loves sea life. He continues playing the lute to an appreciative audience, and in time finds the courage to sing, as well. The sailors teach him new songs, and sometimes they sing with him. Very rarely, the captain does, too. His voice is like a bell, high and clear.

When he isn't playing music, he is learning all kinds of seafaring tasks from those sailors who aren't too busy to talk to him. He loves sitting cross-legged on the deck, practicing knots or doing some other task that renders his hands sore and sometimes bleeding, but his mind clear. He is able to forget, sometimes for hours, why he is here and how his journey will end, and in the tiny space of his room or the ship itself that he can cross in a few steps, with nothing but the endless sea around them, he feels as free as he never had before.

The captain continues to invite him for breakfast, and after only a week, he makes it a standing invitation so Myron won't have to fetch him every morning. They come to a sort of silent agreement concerning his story: both of them know he's lying, but they don't talk about it and don't let it come between them. It seems the captain has accepted there are things Blaine can't be truthful about. He's not happy about it; sometimes Blaine can see him looking at him with narrowed eyes, on the verge of speaking, but he lets it slide when he remains silent and looks away.

They talk about everything and nothing, often spending time after the end of their meal just talking until the captain must hurry to his duties. After a while, Blaine notices that neither of them ever talks about their families or their past. The closest he gets is when he confesses that he wishes he was born to a seafaring family; he knows a lot of sailors start out as cabin boys or girls on their parents' ship, and work their way up through the ranks. The captain just shrugs, so Blaine asks him how he came to captain the New Direction.

“Some years back,” Kurt says, “I found myself with nothing to do, so I acquired a ship and hired a crew, and sailed. I found it suits me, so I stuck to it.”

“You...acquired...a ship? And you captained it, without knowing anything about captaining, or..navigation...?” He knows more about sailing now that he did when he first came on board, but he has no idea what knowledge is required to captain a ship.

Kurt shrugs again. “I'm a fast learner, and I have many talents.”

Blaine feels that he'll say nothing more about it, and senses that maybe Kurt has his secrets, too.

But Kurt grins at him, and says. “I know what you're thinking, and I did not.”

“Did not what?”

“Steal that ship. I'm not a pirate, you know.”

Blaine keeps wondering about that, more than he probably should have, and even more time he spends imagining Kurt as a pirate. It's not a big stretch of the imagination, as little as he knows about pirating and sea fare in general. He gives him a rapier and a dagger, and once an eye patch which he removes quickly because it would be a shame to cover up even one of those stunning blue eyes. He's dashing, and brave, and only steals from those who deserve it. Once, in a particularly embarrassing daydream, the victims are his own family, and pirate Captain Hummel rescues young, handsome Prince Blaine from the grasp of his scheming parents. He blushes and looks around even though no one knows he just imagined himself as a damsel in distress, and quickly goes to join Santana at the wheel. He's trying to learn navigation, and she will mock him enough for his failures in that to make up for that dream.

It fits his other dreams, though. Every night in his bunk, he stares at his amulet, discovering more details in the light of his only lamp. And every night, as he sinks into sleep, he sinks into the cold, dark waters of the moon lake, and he sees the captain's face in the water, and strong arms enclose him and pull him down, deep, deeper into the lake. Only it doesn't feel like drowning. It feels like he is being saved.

Towards the end of his second week on board, when he has found his sea legs and has even ventured into the rigging once or twice, he is sitting in the galley with Puck, the second mate, drinking thin coffee and playing a game of cards. Puck is at the end of his watch, but not quite tired enough to sleep; Blaine is looking for some sort of occupation that will keep him out of the wind and the ceaseless rain, but also out of his cabin where he'd only be brooding.

The rain is the only thing he'd mind if he were a sailor, he thinks. He'd cope with little sleep and less privacy, a lot of work and boring and repetitive tasks. But being outside in the rain when it is like this, not strong, but persistent and seemingly unending, drenching everything until he feels like he might never be warm and dry again, only cold, cold like the waters of the Moon Lake...

He wonders what it is that will kill him: the blood flowing from his slit wrists, the cold seeping into his very being, or the water, stealing the air from his lungs.

He shivers, clutches his coffee harder, lets the thin heat warm his fingers as they tremble from imagined cold.

The ship lurches, but he doesn't know if it's real.

Then a bell rings, sharp and loud, followed by the piercing shout,

“All hands on deck! All hands on deck!”

Puck puts his mug away and claps him on the shoulder: “All hands means you, too, buddy.”

Blaine nods, and rises. He knows he has paled, and his legs feel like jelly under him as he climbs the steep steps to the deck. But he is determined to do what he can to help the situation, whatever it is – or at the very least, not be in the way too much.

When he comes up, he doesn't believe his eyes. It's late afternoon, he knows that, but it's so dark it could as well be midnight. The wind is howling, and the ship moves so that he's amazed he hasn't felt it more below. The sea...doesn't look like the sea anymore. It has become a howling, snarling beast that attacks them with waves so high they threaten to crash down on them with a force destroying everything.

“Sails down!” a voice yells, and Blaine jumps to help or at least scramble out of the way as the crew rushes to do what must be done so they might at least have some chance of survival.

The next hours pass in a daze. He goes where he's bid, does as he's told, and goes on and on, rarely feeling how bone-deep tired he is, or his hands that are sore and bleeding and burning from salt.

He holds fast to the railing when he walks and does most of the work one handed while clinging to a rope or a beam to avoid being swept overboard. After a while, he notices the others tying themselves to wherever they're working, and he does the same, although he doesn't really trust his knots yet. But the work is easier, and he feels a little more safe. Still, his heart beats so loud he seems to hear it even over the howling of the wind, the crashing of the waves, and the orders being shouted across the ship. Then there's another sound: a mighty crack, and unbelieving, he sees the main mast break and fall. It crashes on the deck, and Blaine is nearly thrown overboard from the rocking of the ship.

That's it, he thinks. He won't have to go to the Moon Isle to drown, he can do it right here, he will go down with the ship and everyone on it. He feels sad at the thought of the crew and their gentle captain perishing like that, but at least, he won't die alone.The amulet will be gone, too, into the depths of the ocean, but there will be no blood, there will be no full moon to ease the passing, to maybe renew the magic long enough so Cooper can be king and make everything right.

But, miraculously, the ship holds. There's no hole in the deck, they're not taking water, and though they are rudderless without mast and sails, they're still alive when, at nightfall, the storm eases and then stops. The great, gray clouds dissolve, and he can see the stars, and then the moon, smiling down on them.

[haroldgross]

New Post has been published on Harold Gross: The 5a.m. Critic

New Post has been published on http://literaryends.com/hgblog/mcu-from-the-beginning-and-before-the-ending/

MCU: From the Beginning and Before the Ending

In prep for Avengers: Infinity War, I decided to rewatch the entire sequence from its 2008 beginnings. Why? Well, first: Why not? This audacious sequence of films has pulled off something no one has even come close to producing, except Lord of the Rings. During the course of 18 films over 10 years Marvel has woven a story together with the goal of paying it off in film 19. They found great actors to tell great stories about flawed heroes; heroes we recognized ourselves in.

And with the exception of one of those films, they were all solid and well done. And the one that wasn’t so great, well, it still has my respect because unlike Sony’s flailing at the Spidey universe, it woke them up to the fact that they had to produce quality if they wanted to succeed. They never stumbled again, though certainly the movies had differing impacts and approaches. And the clues and nods are just incredible to see when you know everything that is to come. As we get ready to leave the Joss Whedon era, who really set the template for this cycle, you have to wonder if anyone would have the guts and talent to try this again.

If you want to rewatch it all yourself, do it over at least three weeks. I squeezed this into less than two weeks at two or three films a day. Fun, but exhausting.

So here we go, in brief, through the dots that brought us here.

Phase One (though we didn’t know for sure that until Thor)

Iron Man is still a surprisingly effective movie. My original write-up is lost, but I still am amazed at how it subverted the comic genre on screen by being a real movie. We got to know and care about Tony Stark, despite his ego, or perhaps because of it. He was flawed but engaging. The world was believable and intriguing. It had humor and action and, above all, a really good script and acting. This wasn’t done with a nod and a wink, it was done to do it well and it showed, launching the huge franchise we are celebrating this year. Sure, the ending was a bit overblown and the villain a bit too teeth-gnashy, but the series would learn as it went along.

The Incredible Hulk is already a second bite at the apple at this character (third if you include Bixby’s series), but it does an interesting job of not disavowing Ang Lee and Eric Bana’s take by bridging from it to the this new version during the credits. It is substantially more comic book style than Iron Man and still struggles with its villains and finale. However, it is an important piece in the Avengers puzzle. It introduces the Super Soldier program, something lost on me till now, and it provides an important pivot for David Banner. This more morose and pouty Hulk has to leave his past behind and accept who he is to become the Ruffalo version.  Sure that comment is a bit revisionist, but you get to do that when you see it after knowing where it will go. It isn’t a great film, but it continued the character-driven approach Marvel wanted and gave us hope they had some real sense of what they had…the tag with Tony and the General sealed the deal on it.

We all would like to forget that Iron Man 2 existed. It was rushed to screen and just doesn’t have the same polish as what had come before. But it is easy to forget that it also introduced Black Widow, got Pepper and Tony together, shifted Tony’s attitude, queued up Captain America with a couple nods, and continued Phil Coulson’s involvement. Having watched this the day after Rampage, however, I can confidently point out that while it may be just an action flick, it is still better than most of the similar tripe being produced even if it isn’t up to the MCU standards by any stretch. However, it also put the fear of god into Disney/Marvel/Kevin Feige. They never tried for a pure money grab again, knowing that they had to meet the expectations of their audience or risk losing it all. Here we are almost 19 films later because they learned their lesson.

Thor is where the MCU really started to hit its stride, understanding what they had and where they intended to go. It is the first 3D. It is the first to push the comedy throughout. It introduced the first Infinity Stone. And it tagged the end with a mention of The Avengers. Thor was always the one hero that worried me because it was off-realm gods and magic. How do you make that mainstream and believable next to human heroes (even if they’ve been mutated huge and green)? But they did it, and managed to launch Brannagh’s career as a director of huge films to boot. They also took an existing god and gave him an origin story by making him mortal-ish for a good part of the film. Its one misstep, though it worked for the story, was Portman’s Jane, who they had to disappear to keep things going in subsequent films.

Captain America: The First Avenger. Hail Hydra! Where Thor had nailed the stride of the humor, Cap nailed the format of the MCU journey. The movie had its own style, reflective of its time period,ss and set up everything that was to come through Civil War (and a couple of TV spin offs as well). Despite the CG of Rogers never looking quite right at the beginning, it was still an effective and smart choice. And the ending manages to give us both action and pathos in a way that made it a great story as well as a solid action flick.

Marvel’s The Avengers redefined the term “big” when it came to films. Its non-stop action and coalescing storyline still amaze. It is full of character and some of the best moments yet to grace the series (then and now: Puny God!). It is the first taste of what Joss and Feige had planned for a much bigger feast and it certainly whet the appetite and proved they could pull off something no one else had even tried. And damn if they didn’t get you to feel the passing(ish) of a minor character with a great scene. Oh, and of course our first glimpse of Thanos.

Phase Two

Pivoting into Phase Two, Iron Man 3 kicked off a sequence that could best be termed: Consequences. Unexpectedly, if sometimes ham-handidly, it took on some serious matters like PTSD. It did so with humor and action, though it went a little off the rails in its blithe quippiness, Christmas theme, and kids. We know this world now, and with IR3 and Phase 2 , we’re getting a new sense of the characters, watching necessary doubt creep in this middle stretch of the sequence. It wasn’t what a lot of folks wanted, but it was fascinating and, again, necessary to build the platform that eventually becomes Ultron and Civil War. And, despite any of its weaknesses, it still is incredibly entertaining and rewatchable.

Thor: The Dark World has an odd flavor of political intrigue, but intrigue that has been in motion for quite a while. It also introduces the next Infinity Stone, but you could blink and miss that aspect if you didn’t know what you were looking for. In retrospect it is clear and sets up the Collector as well, who has his own role to play. It is full of humor and action, and it does advance some of the characters, but it feels a bit outside the Phase in some ways.

Captain America: The Winter Soldier takes a huge and brave leap for such a big sequence. It irrevocably changes the face and structure of the world, setting up Phase Three as well as impacting the spin-off series. Certainly there is a lot of character work here shimmed in between the action, and new characters who will continue forward. And, if you needed any other sense of how far ahead the crew plan, we also get our first mention of Doctor Strange in a throwaway interrogation…a hint that wouldn’t pay off for another five movies.

And now for something completely different, Guardians of the Galaxy. This romp, while still very much in the MCU, was a welcome break from what we knew and a huge expansion of characters to play with. Yes, it is a bit silly at times, especially how quickly the Guardians all bond, but the humor is fun and the action is great. There really is something for everyone in this branch of the universe, as well as laying out the mysteries to grow on and our first real interaction with an Infinity Stone.

All damaged characters, enter here: Avengers: Age of Ultron. This marked the end of the Joss Whedon era, and perhaps not on quite as high a note as he would have wanted. This story rewatches better than it played initially, though. It is a very psychologically complex tale with a lot of layered construction and cultural nods. It also has the trademark Whedon dialogue throughout, and the brilliant choice of Spader as Ultron. Also, this is the first direct mention of Wakanda and the tee-up for Black Panther. When you realize that this is the culmination of 10 previous films and the setup for the next eight (or 11 if you go through the full Phase Three sequence), the threads Whedon wove, and the guidance to get there, is going to be tough to match. Also, it’s worth noting that they were again willing to take the risk of pivoting to new characters and big changes, with more yet to come to keep it both fresh and, let’s face it, affordable.

Ant-Man gets a little absurd, admittedly, but maintains the connections and thread of the universe. And it’s a universe that can sustain a lot of different styles. That alone is something of note. Each movie, or perhaps better considered, each character has a particular sensibility that shapes the movies they are in. Be it the earnestness of Capt. America or the nuttiness of the Guardians or the comic book silliness of Ant-Man, each style supports the sense of the stories they are in. Ant-Man is fun and amusing, and uses its tech relatively well…at least within the confines of a PG rated film. That said, Ant-Man is the movie that feels the most out of place in the collection so far, even more than Guardians. I think that is because it is such a familiar world, but the action and dialogue are very broad in comparison.

Phase Three

Where Ultron showed the cracks in the friendships and group, in Captain America: Civil War it all goes to hell, launching the third phase through a moment of crisis and uncertainty. This installment is really more like Avengers 3 than a Captain America, but the schism formed here will surely come back to roost in a few films. For now, however, it serves more to break up the gang, redeem Bucky, and launch Black Panther. It is also the first of the films to show real fallout from the carnage that the heroes inflict upon the world trying to save it. The world’s reaction is eerily apropos current politics as well.

Forgetting that the medical scenes in Doctor Strange were just, well, absurd, the rest of it was really pretty fun visually, in action, and dialogue. Where else could a cape become a character? And while it feels rather on its own in the universe for most of the tale, other than some throw-away side comments, by the end it is solidly ensconced in the larger tale leaving only a single Infinity Stone unaccounted for.

Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2 tries a bit too hard to be bigger and better than its first iteration. The fact that is has the highest number of tags at the end of the film is symptomatic of that as well. However, some questions get answered, some necessary information was layered in, and the action is huge. Fortunately, the humor continues unabated as well. As romps go, it was a hoot, if not as unexpected now that we’ve seen these characters and have a sense of them. It does cement the Guardians as a self-selected family and has given them a purpose that will aim them squarely at Infinity War, even if some of the moments were a little forced. Also, the two Guardian movies make the best use of 3D in the MCU (at least so far). Or at least make the most conscious use of it. They do have an advantage being in space and all, but really it is more about the director thinking about the presentation from the outset and throughout the story.

Spider-Man: Homecoming was a wonderful surprise entering into the MCU. And with Marvel guiding the Sony franchise, it has been reinvigorated and morphed into something both new and closer to the original material. Whether Sony will respect that input and collaboration and stick with it remains to be seen (and rumors on the street are that they won’t). Still we’ll get at least a couple more appearances of Spidey over the next few years and we’ll get to watch him grow-up in reality and in his role as a superhero.

Meanwhile, back in Asgard… Thor: Ragnarok brings about a few necessary aspects of plot and relationship, but it is generally just a good romp. While it is mostly just a pause before the finale that is coming, it does also take make some radical changes, declared right in the title. How that will play out, other than with some additional fighters to tackle Thanos, we’ll find out soon. But as a film it is a weird, anachronistic, pastiche of Waititi’s humor and the MCU ethos. Great fun, to be sure, but definitely one of the oddest of the films in the sequence in terms of how the bits clash at times.

Black Panther surprised me by not being as good for rewatching as I’d expected. It still is fun, and a great new world to explore, but it is not the action film it feels like the first time through. On seeing it again, it is the political message that rings through it like a gong. Not that it was subtle the first time, but after you know the story, it is that aspect that clearly drives and shapes it all. And, by the end, all the pieces are in place for Thanos and one heck of a showdown. What will be very interesting is seeing where they take Wakanda and the very real issues raised in Panther’s launch.

And now, on to Infinity War… and then probably the longest coda and shift ever conceived (2 years and 3 movies) with Ant-Man and the Wasp, Captain Marvel, and what was originally Infinity War part 2 (as conceived by Whedon). Where MCU goes at that point is a matter of much conjecture and very little information, but these last films should give us a good sense of the direction.