#i think he was trying to imply that she doesn't have friends outside of work but it had an entirely different effect in my brain

[telemiel]

why does brenda's father emphasize the word "friend" like that when he looks at sharon, i'm wheezing

[sevenofreds]

Angel revealing the exact wording of his contract with Valentino (and how he can take advantage of it) recontextualizes so much about his and Val's relationship, his friendship with Cherri (and why it's ultimately toxic for him despite them clearly caring a lot for each other), and his reasons for staying at the hotel.

(Buckle up bitches this is gonna be a long one and I spent way too much time thinking about it)

SO, according to Angel, he only has to do what Valentino says while at the studio. Pay attention to that wording. Not "while working". "While at the studio".

Val's rant to Vox implies that, before Angel moved into the Hazbin Hotel, he was basically LIVING in the studio, which means that, by the wording of their contract, Angel was Val's to control 24/7.

While it doesn't really recontextualize Val's whiny bitchbaby moment in episode 2 (because regardless of the contract's exact wording, he clearly wants to be in total control of Angel), it does give us more information about it; Val was upset that he couldn't physically MAKE Angel do any thing at any time anymore, and Angel KNEW that, too.

So why didn't he ever just leave before? That comes back to Val's treatment of him, and how he views himself (or at least DID view himself until his husband friend Husk came along). Val almost definitely got it into Angel's head that nobody would WANT to take him in or help him, which is (one of, at least) the reason why he didn't trust Charlie at first during the prequel comic.

He wasn't just staying at the hotel because it was rent-free; it was because, as long as he "played nice", he was free of Val outside of work.

It does seem like taking advantage of the wording like that goes both ways (Val can apparently extend his hours on a whim without breaking the contract), but if you wanted out of a situation like Angel's, you'd take anything you could get.

And then we move on to Cherri, and her relationship with partying compared to Angel's.

Cherri Bomb is an anarchist. A chaotic partygirl. She's not trying to escape from anything. She parties so hard because she ENJOYS it. It's her way of having fun, of recharging, and it seems like throughout most of episode 6, she thought that Angel was partying with her for those same reasons.

But as we learned in episode 4, that isn't the case. Angel gets drunk and high to escape, to forget how fucked up his situation is, to forget how much he hates and blames himself for being the way he is. And once he found a functioning support system, and people who cared about him beyond his persona, he didn't need that anymore. He learned to accept that yeah, his situation is fucked, and there's not much he can do...but that doesn't mean that there's NOTHING he can do. And he's not alone.

This leads us to view Cherri as a toxic friend towards Angel, at least until she sees that he's getting serious about the hotel; she's perfectly happy with what she does, and was only goading Angel into it because she thought he was, too (she would thrive in Beelzebub's scene if she were able to go there; Angel would fall into the same category as Blitzø). Once she saw for herself that wasn't the case, she said she was glad for him, and that she'd be there if he ever needs her.

It's evident by that point that they care deeply about each other. But Cherri lives a lifestyle that wasn't ever good for Angel Dust; for Anthony. And that's okay.

Whether he was truly aware of it or not, Angel needed friends. He needed a support system. He wanted to be better than he was. And even if he doesn't quite realize it yet...he's well on his way.

[lululandd]

wrong;

pairing: könig x f!reader

wordcount: 2.5k+

warnings: fluff?

note: ngl i had fun making this and i hope yall get a laugh from this or something (also on AO3)

summary: 

of all the kortac members you’ve worked and hung out with, you try to avoid könig the most. the austrian man comes off as normal and even endearing at first, masking his anxiety with comedy, always being thoughtful of people's needs and personal space. but the more you hung out with him the more you realise he might actually have a woman held hostage in his house. he likes to talk about her, mostly innocuous comments about her new hobbies, but from time to time könig lets out insane comments in such a casual tone that rendered you and other kortac operators speechless.

bunny doesn't like men so when my kitchen was renovated i had to put her in the basement..

—sometimes she misbehaves so much i want to hit her but i can't so i had to leash her.

no one dares to talk about his bunny, you notice everyone skirting around the subject and never asking him directly about her even though he’s actively bringing her up in conversations. you don’t mind being around him during assignments, since he’s usually too busy saving people’s lives and covering his teammates backs to think about his ‘bunny’. but outside of combat? at the base? at karaoke or bars? you avoid him as much as possible.

until you slipped up, of course.

you were tired; unwashed, thinking only of the food in front of you and the long luxurious cold shower you’re going to have right after.

hearing the word ‘sick’ somewhere in your vincinity you immediately went into worry mode and asked follow up questions before your brain could determine who was talking.

horangi lets out a cough next to you, and only then you realise who said the word ‘sick’ and about whom.

the usually boisterous man looked so downtrodden, barely eating his dinner, moving his food around his metal tray. 

“it’s bunny..” he whined, his hood blowing forwards for a moment before settling back in place.

“i’m sorry to hear that.” you offered, curtly. you thought of the least offensive thing you could muster that wouldn’t evoke any other bunny related tidbits. “how long until your assignment’s over?”

“two months.”

“i’m sure she’ll be fine.” you assured him, “hope she feels better soon, könig.”

he rested his chin on his open palm, “she can’t take care of herself, i had a friend stay at my house to take care of her.” 

you glance at horangi, hoping he’d steer the conversation away. he halfheartedly shrugged as he dug into his food, unwilling to help. you dug your own grave, the shrug seems to imply.

“your friend is probably doing their best, you just have to trust them.”

horangi raised his brows and smirked at you. you poked him with one of the corners of your metal tray playfully when you two were done eating. laughing as he bumps your hip with his, saying something in korean before answering, “you have to learn to evade the bunny topic yourself. you did good.”

perhaps this is the nicest, or the only thing anyone has ever dared to say about his captive, because he turned up at your shared bunk that night. stiletto immediately fiddled with her butterfly knife when she saw who was at the door.

“may i talk to you?” his gaze jumped from your eyes to something behind you before looking at you again quickly and looking away again.

stiletto snarked at him from her bed, “you can talk over there with the door open.”

thankful for her caution, you see könig doesn’t seem too bothered by it.

“i’m worried about bunny.” he lowered his voice, bending a little so his head was closer to yours.

“oi! three feet apart!” you hear her yell alongside the soft clitter-clatter of her butterfly knife.

könig straightened up immediately, it’s so funny seeing him obey stiletto without question even though he’s her senior in age and rank.

“your friend is with bunny, no?” you tried reassuring him.

“ja.” he squares up to his full height, making you step back to even be able to look at his face. “she is taking care of bunny but she is no doctor.”

“neither am i.” you shrugged, turning to look at stiletto for reassurance. 

to your relief she grumbled at the colonel, “get to the point, könig.”

the austrian threw a look at your bunkmate before looking back down at you.“i want you to go see her.”

your heart gave a little jolt, and you’re sure your whole body did too.

what.

blinking slowly, you turn your head to give stiletto a wide-eyed stare before looking back at him. “you want me to go see… your girl?” 

his expression shifted, you could see the twinkle in his eyes hearing you’re not outright rejecting his proposal. “ja, ja, i want you to see bunny. you seem like a nice person. i want you to check up on bunny, and maybe stay with her until i come back.”

“stay?” you repeated. “at your house? where bunny is?”

nodding excitedly, he stepped forwards, “ja, exactly. i’ll pay your tickets.”

you want to look back and make faces at your roommate but out of respect you just look as confused as you could and tell him you would give him an answer tomorrow.

as soon as the door closed and könig’s footsteps can no longer be heard, stiletto hissed from her bed, “ma che cazzo, he is crazy.”

plopping down next to her, “i feel sorry, though.”

she slapped your upper arm, “his crazy is catching. what the fuck?”

“i mean, if he wants me to visit then how bad could the situation be, right?” you try to make sense of his actions. “if bad comes to worse i can always call the police.”

stiletto groaned, “the police could be in on it, idiota.”

she’s right.

but,

he’s your co-worker. if you go missing during your planned trip to austria on könig’s dime, there would definitely be an investigation, right? there’s paper trail and receipts and everything.

you voice your thoughts to your roommate and she sighs in defeat.

“your funeral, bunny number two.”

—

you arrived at könig’s little countryside (remote) house, with its dilapidated (creepy) looking roof and peeling windowsill. a gigantic rabbit greeted you in his lush front garden, happily chewing on a celery stalk and hopping away from the iron gate as you approached.

hop? that thing looks like it could gallop. there must be something in the water here that makes everything grow so large. how far is chernobyl from this place, again?

staring at his front door an embarrassingly long time, you took a quick and deep breath before knocking. his front door felt so foreboding you instinctively step back right after.

the woman greeting you with a smile looks a little bit older than you, with a charming smile that would definitely make you feel safe if you’ve never heard of the way könig talks about his girlfriend.

“hi, im here to see……” your eyes dart around your peripherals to make sure there’s no one that could ambush you, “..bunny?”

she gestured at the rabbit in the patch of sunlight behind you.

the world as you know it crumbled before your eyes. the sun shone brighter, the dilapidated windows look fine, and did you call his cabin creepy earlier? you meant cosy.

you blinked slowly. “that’s.. bunny?” you reiterated, turning halfway back at the rabbit while pointing at it.

“ja, bunny is rabbit in english? yes?” she sounded a little impatient, “are you a vet? she is all better now.” its clear from her tone and the hard stare she gave you that she’s offended of könig’s distrust in her ability to take care of his pet rabbit.

putting your hand up, “no, i’m his friend.” you stared back at the rabbit again for a little longer, making sure its actually a rabbit and not a woman in a realistic rabbit suit. you’ve seen the $15000 collie suit that went viral a few years back, “so…. könig’s girlfriend doesn't live here?”

crossing her arms, it was her turn to blink slowly. “girlfriend? i’ve only seen him bring men home.”

as much as you wanted to laugh out loud at the second big misunderstanding this poor man has in his life, it makes complete sense why she would think that way. “i see.” was all you could muster.

“come in, then.” she offered.

taking note of where the basement is as she points at things while giving you a tour, you opened the door to be immediately greeted by a well lit space, with a little rabbit enclosure at the back, a waist high fence separating the space from the rest of the basement. it had one of those hamster wheels although a much larger size, a pet bed, and neat stack of hay just outside the fence gate. you took careful steps further down in the basement, and you do see a little clasp and a leash hanging off the wall by the pet bed.

the first thing you after your brain process the whole information is run back outside and update the group chat.

stiletto had to personally call you fifteen minutes later because you weren’t active in the group chat. 

könig came home to bunny sitting on what looked like a little trampoline with an umbrella on top of it, munching on some hay with pieces of flowers and fruits strewn about. seeing him, bunny hopped off her little perch. his little fluff of happiness is coming with her ears all perked up to flop on her side by his feet. here are little bows on both her ears and as he crouched down könig could feel all his stress melt away from the sight. picking bunny up, he walked in to find your bags packed and ready by the front door, your socks neatly placed inside each of your shoes.

bunny wiggled as könig roamed his house to look for you, presumably wanting to go back to her feast of hay and flowers and fruits that you set up for her. but when he opened the front door and set her down, she instead hopped further into the home, towards the basement door.

“there’s no man around for you to fear, häschen.” he coos, before looking at the direction bunny is heading.

first thing he saw was you had gathered more hay; könig notes its the expensive one he only gets when he receives his yearly bonus, the old pet bed looks cleaned, and there’s a new even bigger one by the wheel. he spots you in the corner fastening the leash hook.

“you want beer?” he offered in lieu of a greeting. you could hear the smile in his voice.

bunny punched the gate, signalling that she wants to go in the enclosure to possibly use the wheel or be with you. he unlatched the gate and watched with fascination as she hopped over to you, standing on her hind legs to see what you’re doing.

“oh hey könig, i’m just about done.” you pointed at the little sand pit next to the stairs, “careful of the sand pit.”

you heard him shuffle around behind you. the man is lazy and drags his feet when he’s not in combat. “you built this for bunny?” he sounded surprised, the sound of sand being played with grabbed your attention so you opted to stop fiddling with the hook and come see what he’s doing. 

bunny followed you as you walked towards him, “yeah, we pitched in for a lot of the stuff. there’s a card upstairs.” 

the tall man was grabbing some sand visibly stiffened at your reply. könig turned his head slowly towards you, “we?” the casualness dropped off his posture at that moment. “card?”

hearing the scepticism in his voice, you nodded and pointed at the door to usher him upstairs.

he stayed, looks down at the sand as if it was the most interesting thing in the world for him. bunny filled the long pause with her little clucks and chatters as you absentmindedly pet her. “i thought you guys didn’t like bunny..” he said weakly, returning to playing with the sand, slower this time.

oh no.

looking at it from his perspective, you saw how shitty you all must’ve looked. he had mentioned how sick his pet was and no one asked a single question nor seemed to care.

at this point bunny has sensed his distress and made her way towards him to cuddle. she’s really good at that, sensing peoples moods and coming over to offer comfort.

you think you will just rip the bandage off, or maybe at this point it’s more like giving him a surprise brazilian wax. “könig we thought bunny was your girlfriend. and you chain her up in the basement and everything.”

“WAS? WAS MEINST DU???” he turned your head to you so fast you could see little beads of sweat coming off his hair.

you think he’s yelling WHAT DO YOU MEAN??? so you continued on, swallowing thickly. “none of us were ever sure if you were talking about an animal or a person and we just…. yeah…” the look of horror in könig’s eyes was reflected in his overall disposition which prompted bunny to snuggle into his chest deeper. “i’m sorry könig…”

as you can see his world unravelling before him, you decided this would be the perfect time to leave him and his little rabbit alone.

a text in the big group chat popped up later that night.

[izartn]

A peak example of KnH using the messiness of the power diferencial for its plot and chara development are the eps 12-13. Anime-only here!

In order:

- Jinshi discovers there are 80 kidnapped girls like Maomao working in the rear palace; he could just sweep it all to retain Maomao and nobody could/would say anything. Who cares about servant girls?

- He decides to bring it to light and fire off the kidnapees (doesn't realize they're now without jobs and on the wind) and ask Maomao what she prefers, to stay or leave.

-Doesn't seem to realise he has such power over her her only answer will be, "whatever you want" (but I want to stay!) in loud subtext. Or rather he realises it, and thinks she would prefer to be free and go home, instead of like. Trying to ask via proxy one of the other serving girls or something. Then again I think he realised if he implied he wants her to stay she would, regardless of her wants soo. Even if she wants to stay int his case, he takes the safe route and lets her go home.

(aww he doesn't want her against her will!! low bar but like. he started off blazenly trying to seduce her so he could use her more efficiently so.)

-Maomao, unable to let herself voice her wants bc of her low class awareness, finds herself outside the palace, and a job she liked, with a debt to pay and a father that doesn't know?care? to manage money and so becomes a serving girl at the brothel. She doesn't have to sell her body, but yeah.

-Gaoshun is exasperated at Jinshi downmood, who's missing Maomao sincerity and presence (and who is if not already in love with her, pretty infatuated at this point) so he orchestrates Jinshi attendance to the private ball at which Maomao attends as hostess. All of this basically manipulating Jinshi for his own good lol.

-When Maomao and Jinshi find each other there, and they come clear (Maomao about her liking her job at the rear palace, Jinshi about wanting her there in his vicinity) now temporarily free of the direct servant-master link even if their social position is still wildly unequal; Jinshi directly voices he could buy her contract and Maomao thinks that's a wonderful way of getting what she wants: her debt erased, a job at the palace doing what she wants again.

Okay here comes the funny part. We all now that by this point Jinshi does want her full attention romantically (and sexually) even if he's never direct about it or even fully seems to realise it himself. He's concious enough of his position and likes her enough he doenst want to force himself upon her. And this deal would get him ownership over Maomao, which means he'd get her near him, and it'd be with her consent even!

(I think this is when I got it. He's so so lonely. Like. He's infatuated but he also wants someone he can trust and a friend, only Maomao is so below him socially it's all a minefield. If he buys her contract she'll be under his protection!)

And Maomao likes the idea because Maomao knows enough about him at this point she seems to trust Jinshi to behave as long as she also knows her place as apothecary and maid (lol Maomao you have more freedom than that and I think you subconsciously know it which is why you're considering at all going with him), and this is the best offer she can see for her near future. She gets to have the protection of a powerful patron and also get some freedom to experiment with her herbs and poisons.

-Her sisters at the brothel know enough to divine this guy likes her, so even if Maomao is like. "No he's buying my contract so I'll work on the rear palace again!" (which lol poor Maomao, and even only that would be favoritism) They doll her out as if she were a courtesan whose contract was bought by her lover.

-I cannot be more serious, that scene where he goes get her and they get on the carriage and everybody is "oh! lucky guy where was hidden that beauty" is super wedding themed. Jinshi who isn't above pettiness and using his power for some things, just straight up orders her to keep doing her fake freckles so people won't stare.

This is one of those things Maomao was already doing and doesn't seem to be trying to stop doing? So she's just like. OK weirdo. But it's also a clear show of power; he can make her change the way she does her face. It's just that in this case, as with the buying of the contract, she's on board so the order is funny instead of creepy. Jinshi also knows she prefers the freckles so this is a case of him noticing other people noticing Maomao is pretty and being silly.

-Surprise Maomao you won't be working at the rear palace! Look this is Jinshi blatantly using his power to keep her close. You can't tell me he couldn't have used his influence to get her there again, even "only" as an assistant apothecary and not a maid of honor, but Jinshi has her contract and he has plans. Not nefarious ones! But making her study for court lady so she can be his sort of secretary?

He trusts her intelligence and character, knows they've worked well on the various issues of past episodes, likes her, probably wants her to know more about court in general so she can defend herself when she comes to the limelight via their association, has probably nebulous plans of marriage, etc. So he's not passing this opportunity.

-Maomao wasn't expecting this and doesn't take very seriously the exam bc she doesn't have any interest on that. She's here to live comfy and have some freedom to explore her medicine and intellectually engage her mind with the misteries that Jinshi brings to her. Court lady? Any further implications of what that could mean for her future flee her mind, although I find interesting that in ep 19 there's a part where she goes: mmm, if I had studied harder I would already know this ministery function (could investigate the misteries better).

-Jinshi is kinda exasperated but doesn't punish her for her failure at the exam. He recognizes Maomao interest in medicine is her driving force so he doesn't take it against her, although he wants her to be his assistant in truth very much.

All of this together is a very interesting picture of their push and pull dynamic, and the until now kinda unequal romantic interest. Jinshi uses his status to get some advantages and get Maomao with him, but doesn't push further. Maomao uses Jinshi to get a work she likes where she can exercise her knowledge, and even when he surprises her with the court lady exam she only goes "oh well, I'll try" even if half heartedly. They both know Jinshi has the upper hand socially, and he does kinda trick her to get her as a personal servant (repit with me: everybody else is now thinking she's his lover from the brothel) but Maomao is also getting things she wants and he wants her to pursue her interests (except when it involves choking on poison or venom lol) so they're both pretty content in that ambiguous limbo.

Basically: they realistically set up Jinshi as a well intentioned, but high handed and a bit ignorant, powerful guy who does want to be with and near Maomao, for personal and also practical reasons (Maomao is very useful for uncovering plots within the palace!) this low class girl. Maomao has her own agency and decides that actually, what Jinshi is offering is a step up from what awaits her, and although conflicted about the similarities she perceives between the brothel and the women on the palace, working for him offers her opportunities she wouldn't be able to access on her own. It's risky as hell for her, but life as a low class woman (even as educated as Maomao) is pretty risky anyways so may as well go fr what she wants.

Pretty realist! I love that whatever Maomao feels for Jinshi, (and I'd argue she feels some kinda way about him even if she doesn't want to think about that) there's always this barrier on her mind about their status, so she's very cautious. (until she forgets herself on her love for medicine hehe)

Now. That's a momentary status quo that's totally gonna change, with the revelations of Maomao parentage and her saving Jinshi's life in the middle of a ritual where he was acting as the imperial brother publicly. But that's not what this post was about. This post was about showing an example of the power dynamics in KnH and why I love them on my romance.

Just in two episodes you have all that byplay! Like. Crazy. Super interesting. Arguably not very romantic, but that cautious balancing of each other and their situationship is what shows me the future romance has legs sooo.

[anonymooseforever007]

Ring Around the Roses

(Alfie Solomons x female reader)

Summary: Attempting to get away from the Shelby party chaos, Alfie and his wife sneak off into Tommy's garden for a little fun. It isn't until the next morning they discover the consequences of their actions and Alfie has to remind his wife what their marriage is really about.

A/N-Hi Y'all! Possible TW's for only the end of this include Mentions of death, Unhealthy coping habits and self blame! Also this is for K's (@runnning-outof-time) 3K celebration! Congratulations you're amazing and I love seeing you on here❤️❤️❤️ I hope you like this! I haven't done a celebration before really but I saw your theme and the idea spring into my head. Despite the warnings it's mostly fluffy until the time skip! Also there's one part that implies smut but none actually written! Enjoy ❤️

WC- 6.6k

Main Masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Are you sure we can do this out here?"

"Do what dovey? I'm just taking a nice little stroll with my darling wife aren't I? Letting her get a quiet break from all those heathens inside."

You scoffed, knocking into your husband's side gently as the pair of you walked through the garden. For a man who seemed particularly fond of dark colours, Thomas Shelby's garden was particularly vibrant. 

"Oh hush, you only call them heathens because you're too scared to use the word friend."

"FRIEND!" Alfie scoffed while kicking at a particularly beautifully tulip that just happened to be nearby, just to prove his point. "No no no Dovey, THEY are not my friends, yeah. If I were to pick anyone to be my friend it certainly would not be ANY of them." 

You only rolled your eyes and shot a knowing smirk in his direction. For all your husband's spite and trickery, you knew he really did have a soft spot for the Shelby family.

"Alright love, I believe ya. That's absolutely why you immediately declined the invitation to come here tonight isn't it. Burned it in the fireplace correct? Told me not to put it in the calendar? Because you don't have plans at being anything other than vicious enemies is that right? The pie I brought tonight was a death threat wasn't it? Did you slip in some arsenic into the powdered sugar?"

Rolling his eyes at your teasing, Alfie couldn't help but smile as he watched you laugh at your own joke. Continuing your path through the garden you mindlessly reached back a hand for your husband a few steps behind. A clear indication of what you wanted. What you always wanted. Slipping his hand between yours, he let you drag him through the bushes, further from the party. With each step he could see you relax a bit more, as you enjoyed the scene around you.

"Is it quieter out here Dovey?"

Smiling softly, you only nodded your head before reaching out gently to touch the leaves of a nearby bush. Though the party was fun, it had gotten a bit loud and in the growing chaos you needed some air. So while Tommy and Polly were distracted trying to convince Arthur and Finn not to throw Michael in the lake, you and your husband had slipped outside. 

"Alfie, we should plant a garden of our own I think."

"Is that right Dovey? Does my lady want some bushes of her own to trim doesn't she?"

"I think we could get some nice rose bushes. I've always loved those."

"Roses, is that it? You got a feeling about those prickly little parasites don't ya Dovey? I never got why you liked them."

Chuckling you sat on the edge of a nearby wall as your husband dug his feet in the ground. You knew exactly why Alfred hated roses, and it still amused you to this day. 

It happened years ago, around the time you'd first gotten together. This was before Alfie was even able to grow a beard, and all his kisses resulted in a scratchy scruff that prickled your face. Way back when boxing was still his main pastime instead of "baking", both kinds actually and these days your husband finally knew how to make a decent muffin. In an effort to be romantic, he'd shown up at your work one day with a nice bouquet of roses. They were lovely flowers and you were immensely elated by the gesture, and especially amused since he'd bought the flowers from that very shop only the day before too.... However it was a shame you never got the chance to put them in water. See, somewhere between the ten steps it took to get from the door to your table, he had tripped and fallen flat on the ground. Don't worry, his face hadn't hit the hard ground, it was cushioned....by the thorny roses. Maybe it was a good thing the thorns had left so many bloody scratches. It meant you weren't able to tell his face had turned as red as the roses petals now surrounding him. Instead of the romantic date he wanted to take you on, the evening was spent with you dapping the cuts on his face with a damp cloth while he started at the wall, contemplating every life choice he'd ever made. That was the night Alfred Solomons decided he'd never trust a rose ever again. Not even the ones his darling wife sought to plant in her gardens.

"Alfie, come on! Roses aren't that bad, just because you had a little slip up years ago doesn't mean they all hate you."

Standing by up again, you held out your arms towards Alfie as music began to reach the garden. Shaking his head lightly, he set down his cane and took your arms, fully confident you'd be there to support him if his hip got too bad. You and Alfie had yet to dance tonight, caught up talking with others (which was really just your doing) and pointing out everyone who'd gotten too drunk and was trying piss in the plants. It wasn't something either of your minded to badly, the large crowds of people tended to make you feel a bit nervous and Alfie occasionally had a hard time keeping rhythm because of his hip. So most of your dancing was done in the back corners of the ballroom or privately in your kitchen, waiting for the midnight snacks to be done. 

However tonight, it seems you'd be dancing in Thomas Shelby's garden. Slowly but happily, you waltzed closely with your husband, stepping around the fountain and laughing as he stopped to twirl you ever few seconds. Other than the music from the house and the gentle crunches  of your shoes beneath the gravel path, the world was silent. When the song ended your husband gave you a gentle kiss and stepped back, though he was still holding you in his arms. Looking up above yourselves, you saw the constellations fitting the night sky.

"Ohh Alfie! Look at them! Aren't they beautiful?"

Beaming, you grinned up at the stars twinkling down on you before moving from your husband to a smaller empty plot of ground. You suspected that something was to be planted there soon, but paid no mind to the grime that would get on your skirt as you settled down to sit in the dirt. It was a nice little spot, right next to the rocky path and dug out in a manner that was lined on three sides by tall hedges. To anyone looking out if the mansion, the little alcove would have been completely invisible. 

"What are ya doing now Dovey? Is this the thing you said we shouldn't be doing?" Alfie teased you from where he was still standing.

"I just wanna sit and watch the stars for a bit. Come," remaining seated you patted the spot next to you, "Join me."

Alfie walked over to the spot but when he got there, he only raised an eyebrow at you and tapped his hip with the cane. You stared for a moment and then it clicked. Laughing slightly at your forgetfulness, you stood up, bowing dramatically, and held out your arm. 

"Right right, I forget you have the hip of an overworked, ninety seven year old parlor dancer. Shall I assist you to the ground my dear sir?"

Alfie only grumbled, but his eyes twinkled as you teased him. If anyone else had made the comment they'd have been dead before they blinked, but you were different. Alfred Solomons was capable of many things, but some nights when his hip got bad, he needed help moving around more, especially if it meant going from standing to sitting on the ground. You were happy to help of course, but being married for over a decade didn't mean the pair of you were above lightly poking fun of the other. Only two years ago, you had accidentally scratched part of your eye and needed to wear an eyepatch for five weeks. The first thing Alfie had done when you walked out of the examination room and asked if he could get food for dinner, was reply with "does patchy wanted a cracker" in reference to the one eyed parrot you'd seen in a film the month before. It was just something you'd always done together even before you started dating. A dark humor you both shared, as if joking about the hurt could make it better. 

Holding his other arm, you gently helped your husband lower himself to the ground, squeezing his hand comfortingly when he let out a small groan. After helping your husband take a seat, you settled into your own again, leaning your head on his shoulder as you looked to the heavens. 

"You aren't really gonna plant roses are ya Love? What if something happens to them?"

"Like what? You assault them with your face again?"

"....Maybe? But like why do you really enjoy them? I still don't see the charm."

Sighing, you shifted your gaze and looked your husband in the eyes.  One of your hands moved up to his face, as you gently caresses the one spot on his face that refused to grow hair like the rest of his beard. You knew it was another old war wound, but this was actually one he had yet to tell you the story of. Gazing into his eyes a few moments more, you then changed positions so you were seated across his lap, one leg in either side of his.

"Why do I love roses?....Their petals are as soft as their thorns are sharp and given the right hand, their climb up any wall in their path. Not only that but their petals can have many uses for food or paint or even my blush. That means they are able to change their usefulness based off their situation at hand. They are able to adapt, nor are the helpless. Some people say the point of the thorns is to choke out anything else threatening to take the roses' livelihood." you gently held your husbands face between your hands as you continued, "I like roses because they remind me of you Alfie. Because they are beautiful, and strong, and dangerous. You are a gorgeous and strong man, and I know how badly you try to protect me every day. You are so kind to me, but I know how far you'll go for me. I would go just as far for you. You are my rose Alfred Solomons and so I love them as all they remind me of you."

Alfie was quiet for a moment, observing what you'd said. His hands sat on your waist, thumbs rubbing gently in your sides. 

"You saying I'm like a fucking flower Dovey, is that it?"

"Yeah, you're my flower though."

"....Alright."

"....You know why else you're like a rose love?"

"Why poppet?"

"Because it can be a pain in the ass to keep you alive sometimes."

Alfie only put his hand to his chest in mock offense, while your grinned up at him mischievously.

"Oi, now you better watch your words there Dovey."

"Make me Rosie," you whispered, grinning as your leaned closer to your husbands face, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw.

Gently Alfie leaned back, taking you with him until his back was on the ground. Hands, still on his face, you could feel the smile on his face. Slowly one of his hands moved to your head bringing you down so he could kiss you again. Sweet at first but it quickly increased in passion and vigor. Though eventually you had to pull back for breath, and it was then you realized his hands had already rearranged your skirts in a way overnight you both.

"Alfred? I know we can't do this out here?"

Your husband only laughed, reaching towards his belt as he pulled you close again.

"Slide down a bit farther and I think you'll see we definitely can Dovey. It's only a matter of being quiet enough to evade capture."

It was a nice little spot, right next to the rocky path and dug out in a manner that was lined on three sides by tall hedges. To anyone looking out if the mansion, the little alcove would have been completely invisible. And luckily, the music was loud enough to hide the sounds of rustling bushes...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It wasn't until the next morning when you realized what went wrong...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After making it back to the house last night and finding half the dog food "mysteriously missing", the pair of you had decided to call it a night. And since business was going so well Alfie had elected to take a few days off, hoping to spend more time with you. It also meant he'd finally be able to sleep in.....or so he thought.

A sudden crash woke Alfie from his slumber the next morning. 

Shooting up, he automatically looked to his right, and his heart stopped for a moment realizing you weren't there. Another clatter from downstairs and a frustrated scream from you had him practically jumping out of bed and grabbing his gun. You usually like staying in bed for a few more hours, especially when he was there, so the fact he could hear your distress from upstairs made him worry. 

Carefully Alfie snuck down the hall, peaking in rooms to make sure no unsavory figures were lurking behind the door. Another annoyed groan accompanied by various curse words hurried him to his final destination. 

"Love, are you alright?"

It was a stupid thing to ask as you were very much not alright. The kitchen was a mess, looking like every cabinet had been opened and all the contents pulled out. Pots and bass were laud hurriedly across the counters as you rummaged through every nook and cranny. A quickly glance into the living room told Alfie it was scattered in a similar state. But you hadn't responded to your husband, not the first time or even the second. It wasn't until Alfie stepped right up behind you, putting his hand on your shoulder, and turning your around to face him when you responded.

"I can't find it."

Your voice wavered as you admitted the truth. Looking down like a small child about to be told off, you averted your face from your husband's. Alfie was still confused, but he could tell whatever you were rallying about was obviously important.

"Can't find what Dovey? Whatever it is it's probably isn't too bad. I can help ya find it righty?"

"No Alfie you don't undertstand."

"Then help me understand Love. Let's get through this together like we always have yeah? Come on, tell your husband what we're looking for." Carefully cupping your face in his hands, Alfie guided you to look at him again. He could see the tears welling in your eyes as you spoke.

"....I.....I lost my wedding ring Alfie."

"Oh."

It was the simple oh that broke the dam. Stepping back from your husband, tears began to stream down your face as you shoved your fingers in you hair as if trying to hold in the stress.

"SEE I told you it was terrible. I...I woke up this morning and went to the bathroom and noticed it missing when I went to clean my hands. I figured I'd just taken it off la... last night but it wasn't by the bed table like I usually put it. Then I went through the bathroom and it wasn't there. I've gone through every room in this hours and I can't fucking find it!!! I don't ....I don't know where it is Alfie. I just... oh god." 

Covering you mouth with your hand, you realized where you lost the ring. 

"Alfie the fucking garden."

"The garden? Love you haven't made the garden yet, how could it be there?"

"No, TOMMY'S garden. It has to be there. It fell off last night when we were rolling in the dirt. I've been meaning by to get it resized. Oh fuck this is awful"

Alfie actually chuckled at your realization. Of course the ring would fall off in the most inconvenient place possible, but he wasn't about to tell you that.

"Thats alright Dovey we can just..."

Throwing your hands in the air you interrupted your husband, frustrated at yourself for a number of reasons. It stung Alfie's heart to see you like this. Carefully he dragged your hands from your face and pulled you into a hug. Soothingly his hands ran up and down your back as he tried to comfort you.

"We can just what Alfred? Waltz back over and demand he let us dig up the plants for it? He'd probably ask why and what are we suppose to say then huh Alfred? Oh you know, we lost it in the garden you see...Well what were you doing there Y/N? ...Nothing much just fertilizing the soil, pollinating the flower, playing like the rake and ho, rustling the bushes, sowing seed in the garden, FUCKING IN THE FLOWERBEDS!!!! No we can't do that Alfie we just can't! It's probably gone forever... I'm so sorry."

Alfie was the one to hide his face this time. He knew you were in distress but he was amused by one of your last sentences. You always were good with the innuendos. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he tried to get you to calm down. He knew at this point you weren't so mad about the ring, as just overwhelmed by the lack of success you'd had in finding it.

"Yes love, we can tell him all those things and if he'd got any sort of romantic bone in his tiny, banged up little body he'd offer us shovels to dig if we need them. And if not then I'd wager every deal I'd ever have with his lot is out the fucking window isn't it. We've been married since before the little one of them was teething haven't we? It's not like they don't think we're fucking. Besides it's a decent fucking garden, Tommy should have know what he was doing when he made that little hidey spot didn't he? It'll be fine. And if I find it then I'll get to propose to you all over again won't I? I think if I got one wish left in the word it would be to do that again. Ask if you'd be mine forever and let you know I'll always be there. Love I promise. It's alright Dovey, it's ok. No need to get worked up about it's not such a big deal."

Thought he was trying to help, his last sentence only made things worse. Stepping pack from Alfie you threw your hands up again.

"IT IS OUR MARRIAGE ALFIE! And I've practically lost it like it means nothing at all! How can you say that!"

There it was. The really reason you were so worked up. Not because you'd lost the little ring. It was because somewhere in your mind, over the years you'd been together, you'd gotten the idea that if you didn't have it on your were almost betraying everything you held dear. As if you thought without the ring, all the vows you'd mad together were nil. Alfie couldn't help but laugh at that. He laughed hard too, like you'd told the funniest joke in their world. 

"You think that ring is our marriage?"

Stepping closer again Alfie took your arms and pulled you closer.

"Our marriage is so much more than that fucking ring love," he said, cupping your face between his hands again. "Our marriage is me stealing Ollie's shirt before every lunch date because his is cleaner than mine and wanna look my best for the best, that's you by the way. It's you grinning at me through the glass window at fuck O'clock in then morning when I've taken the dog out for a piss since you thought it'd be funny to lock me out in the cold in my fucking skeevies again. It's me paying a fuck ton of money to the flower shop down the street so you could get a rose every week I was away fighting. It's you spending hours patching me up after I had a bad fight even though blood makes you gag yeah. When you refuse to give me dinner until I give you a kiss and when I won't give you a gift until I've gotten a hug? Sharing a bath after a hard day? That's our marriage. You interrupting my meeting because you're so excited to show me a new book? Me interrupting your book club because I've just gotten back from a business trip? You demanding I come to bed and cuddle up, only to shove me off of you later when you're too hot? Me tightening jars in the pantry so you have to get me to open them? Making fun of each other's injuries, patchy? Don't you see it? You. Me. You. Me. You. Me. WE."

"Alfie..." You couldn't help but smile at your husband's words realizing he was right.

"Dovey, It isn't defined by a thin piece of metal with a tiny fucking stone that I stole off a rich toff at a boxing match one day. Our marriage is YOU and ME and every little moment in between. And I promise it's always gonna be just that. And do you know why that is Treacle?"

Alfie had moved his hands again, now resting them on your hips. Gazing at you lovingly he waited for your answer.

"Why Ally?"

"Because I'm your flower remember? I'm your fucking rose.... and you're fucking my sunshine, Dovey. I have no chance of living without you."

Wrapping your arms around your husband, you buried your face into his neck. Losing the ring you'd worn almost every day for years didn't seem so criminal anymore. 

"Alfred Solomons when did you learn to say something so romantic."

Your husband only chuckled as he step away, grabbing some of the boxes you'd pulled out in your panic. 

"A master never reveals his secrets Dovey. Now come on. Let's clean this up and then we'll go get you a new ring eh? Wouldn't want any gangly miscreant thinking they've got a chance with you would we?"

Looking at the damage you'd done, you couldn't but sigh, maybe it would have been better to wake your husband immediately before diving head first into your expedition. Now you were kicking yourself since you'd just redone all the work you'd don't last week reorganizing every thing.

"I'm not sure the jewellery shop will still be open today by the time we finish Alfred. I'm not even sure we'll be able to finish this in a week with the mess I've made."

Your husband just bonked you lightly with the broom he handed you and nudged you in the direction of the living room.

"That's alright Dovey. Because unless you've got some nefarious little plans I haven't heard of to steal my dog and run off, I don't think either of us is going anywhere anytime soon aren't we?"

You could only smile and kiss him on the cheek.

"I suppose you're right. We've got all the time in the world...."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two years later...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Shelby, I want my dog."

The Shelby in question turned around, eyeing the woman before him. He knew this day would come. Only he expected it to be sooner, a few days, maybe even a week later...but now it was four months. Four months since he....despite his feelings towards the man, Tommy couldn't help but feel slight regrets for what he'd done. Especially seeing the state of her now, standing in his garden.

"He's just gone on a walk with Charlie and Finn. They should be back in an hour or so."

"I'll wait... I see you filled in that empty plot of ground. They're lovely flowers, I don't remember them being there two winters ago."

Tommy averted his gaze to the bushes you were pointing at. Indeed the small alcove where you'd hidden with your husband had been filled. In its place grew a thick rose bush, blooming with life. You smiled, and to anyone else, they might have thought your look truthful. And some of it was, thinking of the happy memories connected there. But Tommy could see deeper than that. Behind the smile he could see the same pain he had when he looked in mirrors. The pain that came from losing the thing you loved most. For as different as you both were, he knew the tactic you played, though the mask you wore was much brighter than his. And for now he decided he could respect that. He could pretend just for a moment, if only to help you. It was the least he could do, seeing as he was the reason you wore it... He was the one to pull the trigger.

"You're right. The gardener put them in almost two years ago, right after the party where Arthur and Finn tossed Michael into the lake. Do you remember that one? I saw you talking to my sister but never saw you leave that night."

A genuine chuckle left your mouth hearing his words. You played with the ring on your left hand. Only two years old and very expensive, but in that moment, it felt like you were wearing another ring again. One that was much older and worn, that you hadn't seen in years. 

"I do. That was certainly a night I'll remember forever. It's a shame you got rid of that little alcove. It was a nice little spot away from the world wasn't it."

Tommy could only nod and take another drag of his cigarette.

"Did Alfie ever tell you about the first and last time he gave me roses in person. I mean, of course he probably didn't and I'll have to tell you sometime, but I think you might find it funny. There's a lot about him I'm sure he hasn't told you. But then again, knowing him there's probably a lot he did..." You trailed off, staring at the flowers a bit longer, remembering that day over a decade ago, not really meaning to tell Tommy that, doing so anyway. After all, no one had heard from you in months, so it made sense to him, that you'd be eager to talk to anyone. Even the man you should hate most in the world.

Silence descended on the pair standing tense in the garden. There was so much to be said, but neither knew where to start. Truthfully, you'd only talked to Tommy a handful of times, but he felt like he'd already known you like his sister. He couldn't help but scoff, thinking of all the times Alfie had gone off on a tangent about you during a meeting. Sometimes, your mention had nothing to do what was being discussed at all, Alfie just liked to brag about the good he had. In the end it was Tommy who spoke up first, the guilt of his past actions finally caving in on him.

"Y/N, I'm sor..."

"Don't. Thomas, I don't want you to say sorry," turning from the vibrant blooms, you faced the capped man. "I don't want you to say sorry, because you know what? I don't blame you. You're completely alright. I'm not mad at you.... It's my fault I suppose. I could have stopped it."

Tommy raised his eyebrow, curious to what you meant, and also concerned. There was something in your eyes that made his stomach turn slightly hearing those words. But he couldn't exactly place why.

"What's that suppose to mean Y/N?"

You only let out a bittersweet laugh and stared out into the garden again, sitting on the edge of a familiar fountain before you revealed the truth.

"It's my fault he's gone I think. I should have known. I should have never left that day and I could have stopped it."

Tommy's brows furrowed as he sat down next to you. 

"What's that mean? You couldn't have known what his plan was? It's not your fault."

Absentmindedly, you picked at the leaves of a nearby bush. Though your voice was even, Tommy could practically see the war inside your head.

"It's how he kissed me when I left that day. I was only going to be gone a few days to visit my friend who was suppose to have her baby soon. Nothing dangerous. But it's the way he kissed me that should have tipped me off. He kissed me the way he did when he got on the damed train, in that damned uniform. He kissed me like he didn't think he'd see me ever again, going to die in the war. And I guess he didn't."

Tommy didn't say anything. He just let you continue. Something in his head told him, he needed to let your speak, he needed to keep you here tonight. If he let you leave today, no one would ever see you again and something in Tommy told him not to let that happen.

"You know I still haven't admitted it to myself just yet... The truth," standing up you began to pace around the fountain, circling the water. "Since I first got the call I haven't picked up the phone anymore, I'm scared of what I'll hear. I haven't opened any letters, because I don't want to see what they'll say. I still haven't even gone home yet. I've been paying for a hotel room by my friend's house and only leaving by when I need more food. I know it not good for me, but it's all I can find I can do. I've been telling myself it's just that. He's gone to the war again and he'll be back in a few months." Though you spoke with a smile as if talking about the weather, it was easy to see the pain in your eyes. You thought denying the truth would make the hurt go away. But it wouldn't, Tommy knew it was only a matter of time before you broke. And like with Cyril, he felt like he was the one who needed to help. So he decided to play along for now, letting you keep your act up. Atleast until he could figure out the best way to fix the mess he still felt he'd made.

"You tell yourself it's the war eh? Do you write him letters."

"Yes, I write him one almost every day. But I haven't sent any. Did you know that I was rarely able to send them to him during the war. Something about his post being secretive, and no one should know where it really was. So I'd just... write a letter everyday and when I got a letter that his squad was resting at a safe camp every few months I'd just send the packet of them.... If I was lucky I'd get one back, but most of the time I just had to wait. I learned a lot about waiting then. I learned it was better to laugh too. Laughing helped me stay sane."

Standing up, Tommy began walking with you as you stepped deeper into the gardens.

"Laughing eh? Well I guess it's better than what I did. Almost drunk myself to the grave and then fucked off in a caravan with my son for a month. Seems you're handling it better than me."

You could only scoff at his response.

"Oh don't worry, there's been plenty of drinks for me too. I'm a happy drunk though, so I guess it helps my plan. After all, as long as I'm laughing, I don't have time to cry. I don't think I'll be able to stop crying the day I begin. So I'm just trying to hold off as long as I can."

"Aren't we all."

Silence fell in the garden again, and the two widowed souls walked back to the house. It was starting to get back and Tommy had noticed Finn's car pull up a few minutes ago. When you reached the back door you were met with a fluffy beast knocking you over as soon he'd caught sight of you. Cyril was happy to have at least one of his masters back. The man taking care of his now treated him well, but he still missed life with his old owners, even if he couldn't express it in words. 

While you reunited with Cyril and applauded Charlie on the tricks he taught the dog, Tommy went to gather some of Cyril's things and have Francis prepare a room for you. Tommy had no clue where you'd take the dog, but seeing as you seemed adamant about staying away from Margret, and apparently didn't despise Tommy (somehow), he thought it made sense to let you stay the night for a bit. And something still told him to convince you to stay even if just for one day.

On his was back down the stairs he noticed something sitting on the table and there was a click in his brain. He remembered the curiosity brought to him that morning during breakfast, and suddenly a lot of odd business meetings made sense. He finally realized who'd messed up the empty dirt patch that night two years ago. Grabbing the object off the table, Tommy headed back to the drawing room. Inside you were still petting your beloved dog, even though Finn had taken Charlie to get ready for bed. 

"Y/N, I went up to grab some of Cyril's things, but I think it may be better for you to spend the night here. It's getting late and I don't think either of us wants the dog getting hurt if you were to crash."

You laughed gently at his words, not caring to ask about the hand behind his back. Not thinking much about his words, you accepted his offer. You knew you should be mad at him, hate him, even what to kill him, but you couldn't. You were too tried to be mad at anyone right now. Besides, it wasn't like you knew where you were going anyway. You just wanted to see your...his dog again. Maybe if you had that little piece left, it would make it easier to move on. It would make it easier to pretend you weren't alone now.

"Alright. I'll stay. But only so Charlie can give Cyril a proper goodbye. I'd hate to tear them apart, it seems they've made close friends."

"They have," Tommy smiled, genuinely happy thinking of how closely his son had bonded with the dog. "Cyril's stuff is in Charlie's room now infact. They've taken such a liking, I can't keep them apart. We can get his stuff tomorrow, but I do have one thing I think you may want now."

You looked towards the Shelby man curious. "What is it?," you questioned.

Silently Tommy extended his hand to give you the object he'd snagged from the table.

It was a single rose... But something was different about it. The stem seemed to have grabbed something buried within the dirt to take along as it began to grow. Twisting and turning all the way out of the dirt, outwards towards the sun, as if offering the shiny object up. An ages old promise from the rose to the sun of an endless truth, never broken even in death...

The rose was offering his sun a ring.

And not just any ring. A wedding ring. Simple and worn, it had been stolen off a rich toff from a boxing match many years ago. It had survived work and war, seen blood and lust, and so many other things. And while the ring didn't define the marriage it represented a promise you thought you'd never see again. But here now, seeing how tightly the rose stem had grown around it, you knew you'd never have to worry about that again. Not even death could stop the love the rose proposed to his sun. Even in death he'd still offer her life.

You couldn't even take the rose from Tommy's hand before you finally broke. Laughing at the irony, Tears streamed down your face as you sunk to your knees, all the pain you'd been bottling up coming out. And thus you sobbed, hard. So hard in fact, it felt like you couldn't breathe. And you sobs were still mixed with laughter of disbelief as a million memories ran through your head, but none as loud as the one of that night and the morning after. 

Two years ago you'd lost that ring. Alfie promised that he'd look multiple times whenever he went back to the house, even if it meant having the meeting in the garden like "a bunch of prissy ladies at a fucking tea party" as he'd called it. And for two years he'd had no luck until now. But today, your rose had finally found the lost ring, even if you'd lost him months ago. 

Setting the rose gently on the table, Tommy sunk to his knees too. Letting you grab onto him, for a shoulder to mourn on. He knew you needed it. For so long you'd shut yourself away, denying the truth and trying to act like it didn't affect you. You wanted to pretend your world wasn't falling apart and now you couldn't any more. He'd been he same way, except he didn't have anyone to help him. He couldn't burden his one year old son with his grief and he knew most of his family still resented Grace to some degree. They hadn't been as destroyed by her passing as he had. He didn't want you to be alone like he had. For as many terrible thing as Tommy had done, he couldn't bring it upon himself to leave you alone now. And so he sat on the floor, holding you in his arms as the cracked dam finally broke. 

That night, until the early hours of the morning, Thomas Shelby sat comforting the wife of the man he'd killed. And he would until she'd fallen asleep, finally worn out from her grieving. In the morning he'd offer breakfast and they'd get to talking about the loves they lost. They were still both hurt and broken and mourning what they'd lost, but they weren't alone now. For two people so different they both knew what the other felt so deeply. Little snippets and stories about happier times, while watching a little boy play with a big dog, laughing as the pair rolled in the grass. And while both still grieved, there was a peace to be found in being with someone who knew how they felt. 

And while they talked, Y/N played with the ring on her finger. It was new and expensive and fit just right. This one was only two years old and didn't have many memories but she loved it just the same. And upstairs by her bed sat another ring, but this one was held tightly by a rose she'd placed in a vase. This was the ring that she loved more, and the one she really wanted to wear, but she couldn't bear to tear it from the rose just yet. She didn't know if she'd ever be able to. Maybe she'd let the rose dry out and preserve it like she use to do someone's at the flower shop when she was young. But for now she's let it live as it was.

Holding on tightly to a promise that not even death could divide...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

While all this happened a mailman was headed towards Birmingham with a letter from a dead man, asking about his dog and looking for his wife....

[percheduphere]

Okay. First post trying to use gifs properly. I've switched out improper gifs for these type for my last 3-4 posts. Gonna work on some more corrections tomorrow when I have time. Please let me know if I'm misstepping anywhere. Thanks for your patience! That said...

LET'S TALK ABOUT SYLVIE💕, INTERSECTIONAL FEMINISM (SYLVIE & LOKI)✊🏽, AND QUEER REPRESENTATION (LOKIUS)🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️!

SYLVIE

I'm rooting for Lokius, AND I also love how much Sylvie has forged a life for herself in S2. A lot of her development is implied, so I think it's worth looking at her growth outside the context of Loki himself: She found a job, locals know her by name, she has friends and acquaintances, she has hobbies!

People call her by name in her timeline on 4 occasions:

1. When the McDonald's shift manager (John) checks in on her after work. See the kid with the tie in the image below. I couldn't find any gifs of him visiting Sylvie at her truck. She asked him if his mom was gonna pick him up to make sure he was gonna be okay late at night. 🥹

2. When a customer picks up their McDonald's order and thanks her (cheerfully). Also note how many employee stars she had on her badge! Queen.

3. Lyle at the record store. They seem like really good friends, and I got the "beginnings of an attraction" vibe between the two of them. Unfortunately, the gifs below are the only ones I could find of him and I'm still searching for the source. His interaction with Sylvie before spaghetti-trauma was so sincere. He could tell she was down and offered her Velvet Underground. Come on, that's a solid move.

4. Eric at the bar, who comments 2 shots of bourbon is a good choice. Let me tell you, finding a gif of Eric was like finding a needle in a haystack, but here he is leaning close to Sylvie. Thank you, @zehiiro!

I tried to find more gifs of all the people Sylvie has in her life but couldn't find any, which is a darn shame because there are so many subtle cues she's built a support system on her own and she's thriving.

She's a regular at many places in her timeline, and when people greet her, they do so with a smile. She loves music, a hard drink, and punk fashion.

When she engages with Loki, she may come across as cold, but I honestly think she's being firm with her boundaries and true to her beliefs. The TVA threatened her life for centuries. I don't doubt setting foot in the building is traumatic for her, which may explain why she was more harsh than usually in S2E4. Her psychological defenses were all on overdrive. Yet when Sylvie's in her own timeline, far away from the TVA, she can be her real self. Turns out, her real self is pretty well-liked! (I'll talk about how this is mirrored in Loki soon).

INTERSECTIONAL FEMINISM

Sylvie's an unapologetically "selfish" woman who knows what she wants, wants it on her own, is doing it on her own, and isn't afraid to put her foot down when it comes to her personal boundaries. We should be applauding all of that!

This is exactly the kind of female representation we need, but the show did Sylvie a disservice in S1 by coming at her character as a love interest first (look at all the media promos classifying her as such) instead of more thoughtfully showing how badly she has been affected by the TVA and planting what her desires are throughout. If they had done this with more intention and finesse, her position in S2 wouldn't come off as completely irresponsible.

As a result of this apparent marketing and pre-production development decision, her perception as a character (by both lokius and sylki shippers) is muddled by the question of her relationship status with Loki. This truly isn't fair, most especially to Sophia Di Martino.

Of course, Sylvie isn't perfect. No well-written character should be. I just think she's cooler than she gets credit for precisely because her character arc doesn't require the fulfillment of a romance. She will be fine whether or not she ends up with Loki. It's very feminist!

Loki, in turn, found safety, belonging, and love at the TVA. All the things that are the complete opposite of Sylvie's lived experience. I often see fans complaining about how Loki is ooc in his own series.

The thing is, and Loki admits this himself: it's all part of an illusion.

This illusion started far before the first Thor movie. He comes from a hyper-masculine (dare I say toxic-masculine) warrior society. His true nature doesn't conform with this, so he has to overcompensate with some (genuinely awesome) bad assery.

BUT he doesn't like it.

As a comparison to a far lesser but more relatable degree: imagine putting on a customer service persona 24/7. UGH. It's just not sustainable without becoming increasingly angry and bitter, which is what Sacred Timeline Loki becomes. Mobius gets ahead of this.

In the series, Loki can finally TURN OFF that persona, and TURN IT ON again when it's needed (and fun!).

He also now has the freedom to be silly, expressive, and magical (unapologetically queer!) without anyone making fun of him for it.

The end result is a much calmer, happier, likable person (like Sylvie in her timeline, his defenses are no longer on overdrive!). Who shows him this is possible?

Here's the receipt:

QUEER REPRESENTATION

Sociopoliticaly, Loki and Mobius come from a different angle. A lot of men (cis, fluid, trans, or otherwise) struggle with the social expectation of burying feelings and never ever showing vulnerability, especially to another men. Now, some might argue that shipping men together perpetuates this construct. There's some truth to this, but only through the lens that it is shameful to be gay. In order to get to a point in society where there's no shame in being mistaken as gay (or queer, generally) when being affectionate with another man, there must be continuous positive representation of homosexual relationships in which the characters are not stereotypes. Loki and Mobius are exactly this, especially Mobius.

Whereas Loki, on Asgard, represents the openly queer oppressed (i.e. magic and cunning, qualities historically tied to witches or "immoral women" instead of brute strength), Mobius can represent the closeted repressed.

In S1, Mobius was much more uptight, rule-abiding, and just shy of holier-than-thou. The power structure in which he existed perpetuated this, until Loki reveals to him it was all a lie (an illusion).

In S2, he becomes more flexible, more fun-loving, and more expressive in his affection. In S1, most of his support of Loki manifested as words of affirmation. In S2, his support extended to physical touch and bonding. Mobius, if seen through the lens of a closeted man allegory, finds the courage (and partner) to slowly come out.

[linkspooky]

Any theories as to why Sukuna suddenly remembers Yorozu’s words looking at Gojo? Is he like suddenly having a “finally a worthy opponent” moment? Or is it actually about love?

While I don't think it is explicitly about romantic love, I think it is Sukuna having a premonition about Gojo fulfilling Yorozu's statement. That Gojo is the only person in the world that could understand the isolation that Sukuna feels as being the absolute peak of the sorcery world.

Which is why we get such tonal whiplash as Gojo supposedly fighting the final battle against Sukuna who is currently in his student's body, and yet despite what should be a high stakes situation Gojo and Sukuna are both palling around like they're buddies.

@ Lightning446 at twitter clarifies the translation of Sukuna remembering Yorozu's line in this tweet.

Yorozu clearly meant this statement in a romantic fashion. While her love is twisted, one-sided and played off mostly as a gag it's important to remember the thing which inspired her love was seeing Sukuna completely isolated while being worshipped by everyone.

Her love for him comes from a desire to provide him compansionship and remind him that he's not alone. Whether or not Sukuna actually feels lonely because of his position in the world, or if this is just a projection on Yorozu's part hasn't been revealed to us yet.

Despite Sukuna's importance in the story we don't get inside of his head a lot, and when we do he mainly talks about battle and fighting. When others refer to Sukuna they only talk about him as a calamity, or a force of nature.

Sukuna also doesn't seem to care much about relationships, his entire identity is formed around being the strongest, and he even says that if he were to lose he'd just be a corpse.

Yorozu herself seems to perceive that the only person that Sukuna would ever listen to or acknowledge is someone just as powerful as he is, which is why she tries to show her heart to him through battle. Sukuna does not care for the weak, and he doesn't live outside of the constant warfare between sorcerers so that's the only language he understands. Yorozu's desire was to win against Sukun to force him to try understanding her or seeing her as an individual, but it didn't work simply because she wasn't strong enough.

Which implies that the only person that Sukuna would ever treat like another human being, rather than food, or a servant like Ura Ume is someone equally as strong as him. Which Gojo has the potential to be. Sukuna even refers to everyone as food.

At the moment all he sees Gojo as is another meal to consume. He doesn't even consider him a fish, he's a nameless fish, because to Sukuna the individuality of other people does not matter. Sukuna is the ultimate ego, and in comparison to him everyone else may as well be faceless. However, I think saying Gojo can be the only one who teaches Sukuna about love comes from the fact that Gojo sort of views people the same way. He's not tyrannical like Sukuna, but he still views himself as someone standing above the crowd.

Gojo Satoru is in his element when he's alone. Gojo who when everyone around him is asked to describe him, all they say is "He's the strongest."

The only person that Gojo ever acknowledge in his entire life as an equal and called a friend was Geto, and that was also because Geto was the only person who could provide a challenge to him in a fight. Not only did he acknowledge Geto as a friend though, he also listened to him. Gojo developed a stronger moral thinking because he talked to Geto and learned to come and see things through his point of view especially the responsibility that Jujutsu Sorcerers have.

Gojo's not an innately good or bad person, he's formed and taught by the relationships he's had in his life, and Geto arguing against him and speaking with him helped him form a stronger moral identity and changed him as a person. As opposed to Sukuna who's never acknowledge anyone other than himself.

Does Sukuna crave companionship though?

That's the big question here, because Sukuna seems perfectly content on his throne, and to him losing to someone or being weaker than someone is the same as death.

In Gojo's case he clearly does crave companionship and admits this part about himself. His desire not to leave anyone alone again probably comes from two sources, number one his guilt he didn't reach Geto in time before his downfall, but also his feelings that Geto left him alone by choosing to side on an opposite side of the conflict and then eventually die. They were the strongest together, and without him Gojo is the strongest alone.

However, Shoko also points out that Gojo and Sukuna's shared belief that the only person in the world who could understand them and provide some kind of companionship for them is someone as equally strong as them is a false one.

Shoko was already there for Gojo all along, it's just Gojo ignored her. Gojo is so hung up on this idea of strength, that being strong makes him some kind of special person, too far above others to ever be understood that he doesn't even notice he's the one choosing to be alone. There are people in Gojo's life trying to support him and he either ignores them, or just doesn't let them be close.

He may trust Ijichi, but he also constantly bullies him and reminds him of how weak he is. Shoko is a constant companion but he acts like she's not his friend. Utahime is also someone he belittles constantly despite needing her help with things. Gojo is the source of his own isolation.

Which speaks to Gojo and Sukuna's shared ego. They're being a little buddy buddy while trying to kill each other, because they both have the same kind of egotistical belief that the only person who could understand them is someone just as strong.

Gojo and Sukuna may also be all ego, but they're both lacking in identity because of this choice to just not see anyone else as their equal. As I said your identity is influenced by the people you meet in your life and interact with on a daily basis. You know the contours of your soul by bumping up against others. So, Gojo who is in complete isolation who is he exactly? We know what he's capable of, we know his talent as a sorcerer, but do we know who he is?

For both of them, in order to be a person and have relationships with other people on equal footing they would have to let go of their title of being the strongest. So maybe that's the lesson. That as long as you're the strongest, you're always going to be alone because you have to be human to have relationships with other people. That the only way that Gojo and Sukuna could learn this lesson though, is to lose.

As a final note, it's possible Gege is trying to parallel the story of Gilgamesh and Enkidu. Gilgamesh is the king of Uruk who rules his city as a tyrant taking the first right to every wife. The citizens plea to a sky god for help, so they create a man out of the earth Enkidu to be a counterbalance to Gilgamesh.

When Enkidu hears that Gilgamesh takes brides on their wedding night, he goes to Uruk to challenge him. They wrestle each other to a standstill, and when Gilgamesh is his equal they becoem friends. Gilgamesh learns humblness through his relationship with Enkidu, and then when he dies he learns his own mortality. At which point he goes on a journey to find eternal life, only to lose both eternal life and eternal youth.

At the end of the story he returns to his city as a proper ruler. Sukuna is also someone who thinks he is a godlike person, and someone who tries to defy death and return to life a thousand years later. However, in his story he never was humbled, and never met an equal like Enkidu so Sukuna remains a tyrant.

While I doubt Sukuna is going to learn the meaning of love and friendship, he does provide an image of what Gojo could have been like if he had never met an equal in Geto. Which is a pretty scary picture all things considered.

[jobean12-blog]

You're not much used to dating apps--maybe you're old fashioned, but you'd always preferred meeting in person versus texting over a screen, but your therapist convinces you to give it a try. "Just swipe on a few people and chat. No committment, no problem, right?" Bucky is easy to talk to--he doesn't demand to meet up with you, assail you with unsolicited pictures of his genetalia. No, he seems happy just to chat and get to know you, which is perfect.

Exactly what you need.

😈

Private Eyes

Pairing: Soft!Dark!Bucky x reader

Word Count: 1,500 (Yes, exactly that because I'm insane)

Summary: You're finally going on a date with the hot guy you've been talking to for weeks. You're nervous but excited. He seems genuinely sweet and even a little shy. What could possibly go wrong?

Author's Note: I finally got this done! I'm sorry for how long it too but it's my first ever attempt at soft!dark! Not sure how dark it really went but I will keep working on these type of fics! This is for the lovely @boxofbonesfic Monkey's Paw Challenge and her amazing milestone celebration! Congratulations lovely, you rock! Thank you for hosting and for having me! Hugs and love!💕 Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by my sweet @firefly-graphics thank you lovely🥰 And I was listening to Hall and Oates 'Private Eyes' when I thought of this. I want to thank my love @sgt-seabass for helping me develop this and really get it where it needed to be, as always, I love and thank you for your brain! And thank you to my sweet Ali @maladaptivexxdaydreaming for supporting me the whole way! Love you both!💕

Warnings: fluffy sweetness to start, some tension, thoughts of kidnapping and stalkerish behavior, implied choking (if I missed anything please let me know :) 18+ ONLY PLEASE!!!

Gif NOT MINE: Credit goes to @unearthlydust thanks a bunch sweets🥰

“Ok, so I have the name of the restaurant and you said your phone is fully charged right?”

Your best friend, Rachel, eyes you from the bed, watching as you check your reflection in the mirror and smooth your hands over your hips.

“Yes and yes,” you answer.

“What if he asks you back to his place?” she inquires, raising a brow.

You turn her way, narrowing your eyes. “I haven’t decided yet. I mean we’ve been talking for weeks and we’ve done face time and talked on the phone, all that. I feel like we know each other pretty well. And remember…”

Before you can finish the sentence she chimes in with, “no dick pics!”

“Exactly,” you smile.

“Well, he better be as hot as he looks in the pictures you showed me,” Rachel huffs even as she dramatically fans herself.

“Yea well let’s hope not otherwise saying no to him is going to be hard,” you giggle.

“Are you wearing something sexy under there?” she asks, the corner of her mouth twitching with a grin.

“Maybe…now, I need to leave or I’ll be late,” you say, grabbing your bag.

“DON’T FORGET TO TEXT!” she yells. “I’ll lock up when I leave.”

“Thanks Rach!”

You stand outside the restaurant, happy you’re a few minutes early and have a chance to try and calm the butterflies in your stomach. You’re just reaching to get your phone from your bag when a smooth and familiar voice says, “hey doll.”

When you look up it’s into the same blue eyes you’ve been staring at on video chat and in pictures.

“Hi Bucky,” you say, hoping you don’t sound too breathless. He looks better in person, which you didn’t think was possible.

“You look gorgeous,” he whispers, clearly trying but failing to keep his eyes on yours, his own making a slow perusal from your head to your toes.

He clears his throat, running a nervous hand through his hair. It only makes it look better.

“I have to admit,” he says quietly, now rubbing the back of his head, “I was worried you might not show.”

His feet shift and when his hand drops to his jeans you notice he tries to discreetly wipe his palm along the material.

His nervousness is endearing and you place a reassuring hand on his arm.

“I’ve been looking forward to this,” you explain, “but I get it. I’m nervous too.”

He gives you a grateful smile and reaches for the door, holding it open for you to walk through, his eyes closing as he inhales deeply when you brush past him.

Once you’re seated and you have your drinks the conversation flows easily, any initial anxiety melting away the more time you spend in his company. He’s sweet and a little shy which only makes you like him more.

He keeps the focus on you, asking the right questions but never pushing too far and when you finally switch gears and ask about him, he’s open and honest.

You notice the leather glove covering his left hand and you gently lay your fingers over his.

“You don’t need to wear this for me,” you tell him, smiling sweetly.

He closes his hand around yours and gives it a squeeze.

“Thanks doll face. I appreciate that. I’m just so used to having it on when I’m out in public.”

You nod in understanding.

“Do you want to get dessert?” he asks. “Or…”

“Or?” you repeat, with a smirk.

“You already know how I enjoy cooking and baking,” he starts, continuing after you smile in acknowledgement. “Well, I don’t want to come off as presumptuous but I did bake something especially for you in case you agreed to come hang with me after dinner.”

His lopsided smile and the light tinge of pink dusting his cheeks is all you need to agree to it.

“That sounds really nice. I want to know what you made!” you laugh.

“Nah…surprises are more fun doll.”

He gives you a wink and it sets the butterflies that have finally settled in your stomach all aflutter again.

After paying for the check, he pulls out your chair and presses his hand to your lower back, leading you out of the restaurant and into the chill night air. You subconsciously rub your hands over your arms.

Before you can protest he starts to shrug off his light jacket. He stands in front of you, reaching up to brush his fingers across your shoulder and adjust the fallen strap of your dress before he lays the jacket over you.

You can’t stop the way your body trembles at his touch and when he lingers in your space, his eyes dropping to your lips you can barely get out your breathy “thank you.”

A loud group of people bustle by and effectively snap you both out of the moment, but not before he stares at you for another beat, his gaze heated as his tongue traces his lips.

Your eyes follow the motion and you swallow hard.

“Ready?” he asks as he lets out a breath.

Not trusting yourself to speak you simply nod and smile.

“We can grab a cab to my place. It’s not even a ten-minute ride.”

Helping you out of the cab, he pays the driver and takes your hand.

“I’m on the third floor,” he says as he presses the button for the elevator.

The ride up to his floor is quiet, the side of his body pressed to yours as the tension settling between you increases.

“Something to drink?” he asks, after he drops his keys by the door.

“More wine would be great,” you say as you take in his apartment.

“I have prosecco,” he smiles. “That’s what you like best right?”

You pause and study him. “Did I tell you that?” you ask, trying to recall when you would have mentioned it.

He shrugs with indifference. “I thought I remember you telling me after you had gone out with friends and you text me. You might have been a little tipsy.”

His smile is bright and playful.

The tension that unconsciously tightened your shoulders eases and you giggle. “That sounds about right!”

“Ready to try my special dessert?”

He holds up a plate of chocolate brownies, topped with a fudgy like frosting and sprinkles.

“Wow, those look so good! I love brownies!”

“I know,” he says, clearly proud of himself. “We talk enough about food and we definitely went over favorite desserts.”

In two short strides he’s pressing into your space, holding a brownie up to your lips.

“Wanna give it a try doll face?”

You part your lips and lean forward, biting into the gooey chocolate. Your eyelashes flutter against your cheeks and you let out a low moan.

“Wow Bucky,” you breathe. “So good.”

His thumb reaches up to wipe a crumb from the corner of your mouth and he spreads his fingers across your cheek, pulling you closer.

“I’m glad you’re happy with them,” he murmurs. “I can make them anytime you want.”

Your fingers close around his wrist and you lean into his touch.

“Can I have more?” you ask.

He feeds you another bite, watching your mouth as you savor the sweet treat. His eyes drop to your lips again and you feel yourself leaning forward but your phone dings with a message.

“Shit,” you mutter. “I should check that. Rachel might be worried.”

“It can wait,” he murmurs, brushing his lips along yours.

Your breath hitches and your eyes close, his hands settling at your waist to pull you closer. The kiss is soft at first but when the whimper slips past your lips he parts them with his tongue, the feel of him like a drug.

He walks you backward, his hands wandering over all your exposed skin. It isn’t until your back softly bumps the wall that you pull away, your head dizzy.

You realize you’re in his bedroom…but something is off. You look around, taking it the placement of the furniture and even the furniture itself, the bedspread, the color of the walls, and then your eyes land on something on the bed.

Your body stiffens and your eyes go wide.

“My wolf, my…my,” you gasp. “How did…?”

You try to back away but there’s no where for you to go. He grabs your arms and holds you against him.

“What’s that doll?” he whispers against your ear.

You let out a shuddering breath. “I don’t understand.”  

“You will…in time,” he says, his tone almost excited. “All the comforts of home.”

“Please,” you cry even as your breath hitches at the feel of his metal hand ghosting across your skin.

Your body betrays you and he knows it, the feel of him hard and straining making you clench around nothingness.

“As long as you behave and do as you’re told you’ll be happy and I’ll keep you safe,” he promises as his cold fingers tighten around your neck.

@book-dragon-13 @christywantspizza @dreamlessinparis @goldylions @hiddles-and-skittles @hiddles-rose @jhangelface0523 @loricamebackyetagain @nano--raptor @randomfandompenguin @rebel-stardust @loki-laufeyson-1054 @lookiamtrying @weekendgothgirl @breakablebarnes @seitmai @justile @whippoorwillbarnes @peaches1958

[nicoline1998enilocin]

Expanding the family

PAIRING | Retired!Steve Rogers x Daycare Owner!Female!Reader

WORD COUNT | 2.1K

SUMMARY | You and Steve have been enjoying a beautiful life together ever since Steve retired from is post as Captain America and an Avenger. Now that you have more free time on your hands, it's the perfect time to add a furry friend to the family you've built together.

WARNING(S) | This is your official trigger warning. Do not proceed if any of these topics upset you. Implied sex, mention of threesomes, mention of infertility, unfulfilled wish for children, mentions of animal abuse (non-explicit).

Likes and reblogs will be very much appreciated 💜

Main Masterlist | Steve Rogers Masterlist

Both you and Steve have been loving your life since he retired from the Avengers. The first thing both of you did when it was finally time is travel all across the world, and the both of you were gone for a good year and a half, visiting every continent available and seeing as many countries as possible, all while being wrapped up in nothing but each other. The both of you had lots of sexual encounters in every single country you visited, either having sex outside, in non-conventional places, enjoying occasional threesomes, or everything you could think of, you've shared in those countries, making unforgettable memories.

And now that you're back, you've built your own dream life together, which started with buying your own house. After many discussions, you've decided to buy a beautiful brownstone in Brooklyn, not far from where Steve grew up to honor that lifelong dream of his. You also managed to live your dream by starting your daycare. And today, you're going to welcome a new arrival to your very own daycare, in the form of little Lily Barnes, Bucky's daughter. He is a single dad after the mother of his daughter abandoned her right after giving birth, so he's eternally grateful for the fact that you were willing to make room in your daycare.

''I'll see you tonight Bubba, I'm closing the daycare myself today, so I'm going to be late for dinner,'' you tell Steve, and even though he doesn't have to wait for you to get home, he does every single time. ''Have a good today Pumpkin, and tell Bucky hi from me when you see him!'' he says with a smile, and he snakes his hand around your waist to pull you closer for a kiss. ''I love you so much, my little Pumpkin,'' he says and he leans in for a soft, passionate kiss. You could get lost in his kisses forever, but right now you had a daycare to open. ''I love you more, Bubba,'' you say as you pull away from him. Steve handed you your lunch, since he was home a lot more than you, he always insists on making your lunch to ensure you eat enough during the day.

You walk out of the door and open your car with a push on the fob, and you quickly get in for your drive, you were trying to avoid most of the traffic on your way to the daycare and the universe was nice to you today. You pull into the parking lot attached to the daycare and you get out to get ready for the day, and this time two of your staff members were already waiting for you. ''Good morning girls!'' you said to Jess and Scarlett, the other 4 members of staff working today would arrive later. ''Mornin' Y/N!'' they said in a chorus before you opened the door and let both of them in. ''We have a new addition to the daycare today, and she will be in your class, Scarlett,'' you told her.

''Her name is Lily Barnes, and before you ask, yes she is the daughter of Bucky Barnes. He's a great friend of mine of Steve's, so I expect that everyone treats him with the same respect as you would every other parent,'' you said to them, already knowing what they were thinking. ''Bucky will bring her by around 10 AM, but I'm going to give him a tour first before he will bring her to your class,'' you told her and she smiled at you, clearly not too happy about having the Winter Soldier's daughter in her class. Both of them got their classes ready and starting at 8 AM, the first parents are dropping off the first children of the day. You got everything ready for when Bucky would arrive.

When 10 AM rolled around, you got a call from Bucky, and you immediately got worried. ''Hi Buck, everything okay?'' you ask, and you hear an out-of-breath Bucky on the other side. ''Yeah, no, we're on our way! Sorry we're late!'' he said and you told him not to worry about it, he could text you when he arrived, and he did. He was half an hour later than planned, but you didn't mind, you were well aware of how hectic the life of an Avenger could be. ''Mornin' Buck, morning' Lily!'' you said when you saw the little girl with her bright blue eyes and dark brown curls. ''How are you two doing today?'' before pulling Bucky in for a hug, which he looked like he could use by now.

''We're doing better now, but I overslept, got home late last night from a mission,'' Bucky told you and you completely understood, you've been with Steve long enough to know how these days can go. ''Alright, I will give you the tour and afterward, you can leave this little beauty with us for the day,'' you say as you take a look at Lily, who has put her head on her dad's shoulder, trying to hide herself out of shyness. ''Oh, you don't have to hide for Y/N, malyshka,'' he tells Lily. She opens one eye and takes you in, giving you a small smile before hiding again. ''It's okay, it's a big day after all,'' you say before starting with the tour, and ending at the class where Scarlett is.

''Scarlett, can I borrow you for a minute? Nina is here to look after the kids and I would like you to meet both Lily and Bucky,'' you tell her and she follows you to the hallway, albeit a bit reluctantly. ''Good morning!'' she says despite the way she feels about Bucky. ''Mornin', I'm Sergeant James Barnes - you can call me Bucky - and this gorgeous thing is my daughter, Lily,'' he says with an outstretched hand, and she shakes giving her name. Then she steps a bit closer to introduce herself to Lily. ''Good morning beautiful girl, my name is Ms. Scarlett, and you can come to play with me today!'' she said and that made her instantly happy.

''Oh, you said just the right thing, she loves to play! Alright malyshka, I will see you tomorrow, you will sleep over with uncle Steve and Aunt Y/N tonight, doesn't that sound like fun?'' he said, before turning to you. ''Thank you again, Y/N, I can't explain how much this means to me, all of it,'' he said before he handed Lily to Scarlett. ''Wanna say goodbye to daddy?'' Scarlett said and she waved at her dad who waved back. ''Bye, malyshka! I love you so so SO much, and I will see you again tomorrow!'' he said planting a few big kisses on her cheeks before she went into the classroom, still waving at Bucky. ''Oh, Buck, Steve wanted me to say hi!'' you said before he walked out the door. ''Hi back!'' he said before quickly walking out the door, he was late for work at this point.

The rest of the day went on without a hitch, and Lily was more than happy to go home with you, you and Steve have been babysitting on and off for Bucky since she was born so it wasn't weird for her. ''Ready to go see what Uncle Steve is up to, Sunshine?'' you asked and Lily nodded. The both of you drove home and before you knew it, you were unlocking the door to your house again. ''Bubba, we're home!'' you said and Steve walked into the hallway with a big smile on his face. ''Ah, there are my two favorite girls in this world!'' he said before picking Lily from your arms, that way you could take off your coat and shoes. He leaned in for a soft kiss, but it still takes your breath away every single time.

The three of you had dinner together before bathing Lily and putting her to bed, you had turned one of your spare rooms into her bedroom since she was spending quite some time with the both of you. ''Still can't believe how amazing you are with kids,'' Steve sighed as he looked at you putting Lily down to sleep. Both of you have spent a long time trying to have children of your own, but after many tests, you found out that you're infertile, and you would not be able to conceive children of your own. This is exactly the reason you wanted your dream of owning your daycare to become more of a reality. ''Thank you, Bubba. I know you would make a perfect dad too,'' you said with a defeated sigh, you were well aware of Steve's chance on children.

Steve's biggest dream would be to have his very own family, and it had broken you time and time again that you could not give that to him. Even though there was nothing he wanted more, Steve never hated you for it, exactly the opposite even. ''I know, Pumpkin, but my dream already came true when I met you, as long as I have you I don't need anything else,'' he said, and he proved it to you every single day. The day both of you found out Bucky would become a father, you and Steve immediately offered to take care of the child whenever necessary, you both loved the little girl to pieces. Despite this, there has been an itch neither of you could quite scratch.

This was an itch in the form of a pet, more specifically in the form of a dog. Steve is home full-time nowadays and you work 3 days a week, so there is no better timing to pick out a lovely friend than now. Since you had Lily today, all three of you went to the animal shelter to go see if a new friend was waiting to be added to your household. This morning, you FaceTimed Bucky because Lily missed her dad, and his heart broke into a million pieces when he saw. ''Oh no, malyshka, I will be with you again tonight!'' he said, and you explained your plan for the day. ''Just make sure she doesn't bring one home for me!'' he joked and with that, all three of you went to the shelter.

''Good morning, we were hoping to adopt a dog to come home with us today,'' Steve said as soon as you reached the front desk. ''Well, then you've come to the right place! Please follow me, and I will show you which of our furry friends are up for adoption right now,'' she said with a happy voice. ''Your daughter is beautiful,'' the woman said to you, you were holding Lily in your arms. ''Oh, she is beautiful, isn't she? But she's not ours, we're babysitting for a friend,'' you said with a big smile on your face, you were used to it by now. ''Oh, I'm sorry! I assumed-'' ''It's okay. I don't mind thinking people she's mine, but don't let her father hear it before he gets jealous,'' you joked with a wink and Steve laughed at your comment.

''Most of the animals in our shelter are here after being brought in from either abusive homes or the streets, and now they're all looking for their forever homes,'' the woman explained, and your heart broke a little at the thought of these animals taken care of badly. After roaming around for a while, you spotted the perfect addition to your home. A 5-year-old white and brown male husky, named Phoenix. ''Hi Phoenix, aren't you gorgeous?!'' you said when you kneeled in front of his cage, and he came up to the both of you with a wagging tail and a curious look in his eyes.

''Steve, you should come take a look at him!'' you said and he came right over, falling in love with him instantly. ''Oh wow, you're such a beautiful guy!'' he said, and before you knew it, all four of you were walking out of the shelter, and onto your home where Phoenix would spend the rest of his days with you. When Bucky came to pick up Lily that evening he almost got trampled by him, he ran up excitedly to the visitor. ''Woah there, easy!'' he said before petting him. ''I see your mission was successful?'' he asked Steve and he nodded. ''It was indeed, we'd like you to meet Phoenix, our newest member of the Rogers family,'' he said with a proud look on his face. Finally, his own family felt complete with everyone who was in his house right now.

[bromcommie]

moving like a river of trouble crossing

Rating: M | Word count: 10,260 | Tags: Set in the lead up to and right at the end of CATWS, Character Study, PTSD, Grief/Mourning, Dissociation, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug (And A Friend), Wait No Not That One, Going Down Memory Lane, SHIELD Has Shitty Therapists, Horrible People Still Acting Like People, Captain America Politics, Natasha's Love Language Is Surveillance, Folks Trained For Violence Engaging In You Guessed It: Violence | Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanoff, implied Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers/Brock Rumlow (non-explicit, but still reasonably fucked up by virtue of Rumlow being Rumlow)

(belated) fic for @catws-anniversary, day 2. Thank you so much for putting it together, guys! | march 27th theme: steve rogers | prompts: guilt, "it kind of feels personal" | part of a WIP to be published on AO3

and because I apparently can't help myself with the music-fic thing, playlist for this here

i.

Good morning Captain Rogers. It is 05:15 AM, EST. Up 'n' at 'em. Good morning, Captain Rogers. It is 04:41 AM, EST. Would you like me to set the blinds to a lower density? Don't you nuh-uh at me, sunshine - get your lazy ass out of bed. You're gonna be late. Good morning, Captain Rogers. I understand you are under some duress right now, but please do not be alarmed. It is 2:32 am, EST. The year is 2012. You are in New York City. You are safe. Please try to take a breath. Would you like me to call anyone?

Good morning, Steve. Good morning. You're gonna be late. You awake? You awake yet?

Sure. Sure, he's awake.

That afternoon he packs his bag, the single duffle that fits all of his earthly possessions. He tries to ignore the vaguely smug tone of Fury's voice when he tells him they already have an apartment set up for him in DC: ten minutes from HQ, real convenient, and has he ever been to see Lincoln Memorial? He'll love it, it's a nice spot for a walk, especially in the summers, or so Fury's been told.

Steve's been to DC, but he's never beeen to the memorial, never seen much of the city outside the confines of the hotel the USO booked for them. He thinks he can count the grand total of places he's gotten to see up close on his right hand, and half of them were in the European Theatre. The other half he's running from now.

He's sure it'll be grand, he tells Fury. Beats the smell of moldy brick in the heat and a patchwork city manifesting ghosts out the corner of his eye, he doesn't say. ii.

They get him a therapist as a part of his onboarding at SHIELD. It’s due diligence, they say, in the aftermath of New York – someone to help him transition into his new role. But it’s been almost nine months now, and Steve’s learning their language, the words that get caught up in between all the red tape: saying assistance when they mean overwatch.

“This is supposed to be a safe space, not an interrogation,” the woman says at the start of her first evaluation, meeting all of his unease with a reassuring smile, and something about the misplaced quality of it puts him on a knife’s edge.

He only pieces it together the second time he’s called in to meet with her, when he's a bit more clear-headed and a whole lot more impatient than during their initial encounter. It only takes a few perfunctory exchanges before he starts registering the image as a whole: the painstakingly nonthreatening, gentle demeanor, the conservative clothes she’s wearing; the pale complexion and the sharp features and the unmistakable lilt to her voice, soft and rolling and decidedly more old country than east coast.

It would feel almost perverse, he thinks from a distance, if it wasn’t already painfully transparent and tactically inept to boot: this attempt at the same trick that didn’t work in their favor the first time around. He supposes he can’t blame them for trying to fill in the gaps between what they could scrounge up from paper and old photographs with something predictable and comforting, something expected of his background and what is now probably regarded as an antiquated time period.

He also knows that going off of little information when dealing with a potential threat is dangerous. What’s even more so, he thinks as he nods politely along to the lady's explanation of their work together, is believing you know more than you do, and that’s the easiest mistake to exploit.

Here's a fact probably still recorded somewhere on a faded death certificate: Sarah Rogers never lived long enough to get gray in her hair like that.

Here’s another, probably only still recorded in his memory and nowhere else: his mother had been fiercely caring, yes, and compassionate to a fault, but her kindness had never translated to docility, and it sure as hell had never translated to softspoken dishonesty.

So when the shrink bearing a near-painful resemblance to her starts asking incisive questions enshrouded in unoffensive words and indulgent tones, Steve packs his entire reality into a series of half-truths without batting an eye and doesn’t feel an ounce of guilt.

Yes, he’s eating. Yes, he’s sleeping well. No, he’s not on edge – sure, it gets hard, sometimes, but exercise helps, meditation, music. Going out into the world, meeting new people. Trying new things. Yes, he’s ready to be back in the field. No, not so much so that he’s itching for it. Yes ma’am, he’s doing fine, just fine, thank you for asking. iii.

“I heard Hannah’s single,” Romanoff's saying, and it’s not the first time his brain is latching onto the fact that she’s keeping pace with him without losing too much breath, without any discomfort in the cool air that's just starting to roll in as fall bleeds into the city, painting it in darkening evenings and dimming colors. “You know, from forensics? Glasses, leggy, science-y type. Blonde – you like blondes, right?”

“I’m starting to think you only have one thing on your mind,” Steve pants, pushes harder ahead until his calves start burning, just to see if she'll allow herself to follow. Keep moving, keep moving. You awake yet? “Gotta admit, it’s making it kinda hard to enjoy all this quality time we spend together.”

“What, you’re going to stop inviting me on runs? Aw, Rogers. Break a girl’s heart, why don’t you.”

“It’s not really an invitation if you just show up without me letting you know where I’m going, you know.”

She shrugs. “I needed to burn some energy, and you’re not exactly the most unpredictable person in this city.” Her ponytail whips over his shoulder as she follows his sharp right turn around the War Memorial and passes him towards Constitution Gardens, too close and competitive. “Brunette, then? There’s a girl in operations, real tough, good with a gun – at least your propensity for that type has been well documented, but I guess you didn't really have enough time to enjoy it, y'know, all the way –”

Steve knows she’s talking about Peggy, he does. It doesn’t help the hard-wired alarm bells going off in the back of his head any. He digs his heels in, skids to a stuttering halt over the wet pavement, and somewhere in the back of his consciousness he’s quietly pleased that it catches Romanoff off guard a little.

“What, too far?” she jokes, but her eyes are quick over his face; cataloguing the boundaries, the places she can still push.

He's sure it's well-meaning, as much as a blatant handler can get. But some habits are just harder to shake than others. That, he's intimately familiar with.

“If I say yes, will you stop? Or at least stop tailing me?”

“I don’t tail you. That’s below my paygrade,” she says, mouth quirking up at the corner like that’s all the punchline she needs as she types something into her smartphone. “I’ll text you her number. She likes spicy food and old movies.”

“Sure, fine. Great.”

“It is. You'll see.” The phone disappears back into one of the many hidden pockets of her skin-tight leggings. The marvels of modern technology, Steve thinks. Natasha quirks a challenging brow. “Now can we start the actual run finally or have you reached your limit, grandpa?”

He's all but ready to chicken out of the date all week, fighting the urge to cancel at the last minute, but he figures the girl doesn't deserve his bad manners just because he feels like spiting Romanoff when she tries to play his puppetmaster.

In the end it goes...surprisingly well. As Romanoff described, Lina’s beautiful and sharp and a little closed off, tough as nails and maybe even more rigid in her approach than him, but once they get over the initial hurdle of awkwardness and expectations the conversation flows with relative ease. They swap the basics, they talk interests and habits and what moving to DC's like, fun little stories from growing up; he tells her about the butcher on his block when he was a kid that kept a rooster in the backyard, and she tells him about the kid on her floor at community college that set the dorm on fire trying to boil an egg. They talk SHIELD and her work training the new recruits and there’s a spark in her eye as she dives into giving him a breakdown of what he should look into, BJJ and MMA and gyms around town that would be discreet enough to take him in.

“SHIELD’s got plenty of hand-to-hand experts,” she says in a pensive tone over the dessert, “but it can get a little…”

Steve chuckles around his spoonful of the sticky rice, the sweetness of the mango across the back of his palate soothing the previous burn of the spice. Turns out he likes Thai food, too. Who would’ve thought. “Intense?”

“Testosterone-riddled, I was gonna say,” Lina grins, conspiratory. “And paranoid. Not the best scene if you just want to learn,” and he nods along because it’s true, and because it’s a relief to have someone else say it for him.

So it’s nice, and sweet, and ultimately entirely impersonal. He walks her to her door and she gives him a kiss on the cheek, and when she explains how she’s not really looking for anything right now her dark eyes are warm and honest but not overly apologetic. It’s a gesture he’s grateful for.

“Besides, not to be blunt, but you don’t seem all that…” She trails off, waving her hand.

He winces. “Interested? I am, really, but...” And that’s just it, isn’t it. He’s interested; she’s wonderful, just his type, seems to like him well enough. But.

“Look, I get it. We’ve all been there. Can’t really avoid it in this business.” She shrugs as if to say what can you do, smiles up at him knowingly. “Wrong place, wrong time, right?”

And Steve thinks, yeah. Yeah, something like that. iv.

“–piece of shit, every time, wet sand all up in the fuckin’ thing. Goddamn Kandahar all over again,” Rumlow’s muttering, agitated and half to himself, and Steve doesn’t ask about the last part, just dumps his own gear on the rack and drops down onto the bench. They might be friendly, but they’re not friends – Rumlow doesn’t owe him his history. “I get sent to the fuckin’ desert in this weather one more time, I’m gonna start missing New York winters.”

The jet’s engines hum at his back, adrenaline leaving his body in slow pulls as he watches Rumlow work, notes the intermittent scarring over his hands as they strip the jammed gun down like it’s muscle memory, quick and capable. There's not a spot on him that seems unmarred, really - the scars are a continous, scattered motif up to his face, moving faint in the dim light of the jet.

Loved being in the ring, he'd said once with a wry grin, as far back as I can remember. Might've gotten the shit kicked out of me more than was strictly necessary, though. Accounts for me ending up here, in any case.

He’s drawn this exact scene, it occurs to Steve before he can push it away; down to the boxer's shoulders, down to the complaining, and more than once.

“You from the city?” he offers, an easy distraction that Rumlow seems grateful for.

“Yeah. Yeah, born and raised right off of Arthur Ave.”

“No shit?”

“Yep. Good old Belmont.” He looks up, gaze turning sharp at whatever he catches on Steve’s face before he can look away. “Wouldn’t think you’d know where that is. You ever even been past Central Park?”

Steve gets a flash of washed-out color and brilliant light, of Art and Charlie and the rest of them from the Y dragging him up to Harlem; thinks of the queens with their elaborate glamour and loud, unapologetic laughter and that last wet spring before the cops started shutting everything down, of stumbling tipsy towards the A down 155th Street with empty pockets and Jeanie giggling into his shoulder about some honey-eyed daddy that gave her a sweet kiss goodnight. A well-insulated secret, a fleeting memory of feeling like he could swallow the world whole.

It’s not what Rumlow’s talking about, he knows. He nods anyway.

“Loved that neighborhood. My folks moved us out to Staten when I was in high school, though,” and Steve must make an involuntary face at that because Rumlow chuckles and says, “Alright, tough guy. Not all of us had the privilege of living within two blocks of Prospect Park.”

“Neither did I, but it sure beat Staten," Steve snorts. "And it wasn’t even as much of a privilege, back then.”

“Yeah, I think you’ll notice a lot of things’ve changed.” He tilts his head, scratches contemplative at his stubbled chin. Steve wonders if he’s projecting the bitterness in Rumlow’s voice. “A lotta things’ve gone to shit in that place. Food’s still way better than fuckin’ DC, though. Not nearly enough Italians over here.”

“Yeah. All that white marble and not a single decent, roach-infested deli. Real shithole. Should put that on the tourist brochures,” Steve says after a moment, testing the waters. It gets another laugh out of Rumlow, low and maybe a little surprised, and the sound settles like molten lead in Steve’s stomach, grounding. v.

One morning in November he gets a phone call from a Washington Post journalist asking for his statement on the newly planned Captain America exhibit, and then in a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it feat of persuasion it’s three days later and he’s somehow been roped into a grand opening ceremony, a speech and a press conference at the Smithsonian.

It lasts for-fucking-ever.

By the time he's back in his neighborhood his ears are ringing with leftover noise and applause, his cheeks sore from a constant smile that'd felt more like a slashed tire than a friendly gesture even as he was forcing it. He'd reverted back to the Best Foot Forward, Always mentality of the bonds circuit quick enough - but at least back then it felt like it had a marginal purpose, no matter how flimsy or false. Back then it didn't drain him this much, he doesn't think, no matter how frustrating. Best Foot Forward these days feels more like sleepwalking his way off a cliff than anything else.

The second he's through the door he shrugs out of the tie and starched shirt chafing at his neck, tries not to think about how he still would've preferred all the commotion and the pretense to the unfamiliar silence of the otherwise big apartment building. Tries to give the feeling resurfacing in him now that he's got attention enough for it a name other than unbearable.

Here's the thing: pain, Steve knows on an intimate level, is something you get used to. It's not to say you forget it exists completely: you just subsume it, you learn to expect it. It’s less about it becoming a habit and more that it becomes a part of you when you’re not looking: fills up all the empty crevices it can find and creates a mold, and that’s the shape you start to take if you live with it long enough. The problem with that is that the longer it goes on, the less space in you there is for other things.

He was five the first time he got really sick. It'd started simple enough – the winter of ’23 came early and sudden, and New Year’s Eve found him in bed with a fever that earned the dreaded prefix scarlet soon enough when the spread of dotted red started taking up more and more space on his body. He'd spent two weeks feeling like someone's dangling him off the edge of the unknown, and much longer than that after with his mother's watchful eyes following him from the window whenever he left the house, like she couldn't force herself to look away.

But he made it. Despite all indications, little Stevie Rogers didn't die, and it was a miracle with a capital M. All he had to do is make peace with having a somewhat faulty heart as a keepsake of his survival and maybe never playing for the Dodgers, which is not to say it stopped him from trying.

But then next year it was the whooping cough so bad it cracked a rib, then his left ear giving out on him after a prolonged sinus infection, then the asthma he barely even noticed amidst everything else until it layed him out flat midway through a game of stickball bad enough it landed him in the hospital. The minor league dreams dissolved fairly quickly after that.

In ’25 he missed more school than he attended. The kids from down the block came round to call on him less and less, and it wasn't too long before they forgot completely and it was just him and a handful of toy soldiers left, with names like Joe and Jack and occasionally if he allowed himself, Steve. Their neighbors started smiling at him more. The grocer started handing him a fistful of candy under the counter every time they came in, looking at his mother in a way that said sorry for your loss and that Steve hated with a passion, least of all because he couldn't even enjoy the pity because hello, here comes diabetes. Then it was the pernicious goddamn anemia and months and months of the liver-fucking-everything diet followed closely by its sworn enemy the ulcers, and then the growing pains, and then the bad back, and then the bum joints –

Here’s the thing about pain: the longer you carry it, the more you forget you’re doing it in the first place. You ignore it because it’s the only way to survive it, because what the hell else are you supposed to do? And that’s when you start thinking you have it under control. You start to think you’ll be ready when it comes for you again.

Here’s the other thing about pain: you’re never ready. It comes as a surprise each time. He wasn’t ready in ‘30 when the neighborhood suddenly started reeking of despair and death and he wasn’t ready in ’36 when his ma went and he wasn’t ready in ’44 when he got shot in the neck and thought��oh, so it can still hurt like this. I can still bleed.

Then '45 rolled around and a new thought followed, a miserable dot at the end of a sentence: maybe bleeding out would've hurt less. At least it would've made us even.

None of that experience and understanding stops him feeling it now, again, still, like an interrupted line from that first fever chill to here, standing in the middle of his living room with a glossy brochure full of dead faces in his hand and an exhaustion so deep it roots him to the spot.

And then there’s the anger, of course: equally familiar but much more muted, less expressive than it used to be, dancing around the edges of everything else. He looks back down at the crumpled pamphlet, to where the folded-unfolded-refolded creases cut through the title:

Captain America’s team: the top tier of the World War II effort and a leading example of integration! 

As if they were somehow Captain America's or even the US army’s to begin with; as if it was encouraged and Steve didn’t have to stand around in moldy tents arguing his brand-new, star-spangled ass off with Major Whatshisname and Colonel Whoever-the-fuck for days on end just to keep them eating in the same mess hall and sleeping in the same barracks. Nothing about any of the ugly parts, about the blood and the bureaucracy and the bullshit. Nothing about any of them, either - no mention of Dernier's politics or Gabe's professorship or Morita's writing. Not a single inch of space left for their families or their own stories except as a footnote in Steve's own, a way to make it picture perfect.

Nothing about Bucky other than the barebone facts: he was Steve's friend, he was a good soldier, he died. The meat and blood and soul of the person, left out; the fact of whose fault it ultimately was, conveniently gone.

And that name – the Howling fucking Commandos. The bunch of them would’ve busted a rib laughing at it, laid out all grandiose like that. For one, it’s still as ridiculous as it was back then – sounds more action novel than historical account and distinctly less bureaucratic and arbitrary than the Specialized 107th, which is what they were strictly called in the paperwork. Personally, Steve always thought that out of the variety of nicknames they’ve been awarded, the Invaders was by far the most fitting. Truer to wartime, to what it was they really did, and far more threatening if it ever reached the other side of the line. Then again, from what he’s gathered so far, it seems like America’s done far more than its fair share of invading since. It definitely accounts for the 180 degree change in branding.

Turns out it’s still all about selling comic books and war bonds. And Steve, too caught up in his own sorry wallowing, is just going along with it.

Jesus, he thinks, the tone of it coated in a wry, familiar voice nestled in the back of his brain but much harsher than it ever was in reality, drop the philosophy for one goddamn minute. Anybody ever tell you idle hands are the Devil's playthings? Get moving, Rogers. Trade the speeches in for something useful.

So he does: chucks the paper into the empty white fruit bowl collecting dust on the countertop, turns the TV on to a random channel to break the silence. He doesn’t recognize the title of the movie playing but it’s soothing, the background awash with static and the accents just familiar enough to make for pleasant white noise. He heats up his leftovers, sprawls out on the couch and gets to reading the reports Fury had unloaded on him, tuning in every so often to the witty back-and-forth dialogue. It’s maybe half an hour of squinting at indecipherable bureaucratic jargon before he finally gives up, lifts his head to rub the sleep from his eyes.

One of the men on screen – Nick, Steve thinks, or maybe that one’s Mikey, he hasn’t been following along all that well, to the work or the film – is trying to dissuade the other from visiting his mother’s grave in the dead of night.

It’s 1 in the morning.

That makes it nicer.

It doesn’t make it anything, Nick. A grave is a grave. There’s not a religion in the world that says a person’s soul is buried with them in their grave, the man argues, and it’s like whiplash pulling him out of the serene lull, the memory of a name over a plot in Greenwood he’d never gone to visit, and he thinks, a little disoriented – of course there’d be no soul in that patch of land. The grave itself is empty.

They’d given him reports in the beginning, too: a neat stack of papers, most of them stamped DECEASED in glaring red letters, and the single mocking MISSING IN ACTION. At the very end there’d been a laughably short list of contacts; among them a phone number and address for one Rebecca Barnes-Proctor.

God help us all, he can imagine the voice of George Barnes saying even now, jokingly abject, our Becca’s married a Proddie.

But there had been briefings, then, and the shitshow over Manhattan, and in between all of that the days where he couldn’t even find the will to leave his apartment block, let alone go to Brooklyn. Over and over, he’d given himself the same excuses as with Peggy – it would be too much, too soon, too selfish to usurp her life like that.

Of course, the truth of it all was much simpler. All too cowardly, too, in a way that has the guilt blooming with a vengence somewhere in the pit of his stomach: he didn’t have the guts to look Bucky’s baby sister in the eye, no matter her age, and say, I’m sorry you didn’t get a body to bury. I’m sorry the one time he needed it I didn’t do the job he spent his whole life doing for me. I’m sorry I left him behind when it should have been me down there in the first place.

He watches the two men stumble around in the muddy dark of the graveyard and yell and bicker in a way that strikes Steve as bitterly melancholy, the familiarity of it unmooring.

Mike, y’know what? Now that I’m here, I don’t know what to do, Nick finally admits at the foot of the tombstone, wild-eyed and devolving into a rambling laugh, and ain’t that a kicker. Welcome to the club.

It’s very hard to talk to a dead person, we have nothing in common. Hi, ma.

Nick, you’re making me forget the kaddish, Mike chides with mounting frustration as Nick keeps giggling and it’s not funny, it’s really not, the whole premise of it deeply morbid, but Steve finds himself laughing right along with Nick’s hysterical hiccups, his childlike plea of I don’t wanna die, ma.

You don’t get a choice in the matter, his own mother had told him when he was maybe 8 or 9, faced with the concept of death the first time when Mrs. Kowalski from 4C got sick, if that’s the way the chips fall, then that’s God’s will. But what matters is the middle, what you choose to do with it. Do you understand?

He didn’t, really, not back then, and ten years later when they’d lowered her into the ground all he could think was: what is the point of it, anyway, of all those right choices, if all that happens is you end up dying alone?

Steve hadn’t been, of course. For all of the isolation he’d felt during those last few months of his mother’s illness, he’d never been really alone. There’d been the Barnes’ and the old ladies from church and even some of the folks Sarah had helped treat at the hospital coming by and Bucky, Jesus Christ; Bucky crying at the funeral and saying kaddish for months like Sarah was his own and letting Steve rage and lash out until all the fight had drained out of him, his arms like a vice around Steve’s shaky frame.

And there’s the actual goddamned truth, he thinks, bone-weary. The only truth that matters, the one that’ll never get written on any museum walls: Steve was only ever as strong as the people propping him up.

I think that’s the reason we’re such good friends, Nick is saying to Mike when he tunes back in, and Steve’s not laughing anymore, hasn’t been ever since his throat had gone tight a long few minutes ago, because we remember each other from when we were kids. Things that happened when we were kids that no one else knows about but us. It’s in our heads. That’s how we know they really happened.

What are you talking about? I know what really happened when I was a kid.

Yeah, but no one else does, Nick says, painfully earnest. I mean, everyone we knew as kids is dead.

He shuts the TV off with a soft click, waits a long while before the heartbeat pounding in his ears has settled. Thinks about what it really means, then, to embody the final resting place of all your ghosts.

Maudlin, Bucky’s voice echoes in his head again, fills out the crevices of the silent apartment like a slow bleed. Always gotta be so maudlin, Rogers, like you’re Scarlett O-fucking-Hara. Just get up. Get up, Steve, c'mon.

“Yeah,” Steve sniffs, wipes a rough hand over his eyes; laughs again because it’s a damn joke, all of it, and he can afford to lose the plot in the privacy of his own home. “Yeah, fuck you too, asshole. Go haunt somebody else.” vi.

"Heard you had an eventful weekend," Rumlow comments when they all pile into the locker room the following week, a little roughed up and beat and stinking of iron and sweat but otherwise in decent spirits. "Seemed like a good time, all those pretty girls throwing themselves at you to shake their babies and kiss their hands or whatever."

"Shows how much you know. The pretty ladies were all balding men over the age of 50," Steve says, only half-joking, shrugging into his civvies with a wince. There's a cut on his side where he fell a little too close to a protruding piece of rebar that's already reopened twice by the time they've gotten off the jet, but despite the sharp sting of it he's feeling better than he did just a mere twelve hours ago.

Idle hands turns out to be true enough. Wryly, he thinks he might owe sending an apology up to Sister Andrea, although he figures anyone that enjoyed using a ruler on little kids that much wouldn't have ended up in Heaven, anyway.

"But sure, it was alright. A little too much attention all at once, if I'm being honest."

"Oh yeah?" Rumlow huffs. "Big talk coming from someone who dresses like you do. I hope you didn't show up there wearing that."

Steve frowns down at the faded jeans, the fitted grey shirt – one of many pairs that came with the closet in his apartment. It rubbed him the wrong way, at first, but it's easier in the end; not having all that wide array of choice dumped over his head all the time. "What's wrong with my clothes?"

"Nothing. I just get worried they're gonna start cutting off blood flow at some point, y'know," Rumlow grins, his teeth very white in the bright fluorescent lights. "God forbid we go to a bar one of these days, I'd have to mind every creep from here to Dupont tryna get a peek down your shirt."

"Fuck off," Steve huffs, feeling heat flush down into his neck despite himself. Yeah, blood flow really isn't the problem. He gestures at Rumlow's own undershirt, all slick black and skin-tight, motion packed in. "Look who's talkin'."

"Yeah, but I don't dress like this out there. This is all for you guys," he yawns with a stretch, all exaggerated bravado. "I got one of those, y'know - work-life balances. Out there I clean up nice. You, I imagine you sleep in that shit."

Steve snorts. "You'll be happy to know I clean up just fine. Got the one suit and everything."

"Is that right? They get you decked out in some bespoke threads for the parade, Cap?" He chuckles at the face Steve makes when the word bespoke fully registers. "See if I believe that without any evidence."

Steve digs out his phone reluctantly. He does have pictures, is the thing, woke up the next morning feeling like a sack of potatoes tossed from a great height just to see his phone light up with an email from SHIELD's HR with an attachment sent over for approval - like he was a celebrity ending up in a tabloid, he thinks again with distate, like he should care much either way what he looked like. He thumbs through his email to the one labeled FOR YOUR CONSIDERATION, and shoves it over at Rumlow before he drops onto the bench to sort out the rest of his pack.

"Looking good, you weren't kidding. And the mural's all heroic," Rumlow comments lightly as he scrolls through. "Wait, don't tell me - the little mustachioed, scruffy looking one is the frogeater, yeah?"

Steve laugh comes easier this time. "The little mustachioed, scruffy looking one would've kicked your ass six ways from Sunday if he'd heard you call him that. Yeah, that's Dernier. Gabe, next to him," he lists, trying not to think about how it comes across that he's memorized the order, "Dum Dum - he didn't like that nickname, either - Bucky, Monty, and Morita."

"Sure were big on callin' each other everything other than your names, huh?" The joke is followed by a stretch of quiet, and when Steve looks back up Rumlow's frowning at the phone a little, a flicker of uncertainty over his face that Steve doesn't get to figure out before it's gone. His face smoothes out into a mostly neutral expression, an undercurrent of something unnerved and white-hot, and Steve can't help himself.

"What?"

Rumlow passes him the phone back with a shrug. "Nothing, just - haven't seen those pictures since I was in high school," he says, a little distant like the memory's faded to oblivion since, and hell if Steve'll ever stop finding it strange that all of them ended up in dusty old school books, long obsolete. "Long time ago, now. Guess I just remembered all of you being much older, is all."

He leans back against the wall of lockers, pensive, watches Steve fumble with the zipper of his hoodie where it keeps sticking for a minute. "You must miss it, though. The good old days. Your people."

Steve clears his throat, yanks at the cheap piece of plastic again. The fit and cut, he might've gotten used to - but he'll never get over the waste; just how quickly everything falls right apart in the future. "Yeah, well. Like you said, it was a long time ago."

"It was, wasn't it. Longer for some than others, though," he says cryptically, and Steve really has nothing to say to that that won't land him right back where he was two days ago. He doesn't have to, in the end, because Rumlow throws a curt nod at his front, and it takes a second too long for him to interpret what his zeroed-in expression means, to register the dotting of blood through the thin fabric of his shirt. "You're bleeding all over the place again."

"It's fine. Don't feel it much," Steve says. Something's different. What's different? Wake up.

"Sure. Never do, do you," he says, gesturing to the hoodie with a thoughtful expression that's inching away from the easy banter. "That shit's gonna stain, though."

"I was gonna throw it out anyway."

It should be enough, and in any other situation it would be. Any other situation he'd shrug it off with more conviction, Rumlow'd call him a tough guy with just the right amount of mockery, and the tension would pass. Except that Rumlow had to lead them into uncharted territory and Steve hadn't been quick enough to notice before he was flailing, too exposed.

Except that instead of a quip what he gets is Rumlow's stepping into his space, the casual slouch of his shoulders replaced with something more deliberate when he reaches for where Steve's hand is still holding onto where the teeth of the zipper have gotten all gnarled. In a heartbeat Steve's back to square one: keenly aware of the proximity and every inch of his body in the cramped space; back to that first day in the elevator with Rumlow's dark eyes turned on him with a questioning look and a twist to his mouth that said it's a pleasure, Cap but meant I've been here long enough - you don't impress me any more than any other kid I've seen this place chew up and spit back out.

It'd been enough to get his spine straightening of its own accord back then, too; the sheer challenge of it, pushing at the boundaries of hierarchy. It makes him want to pull away now, want to put the usual distance between them, to get the hell out of this stuffy locker room. Makes him want to push forward until he meets something immovable and solid. Want. want, want - too much and for things that were unreachable. That's always been his problem, hasn't it?

The sound of the zipper is too loud in the mostly empty space when it gets yanked loose, pulled up and over the slow spread of the stain, and Steve realizes with a start that he didn't notice the chatter die down as the few stragglers left the room. Realizes that he hasn't moved a muscle in a good minute, like a butterfly with its wing pinned.

Rumlow's touch lingers, just the barest pressure under his Adam's apple, and Steve's breath catches. Rumlow makes a considering noise.

He snapped a guy's neck with those hands not two hours ago: a thoughtless, instinctive thing in the middle of the ambush that was waiting for them. It's not that Steve's forgotten it; Steve's aware of it to the point of failure. It's just that it got bound up with everything else, the easy reliance and the ribbing bordering on rough and the adrenaline under his skin like a necessity.

Wake up.

Rumlow's eyes on him are sharp, a little curious. Less surprised than they ought to be.

Wake up, get moving, get out of sight. We've been here before.

Steve swallows. "Thanks."

"Sure." Rumlow steps back to hoist his bag over his shoulder and the moment breaks as quick as it came on, the whole uninterruped line of him lax and easy again, surface friendly. "Now you won't scare the guys at the front desk."

And then he's off down the hallway, leaving Steve to lean on the cool metal of the wall and do everything but think about the sudden feeling of being off balance, a little too tight in his skin in a way that only half has to do with the too-quick beat of his blood, the lingering smell of Rumlow's cologne.

vii.

Funnily enough, the Christmas gala almost slips his mind – an extraordinary accomplishment, considering that he spends most of December thinking up viable excuses not to go, dodging Romanoff’s questions and sideways looks with the agility of a man running for his life.

“We can hang out with the civilians. Break the record of how many weapons contractors you can piss off in one night,” she says one brisk and sunny afternoon when she manages to drag him out to a coffee shop barely across from SHIELD, the steam from her tea swirling up in billows to fog her opaque sunglasses. “It’ll be fun.”

“I don’t know any civilians,” he says, deliberately obtuse. It’s a joke; he can’t help that it’s also mostly true.

“What about Kate?”

It’s not a surprise anymore, really, that she knows everything about his life, that she has no problem making that clear to him when she wants to. He’s fine with it, he has to keep reminding himself. Maybe it’s a control thing, like when she acts like she’s not holding back when they spar, a holdover from some other life. Maybe this is the closest they get to trust, and it doesn’t matter. Much like the tails that he pretends not to clock, the check-ins and evaluations and this whole neatly preordained life someone else's drawn up for him – it comes with the package, and what difference does it make, anyway? It’s simpler like this. He can do his job, and if thinking that he’s a situation she has a handle on makes Romanoff feel better, then that’s fine, too.

“What about her?”

“You talk to her yet?”

“I talk to her all the time,” he points out. Natasha cocks her head, the rest of her expression as obscure as her shaded eyes.

“It’s for a charity. The gala.” She keeps switching lanes. Trying to get him to stumble, he thinks.

“Yeah, Ms. Potts said.” Two can play at that game. “You want a date so bad, why don't you pester Barton this much about it?”

“Clint doesn’t need pestering. It’d be good publicity if you showed, you know.”

He scoffs; there it is. “For what, the charity or Stark Industries?”

“So it is about Stark, then.”

He takes a sip of his coffee, over-sweetened and dark. 100% pure Colombian arabica, apparently, and with the price tag to reflect it. The acidic taste sticks at the roof of his mouth. “I don’t have a problem with Tony.”

He doesn’t. Stark’s a good man, he thinks, despite having inherited all of Howard’s arrogance and none of his approachability. Whatever tension was there in the beginning had dissipated, though, the second Tony plummeted thousands of feet from the sky after having, for all intents and purposes, blown himself up to save all their sorry necks. They’d broken bread, shaken hands, parted ways.

For the best, probably. Good man or not, Tony has a singular way of getting under his skin.

And then there’s also the fact that being in Manhattan just doesn’t feel right, not with the destruction still settling over everything like a cloud of noxious dust, the fenced off craters and leftover vigils scattered every few blocks like an improvised graveyard. Good morning, Captain Rogers. It is 4:47 AM EST. It is a new day. Do you see it? Do you see it yet? Are you awake?

It’s not new, this sense of loss: looking at the city and feeling grief, compounded.

“Not what I said.”

“What are you saying, then?”

“I’m saying SHIELD throws shitty office parties.” Natasha frowns and chugs half the scalding cup in one go before pushing up from the table, checking her phone. “I have to go,” she says, gives him a long look that he can’t really decipher, unusually lingering and far too serious by Natasha's standard. “Come to New York, Steve. Or at least think about it.”

viii.

He goes to see Peggy again, because of course he does. She greets him at the door with her most pleasant, polite smile this time, the kind reserved for strangers – Time for my medicine again, is it, darling? – but it’s alright, he understands. They’ve explained it to him, the good and bad days, how there’s rarely any constant. He’s grateful, anyway: just so grateful to have her around, as much as he can. Which is why he doesn’t flinch when she cries, when she calls for him like it’s been another seventy years, why he holds her brittle hand in his until she gets hazy around the eyes again and he feels a nurse’s gentle tap on his shoulder, hears her suggest that he come another time.

He takes the Harley out on the highway and drives aimlessly for the rest of the evening and well into the night, down and out and then back again until the traffic has thinned out to semis and the rare leftover commuter. He watches the speedometer kick up to 80, 90, a 100, the bike struggling, feels the rumble of the engine all the way up his spine when it skids unbalanced over the odd ice patch and thinks, grateful, grateful, grateful.

ix.

“You’re up late.”

“Hey.” Most of the building’s emptied out by now – he’d thought he’d find some privacy in the abandoned atmosphere of the holidays, and instead here Rumlow is when he was meant to be three states over, strolling through his periphery looking like he’s got nothing but time on his hands. “Thought you left with everybody else.”

“Nah. Had some business to take care of.” He settles against the wall opposite Steve, watches him shake out a one-two-three pattern that has the chain of the bag groaning. “Thought you’d be at Stark’s fancy party and putting that suit to good, promotional use.”

He never gets a chance to think about it, it turns out, getting called in two days before Christmas and ending up sending Ms. Potts – Pepper, please, call me Pepper – an overly apologetic, last-minute message excusing himself from the night. It’s a good call, in the end. The last thing he needs tonight is to be stuck in a room full of obscenely drunk, obscenely rich people expecting him to gush over the hors d’oeuvres and play at appearances.

He feels as though what he’s doing right now isn’t much different, though. It takes a whole lot of effort and posturing to dredge up a wry smile for Rumlow, anyway. “Well, it’s been busy here. Couldn’t fit it into my packed schedule.”

Rumlow snorts. He gets that expression on his face, sometimes, that same brand of amusement that makes Steve second-guess whether he’s actually in on the joke or just the punchline of it, that gets him hot under the collar in all the wrong ways. The punching bag chooses this moment to finally release its desperate grip on the physical realm, flying off the chain with one last pitiful creak and sending sand spraying across the floor. Rumlow’s eyes track the movement with unabashed fascination.

He walks over to the neat row of bags Steve’s lined up and picks one up with relative ease, a casual show of strength. “So you gonna talk about it,” he pipes back up, handing Steve the replacement, “or do I have to keep standing around here until you’ve run the rest of ‘em into the ground?”

“Talk about what?”

“Whatever’s got you shredding through these poor fuckin’ things at 11 pm on Christmas Eve.”

He wants to point out that he could be asking the same question – that there really is no reason for Rumlow to be here this late when he’s still technically on medical, to be in his usual tac clothes and looking as wired as Steve’s feeling. You ever take a day off? he considers asking, but that’d be prodding. What’s worse, it’d be hypocritical.

“Nothing, you know how it is – mission ran long. Had some leftover energy.”

“Yeah, Rollins mentioned you guys ran into some kinks.”

It’s not exactly the word Steve would use to describe the shitshow of that morning, utter failure avoided by a narrow margin because it was an old school lab, Christ, still had extracurriculars on the weekends and everything, and they just charged in half-blind.

It’s rigged, naturally. The room blows as he’s getting the janitor out, tears the face of the building open towards the sharp drop below, and all Steve can think is what a stupid, avoidable way to die. The electrical fire smell lingers for a long time after the explosion, the patter of the wet snow through the blown roof nowhere near enough to put the flames out.

They’re told to avoid detailing the collateral in the report, after: SHIELD had no way of knowing the complete situation beforehand, they say, short and brooking no argument, and Steve’s getting real damn tired of hearing that. By the time they wrap up cleanup he’s shivery and exhausted and when he finally dozes off on the long flight back with his ear to the monotonous drone of the engine, it’s to vague, uneasy bursts of the taste of ash in the mouth and many small, cold hands dragging him deep into the frozen ground.

Absurdly, the first thing he thinks of when he startles awake is Dugan’s thick mustache chained solid with frost, lips blue with the cold and grumbling under his breath.

"Gee, you're looking awful familiar there, Dum," Gabe'd say, biting off the ends of his sentences with the chatter of his own teeth. "Made this snowman that looked just like you when I was a kid - all white and lumpy with a great big bush over his lip. 'Cept his carrot nose was half as long and he never ran his fuckin' mouth this much."

And despite the cold and the misery, Dugan would elbow him and Gabe'd elbow back, obstinate. And Bucky'd laugh, Bucky'd call them all a bunch of fucking morons, and do they really want their last to be the Germans hearing them squabbling like two bitter old biddies out on the steps of the church for the whole neighborhood to see? Think of the image of our troops, golly gee. God forbid.

He strips out of his wet suit at the compound by rote and doesn’t think about the numbing cold of December among towering trees, of snow burning his fingers raw, clinging to his lashes. He runs until his lungs burn and it’s nothing like that thin, strangling air of the mountain range, nothing like warm skin sticking to icy metal, muscles all locked up and tears hot like bile in the back of his throat and the wind screaming in his ears, and –

Winters are warmer now, somebody’d told him at some point. Something about northern lights and the ozone in the Earth’s atmosphere.

“Kinks, right.”

He smooths out the edges of the tape that’s come loose over his knuckles, tries to tuck it in where he’s spotted red through the fabric. Suddenly he’s all too aware of the seconds lumbering on in silence, the eerie, empty quiet of the building; Rumlow looking at him with a single-minded intensity that makes the back of his neck prickle with heat, gets him on edge in a way he doesn't want to parse, doesn't have the energy to hide from.

It'd be no use, anyway; sometimes he thinks Rumlow can smell it on him, blood in the water.

“Alright, then.”

He aims a perfunctory jab at the bag and lets it swing back to catch it mid-air, brand-new vinyl creaking under his fingers, and considers ignoring the man altogether. He's not feeling generous with his words tonight. “Alright what?”

When he turns back around Rumlow’s ditching his holstered gun on the bench. Steve didn't even notice he was armed. “You said you got some energy to burn – so let’s go a few rounds.”

“I’m good, thanks.”

“Come on,” and it’s his voice in the end, if he’s being honest with himself, that makes Steve fold; the cajoling tone and those long, tightly rolled vowels that curl and hook into the sheltered space behind his ribs. “C’mon, man, it’s been a while. I could stand to let off some steam, too.”

Come on, do it for me, Bucky had said in dozens of different iterations over the years and then only once after when it had meant something, only once when he was really asking, back up against the hard bark of the tree with his hands dangling between his legs like a man who had no more use for them. You gotta promise me, Steve, he’d tried, low and worn thin, and Steve didn’t, couldn’t find the words to that wouldn’t be a complete lie and a betrayal. Instead he’d leaned harder into his side, hand at the back of his neck, and wanted and wanted and wished like hell, not for the first time, that he could drain the misery and exhaustion out of Bucky’s body at every point of contact.

Come on, Rumlow says, and Steve goes, Pavlovian.

He rewraps his hands in silence, waits for the other man to tape up before he steps into the ring.

“Y’know, it could’ve been worse,” he says, circling Steve, tone casual, “No casualties is better than what we get most days. So you might as well stop with all this self-flagellation bullshit, Cap. It’s no good.”

“You wanna keep talking,” Steve goads him because it’s worked in the past, because it really has been a long day, “or do you wanna fight?”

They start off slow, Rumlow testing the waters and Steve pulling his punches by habit by now. He manages to land a few hits that don’t really scratch the surface, doesn’t pull back in time to avoid Rumlow’s hook. His blood rushes at the first, second, third collision, zings up his spine and sharpens everything out, bright Technicolor; it’s good, doesn’t even hurt, he’d almost forgotten –

It gets real brutal real quick, after that.

“C’mon. What, you gettin’ bored already?” Rumlow says the third time he gets past his guard, an edge of something mean and frustrated in it. He strikes out again just to skirt off Steve’s belated block, more provocation than actual intent. “Jesus, you fallin' asleep on me? Fight the fuck back, old man.”

“Look who’s talkin’,” Steve gets out, putting distance between them. “Ain’t you supposed to be passed out drunk on eggnog in Staten Island right now?”

“You ever stop running your mouth? No wonder you were the neighborhood punching bag, kid.”

“I weighed a 100 pounds soaking wet, I had to compensate. What’s your excuse?”

He’s slow this time, too. Rumlow’s not someone who signals. The kick to the plexus sends Steve stumbling back and something pops, loud. He coughs once, twice; shakes it off.

“Aw, there he is. You’re alright,” Rumlow says, deceptively sweet, dismissive. “You’re just fine. Come on, Cap. You gonna quit being a pussy or what?"

Here’s the thing: he’s not sure he likes Rumlow all that much, really, can’t read him all the way to be able to say for sure; isn't sure that he wants to. They don’t know each other, not in a way that counts – it’s only been a handful of times that they’ve even worked on the same team in the time Steve’s been in DC, even less they've gotten to have anything that counts as a real conversation outside the single locker room incident, but he’s been leading men long enough that he can pick up on the patterns. He can see the way Rumlow commands respect among STRIKE, knows the type, besides: collected and confident and purposeful, committed to the cause to the point of failure. Violent, too, sure, shooting for the head when Steve’d still be asking questions; a little too rough around the edges, sometimes, yes, but so what – Steve’s seen his fair share of that. Steve’s lived it, felt it on his own skin, inside and out, been in it for three whole years. So what. He’s not about to run away screaming.

It isn’t even the first time they’ve done this, beaten the shit out of each other after hours in the deserted facility. It’s not the first time he’s seeing Rumlow in this light, eyes dark and focused; liking it a little too much, maybe, liking riling Steve up and drawing blood. A natural progression to all the things about him Steve maybe didn't want to notice and all the things that had his full attention since the second they met.

It’s fine – Steve figures, this body can take it. It’s what it was made for, anyway. Steve figures better here than out there, and out there Rumlow’s all brutal efficiency and casual competence and Steve trusts him to have his back, get the job done, which is the only part that matters. Steve trusts him, is the thing, and that carries more weight likeability ever could.

Rumlow’s fist connects with his jaw and he feels it rattle up into his teeth, the dull pain like a live current through his body, whiting everything else out: you awake, Steve? You awake yet? Is it enough, to still be able to bleed?

So sure, maybe it’s the violence that gets him. Maybe it’s that Rumlow fights just dirty enough and doesn’t pull his punches with Steve, grins at him sharp when he spits blood from his busted lip and squares back up. Maybe it’s just that he’s not afraid to touch him or look at him wrong. Everyone else seems to be.

He blinks sweat out of his eyes and creeps in close, lands a few swings in quick succession that have Rumlow easing off, head snapping to the side.

“Yeah. That’s it, there you go. C’mon,” he laughs, pushes damp hair out of his face in a well-worn afterthought of a move, and Steve –

Steve has to remind himself, is the thing. Every goddamn day of the week he has to keep reminding himself of where he is. Eventually, he thinks, it might stick – but God, he’s sick and tired of it.

They don’t even look alike. For one, Rumlow’s much older than Bucky ever got to be. Has the scars and the experience and the too-mean edge to his voice to prove it.

But in the end, when he's got Steve face down on the floor, breath hot down his neck, it turns out it doesn't really matter all that much.

He bucks anyway, if for no other reason just to prove a point to himself, just to feel his bones grind together. You're still moving, you're still just going forward, heart pumping like it's gonna burst with it. Rumlow twists his arm further up his back, grip iron tight. “I said stay down.”

“Yeah, fuck you,” Steve pants into the mat. “Pretty sure this ain’t within kickboxing rules.”

“Pretty sure there was no talk of rules in the first place. I keep tellin’ you, don’t I, you gotta get that or else people’ll think you’ve gone soft. Someone might take advantage.”

“You ever quit talkin’ shit?” Steve throws back at him.

“Nah.” Rumlow shifts, the weight of him heavy and hot, too close. Steve can’t catch his breath. Rumlow’s knee is still pressing into his back and he can already feel a bruise spreading at the bottom of his ribs that’ll be gone in the morning. He doesn’t even feel it all that much. He never even – “See, I don’t think you’d want that.”

Steve could break the hold with ease. He could throw Rumlow off and still walk away with most of his dignity intact. Steve could do a lot of things.

He’s fucking tired, is the thing. He’s in his body and buzzing hard out of his head and it hurts, Christ, it hurts so bad, has for such a long time now, and it doesn’t matter. It really doesn’t matter one bit.

Keep moving, keep moving. Maybe he doesn't want to. Maybe it's alright if it's not him, anyway; a river of trouble, cross currents, carrying him along.

It’s just easier, in the end, to trust someone on his team. That’s all there is to it. It's easier, it is, it's getting there at least, Steve keeps telling himself as he lets Rumlow take him apart in more ways than one.

Eventually, he thinks, he might even believe it.

x.

He meets Sam Wilson on a humid day in late May when the sun's barely made its way up, the sky an overripe color and all of his bruises already healing or healed or tucked neatly all the way back under the surface. Like many things with him these days, it starts off as muscle memory; then a shot in the dark, then relief when it works.

It still takes all of his willpower not to physically retreat when he's hit with the familiar, tired refrain:

You must miss the good old days, huh?

But then Sam cuts straight through the middle of it: Sam calls his bluff, quick as hell but with kind, serious eyes and an outstreched hand, and by the time the sleek black car rolls up to the curb with a roar Steve's got another title in his little book of the future and a chest that feels slightly lighter than it did when he jolted awake at 3 in the morning.

Romanoff pulls them back out onto the street without a word, and he doesn't even mind the knowing look she casts his way all that much. Just looks out the open window, the spring air whipping past as the speedometer ticks up 40, 50, 60, and thinks about whether the farmer's market will be open when they get back in: having some fruit in that goddamned fruit bowl might be nice for a change.

(epilogue)

When all is said and done, he thinks he really should have seen it coming. There was no talk of rules, and it's Steve's own damn fault for not listening. When the dust settles and the Potomac still reeks of a gasoline fire, when Steve's switched back onto battlefield efficiency despite the nightmares creeping into his subconscious with a vengance, it really shouldn't feel personal.

Except for the memory of Rumlow's slick grin in the too-bright, too-close space of the elevator, except for the phantom feeling that he can still sometimes smell scorched skin on his stomach; except for the way Bucky's horrified expression is burnt into the backs of Steve's eyelids like a brand, like a scar that won't heal fully.

Except that it's nothing but personal, in all the ways that matter.

Sam looks at him in question when he pauses in the middle of breakfast, eyes glued to the closest thing that passes for a modern TV in a roadside diner in Bumfuck, Iowa. Hospital breakout, the breaking news states, three dead, seven injured, dangerous fugitive on the loose. Be advised. Do not engage. Do not engage.

Yeah. Too fucking late for that now, isn't it.

"You alright?"

That's a loaded question, he thinks. I'm not sure what that really means and I don't know if I have for a while, he thinks.

You awake, Steve? You awake? You see it yet?

"Fine," he says, and digs back into the cold, gummy pancakes. "You think they got any blueberries in this place?"

Sam's face cracks into a smile, dubious and slow and then all at once. Sure, if you say so. Sure, I see what you're doing, but I'll trust your lead. Prop me up, I've got you right back. "Man, I don't think they even have hot water, but. Gimme five minutes and a Captain America name drop, I'm sure we can figure something out."

xx

[blues-of-randomness]

How I would have done chapter 3

So when Chapter 3 was being teased I was convinced that the smiling critters were going to be split down the middle. 3 of the critters being on Catnap's side "the followers" and 3 on Dogday's side "the Heretics".

Who are the followers?

Catnap, Kickinchicken, Pickypiggy and Bobby bearhug are apart of the follower group. Catnap is the leader given that he was saved by the prototype and started worshipping him first. As for why I think Kickin, Bobby and Picky are part of the follower group olddly enough hearing their voicelines in chapter three only gave me more material to work with for this.

Kickin, Bobby and Picky all have something they are very desperate for in their voicelines, these being the ones that tipped me off the most: Kickin- "Can you come with me? I'm scared." Bobby- "I'm lost without you, I've been lost for a long time...will you take me with you this time?" and Picky - "I'm still hungry..." What is see from the lines in particular are fear, yearning for companionship and insaitable hunger. When Cultists look for people to recruit it's not uncommon for them to scope out people who are desperate and at a low point int here lives. Who better to recruit than a bunch experimented children right?

Kickin was afraid of what could be outside cause he's never been outside before and whose to say that the sceintists didn't scare him with stories of scary monsters that lurk around outside or even in the dark. Bobby is desperate for someone to stay alongside her and never leave, why this is could be a plethera of reasons, she's been hurt by the scientists no doubt about that, perhaps alot of that left her with abandoment issues. Finally, Pickypiggy is pretty straight forward, she wanted food. She was obviously being starved one way or another (wheither this was a punishment from the scientists or the ran out of food after everything went to heck an may have resorted eating pieces of her friends). Kickin wanted to feel safe and secure, Bobby wanted a companion and Picky was desperate for food all attributes Catnap could manipulate in order to get them onto the side of the prototype by promising them what they desired.

Who are the heretics?

Dogday, Craftycorn, Bubba and Hoppy are the heretics, Dogday led the group while other fought or hi in order to stay alive.

Dogday knew the dangers of the prototype and being leader it was hi duty to keep them safe. Further pointed out by Dogday's cardboard cutout saying things like "you can't stay here, you need to leave." while disguising it as a game of fetch which implies that we would run but he would stay behind, possibly baiting whatever monster is hunting them. Bubba's carboard cutout has him being friendly with whatever threat is Infront of you, seemingly trying to reason with them. Bubba has always bee the the for reason and logic, being smart doesn't keep you from being manipulated, yes, but he doesn't seem like the type for fall for any tricks that Catnap or the prototype would've tried to use on him. What Hoppy wants is simple, she wanted to escape and nothing more, she probably would have been turned over to to prototype but I like to think Dogday was able to keep her in place, espically after the hour joy, I canimagine her fighting with herself on weither or not she made the right choice of not following the prototype. Like if she was following us there could be a rare instance where we hear her mumble to herself, saying something like "He said the prototype would save us...but then....why are we still here..?". Crafty was kind of hard to figure out from her dialouge but then I realized that it seems like she's trying to have a sense of normalcy in this crumbling hellhole. For instance she asks us to pass the blue paint but then panics when she's informed that she's out of red paint, insisting that we must be hiding it before attacking us. Crafty stayed with Dogday cause the cult was to different and sary for her, even though it ended up putting her in danger, I imagine if crafty had been somewhere there would be little stickers over the scratch marks signaling her basically trying to put a bandaid on a bullet hole.

This took me so long to type, so have the barebones description, if ya'll really want to eleaborate I'll answer some questions if you have some..

[wasted-women]

ROUND 4, MATCH 4 OUT OF 4

Causes of Death & Propaganda Under the Cut:

Vanessa Carlysle

Cause of Death: Shot by gangsters hunting for her boyfriend

Propaganda:

The first movie shows that she's so freakin cool and badass and confident and caring and sexy and doesn't take shit from anybody. And she's in the second movie for a Whole Scene before she dies and it's all about them having kids. And after she dies it's like she only existed as Wade's fiancee, like no one else is mourning her, does she have any friends?? Did she have any kind of life outside of Wade???

Despite Deadpool being known for being very aware of medium and genre, the writers of Deadpool 2 showed zero awareness in killing off Vanessa Carlysle solely to motivate her boyfriend, the protagonist. This is played completely unironically - the writers themselves say it! From a Vulture article:

"[...] Then I think at some point somebody just said, ‘Y’know, Deadpool kind of works best when he’s had everything taken away from him, when he suffers.’ So the thought was maybe we can really, really engender great suffering for him by having his line of work be the thing that costs Vanessa her life."

So they made them decide to starting a family only to kill her off in the same scene 👍.

Vanessa was originally not even supposed to die, but they changed that without a thought so the male protagonist would suffer more! And of course, the WAY she dies is made to be all about him, too!

The writers were apparently surprised with all the criticism they received for this scene! Because they were not aware of the concept of fridging at all. 😐

Just because you are aware what fridging is it doesn't mean you have a carte blanche to do it??? Being self aware doesn't make it less stupid.

Deadpool is literally about subverting overused comic tropes and the writers did not know about this overused trope and executed it to a T.

Stephanie Brown

Cause of Death: Tortured for several days before succumbing to her injuries

Propaganda:

Steph was a wildly popular character who was made Robin for a couple month specifically in preparation to kill her off in the War Games cross over event. During her time as robin comics fans responded so well that one of the writers asked if they should keep her alive and let her have a real run but an editor refused. Instead she was horrifically punished by the narrative for... doing exactly what every robin has done always. Not listening to batman, rescuing him, trying to earn his approval. Unlike the other robins she was murdered in a way that implied some kind of sexual assault while none of her friends or mentors looked for her. Did i mention she was 15?

[deblklesb]

[On The Road — Ellie x Reader Headcanons in a very specific scenario]

[Thelma & Louise (the movie) inspired, bff!ellie, modern!au. cw: violence, sex assault implied (reader), MDNI]

(a/n: I'll post more about it later!!!)

• Ellie and you are best friends for a long time now, having met in a festival promoted by the church your family attended;

• Since the beginning Ellie felt something different about you, something she didn't had towards other friends, but due to your long relationship with your (now) fiance she just kept to herself all the possibilities;

• Your family didn't like her that much and either your partner - although when it comes to him, this sentiment was mutual. You'd usually hang out away from your house and you got very familiar with her relatives, Joel, Tommy and Maria;

• Working on a dinner all day, she always had something for you to eat whenever you met. You, on the other hand, had lots of different CDs, books, magazines and random varieties to her. You didn't know it, but she guarded every single thing you ever handed her with the biggest care;

• One day you decide to go on the road. A weekend travel by car, she would drive and you would be in charge of the directions;

• She would play every CD you gave her. You both would sing loud the lyrics. Just later you'd realize that was one of the rarest times when you felt so good and alive - away from your family, you partner, all the pressure. And Ellie notices the glow surrounding you. Inside of her, a desire to take you out to those road trips more often was growing. She would cross the country if that meant putting that smile on your face, adorning your voice with those giggles;

• On a road bar, where you accept dancing with a stranger - just because he was nice, and because that wasn't what you'd usually do - things get out of control. He isn't Ellie, and you wanna come back to her. But he doesn't let you go;

• Ellie looked for you around the crowded place and decided to try outside, praying to God you would just be taking some air;

• She has always been afraid of you discovering a specific side of hers, but tonight isn't the time to worry about it. As soon as she finds the scene, she just pulls that man away from you and starts to beat him. On an enraged motion, you kick him as soon as she manages to push his body into the ground;

• Involved in anger, frustration and to many other feelings, she keeps beating him until you hear an alarmed voice. "They're beating Bob", somebody says. "Ellie, let's go! Ellie!", she doesn't hear you. His face is unrecognizable and he's barely moving, but the sounds of steps getting closer it's the most scary thing right now. "Ellie!", you pull her shirt and she finally snaps out of it, seeing a guy turning the corner in your direction;

• You both get out and drive for as long as possible into the nowhere. You take your time to calm down as best as you can, but her bloody hands on the wheel calls your attention. You both have been silent all the way, and just when there's almost no other vehicle around she drives out of the road and turns off the car;

• With shaky hands you clean her knuckles. Ellie holds you tight. "I think you killed him", you whisper, monotone, her recently clean hand caressing your hair. "Good", it's all she answers;

• You can't go home or talk to your family. She assures you that you both can go to Jackson to get help. And soon, the most unimaginable time of your life starts;

• After a whole day of deep thought, spending some time in a trashy motel watching TV, you manage to feel calmer. She makes everything she can to put your mind out of that event. Ellie is attentive to your actions. She respects your time and space and, on her own, it's freaking out, wishing to help somehow;

• "I want a burger. With bacon", it's the words that put an smirk on her lips. You're still off, still trying to put yourself together, still trying to repeat in your mind that you're with Ellie and, because of that, you're probably the most safe you've ever been. "Say no more, pretty girl", she answers, getting up from the bed. Before leaving the room, the auburn haired woman kissed your forehead;

[let-us-cultivate-our-garden]

looking back at the show, don't you think that Luz was the reason why she couldn't fit in? The show paints it as people not liking her for her weirdness, but in episode 1, her classmates and others seemed to not like her because she did things that generally made them uncomfortable (the spiders, bringing in fireworks, the snakes, etc). People aren't going to "understand" you if you do disturbing and harmful things. I like Luz btw I'm just pointing this out because it's something I noticed.

The show sets Luz up as this character who doesn't fit in, which is why she struggles with having friends, and why her mother sends her to summer camp, causing her to run away. The problem is that we're told this information and the only thing that demonstrates how Luz doesn't fit in is when she is doing dangerous stuff like bringing live snakes and fireworks to school. She also ad-libs a major part of a school play, which if you know anything about theater kids, they absolutely hate it when actors go off-script. It's not a demonstration of how creative Luz is, but how she doesn't think about how her actions might affect other people. If anything, it implies how Luz is kinda selfish and doesn't think things through. This is a great set up for character development, but that's the last we ever hear about Luz struggling to fit in.

At Hexside, Luz makes friends rather easily; she's never treated as an outsider--despite humans being an anomaly in the Demon Realm--and people accept her as she is. So her line in For the Future about "just wanting to be understood" makes no sense because this is the first time she has voiced this concern and literally every friend she has made in the BI have done nothing but love and support her.

The only other time we learn about Luz's time on earth is in Thanks to Them, when she struggled in school because the subjects were boring and two grown women in the park make fun of her behind her back for playing with snakeskins. Luz never hears this by the way, but her mother does and immediately goes to Luz' defense. This isn't enough to portray Luz as an outsider so we only have episode 1 to go by, which if you think about it, portrays Luz as selfish and not thinking about other people.

(And realistically, if Luz was bringing in fireworks and dangerous animals to school, that would be grounds for expulsion. The principal is doing his job trying to keep the school safe and is also doing what he thinks will help Luz socialize better. Yet he is portrayed as being in the wrong for this).

In the end, I'm not sure what Luz's character arc is because the show tells us her problems but literally shows us the opposite; we only see her endanger other students and the tone tells us we're supposed to see it as funny, we're never shown her peers bullying her for liking weird and creepy things. She tells us she wants to be understood but we're shown she's received nothing but kindness and support from both her mother and her BI friends.

With this kind of setup, you could easily interpret Luz as a selfish character who got everything she wanted in the end without having to work for it.

That is bad.

[thatseventiesbitch]

Eric Defending Donna

A rabbit hole I went down for... reasons. Decided to share for funsies.

Season 2 -

In Eric Gets Suspended, Donna is smoking a cigarette on school property and when a teacher catches her, Eric says it's his. He is suspended as a result.

Mentioned in a diary entry that I think is meant to take place sometime in season 2 or 3 - Eric and Donna go to a dive bar to watch the superbowl, and a big, dumb guy starts hitting on Donna. Eric comes to her defense and asks the guy to step outside - while he and Donna slip out the side door (😂).

Season 3 -

At the end of the roller disco episode, Eric comes into the basement and starts whaling on Kelso (and the guys gleefully join in). He shouts, "Donna told me what you did, you dillhole!" Eric was hitting Kelso because he'd made a pass at Donna at the roller disco.

In the ice shack episode, Eric and Donna play the Newlywed Game vs. Jackie and Kelso. Through one of the questions, it is revealed that Donna's told Eric she hates her huge feet. He insists in front of everyone that he doesn't think they're big, and then pivots to insisting that big feet are actually a good thing (😂).

Eric also defended her after he pantsed her in the driveway and Hyde was teasing Donna and calling her Granny Panties. "So what if she wears big panties?" 😂🤣😭

Season 4 -

Eric believes Casey Kelso is manipulating Donna. He tells him not to let Donna believe he cares about her if it's not true, and to let her go rather than hurt her. When Casey disregards his words, Eric threatens to kick his ass (if he makes Donna cry).

He is also very protective of her after the incident with Casey Kelso at the Le Motel. He tells her that he thinks Casey's all wrong for her and that they're moving way too fast.

Season 5 -

When Bob enrolls Donna in the Catholic school, Eric 'marches' over to talk to Bob and try to convince him to let Donna stay at school with him/her friends. He brings a crumb cake to bribe him. He even says he is "prepared to fight this with every fiber of my being" - until he sees her uniform. 🤣

Eric's Grandma Bea is rude towards Donna, seeming to imply that Eric can and should find someone better to marry. While Eric initially enjoys the fact that someone thinks Donna's the lucky one and he's the catch, he eventually tells his grandma that she has got to give Donna a chance, and that if she does she will love her. (Though unfortunately it doesn't work, *lol*)

Jackie's upset with Eric and Donna for threatening to tell Kelso about her secret relationship with Hyde, so in a snappy moment she refers to Donna as a 'big red whore'. Eric tells her to watch what she says.

Season 6 -

When they have their pregnancy scare and their parents confront them in the living room, Donna has to ask him to step in (*lol*), but he does, and says, "Look, whether we're pregnant or not, Donna and I can run our own lives." Unfortunately the next sentence out of his mouth was... utter crap.

After Mitch takes Donna to his brother's wedding and then lied and embarrassed her in front of everybody, Eric was going to fight him. When Mitch tried to weasel out of it, Eric's response was "Donna was really nice to you and you humiliated her - I can't let you treat people like that."

Season 7 -

When Donna's boss at the radio station fires her for refusing to wear a bikini to promote her show, Eric backs her up. He even 'cusses out' her boss and then storms out, taking her with him! Then he comes up with a devious plan that ultimately helps Donna win her job back.

*Note: I purposely did not include the scene where Eric confronts David Millbank in season 1, because although Eric wanted to fight him for Donna, it wasn't on Donna's behalf but because of his own insecurity. And we know for a fact that Donna didn't like it.

[spacexseven]

Thoughts on mer au Chuuya getting jealous when he sees darling with someone? Like how would he react, what would he do, etc

I feel like he’d try use his charm or beauty to make darling stick around him more or find treasures and give it to her. But whenever he sees the guy he’s seething with jealousy, clenched fists because he wants to take that man’s throat and drown him. Not even eat him because the man deserves to just wither away in the sea. And then reader might go to Chuuya asking, “hey have u seen (friend) around?? I’m really worried about him!!” Chuuya will give a frown replying “no, sorry, perhaps another siren ate him?” (On the inside he’s grinning with happiness) Darling gets a bit upset because she doesn’t wanna lose her friend and Chuuya cradle her and holds her close (because that’s what darling likes right, and Chuuya wants to touch her anyway),Chuuya thinks that she deserves someone like himself, not some pesky male human who is ugly and unworthy of her presence and beauty. ❤️

ur mer au 🤝me

lolol i'm so glad ure enjoying this as much as i am BD

cw: yandere character, obsessive behavior. possessive behavior, jealousy, murder, implied torture, manipulation

if this is the same setting as darling who is unaffected by chuuya's powers, chuuya would be more than upset. you didn't blink an eye at him but you were clinging onto this human loser like your life depended on it?? he found it all revolting. were all humans as stupid as you? did you really throw him aside and ignore him for this pathetic shell of a person?

every time he sees your hands locked together, fingers intertwined and a permanent smile on your face, chuuya wants to rip out his own eyes. it's a tormenting sight, worse yet when he thinks about how that could have been him with you. if only you weren't so stubborn.

he wants to rip your new friend away from you, destroy every memory of them so you'd only think of him. like you were always supposed to. he knows he will eventually kill the newcomer. he doesn't feel guilty, after all, he's killed more humans than he can count just for fun before, and if it's for you, he'd gladly toss aside this vermin. what would be a fitting end for a pest like this? something slow and deliberate. chuuya definitely wouldn't debase himself by eating this human, but drowning seems more likely. regardless, your friend suffers for a long time.

and you are none the wiser, coming up to the siren who murdered your friend with that adorably confused expression and the gentle request, wondering if chuuya had seen them, on a boat, maybe? your friend did like the waters. chuuya is internally proud of his own work, but on the outside feigns uncertainty. your friend, about this tall? oh, chuuya might have seen them walking with someone by the shore last night...he looks worried and wonders out loud if another siren got ot them. or maybe, they got into an accident? you look devastated at the mention of your friend with someone else, and more so when you realize chuuya is implying that your friend might have died already.

chuuya reminds you that his friendship is the only thing that saved you from a similar fate, warning you about the dangers of the sea. you only look more terrified, and he smiles to himself.

"do you think you can help me check for any...signs?" you ask him, rather foolishly. he can't blame you for not knowing, though.

he accepts the request easily and reassures you in a soft voice that he will do his best to find your friend. your face falls as your slump down beside him, devastated by the possibilities, and chuuya takes this as the perfect time to put an arm around you, holding you very close in what he hopes resembles a reassuring gesture. you don't complain, or push him away.

and when later that night, you come to your usual spot again to talk to him, he's surprised by your request. you want him to sing to you because you're too scared to sleep. he doesn't know if this will work on you, but tries anyway, never being able to refuse you when you asked so sweetly and looked so forlorn. you fall soundly asleep in his arms, to both of your surprises.

maybe, chuuya thinks, there is hope.