#it does NOT snow all year in siberia

[isaactheterrible]

TF2 Mercs Yandere Version

Trigger Warning: Violence, Abusive Behavior, Stalking

(Disclaimer: This is based on the TF2 comics and the personalities of the mercs in them, this is what I kind yandere I personally think the mercs would be. Gender neutral reader)

1.Medic

-Obssessive medical yandere

-100% will kidnap you

-Will probably spend years studying you

-Vivisecting you, dismembering you, pulling you apart and putting you back together, learning everything about you

-You're his special interest he loves spending hours studying and memorizing everything there is to know about you

-Probably the most awful and dangerous out of all them, has no regard for your feelings or safety after all if you die he can just put you back together

2.Scout

-Delusional yandere

-He knows the two of you are meant to be and hey! You are probably already together, you're just taking things slow that's all he's sure of it

-Buys little items that remind him of you such as the same shampoo as you

-Obsessed with chivalry, keeps insisting that he pay for you despite him not always having the funds to do so, insists you wear his jacket even if he's freezing his balls off ect

-Gets jealous easily due to how insecure he is

-He keeps acting like the two of you are dating but won't cross your physical boundaries

-Would never hurt you physically but he will completely break down if you get with someone else

-Takes him days to get out of his depression room, he has convinced himself you'll choose him eventually

-Not that dangerous, at most he'll get into a fistfight with your S/O in a Wendy's parking lot

3.Demoman

-Two-faced yandere

-He fell for you the moment he saw you, he just knew you were the one

-Tries to befriend you at first but almost immediately introduces you to his mother, the two of you need to get along otherwise it's a deal breaker

-If you passed the test he's already planning your wedding and future

-He does his best to clean up his act and be the ideal image of the perfect man and future husband to you

-He doesn't steal from you or violate your boundaries but he will solve any "problems" that might get between you too

-He will kill anyone that threatens your perfect life, serial killer on the side

-He trust you because he loves you but it's best that you never betray that trust

-Not that dangerous for you but extremely dangerous to everyone around you

4.Heavy

-Overly protective yandere

-He will kidnap you and force you to live in a cold cabin in Siberia in the middle of nowhere

-For your own good of course, he has tons of enemies and he needs to keep you safe, the world can't know of your existence

-You could try to run but there's nowhere to go, nothing but cold and snow for kilometers around

-You are stuck there essentially forever cause he doesn't believe you can actually protect yourself without him

-Incredibly boring, all that exists is cold and books and we'll him

-You are slowly going insane in the place

-Very dangerous yandere, he won't kill you but you'll end up chained for years potentially if you try to leave, why can't you just understand he wants to protect you?

5.Pyro

-Codepended Nightmare

-You will never be alone again, clingiest MF

-Good thing is that they don't need that much attention, just being around you and maybe napping on your shoulder is enough

-You're one of the only things that bring them joy

-Will draw you a lot and give you lots of little trinkets and gifts

-If you force them to go in a different room they'll sit outside the door waiting for you

-Not that jealous or possessive will be happy to have other people around

-Might hurt you out of pain and anger if you try to leave

-Pretty dangerous to both you and your safety

6.Engineer

-Possessive Yandere

-He has strong abandonment uses and is convinced you'll leave him for someone else if you ever get that chance

-Will isolate you and sabotage your relationships, at first from anyone he sees as competition and then everyone else as well

-He doesn't do it from a place of wanting to own you but from a place of insecurity

-Might kidnap you if you try to leave but only as a last resort, he really doesn't want to hurt you but he'd rather do it than be alone again

-Very dangerous mostly cause he prioritizes his desire for companionship over your right to freedom

7.Soldier

-Absolute nutcase and menace to society

-He fell in love with you, congratulations you're technically married now!

-You are pretty much stuck with him, you two are joined at the hip with him ranting about whatever to you

-Would do ANYTHING for you, except leave you alone of course

-Not at all jealous and pretty chill about your obvious discomfort and escape attempts

-He can't and won't listen to reason, he's too far gone

-Not particularly pushy but very volatile

-That being said he's still incredibly dangerous

8.Spy

-Controlling ass mf

-On the positive side you will be showered in gifts and luxuries

-On the negative side you get to choose pretty much nothing about your life

-You have an image to maintain so your friends, your clothing, your food, the places you go to are all completely out of your control

-You will probably quickly lose your sanity and if you do you will be shipped off to the highest quality glorified re-education mental hospital

-The doctors aren't here to help you their here to make you more obedient

-Run away as far as you can but he'll always find you, he's a danger to you and all your loved ones, willing to destroy you if it means controlling you

9.Sniper

-Stalker

-Has entire folders and USB sticks dedicated to you

-Knows your social security number by heart, your current location, your address, your friends, any dangerous people in your area, EVERYTHING

-Watches from afar helping here and there like a guardian angel

-Has put cameras and voice recording devices in your house

-He doesn't collect memorabilia such as t-shirts or other forgotten items

-He does take a lot of pictures and his room is a bit of a messy shrine to you

-Absolutely shook if you approach him first, it's just too much for him he's experiencing too much emotion and might hide away out of embarrassment

-Not that dangerous as he has no interest in intervening with your life unless it's about your safety

[mikomiproblemateke]

Winter, fireworks and peace

Winter.

Samael's favorite and most hated time of the year.

Why is it hated? In winter, most people die by negligence, as always, in principle, and his department only has more trouble. Uriel is also not happy in principle, like Volkov, they are the ones who deal with the distribution of Heaven and Hell. Samael's daughters can also help, but so much has fallen on the shoulders of these girls.

Also, Michael, his younger brother, finds more reasons to get drunk. Samael does not find any sense in this, because the archangels, on the contrary, should stay away from all temptations, including drunking. However, Samael does not get drunk, no matter how hard they try to get him drunk, so he never comes to such gatherings.

A lot of snow, ice, Cassiel makes him dress warmly, even though he doesn't feel the cold. Or he started ignoring it a long time ago... Who knows, Volkov has been living for thousands of years and has already forgotten what cold and a normal eight-hour sleep are. Who knew that people tend to die because of some little things...

This time Samael decided to take a break from his duties, it has already become a tradition to take a day off in the middle of winter and go somewhere. Cassiel made him put on at least a coat. By the way, it was not too different from his casual work clothes, black with red inserts. Strictly and stylishly, to match the archangel of death.

However, many forget the fact that he is also an angel of ice.

By the way, here we are talking about why Samael loves winter.

He feels himself... By himself during this period, as if he himself was made of ice and snow. A lot of tiny snowflakes intertwining with each other create huge snowdrifts and a lot of trouble. They are so different, but at first glance they are all similar. Perhaps that was the way to describe the entire reaper department; they seem to perform one function, but everyone has their own opinion on this matter, someone sympathizes with people, and someone doesn't care. The sentimentalists who have to take the souls of animals or children get the most. Here Samael just sighs, imagining how difficult it will be for them later.

But there is another reason. That's the reason he comes here. A lonely field, almost untouched by anyone, only one table and a few trees. There were several ice figures sitting at the table, representing those who no longer exist. Samael made them out of his own ice to honor the memory of his deceased comrades. Few archangels remember the events of those times, even he almost forgot them, but he assures himself that he will never forget them.

Few people remember that Samael was a combat archangel. With such a strong ally as Samael, it was difficult for the opponents to at least put them to flight. It would seem that who needs to attack angels at all? Volkov realized this after several wars and uprisings.

Then he was reckless, funny, just like Michael is now. He used to have a lot of friends and didn't expect this to happen to him later.

With each war and uprising, he lost his close comrades. Samael was death itself, so he couldn't die, unlike them, who were just angels. It was painful and terrible. It was getting so cold without them, like winter in Siberia.

After that, he became what he is now; cold, fearless and ever-busy. As soon as Metzger appointed him head of the reapers, Volkov immediately got to work and plunged into it with his head, which surprised him. But a working archangel is better than another.

And now, he is sitting here, among the ice figures made by himself. Samael pours vodka into his glass, lifting it into the air, as if someone would hear his toast.

"Let the ice become your coffin, snow your blanket, and winter your cradle. To you, my comrades, and to your peace."

And after his words, as if on command, the roar of fireworks is heard. Human entertainment is amazing, but it is worth recognizing that it is still necessary to try to create such bright figures from explosive material. Perhaps the angels are not too different from them. It is also possible that they are closely related to demons. The difference is only in the outer shell of the soul, that's all.

Samael pours the scalding swill down his throat and it even gives him fleeting pleasure and peace of mind. The fireworks still continue to rumble somewhere in the distance. Volkov does not know if today is some kind of holiday or if it was just launched for 'why not' reason. Tonight he would be at peace for the dead.

Cain is not capable of causing him problems. Uriel won't pry into his business. Michael will not stick to him with his "brotherly love". Ashe will not annoy with his laziness.

"Calmness is a form of peace." – as if by chance, Samael remembered his own words that he had once said to Cassiel in response to a remark about his recycling. For him, there is no concept of recycling, only hard work... While people are dying from them, it gives Volkov more strength.

Samael has always been "strange" to everyone, but perhaps this is because while everyone is made up of feathers and faith, he is ice and a blizzard.

Therefore, when he goes home, a blizzard flying in his face, as if it had no effect on him, as if flying past him. Winter feels its creation, as does the creation of its mother and home. Volkov does not want warm, does not want to melt, but he is ready to receive heat from only one archangel...

"Oh, Samael, how did you not get covered with frost there..." Cassiel's caring voice greeted him from the doorway.

"Cassiel, I don't feel cold and I can't get covered in frost."

"Your brother said something like that when he decided to climb into hellfire without any protection. The wings almost turned into embers."

"I remember. But I am older and more capable of calculating my abilities and powers."

"Oh, you're my snow king... I hope you could at least see the fireworks. You should have seen Michael when he was running away from the firecracker, otherwise everything flew in different directions because of the blizzard. Fortunately, everything turned out to be minimal losses, but Uriel says that Michael will no longer launch fireworks and will not choose a place."

"..Okay, now I'm regretting I didn't join you."

"Maybe next year..." He thought.

Author's notes:

This is my vision of the archangels in EP's au so don't take it as canon. And here Samael have two daughters; the first symbolizes clinical death, and the second is coma. English is also not my first language, so I don’t write or speak it well, but I hope that during editing I corrected all the translator’s mistakes

[pokemonbiologyirlthetabletop]

Snom & Frosmoth

Glaciestinea infansnix (Snom)

Glaciestinea elegansnix (Frosmoth)

Snom (#872)

Snoms are an ice/bug-type larval Pokémon that hatch in the fall. They average at around 8.4 pounds (3.8 kg) and are a foot tall. When they sleep, they extrude threads from its little mouth to anchor themselves to a branch, disguising themselves as an icicle.

Habitat: Snoms are found in cold climate zones, places that experience below freezing temperatures for at least 65 days a year collectively. The mother Frosmoth lays her eggs in a cold cave during the late summer, where she hides from the heat in that cave and protects her brood. They are found throughout the northern hemisphere.   

Life Cycles: Snoms hatch from their eggs at the onset of autumn, typically around late September/early October. The entire brood will hatch within a short period of time together. During the time they were eggs, their Frosmoth mother had been guarding over them almost the entire time, and she continues to care for them at least for the first few days after hatching. As the many Snoms venture outside the cave to explore and eat and even make friends, the Frosmoth eventually leaves the ice cave to go and continue her own life.

 

Snoms are highly susceptible to predation by anything that would be inclined to eat an ice-covered caterpillar, and most will not survive to evolution. They will spend the fall and winter consuming food and bonding with other Pokémon, including each other. If a Snom does not evolve by the time winter is over, which greatly increases predation risks as the winter snow disappears, then they will often try to return to the ice cave that they were born in and hibernate through the summer. Frosmoths rarely turn away Snoms from their caves.

Behavior: Because Snoms evolve through high friendship, they are in fact quite amicable creatures that readily bond with friendly Pokémon and trainers! This bonding also increases their survival rate, too, as a Snom who successfully bonds with another Pokémon or trainer are less likely to be eaten by predators. This amicability also makes Snoms truly excellent companions for trainers!

Diet: Snoms eat snow and ice! Well, actually, they eat the micro-organisms inside of the snow and ice. In absence of snow and ice, Snoms can also be given very cold water. They will also eat larger things like fir and pine needles, cones, and junipers, but they cannot grow up healthy and strong without snow and ice to eat, as the ice helps strengthen their spikes and keeps their internal temperatures cool.

Conservation: Least Concern

Relationship with Humans: Snoms are a frequent starter Pokémon in the upper regions of the world, such as Canada, Siberia, Alaska, and so forth. They are much beloved Pokémon, and there is even a brand of candies called Gummi Snoms that originates from Eastern Europe. These gummies are quite popular, coming in a variety of flavors and colors, and all of them in a delicious sour coating!

 

As with many Pokémon that are common and weak, Snoms are often used as bait for hunters, trappers, fishers, illegal dog fighting, and more. They are easy to breed, easy to hatch, easy to catch, and easy to raise, which makes them perfect for such purposes.

Snoms and Frosmoth are both highly studied Pokémon.

 

Classification: Snom and Frosmoth are distantly related to Larvesta and Volcarona, though the split occurred before the onset of the last ice age.

 

Frosmoth (#873)

Frosmoths are ice/bug types that average at 4’03 feet tall (1.3 M) and 92.6 pounds (42 kg). They are the evolved form of Snom, who evolve into Frosmoth with high friendship at night. The scales from their wings may fall like glittering snow as they fly over fields and mountains. The temperature of its wings is less than -290 F. While usually crossed and obscured, Frosmoths do actually have paws with little heart-shaped pads at the end! When in use, they emerge as little hearts on their chest.

Habitat: Frosmoths are found in cold climates throughout the northern hemisphere, but do not seem to proliferate in areas that experience less than 2 months of below-freezing temperatures.

Life Cycles: Once a Frosmoth evolves from a Snom, it becomes reproductively viable and it will begin the process of seeking suitable mates. Female Frosmoths will mate with as many other Frosmoths as they can find with little discretion on sex in order to increase the genetic variation of their own offspring. Mating/courtship usually occurs during the dead of winter into Spring, and eggs are laid in clutches of 150-300 at a time. The female Frosmoth will guard her eggs until they hatch, only leaving her ice cave on rare occasions to feed when the temperatures are low, but these occasions greatly increase predation risks on her eggs.

Behavior: Frosmoths are quite amicable with each other and to other non-predatorial Pokémon, and wild Frosmoths have even been known to let trustworthy trainers take their eggs because a Snom under trainer care is near-guaranteed survival compared to wild ones. In the wild, Frosmoths mate with eachother rather indiscriminately, which also serves the function of increasing inter-species bonding and encourages male Frosmoths to be protective of Snoms, too.

In preparation for the summer, Frosmoths will find a suitably cold cave to hide in and nest for the summer. Often they use their own ice powers to manipulate the air around them, creating a microhabitat within the cave so that they may rest peacefully as their eggs gestate. Some Frosmoths will share ice caves.

 Mother Frosmoths will take care of her baby Snoms for the first few days after hatching, but once they start leaving her cave she becomes unable to keep an eye on all of them and lets them live their lives, and she leaves to continue her own life. Their babies may be small and fragile and delicious to predators, but if a Frosmoth happens to be nearby, they will defend that Snom from predators.

Diet: Frosmoths eat lichens, moss, conifer needles, and nectar. They are a pollinator for many arctic flowers. Trainers can feed them specialty Pokémon food (made available from many companies!) as substitute for a natural diet, but you should still take your Frosmoth outside and let it enjoy some fir needles or something. As both Frosmoth and Snoms enjoy tree needles, they can be quite a pain for Christmas tree farms.

Conservation: Least Concern

Relationship with Humans: Throughout human history, it seems there has been a relatively low rate of Frosmoth and Snom predation by humanity. At most, Frosmoth fluff has been used for cold-weather insulation and occassionally eaten by the desperate, but by and large it seems humans have found Frosmoths to be unappetizing and not worth the effort. Which doesn't mean they're not ever eaten by humans, just not typically, and when they are the Snoms are usually seen as the much easier target than the Frosmoth. Instead of direct consumption, Snoms were historically used as bait for larger creatures, and in regions where this is still practiced the Frosmoths are quite hostile to humans.

Because of their little heart-shaped paws, Frosmoths are sometimes utilized in love-themed imagery.

Frosmoths are excellent defenders of remote mountains and forests, and many rangers utilize and work with Frosmoths in defending their homelands from invading threats.

Like many fully-evolved bug Pokémon, Frosmoths are common enough Pokémon on the teams of trainers in the regions that they frequent. They are seen as easy to raise and generally agreeable to co-habitating with others.

~~~~~~~~

Hey guess what, if you like my stuff, this is my website where you can find other Pokémon I've written on and more information about the game that I’m slowly making! Check it out! I write books sometimes too.

[windriverdelta]

ASOIAF seasons

...probably won't cause the extinction of crops in Westeros. Many important plants like corn can survive through winter through their seeds, and the duration of seed viability is measured in years, sometimes approaching decades (e.g source and blog) even without factoring natural selection under a multi-year season climate in. Tree growth likewise is subject to dormancy and limited less by the duration of winter and more by the duration of summer alone ("growing degree days"), as we can see from boreal forests in Siberia. In fact, it's crop pests like locusts, fungi and aphids which would likely take the brunt of multiyear seasons, as they'd have to survive not only winter but also lack of food - unlike humans which can store food and switch between food sources. In fact, the lore does not mention crop pests at all and it wouldn't surprise me if a mass extinction of pest insects occurred during the first long winter*. Granted, this would also apply to much of Westeros' wildlife...

Where the bigger problems start is when Martin speaks of "false springs and spirit summers" or summer snows (Bran V AGOT: "Robb lifted his face to the snow, and the flakes melted on his cheeks"), because unless they last long enough to negate the whole "multiyear seasons", summer snows would cause crop failures and false springs premature germination of crops, followed by crop failure during the next cold. This is an example of an "explanation" that doesn't solve anything and only makes problems worse.

The real big issues however are the non-temperature related traits of seasons, like dry seasons and especially fire seasons. Any place with a pronounced dry season would lose its forests to fire during the dry season, with only "desert blooms" and limited regrowth of woody plants during the wet season; many lakes and rivers would dry out during the dry seasons. In particular, places like Oldtown and Dorne where "snow falls almost never" akin to a Mediterranean climate would be treeless and at risk of famine during prolonged dry seasons. Even boreal climates like Siberia have fire seasons in the real world; extensive forest fires would be a threat to the North.**

But what is the point of the multiyear seasons? I think that the key is the "heart of winter" that scares Bran in Bran III AGOT, Martin's comments that the seasons are due to supernatural and not scientific factors, Septon Barth's theory in TWOIAF that once upon a time the seasons were regular and tied to day length like they are in the real world, and the fact that ice demons are the main villains of ASOIAF. I find it quite likely that Daenerys, Jon Snow and Tyrion will launch an attack on dragonback against the heart of winter in order to wipe out the Others at their root somewhere in ADOS - and the survivors in Westeros will know that they were successful when spring begins unexpectedly and the seasons become regular again***, even if none of them ever return.

*I don't agree that Jojen's "greywater fever" is cerebral malaria for exactly this reason - even if mosquitoes could handle multiyear winters north of the Riverlands, cerebral malaria in children is almost always caused by Plasmodium falciparum, which is a strictly tropical species. You aren't going to find it in places with temperate climates and certainly not in places with multiyear winters. No, if greywater fever is mosquito-borne it's most likely viral like West Nile fever. Or it might also be a diarrhoeal disease akin to food poisoning, stomach flu or cholera - these can cause coma through dehydration.

**Ironically, charcoal from vegetation fires might improve crop growth by keeping nutrients in the soil. There is evidence that superfertile soils like the Eurasian chernozems and tropical terra preta owe their existence in part to burning. Thus giving Westeros realistic fire seasons might further mitigate food issues caused by the long seasons.

***For the sake of humanity I hope that this normalization is accompanied by a notable global warming - it's well-established in the real world that less extreme seasons lead to ice ages, thanks to things like ice sheets growing more slowly than they can melt.

[maple-the-awesome]

We'll Meet Again...I Know When || Chapter 19

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x GN Reader

Words: 2,639

Overview: Given your old-fashioned personality and obsession with all things 1940s to 1980s, it’s no wonder that most people refer to you as an ‘old soul’ who would’ve rather lived back then than in the modern era. Little do they know, you already did, but with your previous life as Hollie Stark cut short, you’ve been left with some…unfinished business, to say the least. Top of your list? Finally getting to marry your thought-to-be-lost fiancé.

Series Masterlist 🤎 Marvel Masterlist 🤎 Fandom Masterlist

CHAPTER NINETEEN: LAUGHTER

The landscape in Siberia is void of color, blanketed only in the white of snow, charcoal black of mountains, and the smoky-gray in the sky above; a perfect match to what you're currently feeling in your heart.

No one's really said anything since leaving the airport, too upset, tired, and sore for conversation, although the last two points may only apply to you. Your super soldier company hasn't seemed too out of breath, but for someone with regular human endurance, running around an airport fighting the Avengers can be quite the hassle; it doesn't help that you had been sitting on your ass in Europe for nearly two years without exercise either.

Despite all efforts to think of something else - anything to distract your mind -, your thoughts always return to the events that have unfolded today. Not daring to speak a word of it aloud, you silently fret over them and the current status of your relationship with the other Avengers. It's no doubt shattered by this point; a heartbreaking thought, really.

You had already been in hot water with them after going on the lam with 'the Winter Soldier' for so long, but you're convinced you could've lessened the damage if you had just been given time to explain. Natasha would've backed you up and Clint's a fan of redemption arcs, so you'd like to believe with their help, you could've argued your case well enough for Bucky to be given a chance...Then the UN bombing happened which is when any hope of fixing things officially swirled down the drain.

The Avengers - the entire world is convinced Bucky committed that attack and if Steve couldn't change their minds, you highly doubt a 'criminal' like yourself could've either...but should you have tried? Maybe, just maybe, it would've worked and you wouldn't have had to leave on such terrible terms.

You feel terrible for hurting your friends, but you feel especially guilty for betraying Tony. He only wanted to do the right thing which you can't blame him for. Even so, you just wish you could've gotten your nephew to understand...Maybe if you had brought up that point earlier, it would've tugged his emotions in your favor: Hollie loved Bucky, so why not try to help him as your aunt would've wanted? Would that have been too cruel to say? Possibly. For all you know, part of Tony's anger back there might've already been sourced from the knowledge that his aunt's fiancé was the one who ultimately took away his entire family from him...Yeah, it's probably a good thing you didn't bring it up then...

You can feel Bucky's eyes watching you. Although he sometimes pauses to look at Steve who's piloting in front of him, he mostly stares at you across the way, likely not realizing your knowledge of this, after all you've been staring out the window blankly yourself, not in the mood to be the one to start a conversation, so he does for once:

"What's gonna happen to your friends?"

You're not sure who he intended this question for, but Steve takes no issue answering sternly, "Whatever it is, I'll deal with it."

Bucky's attention drops to his lap pitifully, "...I don't know if I'm worth all of this, you guys..."

"You might not think so yourself, but to us, you are," if the seats were closer, you would've set a hand over his, however your forced to merely turn your head his way, hoping the emotion that shines in your eyes will offer enough sincerity to get the point across anyways, "I'd even say you're worth more if it were required. We'd do anything to protect you, James."

Steve looks back temporarily, catching your eyes with a small smile. You nod to him, confirming that you understand his unspoken words of agreement.

"You gotta understand that what happened back there was our choice. We could've gone home at any point. We could've let Tony take you without a word of protest, but we choose to stand up for you on our own accords. We weren't about to watch our friend be arrested for something he didn't do. I'm sorry, but there's nothing you could've said or done to change our minds on that - even now, you have zero chance, I'm afraid. We're in this together for the long-haul."

"'till the end of the line, Buck," Steve adds.

Bucky's lip twitches upward which is enough for the time being. You truly mean your words which you really hope he trusts. As much as it pains you to betray your friends and family, you made a choice to protect the one who you believe needs it the most. It's difficult, but lots of things about your life are.

You're not looking forward to stepping outside. By simply gazing out the Quinjet windows, you can already tell Siberia doesn't look like much fun. There's flurries of snow in the air and winds so strong that you can hear their whistling even against the secured armor of the jet...And to think you had complained about Romania's winter! Even in summer, you can't seem to get a break from snow!

"The material of your suit is supposed to help control your body heat, so you should only have to worry about your face being exposed - not that we'll be outside for long, but I can't imagine the inside of that base being too warm either."

"Seriously?" You turn to Steve, uncrossing your arms as you now have less reason to pout, "Man, you thought of everything, didn't you?"

He chuckles, "I'm afraid I can't take credit for it. I just asked Clint to get you a suit. He's the one who thought of the specifics."

"And fast, too!" You glance back outside, "'guess I gotta add him to my 'people-I'm-in-debt-to' list."

You figured Steve would've moved on to finish getting ready, however he remains by your side instead. You don't question this until he suddenly speaks again after a quiet yet sharp inhale, "(Y/n), I...About what we might see in there -"

"- I'm not going to go all batshit crazy or anything, you have my word," you sigh, doing a scout's honor gesture for good measure, "The only thing I ask is for you to at least let me break the guy's nose, okay? I can be quick - one punch square in the face, that's it. Really, I'm making a good deal here, Rogers, all things considered. With everything he's put my James through, I should permanently -"

"- That's not...- I mean, yeah, preferably don't break his jaw before we can ask him questions - but what I meant was..." Steve trails off, making you worry once you realize he's actually being serious. Thus, you wait patiently for him to continue, even facing him fully while setting a gentle hand on his arm as a way of saying 'you can tell me anything'.

He glances at you then shakes his head tiredly, "Just...Be prepared. We don't know exactly what Zemo's planning nor can I say what we'll possibly be met with in there. What we do know is he isn't above hurting people and this place houses several winter soldiers according to Bucky. With that said, if things go south - the second they go south -, I want you to promise me you'll get back to the Quinjet where it's safe. Bucky and I can handle ourselves well enough, but I'd rather avoid any chance of you getting seriously hurt or - God forbid -killed."

Despite his solemn tone, you groan and throw your head back dramatically, "Wooow, thanks for making me feel fragile! Believe it or not, Rogers, but I actually have excellentfighting skills, thank you very much!"

"I didn't mean -"

"-I know, I know. I'm only kidding around, Steve," you roll your eyes. Your mischievous smile then takes a gentler appearance, "...I understand your concerns, and while I'm not thrilled with the idea of leaving Tweedledum and Tweedledee alone to fight a bunch of crazed super soldiers, I also don't have any plans on dying anytime soon, so if things get too hairy, fine; I'll get the heck out of there."

Steve grins, satisfied with your cooperation.

"Buuut, I'll be calling the Avengers if it gets to that point. I'd rather take my luck with them than let you die yourself," you point a finger practically to his nose, "No. Dying, you hear? I have zero interest in playing this whole 'life-tag' game with everyone for the next few centuries."

Steve chuckles, moving your finger away with the back of his hand before raising it as a scout's honor, "You have my word."

As he walks off to finally go get ready, your eyes follow him which allows you to notice Bucky standing awkwardly around the corner. He flinches under your stare, clearly not meaning to have been seen at all, not that there's any chance in hiding now...

"What's up?" You smirk, watching him hover there for a pause of breath before at last deciding to walk forward. Even then, he doesn't answer your question until you repeat it once more, this time using his name which you draw out delicately.

"Is Steve..." He stops himself short, suddenly feeling very stupid about his own question despite the way it's been itching in the back of his head for the last few hours.

"'Is Steve' what?" You urge, taking a seat on one of the nearby chairs and giving him your full attention.

Bucky shallows, refusing to look at you directly, "You know...Your fiancé...?"

You nearly choke on your spit, cheeks glowing red at such a ridiculous thought that feels somewhat akin to being asked if you're dating a brother, but apparently, Bucky doesn't see it that way.

Reaching his hand to the back of his neck, he feels the need to explain himself further before you can even attempt an answer, "It's - A while ago, you said you were engaged and that you're relationship with your fiancé is difficult or whatever, so you haven't been able to get married yet, but you still want to. Steve and you just seem really close and he was pretty upset to see you with me so I figured...I figured that maybe he's your fiancé and that's why..."

His words drag on, stumbled as he feels his own cheeks burn in embarrassment and shame. Steve's his best friend, and although their time spent back together again has been limited, it's been enough for Bucky to remember their tight bond. Steve has selflessly been there for him, risking his own friendships, reputation, and life all for his friend's sake alone. With that said, Bucky feels absolutely terrible for being jealous of him.

Again, it's not like Steve has been around for long; only a few days which you mostly spent arguing with each other. Bucky originally assumed Steve's anger to be due to the fact that you had technically lied to your friends and family, including him, regarding the whole 'personal mission' you've supposedly been on for the last two years. It wasn't until Sam made a particular comment when leaving that abandoned warehouse earlier that Bucky began to think different:

"Are you both done with your lover's quarrel then?"

Since Sam's teasing, Bucky hasn't been able to help worrying over the exact extent of your relationship with Steve, after all, once paying a little closer attention to the two of you, he has noted the existence of small smiles, lingering stares, and private conversations you've exchanged only with each other.

Steve had been pretty upset to learn you've spent two years alone with Bucky. It could've been because of your lie, but what if it's something else entirely? You've never seemed this close to anyone except for maybe Natasha, although whatever's going on between Steve and you seems more...tender and intimate in Bucky's judgment. You've been very open about your engagement to someone and if that someone's Steve, it would actually make sense as to why you've been so keen on caring for Bucky and know so many little details about his past; Steve told you everything...You've been doing it for him...

This thought hasn't sat right with Bucky since he first concluded it. A voice inside his head tried favoring denial, but with what evidence? And why is he even that upset anyways? You've loyally taken care of him for Steve's sake; that's sweet and Bucky should be happy for his best friend, definitely not jealous.

To the old soldier's surprise, you laugh which snaps him right out of his wandering thoughts. With your head in your hands, you laugh with more heart than he's seen in awhile, barely able to catch your breath in between snorts and giggles.

Confused, his face is completely burninglike a stove fire now and he instinctively looks around for Steve. What did he say that's so funny? Are you just surprised he's figured it out so quickly- or have you seen right through him, realizing not only his jealousy, but the source of it as well? He prays it isn't that...The last thing he needs is Steve and you going through all this effort to help him only for his damn emotions to push you both away.

"B-Because I'm happy for you both if it's true! Steve's a great guy and you seem happy together which you both deserve!" Bucky desperately tries to fix his mistake immediately, yet his words only make your laughter worsen with every word that he nearly cries.

"J-J-James -" You're wheezing for air, "- I'm not engaged to Steve!"

"You're...You're not?" Oh god, he sounds like a kicked puppy, poor thing!

"No, of course not!" Clearing away your tears, you finally manage to gather yourself enough to look at him, but not without some remaining chuckles, "Steve is my friend - he has been for a very long time...You're right, he's a great guy and all. I like spending time with him, but definitely not in that way. If anything, he's like a brother to me."

"...Oh..."

You observe Bucky's reaction then stand up, walking closer until you're toe-to-toe with him; far too close for comfort, "Why...? Are you jealous by chance?"

"I was just asking. I didn't want - Like I said, he seemed upset that you were with me. I was gonna offer to talk to him so that I could clear things up and tell him nothing happened between us so that he wouldn't be mad at you - that's all!"

He holds his breath, stiffening when you place a hand on his chest and lean forward. He does the opposite, leaning back slightly, but he swears he can still feel your breath fan his lips, "Good! Because you should know by now that no one holds my heart except for you."

Then just like that, you're gone, skipping off to the back of the Quinjet with another fit of laughter you fail to muffle behind your hand. It's in your absences that Bucky finally lets his breath go (along with his disappointment) before regaining some of his composter and shuffling after you.

By this time, Steve already has the ramp down in back, staring out into the fidgeted cold you'll all soon be walking through to the old HYDRA base, "What took you guys so long - Bucky, what -?"

"- Let's go," Bucky grumbles, ignoring the concerned look Steve gives him in regards to his very noticeable cherry face. This turns Steve's question to you, although he's not sure he wants the answer once spotting your smirk. Instead, he opens his mouth to complain about something else the second the image pops into his head completely unwelcomed.

"- Oh hush! We didn't do anything inappropriate, so don't go scaring yourself, Steven," you whisper in a hiss, smacking his shoulder then trekking after Bucky down the ramp of the Quinjet.

"...Starks..."

NEXT CHAPTER ➡️

⬅️PREVIOUS CHAPTER

[henryenrix]

TERRA VISTA

ANTARCTICA

God created the earth approximately 6,124 years ago, in the image and likeness of Heaven, which is 700 years (~400 miles) above Earth, founded it on foundations of rock, water, fire and wind, and covered it with a glass dome called "FIRMAMENT" surrounded with water. GOD'S DESIGN OF THE EARTH: 1. With an Inner Circle: Surrounded by gigantic walls of ice, snow, and devastating storms. God formed a massive ice wall (~300'-400' feet tall) around the modern continents to hold back the waters of the oceans. This circle contains all the continents, islands, islets, rivers, streams, lakes, seas, and oceans of the earth. 2. With an Exterior Circle: Enclosed by the bases, or foundations of the FIRMAMENT. It consists of a belt of ice, extreme storms, and perpetual snow 375 miles wide, and a high plateau of forest, and temperate land at ~2,000' altitude, and ~5,000 miles wide. In the center of the poles are the entrances to the underworld, and of the underground cities of Agharta, and Shambalah with incredible mythological beings, incredible machines, fusion suns, and moons, and sea monsters, built by the Nephilim giants. In the Outer Circle of the Earth, called by Urbano Monte: TERRA VISTA, there is a great deal of uninhabited land, untouched by man, innumerable grasslands, plains, and forests, and a great variety of herds of wild animals, and ferocious beasts, and a great number of virgin reserves of untouched natural resources not being exploited (coal, oil, minerals and uranium). THE BOOK OF SECRETS OF ENOCH Chapter 77:1-4 tells us that the earth is composed of four parts, or four worlds that Enoch calls: QUARTERS saying: "THE FOUR QUARTERS OF THE WORLD: And the first quarter is called THE EAST, because it is the first; and the second THE SOUTH, because THE MOST HIGH shall descend there; and the WEST quarter is called "THE DIMINISHED"... and the fourth quarter, called THE NORTH, is divided into three parts. The first of them is for the habitation of men: the second contains seas of water, and abysses, and forests, and rivers, and darkness, and clouds: and the third part, the GARDEN OF RIGHTEOUSNESS.” The continent we know today as: ANTARCTICA is part of the Earth's Outer Circle, specifically, the perpetual ice strip. When the Great Universal Flood happened, the waters of the Flood only covered the Inner Circle of the Earth (the North quarter), where all the continents, and oceans are, leaving the Outer Circle (the East, West, and South Quarter) of the Earth intact. During the Great Flood, God created the Perpetual Ice Strip by dropping tons upon tons of ice, and snow onto a strip of land, which was totally tropical, instantly freezing every animal, every vegetation, and every Nephilim Civilization. That's why we find to this day, frozen mammoths in a perfect state of preservation with green grass in their mouths in Alaska, Siberia, Greenland, etc... Satan forbids human entry to Antarctica because all the Nephilim Civilizations that were covered with ice are completely intact (in a perfect state of preservation) frozen for 4,124 years, and Satan does not want the modern man of science (who is an atheist and the stupidest being on earth), to discover them, and his world farce that GOD DOES NOT EXIST, is uncovered, and the eyes of the whole world be opened. All high science, and technology, the omens of nature, and ALL the secrets of the universe of the Nephilim demons (vimanas of war, pyramids, obelisks, vajras, stargates, invisibility weapons, stupefaction weapons, instant petrification weapons, instant freezing weapons, nuclear bombs of apocalyptical destruction, etc.) are in perfect condition, and can be used instantly, as soon as they are defrosted. THE SECRET SCIENCE OF THE BIBLE BY HENRY ENRIX: https://www.amazon.com/SECRET-SCIENCE-DISCOVER-SECRETS-UNIVERSE-ebook/dp/B087BBKN39/ref=sr_1_7?crid=3IE8YZ1NR444M&keywords=Henry+enrix&qid=1653550195&s=digital-text&sprefix=henry+enrix%2Cdigital-text%2C160&sr=1-7

[jacquievandegeer]

First letter to Masha

Dear Masha,

Yesterday I wore the same dress I was wearing in Cyprus when we first met. The dress still fits me, my stomach is a bit rounder now that I'm older, the fabric stretches. I remember the photo series: me with you, me with your husband Petr. I remember your little house on the island. The summer weather. I remember the sidewalk step we sat on. I remember how nice it was to discover that we were programmed in the same building to offer our performances there. My performance was based on memories, on what we remember through time, and especially on what we have as a cultural past in our respective countries of origin. Your performance was a variation on this theme. We all played with memories, old objects, souvenirs, photos, etc. It was very hot on the island. My hair was tightly braided and your hair was still very long and wild back then. Loose. Peter had a long beard. Does he still have a beard?

I believe you were still living in Moscow at the time. Later I understood through the photos on Facebook that you had settled in Siberia, in a small house in a small village. It looked rough with a lot of snow and ice. It also had a certain allure, the white icy cold world you inhabited then. I never thought we would meet in Berlin this winter. It was glad to see you, your hair is shorter. The reason we could see each other in Berlin was sad. The war. The dirty mean war. The border that was closed just after you fled your homeland with your dog. Petr is still in Istanbul. Waiting for a visa. Your dog too. Has that changed now? He had been waiting for more than six months. This war, a year now. Who would have thought that a war would be raging at this time in Europe? I remember the wall. Yes, I live long enough to remember that Europe was organized differently. No European Union. An Iron Curtain, Russia was called USSR. A large territory. Many countries annexed. Everything had started after the second world war, a war with a huge impact on how the world was divided after the signed peace. I wasn't there then. But my parents did. And my family. The stories and of course the huge impact on Rotterdam, my hometown, bombed flat twice. By the Germans, while the Netherlands had already capitulated. By the English, a mistaken bombardment.

Now I read daily in the newspapers about the bombing in the Ukraine, it feels strange and sad, powerless too.

Oh my dear Masha, I have friends there, they are all fantastic artists, just like you two.

I don't know how to express the sadness I feel inside me. Sometimes I cry in the morning, like a child that has lost its mother in a crowd. Masha,  I am so thankful that you are all still alive. It has become a diaspora again. You are now studying in Halle. Small student town in the vicinity of Leipzig. Leipzig, former East German city full of punks, trees and art. Halle with her Wunderkammer. This Wunderkammer, have you already visited it dear Masha? All colonial souvenirs crammed together in a tiny show room. Sawfish dried, hanging in space. A very popular souvenir at the time, the sawfish were already extinct after a few years. That's how it goes. We travel and take things with us. Collect.

Today I started an artist residency in Mexico City. It is International Women's Day today. I admire the solidarity of the women here, a big demonstration is being organized this afternoon in the center and many institutions are closing their doors for this afternoon. I remember my first women's day, long ago in Rotterdam. All women took to the streets in solidarity. Now the women's day has become a small celebration there. It seems that the need is no longer there. I doubt that: there is still so much to do, what to think about femicide, rape, sexual deprivation, women trafficking, inequality in pay for work, the areas where women are still married off and have no education and training, cannot walk around without male guidance etc. It all seems so okay in Western countries, but we are not there yet. I think. I feel. Dear Masha I am writing to you and by writing to you I am actually writing to myself. I will be 65 this year. Sixty five years. A whole age. It feels strange, this number. It is the year in which many retire. Or start thinking about it. An age that cuts many off from the bustling life: in the eyes of many, being senior means no longer being seen, no longer being heard and filling your time with family, grandchildren and, above all, doing fun things.

Help. I don't want to retire, I love my job, I don't have small children and I live far from my family. I'm already doing fun things. Help. I know I'm exaggerating but still…I still feel young and strong and actually I'm only now feeling a little better about my aging skin. That is confrontational. The body that ages and timidly shows the first signs. Difficult for me, because I've focused so much on my body since childhood, the almost anorexic time since I was fourteen. Always think about being skinny enough. Never been really happy with my body, my skin, my face, my hair and now suddenly I realize that what people generally say is true: Jacquie you are beautiful. I am beautiful. Finally.

I am beautiful with my wrinkles. Yet I still buy the creams that promise me that this process can be stopped, and sometimes I look in the mirror with surprise in the morning. How did this happen? Millimetre by millimetre, gravity does its job. Still, I think I'm more beautiful than when I was so much more. My veins swell, my hands show a river landscape of blue swollen veins, they twist anarchically on the back of my big white hands with her long fingers. My hands are a combination of my parents' hands. The size is my father's, the shape and length of my fingers too. And the nails are sometimes on my father's side and sometimes on my mother's side. But my middle fingers definitely belong to my mother: crooked at the end, yes, the last part is definitely crooked. With her middle fingers too. My mother is no longer alive. Neither does my father. I am orphan. Only child. Alone on the world. I realize that I am next in line: I live on the way to my mortality, death, which awaits me. I get it out of my consciousness but it's quite difficult.

My right leg has all that my mother had: the veins teeming lush and blue, fine network, interspersed with larger veins on the surface of my skin. They sometimes knock a warning sign to me: 'Yes, we are already here, enjoy every day, know that the time you have left is precious.' Time. I was so young and of course never thought about the time. Whole days, whole weeks even I faltered. Smoking. Staring into the distance. How were you dear Masha when you were young? What was it like growing up under communist rule? I was in a family who were immensely grateful to Canadians and Americans. My parents who had been through a war, had known hunger, and they met during a dance evening with music from a dance orchestra: Glenn Miller's In the mood, American music was popular. The music I grew up with: Peggy Lee, Fats Domino, Tommy Dorsey, Ella Fitzgerald and the Ink Spots. A little later Tom Jones, big sex idol, from my mother. The black and white television with two channels. Tom Jones singing on a catwalk, screeching the women and tugging at his tie, leaning benignly over to let them do so. Mama was glued to the tube drooling and I, as a little girl, was so amazed at all this excitement. Later, also on television, Frank Zappa in concert, with groupies showing their naked breasts, my mother laughing on the couch. The years of the sexual revolution, the man with long hair and the women on the anti-conception pill. I timid and prudish. Times of great change. Working women. Birth control. Nudist beach. Pop music. Youth culture. Study possible for the working class. Traveling with the Magic Bus, without a toilet, rocking and sweating to Portugal, three days on each other's lips. The news from all over the world on a small moving black and white square in the living room. I remember the moon landing, I was still young and already in bed. My father woke me up. “You have to see this,” he said, I sat on the chair in front of the television, drowsy. A vague image as it was then. We didn't need sharpness and pixels yet. A man in a white suit, an inverted fishbowl on his head and stumbling through the landscape of the lunar craters with a flag in his hands: stripes and stars. I think the USSR planted a flag there too, didn't you dear Masha? I can google it for us. Google knows everything.  I used to think that if it came to the year 2000, we would stop eating fruits and vegetables and bread and cheese and nuts and so on. I thought we'd get three pills a day on a plate and robots would be all over the city, silver shapes with angular movements. haha. The robots, the future as it was visualized at the time. Wi-Fi. That's it. Computers everywhere. The first, plump plastic beige cube with a gray screen and strange sounds. Even weirder what you saw, I couldn't imagine it. Incomparable to the slim stylized lab-tops we know today. The cell phone. I still remember the first time I saw someone with a big piece of plastic in his hand, screaming in the street, it seemed to no one. I thought, "Oh dear, this gentleman needs help, a psychiatrist or something." But no, it was progress. It seemed like a failure to me, this project of communicating without a cord anywhere in a telephone screaming. Intrusive conversations, way too loud. I couldn't imagine people would want this, it would certainly quickly disappear from the street scene. Hahaha. I spend at least a good three hours a day on my phone or computer Masha. You too? And now we have the white chunks of plastic in the ears, cellphone in hand, eyes fixed on a hazy infinity. Sight and sound shielded. What will follow? It is clear to me, probably one day I will stop following all the new technologies being developed. That's allowed, as an excuse I have my age, hihihi. Or not. Who knows. I’ll write you more tomorrow dear Masha, I'm going to find our photos and hug you from afar, you in Halle, me in Mexico City.

Until then!

With love,

Jacquie

[dominique-mini]

just watched season 4 of stranger things and it's honestly so disappointing to see what anticommunist propaganda became

like in the early 2000's every american movie was about The Terrors of Communism™ and Those Child-Eating Bastards™, which was like, insufferable and all, but it was fun. call me a boomer, but the old KGB villain in the spy movie was fun

now anticommunist propaganda is just an american man shedding tears of happiness after shoving three fingers of peanut butter into his mouth. because GOD FORBID someone spends their entire life without ever tasting the true american peanut butter, the best damn thing in the world. there could be NOT a worst end than that. [sarcasm]

that's so boring. where ARE the child-eating commies and the ultimate KGB spying team??? GOD, how come americans screw something they almost entirely invented? that's HARDER than creating something actually good.

[i'd like to say this whole post contains irony, but i really do feel disappointed. americans are always gonna make anticommunist propaganda, so it could at least be fun and creative]

[justsomerandomfanfic]

Mirror, Mirror - Steve Rogers X Female Reader

Title: Mirror, Mirror

Steve Rogers X Female Reader

Additional Characters: Tony, Nick, and agents (Mentioned)

WC: 999

Warnings: Mention of fighting, Tony being a jerk, slightly suggestive, bruises, and mention of death

“They call her Snow White. Her powers allow her to make people fall asleep and never wake up again.” Nick spoke, next to Steve and Tony, looking at the young woman in the glass cell.

“Why the glasses?” Tony asked Fury, as he watched the woman skeptically walk back and forth in her cell.

Her hair was hastily pulled back into a ponytail and sunglasses covered her eyes.

“That’s how her powers work, Tony. If she looks at anyone without her glasses, they fall into an endless sleep. Her eyes are the key to her curse.” Nick explained.

“Make sure to never look her in the eyes if she ever takes her sunglasses off. There is no known cure, making her deadly.” Nick continued.

Steve crossed his arms, "Where did you find her?"

"Some agents found her off the coast of Siberia." Nick hummed.

The men looked back at her, seeing that she was mumbling.

“What is she saying?” Steve asked as Nick turned on the audio of the woman’s cell.

“Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who’s going to be the next one to fall?” She mumbled as she continued to pace the cell.

“I know what you are. You can see me but I cannot see you. Well, not yet. But soon, very soon...” The woman began to chant over and over again.

Tony's frown deepened, "She's crazy."

Steve shook his head, "That's not nice, Tony."

"No, it isn't. It also sounds like she has some serious issues." Tony replied.

Fury nodded, "Yes, she does. We're going to need to talk to her about this later. For now, Tony, you have first watch."

Tony groaned loudly and pouted, crossing his arms.

~~~

Tony sat on a pull-out chair, across from the glass cell.

"Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who's going to be the next one to fall?" She repeated over and over again.

Tony sighed, "Oh, my god, we know." getting irritated.

This 'Snow White' continued to repeat herself, pacing in front of the cell, before she suddenly stopped and turned to look at Tony.

"You can see me but I cannot see you. Well, not yet. But soon, very soon..." She started chanting again.

Tony sighed, "Great. Now, we'll never get any information out of her."

He stood up from the chair and walked toward the cell, putting a hand out to stop her from continuing her chant. She stopped chanting, turning to look at the inventor and stare at him through her shades.

"Could you stop chanting?" He asked and the woman shifted her weight onto one side, crossing her arms.

"Could you stop staring at me?" She asked, and Tony groaned again.

"Look, it's my job to watch you. But, might as well get some information out of you. What's your name?" Tony began, scooting the chair closer to the cell and sitting down.

"My name is Snow White." She answered.

Tony leaned back, looking at her.

"That's a pretty dumb name for someone with magic powers." He muttered, "That can't be your real name, what is your real name?" He asked, getting frustrated.

"I don't know." She answered.

"That's a load of bull," Tony growled, standing up from the chair.

"Then ask me something else." She said, holding her chin high.

Tony sighed, "Alright, fine. How old are you?"

"Twenty-two." She replied.

Tony rolled his eyes, "Great, you're twenty-two years old. Now, why did you kill all those agents in Siberia?"

Snow White stared at him coldly, "Because they were trespassing."

Tony furrowed his eyebrows, "Trespassing?"

"Yeah, they came to steal my treasure." She replied.

Tony thought for a moment, "So, you're a witch?"

"A what?" She asked, confused by the sudden subject change.

"A witch, a sorceress, whatever." Tony gestured around in the air, "You know, a person with magical abilities."

"I'm not a witch, but I was cursed by one." She answered.

Tony looked at her suspiciously, "How did you get cursed?"

"It's a long story." She shrugged sitting down in the glass cell, crossing her legs, "You know how those things go."

"Well, you have time to tell us this story because you aren't going anywhere." Tony replied and glanced at the door of her cell.

Snow White looked up at the ceiling, "If I'm not going anywhere, then I want to know what you want from me." She spoke, and Tony sighed iritatedly.

"I can't tell you that." He spoke, and the woman just smirked.

"Then I can't tell you my story." She spoke and Tony glared at the woman, standing up suddenly.

He was about to go up to the glass, but Steve grabbed his arm, stopping him.

"Leave her alone, Stark." He spoke, as the young woman watched in amusement and awe.

"Go take a breather, I'll take over from here." Steve spoke, Tony scoffed and walked out of the room.

Snow White raised her brows, "And what do you think you're going to do with me, Captain America?" She mocked.

"We won't hurt you." Steve assured her, and the woman sighed.

"As if I'll trust you." She spoke, gesturing to her bruised cheek, "Your agents knocked me out real good back there."

She watched as Steve sat down in the chair that Tony had once occupied. She admired the way he sat, straight back and arms crossed. He watched her, eyes almost unblinking. He looked at her with curiosity, unlike Tony, who only looked at her with annoyance. She watched as Steve breathed in and out, how his shirt fit nicely against his arms. She wondered idly what he would look like without a shirt on.

"Tell me your story, Snow White." Steve said, and she let out a soft laugh, "You really expect me to believe you won't kill me after I tell you?"

"Of course not." Steve replied, "I don't kill people who are misunderstood."

Snow White smiled, "Well, I suppose I should start from the beginning..." She began to speak, and Steve listened intently to every word.

[writingquestionsanswered]

Hi <3

How do you go about deciding whether worldbuilding should be shown or told? For example, in my world, I have a region that is almost never warm. It's very much sweater weather all year round. Should that be shown and told, or just one or the other?

I've read that you should spend more time on things that matter to the story and to the reader, but how do you know if it matters?

My gut tells me that something like that should be both shown and told by people wearing thin cloaks and telling the reader that it doesn't get very warm. But at the same time, this seems like a bit much for such a small detail.

I'd love to hear your thoughts <3

Knowing When World Building Detail is Important

You've answered your own question my friend!

My gut tells me that something like that should be both shown and told by people wearing thin cloaks and telling the reader that it doesn't get very warm. But at the same time, this seems like a bit much for such a small detail.

If the cold weather in this region could be considered "such a small detail" then you're right... it's probably not important enough to show it in addition to telling it.

How do you know when a world building detail is important enough to spend time on, to show in addition to tell? Ask yourself the following questions:

Is the detail relevant to the plot in some way?

If you change the detail to something else, does the story still work?

So, what do we mean when we say that something is "plot relevant"? We mean that the detail affects the plot in some way. For example, let's say it turns out that the cold weather in that region is what allows a certain type of magic to work. That would be plot relevant. Or, let's say you're writing an Eastern European-inspired fantasy, and the snow region in your story is a stand-in for Siberia. Even if the cold weather doesn't affect the plot in some way, it's still plot relevant because the Eastern European-inspired setting is relevant to the plot, so the aesthetics of each region being represented matter to the overall story.

If you're still not sure, move on to question two. If you changed this region in your story to one where it was usually warm weather (or at least a standard mix of cold and warm), how would that affect the plot? Would it make any of the plot or story elements impossible? Would it screw up overall world aesthetics that are important to the story? Would it change the back story of a main character? If you find yourself answering "no change" to most of these questions, you're probably looking at a detail that isn't that important.

I hope that helps!

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[nocturne-pisces]

Scorpio Venus (4)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Enhanced!Reader

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: angst. death ment. canon level violence. sexual themes.

Summary: “I just found you. You can’t leave me so soon.”

The final chapter of The Zodiac Series || Main Masterlist

a/n: i don’t even want to think about how long it’s taken me to publish this last installment of this series. it’s been a labor of love and i’m not completely sure i’m happy with it, but it’s a solid metric of how i’ve grown as a writer over the last year. pisces sun was the first marvel piece i ever wrote, and it feels good to see something to its end.

He goes back to Siberia to try to find something of himself in the snow, tries to find whatever left him when he thought you died. His boots crunch ice flat and with every step he thinks it’ll never be the same. 

He thinks of you more like an event at times. There was before you, during you, and after you and he wasn’t sure where he was currently on that timeline but he does know that the more time he spends trying to find himself (or what the fuck ever) the closer he gets to being neck deep in the after bit. 

When Bucky leaves the country it's because he doesn’t know how to process the hurt of being the last one to find out that you were like him. That you’d been pulling your punches and maybe even letting him win sparring matches. That you were some kind of government guinea pig like him. He stares down at his boots where the smallest bit of snow has melted in the cracked leather and is rapidly cooling his now damp sock and thinks that his luck can’t get worse. 

He knows that he’s got maybe a couple more days to hide out in his frozen motherland before he has to go back and face his best friend— and you. He hopes that the blankets of snow will tell him how to navigate being the charity case friend. It stings behind his nose when he thinks about how many chances at life he’s been handed by people that care about him. 

When Steve pulled him from Azzano.

When Steve and Nat and Sam pulled him out of Hydra after sinking Project Insight. 

When Steve went on the run to keep him out of prison. 

And now you, drop kicking him out of an underground interrogation room right before a Hydra fanatic blew it - and you - sky high.

If he looks close enough he can still see your blood in the creases of his knuckles, and he realizes that’s the part that angers him the most. That everyone around him is so willing to martyr themselves to extend his overstayed welcome. 

He knows that he should thank all of his lucky stars that his friends love him so much, but the guilt eats a hole in his stomach with battery acid toxicity. 

There seems to be a never ending supply of hot water, your skin nearly numb from the spray of the shower head. Water mixes with the Jack because there’s no point in putting the cap back on it. You’re going to finish it- praying that you metabolize the alcohol fast enough to feel something other than the gaping hole that’s been clawed into your chest. 

“What do you mean he’s gone?” Your eyes sliver, looking from Natasha to Steve and back again, the sterility of the medwing room making your head throb. Or maybe that’s just what it felt like to reorient yourself to the world after four days of peaceful unconsciousness.

“He left after you stabilized,” Steve won’t look up from where his fingers are laced together between his knees. 

“We can’t track him. He’s always been good at being a ghost, you know that.” Nat has one of your hands in both of hers, sincerity making her brows pinch. 

“How could he just—“  

Steve scoffs, a minute shake in his head as yours and Natasha’s whip around. Finally he looks up and shrugs his shoulders. “It’s not hard to figure out why he’s upset.” 

“What is that supposed to mean?” You spit, and Nat isn’t far behind.

“Steve, don’t.” 

He shoves up from his seat and stalks from the room, leaving you to crumble in the arms of Natasha. It’s the only time you’ve ever cried in front of her. 

Wet flame spreads across your skin and down your esophagus. Hot water and hot liquor warming your cold heart and cold hands. You’re finally feeling something, the pitter patter of water drops echoing in the auditorium of your chest. The xylophone of your ribs ringing in your ears, playing a melancholy melody that you don’t even like. 

You are a house after everything has been consumed by scorching flame, nothing left but the walls to bounce your screams back at you. 

Everything that has ever loved you has gone up in smoke and you have half the mind to leave before everyone else is caught in the brushfire. Turned to ash like your mother in her own bed. No trace of the life they lived beyond the catastrophe. You’re the spilled gasoline on all of your friends soft, dry cotton- and you’re sure that, eventually, they’ll burn too. 

The closer he gets to the compound, the harsher his grip on the steering wheel becomes, his knuckles snow white, his jaw set glacier hard. He still hasn’t figured out what he’s going to say, how he’s going to explain his actions to you, but if he doesn’t see you in the next few minutes he might just implode. 

Steve meets him at the front of the compound, hands shoved in his pockets, wearing the same expression he did the day they were reunited in Wakanda after Bucky’s brain had been precariously reconfigured. Cautious and guarded, wondering if he’s going to swing or fall to pieces. 

“Have a nice vacation?” 

Bucky kills the engine on his bike and settles the kickstand, struggling to meet Steve’s eyes. He can’t speak around the lump in his throat, so he steps around his bike and his best friend and makes for the door. 

“I wouldn’t go after her right now,” Steve calls, “she’s not- she hasn’t spoken to anyone in days. She’s not right.” 

Bucky nods his understanding, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth. “Perfect, neither am I.” 

He checks your room first, but the resounding silence from inside tells him you’re not there. That greek yogurt you love so much hasn’t been touched since the mission, so you haven’t been eating. The bookmark you keep in your copy of The Illiad hasn’t moved, so you haven’t been in the library.

And just as he’s about to give up and sit outside your door until you show, he hears your unmistakable grunts of exertion. He knows them well, having heard them time and time again fighting guys double and triple your size.

He pushes the door to the gym open to find it empty, save for you, working over a punching bag in the corner. He can hear the heavy music from your headphones, your punches timed with the thump of the bass that he’s sure isn’t good for your hearing at that volume. 

Your t-shirt is soaked in sweat, and he can imagine that you’ve been down here for a couple hours. The song ends and you deliver a final shrieking blow, the bag rocked back so hard it ends up horizontal. You catch it in a bear hug, using it as leverage to hold yourself up through your panting. 

His arms cross over his chest as you throw the boxing gloves on the ground at your feet, yanking the headphones out of your ears and reaching for your water bottle. 

“You imaginin’ my face on that bag?” 

Your head snaps up, the timbre of his voice rocketing through your cerebellum, though your face betrays nothing. 

“What if I am?” you ask, anchoring your hands on your hips.

He takes slow steps, closing the gap between you. He seems to only grow in size the closer he gets, his broad shoulders tensed and his corded biceps straining against his sleeves. 

“Maybe you should take a swing at the real thing.” 

You scoff, rolling your eyes and picking your boxing gloves up and turning to put them in your bag. Your head shakes, a heavy sigh heaving from your chest to try to relieve the growing irritation, and Bucky just won’t quit…

“What, you scared?” 

You turn to look at him, make sure he just said that shit to you. 

“No. I just don’t want to bruise your fragile ego.”

You stoop down to pick up your bag, giving him wide berth as you make your way to the exit. 

“Then you have nothing to lose, right? If you’re just gonna whoop my ass?” It catches you like a fish hook, bait swallowed as he reels you back in. 

“So what, you disappear for two weeks and now that you’re back you want to fight me? Are you that mad I saved your ass?” 

“Nah,” he shifts his weight, looking around the room and then back at you, his head cocked to the side. “It's just-- we’ve sparred so many times before, and I thought I won those. Maybe I just want to see how big of a liar you really are.” 

He’s started the match with a proverbial punch to your gut, your nose stings and the tip of your tongue throbs where you’ve been biting down on it. You deserved that, you know you did, but it doesn’t ease your anger, your resentment. It doesn’t quell the raw ache of his abandonment, so you opt for catharsis. 

“Fine.” 

Your bag thuds to the floor, traipsing past Bucky to the sparring mat. You kneel down to secure the laces on your sneakers, but the rushed thud of his boots jerks your gaze upward. You don’t have time to right yourself before his knee meets your sternum, knocking the wind from you and sending you several steps backwards.

He follows, swinging wide with a right hook that you manage to duck under just in time. You move to straighten, bring your hands up in front of your face, but his right elbow is headed straight for your nose and you duck again. 

Your own elbow meets the back of his head and it disorients him for a moment, his weight falling on uncertain steps. Turning, you plant a high kick between his shoulder blades and he stumbles, falls, only to catch himself before the weight of his own body smashes his face against the flooring.

He throws himself onto his back, rolling out of the way before you land a downward blow to his cheek. The vibranium arm latches around your ankle and gets yanked out from under you, the back of your head thudding against the floor as he crawls on top of you. He’s winded, an arrogant smile spreading across his face as he leans down into yours.

“What? You done already?” 

It’s a rookie mistake, getting this close and getting cocky, and you take full advantage of it. 

The apex of your forehead crunches the bridge of his nose, giving you the moment you need to push him off. You stand, taking a couple steps back and letting him get to his feet. He takes his nose in both hands, nausea rippling through your stomach when you hear the second sickening crackle of him resetting it, the blood ebbing but not stopping. 

Your chest heaves, satisfaction rolling through your limbs at causing him a fraction of the pain that you felt splintering through your ribs when he left. 

“You wanna know a secret, Buck? I have been letting you win.”

Your stance widens, your tensed muscles sparking to life as you throw yourself towards him lightning fast. Bucky doesn’t have time to defend, and with the speed only a super soldier serum could supply, you take him to the ground. Your fingers ache with the force you’ve curled them into themselves, reared back and plummeting towards Bucky’s nose to see if you can smear it in the opposite direction. He stops it with his left, the crunch of bone as your knuckles fracture radiating pain up your arm. He strikes viper fast, the same hand circling your wrist and holding it still. 

Abandonment and rejection time morphed into frustration and rage bubbles hot in your gut and your left fist, though not as powerful, descends just as fast. He catches it in the vice tight grip of his right and you’re forced to struggle against the makeshift handcuffs of his hold. 

“Let go of me!” Sweat dots your hairline, the adrenaline of the fight starting to wane as you lose the steam to struggle. All he can do is watch, stupefied, as the ghost of your passion for him haunts the corners of your tear-welled eyes, right on the verge of either crippling exorcism or violent resurrection. You tug at his hold, trying desperately to hold on to the anger slipping through the cracks like sand. 

“Let go of me! I’m not fucking done!” 

He doesn’t let go, only marvels at the strength it takes him to hold you in place. Even though you hate him, even though pain has marred your features, and even if you never speak to him again, you’re still the most breathtaking thing he’s ever seen. 

The aurora borealis in human form.

All of the supernovas in all of the galaxies in every single ever expanding universe. 

Finally, you quit pulling, your arms going limp as sobs rattle earthquakes in the valley of your chest. 

He doesn’t think about it before it falls out of his mouth, the words forming and flowing before he can stop them. 

“What happened to us?”

You lift your eyes to meet his, desperately trying to steady your breath before you speak. 

“You left! I saved your fucking life and you left-” 

Tears fall like rain on his shirt and he finally understands why people say storms feel like baptism. Bucky sits up, your weight settling in his lap as he keeps a firm grip on your wrists, pinning them to his chest. You feel the fan of his breath on your face, the intimate proximity heartbreakingly familiar.

“And how did you do that? How did you save my life, huh?” 

The question crackles like static electricity between you, zapping neurons into understanding, and this time you’re the one speechless.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Bucky continues, watching as it dawns on you, “-jumped on a bomb, didn’t you?” 

“Bucky, I-” 

His grip loosens and your fingers splay wide across his chest, the steady beat of his heart under your palm escalating.

“No. You don’t get to talk to me about leaving after a stunt like that. I thought you were gone, thought I’d-,” his voice cracks, but he swallows down the memories of broken rock under his fingernails and pushes on, “-I thought I’d have to dig you up in pieces.” 

He drops his head into your chest, his arms winding around your back to pull you impossibly close. You wrap around his shoulders, the shuddering in your breath steadying as the two of you come down. Deft fingers stroke at his hair, comb it away from his face as you lace kisses into his hairline. 

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, watery and uneven. 

Fingertips find purchase in the stubble on his cheeks and coax him out of the valley of your breasts, looking just as broken as you felt. He reaches up, the fingers on his warm hand cupping your jaw, thumbing away the tracks your tears left. 

“I just found you. You can’t leave me so soon.” 

The moment of silence after that sentence convinces you that your heart has stopped, time seems to stretch as he wordlessly pleads with you not to leave him alone. In that very moment, gravity could have reversed and you would have noticed nothing but the depth with which he drank in the sight of you, perched above him and looking down, sunlight behind the crown of your head like a halo. 

His salvation.

You lean down and press your lip to his, breathe life back into the lungs he’d been struggling to inflate for days. He tastes like coming home and the force with which he uses to crush you against him melds together all your splintered ribs fractured by water drop bombshells sustained drinking in the shower. 

His lips alter your trajectory, the flat of his palms burning meteor trails up the curve of your spine under your shirt. Then there is no shirt. On him or on you. 

He lays you back against the mat so gently, like you’re made of glass and he’s aware of his left hand. He pulls away the light pollution of your clothing and you bare to him all of your dark and all of your stars.

James Buchanan Barnes is a black hole.

The mass of him against you is immeasurable as you’re caught in his stable orbit. Friction sends photon tails up your spine and before you know it you are consumed by the event horizon of his presence, the very atoms of your matter rearranging to welcome him into you irrevocably. He devours you greedily, the bedrock of your skin superheating and sending lava coursing through your veins the closer you get. 

And while he believes you are goddess beneath him you know that the moment you splinter all conceptualization of goddesses will be swallowed by antimatter. 

Bucky Barnes is your singularity. 

How lucky you are to be infinite with him. 

[cap-ironman]

2021 Cap-Iron Man Exchange Gifts unveiled on December 29

It’s the sixth day of reveals! Each day we will be revealing gifts created by 2021 Cap-Iron Man Holiday Exchange and Community Gifts event participants. The gifts will remain anonymous until January 5, giving everyone a chance to enjoy the works and guess the identities of creators. (Remember, if you've got a work in the collection, please remain anonymous until after creator reveals!) Here are today’s gifts!

★ as if we'd never left for frostfall (616, 4589 words)

Steve's been alone in his town for quite some time; his lover disappeared, possibly even left, after he was infected with lycanthropy over a decade ago, and the townspeople hardly want him around. But he's useful to them, at least, and when a string of thefts along the northern building strike fear into the hearts of the townspeople, he takes initiative and investigates. He's not prepared for what he finds.

★ as long as you love me so for drunkonwriting (MCU, 1345 words)

“For what it’s worth, this is not how I imagined our first Christmas going,” Steve groans from where he’s sitting on the floor. It’s hard wood, and Tony knows it simply cannot be comfortable sitting that way. Even super soldiers aren’t immune to backaches, surely, and after the day they’ve both had, Tony wants nothing more than to lay right there beside him, ice and snow and ruined Christmas and failed mission be damned. Or, after a mission goes wrong, Steve and Tony find themselves snowed in at a cabin in the middle of nowhere. On Christmas Eve.

★ His Reward for Cap Iron Man Community (Avengers: Earth's Mightiest Heroes, 100 words)

Tony's finally taken Steve down during sparring, besting him. So he claimed his reward.

★ Just like Butter Pecan for Cap Iron Man Community (Avengers Assemble, 100 words)

Thanks to sex wizards (that's apparently a thing, who knew?), Tony now tastes like butter pecan.

★ A Little Confused But He Got the Spirit for DepressingGreenie (MCU, 3298 words)

On their third date, Steve decides to come clean about his lycanthropy. Tony is surprisingly understanding, almost too much so.

★ Love is a Cat-astrophe for Cap Iron Man Community (MCU, 3242 words)

There were plenty of reasons for him and Tony not to be together. Steve just never expected to be cockblocked by a cat.

★ A Man in her Own Right for Cap Iron Man Community (3490, 1552 words)

Natasha Stark wakes and she's a man! What will her husband, Steve, think?

★ [Podfic] A Stake in This Ground by Woad for gottalovev (1872, 1:06:31 minutes)

Granted, Tony gets off to a bumpy start in Timely, but he's still surprised when Rogers arrests him for drunk and disorderly behavior.

★ Slant Rhyme for Missy_dee811 (616, 5775 words)

Steve gave up on finding answers and closure regarding Civil War when he learned that Tony had erased his memories of the past year. Now that alien tech has created a psychic link between them, Steve finds that even direct access to Tony’s consciousness won’t illuminate what Tony does remember, because he’s actively trying to block Steve from everything that crosses his mind. Still, Steve discovers plenty of unexpected thoughts and feelings in Tony’s head…

★ What Do The Lonely Do At Christmas? for Cap Iron Man Community (MCU, 5118 words and art)

The first Christmas after Siberia, and Tony was already having a hard time of it - even before he was blindsided by some anonymous lowlife. But that's not even the worst part. The worst part is who comes to his rescue.

★ Whoops... Sorry for Cap Iron Man Community (MCU, 2700 words)

The 5 times Steve broke something to get Tony’s attention, and the one time he did it by accident.

To check out all of this year’s gifts (so far!), head over to the 2021 Captain America/Iron Man Holiday Exchange AO3 Collection. When your gift is revealed, please be sure to comment and thank your gifter! If you’re the creator of a gift that’s now been revealed, you can reply to any comments and stay anonymous — AO3 will automatically show you as   "Anonymous Author" until the creator reveals. Finally, you may want to change the publication date of your work to today’s date so that it shows up at the top of AO3's feeds. AO3’s guide is available here and we have a more detailed version here. Happy holidays, and we hope you enjoy all of the revealed works! ♥ Your 2021 Cap-Iron Man Holiday Exchange and Community Gifts mods

[heliads]

Too Cold

Based on this request: “imagine with Bucky where you're on a mission in the mountains but due to the weather you need to stay in a little cabin for the night but it's terribly cold. He lights a fire but then he offers you his sweater. You're both getting closer (you have a crush as well on each other), so you kinda forget about the mission and just enjoy the time together as you also share a meaningful kiss?”

masterlist

“It’s going to be cold. Siberia, midwinter, ski resort? It’ll be freezing.” Bucky fixes you with an expecting gaze. You return the stare. “Buck, I’ve been on missions for years. I’ve trained and fought and killed in some of the worst places on the planet. I think I can handle a little snow.” Bucky shrugs. “I hope that’s true, because I’d like to focus on the mission, and being able to laugh at you for being wrong would distract me.”

You toss a glare his way. “You are a horrible friend.” Bucky just grins. “Maybe so.” You roll your eyes, then turn your attention back to the guidebooks and manila file folders strewn across the table in front of you. In less than 24 hours, you and Bucky will embark on a mission to ice-cold Siberia, posing as a pair of newlyweds at a ski resort. Such an elaborate scheme would usually never be a part of the Avengers’ repertoire, but the couple you’re investigating is so wily and tricky that you have no other choice.

The targets in question are a man and a woman, Sara and Henri Antonovich. They were noted members of HYDRA before the organization’s collapse, and their names are frequently listed among the visitors of certain Siberian military bases, especially ones containing Winter Soldiers. There have been rumored sightings of them around the area, and now you have proof that they’ll be staying at this particular resort in the hopes of meeting someone and making a deal. So, you and Bucky must go there as well, to catch them in the act.

The plane ride is uneventful, and you touch down in Siberia without too many worries. Bucky, already prepared to act the part of the dutiful husband, links your hand through his, leaning close as if to whisper a declaration of love. Instead, he tells you that a car is waiting, driven by S.H.I.E.L.D. agents who will give you fake IDs and deliver you to your assigned rental cabin. Such is the romantic life of an undercover agent.

By the time you get there, you’re shivering. The car was cold, the journey up the icy walkway was cold, the time spent standing in the freezing winter air whilst you try to find your key was cold, and this cabin, unfortunately, is also cold. You walk through the door, hoping to find some last remnants of heating, but you are sorely disappointed. You walk briskly over to the thermostat, cranking it up and muttering something under your breath about stingy S.H.I.E.L.D. agents who wouldn’t even let you be warm in your own undercover house.

Bucky, noticing your arms wrapped tightly around you, grins. “What happened to your years of experience? Are they not helping you against the cold?” You make a face at his back, but Bucky does not see it and continues checking out some data file disguised as a paperback that he brought with him. 

You purse your lips together. It’s strange- you’ve known Bucky for a while now, long enough to consider him a friend. The two of you have these moments like companionship, just like now, with jokes being exchanged and laughter bubbling out. But then Bucky seems to remember something, and it’s like a switch is flipped. He stays quiet and doesn’t open his mouth for a long time after that. You’re not sure what he’s thinking about, or why he only seems to want to talk to you in small doses, but it still feels like an ever-growing thorn in your side.

Especially since you have the unfortunate habit of crushing on him. Of course you had to fall in love with the one guy who doesn’t feel the need to talk that much with you, but it wasn’t like you had that much of a choice. He just appeared in your life, with his slight smile and broken mind, and he made you feel like you were more than just a gun and a badge, a placard on a S.H.I.E.L.D. desk. He made you feel like a person, and you love him for it.

You walk over to the neat stone fireplace to light some tinder and heat this place up. You’ve never been the best with fires, and Bucky knows this, so he crouches beside you to arrange the kindling and begin the blaze. After what seems like only a couple of seconds, the spark catches and a pleasantly crackling fire appears in the fireplace. Bucky stands back, satisfied, while you hold up your hands to the warm glow, desperately trying to ward away the winter chill.

Bucky glances over at you one last time, then turns and silently disappears from the room. You bite your cheek, pretending it doesn’t hurt you that he already feels the need to leave. If he’s already sick of you after only a couple of minutes, you’re not sure how you’re supposed to come off as a loving couple. Maybe it’ll be easy for you, because you’re not entirely sure that you’ll be faking it, but you don’t know whether or not Bucky could ever look like he was in love with you.

Then he comes out of the room again, holding in his hands a thick wool sweater. He tosses it towards you, and you pick it up, slightly confused. “You look freezing. Might as well try to stay warm, right?” You beam at him, already slipping it on. “You’re the best. None of my sweaters are anywhere near this warm.” You run your hands over the thick weaving, already feeling better.

“Well, don’t thank me quite yet,” he says with a light smile, “because I’m making you go back outside again.” You stare at him, mouth hanging slightly open in outrage. “No, you’re not. I know you’re not.” Bucky grins. “Afraid so. I’ve received word that one of our supplies came in late, so they’ve dropped it off, pretending it’s just the postal service.”

You sigh dramatically, turning to grab your winter coat once again. “You are the meanest friend ever.” Bucky walks over next to you, taking his coat off the rack as well. “Husband. We’re supposed to be undercover, remember?” How could you not? You give him a sideways glance. “If we’re undercover, I feel like you shouldn’t keep bringing it up all the time.” Bucky, hiding his metal hand underneath a pair of thick winter gloves, just grins.

It is still freezing cold outside. Maybe even worse, if that’s possible. Yet you still walk down the snow-encrusted path to the brown-wrapped package waiting for the two of you, just because you and Bucky are loyal Avengers who have to get your stupid gear even though it’s going to give you both frostbite. On the walk back, though, you’re treated to something you didn’t expect at all. The neighbours are coming out of their cabin. What’s more, they just happen to be Sara and Henri Antonovich. The couple you two were sent here to investigate.

You can feel Bucky tensing just slightly beside you at the sight of them. So he’s noticed them too. They have also seen you by now, and you wait, heart pounding in your chest, to see if there’s some chance they’ll recognize you and know that they’ve been found out. Sara turns, sees you, starts walking over. This is it.

She smiles and holds out a hand. “My name is Sara, and this is my husband, Henri. Are you two also here for the skiing?” You plaster on a smile, shaking her hand. “Yes, we’d heard about all the good snow and wanted to see it for ourselves. I’m Y/N, and this is my husband, James.” Bucky smiles at her, and shakes hands with Henri. He’s careful not to use his metal arm lest he give everything away.

You stumble slightly in the snow, but Bucky’s already reached out and steadied you, arm wrapping around your waist. You glance up at him, mouthing a silent thank-you. Sara grins. “Well, aren’t you two the sweetest! Did you get married recently?” You turn back to her, ready to let out every last detail of the lie S.H.I.E.L.D. cooked up for you. “Yes, we did. I met James at work. I know you’re not supposed to date your coworkers and everything, but he was so kind that I just couldn’t help it. I never wanted to leave his side, and we’ve been together ever since. This was supposed to be our anniversary vacation.”

Sara beams. “That’s so wonderful! Well, it was nice to meet you. See you later at the mountains.” She waves goodbye, and the two of them head off to an awaiting car. You and Bucky traipse back inside your cabin, and the second the door closes behind you, you fix Bucky with a disbelieving stare. “Did that really just happen?” Bucky nods, jaw clenched. “That was definitely the Antonovichs. I think we’ve got our guys. It’s time to call in the reinforcements.”

Bucky can’t believe it. How is this mission almost over- it barely started! All he and Y/N were supposed to do was track down Sara and Henri. He had assumed that it would take several days, yet somehow S.H.I.E.L.D. had a stroke of luck and managed to book them a cabin right next door to the very pair they were searching for. Sara and Henri are surprisingly good at staying hidden, too- if Bucky hadn’t recognized their faces from the countless data sets and case files, he would have assumed that they were nothing but well-intentioned neighbours.

His eyes flicker towards Y/N, who’s currently standing in front of the fire to keep warm. He smiles in spite of himself when he sees that she’s still wearing his sweater. He doesn’t know what he was thinking when he suggested that the two of them go on this mission together- he can barely handle himself. He doesn’t know why he had to fall in love with the one girl who makes his mind freeze up and all his thoughts scatter to the wind, but it’s not like he had much of a choice. She’s just so amazing, so perfect- he can hardly think straight around her.

She, on the other hand, appears to be perfectly fine. His mind flashes back to that conversation with the Antonovichs, when she had told Sara all about their little ‘love story’. It almost hurt, in a way, to see how she was so believable when she said she loved him. If Bucky didn’t know better, he would almost think it was true. But it isn’t, of course. She’s just exceptionally good at pretending, and that’s all he’ll ever be to her, just another prop in a story. It would be better if he could remember that, but his heart still skips a beat when she turns back to him with a smile and an outstretched hand, gesturing for him to join her at the fire.

Once the appropriate calls to S.H.I.E.L.D. are placed and you know that the reinforcements are beginning their journey here, you allow yourself to relax and drift over to the fire once more. Bucky, like always, is hesitating on the fringes of the room, but you notice something different in his gaze this time. Maybe it’s just your hopeless heart deluding itself once again, but you almost think that he’s not avoiding you because he doesn’t like you, but for an altogether different reason. Maybe it’s because he likes you too much, and he’s just too afraid to lose you.

So you hold out a hand to him, and after a heartbeat, he joins you. He wraps his arm loosely around you, tilting his head to lean against yours and soak up the warm light of the fire. He speaks softly, his voice muffled as he presses his face gently against the top of your head. “Can’t believe our ski vacation is already over. It feels like we just got here.”

You nod in agreement. “Just when this cabin was starting to feel like home. Well, I guess there will always be more missions in the future. I suppose we just need to plan them out and make sure we get the best ones. You know, the ones where our targets are living next door so all we have to do is have a good time in the mountains.” Bucky chuckles softly. “If it’s all the same to you I wouldn’t mind doing something like this again.”

You look up at him, frowning slightly. “Another mission?” He shakes his head. “Another time alone. Like this, just the two of us.” When you don’t reply immediately, his gaze starts to close off, like he’s panicked that he opened up too far. What he doesn’t know is that your mind is spinning, trying to figure out what he means and if he loves you and how much you would love to spend another weekend or even a day with him. Then you beam up at him, and he relaxes again. “I would love that, Buck.”

Maybe it’s the fact that you used his nickname, or the warmth of the fire making everything seem far more comforting than usual, but Bucky finds the courage to lean down and kiss her. She smiles against his lips, and his hand creeps up to the back of her neck. When he finally breaks away, she looks positively radiant, so he kisses her again. The mission may be ending soon, and they may have to return to ordinary life, but at least in his moment, he has her at last.

[allofthefeelings]

Hey! I saw your awesome meta about the Nat deleted scenes. One thing I've been thinking about lately is that line from the CW junior novel where Nat talks about getting dumped in the middle of siberia with her Red Room classmates. One impression that I think a lot of fans get of the mcu Red Room because of this and also a tweet from the Agent Carter set is that only one girl ends up surviving her Red Room "class". (Yelena most likely wouldn't count bc she's younger than Nat and part of a different class) But in BW we clearly see an entire team of widows that were trained together. Any thoughts?

So I have spent WAY too long thinking about this, and based on what we know from various interview snippets from the past two years I think there’s a way to fanwank it all together. If I’m remembering things correctly. Which, to be fair, I may not be.

This gets long. (CW for brainwashing, indoctrination, and abuse- the usual Red Room and Bucky mixture.)

Didn’t they start the movie discussion with talk about the Red Room being re-created to make the current Widows? That could mean new policies, and honestly, “training 32 girls but only keeping one of them” seems like a much less efficient policy than “train all the girls and use them til they die of their own accord.”

(I mean, the metaphor of only one girl surviving is great, and the girls having to kill each other to survive is a perfect way to use brutality to train away their emotions and attachments, but from an Effective Evil Organization standpoint, it’s an unforced expenditure of resources.)

This would allow both the technically-canon we have to stand (because I’m pretty sure both the novelizations and Agent Carter can be seen as TECHNICALLY not the MCU if they’re directly contradicted; only the movies are 100% canon, and as we know even that can be flexible) and create an army of Widows for Nat and Yelena to fight.

There’s also the possibility that killing the girls off IS a slow lifelong thing, like all the Red Room alums are being useful as long as they can but only the one in each class who survives the longest gets the title of Widow. And I know Black Widow is for the deadly spider but that would also play well into the idea of a widow being the one who outlived her companion(s). So then the scenes like in Agent Carter where preteen girls fought to the death wouldn’t be unheard of but also wouldn’t be the norm; the girls would know it COULD happen at any moment but it would be rare.

I can fanwank that a lot better than I can fully square Agent Carter with what we’ve seen from the trailers of Nat and Yelena. I mean, it makes sense that if they need to go undercover as a family they would take children they already had in the murder factory, but it didn’t seem like Dottie and her cohort were going on missions; they were just training and being indoctrinated 24/7. I think there’s so much that could be so interesting if Nat was subjected to similar- did she have to watch Beauty and the Beast the way Dottie watched Snow White? (someone write that Bruce/Nat right now)- but we can’t ignore that she and Yelena had three years OFF from indoctrination. Working with Melina and Alexei would obviously be considered an honor, but would it set them behind in their murderstudies? “Is it better to be taken out of the Red Room and returned or just left there permanently” is more than just a “is it better to know freedom and lose it or never have it”; did Nat and Yelena always have to play catch-up? How does that impact who they are today?

And how much does Bucky-was-taken-by-Hydra apply now? Like, he still has the red star on his arm and Alexei’s costume is damn similar; can we assume Department X was somewhat involved in Bucky’s training as well as the Red Room’s? Because that would mean that in the decade or so after Dottie’s class was indoctrinated they developed actual brainwashing abilities, and would that have been used on the Widows, or was that considered more expensive and less efficient than the indoctrination, especially if the girls didn’t know any different? Bucky had memories of another world that needed to be wiped away, but we saw Dottie didn’t.

Did Yelena and Natasha getting exposed to three years as normal kids change whether the Red Room thought they needed brainwashing versus indoctrination versus both?

And what is the organizational structure of the Red Room by the time Nat and Yelena are there? In Age of Ultron we had Madame B but here we have Dreykov; do we know if Madame B is even in this? Given how many of the visions in Age of Ultron were symbolic rather than literal memories, are we sure that Madame B was ever real, or was she a construct meant to represent all of the authority figures of the Red Room in Natasha’s psyche? If the heads of the Red Room are men- and we know that Dreykov is a Red Room authority figure and that Melina has been through the Red Room several times herself- why was that symbol a woman? (I mean, yes, I know, it’s Joss, but how do we square this in-universe?)

To be clear all of these are terrible options, every last one of them, but I am so excited at all the different flavors of terrible we will get to explore.

[dragonrajafanfiction]

What is Bondarev (BSB ver) actually like in the novels? In my WIP, I’m trying to be as close to the lore as I can with certain parts, so it’s hard to write in a character that I have no clue what his personality actually is like. Also does he have a full name? Is Bondarev his first or last name? I noticed Herzog has a full name thanks to the Fandom wiki you and Hectab are working on :3

Ask and Ye shall receive. (very long post below with allllllllllll of the stuff you asked for.)

VERY HANDSOME

This was a man who was a sight to behold, handsome and straight, with iron gray hair neatly combed back and styled with hairspray, and a muscular body that was defined and supple. Many would describe him as sexy. The sentry had seen such handsome young officers in Moscow, but this one was too unbelievable. He was actually wearing only military shorts and sleeveless undershirt, sweating in the -10 degree wind. The man fished out a lighter from his shorts and lit it with aplomb, the sterling silver case etched with the words "70th anniversary of the October Revolution".

The sentry could not refuse this kindness and went over to light the cigarette.

"Here you go." The man tossed the lighter to the sentry, "In such a cold place, you need to use aviation kerosene with low freezing point, you should save that for the summer."

The sentry then realized that he still had the unlit lighter in his hand, the man's insight was actually keen to this point. Furthermore, people should be eager to find a warm place to rest at this moment. This also shows that he still has energy left for skiing in such extremely cold weather. The man took out a dark gray officer's uniform from his military duffel bag, and after a few moments, he finished putting it on and solemnly pinned a "Red Flag Medal" on his chest. A minute ago he was a skier, a minute later he had a frown of determination, a young man of power from Moscow.

"KGB Major Bondarev, I'm from Moscow." The man pulled out his papers, "Take me to Dr. Herzog and tell him that this is the moment of survival."

"Yes! Comrade Major!" The sentry saluted.

The man stated his identity in the simplest terms; he was an envoy from Moscow, a key member of the secret intelligence service. In the days of the Tsar, such a man was called a "minister".

********ICE PROOF*************

He pressed the detonator in his hand, after a short dull explosion, the marble base in the snow was blown up, Lenin bronze statue slanted in the snow. The noise of this micro-acoustic thunderstorm was so small that it was muffled by the wind within a few steps. The Black Swan Harbor is notoriously heavily guarded, but the most important aspect is the extreme cold, and standing outside for ten minutes on a night like this can lead to severe frostbite. Because of the blizzard, visibility was less than five meters. The soldiers did not expect anyone else to dare to move outside, and they ignored the fact that Bondarev had an extraordinary tolerance for the cold.

-----

"I sometimes think that people who like to drink can't be bad. So I like you a lot, you know vodka." Dr. Herzog removed the Makolov pistol and handed over a cold glass.

A light struck down from above, enveloping the Doctor and Bondarev. The glass reflected the light, as clear as the most expensive crystal glassware, but it was carved from a whole block of solid ice, pure ice, without any air bubbles, with cornflower patterns carved on the outer wall. The two men gently clinked their glasses and drank the wine in one gulp.

　　Bondarev played with the ice carved glass: "It's wonderful, the spirits wrapped in ice, as moving as a stunning young woman under the appearance of an iceberg. I think my hands will freeze and to it."

　　"Usually people who drink from such an ice glass have to wear leather gloves, and only people like you, Major, who are not afraid of the cold can hold it in their hands. It is carved from old ice in the -30 degree strata and also kept at -30 degrees, making it the coldest drinking vessel for the warmest of wines." The doctor said, He said so, but he was also holding the glass with his empty hand, his slender hand was stable and did not tremble at all because of the low temperature.

****** SUPPOSED ROYAL FAMILY and EXTREMELY RICH ***************

　　"Bondarev, a KGB major, from Moscow, these are the truth. I only concealed from you the name of my great-grandmother, her name was Nastasya Nikolaevna Romanova." Bondarev slowly pronounced this long, awkward name, like a magician reciting a forbidden spell.

　　The doctor was stunned: "Was it the last royal daughter of the Romanov dynasty?"

　　Nastasia was the last princess of the Romanov dynasty, the last dynasty to rule Russia until it was overthrown by the October Revolution in 1917. in 1918, the last Tsar Nicholas II and his entire family were secretly executed by the Red Army. Nastasia was the youngest daughter of Nicholas II, and although she was young, she was given the title of "Grand Duchess", which made her more honored than other royal princesses in Europe at the time, and princesses were required to curtsy and address her as "Your Imperial Highness" during their audiences. It was rumored that she was the only one who escaped execution, and that her name Nastasia meant "resurrection".

　　"Since there is still me, the grandson of the emperor, I can't say that she is the 'last' royal daughter." Bondarev smiled.

　　"How do you prove yourself?" The Doctor asked.

　　"I saw Rasputin's signature at the end of the tunnel, and that heretic who had been canonized had been here before, so I should say he was the one who found this cave, right?"

　　"Yes." The Doctor said, "This cave is his legacy."

　　"Then you must know that Rasputin was a guest of the Tsar and a close friend of Princess Nastasia. The fact that I could find this place means that I have Rasputin's secrets, secrets that he told my great-grandmother. This is the proof of my status as the last royal grandson of the Romanov dynasty." Bondarev held his head up proudly.

　　"So, what were the secrets that Rasputin revealed to Her Imperial Highness?"

　　Bondarev smiled slyly: "I think there are certain things I know that you do not know, and of course there are things you know that I do not, so we might as well exchange information about each other. Then we might be able to sit down and talk about cooperation."

　　"After you." The Doctor raised his muzzle.

　　"This matter begins with my great-grandmother's escape. A Red Army bullet did go through her heart and her body was thrown into an abandoned mine, but three days later she awoke and the wound miraculously healed. It was then that she remembered what Rasputin had told her, that Rasputin said he was willing to share the secrets of the world with his great-grandmother because she, like himself, was God's chosen one. Like Rasputin, she had an unparalleled power of life and could even return from hell. She later married a Red Army officer, and in those days the only way she could gain refuge was to marry a Red Army officer. My great-grandfather, who later stepped into the high ranks of the military, was a very good man and always protected my great-grandmother from revealing her identity. Great-grandmother would sometimes wake up in a dream and shout, 'The Red Army is coming with guns,' and great-grandfather would reassure her, 'I am the Red Army, and as long as I live, the Red Army guns will only protect you.'"

　　"Touching love." The doctor said faintly.

　　"Great-grandmother decided to give up her past identity, so she rarely talked about the past of the Romanov dynasty, with the exception of one thing. She bade her great-grandfather that there were relics of God in the north of Siberia, which the saint Rasputin had told her about. That saint found the cave where God created life on the shore of the icy sea. But he did not announce it to the world, but sealed the miracle with iron water, because the miracle had degenerated into the cradle of the devil, and inside it were hidden fallen angels. Generations of our family descendants have to be on guard against the reopening of that cave, and the day it reopens, the end comes with it."

　　"So you are here to check if we are guarding the miracle properly?"

　　"No, no, my great-grandmother was a good and devout Orthodox Christian, but I am not. I have a great curiosity about everything, and after I inherited the secret, I am bent on finding the miracle. If I were to find it, I would definitely open it and take a look. Not long ago I found an engineering map from the ruined archives." Bondarev drew out the map roll and rolled it along the ice toward the Doctor, "It marks the elevator that leads deep into the tundra."

　　The Doctor scanned the map, "It's not the original map, someone drew it from memory."

　　"It was drawn by a madman who used to be the engineer battalion commander of the 13th Konrad Infantry Division and was ordered to participate in the excavation of the tunnel, after which he was brainwashed by drugs and became a regular in a mental hospital. All he remembered was that he was engaged in a big project on the northern coast of Siberia, and the project was to dig a cave. Suddenly I realized I had found a breakthrough. But as the investigation progressed, I found that the matter was becoming more and more mysterious. Many years ago, the army had built a port in the almost unnavigable northern part of Siberia, about which there was no information, and even the coordinates had been erased. Below that port, sappers had dug through the hard permafrost and opened a long-closed cave. So I decided to come and see for myself. As a KGB officer, I easily applied for a charter to investigate this mysterious port, so that I could drive in as the 'Minister of the Admiralty'. Sure enough, I found Rasputin's signature at the end of the passage, and I finally arrived at the place I had dreamed of since childhood." Bondarev looked around, "But it doesn't look like there's anything interesting here."

　　"I'm sure you noticed when you came here that the closer you got to the door where Rasputin signed, the more bones there were in the tundra, and they all crawled out through a gap in the rock wall. It was those things that Rasputin was talking about when he said this cave would breed demons. But now the cave is dead, and the mysterious forces in the cave have dissipated."

　　"I don't think so. If this cave was no longer valuable, you would have left long ago."

　　"If this cave was really valuable, I should have shot you and monopolized the secrets of this place."

　　"Wait a minute! I have brought you a gift! Won't you take a look at the gift before shooting?'' Bondarev took an envelope from inside his clothes and slid it along the ice toward the Doctor, by which he showed that he had absolutely no intention of resisting.

　　The doctor tore open the envelope, inside was a Swiss bank cashier's check - a cashier's check for $200 million.

　　"This is a rare and large check, what do you want to buy from me with this check?" 'Doc asked.

　　"Not a purchase, just a gift." Bondarev smiled, "We believe this gift will be useful to you. Your research has been going on for decades, consuming huge amounts of state funds every year, and it must not be finished yet, right? But now that the Soviet Union is about to split, your backers have fallen, which means you no longer have access to funding to complete your research, and no one to help you keep it secret."

　　"It does sound like I'm facing a lot of trouble." The doctor said.

　　"Then why not work with my family? We know politics, we know technology, and we know war, and we're willing to invest in this cave as long as its secrets pay off. We can continue to support you in this project and share with you all the benefits it brings. I have already shown my sincerity and told you everything I know. Shouldn't you also tell me what I don't know? After that you will still have time to shoot me."

　　"You are very calm, Comrade Major. You think I won't shoot you if you produce this $200 million cashier's check, don't you?" There was a hint of sarcasm in the Doctor's tone.

　　"There are not many people in the world who can refuse two hundred million dollars." Bondarev smiled, "And killing me wasn't the best option. If I do not return safely to Moscow, the family will know that something has happened to me, and they will not spare you. At that time the secret of Black Swan Harbor will be made known to the world."

　　"Ten times." The doctor threw the cashier's check back to Bondarev.

　　Bondarev froze: "What did you say?"

　　"Your family needs to increase the bid tenfold. I need three years and two billion dollars to complete this research. At that time we will share the whole world."

　　"That amount is beyond my expectations and not easy to raise even for my family."

　　The Doctor laughed coldly: "It seems you really don't know the secret of this cave, in front of which two billion dollars is too small a figure, what is here no one can afford, it is priceless! Your family should be proud to offer this two billion dollars."

　　"Everything has a price, weapons, women, secrets, even souls." Bondarev said.

　　"But who can put a price on God?" The Doctor asked.

-------

The Lenin's mooring is only 40 kilometers from Black Swan Harbor, and they will be here soon. This new flare is so great that American spy satellites will recognize it as an aurora borealis." Bondarev said.

　　"You had said that the Lenin would not come." The doctor said.

　　"Moscow is not prepared to send the Lenin to Black Swan Harbo, but we can, and now the Lenin is at my family's beck and call."

　　Black shadows rose above the sea level, the roar of a giant bee on its wings approaching at high speed, snow dust twisted into a tornado by the helicopter's rotors, red five stars flashing in the white tornado. It was the "MiG 26" heavy helicopter, codenamed "Halo", one of the pride of the Soviet military industry. The helicopter hovered over the cast iron dock, the searchlights broke through the haze of the night, the hatch opened, and five captains lined up, saluting Bondarev. The communication lights below the belly of the plane blinked up, signaling greetings to Bondarev in Morse code.

　　"Glad to see you're safe and sound, Your Imperial Highness!" The doctor read out the greeting.

　　The fact that they called Bondarev "His Imperial Highness" instead of "comrade" meant that the helicopter and the Lenin on the icy sea were no longer loyal to the Soviet Union, but to the heir to the Romanov dynasty. The name Romanov is about to shine again after almost a century of obliteration in history, and with the power of the Dragons, it is not impossible for them to re-establish hegemony on Earth.

　　Bondarev handed a letter to the Doctor: "This is a letter I wrote to the family, please read it."

　　The Doctor scanned it and handed the letter back to Bondarev.

　　"If things go well, we will be able to relocate within a few weeks." Bondarev handed the letter to a captain who descended down the zip line, "We will build you a brand new research base in the warm and pleasant Baltic Sea, along with a vacation villa."

　　The captain placed a mouthful of boxes at the doctor's feet, containing a case of aged Red Label vodka.

　　"A small gift, so you don't have to worry about running out of booze until we leave Black Swan Harbor." Bondarev said.

　　"I guess I picked the right partner." The Doctor smiled.

***** HE VERY STRONG AND CAPABLE ***********

Bondarev looked alert, his muscles bulging under his uniform. He was a highly trained soldier, capable of breaking a wolf's neck with his bare hands, and had no need to fear this delicate boy, but not daring to take it lightly in the presence of something supernatural, he adjusted himself to a state of immediate danger.

------

Bondarev noticed a transparent figure flashed from his side. It was just a short blink of an eye, a fraction of a second, but Bondarev was trained to the rigors of the KGB and he was absolutely certain it was a person!

-------- IS A HYBRID THAT HAS NO ISSUE KILLING PEOPLE, INCLUDING KIDS ------------

The lieutenant on duty in the boiler room collapsed on the duty desk, a bottle of Red Label vodka still in his hand. A steel-core bullet had penetrated his heart, and Bondarev stood behind the lieutenant with his Makolov pistol.

---

At that moment the doctor heard the wind change behind his head, and the beam of the searchlight struck him. He turned sharply and saw huge black shadows hovering in the air, their rotor blades churning the snow into a flurry. It was Halo, the heavy helicopter from the Lenin, which had ventured to Black Swan Harbor in such bad weather.

　　"Didn't you say Halo couldn't fly in a snowstorm of this magnitude?" The Doctor froze. Something hard pressed against his back, it was Bondarev's Makarov pistol. One by one, the steel-core bullets pierced the Doctor's chest, tearing the aging heart into a million pieces. The Doctor spat out a mouthful of blood, mixed with fragments of his lungs, which had been destroyed in the process. He braced himself and turned his face to look at Bondarev, his eyes filled with shock.

　　"You can't complete the research without me ......," he hissed.

　　"We didn't even try to finish your research." Bondarev's pupils swirled with a gorgeous gold.

　　"Who the hell ...... are you?"

　　Bondarev held the Doctor in place and injected him with adrenaline using an air needle, "Hold on one more minute for the most magnificent scene."

　　The Black Swan Harbor suddenly trembled up tremendously, the sound of a series of explosions spread upward from the ground, but it was not a vacuum bomb detonated in advance, if it was a vacuum bomb, a square kilometer around would be leveled to the ground. A fire rose, and countless pieces of frozen earth spilled onto the frozen sea.

　　"Engineering explosive mines?" The Doctor asked in a hiss.

　　"The new engineering burst mines, even 10,000 years of permafrost, as long as the right eye is chiseled can be blown up. Now in a place you can't see, there is a huge hole with a depth of 180 meters, leading to Rasputin's cave, where we will use the laser to cut through the ice and take away the precious collection that originally belonged to you." Bondarev said, "You have been isolated from the outside world for too long to know the progress of engineering, it is no longer difficult to cut through the tundra in an instant today, once I probe its location."

　　"You ...... want to take that dragon!" The Doctor understood.

　　"Yes," Bondarev replaced the magazine, walked over to the sled, and fired four bullets into the chests of each of the four children.

　　The children died without a struggle from the potent hypnotic drug. It was pure carnage.

　　"You are not the only one who is willing to sacrifice human lives for a great cause." Bondarev pressed his chest in silence for the children he had just killed, looking reverent.

[keouil]

how you forget to be human

“so is she like,” scott hesitates. “cap’s first lady or something?” rated t. 2k+. steve/nat. also on ao3 / twitter / cc

Scott hasn’t been with the team for a long time, but he thinks he at least has enough working knowledge of how everyone operates.

The Winter Soldier—Bucky to Steve,  James to anyone who dared—quite frankly still scares the living shit out of him, and that’s Magneto on a good day. It didn’t take much to deduce he seemed wholly uncomfortable in his own skin, his jaw coiled perpetually tight and the rigid set of his shoulders always in alert. It was uneasy just being around him, his discomfort bleeding over others and charging the air around his space with its own brand of disquieting; but always, without fail, Steve cushioned whatever apprehension anyone aimed toward his bestfriend.

Most of it came from Sam, and almost always in good nature as if to ease the brainwashed supersoldier into some semblance of normality; and Scott would fear for Sam’s life every time he opened his mouth, were it not for the also very obvious fact the Falcon held his own and didn’t appreciate handouts and the three of them seemed to be getting along uniquely (if not a little oddly) well enough.

The witch was a small problem, however. Simply for the fact she was a witch and Scott is wary because history taught him they burned all of them down in Salem. 

He sees her wiggling those voodoo fingers around sometimes, almost unconsciously, and feels the hairs on his arms rise with every flick of her wrist. The energy around her isn’t suffocating the same way Bucky’s is. It was more a subtle nervous tingling; like she herself was afraid of the gravity of her own powers she had yet to have complete reigns on. Scott is oddly humbled by the fact and even empathises with her a little.

Steve keeps an eye on her and doesn’t bother hiding it, but it’s the archer who gets past her when it really counts. Clint Barton, who, surprisingly is the one he’s on the most similar wavelength with out of all of them: family man and all.

Clint Barton whose also friends with Natasha Romanoff.

.

.

.

Hawkeye who has simultaneously the most complex and impossibly simple relationship with Black Widow.

“I swear to god if you ring me up next time you’re out of goddamn Fruit Loops,” Natasha warns, digging through one of the five grocery bags on the kitchen island. She fishes for a few more seconds, before popping a colourful cartoon box out from under the bag and tossing it to Barton. “I’m bringing you in for real.”

Clint scoffs, placing the carton on the top shelf. “How many times have I heard that before?”

“Apparently not enough,” Natasha glares at him from her peripheral, scooping out Nutella and a pack of store-bought pryanik to lay on the table. Russian biscuits. For Wanda. “If I’m still stopping by an abandoned boarding house in the slums of Siberia every other week. Y’all grown men can’t do grocery shopping by yourselves?”

Scott blinks from his spot by one of the stools. 

Of all the things he expected to wake up to in hiding from 117 countries from possible charges of aiding and abetting a war criminal, Black Widow casually arranging and organising their weekly rationale was nowhere near the top of the list. She did this all the while supposedly fighting for the other team.

This one needs no introduction.

Scott knows who Black Widow is. Scott knows Captain America, after all. 

You don’t grow up in the land of the free without knowing his legacy even in minute passing. The man has been plastered on nearly every surface of the continent since the dawn of America. Scott has seen the news footages, read the official accounts, willingly devoured every single documentary or biopic helmed in honour of their nation’s greatest hero: he knows, down to the bone, the star-spangled man with a plan. 

A forgotten and revered and rebirthed war hero. 

How he came to know of her, however, is an entirely different story: because come the news footages, zoom in close enough you’ll see the infamous shield covering a much smaller and daintier figure; go over the accounts with a fine-toothed comb, they speak of a levelled dynamic between a commanding officer and a shadow leader; and, lest history not forget, the documentaries: Peggy, because behind every great man is a woman, Natasha.

“Now why would we do that if we got you?” Sam. He comes up from behind the hallway to playfully grin at Natasha before enveloping her in a small hug. She returns it easily.

Scott braces himself for what’s to come, because they came in a pair, and so: “Nat,” Steven Grant Rogers, in the flesh himself, pokes his head in not a moment later with a barely indisputable frown on his face. “You came here again?”

Natasha clicks her tongue at him. “Someone had to make sure you boys were fed.”

“That’s not— We can—” Steve stutters as he strides in, and Scott has to very carefully school his features into nonchalance because Captain America does not stammer. He sighs deeply before settling next to her, nudging her with his hip. “Tony atleast know you're here?”

Natasha gives him a pointed look. “Who do you think paid for all this?”

.

.

.

Scott watches their silhouettes grow smaller and smaller by the distance.

Even from afar, he can make out Steve’s absolute hulk of a frame: back impossibly straight in a way that bespoke authenticity, years of rigid military training drilled into his bones; only he seemed to mellow, somehow and very slightly, the fine lines of his shoulders angled in the direction of her voice. And Natasha: brave and lithe, nearly a head shorter and so much more smaller, facing forward in full confidence and a leisurely stride in her steps.

Siberia has a biting night air that seeps deep into the bone. But it’s also comforting somehow; all of them knowing, in one way or another, what it was like to be iced out from society. 

They were all huddled by the makeshift campfire Barton fashioned out of some wooden logs and a matchstick. Sam, in charge of roasting marshmallows, was gently coaxing Bucky into eating one and promising him it’s not poisoned. Wanda was handing out steaming cups of hot chocolate brewed from the pack Natasha brought in a few hours ago, a staple in her weekly grocery runs because apparently the kid witch liked sweets. 

Scott gingerly takes a sip from his mug, some of the warmth seeping into liquid courage he was building up for weeks now. He takes a deep breath before plunging himself into the waves.

“I can’t be the only one worried that the enemy has infiltrated our territory, right?”

To their credit, neither of them kill him on sight. 

Wanda pauses in levitating one of the wooden logs above the hearth, a single bark of kindling hovering uncertainly over the air. Bucky has an unreadable expression on his face when he regards him. A look passes between Sam and Clint, betraying nothing of their inner thoughts at his outburst.

The fire is nice and toasty, but the air is stifling now and Scott has never felt more the outsider than at that very moment.

Until Sam breaks into a hearty laugh. “Widow?” he shakes his head amusedly. “No, man, Steve and Nat are tight. They’re past stuff like that.”

Scott furrows his eyebrows in concern. “But isn’t she—”

“On Tony’s side?” Clint quips, poking at one of the planks. Wanda finally drops the floating bark, and Scott doesn’t miss the flash of something in her eyes when she glances at him from the other side of the fire. He thinks he saw a spark of red for a second. “Sure, I guess. Technically she’s Team Iron Man or whatever that means. But Natasha is also fiercely loyal, especially when it comes to Steve.”

“What does that  mean?” Scott asks in genuine confusion.

Sam opens his mouth to elaborate, words already forming on his mouth; before he seems to come to a belated realisation, blinks, and manages a nonchalant shrug. "Damn if I know,” he admits, turning over a puffy mallow and watching the crackles of fire burn its edges. “But she’s good for him. That’s all I care about.”

“And he’s good for her,” Clint returns easily, not an ounce of hesitation in his voice. “Maybe sometimes it’s just that easy.”

They hear the crunching of footsteps on snow creeping up behind them, and Scott takes this as his cue to stash the conversation for another time. 

He watches them stroll in together carefully.

Steve holds the gate open for her and places a small hand on her back as they advance in the small patch of woods by the backyard. Natasha settles next to Wanda, hands going up and down her arms to warm the younger girl despite being the one having only just gone out for a walk in the middle of Russian winter: because, and at this Scott is now confident, the jacket resting on her shoulders three times her size was keeping her warm enough.

.

.

.

The quinjet doesn’t start up right away.

Scott is slowly panicking, because the realisation that he was truly out of his depth at fighting in the next greatest civil war of the century notches above his pay grade only viscerally begins to take hold. 

He has a family back home, pets to feed, a little life saving every now and then; but never this colossal of a scale, never with the stakes stacked up so high against them, that it really could only ever be toppled down by the likes of fucking Iron Man and Captain America.

But Steve is still confident.

It’s so bloody obvious he was always going to keep at it, gunned down the concrete walls of the airport and clawed his way out of it brick by brick if need be. He was really and truly the good man underneath it all, and at the back of his mind, Scott still finds himself awed at the fact.

But he doesn’t know how on  earth  the man came out of that airport not visibly rattled, not at all unlike how Scott was currently feeling; and, as he processes the rest of their wayward expressions, he knew he wasn’t alone in thinking so.

“Cap,” Sam wheezes by the floor, fighting to labor his breathing with a hand clutched on his dislocated shoulder. “I still got the jeep parked outside. It’s not too late. We can hike the rest of the way.”

“No,” Steve replies, an edge of conviction in his voice. There is not a single tremor in his stubborn hands gripping the wheel. “That’s gonna hold us back days. We just need to be up in the air for now. We need—”

“A woman to come to your rescue again?”

This time, it’s Scott who sighs in deep relief at her voice. This time, Scott doesn’t fight the churn in his stomach at the prospect of having someone who nearly nicked him lifeless not even hours ago this close a range with them again. This time, she is not Black Widow, but simply Natasha Romanoff; Steve Rogers’ friend.

This time, Scott thinks, he will let them be easy just like that.

There was no more a sign of tremble in his voice or hands the entire battle, but at the lilt of her voice, he just crumbles. 

“Nat,” Steve breathes out when he turns to her, hands fisting at his sides in an attempt to regain control. Just like that, he unravels; so easily and without preamble in the face of her steeled strength. “I can’t get it to turn on— And I— We have to get Bucky—”

“Work through it, Steve,” she cooes in probably the most placating voice he’s heard of her, but she doesn’t move to touch him when she comes close. Her hands are going a mile a minute over the control panel, pushing buttons and lifting levers. Steve is hovering by her side like it's the only thing holding him together. “You know how to fly this thing, right?”

Steve is visibly taken aback and angles his body to face her. “You’re not coming with us?”

The question hangs in the air.

It charges the silence around them and quells any of their growing uncertainty, because, clear as it was of Steve’s well-founded and undeniable leadership skills: they also knew, intimately, she anchored him through it all.

Sam was putting pressure around Bucky’s human arm as he looked back and forth at them tensely. He could feel Wanda hitch her breath behind him.

Natasha’s fingers keep flying away at the keyboard, until they feel the telling signs of an engine rumbling underneath and the overhead lights spurting back to light. The whole jet roars to life in the next second, heating fans whizzing and technical sounds beeping. She shifts some gears around and locks in a destination with the GPS navigation.

When she turns to look at Steve, it is then Scott forces himself to pry his eyes away and not bear witness to this part of his already over documented life. In that single moment of uncertainty, the what does that mean is meant like this: an intimate baring of a soul, heart, trust: in a way no words could ever begin describing or should even attempt to put to paper. 

It is friendship at the most intimate level, it is soulmates on the most soul-crushing departure, and it is the everything else that comes after.

“Not this time, Rogers,” he hears her say, and Scott doesn’t have to imagine the slight fracturing of his iron-clad footing in the world swaying ever so slightly, when he replies with: “Then I guess I’ll see you around, Romanoff.” .

.

.

“So is she like,” Scott hesitates. “Cap’s first lady or something?”

They’re some seventy feet off the air above the Pacific Ocean, the moisture from the ocean drifting up to the open barracks and making the air glisten around them. Bucky is fast asleep somewhere down the lower levels with Wanda keeping watch over him, upon the fervent insistence of Steve arguing he needed rest. It came as no surprise that he also self-assigned himself the first watch of the night. 

Sam is sharpening his knives, the grating sound of sandpaper slicing over iron piercing through the silent hum and drum of the night. 

“Please,” he scoffs, looking over at him. “If anything, Steve is her first lady.”