#largely platonic some romantic mostly a secret third thing

[zarnzarn]

the angsty prequel to this (ik there's plotholes now but shh I'll fix it in a bit) that i accidentally made after getting possessed and writing for 3 hours straight for what was supposed to be a short hc post jfc. angst ahead (brain damage talk, temporary mcd), but there's a happy ending!

-

zeus saying he's going to make athena's "kingdom fall" doesn't make sense unless you consider. the lightning bolt she takes to the face gives her brain damage.

no one notices at first. Athena brushes it all off, goes to odysseus, oversees their long-awaited reunion. stays in their house after- because it's not like they'll be around forever, after all. and she can do her work just as well from down here- there's no need, to be honest, to go back to Mount Olympus. anyone who needs her comes to Ithaka, and she's content, for the first time in a very, very long time.

and then one day odysseus comes across her seizing on the floor.

she doesn't know the details of what happened- only remembers the first terrified scream of horror, remembers warm hands on her face and being carried to a bed, remembers Penelope's voice shaking as she drags a wet cloth across her forehead. comes to confused and mute minutes later, wandering around and stumbling into walls, unresponsive to the voices begging her to stop, to rest.

finally, she reaches a familiar room with a familiar face, and she touches Telemachus on the cheek lightly before collapsing onto the nearest chair. panicked voices chatter above her and calloused palms lift her face up to meet her own grey eyes, worried and scared, and it finally dawns on her that something has gone terribly wrong.

(later she will find out odysseus held her and sobbed the whole night, knowing more than anyone else what had happened to her and what it meant; he'd taken the throne at thirteen for the same reason, after all)

(later she will find out that penelope wrote to every ally they had within the hour for healers and literature; letting more than half their cleverly planned schemes fall through in exchange for it as she begged)

(later, she will find out that telemachus went running barefoot through the market, banging on doors and shouting for the healers and making the alarmed roused villagers sing prayers for her even though it was the middle of the night)

she recovers under the attention; court abandoned in favour of emergency, odysseus proclaims when he bullies her into placing her head in his lap so he can massage her aching head, not having left her side for six straight days in a row. penelope comes in every few hours, feeding her the olives from the wedding bed she lies in, unable to move, and brushes out her hair. telemachus barely shows during the days, but he comes in every evening without fail, curling up by her side and hugging her tight.

but it happens again. and again and again, and each time she regains consciousness in one of the royal family's arms, no matter where she was at the time. she never remembers it, only has the disgusting taste in her mouth and dried spit on her chin and tears in the eyes of those around her to know it happened.

she loses time as well- has no idea how long it's been happening until she becomes aware of the sound of Odysseus' calm, steady voice dragging her out of a trance, gentle fingers tracing her palm as they stand next to an unassuming tapestry. she'll be walking one moment and be lost to everything around her the next, staring at nothing.

Odysseus has done this all before, she realises one day, when he seamlessly pulls her out of another relapse and ropes her into a cheerful, easy conversation about goats that Athena keeps having stilted replies to.

"Do you know how to do this because-" She murmurs, and his eyes go wide and then grieving.

"Yes," He murmurs sadly, and Athena feels guilt settle in her belly at making him go through this again. He massages at her temples, and she closes her eyes, listening to the smile in his voice. "But there is no hardship, Pallas Athena. The sadness is that you have to go through this, not for the taking care of a cherished one."

"And anyways, Laertes suffered madness in the wake of a terrible fever and the stress of a famine," Penelope says without looking up from the newest scrolls they'd received. Athena feels the guilt worsen at the sleep bags under her eyes, when she knew the reason and just didn't have the courage to- "Your sudden collapses could be due to this one witch curse we found, or perhaps a-"

"It was Zeus."

The room falls silent as two heads slowly turn to look at her.

"What?" Odysseus says quietly, with barely withheld rage.

Athena takes a shuddering breath. "I am sorry, my Penelope, that I didn't have the courage to tell you before." Penelope leaves the desk to cross the room to her, and Athena feels tears prick at her eyes as the queen takes her hand. "But when I petitioned the court of Olympus, Zeus did not take kindly to everyone agreeing to me over him- and such was his punishment. To make-"

Her breath hitches in a sob and she notes with surprise that she's crying. Penelope and Odysseus are both crying with her, staring down in horror.

"To make my kingdom fall, he said," Athena whispers, shoulders jerking oddly as she forces it out, acknowledges what he'd done. "But my kingdom is the mind and-"

Odysseus lets out an animal cry of sorrow and descends on her, pulling her to his chest as she breaks down into shivering tears, the fear running through her as she realises the scale, the enormity of the consequences. Penelope stands by the bed and trembles with anger for a full minute, before she crumples too, crawling into their bed and pressing Athena tight between them.

"I forget things," She confesses in a whisper, shaking. "I blank out during fights, cannot recall certain strategies- I- I do not know how much worse-"

"Easy, darling, easy," Penelope whispers in a rush, stroking her face. Odysseus really is so lucky to have her as a wife, she thinks disjointedly, pressing into the gentleness. "Don't say that. It won't get worse."

"And even if it does," Odysseus continues, pressing a kiss to her cheek, where the lichtenberg scars cross her right eye, to her brow. "We will write down everything you know, copy it a hundred times and keep it safe. So you will never forget."

"And we will find you a Lytrakas owl, to keep you safe when we are no longer here to do it," Penelope murmurs, lips brushing Athena's neck as she speaks. She relaxes finally under the combined reassurances, at the solutions and possibilities that would work, finding a content she has never achieved before in their embrace. "We will keep you safe, our goddess."

And they do. When she teaches the children of Ithaka sparring, at least one of them is there, ready to intervene smoothly if they sense something wrong. They make the books they promised her, and she sends it to her realm, so she doesn't lose them. They cannot come with her when she has to travel- she wouldn't ask it of any of them- but Telemachus is always humming a hymn when she's away so she remembers where to return. When she dissociates in the middle of talking, Penelope guides her over to the loom so she can weave until she feels better, muscle memory kicking in enough for it to help the gradual lift of the fog.

Odysseus always somehow knows when she's about to have a seizure, in the forty years after that they spend together. In all her time in Ithaka, she never woke up from one without the familiar gravely cadence of Odysseus singing under his breath above her, head in his lap and Telemachus perched on her thighs or Penelope by her shoulders.

-

But it can't last forever.

Odysseus kicks her out of the room when he dies, Penelope's breath already slowing on the bed behind him, peaceful in the way that means she won't survive the night. They all know Odysseus will go with her, and Athena feels herself tremble as Odysseus gently guides her outside.

"You are not watching us pass," He tells her firmly, as she opens her mouth to scream at him. He's an old man now, but his eyes are the same, and the different versions of him flash in front of her eyes as he gives her a crooked smile. "I will not have you watch, are you crazy?"

"Odysseus," She chokes out, gripping tight onto her spear.

"My beautiful, wonderful goddess," Odysseus murmurs adoringly, leaning up to press their foreheads together. She sobs. "Thank you. For everything. And know-" His breath hitches. "-know that, for the rest of your existence, remember it- that you were loved."

"How can I ever forget?" She smiles back through the tears. "I will never be the same."

"My Athene," He whispers, swaying them back and forth. She closes her eyes, trembling, and pulls him into their last embrace, last touch.

"You will always be my favourite," She confesses, half-laugh, half-sob.

Odysseus smirks at that, a trace of smugness, then turns to a sobbing, chuckling Telemachus, who's also been kicked out, pulls them both in a hug. "We will meet again, my son," he murmurs. "But Penelope is waiting for me now. Goodnight."

He closes the door, two bright last flashes of smiles aimed at them as it shuts and Athena and Telemachus both fall to pieces.

Telemachus takes twice the care of her than his parents did, somehow juggling ruling the kingdom and spending as much time as he can with her as he can. His wife is sly and mischievous, more fox than owl- but Athena loves her too, just as she loves their children. Telemachus goes with a smile on his face and an arrow in his heart, having taken an arrow for someone else, holding Athena's hand as he laughs for the last time.

It is horrible and she wanders around desolately for days, grieving. But then she sees bright eyes spying on her from behind a bush, carefully watching her to see if she's alright and Athena smiles and goes back to continue the legacy.

-

For 500 years, Ithaka does not fall- when it does, she makes sure the grey-eyed children all make it off the island, scattering on the mainland as at last, her job is done.

Which means there is nothing left for her here, and it is time to go back to Mount Olympus.

She's met with teasing quips and pointed comments, but general ignorance, no one bothering to ask where she was. After almost six hundred years of care, it feels untethering and strange, but the grief of losing Ithaka makes her relieved for it, even if she has to lie down sometimes, press her face into the roots of the olive tree scattered about in her realm and pretend there are three sets of hands in her hair, a familiar voice humming above her.

How did you do it, she wants to ask Penelope. How did you survive knowing what you were missing, she wants to ask Odysseus. Will you sit with me one last time, she wants to ask Telemachus.

Eventually, she can no longer bear the quiet, and one evening she sets out and crosses the pantheon floor to go gently sit down in Apollo's room.

Artemis is there, slouched on the floor with mud in her hair and an arrow in her eye as Apollo chides her. They both look up when she comes in, bowing and worriedly asking if something was wrong.

"Nothing," she says, ignoring the pang of sadness that that would be the only reason she was here. But the idea of leaving back to the books written in Odysseus' horrible chickenscratch penmanship is worse, and she takes a tentative seat in the corner. "Continue your work."

They do so hesitantly, conversation slower and interspersed with bouts of asking her if she wanted ambrosia or a new dish or something while she was here. She declines.

She feels awkwardness radiating off all three of them as she leaves an hour later, but it doesn't stop her from coming back again, stubborn. She will hold a conversation this time- it has been two decades since Ithaka, but that is nothing to her, and she cannot have forgotten how so soon.

Apollo seems to have prepared for the same thing this time, lighting up with a pleased grin like he wasn't sure she would come. "Enter!" He says cheerfully. "Come here, give me your wisdom on this piece I've been composing- I know, I know, owls are not songbirds, but just see if you can help, it's driving me mad-"

Athena closes her mouth and listens to the melody quietly. Thinks about how Telemachus' third daughter would have spun it, added her Ithakan folk style to it, interspersed the perfection with carefree, imperfect beats.

"May I?" She asks, holding her hands out, and Apollo's mouth drops, even as he scrambles to hand her the lyre. She concentrates, trying to pull the melody out from the strings. "Here," she says, manifesting her spear and shield and handing it to an increasingly wild-eyed Apollo. "Bang them together. Create a tempo."

They create something of a passing song in the next few hours until Athena's headache makes its way to the forefront and she has to retreat. Apollo accompanies her across the floor to her room, pressing herbs onto her even as he chatters a mile a minute, excitedly going on and on about new ideas and begging Athena to come by again. She smiles, briefly, and promises to return when she is free, going back to her pallet under the olive trees.

(She cannot bear to sleep anywhere else.)

The next day, Apollo is busy creating new songs and she knows better than to disturb him. She turns and goes to his twin's realm instead, shedding her armour for bark and a bow. Artemis and her women look as equally terrified as Apollo did at the start, looking at her like she's lost her mind, but they all straighten up when Athena raises an eyebrow and silently descend on the night.

"You must teach me!" Artemis enthuses at the end of it. She does not do anything other than scowl often, but she looks more like her twin than ever now, as she beams up at her. "I never knew there were so many strategies, how much smoother-"

"Peace," Athena chuckles, amused. "I will teach you, sister. Next fortnight?"

"Aye," Artemis says, hair matted and covered in filth, eyes sparkling.

"Here," Athena says, taking out her own ribbon- one of the many she has from Penelope, braided in her hair from all those years ago- and turns Artemis around to tie her mess of a mane out of her eyes. "Do not impede your vision in the name of wildness."

"Okay," Artemis squeaks quietly, and Athena snorts and squeezes her shoulder as she departs.

She sits in Aephastus' forge next, watching him create weapon after weapon, with the best of each round being blessed onto a blacksmith in the mortal world.

"Come to see if my work is up to par, Pallas Athena?" Aephastus says self-deprecatingly, a flash of resigned hurt in his eyes.

"No. I wish to learn," Athena decides suddenly, pushing herself up and removing her helmet at the blast of heat that comes from the forge as she nears. "It is shameful, I think, that I know not how my own tools are made."

Aephastus stares at her with surprise, then his kind eyes crinkle into a smile. "Only if you let me replace that," He nods to her admittedly rather dented helmet. "I have been wanting to fix your armour to something respectable for centuries."

Athena laughs.

Of course, once it is done, she has to use it. It fills her with excitement she had almost forgotten, the idea of a good, difficult spar, and she barges into Aphrodite's realm and bangs on the edge of the bed with her new spear, making the occupants screech and jump in fright.

"Good evening," She nods at Aphrodite, who looks to the side and then back at her as if she'll find an explanation somehow, stunned. She turns to her brother, and tries on a grin. "Ares, my brother. Would you care to spar? Aephastus has gifted me this new set and I find myself eager to test it out."

"...Are you fucking possessed?" Ares asks her, flabbergasted, and she clicks her tongue and smacks him upside the head.

"Yes or no?" She says, crossing her hands.

"Y- yes, yes!" Ares blurts out, straightening up. He looks something approaching disbelieving excitement, a small, tentative grin appearing on his face. "You are... not joking, right?"

"Do I look like I joke?" Athena jokes, smiling. Ruffles his hair in a bout of fondness. "You are the only one who will actually give me a good fight, as erratic as you are. I look forward to it."

"What did I FUCKING MISS?" Aphrodite shrieks after her as she goes. "Wha- Athena, get back here, you better have not fallen in love while I wasn't looking-!"

But Athena's not ready to face Aphrodite just yet, so she takes advantage of their height difference and strides back to her realm as her sister chases her, shouting.

The next day, they meet in the arena, and Athena feels herself freeze up as soon as she steps in. Sees the lightning scorch marks on the ground she had almost forgotten, and cannot move.

"ATHENA!" Ares booms, snapping her out of it. "TODAY YOU WILL MEET YOUR DEFEAT AT MY HANDS AT LAST!"

"WHY ARE YOU SO ANNOYING," She shouts back automatically, and Ares bursts out in a peal of laughter, surprised out of him. She knows he has three aspects- the boyish glory-seeker, the soldier filled with bloodlust, the hardened warrior- but Athena thinks the first one suits him best.

He readjusts his grip on his sword and grins. "Begin!"

-

She continues this, finding a strange happiness she never had before in meeting all the other gods, major and minor. She'd never known how intimidated they all were by her, but they open up readily enough, bringing her peace for a little while as she sits with them.

(She avoids Aphrodite, who is getting increasingly more frazzled by the day as she fails to find a hidden lover that does not exist and then switches to trying to find Athena a companion when it is clear that there is no one, in a comic game of chase around the realms that is a great source of amusement to everyone else.

She avoids Hermes too, because it hurts too much to see him. But she leaves him a book of riddles once in a while, when he's away, and he always takes it.)

Hera walks in her room one day, with her train of peacocks and attendants.

"God-Queen," Athena bows, setting her weaving down.

"Athena," Hera nods back. "I hear you have been visiting your siblings."

Athena nods, confused. "Yes?"

Hera studies her and Athena shifts, wondering what she's seeing. "The Pantheon is no longer silent, you know. The Olympians meet in the court almost every day, sharing their gifts with each other. Something I have found out is because of you."

Athena has no idea where this is going.

Hera shifts closer, opening her mouth to say something, then her eyes catch on the weaving, widening in shock. "What is that?"

Athena looks down, also unaware of what exactly she'd made. Then her heart skips a beat in fear.

"No, no, no, no," Athena snaps to her feet, shaking her hands out in dismissal, trying to stop the impending damage. "This is not what you think it is."

Hera's eyes are getting wider and wider, a manic grin on her face. "Athena! A wedding veil? Do you-"

"No!" Athena interrupts. "No, Hera, it's nothing like that, please-"

"Nonsense!" Hera says, grabbing it from her and holding it to the light, grinning wider than Athena has seen from her in years. "You must have made it for a reason. Do not worry daughter, I know you are shy, I will handle it all."

"Hera, it really is not like that!" She pleads. "I was simply weaving- I made a fisherman's garb the other day as well, it does not mean I want to get out into the sea!"

"Have you made the rest of the outfit as well?" Hera says excitedly, ignoring her as she moves to the wardrobe to rifle through. "Oh, Athena, how beautiful! Is this what you would like to wear?"

She pulls out a men's wedding outfit and Athena stops protesting to stare in disbelief. When had she made that?

"I must go announce this to the others," Hera squeals, bangles jangling. "Oh, I had almost given up on you, dear, but you have made me so happy today! I would have arranged something for you so long ago, why didn't you tell me you were interested?"

"Because I am not," She groans, pulling her hands down over her face. "Hera, please, I do not even have anyone-"

"Easily remedied," Hera dismisses her with the wave of a hand as she strides off. "Oh Aphrodite, you won't believe what I just found in your sister's closet! Look!"

A deafening din rises from the crowd there and Athena is forced to tackle Hera to the ground.

She laughs, surprisingly, and tosses the outfit over to Aphrodite, who snatches it up with a scream of excitement. Athena is immediately flanked by a crowd of screaming gods, each talking over the other, and Athena has to bellow at them all for two hours before the misunderstanding is cleared.

"Oh, but you really have outdone yourself with this one," Aphrodite gushes appreciatively as she lands next to a panting Athena. She turns it back and forth. "So soft, and such patterns! The Ithakan style, yes?"

Then her smile drops like a stone as she hears her own words and freezes, and Athena's stomach swoops, heart skipping a beat as she stops breathing. Aphrodite turns to her slowly, cold horror in her eyes, realisation solidifying at the terrified, raw, pained expression on Athena's face.

"The Ithakan style," She repeats in a whisper, horrified grief creeping into her voice. "Athena-"

Athena snatches the outfit from her and closes herself off in her realm, breathing hard in the dim blue light of the olive tree orchard. She suddenly realises she's holding the robes against her chest and unfolds it hurriedly to look at them.

It is the Ithakan style. It is, in fact, a mix of Penelope's and Odysseus' wedding outfits, in her size.

She throws it into a trunk and screams.

-

She does not know if Aphrodite tells Hera, but the latter does not stop coming by every day to pester her for details of an imaginary wedding.

So now she has three gods to avoid.

-

But of course, the effects of her affliction cannot be hidden forever. She gets up one day from the Pantheon floor to retrieve the threads from her room to be used in the game they are playing, and feels the room swim in a familiar, hated manner, and she only has a moment to feel dread before she tilts sideways and falls.

When she regains consciousness, she feels for a moment the delicate hands on her cheeks, the weight of a young man on her belly, the gravely singing above her- and then it dissipates and she becomes aware of shouting all around her.

"Can you hear me? Athena, can you hear me?" Hera says, shaking her. "WILL SOMEONE FIND APOLLO?"

Athena moans and pushes off the hands on her body, bruising in their panic. She pushes herself up, ignoring the dizziness. "Do not bother."

"Athena, what on Gaia was that?" Ares demands, ashen. "Have I injured you? What-"

"It is of no concern," Athena snaps, getting to her feet and glaring at them, mortification blazing through her. "All I need is rest. Goodnight."

They shout after her, but she's already at her room, closing the shields back up. It nearly knocks her out again to do so, and she barely drags herself to her bed before she collapses.

"What are you staring at?" Hypnos asks her the next day, confused. Athena blinks and realizes she's standing between the thrones, facing an odd patch of wall and losing time.

"Nothing," She sighs, and hefts her spear and walks away.

She fends off all other questions, curt and snapping, and the others uneasily let it go. She has not forgotten her purpose, after all, and will not do anything less than a perfect job, even with this impediment.

Yet-

"Athena," Aphrodite shakes her, and Athena blinks as she comes to herself. It is night, Pantheon bathed in blue and both of them in their nightclothes. Aphrodite is crying and Athena's face is wet.

"What-?" She murmurs.

"You were calling out for Odysseus," Aphrodite whispers, sounding stricken. "Asking him to stop hiding from training. Then laughing with nothing and telling Penelope to stop tormenting your allies."

It hits her straight in the sternum, making her gasp with grief that hits her so hard it feels new, and oh, she misses them, she misses them, she misses them so.

She sobs, and Aphrodite brings her close, holding her as she shakes.

"What is happening, sister? Why is this happening? Please, tell us," Aphrodite pleads. "We only want to help." She pushes her back to stare at her. "It cannot be just for them- something else happened to you."

Athena cannot reply for weeping, and Aphrodite's face crumples on seeing her tears. "You loved them." She says, her own voice catching tears. "You loved them so much, didn't you? That's who the dress was for. Them."

Athena sobs louder and doesn't reply.

-

Zeus' eldest daughter has not talked to him for over eight hundred years.

He still burns with anger some days, on remembering her insolence, her disrespect for his orders. Yet, now it has cooled off and he rather misses her quiet presence, her wit. She is angry with him in turn, cold and formal when they talk, never meeting his eyes.

"How fares Athena?" He asks casually one day. Hera stops removing her earrings and looks up at him sharply- she's been frosty with him since that day as well, disapproving of his actions. "I have not seen her in quite some time."

"That is of your own design," Hera replies blandly. "She spends time often with her siblings now. I am quite proud of her for it, actually- it is no mean a feat to get the entire Pantheon to sit down and indulge in few games without bloodshed."

"Games?" Zeus frowns. "With the others? Why is this the first I'm hearing of it?"

"Well, if you left your realm ever, you would know." Hera says distractedly, shrugging as she takes off her necklace. "They gather in the courtroom, usually."

The wind blows in, blows out.

Zeus ponders on this in silence, thinking of what to do next. Perhaps he should extend the first hand, since she had followed all the rules. He remembers her on the ground, beaten and burning, one hand extended to beg him to let that insolent hero she had pinned all her hopes on leave Ogygia. Frowns again in discomfort at the memory.

Her gamble paid off. Even as the Greek Pantheon declined in power, the story of her hero persisted to give the gods power, to keep them remembered.

Wise Athena, he thinks fondly. Smarter than him, he can admit now.

Zeus is just about to ask Hera if Athena would appreciate a spar when the rustle of fabric past the door of their realm catches his attention.

"Who is there?" He calls out, and Hera turns as well to look. No one enters and they both look to each other with a frown.

Quick footsteps sound out and both of them push themselves to their feet immediately, armed and tense as they rush to the door.

"Athena?" Hera calls out, confused, as they look down over the empty courtroom, Athena pacing erratically silently alone in the middle, no lights on. She does not reply. "Athena!"

Zeus feels foreboding creep up on him as they carefully walk down. "What are you doing up, Athena?" He calls out, voice authoritative. Hera glares at him, and he amends his tone, gentling it. "Is something the matter?"

Athena does not stop walking, at that same hurried pace, turning around at the end of the hall and continuing back towards them, ignoring his words. Zeus feels irritation spark, but the sudden glimpse of his daughter's eyes makes the words die on his tongue, unseeing and glazed over. She does not have her armour on, and her hair is tangled and open, he suddenly realises, along with the growing certainty that something is wrong.

And then Athena drops to the ground and starts seizing.

"ATHENA!" They scream as one, and all the gods of the Pantheon come awake, lamps catching fire as they all come stumbling out of their rooms and realms. Zeus reaches out and holds her hands down as she starts clawing at herself, drawing blood. The others start shouting and crying around them, Athena's head snapping back and forth gruesomely, eyes bleeding ichor. "Athena, gather yourself!" He shouts at her. "Cease this- cease this at once, you are stronger than this!"

"She cannot hear you!" Hera cries, falling to her other side, trying to straighten Athena out from the fetal position she is curling into with painful, stuff jerks. "She never does- she doesn't-"

"This has happened before?" Zeus bellows, outraged. His answer comes in the form of Ares pulling her weapons off her body, the ones who can't help holding onto each other and hiding their faces in each other's shoulders or staring at Athena with fear as they sob.

Her arm slips Zeus' grip and swings at him erratically before he can grab it again. It nearly knocks him down, so powerful in its animal madness that he actually feels his aspect waver to half its size for a moment- but he is her father and he pulls himself together enough to stay standing, pinning her down again.

"No, let her go!" Apollo shouts as he sits down besides them in his night robes, flipping through an old book of some kind, barely holding in his own panic and fear. "Don't hold her down, give her space."

Zeus grimaces but lets her go, feeling nausea and fear rise within him as she writhes and twists, unhearing of Hera's desperate sobs for her to stop. "What is happening to her?" He demands, unable to watch. He is furious, lightning blazing in his hands as he itches to find the culprit, to find who dared to do this. "Who did this to her?"

"I do not know," Apollo says horrifically, lips pressed thin, eyes flicking up to her and then back down to the book. "But I found this in her realm- she apparently is aware of it, this is some sort of book of instructions on the affliction-"

"Give me that," Zeus growls, snatching it away, and flipping through it. "Go get a bed," He instructs, the other Olympians springing up to do so immediately, desperate to help. "Olive- olive branches, she wakes to branches. Get water- no, get ambrosia, get a cloth to wipe her face. A change of clothes. A cold compress, if she has fever. It will stop on its own, let it run its course- Muses, what is this?"

"A lullaby," Euterpe says, pulling the book down to scan it. "From old Ithaka, if I'm not mistaken."

The gods all stop and stare at her. "Ithaka?" Zeus repeats, flipping to the front of the book. "Who has written this-"

"PENELOPE!" Athena screams suddenly, making them all jump in fright. Her back arches to a painful degree, spit running down the side of her mouth as her eyes roll back in her head. "PENELOPE, TELEMACHUS-"

Aphrodite puts her hands over her ears and squeezes her eyes shut, just as Athena takes a deep breath in and screams louder than before, "ODYSSEUS!"

(In life, he had only failed her once. But now he is dead, and cannot come.)

"Odysseus, please," She moans, in the old Greek that has not been used in decades. "You promised to help, please- Penelope, where are- where is- Telemachus, please-"

Zeus feels his heart break as proud, strong Athena breaks down on the floor, calling for mortals clearly much dearer to her than they thought. But it's not the end of it- he flips through the book again, desperately searching for something to stop this, a cause, an enemy- and then he sees his own name.

Curse proud Zeus, may his life never be happy, may his legacy forever be tainted, Odysseus has written, the letters harsh and burning with fury, even though the curse means nothing from a mortal, even though he risked the ire of the gods writing it. Below it, in what must be Penelope's neat handwriting, an equally furious and clipped diagnosis is penned- brain damage, extensive but occasional, caused by a lightning bolt to the face, that targeted her realm's power and left her with seizures, memory loss and dissociation.

A lightning bolt to the face.

Zeus stands there numbly, as the Pantheon scrambles and chatters worriedly around him, hesitantly singing along to the lullaby in the book as Athena continues to shake, unresponsive. His fault. It is his fault that she is like this, that she is left reduced to calling for dead mortals, crying blood over her siblings' feet.

He did not mean to, he thinks, feeling small and pathetic and monstrous. He did not mean for this to happen- only wanted to teach her a lesson, keep his pride; had not meant for her realm to sustain damage for so long. He thought she'd healed. He thought she hadn't been hurt, past the scar on her face that he'd felt vaguely guilty about, from time to time.

How stupid he was.

"Athena," He whispers, aching to reach out, but she screams again and it's drowned out completely. His daughter. All his own, no longer his- because she was never angry at all, these past years; she simply no longer saw him as her father. And why should she, when he has done the unforgivable, when he has done what no other had managed to do, and broken her.

What has he done?

"We are here," Hera says desperately, taking Athena's head in her lap. Ares sings creakily next to her, offtune and shaking. "We are here, love."

"Odysseus," Athena wails, unseeing. "Penelope, Telemachus."

Zeus steps back to let the others rush in, each providing their own solutions, some calling to Athena entreatingly to guide her back to herself. He is not needed here- he does not deserve it, and knows not what more damage he will wreak.

I am sorry, he wants to tell her, as froth escapes her mouth like a rabid dog. I am so sorry, I beg forgiveness, my daughter, please let me fix it.

But she cannot hear him and Zeus raises his head to look for Hermes instead. The messenger god is standing at the very back, well out of view, with a blank face as he meets Zeus' gaze. He feels a surge of fury at the lack of caring, before he remembers that Athena's hero and his son were descendants of Hermes- and sees past the facade to see the other's gods multiplied distress at that fact, unable to come forward to help without possibly making it worse with the likeness.

Zeus inclines his head and then tilts it towards Hades pointedly. Hermes twitches in surprise, then nods determinedly, running off.

Zeus exhales and looks back at Athena as she finally calms, breathing hard. Shoulders slump in relief, frightened muttering taking its place- this wasn't supposed to happen to gods, to Olympians.

Zeus steps forward and brushes her hair out of her eyes as Athena loses consciousness, as they pull her onto a makeshift palanquin and prepare to take her to her room.

"I am sorry," He whispers to her, but it is far, far too late.

[aerialflight]

Fic Recs (mostly Naruto cause I read too many good fics in the fandom and now I'm in hell)

[Naruto]

Spirit-Touched by phooykazooi

Once upon a time, the Haruno clan were priests. It was said that they were spirit-touched, and that they walked among the downtrodden and the poor, and did not bow to royalty.

Or, an AU in which Sakura can see spirits.

Part 1 of The Realms Between

(Really, and I mean REALLY fantastic Shikamaru & Sakura friendship! Fantastic, beautiful writing, and such good worldbuilding, god, and the Haruno family is so badass!! Sakura and everything she does makes me want to scream!! Please read!)

Final Evaluation by Do_the_Cool_Whip

Progress evaluations are one-on-one consultation meetings between academy students and their teacher. Their purpose is to inform academy students of their strengths and weaknesses and guide them down their ideal path to becoming a strong shinobi. Upon graduating the academy and passing their jounin-sensei test, new genin return to the academy for one final consultation. (Or: The story of what happens when Umino Iruka uses his final meetings with his students as way to send them off to become the best shinobi they can possibly be.)

(Iruka! Is! The! Best! Teacher! Ever! End of story!!! Great interpretation of all the characters and their capabilities and I am so so excited for the sequel that will undoubtedly come! XD)

Celestial Bodies by Oceanbreeze7

Sasuke looked at the fire, eyes glowing red as the mutated corrupted seal on his throat. "Amaterasu blessed me. I see things. Like you with two normal eyes and the Hokage. And Sakura with a seal on her forehead. And I run Chidori through Naruto's heart. I keep trying to kill him. Over and over. And that knuckleheaded idiot never gives up.”

(Don't you get it? I saw it. The moon will bleed, the nations will die. The world is going to end.)

Part 1 of Celestial Bodies and Anomalies

(I swear, this fic freaking elevated my expectations on Sasuke-centric fics in general holy hell. Also, read the fucking sequel after this cause EVERYTHING GOES NUTS AND THE PLOT GOES OFF AND I'M HERE FOR THIS SHIT. Fucking Uchihas man. Also, you wouldn't think this series is funny, but it is, and it's amazing.)

A step to the left (and right off the cliff) by weavingBlue

Team Seven starts off on a different foot and Sasuke's canonical journey to get stronger goes off the rails a bit. It all works out though. Probably.

(This fic went in a direction I didn't expect and it's GLORIOUS. SO FUNNY, I honestly was dying while I was reading this. Please give this a chance!!)

promises by BombsAreForBabies

It's her first kiss and Naruto's last. She promises him that she will bring Sasuke home. It's his dying wish, after all.

(Naruto bleeds out faster than the kyuubi can heal him.

Sakura learns that being a ninja is more than fancy jutsu and fun.

Sasuke does not know that he just killed his best friend and turned his most loyal comrade into his worst enemy.)

(Listen LISTEN I know this sounds depressing but the relationship developments and slow healing is EVERYTHING and I think it's absolutely worth it to read this. Sakura's characterization is so good and Kakashi makes me want to hug him. A lot.)

Fang Under Fang by Vroomian

"Are we sure he's really an Inuzuka?"

(The answer is no.)

-

Someone reborn as Inuzuka Kiba not only has to deal with bullshit ninja magic, but soulmates being A Thing.

(Really good self-insert fic and its platonic soulmates, not romantic! I am always here for a good Kiba-centric fic and I won't say who the soulmate is. It's unexpected but so, so good! Trust me!)

Haunt The Lonely by Tht0neGal666

(Series where Sakura can see ghosts and the Things she gets up to due to this ability. The fics are short but man, you can already see the shifting differences in Team 7's dynamics, it's great!)

Perception by Ellie_Enchanted

Naruto can sense auras, which throws everything off it's balance. Because really, with someone as open as Naruto running around and peering into the depths of people's souls, something is bound to change. In other words, sometimes all that's needed is a push. Also, Sasuke apparently glows.

(Naruto the empath changing the plot and making it Better and I am loving it!)

Crossfire by DejaVu22

Following the events of Naruto, Uchiha Sasuke never makes it to Orochimaru's hideout. Instead, he is waylaid by a one-eyed man named Tobi, a man possessing a Sharingan, a terrifying dual personality, a penchant for always being late, and a single-minded mission to stop the Akatsuki in their tracks. When Sasuke runs into Naruto again years later, he must ally with his old teammate in order to protect him from the Akatsuki, while keeping him out of the two man war Tobi and Sasuke have started against the dangerous organization.

(I honest to god can't stop cackling when I read this, the Sasuke & Obito dynamic is so freaking chaotic and Sasuke's characterization is the best thing I've ever read. This boi is a mEsS and I'm fucking rooting for him. He cares so much! There's secret identity shenanigans happening on sasuke's end and it's HILARIOUS! This is the duo I never thought I needed but here it is! *cackles insanely*)

-

[Diamond no Ace]

Echo in His Hands by SportRayne (rayningnight)

Ship: Miyuki/Sawamura

What does it mean, when you remember snapshots of your own future?

Is it your future at all, if you change it?

Would you even want to change it?

(Look I am WEAK for BAMF Eijun and time travel fics and Miyuki being a tanuki bastard, okay? Time travel fic where Eijun gets feelings of people he knew before in the future. Really good so far and am so excited over this fic!)

The path we walk by WindsOfTime

Ship: Miyuki/Sawamura

Eijun goggles at the magazine she just shoved into his hands. "W-Wakana!" "I know!" she says, beaming. "That's my soulmate!!" "I know!!" "My soulmate plays baseball!!"

(Became such an instant fave so fast it's unbelievable. I LOVE THESE IDIOTS SO MUCH! Best soulmate fic in this fandom, hands down!)

-

[One Piece]

switching places by fireflywitch

Zoro is 21 and wakes up in a desert they already saved, on a ship that they burned two years ago, and standing next to a man who is supposed to be dead. Except, that can’t be right, can it?

Zoro is 19 and wakes up on a ship that’s too big, next to a robot wearing a swimsuit, and he’s supposed to fight something called a Kaido. Also, he’s missing an eye, and no one’s even a little worried about it?

(or)

Time travel is a shitshow, and Zoro didn't sign up for this.

(FUCKING HILARIOUS ZORO IS THE BEST PERSON TO SEND BACK IN TIME CAUSE HE'D BE TERRIBLE YET FANTASTIC AT IT I CAN'T MAN FIEWNOPFEW)

No Time To Crank The Sun by VIKAN

He’s surrounded by strangers, but they’re all trying to convince him otherwise. Or, Zoro faces a mysterious and relentless challenge that he just can’t wrap his head around.

(This ripped my heart open, I cried reading this my god. Please read this, the pain is so worth it and Zoro and his relationship with his crew is so good here. This reminded me why I love the Straw Hats so much!)

-

[Fairy Tail]

to learn about a lucy (with a look into the future.) by るる凪 - nagi (arurun)

A watching the future fanfic.

It's currently X781, three years before canon. A group of Fairy Tail mages find themselves in a large building, with no known way out.

They sit down, and they watch the future.

(This is so much more fun than I thought it would be and I'm so happy I found this fic. This fic reignited my old love for this fandom and I hope it does for you too!)

-

[Harry Potter]

sunflowers by Marnie27

One day, a young girl sits on the edge of a well. On this day, she falls in. Then the next, she’s not even a ‘she’ anymore. He’s Peter Pettigrew — doomed to die at the hands of his (betrayed) friend’s son.

Peter is selfish, bitter and brash. He’s not some fairy tale hero, he doesn’t care if everyone around him dies, as long as he lives. The marauders are annoying and childish. Survival is his priority, and he can’t afford to face distractions.

This just makes the fact that soulmates are now apparently a thing all the more godawful.

(And then another day years later he falls into an entirely new impossibility, Remus Lupin in tow, right into the third book of Harry Potter. Smack bang on the other Peter Pettigrew’s grave).

It’s confusing and graceless, and entirely something that would happen to him of all people.

(Self-insert fic where a girl reincarnates into Peter Pettigrew! And there are soulmates! And it's angsty and hilarious and Peter is an Asshole (somewhat unintentionally lol). Always a fan of biased pov fics and characters slowly improving themselves and their mental health! Cause dying! Is! Traumatic! *smiley face* Please read!)

-

[Crossovers]

he's a killer queen, sunflower, guillotine by hoye

Fandoms: Fullmetal Alchemist, Harry Potter

He has to be the weirdest Hufflepuff Harry’s ever seen. Scratch that, he’s the weirdest Hufflepuff Hogwarts has ever seen.

(One thing everyone could agree on: NEVER call Edward Elric short.)

(This is peak Edward Elric and all the best things about him and I'm just having a Good Time. Friendships! Logical solutions! Marauder screentime! And so much More! *bright grin* It's a fun place here!)

[sunlightdances]

Time Has Brought Your Heart to Me (Soulmate!AU)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader, feat. platonic Steve, platonic Tony and a brief cameo by Agents of SHIELD. Rating/warnings: T (for language), mentions of PTSD and anxiety, a little angst. Many of our characters being adorably dense. Words: 14,418 (literally why am I like this) Summary: Bucky Barnes’ soul mark appeared on his left arm when he was seventeen years old. His injury and HYDRA took it from him, but does the mark have to physically exist for the connection to take hold? Author’s Note: Post-CA:CW. Assume Tony helped Steve and Bucky get out of Siberia and finds out the truth about his parents from Steve. AU after that. This idea literally came to me when I was shampooing my hair and I wrote a good chunk of it immediately afterwards. This idea has been done before, but I hope you like my take on it! Disclaimer: I don’t own Bucky Barnes, or canon elements from the movies, tv shows, or comics. All of that belongs to Marvel. Please don’t repost my work on any other sites without my permission. Reblogs are encouraged!

When Bucky Barnes is seventeen years old, a charcoal black swirl of ivy and leaves appears on his left arm.

He spent a lot of time panicking and then trying to find his soulmate, feeling disappointed almost every time he left a date with flushed cheeks and a charming smile only to remember that they didn’t have a mark, or had one that didn’t match his.

He forgot about it as soon as the war was on - bigger things to worry about then.

He enlisted because he wanted to make something of himself, but there was always the possibility burning in his mind that he might meet them. No matter what persona he tries to put on, he’s a romantic at heart. The singing under his breath, buying flowers for pretty girls, romance paperbacks in his back pocket type.

There’s no semblance of romance in war.

His days are never ending - walking, walking, brief bursts of combat. Shouting orders at his platoon, all of them trying to pretend they were feeling more courageous than they were. Still, he spares a few thoughts for his soulmate. When he takes a bullet to his shoulder in France, he hopes they can’t feel it.

He thought that was the worst it could get. He was wrong.

When he’s half conscious in the snow after falling from the train, praying for someone, anyone, to come looking for him, he feels guilt, and regret, and then doesn’t feel anything at all.

It happens in flashes - a medical exam table, a German accent, a shock to his entire body when all he does is repeat his name, rank, and serial number.

In a brief moment of lucidity, he lifts his left hand. He tries to see the mark, one more time, tries to orient himself with the one thing that’s remained constant for almost the last ten years of his life.

It isn’t there.

His arm, gone. The leafy scrawl with it.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, to no one, to someone, and then it all goes black.

.

The sun streaming in the floor-to-ceiling windows of the guest room you’ve been assigned is the first thing that wakes you, followed shortly by a disembodied voice calling your name. You have a brief moment of panic, sitting upright in bed, until you remember where you are.

Avengers Tower.

“Miss?” The kind voice inquires again.

“Sorry. Yes, I’m here, sort of,” you reply, looking-- where do you look when you’re talking to an AI?

“Captain Rogers is requesting your presence in the third floor kitchen.”

“Tell him I’ll be there in a half hour,” you reply.

“He said to tell you no matter your response that you have fifteen minutes.”

You scowl. “Awesome,” you mutter, swinging your legs over the side of the plush mattress. “Tell him I’ll get there when I get there, and he’ll just have to deal with it.”

FRIDAY is silent, but you suspect the message has been delivered. Yawning, you walk to the en suite bathroom and stare at yourself in the mirror. Hair? A rat’s nest. Skin? Could not look more dull. You really need to get more sleep, you think, but apparently that’s not going to start today.

Twenty minutes later, you step out of the glass elevator and into the brightly lit kitchen. There’s not many people milling about, and you discover why when you come across a clearly agitated Captain Steve Rogers at the large table, leg bouncing and chewing on the end of a pen.

“Morning,” you say when you get within earshot.

“You’re late.”

“You never told me we had an appointment,” you point out, swiping a muffin from the large plate in the middle of the table where he’s sitting, and slide into the seat across from him.

“I asked you to come here for a few days, didn’t I?” He looks up, revealing dark circles and day-old stubble. He’s got a pile of papers on the table in front of him, and a cup of half-drank coffee off to one side.

You hum in agreement, “And you’ve been very secretive about it all. Barely gave me time to pack a bag.” A wink, so he knows you’re (mostly) joking. “Not very gentlemanly, Captain.”

“Bucky’s arriving today.” He blurts, and your mouth falls open in surprise.

“Steve--” You breathe, suddenly understanding his nervousness.

“I sent Sam to get him a week ago, if he even wanted to come back to New York.” He smiles, but it’s weak. “Figured it might do some good to have someone… non-partial around.”

“This is…” You shake your head, “Wow, Steve. This is good, right?”

He exhales. “It’s-- yeah. More than good.” He meets your eyes, “I need you to give him a physical, just a regular check up. Protocol.”

You’re already nodding. “I’ll get the lab set up, although are you sure you don’t want Dr. Cho--”

“I want it to be you,” Steve explains, “You’re-- well, I think he’d like you, that’s all.” You must be blushing because he quickly backtracks. “I just mean that you’re a friend! My friend. He’ll trust you because I do.”

“Jeepers, Steve,” you tease, “Getting my heart all aflutter.”

He rolls his eyes. “Okay, okay. I’ll have FRIDAY let you know when he’s settled? Don’t want to overwhelm him.”

You nod. “I get it. Just let me know.” Impulsively, you get out of your chair and hug Steve from behind, sort of wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “I’m really happy for you.”

He squeezes your hands, a long breath leaving him like he’s been holding it for awhile. “Thank you.”

It’s hours before you’re summoned, and you feel strangely nervous. You don’t really know what to expect. Sure, as trauma-nurse turned Avengers in-house care, you obviously know who Bucky Barnes is, and what he means to Steve Rogers. You were beginning to think you’d never meet him, though.

You follow voices until you get to your “office”, which is really just an open-air lab not dissimilar to the one Dr. Banner has for himself down the hall. Yours is less tech-savvy, though. You have office hours like any other doctor, and typically don’t live at the Tower unless a mission is wrapping up, or you’re on call.

You semi-retired after everything went down with SHIELD, but had been part of Steve’s team there, so you’re sort of contracting for the Avengers whenever things are scary enough that they need a full time physician.

Turning a corner, you see the back of Steve’s head as he sits in a chair across from the imposing figure that must be James Barnes.

You clear your throat and try to make your footsteps a little louder so you don’t interrupt them, but then remember they’re both super soldiers. They definitely have already heard you coming.

Steve greets you by name and introduces you to Bucky, who surprises you with a quick smile and a handshake.

“It’s nice to meet you,” he says, his voice somehow gruff and gentle all at the same time.

“You too,” you say. “Steve’s filled me in on the basics, but this is just a physical so we have your information on file. Nothing invasive, no needles, and nothing gets touched unless you say so, okay?”

He looks like he wants to smirk at your wording, but you can tell he’s a little tense and nervous too. You’ve thought about what to say to him and how to do this exam. You know he’s spent most of his life doing things without his consent, including receiving whatever poor medical care he was given.

“Whatever you say,” he agrees, and hops up on the exam table when you ask him to.

The entire exam only takes about ten minutes, until the only thing you have left to ask about is the arm. You sneak a glance at Steve, who’s chewing on his bottom lip. He gives you a small nod, so you take a deep breath and turn back to Bucky.

“I have to ask you a few questions about this.” You tell him, gesturing towards his left arm.

He flinches, barely noticeable if you weren’t standing right in front of him. “What do you want to know?” He leans in, voice conspiratorial, and whispers, “This isn’t my real arm.”

You’re momentarily stunned, but a breathless laugh escapes. Okay. Maybe this isn’t going to be as awful as you worried it might be, for him or for you.

.

Later, you’re in the kitchen with Steve and Sam, a glass of wine in front of each of you as you pick at your dinner. The rest of the Avengers are on a small mission, Falcon and Cap staying behind to look after the newest member of their team.

They don’t say it, but they’re worried.

“Captain Rogers,” FRIDAY interrupts, “Sergeant Barnes is experiencing some distress.”

The three of you stand, but Steve waves you off. “It’s a nightmare,” he says. “I’ll take care of it.” He takes a few steps and stops, not turning around. “FRIDAY will let you know if I need help.”

Sam’s face is tight with worry when he sits back down with you.

“What’s your take on this, Sam?” You ask, “Really. Honest assessment.”

“I think he needs help,” Sam says, and for a second you’re not sure if he means Steve, or Bucky. “He’s been through a lot. He’s a lot better physically, and some mentally, too. But there’s still-- it’s PTSD. He’s been a combat soldier for 70 years of his life, a POW. You can’t recover from that in a few months or even a few years.”

“I’ll try to help if I can,” you reassure him. “If he’ll let me.”

Sam stands up to leave, probably to check on Steve. He squeezes your shoulder as he walks behind you. “I know you will. Thanks, kid.”

You don’t respond, not even to dispute him acting like he’s so much older than you. Your brain is too busy trying to figure out what to do next.

.

The next few weeks go by in a similar fashion. You take up semi-permanent residence at the Tower.

Bucky sticks to his room a lot, though you see him sparring with Steve or hanging out with Sam in the common room a few times.

He doesn’t seek you out, and you don’t bother him except for subtly asking FRIDAY to let you know if he’s experiencing any distress that requires medical attention.

Now, you’re in the kitchen with Steve, eating at the large island and watching him warily. “Steve. You’re pacing.”

“I know I’m pacing.”

You set your fork down. “Why are you pacing?”

“I’m taking Bucky to Brooklyn today.”

You blink, eyes wide. “Whoa. That’s-- wow, that’s great! Was it your idea, or--”

“It was his, actually.” Steve stops pacing long enough to meet your eyes. “I’m a little worried it might be too much once we get there. Once he sees how much has changed…” He trails off. “I remember when I first went back. It was too much all at once.”

“Can I offer you some non-professional advice? As a friend?”

Steve still looks wary, but he nods.

“You gotta have a little faith in him, Steve. He’s been through a lot, yes. You’re still learning who he is right now. But he was in Wakanda for a year. Recovering only half of that time. He’s had time to catch up, to figure out how to be a person with agency. If he says he wants to do this, he probably does. You have to trust him.”

A movement from the doorway catches your attention and you flush when you see Bucky come into the kitchen slowly, looking a little sheepish. Damn these supersoldiers and their stealth. “Uh-- sorry to interrupt. Bad time?”

Steve smiles, though it’s a little shaky. “No, just talking to Doc here about coming with us to Brooklyn today.”

Your eyes widen as you whip around to face Steve, who sends you a pleading look quickly before Bucky sees him.

“Oh.” Bucky looks a little disappointed, but you don’t take it personally.

“I don’t want to intrude,” you say, “I know you had plans with Steve,”

Bucky waves a hand, “No, it’s fine, really. Could probably use someone around to make sure we don’t kill each other.”

You and Steve both freeze, and Bucky looks back and forth between you. “That was a joke.”

You’re the first to smile, and you’re doing it mostly for Bucky’s benefit, but also in hopes that Steve will relax a little bit. You know it’s not healthy for him to be this worried all the time. You also know that Bucky will never truly be at ease if Steve doesn’t start treating him like his friend again.

“I guess if I’m going to get a tour, I couldn’t ask for better guides,” you say, heading out to grab a jacket and your wallet.

A half hour later, you’re getting off the subway and heading into one of Brooklyn’s old neighborhoods. Bucky appears outwardly calm, but you could see how tense he was when you were on the train, and the way his eyes darted around cooly, mapping out all the entrances and exits. It’s the same thing you see Sam and Steve do, maybe more subtly, when you go out with them.

They all do it, really. The Avengers are battle weary already, and you wish you could give that sense of calm back to them.

“I’m going to grab a coffee,” you tell Steve and Bucky as you mill about on the street. You get the idea that neither of them has thought this through very much - they don’t really know where to go first. “Do you want anything?”

“Two black coffees. Is that okay?” Steve says, looking at Bucky.

“Add a little sugar to Steve’s. He won’t complain but he’ll make a face every time he takes a drink.” Bucky says, and you snort.

“Good to know.”

Five minutes later, you’re interrupting what looks like a serious conversation between the two men with a cautious smile, and with Steve scrambling to grab the coffee carrier out of your hands before you have to juggle three cups.

“Where to?” You ask once they’re both happily sipping hot coffee, Bucky only looking mildly uncomfortable.

“I don’t really know,” Bucky admits. “Guessing our old building isn’t there anymore?”

Steve smiles. “It is, actually. We can go there first if you want.”

You follow behind them on the sidewalk as they reminisce about places they used to go, people they used to know. It’s not sad, more nostalgic, and you’re content to listen to them talk as you sip your coffee.

Bucky shoves Steve lightly as he starts to point out all the places he used to get beat up. “That alley,” Steve points, “and behind that butcher shop--”

“I think she gets it.”

You laugh, “Tony should make landmark signs. We can put them in all your favorite places,” you tease, and Steve glares.

“You’re hilarious.”

You pull on his arm when Bucky suddenly stops right in front of him, keeping Steve from plowing straight into his friend’s back. You feel the mood shift and know this must be the place.

Bucky rubs at his jaw thoughtfully. “Huh. Smaller than I remember.” His voice is a little less confident than it was this morning. You stare at the building with him, trying to picture what it might have looked like decades ago. “This place was a shithole when we lived here--”

“Bucky!” Steve exclaims, but he’s laughing too, turning to face his friend almost for the first time all day. You’re giggling too, and Bucky shakes his head, his smile a little smaller, but still there.

“What? We were poor.” He shuffles his feet a little. “I loved it here. No better place than that apartment.” He inhales sharply before meeting Steve’s gaze, “Wait, no one-- we don’t know anyone who still--”

“No,” Steve says quietly, carefully. “No one we know still lives here. I checked when I first got out of the ice.”

Bucky nods. “I don’t-- I don’t want to know about them yet. Any of them.”

You assume he’s talking about his family, and whoever might still be alive. You feel like you’re intruding on a private conversation, so you busy yourself taking a few photos for your Instagram -- you’re not too shy to admit that this neighborhood is lovely. Old brick buildings and shops with lots of flowers blooming.

(And if you sneak a photo that has the back of Bucky and Steve standing there, shoulder to shoulder… well that’s nobody’s business)

In hindsight, you and Steve should have seen this night coming. The memories prove to be too much for Bucky, and the entire floor nearly shakes over your head when he has an episode in the middle of the night, spurred by nightmares and twisted memories of his family.

Footsteps speed by your doorway and you hear FRIDAY asking you to stay in your room, but you don’t listen. You’re too worried, despite the racing of your heart telling you that this is a bad idea.

You open the door just in time to see Steve sprinting down the hall towards the stairs. He must hear your door (or your heart, you think idly), because he turns to you. An authoritative, “No,” is all you get from him before he’s gone, apparently taking the stairs four at a time.

Not content to be left on the sidelines, you head downstairs to the lab, pausing just long enough to throw your hair into a bun and slip your glasses on, grabbing a sweatshirt off a hook by your door. You have no idea if you’ll be seeing Bucky tonight, but you want to be prepared just in case, even though you think Bruce and Dr. Cho are going to take the lead on his care while he’s here.

Forty-five minutes go by before you hear footsteps, and Steve and Bucky come trudging in. Steve has a black eye, and Bucky seems content to stare at his own feet.

“Steve--” You’re about to ask him to let you look at the bruising, but he holds up a hand to stop you. You’re suddenly filled with dread, wondering if Bucky is wholly himself, but you find it hard to believe Steve would have brought him down here at all if he wasn’t.

“I’m fine.” He smiles at you weakly, “Can you…” He trails off, looking at his best friend.

“I need something to help me sleep.” Bucky finishes, voice rough. “Preferably without dreams.”

You pause, “I can’t guarantee anything,” you give him what you hope is a reassuring smile, “But I can try.”

“Thanks.” Steve sounds exhausted, but Bucky looks worse.

“Can I have a minute alone?” You ask Bucky, but the question is really for Steve. Bucky tenses, and you rush to clarify, “Just want to chat about how we can help you get better sleep. Figured you might be more comfortable without an audience, but Steve can stay if you want him to.”

The two men have a silent conversation before Steve nods, reaching for your hand to give it a squeeze before he leaves you and Bucky alone.

It’s a few minutes before Bucky relaxes enough to talk. You busy yourself taking his vitals even though you know you could just ask FRIDAY to give you the rundown. It gives you something manual to do, so you don’t have to just stand in front of him.

“I’m sorry if I scared you.”

You look up in surprise. “Me? No, I-- you--”

“I know it-- I woke you up.”

You shake your head. “I was awake anyway.”

Bucky cocks his head in question, so you keep talking.

“I have a hard time sleeping. Did Steve tell you much about me? What I did-- before?”

“He said you’re a nurse.”

You nod. “I was a trauma nurse at a hospital nearby. That’s how Steve and I met.” You hesitate before the next part, but you feel like he’ll handle it okay. “I was working the day SHIELD fell. When he was brought in, I was in the ER.”

Bucky meets your eyes, and you can see the guilt swimming there.

You smile, “Turns out a nurse isn’t super necessary for a super soldier.”

He huffs out a laugh. “I suppose not.”

“My job mostly turned into babysitting. He kept trying to leave before he was fully healed, and we really had no idea how long he was going to be there. None of the rules applied to him, and he was way more focused on getting out to look for you.”

Bucky looks down, gunmetal hand whirring slightly as he fiddles with it. “Sounds like Steve.”

“Anyway, after I managed to put up with Steve and Sam for a whole two weeks,” you wink at Bucky, “Steve offered me a job. Thought they could use a medic around. I’d been wanting to get out of the hospital anyway. Some days were… hard.” You try your best not to let the memories get the better of you. “Turns out Bruce is a great doctor but not when he’s-- the other guy.”

Bucky nods, seemingly finding his resolve. He takes a deep breath, “I thought I could handle today. I felt good when we were there. Like I could almost forget--” he waves his hand around vaguely. “You know.”

You nod slowly. “In my experience, recovery isn’t always a straight line.”

Bucky is quiet, but you take that as a signal to keep going.

“I definitely still have days where I can’t see the lights of an ambulance without my heart rate speeding up. I have nightmares, and sometimes when the team is gone on a mission, I’m so anxious thinking about what’s happening to them I can barely breathe.” You force yourself to keep talking, “And then there’s some days where I’m calm. I can handle it, and I feel fine.”

You look up at him so you can look directly into his eyes. He’s already looking at you, and for a second, you feel a zip of awareness hit you in your gut.

“I’ve got something for you. It’ll help you sleep, but it’s really strong.” Quieter, you add, “Don’t tell Steve, but Bruce and Tony developed this for him years ago. He won’t ever admit to having nights like you’ve had. This seemed to help him.” You reach over on the table for a pill bottle and press it into Bucky’s palm. “Read the directions. Don’t take more than one.”

“Yes ma’am.” He murmurs. “Thank you.”

After a brief awkward moment, he leaves the room, and you can hear his quiet footsteps down the hall until the ding of the elevator signals him going back upstairs.

A few moments later, Steve is in your line of vision, and he doesn’t say anything, just gives you this look and it completely breaks your heart.

Wordlessly, you hold out your hand, wiggling your fingers, and he takes it willingly, threading your fingers together. Pulling him close, you stand shoulder to shoulder with the super soldier, squeezing his hand in reassurance as you both pull your thoughts together.

“I knew this was going to be hard,” he says, voice low. “I just didn’t-- I hate seeing him in pain and not being able to do anything about it.”

“I know, Steve.” You don’t have any answers, so you don’t try to give him one. “You need to try to rest.” You tell him instead.

“So do you,” he replies stubbornly.

“One day at a time, Steve.” You remind him.

“Yeah.” He sighs, wiping his free hand over his face. “Yeah, I know.”

When you get to your bedroom that night, you’re exhausted. It’s quiet above you, and you keep replaying the night’s events over and over.

Out of everything, one moment stands out to you - that potent moment of eye contact with Bucky Barnes. You can still feel the electricity crackling through you as you remember it.

That can’t be good.

.

“Any time, Cap,” Tony’s voice, out of breath, comes through the comms. You’re watching anxiously from your lab in the Tower, wondering again how you got roped into this.

“I’m busy,” Steve replies haughtily, and you hear the sound of two bodies hitting the floor. “On my way.”

The sound of fighting rings out, and you try to subtly eye the man next to you, his posture similar to yours - arms crossed, brow furrowed.

“Do they always argue this much on a mission?” Bucky wonders aloud, and you snort.

“I’ve only been involved in a few, but in my experience: yes.”

The mission is otherwise pretty smooth - Steve and Tony are more than capable of handling a few rogue Hydra thugs on their own, and you’re relieved when Tony lets you know over the comms that they’re headed back, objective complete.

You glance at Bucky next to you, who still stares at the screens.

“This must be a little overwhelming…” you start, not really sure how much you should press.

He shrugs. “Just different. The last time I planned any type of mission I was in olive drab and all I ever had to do was say yes, sir.”

You’re still surprised with how candid he’s being, willingly offering up details about his past, those he can remember, at least.

“Mr. Stark and Captain Rogers have docked.” FRIDAY’s voice interrupts your musing, and you nod at Bucky, who leaves the room to go meet them. He brushes past you, and you feel another zip of awareness when he does, shaking your head to get rid of the feeling.

He’s your patient. You absolutely cannot, will not allow yourself to feel anything other than a clinical attraction to the man. He deserves better than that, and you can’t afford to be distracted, not when he needs your help and is depending on you to get better.

Just earlier that day, you sat down with Steve and Tony for a quick briefing to better plan for the days ahead in terms of Bucky’s recovery and his place with the team.

Steve is tense, rightly so, and Tony is firm, arms crossed over his chest, eyes dark as he looks at the files in front of the three of you.

“You’re saying there’s no way to know if the trigger words are actually deactivated.” Tony asks, though it’s not really phrased as a question.

“I’m saying there might be other triggers. Not just the words, though Shuri insists those are moot. He’s got PTSD, Tony.”

“Yeah, well. Join the club.” Tony mutters, looking out the window. You can’t imagine how difficult this is for him. You know as well as everyone else does that Barnes was responsible for the Starks’ deaths. You’re surprised Tony okayed Bucky’s arrival here at all, though he does have a heart. He knows Bucky was brainwashed, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

Steve doesn’t say anything. You get the idea he’s worried to say the wrong thing -- he admitted to you once that he’s obviously biased where Bucky’s concerned. He doesn’t know how to be Bucky’s ally and Tony’s friend at the same time.

“All this is, is a plan for if the worst happens.” You hold up your hand quickly, stopping Steve before he responds, “I’m not saying we’ll ever have to use this, but we have evacuation plans for everything else, there’s no reason why we shouldn’t be prepared for him to relapse. Even if the Soldier is out of his head, there’s still a chance his memories will get the best of him and he’ll have an episode.” You say the last part quietly, meeting Steve’s concerned gaze.

“We don’t even know if he’s going to want to have anything to do with the Avengers,” he acknowledges. “After all this time… for all I know he wants to lay low.”

Tony nods. “If he does… we won’t have him on any field missions until we’re sure he can handle it. Until then he stays here, helps Hill with the comms and he can…” Tony gestures wildly, “I don’t know, be strategic backup or something.”

That option had proved to be more than okay with Bucky, though he acknowledged he didn’t really have any say in the matter. He just wanted to be useful.

In the weeks that follow, he fills in for Maria Hill when she’s called away for other Stark Industries work, and takes to running the team like he was born to do it.

“It’s the squad leader in me,” he tells you one day, a grin on his face. “Though the lot of you are a lot easier to deal with than Army brats.”

He even helps Steve train some new recruits when the opportunity presents itself. Overall, his recovery is on track to be even shorter than you expected. Sure, there are still moments where he loses himself in a memory or has to be shaken awake in the middle of the night when things get to be too much. But you know every single other person in the Tower struggles that way too.

You’re mostly enjoying getting to know James Barnes the person, and not The Winter Soldier, the enigma, even if it is getting harder and harder to ignore the butterflies that take flight in your stomach every time he enters a room you’re in.

You’re killing time in the lab when Tony saunters in, startling you with his Iron Man gear half-on.

“What are you doing?”

“Need a hand,” he says, drawing out the word as he waves at you, thruster firmly in place on his left hand.

“Terrible.” You mutter. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. I just miscalculated the power of the new thruster and sort of… fused it to my hand.” He says the last part quickly, and you blink at him.

“I’m sorry. I heard that wrong.”

He grins cheerily. “Nothing wrong with your ears! Now--” He claps his hands together with a metallic clang, “-- You got anything for burns?”

Bucky wanders in sometime after you’ve finally gotten Tony to sit down. He watches warily, stopping before entering the room completely, a little curious. “Don’t mean to interrupt,” he says quietly, “but what the fuck is going on?”

Even Tony smiles at that, Bucky’s blunt tone a sure sign he’s had a decent day, as far as moods go. “Experimentation gone wrong,” he says brightly. “Doc’ll get me sorted.”

You glare at him. “I’m not a surgeon. Stop giving me surgeons’ work to do.”

You’re gently trying to pull the round piece of metal from Tony’s palm without completely frying his nerves. Coincidentally, the entire thing is destroying your own nerves in the process.

“Need a hand?” Bucky asks, pulling up a stool.

Tony snorts. “That’s what I said.”

You’re very aware of the heat emanating from Bucky’s side as he watches you work. Normally you wouldn’t let someone this close while you’re essentially performing surgery, but you think idly that it might be a good idea to have a third party here in case Tony starts complaining that you’re trying to butcher him.

“What I need--” you say through grit teeth, “-- is for both of you to shut up and let me work.”

“Yes ma’am.” Bucky says with a smile.

Tony raises his eyebrows in delight at the exchange, but you ignore him.

“Hold still,” you murmur after a few minutes, and when you glance up, relieved that there’s quiet finally, you see a few beads of sweat on Tony’s brow. He’s frowning at his own hand, and you think he’s finally starting to grasp how serious this could have been. “Honestly--” You huff, “Now you’re getting squeamish?”

“I didn’t think about the part where you’d actually have to yank it off,” Tony says defensively.

“I’ve got as much of the metal out as I can, so hopefully I can just…” you mime ripping it off with your free hand.

His eyes widen. “No you will not.”

Bucky sits back, arms folded across his chest with an amused grin at the billionaire.

“There’s nothing for it, Tony. Like a bandaid.”

“Can’t be worse than when I had to give myself stitches in the middle of the woods in Belgium with some dental floss,” Bucky says off-handedly, and both you and Tony stare at him, mouths agape.

“This is the twenty-first century!” Tony protests, gritting his teeth, “This isn’t the fucking Battle of the Bulge, Grandpa!”

“And, three.” You say with finality, lifting the remnants of the Iron glove off Tony’s palm, having used his outrage at Bucky’s bad attempt at bedside manner as a distraction to do the hard part. “Thank you, Sergeant Barnes.” You say primly as he hands you a piece of gauze that had been waiting nearby.

“Devious.” Tony remarks as you wrap his palm. “What’s the damage?”

“You need to keep it clean or it’ll get infected. No more experimenting.”

You let Tony go with the promise - or threat - to tell Pepper about this, and then it’s just you and Bucky there as you clean up.

“Does that happen often?”

You glance over your shoulder at him, “More often than I’d like. He thinks he’s invincible.”

The corners of Bucky’s mouth tilt up. “Sounds like someone else I know.”

You’re momentarily fascinated by how much younger he looks when he smiles, but you force yourself to look away and go back to cleaning up the tray you had supplies on. “Did you need anything?” You ask, remembering how he wandered in on his own nearly an hour ago.

He flushes, scratching the back of his neck. “Just some company.” He admits.

It sends a thrill through you.

“It’s nice to talk to someone who has no idea who I am. Or who I’m supposed to be.” He says, the last part barely a whisper.

You feel so much for him at this moment. You can’t imagine what he’s been through, and still, the man manages to crack jokes whenever he can, and is, on the outside, not completely overwhelmed with being in a new place, finally in his own head.

“I think I’ll head back to bed.” He says, a small smile on his face. “This was… interesting.” He grins. On his way past you to the door, he reaches out briefly and squeezes your free hand. You think he might not even realize he’s done it.

You almost drop the tools in your hand when you realize what’s happened -- the mark on your arm, the one you try so diligently to cover up, is burning.

“Oh, shit.” You murmur to yourself.

.

You avoid Bucky for weeks after that. You see him in a strictly professional capacity, and you feel like the biggest bitch on the planet for it, but you have no idea what to do with yourself.

After he left you in the lab that night, you inspected your well-hidden mark, trying to figure out why it was suddenly coming to life after years. It was a dull pink color, like you’d been rubbing at it, and even though you refused to accept it, you knew deep down what that meant.

You have no one to ask about it. No one at all.

Soul marks are rare, and they’re rarer still among the bunch you live with. Steve doesn’t have a mark, nor does Sam. You don’t feel like putting up with the shit you’ll get from Tony or Pepper if you try to ask them about theirs.

You’ve read enough about the bond to recognize it for what it is, but your brain is still stuck on one fact - Bucky Barnes doesn’t have a mark. Not that you’ve seen, and not that he’s mentioned.

It occurs to you then that the worst case could be true - you could be his, but he might not be yours. What a nightmare. As if he doesn’t have enough to deal with after quite literally coming back to life. Throwing an unreciprocated soulmate into the mix? No. You won’t do it.

So you avoid him.

You even go out of your way to liaison with the new SHIELD for two weeks, as part of a new partnership Steve and Tony were reluctantly part of with the recently-still-alive Phil Coulson.

“Are you sure you want to go? They have a doctor.” Steve asks as he carries your duffel to the dock as you await the arrival of SHIELD’s quinjet.

“They have a scientist,” you remind him. “They wouldn’t have asked for help if they really didn’t need it.”

Steve scowls, still a little perturbed that a man he considered a friend couldn’t even let them know he was alive, let alone that he was resurrecting SHIELD.

“We need to know what they’re working on, anyway.” You say. “Plus, it’s good networking.”

Steve shakes his head. “Yeah, yeah. Still. What if--” He stops himself, looking away as you reach the hangar. “What if we need you?”

“Then you’ll call, and I’ll have them fly me back.”

You hear what he’s really asking - what if Bucky needs you? You considered it. But you think you need the distance more than being around and avoiding him. He hasn’t needed you in any urgent way in weeks, anyway.

“Fine. But make sure Coulson knows he’s still on my shit list.”

“Steve Rogers!” You gasp. “He’ll be broken-hearted to hear that.”

Steve rolls his eyes, but you’re interrupted by incoming engines, and watch as the quinjet flies smoothly into the hangar.

You’re surprised at how young the team is. Not much younger than you, sure, but still. They’re watching Steve with something like awe in their eyes.

“Captain Rogers.” Coulson says, descending the ramp and holding out his hand tentatively. “It’s good to see you.” He’s sincere, that much is obvious.

“Coulson.” Steve’s tone is curt, but he shakes the man’s hand anyway.

After an awkward pause, Steve turns to you, introducing you.

“This is Agent May, Fitz, Simmons, and Daisy.” Coulson says, and you smile at each member in turn. “We’re looking forward to working with you.”

“Likewise.” You grin at him. It seems impossible to be anything less than genial with Phil Coulson, though Steve is doing his best to prove otherwise, and Tony hasn’t even bothered to leave his office to greet the new arrivals.

“I’ll bring her back in one piece.” Phil tells Steve.

“The alternative isn’t an option.” Steve replies, and you roll your eyes.

“Okay, that’s enough. Bye, Steve. Don’t burn the place down while I’m gone.”

His expression softens, and you know he’s just being protective in that big-brotherly way of his.

As you’re boarding the jet, you see movement out of the corner of your eye, and see Bucky back in the shadows, leaning against the wall as he watches you leave. You bite your lip in frustration, knowing that leaving after ignoring him is a cowardly move. Still, it’s the only option you can think of while you try to sort this out.

After taking off, Phil turns to you.

“He hates me, doesn’t he.” There’s something like despair in his voice.

You sigh. “They thought you were dead.”

“Technically I was.”

He fills you in on the whole story as you fly to their base, and when you land, you take the first minute you can to get Jemma Simmons alone.

“I was hoping you could tell me more about soul marks. I know you’ve done some research--”

She smiles at you, putting you at ease. “What questions do you have?”

.

Bucky watches the jet take off, a hollow feeling in his chest. He can’t figure out what he did to drive you away so thoroughly.

Steve stands there with his arms crossed for a few minutes before turning back, shaking his head.

“You trust them?” Bucky asks, and Steve pauses.

“I do.” He sighs, then looks at his friend. “Are you worried?”

Bucky scoffs. “Am I worried that she ignored me for two weeks and then fucked off with a bunch of people I don’t know?”

Steve’s grin is slow, lazy. “Careful, Buck. Sounding awfully protective.”

Bucky scowls. “Shut up.”

One thing that has absolutely not changed since the 40s is Steve’s propensity to stick his nose where it doesn’t belong, and lately that’s been evident in the way he’s been trying to needle out what exactly Bucky is feeling for the good doctor.

He doesn’t even know what he’s feeling.

She’s-- smart. She’s smart and she’s funny, and she’s beautiful, but it’s not like he would ever act on it. She’s his doctor. Probably the closest thing to a best friend Steve has. Bucky’s not going to fuck that up just because he’s noticed that she smells like vanilla and when the sun hits her face just right-- well. He’s not going to fuck it up.

Besides, he clearly made her uncomfortable when he told her it was nice to be around her. That she understood him, in some way that Steve didn’t. That clearly freaked her out.

He would laugh if it wasn’t happening to him. Scared a woman away so thoroughly that she literally got on a jet and took off.

He sighs and follows Steve back to the common area where a few of the others are lingering. They want a report on SHIELD, no doubt.

Bucky is going to do some digging of his own. SHIELD, for obvious reasons, has left the taste of ash in his mouth, and he’ll never forgive himself if it turns out that they’re some kind of HYDRA cell using a familiar face to get close to the Avengers again.

Not to mention his favorite doctor would be caught in the middle of it, and he can’t have that.

He feels… he feels good. It’s unfamiliar. But really, minor episodes and nightmares aside, he feels more like himself than he has in decades. There were brief moments when he was lucid enough in Hydra to remember who he was and where he was, but he thinks being brainwashed was… not a blessing, he’s not stupid enough to consider it that, but the alternative… having to be himself while he did those things… it would have killed him.

Now, he finally has choices.

His first choice was deciding to accept Steve’s help and friendship, and his second choice was to trust you.

He thinks that should mean something.

He thinks back to a moment from a few weeks back, shortly after the Brooklyn trip. You didn’t treat him like he was broken, and he appreciated it more than he could say. So much so that he invited you back to Brooklyn with him, to one of his favorite diners from when he was growing up.

He’s so happy to see it still exists that he can’t wait to have a meal there. Steve is busy, and you just-- the way you smile at him when he asks you to go, he knows he’s made the right call.

“James Barnes?” The older woman at the counter looks like she’s seen a ghost.

“That’s me,” he says, trying to smile. He has no idea how people are going to react to him wherever he goes.

“I’ll be damned,” she whispers. “My grandmother… she used to tell me stories about you and Captain Rogers.”

He smiles. “Good ones, I hope?”

“Only good ones. My grandmother was Ruth Kelley.”

The name fires some synapse in Bucky’s brain that hasn’t been used in years. Suddenly he’s nineteen, sharing a malt with Ruthie at the counter while she was on her lunch break, trying to pretend he’s not pulling out all the stops to make her laugh.

“You look just like her,” he stutters, and she does - the same eyes, the same kind smile.

“Thank you.” She whispers. “Anything you want, on the house today.”

Bucky tries to protest, but you stop him.

“Let her do this for you,” you say quietly.

Bucky nods and the two of you sit in a booth, his mind still working overtime trying to believe that all the pieces of his life could come full circle like this.

“An old flame?” You ask, lifting a mug of coffee to your lips, and Bucky finds himself entranced by the playful look on your face.

“Something like that.” He murmurs. “She grew up in the same building as Steve and I. Used to come bother her while she worked. That family was the best. They’d give us free slices of pie every so often…” He trails off. “Never saw her again before I shipped out.”

You’re quiet, a look on your face he can’t identify. “You must have meant a lot to her. If she told her granddaughter about you.”

He turns to watch Ruth’s granddaughter busy herself behind the counter, her movements so similar to Ruth’s that for a horrible moment, he thinks he might cry too.

On the way back to the Tower, you loop your arm through his, so casually, the touch coming so easy for you, it throws Bucky for a loop. It’s not unwelcome - you’re warm through your jacket, and Bucky hasn’t realized how much he missed human contact until this moment.

He thinks it should be concerning, how quickly you’re inserting yourself in his life. He tells himself it’s purely professional, but he knows it’s a lie.

The annoyingly knowing looks he’s been getting from Steve and Sam seem to suggest that too, not to mention the not-so-subtle threatening from Tony.

He’s drawn to you, and it scares him a little, while at the same time it feels like it’s just… right. He tried to surreptitiously get a look at your left arm the first time he thought… but to no avail. He hadn’t seen a mark. Certainly not one like he remembers, not one that he hoped to see, as fleeting as the thought had been at the time. But he told himself it didn’t matter. His own parents weren’t soulmates, but they loved each other.

Peggy and Steve didn’t have marks either, but they loved each other til the end. It doesn’t matter. Although, truth be told, it won’t matter at all if you stop talking to him completely.

Trying to get his mind off you, he seeks out his friends, finding them in the common area. No sooner has he made himself comfortable on the couch next to Sam then there’s an alarm blaring somewhere, and all his senses fire to life.

Steve is on his feet immediately, as is Tony, tapping away at his tablet as he tries to figure out what’s wrong.

“Steve?” Sam asks, body rigid.

“Suit up,” Steve says immediately. “Tony and I will do threat assessment.”

“Already done,” Tony chirps. “Fun - intruders!”

Bucky rolls his eyes, but he’s already moving, striding towards the doors to the command center and sliding a headset on his head - he feels more at home here than he thought he would.

“Check in when you’ve got comms,” he says distractedly, tapping away at the screen in front of him until he pulls up a couple cameras of the lower floors.

He spares a thought to be grateful that you’re not here right now, as he watches a team of men in black bust through the doors to the lab. “Lower two floors. I count eight, maybe ten operatives.”

“On it,” Steve says in his ear, and Bucky watches as his friend skips the elevator and instead launches himself down over the railing.

“Idiot.” He mutters.

“I can hear you.”

He smirks. “Tony, there’s a few more on the outside trying to get in,” he confirms, hearing the now-familiar sound of thrusters as Tony takes off from the launchpad outside the penthouse.

“More company incoming,” Tony replies, and Bucky can hear the sound of an engine through the comms.

Gunfire suddenly erupts almost directly outside the room Bucky’s in, the reinforced glass holding, but Bucky still throws his metal arm above his head and ducks out of instinct.

He knows this is Hydra. This was bound to happen, with Bucky living here. The Asset would never be allowed to live with everything he knows.

Bucky grimaces. “I’m going to need to get to the armory.”

Sam’s voice is next, “Negative, big guy. You’re going to stay right where you are, or else no one else has eyes on us.”

“Seconded.” Steve says firmly.

“I’m kind of a sitting duck up here.” Bucky protests. “This is seventy years of sniper training going to waste,” he adds, and Steve audibly sighs in his ear.

“Take an MG, that’s it.” He says, and Bucky snorts.

“You think I’d try to grab an alien gun? I’m not as stupid as you remember.”

He doesn’t wait for a reply as he heads out the door, eyes scanning this way and that for any potential threats. He hears the fight going on a few floors below, but so far he’s in the clear, and he heads towards the hangar where he can slip in a back entrance to the armory (hopefully) undetected.

“Two headed to you, Buck.” Steve says, sounding out of breath.

“Copy that.” Bucky says, steeling himself for the inevitable fight. He lets himself feel exhausted for approximately one second before he gets to work - his training taking over like he’s on autopilot.

He makes it to the armory door before he’s jumped from behind, though he heard them coming. He knows he can’t let them get inside. He uses their momentum to propel himself forward, flinging one man off his back and sending him careening into the opposite wall.

His other hand rears back out of instinct, delivering a sickening blow to the second man’s face.

Warily, he watches the first man struggle to his feet, a sneer on his face. “Longing.” He says, and Bucky sees red, though not for the reason he suspects the man hopes. “Rusted.”

Bucky pulls back with his metal arm, and delivers one solid punch. “Eat shit.”

Steve comes skidding around the corner a moment or two later, watching the scene in front of him. He clearly heard what the man was trying to do over comms - his face is a mixture of terror and concern.

“Bucky?”

“It’s still me, Steve.”

“Just checking.” He steps over the two men on the floor. “Didn’t need the MG after all?”

“Didn’t make it that far.” Bucky reaches down, straightening the man’s jacket so he can see the insignia for himself. He sighs. “Not going for stealth these days.”

“They’re done fighting in the shadows, or whatever.” Steve replies with a roll of his eyes. “We’ll get them all to lockup - Tony’s got the rest on the roof.”

Bucky pinches the bridge of his nose. “This is going to keep happening. As long as I’m here. You know that, right?”

Steve’s face hardens. “Then we’ll keep fighting them. They’re not going to take you again.” The fierceness in his voice makes Bucky want to weep. This is the Steve he remembers.

He helps get the Hydra agents rounded up with the rest of the team, and then retreats to his bedroom. He feels exhausted, even though he didn’t have to do much - even the fight itself wasn’t as awful as it could have been.

He’s just tired of being hunted. He just wants to-- he doesn’t know, really. Be free? It sounds so trite. But he’s got a chance at a better life now, and he’s not going to let anyone take that away from him. Not Hydra, not whoever they decide to send after him next.

That night he has another nightmare, but this time, it’s about you. The look on your face after you see him in action - it sends you even further away from him, and Bucky knows he’ll never get you back, not after this. Not after you’ve seen the Soldier.

When he startles awake, the shame burning in his chest is a living, breathing thing.

He realizes then what you mean to him, or what you could if given the chance.

It doesn’t scare him as much as it should.

.

Jemma Simmons is infinitely patient as she explains the research about soul marks to you. It helps that she has a soulmate of her own, one who has a reciprocating mark.

It doesn’t do a thing to quell your guilt about Bucky, though. You still feel like you’d be trapping him into something. He’s never had much of a choice about anything in his life before, and you don’t want to take this away from him, too.

Trying to distract yourself, you throw yourself into research and analysis with Fitz and Simmons. In the few days you’ve been with SHIELD, you’ve helped them learn more about Daisy’s power and biology, your experience working with Avengers helpful as they try to catalog what she can do and what her limits are.

You plan to head back to Avengers Tower by the end of the week, and head to bed that night feeling like the time away from everything was just what you needed, even if you do have two letters to Steve from Phil in your bag that you’re almost certainly not going to give him.

The man is desperate for his apology to be accepted by his hero.

You’re asleep nearly the minute your head hits the pillow.

Annoyingly, you dream of Bucky. It’s not the dream you’ve had before - holding hands at the diner, or making some grand declaration. This is… darker. More real. It scares you.

Someone is hauling Bucky out of the Tower, and Bucky is nearly incapacitated. Drugged or… worse. You feel a shudder run through you as you watch him smuggled out in the dead of night, knowing there’s nothing you can do to help.

You wake with a gasp, and when you pull up your left sleeve, the mark on your arm is an angry red.

Panic slides through you like ice in your veins, and you’re reaching for your phone before you can begin to make sense of anything.

“Hey. It’s the middle of the night.”

“I need you to check on Bucky.” You tell Steve, your tone urgent.

“What?”

“Just do it, Steve.”

“What’s going on?”

“Steve.”

You hear movement on his end, and listen intently as he leaves his apartment and heads across the hall. “It’s been quiet all night,” he assures you. “We had a run-in today, but other than that…” He trails off, and that’s what sets your heart pounding. “FRIDAY, what time did Bucky leave his apartment?” Steve asks the AI, and you feel your heart plummet.

You don’t hear her reply.

“Steve, listen to me. I think he’s been taken.”

“How the hell did you--”

“I can’t explain it. I need you to come get me. I don’t want to worry anyone here, but I can help.”

“I’ll be wheels up in ten.”

A click, and then the line goes dead.

It feels like hours before you hear a knock on the door in the base, and Phil Coulson is there, looking as worried as you are, though you’re sure he’s picking up on the anxiety coming from Steve, and from having an Avenger in his secret base.

“Steve!”

“He’s gone.” Steve says rapidly, “We had a… brief infiltration today--”

“A what?!”

“Don’t worry about it now. Point is - I think they were a distraction. They needed to figure out how to get in and how to get to Bucky.”

“I can find him.” You grab your bag, trying to push past him and Coulson both to get to the door.

“Wait a minute, slow down, how did you even know he was gone? I don’t understand.”

“We don’t have time for this right now, Steve. Who knows what they’ve done to him or are planning to do.”

“Hey.” Steve’s voice is sharp, drawing you back into focus. “I need you to slow down. Explain this to me like I’m an idiot.”

You glare, but force your breathing to slow. “Something’s wrong. I just-- I can feel it, Steve.”

“How?”

“I think I’m-- his,” you choke out. “I-- he doesn’t have a mark, I know that, but I have one. I’ve had one my whole life, and I’ve never felt--”

Steve exhales hard. “Jesus Christ.” Hands on his hips, he looks back at you. “So… you can sense him? Is that it?”

You nod. “Sort of. I noticed it when we first met. An awareness, really. I didn’t think anything of it. I thought I was being overprotective while he was recovering.”

Steve’s expression clears. “The night he had an episode after we went to Brooklyn. You knew something was wrong before I heard him.”

“Steve, I-- I don’t want him to know. We just need to find him. Everything else… it doesn’t matter right now. All that matters is that I can help you find him, and we can help him.”

“Okay.” Steve’s voice is sure, full of conviction. “Okay. We get him back, and we worry about the rest later.”

.

“Where are the others?” You ask as you, Steve, and Phil walk as quickly as possible towards the quinjet.

“Tony’s on standby. No point in bringing the full team until we know what we’re up against. I don’t even know where to start looking.” He exhales hard. “What do they even want with him? Without the triggers, there’s no point--”

“Hydra’s been trying to pop up all over the world,” Coulson says. “They’ve taken over several old SHIELD bases, some that we didn’t even know about. They could be trying to use the Asset to bring out whoever’s still in hiding.”

“But he’s not the Soldier anymore.” You say, fierce.

“They don’t know that.” Coulson points out.

At this point, other members of his team have gathered, and you try to keep it together before you have to explain yourself in front of everyone. You’d rather suss this out with Steve, first.

“We’re ready to help if you need it, Captain.” Coulson says, shoulders straight.

Steve watches him carefully, hands on his hips. “We don’t even know where to start looking.”

“Any chance Sergeant Barnes would try to send a signal?” Daisy asks, her voice quiet as she interrupts. “If you know what to look for, we could try to hack into any outgoing Hydra communication channels we know about.”

Steve’s expression clears. “Yeah, he might. If he’s not--”

“He’s not compromised, Steve. I can feel it.” You tell him quietly. Steve stares at you, trying to decide if he can trust this. You don’t blame him - you have no idea if this is going to work either.

“Alright, let’s get to work.” Steve says finally.

“You got it, boss.” Daisy says, with a lazy salute, and you watch, amused as her gaze snaps to Coulson. “No offense, Director.”

“None taken. I’m outranked.” He says agreeably.

You sigh in relief at finally having some help. You can’t let anything happen to Bucky. For Steve’s sake, and for your own.

.

Bucky opens his eyes slowly - his eyelids feel like they weigh a hundred pounds. Immediately he’s on edge. He has a hazy vision of someone breaking down his door, a cloth in his face and him trying to fight them off before he passed out.

Shit, he thinks, Steve’s going to be so pissed. He takes a minute to assess the situation. A dingy, dark room. He’s shackled. Not the most original way he’s ever been held against his will, but whatever.

He spares a thought for you. Do you even know he’s gone? You’re with SHIELD. Steve’s probably trying like hell to keep this from you, so he doesn’t worry you. Bucky feels himself getting angrier the longer he thinks about it - he finally thinks he might be able to work up the nerve to ask you out, or to at least tell you he thinks you’re-- well, it doesn’t matter.

None of it will matter unless he gets out of here.

He feels a little woozy. He wonders what they used to knock him out, because he knows it would take nearly five times a normal amount of anything that would render a normal person unconscious. It makes him a little nervous, but again, it mostly pisses him off.

He tests his left arm - and can’t move. A brief flash of panic runs through him, but he grits his teeth and tells himself to calm down. There’s something in the room - an EMP maybe? Something that’s taken his arm out of commission.

He tests the shackles, and his right arm pulls free.

“Huh.” Suspicious.

The door opens, and in comes one of the two men who greeted him near the armory at the Tower.

“Oh, hello.” Bucky greets.

“Soldat.” The other man says, and Bucky’s eyes narrow.

“What was it I told you earlier? Oh, right. Eat shit.”

“So the rumors are true? The trigger words no longer work. That’s alright, there are other ways to make you comply.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Look, I’m done taking orders. So you’re wasting your time.”

Bucky does, under it all, wonder what the play is here. He’s basically not held down any more, and they had to know the restraints wouldn’t hold him. So what’s the point? He doesn’t know enough about the Avengers to be a threat to their security, and he’s ninety percent sure that the brainwashing won’t work.

He’s banking on it.

In the back of his mind, there’s a buzzing that lets him know he’s still not completely with it. He also has a gut feeling that Steve is already assembling, or whatever it is he calls it when the Avengers get a mission, so he just has to stall enough to catch this goon off guard and get the hell out of here.

“Well, go on then. Tell me about your nefarious plans.”

That earns him a punch on the jaw, and while it doesn’t hurt really, it pisses him off.

“Alright. I’m tired of this. Tell me what you want, or I’m going to leave, and if I have to kill you to do it, well, that’s just too bad.”

His smile is just a touch too wild to be sane, Bucky thinks, right before he presses something in his right hand. Not an EMP, then, Bucky has a second to think before it feels as if his entire brain is being electrocuted, and then he blacks out.

.

“Remind me again why I’m doing this?” Tony asks Steve the second he lands in the hangar at SHIELD HQ. “Hello,” he says distractedly to the small crowd that’s gathered.

“Bucky’s in trouble.”

“Barnes has been in trouble his entire life.”

“Tony.” You growl, a warning if he’s ever heard one. “We have to help him.”

Tony sighs. “This place is pretty cool, if a little low tech,” he says finally, looking around, his gaze landing on Phil Coulson. “Phil. You’re not dead.”

“Neither are you. Heard it was pretty close for the both of us.”

Tony turns back to you and Steve. “Why am I here but Wilson isn’t?”

“Sam’s already doing recon.” Steve says, his expression hard. “I need you to help with the hacking.”

“Hey!” Daisy protests, not looking up from her laptop. “I don’t need help--”

“I know you,” Tony says. “You hacked SHIELD. They called me about that. I think you owe me an apology.”

She raises an eyebrow. “... anyway. We were able to narrow it down to these two previously unknown SHIELD bases. They’ve been silent for months, but recently had a string of outgoing communications, one of which can be tracked to a location in New York not far from the Tower.”

“He’s around the fucking block and I flew all the way here?”

Steve glares at Tony. “That doesn’t mean it’s where they’ve taken him. Just that they’re operating there.”

“They’ve probably had eyes on him ever since he came back to New York,” you say quietly.

“Christ.” Tony runs a hand over his face. “Alright, get Wilson over there and see what he can shake out. Doc, do you have a plan if Barnes is… compromised?”

You’re quiet. Steve’s quiet. No one really knows what to do if that’s the case. You’re not sure if it’s even possible, not after all the work Shuri did with Bucky’s recovery in Wakanda, but there’s still the possibility… no. You won’t let yourself think about it.

“We could use the containment module.” Agent May says quietly, one of the first things she’s said since you’ve been with SHIELD. “It’s meant to hold the strongest inhumans.”

Tony gets out of the suit eventually and you all start pouring over audio files from the last few days to try to find Bucky.

Eventually, Steve turns to you. “He’s alright?” He asks, softly, worriedly.

You sigh, but at the pained look on his face, you have no other choice. You concentrate as hard as you can, feeling your connection with Bucky like a tether. You’d know if he was gone. Even if it was just his mind.

“I think so.”

Tony gapes. “Does someone want to fill me in, here?”

“They have a connection.” Steve says, flat.

You watch as Tony connects the dots. “Oh, sweet Christ. That explains a lot.”

You glare. “Excuse me?”

He rolls his eyes, turning back to the monitor in front of him, muttering. “Making heart eyes at each other across my lab--”

“It could be that only she has the mark. But it shouldn’t diminish the bond,” Simmons says quietly across the table, her eyes not leaving the papers in front of her.

“You told SHIELD before you told me?” Tony asks, incredulous. “I’m wounded.”

“Are they always like this?” Fitz asks Coulson, not so quietly. You can relate - there’s something about seeing that your heroes are just regular people.

“Got him.” Daisy says suddenly, voice hard. “There.” She points at the map.

“Let’s go,” Coulson directs, “we’re wheels up in five.”

“You’re staying here.” Steve tells you, and you immediately stop in your tracks.

“I’m going with you. Are you--”

“This is a rescue mission.”

“And I’m a doctor!” And I’m his soulmate, even if he doesn’t know it yet.

“Argue later, on the jet now!” May says sharply, throwing a bulletproof vest in your direction. You catch it before you get knocked over with the weight, and slip it on as quick as you can.

On the jet, you watch as Steve Rogers slowly disappears and Captain America takes over, giving orders and preparing for the possibility that the person they’re going to find might no longer be his best friend.

“You’re going to stay on board while we clear the place, got it?”

You scowl, but don’t argue with him, knowing it won’t do you any good. He goes around handing out comms, and everyone checks that they’re working, giving him a thumbs up. Daisy Johnson looks absolutely delighted to be on a mission with Captain America and Iron Man.

It seems like it’s only minutes before you land. Sam is waiting for you when you get there, and squeezes your shoulder as he passes you to confer quietly with Steve and Tony.

“Alright, we’re going to split up into teams.”

While Steve is talking, you’re barely listening, too focused on trying to concentrate on your newly-discovered bond with Bucky to figure out if he’s alright.

“Don’t get any ideas, Doc.” Tony says to you on his way out the door, tapping the comms device in his ears for emphasis as he goes.

You sigh - you hate being sidelined, even if you know Steve is right - you can’t provide the kind of help that they might need.

“Be careful,” you tell the three of them, plus the SHIELD team.

They go down the ramp quickly, leaving you alone with Simmons and Fitz.

.

Bucky hasn’t really been thankful for his advanced hearing in the short time he’s been fully in control of his faculties, but even in the short time he’s been back with Steve, he’d recognize the sound of a quinjet landing anywhere.

He feels like he’s been knocked over the head with a hammer. His energy has been totally zapped, and he knows he needs to fight, needs to figure out how to get the hell out of here, he just can’t summon the will to get up.

There’s a commotion in the hallway near the room he’s being kept, and when the door finally bursts open, his face falls when he sees Tony Stark.

“Did you disable the power?” Bucky asks immediately, not giving Tony a chance to make what he’s sure was meant to be a dramatic entrance.

“What? No. Why are you on the ground?” Tony asks, irritated, taking a few steps towards Bucky before a now-familiar buzzing fills his ears. Bucky watches, un-amused, as the lights flicker, and Tony freezes, his suit shorting out.

It’s not the same bone-crackling energy that had rendered him virtually useless earlier, but Bucky still grits his teeth at the feeling of it ripping up whatever sensors are left in his metal arm.

“Oh, god dammit.” Tony curses. “Steve is here. He’ll figure it out.”

“They’ve got a device like an EMP. Shorts out everything electrical.” He winces, “Makes me feel like my brain is leaking out of my ears.”

“That’ll mean Wilson down for the count too,” Tony mutters.

Overhead, the lights flicker once more and then they go out entirely. The walls seem to shake with the force of an explosion, and Bucky and Tony barely have a chance to exchange worried glances before they’re plunged into darkness.

.

Inside the quinjet, it feels like an earthquake.

Jemma doesn’t look up. “That’ll be Daisy,” she says casually.

Fitz is frowning. “That didn’t feel like a quake.” He stands, heading over to one of the monitors where he tries to get in touch with the rest of the team. “Daisy? Coulson?”

You try too, pressing your finger against the comms device in your ear. “Steve?”

You get no response, not from him, and not from anyone else. You start to feel dread prickling up your spine, and you surge to your feet, not able to just sit there anymore.

“I have to go help them.”

Simmons looks up at you, “You don’t have any way to defend yourself! If they’re not responding--”

“What, we’re going to just leave them in there?”

Fitz looks like he’s weighing his options. He moves quickly, digging into his backpack. He pulls out his sidearm, thrusting it at you. “You know how to use this?”

You swallow thickly. “Yes.”

“Then let’s go.” He shoulders his backpack, and you tuck the gun into your waistband.

“Fitz!” Simmons protests. “The Captain said to stay here—“

“Tell him it was my idea,” you say. “He can lecture me after we save his life.” You take off down the ramp before either of them can say anything else, but you’re relieved when you hear their footsteps following.

Inside, you’re immediately on edge at the lack of guards. You’ve got your borrowed gun at the ready, Fitz and Simmons silently behind you. “First floor is clear,” you whisper. On a whim, you press your finger to your ears again, just on an off chance. “Can anyone hear me?”

“Daisy!” Simmons exclaims before racing towards a figure slumped against a far wall. “Daisy? Can you hear me?”

Daisy groans, opening her eyes slowly. “Shit. Simmons?”

“What happened? We thought it was you--”

“It was me, but then there was this-- I don’t know. It felt like it was scrambling my brain. Took the power out. I tried to quake a few of the guards, but it knocked me out.”

“It only knocked out the powered people?”

“It shorted out my gloves,” Daisy says, getting to her feet. “It’s like it reversed the energy I was exerting and put it back at me.”

You blanche. “Steve and Bucky.”

Fitz echoes your worry. “Falcon and Iron Man have powered suits. Might have had the same effect on them, too.”

All you can think of is what Bucky might have felt - his arm literally is fused to his nerves - and you’re suddenly angrier than you’ve ever been. Forcing yourself to take a few deep breaths. You have no idea if Bucky’s realized your connection yet, but even if he hasn’t he’s got to be feeling some residual panic. You force yourself to calm down.

“There.” Fitz says suddenly, pointing towards the one room in the building with a light on. You can hear voices inside. “It’s Coulson.”

You walk up to the room slowly, gun drawn, the three SHIELD agents at your back. Peering around the corner, you can hear what almost sounds like a casual conversation between Coulson and some Hydra lunatic.

“-- what exactly is the grand plan? I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but there’s four Avengers here.”

The man scoffs. “A lot of good they are, aren’t they!” He laughs, “Captain Rogers here doesn’t look like he’s much up for anything right now.”

You take a deep breath when you see Steve slumped against the doorway. Slowly, you reach down, checking his pulse. Still alive, you reassure yourself.

“So you’ve got a device that can take out inhumans and the enhanced. What comes next?”

“Don’t forget it disables any man-made technology that aids the enhanced. Gives us a much more level playing field.”

“This is boring,” Coulson says, dry. “There’s no grand plan? You kidnapped Bucky Barnes to… what? To get Steve Rogers here? To get SHIELD here? You had to know someone would come.”

“The more Avengers we can take out at once, the better. And once we build this machine to its full potential, we can take out entire countries' worth of inhumans and the enhanced.”

You’ve heard enough. “New plan.” You say firmly, stepping around the corner, gun raised. Your eyes narrow. “Where’s Sergeant Barnes?”

The man looks unruffled. “I assume he’s in the cell where we left him, considering he’s only got one fully functioning arm.”

You glance over your shoulder at Fitz and Simmons. “Figure out a way to power that down.” Daisy stays out of sight, but you appreciate knowing you’ve got at least one superhero at your back. Gun still pointed at the Hydra agent, they hurry around him, analyzing the panels and buttons in front of them.

“I wondered if you’d come too,” the man says. He holds out a hand. “Alex Harrison. We haven’t met yet. Well, not officially.” He smirks, “Seen you around though, with the Asset.”

“He has a name.” You growl.

“Two minutes,” Fitz says, and you’re aware of Coulson reaching for his waistband, too. Behind you, Steve starts to rouse, and you fight off the panic at him immediately springing into action.

“Even if you destroy this machine, the plans won’t be stopped.”

“You talk too much,” Coulson says, lunging forward and hitting Harrison hard with the butt of his gun, sending him collapsing to the ground.

“Why didn’t you do that sooner?” You ask, and he shrugs.

“Had to find out about their evil plan.”

“What-- what are you doing here?” Steve asks groggily.

“Hate to break this up, but we need to find the others.” Daisy says. She looks at you, “Can you tell where he is?”

You concentrate on the bond.

“I’ve got him.”

.

Bucky thinks if he could avoid spending any extended period of time with Tony Stark again, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

“All I’m saying is… have you noticed her?”

He’s been needling Bucky about you for the last half hour, and Bucky’s about had it. “Shouldn’t we be trying to get the hell out of here?”

Tony glares. “Well, considering I can’t move…”

The door to the cell suddenly bursts open, and both Bucky and Tony flinch.

“Took you long enough!” Tony crows at the unfamiliar woman, holding her hand up not unlike Bucky’s seen Tony do.

“Bucky!”

His head snaps up at the sound of your voice. You’re there, in front of him, real and alive, hair escaping your ponytail in tendrils, clad in a bulletproof vest and a pair of jeans that he thinks he’ll be dreaming about for days to come.

Also, a gun.

He’s never pondered the attractiveness of firearms until now.

“This seems backwards,” Bucky says. “I should be the one attempting a daring rescue for you.”

“He’s not good at being grateful,” Tony mutters.

“Sergeant Barnes,” the woman says, interrupting. “I’m Daisy. I’m with SHIELD. It’s an honor to meet you.” She grabs his good arm, hoisting him to his feet.

“Brought the calvary, then?” Bucky asks you, over Daisy’s shoulder.

Daisy snorts. “Actually, yes, but don’t let Agent May hear you say that.”

“We have to go quickly.” You say, moving to Bucky’s side. “Are you hurt anywhere else? What did they--” your voice is getting increasingly panicked, and Bucky stops you.

“I’m okay.” He says softly. “Let’s go.”

Getting both himself and Tony oriented is a struggle as they fight off the effects of the EMP, but out in the corridor, he finds the rest of the team including Wilson and Steve congregating. He fights not to notice the way you stay close to his side, close enough to touch.

“How did you find me?” Bucky asks Steve.

Steve glances at you. “It’s a long story.”

Outside, on the quinjet, you busy yourself checking everyone for injuries and any signs of trauma from the Hydra device. You’re in your element, and Bucky can’t take his eyes off you.

He realizes how close he came to being done for. If not for the quickness of the team - however they found him - and for the fact that the trigger words don’t work anymore, he would have been lights out without ever telling you that he thinks you’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.

They land quickly, promising the SHIELD agents a chance to rest up at Stark Tower before they head back to their base.

You head to the infirmary with Bucky, whose arm is still shorted out.

“Let’s see if we can’t get you back up and running, okay, Sergeant?” Your smile is gentle.

“Yes ma’am.”

He watches you work, watches the way your forehead creases as you concentrate and the way you have tiny flecks of light in your eyes.

He wonders if you’ve got someone. You’ve never mentioned it, and he doesn’t think he’s imagining all these little moments the two of you have had together. There’s the matter of the mark. He hasn’t seen if you have one. He’s put off thinking about his own - or the lack thereof - for… decades.

He decides he doesn’t care. Not when you’re smiling at him like that, and indulging his bad jokes, and making him feel like he’s a normal person, not someone to be afraid of.

“Do you have plans tomorrow?” He blurts.

You look startled. “Uh-- no, I don’t think so.”

“Do you want to go out?” He takes a minute to relish in the surprised look on your face. “With me?”

A myriad of emotions flash across your face. One he doesn’t expect to see is sadness. It makes a lead weight settle in his stomach.

“Bucky…”

He’s afraid of what you’re going to say. He finds himself rushing to reassure you. “It’s not-- it doesn’t have to be anything serious. I just-- I want to spend time with you. Just us.”

You’re so still. It doesn’t track with anything he knows about you - the way you’re always moving, always taking care of everyone else.

“You want to go out with me?” You manage. “Like, a date?”

He smiles. “Yeah, like a date.”

“You want to go out on a date with me?” You ask him again, and he laughs, unable to believe that he has to explain why he thinks you’re so extraordinary.

“I’ve felt a connection with you since the minute we met. I can’t explain it, but it’s true. And the way you burst in there to rescue me, all guns and glory…” a wry smile twists his mouth. “How was I supposed to not want you?”

“Oh, Bucky.” You say, watery through your tears. But you’re smiling now, which is a far sight better than when he thought you were horrified by the prospect of being with him romantically.

He continues, feeling a burst of confidence. “It’s been a long time since I’ve done this, so I’m sorry if I’m out of practice. I just-- I feel like I know you. I need you to know that even if-- if we’re not soulmates, even if you don’t believe in that shit, I still want you. I don’t see that changing any time soon.” Bucky’s voice is filled with conviction, and he watches as tears pool in your eyes and start to spill over. “Oh, honey, no.” He reaches for you, but stops halfway. “Don’t cry. I’ll-- what do you need? If you need me to fuck off and never be seen again, I know a guy who can make that happen,” he says, trying to lighten the mood.

A choked sob leaves your mouth, but now you’re smiling, so Bucky takes it as a good sign, though he’s still terrified you’re going to turn tail and leave him standing here. “What is it? Why are you-- please don’t cry.”

You don’t say anything, but it happens almost in slow motion. You lift up your left arm and slowly push up the sleeve, and start to take off your watch. Underneath, in faded black ink, is a vine of ivy, trailing around your delicate wrist, small leaves dotting your veins.

His entire world stops. He’s speechless. He has absolutely no idea what to say. His brain is just screaming, you belong to her, you belong to her over and over again.

“I knew I was yours, but I thought that you didn’t belong to me.” You’re saying. “I-- I didn’t want to trap you, I--.”

“Why would you think that?” His voice cracks.

You look confused. “You don’t have a mark, Buck, I’m your doctor, I saw your arm--”

“My left arm.” His voice is hoarse.

“What?”

“My mark was on my left arm. It showed up in 1934, before the war, before… everything.”

The air whooshes from the room.

“What did it look like?” You ask timidly.

He smiles, stepping closer. “Why don’t you tell me?” He takes your hand, slowly, like he’s afraid he’s going to spook you.

“If this is a joke--”

“I would never joke about this.” He says, hoarse. “I got my mark when I was seventeen years old, and all I thought about for years was finding my match.” Feeling braver, he reaches forward, cupping your face in his palm. “They took that from me,” he says. “Kind of fitting the one to rescue me from Hydra was also the one to bring my mark back to me, right?”

You laugh, a little choked through your tears, and he leans down, tracing the pattern he knows so well with his fingertips on his good hand. “There’s a pale pink flower,” he whispers, looking you dead in the eyes. “Right about here.” His thumb presses lightly at the crook of your elbow, where you know a flower sits.

“It’s how I found you.” You tell him, and the pieces start to click into place. “I dreamed about you, but I think it was more of a vision.”

“You were the one to realize I’d been taken?” He asks, feeling his heart squeeze. “Jesus.”

“Called Steve in the middle of the night. Demanded he listen to me and he came to get me from SHIELD.”

“You’re unbelievable,” he says, a smile growing on his face. “In a good way,” he adds. Then, quieter, “I’ve dreamed of you too.” He whispers.

You’re both quiet for a few minutes. “What do we do now?” You ask, and he shrugs.

“Don’t know. I haven’t done this before.” HIs eyes are filled with mirth.

“Oh… you-- shut up.”

He grins - he has a feeling riling you up is going to be one of his favorite pastimes.

“Let me get your arm up and running, and then we’ll talk.” You eye him carefully. “I might have to get Tony for the hardwiring.”

Bucky lets his head drop back as he groans. “Anyone but him.”

You cackle delightedly. “Sorry, sweetheart.”

He brightens at the use of the endearment. He feels - it’s a dream. Seventy years of waiting, and somehow, in the back of his mind, he knew you were different the minute he met you.

He knows you have a lot to talk about - a lot to decide, a lot to work through. He feels almost invincible, though, especially after thinking for so long that he would never find his match if he didn’t have his mark anymore. He still can’t fathom how he got so lucky for it to be you.

.

You feel like you’re walking on clouds for the rest of the day. After some good-natured ribbing from the team, and from SHIELD - you promised to stay in touch with them, if only to convince Steve and Tony to come around and start working with them again; you quite like Phil Coulson - they mostly leave you and Bucky alone.

You hole up in his apartment for nearly the entire day, talking about everything you can think of. Your childhood, his childhood, even the rough parts that make his voice catch and harden… you sit right there and hold his hand through it.

You can almost feel your bond like a living, breathing thing now. It’s electric when the two of you touch, something that you’d always noticed but tried not to put any weight on.

Now, it seems so obvious.

He kisses you goodnight. It sends a flare of heat through you and nearly makes you dizzy, and you want him to do it again as soon as it ends.

He reminds you that you’ve got a lifetime to sort out what this all means.

A lifetime with Bucky Barnes sounds like a dream.

You can’t wait.

[jadienjaystoriesandart]

So, I don’t post alot of my Lore Based stuff. But, I’ve hit a creative burst since watching Dream SMP. And given, I have a whole truck full of Minecraft Lore/World Building, thought I’d share some of it.

I’ve posted some on my Wattpad, but this post is going into the many species and races of my Minecraft World. Later I might post about how this fits into some made up Lore I did for the Dream SMP. 

I’ve always pulled inspiration from other creators, so I will be sure to mention them should I know who they are. 

Also also, this whole thing was made possible by my long time friends on wattpad. Bloxiegirl123 and @littlewolf651 They both gave me so much inspiration for this stuff through many talks and us just goofing off. 

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Netherains: These are the people of the Nether, under the rule and protection of Herobrine. They live in the inner cities of the Nether, when we the players spawn there it’s on the out skirts, and look like more taller and ‘humanish’ piglins. Who are there own species  They are a very isolated people, Netherains, having a demonic heritage, are destructive by nature. They prefer the company of themselves or close family over the company of many people. They also prefer their own kind over any other species and races of the realms. 

They have a equal mindset, both men and women are capable of being warriors, merchants, and so forth. Males typically have larger fangs, be them lower or upper jaw, and large scrunched up noses. While females have smaller noses that are flatter and tinier fangs (Think like orcs). Male ears tend to be longer and pointed, while females tend to have short ears that are also pointed. As for body builds, really that depends on parents, some are just bigger and able to gain muscles faster than others, while some are skinnier and take longer to build up. The only real difference between males and females is that the females can give birth and their physical looks.

Strangely females don’t have breasts, actually how their young feed is often from mushed up food as babies are both already with teeth in place and able to digest soft foods.  Young typically grow up fast, and by the time they reach 7 seasons of age, they are given their first weapon to train with. 

All members of the Netherain people are able to fight, regardless of their profession in life. Why do you think not many want to fight Hero’s army, it’s not just because of the mobs.  To know of a human/nether baby is in the eyes and skin tones and sometimes ears and teeth.

Netherains are of the dark/light browns and red skin tone, they are fire resistant, and their eye colors rang from common browns, blacks, to the slight less common golds and red, to the more uncommon silver and grays. Their eyes are narrowed and their color covers their whole eye with the only difference being in their pupil (should their eyes not be black). 

Their hair tends to be of the braided, with gems weaved into them. (The inner nether is very gem rich, there is a reason Hero is also considered the ‘Rich God’). Some even shave the sides for the middle to be in a pony tail. Others prefer the more wilder hair types or even dreads. 

Some facts about them. - They only use gold as a accessory or coin, but it’s considered to be of low value and do trading in gems and items. - They are a culture rich people, with many stories, superstitions, and foods. - They mostly eat spicy foods, to a normally person their ‘mild’ is very hot. - Mostly meat eaters, due to having more fanged filled mouths, babies teeth are duller until they reach 5 seasons old. - Some live in villages while some live in the city, each set of people has it’s own brand of fire magic used, from lava, lightening, and some even coat themselves in fire. However, they don’t see a difference, Village is just like saying ‘I come from the west and use lightening’.  - They used to be at war, until Hero united them.

Valkyries: These are the race of the Aether people, some call them Aetherains too but most prefer Valkyrie. They are under the rule of Notch and some even are his personal guards and fighters.  Their main job however is guiding souls to the afterlife and protecting their homeland , the Aether or Ether. 

Some call them ‘angels’ though this is just a preference really, and really just less of a mouthful for humans. Honestly, Valkyries don’t really care being called them.  Anywho, this race is very social with each other, relationships range from Platonic to Romantic. They help groom each other wings, share the news of the day like this, and they enjoy being touched, held, cuddled.

Valkyries can have relationship and kids with other Valkyries, though there isn’t much need for sex or reproductions due to them being near immortal. However, half babies are considered taboo after the last war with Herobrine. 

Typically ‘families’ have their own looks and styles. But all Valkyries have some form of light hair and eyes.  Wing types also are a family trait, some families have many wings, others have only one pair. Some have darker wing colors, some are speckled, some are just lighter, some are just one color. They range from Large, Medium, or Small in size.  Family trees tend to have their own types of magics, be it better healers, better fliers, or able to conjure weapons, some share these traits but not wing size and looks, or vice versa. (Basically some family can have the same wing look, but different magics, and the same is true in reverse.)

Valkyries have pale skin tones ranging to more yellowish hues or tanish hues. This is in their ‘human form’ in their Valkyrie form they are wind like creatures, made up of elements with vaguely ‘human’ like bodies, though some look more bird like.  Eye color ranges from the common golds, greens, to the less common teals, and the uncommon blues. Hari tends to be blond, dirty blond, or even silver and white. They like long hair, smooth, wavy sometimes, with many small things weaved into it. Some have pointed ears, some don’t, some even have feathers for ears. Some Facts: - They don’t really have a ‘gender’ concept. As they are able to turn themselves whatever gender. Though, unlike like Voidlings and Enders, they do tend to stick with one of the other after a while. Though it’s not uncommon to see some who are non-binary.  - Young grow up slowly, one of the downsides is due to their immortality slowly coming into place. This causes slow aging of the body and sometimes the mind. Unless they are hybrids of another species. - Though immortal, they can be killed through fatal wounds with weapons made by Voidlings or Netherains. But humans weapons, the only one that could remotely harm them, is the Netherite weapons. Due to being a crude recreation of Netherain weapons. 

Humans: Considered to be a pet project of Notch, that was somewhat of a disaster, and was the third creation to walk the Overworld, Villagers being the first, then Players or Spawns and Mobs being the Second.  Humans have a very short life span along with Villagers, confined to a 100 years to 150 years at best. Taking both the qualities of destruction and creation to make a race had them not be as long living.  However, humans come in ‘genders’, thought this is just because some are just born looking one way to the other or a mix. So they came up with ‘gender’s to tell them apart.  Females have breasts and give birth while males don’t. Different sex organs and such. Really this was just made for repopulation means, Notch didn’t really have ‘Male’ and ‘Female’ in mind. 

To keep it brief, as they are pretty much the same as we are. They come in many skin tones of light to dark depending on climate and area born. They also have a very complicated history with other races. It’s gotten better over the years in the future though. And sometimes they fight with each other. Most of these problems are due to Notch trying to use Destruction in their making, then he’s a Creation God. Opps. 

However, they are a culture rich race as well, and in the recent years have done some great feats with the help of other races. But their past is complicated, luckily Hero did help his brother after the second war to curb any problems later, evolution! 

Players/Spawns: This race comes in all shapes, looks, and sizes. They are created by mostly Herobrine with some help from his ‘Father’ and ‘Grandfather’. As Mobs hadn’t turned out the best as he hoped.  Having the power the ‘Respawn’ in a place they made, and can live for a few 100 years. They don’t really have a set gender or look, as they can be any and everything. Some classify them as ‘Shapeshifters’ and that is about as close as we can get to a category for them. 

They can be half Ender, Zombie, Spider, Cat, to even stranger species. Some can even have Netherain or Valkyrie traits. As when they mate, they have a change of making a Player due to near immortal or magical beings mating with humans.  Really Player as a ‘race’ is complicated as genetics play a big factor. Should a human family have any non human blood in their line, it’s very possible to give birth to a Player.

Most tend to worship Herobrine, though some do worship other gods of the world.  Eventually, they do die, but they live for longer than most would think. And their live styles are very diverse, so it’s hard to pinpoint them. They all just go under this category is they are able to ‘Respawn’. 

Not much else is known about them though, and they are very secretive about their creation myths. At least ‘OG Spawns’ are, meaning they have no other genes or blood in them other than ‘Player’ 

Some facts: - The first Spawn ever was a man named Steve, who later became immortal and the husband of Hero.  - They are the second race we know the least about. - Some call them ‘Protectors’ as they are protective of any race who can not protect themselves. - OG Spawns live with Mobs in large cities away from non-player reach. Though, it’s rare for even some Players of today to find them. Due to conflicting feels about Mobs and their need to attack humans and villagers. 

Enders: These are the tall, mysterious people of the End, under the ruling of the Queen and King, Jean and Ignis.  They are lanky, the shortest they can be is 6 feet in height, and the tallest being 13 feet tall. Long arms with claw like fingers for some, and some have very boney appearances. They are naturally skinny looking with sharpen teeth in the front and more flatten teeth in the back.

They have a very scholarly society, putting the pursuit of magics and knowledge as the highest form of profession. Being there is only one way in and out of the End, they aren’t attacked the much, and have a decent relation with their Demonic cousins of the Void. 

Their society tends to be everyone looks after everyone. There are no real ‘families’ as the young are taken care of by everyone and taught by everyone. Expecting bearers are housed in a nursery, and take care of the child, until they are old enough to walk and talk, then the children are to live with chosen Parentals until they reach Apprenticeship age, 13, and choose a profession, and live with their mentor until they are 21. 

Like their cousins, they are very possessive of things, though capable of more empathy than them. ‘Mine’ in their langue has many meanings, often it’s considered a high honor for an Ender to claim you if you are not of their race. As it can mean ‘friend’ ‘family’ ‘brother/sister’ or ‘lover’ and among other means. 

They range from purple tones to greyish tones in skin color, some even have dragon like traits though it’s noted these are of the noble statues. Eye colors rang from common purple hues and some reds, the less common blue and green hues, and the uncommon blacks and white eyes.  Hairs tend of the dark purple, black, and sometimes white, they have shorter hair styles to sometimes no hair at all. Thought long hair isn’t uncommon, it’s just less seen.

Some Facts: - They tend to have a view of being a ‘perfect race’ at least the older generation those, the newer tends to be more open minded.  - Not may outsiders are allowed into the cities, those that are don’t leave that often much less talk about it.  - They are in close contact, allies, with OG Players and Valkyries, though they tend to dislike Netherains.  - They are also a type of Shapeshifter, more so than Valkyries and Players. - They have no gender, and are born without parts to reproduce. Reproduction is done by magic/science and the ‘baby’ placed into the ‘carrier’ to grow until they are ‘cut out’ of the body. - That is considered a big deal, and takes alot out of the carrier, they are treated very well by the whole society. To harm a child or carrier is considering an offense punishable by death.

Voidlings (Demons, Daemons, Dreamons, Pure Ones): These beings go by many names, some we don’t even know of. They are the first race of beings to have ever lived, just under the Gods.  Created by the OG Gods of Destruction and Creation, (Tristan and Terrance), and they live in the Void. 

There are many sub levels of the void, the one we see of the endless pit of blackness. To two more levels that aren’t the well known, it’s thought Voidlings live on this level.  They come in two categories, those of the Destructive and Chaotic nature and those of the Creative and Orderly nature. 

Demons are more inclined to be of the Destructive and Chaotic Nature under the rule and laws of Lord Tristan. They are playful beings, loving to cause trouble and bring chaos with them. Though, they seem to dislike killing their targets. Daemons are more inclined to be of the Creative and Orderly Nature, under the rules of laws of Lord Terrance. They are stubborn, cold hearted, and harsh beings. Some have been known to kill their targets should they be displeased with them.  Dreamons are a mixed bag, some are Destructive and just playful, Some are Creative and enjoy helping, some are Orderly and a little harsh to people they see beneath them, and some are Chaotic and care little for life. It’s unsure who you get until you meet them, so be careful.

They are called ‘Pure Ones’ due to the fact they were the first race to be created by the Gods.  They do not reproduce, they are created and there is a set number of them. They are also extremely hard to kill, most can only be banished back to the Void. They each represent something, with strange names. Example, (And I’m use Dream SMP here) Eater of Dreams or Truth Where Lies Meet. 

Size is everything, it’s indicates power, the bigger you are, wide or tall, the more powerful you are. And they can take many shapes and forms. 

Some facts: - They can’t feel empathy or sympathy, but they can be possessive of things they consider ‘theirs’. - They can look human like or something indescribable, however horns tend to be a common trait - They are true shapeshifters, meaning they can take any shape they please. - They possess people they find a ‘kinship’ with, to escape the void. - In their true form, they can’t walk anywhere but the Void, thus need a vessel to do so. - To fall into the void either results in death, or becoming a Voidling yourself. It’s unsure how this happens. - Some are born a ‘Natrual vessels’ with means they are prime targets for posession from a certain Voidling. - Void/Demonic Magic is the oldest living magic and can corrupt people easily

RACES I NEED TO DO LATER

Gods- Tristan, Terrance, Hero, Notch, Victor. Sub Gods  Villagers Mobs Socrerers/Mages

[agustdef]

Here & Now - Chapter 19

Pairing: Yoongi x OC

Genre: Fluff; Chill romance

Word Count: 2,057

Warning: None.

Banner Marker: @dee-ehn​

The tension in Bang’s office made me feel so uncomfortable I couldn’t sit still. Joon had to squeeze my shoulder a few times to try to get me to calm it down, but my nerves weren’t letting up.

I hadn’t gotten the chance to make a choice if I wanted to work there, but that might be snatched away from me. It was so frustrating that I’d possibly be punished for something that wasn’t even my fault. And that it could affect the boys when nothing had happened.

Nothing that had been documented held any weight. Not one thing screamed dating in secret. It barely showed that we were friends at all; just that we spoke when in proximity to others. But of course the select few wannabe FBI agents wanted to stir bullshit.

The longer that Bang stayed on the phone with a blank expression, the more uneasy I felt. He hadn’t seemed mad at me in particular, he was actually quite reassuring that he would handle it. But it still would be smart to avoid this stuff and just revoke the offer.

When Bang put down the phone and closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Once they were open again he glanced around the room, looking at Joon, Yoongi and then me. Though he’d maintained the blank look at first his expression softened once it met my face.

“We have it handled. They posted it on their side account, but then reposted it on their personal account where their name and high school are very present. It didn’t take much time to find them and legal will handle it from there. Also working on the more aggressive attackers and then legal will get to them too.”

He said it so nonchalantly that I felt confused about what the heck was happening. Which must have been clear on my face.

“Kendall, I offered you a job because even with the first incident you kept up the good work and didn’t just abandon your job. You did it with the second one too. You are not the problem, they are. And it’s just a few people stirring the pot and causing mass hysteria for a few hours. It will not harm anything. Even if you two were secretly dating they have nothing, but it doesn’t make this acceptable. I will not tolerate attacks on them or you for false or true statements.”

His words were reassuring and sweet. I could feel the tension leave my body, it slumping a little as the anxiety I was starting to feel started to dissipate.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s being taken care of.” This time a smile graced his face, then he turned to Joon. “Make sure everyone knows what’s going on and just relax. Today and tomorrow are your off days, so don’t worry too much about it.”

Joon nodded and then turned to leave. Yoongi pressed a hand to my lower back and guided me out of the room. None of us spoke until we were in the practice room where everyone had convened.

They’d been whispering amongst themselves when we entered but stopped the moment we came in. They all wore expressions of worry, eyes flickering between all of us, but lingering on me and Yoongi.

Joon cleared his throat and gained all their attention. “The person who took the pictures of Kendall here has been found and legal is handling it. They’re also going for all the people have been extra hostile towards her. So, we don’t have anything to worry about and I’m sure a statement will be released later today.”

There was a group sigh of relief and I watched as Hobi and Jungkook slumped heavily. They looked like they’d been carrying a heavy burdened.

“You two okay?” I asked.

They didn’t respond at first, just stared at each other for a moment. Then Jungkook turned to me. “We were just worried Bang might take back the offer and try to get us to interact less.”

“Dude, same.”

Even though I was relieved before something about hearing others with the same fear helped along the disappearing anxiety. I released a frustrated scream to just get it out and none of them seemed fazed.

“Maybe we should decompress. Spend the night in and watch movies like when Hals came to visit last week and her, Kendall and Hobi were all stressed and on the verge of exploding,” Jimin offered.

The night had been helpful for decompressing, otherwise, I might have literally combusted. A work thing somehow messed up and I had to work from scratch with two days. Plus I had major writer’s block, but a short story due on the same day.

I nodded. “Sure, we can do it at mine. Just give me like an hour or two.”

There were murmurs of agreement and then we all packed up and headed out. Before I could get into the car to take me home though Yoongi pulled me to the side.

“You're okay, right? Don’t need me to come with you?” Yoongi asked.

He was still clearly angry and stressed about everything, which I hated. I tried to be reassuring, squeezing his hand and giving the best smile I could muster.

“I’m fine. Going to clean, get in comfy clothes and draft something to be posted once the statement is out. All is good. Promise.”

He grimaced and seemed hesitant, but after a second nodded and release my hand. “Okay, we’ll be over in an hour and a half. We’ll get the food and snacks, so don’t worry about it.”

A thumbs up from me and then I was headed home. My apartment was a distance from theirs just to avoid nonsense, but not so far that it was very out of the way. When I got inside I did exactly what I said I would. Cleaned the living room and kitchen. I pulled the large bean bag chair closer to the couches and then got comfy. Some sweats and a SHINee tour shirt I’d gotten forever ago.

By the time all that was done and I’d finished parting and braiding my hair an hour had passed. So with that time I’d settled in my seat and pulled out my phone. I checked Twitter and saw accounts Soompi had already posted about the statement being out, which was perfect.

I read the statement through and was pleased with it. Flattered even by the protectiveness of it. Of course, they’d protect the boys, but they’d made it a point to not attack me and were mostly coming for those who’d sent direct threats and hate my way.

With that out of the way I took a deep breath and began typing out my message; a few sentences in I switched to the notes app.

I’ve tried to be as calm as possible about all this drama, but it’s starting to get hard. To constantly have people grasp at straws to form some “scandal” that doesn’t even exist is tiresome. For the third time, a group of people have created this romantic relationship that Yoongi and I don’t have. They called me names, attacked my appearance, my race, and my work. All because they’ve deluded themselves into thinking he and I are together. Because they’re deluded themselves into thinking they have some hold on people who are human and adults who are free to live their lives.

In truth, I’m not even that bothered it all, but I’ll be damned if I allow this shit to keep going unchecked. To get to a point where it messes up my friendships and my job opportunities. But thankfully I don’t have to do the checking. I’m very thankful to Bang PDnim for his support on this. He didn’t have to deal with those directly attacking only me, but he did.

I don’t want to have to go through this again, because I will not be as pleasant the next time around.

Once finished and checked for spelling errors I took screenshots and quote tweeted the statement from the official BigHit Twitter page. Once that was done I muted Twitter and sat my phone on the coffee table.

Before I got the chance to relax through my doorbell was ringing. Sighing, I hopped to my feet and went to the panel. The video showed Yoongi by his lonesome, which threw me off, but I let him in nonetheless and returned to the couch.

A few seconds later he was in the living room ad staring at me intently. It made me very uneasy.

“We need to talk,” he said.

My heart stopped and I felt nausea stirring. Being scared, nervous or sad always made me physically sick and those words in the situation we were in hit my nerves bad.

Yoongi must have seen the shift in me because his expression softened and he shook his head.

“Not like that. Nothing bad, I promise. But you know, we should talk. We should have talked a while ago.”

He wasn't wrong and though he assured me that things were fine, I still felt nervous. Though at least it wasn’t nervous because I thought he and/or all of the boys wanted to end our friendship.

I motioned for him to take a seat and he did, turning to face me head-on. The intensity that he had before returned, but without the dauntingness of it all. Though when he says nothing and we sit in silence for what feels like five minutes I become a tad more unnerved.

“Were you ever going to tell me that you returned my feelings?” Was what he eventually opened with and was not what I expected him to say first.

My face dropped and my eyes narrowed on him. “How can one say they return feelings they don’t know the other has.”

He scoffed. “You knew.”

I couldn’t stop the eye roll that came. “One can assume, but until it’s stated cannot know. So, unless you said ‘Hey Kendall, I like you’ and meant it in a romantic way I couldn’t know anything.”

“Hey Kendall, I like you. And not in a platonic way, I want to date you,” he blurted out.

Even though he’d basically confirmed it without saying so I still froze in surprise. And then an intense bout of happiness washed through me. I tried to push down the smile that was taking form, but I couldn’t and could feel the slight tingle from smiling too hard.

Yoongi was smiling too, his possibly wider than mine.

“So…” he trailed off, watching me closely.

Took a second for me to realize he was waiting for me to respond to him. “Oh goodness, same. Wait, no. Not same. Still wrong. Wait. Okay. I would also like you in the sense that I would date you.”

By the time I’d finally gotten it out he was laughing at me being a mess and I couldn’t help but join in. Then he stopped and was leaning closer to me. His hand cupped my cheek and my gaze flickered to his lips for a moment before meeting his eyes. They held such gentleness that it made me even more giddy to kiss him, but when his lips were barely touching mines I pulled back.

My brain wouldn't allow me to experience the happiness though. I had a new fear, one that was quite ridiculous and I regretted saying aloud. It needed to be addressed though because it would surely be something we had no other choice but to deal with.

“But wait, they just made a statement that we weren’t. What if this time they actually get something tangible and things spiral even more. I can handle most of their bullshit, but this could get worse and it would be worse for you than for me; especially here. I know Bang can only take so much of all of this.”

“Well…” he paused and I could tell he didn’t have the answer either.

Before we could recover to discuss the doorbell rang again and I knew I couldn’t leave the boys in the hallway, someone could see them and possibly get photos to start another round of nonsense.

So, I got off the couch and spent the rest of the night engaged, but distracted and confused.

[aroworlds]

Aro-Spec Artist Profile: Nate

Our next aro-spec creator is Nate, better known on Tumblr as @astriiformes!

Nate is an asexual, aromantic, neurodivergent and mentally ill trans guy/person continuing the tradition of aro-spec creators demonstrating an impressive diversity of talent. He writes, cosplays, creates filk music and produces visual art--and that’s when he’s not playing D&D and attending conventions!

You can find him on Twitter as planar_ranger and on 8tracks as azhdarchidaen. He’s also found on AO3 as azhdarchidaen, with a prolific selection of works for the Gravity Falls, Doctor Who, Critical Role and Pacific Rim fandoms! If you have a dollar or two you’re wanting to invest in worthy aro-spec talent, please take a look at Nate’s Ko-Fi!

With us Nate talks about expressing emotions through creativity, the intersection of aromanticism and perfectionism, the importance of storytelling as self-expression and his passion for D&D as a way of giving voice to his aromantic experience. His love for fandom, creativity and storytelling shines through every word, so please let’s give him all our love, encouragement, gratitude, kudos and follows for taking the time to explore what it is to be aromantic and creative.

Can you share with us your story in being aro-spec?

While I didn’t know the word “aromantic” until I was 15 or 16, and took a while to embrace it even then, when I look back on my childhood I can definitely see some of the earliest signs. Perhaps the most prominent was my mild disappointment at age 12 or 13 in discovering the Star Wars EU novels only to learn that Luke Skywalker, one of my most pervasively favorite characters since I first watched the movies and likely my earliest aro headcanon, ended up getting married! I ended up writing what was technically my first fanfiction after that discovery, an alternate take on the post-Return of the Jedi universe in which he didn’t.

But I didn’t really start to realize I was aro, or even know it was an identity at all, until two things happened. First, I joined an LGBTQA+ group on a writer’s forum I used to frequent and started to not only learn the vocabulary but also that identifying as something other than straight or cis was even allowed. Second, I entered what was essentially the closest thing to a romantic relationship I’ve ever experienced. By some measures it probably was one, but there really wasn’t much romance involved – because I wasn’t pushing it (for reasons that are now obvious to me), and the guy I was sort-of-dating was pretty respectful of my boundaries and was probably waiting for me to make some of those moves before trying himself. The relationship eventually broke off several months after he moved to Europe. He messaged me to say he felt bad about the fact that our long-distance “relationship” was probably holding me back from finding someone I could be happier with, and he would be more comfortable breaking it off. The fact that I felt no real sadness over that was a fairly big bit of evidence for my aromanticism, second only to the fact that I had actually become more comfortable with our situation when he moved across the Atlantic Ocean.

Clues like those eventually lead me to adopt the label and really begin to understand myself, I think around age 16 or 17. I went through a slow process of accepting all my queer identities one-by-one and kind of see them all as pretty interconnected. The aro one was in the middle.

Can you share with us the story behind your creativity?

I really like making things. For all the frustration I experience trying to write something I’m happy with, or panicked near all-nighters trying to finish props before a convention, I really am at my happiest when I have projects to engage in. I take a lot of pride in my identity as a content creator as a result, though it also means I can set discouragingly high standards for myself. That being said, there’s nothing that makes me happier that someone enjoying something I put time and effort into and being able to go “I made this.”

Writing was definitely my earliest outlet (I did draw things when I was younger, but I didn’t show my art to anyone until this time last year). I was posting fics (under a different username, fortunately; I don’t want my early teenage writing unearthed ten years later) on ff.net by early high school, a narrative I’m sure I share with plenty of other creators. I’ve done more interesting things with my writing since migrating over to AO3 though, and I continue to feel like my writing is growing (even if, sometimes, I worry it’s going too slowly).

Getting into cosplay was something I picked up only a year or so later, though again, comparing my current work to those first few attempts feels almost silly. My first cosplay was a patched-together Eighth Doctor mostly made out of thrift store finds that looked only debatably like the real deal. Since then, I’ve gotten better at sewing my own things and have realized one of my true strengths lies in elaborate props. My two most recent cosplays were Stanford Pines from Gravity Falls, with a fully-illustrated and screen-accurate copy of the third journal, complete with blacklight effects, and Taako, from The Adventure Zone, with an Umbra Staff that I had re-covered in fabric and had fully-functional LED “stars” built into it, stars I could make twinkle via a secret remote. I’m attempting two characters that are even more ambitious for conventions this year, but we’ll have to see how that actually goes…

My filk contributions aren’t massive, but the community aspect (and that it connected me to someone who is now one of my closest friends, who made me go from enjoying the genre to contributing to it) and some of the things I’ve done as a result of it make me feel it has a place as part of my creative identity. You haven’t lived until you’ve performed decades-old songs about space travel with your friends, in cosplay, in a crowded convention center! (Okay, a debatable statement. But a truly wild experience.) It’s also been a good outlet for me in some ways, because music is a powerful way to get across emotions. I play viola and piano, and have for years, so I knew that to some degree before I started writing my own lyrics to things. But personalizing songs by making them be about things you have really strong feelings for is another level entirely.

And then, art. Like I said, I never really shared it with anyone (or drew much at all) until about a year ago. Part of that was due to wanting to try my hand at digital art but not really having an understanding of what programs to use or how to get started with it, and part of it was the inertia of feeling like “if I’m not good at something immediately, I shouldn’t try at all!” The thing that really got the ball rolling for me is the long D&D campaign I’m currently in. When I was excited about other stories, chances were someone else had drawn art of it that I could enjoy and reblog. That’s not really the case with one you’re telling with only 5-6 other people. I had a sort of epiphany moment a couple months into the campaign, as the story really started picking up, that if I wanted to see the kind of art I appreciate for this new story I was falling in love with, I would probably have to do it myself. I’m still not incredibly happy with my work, since I’m surrounded by friends who are incredible artists and my style is fairly simplistic and oddly stylized, but I have gotten to a point where I draw fairly regularly, and generally put up what I create on our shared campaign blog. The same D&D game has wrenched over 15k words of original writing from me, which is pretty astonishing. Most of that isn’t anywhere to be found on Tumblr just yet, though – it’s largely still-top secret character backstory.

Are there any particular ways your aro-spec experience is expressed in your art?

The most obvious way is that I write fics about characters being aromantic and dealing with their aromanticism. All headcanons, unfortunately (I’m yet to find a canon aro in anything I love that I didn’t help create myself), but there are several stories on my AO3 about characters from Pacific Rim, Star Wars or Gravity Falls realizing they’re aromantic. And the fics that don’t deal with that are still all gen – I’m too romance-repulsed to write anything else, and I feel the world needs a lot more genfic anyways.

One other way, though I feel a bit silly calling it “art”, is that I am intentionally playing an aromantic character of my own creation in my current D&D campaign. I’ve been playing for several years now, and did have another character back in high school who I also imagined as aromantic. (Partially because of an awkward flirting mishap – an enemy tried to get my character off her guard with romance and it all backfired because she didn’t know how to respond. All my own fault – I don’t even know how to roleplay that!) But none of the campaigns I’ve played in until this one were particularly intent on exploring characters and their feelings all that deeply, or really making them a part of the story.

With my current character, it’s become incredibly validating to view him as aromantic and asexual, like myself. It’s that same impulse that got me started doing more art – if the fiction I like isn’t going to provide me with aromantic characters, I’ll have to make one myself! And it’s slowly leading to some very interesting explorations of aro identity and the normalising of it in our world. We’ve established that identifying that way isn’t particularly unusual for elves and talked about what that means for worldbuilding. Do they hold platonic relationships in the same regard as romantic ones? Is there a special kind of relationship that signifies that? What if we put friendship under the banner of the goddess of romantic love too? Though at the same time, I’m exploring some of the same feelings I experience with him – he’s a particularly lonely person, who worries about people actually wanting to stay with him, both of which are prominent features of my own aromantic experience.

What challenges do you face as an aro-spec artist?

Like many of us, I do worry that my genfics will be less enjoyed or circulated as a result of choosing not to include ships. And whenever I post a fic about a character actually being aro, I definitely get that little stab of “Someone is going to have a problem with this” fear.

I also feel that my experience with aromanticism has shaped a lot of my perfectionistic tendencies. Because I worry so much about trying to remain important in my allo friends’ lives, and because I think of so much of my identity as associated with creativity, I tend to get really wrapped up in my work needing to seem amazing somehow, to make people think I’m worth their time. It’s a silly thing to get preoccupied over, but it has had an impact on me. In some ways wanting my work to be really good is not a bad thing – it encourages me to do my very best whenever I can – but the motivation is really all wrong.

How do you connect to the aro-spec and a-spec communities as an aro-spec person?

I’m honestly pretty disconnected from them. I might be less-inclined to be if this website wasn’t suddenly experiencing such backlash against a-spec identities, but as is I’m almost afraid to engage with anything that might make me a target. Which is really unfortunate. That being said, whenever I do make any aro content and I see it circulated to other aromantic people, I get a lot of joy from it. The comments on my multiple aromantic-focused fics are some of my favorite ones I’ve ever received. If I can channel my experiences into something that elicits that kind of a reaction from our community, I consider my work well done.

How do you connect to your creative community as an aro-spec person?

When I’m able to talk to other aromantic people about headcanons (or even some of my very understanding allo friends who absorb them from me, too), pretty well! Unfortunately, that’s a pretty tiny fraction of my fandom experience. Even some of my interests where you’d think I wouldn’t run into problems have been difficult at times. I once had someone dressed as a character often (non-canonically) shipped with the one I was cosplaying, and they assumed that I would be interested in hearing that they shipped our character. Instead, they just made me very uncomfortable, particularly with the way they chose to do so.

In general, the expectation that as a member of fandom, producing fandom works, I will be interested in creating and consuming romantic content is hard to deal with. I’ve had people ask me to put ships in my fics, the aforementioned convention incident, and been heckled over having aromantic headcanons at all. That being said, aromantic headcanons were how I met at least a few of my good friends. Finding each other may be hard, but since we all feel so isolated I think that finding other aro creators inhabiting the same or similar spaces can lead to pretty quick bonding, or at least an appreciation of each others’ works. I do like that.

I’ve also, as I have mentioned a couple times now, realized the worth of telling my own stories, particularly if I have other people to share them with who will respond positively. Right now, most of my D&D group is not aro, but they are a group that respects my and my character’s identities, and being able to tell an aro narrative that means a lot to me and get a positive response is a breath of fresh air. I count them as fellow content creators and they’ve really encouraged the story I want to tell. I hope that someday the inspiration I’ve gained from that will lead me to publishing my own original fiction (with aro characters, of course), but it’s been due to this small start that I’ve decided that’s something I could realistically pursue.

How can the aro-spec community best help you as a creative?

Comments on my fics are one of the biggest things that keep me writing, so they’ll always be a boon to me. Even old ones. It makes me happy to see people still reading and enjoying them. Same goes for reblogs of any of my stuff – art, writing, filk, cosplay photos, anything else I might post. The biggest thing that keeps me wanting to create and share more creative works is knowing that other people are enjoying them, so if you do enjoy them, any way you can let me know that is wonderful.

I do hope that in some point in the future I’ll have original fiction available and a science writing blog (I consider non-fiction to be creative expression, as long as you’re putting your spark into it!), but neither exists quite yet. If you follow me on either of my main platforms though, those might pop up someday. Seeing either be circulated when the time comes would be massive. I also intend to, perhaps in the much nearer future, start publishing D&D content (likely homebrew 5e subclasses, but who knows) on the DMsGuild, starting with a pay-what-you-want model for downloading my content. If that goes up and I make something you’re interested in, and you want to pay something for it at all, I would be massively grateful.

Can you share with us something about your current project?

I’ve been working on a Critical Role Modern AU story since January or so that places heavy emphasis on the platonic relationships in the show (Percy and Keyleth’s is particularly dear to me, so they’re likely to get a fair bit of the spotlight) that’s my most current fandom fic.

I’m also tackling two ambitious cosplays at the moment, though the timeframe is making me wonder if I’ll actually pull either off. Especially given what I need to get done. One involves sewing pseudo-historical menswear, and I’m going to have to learn how to make armor for the other one. If I can figure it all out though, I’m really excited about them both!

Have you any forthcoming works we should look forward to?

Hopefully the next chapter of the CR fic, if I get hit with the inspiration (and motivation) to work on it soon. I also have another aromantic Luke Skywalker fic I really want to get down on paper at some point, though thus far it’s proven a little elusive.

My two big cosplay projects are Percy de Rolo (from Critical Role), which I intend to take to a local convention, and Erwyn, my own D&D character. I hope to do a photoshoot with the rest of the players as their own characters sometime late this summer.

As for art, I fully intend to keep drawing major or touching moments from my ongoing campaign, likely with much more frequency than any of the things above. It may not be as engaging for people to interact with as my fandom-focused projects are, but I still really do love sharing it.

[rtcessays]

Essay 1

I heard you killed your only friend last year Disarm The fog won’t lift in your town

Q’s for Lise

What inspired you to sit down and write, what it sounds like you assumed would be a one shot, or at the least the start of a very short and sweet ‘verse?

I definitely initially thought it would be a one-shot, and honestly as I wrote it I didn’t even know that I was going to publish it. I can’t exactly remember what I was thinking - pretty early on after watching The Avengers for the first time my girlfriend started me thinking about Steve and Loki, though initially not necessarily as a pairing - just as a pair that might have interesting interactions. The plot mostly came from needing an excuse for them to interact and having a deep, abiding love of whump.

Basically, “how do I put Steve and Loki in a place together and get them to have a conversation? Oh, I know, I’ll just beat Loki up.”

Was there a clear point where you said something like, ‘Hey, there might be more to this than I originally thought?’ through this first series of installments?

Yes.

Disarm mostly happened because I felt like I’d left some hanging threads, and started imagining what the next meeting between Steve and Loki - on more equal footing - might look like. So I wrote that one, mostly thinking “well, I’ll just see what happens here”, hit the end of it, and went “wait, there’s definitely more here that I want to write.”

It seems like pretty early that I knew I started shipping them - already Disarm is marked as pre-slash. But I don’t think I started out with what became sort of the goal of this first segment of fics: getting them to a point where they were really in a relationship. I think it wasn’t really until I was midway through the third fic that I realized where this all was going and started to think I might have tripped into something.

a/n for the essay from ‘I heard you killed your only friend last year’:

I am still hilariously new to all things this fandom and sincerely apologize for any inaccuracies.

Where were you at when you first started? Had you been reading comics your whole life, or was this your introduction to these characters?

The only comics I’d read at the time I started writing RTC were a few scattered Batman comics, Sandman, Lucifer, and some fables. I hadn’t opened a single Marvel comic in my life, and while I watched Thor in 2011 nothing really came of it. I don’t remember watching any of the other movies when they came out, though I might have and just not really left an impression.

Then I went to The Avengers in May of 2012 and just got - slammed. Suddenly I had all these feelings about characters, especially Loki, with a whole new amount of intensity. I started writing fic for the MCU almost immediately after I got out of the theater, of which I heard you killed your only friend was a very early one. At the time, I had no idea what I was doing. I mean, I went back and watched everything over again, and began my deep dive into comics fandom (starting with Black Widow), but...May 2012 was really where my MCU pit started. --

Remember This Cold has humble beginnings in I heard you killed your only friend last year. What eventually becomes a richly filled ‘verse begins almost as a writer’s exercise. How does character A respond to character B, and vice versa. It is a laboratory environment, poking and prodding at the two in order to determine...well, we’re not sure exactly, at first. And that is for the best, as we have the pleasure of unfolding this particular mystery as the author does.

The back and forth of Steve and Loki’s interactions, sizing one another up  through the fic, is reflective of the author feeling out the belief that Loki and Steve are viable as a pairing, and investigating how their beliefs, morals, and cadences fit together. Lise has come to be synonymous with Loki, but her voice for Steve is dead on accurate, right from the start. Also, her understanding that Steve is layered, and has a depth that goes overlooked in the source material (remember this was written post Avengers).

There’s a magnetism to this iteration of Loki that the reader feels through Steve. Steve Rogers is an upstanding gentleman through and through, known for doing the right thing. There’s no grappling with this for him, as he quietly insists on taking care of someone who just leveled Manhattan. But is there more to it?

“Just something to think about,” Steve said, after a moment. “If you get tired of running.”

Its a nice set up for further exploration, which follows in Disarm, wherein we begin Loki’s penchant for showing up unannounced. For those of us waiting for the romantic elements to be included, the rapid slow burn is tantalizing from the first scene. Steve is playing ethics with Loki, to a degree, and Loki...well, Loki is kind of slippery. Being from Steve’s perspective, Loki’s machinations are secret and therefore, more captivating.

For new readers, its almost a requirement to travel back in time in order to picture this Loki. Deliberately made out as a menacing villain, it is a largely flat characterization. The beauty of fanfiction, of course, is we can breathe life and breadth into a character. Making room for an eventual romantic focus is secondary to making room for a more rounded out individual who might be capable of such a thing. We just begin to see it in how Steve’s tempered treatment seems to get under Loki’s skin.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder, they say. Steve’s thoughts may be preoccupied with Loki, but upon being confronted by them, the reader imagines he might feel like a mouse being batted around by a cat. Loki’s speech is a rabbit warren of clues and suggestions, none of which Steve has the conversational skills to navigate. But, that doesn’t do anything to assuage his patience or curiosity. The questions of ‘how can Steve stand by and allow this to go on’ may start to come up. Is it unfair that he treat Loki with some kind of deference? Maybe it is. Maybe, just maybe, Steve Rogers has a flaw or two. Alternatively, its possible there’s more to Loki than meets the eye, and Steve’s instincts are serving him well.

Almost too literally, Steve gets a peek at Loki’s true state and when he pushes, he only gets Loki’s verbose command of language. That all changes when Loki shows his underbelly, and Steve sees what being dogged by (presumably) Thanos or the Chitauri has cost him. Loki views Steve as a safe place, that much is obvious, but the reader is left to wonder why. Is it because Steve would do the right thing and Loki knows it? Is it a sign of something more? Hmm.

The notion that this is a thought exercise is expunged by the time we reach the fog won’t lift in your town. It’s subtle, but the potential transition to something altogether not platonic is illustrated in this first sign of attraction:

He [Loki] glanced down at the pear and took another bite of it, eyes drifting closed in what looked like blissful delight. “Mmm,” he said, head tilted slightly back, and Steve felt the inexplicable urge to look away.

Its a brief interlude, perhaps almost a foreshadowing. The m/m reader is sitting up straight, now; the author has our attention as themes might begin to shift.

“You would not. You will find, Captain, that believing a thing, no matter how passionately, does not make it so.”

Loki says this, and it is a moment where you can see past his dramatic airs to find a truth of his. And it’s of course as cynical as Steve is optimistic. These little morsels we get in the back and forth that’s flavored the series so far are gems that keep you hooked, and allow you to truly begin to fall for a character.

The stakes are raised when their conversation, as it sometimes does, turns into a concern over who’s allowed to do what. Steve can’t turn his back to Loki, Loki can play the puppet master and toy with Steve. Expressly forbidding it, Steve makes to leave and Loki’s having none of it. Though, once Steve does in fact stay, we get another one of those morsels when Loki admits it is easiest for him to be cruel.

Then, he’s more or less threatening the Avengers should Steve not keep his repeated presence a secret, and we’ve snapped back to the persona Loki has been favoring. Steve, as ever, doesn’t care. He presses on, and claims his debt in the form of Loki doing a good deed. Sometimes it's hard to determine if Steve is deluded, or if Loki is the one who doesn’t truly know himself.

Good deed or no, one has to wonder why Loki chose to text Steve. Maybe I’m reading too much into it, but Loki is adding another way to communicate with Steve, only to show up in person once Steve has seen the news coverage. Its another subtle nod to what’s to come.

A noted marker of more of the same is the epithet of ‘my Captain’. Without Loki’s perspective, we can only guess at where he’s coming from...which in itself is a quagmire. We’re best left to trust the author and continue enjoying the ride.

Take a risk, he [Steve] told himself, and tried to ignore the little voice that said he was taking too many.

This in response to Loki bringing up Steve’s potential melancholy for things that were, it is notable in that Steve is becoming maybe a little conscious of how he is compromising himself. Let us not forget that that is, contrary to some belief, not entirely out of character for him. Taking risks got him to where he is, in countless variations on a theme. His willingness to be vulnerable pays off, as Loki admits simply that there are, in fact, things he misses about Asgard.

As we continue, Steve grows more bold and Loki somewhat more callus. He brings up Bucky Barnes, and though initially not by name, it’s obvious who he’s referring to. It is here that Steve tries drawing a line in the sand.

“Don’t try to tell me that,” Steve interrupted. “You don’t like something I say, say so. Don’t just – don’t just take off and then come back determined to have some kind of revenge. You can’t – go around hurting people just because they hurt you.”

“Why not,” Loki said, his voice lofty, but there was something low and vicious underneath. “That is the world, is it not? Give and take. Action and reaction. Strike and retaliation.”

And here we have two opposing sets of beliefs. Steve proceeds to shut down the conversation, and that is how the scene ends, before opening up into a new scene, a slow revelation that something happened and Steve has been hurt. Loki is there when he wakes, which is maddening! How long has he been there with him, one wants to know, and do the other Avengers know? Loki is clearly distressed. Here we have some explicit emotional whump, as Loki insists he’s simply not trustworthy. Steve might be tired, hurt, and out of it perhaps, but it bears out more of his emotion.

“No, and I was wrong.” He needed to salvage this, and wasn’t sure why it was so important, only that it was.

It’s important because Loki has become part of his life, and Loki needed to understand Steve saw things in him Loki probably refused to believe he could ever possess. Our final segment concludes on a very good recap: 

Still. He couldn’t help but feel a little twinge of something like hope. Maybe just a little. Four steps forward, three steps back.

Even if he still didn’t know where they were going, or if, or why. It was still something.

[vieuxnoyesrp]

Dani. We’ve been reading your paras on our dash for over a year now, but that hasn’t dulled our eager anticipation. You have an incredible talent for capturing the wit and tone of your characters, and after reading your application, we are confident your Rebekah will be no different. In fact, Rebekah comes at a critical moment for the Mikaelson siblings, who will be facing some difficult decisions in the upcoming months. With your keen eye for Rebekah’s many idiosyncracies, we look forward to seeing how you tackle her complex mental landscape.

Dani, thank you very much for applying. As for Rebekah…

            ⚜ ~ WELCOME TO VIEUX NOYÉS!!! ~ ⚜

Wondering what to do next? Click here and let the good times roll!

⤜ Name/alias: Dani

⤜ Pronouns: She/Her

⤜ Age: 21

⤜ Timezone: EST

⤜ Activity: Excluding the last few months of mayhem I try to be on and up to date as often as possible.  Now that things have been more stable I plan to be on more often than I have been which is good!

⤜ Best form of contact:  Katherine’s blog!

⤜ Any Triggers? (If so, please tell us how you want the subject to be treated in this roleplay (whether to be tagged accordingly or avoided completely, etc.) Shootings, Eating Disorders, Sexual Assault

⤜ How did you find Vieux Noyés? Rose!

⤜ What drew you to the RP? Working with you lot before I knew how creative you all are, and how hardworking. The rp was incredibly detailed and inventive off the bat, and since I’ve been here, the community has been overwhelmingly positive and motivating.

⤜ What is one subplot/element from the Plot page that you are particularly looking forward to seeing in this roleplay?

I’m looking forward to seeing the plotline between the New Orleans coven and the Salem witches unfold! It sounds brilliant.

⚜ Desired Character:

⤜ Why do you want this character?

I want to play Rebekah because I really want to explore what I feel is the most complex part of her: the way she loves. I think Rebekah’s way of loving people, the way she attempts to build relationships as an Original vampire, and as a young woman who’s always had men at the helm of her greater decisions, opens up a lot of opportunity for self-discovery, character growth, and resolution of past traumas. I’d love to give that writing a go.

⤜ What are your future plans for this character?

Along with the arc that’s already been set in motion for her in her bio, I want to see Rebekah get to a point where she realizes that the way out of abusive relationships, isn’t through the development of more abusive relationships. I think as much as she does genuinely want to love and be loved in return, she has a history of choosing one love over another instead of choosing herself, or teaming up with a love of hers to take down a worse, more abusive love in her life ( by love i mean any type, familial/platonic/romantic/etc). I would like to see Rebekah also come to a better understanding of what love is, and how love/loyalty, and gratitude/responsibility play a part in the development of her relationships.

⤜ Put yourself in your character’s shoes. Give us a few lines to describe a day in the life of your character… Where do they live? Where and how do they spend their time?

Rebekah Mikaelson lives in a very nice parisian-style apartment by Jackson Square. She seldom holes herself up inside though, and uses her apartment largely to pamper herself or relax after a long day of family drama. Bex gets bored pretty easily when there’s nothing to do but stay in all day. So she keeps herself busy.. She’s pretty sociable when she isn’t focused on family, plotting, or getting something done,, so she knows a few of the people in her neighborhood well. The only neighbor she talks to regularly is the older woman on the floor below her. She’s been doubling as the wife and caretaker of her husband of forty-three years. Rebekah gets coffee at one of the charming cafe’s in Jackson Square whenever she’s on the go before noon, and goes to her favorite boutique salon south of Bourbon Street every week. With her plans to take down Nic in the works, she spends a good amount of time at the compound, well aware that going too long without seeing or hearing from her might raise suspicions. And yes, even with her hands full, Rebekah makes time for the nightlife. But the best bars in her area always get crowded by his ex and his band of misfit toys, so she’s calculating about who she runs into in a $500 cocktail dress.

⤜ Give us three headcanons regarding your character of choice.

Running from her father, Mikael, for the last several centuries, and being daggered and shoved into a box for decades has made Rebekah less of a sentimental fool when it comes to knickknacks and keepsakes. She can be materialistic, but if there’s one thing she’s learned it’s that there’s no point in being a hoarder when one is immortal. The only things she keeps from her past are a handful of objects from her human life, some which are stowed safely in their more memorable homes ( and the secret rooms within those walls ), while others are at the hands of astoundingly plain dopplegangers. When it comes to those keepsakes, Rebekah remains viciously attached.

Rebekah has always loved music and dancing, and though there are some exceptions, presently it isn’t easy for her to sit through anything top 40. Music changes so rapidly that in her lifetimes she’s developed a bit of a versatile, and incredibly picky taste for most of it. Dance music is tolerable under the right circumstances, but for the most part, she prefers alternative R&B and Indie.

The 1920s was Rebekah’s favorite decade right before Klaus daggered her. For a while she had the best of both worlds, Stefan’s love and her brother’s approval. To this day she reminisces about how those few months had brought her and her older brother closer than they’d been in centuries. She’s still bitter about everything that’s happened since, but it doesn’t change the fact that she’d been happy once, and that it counts even after all the bad that followed.

⤜ What are some plots you’d like to explore with your character?

I’m really hoping to explore the tug-of-war relationship Klaus and Rebekah have with Elijah. She’s always felt like the one left out whenever the two are on good terms, or whenever Elijah’s seeking Klaus’ redemption, and Elijah’s always played the mediator, perhaps despite Klaus’ personal preferences as to who should be head of the household.. I think it’d be really cool to see that trio interacting and reaching a point where Elijah may end up on the opposing side of both of them.

I’d also like to explore Rebekah’s relationship with Marcel. The scattered bits of history between them hint at a lot of betrayal and mistakes on both their parts, I think it’d be cool to see them duke it out on who really broke who’s heart at the end of all things, and whether blame is really enough to soothe those wounds at this point.

Lastly, I’d want to explore Rebekah’s inner turmoil when it comes to liberty versus loyalty. I feel like Rebekah has always wanted freedom and has always wanted love and family, but believes she can never have one without giving up the other - mostly where Klaus and Elijah are involved. I’d like to find out what it is that makes her fight for freedom a second priority. Is it only circumstantial, or is freedom what she actually wants? Does she ever hope to have both?

⤜ Para sample: (The sample must be in character, in third-person, and at least 300 words. Samples with dialogue are encouraged.)

     (RFP)

⤜ Would you like to be considered for another character if not accepted as your primary choice? Nope nope

⤜ Have you read the rules?: Yes, I have.

⤜ Anything else? That’s it!

[softplacepod]

Episode 1: Sugar, Butter, Flour

Show notes & transcript below the cut.

SHOW NOTES:

“A Soft Place to Land,” from Waitress, sung by Jessie Mueller, Keala Seattle, and Kimiko Glenn.

Schitt's Creek

Stardew Valley

"Dead Stars,” by Ada Limón, from The Carrying (2018)

TRANSCRIPT:

Hello, bees. It's me, Sara, sending you light and love, and also a bunch of things I've been super into lately that I think might be your jam. Welcome to A Soft Place to Land.

[music]

Item the first: "A Soft Place to Land,” from Waitress, sung by Jessie Mueller, Keala Seattle, and Kimiko Glenn.

Or, a title track to parenthood.

[clip: opening]

This whole musical has, more often than not, been on my mind since I've had a kid. It's not only about kids, of course, but so much of it reflects on the ways we grow up, and how our raising stays with us and shapes us, for good or ill, forever. And this song specifically just breaks my heart every time I hear it.

I want, more than anything in the world, for my kid to grow up happy - not all the time, not Stepford-style, but fundamentally happy. Secure in the knowledge that she is so loved, no matter what, that nothing she could ever do or say or not do or not say could change that. Fearless to be herself in the knowledge that behind her are people who stand ready and waiting to catch her, to carry her, to clap as she soars.

Growing up any other way leaves scars, and they never really heal, and I am walking around trying to bear them and maintain them and maybe forget about a few while trying very, very hard not to give any of them to my kid. She's going to have some stuff, and she's going to go through pain, and she's going to cry and be sad and get her feelings hurt, and I want very much for none of it to wound her so deeply she turns inward.

[clip: a dream needs believing / to taste like the real thing]

So, how do I do that? How do I singlehandedly prevent my trauma from messing up my kid?

First I forget the concept of doing anything singlehandedly, ever. The rest is...a process. I rein in my own ish as much as I can, I am honest when I can be about the struggles I'm having, I talk about parenting in a complicated world with one of my very good friends (we have a podcast, I'll link it below). I talk to people. I listen to my kid when she talks, and when she sings, and when she's quiet. I ask her how she feels, if she's proud of herself, if she needs a hug, if she'd rather have some quiet time. I give her space and I ask for it when I need it, and more than anything in the world I try, against my own nature, to tell her and show her how much she is loved.

I do what I can with who I am to give her a soft place to land, and I hope to the universe that it's enough, and I take a deep breath and I do it again.

[music]

Item the Second: the final season of Schitt's Creek

Or, a reminder that where things start doesn't dictate where they go.

[clip: little bit alexis]

Look, okay, if you're an Internet person you likely don't need me to yell about how much Schitt's Creek means to me. It starts, I will freely admit, as a sort of skimmed version of Arrested Development, but quickly shows you that it's actually doing something much more interesting and difficult. It is instead a show about family, yes, but a family that is forced by circumstance to reassess who they are and who they are to each other, and finds the beating heart at the center of their relationships. Stripped of all the obstacles they'd joyfully embraced to keep themselves apart, they find joy.

It's about love - romantic and platonic, mixed-up and weird and shifting - and about acceptance of yourself and of other people. It's a show that, like eternal favorite Leverage, began with characters who completely changed when compared to the people they are now, but are still those people underneath. David is still the vain, needy, insecure, damaged person he was in the premiere, but he's also beloved and loving, generous and funny, kind (especially when no one is looking) and clever. Alexis, who I love more than air, is still brittle in some ways, and too comfortable being overlooked while still angry about it, and prone to take on anything anyone will hand her out of fear no one would ask. But, too, she's found her strength, and her passion, and some of the truths at the center of herself, and she's built a life that works for her, and she's chosen that life again and again. They all have.

[clip: what's your secret stevie]

For me, there's no story I'd rather see than that one. The building a life where you are and making it work for you, the "change is inevitable and needed but I am still who I am" narrative: that's my jam, eternally. I choose this life, every day, and I will keep choosing it.

Also, and this is sincere, Schitt's Creek gave me some of the best ways to talk to my straight friends about the dreams I have re: my own queerness, avenues of conversation I'd never thought of before. Plus, the fanfic is almost uniformly sweet and great, so.

[music]

Item the third: Stardew Valley

Or, a life that means something.

[clip: stardew valley overture]

This is the best video game. It's three years old, and it's on basically every platform, and it has brought me more peace than any one media item has in years.

The basic gist is that it's a farming simulator, mostly. You inherit a derelict farm in a tiny town when your grandfather passes away, and you take it as a chance to escape your soul-crushing cubicle job for a megacorp. And you get there, and everything is difficult. You can barely swing your pickaxe to break up the rocks to make room for a first pitiful planting of parsnips, and you don't have any friends, and there's junk and weeds all over this land that, you suddenly see, you are solely responsible for. And there's a town with people in it, some of whom are nice enough and some of whom seem desperate to ignore you, and you have a little exclamation point urging you to talk to all of them at least once.

Then you look up and it's been a year or two or three. Your crops do just fine, and the chickens in the big  coop cluck happily. You have friends, maybe a partner, and the rhythm of the community has embraced you. You have a place here, standing. You have a life that you've built one swing of your axe at a time.

And that's the thing about it. It's not a game you win, exactly, though of course (like the Sims) you can try to min-max your crop yields, or romance every character, or finish every offered quest line. You can try to make enough money to never have to work again. You can choose to side with the megacorp - they're here, too, because capitalism is inescapable - and kill off the remaining kindness of the town.

But it's a life that matters. Your choices may not affect Abigail's daily routine, but you can play video games and music with her, and encourage her to use the bravery and curiosity that's so obvious about her to go exploring, like she wants. You can't make Shane's alcoholism or depression disappear, but you can encourage him to get the help he needs, and cheer with him as he finds joy again. You can't make George a happy person, exactly, but you can become his friend.

[clip: distant banjo]

It's a life where you can't starve to death or fall ill or be evicted, where your friends are always excited to see you, where your work goes out into your community and you see results from it, where you can have a house and a family and a pet if you want them. A life that's small and quiet, yes - you can't become the mayor, or end the war that's referenced - but far from inconsequential. And there are changes you can make to better your community, small and large alike, and there are people you can help, and there are things you can create. It's a dream of a life that's not defined by anything but what you think of it.

It's silly, maybe, to talk about a video game like that, but there it is: a game that at its heart thinks capitalism is a bad idea, that creativity is the best thing about being a person, that relationships matter more than basically everything else, that nobody likes getting holly as a gift. A place where everyone in town comes out to the fair or the wedding or the jellyfish migration, and you have a place to stand, too. A life you build yourself, a home you make.

[music]

Item the final: "Dead Stars" by Ada Limón, from The Carrying (2018)

Or, being a nest of trying.

Ada Limón is, and has been for a few years now, my favorite poet. Oh, Richard Siken and Mary Oliver and Eve Ewing, of course, too, and a million more - I love poetry, more on that in a moment - but all of Limón's work lately has just been a knife to the neck for me, and I mean that in the best possible way.

This poem in particular has been rattling around as the winter holidays swarm, as domestic life gets yelled about from every TV, as I have yet another crisis of confidence, sure as I always am that while I know full well my worth as a person is in no way tied to how my house looks, I also am a bad person and the proof of that lies in the pile of laundry at the foot of my bed.

But, too, what I like about this poem, or maybe what I responded to so strongly, is its very suburban setting: taking out the trash, looking at the stars. And that's when it turns, and that's when it shakes me back awake.

I burst into tears the first time I read this poem, and then I made my weekly calls to my representatives, and then I wrote some more lore for the Dungeons & Dragons game I run, and then it was time to go pick up my kid from school.

Our little lives in their little boxes, our worn-in grooves on the world, they have value. Many of us have fought and scratched and sacrificed to get them, to settle into them, to stake our claim. And now we have a safe place, safer than some, and we look around and, for some of us, for me, feel guilty about it. I have all of this, and others have so little.

So maybe we wallow, and maybe we whine, or maybe we go the other direction and get haughty and hard-nosed. Or, which I think would be better, we widen our orbit. We survive more, we love harder, we speak out and up from the place where we are safe. We cast our shadow where we can, and we bring the light where we can reach. We've built something safe in our home or our heart or our neighborhood gas station, and the next thing to do is expand it. If my house is a safe place, what about my yard? What about my sidewalk, and my street? The voting location blocks away and the library on the other side of town, the school my kid attends and the ones she doesn't?

What happens if we take the stable footing we're on and start scooting towards the edges of it, bringing its stability with us? What happens if we shout across the lines we draw around ourselves, choose to choose a life eternally pushing our boundaries outward towards each other? We start from here, from the carved-out nook we rest in, and we take a step towards the edge, and we keep doing that. What happens next?

[poem:

[Out here, there’s a bowing even the trees are doing.                 Winter’s icy hand at the back of all of us. Black bark, slick yellow leaves, a kind of stillness that feels so mute it’s almost in another year.

I am a hearth of spiders these days: a nest of trying.

We point out the stars that make Orion as we take out       the trash, the rolling containers a song of suburban thunder.

It’s almost romantic as we adjust the waxy blue       recycling bin until you say, Man, we should really learn some new constellations.

And it’s true. We keep forgetting about Antlia, Centaurus,       Draco, Lacerta, Hydra, Lyra, Lynx.

But mostly we’re forgetting we’re dead stars too, my mouth is full       of dust and I wish to reclaim the rising—

to lean in the spotlight of streetlight with you, toward       what’s larger within us, toward how we were born.

Look, we are not unspectacular things.       We’ve come this far, survived this much. What

would happen if we decided to survive more? To love harder?

What if we stood up with our synapses and flesh and said, No.     No, to the rising tides.

Stood for the many mute mouths of the sea, of the land?

What would happen if we used our bodies to bargain

for the safety of others, for earth,                 if we declared a clean night, if we stopped being terrified,

if we launched our demands into the sky, made ourselves so big people could point to us with the arrows they make in their minds,

rolling their trash bins out, after all of this is over?

[music]

Theme music for A Soft Place to Land is “Repose,” by Chase Miller, off his album Burnout. Chase’s music can be found at chasemiller.bandcamp.com. Show notes and episode transcripts are at softplacepod.tumblr.com. You can find me on Twitter @cyranoh_ and you can listen to me jabber on as the foil to my very good friend Anna on our parenting podcast, The Parent Rap, at parentrap.net.

I love you very much. Take care of yourselves. See you soon.