#make america dank again

[ophilosoraptoro]

[garthnadermemestash]

Fight for 30$ an hour!

[nando161mando]

[pahtoosh]

pete pete

[image ID: a behind the scenes gif of chris evans as captain america giving the camera a goofy smile. by tumblr user SoftEvanStan. /.end ID]

masterlist

18+

wc: ~400 words

warnings: dada thinks you peed🫣(you didn��t), steve picks you up

a/n: based on a silly little thought i had hehe🤭

pairing: steve rogers x gn!little!reader (i imagine this as part of my stucky x little!reader collection but bucky isn’t mentioned so you can read it either way😁)

summary: steve embarrasses you during a playdate with peter

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

“I’ll be in the kitchen making sandwiches for lunch, okay? You two play nice.” Steve kissed the top of your head before getting up.

“We will, captain!” Peter said.

Somewhat distracted, you looked up from your Legos when you noticed Steve walking away. “Dada?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“You go?”

Steve laughed. “I’m making sandwiches, my love.”

“Oh!” You bounced excitedly. “Can I have cheese in mine?”

Steve came back and gave you another kiss as if he couldn’t help himself. “Yes, you can have all the cheese in the world.”

“Woo!”

Steve grinned to himself as you did your little happy dance and continued playing with Peter.

𓏲 ࣪₊♡

The next few minutes were peacefully quiet. The occasional rustle came from the kitchen as did the clicking of plastic toys from the living room.

Peter was looking back and forth between the fighter jet he was building and your pile of untouched Lego pieces. “Can I have your circle piece?” he asked.

“Ya. Can I have your blue one?”

“This? Sure.”

“Dank you, Pete Pete.”

Steve poked his head in from the kitchen. “What was that, sweetheart? You went peepee?” He quickly washed his hands and rushed over to you.

“Wha? Nooo.”

“It’s okay baby, Dada’s gotcha.” Steve picked you up and quickly ran into your room. Had he been more focused, he would’ve noticed that your bottom was totally dry.

“Dada. I not peepee!”

“Nothing to be embarrassed of, baby. It happens to all of us.” He placed you on the changing table and ran around, grabbing new clothes and changing supplies.

You were a little embarrassed, but not for the reasons that Steve was thinking. Not to mention how upset you were that he interrupted your playtime. “I not peepee!”

“Then why’d you say peepee? You know we don’t make potty jokes.”

“Pete. Pete.” You made sure to say the “t’s” this time.

Peter appeared in your doorway, hand covering his eyes. “Um, Mister Rogers? I think they were just saying my name.”

Steve set down the things he was holding and nodded in understanding. “Pete Pete.” He sighed. “You can look, Peter. Nothing happened here.” Dada helped you off the table and gave you a light pat on the butt before you and Peter ran off to play again.

Steve put his hands on his hips and sighed again, shaking his head. “Pete Pete. Sam’s gonna riot when he hears this one.”

[its-tortle]

wrapped game!!!! stucky (obvi) & number 23 my love xx

hi teesha! this one was slightly tough -- to me, this is a song about the religious iconization of technology and capitalism in our modern society -- but i think i made it work? it's a bit weird, but i hope you like it anyway!

You're gonna get yourself killed

Before you can run

Just 'cause you've got your own theme song

(Fastest gun in the solar system)

Don't think you're alone

Don't think you're whole, love

Don't mean that you're holy

Don't mean you're the only one

To save us all

The moments after returning to base camp are chaotic. There are so many soldiers at once, most of the celebratory, many of them exhausted. The troops from the base camp gather and mingle with the rescued soldiers, and for moment Bucky is lost in a sea of back-claps and cheers and a number of relieved and tearful hugs.

The whole thing is overwhelming, honestly, after the dank dark rooms of the Hydra base and the ache he still feels down to his tired bones. He slinks away the first moment he can.

He walks through the camp a little bit aimlessly, thinking he’ll find Steve’s tent or maybe just pass out in the first empty one he finds that isn’t too mothbitten. His eyes scan the sea of tarp and then the long lines of the barracks. There’s what looks to be stage beside it all, and while it has the desolate look about it that everything here does, it’s adorned with bright flags and banners in red, white, and blue. 

Bucky vaguely registers himself walk to it, not sure if it’s the colors that draw him to it -- brighter than he feels he’s seen in years -- or the peculiarity of the show stage amidst the hellscape they’re all living in.

As he steps closer, his eyes hone in on the set of posters stapled to the structure. They’re nearly as garish in color as the banners.

Captain America! they read. The Star-Spangled Man With a Plan.

The subtitles go on about the USO girls and the show to win the war. It all looks like a blur of patriotic bullshit that Bucky doesn't know he ever really believed, but certainly doesn't after what he’s seen here. He almost wants to rip the paper off of the wood.

But then, in the middle of all the pop up writing and star-spangled banners, is Steve’s face. It’s not a perfect likeness -- the nose is too straight and the eyes not green enough, and they didn’t get the freckle on his cheek -- but it’s Steve all the same. It’s his smile and his brow, and that familiar determined set to his jaw that is so familiar to Bucky, even if the jaw is a bit squarer than he’s used to.

Staring at the poster, there’s a twist of something in Bucky’s gut, something indefinable. There’s some pride in it, sure, and whole lot of love, but intwined with it is a sting of resentment and bitterness. Bucky almost hates the man on the poster. He loves Steve.

“There you are.”

Bucky jumps at the sudden voice behind him, immediately calmed by the familiar cadence. He turns to find Steve looking at him, his eyes the right shade of turquoise and his nose crooked from that fight with Tommy K. in fifth grade. The twisted something in Bucky’s chest warms.

“Hey,” he says a little dumbly. “I was- I needed some air.”

Steve just nods. His gaze on Bucky is heavy, and Bucky would be squirming beneath it if he didn’t know he was leveling the same one back at Steve.

After a moment, or maybe four, Steve gestures at the stage behind Bucky. “You missed the show,” he says, and his little self-deprecating smile is so familiar is makes Bucky want to cry.

“Was it any good?” he asks instead.

Steve shakes his head with a little snort. “Absolutely not. They threw stuff at me.”

“Can’t blame them,” Bucky says before he can tell himself not to. “I mighta done the same if it didn’t know it was you.”

Steve swallows, but then just nods again. He looks at Bucky like he knows there’s more coming. He’s always been able to read him like a book.

“I just-” He loosely gestures at the posters behind his shoulder. “What is this? Did you ask for this?”

Steve shakes his head quickly. “No. I didn’t. You know me, Buck.”

“Then why?”

“I wanted to fight,” Steve says, with such quick determination it almost cuts Bucky off. “I wanted to fight, and you were in Europe, and I kept getting kicked out of every enlistment center because I was 5’1’’ and couldn’t breathe right. So, when they gave me a chance, I took it. I didn’t know they were gonna put me in tights.”

Despite himself, Bucky can feel his lips quirk at the corners. “It’s not the tights I have a problem with.”

Steve snorts. Bucky’s lucky he can’t tell what flirting is, really.

“And anyway,” Steve continues, “I can’t be mad about it at the end of the day, cause it got me here. I- I got you back, and now I get to do what I set out to.”

Bucky is almost surprised, then wonders how he ever could have been. “You’re gonna fight.”

“Yeah,” Steve says. And then he must tell that Bucky is getting angry, because he lets out an exasperated huff and gestures to his body, the one that’s still so unfamiliar. “C’mon Buck, that’s what this was made for.”

“This?” Bucky repeats. Steve’s early retort had done nothing to soothe his anger. “What do you mean, this. Steve, it’s you. I don’t care that the serum is a weapon, not when it’s become your body.”

Steve’s shoulders square. “I’m not some fragile little kid anymore, Buck-”

“And yet you still have something to prove!” 

That shuts Steve up. Bucky watches his stony expression and feels his anger give way to desperation.

“I just-” He takes a deep breath. “I know you, and I know you want to- need to fight. And I will have your back, but I don’t want you to mistake your Captian America schtick for invincibility. Just because you’ve got big muscles and your own theme song doesn’t make you the sole holy hero that’s gonna win this war. You’re gonna get yourself killed, going into it alone.”

A muscle is Steve’s jaw twitches, and Bucky thinks he’s already learning how to read Steve through the changes in his body. After a moment, the blond nods.

“You’re right,” he says. “And I don’t- I didn’t ask to be the icon, really. I just wanted to keep you safe.”

Bucky laughs a little, despite that ever-twisting something in his gut. “Well, you better believe that goes both ways.”

Steve smiles then, and it’s one of those wide, pretty ones that set Bucky alight. He opens his arms, and Bucky steps in between them like he’s been doing it for years. His cheek fits perfectly in the crook of Steve’s shoulder.

“Thanks for calling me out on my bullshit, Buck,” Steve mumbles into the side of Bucky’s head.

Bucky laughs into Steve’s skin. “That’s what I’m here for, punk.”

send me a number and a ship and i'll write a ficlet to match the song on my wrapped playlist!

[kellanved-ammanas]

Valentine's Week Angst Day Five: Heavy/Medic - Broken Promise

Day five of @dontneedadispenser Valentine's event.

Content Warning: Off screen major character death

~

Heavy was not one to break a promise. If he said he would return then come hell or high water, he would return. Medic merely had wait. There was plenty of work – both mercenary wise as well people in need of illegal but cheap surgeries – here in America and sometimes crossing the border into Canada to keep him occupied and making a living in between working on personal experiments. Medic was not in constant need of attention from his lover for fear of losing him to someone or something else. Nor was he was a worry wort; Heavy was more than capable of taking care of himself so there was little use fearing for him.

But still… as he glanced up at the clock hung on the bedroom wall again, it ticked over to midnight. Officially, as of today it had been a full year since Heavy had left for Russia, promising he’d return in a few months. Perhaps Medic should’ve gone with him after all. He’d thought about it but hadn’t wanted to leave his work or birds in someone else’s care for that long and wouldn’t have been able to do much other than be along for the ride. So he’d stayed, trusting Heavy to return to him soon.

With a sigh, Medic stood, his bones creaking and popping audibly due to how long he’d been sitting there. He moved to the bed, barely taking the time to put his glasses on the nightstand before crawling into it. Perhaps in the morning, he’d wake to hardy knock on his door and upon answering it, Heavy would apologize for how long he’d been held up and possibly the trouble he’d had catching up with where Medic had all moved around to.

The next morning

Medic woke to a quiet empty room as had been the norm for the past year. Expecting anything else would’ve been purely wishful thinking. Something he was not foolish enough to have done but… he’d still hoped and thus was still disappointed.

Staying in bed would be nice, preferable even. He needed to tend to the birds though and had some experiments in the lab that needed checking. And so, with a resigned sigh, he got up anyway.

Later that day

As usual, somehow despite how busy she always was, Miss Pauling answered the phone after only the third ring. “Hello, Medic.” And also as usual, despite Medic having changed locations since last they’d talked over the phone, she somehow still knew it was him. “You need something or are you calling just to chat?”

“I have a favor I need to ask of you.”

“Of course you do. No one ever calls me just to chat and I don’t have time to just sit around and chat anyway. So fine, what is it that you need?”

Perhaps in the future Medic should call her just to chat if she actually wanted someone to. For now though… “It’s Heavy. As I’m sure you know, he went to Russia to visit his family. He promised he would be back in a few months but it’s been a year. I am sure it is nothing, that he was just held up somewhere and will be back soon but… do you think you could check anyway?”

“Hmm…” The sound of a keyboard clacking came from the other end of the line. “I’ll look into it.”

“Danke. I know you’re busy so I appreciate it.”

She hummed an acknowledgment. “I’ll call you back when I have something.” And without further ado, she hung up.

Medic placed the phone back in its cradle. Hopefully Heavy would return before she called back.

A couple weeks later

The doorbell was likely not Heavy, visitors, while uncommon, did still stop by for various reasons sometimes after all. But, as has become the norm for a while now, the fact that it could be was enough reason for him to step away from the body he was currently dissecting, quickly wash the blood of his hands and fast walk over to the front of the house to answer the door.

Alas, it wasn’t Heavy. It was Miss Pauling. It had been a few years since he’d last seen her in person but she still looked the same as she always had just a bit older; prim, proper, and serious. “Hello again, Medic. I have news. ” Her expression remained strictly professional, implying it wasn’t good. “The kind I wouldn’t feel comfortable delivering over the phone.” For sure bad news then.

“Of course, come on in, Frau.” Medic forced a friendly demeanor as he stepped aside and gestured her in. He wasn’t worried; Heavy was the strongest man he’d ever known and one of the most dangerous, he could take care of himself. Surely this was about something else. Someone else on the team had died. Devastating truly, but not unexpected, given their line of work it was bound to happen eventually.

Miss Pauling led the way into the living room. “You might want to sit down for this.”

Medic didn’t do so. She had him far too nervous to just sit down. “What is it?”

She paused for a moment before shrugging and digging into his purse to pull out a newspaper clipping. After unfolding it, she handed it to him without a word.

It was in Russian. Medic knew just enough to be able to decipher that it seemed to be a short article about a plane crashing into the ocean. Reportedly, there were no survivors.

“What does this have to do with…” Medic trailed off because he didn’t know what this was supposed to be about.

“That’s the plane Heavy was on when leaving Russia.”

Medic understood why she’d suggested he sit down for this as standing upright suddenly seemed more difficult somehow. “Are you sure?”

“I had Spy look into it and then had him double check. He was pretty sure. I’m sorry for your loss.”

If it were anyone other than Spy, Medic would’ve suggested that maybe her informant was mistaken. Doing so would’ve been silly as she didn’t work with people who were unreliable. But as Spy was a friend, it was even less likely he would’ve overlooked or missed something out of laziness and not caring.

“And you are absolutely certain that Heavy didn’t survive?” If anyone could survive a plane crash it was Heavy.

“The plane went down seven months ago. If he survived and found his way to shore, he would’ve shown up somewhere by now. And, just to make sure, I had Spy and some other informants who were in the area snoop around the nearest coastal towns for anyone who’d washed up recently that fit Heavy’s description. None of them found anything.”

So for the past seven months or so Heavy had been dead and Medic had had no idea. He’d just blindly assumed that, as he always had before, Heavy would keep his promise to return safe and sound. He hadn’t even died in battle as he’d wanted but instead in the middle of the ocean, alone.

Finally, Medic gave into his body’s desire to sit as he sunk down to couch, putting his head in his hands. Having someone to blame and get angry at would’ve been nice but… there was no one. It had been an accident because those happened sometimes even to the strongest of people. And there wasn’t anything Medic could do to change it.

[lovejustforaday]

2023 Year End List - #11

El Diablo En El Cuerpo - Álex Anwandter

Main Genres: Synth Pop, Dance Pop

A decent sampling of: Electro-Disco, Synth Funk, Electro Pop

Yet another entry on the list that I discovered this year while looking for records from outside the Anglosphere. And again, it's another artist from Latino-America.

I already said this in an old review, so I'm just gonna reiterate my stance briefly again - the 21st century 80s synth pop revivalism wave has been very hit or miss. And I'm mostly talking about the stuff that very clearly is actually paying homage to 80s music, not just any artist who happens to make bleeps and bloops.

But yeah, hit or miss. Some of it is frankly very dull and uninspired, and makes me wanna just put on some classic Depeche Mode or Strawberry Switchblade instead.

But when it hits, it hits hard, somehow managing to justify this ""trend"" that's been going on far too long to even be considered a trend anymore. Let's face it - the whole 80s synth pop / synth funk / sophistopop sound is here to stay forever, and I think that's for the best, even if occasionally I get a little exhausted from the over-saturation.

Anyways, moving on to the artist.

Álex Andwandter is a queer Chilean alternative pop artist and director based out of Santiago. He's collaborated with one of my own favourites, fellow Chilean indie/alt pop artist Javiera Mena (who makes a guest appearance on this record!). The dude has been active for over a decade now, so again, I'm a bit late to the party. Cut me some slack; I'm a gringo.

Álex himself sings in a bright, chipper, falsetto-y tenor full of sunshine and rainbows, sounding every bit as colourful as the classic synthesizer sounds that he incorporates into his music, though he also has a more dark and seductive register that he often injects into his steamier dance songs.

El Diablo En El Cuerpo ("The Devil in the Body"), his latest offering and my first introduction to his discography, is classic dancey, funky synth pop with a lot of sincerity and a few pinches of homoerotic mystique sprinkled in here and there. A very indulgent record for you to just lose yourself in the glitter and glam of it all. Basically, this is some utopian gay space shit (shout out to those who get the meme) and I am here for it.

Nothing could prepare me for the tantalizing and straight-up badass electro-disco thunderstorm that is "Qué piensas hacer sin mi amor?" ("What do you think you will do without my love?"). Anwandter channels Depeche Mode, Soft Cell, and Donna Summer all at once on this fierce juggernaut that's absolutely soaking with erotic tension. Puts me right in the middle of the dimmest, sweatiest fucking over-crowded dancefloor in some sleazy ass gay bar on a goth night at 1:00 am, and I'm too drunk to feel anything except the pounding pulse of the rhythm and the arousal of strangers rubbing up against me....ahem, is it hot in here? Anyways, eat your heart out Troye Sivan ("Rush" is great too, I'm mostly just memeing).

In contrast, the following track "Precipicio" ("Precipice") gives off a very 'classy' vibe - more cocktail dresses and glowing white LED dancefloors, less BDSM goth fetish gear and sweaty dankness. Some nice, sexy funky horns on this one that really brings the whole thing together. I also LIVE for Álex's sassy twink diva vibes all over this track; gets me almost as h-word as the previous track.

"Toda la noche" ("All Night") is anthemic synth funk that's giving a little bit of INXS. Groovy and life-affirming feel good shit that I would snort if I could. I want this to be the soundtrack of my own silly little 80s romance that's all about being young in the big city.

"Vamos de nuevo" ("Let's Go Again") is less of a nocturnal dancefloor number, and more something you might skip along to down the sidewalk on a sun shower summer's day with your hot pink Sony Walkman. Gorgeous upbeat vibraphone and detuned synth keys providing a backdrop for foolishly lovesick lyrics. My other favourite cut off the album, after the obvious one.

At the end of the day, the record is definitely a bit frontloaded, and it wears me out a little bit with its sixteen tracks in total. I understand this is probably meant to be the kind of record you play late at night when you're ready to get wasted and dance your heart out until you pass out; I just think it could be sequenced to have more of the outright bangers towards the end. But putting that aside, this was my second favourite dance record in a very stacked year for dance records, and it's certainly my favourite on the more disco/house/funky/electro-y end of the spectrum. El Diablo En El Cuerpo is simple, hot, memorable fun with a lot of exquisite taste. I can't imagine anyone in my own life that I couldn't successfully recommend this album to. So go on, embrace your inner gay synth pop twink.

8/10

Highlights: "Qué piensas hacer sin mi amor?", "Vamos de nuevo", "Precipicio", "Toda la noche", "Tienes una idea muy antigua del amor", "prediciendo la runa", "Unx de nosotrxs (feat. Javiera Mena)"

[sebstan2020]

The Captain’s Daughter

Chapter 11

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Orignal Female Character, Steve Rogers X Natasha Romanoff

Summary: Violet Rogers is the daughter of non other than Captain America and Black Widow. Working as a nurse at the Washington DC general hospital, her life is pretty normal despite her parents being top agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. However after a recent mission, a new threat has hit S.H.I.E.L.D. and Violet finds herself as a target, discovering their greatest weapon, The Winter Soldier.

Warnings: Kidnapping, Dark Bucky Barnes, Kissing, Dom Bucky Barnes, Manipulation, Torture, Brainwashing, Captive, Light Bondage

It was dark and cold in the building, a dull whirring noise in the background ringing in Violet’s ears. There was along corridor as they entered the building with a large door at the end. The door behind them slammed shut, making Violet jump in fright and she flinched in Bucky’s hold, causing his hand to tighten ever so slightly. He dragged her down the hallway, her feet scuffing on the hard cement floor. As they neared the door, her stomach twisted and turned, a sickening feeling inside her.

This place seemed like it was abandoned, and Violet was starting to think of the worst possible scenario. She swallowed a hard lump in the back of her throat, biting the inside of her lip hard enough until a small drop of blood fell on the tip of her tongue.

‘Please God, tell me that’s not what is about to happen to me’.

They reached the door and again, Bucky typed in the same code in the keypad, the little beep indicating the door was open. The door started to move across automatically and they waited until it was fully open, revealing a room. It was huge. There was a strange looking chair in the middle of it, with a few computers around and some sort of metal device on top. At the end of the room was another door and a few doors situed on the left and right sides of the room.

This place was starting to freak Violet out, but she kept on moving with Bucky as they passed the chair and ventured to the door at the back. There were cells lined up one by one, all empty and dirty. The beds were stained and mattresses mouldy and old. There were toilets covered in slim and sinks rusted until they were cracked and broken. It was freezing and Violet shivered as the earie air ran down her spine.

They passed the cells and reached yet another door. Again, there was a keypad.

‘Whatever this place is, the people obviously didn’t want something to get out’ Violet thought but was interrupted by the door beeping open. Bucky shoved the door open revealing a small room. inside was a bed, a sink to the left and a small toilet. It was a big nicer than the cells they had passed but still dank and unpleasant. She noticed a window on the far wall with thick bars covering it.

Suddenly Violet caught on to what was happening.

She gasped as she was quickly spun around, now standing in front of Bucky. She looked up at him with fearful eyes as he began to unlock the cuffs and he shoved her inside the room. She instantly curled her arms around her, the air feeling grimy.

“Please don’t keep me in here, whatever it is you want, whatever information you need I’ll tell you “She pleaded. Right now, she would do anything to save her from this situation, to save her from this nightmare.

“I don’t need information, I need you” Bucky stepped in the room, kicking the door behind him without a second glance and walked towards Violet, backing her up until she hit the wall behind her. She whimpered softly, pressing herself closer to the wall until Bucky was stood a few inches in front.

“What are you going to do with me?” she whispered, and Bucky narrowed his eyes slightly.

“Nothing” he murmured, and Violet furrowed her brows in confusion. What did he mean nothing?

“Nothing as long as you behave yourself. Until I have orders, it’s just you and me here” there was a slightly smirk on his lips as he said it and Violet let out a shaky breath.

“And if I don’t” she dared to ask and Bucky took another step closer, his chest almost touching Violets. He stared down at her, strong and intimidating, his steel blue eyes casting a look on her to assert his dominance.

“Then I’ll have to punish you, and you don’t want that” he whispered, and Violet blinked at him silently. His gaze was strong and captivating, and she couldn’t take her eyes off him. She felt entranced, enthralled, caught under his spell, as if she had been placed in a jar for his pleasure to use. There was tension and heat between them, and Violet pressed herself further into the wall, ignoring the tingle inside her.

Bucky turned to walk away, taking short strides to the door and Violet followed.

“My dad’s coming you know, he’ll find me and when he does, he’ll kill you” she threatened and Bucky stopped just at the entry way of the door, tilting his head slightly as he listened.

“Your father, that’s who you called wasn’t it?” he confirmed, and Violet gulped. He was smart but then again, she had just given it away to him. a moment of silence caused Bucky to turn around and face her again.

“He’ll kill you, so will my mom” she gritted between her teeth and Bucky chuckled under his breath, smiling a little.

“Not if I kill them first”.

The door slammed shut and the beep of the keypad echoed.

Violet sighed heavily, stumbling back in the room. She fell onto the bed, the mattress squeaking, and it was hard and lumpy, poking into her ass. There was a blanket on top as well which she wrapped around herself, shivering underneath and she tucked her knees under her chin.

“Fuck” she whispered to herself.

She regretted telling Bucky about her mom and dad coming. That was even if they could find her. She wondered if they had reached the location she was at when she called them. She hoped they had, and she was praying they would find her somehow.

‘What are they going to do when the realise it’s Bucky, what’s my dad going to think’.

It was all so confusing and scary, and the stress was giving her a headache. Violet sobbed softly to herself, small tears running down her face like raindrops on a window. She glanced around the room and spotted the window from earlier, instantly flinging the blanket off her and running to it. She could just about reach it on her tippy toes, and she clung to the edge, getting a view of outside.

Violet spotted the metal fence running around the edge, caging her in this building even further. She noticed a car, one that looked like they used in the army and another small building behind that. Other than that, it seemed they were in the middle of nowhere and as Bucky said, it was just him and her. The bars across the window were thick and there was absolutely no way of getting through those unless she had a saw… which she didn’t.

She turned and fell down the wall, sobbing quietly to herself.

……….

Bucky wandered back down the hallway, walking into a room filled with computers and monitors. He pulled one of the chairs out and sat at the desk, switching on the system to boot everything up. The screens turned on, displaying the hydra symbol and reached a password protected screen.

He typed in the password and when the system was up, he opened the system linking all the security cameras. A screen pulled up and opened a live recording of the room Violet was in. he watched intently on the screen as she slid down the wall, curling herself into a small ball. He couldn’t help but stare at Violet.

He remembered what she had said earlier in the woods when he found her.

‘Bucky’.

Who the hell was Bucky? Why did she call him that? What it someone he knew? Did they have any relation to him? Did he know them?

But for someone reason, the name seemed a little familiar to him. He couldn’t rack his brain about it though. His brain had been fried time and time again, pulling away his memories and keeping them locked away from his conscience.

This mission hadn’t been like any of his others. They were all extract and terminate, leaving no traces, no clues, no mess behind. But this, this was different. He had been given a thorough file on Violet, who she was, what she did, who her family was. This was the whole reason behind the mission, her father and mother.

Hydra were out to take control and rule this country, to change the course of life, to have the power and be authority they desired and believed they should have. And Bucky was a part of all of it. He remembered the wiping right before the start of the mission, the pain he endured every time he was given a new mission.

He shook his head, shaking the terrifying thoughts out of his mind and proceeded to bring up the other surveillance of the hydra base. He wasn’t lying when he said it was just him and Violet. This base had been abandoned years ago but recently was opened for the purposes of this mission. Hydra needed somewhere to keep Captain America’s daughter and somewhere no one would look.

Now that Bucky knew her parents were looking for her, he would keep a close eye out for them. He was told specifically to ensure nothing interrupted the mission or caused delays. The last thing they needed was Cap and his wife getting in the way.

Bucky reached inside his pocket and pulled out the cell he was given. It was time to report back to his handlers.

“Soldat, mission report” a voice said on the other line.

“I have her, we are at the base” he reported.

“Very good, your mission now is to make sure she stays there. We’ll do everything on our side, and you just ensure she behaves” the voice said darkly.

“Understood”.

“Any issues, complications I should know about”.

“Only one, her parents are on the trail, could be an issue” he informed.

“Our men are working on them, but if they do come closer, terminate them, we cannot let them stop this” the voice was serious, and Bucky nodded.

“Yes Sir”.

“Good work Soldat” the line went dead, and Bucky sighed softly, throwing the phone on the table.

His eyes flickered back to Violet on the screen. He had to admit she was beautiful. She was an innocent creature, kind and gentle and an apart of him felt bad for doing this to her. But the winter soldier in him overpowered that urge and he knew he had to follow orders. His orders now, looking after the captain’s daughter and making sure she behaves.

Hey so I hope you liked this chapter, what did you think of Bucky’s POV and what do you think will happen to Violet. Let me know in the comments and don’t forget to like and reblog

Chapter 12

@secretdreamlandmentality

[bubbleteycosplay]

What ifs Sigyn's stories

Part 16

So many different universes, so many different possibilities. And in some loves Sigyn and their different stories. Pictures and brief information have been written about some of these possibilities.

But what is her full story, we don't know. But we can spin them further in our thoughts ^^

The whole project here serves to show the possibilities and potential that Sigyn would have had within the Marvel Universe. How she could have been reintroduced, her story made new and more exciting. #JusticeForSigyn stands for creating Sigyn content because Marvel doesn't give us any.

Inspired by @fauna-and-mythos @dailylogyn @dank-art @jonquilclegane @sigynoffidelity @sigynthevictorious @thewitchysystem @shenanigans-and-imagines @timeladyjamie @therese-lokidottir @puckwritesstuff @sigynappreciation @sigyn-obsessed @ellecaterina @roruna

Gilt and Green by queenofthenile91

In which Loki’s marvelously self-indulgent display of egotism in Stuttgart is interrupted not just by the Avengers but also his long-suffering wife.

This fic is not canon to the Marvel Cinematic Universe, Marvel Universe Earth-616 or Norse mythology, but it will beg, borrow, steal and bastardize from all three from time to time. After all, if the Poetic Edda says the first Frost Giant was licked into existence by a primeval cow and there’s an alt-Marvel universe where Captain America fights Nazi zombies alongside Howard the Duck, I should be able to do what I want.

Betrayed by fate story by @jonquilclegane

Every Loki, from every timeline, will have the same fate. They will live with Odin for some time, fall in love and marry a beautiful and sweet maiden called Sigyn, kill Baldur, and endure the punishment for it, with only their wife by their side.

However, with the timelines resetting, and Kang taking over, destroying the Norns, who knew what would happen? The Conqueror had decided Loki would never meet Sigyn, so, fate might be different this time around…

Where was Sigyn, if not faithfully by her beloved spouse’s side? Well, Kang had hid her from Loki’s sight. If the God of Mischief never laid eyes on her, he would never desire her, never marry her, never have her by his side, never realize he could be loved by someone who was not family, or himself. He would become the perfect pawn on his chess board, utterly miserably, some pathetic villain, losing again and again, with no Victory in sight.

His bride was gone. Kang had manipulated the timeline so all the Valkyries but one would be die, killed by Hela. No Freya, no Sigyn. Kill the hen, there is no egg, is there?

Yet, he did keep one Sigyn variant alive, as potential blackmail material. If one of the Lokis become too cumbersome, he could still threaten their beloved spouse… though, of course, they would not know her. But one look at her was enough to make a Loki lose their heads. It had been proven before, and it would again.

Still, that silly girl had to try and escape, hearing that some variant of her husband had declared war against Kang. She probably thought she would join their side, and bring Loki victory, at least. But fate was always against them. Fate would never let Loki and Sigyn be happy for long, or at all. In this case, Fate would not even let them meet.

Before she could reach Loki, Kang had his agents catch the Goddess of Fidelity, killing her right in front her beloved’s eyes.

Of course, the Loki variant – Sylvie, as she was called now- had no idea who had just died, or why they had killed that young woman. She most likely thought that pruning had been for her, and ran as quick as she could, leaving the one who should have been her wife to her sorrowful fate, and Alioth to his delightful dinner.

And for dessert there was death and love

Nobody knows universe 77778. Nobody has ever entered it, but there are rumours, stories and legends that are told. Are you brave enough to start the journey into this universe in this story?

Amora's last lover

We are writing a story on Earth 3445 that never had a happy ending.

"Face reality Loki, in this world nothing goes as you wish. You must realize the longer you live the better you will understand that life is largely ruled by pain, emptiness and the search for answers. Believe me everything that happens in every world has a light and dark side and we alone decide which actions we take. For as long as there are winners there will be losers and the selfish desire to keep peace breeds wars and to keep love breeds hate. You can't separate the connection between cause and effect and I swear you will suffer for his death even after your death!"

Amora's words to Loki before killing him.

affair with obstacles

Welcome to Universe 2233

In this universe, Kang and Sigyn are a couple. But both of them don't take loyalty so seriously and one thing for the other. In short, things are very hot in this universe!

Sigyn from the Fanfiction Trickster Hero from @roruna

Trickster Hero :

The Kursed killed Thor in Svartalfheim. Now Loki has to be the hero. He has to stop Malekith. And the Other and the Chitauri arrive to collect what Loki owes them just when Loki reunites with his estranged wife, Sigyn.

We Have All The Time In The World

(A possible comic story in the multiverse) story by @jonquilclegane

One day, Sigyn Iwaldidottir was at her father’s forge, helping her brothers with some delicate new project, the next, she was no more, erased from existence, from “the sacred timeline”.

But then, with no explanation, Sigyn was back, in a little room, with no windows, no furniture but a simple bed, no company but her own, trapped, without any hope of escaping.

She felt desperate, and only wanted to cry. Her food always magically appeared, so she did not even see any guard. What had she done to deserve such miserable fate?

Worst of all: there was no door! She was never going to leave this place. Maybe this was Hel. Maybe she had died and the Valkyries had judged her unworthy of Valhalla, and now she was here forever.

When she was at her lowest, however, something wonderful happened. A man, tall, very handsome, though she would have had some notes on his attire, appeared through a golden door. Sigyn rose from her bed and curtsied politely.

“My Lord”, she greeted, while the noble warrior seemed confused, but rather pleased by her welcome.

“I was told Kang had prisoners, my Lady”, he started, hesitantly, “But I had no idea they would be as courteous or lovely as you”

Sigyn smiled and blushed. He was not very elegant, but his words and manners were pleasing enough and showed he was from the higher aristocracy.

“I am Princess Sigyn Iwaldidottir, my Lord”, she introduced herself, “Are you here to free me at last from this awful dungeon?”

He bowed to her and presented her his hand for her to take.

“Prince Loki Laufeyson, your highness”, he said, his voice as smooth as velvet.

Sigyn blushed, as she had not recognized him. Of course, they had never met officially, but her mother, Queen Freya of Vanaheim, had showed her portraits of both Odinsons, and the reveal of the second prince’s true parentage had been quite the talk, both on Vanaheim and Nidavellir. Even though he was strangely dressed, she should have known who he was.

“I am pleased to make your acquaintance, your royal highness”, she curtsied, remembering Prince Loki had been king at some point, though it had not been for long.

“Pleased to meet you too”, he replied, kissing her hand lightly, before inviting her to cross the golden door.

“Let’s move this lovely conversation elsewhere, if you don’t mind, Princess”, Loki said, “after that, we will have all the time in the world”

Double trouble Sigyn Story by @jonquilclegane

The universe TRN875 was fun, Loki decided. His other, female self had been great too, but of course, he was the superior Loki, no one would ever dare to contradict him. He had stolen the orb from her, and Thor had returned it to their Father’s vault… well, not for long, as he still needed it. He wanted to explore more of that other dimension, what treasures it contained.

Using the orb once again, Loki created a portal and jumped into it, wondering what he would discover this time. A rare volume of spells? Some other magical artefact he had never heard of? He could not wait!

Instead, he found a girl. A very pretty blonde girl, waiting for him in his rooms. Well, not his rooms, his other self’s rooms.

She looked at him, confused, her shining blue eyes observing him carefully before offering him the most beautiful smile in the Nine realms.

“Oh, you must be the other Loki”, she said, marching to him with confidence, and taking his hands into hers, “I am Sigyn… Do you have a Sigyn?”

Loki did not have a Sigyn, and suddenly felt very jealous of his female self. Why didn’t he have a Sigyn? He should have had a Sigyn. Now, he wanted a Sigyn. Where was his Sigyn? Well, if his world did not have one, he could still steal this one.

The Prince of Asgard opened his arms widely, and the maiden giggled joyously and jumped into them, without fear or mistrust. She trusted him? She loved him, he realized… Well, she loved her, his other self. But that did not matter, she would love him soon too, and forget all about her original world and her Loki. She would be his, and they would have terrible fun adventures together, he knew it.

But the girl did not like it. No, she did not like it at all.

“I cannot leave my Loki! She will worry if I do not come back!”, she cried, when Loki told her she was to stay with him from now on.

“She’s not worthy of you!”, Loki declared, “I am the superior Loki! I am the one who deserve your love, Gentle Sigyn”

However, the maiden would not listen to reason, and conjured an axe which she aimed at his throat.

“Listen, I like you, I really do. I will always love Loki, in any dimension, but I cannot leave my Loki”, she explained, holding her weapon tightly, “I love her and I am her betrothed. I cannot run away with someone else. Not even another version of her! That would not be fair. That would not be right. I am her Sigyn, not yours.”

Loki stood still for a moment. Betrothed? But they were much too young to be married! Though of course, with such a lovely little lady, and so faithful to them, how could they ever refuse her?

“I have to go back to my Loki, please?”, she begged so prettily Loki felt his heart fluster, and he conceded.

“Fine”, the Prince of Asgard sighed in defeat, “If you love her so much, I’ll give you back to her”

“Thank you”, Sigyn said happily, jumping back into his arms, and kissed his cheek.

Ah, if she wanted him to let her go, giving him sweet kisses was maybe not the best idea. But he had promised her he would, and so he did. He would not have wanted to harm such a lovely lady.

He would have to find his own Sigyn, though. After tasting such sweetness, how could he ever live without it? He needed her, as a traveler lost in the deserts of Muspelheim craved water. And once he had her, he would never ever let her go.

The last song of the nightingale Story by @jonquilclegane

Sigyn was born the daughter of an infamous courtesan. However, she did not want to follow her mother’s footsteps. So, instead of selling her body, she sang. People from the Nine realms and beyond came to hear her voice. Sigyn hoped one day she would have enough money to gain her freedom and her mother’s, but the owner of the brothels where they lived refused to let them go, as she became more and more popular.

Everyone called her “The Nightingale”, and paid a fortune to listen to her enchanting voice. The Princes of the realm, Thor and Loki, became intrigued by the famous singer, and decided to pay her a visit. At first, the Lady Sif had not been very keen on the idea, but after a few notes, she was as taken by the music as her male companions were.

Thor and Fandral tried to win her heart, but only Loki seemed to catch her attention, as she caught his. Soon the pair became inseparable, and the Prince promised he would free his songbird from her cage.

Loki knew the owner of the brothel would never let his golden goose fly away : she had become much too valuable, bringing to his house fame and fortune.

No. He would have to steal her if he wanted to have her as his own. And so he did.

One night, after a night of songs, dances and music, after all the patrons had fallen asleep, Loki turned Sigyn into an actual nightingale, and told her to fly to the palace. There, he could protect her and make her his. Once she would be in his rooms, safe and sound, no one would dare come and claim her. Her past in the brothel would be forgotten, and she would be his and his alone.

So Sigyn flew, quick as the wind. Unfortunately, the owner had heard of the Prince’s plan, and he did not like it. If his house lost its main attraction, he would be ruined. The little bitch could not escape him, and if she did, well… her journey would lead her to Hel, not to a Prince’s bedchamber.

He took his longbow and aimed at the sky.

Sigyn fell.

Loki waited for his lover, but she never came, though every night, he could hear the ghost of one last song, haunting his dreams.

Sister of a thousand tears

Loki found a file in the TVA archives with case number 900. In it was a photo of a woman with brown reddish hair and a barely readable report and one that could clearly read "My sister of a thousand tears died".

Part 17 is in progress ^^

Here you can find the last 4 parts

[xeo-kunsatan]

Some unnecessary announcement and Facts about my Pmatga fanfics.

After very long time I got inactive in the creation of many Pmatga fanfics related Mostly (kinda only XD) to my ocs, but I stopped because of the lack of inspiration and of course motivation, partly certain people's fault of this unmotivation (Coff coff I'm talking about you and your friend Nitro, I doubt you can read this because I blocked your ass, but if so, you're an extremist but you can fix that, it depends of you, but Karma exist and believe me it's terrible when it comes, but we'll Vete a la verga 👍 ).

Reading them again I noticed some mistakes and plot holes I can easily correct them without affecting at all the story, so I can save the time rewriting/Re-Post them.

But There will be many changes and of course the facts and announcement about this fanfics.

Announcements

1. Beast Choices: The fanfics is actually done because it's the end of an arc which is of course the Betrayus and Muriel's Love story, but actually soon it would come a long Epilogue for it, just keep waiting even if it means you'll be like 80 years old XD.

2. Dissatisfied: The 3rd part misses but I'll continue it later but with many changes and mistakes to fix in general for the 2 parts.

3. the Crossover of Monster Maze High and Monster High: you may already know it's officially cancelled, the reasons are actually because I'm dank to narrate the fucking Olympic games;_;, I was planning to add Erick Van-Hellsing to introduce him but XD..

4. There probably come come stories but not necessary written at all, for now I'll be working in the NSFW comic

"Lemonade Smoothie"

For this comic I'll be more than just watching Pmatga episodes and the characters will be of course 18 years old. I mostly like to avoid to go against the laws about minors in Latin America and USA.

Reason of this project? Revenge >:3

-And yes, New characters and arcs are coming

Facts

In Monster Maze High: Even when this ended there are many stuff XD.

- In this Au, Bradley finds about his pregnancy in exactly the Olympic Games against Monster High, at the end Betrayus didn't killed Skeebo (A little XD) but they fixed the things and this happy couple prepared theirselfs for care of their beloved babies, even if they will born in 10 years ._.xd.

- I planned to Add Yuri at the story but she would be a Bakeneko xdxdx

Dissatisfied:

- it's actually true the Fact Lexy loves Bradley in Secret even when he was dating Bryan, he wanted to confess it to Bradley but he was more focused in comfort him. When Bradley started dating Skeebo it really hurted Lexy but at the ending he Left him go because no matter what happened he wanted him to be happy even if that means not having him at his side.

Changes

Lexy: He and Martin's story will have a Huge Changes, they will not be death, but the cannibal stuff and that awful event in Lexy is still there but just that, just wait.

Ryan: her story wasn't defined at all so i have the freedom to soon give her her deserved arc.

Roxy and victor's story will have more changes.

For now I'll make sure to come back to the fanfictions >:3.

[ophilosoraptoro]

[writtenonthesubwaywalls]

There's dead flowers in the kitchen

HWS America angst fic, describes a depressive episode, 1141 words

It had been three days since he had left his bed for anything other than the bare necessities. He had turned off his phone, shut all his blinds, and locked his front door. The only thing moving in his entire apartment were the hands on his clock mounted on the wall. He would have turned that off, too, if he had had it in him to reach up and grab it. 

Three days, and Alfred was painfully aware of every second he spent completely wasted, frozen in place like some kind of log left in a swamp to rot. Somehow, he thought, he had even less potential than the hypothetical log. In brief, fleeting moments, he considered getting up to cook or write or even just gaze blankly out of a window to the sad, dank street below, but the moments were, of course, fleeting, and nothing could really push him to make that first movement. 

He got up to go to the bathroom- the only thing that he could do- and caught a glimpse of his small pot of flowers that sat on his kitchen window sill and they were slumped over, dry and desperate for the sun. Petals littered the dirt in the pot and the ledge around it. They looked as miserable as he felt, and he was transfixed in that moment. 

Al didn’t know how long he stood there, making fake eye contact with his sad little dying plants like a deer in headlights. His hand was on the doorframe in front of him, and he was suddenly very aware of the plastic clicking of the clock in his bedroom. 

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

He didn’t really understand what happened or why, but seeing his dead flowers pushed him just a little further than he could really handle. Still standing in his drab, beige hallway, he started to cry. Maybe not even for himself, but that his negligence had caused another living thing to suffer. To die. 

To succeed where I couldn’t is something he left unsaid.

He sunk to the floor, back to the wall, and pulled his knees up close to his chest. His glasses had started to fog up from the heat in his cheeks and he took them off, tossing them haphazardly to the floor next to him. In a moment of clarity, he thought, I’m never going to be able to find those later, and the logical statement almost made him laugh. Of course he wouldn’t be able to find them later. But he didn’t care, which was something that forced another sob into his throat.

Why are that, and that stupid fucking pot of half dead Walmart flowers the only things he can manage to care about at a time like this? Seriously? There are real people out there with real problems, and here he is, in his dark room, sitting on the floor. Crying, like a child.

Like a petulant, single-minded c h i l d.

Almost out of habit, Alfred reached for his phone in his back pocket, but it wasn’t there. It, like the flowers, had been left to die in the kitchen. He dried his eyes on the inside of his shirt and stood up, albeit slowly, and shuffled into the kitchen to find it. 

It was sitting, black and silent, next to the sink, so he grabbed it and took it back to his bedroom. Whatever he had gotten up for initially was completely forgotten. It probably didn’t matter anyway.

He plugged the device into its charger and waited quietly for it to wake itself up. He had to hold it close to his face so he could see the screen, since his glasses were, as he had said, left in the hallway. The phone turned on and loaded in his missing notifications. Two dozen alerts from Twitter, a handful of trending or breaking news stories, another handful of work texts, and half-a-hundred emails. Slowly and silently, he read through every notification he had. Two hours and a headache later, he put his phone to sleep again and set it in his lap. He laid back and stared blankly at the ceiling. Not one person had asked for him. None of his friends, his relatives, or even his coworkers had asked where he was or what had happened, or even if he was okay.

In three days of complete radio silence, not one person wanted to talk to him. Alfred took a deep breath, and then another. 

His face burned and his throat hurt. He took another deep breath.

He ran his hands through his dirty, tangled hair. He took another breath.

He thought about his poor flowers, and how their fate was his fault. Like so many others.

He took a deep breath in, and let a shaky one back out. 

Outside the sun was probably shining. During the summer kids liked to play at the park near the apartment complex. He remembered when that was built. He remembered when the whole building was built, and how happy people were that they would be able to walk to school and work. It was really an ideal place, or at least it had been.

His hands shook gently, and he coughed up another sob. Compared to all of these people with finite existences, he was completely underwhelming. A permanent teenager with no sense of maturity. No purpose. No lasting impact (or at least, not anything good).

His phone dinged and he checked it again. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and held the screen close to read it. It was from his brother.

For a second, the shortest, sweetest second, he was relieved. Someone had at least noticed he’d been gone. So he opened the message, already preparing a reply, an apology, and-

“Oh, I owe him money.”

That was it. His brother had asked for some money he had borrowed recently. Just a reminder, probably good natured and, honestly, Al had probably asked him to remind him sometime so he wouldn’t forget. But that was all he had to say.

He put the phone back on the bed next to him. The shock of being completely flipped around like that had gotten him to stop crying, which was a nice first step. But, as minutes once again stretched into hours of dormancy, he realized that that was the only step.

So Alfred turned his phone back off.

And he laid down, in the dark, in the same place he’d been.

And he resolved to count the seconds as they went by to keep from thinking about anything else, and hope that soon he could let go for just a little while and fall asleep, but his hopes weren’t high.

As he drifted off, he thought about his sad, dead, helpless flowers. 

[aparticularbandit]

Finding Family: Part Five: Chapter Forty-Seven

Summary: When America begins universe-hopping again to try and find her moms, she realizes that’s too much scope for her.  She looks for smaller scope, and instead she finds Wanda.

AO3

Wendy wakes.

This isn’t the first time Wendy has woken since the return from Neverland.  She’s done so multiple times over the past several days – weeks, even, by this point, although it’s hard to keep track when she spends most of her days not awake – but no one has noticed yet.  Her mind has been touched by another, briefly, when she was conscious but not awake, but she wouldn’t consider that as counting, even if she had been sent a message, one that she recoiled from.

She always wakes when they are not.  Perhaps that makes her nocturnal, but it’s less about daylight hours and darkness hours and more about not wanting to talk with anyone, more about wanting to avoid all forms of human interaction while she still can. It hasn’t been easy to give her friend the slip, but she’s found a way around that, too.

Magic is very good about helping her avoid things she doesn’t want to deal with.

The first time she woke up, Wendy only made it to the bathroom.  She stared at herself in the mirror for the first time in a very long time, saw how hollowed out her face had grown, her dark hair now streaked through with strips of white, and pulled up her periwinkle blue nightgown so that she could see the star-shaped scar where Starlight – where America stabbed her through with the dagger.  She traced her fingers along the burst and nodded once to herself. It would be easy to unravel these seams. Really easy.

Her stomach tensed.

Wendy dropped the nightgown back into place and stared back into the mirror, fiddled with the star-shaped ruby necklace still dangling about her neck, and then returned to bed.

Starlight America didn’t even flinch.

~

Wendy has woken for longer and longer periods of time since then, always stretching her mind out to make sure the others are asleep, and then crawling out of her bed and creeping to other parts of the house, stepping softly so that the wood doesn’t creak and so that she cannot be heard.  Sometimes, one or multiple of the others were entertaining a nightmare, but she hasn’t felt the need to comfort them.  That would require a little more effort – a little more community – than she has wanted to put forth just then.

Instead, Wendy has found herself, often, creeping outside of the house, into the snow, and to the cellar.  It’s been cold and wet and dank in there, and she couldn’t quite imagine how Hook – how Agatha found herself locked within.  She has pressed her lips together and stared around and decided to stretch her power and make this space her own.

It hasn’t taken long to fix the cellar. Wendy’s expanded it so that it encompasses the entire length and width of the house above, creating a whole other suite – bathroom, kitchenette, living room, everything – and modelling it after—

Well.

Once, just once, Wendy teleported herself away from Sokovia, into a little town in New Jersey called Westview.  She walked, barefooted, along the streets under moonlight, causing the lamplights to flicker as she passed them.  Anyone she passed avoided her entirely; they seemed more likely to believe that she was a ghost, a vision of past tragedy, than an actual living, breathing human being, and she didsn’t fault them that and didsn’t fight that incorrect belief.  It served her well.  No one bothered her.  That’s good.

Eventually, Wendy found a house with an old, faded message tagged on it with what must have once been black spray paint.  She phased through the door in a manner she expected her older sister (if they can even be called that) didn’t and took in a life that seemed...mundane.

In the right spaces, mundane can be good.  Something in Wendy aches for the mundane.  But not like this.

When Wendy returned, the suite she crafted under Scarlet’s house began to take on a familiar shape.  Not really familiar to her, perhaps, but familiar to the woman who will, eventually, be its primary resident.  Her eyes scanned the place, checked every detail against her own memory, and found it to be just as it should.

Then she returned to her room and slept again, devising the next steps she needed to take to fulfill....

It wasn’t a promise, exactly.  It was an offer.  One she’d been denied, actually, but something tells her that the Hook Agatha who denied her—

Agatha told her that Agnes was dead.

Agnes is not dead.

If Agatha had known that, Wendy is certain she would have given her a completely different answer.

~

The first morning Wendy returns to her room with melted snow along the edge of her dress and dirt staining her bare feet, she finds Agatha curled up on the living room sofa.  She stares at her, reaches out with her mind just enough to confirm that the woman is still slumbering, and then creeps closer to her. Agatha looks different than she remembers.  Better. Healthier.  Exhausted.  She reaches out as though to touch her and then flinches away.

No.

It’s not time for that yet.

Instead, Wendy conjures a blanket out of thin air and carefully lays it around the slumbering woman, tucking it in without touch and startling only when Agatha grabs the edge of the blanket and pulls it tighter around her.  She doesn’t wake.  That’s good.

Call this a first step.

~

Wendy notices when Scarlet and Agatha begin to share the same bed.  They aren’t loud, and she suspects it’s nothing to do with that in the slightest, not that she would care.  Let Mother and Father Darling have their fun, if they must—

She scrubs that thought from her mind.

No Mother and Father Darling.

No Hook.

No Tink.

No Nana; no John and Michael; no Pixie, and certainly no Pan.

No Starlight, either.

There is no more Neverland, and so there should be no cast of characters either.

She might still be Wendy, but there isn’t much she can do about that. It is her name more than any other has ever been, and if she discards it for something else, then she is not sure she will have many roots left to dig into the ground and keep her steady now that everything else is being ripped away.  But she can, at least, learn to call people by their names and not the ones she’s fabricated for them.

The problem with Agatha and Scarlet finding warmth in each other is that, when she gets to the next step of her plan, she needs to get to Agatha without waking her.  That would be fine in and of itself, but it is so much harder when she must deal with two witches slumbering together, one of whom is another fully realized Scarlet Witch in her own right.  She doesn’t want to risk running into Scarlet.  Not yet.  Not now.

So Wendy waits.  She bides her time.

They aren’t together every time.

And, eventually, Wendy finds a moment where they have separated – or chosen to be separate, she can’t be sure which, not that it much matters – and she creeps silently to Agatha’s bed and reaches deep into her mind.  Immediately, Agatha recoils from her, but she whispers, soft, Sh.  I’m not here for you, my dear, my darling.  I only wish to make a present for you.  Her fingers hover above Agatha’s head, magic tucking strands of her dark waves out of her face so that Wendy does not even need to touch her, and she hums, croons the same little ditty she’d heard Agatha humming back in Neverland.

She doesn’t like to think about Neverland.

She doesn’t like to think.

Agatha settles, and as soon as she does, Wendy finds a way around the mental barrier protecting her mind – not into it or through it but around it, to a piece of her mind that doesn’t fall into the barrier because, strictly speaking, she’s intentionally keeping it as separate from her mind.

Wendy strokes her finger along the bubble – metaphorically speaking – and then with chaos magic shaped into hands pulls the bubble out of Agatha’s mind entirely.  It is small, translucent, as it separates itself.  She draws the bubble up in front of her face, forest green eyes peering inside where another woman in a plaid dress, similar in form to Agatha herself, slumbers, curled up on one side, crying even without consciously knowing she is doing so.  Instinctively, Wendy reaches out as though to stroke the bubble again but hesitates. She doesn’t want to wake her after all. Not until—

She slips out of the room without another sound.

~

Most of the cellar is constructed in such a way to mimic the house in Westview, but there is one room, far, far in the back that Wendy intends to dissolve once she is done with it.

It’s been difficult to construct an entire human body out of magic.  Hours have been poured into the construction of the thing, making sure it is the right shape, the right form, that it fulfills the image of the person she intends to host within it – or, if it doesn’t, to form to the image that the woman brings with her.  There’s nothing living in the body yet, but each part of it functions as it is meant.  Wendy’s run tests.  Many, many tests.  It would be horrible to make the transfer so completely and then have the woman frozen in a body that will not obey her the way that it is meant.

But, of course, Wendy can’t know if it will work until she sets the woman up in it.

This is the last, the greatest risk, the hardest step.

Gentle, careful, Wendy slowly fuses the bubble where the woman resides within the mind of the body.  She closes her eyes and stretches herself out thin, connecting, reconnecting, shifting, meshing, adapting, until the body – connected to the woman within – begins to shift, to fully realize itself.  The cloth springs from her shoulders – the only time it will ever do so – wrapping her in the same plaid dress she’d worn within the bubble so that she fits just the way she sees herself.  The more she is affixed to this body, the more it changes, the hair darkening, lengthening, pulled back into perfectly coiffed curls, skin growing paler instead of the ruddy color it held from the earth and clay Wendy had used in its construction.  Eventually, as she finishes, the woman curls up on one side in a fetal position, just as she had been within the bubble, tears springing from her eyes.

Wendy takes a deep breath and opens her eyes.  Then she gently taps the woman’s shoulder.

The woman’s eyes snap open – bright, bright, brilliantly bright blue, paralyzingly blue – but there is that barest hint of scarlet in the back of them, so that she does not remember this moment, even though otherwise she is in complete control of herself.  “What’s...what’s going on?  Where am I?”

“You’re safe, Agnes,” Wendy murmurs. Her hand skims from the woman’s shoulder down to her hand, perfectly manicured nails, and then she gives her a gentle squeeze.  “Why don’t you come with me, and I’ll show you to your room?  You could use somewhere safe to stay.”

Agnes blinks, meets Wendy’s eyes, and then nods.  “Okey-dokey. Why don’t you lead me, dear?  I don’t know where we are!”

Wendy smiles – an expression that grows even deeper as she brings Agnes to the bedroom she constructed for her. Everything seems to be doing just fine. Good, good.

Very good.

~

There is no way of determining what time it is when Agnes wakes.

This is...this is her bedroom, back in Westview, only she...only she doesn’t remember exactly going back to Westview.  She remembers Wanda bringing her to her house out in...well, Wanda hadn’t ever said exactly where it was, but it was somewhere outside of Westview, which had really been the important thing.  She remembers going into the room Wanda said she’d made for her, and then....

Nothing.

Well, not nothing.

Agnes remembers after that, too, remembers waking in a dank, dark cellar with two children – one who looked an awful lot like Wanda, but much younger, and one who...who Wanda said later was her daughter.  Wanda had mentioned having a daughter, but Agnes had thought—

It hadn’t mattered what Agnes thought.  The one who looked like Wanda disappeared, the one who was Wanda’s daughter collapsed, and Agnes had brought Wanda’s daughter back into the house – she still isn’t sure how she ended up in Wanda’s cellar; it was like she had missed a few steps in everything, really – and then Wanda had kissed her, and that had been...that had been wonderful, really, and then she had kissed Wanda back—

And then she had ended up on a road made to look like yellow brick even though it was really dirt in the middle of nowhere, and then Wanda had changed and hadn’t remembered her, and then she’d been shoved back and—

It was all very confusing.

Like a dream.

Or a nightmare.

Agnes sits up in her bed, pushes a hand through her hair, and looks around her room.  It looks exactly as it had when she left, which means that maybe...maybe she hadn’t really left at all.  Maybe it really was all a really bad dream.

Except that her house in Westview has windows that let the sunlight in, and this room, although it looks identical to hers in Westview, has no windows.

The panic starts in the center of her chest, tightening it until it hurts, paralyzing her throat so that she has trouble breathing, forcing her breaths to come in shallow, shallow, shallower still, and she curls up, hunches over herself, trying to make everything that may or may not have happened to her straighten out.  The dream idea was solid. It still is solid!  Except for...this isn’t her room.  It might look like her room, but it isn’t her room.

Agnes scans the room again and finds a note folded up on her bedside table.  That shouldn’t be there.  She hadn’t had a note on her bedside table.  (This isn’t her bedside table.) She grabs for it, sees her name written on it in a handwriting she is oddly familiar with, and flips it open.

Agnes, she reads, I’m sorry to have startled you so much, dear.  I thought we would be safe where we were, but—­

One of Agnes’s eyebrows raises.

I should have told you sooner, Agnes, but I’m one of the Avengers.  You know that I have magic, but that magic means that sometimes people come after me and after the people I love.  You were in danger in Westview, which is why I brought you here, but this was not any better.  I’ve been trying to keep you safe, but that’s hard right now.

Please, dear, stay where you are.  I’ve reconstructed your house in Westview – everything should be just exactly as you remember it – but I need you to stay there.  Safe.  Hidden.

I will send someone for you soon, if I’m not able to come to you myself.  Trust them as you would trust me, dearest.

Sincerely,

Wanda

Agnes reads over the letter again, and on finishing it a second time, she reads it a third time.  Reading it provides her some small amount of comfort, even if she does still feel wildly out of place.  Her thumb brushes over the paper.  The wording doesn’t feel quite like Wanda, but who else would it be?  Besides, she wants to believe that Wanda left this for her.  No one else would go to such lengths for her.  If she’s honest with herself, she’s surprised that Wanda did, too, but she finds it comforting.  Heart-warming.

If she could, Agnes would go to these lengths for her in a heartbeat.  She knows that.

So Agnes takes a deep breath, pretends that the lack of windows don’t bother her as much as they still very clearly do, and gets out to explore her new space.  As Wanda says, it is the spitting image of her house in Westview – other than the fact that there are no windows anywhere and, even more curious, the door that should be the front door is locked from the outside.  Agnes knows because, despite what Wanda said, she tries to open it.  Finding it locked makes her stomach clench again with that same panic she’d felt on waking and noticing the things that are just slightly off, but she pushes that feeling down.

Wanda put her here so that she would be safe.  She can trust Wanda.

Absolutely, she can trust Wanda.

This time, when Agnes’s stomach acts up, it isn’t a painful clenching but an angry rumbling.  Right, right.  She should eat something.  It’s been...actually, she’s not certain exactly how long it’s been since she’s eaten.  Food is probably a good idea.

Well, it certainly wouldn’t hurt.

~

Wendy feels Agnes having a nightmare even before she wakes.

It’s a gentle sort of thing – if she reaches far enough, she could see the nightmare Agnes is having, but she doesn’t. A part of Wendy is curious; nightmares can, in many cases, be a window into multiversal variants, and she’s intrigued as to what sort of variants Agnes might have across the multiverse – but she doesn’t want to break into her mind so completely.  Instead, when she makes her way down to the cellar, when she enters the basement house she’d crafted for Agnes (and locks the door from the outside behind her – magic is such a wonderful thing), when she makes her way back into Agnes’s bedroom, she softly – softly, so softly – places a hand on Agnes’s shoulder.

“It’s okay, Agnes.  I’m here.  You don’t need to be afraid.”

Agnes sits bolt upright as soon as Wendy finishes speaking, eyes wide and wild, breathing heavily.  She turns to Wendy and, on seeing her, scoots away, to the complete other end of the bed.  Her breathing stills as she examines Wendy, evening out.  “I...I met you,” she says, hesitant.  “You hurt Wanda’s daughter, hon.  I...I think.  Your hair looks different.  Good, but...different?”  She searches Wendy’s eyes for any sort of reassurance.

Wendy can’t stop the shock that crosses her face when she hears Agnes refer to America as Scarlet’s daughter.  She had overheard that in Neverland, when America introduced herself that way, but it still sits weird, uncomfortable.  “You were having a nightmare,” she murmurs as comfortingly as she can.  “I only came to help.”

“Yes, well.”  Agnes glances at Wendy’s outstretched hand and then back up to her eyes.  “I don’t know who you are, dear, and this is my bedroom, and it is quite rude to enter someone’s bedroom without their permission, even if they are having a nightmare."

“Oh?  Didn’t Wanda tell you?”  Wendy’s brows raise.  “I’m Wendy, her younger sister.  She sent me to help you.”

At Wendy’s words, Agnes relaxes. They’re all lies, to some extent or other – Wendy isn’t Wanda’s younger sister, but it’s close enough, and Wanda didn’t send Wendy to help her, but only because she didn’t know that Agnes could be saved (and likely would not have tried if she knew that she could) – but Wendy isn’t here for Wanda. She’s here for Agatha, who thought that Agnes deserved better.

This is a gift to the only person she feels bad about harming.

(Outside of America, but she can’t just craft an entire person out of nothing to appease that problem.  It will take more than that.  It will take a discussion, and Wendy...isn’t in a place where she can discuss any of that right now. This, at least, she can do.)

“Wanda sent you to....”  Agnes echoes Wendy’s words, verbally parsing through them, before she smiles, hesitantly, up at Wendy.  “Why didn’t you say so sooner, doll?  I was afraid you were one of those evil people she mentioned in her letter.”  She sits up a little straighter, smile half-fading. “Although it’s still quite rude to be in my bedroom without my permission, dear.  Didn’t your parents teach you better manners?”

“Our parents died when I was very young,” Wendy explains, easy as anything.  “Wanda tried to step in, but....”  Her voice fades away.  “She did the best she could.”

“Oh, my dear girl.”  Agnes’s expression warms.  She pats the spot on the bed next to her.  “Come here.  Sit with me a spell.”

Wendy hesitates, but only for a moment. All of the others knew what she did. This is almost like a fresh start. Like being someone new.  Like finding out who she is without....  Without.  She climbs onto the bed next to Agnes, and immediately, instinctively, the woman wraps an arm around her shoulders and scrunches her closer.

It’s...nice.

“If you ever – and I mean ever – need anything, Auntie Agnes is right here for you.”  Agnes brushes strands of Wendy’s hair back out of her face, tucks them behind one ear. “You got that, dear?”

Wendy glances up for a moment, nods, and then curls against Agnes, burying her head in her chest.

~

It....

It isn’t fair to keep Agnes to herself, is it?

Wendy doesn’t even creep down to the cellar anymore, simply phases through the floor until she lands just where she wants. Agnes is always so happy to see her – maybe she would be happy to see anyone at this point, because Wendy gets the feeling that Agnes is incredibly lonely – and always has something waiting for her. Food.  A new version of tea.  A knitted hat, once, because Agnes can apparently knit.

And, honestly, it’s getting to the point that....

Well, Wendy’s run all of the tests she might need to run.  Agnes seems to be in charge of the body she’d made for her just fine.  She’s fine.  No problems. So she shouldn’t be hesitating.

But there’s something comforting about avoiding the people upstairs and only spending time with the person in the basement who doesn’t know that she’s done anything wrong.  Who needs Wendy just as much as she needs her.  Maybe.

She didn’t do this for herself.

She—

“Agnes,” Wendy asks, finally, tucked as closely to her as she can, “are you ready to get out of here?”

“Well, sure, dear.”  Agnes gives her a curious look.  “But isn’t Wanda supposed to come for me?  She said she would, if she was able.  Is it not safe, or....”

Wendy doesn’t glance up.  “No, it’s perfectly safe.  I’ll....”  She swallows once.  “She’ll be here.  In the morning.  You won’t have to be alone much longer.”  She tries to smile, finds it doesn’t sit right, and just curls closer as Agnes begins to rub her back.  “It’s been nice, like this, hasn’t it?”

Agnes doesn’t hesitate before saying, “Yes,” but it’s the tone in her voice that suggests there’s still something missing.  Of course, there is.  She wasn’t made to be cooped up in the basement by herself.  She isn’t a pet. She’s a human being – more now, perhaps, than she ever was before – and she deserves better than this.

Most people don’t deserve to be locked away by themselves, and Agnes hasn’t done anything wrong.

Wendy just....

It doesn’t matter what Wendy wants. What’s right is, in the end, more important.  And Agatha will be happy with her.  It’ll be...this will be good.

Yeah.

Something like that.

~

Wendy wakes, and she makes sure that America does not rouse as she slips from her bed, as she transforms her periwinkle blue nightgown into something much more suiting – cinnamon colored leggings that end in charcoal combat boots, sleeveless lace ivory dress with a denim vest, hair tied back with a single brown bootstring, shocks of white streaks blatant against the dark brown.  She phases easily through the wall like the ghost of her former self into Scarlet’s private bathroom (ignoring the mess of clothes, soap bottles, and towels) and then through that into Scarlet’s bedroom proper (where things are less messy).  She takes in the two women in bed together – Scarlet, curled against Agatha with her head tucked just under her chin, shivering but not from the cold – but this means nothing to her, means nothing to a child now woman who spent two years maintaining the lives of so many people, keeping an eye on everything to make sure nothing went wrong, means nothing to someone who has seen far, far worse things because she has needed to see far, far worse things. (Worse is subjective.)  Wendy stares at these chaste two and does not think before slipping into bed next to them, gingerly pulling down the back of Scarlet’s blue shirt, and pressing an equally chaste kiss to her bare skin, just above her shoulder blade.

Immediately, Scarlet stirs.  She shifts as Wendy wraps her arms around her waist, blearily rubs at her eyes with one hand, and then glances up to see Agatha on the other side of her.  Then she blinks.  Her breathing goes ragged.  Chaos magic filters from her skin, her eyes glowing bright, but Wendy only clings closer to her.  She twists to face her—

Agatha’s brow furrows.  “What’s wrong, hon?” she murmurs, words meshing together.  She rests her head on Scarlet’s shoulder, and even in her sleep, she presses a kiss to her cheek.  “Nightmare again?”

The glow in Scarlet’s eyes fades as she reocgnizes Wendy.  Her breathing evens out.  “Are you really here,” she whispers, “or is this another nightmare?”

Wendy stares up at Scarlet through her lashes, bats them twice, but does not unwrap her arms from Scarlet’s waist. “Why would my being here be a nightmare? I’m not going to hurt you.”  Her gaze drops.  “Only I’ve made your friend a gift who refuses to be unwrapped unless you come with us.”

At her words, Agatha groans.  “You always talk in riddles, dear.  We’re not in a—”  Her eyes snap open.  She peers over Scarlet’s shoulder at Wendy, who instinctively hides her face against Scarlet’s chest.  But when she glances up, Wendy notices how Agatha’s expression softened with weary fondness.  Agatha meets her eyes before Wendy can look away and murmurs, “It’s nice to see you awake, my little Wendybird.  Your Hook has missed you.”

Wendy blushes, looks away, and mutters, “You don’t...you don’t have to be Hook anymore.  Neverland’s gone, I’m not...I’m not going to be delusional about that anymore, but I...I made something for...for you, as an apology, but—”  Her stuttering comes to an abrupt end as Scarlet kisses her forehead.  She swallows once.  “I’m not...I’m not sorry,” she says, finally, “for what I did.  It wasn’t...it wasn’t wrong.  I was just trying to make everyone happy—”

Agatha gently touches Wendy’s hand where it’s wrapped around Scarlet’s waist.  “I can’t speak for everyone, but I think we’re just happy that you’re back, dear.  Scarlet might think otherwise, but I missed you.”  Her other hand moves to brush stray hairs out of Wendy’s face and tuck them, gently, back into her ponytail.

“I missed you, too,” Scarlet admits, then grumbles, “but it would have been nice not to be scared awake by some unknown stranger kissing my back—”

“Sorry—” Wendy starts to say, even though she really isn’t.

“You said you made a gift for me?” Agatha interrupts, and she smiles with the barest hint of mischief when Wendy meets her eyes again.  “What is it? Is it like a cake?”  She sighs.  “I would love a good cake right now.”

Wendy presses her lips together.  “No,” she says hesitantly, “but I’m sure...I’m sure we can arrange for cake, if that’s what you really want.”

Agatha shakes her head.  “No, no. I don’t need cake.”  Her eyes light up.  “Show me what you’ve made for me.”

~

They follow Wendy to the cellar.

Wanda pauses only once, staring at the door, brow furrowed in confusion.  “We don’t have a cellar,” she says, propping her hands on her hips.  “Did you make the cellar?”

“No,” Agatha answers before Wendy has a chance.  “I did.” When Wanda turns back to look at her, she meets her eyes steadily.  “I’ve known this cabin longer than you’ve been alive, dear, and it was a good place to hide for a few years while time caught back up to me.  You just didn’t see it because I hid it from you.”

Wanda stares at her.  “What else did you hide from me?”

Agatha shrugs and tilts her head towards the sheep.  “They’re magic.”

Wanda’s eyes narrow.  “That’s not funny.”

“I’m serious.”  Agatha crosses her arms.  “I saw how well you weren’t taking care of them, hon, and I figured the best way to make sure they wouldn’t die from negligence is to make sure magic would take care of them when I wasn’t around to do it for you.”  She sighs.  “Sheep don’t take care of themselves, babe.  They need more than just a barn.”

Wanda opens her mouth to speak, stopping herself only because Wendy opens the door to the cellar.  Her eyes grow wide.  “What did you do?”

Wendy starts forward, as though expecting them both to follow, and Wanda follows her easily enough, but Agatha doesn’t. It isn’t a conscious refusal so much as an unconscious recoiling.  She has been in that house, trapped in skin that should have been hers, in a body piloted by someone who, yes, might have deserved better, but was still making decisions concerning Agatha’s body that Agatha did not and had not wanted.  Her stomach coils just seeing the inside of the house without even stepping inside.  “You know what, hon, I’m just gonna stay right here.  You have fun in the hell of Westview or whatever.”

Wanda glances back to her, opens her mouth, and then shuts it again.  She glances up, pauses, and then steps back through the cellar door before taking Agatha’s hand in hers.  “There are no runes, Agatha.  You will be just fine.”

Agatha’s gaze grows steely.  “You didn’t want to relive your trauma, angel, so I don’t think it’s very fair of you to ask me to relive the hell you put me through.”

“What was it you said?” Wanda asks, brushing her thumb soft along Agatha’s knuckles.  “The only way forward is back, or something like that?”  She doesn’t glance back into the cellar.  “It’s just a room, Agatha.  It isn’t going to hurt you.”

“I know that,” Agatha snaps back, gaze still hard.  “That doesn’t mean I’m going in there.”

Wendy pokes her head out from around the doorway.  “If the way the cellar looks bothers you, I can change it.  I’m not sure how kindly she’ll take it, but I can...I can change it, so that you can come meet her.”

In that moment, Agatha knows.

Agatha stretches back into her own mind, reaches for the person who she’d left contained there, and finds nothing. Her gaze moves from Wanda over to Wendy. “You little shit.”

“I—”

Agatha pulls her hand out of Wanda’s and pushes past her, down the last few steps into the cellar.  “i told you not to bring her back—”

“You thought she was dead,” Wendy explains as Agatha pushes past her, further into the cellar, “and she clearly wasn’t dead—”

Words start to form, but then Wanda gets it, too, and she asks, again, pressing into the cellar after Agatha, “Wendy, what did you do?”

But Agatha isn’t waiting on any of that, isn’t waiting to see how Wendy explains herself to Scarlet, isn’t waiting to see Scarlet’s face when Wendy finally explains.  She’s pushing through the house that sends shivers along her scarred spine, searching first one room and then another, eyes sweeping along everything, stomach revolting, until – until – she finds her.  She stops just inside the kitchen, sees the familiar coiff of hair that had looked so different in the mirror where she’d seen it day after day, appraises the hourglass shape that is so like her own (identical, almost, except that her mirror image is more, somehow, although she couldn’t put into words exactly how, even if she were asked), that has been accentuated by a thin black ribbon tied around her waist.  She doesn’t look like she did in the fifties, even though that’s the image she usually conjures up, and she doesn’t look quite like she did when Wanda conjured her up either.

She looks real.

Very real.

Agnes hums softly – and Agatha recognizes the tune immediately as the one she’d been humming when Wanda caught her washing the only set of clothes she’d been given – as she washes her single plate, unaware that someone is standing behind her until she sets the plate over to dry and turns, drying her hands on her stained white apron.  “Oh, Wendy, you’re back!  Is there anything I can—”  Her gaze moves up and lands on Agatha.  “You’re not Wendy.”

“No,” Agatha says, hushed.

“...and you’re not Wanda.”

“No,” Agatha repeats, still hushed.

Agnes starts to step back, away from her, one hand reaching for the singular plate she’d just finished drying. “And you’re the one who broke into my house and—”

Before Agnes can finish what she’s saying, Agatha crosses the distance between them and wraps her arms around her. She feels Agnes tense in her grasp, but right now, she doesn’t care.  “You’re real,” she says, burying her head against Agnes’s neck.  “I made sure you didn’t die, and Wendy made you real.”

“Hon, I don’t have the foggiest what you’re talking about.”  Agnes pulls back just enough to meet Agatha’s eyes with her bright blue ones, a mimicry of Agatha’s own.  “You’re not one of those evil people who’s out to hurt me?”

“No, no, of course not, dear, I would never—”  Agatha brushes a hand gingerly through Agnes’s hair, skims her fingertips along her skin, careful not to pinch or prod or—

At her words, Agnes relaxes.  “Good, good. I wouldn’t want anything to do with those people.”  She searches Agatha’s eyes hesitantly.  “You’re...you’re being very handsy, hon, and I’ve got to say, you’re making me feel a lot better than my husband Ralph—”  She flinches immediately, gaze dropping.  “Not my husband anymore.  I’m sorry, hon, I forget.  We were together for so long.”

Not very long at all, in the grand scheme of things, Agatha thinks.  She notices the tears welling up in Agnes’s eyes and gingerly brushes it away with one thumb.  “Do you want me to stop?”

“Hon, I don’t...I don’t even know who you are.”  Agnes’s gaze drops further, avoiding Agatha’s eyes.

“Does that matter?”

Agnes freezes.  “No,” she murmurs, brow furrowing.  “It...it doesn’t.”  She glances back up, hesitantly meeting Agatha’s eyes.  Then she reaches up, just as Agatha did, and gingerly brushes Agatha’s hair back out of her face.  She smiles. “There.  Now I can see you better.  You have such beautiful eyes, hon.”  She hesitates, then admits, voice soft, “I don’t.  Want you to stop, hon.  It’s nice to feel wanted by someone.”

Agatha takes that as permission.

There’s a moment where Agatha is aware of how weird this must seem, brushing her nose soft against Agnes’s, giving her adequate time to pull away, before she feels Agnes’s hand move to the base of her neck, as though gently prompting her. It must seem weird, she realizes as their lips meet, because it’s not one of those things that can adequately be explained.  But the two of them outside of this bubble, and she would likely recoil at the very sight of her.  It isn’t as though she’d ever particularly enjoyed acting as Agnes, although she’d enjoyed how Wanda had reacted to her, at least initially.

She’d read it in a book somewhere once – that it is impossible to see someone the way they see themselves – their hopes, their dreams, their desires, their longings, their accomplishments and their failures – all of it – without loving them.  Of course, the author of that book probably didn’t mean falling in love with them, because then his empathetic main character wouldn’t have been straight, but that’s another thing entirely.

Agatha notes how gentle and hesitant Agnes is, and she feeds that soft caution back to her, meeting her just where she is.  She breaks off just long enough to ask, voice still soft, “Is that okay, dear?”

Agnes nods, gently brushing her nose against Agatha’s as she does so.  “I’m sorry I’m not very good at...at this sort of thing.  I’ve only ever....”

“You’re doing just fine, hon.”

Agnes blushes a bright red.  “You’re just saying that.”  She glances up.  “But thank you for saying it, dear.  That means an awful lot to me.”  She pauses, seems to consider, and then leans up to initiate a kiss of her own.

She’s learning.

Then comes the cleared throat from behind them, and then Agnes pulls away, flushing brightly, unable to look Agatha in the eyes, and then Agatha sighs, bends until her forehead rests on Agnes’s shoulder, and glances behind her.  “You’re interrupting, babe.  How rude.”

Wanda stands behind them, hands on her hips, lips pressed into a thin little line, struck wordless, while Wendy stands to one side, leaning against the door frame with a bright grin.  “You’re saying I did good?” Wendy asks, eyes bright with longlost mischief.

“Yes, yes, you’re a very good girl,” Agatha murmurs.  Then she presses a kiss to Agnes’s cheek.  “You are, too, hot stuff.”

Agnes just blushes a brighter red, gaze moving over Agatha’s shoulder to where Wanda is standing.  She winces.  “Wanda,” she starts, “it isn’t what it looks like, dear—”

“Oh, it is exactly what it looks like,” Wanda says, glaring at Agatha before her gaze sweeps up to Agnes, growing gentler, “but I don’t blame you, Agnes. Agatha’s just—”

“Agatha,” Agnes echoes, gaze returning to Agatha.  “Is that your name?”

Agatha just nods slow.  “Agatha Harkness.  Sole survivor of the Salem Coven.  Currently hating all of your decor choices here.”

But Agnes ignores that last comment. She moves just enough away from Agatha to hold out her hand as though they are having a formal introduction.  “Well, it’s my pleasure to meet you, Agatha.  I’m Agnes—”  She hesitates, flush fading, face freezing.  “I guess I’m not Bohner anymore, huh.  It’s one of the few things Ralph gave me.”

“Real shame to lose it then, isn’t it?” Wanda asks.

“Not really, dear.”  Agnes shifts her stance and keeps her hand outstretched.  “Agnes Fletcher, then.”  She doesn’t wait for Agatha to take her hand in her own, instead grabs her hand, gives it a good shake, and then interlaces their fingers.  Then she turns to Wanda and lets out a gentle breath.  “Is it safe for me out there?”

Before Wanda can respond, Agatha gives Agnes’s hand a gentle squeeze.  “If anyone else tries to hurt you, they will have to deal with this family, and trust me, sugar, they won’t know what’s coming for them.”

Agnes meets Agatha’s eyes and offers her a bright smile.  “Well, that’s certainly news a girl can hear.  Why don’t we get out of here?  I’m feeling tired of being so cooped up.  What’s the world like out there?  What year is it?  Do we have people living on the moon yet?”

Wendy chuckles.  “You haven’t been stuck down here that long.”  She glances up at Wanda and wilts.  “Honestly. Not that long.  I needed to make sure she was...she was good before....”  Her gaze drops.

But Wanda slowly lifts her chin so that their eyes meet again.  “Next time you want to do this – this good thing of yours – tell one of us.  Don’t just throw an entire human being at us.  Please.”

“No, no.  Of course not.”  Wendy glances over to Agnes, waits for her to glance her way, and then smiles.  “C’mon, Agnes.  Let’s get you out into the sunlight.  It’s nice and real out there.”

Agatha snorts.  “Nice and real indeed.”

But her hand doesn’t leave Agnes’s, not even when Agnes reaches out her free hand to take one of Wanda’s in her own. Wanda is much more hesitant about taking Agnes’s hand, and yet.

And yet.

It feels right to be three.

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