#[ he struggles damnit he's not perfect but it's not an easy story or character to write ]

[shieldslinger]

any time someone says steve rogers/captain america is unrelatable, i wanna just be like

oh so you don't have a complex relationship with your country where you both love it but struggle with it's flaws and sins and the genuine wrongs it's done and pain it's caused and yet still know it's full of genuinely good, fantastic people that you want to protect and inspire even if it also means protecting people who whole-heartedly disagree with

and you somehow don't struggle with what does "doing good" and "helping people" actually mean and look like when there's so many people now and what helps one group might inevitably be at the detraction of another, that with every step forward, there's two steps back and the fact that there's so many people out there who need help and your heart hurts because you know you can't possibly help them all even though you'd love nothing more than to spend your time all day every day doing that

and you don't ever think back on the things you've done and wonder if it was the right decision, you don't hold yourself to a higher standard of performance and morality, that you wonder if you were too mean or too unrealistic, if there was something, anything you could have done in that moment to be kinder, better, more just and fair to prevent the bad outcomes from happening

sounds fake but okay

[asphodel-flowers]

The Fool

Everyone points out the, well, foolishness of the character in the Fool card: hasty, not paying attention, so distracted by that butterfly he’s about to fall off the cliff. It’s easy to mock those who don’t know any better, isn’t it? We forget the Fool is the beginning of the Journey.

There’s two points I want to make about that (“the beginning of the journey”):

inexperience. When you first start anything new, you will bumble it. Think back to when you first started something you’re good at now, doesn’t matter what it is. Maybe you’re just starting something now and feel foolish with your first attempts. Babies wobble. No one walks or runs perfectly on their first try. Don’t come at me in the comments with some weird ass exception(s), I stg. I can hear Loki giggling and my Mother reminding me not to speak in absolutes. You know what I mean, damnit. I could ramble on about how it’s okay to make mistakes, to be new at things, but I think you’ve probably read as much enough times in other things. Why bother reiterating it here?

catalysts. Every story needs a catalyst, needs a turning point. Change isn’t happening if everything is sitting in a still, perfect equilibrium. I’m not sure I’ve met anyone who got into magic who didn’t have some kind of Experience tm or other Reason which compelled them to explore. The world, the universe, is wondrous and rich, but you’ll never experience it if you do not step outside your door.

There is a dog yapping at the Fool’s heels. Is it warning him? Or egging him on? The Wolf has been snapping at my heels, trying to force me to leap off the cliff’s edge. “You cannot be prepared for everything, every situation. Sometimes you just. must. jump.” I’m told. I waffle when the Wolf demands I choose. I want it all. The result of my choice is irrelevant. It is my hesitation that frustrates. I refuse both to show my neck in submission, and also refuse to meet his eye or bear my own fangs back. I could say it’s meant as respect, but the Wolf knows better and so do I. Stand the fuck up. Take the damn leap. How can you start the journey if you forever refuse to take the first step?

It’s not the first time I’ve been urged to leap. I struggle with Change, and with Choice, especially if I’m not given the time to contemplate it, or prepare somehow. I want to min-max, to optimize, but we don’t always have time for that in life. Some things must be chosen without any idea of the outcome. Sometimes that’s precisely the point of that particular choice. I only ever seem to notice when I do that and fail. The failures resonate, stick to me, a residue I can’t seem to wash off. That doesn’t mean that the leap always results in failure. It’s just so hard to remember when it doesn’t.

[meetthetank]

Bad End

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28743237 Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: Major Character Death Category: F/M Fandom: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse) Relationship: Steve Burnside/Claire Redfield Characters: Claire Redfield, Steve Burnside Additional Tags: Bad Ending, Game: Resident Evil CODE: Veronica, Whump, Angst, shit's bad yo

Summary:  What if Alexia had simply left Claire and Steve to die in the Antarctic after destroying their snowmobile?

A/N:  I got the brainworms for these two real bad and I needed to get them out, so I took one of my old stories from FFnet and touched it up a bit to scratch that itch. I also got another Steve centric thing brewing for all 2 Steve fans out there.

Of all the perils that had plagued them on this now two day long mess, Steve Burnside never once thought that freezing to death would be their downfall. They were in the clear...how could this have happened?

They had made it past all the zombies, mutants, even the maniacal Alfred Ashford. They had beaten him, taken the snowmobile and were on their way to...Damnit, Claire knew where they were going. She had the map, she was driving, but something happened...The snowmobile had flipped and had been crushed by...something.

Claire...Where was she? Steve tried to turn to face the drivers side, but he couldn't? There was something pinning him down, keeping him from even craning his head around. What was-...

Oh...

The treads were crushing his chest, and he was becoming painfully aware of how hard it was to breathe. Each inhale was cut short and each exhale let the vehicle press harder into his ribs. He tried to shift his weight back and forth, but no matter how much he struggled the snowmobile wouldn’t budge. With his arms pinned as well he couldn’t even dig himself free...

"Steve?!"

He knew that voice. It sounded like it was underwater but it was unmistakable. He would have called out to its owner, but all that came out of his mouth as a pained breath. However, that seemed to be enough, seeing as his valkyrie was pushing through debris and snowdrifts to get to him.

"Oh Jesus-..." Claire gasped when she saw him pinned beneath the treads, "J-..hang on I'm gonna get you out of here, Steve. Okay? Just hang in there..."

There was a chunk of metal, the front bumper or part of the roof, sticking out from under the machinery, and it was at the perfect angle to act as leverage. Claire shuffled over, breathlessly telling him that he was going to make it out of here. Feebly, he tried to push the treads up with what little strength he had. It didn't budge much, but it gave him a bit more room to breath.

"Cl-..." he tried to say.

"S-shush." Claire put a hand over his mouth to shut him up, "S-s-save your breath..."

She grunted and put all her weight onto the piece of metal. The treads raised up with dangerous sounding creaks and groans, but he was able to take in a huge gulp of frigid air. It burned his throat and lungs but he took another one just to relish in the relief.

"Move, move!" Claire shouted at him, her entire body shuddering.

Steve shimmied out from under the treads, then immediately flipped over to his hands and knees and vomited what little he had eaten on the sea plane into the snow, followed by an intense coughing fit as his body recovered from nearly suffocating. His vision blurred, with little white dots swimming in his eyes each time another bout of coughs wracked his body. Claire rubbed his back, but she didn't seem to be doing any better, seeing as she was struggling to even stand upright. He only thought that she was just tired from lifting the treads until he saw little red drops on the snow...

"We...we need to move.." She muttered, leaning down to help him up.

That's when he noticed the blood running down her arm, the dark stains on her vest, and the huge piece of glass sticking out of her shoulder...

She must have taken note of his horrified expression..., "I'll be fine, but we're going to freeze to death if we don't move."

"Y-you're not fine!" he choked back, "There's-s-s a huge piece of glass in your s-s-s..." He couldn't even finish his sentence with his teeth clacking together.

"The Aus-s-strailian outpost w-will help! We are not dying out here now get up!"

Claire was practically screaming at him over the howling winds, and like the moron he was, he just sat there with his mouth open. He had never seen this kind of desperation in Claire all those times they had faced death on Rockfort and in the Antarctic facility. Then again...there had always been a clear way out. Shoot the zombie, burn the mutants, solve the puzzle. The only way out of this was to walk across the Antarctic tundra in the middle of a snowstorm with no proper clothing. Not to mention Claire was bleeding badly, and he probably had broken ribs or a punctured lung. Or both if he was really unlucky.

Steve reluctantly allowed himself to be supported by Claire, for now at least. As she stated, she could walk much better than he could. Even still, their pace was little more than a shuffle when pitted against snow and wind. They huddled close together, so close that their clouds of pained breaths mingled together. He could feel her shivering violently against him with each step. For Steve though, each breath caused painful tremors to shoot through his body. He definitely had some broken ribs. He couldn’t tell if he was shivering from the cold or the pain anymore.

They walked in silence for what seemed like hours, and only a faint silhouette could be seen on the horizon. Steve could only hope that it was the outpost that Claire had mentioned...

Claire...

She was dragging her feet pretty badly now. It was only now that it occurred to Steve that she had been losing a lot of blood. Looking back at their trail it was easy to see just how bad she was doing. Her eyelids drooped, breathing shallow and ragged, and soft pink lips were now blue and quivering with each breath. And even still, she was supporting his weight, forcing herself to move forward. She knew that if they stopped, they would die.

That's when she collapsed onto the snow a shivering mess. She was having a much harder time breathing now, her face was twisted with pain and silent screams. She had tears in her eyes and frozen trails down her cheeks. Ice clung to her skin like a shell and snow stained her hair white.

Steve fell to his knees beside her, frantically trying to find a way to help. In the gentlest way possible, he pulled her freezing body close to his, and leaned over her as if to shield her from the winds with his own body. He could barely feel her, his fingers had long since gone numb.

"I gotcha." he whispered to her, "I'm not going anywhere...I gotcha..."

She tried to form words through clenched teeth, "St-...can't..w-w-...my leg..."

Steve's gaze drifted down to her legs. At first it looked like everything was normal, but he did notice that her left leg looked...wrong. It was twisted, her foot pointing inward. Definitely broken. It made his stomach turn. And...she had been walking on it, and carrying his sorry ass across the ice and snow. So much for her knight in shining armor...

He pulled off his thin prisoner jacket and tried to drape it around Claire, but she shoved it away with a quivering hand.

"You'll f-freeze..."

"S-so will you if-f you keep being s-stubborn."

He wrapped the jacket around her shivering body, and with what little strength he had he lifted her up. His entire torso screamed in pain, sending searing waves of agony through him that pushed him back down to his knees. Despite this, he mustered up the strength to push onward, shuffling on his knees at first. Once his body became used to holding Claire, he planted his boot in the snow, and forced himself to stand. Steve refused to fall again, not when they had only two options. Move forward, or die. If he didn't make himself move, Claire would die.

It started slowly, one foot deliberately and carefully placed in front of the other. He moved slower than those zombies they had taken down together, but he was moving. The whole top of his body was bent over top of hers, not just because of the pain. He wanted to at least try to keep her warm. Hopefully, he would lose feeling in his sides before he passed out from the pain. His legs and hands were already lost, and his arms were well on their way.

Steve kept walking, and eventually the faint outline of the outpost formed into a more defined building. They were so close! Safety was right in front of them! They had beaten all the dangers and the struggle and now they were going to make it!

"Claire, look! There's the outpost!" he cheered.

...Why didn't she answer?

"Claire?.." Steve gave her a small shake.

Oh no...She wasn't moving... Her eyes were closed, jaw slacked, and body limp...

"No no no Claire!"

She was just passed out...right? Yeah..yeah that was it! She had been losing a lot of blood, and walking on a broken leg. She probably just passed out from the pain.

..Then why couldn't he see her breath...

"Claire come on...Wake up! We're almost there!" he pleaded.

"Claire please..." His eyes welled up and a lump formed in his throat, "Don't do this, please...we're so close..."

Steve sunk to his knees, clutching her limp body close to his in a last desperate attempt to keep her warm.

"You can't die now...Th-this isn't how things end...please..."

Tears spilled down his cheeks onto the limp girl in his arms. He choked out small, broken noises as he clung to Claire's body. The violent sobs and tremors wracked his body more than any cold induced shivering could. He sat there in the snow, holding Claire’s body as tightly as his frozen limbs would allow.

"Please...No...It doesn't end like this...please...Claire..."

He put his forehead against hers, "I-...Goddamnit I love you!"

A faint, warm breeze hit his neck, jolting him out of his grief. There was a pause, and then another one, just the same as before. It was slow, and sparse, but rhythmic and consistent. He looked down at Claire and saw her chapped blue lips quivering slightly. She was breathing. She was alive.

Steve was never a religious man, but he thanked every higher power he could remember off the top of his head that Claire was alive. He laughed and he cried at the same time and he knew that Claire would make fun of the noises he was making if she could hear them. But he didn't care. She was alive.

He rose to his feet again with renewed strength and pushed onward. They were going to live.

They were only a half a mile away from the outpost when that changed to "she" was going to live.

The cold had taken its toll on Steve. He had lost feeling in his entire body. His hold on the barely breathing Claire was slipping. His vision blurred and exhaustion threatened to overtake him. But he had to keep going.

He had to.

He had to...

He had to rest...

…

[sethrine-writes]

Daughter of a Devil - Ch. 16

Main Characters:  Father!Dante & Daughter!Reader

Words:  2343

Warnings:  Fancy stuff, Fluff, Father-Daughter Dancing

Story Summary: Being a parent wasn’t easy, nor was there such thing as being perfect at it. Good news for Dante, seeing as how he doesn’t have the slightest idea in hell what to do with a child. Sometimes, he was certain that fighting off a horde of demons was a far better match than keeping up with his own daughter. Well, at least he wasn’t going down without a fight.

A/N:  Thank you guys so much for all the warm welcomes back into this series! I’m so glad you guys are still interested in this lovely little universe. Here’s another chapter, just for you kind souls! Some nice fluff. Enjoy!

------

Chapter 16 - When the Devils Dance (16 yrs.)

You had honestly not expected to see both Lady and Trish waiting for you as soon as you entered the shop. In fact, their presence was a little irking, seeing as how your father had said they were on some sort of mission of their own a few cities away. Either he was lying, or they were really fast; the former sounded much more fitting for this particular situation.

“Hey Trish…Lady,” you said with a nod in greeting, eyeing the smiling women suspiciously. Sure, you were covered in dirt and muck and God-knows-what else from your earlier assignment of taking care of some small-fry demons (damn things were fast and kept tripping you up), but the mischievous grins sprouting on their faces didn’t look like the type of reaction appropriate for your disheveled appearance.

“Have you guys seen Dad?”

“Dante’s a bit…tied up at the moment,” Lady answered, her smile never wavering. You had a feeling her statement was far more truth than it should have been.

“Right. Well, if you’ll excuse me, I’m just gonna go…that way, so - son of a bitch!”

You had just turned toward the kitchen and had taken a few steps when Trish had suddenly appeared before you, arms crossed just below her breasts and hip cocked to one side. Whatever her smile meant, you had a strange feeling that you were involved.

“I’m afraid there’s just no time for you to wander about. We have to get you ready!”

You gave the blonde she-demon a very strange look.

“R-ready? Ready for wha-“

“Come on, now, upstairs for a shower.”

“Wait…hey!”

You continued to shout and curse the whole way upstairs as Trish pushed you along, already pulling at your clothes to quicken the process. By the time you were actually in the bathroom, you were almost completely naked.

“Alright, wash your hair, shave those legs, and brush your teeth. You’ve got fifteen minutes to finish!”

You sputtered at the ridiculous amount of time you were given to do all of what she was asking, especially with how dirty you had gotten from your mission. You were just about to tell her off, too, when you turned and found she was no longer in the bathroom with you.

“Remember, fifteen minutes!”

“Are you guys crazy?!”

“Goodness, you’re right…better make it ten!”

You sighed heavily as you finished undressing and climbed into the bathtub for a quick shower. Whatever those two had planned, you were being forced to go along with it. You decided you might as well go along with the ride and hoped that whatever they were going to do with you didn’t hurt too badly in the end.

---

You may have just started out as a demon hunter, much like your father, but you had definitely already faced some hard challenges, had come home with some bruises and bleeding wounds that would soon scar over - much slower than Dante’s own almost instant healing, but hey, they would make for some interesting stories. 

In that regard, you wished you were fighting Sparda, himself, then being dolled up by the two women doting over you at that moment. Truly, you had to be in some sort of hell-dimension. Maybe you had died on that mission, and this was your punishment.

“Just hold still!”

“Damnit, stop pulling on my hair!”

“You’re acting like a child.”

“I am not!”

You continued to argue and struggle against both Lady and Trish, cringing at makeup brushes and coughing at the excessive amount of hairspray being used to keep your hair in place. It felt between a lifetime and probably about ten minutes for them to finish, everything calming rather suddenly as both women ooed and awed at their work.

You were turned abruptly to look into the full length mirror hanging on your wall, your disgruntled expression smoothing over almost immediately at your made-up visage.

“I look…so different.”

“Well, not really,” Lady explained, coming up behind you and placing her hand on your shoulder. “You’re just a little spruced up, is all. You’re still the same rough, difficult, badmouthed, daughter of a devil that we all know and love.”

You gave a huff of a laugh as Lady pat at your shoulder reassuringly and made her way to your closet as Trish excused herself with the promise of having Dante ready.

“One last thing, and then you can meet your dad downstairs.”

“Was he in on this whole thing, too?”

Lady gave you a look, one you recognized as twisted in the most delightful way. It was safe to say that Dante had gotten the same treatment as you.

You definitely still had questions, but they were answered rather abruptly when Lady presented you with a full-length dress, a gown only seen at high school proms or those fancy parties and dances-

Everything was starting to make sense. You weren’t sure if you had ever been so nervous as you were at that moment.

---

Every year for the past fifty-seven or so years, the local park held an annual formal spring dance that allowed all ages to attend. It was sort of like a prom, but with the addition of small children and elderly couples dressed up nicely in frilly outfits joining in on all the festivities. It was a chance for everyone to dress up for one night and make themselves feel beautiful as well as have fun with close friends and family members.

The park itself was lit up with lights stuck in trees and bushes throughout the whole area. There was a big makeshift dance floor laid out along the less grooved area of grass in the middle of the park, and several tables of refreshments and tasty treats were set out. Off to the side of the large expanse set aside for dancing was the music-mixer table where two DJs were stationed and playing a variety of music.

Many people from around the city were present, dressed to impress, and despite the large crowd, you were having a blast.

You weren’t even sure why you had been so nervous, in the first place, and even though the whole process of being dressed up wasn’t much your style, you were happy Lady and Trish had sprung such a little surprise on both you and your father.

Already, you had been asked to dance by several sharply dressed young men, all of which you accepted. You were surprised that Dante had actually allowed you to do such a thing, especially with the way he was when you so much as mentioned a guy you talked to on a normal, friendly basis. His focus tonight was to make you happy, however, and if you were happy dancing with all the men that showed up that night, then so be it.

At one point, as you were sitting down to take a small break and talking with your father on some of the weird and rather hilarious dance moves a large group was pulling off, a small boy around the age of five had come up to you with the sweetest little face. He then held up a flower he had picked just off to the side of the dance floor and asked if you would dance with him. It was the single most sweetest thing you had ever witnessed, and with a smile of your own (and a hardy laugh from your father) you accepted and allowed the tyke to lead you on the dance floor for two songs.

Before long, the DJs were beginning to dedicate the dances for specialty couples, such as elder couples, younger couples, just the kids, and so on. After about four or five dances, there was one that was for “Fathers and Daughters,” quite similar to the one some traditional weddings still did.

“Looks like it’s our turn to tear up the dance floor, Squirt,” Dante said with a short waggle of his brows, standing and holding out his arm for you to take.

You shook your head at his antics, but took his arm with a smile and let him lead you to the middle of the dance floor along with the other fathers and daughters gathering around.

The song itself was a very lovely melody, one that you were familiar with and enjoyed listening to in your free time. Instead of stepping to a more complicated dance routine, as you had first expected Dante to lead you into, you and your father both fell in-step to a gentle sway that went perfectly with the tune. One of your hands rested comfortably in his as the other took purchase on his shoulder, right above where you rested your head.

You were aware of several parents with cameras snapping a quick photo or two around you, but you didn’t mind much. There was almost a guarantee you’d be gifted with a photo of the moment by some mysterious means, of which you were more than okay with.

“So, how’d you like the surprise?”

You laughed a little and pulled back to look at your father fully.

Truth be told, Dante cleaned up really good, with his longer hair slicked back in a nice style and his face clean-shaven. He’d donned a nicer shirt for the occasion with a tie that matched the color of your dress and a newer, black coat, dark jeans and his usual dusty boots cleaned up to an almost decent shine polishing off the ensemble. He looked younger, rugged, even, in a nice way. You could definitely see the charm in his look, and it was no wonder why your mother had been so smitten with him when they first met.

“So, you did have a hand in it,” you accused in a playful tone, earning an equally playful smirk from your father.

“I may have mentioned something to the ladies, though all the planning and torture was their doing, I’m afraid.”

“No kidding,” you huffed, leaning back against his chest. “It was a little sudden, and too much hairspray was involved, but it was nice. This is nice. Oh, I was wondering, did Lady and Trish really have you tied up?”

Your father gave a heavy sigh, and laughter escaped your lips. Dante may have been one of the most difficult men you knew, but Lady was much more stubborn and hell-bent on anything she set her mind to, with Trish more than happy to join along in the mayhem. You were sure that if they wanted to put your father in a bright orange dress with ruffles and make him do the Macarena, they’d have him dancing the night away by that evening.

“Well, I’m glad you did it. You know, for me; I don’t think I’ve had this much fun since shooting off the eyes of that limb-sprouting demon a couple months back.”

“Yeah, that was one hell of a treat, wasn’t it? Lady was so pissed after that mission!”

You both began laughing as you remembered quite well the verbal thrashing the demon hunter had given Dante for taking his sweet time in taking care of business. You had been given the same thrashing, though it wasn’t nearly as harsh as the one your father had to endure.

Before long, the song came to an end which gave way to many cheers from the bystanders watching the fathers and daughters dance. You and Dante stopped in the middle of the dance floor, smiling at each other. You then reached around him and pulled him to you in a warm hug, feeling his much stronger arms wrap around you securely to return the gesture.

“Dad, I know I don’t say it often enough, but…thanks, for everything you do for me.”

“Squirt-”

Whatever Dante was about to say was interrupted by a loud, screeching noise coming from the sky. You both looked up into the darkness to find a large group of bird-like creatures swooping down and startling the people in the park, attempting to scramble the mass and section them off. Many began screaming and running around in hopes of finding a way to escape the strange sight, just as the demons were expecting, most likely.

“Let’s go,” Dante said, and just like that he was pulling you along by the arm while reaching inside his coat and pulling out what looked like Ivory to fire several shots at the circling demons. Doing so only served to do two things: make the demons angrier and startle the crowd even more.

People were tripping here and there as the winged creatures began to swoop lower to pull a human or two up a small ways before letting them drop back down. In a way, they were teasing them, playing with their meal, so to speak.

At one point, one of the bird-like demons came too close to you and had pulled at the back of your dress, ripping several seams and pulling at the fabric at the bottom until several pieces of it hung from your form.

You looked back at the tattered skirt of the dress, a burning sort of anger quickly seeping into your veins.

As your father reached within his coat once more to retrieve Ebony, you tore the remaining fabric from the bottom up to your knee in order to move around easier, revealing the glittering heels you wore as well as your gun, Rein, strapped carefully to your lower thigh. You pulled the weapon from its holster against your skin and began firing your own shots into the air at the swarming horde, all but roaring with the anger building inside you.

“You damn pterodactyls ruined my dress and one of the best nights of my life! I’ll send all of you back to hell!”

Dante stopped momentarily in his shooting to watch you go to town on the flying creatures, almost swearing he could see red in your gaze.

God, but you looked like your mother. You’d grown up into such a lovely young woman - damn near brought a tear to his eye.