#(roza voice) BETRAYAL....!

[prometheanglory]

huhuhu

what if i said......

flintroza for pre-love (1, 2, and 6) general (6, 8) love (5, 6, 8) and domestic (2, 4)

ehe :-)

WOWOWOWOOEHEOEOOEEEE THE COPE AND THE LOVE !!!

PRE-RELATIONSHIP

1. How did they first meet?

definitely during roza's first magical ceremony - roza being a lost lamb basically, so flint was a kind enough upperclassman to help her out. he was so charming, of course roza wished to find him again and yet it took her quite a while before she did.

2. What was their first impression of each other?

oh, roza's first impression was... something. while she did think he was extremely impressive, with the way he carried himself, his skills, his knowledge, etc. - she was so sure he hated her. just the way he behaved made her think he didn't like her and she felt that was soo unjustified!

but no, that's just how flint is, really.

6. If you had told one of them that the other would be their soulmate, what would they think?

baffled. yet soon enough very pleased.

flint is a cool guy, undeniably. roza just wasn't too sure if he'd ever show romantical interest - in literally anyone, actually - just because of how. gestures at him wildly. he is, y'know?

but she absolutely wouldn't mind - if it had to be anyone, then it should be flint, because she trusts him.

GENERAL

6. What’s their relationship with each other’s families?

it's safe to say that flint has papa dorimé's approval! a rare and impressive thing to manage, knowing how painfully protective he is! (looks like being a dead faced, serious guy helped) roza's mother felt naturally very fond of him, for being quite the gentleman - and roza's caretakers took some time to grow accustomed to the boy; after all, their little girl is growing up and even as faes, they can't help but feel a little attached.

8. Who gets jealous easier?

roza 100%. surprisingly enough, roza rarely gets genuinely jealous, because she has... nothing to be jealous about? flint is a very trustworthy guy, so she would never assume he had any bad intentions, really.

the rare occasions she does get jealous is when flint just hasn't paid enough attention to her in a while.

LOVE

5. Who’s better at comforting the other?

i would say roza, but considering flint is rarely in emotional distress...? then again, he isn't the best at dealing with emotions either, despite roza being a whole ball of emotions, so... it's hard to tell. they both know how to be there for each other though, that is for sure!

6. Who’s more protective?

flint, technically. he always makes sure to keep an eye on roza, because, well. we know how she and her explosive nature are. but he is most definitely not overbearingly protective, nono. he does think roza is more than capable to stand on her two feet. if anything, he just supports her.

8. What are some songs that apply to their relationship, in-universe or otherwise?

slams my hands down, let me put "ghost of you - five seconds of summer here", because of a certain au that i cannot and will not stop thinking about.

DOMESTIC

2. What’s the wedding like? Who attends?

medium-sized wedding, if that makes sense...? considering a noble lady is getting married, of course it won't be small, but due to easier management (and ease flint's headache), roza tried to make sure to keep it as small as it gets. so basically, family, close friends, maybe a few great nobles here and there...

it's a long wedding, because knowing their friends, that party won't die out fast - not to mention the rather lively relatives on flint's side of the family. i feel like it's filled with traditions from both sides, but maybe with a few modern takes as well? (don't look at me, but pretty 6 HAS TO organize smth 🥰)

chances are the wedding is in spring... i feel like it'd suit them...

4. Do they have any pets?

my guess is on two cats. flint likes cats. roza likes cats. cat people all around. roza coddles them day and night but they always run to flint if they feel like they need company.

[jane-buchanan-barnes]

tell us about the early days when you had just started being brainwashed by hydra

ask my muse about their worst memories || @xmousepotato || accepting

[1953]

roughly six months after this

It has been over seven years since the Americans abandoned her to die on the battlefield, and nearly one full year since she awoke from her long coma. Recently, on Dr. Zola’s orders, she has been moved out of Roza’s care and given over to the hands of General Vasily Karpov,

She’s still nameless. The general simply calls her soldat – ‘soldier’. That’s what she was. With enough hard work, he says, that’s what she will be again. Not a burden like the American government predicted, but someone useful; someone who can help shape the world into a better place.

The soldier likes that idea.

Her memories from the time before she woke in the Russian prison hospital remain absent, but the doctor and the general have found a way to teach her all the things about the world that she’s forgotten. The doctor has designed a machine that drops the knowledge directly into her brain, filling up the spaces where her memories had been.

She learns about the violence, tragedies, and chaos that plague the world, all the terrible things that humans do to each other. And she learns about HYDRA, about their efforts to bring order, peace, and freedom to mankind.

She spends many hours with the machine, learning all that she needs to know to serve HYDRA faithfully. But there is a small, quiet voice in the back of her mind that insists that HYDRA is wrong. Their methods are contradictory. How can feeding the world’s strife bring peace?

She doesn’t dare ask. The general does not tolerate questions. But the small voice persists until, one day, she finally listens to it.

She regrets that mistake for a long time afterward.

It’s early morning in the training yard. She’s hard at work, demonstrating for the general her proficiency with an array of pistols and other small firearms. No rifles for her yet; she needs two hands to hold them. But the general says that soon the doctor will make her a new arm to replace the one she lost.

She’s just finished hitting a series of small moving targets when General Karpov motions for her to stop. “Soldier,” he says, “I have a new exercise for you.”

“Yes, sir,” the soldier says.

The general whistles. Immediately, the door to the training yard opens. Two uniformed men walk in, hauling a third man between them. He’s tightly bound, with a bag over his head, but he’s struggling against the others with all his might, and the soldier can hear his muffled cries. The words are inaudible, but his tone is pleading.

The general gives a signal, and the two men drag the prisoner over to the line of stationary targets, yank him upright, and bind him to one of the cutout figures. Beneath the hood, his cries become louder.

The two men step away, and the general turns back to the soldier and pins her down with his gaze. “This man is a traitor,” he says. “He has sold valuable information to our enemies. We cannot tolerate such betrayal.” He pauses, his eyes narrowing slightly, and then says, “I want you to kill him.”

She can’t help it; she balks at the order. The man may be a traitor, but he’s unarmed, bound – a prisoner. You don’t kill prisoners, that small voice whispers. It’s wrong.

She’s torn. She should obey General Karpov; that has been drilled into her. But she can’t bring herself to lift the gun. She can’t bring herself to kill a defenseless captive.

“Soldier,” the general barks.

“I–” She starts to raise the gun, but stops short. “No, sir,” she says. “No.”

“No? Are you defying my order, soldier?”

“He’s unarmed,” she says. “He’s a prisoner. We’re not supposed to kill prisoners. Not even ones who are traitors.”

She doesn’t know where that idea came from, but she can feel in her bones that it’s right.

General Karpov is staring at her in disbelief. After a moment of slack-jawed silence, he grabs the gun from her and empties the clip into the prisoner’s chest. The man’s pleas are suddenly cut off, and his body sags as blood soaks his grimy shirt.

The general turns to his other men and says, “Take her to a cell. Then tell Comrade Kuznetsov that I have need of him.”

The agents grab her, one pinning her arm behind her back. She doesn’t struggle; she knows that it’s pointless. Here, General Karpov’s word is law. There will be no escaping his wrath.

She spends several hours in one of the compound’s dark, dank cells before the general and Comrade Kuznetsovarrive. Kuznetsov is huge, a great bear of a man, well over six feet and rippling with muscle. He carries a long metal rod in one meaty fist.

She keeps her eyes on the filthy concrete floor as the pair of them enter the cell. But General Karpov bends down and grabs her by the chin, forcing her to meet his eyes.

“You disobeyed me, soldier,” he says coldly. Then he turns to Kuznetsov. “Not the face,” he orders.

Kuznetsov nods. Then he swings the rod back like a bat. She closes her eyes, bracing herself for the pain that’s sure to come. But she doesn’t expect the tooth-shaking burst of electricity that crackles through her body, and she lets out an involuntary cry.

Kuznetsov hits her again, and again, and again, alternating between the rod and his big fists and heavy boots. Soon she’s curled on the floor, her knees drawn up to her chest in a desperate attempt to protect herself, whimpering with every new blow. There’s blood in her mouth, and she can feel fractured ribs creaking inside her each time she moves.

She wonders if Kuznetsov plans to kill her.

His next blow with the rod strikes her across the shin, and it’s accompanied by the sharp crack! of broken bone. Her body is shaken once more by a jolt of electricity, and she screams with pain, her voice raw and hoarse.

She waits for another blow, but it never comes. Instead, a hand closes on her chin once more.

“Look at me,” Karpov says.

She opens her streaming eyes, silently looking up at his blurred face.

“You deserve this,” he tells her. “You are a soldier. Your purpose is to follow orders. But you defied me.” His grip tightens and he leans closer, so close that she can smell his breath. “You will never disobey me again,” he says, “or next time I will let Comrade Kuznetsov break every bone in your body. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she whispers.

“Yes what, soldier?”

“Yes, sir.”

The general steps back, satisfied for now, and motions for Kuznetsov to lead the way out of the cell. He locks the door behind him with a loud click, leaving her curled on the floor alone.

She waits for unconsciousness to claim her.

It never does.