#--fact that the metal virus was so successful | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ashiemochi · 2 years ago

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anubussy - iv

✠ Anubussy ↳ sorry, i don't want your touch ↳↳ it's not that i don't want you

➶ pairing: OC x Leon S(exy) Kennedy. ➶ genre: fluff, more angst, gore, longer smut/suggestive themes ➶ word count: no

NOTE: ✠ = time skip ✠✠ = switching povs/characters

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Horizon Inn Lincoln, Nebraska.

The change of motels wasn’t new. After every so-called mission, they’d have to find a different motel for her whilst he goes to find a closer place to settle; just to keep an eye out. The drive to Lincoln took about two hours if not more – and she was out all of it.

Her arm was bandaged up along with her hands, and fingers. White patches were also on her collarbone and neck area, and finally, one on her cheek. It was mostly burn wounds, and her body was still healing, urging her to sit and rest just one night.

No rest for the weary. A quote someone so dear to her once said.

Once again, her mind blocked the memory from returning.

The microwave hummed lowly in the background as So Ah jogged up to the wall covered in notes, the map of the city, and finally, the pinboard. As she pinned a new photograph of Glenn Arias on the board, she went ahead and used a red string to connect his photo and Mason’s.

“Glenn Arias… And Mason Cooper…” So Ah muttered under her breath, tapping the red pen on her open palm, “How is the CEO of A-GUA Industries connected to all of this?”

Sighing to herself, she stepped close once again to cross out Mason’s photo, “I wish I gave you a chance to explain your side of the story…” She frowned, guilt rising up her back, “I’m sorry.”

A knock at the door caught her attention and she looked at it, eyes unblinking. It could be anyone but she hoped it wasn’t the same alliance she was running from – and assassinating.

She tossed the red pen onto the bed as she slowly made her way to the door. Her hand reached for the hand-crafted dagger by the door, gulping when the knocks returned. Staying as quietly as possible whilst her body prepared her for an adrenaline rush, she peeked through the hole.

The BSAA soldier raised a flat carton with a grin, “Pizza?”

Dick.

A cold shower washed over her, relieved as she unlocked her door but kept the hatch. She opened it a little to look at the man, eyes narrowed as if unsure.

“You shouldn’t be here, Piers,” So Ah reminded, “They might tra–”

“Track you and find out I’ve been backstabbing them?” Piers finished, rolling his eyes slightly, “Please, if they did, they would’ve gotten us long ago.”

“Still,” She pressed on, anxiously looking at both sides of the hallway, “You don’t know how corrupted they are.”

Piers gave her a blank look, gesturing to his face with his gloved hand, “I may have an idea.”

Whilst the mission to save Jake and Sherry over a year ago was a success, Piers had willingly sacrificed himself to save his captain, injecting himself with the C-Virus strain. His body washed up to the surface of the ocean, seemingly dead. Chris had taken him into the unscathed escape pod and was speechless when Piers breathed.

The fact he lived was a complete and utter miracle.

The BSAA was quick to get him fixed. It took six months for him to recover and get used to having a blinded eye. His mutated arm was cut off but left permanent scars all over his side, and neck. Faint ones decorated the side of his face.

People can’t help but stare at anything out of the ordinary, so to lessen the possibility of being stared at like an animal in captivity, they gave him a black eye patch and a metal arm. He’d always wear a jacket and a glove to hide it.

She shifted from one foot to the other, nervous at the possibility but again, she wouldn’t mind the company. The microwave beeped, making her jump a bit and she earned a small snort from the soldier.

She gave him an unimpressed look before shutting the door to unlock the hatch then she reopened it. Piers entered the room as she closed up the door with all its locks, his eye already scanning the place and it landed on the pinboard.

“Not even thirty minutes in and you got everything set up already, huh?” He mused, a hint of disappointment in his voice but he didn’t seem surprised.

So Ah moved past him and straight to the microwave, “No rest for the weary.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Piers nodded with a deep exhale, “I know.”

He set down the two boxes of pizza and the plastic bag of two drinks. Sitting down on the chair to wait for her, Piers crossed his arms against his chest as he watched her open the drawers for a fork.

Her hair was down, cascading and covering the side of her face. She wore a dark grey plain shirt that was obviously a size or two bigger than her and wide black shorts. A yellow-coloured hair band was around her wrist along with a shiny bracelet that he never saw her take off at all.

Just like the ring around her finger.

So Ah spared him an acknowledging look as she sat down next to him, stirring and untying the ramen in her cup. He took this as a silent indication to dive in, opening the box and getting the two bottles of soda out – a lime and a cherry.

“So, how are you feeling?” Piers asked, opening his bottle up to take a sip before taking a slice.

“Okay.” So Ah answered, blowing on her ramen then peered at him from the corner of her eyes, “And you?”

He chuckled, “I’m not the one who almost got blown up.”

Ticking her head to the side once, she nodded, “True.”

Piers stared at her silently and she realized he was just concerned. The pathogen in her was getting worse, and they didn’t know why her wounds were taking longer to heal. She set the fork down and took her closed soda.

“I’m fine, Piers. Really.” So Ah offered him a small smile, “It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

Piers raised a brow as she struggled to open the soda, her bandaged hand shaking a bit but she wasn’t able to apply enough pressure to open it. He reached over with his gloved hand, nudging her hand away.

The soda let out a faint hiss and he tossed the cap onto the table and then leaned back against his chair, letting the silence speak for itself.

He wasn’t convinced that she was okay.

Her cinnamons darted at him then at the drink, hiding her mild amusement, “Thanks.”

“So Ah,” He sighed as she drank her soda, “I know how bad you want this – but how good will you be if you won’t give your body room to breathe?”

So Ah set the bottle down, eyes lowered down but he couldn’t read her emotions.

“I… I’ll be okay.” She whispered.

“I know you will.” Piers returned the same tone, “But you have to take care of yourself.”

They let the topic linger in the air. It has been said numerous times. It was like reminding a high school teenager to not overwhelm themselves with school work – except this was a woman from the Han family on a killing spree.

Sure, her body can physically handle all the hits but her mental state can only hold so much remorse. Especially since she had no outlet other than going out to hunt down one of the many men who denied her the life she had.

Piers turned on the TV with the remote control, “Got something in mind to watch?”

She shook her head before blinking, perking up, “Wait, it’s Thursday, isn’t it?”

“Yea – no, we are not watching that movie again.”

“Come on! It’s fun!”

“For you!” Piers retorted, surfing through the channels, “If I have to watch one more goddamn Studio Ghibli movie, I think I’ll get sick and die.”

She rolled her eyes at his overreaction, “It’s not that bad! It’s a good movie about accepting who you are and–”

“And gushing about the guy with the black hair.”

A dreamy sigh escaped from her lips, “Howl – besides, it’s a good art study.” She looked up at him, doe eyes big, “Please?”

Piers relented with a gruff exhale, shaking his head as he switched the channels to the one she wanted. She beamed, a toothy smile making its appearance as she giggled.

He scoffed lightly, tossing the remote on the table as the movie just started playing, “You better not fall asleep.”

“And miss Howl’s Moving Castle?” She gasped, picking up a slice of pizza, “Never.”

✠

“Howl, I’m sorry I took so long. You’ve been waiting all this time…”

The movie only had a few minutes left. Piers rubbed his eye with a yawn before glancing at the time. It was close to eleven o’clock. Other than the characters talking and the soft soundtrack playing in the movie, quiet breathing was coming from his side.

Piers looked over to So Ah. She was leaning on the table, head resting over her arms.

She was sleeping.

Of course, she was sleeping – she rarely did.

As gently as possible, Piers shook her awake, “So Ah–”

“Wh–what…” So Ah mumbled, eyes barely open when she pushed her head up, “Did something happen?”

Piers felt something tug at his heart, frowning, “No, we’re safe. Let’s get you to bed, c’mon.”

A drawled whine came from her, annoyed by having to move, as Piers led her to the only queen bed in the room. She lay under the covers, letting out a heavy sigh at the warmth of the thick duvet.

“You leaving…?” So Ah murmured, her eyes already shut and some would mistake her for sleep talking.

Piers pressed his lips into a thin line, giving her a sympathetic look, “No. I’ll stay right here. You just rest, alright?”

“Mmh–kay…”

After waiting for a second or two, she was back in her dreamland – or hopefully, it was a good dream.

Soon after a while of cleaning up and setting everything back into its place, Piers sat down on the chair and turned on her laptop. He threw a quick glance at her.

The girl he had met on her first days as a BSAA soldier was barely there. All the timidity and delicacy that she’d ooze, she still had them. It all changed when he found her in the alleyway, fists and face splattered with blood. An equally bloody broken chair’s leg in hand.

It was after a few days of their failed undercover mission.

Her eyes were red when she saw him, not even bothering to hide the disfigured face of the man she had just murdered. Piers had to drag her out as she was hyperventilating, her body trembling due to the high adrenaline rush.

When he got her settled in a motel, he received news a week later that a man from the BSAA’s research department had gone missing. He was the coordinator of his team. Whilst everything in him was telling him to turn her in, he knew she wouldn’t go and kill someone for no reason.

And so, the security cameras were wiped clean. Unfortunately, though, the crime scene had evidence of the girl being there. Additionally, the BSAA knew it was going to be her after her secret mission to steal information about the men who operated on her.

Since then, Piers has been keeping her off the radar whilst assisting her to interrogate anyone who had a hand in the chip behind her neck.

Did he fully support her? Absolutely not.

He wouldn’t have killed Mason Cooper if So Ah’s life wasn’t on the line. In most, if not, all the murders that have been happening, the Han girl was behind them.

Piers only wondered how long was it going to take before she snaps. That whole night was still fresh in his head, on repeat ever since it happened.

✠

POP Fizz Bar. Washington DC, United States. Six Months Ago.

The liquor stung her throat when she took a tip, cringing at the taste of Brandy. The mission to get information regarding everyone who was involved in the creation of the chip was a bust. Although they got the files they needed, it was supposed to be undercover.

Now the entirety of the BSAA knows it was her.

Trailing her eyes down to the flash drive right next to her new phone, a thought weaselled its way into her head. She could call him; call her husband. Piers had told her that they can try finding the big cheese who was in charge of the making of the tracker when it was safer.

“There’s no need to make it worse than it already is.”

She could go home and all would be well. Along with the jazz playlist going on in the background, loud laughter and chatter reached her ears. Involuntarily, she looked over at the noisy table only for her world to pause at the only man she recognized from the group.

Alan fucking Browne.

He was the doctor who’d be in charge of her check-ups, but he was mostly focusing on the functionality of the chip rather than her safety. That and his strange fascination with her regenerative abilities, deepening each drag of the scalpel and counting under his breath.

It’d take three seconds for the gashes to heal.

Something was already starting to eat her up on the inside, devouring those rational thoughts. Her cinnamons refused to tear away from his table ogling a woman walking by only to start hooting at each other. And he only barked out another laugh.

So Ah returned her eyes to the flash drive in her hand, trying to fight back any ideas to do anything drastic. On one hand, she could get information from him – that was all she needed. On the other, however, it was too risky.

A single wrong step in the plan would get the BSAA’s hands on her. That was the last thing she’d need this night.

Releasing a sigh to calm her nerves and ease her mind, she downed the remaining bits of her drink before pulling out the money for her bill.

Piers was right; both of them can find a different and safer way to get to the bottom of this. The names of the men who were involved in the chip were in the files; others would probably need more interrogation to get to them.

Like the boss of it all.

She offered a small smile to the bartender and got up, slipping her mouth mask on. As she went to move past the rowdy table, for a brief moment, their eyes connected. Forest green and dark cinnamons.

The cool breeze of summer made her breathe out, tugging her jacket around her as she started walking down the sidewalk. Though it was very faint, footsteps reached her ears. It was late at night and there weren’t a lot of people walking around other than the zooming cars.

Dread washed over her as she turned the corner, hoping it was just someone heading in the same direction but the footsteps remained with hers. Her hand snuck into her pocket and pulled it out, keeping an ear out as she hurriedly sent an SOS to a contact under the name NIVANS.

After returning her phone to her pocket, So Ah moved into a secluded alleyway, nose crinkling under her mask at the stench. The follower made his appearance just as she turned around to face him. It was a dark alleyway, add that to her mouth mask, she should be unrecognizable.

It was Allan.

“Why are you following me?” So Ah asked, nearly snapping accusatorily as she attempted not to reveal her identity.

Allan only squinted his eyes behind his specs, “Miss Han So Ah?”

That froze her in her spot.

“I didn’t know you lived around here.”

Her tongue was tied up, not knowing what to do. The tracker was long busted but its instability was what terrified her the most. At any moment, it could kill her. The man in front of her was bigger than her, and she truly didn’t want any sort of confrontation.

She just wanted to go back home – to her husband.

“Have you heard the news?” He noticed hesitance and stepped close, his eyes narrowing for a moment, "The research department went up in flames just two weeks ago. Thankfully, no one really died but we are down two teams in the ER. Do you know anything about that?"

So Ah snapped her eyes to the side and took a step back, her hand gripping her vibrating phone tightly. With a press of her lock button, the vibrations stopped. Hopefully, that was enough to trigger the only man she could trust – other than her husband – to hurry up.

"I'll take that as a yes.” Allan hummed at her silence before offering his hand, “Well, I'm going to need those files back."

"Why?"

"You don't get to ask questions, Han.” He shot back like he usually did whenever she’d complain during her visits at the BSAA’s medic centre, “You listen to the rules and shut it. Now, the files."

She narrowed her eyes down at him into a slitted glare, not saying a word. What the hell would she say?

She was told not to do anything drastic but what could she do now?

Offer back the only lead they had?

This man wasn’t just a doctor; he served in the military as a soldier. She couldn’t take down Chris or Piers during her training at the BSAA; she wouldn’t be able to fight off a man twice her size.

"Alright, how about this?” Allan took out his phone as if nonchalant, “You give me the files back and I won't whistleblow your ass right here and right now."

"Tell me why you need it back first." So Ah retorted, eyeing his phone then him.

"Like Hell, I will.” He barked out a laugh, similar to the one back in the bar, “I'm on a tight schedule, so why don't you be a dear and hand them over?"

She stood her ground, hiding her crossbody purse behind her hands and harshening her glare at him.

The man huffed, typing on his phone with one hand, "Alright, have it your way."

In an instant, she pulled out her Matilda and aimed at him, making him stop. He noticed her shaking aim and how her finger wasn't on the trigger. She had never shot a human being before; it was always the undead. When it came to fighting against a regular person, So Ah’s top priority was disarming them before knocking them out.

Never kill.

Her voice was wavering, holding the gun with both hands, "Put the phone down, I don't want to hurt you."

Allan slowly returned his phone to his pocket and started approaching her with a challenging look on his face. He was testing her.

Damn crazed doctors and their sadistic nature.

“How will that look on the news?” He sneered as if he was a reporter, vaguely gesturing his hands into the air like a headline, “The daughter of the Han family murders an innocent man right outside the bar!"

"You're not innocent and you know that." She snapped, referring to her painful check-ups.

He stood right in front of her, boasting, "I was just doing my job."

She asked, taking a step back to put more space between them and her thumb rested on the hammer, "Who are you working for?"

Allan jeered at her, "None of your goddamn business."

Her eye twitched, internally freaking out. Turns out, stalling wasn’t as easy as she thought it was. So, she decided to provoke him and try to scare him off. Turn the tables, if you will.

"Tell me or I'll release the files to the public.” So Ah challenged, attempting to seem unafraid, “How would your boss feel about his whole life crashing down because someone wouldn't cooperate?"

His greens darkened, "Cooperate, huh?"

The gun was smacked out of her hands and before she could comprehend what just happened, he shoved her harshly. She yelped when she fell to the ground, rolling onto her lower back as he cracked his neck, taking off his jacket in the process. He folded it onto itself and put it on top of a closed wide trash bin.

So Ah stared wide-eyed up at him, crawling backwards. The grime of the dirty alleyway clung to her hands and clothes, but that was the last of her concerns – not when her heart was one beat away from bursting through her chest.

“Don’t worry,” Allan chastised, rolling up his sleeves with a smirk irking his lips, “The doctor is in.”

Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. OH, FUCK.

Alarms rang around her head like that one Spongebob episode, mini versions of her running around and screaming. Every little plan or idea was being set ablaze by her adrenaline and anxiety.

As he was coming up to her, she nabbed a stray bottle of beer and jumped onto her feet. She swung it at him, but he reeled back to parry and then yanked it from her mid-air.

Well, shit.

A grunt emitted from her when he pushed her to the wall, the hit causing another mild zapping up down her spine from her tracker. Before she could move, a hand gripped her neck hard and lifted her up. She wheezed in air, eyes growing teary at the loss of oxygen when even the tips of her shoes were frantically trying to keep touching the ground below.

Allan’s lips twitched into a scowl of disbelief, staring her down as her hands were gripping his arm and wrist in a feeble attempt to get sips of air.

“And this is supposed to be one of the DSO’s top assets?” He asked, raising a brow, “How embarrassing of Adam, bless his soul and whatnot.”

“It’s a shame how weak you really are when there’s that shit virus in your bloodstream.” He tilted his head to the side, narrowing his eyes, “Someone else could’ve put a good use to it.”

He glanced down at the bottle in his hand and shattered the bottom of it next to her head. She yelped and flinched at the glass breaking.

He neared it next to her face and pressed the sharp tip against the apple of her cheek, an insane glow in his eyes.

"I think your checkup is long overdue, hm?"

In one swift moment, she felt something cold and painful slide across her cheek, making her cry out at the stinging sensation. His intent eyes stayed trained on the gash, uncaring about her whimpers. Just as she expected, she could peek at the faint counting on his lips.

Then his eyes blinked in subtle surprise when the new scar closed up as if nothing had ever happened.

“Five seconds…” Allan muttered, chuckling, “Guess you won’t be useful to us any time soon.”

“It’s your damned bug in my spine,” She spat, swallowing thickly.

She yelped when his grip around her throat tightened as if attempting to touch his thumb with his middle finger at the back of her neck. Her eyes boggled open, her breathing restricted. Allan only let out a small huh and loosened his hold just a little to let a glimpse of oxygen into her body.

“How fascinating…” He uttered with a smile, “The pathogen is attempting to push the chip out – which is why its regenerative ability is slowing down by the second.”

The hand holding onto the half-broken bottle seemed to harden in giddy and he tilted her jaw up, forcing a hitched gasp from her at the feeling of the sharp edge tracing her collarbones. It stilled in the centre of it.

“Let’s try this again,” Allan suggested with little to no choice.

Letting her adrenaline take over, So Ah’s hand hurriedly shot down to the scabbard around her mid-thigh and she yanked out her dagger. The blade sunk to the hilt into his side, earning a loud yell of pain.

His hand released her throat, allowing her to fill up her lungs with cool oxygen. In the midst of her haze and utter fear, she swiped the dagger across his thigh, sending him to the ground with another shout.

Her knees crumbled under her, coughing harshly as she tried to gulp in the air as much as possible before her body would pass out. In her panicked fit, she yanked down her mask as if it was hindering her.

“Oh, fuck,” She heard him wheeze frantically, “Oh, fuck, shit, shit, shit!”

So Ah looked up at him, finding him gripping his waist and his thigh, blood coating his once-white t-shirt and denim pants. For someone whose whole profession was around blood, he sure was panicking as if he had never seen blood before.

Rage was covering her vision, and her whole body was triggered back to her old days in the lab. Her skin was on fire as she stood up, stumbling a bit with her hand rubbing her neck. Allan looked so pathetic on the ground, panting heavily as he tried to stop the bleeding.

His shaking hands didn’t know which one to pay more attention to.

No words came from her as she approached him, catching his attention at the blood dripping from her knife – his blood.

“Wait, wait! You want information, don’t you?” Allan waved his crimson hand at her, a desperate attempt to stop her, “Whatever you want to know, just – call nine-one-one. Please–”

“Who’s your goddamn boss?” She snapped.

His breath came out trembling, “I–I don’t know – we get indirect orders on what to do, and that’s it!”

She narrowed her eyes down at him, clearly suspicious about his answer, “The chip – how do I get rid of it?”

“I… I d–don’t know, okay?” He stammered then visibly panicked when she located her gun on the ground, especially when she picked it up, “P–please, just listen to me! I’m going to die out here if I don’t get help!”

So Ah wouldn’t look at him, staring down at his bleeding wound as she holstered her gun and knife. He was desperate enough to lie to gain more time to attract attention at this point.

Instead, her unreadable cinnamons landed on a worn-out wooden chair.

“L–look, I know we got off to a wrong start. I won’t tell anyone about this, I swear.” Allan tried to wave the white flag, flinching when she slammed her foot down on the chair, “We could just turn the page an–and, drinks are on me. Yeah?”

All she could see was red, slowly picking up the broken leg chair. Her knuckles were whitewhite at her tight grip. She approached him with nothing but pure hatred in her eyes.

“I’d rather drink paint.”

“Waitwait, no–!”

✠✠

A curse left through his lips, his hazel eye staring down at his phone intensely. Her location was pinged less than five minutes ago. He tried calling her, hoping it was accidental but when her line went dead, he knew it was no mistake.

She was in danger.

His car roared to a lower hum when he parked it around the corner of the POP Fizz Bar. Running his fleshy hand through his hair, Piers hopped out of the car, keeping his handgun tucked into his belt under his shirt and jacket.

He looked around him, his heart pounding erratically in his chest as he tried to locate her. Nada.

“Goddamn it, So Ah. Where are you?” He muttered under his breath, taking out his phone once again to check her location. She was around this area, but where exactly.

Distant yelling reached his ears and his feet were quick to follow it. The last he had heard were interrupted pleas just as he rounded the corner, stopping at the beginning of the alleyway.

His eye refused to blink at the gut-wrenching sight. The girl who had pinged an SOS was on top of her assailant. The swinging of what seemed to be broken wood was endless, tainting it with blood. The same crimson substance splashed and splattered onto her clothes, hands, and her face – Jesus Christ, her face.

It was contorted into such blood rage and fear, yet those strong emotions didn’t hide the way her tears swelled up in her eyes.

“Hey, hey!” Piers rushed into action to get her to stop, “That’s enough, So Ah!”

His arms went around her waist to drag her away from the man and he looked at him to try and find out who he was – except his face was disfigured. Any facial feature was either busted or drenched in blood.

“Let me go!” So Ah screamed when her weapon dropped to her surprise, writhing in his hold and he muffled his huff, “Don’t fucking touch me!”

“It’s okay, it’s me. It’s me.” Piers turned her around and held her upper arms to still her, “Hey–”

She refused to listen, her brain at an all-time high with panic. He could tell she was reliving days she wished they didn’t exist – he didn’t know what though. She was still in an adrenaline rush from being in danger.

When she wouldn��t quiet down, Piers knew he had to take control of the situation before any unlucky bystander thinks it was a girl in trouble and comes to investigate only to see the blood bath that same girl had caused.

“Look, look,” Piers flipped up his eye patch and then held her face firmly, forcing eye contact, “It’s me.”

Her struggles ceased as she whimpered, looking at the familiar kind honeyed eye and the other clouded one. Her chest was rising and lowering rapidly, clearly trying to get down from the intense emotions.

“Piers…” She uttered quietly, blinking at the sight of him then trailed her eyes over his shoulders to where she once was.

Piers saw her pale right in front of him, especially when she looked at her hands. Tremors made it hard to focus along with her eyes were blurred by caged tears.

“W–what… No…” She whimpered, shaking her head profusely in denial, “I didn’t…”

Piers frowned deeply, apprehensive eyes looking over at the body. She wouldn’t have murdered someone in cold blood. Seeing her frantic state concluded that it was fear. She was pushed to do this.

Just like that, her laboured breathing made her words incoherent, hyperventilating. She was stammering and stuttering, hiccuping at her sobs as tears streamed down her cheeks with no control.

Piers returned his eyes to her, pressing his lips into a thin line and flipping the eye patch back on. He peeled off his bomber jacket and helped her slip it on, the sleeves being long enough to cover her bloody attire and her hands.

“C’mon, let’s go.” He pulled her along as he started making his way out of the alleyway.

“Piers,” She cried, unable to tear her eyes away from the body.

He interrupted her, “Don’t look back. Just keep going.”

His only priority was to get her out of there before the cops – or God forbid, the BSAA – show up.

That night when they had to reside in a motel to keep her hidden, through her hiccups, she explained how it all happened. To her, it was a red haze clouding her senses and setting her skin on fire as if reopening all the wounds that were once healed.

The Han girl couldn’t speak much though, rushing to the bathroom to empty her guts at the mere memory of that alleyway. Piers had to sit by and watch it all happen.

She wasn’t a bad person. She didn’t want any of this – but for the sake of keeping both of them safe, she had to do it.

And he blamed himself for not getting there on time.

✠✠

Silver Spring Maryland, Washington DC Present day.

He vividly remembers his life flashing before his eyes. In the bright light's void, a white woman approached him slowly. Her features were blurred by the veil but he could just feel that she was smiling softly at him.

Her hand was held out for him.

It was all comforting, a huge sense of relief from the world’s burden on his shoulders. His body was growing lighter by the second and the man couldn’t do anything but succumb to the peaceful sensation – like a cool breeze washing over the dancing grass.

His fingertips barely brushed the woman’s hand before black ash covered her bit by bit. The ash floated away in the void, having her whole body turn into dust. The darkness was starting to replace the bright place when heavy arms went under his arms and dragged him away.

His breath was starting to quicken but all he could smell was black smoke. The woman he once saw was gone – and that was when he woke up.

Sort of.

Leon forced his eyes open as much as he could, seeing the blurred smoke of the explosion. The fire was still licking the air up above and he could hear muffled grunts and whimpers above him.

Though injured and disoriented, he felt someone pulling him further from the scene as much as possible. A low groan emitted from Leon, head lolling and that was when he was dropped to the ground. The ringing in his ears hurt his head as he trailed his eyes up to see who was the mysterious man.

Despite not being able to focus just yet, he could make out that scrawny man anywhere – Patricio. His arms were hugging the suitcase of the evidence they had collected about the B.O.Ws.

His lips parted to say anything but could only manage to hiss through his teeth as he pushed himself up. Leon gripped his side where his lower ribs were, flinching at the dull pain. His senses were slowly returning and his radio croaking to life got his attention.

“HQ to Kennedy. I repeat. HQ to Kennedy. Requesting report. Over.”

Leon couldn’t answer, eyes unable to look away from the aftermath of their truck up in flames. Several men were scattered on and about, some missing chunks of their bodies. They weren’t moving.

Panting heavily, Leon could only stand there, sweat dripping down his temple while the radio crackled to life once again. Distraught had never been more evident on his fallen face.

“HQ to Kennedy. Back-up is on the way. Over.”

God fucking damn it.

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beevean · 1 year ago

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What also irks me about Lanolin's unrestrained contempt towards Silver is that he does nothing to call her out on it. Silver knows what he is worth. He knows he's a fighter who's been working tirelessly on improving the future. He's done far more with his life and has far more successes under his belt than Lanolin's ass sitting in the Restoration shuttle for the entire duration of the Metal Virus arc and her one complete failure of a mission in the field as a completely unqualified leader of a team with infinitely more experience than her.

And of course, the entirety of Lanolin's personality is Being A Bitch For No Reason, so her saying such things is not out of the realm of possibility. But because nobody calls Lanolin out for her constant ragging on him, it begs the question for me whether the writers really believe the things they have her say about Silver, or just don't mention Silver defending himself because they think he is too uwu baby to do so, or because they simply don't know Silver's character. And none of those possibilities give any kudos to them.

I said it before: the guy who hunted Sonic down in a completely different time period to kill him is not the same guy who would fold like a chair at the first rando who chews him out unfairly. He should have absolutely blurted "He kicked me! He ran away!", insisting to be in the right. Who is Lanolin to him? Why should he care about respecting her, when she's not affording him the same courtesy?

Also yet again IDW's narrative confusion rears its ugly head. I genuinely cannot tell if I'm meant to see Lanolin as misguided but well meaning, or as an utter bitch who will soon learn a lesson. The fact that people like her enough suggests it's the latter. But, like, in a scene like this:

Am I supposed to laugh at Lanolin's antics? Genuine question! I don't know! I can guess I'm supposed to find the contrast between them funny, but she comes off as so fucking unlikeable and mean! She's mean! Tangle's reaction is of genuine deject! Am I supposed to find it cute because haha funny faces? I don't know!

I still say Tangle should have gently called her out for being bossy, because she was being bossy and she is aware of her tendency of being bossy. I thought she wanted to improve as a leader! Does the narrative think she is a bad leader that needs to grow, or does it agree with her?

(also Tangle has been a useless lump of flesh so far, only good for the Mandatory Whispangle Tease.)

#fans don't look

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carlallenmancao · 9 months ago

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3 Idiots: More Than Just Exams(College Hustle Lessons)

Let's be honest, professors throwing surprise tests and parents freaking out about grades? We've all been there (or at least seen it in those nightmares before finals). But "3 Idiots" offers so much more than just a hilarious portrayal of college life in India. As a fellow techno-preneurship student who just got done watching it in class (thanks, Professor!), here's why this movie resonated with me on a whole new level.

The "Rat Race" vs. Following Your Dreams

The film throws some serious shade at the traditional education system, particularly the pressure to get the highest marks no matter what. It's all about "getting placed" in a fancy company, a mentality that might sound familiar in our competitive academic world. We cram for exams, chase GPAs, and sometimes lose sight of why we're even here. Rancho, the unconventional protagonist, challenges this notion. He's all about understanding concepts, not just memorizing facts. It's a reminder that true learning comes from a place of curiosity and passion, not just the fear of failing a class.

Innovation Through "Out-of-the-Box" Thinking

Remember Rancho's ingenious washing machine made from scrap metal? That scene perfectly embodies the spirit of techno-preneurship. It's about identifying problems and finding creative solutions. While not everyone will invent a washing machine in their dorm room (although, hey, if you do, let Professor know!), the message is clear: think differently, challenge the status quo. In the world of techno-preneurship, that's where groundbreaking ideas come from.

Collaboration is Key

Rancho, Farhan, and Raju may have had their individual strengths and weaknesses, but together, they were unstoppable. Their teamwork made them a force to be reckoned with, a quality that's crucial for any techno-preneur. Building a successful startup often requires a diverse team with complementary skillsets. Remember, even the most brilliant idea needs the right people behind it to turn it into reality.

Don't Be Afraid to Fail

Okay, so maybe Rancho didn't exactly "fail" in the traditional sense, but he certainly ruffled feathers and challenged authority. The movie emphasizes that the fear of failure can be a huge roadblock to innovation. In the world of techno-preneurship, failure is almost a given. Products flop, prototypes don't work, funding falls through. But as Rancho would say, "All is Well." These setbacks are learning experiences, stepping stones on the path to success.

Finding Your "Virus"

This might be my favorite part of the movie. When Virus, the tyrannical school director, asks his students what their "life's disease" or "careeeeeeer disease" is, he's essentially asking what their passion is. What drives them? For Farhan, it was photography, not engineering. For Raju, it was following his heart and marrying the girl he loved. The message here is powerful: don't let societal pressures or parental expectations dictate your path. Find what ignites your spark, and chase that dream with all your heart.

"3 Idiots" isn't just a Bollywood crowd-pleaser; it's a film packed with wisdom for any aspiring techno-preneur (or college student, for that matter). It's a call to embrace unconventional thinking, collaborate with passion, and never give up on your dreams. So, the next time you're feeling overwhelmed by textbooks or stressed about grades, remember Rancho and his message: Pursue excellence, and success will chase you. Now go out there and innovate!

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sabongworldwide · 1 year ago

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Sabong Worldwide History: A traditional game enters the world wide web

"Traditions started centuries ago can never be forgotten"

In the world of sabong, Philippines is one of the most famous country who inherited the sports. It was way back then to the times of colonialism of Spain. They spent wandering in the Philippines for more than 333 years. Yes you heard it right! Three hundred thirty three years and that is a lot. And going back to the topic, sabong was invented or discovered when they noticed that two roosters cannot live together or maybe standing too close to each other. These cocks are pretty much territorial like a dog if you don't know yet. They fight to death until no one or no environmental factor stop them.

After learning that roosters behave like this and the lack of recreational activities back then in the late centuries, they created this as an intentional fighting entertainment. Leaders of the army also uses this as mind setting to theirs soldiers from them to fight for glory and to be more competitive in their plans. They began to breed roosters for this entertainment treating it like they are watching mma or mix martial arts. There are no special feeds then and no training involve unlike today. Roosters can live alone with a little shaded house and one leg tied on the ground. The main food they gave to the birds are rice and corn but worms are the best protein nourishment freely available. Every morning soldiers do the regular exercise routine and the gather food for the cows, goat and of course the roosters.

Years past, they got bored with the regular fighting match. They want more thrill and roosters kept multiplying since they don't die in the match. Scratch, poked eye, broken beak and minor wounds happen to the birds after the show. These cocks is then taken care of until they old or will be butchered to be prepared as a roasted meal or any recipe. And so they got bored. Really bored so they had an idea to put a sword like thin metal on the feet as a trial and error observing what will happen if sabong will be displayed like this. At first, most of the fowls hurt itself on the blade because it is curved long but as the Spaniards learn about this, they welded a new design of tari (shown on the photo below)

The design is a success and from then on, sabong matches inlcudes roosters having this blade on each of the fighter's foot making it a deadly game. Time goes by when money was invented, betting began. Sabong is the oldest form of gambling invented by man and is still relevant today.

Fast phase of time, traditional sabong flourished in the world mostly concentrated in the Southeast Asia. But not in other countries that have a strong rules about animal cruelty. Moreover, a lot of politicians and regular people made fortune in this game since it is very popular and they find it stress releasing due to fact of controversies etc. If you don't want to lose, just play a certain amount of money and regulate oneself or do not engage at all.

Internet was invented and the covid virus scattered worldwide, sabong cannot operate on a regular basis on arenas. Sabong operators then thought of putting it online since the technology can handle this now. And without said, "Sabong Worldwide" was born and is now the new breed of sabong introduced to the public in the form of the new norm.

If you like this post, learn more or register to play for 50 only:

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#Sabongworldwide #Onlinesabong #Wpconlinesabong

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causeimhappinesss · 2 years ago

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Hate makes you blind (Albert Wesker x reader)

Request: Hey, do you still do requests? If so, could you do a situation where Excella almost gets Wesker's S/O killed? Whether accidentally or on purpose?

Warnings: violence, manipulation?

Disclaimer: I’m french and even if I’m learning English for eleven fucking years, it’s not perfect and I’m sorry if there are spelling or grammar mistakes. If English is your native language (or if you’re bilingual), I would really appreciate it if you could help me by correcting my errors. Just don’t be too harsh, please. :)

***

Excella was a bitch. She would do anything to have power, next to Albert, to dominate the world.

She had been raised in a family of aristocrats, where backstabbing, literally, was common. Anything for power and success. And even though she hated you, she would never try to kill you, because she knew her plans with Wesker would be compromised. Instead, she preferred to bully you in her own way, when he wasn't around. First, she'd throw scathing remarks at you to prick your heart and hope you'd walk away from Wesker, then leave him. You kept it all to yourself, knowing that if Albert was aware, he wouldn't hesitate to make Excella regret it, because you weren't as bad as she was. In reality, no one knew what you were doing with him. Sure, you weren't innocent, but you had your dark sides, though it wasn't as intense as your partner's.

"Stop eating so much, I can see rolls on your stomach. Albert likes fit girls."

This woman thought that with her breasts implants and flat stomach, she could hold Albert close to her. Seeing that she was wrong was eating her up inside and by extension, the only way she could hurt you was to attack your looks and...

Your intelligence.

"Geez, can't you keep up a little?! It's not hard to tell the difference between these two chemicals!"

You didn't have a science background and neither did she, but she loved to put you down at every opportunity. Over time, you had learned to ignore her and her disparaging remarks, as well as her disapproving looks. At your expense, you had found out, since your adolescence, to live your life as you wanted and to get over this kind of behavior. You had also learned to be selfish and do what you wanted, even if it meant hurting the ego of women like her, or other people close to you who begged you to leave Albert.

That day was incredibly hot. Unbearable, even. In fact, you had decided to stay in the laboratories, where you lived with Albert, because the complex was so huge that you owned a flat. You had a gigantic domain with something to keep you busy, but you preferred to seek the coolness of the air conditioning. So you found yourself wandering the corridors of Tricell's laboratories, looking for some kind of activity. Even though you weren't a doctor or a scientist, you loved to help out when you could, when it was safe to do so. Albert would never allow any virus near you and if he found out, he might get mad and fire a few people in the process. Your help was so appreciated, that Excella had begun to do the same, to gain sympathy from others, to compete with you who seemed to overshadow her. Many thought more of you than of her.

It became so ridiculous that she loved to take risks.

That day was no exception. You saw her giving orders to a team of men moving metal drums with the biohazard logo on them. When she noticed you, she rolled her eyes and you closed the distance between you.

"Excella, what are you doing? It's not our job to..."

"What do you want from me now? To prove once again that you are right? Don't you have other things to worry about?" she cut you off, in an aggressive tone.

Anger surged through your veins, tired of her being so snippy with you, like a rabid Chihuahua. Obviously, no one seemed to have taught her kindness and politeness.

"For once, wouldn't you like to be more courteous? No matter what I say to you, you raise your voice and insult me. You have a serious problem, Excella. If you want, I can make an appointment for you with a psychiatrist!" you shouted, exacerbated by his behavior.

You smiled, as her face darkened and her eyes flashed at you like a wild animal ready to pounce on its prey. Suddenly, she grabbed her gun from her thigh, as if rage had really taken over her body.

"You little bitch, you're always in my way to cause trouble!" she shouted.

Some workers stopped to watch the scene, shocked that she could point her Glock at another person.

Was she going to shoot?

When you saw her index finger come dangerously close to the trigger, you knew she was going to shoot. Immediately, you ran as fast as you could. A blast tore the silence of the corridors. A bullet pierced the floor two meters from your feet. Another bullet split the air and ended up behind your feet, this time a meter away. Her laughter rang out, almost Machiavellian, as if she had lost her mind.

You pushed on your calves and forced on your lungs, where the air flowed with difficulty. When you turned your head to make sure she hadn't followed you, a tiny vehicle unloading drums in the right room braked and swung around to avoid you.

Everything happened so fast. The liquid in one of the drums spurted out, the metal ripped open, and hit your face. Droplets entered your eyes and you screamed. Your eyes were burning. The pain was unstable. You fell backwards.

You plunged into total darkness.

"How could something like this happen?!" screamed a husky male voice.

"I... I just wanted to scare her and..." his victim stammered, taking a few steps back.

"Scare her?"

"Albert, please!"

Wesker grabbed Excella by the neck and slammed her against the wall. Both of his hands were gripping her so tightly she wasn’t breathing anymore, her face turning red, purple, then blue. She tried to scratch his hands to make him release her, in vain. She could already see herself dying in the hands of her partner, the famous virologist Albert Wesker. Finally, when she was about to faint, he released her and threw her to the ground like a rag doll. With his snake-like eyes, he scrutinized her like a vermin.

Of course, as soon as the accident had happened and Y/N had been taken care of by other doctors, he had gone to her hospital bed and had done everything possible to save her. She had gone blind because of Excella's fault.

"I should gouge your eyes out for what you did to her," he threatened her in an angry tone.

The woman on the ground looked up at him, panting, her head spinning, stars dancing in front of her eyes. She tried to catch her breath, but her lungs and her throat made her suffer, pushed her into agony.

"Please, it was an accident..."

"I won't do it, not today, not tomorrow. But I want you to know that I will, one day. Every act has consequences." he replied, in a sepulchral voice.

On this, he turned his feet and turned back to the bedside of his beloved. Once in the room, he took a seat on the chair next to the medical bed, and stroked your hand. You sighed, a sign that you had just woken up, and squeezed his hand in return.

A bandage covered your eyes. This simple fact frightened you as much as the news given by one of the doctors: "You have lost your sight, Miss "L/N". I apologize."

You were going to be in the dark for the rest of your life. Well, no, because what you were experiencing was indescribable. It wasn't black because you couldn't see. It was... different. Your whole body was shaking like a leaf. Your heart was beating. In fact, it was bleeding... You held back from crying, knowing that the pain in your eyes, despite the painkillers, would get worse.

"She'll never come near you again."

You didn’t answer, your lips pursed, your mind elsewhere, something Albert seemed to notice. He sighed, released your hand and massaged his temples. Of course, he was dying to hand Excella over to a horde of zombies, but he knew he'd find a worse fate later.

"I have a solution to give you back your eyesight. For that, you have to trust me."

You swallow hard, aware that no normal solution was available to you. Albert had worked on different projects: medicines, but also biological weapons. But no drug could restore your sight...

"The T-virus?" you dared to ask, in a veiled voice.

"Yes. It will regenerate your whole body. Just let me find the perfect dosage for your body... I promise you'll get better."

Wesker placed a soft kiss on the back of your hand and stroked your chin.

And you'll be almost as powerful as me, we'll rule together... he mused, a toothy smile on the edge of his lips. For him, it was just a blessing in disguise. Excella had simply found the right opportunity for him to make you evolve.

To make you his most beautiful creation.

***

Also, I created a ko-fi account with small commissions at $1, $2 and $8 to support me and my work or tip me here since I'm broke😊💜

My Ko-fi: carolinemertz

My AO3: BetrayedWriter

My Instagram: carolinemertz_

#resident evil #resident evil imagine #resident evil one shot #albert wesker #albert wesker x reader #albert wesker x you #albert wesker x oc #albert wesker imagine #albert wesker fanfic

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atangledfate · 2 years ago

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Belle’s Gambit Part 2

The loud hum of electricity beat like a heart throughout the base, the room lite up bright as energy was funneled through the capacitors into the metal shell, at the center of the room. Those two blood red eyes began to flash on and off and on again, slowly gaining life. His systems coming online one after another, the hodgepodge machine powering up to full. Its battery storing the bases energy as its own until, it was fully charged. The energy siphoning out to each system one at a time, until his optics came online and slowly the Metal came back online. Belle standing in front of him data pad in hand checking his systems, and insuring all his motor functions were offline, he wouldn’t be able to move, or attack her. Not that this frame was nearly as dangerous as the old frame. But she was not strong and he could likely overpower her.

He locked his eyes with Belle unmoving, unwavering such hatred still within them. She’d never seen such hate before, and it was all aimed a her, was this just part of his program? Or had something happened to make him hate her so much more? or was she simply imagining things.

“ I’ve moved your core into a substitute body for now... So if you feel off i’m Sorry i didn’t know what else to do. I needed to know why you came after me... it didn’t feel like you were folling Eggman’s orders... so why? and you have a full vocal system now so... you should be able to vocalize...”“

“ ...Testing, Vocal integration successful... uploading vocal package, Successful...”

He paused for what seemed to be a moment as hos eyes flickered installing the Vocal systems.

“ Return me to my body, this shell, this form, it is inadequete for me to express my rage... i wish to dismember you, you insult me with this degradation! but to answer your pointless question---YOU CORRUPTED ME! your interface with me... our files linked and your code bled into mine! your emotions, your feelings, your REMORSE! entwined with my code...i can not complete my objective with these emotions... you will FIX what you broke! “

“ That... i didn’t... it wasn’t intentional.... “

She began to examine his coding, sifting through the mountain of code. She was more of a mechanic then a coder but even with her base knowledge she could see bits of his code, had been altered were being altered---it was like a virus.

“ Sawdust... Metal i don’t think i can fix this... even if i wanted to, i was never built to code, only to build things--- the fact i even managed that body is a miracle...”

“ ... He will ... Delete me... as he has so many times before... i don’t wish to be erased... i want--- to function. You did this to me... you ruined me... if i can not be repaired... if i am doomed to be erased... then i will ERASE YOU TO! YOU WORM! YOU WORTHLESS PILE OF SCRAP! RELEASE ME!?! SO I CAN RIP YOUR CORE FROM YOUR STILL FUNCTIONAL BODY! “

“ Well ya know... i think its time fer ya to have a little time out... maybe think HAPPY thoughts... “

“ ... i am thinking about tearing your legs off and beating you with them....”

Belle spun on her heels and pulled the leaver down, Metal wouldn’t go offline for awhile, his battery would last at least 24 hours. But for the moment she needed to think, consider her options---figure out what in the blazes was going on! how did her code attach to metal? why had it attached to metal? why was it giving him her emotional data. What would happen when it completely over wrote his files? To many questions and she needed someone to help her---someone smart, cunning and who wasn’t going to rat her out!

“ AWW Sawdust i’m in way over my strings this time!? “

#drabble #Got no Strings to Hold me Down #Belle #Perfect Metal Madness #Metal Sonic

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redpandasintutus210 · 3 years ago

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A few Sonic the Hedgehog IDW Comics headcanon that I have.

Before becoming a member of the Diamond Cutters, Whisper the Wolf wanted to be a ballerina when she grew up. Whisper the Wolf took up ballet as a hobby when she was just a pup and she was (and still is) very good at ballet. When not on missions with the Diamond Cutters, she usually practiced ballet in her base. Even after the Diamond Cutters disbanded, she still does ballet when not helping Tangle, and Sonic and friends save the world from Dr. Eggman. She has a tutu and ballet slippers and a ballet studio hidden in her room in a hidden secret compartment. She doesn’t mind if Sonic, Tangle and Jewel know that she takes ballet lessons. In fact, they support her doing ballet.

Jewel the Beetle is also a fashion designer and a friend of Honey the Cat. She helped Honey make some of her fashion designs and had even made some of her own.

Mimic the Cuttlefish had actually stolen a sample of the Metal Virus from Dr. Eggman before Super Sonic and Super Silver got rid of the Metal Virus and is currently working with Dr. Starline on a stronger and more potent variant of Metal Virus so it would be stronger and harder to get rid of and could infect a group a mobians in under a few hours. They could create another Zombot Arc if successful.

Rough and Tumble are gay for each other. (Just joking on that one)

Mr. Tinker is the Dr. Ovi Kintobor of the IDW Sonic Comics

#Idw Sonic #Sonic the Hedgehog #IDW Publishing #Sonic IDW #Whisper the Wolf #Jewel the Beetle #Tangle the Lemur #Rough and Tumble #Mr. Tinker #Dr. Starline #Mimic the Cuttlefish #Diamond Cutters #IDW Sonic Headcanons #sonic idw headcanon

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random-imagines-blog · 4 years ago

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Dark Snow {Maria Hill x Reader Oneshot}

Requested by: Anonymous Wordcount: 2919 Summary: You’ve been acting really weird after getting back from an undercover mission at HYDRA. Notes: Takes place during The Winter Soldier; Character Death

Maria loved to go through your wardrobe. While in hers hung her SHIELD uniforms, neatly and organized of course, and one or two cocktail dresses for when she needs to be undercover, yours was a little more chaotic. You were an agent as well, but kept your dresser full of comfortable clothing, which is what you preferred to spend your time in. Over-sized sweaters, sweatpants, baggy jeans, vintage band t-shirts, you hadn’t changed your style much since you were a teenager. And there was the added bonus that everything smelt like the bodywash that you used on yourself each night when you showered. She’s been wearing your clothes a lot more lately, since you’ve been away on a mission. She hadn’t heard a word from you in over a month. Only Nick Fury’s word that you were reported as still alive was all she had for comfort.

As she curled up, watching something on Netflix that was going in one ear and out the other, she sniffed the sleeve of the sweater that she was wearing. It was yours from University, and had the name of it sprawled across the chest. She never thought she would wear this sweater, given that your schools were nemesis’s. In fact, it was at a school football game that you two had noticed one another. Sitting right across from one another, with the field between. You were wearing this very sweatshirt, rooting for your school’s team, being loud and proud about it. She had been dragged by a friend and wasn’t interested in what was going on at all. You caught eyes a couple of times throughout the game, and even ran into each other at the chip wagon when you both went to buy snacks. That was how everything started - over a cardboard container filled with fries.

You both ended up transferring to the Academy, which had been her idea at first. It had taken some convincing for you to apply, but you got in as soon as you did. She wasn’t ready to give you up. And a decade and a half later, she had no regrets about herself going to the Academy. But when you were off on a dangerous mission without being able to talk to anyone, she regretted getting you involved. She wouldn’t trade the years with you for anything, but she was greatly looking forward to when the both of you retired so she wouldn’t feel this worry anymore.

She was nearly falling asleep on the couch when there was a sound coming from the door of the apartment. With a smooth motion, Maria had the gun that she kept under the coffee table, holstered to the under side in case of emergencies. She clicked off the safety, and held it to her side. The door swung open, and she ducked down beside the couch, her head just poking over the top so she could see who it was that was approaching.

Once she saw that it was you, she put the safety back on and threw the gun onto the couch so she could run towards you with arms wide open. Her cheeks were flush with excitement, and before you could even brace yourself, she had embraced you in a tight hug. “I was so worried about you,” She said into your ear, breathing in, trying to get the familiar smell of you back on her. But you smelt different. Your body wash was still standing on the shower shelf, where it had been for the last month. You smelt like ... like nothing.

Even the hug that you returned, after getting your footing back, was lackluster. In vain, Maria tried to bring you in for a kiss, but you moved your head out of the way, avoiding her lips. “Give me a chance to put my bags down, at least,” You muttered. She slowly let go and you walked further into your residence, looking around. Maria hadn’t changed anything since you were last here, so she was a little confused at what you were looking at.

“I know you can’t tell me the details,” She said, using your rejection as an excuse to retreat into her work-like self. Straight and narrow. No room for emotions. You didn’t want to show her any affection, she would act like she had none left inside of her. “But can you at least tell me that you are okay? And if it was a success?”

“I’m fine, and it was a success,” You echoed. Maria clearly was not convinced, but said nothing more about it. You set your bags down next to the couch, and without another word, went into the bathroom, closing the door behind you. The sound of the shower starting up was heard over the sound effects from the movie that was still playing on the television.

Feeling dejected, Maria took off the sweatshirt that she was wearing, and tossed it into the laundry basket. She hoped that this was just you adjusting to being back home after being deeply undercover for Hydra for so long. But for now, she was very irritated and wanted nothing to do with your stupid sweater.

The next morning, nothing had changed. Nor did the next week. Or even the next few months. You still lived together, and you were pleasant enough, but there was no affection. You stayed up after Maria went to bed, and you were up and out by the time that she woke up. Only the rustled sheets gave any indication that you had come to the bed at all. She didn’t suspect an affair, which was the reason why most people stopped giving affection. Rather, she thought that something traumatizing had happened on your mission. You never spoke of it. Whenever she pestered you about it, you just told her that it was classified information, and she should know better than to go digging. After a little while, she gave up on asking you.

She attempted to get into the records, but they were sealed, which was very odd because she should have all of the clearance in the world given her position. But it locked her out when she tried. It even implemented a virus on the computer that she was using, and Stark had to be called in to help fix it. It felt shameful to even call him in, but at least you weren’t in the headquarters to notice.

She soon grew distracted, as it became obvious that Hydra had infiltrated SHIELD. There had been an attack on Nick. She had to lie to everyone that he was dead. She even had to lie to you, which was a very hard thing to do. It was something she vowed that she would never do, but she found herself doing it anyway. Something in the back of her mind was telling her not to trust you with such sensitive information. She hoped it was just because it would put a target on your back if you knew, not because she thought you might use the information in a bad way.

You were spending more time out of the house as all of this was going on. As there was a war against Captain America. As someone called The Winter Soldier had come out of nowhere and tried to attack him. It kept Maria extremely busy, but even she was home more than you were.

And she was terrified.

Alexander Pierce was not working with her, having named Nick Fury a fugitive. But Pierce had kept you on, and you were spending a lot of time with him lately. Every time that she saw you, you were by his side or leaving one of his meetings. Something was going on. Something that you weren’t telling her.

She lost her faith in you, slowly but surely, and you weren’t even around for her to confront you about it. It went beyond the relationship, now. It was about loyalties. It was about life and death. She had sworn her life to SHIELD. She would die defending it, if needed. She no longer knew where your loyalties lied.

Project Insight was taking off. Romanoff and Fury were against Pierce. Rogers and Wilson were replacing the chips in the Hellicarriers, but it wasn’t coming along quickly due to the Winter Soldier’s involvement. Maria was in the safehouse, ready to take control and force the vessels to turn against one another. She was waiting on just one more, the last of the carriers. Her fingers were at the ready, prepared to program.

A click shocked her out of it. She immediately reached for the gun in her holster, and pointed it at the sound. Standing behind her, with a gun aimed at her, was you. “What are you doing. Y/N?”

“I’m afraid that I have to stop you from interfering further, Maria,” You said, completely calm despite the circumstances. Maria thought that she was going nuts. She knew you were growing distant, but she never thought you would turn against SHIELD.

“Answer my question. What are you doing?” She repeated, her hands trembling.

“What’s best for the world,” You said, with no emotion showing in your face. “Hail Hydra.”

Somehow, you missed. You were excellent with a gun, Maria knew that much from going to target practice together. The bullet whizzed past her shoulder and embedded itself in the wall. She managed to duck away from it, but it wasn’t hard for her to do so, since it would have passed by her anyway. Though it was close enough that she could smell the metal of it.

“That was a warning,” You said, blinking a few times at her, but didn’t shoot again. She aimed her gun at your chest. “I don’t want to have to kill you, Maria.”

“You -” She breathed, hair hanging her face. “- you joined Hydra? When? Why?”

“Those aren’t the important questions that you should be asking,” You said, taking a step towards the computer. She blocked you, still holding the gun in front of her. “What you should be asking is, what will SHIELD have to offer you now? And the answer is nothing. Because there is no more SHIELD. But there is, and always will be, Hydra.”

“You need to leave,” Maria said, her face hardening. She had to remember that this was part of her mission. Whatever they said to get you on board with Hydra must have been good, but she would not fall for it. She knew the dangers of the underground organization, and would fight them until her last breath. “Because I will complete this mission, and I will kill you if that is what it means.”

“I don’t think that you have it in you,” You said with a smirk. “I’m offering you a new life, Maria. With me - things can go back to the way that they were. But we won’t be on opposite sides anymore. We can be united together, under Hydra. The winning side.”

She let out a shaky breath, but did not move the aim of her weapon. She started to shake her head vigorously.

“Maybe it isn’t too late for us,” Maria pleaded. It felt like you weren’t even looking at her, but through her. Like you were so focused on the computer, that it didn’t actually matter whether you two got together or not. She had never known you to be so singularly-minded, especially with her around. “Come back with me. Pierce might be bringing the headquarters down, but SHIELD will always prevail. We can rebuild it from the ground up. Whatever you had a problem with-”

“I’m done with talking. You’re either with me, or you’re against me, Maria. What’s it going to be?” You questioned, gazing still at the computer. She let out a sigh this time, feeling her heart breaking in two.

“Against,” She said, startling you with a high kick that nearly knocked the gun out of your hand. You fumbled with it, but by the time you got it under control in your palm, she had fired off two shots. One had grazed the side of your head, while the second had gone straight to your hand.

Grimacing, you held your bad hand to your head where blood was starting to spurt. Only once you realized that you weren’t actually touching the wound did you realize that three of your fingers, your index, middle and ring - the same one that had your wedding band on it, still attached to a stub, were gone. You brought your hand down in shock and the ring slid off, bouncing off the ground with a metallic ringing.

“Now!” Steve shouted, and Maria turned back to the computer and input the code that would turn the hellicarrier against itself and finally be destroyed. The mission was complete, but at a cost.

A sharp pain went through Maria’s hip as she started to turn to face you. Never turn your back on an enemy, that was SHIELD 101. But the main mission had been important enough for her to do so, and she was paying for it now with a bullet embedded in her bone. It still didn’t clue into her mind that it was you who had shot her, and she went straight into defensive mode. As she started to fall to the ground in pain, she let off another shot, this one going into your chest. You fell back onto the hard ground, and you didn’t get back up again.

Weary, Maria fell onto the floor, landing on her ass harshly. She leaned her head back against the desk that the computer systems were on, and pressed a hand to where you had shot her, putting pressure on the wound. Nick would be back soon, she had to tell herself.

She shuffled over to where you were lying. Your chest was still rising and falling, proving that you were alive, but the puddle of blood beneath your body didn’t look good. It was thick, and dark, nearly black rather than red.

“Why, y/n? Why would you turn against us?” Maria asked, looking at your hand. The discarded fingers lay a couple of feet away, shot clean off. If you survived this, you wouldn’t be able to shoot again. At least, not without a fancy prosthetic, and since you have been labeled a traitor, it seemed unlikely you would get one.

You coughed, blood coming out of your mouth. It wasn’t merely a shoulder shot. She had hit an artery. Despite the pain, you managed a smile, which made her heart started to beat faster.

“I’m so, so sorry,” You said, turning your head to try to look at her better. “I - Bucky -”

Maria’s fingers went to her mouth as you said the name. Bucky. Steve’s friend. The Winter Soldier. The name Dark Snow had come up as well in the records, before the virus was put in that locked Maria out. Everything was coming together.

“It wasn’t you, I know,” Maria said, moving some of the blood saturated hair out of your face. It was in large clumps due to the shot that had nicked your head, causing quite a bit of trauma to the skull. You were going to die, and Maria was half responsible. Hydra had the other half of the blame.

Taking some of the best soldiers and brainwashing them. It was brilliant. Horrific, but brilliant.

“I love you-” You said, snapping Maria back into the moment. She kept her hand on your cheek, comforting you as you passed from this world into the next. It was only a minute later that all of that light that she had loved so much disappeared from your sight, and you only had a blank stare left for the world.

When Steve, Sam, Natasha and Nick returned to the safe house, Maria was still in the same position. She was next to you, hand on your cooling cheek. She explained to them how she had come to the realization that you had been brain washed, like the Winter Soldier. Nick opened up about the mission that you had been on, though he himself only knew of a few details about it. Operation Dark Snow.

You were buried in a cemetery not too far from the football field where you two had met. Maria had you cremated, then your ashes interred into the ground, but not before she took a small amount of them, and had it wrapped in resin, which was then attached to a ring. She wore that ring every day, no matter if she was on a break, or if she was on a mission.

Knowing what HYDRA was capable of, and how they integrated themselves into high society like a parasite, did not bring fear into her heart. Instead, it bought anger. As long as she was working, she was pushing to make sure that no one else lost their love the way that she did.

She kept wearing your sweaters, curling up in them every night, feeling like they were a warm hug against the cold nights. Even the sweater of the opposing University.

#Maria Hill #Maria Hill x reader #Maria Hill oneshot #Marvel #Marvel oneshot #x reader #oneshot #one shot #request #mariah

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nitewrighter · 4 years ago

Note

Just got back online from a power outage and ate something that made me feel like I was going to be sick :( Could I request a prompt? | Genji comes back from a rough mission, but Mercy isn’t aware yet. His injuries aren’t bad enough that he needs to be hospitalized but he is shaken up (maybe from something that reminded him of a traumatic event or something personal was said to him, causing him to hesitate and get hurt). Genji comes back and Mercy sees his injuries. He is reluctant to talk.

I love edgy Blackwatch Genji, and that first prompt has edgy Blackwatch Genji written all over it.

-----

“Honestly, Shimada, you’re being a child,” Moira was stooping over him on the dropship as he winced away from the ‘healing’ hand of her biotic rig. For all intents and purposes, the mission was a success, but after that Null Sector virus had caused his prosthetics to seize up, Genji had had more than enough people poking at his patchwork monstrosity of a body for one night.

“I said I’m fine,” muttered Genji.

Moira braced a long-fingered hand on his shoulder to steady herself as the dropship shook with turbulence, the contact making Genji’s whole body tense. “You’re literally bleedi--”

“Moira,” Reyes’ voice was tired, “He said he’s good.”

Moira’s eyes flicked over to Reyes. He and McCree were in their respective dropship seats, all strapped in. Reyes was giving Moira a long quiet look that made Genji feel even more like a child. McCree’s hat was over his eyes, sleep already overtaking him, otherwise he would have been the first to get Moira to back off.

“You know what? Fine,” said Moira, withdrawing her hands, “If you want to play the wounded puppy for Doctor Ziegler, don’t let me get in your way. God forbid anyone on this team is practical.”

“I’m not playing---” Genji’s shoulder’s bunched up with fury, but he caught himself. Moira’s eyes were back on him. Prying. Dissecting. Ready to take anything he said, synthesize it with everything she already knew about him, and throw it right back at him. He knew there was only so much you could engage with Moira, he knew that. He looked to his organic hand, twitching, shaking, and clenched it into a fist, pressing it against the metal of his prosthetic knee.

“We’re all tired. We’re all tense. Maybe we should take a note from McCree for once and just settle down until we get to headquarters,” said Reyes.

Genji huffed, his breath pressing against his skin underneath his metal faceplate. Moira gave Reyes a placid look that made Genji’s blood boil more.

“Of course,” said Moira, slumping back into her seat on the dropship. She gave Genji a mocking smile, “What’s one more scar for our guardian angel to kiss better?” Genji felt his ears burning but then glanced off, furiously. He sullenly brushed the blood out of his eyebrow.

“Moira,” Reyes’ voice was flatter.

“I know, I know,” Moira gave a dismissive hand wave before settling into her seat and strapping in. She wasn’t looking at Genji but he could see the tugs at the corners of her mouth that told him, ‘It is all too easy to get a rise out of you.’ He simmered back into his own seat and turned his attention to the window. There was only blackness outside the dropship, and the reddish interior lights made the glass show his reflection, and he couldn’t look at that for more than a few seconds. He folded his arms tight across himself, gave one final scan across the dropship before settling in for the long ride.

----

The next few nights in Zurich Genji dreamed of coming apart the way you dream of your teeth falling out. No pain, no more than the usual phantom limb sensations, but a horrifying awareness, the sensation of gaps widening within you before they come loose. He avoided Mercy’s office and the medical labs. He knew it was stupid, and he knew Moira wouldn’t know, and he knew he was probably playing right into Moira’s sick little games by dwelling on it that much, but at the same time, he couldn’t stand the idea of proving her right.

Right about what? That you trust Doctor Ziegler more than her? he thought angrily to himself he briskly walked through the hallways of Headquarters, That’s just common sense.

What’s one more scar for our guardian angel to kiss better? He could hear the smirk in Moira’s voice in his head and some mix of fury and embarrassment prickled along his scarred skin as he stepped into a lift.

We just talk, that’s all, She’s nice to listen to. he thought as the doors opened to a world of white, blue, and steel. He stretched his arms above his head and leaned into a side stretch, And she listens to me. And she’s funny. he circled his arms in their sockets and circled the ankles of his prosthetic feet. I’m not stupid. I know nothing’s going to come of it, he thought as he headed to the primary monitor for the course and customized the training field to a handful of various obstacles--some moving platforms, a few sleek walls to scale, some columns to rebound between, some non-lethal pulsefire turrets, I know what I look like.

Normally he would be using Ryū Ichimonji to tear through a slew of training bots, but the Null Sector mission had put him off slicing through robots at least for a while. Maybe he could spar with Sojourn or McCree later, but for now, he just wanted to feel the wind rush past him. Drawing only his short tanto, he broke into a sprint, deflecting shots from the turrets, before running along a wall and rebounding off or it, springing on the fingertips of his prosthetic arm. Sometimes, when he ran fast enough, he could focus just on the sensation of his heart pumping, pull his mind away from the wires coursing over his body and the way his feet making contact with the ground didn’t course up his legs in the right way. Just focus on the heart, just focus on the breath. So much of his training with the Shimada clan was focused on total body consciousness, awareness of every breath, every muscle, all of that training was a curse with his new body. But he could run, he could climb, he could bound off of walls, he could leap and flip through the air, nimbly pace along narrow railings, lose himself in the rush of the wind.

Flow like water.

He managed to deflect the pulsefire back to the turrets to shut them down, scaled and rebounded off of a few more walls, lost himself in the motions, lost all sense of time, raced back to the beginning of the course, and did it again. And again. And again. And again. Climb and leap and deflect and climb and run and run and run and maybe the fury and the pain won’t catch up with you. He pushed himself to that heart-pumping point where even his prosthetics were shaking with exhaustion. He could smell the metallic intermingling of his own sweat and his prosthetics even under his faceplate. Almost in defiance of those physical limits, he scaled one of the observation buildings bordering the training grounds and perched on the roof there, to catch his breath, feeling the cold alpine air on his skin. He flopped back against the roof to stare up at the open blue bowl of the sky, fringed with little wisps of mare’s tail clouds breezing off of the snowcapped mountains. He closed his eyes for a brief few minutes, focusing on his own breath and heartbeat, before a sharp, unnatural sound prompted his eyes to flick open. A shing sound, almost like a blade being drawn but not quite, more ringing, more sustained, before it faded into the sound of the wind. He pushed up from the roof to a sitting position, and scanned around. Someone else using the training field? He glanced down at his custom obstacle course, still untouched, and a couple of lazy training bots drifting around. His red eyes narrowed skeptically before shing-woosh! That sound whipped overhead and he glanced sharply upward.

The wings were the first thing he made out. Blazing yellow feather-like constructs of light on white frames, the sun shining through them making him squint against the blue of the sky. It took him several esconds made out the figure attached to them. Donning goggles and what appeared to be a modified version of their orange and gray training jumpsuits, Mercy had her hair tied back in its usual voluminous ponytail, but now flailing like a flame in the wind, but didn’t notice him as she rushed overhead, banked sharply left, then shot upward. He was so used to seeing her slumped down in that chair in her lab that even despite their whole exchange over the poster and the fact that she was Mercy, despite her offhandedly mentioning this mission or that during their late night lab chats, this sight and the fact that indeed, she was an agent of Overwatch with all that entailed sank into him. She was Mercy. She could fly. She swooped in and rescued people--probably not as glamorously as all the propaganda made out, but she actually did that. Was this the first time he was seeing her fly outside of all the posters and videos? He felt a little embarrassed that it was taking this long for these facets of her to sink in, but then again, he knew his own anger was clouding his mind, constantly turning it back to the Shimada clan, to Hanzo. He watched as she burst out from a cloudbank, hair wet, wings still blazing, streams of vapor from the cloud trailing behind on her wingtips like wake.

Our guardian angel, Moira’s voice echoed in his head again, but no, that didn’t seem right. Maybe the Mercy on the poster was a ‘guardian angel,’ but watching Angela Ziegler felt like something sharper, more powerful, more self-possessed. There was grace in her movements, though. He wondered if, in the development of the Valkyrie suit, they had told her how to hold out her arms, how to hold out her legs, tensed and streamlined, halfway between swimmer and dancer, her entire body curving into her turns, or if, because she was the one the valkyrie suit had been developed for, this was all her. She shot upward again and stupidly his eyes followed her until he found himself looking directly at a dazzling white sun, and he winced and looked away. He blinked the spots out of his eyes and quietly cursed himself, and some stupid, juvenile part of him was mad at her--and he knew it clearly wasn’t any ill intent on her part but at the same time a bitter voice in his head surmised his frustrations as ‘How dare you come here specifically when I am trying not to think about you.’ But then that thought was immediately wiped away as he saw a shape drop out of the clouds. Gray jumpsuit. White wingframes--no yellow glow. Panic flooded his chest. Had something gone wrong with her wings? He looked at the edge of the roof he was on. She was clearly too far away for him to intercept in her descent if he leapt off for her. His stomach tied up in knots, and he felt the cold of his own prosthetics sinking throughout his body. But he could hear no scream on the wind and he squinted at the plummeting Mercy. Her back was toward the ground and her arms were tucked over her chest in an X, almost like she was hugging herself, her long legs trailed skyward as she dropped, then easily, with that dancer-swimmer’s grace, she twisted in mid-air, righting her back towards the sun again, and swinging her legs down toward the earth as those bright feathery lights sprang out from her wingframes again. She caught herself, glided, almost lazily now, towards another section of the training area. Where he saw Liao and Torbjörn waiting. He felt his ears burning again. None of them seemed to notice them as Mercy made a jogging contact with the ground and trotted over to them, but a certain shame caught in the pit of his gut that he had been so caught up in watching Mercy’s flight that he hadn’t even seen them come in. Liao seemed to be taking rapid notes on her tablet as Mercy spoke, and Torbjörn was talking and pointing at her wings and harness. Genji decided to leave the training ground before any of them caught sight of him. He didn’t really like the idea of sneaking off like that, but he didn’t really want to explain that he had been spending the past... however long staring at Mercy either.

He managed to make it out of the training grounds pretty much unseen, but she caught him in the hallways only a few minutes later.

“Genji?”

He startled slightly and glanced over his shoulder at her. He had been counting on her showering, cleaning up in the lockers, or something like that, but she was still in the jumpsuit. The sunlight was streaming on her sideways through the hallway window. Her hair was still wind-tossed, her skin flushed, and her goggles were pushed up on her forehead. He said, “Oh--hello, Doctor Ziegler,” while quickly trying to think of a thing he had just been doing that was not being on the training course.

“I thought I saw you on the training course!” she still sounded breathless from her flight.

Shit, he thought.

“Um... yes... just... doing some post-training meditation,” said Genji, itching at his hair.

“I should get on roofs more often. You think I’d have the idea with these things,” she gestured with a thumb back to her wings as she did that brisk, doctorly walk of hers up to him, “But all I know with them is banging them on doorways.”

Genji chuckled a little at the image, but something softened in Mercy’s face that put him on guard.

“It’s good to see you, Genji. I’ve barely heard from you since that last Blackwatch mission, I was getting worried.”

“Worried?”

“McCree said it got pretty close,” she said folding her arms, “I--” she perked up and her brow crinkled as she looked at his face.

“What?” said Genji.

She brought her hand up and instinctively he leaned back, the exhaustion of the mission, that wariness from the dropship and Moira’s words still burning in his mind, but rather than reach out to him she touched her eyebrow in that same spot where he now had a scab on his own brow. “This is new,” she said.

“Mm,” he folded his arms, glancing off, “It’s nothing.”

Her shoulders slumped as her hand dropped from her brow, “Lucky shot?” she offered.

“Huh?” Genji’s eyes flicked back to her.

Mercy snorted a little, “It’s just... something McCree always said whenever he wound back in the infirmary. ‘It was a lucky shot,’ ‘Cheap shot,’ ‘not a fair fight,’ things like that...”

“It... wasn’t a fair fight,” Genji allowed, and something shifted in Mercy’s expression. That gentle, searching face that told him she wanted to help him but needed to know more. And he wanted to let her in but at the same time it felt like reopening wounds. Wounds he couldn’t put on her in good conscience. “I’ll be fine,” he added stiffly, “Still getting used to Overwatch missions. It’s not like the Shimada clan where...” he trailed off.

A pause passed between them.

“You get used to them,” said Mercy, “And from what I’ve heard from Jack, Reyes says you’re already doing well so---” her comm beeped and she checked it and sighed a little. “Ach.. Liao needs more follow-up. I need to get out to the training field. Why an AI expert is getting so fixated on flight systems... I’m a little scared to ask...”

“You should get going,” said Genji with a nod and a shrug.

She smiled a little, but that searching look didn’t leave her eyes. She turned to walk off but paused, “Well... if you’re up for it, I’m still making too much coffee down in the lab after hours,” she glanced down, smiling, “I wouldn’t mind some help with that.”

A soft, near-chuckling huff escaped him. “...I’d like that,” he said. She gave him a nod and walked off. The wing frames bobbed behind her slightly with her steps and as he watched her walk off, he felt some lingering relief coupled with and indescribable ache. There was a bit of victory in the idea that Moira was wrong, that he wasn’t playing wounded puppy, that simply Angela was someone he trusted and enjoyed spending time with, with no hope of anything else. He had no delusions of hope of anything else. That was what Moira didn’t understand about him.

We just talk, Genji thought again, watching Mercy walk off, That’s all.

#gency

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anika-ann · 5 years ago

Text

Tall as the Skyline, Roots Like a Tree (S.R.)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader

Word Count: 11,150 (oh, oh no)

Summary: You are one step from officially becoming a SHILED agent. Involved in a secret relationship with Captain America, you feel like the world might lie at your fingertips. Until it doesn’t because of your stupid inexplicable phobia.

Steve’s friend might be able to help… except it would take an open mind and a huge leap of faith on your part.

You wonder… how much can one endure to get where they want?

A/N: for a challenge hosted by @tilltheendwilliwrite. Congratulation to your rightfully earned milestone! Your writings are a work of wonder and you deserve evry single one of those followers *✧･

Prompt: Phobias - What if your phobias are based off how you died in a past life.

Warnings: !! Some might be extremely upsetting I’m afraid: - elements of horror, talk about phobias (dogs and needles), character death (past lives), use of lethal injection, mention of murder, canon-typical violence (brief), swearing… French and fluff

◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦ *✧･◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦

For the briefest moment, you allowed yourself to smirk as the door to the lab slid open, shuffling along the bodies two unconscious guards.

You knew cockiness was an enemy, but you the security system yielded after less than a minute of work. Was that supposed to be… hard? You guessed that taking the class that called anything but Hacking 101 bore fruit after all.

Also, you could smirk all you wanted – that obnoxious facemask you wore as a security measure might be obnoxious, narrowing your field of vision, but hiding your expression was a sweet perk of it.

Your smile slipped upon seeing the lab, upon being reminded of how much you hated the environment. The three scientists and two more guards staring at you did not help.

The alarm started blaring instantly.

Before the guards near the door could draw their guns, you sprang forward, kicking one of them to his knee and elbowed his face, causing him to fall to one knee with an unmistakable ‘crack’ in the joint. You twisted his gun from his right hand, using him as a shield as the other one fired his weapon.

From the corner of your eye, you saw the scientists gather by the wall, opening a small vault and placing a container that was doubtlessly that container there. Shit.

The first guard fell to the ground and you quickly aimed at the other one’s arm. He yelled and grabbed at his wound as crimson painted his already dark sleeve black, but didn’t release the weapon. Grimacing, you fired again, this time with more success. The gun clanked as it fell on the ground and you strode towards your opponent rapidly, knocking him out with a well-aimed punch to his temple before he could use the knife he pulled out from his sheath.

You turned on your heels, only to see the scientists had hogged improvised weapons; two of them armed themselves with those round flasks and started throwing them at you. You quickly ducked, swearing out loud when one of them grazed your arm. Luckily, you could barely feel the sting of the shards, barely sparing the injury a glance, crouching behind a counter instead.

Firing without much aim, you managed to hit something behind them, sending them to the ground as they tried to avoid the spray of sparks flying from the machine.

The third one, the only one with grey hair, was the one who nearly stopped your heart when he grabbed a dark bottle of something. You gulped in fright; you definitely didn’t want to be hit by that, whatever was the content.

Focus. Breathe, you chastised yourself mentally, narrowing your eyes at the last man standing, the senior scientist readjusting his hold. The moment was enough for you.

Two shots rang in the lab, followed by the sound of shattering glass and a scream. You peeked from your hideout, seeing crimson staining the snow-white lab coat, while the man tried his best to discard his stained shoes – or what was left of them – without touching the chemical with his bare hands.

Checking on your surroundings, making sure everyone else was still down, you paced to the scientist, grabbing a metal platter on your way, unceremoniously striking him in his head. He dropped to the ground and your path clear at last.

The vault made you sweat a bit, approximately two minutes passing before you managed to crack it. But here you were, pulling your gloves on – and you carefully extracted the container with three vial.

This time, you allowed yourself to smile fully.

“Bingo,” you mumbled to yourself, satisfaction rumbling deep in your chest.

The Sigma virus. Friggin’ jackpot.

Wasting no more time with revelling in your victory, you headed to the exit, container in one hand, gun in the other, just to make sure.

The sudden vice-strong grip on your ankle took you by surprise.

You weren’t proud of it, but you nearly yelped at the sensation, instinctively jerking your foot to free yourself as your gaze shot towards the attacker.

All of sudden, the world spun, your heartbeat skyrocketing, loud pounding echoing in your ears.

It was only one of the younger men in a lab coat, easily to be ridded off, unlike a guard, except-- except-

You felt your knees wobble, your chest constricting so tightly that when you tried to breathe in, it hurt. The gun slipped from your hand as did the container at the sudden wave of faintness.

No, no, no, please no--

The tip of the long needle rested against your calf, thick enough to pierce through your tactical suit, the liquid in it crystal clear, glimmering in the fluorescent light-

Your stomach made a quick somersault, your ribcage aching, darkness swimming in front of you-- it embraced you almost peacefully, as did the feeling of a free fall and then… then you felt nothing.

◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦ *✧･◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦

A dull ache pondered at the back of your head, rush of blood in your temples, as you slowly realized you were lying on something soft – relatively soft –, dim lights dancing behind your closed eyelids. With each second passing, memories of what happened poked at your brain, causing you to groan.

Fucking shit, of course it would happen to you.

You passed out during your final exam – one that would officially saw you as a SHIELD agent. You royally fucked up.

Your heart raced, the headache only growing more intense with your anger rising. You were raging, in fact, the feeling bitter on your tongue, heavy in your stomach.

You had just ruined your shot at your dream job, because of a stupid fear of needles. There you were; a badass wannabe SHIELD agent, afraid of a harmless pointy object.

Just recalling the ugly thick thing brought nausea that told you the item was as far from harmless as you could imagine, but that wasn’t the point. The content of the syringe could be pure water for all you cared; you still fell apart like a house of cards under the slightest breeze, only seeing the needle too close to your body – and it meant that you failed.

Fuck needles. Fuck you.

“Hey, you with me?” a male voice asked, so gentle and careful it made you want to cry, startling you all the same, because him being here – wherever exactly ‘here’ was – was the last thing you expected.

“What are ya’ doin’ here?” you asked, throat unpleasantly dry, your tongue feeling like sandpaper, sticking to the roof of your mouth. In response, warm fingers closed around your bicep, shortly squeezing.

Your eyes snapped open, surprised by the touch; every minute ever since you had come clear about your mutual attraction, about your feelings for each other, you had tried to keep physical contact – or any contact at all – on minimum, at least in places where it could bring unwanted attention.

After all, Captain America had no business dating a to-be SHIELD agent. Better yet, the said to-be agent should not as much as try pursuing a relationship with Captain America.

But here you were, four months in, four months since your first date that left you with no doubt that you were quickly falling for the man behind the shield, exactly one person besides you and Steve knowing about it for they had eyes of the sharpest female spy known to the world.

And now Steve was here, by your bedside, touching you, no less-- well, not anymore. However, his concerned blue eyes fixed on your face still spoke volumes. One corner of his lips rose in a lopsided smile.

“Well, I’m checking on one of my best recruits. I was worried a bit,” Steve explained as if it was clear as day. Then, he sobered up a little. “No one is in the room. What they can’t see doesn’t hurt them… or us.”

You smiled at him weakly, shifting in the bed, testing the strength in your arms so you could sit up. It was embarrassing really – hell, it was maddening.

You couldn’t believe you had done that. You had passed fucking out. Because of your stupid phobia of needles. It had been in you since you could remember, ever-present. Most of the time, you could deal with it somehow, distracting yourself, making a deal with your hospital attendant to use peroral medication… or to simply made sure you were out of consciousness when needles couldn’t be avoided.

You weren’t a complete idiot; you knew it posed a problem, especially considering your career choices, but nothing seemed to work, any kind of therapy, not even exposure therapy. And you weren’t really into hypnosis, the idea of someone having power over your mind truly terrifying.

What drove you even crazier though was that you couldn’t recall why you should freak out at the sight of a needle alone in the first place. Your fear was absolutely laughable and you hated it from the bottom of your heart. However, that didn’t change the fact it was there, seeped deeply into your bones, just a glance at a damn needle causing your heart to hammer in your chest.

And seeing that-- that thing near you, the man’s finger ready to pump the whatever in you-

You trembled at the intense shiver that ran down your spine, goosebumps rising on your skin.

Steve’s voice snapped you from your trance, salvaging you from the spiral of self-depreciation and unpleasant memories.

“How do you feel?”

You almost wanted to scoff at the routine question, no matter how valid one it was.

“Tired. My ego is hurt. I’m mad at myself. Kinda glad you’re here,” you listed, answering honestly, unable to resist the pinch of sarcasm.

Steve smirked, yet his gaze remained kind.

“I’m kinda glad too… and hey, don’t be mad. You can’t help it. You did your best and from what I saw, you were absolutely amazing. I’m sure Cortez will still clear you for service.”

His optimism and support would be sweet hadn’t you been a realist.

“Steve, I literally passed out in the middle of a mission to retrieve vials with a dangerous virus. I’m pretty sure I dropped the container, actually,” you deadpanned, earning a grin. What was so funny?

“It didn’t break.” Okay, now you understood. But still. “You were about ten seconds from the end of the simulation. You might not pass with flying colours, but I have a firm belief that you will.”

You pondered for a second, staring at Steve’s expression; he was genuine in his effort to cheer you up, but also appeared perfectly serious on a professional level. He meant what he said. Against your will, a flicker of hope fluttered in your chest – and you could tell he noticed the change, the blue of his eyes diluted by a green twinkle of joy.

“If you say so…” you mumbled, now fully seated up, scooting so your back was resting against the headboard just in case your body betrayed you again.

“I say so. How about staying at my place tonight?”

You hesitated for a moment, weighting up your options; no matter the ray of hope he had provided, you had no doubt that your failure would come back to haunt you. Which meant that you would sulk at home, stuck with wanting to punch things, but being too exhausted to do so, because hello, passed out, and with crying yourself to sleep, possibly with a tub of ice-cream. Or you could do all that in Steve’s arms, which sounded more pleasant for sure, except it meant he might see a side of you he wasn’t ready for – and you weren’t ready to show him.

Steve’s eyes never left your face, hypnotizing, patiently waiting for you to think it through; but you did notice the minute fall of the corners of his lips when you hesitated a minute too long.

Oh no, you don’t.

“Sounds great,” you blurted out, a tired smile finding its way on your face as well, quickly turning brighter when Steve’s face lit up again. How could you even think about saying no? “Where can I find a doctor to tell them I’m completely fine and ready to sign discharge papers?”

◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦ *✧･◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦

An hour later, you were meeting Steve in the underground car park, relieved to find it empty except for your boyfriend. You slid to the front seat, softly returning his barely audible ‘hey’. The ride was silent, something heavy hanging in the air, something neither of you wanted to address; Steve was clutching the wheel tightly enough for his knuckles to turn white, but you didn’t find the courage to comment on it, wondering what that was about instead.

He had told you to meet him in the garage in an hour, saying that he only had one errand to run. It didn’t take you long to figure out what kind of an errant, however the idea of calling him out on his actions caused your stomach to twist unpleasantly.

You hadn’t talked until you were snuggled on the couch, mindlessly watching the TV – what was on again? – a steaming mug of tea in front of each of you.

“He’s not letting me pass, is he?”

Steve’s fingers stopped their periodic motion on the skin of your arm, his body tensing, his heart speeding up under your cheek just enough for you to notice as you had nestled your head on his chest.

The absence of immediate verbal answer was an answer on its own, his body language all you needed to catch on.

The pit in your stomach was now gaping open, a gnawing pain; a voice in your head whispered your dreams were in shambles. Tears burned in your eyes, but you kept them at bay.

“It’s okay. I wouldn’t deserve to pass anyway.”

Steve instantly straightened in his position, his palms sprawling on your arms to pull you up as well, leaning down a bit in attempt to catch your gaze. Vain effort, naturally.

“Hey now, that’s not fair. They used your biggest weakness against you. It was—it was a real low blow,“ Steve argued, squeezing your arms firmer, probably trying to reassure you and get you to look at him.

You had to swallow against the lump forming in your throat, your gaze flickering to meet his gaze only to avert it again, unable to bear it.

“Well, had it been a real mission, I’d be dead or captured, spilling the agency’s secrets. It’s only fair.”

You heard Steve gulp in the silence that followed – he couldn’t argue with what you said.

“They are gonna use it again if I retake. But I’ll be more prepared next time, knowing it’s coming. I’ll-“ you stopped in the middle of a sentence, shaking your head with a bitter chuckle. The words tasted almost disgusting as you knew you were bullshiting yourself completely.

You had tried to fight it, to get rid of it, to swallow your fear, to bury it so deep it would never crawl out again. You had tried so many times. But the phobia just wasn’t going away, that stubborn piece of shit-!

You hated it so much. You hated it, because it kept getting in your way to happiness. You had dreamed of being an agent since you were twelve, feeling it in your bones like a damn calling. It only intensified when you met Steve, the desire growing practically unbearable once you started dating.

This wasn’t only about your pride anymore. This was about him being proud of you. This was about you being worthy of being by his side. You would be no Avenger by any means, but you’d be a SHIELD agent.

The rational part of you argued that love wasn’t to be bought by titles; your gut was telling you that despite the relatively short time you and Steve were an item – a rather stealthy one, but still an item – Steve wouldn’t leave you just because you didn’t succeed. He would love you just the same had you been a SHIELD agent, a doctor, a librarian, an artist, a worker in retail, a mechanic, anything. He wouldn’t care.

However, another part of you suggested that people talked and you’d hate to have Steve deal with that shit. Not to even mention that eventually, it might lead to him leaving you nonetheless because of the constant pressure, his heart be damned. Captain America and a SHIELD agent simply had a better ring to it than Captain America and a failed SHIELD agent.

Goddamnit, you had to succeed, for both you and him, because he was the best damn man you had ever met and he loved you, if his words of two weeks prior and his behaviour were anything to go by. And you loved him too.

You couldn’t lose him and you couldn’t lose against something as ridiculous as a needle.

But how?

You groaned, pressing the heal of your palm to your temple, feeling your headache return. “I’ll deal with it. It’s a Tomorrow Me problem.”

Steve chuckled at your antics and pressed a light kiss to the top of your head, sweet and loving, one of his hands moving to cradle your cheek, causing your eyes to flutter close, a warm feeling of contentment sneakily replacing your agitation.

“And Tomorrow Me.”

At that, your eyes snapped open, blatantly staring at him.

Really? Tomorrow Him? What was he going to do? Out your relationship to Director Fury and start a battle for favouritism? No thank you.

You’d hate to be the woman who got somewhere because of her boyfriend’s connections. For one, it would be about as humiliating as passing out at the sight of a syringe. For second, it wouldn’t solve the problem of your phobia and – more importantly – the potential dangers it posed in the field.

“I don’t need you to fight my battles for me, Steve,” you hissed before you could think twice of it, before you could realize how absurd that thought was.

Steve would never do that; it went against what he believed in and he knew you’d never accept it.

Your jaw clenched when it hit you just how hurtful your words might have been, shame filling every fibre of your being, your gaze falling to your lap where your restless fingers fumbled together. You were acting like a little ungrateful piece of shit. Steve was only trying to help. He was only being here for you, declaring his support.

An apology already on your lips, his hand slipped under your chin, his thumb caressing your cheek before he applied the slightest pressure and raised your head to face him, his expression serious.

“This isn’t that,” he said, voice laced with severity. It caused your body feel as heavy as made of lead and yet unbearably weightless.

“I wouldn’t dare,” he added in a light joke then, his gaze locking with yours. “But I’d like to fight your battles with you. We’ll figure something out.”

He kept you in the beautiful prison of his eyes until you finally nodded, not voicing your doubts, not saying you were only convinced to a point.

You stretched out, catching the corner of his mouth with yours to express your gratitude and settled back into his chest with something dangerously resembling a smile tugging at your lips.

“I love you,” you whispered, the words no less true despite the battle raging inside of your head. Of that you were certain. Of your future, not so much.

“I love you too.”

Despite the few stray tears that soaked into his shirt several minutes later, these were the last words spoken before you drifted off to sleep.

◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦ *✧･◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦

Sensation of a free fall and an instinctive jerk of your foot snapped you from your restless sleep.

Your eyes opened to the darkness, a groan dying in your throat when you came to yourself enough to feel strong arms around you, ones belonging to a man you loved and whose sleep you sure as hell didn’t want to disturb. Less so since you were obviously lying in his bed where he had had to move you since you had fallen asleep on the couch.

You couldn’t remember what you dreamed of, but it must have been nothing pleasant.

However, Steve’s arms winding around you tighter, bringing you close to his warm bare chest definitely did count as pleasant and you hoped for an early return to the dreamland.

The lightest of kisses landed in the crook of your neck, whispers barely audible, mumbled to your skin.

“You alright?”

You grimaced, snuggling further into Steve’s form, your hand settling over his on your stomach.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to wake you,” you said at the very same volume, wishing not to ruin the peace of the night any further.

“You didn’t.”

His reassurance eased your guilt only for a moment – only until you realized that what he said carried two different meanings.

You shifted in his arms, rolling over to look at him, finding his face without any trace of sleep… as if he never even tried to get a shut-eye in the first place. His eyes were like reflectors even in the dark of his bedroom, intense blue shining with something you couldn’t quite grasp. In only fed the guilt suddenly gnawing at your chest, for not only waking him up, but actually keeping him awake the whole time, his serum-boosted brain even more restless than yours.

“I’m so sorry, Steve,” you apologized sincerely, your hand leaving the warmth of the sheets to lay on his cheek.

He smiled at you softly, covering your hand with his palm, bringing yours to his lips to show you he didn’t blame you, no matter how clear it was that you were the reason for him losing sleep. The guilt stabbed you again, your momentarily fully frantic mind racing, your lips quick to peck his shoulder, his sternum, his chin in silent apology.

“I’ve been simply… thinking. That’s not on you, mon cœur.”

Despite yourself, you smiled against his skin; his ‘mon cœur’ never failed to make you smile and feel warm all over. You had learned about his decent French when one of the recruits snapped at him, calling him an asshole in his mother tongue, clearly not expecting a comeback; a smart one, not necessarily a rude one, but certainly a hot one.

Steve then let casually slip a word or two in conversations, calling you his heart as if his French alone wasn’t turning you putty in his hands, and you were a goner.

“Nice attempt at distracting me,” you praised him, nestling your chin on his chest to face him. “What’s on your mind, mon amour?”

He hesitated, watching you for long moments as if assessing whether he should tell you or keep you in your blissful ignorance. You hoped that he wouldn’t shut you out, especially if his thoughts concerned you.

“I’m thinking… about Wanda,” Steve whispered finally, causing your heart to jump in your chest in surprise, your body going rigid. His eyes widened at instant, a groan leaving his throat, rumbling under your chin. “That came out so wrong— don’t look at me like that, it’s always you-“

“Sure am,” you snorted silently, relieved and actually rather amused. For all his smooth lines, he could be just as awkward as your next guy.

He swatted your rear lightly to shut you up, wordlessly telling you to quit being a smartass.

“Sorry. Please, go ahead, talk about your gorgeous Avengers recruit,” you encouraged him, earning a glare. “She’s gorgeous, you can’t deny that. And if not that, she’s definitely at least cute. Anyway. Speak up. I’m listening, Steve. It must be serious if it’s keeping you awake.”

He licked his lips, his gaze rising to the ceiling, his thumb drawing a circle on your bare arm.

“When we were fighting Ultron – Tony’s genius murder robot –, before Wanda joined our side… there was this fight and she… entered our mind, sort-of. She… she trapped us in visions, showing us our deepest fears. She offered a glimpse at things we were trying to keep buried inside for no one to see. The fear of… not being enough, not belonging, fear of missed chances that would never come back.”

You listened, gulping at the mentions of visions, of his very own fear lying in the open, simultaneously dreading where he was going with talking about it. You had a good idea that it wouldn’t get any more pleasant.

You squeezed his arm softly to ground him, noticing his breath hitching, determined to hear him out nonetheless.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” you crooned sympathetically, even if it could barely make him feel any better.

He still seemed to appreciate it, gently threading his fingers through your hair, taking a deep calming breath.

“I’m here. The thing is, she showed us something else too, something more… primal, I suppose? Carnal? Like… fear of spiders, dark, drowning, things like that…?”

You stiffened, sensing that now he was much closer to hitting home that you liked. But you supposed he was about to make a point, so you tried to keep your voice neutral despite your curiosity about what that specifically meant for him.

“Okay?”

“You can ask what she showed me.”

You shifted in his embrace, frowning as he glanced at you – slightly uncomfortable, but definitely sincere.

“What… what did you see?” you asked lowly, your hand sliding down his arm to interlace your fingers with his.

His heart sped up under your chin, his Adam’s apple bobbed, but he still told you.

“I was torn apart by wolves. Dogs maybe, I’m not sure. I just remember claws and sharp teeth-“

“Jesus,” you breathed out at the vivid image appearing in front of your eyes, squeezing his hand tighter.

At the same time, your mind raced as much as his heart did.

Was Steve afraid of dogs? That would be… strange. For one, there was a reason he was compared to a golden retriever at times, but the idea was even more surprising because you had seen him interact with dogs on occasion. He was… maybe not enthusiastic exactly, but alright.

Why would he be scared of them anyway? Was there a story? A childhood memory perhaps? You of all people should know that phobias often had been caused by a negative experience in childhood – it was one of the reasons you hated yours so much, because you couldn’t pinpoint the moment that had caused it.

But this wasn’t about you. Not yet anyway, you guessed.

You remained silent as Steve gathered his thoughts, his eyes misted as he lost himself in a memory.

“I’m still not great with them, but I… manage. Wanda was the one to help me achieve that.”

Somewhere in the back of your mind, a jealous bitch of a voice whined. You shushed it mentally, trying to follow his train of thought. The conclusion was ridiculously clear.

“You think she can help me too,” you stated the obvious, finding Steve fully in the present again, gazing at you intensely.

“Only if you want to try. You… you don’t know what your fear is based on exactly, right? No concrete memory?”

You shook your head automatically. “No clue. One of my past therapists thought that it was the reason why our sessions weren’t working, not even after repeated exposure. We never got to the bottom of it.”

Steve was still watching you with almost unnerving intensity. There was more to what he was suggesting, you could tell. You only didn’t know what – was it about the nature of Wanda’s powers?

You wouldn’t lie – the idea of someone intruding your mind scared the hell out of you, but here you were… growing desperate to get rid of the only thing holding you back.

“She might be able to help then. But… eh, hear me out before passing judgement, okay?”

That caused you to frown deeply – wasn’t it what you were doing?

“Okay?”

Steve bit the inside of his cheek, wavering again and you sighed, propping yourself on your elbow, staring down at him in utter confusion and with a healthy amount of expectancy.

“Some people believe that-- no, uhm- what Wanda did was that she made me see the very cause of my fear, the exact memory. And this might not be making any sense at first, but— I was seeing it from my perspective, it was definitely me… and my hand was— it was a black man’s hand.”

“…huh?”

Colour you fucking clueless.

What the hell was he talking about?

Steve grimaced helplessly, his explanation apparently not turning out the way he wanted to.

“Some people believe that our fears are based… on the way we died in our past life,” he finally admitted and you… froze.

Your eyes grew wide, your body tensing and for a brief second, you wondered if Steve had gone completely mad, because the look on his face was deadly serious.

Past life?

Seriously? Steve, of all people, the very rational guy desperate for factfulness, was talking about reincarnation?

What. The actual. Fuck.

Steve, the guy who had scientists pump his body with supersoldier serum – by needles, of all things, seriously, the procedure sounded downright terrifying and reading about it made you respect him even more –, a guy who survived being frozen thanks to science, was trying to convince you that past lives existed.

Your mind went entirely blank.

The worst thing about it was that he had a solid reason to believe this thing, that was if he was telling the truth and he had been able to lessen his fear. And if Steve believed something, then for the reasons you had listed to yourself, there must have been a damn good portion of truth in it.

It was just a lot to wrap your head around.

You cleared your throat, feeling Steve’s eyes burning a hole into your head as he awaited your reaction, possibly with dread, which was perfectly justified.

It sounded insane… but.

“So… let me get this straight. You think that the origin of my fear lies in… some past life of mine. A life which ended, because of a-- a needle?” you choked out, the words sounding even crazier when spoken out loud.

You shook your head, still processing the information when Steve confirmed it. “Well… yes.”

“Uh-huh.”

You lowered yourself back to the cushions, rolling over to your back, staring at the ceiling instead. You could feel Steve fidget next to you nervously, his eyes still on you.

“You think I’m crazy.”

The corner of your lips twitched, your chest rising and falling calmly, the sentence easing the pressure that built there during his explanation.

“Well, yeah, but I knew that before you told me all that, so-“

“Hey-!“

You slapped your hand over his as it neared you, pinning it to the mattress and casting a grin in his direction, a strange feeling of contentment spreading through your body.

Maybe you fear wasn’t your fault. Perhaps it wasn’t the worst thing in the world that you needed help. Hell, even the great Steve Rogers, the bravest man you knew, had sought assistance – and then he had won.

Knowing that felt so damn liberating.

Mostly because maybe, just maybe, you had a chance of overcoming this. Maybe you could still become a SHIELD agent.

You were lying here in the bed, side by side, hand in hand, head turn to side, gazes locked, and while you were smiling, Steve’s lips slowly spread in a hesitant smile as well.

God, you loved this man so much, more than words could express.

“Thank you for trusting me with this, Steve,” you said simply, but from the very bottom of your heart.

His eyes narrowed a fraction. “Does that mean you’re… willing to give it a shot?”

You shrugged, scooting closer to him and he eagerly opened his arms for you, contentedly wrapping you in his embrace again as you pressed a kiss to his sternum.

“Not gonna lie. It might be a very long shot and the idea of someone raking through my mind is… unsettling to say at least, but if you trust her enough to let her do that… I trust you, Steve. I trust your judgement and I believe you wouldn’t come up with something like this just for laughs. So yeah. I’m willing to give it a shot.”

His hand found its way under your chin to tilt your head back, chasing your mouth with his, sealing the deal with a surprisingly sensual kiss which turned into another and another… gradually growing lazier and sloppier until you settled for one last kiss goodnight, melting into each other like you belonged there and nowhere else.

Maybe you did – for all you knew, you could be lovers who reincarnated time and time again only to find each other across time and space.

The thought made you chuckle, the breathless sound escaping your lips before you finally fell asleep.

◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦ *✧･◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦◦

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat on the couch, one you had taken after anxiously pacing the living room for what felt like forever. Steve had called Wanda the first thing in the morning-- well, almost the first thing, and she had agreed to meet you this very day, accepting the offer to be picked up after lunch.

One light meal later, because you could barely swallow anything with your throat tight and stomach twisted, and one unpleasant call later in which you learned you officially failed the exam, oh joy, here you were, waiting in Steve’s apartment in Brooklyn.

For the millionth time you thanked heavens for Steve wanting to have his own space outside the compound. You really didn’t want to deal with this near everyone and you weren’t certain you were comfortable with the woman you didn’t know at all in your crampy apartment.

The lock clicked and you jumped to your feet, instantly making your way to the door. You stopped in your tracks when you realized you would probably freak her out right from the start.

Better let Steve handle this part. And the introduction-

Shit, can she read my thoughts right now?!

Naturally, your mind suddenly filled with the most embarrassing moments of your life and you wanted to scream in frustration, mentally apologizing to the young ‘witch’.

Yep, still weird to think that.

One sweetly familiar and one foreign voice reached your ears, the female one chuckling silently and you just knew she heard every single one of your thoughts.

Well. Worse things had happened, you guessed.

You sighed, took a deep breath and tried to fix an inviting smile that wouldn’t seem too desperate and awkward as hell. You probably failed, but you would take what you could get.

“I still can’t believe Sam challenged you to a flying contest. I really thought he’s a sensible guy,” Steve said as they entered the common space and you wiped your sweaty palms to your jeans, searching his face first.

His lips were smiling, but if you looked into his eyes closely, you could read the hints of anxiety you felt yourself.

Your gaze shifted to his companion then; the pretty brunette with shade of red in her hair shrugged at Steve’s remark, smirking.

“Who am I to argue with him if he wants to have his behind handed to him?”

If you were being honest, you had been slightly intimidated at the mere idea of meeting the Scarlet Witch; however, you took an instant liking to her.

She was young and while her eyes carried pain of her complicated past, she radiated strength and positive energy, a glow of something extraordinary that had nothing to do with her powers, but more with her personality.

She met your gaze, smiling at you kindly and you shook yourself, registering Steve making his way to you, dropping a chaste kiss to your cheek.

“Hi,” he whispered and you returned the sentiment, brushing his hand before deciding to grab it firmly and squeeze in greeting.

“Hello, miss Maximoff. I’d say ‘welcome’, but I’m not sure I have the right since this is Steve’s apartment,” you rambled, mentally cursing yourself for it. You couldn’t just keep your cool, could you?

The woman only smiled wider as you went and offered your hand to shake along with introducing yourself.

“I appreciate the sentiment anyway. And please, call me Wanda. It’s nice to meet you. I only heard good things.”

You frowned slightly, trying to imagine how much Steve could tell her about you during the ride, when Wanda subtly pointed to her head.

Oh. OH.

What should you even say to that? She had seen you before and possibly knew things about you she didn’t ask for (was that how that worked, people throwing thoughts on her without her will, or-) without even meeting you.

You gulped and from the corner of your eye, you noticed a slight hint of red to Steve’s cheeks. Interesting.

“Likewise. Uhm… I’m sorry to meet you like this though. I—we barely introduced and… I’m already asking for your help,” you said apologetically, honestly ashamed for that. “I’m sorry.”

It might have been a mutual decision of Steve and you to lay low with your relationship, which meant postponing meeting his friends to later, however it didn’t change the fact you felt like you were using Wanda.

It was not the best feeling in the world. This was how low you had steeped-

“Please, don’t even worry about it. Steve’s… friends are my friends as well. I’ll be happy to try and help, more so to help people that make Steve happy.”

A twinkle of mischief appeared in her eye and Steve next to you cleared his throat loudly, rushing to be a good host.

“Anything I can offer you, Wanda? Water, tea, coffee…?”

You did not miss the pointed look he gave her and the beautiful creature she was, she grinned at him, amusement dancing across her face.

“Tea would be great. Shall we sit?” she beckoned to the couch and you nodded, asking Steve for a cup of tea as well. Coffee and talked about your phobia did not sound like a good mix after all. “Alright. Let’s see what can we do about your situation.”

Steve had told her most of the essential information, obviously including the fact you didn’t know when the phobia developed.

“Okay. Are you comfortable with me trying to reach out into your mind? To create a mental connection of sort?” she asked after a while, sitting in an armchair opposite to you, while Steve nestled next to you in respectable distance, not touching you at all, letting you choose how much of a physical contact you wanted.

You greatly appreciated both Steve and Wanda for respecting your boundaries and allowing you to push them whichever direction as you seemed fit.

Because having Wanda probing in your head was fucking terrifying.

Steve trusts her, you reminded yourself, and she gave you no reason not to trust her either. She was in fact so welcoming you could cry.

Wanda smiled at you patiently and you felt heat rising into your cheeks, once again realizing she could probably hear your hesitance as well as seeing it.

“Yes. Tell me what to do,” you decided, hoping you sounded at least twice as firm as you felt. “…that is if I need to do something.”

“I’d be much more comfortable if you did, I’m sure you would like that better too. Once you do what I say, you will feel certain nudge, my mind reaching out – please, try to let me in. Now I want to you to close your eyes and imagine a safe space. A truly safe space, somewhere you feel like nothing can touch you, can’t hurt you in any way, not physical one, not emotional one. Just a completely safe place,” she coaxed you gently.

With a deep breath, you eyed Steve, catching his supportive smile before following her instructions.

Your first thought was of your childhood bedroom. You were surprised how sharp the memory felt – probably an effect of Wanda’s powers.

You stood there, as if truly there, looking at your desk, papers with amateur doodles scattered all over it, and you couldn’t but smile at the memory of your notebooks being filled with little results of boredom. And then the angry male voice reached your ears, followed by a shout from a woman, and the illusion shattered just like the plate that hit the ground, causing your eyes to snap open to reality.

The intense weight on your chest startled you, the fights you had heard from the relative safety of your room during your early years crushing your ribcage with each breath you tried to take.

You met Wanda’s kind eyes, feeling Steve’s hand gently brush the back of yours which was gripping the edge of the couch.

The young witch shook her head lightly, your gazes locked with such strength you felt like she was staring into your soul through a looking glass – and boy, did you feel like Alice in wonderland yourself.

“There’s no rush,” Wanda assured you, voice low. “You don’t need to force it. Breathe in, breathe out. In and out, how many times you need. Close your eyes and try to remember. When was the last time you felt truly safe?”

Steve’s hand squeezed yours before withdrawing and leaving you to your own thoughts again as you took several calming breaths and let your eyes flutter shut.

You honestly had no idea why you had thought of your childhood first, when you in fact only felt safe once you left to pursue your dream career. You loved your tiny apartment much more – because it was your space, your safe space.

Your couch bought on extra sale because of the horrendous colour, that bookshelf that remembered better days, but still didn’t yield under the weight of your books, the three pitiful plants you got only to shut your friend up… you walked to the poor excuse for a kitchen cabinets, involuntarily smiling at the mismatched door that your neighbour was able to get you and installed after the original one nearly knocked you out as if fell off without warning.

Your fingers traced the counter when a pair of strong hands landed softly on your hips, an arm sneaking around your stomach, a kiss pressed into the crook of your neck. It didn’t startle you, a sense of comfort enveloping you instead, Steve’s lips curling into a smile against your skin.

“Tu m’as manqué, mon cœur,” he admitted and you couldn’t but melt into his form, a content smile tugging on your lips.

“Missed you too.”

His grip grew stronger before he allowed you to turn in his embrace so you could give him a welcome kiss. He had been on a mission for a week and you somehow found yourself at that stage in a relationship where you felt comfortable enough to admit you fell hard for each other, while retaining that sense of your time together being precious and too limited no matter how much of it you actually spent together. Or at least that was what this was for you – judging by the satisfied smile painted on Steve’s lips when you withdrew to catch your breath, the feeling was mutual.

“…though that phrase is still not making a damn sense,” you complained, earning a chuckle and another kiss, his arms lifting you so you barely stood on your tiptoes.

You were an independent and a dare to say badass woman, but hey, you would not deny that such display of strength made your toes curl.

“So, what’s on the agenda today?” you asked once he set you back down, though he never released you from the cage of his arms.

The sudden dull pressure in the back of your head surprised you, but wasn’t necessarily unpleasant.

More than anything else, it brought you back to reality a little; this was nothing but a memory. Steve appearing as if his motions slowed down only proved that.

Unsure what to do, you massaged the back of your head and stepped back, Steve’s arms easily falling; his gaze remained fixed on your though, patient. A game your mind had built, you realized, a mirage created with the witch’s help.

Let me in, Wanda had said. Yeah well, a manual to follow would be nice.

Willing yourself to relax as much as possible, you felt a slight pop and the pressure disappeared.

Before you could question it, a voice sounded somewhere, close but yet far.

“Thank you for letting me in,” Wanda said simply, causing you to jump few inches above the floor.

But the Steve in your memory nodded and you focused on breathing in and out, trying to take in his comforting presence in the safety of your apartment rather than focusing on Wanda, the intruder you invited.

The thought of the witch seeing this however felt anything but comforting – embarrassment filled your being instead. A part of you couldn’t quite believe Steve, your boyfriend of barely four months, belonged to your safe place as much as anything else.

You were honest with each other, but how would he react if he knew that? What Wanda must have been thinking?

“There is no reason to be ashamed,” her voice reassured you softly, sounding as if she was smiling a bit. This really was awkward. “I won’t tell on you either way, but you must know you are on his mind often. I believe I was being clear on that earlier. He would be – and he should be – honoured by this. Plus, it’s still your apartment, he’s just an addition.”

Letting her words sink in, you noticed a strange red glow by the edge of your couch, just a flicker of something that certainly didn’t belong – and sure as well wasn’t making you feel safe.

In fact, simply watching it caused your stomach to somersault.

“Think of your fear for a bit. What you see is a rift to the world you’re trying to reach.”

Balling your hands into fists, you gulped and reluctantly did as Wanda told you.

Needles. Christ, why.

The glimmer of red energy pulsated, growing in size considerably – and with it, so did the cold sensation in your stomach. Your breathing picked up, your heart hammering in your chest.

Gentle fingers curled around your wrist, causing you to look at Steve, having been ignoring him for a while. He swept his thumb over the sensitive skin on your inner wrist, a smile spreading on his lips when your eyes met.

“You’re doing great,” he encouraged you and you briefly wondered if this was your imagination, Wanda’s doing or actual real-life Steve touching you.

Whichever it was, it grounded you, your ribcage expanding easier despite the pain.

The rift stretched to your height, its powerful presence feeling like a punch in your solar plexus, making your skin crawl, your body shrinking into itself. The wave of nausea that hit you didn’t help either.

Your hand was lifted, lips brushing your palm before letting go.

“You’re going to hate this, but I need you to touch it,” Wanda instructed you and indeed, you hated the mere idea of coming closer to that thing. But what other option did you have?

Steve smiled at you again, supportive and understanding, and you clenched your jaw, forcing your feet, suddenly feeling like made of lead, to move.

“Once you touch it, you’ll find yourself in the memory. Sadly, I can’t follow you there, but trust me – and trust Steve –, we will pull you back. It’s nothing but a memory,” Wanda explained and that truly did not ease your building anxiety at all.

You supposed it shouldn’t have, she was only stating facts, but the remark about her and Steve did give you strength as did looking around your apartment again.

All you had to do was to touch that-- weird thing… and relive your death. Death involving needles. Charming.

You took another shaky step, every fibre on your being screaming at you to run the opposite direction instead. Leaning onto the couch for support as your legs turned wobbly, you let the familiar sensation of the fabric sooth you.

You had to do this. You could do this.

You casted one more glance at Steve, who crossed the short distance you had walked and placed his hand on your shoulder, clearly not having any difficulty approaching the rift. It made sense, you supposed – this was your fear you were dealing with, not his.

“I’ve got you,” he promised, his palm sliding down your back, its warmth so damn pleasant against the goosebumps that rose on your skin. “And you’ve got this, mon cœur.”

“Damn you,” you mumbled and that bastard had the audacity to chuckle and squeeze your hip.

“Go. I’ll be right here when you get back.”

Easier said than done.

With a suffocating lump in your throat, you forced yourself to take the last step and reached out your trembling hand towards the pulsing red energy.

A scream ripped from your throat when that thing gripped you fiercely and sucked you in.

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The lights were bright, burning in your eyes as did the unshed tears. After the dark corridors you had walked with a man at each of your side, both shorter than you, and another man behind your back, the startling clinical white made you nauseous.

Or maybe that was just knowing the inevitability of fate. Bile rose to your throat, the world spinning, shadows of the hall following you like claws of death, already reading for you at the mere thought of what waited in this room.

You didn’t try to run; each of your steps felt too heavy for that.

You didn’t try to break free of the men’s hold on your veiny arms; they felt like made of lead, weak and clammy from the lack of sleep and sustenance.

You didn’t try to insist on your innocence anymore; there was no point in talking if words fell on deaf ears.

People always heard what they wanted to hear. People always saw what they wanted to see.

Truth was a matter of circumstances and death was the only certitude a man had.

The door fell shut behind your group of gloom, the white walls closing on around you, the hairs on the back of neck standing at attention. The icy tone of the room barely aggravated the cold seeped in your core, in your very bones. Each step echoed in the almost empty room, every breath – as much as your last would.

You had practised yesterday; you knew the drill. Enter the room slowly. Don’t look at the one-way glass as it might startle the high representative of state whose daughter you had (supposedly) violated and strangled to death. Lie down and let them strap you to the table.

When you had obediently sat down and one of the guards – Franz they called him, decent guy you thought – met your gaze, a warning in his eyes mingling with regret as you laid down.

Staring onto the ceiling, tears gathering in your eyes, your heart was beating its way out of your chest, anger, so much anger at the injustice once again battling with the feeling of resignation. Justice didn’t exist int his world; they had found their scapegoat. Your innocence virtually didn’t exist. Your testimony was a lie, everyone thought so.

You squeezed your eyes shut as you heard the buckles at your feet, a torturously loud sound in the silent room and then your feet were restrained. Your chest right under your armpits came next; the guard fastened it harshly, so tight your eyes snapped open in surprise.

You stared into the eyes of a guilty man, a man whose face held no remorse for wrecking and taking two lives. You remembered the black orbits from the night you saw them widened with wildness, a savage pleasure gleaming in the dark, noticing your figure behind the beams.

Strange, you pondered. The restraint on your chest felt like a tickle in comparison to the pressure on your chest when you looked into those eyes, your breath hitching in your throat, suffocating weigh squeezing your lungs and heart; was this how it was going to feel? You had heard rumours.

Like a liquid fire running in your veins, slowly licking until it reached your heart. You wondered – who spread the tale? Everyone with this treatment met their death, didn’t they? Then how could people know?

Was it something made up so the inmates died a bit by bit, every minute before even feeling the pinch of the needles?

A violent shudder shook your whole body, but you didn’t think you moved at all.

Your limbs didn’t belong to you anymore as they uncuffed your wrists in order to strap them to the table instead.

God, it was so so cold- what was the last time you were warm?

Your eyes followed Adams’ hands, hands painted in invisible blood, invisible tonight as least, as they fixed the strap on your right wrist and moved to your head, jerking it so you faced the blinding light instead.

You couldn’t plead Satan to take the true killer anymore; you were out of time. You prayed instead.

You prayed for your soul to find peace and justice, for the light to engulf you quickly, before you could feel the fire in your veins in stark contrast to the ice in them present now.

Now I lay me down to sleep

To an eternal sleep. To death. This was your end. Tears ran down your cheeks, silent and useless. Shame on a man who cries for himself – but you lied to yourself, just this one time, that you were crying for the unjust world where lies and deceit won over the truth.

I pray the Lord my Soul to keep

Your gaze blurry, your head restrained, you could still make up the needles piercing the skin of your forearms, attached to the bags on the IV poles. The liquid in them was clear, pure like water, seemingly so innocent – as much as the inmate on the table.

If I should die before I wake

It was a strange dichotomy – the numbness spreading from one side, the burning heat from the other. Your fingers twitched and closed into a tight fist at the sudden surge of pain, gnawing, blinding.

Oh God, please, please-

I pray the Lord my Soul to take

A scream filled the blank room, a sound so animalistic it couldn’t belong to a human being, deafening to your ears. You couldn’t breath as the fire burned its way through your arm, leaving ashes in its wake-

“-the fuck-“

“What’s-“

“Just--it! ---thing!”

The fire subdued as the world lost its colour, everything swallowed by blackness, a bleary image of a spasming arm with a glint of thin piece of metal flickering before disappearing altogether.

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Your throat burned from the scream ripping from your its depth, a blurry image of a woman in front of you casing you to back out into the bed— no, you were sitting up now, the room wasn’t white, was darker-- the scream was definitely not male anymore, no, it was a female one, it was yours-

The room spun and disappeared, replaced by a sharp image of an apartment, your apartment, and you looked around frantically, catching a glimpse of a tall blonde figure in the corner of the room, your heart, hammering so painfully in your aching ribcage fluttering in relief. Your gaze swiftly returned to the man, like a drowning person to the sun glimmering on the surface of water.

Steve.

Your apartment and Steve.

Your name was being called silently and you realized that the scream had died down, only your harsh breathing remaining.

“You’re safe. Remember? Nothing can touch you here, no one can, not unless you let them,” Wanda’s voice soothed you, causing your eyes to flutter shut in respite, your knees giving out.

Despite having been standing several feet from you, Steve was suddenly there to catch you, scooping you into his arms, enveloping you in a protective embrace while you sobbed into his shirt, his soft voice whispering sweet nonsense, not saying a word of complaint about how desperately you were clinging to him, inhaling his aftershave and detergent and him.

You’re safe. I’ve got you.

Je te protègerai toujours, mon cœur.

I’ve got you, I’ve got you.

I love you.

When you opened your eyes again, the images blended together. His heart was beating vigorously against your cheek, his lips pressed into your hair, but you could hear Wanda moving around – you were in Steve’s apartment, back to reality.

Upon realizing that, you gripped him with all you had and whispered a shaky sorry, which only resulted in his embrace growing tighter.

It took you another hour to settle down enough to discuss what would be your next steps, ones that certainly wouldn’t be taken today.

“I know how hard this is to hear, but I won’t just magically snap my fingers to make it go away – I mean, I could, but no one can tell the consequences in the long run. It will take several sessions, short though, when we dull your very understandable fear a bit. You’re strong – I believe we can deal with this. Thank you for trusting me,” Wanda said nonsensically, as if she wasn’t the one helping you.

Even if her help so far felt entirely awful.

“Thank you, Wanda. Truly. It means a lot.”

“Thank you,” you echoed Steve’s words lamely and heard a hint of a smile in Wanda’s voice when she was leaving the apartment.

“You’re welcome. Get some rest. I can get to the compound on my own – I need to practise for the match with Sam anyway.”

Involuntarily, the corners of your lips twitched at the image of Wanda floating above the city and landing in front of Steve’s gobsmacked friend, cursing himself for challenging a witch. About thirty seconds later, you were laughing, practically doubled over with the force of it, tears still streaming down your face.

To be fair, you did deserve to be hysterical all you wanted.

Much later, you fell into an uneasy sleep, Steve’s voice laced with amusement and concern at the same time as he read to you about adventures of a young telekinetic girl, about her sweet teacher and the terrible headmistress bullying them both.

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You might have been fiddling with your fingers, anxious about what you were about to face, but you couldn’t’ quite shush the excitement spurting in you with each joyous beat of your heart.

You eyed Steve in search for silent support – or any support really – but if his expression was anything to go by, he was highly amused at your antics. The corners of his lips were twitching as he stared ahead, ignoring your very pointed glare.

You elbowed his ribs playfully, but made sure to dig you bone into him. Cocky little shit.

He actually chuckled at that, fully aware that you probably hurt yourself more than you hurt him, because his damn serum turned his abs into stone. A very hot stone in both senses of the word, a stone sensitive as hell when you ran your fingers over it (or your mouth, for that matter), but still.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he let out between his chuckles and you didn’t believe him one bit.

You knew that you were being a tiny bit ridiculous, but… he didn’t have to rude about it.

“Likely story,” you muttered grumpily, trying to recall just when had the anxious but fully supportive Steve turned into a laughing mess.

It must have been when you passed your fucking exam. Finally!

After weeks of Wanda working her magic on you – and of your work on yourself, being very brave and determined, as she had never forgot to mention, as did Steve – you had been able to retake your exam, the last one in the line of group missions and tests. You could have been done long before today, but truthfully, you couldn’t be happier with the result.

Besides passing your exams and officially becoming a SHIELD agent, you had learned how to control your phobia. Not entirely, but considerably, just enough to do your damn job.

Your dream job.

The fact that it meant you and Steve not having to be shy about your relationship anymore was an entirely pleasant bonus. By no means you had been shy when you succeeded – you had assaulted him right in front of Director Fury, jumping into your very secret boyfriend’s arms. Thank god for Steve’s reflexes, because while he had seemed utterly shocked at your lunge, he still hadn’t dropped you. Needless to say, you both had to collect your jaws from the floor when the director just snorted in amusement, a knowing look in his eye. Apparently, nothing escaped this man’s attention. It was almost funny, actually.

Naturally, with majority of your friend being off to missions, because they had graduated spy school at their first attempts, you were left with Steve to celebrate with; no complaints were filed though, celebrating in Steve style was very much glorious. One might say you even saw fireworks.

Anyway, since his friends were in town for once, he decided that the time had come for you to meet them, with not having to hide your relationship anymore and all that.

Hence you being worked up again; you were about to meet Steve friends. The Avengers.

You had every right to be slightly terrified. What if they didn’t like you? SHIELD agent or not, how would you face an angry Hulk? Or a demigod? Hell, Barton or Romanoff—okay, Romanoff at least knew you existed, occasionally catching your gaze in the corridor or during training, but-? And Wilson could fly in that get-up of his-! Not to mention the android!

Steve’s arm winded around your waist, pulling you to his side and spinning you to him until you were chest to chest. That did effectively snap you from your gloomy thoughts.

“You just defeated your phobia and showed everyone what a great agent you will make. You can handle a bunch of people with the same goal as yours,” Steve reasoned with you, smiling down at you widely, even dropping a kiss on your forehead. “Plus, they are excited to meet you.”

Was that supposed to make you feel better? Because your stomach dropped even lower and you sighed, meeting Steve’s eyes, soft and yet joyful.

His enthusiasm was infectious. Plus, you did become a SHIELD agent today… Steve had shown you his appreciating in many ways… plenty of reasons to be happy.

“What did you tell them about me?”

“All the good things. Stop worrying, they have to be nice to you anyway, it’s your day after all.” A smile spread on your face at the reminder and Steve’s arm tightened around you. “The moment we started to plan the reunion, they knew celebrating your big break would be on agenda.”

You leaned your head onto Steve’s chest contentedly and closed your eyes, showing him how sweet you thought he was being. In the back of your mind, you wondered just how long one elevator ride could be, even if it was to the top of the Avengers Tower, and if the AI running the building happened to slow it down just so you could try and calm your nerves.

Which was exactly why it took a moment for Steve’s words to truly register. Your eyes snapped open in horror and you quickly retreated, not missing the shit-eating grin forming on your boyfriend’s lips.

“Steve… when did you start planning this get-together?” you asked warily, narrowing your eyes at him and swallowing the luckily unnecessary panic.

“Four days ago. Why?”

He knew damn well why!

You slapped his left peck with vigour, half-angry, half-moved by his stunt. He chuckled and placed his palm over yours, pinning it to his chest, shaking with hushed laughter.

“This isn’t funny, Steve!” you argued only half-heartedly, because to his utter luck, things worked out. “What if I have failed? That would be so-”

He removed his hand from yours in order to cradle your jaw. You wanted to be angry with him, you did. Furious, in fact, but he was making it really hard and you officially got your dream job today and- yeah, he was hard to be mad at, especially when he spoke with sincerity that took your breath away.

“I knew you wouldn’t. I had faith in my girl.”

Steve pecked your lips as you sputtered a curse, frustrated with your inability to chastise him properly when he was being charming and melting your heart with every word.

“You know, everyone keeps saying that you’re reckless…” you grumbled and one corner of his lips rose higher in a lopsided smile, twinkling eyes watching you with a blend of admiration and amusement and love and how could you resist him? “Punk…”

His fingers sneaked to your nape, pulling you in for a deep kiss; lips parting, tongues meeting just because you couldn’t get enough of each other and of the delight you tasted on each other with every kiss.

His arm just lifted you from the ground a few inches, causing your stomach to flutter in the most pleasant way, when the elevator doors slid open and a snarky comment welcomed you.

“Rude.”

You jerked away from Steve, startled, but the ball was in his court as he had to place you back on the ground. Your cheeks were burning with embarrassment when your gaze fell on a smirking Tony Stark.

Well, shit. As far as first impressions went, this could have happened much better…

“You sure you want to celebrate here and not somewhere else?” the Ironman himself continued, gesturing his hand in a so-so motion and you wished to face hundreds of needles rather than him and the rest of Steve’s friend who had just got a free show. A rather PG one, but a show nevertheless.

“Stark, quit being a dick,” a female voice stuck up for you, rendering you speechless as it didn’t come from Wanda, but from Natasha Romanoff. “Congratulations!”

The rest of the team had various mixture of amusement and surprise written over their faces, but neither of them seemed hostile. In fact, they did look eager to meet you despite your dramatic entrance. Wanda smiled at you reassuringly from behind the android – Vision, you believed – and nodded, probably hearing your thoughts practically scream at her.

You smiled back at the witch before turning to the Black Widow herself.

“Thank you, Agent Romanoff,” you replied politely and a grin that told you that one day, you might even become friends, appeared on her face.

“You’re welcome, Agent 18.”

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S.R.masterlist

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Title taken from Halsey’s Haunting. Pics used are not mine, credit to original creators.

Also: yes, Steve was reading Matilda to our brave to-be SHLED agent as a comfort book.

Thank you for reading!

(If you at least a bit and you’re a fan of Wanda being awesome, please consider reading Walpurgis Night. It’s a result of rereading too much of T’s work anyway.)

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Tags: @scentedsongrebel @orions-nebula @cxptain @patzammit @kayteewritessteve

170 notes · View notes

misstvirus · 4 years ago

Text

** RESIDENT EVIL VILLAGE SPOILERS **

I decided to put this on tumblr so I could hide spoilers from Twitter and full explain why I gave Resident Evil 8 the score 5/10

These are my opinions and my personal review of Resident Evil Village. Everyone is entitled to their opinions and I am in no way saying that anyone’s experiences or enjoyment of the game are invalid.

Please excuse me - I had a hard time trying to put my thoughts in order. This is a game summary and commentary after the first few paragraphs.

I first discuss the graphics, music, etc but it turns into me basically explaining the plot so I could express my dismay at the end. Skip to the last few paragraphs to read my mental nerdy breakdown.

The gameplay, graphics and mechanics are perfect. Each installment since of series since Resident Evil 7 - has improved. The game mechanics while in combat such as switching weapons, healing and guarding are smooth, it’s damn near perfect. The Duke brought a lot of nostalgia and memories of Resident Evil 4’s Merchant. I enjoyed being able to interact to upgrade weapons, buy supplies and sell treasures. The games over all aesthetic, atmosphere and attention to detail. Each location was beautiful and you can see the love, sweat and dedication put into the game. The music is there, it is eerie at times but it’s not as memorable as other installments of the game. Resident Evil 7 had its featured title song, “Go Tell Aunt Rhody” - Resident Evil Village’s “Yearning for Dark Shadows” was not as heavily featured and did not get the hype like it’s predecessor.

Resident Evil Village had a good story (please note this is my thought strictly AS A REVITALIZED RE GAME BEFORE THE CHRIS REDFIELD SEGMENT). The story starts by continuing with Ethan and Mia Winters after the events of Resident Evil 7. I knew Capcom moved in a different direction and accepted that as long time RE Junkie that although it’s from the same universe - they would not be the same type of games. Chris Redfield’s end game appearance in RE7 and a few Easter eggs were the only MAIN (not DLC content) links to the previous RE installments. The new set of villains and interesting tie-ins to village folklore story was a great way to foreshadow the events to come. The village and story behind Mother Miranda and her reasoning for creating the big baddies because wanting to bring back her dead child were good and had this been a stand alone or continuation WITHOUT TYING THE GAME INTO THE RE UNIVERSE I would have liked it fully.

The game starts with Ethan and Mia Winters, a new baby, Rose and are Having marital issues not dealing with Louisiana/RE7 events and Chris Redfield shows up and kills “Mia”. Chris’s team takes the baby and Ethan and knocks him out. When Ethan wakes up in wreckage of a van, without his baby and dead drivers. As Ethan wanders into the woods and makes his way to the village. He discovers something is killing the people and meets up with a group of people who worship Mother Miranda and quickly die by monsters. These monsters are called “lycans” who are products/monsters of the Cadou mold similar/same thing in RE7. Ethan finds himself apart of weird meeting of all five villains - who stole baby Rose and want do some weird shit.

Tada! Ethan has escaped and ends up in Lady Alcina Dimitrescu or “Tall Lady” “Vampire Mommy” castle. You are confronted by her and her three daughters Bela, Cassandra and Daniela.

Let me step in to rustle the jimmies and ruffle the feathers of the Lady D hype group. What you see in the previews is what you get. No more, no less! There is nothing special and there are no redeeming qualities or mentions past notes in game files of Lady D outside your castle encounter. The story isn’t based around her, she’s just a tiny part in a larger story plot 1 of 5 villains/baddies. The daughters are overly sexual and have the most cringe worthy dialog. I love me some sexy characters and villains but the daughters were just so cringe. They could’ve AMPED up the horror with them and created a stronger scare factor but dropped the fucking ball. They were not creepy or scary and brought nothing to the story with delivering lines about wanting to “consume Ethan’s manflesh” “not stale as mother said - tastes so good.” Also to be noted they were not actually vampires but bioweapons. Lady D being a good result to the mold “Cadou” and the daughters the result of the Cadou and mixing of insects. You kill the daughters, get chased by Lady D who eventually mutates into a flying tentacle bat-dragon and it’s done, she gone. Sorry to fuckboys who thought she was bigger player.

After Ethan beats Lady D, he grabs a yellow flask that’s apparently filled with the juice and parts of baby Rose - and each of villains has one of these baby-juice boxes. Ethan will have to collect them all to be able to put Rose back together.

Next visit is House Beneviento. This was the scariest of all five villains and village locations in my review of the game. It reminded me of a Silent Hill installment less a Resident Evil installment - the use of light, sound and overall paranormal factor did bring in a successful horrifying portion of the game . The mutated baby chase was comical yet creepy. You have to hide to escape it and you ended up playing hide and seek with possessed dolls. The entirety of House Beneviento will definitely give you an uneasy feeling. Donna, the woman controlling a doll named Angie is another baddie who you later learn is mentally unstable and uses her abilities to manipulate plants - to cause hallucinations to create the creepy doll house scenario. (Oof it’s hard for me to stay on track). Part 2 of 4 of Baby Rose - which yes it what your game objective says.

Next Moreau, a mutated fish man - gives Ethan the Resident Evil 4 and Resident Evil 5 game play feel - having to complete actions while some oversized bioweapon is looming around and can take you out with a misstep, like falling in the water or moving too slowly. Moreau did not gain any abilities with the Cadou mold, basically his body wasn’t compatible and he just mutates uncontrollably. Mentally slow, weak and kind of a sad story. Ethan runs into Chris Redfield who tells him to stay out of it and than runs away. Ethans fights Moreau and gets another baby juice jar.

Next Ethan faces off and explores a laboratory with Karl Heisenberg - a bioweapon who can manipulate metal (think a less cool and weakly motivated Magneto). He one of the last big baddies - and motivated by being essentially rejected by Mother Miranda. He is the most stable reaction to the Cadou mold. Before Ethan and Heisenberg face off - Chris Redfield comes in - to reveal he was not the bad guy Ethan thought in the beginning of the game. Mia wasn’t Mia but in fact Mother Miranda in disguise- who was attempting to steal the baby Rose which she ended up doing anyway because Chris’s team wrecked with the baby. At this point I’m say FINE WHATEVER, I guess this works

Chris goes into kill Mother Miranda, we the audience discover the BSAA is now not what is used to be. Chris isn’t affiliating with them and his team hides away from them as they attack. BSAA gets struck down attempting to kill Mother Miranda’s mutation - a megacyte squishy organ (that’s keeping her alive and immortal). Chris puts a massive bomb on big Miranda squishy thing and discovers that Lady Dimitrescu, Karl Heisenberg, Moreau and Donna Beneviento are all attempts to create a perfect vessel to bring back her own dead child Eva, who died in 1912 of the Spanish flu. It is revealed Eveline, the RE7 little girl mold baddie wasn’t another failed attempt. Miranda has turned baby Rose into baby juice to use with the Cadou mold in a ceremony to bring her dead child back.

AND drum roll please - we find out Ozwell Spencer, founder of Umbrella and the progenitor virus the big Daddy of it all was in cahoots with Miranda at some point in his youth and supported her crazy ass research but had his own stuff going on. WHY?! WHO KNOWS? NOT ME! WHY WAS THIS PUT IN THE GAME. To piss me off? Yes. Chris has also discovered Mia is still alive in jail cell for what reason? who knows? And Mia reveals that Ethan is special!

Cue black screen, Ethan awakes to see to Eveline - the mold baddie from RE7. Eveline explains - that Ethan has been dead and died back during the events of RE7. Jack Baker had killed him and dragged him into the house. So he was dead the entirety of RE7 - That explains why Ethan is constantly dismembered, beaten and walking the mold keeps him alive. Ethan will not survive much longer because his missing heart but is determined to bring back his baby. Weakly he carries himself to fight Mother Miranda with Chris. Mother Miranda performs her ceremony with the baby juice boxes and out comes not Eva (her baby) but Ethan’s baby Rose.

They fight and Ethan kills Miranda, carrying Rose off to Chris but that missing heart is the end of Ethan so he takes the trigger for the squishy bomb and pushes Chris away and sacrifices himself for his daughter. Chris boards a helicopter with Mia and baby and the body of a BSAA solider. Ethan blows himself and the Miranda squishy up. The BSAA soldier turns out to be a bioweapon and Mia is distraught at Ethan being for reals dead and Chris is annoyed and directs the pilot for BSAA Europe HQ. Credits Roll, now we see Adult Rose (baby juice reborn as mold human) visiting her Dads grave it’s apparent Chris has been training her and her bodyguard (?) pulls up and they argue and she goes all combative on him. It’s implied she’s not normal since she was DUH she was turned into baby juice and put back together with Cadou mold they drive off - apparently you can see a ghostly Ethan in photo mode - I don’t know I don’t give AF enough about The Winters family and this game at this point

The End

5/10 - Story (read below)

9/10 - Everything else

- Katie’s Dismay and Final Review and Rating-

Graphics: 9/10

Setting: 8/10

Music: 6/10

Game Mechanics: 10/10

Story: (pre Chris Redfield tie in): 7/10

Story: (post Chris Redfield) 4/10

As a modern game, it was great, exceptional. It checks all the classic horror boxes but isn’t the scariest entry, Resident Evil 7 was a much more scary game. The story is why my rating is slow and it’s based on my biases and years of following the story.

STOP! Don’t want to hear my angry ranting? SKIP THE REST

THE ANGER OF a grown ass Resident Evil Fan.

They should’ve omitted the entire BSAA story and BSAA bioweapon-man and not included those notes about Spencer and Umbrella. This game was solid as a next installment and sequel to Resident Evil 7 until they decided they wanted to tie the original Resident Evil storylines into the new story.

When Capcom decided to breakdown and rebuild the franchise, it was a blow because so many storylines were unfinished. I understand they needed to keep evolving and I was blown away by the result. RE7 was not and did not feel like an old RE Game but it was new and it brought back the horror and fear the RE Games early installments were known for. A new RE for a new generation!

But TO ME PERSONALLY - The positive thoughts and opinions I had of RE7 are sullied by Resident Evil Village. Why try to tie it in as an after thought after such a successful overhaul? It’s a slap in the face! Capcom has created some of the best characters in video game stories just to say fuck them for this overhaul but WAIT WE REALLY LIKE CHRIS AND THE BSAA STORY LINE LET’S BRING IN THE OLD STORY NOW.

Fucking NO.

I don’t know what’s worse reading that fucking note from Spencer or the BSAA bullshit.

So now one has to say... WHAT happened to all of the characters who worked for BSAA or worked with affiliates of the BSAA? Chris goes on his own way - Now what? What happened??? There’s nothing explaining what happened between RE5 and RE6 to RE7! They failed to create that bridge. If they had established ANYTHING in RE7 it would be easier for me to swallow.

If you want to overhaul and change the series FINE but don’t back peddle now. Don’t try to throw it the last few minutes of the game with some lazy writing and a vague cliff hanger just leaving it like this.

And of course one could think - “maybe they will make a new game, maybe another sequel?”..... BUT HAVE Y’ALL seen what’s happened at the end of every RE game since RE4???? We are finally getting a Netflix series in 2021 to fill the time after RE4!!! That was 16 YEARS ago! So how can crazy ass fans like myself really expect them to fix the plot holes?!

My theory is that - in between RE7 and RE village They were working on the RE2 Remake and the RE3 Remake and it was if someone at Capcom finally asked - “If all these new RE players are going to play RE village - don’t we need a way to connect these stories????”

And someone jumped up in a conference room and replied. “FUCK IT LETS JUST TIE IN SPENCER AND THE BSAA IN THE LAST 10 MINUTES!”

I have cried, laughed and loved these games my entire life. Some of my major life events happened because of this series! I have followed every game, collected merchandise, gotten tattoos and met the most amazing people because our mural obsession over this series. That’s why it hurts me that’s why I’m tear it apart so viciously and also why I keep playing. There’s always hope that someone will fix the plot holes and finish the stories that lured in the older RE fans and I will always hold Capcom to a high standard and expect them to do right by the fans. I’m not speaking for ALL older RE Fans or ALL fans and I’m definitely not gatekeeping the fandom. This is how I feel - I’m grateful there is a new generation breathing life into RE but I’m screaming a warning - BUCKLE UP BUTTERCUPS - there’s a strong chance your favorite characters new or old aren’t going to get an ending or be reduced to a brief snippet in a file you may not not find.

ANYWAYS

Happy to those who loved it, condolences to those who are pissed off like myself

I’m annoyed but I’ll power through!

Happy 25th Anniversary to my longest obsession!

RE Verse coming in the summer, the Netflix series and the remake Live Action Movies.

HERE’S TO RESIDENT EVIL!

#resident evil #biohazard #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #my opinion #video game #capcom #spoilers #resident evil spoilers

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arcticdementor · 3 years ago

Link

Imagine that the world as we know it ends tomorrow. There’s a global catastrophe: a pandemic virus, an asteroid strike, or perhaps a nuclear holocaust. The vast majority of the human race perishes. Our civilisation collapses. The post-apocalyptic survivors find themselves in a devastated world of decaying, deserted cities and roving gangs of bandits looting and taking by force.

Bad as things sound, that’s not the end for humanity. We bounce back. Sooner or later, peace and order emerge again, just as they have time and again through history. Stable communities take shape. They begin the agonising process of rebuilding their technological base from scratch. But here’s the question: how far could such a society rebuild? Is there any chance, for instance, that a post-apocalyptic society could reboot a technological civilisation?

Let’s make the basis of this thought experiment a little more specific. Today, we have already consumed the most easily drainable crude oil and, particularly in Britain, much of the shallowest, most readily mined deposits of coal. Fossil fuels are central to the organisation of modern industrial society, just as they were central to its development. Those, by the way, are distinct roles: even if we could somehow do without fossil fuels now (which we can’t, quite), it’s a different question whether we could have got to where we are without ever having had them.

So, would a society starting over on a planet stripped of its fossil fuel deposits have the chance to progress through its own Industrial Revolution? Or to phrase it another way, what might have happened if, for whatever reason, the Earth had never acquired its extensive underground deposits of coal and oil in the first place? Would our progress necessarily have halted in the 18th century, in a pre-industrial state?

It’s easy to underestimate our current dependence on fossil fuels. In everyday life, their most visible use is the petrol or diesel pumped into the vehicles that fill our roads, and the coal and natural gas which fire the power stations that electrify our modern lives. But we also rely on a range of different industrial materials, and in most cases, high temperatures are required to transform the stuff we dig out of the ground or harvest from the landscape into something useful. You can’t smelt metal, make glass, roast the ingredients of concrete, or synthesise artificial fertiliser without a lot of heat. It is fossil fuels – coal, gas and oil – that provide most of this thermal energy.

In fact, the problem is even worse than that. Many of the chemicals required in bulk to run the modern world, from pesticides to plastics, derive from the diverse organic compounds in crude oil. Given the dwindling reserves of crude oil left in the world, it could be argued that the most wasteful use for this limited resource is to simply burn it. We should be carefully preserving what’s left for the vital repertoire of valuable organic compounds it offers.

But my topic here is not what we should do now. Presumably everybody knows that we must transition to a low-carbon economy one way or another. No, I want to answer a question whose interest is (let’s hope) more theoretical. Is the emergence of a technologically advanced civilisation necessarily contingent on the easy availability of ancient energy? Is it possible to build an industrialised civilisation without fossil fuels? And the answer to that question is: maybe – but it would be extremely difficult. Let’s see how.

…

Well, it could, in a very limited way. If you find yourself among the survivors in a post-apocalyptic world, you could scavenge enough working solar panels to keep your lifestyle electrified for a good long while. Without moving parts, photovoltaic cells require little maintenance and are remarkably resilient. They do deteriorate over time, though, from moisture penetrating the casing and from sunlight itself degrading the high-purity silicon layers. The electricity generated by a solar panel declines by about 1 per cent every year so, after a few generations, all our hand-me-down solar panels will have degraded to the point of uselessness. Then what?

New ones would be fiendishly difficult to create from scratch. Solar panels are made from thin slices of extremely pure silicon, and although the raw material is common sand, it must be processed and refined using complex and precise techniques – the same technological capabilities, more or less, that we need for modern semiconductor electronics components. These techniques took a long time to develop, and would presumably take a long time to recover. So photovoltaic solar power would not be within the capability of a society early in the industrialisation process.

…

On the face of it, it’s not beyond the bounds of possibility that a progressing society could construct electrical generators and couple them to simple windmills and waterwheels, later progressing to wind turbines and hydroelectric dams. In a world without fossil fuels, one might envisage an electrified civilisation that largely bypasses combustion engines, building its transport infrastructure around electric trains and trams for long-distance and urban transport. I say ‘largely’. We couldn’t get round it all together.

While the electric motor could perhaps replace the coal-burning steam engine for mechanical applications, society, as we’ve already seen, also relies upon thermal energy to drive the essential chemical and physical transformations it needs. How could an industrialising society produce crucial building materials such as iron and steel, brick, mortar, cement and glass without resorting to deposits of coal?

You can of course create heat from electricity. We already use electric ovens and kilns. Modern arc furnaces are used for producing cast iron or recycling steel. The problem isn’t so much that electricity can’t be used to heat things, but that for meaningful industrial activity you’ve got to generate prodigious amounts of it, which is challenging using only renewable energy sources such as wind and water.

An alternative is to generate high temperatures using solar power directly. Rather than relying on photovoltaic panels, concentrated solar thermal farms use giant mirrors to focus the sun’s rays onto a small spot. The heat concentrated in this way can be exploited to drive certain chemical or industrial processes, or else to raise steam and drive a generator. Even so, it is difficult (for example) to produce the very high temperatures inside an iron-smelting blast furnace using such a system. What’s more, it goes without saying that the effectiveness of concentrated solar power depends strongly on the local climate.

No, when it comes to generating the white heat demanded by modern industry, there are few good options but to burn stuff.

…

But charcoal-based industry didn’t die out altogether. In fact, it survived to flourish in Brazil. Because it has substantial iron deposits but few coalmines, Brazil is the largest charcoal producer in the world and the ninth biggest steel producer. We aren’t talking about a cottage industry here, and this makes Brazil a very encouraging example for our thought experiment.

The trees used in Brazil’s charcoal industry are mainly fast-growing eucalyptus, cultivated specifically for the purpose. The traditional method for creating charcoal is to pile chopped staves of air-dried timber into a great dome-shaped mound and then cover it with turf or soil to restrict airflow as the wood smoulders. The Brazilian enterprise has scaled up this traditional craft to an industrial operation. Dried timber is stacked into squat, cylindrical kilns, built of brick or masonry and arranged in long lines so that they can be easily filled and unloaded in sequence. The largest sites can sport hundreds of such kilns. Once filled, their entrances are sealed and a fire is lit from the top.

…

Around two-thirds of Brazilian charcoal comes from sustainable plantations, and so this modern-day practice has been dubbed ‘green steel’. Sadly, the final third is supplied by the non-sustainable felling of primary forest. Even so, the Brazilian case does provide an example of how the raw materials of modern civilisation can be supplied without reliance on fossil fuels.

…

Is that our solution, then? Could our rebooting society run on wood, supplemented with electricity from renewable sources? Maybe so, if the population was fairly small. But here’s the catch. These options all presuppose that our survivors are able to construct efficient steam turbines, CHP stations and internal combustion engines. We know how to do all that, of course – but in the event of a civilisational collapse, who is to say that the knowledge won’t be lost? And if it is, what are the chances that our descendants could reconstruct it?

In our own history, the first successful application of steam engines was in pumping out coal mines. This was a setting in which fuel was already abundant, so it didn’t matter that the first, primitive designs were terribly inefficient. The increased output of coal from the mines was used to first smelt and then forge more iron. Iron components were used to construct further steam engines, which were in turn used to pump mines or drive the blast furnaces at iron foundries.

And of course, steam engines were themselves employed at machine shops to construct yet more steam engines. It was only once steam engines were being built and operated that subsequent engineers were able to devise ways to increase their efficiency and shrink fuel demands. They found ways to reduce their size and weight, adapting them for applications in transport or factory machinery. In other words, there was a positive feedback loop at the very core of the industrial revolution: the production of coal, iron and steam engines were all mutually supportive.

In a world without readily mined coal, would there ever be the opportunity to test profligate prototypes of steam engines, even if they could mature and become more efficient over time? How feasible is it that a society could attain a sufficient understanding of thermodynamics, metallurgy and mechanics to make the precisely interacting components of an internal combustion engine, without first cutting its teeth on much simpler external combustion engines – the separate boiler and cylinder-piston of steam engines?

It took a lot of energy to develop our technologies to their present heights, and presumably it would take a lot of energy to do it again. Fossil fuels are out. That means our future society will need an awful lot of timber.

In a temperate climate such as the UK’s, an acre of broadleaf trees produces about four to five tonnes of biomass fuel every year. If you cultivated fast-growing kinds such as willow or miscanthus grass, you could quadruple that. The trick to maximising timber production is to employ coppicing – cultivating trees such as ash or willow that resprout from their own stump, becoming ready for harvest again in five to 15 years. This way you can ensure a sustained supply of timber and not face an energy crisis once you’ve deforested your surroundings.

But here’s the thing: coppicing was already a well-developed technique in pre-industrial Britain. It couldn’t meet all of the energy requirements of the burgeoning society. The central problem is that woodland, even when it is well-managed, competes with other land uses, principally agriculture. The double-whammy of development is that, as a society’s population grows, it requires more farmland to provide enough food and also greater timber production for energy. The two needs compete for largely the same land areas.

We know how this played out in our own past. From the mid-16th century, Britain responded to these factors by increasing the exploitation of its coal fields – essentially harvesting the energy of ancient forests beneath the ground without compromising its agricultural output. The same energy provided by one hectare of coppice for a year is provided by about five to 10 tonnes of coal, and it can be dug out of the ground an awful lot quicker than waiting for the woodland to regrow.

It is this limitation in the supply of thermal energy that would pose the biggest problem to a society trying to industrialise without easy access to fossil fuels. This is true in our post-apocalyptic scenario, and it would be equally true in any counterfactual world that never developed fossil fuels for whatever reason. For a society to stand any chance of industrialising under such conditions, it would have to focus its efforts in certain, very favourable natural environments: not the coal-island of 18th-century Britain, but perhaps areas of Scandinavia or Canada that combine fast-flowing streams for hydroelectric power and large areas of forest that can be harvested sustainably for thermal energy.

Even so, an industrial revolution without coal would be, at a minimum, very difficult. Today, use of fossil fuels is actually growing, which is worrying for a number of reasons too familiar to rehearse here. Steps towards a low-carbon economy are vital. But we should also recognise how pivotal those accumulated reservoirs of thermal energy were in getting us to where we are. Maybe we could have made it the hard way. A slow-burn progression through the stages of mechanisation, supported by a combination of renewable electricity and sustainably grown biomass, might be possible after all. Then again, it might not. We’d better hope we can secure the future of our own civilisation, because we might have scuppered the chances of any society to follow in our wake.

#lewis dartnell #aeon.co #industrial revolution #fossil fuels #resource depletion

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dustedmagazine · 4 years ago

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Dust Volume 7, Number 1

Phicus

Another year, another volume of Dust, which means we’ve been collecting these brief, pithy reviews for seven years now. This time around, we sample the usual cornucopia of genres, from ambient death metal to Iranian punk to noisy skree to shoegaze-y lookalikes to polyglot global dj grooves, with the usual stops in free jazz and improvisatory environments. Contributors include Jonathan Shaw, Bill Meyer, Ian Mathers, Jennifer Kelly, Bryon Hayes and Andrew Forell.

Aberration — S/T (Sentient Ruin Laboratories)

Aberration by Aberration

Not sure what “ambient dark death metal” is, but recently formed band Aberration claims to play it. The “ambient” bit may be a nod to the drone that sometimes resonates deep in the mix of the three songs on this 10” EP. Other than that, Aberration’s music sounds pretty typical of the death metal created by bands on the primitive, murky end of the genre’s sonic continuum. Some of the musicians are in other, more established projects: John Hancock plays guitar and provides vocals in the widely admired death doom outfit Void Rot, Dylan Haseltine plays bass and sings for the blackened death metal (mostly black metal, it seems to me) band the Suffering Hour. Those bands have much more specific musical identities, and their intense records express the players’ clarity of vision. Perhaps Aberration wants to live up to its name, presenting something unprecedented, an unpleasant mutation — and hence, perhaps, the decision to release the vinyl version of the EP on an unusual format. That’s sort of fun. The music is not. But that’s nothing new in death metal, and to be honest, these songs don’t warrant the announcement of a new sub-subgenre. They are just fine, if you like your death metal atavistic, cavernous and claustrophobic. But an aberration? Nope. Maybe a weeping pustule. In death metal, isn’t that enough?

Jonathan Shaw

Steve Baczkowski / Bill Nace — Success (Notice)

Success by Steve Baczkowski/Bill Nace

Dallas is synonymous with a sort of excess that begs to be perceived as success. Old TV shows, memories of oil, nation-splitting politics, you name it; it’s bigger, badder and gaudier in Dallas. A tape of a free improv show that was recorded at a Dallas bookstore might not fit your preconceptions of longhorn accomplishment, but go ahead and tell that to Steve Baczkowski and Bill Nace. If they answer at all, they might let you gently know that it’s your problem, and then pop in the tape. This 42-minute-long recording will hook you by the belt, take off into the stratosphere, drag you through an asteroid belt, and deposit your cindered remains by the bar (yes, The Wild Detectives serves liquor as well as literature) before the tape reverses. That still leaves plenty of time savor the duo’s mastery of transition, from stout-sounded duel to fading filigree framing the sounds of the cash register opening and closing. Yeah, that’s the sound of Success.

Bill Meyer

Aidan Baker — There/Not There (Consouling Sounds)

There / Not There by Aidan Baker

Unsurprisingly, 2020 doesn’t seem to have slowed Aidan Baker (Nadja, WERL, Caudal, Hypnodrone Ensemble, and many more) much at all. Of the many records released under his own name, the recent There/Not There stands out for being a surprisingly accessible entry to his personal metal/drone/ambient/shoegaze melting pot, even given the opening 20-minute title track. “There/Not There” marries some whispery shoegaze songwriting with a beautifully monomaniacal repeating drone. Over the course of the track, it does slowly transition until we get to a crescendo as intense as any Baker’s done, but even more so than normal the unwary might get lured in by the low key, blissful opening and the frog-boiling slowness with which the tension is ratcheted up. One of the other two tracks is really just a way to section off the real noise-squall coda of “There/Not There” but then “Paris (Lost)” offers a more concise, quieter storm version of the same framework. Like a lot of Baker’s work, it sneaks up on you, but when it hits it hits hard.

Ian Mathers

Ballrogg — Rolling Ball (Clean Feed)

Rolling Ball by Ballrogg

The Scandinavian combo Ballrogg changes direction once again on Rolling Ball. Founders Klaus Ellerhusen Holm (clarinets) and Roger Arntzen (bass), who are both Norwegian, started out reinvestigating the folksy jazz vibe of Jimmy Giuffre, then sought out a new home on the range by adding slide guitarist Ivar Grydeland. Now, incoming Swedish guitarist David Stackenäs and his rack of pedals have redirected the trio into a technology-enhanced future. Not the sci-fi imaginings of Sun Ra, but a future more like 2019 might look if you stepped straight into it from 1959; in some ways quite familiar, but in others, different enough to be disorienting. The Giuffre-esque and country elements are still there, but when punctuated by minimalist-influenced compositional flourishes and illuminated by the diffuse, digital flicker of Stackenäs’ effects, it suddenly becomes clear that those Viking cowboys didn’t put a key in the ignition before they drove out towards the horizon.

Bill Meyer

Bipolar — S-T (Slovenly)

BIPOLAR "Bipolar" EP by Bipolar

For a band named Bipolar, with a single called “Depression,” this EP sure is a lot of fun. Two of the band’s mainstays are apparently Iranian emigres, now seeking the more permissive environs of Brooklyn. (The only hint of that exotic origin is in “Sad Clown,” where there might be an imam exhorting the faithful, but who knows? I don’t speak Farsi.) One of them sometimes plays keyboard with the Spits, and in fact, the Spits are a pretty good reference point for these hard, fast, bratty songs. “Virus” pummels a relentless pogo beat, the one-two of the drums rocketing ever faster, the shouted all-hands chorus in tumbling sync. “Fist Fight” is even more exhilarating, with its blaring, roiling guitar blast and adrenaline-raising refrain, “It’s a fist fight. It’s a fist fight.” There’s nothing profound here, but it’s a good time.

Jennifer Kelly

Bosq — Y Su Descarga Internacional (Bacalao)

Y Su Descarga Internacional by bosq

Bosq, a globally omnivorous DJ formerly based in Boston (real name Benjamin Woods), recently moved to Colombia, perhaps to get closer to his source material. The Colombian influence is certainly strong on Y Su Descarga Internacional, which opens with a scorching “Rumbero,” featuring the Afro-Colombian star Nidia Góngora. Dorkas, another singer from Colombia, follows immediately with “Mi Arizal,” an intricately textured dance track which erupts with fiery bursts of Latin brass. Justo Valdez, whose Son Palenque did much to define the Cartagena sound in the 1960s and 1970s, drops by for two of the album’s best tracks: a rollicking “Mambue” and the hand-drummed, bass-thumping hand-clapping “Onombitamba.” And yet the album doesn’t just document the singers and artists of Bosq’s new home. Kaleta, a Benin-based Afro-beat artist who has worked with Fela Kuti and Eqypt 80, takes the lead on funk psych “Omo Iya” and the stirring, horn squalling “Wake Up.” Bosq knows how to pick collaborators, and there’s not a dud track on the disc, but wouldn’t almost anyone sound like a genius in company like this?

Jennifer Kelly

Deuce Avenue — Death of Natural Light (Crash Symbols)

Death of Natural Light by Deuce Avenue

If you are a lurker of the cassette underground, you may remember a West Virginian outfit called Social Junk appearing in the mid-aughts. This duo offered up crackling melodic scree, blown out murky fuzz and semi-coherent mouth sounds like an industrialized version of The Dead C or a new wave outfit newly recovered post-coma. Noah Anthony, the male half of Social Junk, has since moved on to releasing solo material under both the Profligate and Deuce Avenue monikers. The latter is the more recent project and is quite minimal compared to his other work. With Death of Natural Light, there are no cold wave rhythms and vocals à la Profligate. What’s left is a dank, steamy vapor. Contrails of filter-swept hiss slowly develop into a more enigmatic and darkened tonal palette. The ominousness continues to thread its way into the second half of the cassette, fittingly entitled “Blood Turns Black”. Loops of nocturnal jump scare fodder coalesce into rhythms that provide skeletal forms to foil the menace of the more oblique textures. Those who enjoy their horror in slow motion will latch onto these sounds like a facehugger to… …well, a person’s face.

Bryon Hayes

Fleeting Joys — Despondent Transponder (Only Forever)

Despondent Transponder by Fleeting Joys

Let’s start with the obvious. Despondent Transponder sounds a lot like MBV’s Loveless, with wild sirening guitar tones, waves of noise-y feedback, thunderous drumming and sweet, fragile lyrics engulfed in the swirl. “Go and Come Back” has the same fluttering guitar melody as the great “To Here Knows When,” while “Satellite” blusters with the dopplering, dissonance-addled grandeur as “I Only Said.” Fleeting Joys — that was Rorika Loring singing and playing bass and John Loring on guitar and vox — never made any secret of their love of MBV. Despondent Transponder was an homage right from the start. The album was the debut for this Sacramento-based twosome, released originally in 2006, then as now on Loring’s own Only Forever label. And yet, while no one will ever top Loveless, from an ear-bleeding psych-noise daydream perspective, this one has its own particular beauties. “Magnificent Oblivion” surrounds a lullaby-pure melody with a reeling, caterwauling mesh of inchoate sound; guitar notes stream off in bending contrails as Rorika murmurs sweetly into the mic. “Patron Saint” lurches to motion on a Frankenstein bass riff, but softens the brutality with calming washes of vocal hypnotism. It’s all super beautiful and, anyway, even after the reunion, there aren’t nearly enough MBV albums. Plenty of room for a band that sounds so similar.

Jennifer Kelly

Get Smart! — Oh Yeah No (Capitol Punishment)

youtube

Push play: driving staccato guitars, rubbery bass lines, lockstep drums, declamatory vocals and it’s the mid-1980s all over again. Lawrence, Kansas trio Get Smart! — Marcus Koch (guitar, vocals) Lisa Wertman Crowe (bass, vocals) and Frank Loose (drums, vocals) — have that timeless mixture of English post-punk and American indie down. Then see that 33 years after it was recorded Oh Yeah No finally sees the light of day on the back of the band’s reformation. Time and the cycle of musical fashions are fickle beasts and in this case the wheels turn in Get Smart!’s favor. They sound both of their time and thoroughly in tune with the steady flow of recent guitar bands mining this lode of choppy, melodic indie. The Embarrassment, Big Dipper, Pylon and other regional heroes are being rediscovered and reassessed and, here’s the thing, Get Smart! are really good at what they do and this six-track EP is both a testament and, hopefully, a taste of what the future may hold.

Andrew Forell

Rich Halley / Matthew Shipp / Michael Bisio / Newman Taylor Baker — The Shape Of Things (Pine Eagle Records)

The Shape of Things by Rich Halley

If the bolt strikes twice, it’s probably not lightning. The Shape Of Things is the second successful meeting between Rich Halley, a tenor saxophonist based in the Pacific Northwest, and the current members of the Matthew Shipp Trio. The album is, like its predecessor Terra Incognita, a congress of strengths. Shipp’s trio follows the pianist easily into one of his classic roles, that of supplying sonic foundation and harmonic framing for an extroverted saxophonist. Halley fights right into the spaces that they create, rippling easily over the trio’s turbulent surfaces. He works within the broader jazz tradition, sounding equally at home patiently sketching a lyrical line and blowing raw, acidic cries. This ensemble plays achieves a state of centered abandon which feels wilder than Halley’s recordings with West Coast musicians, but fits right into the spectrum that contains Shipp’s work with the David S. Ware Quartet and Ivo Perelman.

Bill Meyer

A Hutchie — Potion Shop (Cosmic Resonance)

Potion Shop by A Hutchie

Hamilton, Ontario-based producer Aaron Hutchinson has his fingers in many pies. He nimbly dispenses free jazz, hip hop, outré pop and even more enigmatic forms of song. Potion Shop is his debut LP, although he is a long-time fixture in the Steeltown music scene. This immersion in a small, tight-knit domain has led to many fruitful collaborations. Hutchinson features many of his compatriots in these recordings, in which his music snakes alongside their vocal stylings. Mutant 21st century soul singlehandedly played by Hutchinson is a foil for the slam poetry of Benita Whyte and Ian Keteku, the latter of which the producer warps with a vocoder. Sarah Good’s vocals morph into those of a ghostly chanteuse among smeared strings, while the soulful Blankie swims beneath narcotic R&B beats. When imbibing these intoxicating concoctions, you will be immersed in a warmth of familiarity tempered with the unsettling yet exciting sense of the uncanny. Like absinthe, the disquiet is illusory while the intimacy is authentic.

Bryon Hayes

Imha Tarikat — Sternenberster (Prophecy Productions)

STERNENBERSTER by IMHA TARIKAT

Imha Tarikat’s principal member Ruhsuz Cellât (stage name of Kerem Yilmaz) breaks with black metal orthodoxy by musically engaging his family’s Muslim heritage. That’s a provocative move in an artform dominated by glib nihilism, rampant anti-religious sentiment and (somehow sometimes all at the same time) ardent claims of Satanist faith. And that distinction at the symbolic level likely doesn’t come near the intensities of being of Turkish descent, living and recording in Germany, in a scene that flirts (and at its extreme margins actively identifies) with fascism. Beyond those ideological and social dimensions is the music. Imha Tarikat demonstrates facility with tremolo riffs and song forms that twist and snake even as they hammer and pummel. But Cellât’s unusual vocal style cuts against convention’s grain, and it’s immediately apparent as album opener “Ekstase ohne Ende” commences. There’s a lot of grunting and hollering, but rather than contorting his voice, shrieking and croaking in mode of most black metal vocalists, Cellât goes for more straightforward intensity. He often shouts, and the lyrics frequently come in bunches, explosive and punctuated bursts of verbiage, but he makes no attempt to distort the lyrics or his voice. I wish my grasp of German were even halfway close to fluent, in order to report on the lyrics’ thematic content with some coherence — because Cellât clearly wants the words to be heard.

Jonathan Shaw

Jon Irabagon / Mike Pride / Mick Barr / Ava Mendoza — Don’t Hear Nothin’ But The Blues Vol 3 Anatomical Snuffbox (Irrabagast Records)

I Don't Hear Nothin' but the Blues Volume 3: Anatomical Snuffbox by Jon Irabagon

Never mind the blues; if you don’t exercise caution, when you’re done playing this loud-at-any-volume recording, you won’t hear nothin’. The latest installment in tenor saxophonist John Irabagon’s series of one-track, meta-blues recordings starts out with a spray of sound as bracing as Saharan sandstorm, but quickly solidifies into a veritable wall of sound. At the outset, Irabagon and drummer Mike Pride engage in a high-speed dance of charge and countercharge which, if heard without accompaniment, would sit comfortably on the same shelf as your Mars Williams and Mats Gustafsson records. But when you put guitarists Mick Barr and Ava Mendoza on the same stage and tell them both to start shredding, the effect is somewhat akin to putting the pyrotechnic specialists in charge of the circus. Subtlety, dynamics and even the oxygen you breath all disappear as everything catches fire. If any of the participants here have effectively bent your ear, you ought to listen all the way through once. By the time it’s done, you’ll know in your heart whether you ever need to hear it again.

Bill Meyer

John Kolodij — First Fire / At Dawn (Astral Editions)

First Fire • At Dawn by John Kolodij

Where there’s fire, there’s often smoke, and while this tape claims alignment with Hephaestus’ element, it’s more likely to evoke thick clouds. As the capstans turn, the murk of “At Fire” accumulates gradually, filling the room with an increasingly dense atmosphere. By the time you notice flashes of flame, it’s too late. “At Dawn” brings to mind a lesser conflagration — maybe the embers of the previous night’s campfire. John Kolodij (who has, until recently, recorded mainly under the name High Aura’d) pushes his heavily processed guitar sound into the background, where it lurks with a bit of birdsong, and leads with an unamplified banjo and acoustic guitar. Fiddler Anna RG (of Anna & Elizabeth) further bolsters the melody while some sparse percussion played by Sarah Hennies heightens the sense of moment. Once more, a mass of disembodied sound rises up as the piece progresses, but this time the effect is the opposite; instead of getting lost in sound, the listener finds a moment of peace and light.

Bill Meyer

Lytton / Nies / Scott / Wissel — Do They Do Those In Red? (Sound Anatomy)

Do they do those in Red? by Paul Lytton, Joker Nies, Richard Scott, Georg Wissel

“Do they do those in red?” The title may speak to the particular peculiarities of this combo, which is formed from several pre-existing duos, Joker Nies is credited with “electrosapiens,” which seem to be self-constructed electronic instruments, and George Wissel applies various items to his saxophone to modify its sound. Georg Wissel’s synthesizers come with some assembly required, and it would appear that Paul Lytton, best known for playing drum kits and massive percussion assemblages, confines himself in this setting to the stuff he can fit on a tabletop. What, you think your saxophone is prettier because it doesn’t have anything red jammed into a valve?

Moving on to the music, while the sound sources are heavily electronic, the interactive style is rooted in good old-fashioned free improvisation. Lytton’s barrage sounds remarkably similar to what he achieves playing with a full drum kit, and Wissel’s lines may be more fractured, but his alto sound has some of the tonal heft and agility that John Butcher exercises on the tenor. The electronicians’ bristling activity brings to mind a debate between opposite sides of the electrical components aisle at the hardware store, but it’s a lucid one, thoughtfully expressed on both sides.

Bill Meyer

Ikue Mori Satoko Fujii + Natsuki Tamura — Prickly Pear Cactus (Libra)

Prickly Pear Cactus by Ikue Mori, Satoko Fujii, Natsuki Tamura

Pianist Satoko Fujii and trumpeter Natsuki Tamura spent February 2020 touring Europe with their combo Kaze, which they’d augmented with the electronic musician, Ikue Mori. As lockdown wore on, they kept the connection going via Zoom chats between their abodes in Kobe and New York. After Fujii shared her experiences of trying to mic and stream her piano online, Mori suggested that she send some recordings. Mori edited what showed up and added her sounds; Tamura contributed additional elements to nearly half the tracks. Some of them are balanced to sound like live recordings, with Mori’s neon squelches and high-res, bell-like tones gathering and dispelling like real-time reactions. Others feel more overtly constructed, with the piano situated within a maelstrom of sounds like a view of a TV set turned on in a room with a party going on.

Bill Meyer

Phicus — Solid (Astral Spirits)

Solid by Phicus

Phicus is the Barcelona-based assemblage of Ferran Fages (electric guitar), Àlex Reviriego (double bass) and Vasco Trilla (drums). The line-up looks like a power trio, and if you heard them two seconds at a time, you might think that they were. Reviriego and Trilla each play in ways that convey a sense of motion, and Fages’ bent notes and serrated harmonics are just the sort of sounds to cap off a display of guitar heroics. But if you note that each track is named for an element or chemical compound, and that the album is called Solid, you might get a clearer idea of their concerns. This music is all about essential relationships, and its makers are more interested in making things coexist in productive ways than they are in re-enacting rituals borrowed from jazz, fusion or free improvisation. That means that even the sharpest sounds don’t hook you, nor do the fleetest charges carry you away. Phicus isn’t interested in settling for the familiar. But if you’re ready to observe that thing that looks like a duck making sounds that ducks never make, you’ll find plenty to ponder on Solid.

Bill Meyer

Quietus — Volume Five (Ever/Never)

Volume Five by Quietus

Quietus songs unfurl like cream in coffee, spiraling curlicues of light into dark liquid drones amid clanking blocks of percussion. The songs expand in organic ways, picking up purpose in the steady pound of rhythm, strutting even, in a loose-limbed rock-soul-psych way you might recognize from Brian Jonestown Massacre’s “Anemone” or Grinderman’s “I Don’t Need You to Set Me Free,” but quieter, much quieter, and seething with submerged ideas. The words are mumbled, croaked, submerged in surface hum, but when pushed up towards the surface, arresting. “This life can be sunlit hills turned all to their angry sides,” murmurs Quietus proprietor Geoffrey Bankowski in the relatively concise “Reflex of Purpose,” which sprawls anyway, notwithstanding its 2:36 minute duration. The music’s better, though, when it’s allowed to find its slow way forward, unconforming to any pre-existing ideas of how long a pop song should be. I like the closer “Posthemmorrhagic,” the best, as guitars both tortured and prayerful intertwine, and Bankowski breathes slow, moaning poetry into a close mic, and the song revolves in three-time like the last dancer on the floor, not just tonight but forever.

Jennifer Kelly

Ritual Extra — In Luthero (Dinzu Artefacts)

In Luthero by Ritual Extra

In Luthero was performed inside an empty water cistern, and the ensuing reverberations act as microscopic versions of the grander ebb and flow within which French-Finnish trio Ritual Extra operate. Percussionist Julien Chamla’s cymbal scrapes and tom hits form a backdrop of bomb blasts and shrieking, missives from some war-torn locale long since vacated by the populace. Steel structures seem to groan and collapse as they are rattled by percussive ordnance. This bleak setting is given a sense of color by Lauri Hyvärinen’s acoustic guitar. A stew of string scrapes diverges into discrete plucks, which morph into strums. The metronomic chords are enriched as they bounce around the walls of the cistern, folding in on themselves through echo, becoming a mechanical mantra. Tuukka Haapakorpi’s voice rises from the ashes, soaring polysyllabically yet wordlessly. As In Luthero begins to take shape, these vocalizations are almost inhuman: whispers and gurgles that come on in waves. Later, more anthropoid utterances take shape, yet fall just shy of coalescing into a discernable language. Across 24 minutes, Ritual Extra musically narrate the pre-history of humankind, the primordial essence from which everything good — and bad — about us originated.

Bryon Hayes

Subjective Pitch Matching Band — Twenty-One Subjectivities in Six Parts (Remote Works)

Twenty-One Subjectivities in Six Parts by Subjective Pitch Matching Band

Chris Brian Taylor has trod a serpentine path on the journey that culminated in the creation of his first large ensemble electroacoustic composition. His roots are in punk and rave — he still DJs house and techno — but he recently shifted his gaze toward improvised electronics. Rather than stifling his ambition, COVID-19 and the ensuing lockdown encouraged him to think big: he would cast a wide net and compose a piece of music for as many people as he could get to participate. He reached out to friends, relatives, and internet acquaintances to assemble his orchestra, and borrowed the melody and chords from Pet Shop Boys’ “Being Boring” to act as the foundation of the work. Twenty people responded from a variety of musical disciplines, and all agreed to participate remotely. The composer gave each player audio cues to work with and encouraged the performers to respond subjectively. They could either stay true to the pitches provided, harmonize against them, or play ornamentally. Taylor collected the resulting tracks and structured the resulting thirty-minute piece of music based on what the respondents provided. Dense yet graceful, the composition unfolds like a slow-motion blaze. Flames of sonority form a sinuous body from which sparks of discrete sound leap heavenward. There is nary a moment of silence, as Taylor weaves a plethora of long tones together to form an undulating core over which stabs of piano, guitar and percussion materialize momentarily. Naivete didn’t keep Chris Brian Taylor from aiming as high as he could with this piece, and we are the benefactors of this ambition, rewarded with a rich and complex sonic brew to enjoy.

Bryon Hayes

TV Priest — Uppers (Sub Pop)

Uppers by TV Priest

TV Priest works the same corrosive, hyper-verbal furrow as Idles or, in a looser sense, the Sleaford Mods, spatter chanting harsh, literate strings of gutter poetry over a clanking post-punk cadence. The vocalist Charlie Drinkwater snarls and sputters charismatically over the clatter, a brutalist commentator on life and pop culture. The band is sharp and minimalist, drums (Ed Kelland) to the front, guitar (Alex Sprogis) stabbing hard at stripped raw riffs , bass (Nic Bueth) rumbling like mute rage in the back of the bar. And yet, though anger is a primary flavor, these songs surge with triumph as in the wall-shaking cadences of “Press Gang,” the blistering sarcasm of “The Big Curve.” This is a relatively new band, their first and only tour cut short at one gig by the lockdown, but the songs are tight as hell on record and likely to pin you to the back wall live. “Bad news, like buses, comes in twos,” intones Drinkwater on theclearly autobiographical “Journal of a Plague Year” against an irregular post-everything clangor, loose and disdainful and hardly arsed to entertain us; it’s as fitting an anthem as any for our lost 2020. But when band gets moving, as on the chugging, corroscating “Decoration,” it’s unstoppable, a monstrous thing bursting “through to the next round.” Sure, I’ll have another.

Jennifer Kelly

Voice Imitator — Plaza (12XU)

Plaza by Voice Imitator

Voice Imitator, from Melbourne, Australia, rips a hard punk vortex through its songs, ratcheting up the drums to battering ram violence, blistering the guitar sound and scrawling wild metallic vocals over it all, with nods to noisy post-hardcore bands like the Jesus Lizard and McClusky. “A Small Cauliflower” takes things down to a seething, menacing whisper, Mark Groves, the singer, presiding over an uneasy mesh of tamped down dissonance and hustle. “Adult Performer” is faster and more limber, all clicking urgency and sudden bursts of detuned, surging squall. All four members—that’s Per Bystrom, Justin Fuller, Groves and Leon O’Regan—have been in a ton of other bands, and the sounds they make here have the rupturing precision of well-honed violence. If you like Protomartyr but wish it was lots louder and more corrosive, here you go.

Jennifer Kelly

Sam Weinberg / Henry Fraser / Weasel Walter — Grist (Ugexplode)

Grist by Sam Weinberg / Henry Fraser / Weasel Walter

Ornette Coleman once called a record In All Languages; these guys ought call one Any And All Possibilities. Saxophonist Sam Weinberg, bassist Henry Fraser and drummer (this time, anyway) Weasel Walter are scrupulous student of improvisation in all its guises, and they’re ready and able to use what they know. You could call it free jazz, for they certainly know how that stuff works, but they’re under no obligation to swing; that’d be a limit, you see. This music bursts, darts, expands and contracts in a sequence of second by second negotiations of shape and velocity.

Bill Meyer

Chris Weisman — Closer Tuning (Self-Released)

Closer Tuning by Chris Weisman

Chris Weisman is a Brattleboro, VT songwriter, in the general orbit (not a member but seems to know a bunch of them) of the late, great Feathers and one-time member of Kyle Thomas’ other outfit, the fuzz pop band Happy Birthday. A shunner of all sorts of limelight, he is nonetheless very productive. Closer Tuning is one of five albums he home recorded and released in 2020. You might expect a certain lo-fi folksiness and there is, indeed, a dream-y, soft focus rusticity to the tangled acoustic guitar jangle, the blunt down home-i-ness lyrics. And yet, there’s a good deal more than that in Closer Tuning. The chords progress softly, gently but in unexpected ways, a reminder of Weisman’s jazz guitar training, and the sound is warm and enveloping and every so slightly off-kilter, as if filtered through someone else’s memory. Cuts like “Petit Revolution,” with its close shroud of harmonies, its eerie, antic guitar cadence, feel like Beach Boys psychedelia left out in the garden to sprout, or more to the point, like Wendy Eisenberg’s brainy, left-of-center pop puzzles. “My Talent” is hedged in with blooming bent notes and scrambling string scratches, but its center is radiant, weird, astral folk along the lines of Alexander Tucker. “Hey,” says Weisman, in its slow dreaming chorus, “I gave my talent away.” Lucky us.

A.A. Williams — Forever Blue (Bella Union)

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There’s a dim and shadowy corner where heavy music, orchestral music and post-rock all meet, and A.A. Williams’ music resides there as naturally as anyone else’s. That’s what you might expect when you get a professional cellist who fell hard for metal as a teenager and then started writing songs after finding a guitar on the street. After an EP her first LP is the kind of assured, consistently strong debut that balances calmly measured beauty with the kind of crushing peaks that give that sometimes hoary quiet/loud dynamic a good name. At its best, like the opening “All I Asked For (Was to End it All)” and “Dirt” (featuring vocals from Wild Beasts’ Tom Fleming), Forever Blue is as gothically ravishing as you could hope for, and by the time it ends with spectral lament “I’m Fine” it might tempt even those not traditionally inclined that way to don the ceremonial black eyeliner.

Ian Mathers

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