#and at the end we will cover this because i think its neat and i want to research it

[kyouka-supremacy]

Well.

[clonewarsahsoka]

This one course I'm taking is really interesting to me because it's a professors excuse to research something that's not immediately his research but he's still interested in

[uplatterme]

Honorary Maid, Aether!

a/n: im not even gonna say anything, i just wanna fuck aether in a maid outfit. there’s plot i suppose but y’know. also ended up longer than it should have been…

cw: sub!aether/dom!amab!reader, top!reader/bottom!aether | aether wears a maid outfit, blowjob(chara!receiving), aether calls reader “master”, his eyes get covered for a bit, mirror sex, slight cockwarming

————

The traveler has been faced with different types of commissions. So he’s not really one to complain no matter its difficulty or strangeness. After all, he’s been often tasked to jump on mushrooms back in Sumeru and nothing can get weirder than that…he supposed. He’ll take anything, since this is what keeps his mora pouch full.

Unfortunately for him, today was looking a little scarce. 

“I’d like to apologize, but we have run out of commissions for the day. You may come find us tomorrow.”

Aether clicks his tongue. He needs to save up if he’s planning to travel to Fontaine anytime soon.

“None at all?” He asks again.

“I’d like to apologize, but we have run out of commissions for the day. You may come find us tomorrow.” Katheryne repeats word for word.

That’s troublesome. He’s a few mora short of what he usually earns.

He’s already done his share of bounties and requests for the week. He doubts that they’ll let him take another in fear of both exhausting him and taking opportunities from other adventurers.

And almost as if Katheryne could read his thoughts, she speaks up.

“There is a commission. Although, we have declined it for being too suspicious. Would you like to take a look, traveler?”

He nods, and she hands him a flier.

With one look, he understands why exactly it would be described that way. The details are vague and the mora that is being offered is far too much considering it’s only asking for housework.

“I’d advise against it but if you are going to take it, it is good to be careful.” She says.

That would be the most reasonable idea.

Aether, however, takes the flier and puts it away in his bag.

He did not think it would be that difficult. Perhaps the mora was reasonable after all.

The directions written on the flier weren't helpful at all. He’s been in circles, has been ambushed by three groups of hydro slimes and his clothes are a mess to look at.

It is his fault, he deems. He underestimated it, but who could blame him when he’s saved four nations from being ruined? A simple commission should have been easy. Exactly that, it should’ve.

Aether icks at how sticky he is. He tried to get off as much goo as he can, but some of it just spread to his skin and to his clothes.

He sighs, wondering if he should turn back.

That is, until he finally sees the mansion mentioned on the map.

It would be rude to show up in such a state, but going back empty-handed after going through so much trouble…

The money, Aether. The money. He thinks to himself.

He fixes his hair at least, making sure his braid is clean and neat. 

The mansion is big, perhaps even bigger than the Dawn Winery. He wonders what kind of person would live like this and this far away from others. He grits his teeth. His opinions when it comes to rich people aren’t that great, he has met his fair share of aristocrats without manners.

He knocks on the door, waiting patiently, although a bit anxious at how they’d react.

The door finally opens.

Oh.

He did not expect that.

What opens the door is clearly someone who gives off elegance. You wear a silky robe, a wine glass in your hand as you lay on the door frame.

Aether gets eyed up and down.

“May I help you? You may wash yourself if you want, I see you’ve been attacked by slimes.” You hum.

“I—Yes. Thank you.” He stutters out, not expecting such kindness. He follows you inside and then remembers what he’s here for. Right, no time to get distracted.

“I’m actually here…because of a commission you sent? I believe you need some help with housework.” 

He watches as your mouth gapes open. “Of course. I didn’t expect anyone to be coming truthfully, with how late it is already.”

Aether winces at the indirect insult. Maybe, if you actually drew the map better—

“I got a bit lost.” He says.

“Yeah, I can see that.” You say, alluding to the slime that remains on his body.

Aether flushes, not expecting that. He coughs it away.

“As I was saying, you could take a shower first. I only need the house to be lightly dusted and cleaned. If you have time to cook, that would be fine too.” You inform the traveler.

“That’s it?” He asks. Surely, there was something else. No way you were paying him such a high price for just sweeping and cooking.

“Oh. If you finish early, you can come by my office and see if you can help me out with things.”

Is this really it?

“You didn’t add a few extra zeroes for the reward right? It’s 100,000 for this?”

You stare at him confused. He concludes that he was right that you had sent the wrong price.

“That’s fine. I’ll still do it for 10,000.” Aether replies with a reassuring smile.

“No, no. I clearly wrote a million.”

Did he hear you right?

“I’m pretty sure I wrote a million when I sent the letter…” You mumble, trying to remember what you had written.

Meanwhile, Aether is stunned.

Even he wasn’t paid that much when getting compensation from the Qixing.

“Ah, it doesn’t matter. I’ll have to work now, if you’ll excuse me. Your uniform is in the bathroom closest to my office!” You rush out before he can even deny the high price of such a reward. 

…

Wait, what uniform?

Aether doesn’t see you for a while after that. He focuses on keeping every surface clean due to what he's being given. He sweeps and dusts what he can, only being limited by the locked doors you told him not to bother with. 

The blond does all that while wearing this ridiculously fluffy outfit.

He shouldn’t be this flustered. He’s seen Adelinde wearing these kinds of outfits.

It’s in no way revealing, the socks he’s wearing even reaching up to his thigh. Yet, he still stumbles whenever he passes by a mirror.

He takes a deep breath, flattens out his skirt, and checks his braid before knocking on your office’s door. You tell him to come in and you don’t even spare him a glance, too busy with whatever it was that you are currently working on.

You still wear the same silken robe and he smells the alcohol mixing in the air with each deep breath.

“I’m done with everything.” He says.

“That’s good. You may rest now, I’ll give you the payment after I’m done.” Is all you reply to him, eyes not leaving your desk.

Your cheeks are tinted a bit red due to the wine so he assumes you’re a bit tipsy. It doesn’t do well talking to drunk people, he knows that much thanks to a certain archon.

“M-May I help you with anything else?” He interrupts.

That’s when you finally stop and glance at him. He’s red, embarrassed that he sounded like a squeaking animal. You place your head on your hand, tapping the pencil as you gaze upon him.

A smile lingers on your face. “Just sit next to me, if you really want to do something.”

“Sit?”

“Yes, It would be nice to work next to a pretty maid, no?” 

Aether flinches at how you described him. He walks to the chair in front of your desk, staggering his steps.

He watches you work and realizes that you being this near is not good for his heart. He notices it from before, that you weren’t exactly wearing anything under the robe, showing more skin than necessary. He doesn’t want to look down—He’s not going to—but if he was to look under…

Archons.

“Is there something wrong, dear?” You ask.

Aether quickly shakes his head. “No! Not at all!”

He swallows the feeling of embarrassment. He shouldn’t have these kinds of thoughts, you are his employer, and he should treat you with proper respect.

Unfortunately, he can’t ignore the tired grunts you make, the way your robe seems to lower even more, and at this point, he’s not sure if he’s hallucinating.

The skirt is getting uncomfortable to wear, and a certain problem emerging. In fact, the whole outfit has started to do so. He fixes the collar, sweat starting to drip down despite the coolness of the temperature.

He places his palms on his cheeks, staring down, trying to calm himself.

He wonders how it would be if instead of the wine glass, you were to place that hand on his neck instead, to have you cup up his chin as you’re behind him with his back against your chest.

Aether continues daydreaming, not noticing that you’re calling up to him until he feels his wrist being taken away.

You pull him towards you and finds that you’re really warm.

“Traveler? Are you sick? Shall I send you home right now?” Your worry outstands him.

“N-No. I’m fine,” He glances down and tries to hide the growing tent with his apron. “I can wait. I’m good.”

You sigh. 

If Aether was standing right now, he’d be down on his knees.

“No, I refuse to have you here any longer. You are clearly not well, I’ll compensate for it.” 

Compensate? Does that mean you’ll be adding more to that ridiculously high payment?

He can’t have that.

“It is alright! I just uh—” What? Is he just supposed to admit that he was eyefucking you in his head?

He closes his mouth, scared that he’ll say something just as embarrassing.

“Don’t you have another task that I can do?” Aether asks.

“You can go home, I won’t take it against you—”

“Are you sure, Master—”

And Aether immediately wants to bury himself underneath. He didn’t mean to, he just didn’t want to go yet. Oh, when did he become this stupid? He’s always been rational when it comes to most things. 

He hears you chuckle softly, which then turns into a burst of hard laughter.

He’s embarrassed himself and now you’re laughing. You’re laughing so hard that you start tearing up.

“W-Why did the Adventurer’s Guild send me such an adorable maid?” You say.

Aether thinks he’s far from adorable. In fact, he’d consider himself to be scary. He’s defeated three harbingers, fought a dragon, and gone through multiple battles. He is not…adorable. Not in the least.

He can’t find it in himself to argue with you.

“What’s wrong, baby? Don’t want Master to send you out?”

“I—You’re mocking my words! It just slipped out! I have a friend and I also call him by that title sometimes!” He frustratingly yells. Right, because of Diluc, that’s it.

“So you’re saying you…just have a habit of calling people your Master?”

Aether tries to stammer out a response. “W-Would you stop with all the teasing?”

“Oh, I’m the one teasing? Not the one who’s been so quiet as a mouse his whole stay, but all of the sudden drools as I innocently do my work?”

“You noticed…?”

“Of course, I noticed. You aren’t exactly sneaky when you stare at me as if you can see through my robe.”

Aether covers his face and crouches on his knees. Yes, he won’t argue that he does want your attention. However, he didn’t expect to get everything thrown at him all at the same time.

“Don’t worry, I think it’s cute.” You reassure him, helping him stand up.

“Sorry…I know you employed me for cleaning and all I’ve been doing is bothering you with your work—and you’re paying me too much already, I’ll just leave—”

Ah, Aether did not expect that.

He did not expect to be cut off from his mumbling with a kiss. Your lips were calming, soft and gentle. He feels you try to pull away.

He doesn’t want you to.

He pulls you closer to him, compared to you, he’s messy and in need. In need of your touch, in need of your attention. It’s a bit fast, he thinks. He’s only met you today, after all. 

Aether doesn’t mind.

You separate from him, out of breath. “You know I’ll be holding that against you, right?”

“Yes…and no compensation needed. Please.” He stresses out. He doesn’t want this to come off as you are paying for his body. He wants this, it’s dizzying but relaxing. He’s been needing this kind of break, especially as of recently.

“Alright.”

It’s a shame that his black stockings are ripped this much, he thought they were rather cute. The desk is a bit uncomfortable on his back but he’s too distracted by your mouth on his cock, mouth gasping out pleasantly as you hold him still.

“S-Shit—” He curses out.

You apparently take that as a sign to go even deeper and multitask with your hands at the other end of his cock. You grumble something incoherent, and the vibrations send pulses to his nerves.

“W-What?” He asks, and then regrets it since you answer him again with him still inside your mouth. He tilts his head back, squirming on the hard desk.

You remove your mouth before he can even climax, just edging him to the point of him shuddering. His legs are so sticky, he can’t see it due to the skirt, but he feels it, the way his thighs slide against each other.

“Such pretty noises…I might just get tempted to keep you here if you keep doing that.” You state.

“I can’t.” He breathes out.

“Really? You’re sure I can’t convince you?” 

“You can try.” Aether smirks.

You sneer at his confidence.

“Come here.” You direct.

“Stand?”

“Mhm, I’m sure laying like that can’t be good for you. Unless, of course. You already can’t stand up?”

Aether rolls his eyes at you. His legs shake with each step but he manages to position himself well, his back against your chest. 

He hears the sound of the robe hitting the ground and he’s tempted to see. No, he wants to see. 

He turns his head but his eyes are covered with your hand.

“Ah, no looking. Not yet.”

He can feel his entrance being stretched out, your fingers clearly taking their time. His heart thumps as his vision remains in darkness. Noises of satisfaction sounded from his throat.

He’s starting to get impatient with it, if he’s being honest. He remains still, however, he trusts that you know whatever’s best for him.

You hum and the tone of your voice seems satisfied.

After a few seconds of emptiness and silence, he finally takes you in. The urge to bend down right there was uncontrollable, but you hold his shoulders up. He’s this close to having a misstep and falling down.

His legs quiver, struggling to stand on their own. 

You push further in and a silent cry comes out of him. He hopes that’s the last of it.

It isn’t, but he doesn’t have to know that.

God, he feels so full. He curses your hand, he wants to see it. See how filled he is, see how your length bulges from his stomach.

“P-Please, move your hand.”

“In a bit, dear.”

It doesn’t take much for his body to succumb with a few thrusts. Each breath seems as if you’re somehow getting even deeper. He seethes at the pleasure, close to spilling.

“Hngh—” Aether grunts out.

It’s intoxicating how you hold him by his waist, rubbing his stomach. And with each pump to his body, his mouth releases a satisfied sound.

He swears in his head. Close! He’s so close!

He taps your hand on his eyes repeatedly, wanting you to take it off now. But you ignore it, pounding deeper instead as a response.

His body shrivels, and the next thing he knows, he’s screaming because of how good it is.

He’s blinded by the light when you finally allow him to see, his vision taking a while to adjust. The first thing he sees is how much he spills on the floor and how there’s still some coming out, dripping on his thighs.

“Would you look at that? My maid, creating a mess. Aren’t you supposed to be doing the opposite?”

He tries to turn around and almost slips, if not for your arms.

“Want to see, my baby?”

“Yes.” He answers.

Right after he says that, he feels himself getting lifted up, you still inside of him. A soft moan quickly escapes his lips. 

“W-Wait!” He complains, confused at what you’re doing.

That’s when he notices the mirror across the room. “No, you’re not actually thinking of—ah!”

You walk towards it all the while his legs are lifted and spread out. The movement has him bouncing on your cock despite still being sensitive from his first orgasm. It’s only a few steps. He can count how many you took with his fingers.

So, why is it that his body is responding too well to the point that he gets hard again?

“You alright there?” You ask him, his head still overwhelmed that he can’t hear you.

You blow on his ear and he looks at you annoyed.

“Why don’t you look in front of you before you pout at me?”

He stares at himself and looks away, having trouble maintaining eye contact with his own. The scene is so…passionate.

The way his skirt is lifted up to show his waist, his ripped stocking, and his flushed face. All the while you’re carrying him so lightly, your cock only halfway inside of him, wet from all the juices he’s leaking out.

Halfway? He questions himself. There’s no way you weren’t fully inside him earlier, right?

“What are you thinking?” You ask.

“N-Nothing!”

“Is that so?”

He whines at how you push further in, stretching his walls out fully. It’s way too big for him and he has no idea how he’s being able to take you so well. He watches the reflection as much as he could, despite his vision being blurry at most.

His body writhes at each slight movement that he makes, making him be reminded of the fact that he’s still being lifted up. He wants to say something, to speak about how you’re so mean to him for placing him in this position that you know will ruin him and his vocal cords. Yet, he doesn’t, knowing that’ll push you even further.

He’s so drunk and breathless, which doesn’t make sense considering you’re the one who’s been drinking the whole day.

You slowly pull yourself out to make space and Aether sobs. He sobs at how his walls clench onto you as if it depended on it, he sobs at how much pleasure this is giving him than what he expected.

He’s scared of what might happen after this. Of how his body will be affected by how much affection you’re giving it.

And then you thrust in. 

A loud whimper breaks out of him, and as the noises of skin slapping together get louder, so does he. 

Aether sings out pleas and how much you’re ruining his body, that he’ll never be able to take anybody else after this.

“You shouldn’t even be considering that, to begin with. You’re mine now, yes?”

And he hastily nods. Yours, of course.

He struggles to breathe, not knowing where to focus on when you’re pounding ruthlessly into him. His body feels so heavy and so brittle at the same time, You’re—

Aether’s thoughts get interrupted when you empty inside of him, filling him up. Warm, you’re so warm. 

He throws his head back as he reaches his second climax, everything draining out of him.

“Hah—give me—a sec…” He stutters out.

“Of course, should I pull out?”

“No, keep…keep it in.”

It took a while for Aether to recover. You suggested that you two should sit down but he immediately shuts that off once he remembered that warranted more movement. So, he stays there slightly lifted up, bearing the slight twitches of your cock.

You waited patiently, having a sight to look at just like this wasn’t exactly a complaint of yours.

He grabs your arms, lowering himself to the ground.

His legs aren’t exactly what you would call stable.

He moves on his own, pushing his body in and out. It’s slow, but it’s also gratifying at the same time. Some of your cum slips out with each push, being used as lubrication by your maid.

“You’re doing so well, keep it up.” 

“‘Love your cock.” He says.

“Hmm…I see that. Need some help?”

He nods embarrassingly. 

You position him to face you instead, making it a lot easier for him to work his way through.

It’s adorable how he hard he tries, his fingers are barely grabbing themselves onto you, in fact, you’re the one that’s the cause of Aether being to at least be on his feet.

He cries out loud as he hits that sweet spot of his, tongue lolling out from the pleasure. He’s tight and the movement is riling up the fire inside of you to use his body to your own accord. You fight against it, admiring at how much he’s trying to get that satisfaction without overwhelming himself from being too sensitive.

“That’s right, baby. Keep going. You’re so close aren’t you?”

“Mhm.”

He shudders at it, his core boiling to its brim. 

“Please don’t let me fall.”

“I would never.” You promise.

Aether goes at a quicker pace, from what strength he has still, and lets his lower half do all the work until he spills out again, breathless but finally satisfied.

Aether knocks on the door again, waiting for you to open it.

As usual, you carry a glass of alcohol in your hand. Although more clothed, ever since he got possessive that someone else might see you like this.

You smile, and he braces for the teasing.

“My, at this point I really have to ask. Do you enjoy getting ambushed by hydro slimes or is your memory that bad?”

Aether rolls his eyes. He needs to persuade you from having a proper path made to get here. “I need a shower.”

“Ah, I’ve set up a bath.” You offered.

“And I assume you’re coming with?” The blond snickers.

“Of course, I am. Like you even have to ask.”

[ladykailitha]

Paper Hearts Part 4

I finished it!! It will have 8 chapters. I'm excited for you guys to see where this goes! I'm still working on Sweet Home Indiana and will be focusing on that until ITS done. Then we'll be back our regularly schedule WIPs.

We have Eddie's big plan and Steve gets his flirt on.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

****

Steve slipped into the kitchen and there in his mother’s neat handwriting was a note telling him that there were leftovers in the fridge and that they would be home again next Friday.

He sighed and opened the fridge. He immediately closed it when he saw what the leftovers were.

Boiled cabbage with chopped bacon and carrots. It wasn’t bad if it was made correctly, but his mother boiled any flavor and nutrients out of the poor vegetables and then tossed in cooked bacon to hide its sins.

He opened the cupboard and pulled out a small can of Campbell’s chicken noodle soup and made that. He was craving the sodium. Eddie’s beef was good to get his body to stop shaking, but he had sweat so much he needed to replenish the salt he’d lost.

Once Steve had eaten and drank another glass of water he went to go get a shower and get ready for bed. It was no use trying to get back to his homework now. He had managed to blow up his whole evening by getting lost.

He had no idea how he got to Forest Hills or even why his feet carried him there in the first place. He could feel the weariness seeping into his bones from running for so long.

He undressed and got under the scorching water, letting the heat carry away his pains. His mind ran through all the things that Munson had done for him. The guy had no reason to be nice to him, but he had been more than gracious.

Then it hit him. Munson had called him Stevie, and without thinking Steve had called him Eds.

Eds.

Where the fuck did that come from? They weren’t friends, they could barely be considered acquaintances. Was his brain reaching out to the guy subconsciously? Is that why he ended up at the trailer park? Everyone knew that’s where Munson lived. Who knew how many times the guy had been called trailer trash, but the older teen seemed to rise above the insult.

Steve shook his head, spraying water everywhere. Just because Munson picked up lost sheep, didn’t mean he’d be willing to taken in an injured wolf. Because that’s what he was, reformed or not, Steve would never be a sheep. He would always be a wolf. A predator.

But at least as a wolf he could protect those kids with everything he had. And he would, even if it killed him.

The water had long since turned cold by the time Steve stepped out of the shower. He completed his after shower routine mostly on autopilot as he kept going over his interactions with both Munson men. He didn’t really have good interactions with dads or in this case uncles. But Munson’s uncle Wayne treated him with kindness and he could see where the older boy got it from.

He dressed into his pajamas and slid under the covers. He rolled over on his back and tucked one arm under his pillow, staring up at the ceiling.

Steve thought back to the apology. One Munson really didn’t have to give but did anyway. He thought about the other jocks that bragged about hurting his hand. He held it up and looked at the fading bruise. It wasn’t as though he was even basketball anymore. Hurting his hand wouldn’t do anything but make it hard to do his homework and all he had to do is show his teachers his hurt hand and he’d get extensions for that. Like he had for his concussion last November.

But then again Tommy H. never had reasons for the people he hurt either. He just liked the power he got seeing the person helpless.

He placed his hand over his heart and let himself drift off the sleep, brown eyes and dark curls haunting his dreams.

****

Eddie had originally bought the red heart for himself like he had told the two juniors. But staring at it now, he had a better plan for it. Because that last wall, that last bastion of defense crumbled to ashes when he realized that despite the fancy car, the big house, and the expensive clothes, Steve Harrington was more like Eddie than he thought possible.

Wayne’s approval of the boy cemented that for him. Because if he could take one look at Steve and decide he was worth saving, then Eddie raring to go full steam ahead for a rescue mission.

Eddie could tell that the hearts were made from simple construction paper, like the kind found just about anywhere. He knew it would be technically cheating to just simply make more instead of buying them, but he had no intention of contributing to a dance he was never going to go to because one, it wasn’t his year; two, the whole gay thing; and three, the one person he would want to go with if the gay thing wouldn’t get him hate crimed, wouldn’t give him the time of day.

Well, all right, that might have changed with the whole rescuing him from wandering alone in the dark thing.

He forgave Eddie about being a dumbass, so maybe there was hope for, at the very least, a vast decrease in hostility. And he was willing to take what he could get.

He decided to wait until tomorrow after school to get the construction paper and hope that the high school hadn’t bought up the town’s supply.

On his way out the next morning, Wayne stopped him.

“You don’t have to tell me, son,” he said gently, “but you got feelings for that boy?”

Eddie froze and turned slowly to face his uncle. “What gave you that idea?”

Wayne chuckled and shook his head fondly. “Boy, when you’d go on rants about the Harrington boy, you’d describe his floppy hair, his hazel eyes and how unfairly good looking the kid was. I didn’t say anything because it did sound like he’d been a bit of an ass. Only after last night I got to thinking and was wondering is all.”

Eddie closed his eyes and opened them slowly. He let out a long shuddering breath, his bottom lip quivering.

“I–I don’t...” he closed his eyes again. This wasn’t Al. He wasn’t going to get beat for admitting it, but still it was so hard to say. So he just nodded.

Wayne came up and wrapped his arms around his nephew. “It’s a hell of a lot tougher batting for the other team, but I trust your judgment. Just promise me that if he shows signs of liking you back, you take the chance to tell him how you feel because...”

“You miss one hundred percent of the chances you don’t take,” they said together.

Eddie dropped his bag to the floor and hugged him back. “I know, old man. But I promise if there is a chance, I’ll be brave enough to take it.”

“Get going,” Wayne said, voicing cracking with emotion.

He pulled back and nodded. He reshouldered his backpack and got in his van.

He had a lot to think about and that really wasn’t conducive to paying attention in class or to his friends as they talked about their upcoming D&D session.

Gareth kicked his shin causing him to yelp.

“What the fuck, dude?” Eddie hissed.

“What the fuck is up with you?” Gareth hissed back. “You’ve been going on and on about the mind flayer for weeks and now that it’s literally this weekend, and you’re off in some other realm.”

Eddie blinked at him for a moment before his brain came back on. He shook his head to clear it.

“Yeah, sorry, man,” he said around a pretzel. “Weird night last night.”

“What happened?” Jeff asked, tilting his head to the side.

So Eddie told them. “He was like a ghost, guys. If Wayne hadn’t seen him too, I would have thought I was hitting Mary Jane a little too hard, you know?”

“I didn’t realize he was getting bullied,” Brian said, frowning. “I would have thought with Hargrove giving the dude a wide berth, that everyone else would have too.”

“Untouchable,” Jeff agreed. “The fact that jocks are now splintering into factions tells you what kind of control Steve actually had on them.”

Eddie rubbed his chin. “I don’t know how true this is, but if Harrington wasn’t lying, he’s a real sweetheart, too.”

Then he leaned forward and explained about the pink heart scheme.

“So,” Gareth said, steepling his fingers and resting his chin on them, “you’re telling us is that we have been seriously remiss in our duties in collecting lost sheep.”

The older teen sighed and shook his head. “I’d like to collect him, but I’m afraid the wolves might decide to rip him apart before we got him to safety if we tried.”

Jeff winced. He knew what Eddie was talking about. Steve Harrington wasn’t the usual lost sheep. He might be bullied now, but as King, Harrington had run far too long with the wolves to think that they could protect him one hundred percent of the time.

“So what are we going to do?” Brian asked. “Because if we let this slide, we’re throwing our lot in with the bullies and that’s something I refuse to do.”

A grin spread out over Eddie’s face, closed lips and dimples entrenched into his cheeks. “We’re going to make the school think that he’s just as popular as he ever was.”

The other three boys looked at each other in confusion.

“So what have you got?” Gareth asked, his own grin starting to take over his face.

****

Eddie made sure to get to class early so he could see where Steve was going to sit. He tried to tell himself it was about the dude’s hand, but it wasn’t working. He wanted to see if the former Hawkins royalty would chose to sit with his old friends or by him again.

He didn’t have long to wait. Steve walked in not long after he did, just as the bell rang. He didn’t even look at his old desk near the front and beelined it for the chair he had sat in on Friday.

The teacher picked up on the change immediately and wrinkled her nose. “I am to suppose that you are taking up permanent residence in the back with Mr. Munson, Mr. Harrington?”

Steve half shrugged as he began to pull out his things for class. “I got more work done, Mrs. Dixon and I really want to graduate on time.”

Mrs. Dixon nodded. “Agreed and as long as you continue the level of attention from last week, you are permitted to stay there.”

About half way through class while Mrs. Dixon was grading papers, Tommy H. turned around and kicked Steve’s chair. “Suck up,” he hissed.

Steve puckered his lips and wagged his eyebrows. “Why? Do you want to be next?”

Tommy turned back around, his face bright red.

Eddie raised an eyebrow and cocked his head to the side as he considered everything about that interaction.

A little blossom of hope sprouted in his chest and he fought to keep it down. Steve had insinuated that other people were gay for years, but to Eddie’s highly trained gay ears, that sounded like Steve was offering to suck Tommy H.’s dick and that Tommy didn’t exactly turn him down.

Curiouser and curiouser, he thought tapping his lips thoughtfully. More research would have to be done.

He pulled out a different notebook, the one he used for campaign notes and song lyrics.

He wrote girls over one column and boys over the other and began tallying what he knew about the former King of Hawkins.

A shit ton went into the Steve liking girls column, but there was surprisingly more in the liking boys column then he would have thought possible. He looked up to catch Steve smirking at him.

Eddie quickly covered his notebook and stuck his tongue out at Steve.

The other boy shook his head and went back to doing the assignment. Eddie was more careful about what he left out in the open because he didn’t want Steve teased for it nor did he want him to see that Eddie was trying to figure him out.

The bell rang and the notebook was suddenly whisked off his desk.

“Hey!” Eddie cried, looking up to see Steve dancing away with the notebook teasingly. “Stevie!” He grabbed his bag and chased after the other boy. But the other boy was a jock and Eddie was wheezing for breath by the time he caught up with him at his locker.

“Give that back,” he huffed.

Steve gave him a bright smile and handed it back. “I just made a minor addition.”

Eddie frowned as he flipped through the pages but didn’t see anything. Steve took it back and turned to the correct page and leaned close so that only Eddie could hear.

“I trust you’ll keep my secret,” he whispered and then dropped to one knee to start getting into his locker.

Eddie gulped at the sight and turned to the paper to avoid saying something stupid. There in bold capital letters under his girls/guys columns was the word BOTH.

He looked up at Steve who had stood up. Steve winked at him and then walked away, leaving a shocked Eddie behind.

****

Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Tag List:

@mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @emly03

@spectrum-spectre @slv-333 @zerokrox-blog @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie

@chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @danili666

@goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

@vecnuthy @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @anne-bennett-cosplayer

@yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon @cinnamon-mushroomabomination

@dragonmama76 @scheodingers-muppet @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual

@fullpoetrybread @disrespectedgoatman @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @moonshadows-13

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@ravenfrog @dauntlessdiva @thelittleclare @steddieyourself @dam28lh

[dem-obscure-imagines]

You're So Timeless | Vol. 1

Steve Rogers x Reader

Fandom: MCU

Summary: In 1943, Steve Rogers was visited by his soulmate. He fell hard. Problem is, she was from the future and didn’t stick around for long. Now, in the twenty-first century, he finally found her again, except this version of her hasn’t met him yet and won’t know he’s her soulmate for another year. 

Note: So this is a combination of my other two Steve Rogers soulmate AU fics, but lengthened and fleshed out into a full fic. I was literally possessed to write this. I have no other explanation. I really like how it came out. I gave this one chapter headings (I am also going to post it to Ao3) and yes some are Taylor Swift titles. Sorry about that. It takes place roughly around the time Civil War would, but we have managed to avoid the war this time around. I also moved some other characters up the timeline because I think they’re neat and I said so. Without further ado, please enjoy my new Magnum Opus.

Also Tumblr made me split it into two parts. Part 2 linked HERE and also at the end of the post.

Warnings: Canon-typical violence/injuries, soulmate au, tons of mutual pining, kind of a slowburn but in reverse. Light angst, but a happy ending.

Word Count: 38.7k total (I am not sorry)

Reader Is: Enhanced (forcefields), 24 years old, female 

The End

Time.

It was a fickle thing. In the blink of an eye, a year had passed. A mere twelve months earlier, you had been living a different life. The only life you had been responsible for was your own. And your plants, but…they never seemed to last that long under your care. Now, everything was different.

It was the day before your birthday. Your twenty-fifth birthday, which, in the world you lived in, meant that tomorrow, a name would appear on your wrist, the name of your soulmate. It had been stressing you out all day, the weight of tomorrow and everything it meant.

It was late, and you were exhausted from a day of overthinking. The longer you stayed up, the longer you delayed the inevitable reveal, and thinking about it too much made you nervous, so you just decided to get to sleep sooner than later.

It was once you were just about to climb into bed that there was a knock at your door.

“It’s open!” You called. The door opened slowly, revealing Steve, who was leaning in your doorway, arms crossed, that pensive look in his blue eyes. “Oh, hey.”

“Hi.” He chuckled. He seemed nervous, although you weren’t sure why.

“Everything alright, Steve?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I actually came in here to check on you. Wanda said you were…quiet.”

“Yeah, you could say that.” You hugged your arms around your frame and bit your lip, looking up at the super soldier standing in front of you. “Just…I don’t know. I’ve been looking forward to tomorrow for my entire life, but…now that it’s here, I’m so scared.”

“Hey, come here.” He said, pulling you to him, strong arms wrapped around you, as if he could protect you from the future itself.

“I don’t know what to do…”

“(Y/N), whoever they are, they are incredibly, incredibly lucky. You don’t need to worry about anything. It’ll all work out. It always does.” He said it like he was certain. Like somehow he knew what would happen in the morning when suddenly your life was turned on its head and you had to venture out to find your other half.

Since you’d met him, Steve wore a leather band around his wrist, covering his soulmate’s name. You’d figured he must have met them in the forties and…maybe they hadn’t made it long enough to see him come out of the ice. But you didn’t ask about it. You never dared to put that question into words. He’d been through enough heartbreak already.

“What if they don’t like me…?”

He scoffed, holding you tighter. “That’s impossible. They’re going to love you. So much. I promise.”

“And…and we’ll still be f-friends?”

Steve pulled away, looking down at you, a hand very carefully touching your cheek. “Of course we will still be friends. Nothing is ever going to change that. I promise.”

You nodded, a tear slipping down your cheek. “Good. Thank you, Steve. For everything.”

He gently wiped the tear away, the pad of his thumb warm. Once he was sure you were okay, he let go, looking at you with that knowing sparkle in his eye once more. He took a little extra time to look at the shirt you were wearing, the Star Wars tee you’d had since high school. “See you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow.” You agreed.

“And happy birthday, (Y/N).”

We’ll Meet Again

“Ma’am? Are you alright? Ma’am?” The voice sounded far away. You were pretty sure you were still dreaming. You opened your eyes slowly and immediately became aware of the pounding pain in your head.

“Ow, oh my God.” You reached up and felt there, but it didn’t feel like you were bleeding or anything.

“Ma’am?”

You froze for a second, slowly looking up at the figure standing above you, confusion written all over his familiar features. It took you a long moment to put the pieces together. You were on a porch somewhere in what appeared to be New York, but it was…different. A lot different than the parts of the city you knew. Alright, it had to be a dream.

You looked up at the man standing above you and did a double-take. But no, it was him. It was a tiny, frail version of Steve. Your eyebrows furrowed and you sat up slowly, staring at him for a long moment before whispering, “Steve?”

His mouth opened and then shut again and he made a face of confusion, like he was trying to place where he knew you from, but he didn’t know you yet, and wouldn’t know you for several more years, to say the least. “Do I know you?”

“It’s complicated.” You exhaled. “Can we go inside? You’re going to need to sit down for this.”

Dumbfounded, Steve nodded and you stood up from the porch, only to find that he was at your eye level when you did. Weird. He led you into the small apartment and you looked around. It was quaint. There was an easel in the corner of the room and…Bucky Barnes sitting on the couch? You stared at him for a good, long moment, a shiver running down your spine.

“Who’s the dame?” He read your shirt. “What is Star…Wars…?”

“About to find that out myself.” He chuckled, leading you into the living room. “Buck, could you give us a minute?”

“I’ll be in the kitchen.” Bucky got up and walked to the other half of their tiny two-bedroom.

You sat down on the couch and so did he. The silence was thick. You thought for several moments. You weren’t quite sure how you had ended up in the 1940s. You looked down at your hands and it was then that your gaze finally landed on the writing on your wrist. And then everything made sense.

“What’s the date today?”

“It’s July 4th, why?”

“July 4th…” You whispered. “What, 1943?”

You could see the wheels turning behind his eyes before he replied, “Yes ma’am.”

“Well, happy birthday, first of all. And second of all…” You held up your wrist so he could read it. Steve’s eyes went wide and he stared at the three words written neatly on your skin in his own handwriting.

Steven Grant Rogers.

“You’re my…” He looked at you for a long time, his eyes wide. He hastily undid the cuff around his wrist and held it out to you, your own name written there. He ran a finger across the letters, as if to prove they were really there.

“I’m your soulmate.” You said certainly.

It hit you like a truck, then. The weird look on your Steve’s face, the way he was so certain that everything would work out. It was because he had already lived through this. And that meant that in all the time he’d known you, he’d been hiding his mark not because his soulmate had died, but instead because you were his soulmate and you didn’t know it yet.

Your entire year of friendship, of memories, of roadtrips and missions and movie marathons…he had known the whole time. And that look in his eyes wasn’t just his protective side coming out. It was love. It had been love the whole time.

Oh.

Steve exhaled a long, shaking breath, really taking you in. Once again, he had a million stars in his eyes. He let out a whispered, “Wow,” as tears began to form.

You came back down to earth. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” He chuckled, sniffling as a tear ran down his cheek. “I’ve just, I’ve got a lot of…health problems, so I wasn’t sure if I’d ever…meet you. And you’re here and you’re great and I just…I’m sorry.”

That brought tears to your eyes. “Oh, Steve…” You pulled him into your arms and he didn’t hesitate to surrender to your embrace, his arms wrapping tight around you and holding you close, head nestled into the crook of your neck. “Just breathe. It’s okay. I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

Always.

He took your advice, doing his best to avoid an asthma attack on what was shaping up to be the best day of his life. Once he finally caught his breath, he pulled away to look at your face again. “I have to ask…How did you know?”

“I don’t know if you can tell from these clothes,” you motioned down to the t-shirt and sweatpants you were wearing, “but I’m not from around here, exactly.”

“I kind of thought so, but I didn’t want to be rude.” He smiled softly. “Um, where are you from, then?”

“I’m from the future. Like…a while from now. It’s hard to explain why or how, and I’m not really sure how I got here, to be honest, but I’m glad I am.” You sighed, thumb grazing his cheek, wiping away his tears. He crooned at your touch. “I don’t know how long we have before I have to go back.”

“Am I there? Where you’re from?”

“You are. It’s complicated. We’re really good friends and…when I get back, I’m sure we’ll probably be even more than that.” You smiled, shaking your head. “I can’t believe I didn’t put the pieces together sooner.”

“(Y/N)?” Steve asked, trying out your name for the first time.

“Yeah?”

“Let me take you out today, show you a good time here before you have to go back.” He took your hand and carefully laced his fingers through your own, testing the weight of it, the feel of it.

You smiled. “I’d like that.”

“Not to eavesdrop, lovebirds — congratulations, by the way — but if you’re going to take her out, we’re going to need to find her some clothes that aren’t so…‘not from around here.’” Bucky leaned in the doorway.

“Yeah, I thought the same thing.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll call one of my girls and we’ll get her squared away. Sit tight.”

“Thanks, Bucky.” You said, chuckling when his eyes widened after you addressed him by name. “I know you, too. From the, uh, future.”

“Weird…” Bucky decided.

“Long story?” Steve asked, studying the look on your face.

“Very.” You agreed. After staring at him for another long moment, you pulled him back into your arms again, exhaling a long breath before whispering, “Steve, I’m so glad it’s you…”

***

“Wow.” You stared at yourself in the mirror, studying the way Bucky’s, ahem, lady friend, had curled your hair, done your makeup. You did a little twirl and relished in the way the skirt of your dress twirled. It was navy blue, short ruffled sleeves with a flared skirt and buttons down the front. “I think it suits me.”

“I agree. Blue is a good color on you.” Steve was sitting in a chair at the edge of the room, absolutely enamored as he watched you. “Although, I’m sure they’re all good colors on you, doll.”

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks. “Thanks.”

“I mean it.” He stood up and walked to you, slipping one of his hands into each of yours and staring into your eyes, looking at the way you looked standing next to him in his reflection. His soulmate. The kind of girl people write poems about. “You look great.”

“I don’t look out of place?”

“No one is gonna think you’re a time traveler. Well, unless you tell them.” Bucky said. “Maybe don’t do that anymore.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t planning on it.” You chuckled and gave Steve’s hands a squeeze. “Where to first, soulmate?”

His cheeks reddened as soon as you said the word. “Well, I was thinking we could go to my favorite little diner down the street to grab something for lunch, and then maybe we could take a walk through the park, catch a movie, and then go out for drinks tonight?”

“What, you aren’t gonna take her dancing?” Bucky teased, ruffling Steve’s hair under a large hand. “Show the girl a good time?”

“I would if I didn’t have two left feet.” Steve chuckled, a sheepish smile on his face. He looked at you, waiting for some kind of response. “How does that sound?”

“It sounds like a great time, Steve.”

He smiled. “Good.”

The two of you left the apartment not long after that, and walked side by side towards the diner. Your hands were swinging in the space between you and your hand brushed Steve’s once, twice, a third time, and then you slipped your hand into his, intertwining your fingers.

You caught him smile out of the corner of your eye. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah, of course it’s okay.” He grinned and chuckled to himself. “You can hold my hand as much as you want, doll.”

When the two of you finally got to the diner, a little bell rang over your heads and you got seated at a booth by the window. The two of you ordered drinks and you skimmed the menu while you waited.

“So, tell me about yourself.” You said, resting your chin against your fist and looking over at Steve. You studied the way his blue, blue eyes flicked up to your own and the blush that covered his cheeks shortly thereafter.

“You probably know a lot of it already.” He chuckled. “Unless we don’t talk a lot?”

“We talk quite a bit, but I still want to know about this you. Here and now.”

“I like art. Drawing and painting and stuff.” He said. “I haven’t had time to do much lately, but I’d like to get back into it.”

“See, that I didn’t know.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I didn’t know you were into art.”

“I could, uh, show you sometime.” He offered.

“I’d like that.” You smiled. “What else?”

“I like to read. I like going to Dodgers games with Bucky. One time he took me to Coney Island. I don’t like rollercoasters, but I liked playing the games. He wasted three whole dollars trying to win a teddy bear for a redhead named Dot.”

“Three whole dollars…” You chuckled. “Well you don’t have to worry about the rollercoasters too much, I can’t go upside down without throwing up.”

“That makes two of us. Enough about me, tell me about you.” Steve nudged, his hand slowly moving towards yours. “How do we know each other? When did we meet?”

“We’re…coworkers, I guess you could say. We met about a year back and now we live in the same building? I’m sorry for being so vague, I just—”

“Don’t want to give it away, yeah, I get it.” He nodded, understandingly.

“You took me under your wing as soon as I moved in and really made me feel welcome. You’re the one that brought me onto the team, actually.” You took a sip of your drink. “We’ve been through a lot together already, and I’m sure it’s just the tip of the iceberg.”

“Mmm…” Steve nodded. “I know I just met you, but I’m really glad you and I are close. Well, will be close.” He paused before chuckling and shaking his head. “There’s still some little voice in the back of my head telling me all of this is just some amazing dream.”

“That doesn’t even begin to cover it.” You chuckled, tucking a piece of curled hair back behind your ear. “I’ve…I’ve had a crush on you forever, Steve. I can’t believe this is happening.”

He stared at you, almost dumbfounded. “O-on me?”

“Yeah.” You agreed. You’d forgotten, you supposed, that Steve had had this phase, the self-depreciation, the insecurity. Your Steve, when complimented, was shy, sure, but you knew he understood what people were talking about. This Steve didn’t see it that way. Not yet. But it would be your job to use your one day with him to change that, to make your soulmate see that he was worthy of love, even self-love. “Yeah, of course on you, Steve. I can’t believe I get to have you.”

His cheeks reddened and he finally took the leap, taking your hand across the table, thumb grazing your knuckles with care. His blue eyes sparkled. “Funny. I was gonna say the same thing about you.”

***

Once the two of you were finished up at the diner, you took a walk through the park. It was gorgeous out, a bright, sunny, warm summer afternoon. Several couples were strolling down the paths, hand in hand, and you were one of them, your hand held tight in Steve’s, his thumb gently stroking the back of yours.

You went to the theater and caught a movie together. Luckily enough, they were showing the Wizard of Oz. Your current situation had you feeling like Dorothy in more ways than one. The movie had only come out four years earlier, which was definitely strange. Not to mention the fact that the tickets were only twenty-five cents, the popcorn a mere ten cents.

And then, once the movie was over and the sun was setting, you went to a bar, where Steve ordered each of you a drink. You took a sip of yours, something sweet, and smiled at him across the table.

“So, how’s your day been, birthday boy?” You asked coyly.

“The best I’ve had so far,” he replied, his eyes sparkling. The sparkle faded, however, when his expression grew somber. He hesitated, but then asked, “Okay, I have to know…How long do I have to wait to see you again?”

You exhaled a long sigh, biting your lip. If you told him the truth, he might ask questions you couldn’t tell him the answers to. And besides, the real answer would require some math. You didn’t know the specifics.

“I’ll be honest, Steve, it’s…it’s a pretty long time.” You thought for a long moment before continuing, “I…I can’t really tell you why. It’s all really complicated, and if I tell you too much, it might not happen the way it’s supposed to.”

“Oh…” Steve nodded and took a sip of his drink. Once he set down the glass, he reached across the table and took your hand. “Well, however long it is,” he looked straight into your eyes and a chill ran down your spine, “It’ll be worth it. Every second. I promise.”

You could have cried. “I hope so.”

“There you two are! I was wondering which bar you’d wandered into!” Bucky was, apparently, already slightly intoxicated as he approached you and Steve with a date of his own. “How was your day on the town, lovebirds?”

“Spectacular.” You replied. “I wish there was more time to soak it in.”

“New York sure is something, huh?” Bucky’s date asked, giggling innocently. If only she knew the half of it.

“Yeah, you could say that.” You laughed and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear.

“You guys wanna sit with us?” Steve asked.

“If you don’t mind too much, punk.” Bucky grinned.

Steve got up and switched sides of the booth so he was sitting next to you instead of across from you. You slid your hand into his, intertwining your fingers. He smiled, chuckling softly to himself as he gave your hand a squeeze.

“Did you give the lady her dance, Rogers?” Bucky asked, smirking.

“Not yet.” Steve chuckled. “We’ll see. The asthma makes it a bit difficult sometimes.”

“Never seems to stop you from getting into fights.” Bucky muttered, causing Steve’s cheeks to flush.

“Just wait until the band plays something slow,” Bucky’s date pointed out.

“There you go!” Bucky raised his glass to his lips. “Great idea, Maggie.”

“Glad to be of service.”

And so, the four of you chatted until the band started to play something sweet and slow. Steve looked at you for approval and you nodded. He led you out onto the floor with the other couples.

Steve blushed, flustered, and he looked at you before saying, “I don’t know how to do this.”

“It’s easy.” You promised, guiding one of his hands to your waist and holding the other. “That’s it. And then we just move to the music. You can twirl me around if you feel so inclined.”

“Alright.” He chuckled, swaying in time with you. “Hey, uh, (Y/N), I need you to know…I had a really, really great time today. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted in a soulmate and I’m so excited to spend the rest of my life with you someday, however far away that someday is.”

“I’m glad I met your expectations.” You smiled, tugging him a bit closer.

“No, you exceeded them. You’re better than anything I could have imagined. I’m so lucky.” He paused, and his expression fell a little. “I know I’m a lot. I have a lot of problems and they might complicate things sometimes, but…”

“Steve, you’re perfect.” You shook your head and leaned forward, resting your forehead against his. “The universe gave you to me for a reason and I’m so, so glad it did. You’re amazing. I can’t think of anyone better to spend the rest of my life with.”

He was quiet for a moment before whispering, “Can I please kiss you, doll?”

You leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips, the music swelling around you as you guided his hands to your waist, cupping his cheeks to hold him close to you. When the moment had passed, you rested your nose against his, meeting his eyes and inhaling his scent, committing this version of him to memory before he was reduced to just that, a memory.

“Steve Rogers, I am so sorry you will not hear me say these words until after I go back tomorrow, but I love you. I have loved you for a very long time. And I know I will love you for the rest of my life.”

You spent the rest of the night together. Twirling across the dancefloor, talking, soaking each other in. But when you reached the front porch of the townhouse, Steve looked back down the steps to find you’d disappeared, leaving him with nothing but the memory of your lips, your laugh, your smile.

“You gonna be alright?” Bucky asked, a hand on his shoulder.

“I don’t know.” He replied, words swallowed up by the sounds of the night. “Just give me a minute, pal.”

Bucky nodded, solemn. “Take all the time you need.”

The Beginning

Steve remembered the day you’d met—for the second time, though he didn’t realize it right away—like it was tattooed on his brain. It was a few years after he’d come out of the ice and he had taken Tony’s advice to get out more, which had led him to the local mall.

It had been an uneventful day. He strolled around the perimeter, taking in the storefronts, studying the fashion, browsing the menu of a pretzel place, reading the posters on the exterior of the movie theater, the things that were coming out in the coming months. Nothing interested him in particular. He didn’t really care for war movies.

After a few quiet hours, his peaceful walk was interrupted by screams, people running away at top speed, which, of course, caused him to spring into action, assessing the situation. He ran towards the source of the chaos, scanning, scanning, until his eyes landed on the attacker, a guy with a flamethrower, aimed at a teenage theater employee. Steve hurdled over a trash can, moving people out of the way, directing them to safety and trying to put himself between himself and the mallgoers, but before he could, you did, hands out in front of you and what seemed to be an invisible shield poised there, redirecting the flames and protecting the movie theater employee that had nearly been caught in the crossfire.

A quick flick of your wrist knocked the attacker’s gun out of his hands and it slid across the floor to Steve’s feet. He chucked it into the fountain without a second thought, where it fizzled pathetically. The guy lunged at you with heavy metal gauntlets, and you dodged the first swing but caught the second in the face, falling backwards. When you landed, however ungracefully, you sent a blast of energy at the guy, knocking him over a plant and sprawling onto the tile floor.

While the guy was on the ground, Steve tackled him, wrenching the gauntlets off of his hands and chucking them away, too. Soon, the police arrived, apprehending the guy while mall security comforted the distressed mall patrons, ushering them to safety and medical attention.

You sat on a bench after, breathing heavy, a cut on your forehead. Steve walked over, interested in this superpowered rescuer, someone who wasn’t yet on the Avengers’ radar, but would most definitely be on the news the next day if the sheer amount of phone footage recorded was any indication.

“Are you alright, ma’am?” He asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just glad everyone is okay.” You told him, meeting his eyes.

He finally got a good look at you and froze, looking bewildered. A deer in headlights. “You’re…”

There you are, doll. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.

It was you. Of course it was you. Since the moment he’d been unfrozen, he’d been looking for you. His soulmate. The girl from the future that popped in on his twenty-fifth birthday, turned his whole life on its head, and then left without warning, hours after their first kiss. Back when he was five-foot-nothing with asthma and more medical conditions than he could even remember.

Back before he was anything.

And you’d loved him anyway. You’d given him the day of a lifetime and hope for not only a future, but for love. That someone could love him for him despite it all.

“I know.” You knew? “I…I don’t know what it is or…why I can do it. I’ve been like this since college.”

Your powers, you meant. You thought he was talking about your powers and not your name, which was burning a hole into his wrist beneath the thick leather band keeping it hidden.

“Right. Well, it’s…” He sighed, gathering his words, hiding the elation and pain behind a warm smile. “It’s a good thing you were here. I don’t have my shield on me.”

“Mine is built in.” You chuckled.

“You, uh…have a cut. On your forehead.”

“Oh, do I?” You reached up and found it with your fingers and they came away a bit bloody. “Shit.”

“Come on.” He offered you his hand and you took it, letting him lead you over to the counter of the theater. “Hi, do you have a first aid kit we could borrow?”

“Yeah, of course.” The girl at the counter said, rushing to grab it.

Steve patched you up with gentle hands, off in a corner on your own, in the room the theater used for birthday parties. Staring up at him, you finally realized the obvious. This was Captain America. And he was using a careful finger to spread a triple antibiotic ointment on your cut.

Play it cool, (Y/N).

“Do you do this often? The hero thing?” Steve asked, trying to sound somewhat indifferent. He couldn’t be, though. Not entirely. Not when it came to you.

“No.” You shrugged. “Haven’t had much opportunity, thankfully. I mean…I’d like to, I just didn’t know how to…get into it, I guess. Any email I sent to Stark or S.H.I.E.L.D. or whatever would end up on a slush pile.”

“Well, I’ve got some connections. If you’re seriously considering it. I can’t say I recommend it, but…Obviously you’ve got that protective instinct and you seem to work well under pressure.”

“I don’t know about that. My heart is about to leap out of my chest.” You admitted, laughing as he carefully laid a Bandaid over the cut, closing the kit.

“That makes two of us.”

“Well, if you think I’m really cut out for it…I’d love to help.”

***

It was three days later that Nick Fury got in touch with you. You thought it was a scam call at first, but no one else would possibly have the info about you that he did. That was S.H.I.E.L.D. for you, you supposed.

You packed up your apartment, your boxes of books, your old journals, your clothes and makeup, your life, and hopped in the jet that was waiting for you at the meeting place. Inside was a pilot with flaming red hair, Natasha Romanoff. The Black Widow. It was hard not to get a little starstruck.

She helped you load your things into the jet, let you settle into the copilot seat, and then you took off, soaring away from your old life and towards your new one, the mysterious, magnificent facility tucked into upstate New York, that iconic A emblazoned on the front of the building.

“Steve said you’re telekinetic. That’s cool.” She complimented with a smirk.

“Yeah, I’ve got force-field stuff. I don’t know what else, exactly.”

“Oh, we’ll figure all that out. Banner already has a list of tests he wants to run. Nothing too intense. I made him promise not to give you the lab rat treatment too soon.”

“Reassuring.” You chuckled.

“Wanda’s been decorating your room all day. It’s not often we get new blood.”

“I appreciate it. I can’t wait to meet everyone.”

“They can’t wait to meet you.”

The jet landed a little under an hour later and Natasha helped you haul boxes towards the front door, where Steve was waiting. It was like time slowed, that look in his eyes, glistening little stars.

“Come on, Rogers, these boxes aren’t going to move themselves.” Nat waved him over, snapping both of you out of your trance.

“Right, right.” He jogged over. “Is there anything heavy?”

“That one.” You pointed. “It’s got my candles in it.”

“On it.”

You grabbed a few tote bags, slinging your computer bag over your shoulder. A few others came out to help, Clint and Wanda namely, the latter of whom used her shimmering red powers to speed the process along. Were you any more confident in your own powers, you would do the same, but you hadn’t had much opportunity to use them yet, and you didn’t want to drop anything fragile on your first day.

You started unpacking the essentials, your smart speaker, your laptop, some books and your favorite candle. You put some clothes in the dresser, hung some up in the large sliding closet in the wall. Upon further examination, you had your own bathroom, too, which was nice. There was a wall tapestry with sunflowers on it, and several little knickknacks. Wanda’s loving touch.

Someone cleared their throat and you turned to find Steve there, arms crossed, leaning in the doorway.

“Hi there, um, just checking in. Figured you might want a tour when you got settled in. No rush, of course.”

“I would love a tour. I can already tell I’m gonna get lost in this place.”

He grinned. “Not on my watch. Come on. I’ll show you around.”

Steve walked with you through the office spaces, the computer labs, Bruce’s lab, Tony’s. Tony was in the city, but Bruce was home and introduced himself with a dad joke about the Hulk and a warm handshake. You saw the training facility, a giant room with floor to ceiling windows, a wall of mirrors, practice dummies, landing mats, and plenty of sparring weapons. There was, separately, a fully furnished gym, and then the basics, a large, modern kitchen, living areas and lounges, study spaces, a library, a party room with a bar, and a very fancy coffee machine.

You could see yourself making a home here.

Steve walked you back to the hallway where all the bedrooms were. “If you need anything or have any questions, my room is just down the hall on the left. Wanda is next door. Dinner is at six.”

“Six o’clock it is. Thank you, Cap.”

“You can call me Steve.”

“Steve.” You nodded, slowly accepting the fact that you were now on a first name basis with Captain America. “And you can call me (Y/N).”

“Nice to meet you, (Y/N).” He said, some twinge of nostalgia at the end of his words. You turned back into your room to get some more unpacking done and Steve walked back down the hall, taking a deep breath and looking up at the ceiling, doing his best to hold in his tears.

…Ready For It?

You spent the first few days in your room for the most part, unpacking but also hiding, if you were honest. You met Vision. He seemed nice. He also had the ability to phase through walls, apparently. Still no sign of Thor, but you weren’t holding your breath. You were sure he was a busy guy.

Sam Wilson introduced himself with the same offer everyone else had so far, to let them know if you needed anything. You appreciated it.

And then, finally, there was Tony, whose dry humor came across immediately. He sized you up, drilling questions about where you went to college, what you majored in, what your top three movies from the 1980s were. You were pretty sure he liked you, but you didn’t think he trusted you. And that was okay. You knew that was something you’d have to earn around there.

“No soulmark yet, kid?” He asked, eyeing up your bare wrist.

“Not yet.” You confirmed.

“That makes you what, twenty-three? Twenty-four?”

“Twenty-four. As of last month, actually.”

“Okay.” He nodded. “Well that’s exciting. I’m sure you’re counting down the days.”

“More or less.” You chuckled, catching Steve watching you out of the corner of your eye. He did that a lot, you noticed.

Before Tony could come up with some witty comeback, the lights flashed red, accompanied by a loud siren.

“Vis? What’s going on?” Tony asked as Vision walked into the room, his sophisticated sweater melting into the uniform you’d seen on the news, red and green with a golden cape.

“There seems to be a stir at the local fairgrounds. Tremors and gunshots. Hostages.”

“Alright, let’s go pay them a visit then.” Tony pressed a button on his watch and transformed into Iron Man in front of your very eyes. “You can stay here or come with us. Up to you. But suit up fast. We’re out in five.”

You stood there for a moment, waiting for the shock to wear off, but the sirens definitely weren’t helping.

“Stick with me.” Steve instructed, voice calm, confident.

“Okay.” You nodded, following after him, towards the hangar where they kept the jets.

Natasha was standing at a locker, pulling her catsuit on with impressive speed, Clint beside her, loading a quiver with arrows, checking his bow.

“Nat, can you get her ready?”

“Baby’s first mission?” She asked, impressed.

You nodded, waiting for orders.

“Well, it should be an easy one, from the sound of it. Here, put this on. We’ll get you your own gear in the next few weeks.”

She chucked you an extra suit and you did your best to shimmy into it. Surprisingly, you could actually move in it. There were holsters, but you weren’t gun trained, so you figured it was best to leave that to the professionals. Instead, you followed the others onto the jet, hoping your forcefields and blossoming battle instincts would be enough to protect you out there.

***

The fair had devolved quickly into madness. There was fire, screaming, running, and gunshots. You flinched at the onslaught of it, but followed the others out anyway, listening to the voice in your earpiece, Steve’s voice, as he issued orders. You were put on civilian evacuation with Sam while the others engaged with the attackers. Six of them.

You did your job diligently, ushering people to a safe distance while law enforcement arrived. Until one of the attackers engaged with you, however, mistaking you for a civilian. Something snapped. In an instant your flight instinct vanished, replaced with the need to fight. He punched at you and you countered, sweeping a leg under him and then using a forcefield to knock him into the cornfield.

One of them launched a bazooka at Tony while he wasn’t looking, and without a thought, you trapped the explosive in a bubble, forcing it into the air where it exploded harmlessly, away from everyone.

And when the dust settled, the rest of the team turned to look at you, sharing looks with each other.

“Thanks for the save, kid. I owe you one.” Tony complimented, clapping you on the back on his way into the jet. “Let’s get something to eat. I’m starving.”

Your heart raced with the adrenaline of battle, the feeling of a job well done. Steve gave you a thumbs-up, a proud grin. His risk had paid off. You weren’t a total failure.

“You doin’ okay?” He asked, slinging his shield onto his back.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You replied, letting the energy fizzle back into your palms.

He watched with interest at the faint crackles of blue that made up your powers. “You did good out there.”

You felt your cheeks flush. “Thanks, I—"

“Alright new girl, were are we stopping for food?” Natasha asked, slinging an arm around your shoulders.

“I get to pick?” You asked with a laugh.

“And don’t be afraid to pick something fancy. It’s Tony’s treat.” Clint added, walking with the rest of you onto the jet. You strapped in while the others tried their darndest to influence your pick, bickering like siblings. Like your family.

Yeah, you could get used to this.

Waypoint

Your training started shortly after that first mission. Bruce took all your vitals, measured them before, during, and after use of your powers. He recorded said powers with every device known to man until he had your ability down to a science. He had a hunch they were of cosmic origin, but you had no idea when you could have possible come in contact with something like that.

Next came a uniform. At the moment, it was a dark indigo color, something similar to navy blue, but leaning a bit more purple. The chest area was left blank, Tony claiming he’d add a symbol once his graphic design team came up with something. He did add some accents up the arms and down the legs, thin, light blue lines that matched the color of your powers.

Natasha and Clint gave you a few crash courses on weapons and your aim left a bit to be desired, but your hand-eye coordination wasn’t bad. Sam put you on a modified military workout regimen to get in shape, get your stamina up with the rest of the team.

You practiced making forcefields, seeing how big you could make them, how small, how much force they could endure before they broke. Natasha shot some bullets at them, and your fields caught them, allowing you to kill their momentum and drop them harmlessly to the ground. They could withstand some electricity, but not Wanda’s powers. And they held against Steve’s superstrength, but not for long. Still, a few hits from a supersoldier was more than most could endure, so it would buy you some time in the field.

Eventually, you moved on from just forcefields and started learning to move objects. It turned out, you were not limited to bubbles. You could create platforms underneath things. This evolved into creating platforms underneath people, that they could jump on, or ride on top of while you moved them.

You practiced using them for transport too, but it was harder standing on them while controlling them, especially if you tried to jump from platform to platform. It was a bit like patting your head and rubbing your tummy, and it would take a lot of practice.

There weren’t many missions, and the ones that popped up, you didn’t get sent on. They were high level things, and while your powers were improving, and very quickly, Bruce was always quick to reassure you, you weren’t ready for covert ops yet, especially ones that had been months in the making.

Every time Steve got sent off, he left with that sad little half-smile of his, the one where he pressed his lips together, eyes glittering like a lake under moonlight. He’d give you some words of comfort, usually dealing with how short the mission was supposed to be. It didn’t often make you feel better.

Bruce stayed behind with you, most times. More like all of the times. Code Greens, as they were called, were seldom necessary, and besides, as they had learned with Wanda back during the Ultron days, Bruce could be a liability if someone else got in his head. But it was nice not being completely alone in the big empty facility.

“He always looks so sad when he leaves.” You noted, sipping from a mug of warm tea. Steve had left only moments before, the last member of the team that was shipping out.

Bruce thought about it for a moment. “Does he?”

“Oh. I don’t know. Maybe I don’t know him that well.” You shrugged, the sounds of Animal Crossing resonating from the TV.

“You know, he has, lately. He didn’t used to.” Bruce noted.

“Weird.”

“Uh-huh.” He replied absentmindedly. “So explain to me this game?”

“Okay, so you move to this island and have to spend all your money paying off debt to this raccoon…”

It was in another training session that there was a malfunction. A shock grenade went off dangerously close to Sam. Before you could even process what you were doing, your hand shot out, a bright, pulsating star crackling in front of him, another, second star on the other side of the room. Steve assessed the situation and used the shield to knock Sam into the star, neutralizing the grenade right after. There was a bright flash and Sam appeared on the other side of the room, tumbling out of the second star.

You froze, curling your fingers and closing both of them. There was a slight pinch in your shoulder, near the base of your neck. The others all stared.

“Wait, what was that?” Bruce asked over the intercom.

“You did that?” Steve asked, motioning to Sam as he walked over.

“I think so.”

“What was that?”

Natasha asked, looking you up and down. Sam stared at you like you’d sprouted a third eye.

“I don’t know.”

“Do it again.” Bruce insisted. “Hang on, I’m coming in there.”

The door from the observation room opened and Bruce joined the rest of you in the circle that was steadily forming, all of them watching you, waiting.

“I don’t know, it was just like…” You focused on that feeling again, the desperation to get Sam the hell away from that grenade, and as though you were punching a hole through reality, it opened in the center of the circle, an eight-pointed star, bobbing and ebbing and flowing, made of the light blue energy you were so familiar with.

Carefully, you opened another one, ten feet in the air above the first. Clint shrugged and chucked a tennis ball into it. Sure enough, it popped up to the second one, before falling down through the first one again. This continued until eventually you closed the bottom one, letting the tennis ball bounce harmlessly across the floor.

“Well shit.”

“Waypoints.” Bruce said, deep in thought. “Teleportation. This…this opens up a lot of doors.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” Steve murmured.

“Hey, that’s kind of cool. Waypoint.” Clint said, drawing attention to it. “What do you think?”

“What, like as a codename?” You asked, weighing it as an option.

“I like it.” Sam grinned. “Waypoint.”

“Waypoint.” You repeated, trying it out. Hi, I’m Waypoint. I’m an Avenger.

It sounded silly, but it was getting more official by the day. There was, of course, only one way to make it official official, and that was with one of Tony Stark’s famed parties…

Wonderstruck

You let out a sigh, staring at your reflection in the mirror. It was the night of the big party. Your first, as an Avenger, and the official induction of what Tony was deeming the second class of Earth’s Mightiest Heroes, Sam: the Falcon, Wanda: the Scarlet Witch, Vision, and You: Waypoint.

He’d gotten you a dress to wear, one that matched your uniform. It was long, sleek, that navy blue/indigo color. It glittered like stars and moved like a dream. And in the middle of it, poised at the base of the sweetheart neckline, was the eight-pointed star that Tony had turned into your symbol.

Your hair and makeup were done, and all that was left was the zipper.

Someone knocked on the door.

“It’s open!” You called, expecting Natasha or Wanda. Instead, it was Steve, who, when he saw you were unzipped, pulled the door almost all the way closed and shielded his eyes with his hand.

“Sorry! I’ll leave—”

“Wait, actually, could you help me zip this up? I can’t reach.”

Steve nodded, slowly lowering his hand and entering the room. He closed the door behind him to give you some privacy. He was dressed in a sharp black suit with a blue tie. His lapel pin looked like a tiny version of his shield.

“Wow…” He murmured, taking you in. “You look great, (Y/N).”

“You think so? I’m not sure blue is really my color…”

He scoffed. “It most certainly is.” He swept the hair off of your shoulder, meeting your eyes in the reflection in the mirror as he gently pulled the zipper higher until it was secure in place. “In more ways than one.”

“Yeah, guess so.” You agreed, nervous energy crackling around your fingers, blue as ever. You dispelled it, snapping out of it.

Steve looked at the two of you in the mirror for a long time before turning towards the door again. Halfway there, though, he turned back around, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a flat velvet box. “This is, um…for you.”

“Oh! Thank you.” You reached for it, heart racing. Inside was a necklace, its pendant a silver star with eight points. In the center, an aquamarine gem. You gasped, looking at it. It was beautiful, delicate. “Steve, this is beautiful. Thank you so much.”

“It’s the least I could do.” He said, offering his hand. “May I?”

“Please.” You said, handing him the necklace and moving your hair out of the way. He did the clasp behind your neck. It settled between your collarbones.

“There. Now it’s official.” He whispered.

“Almost.”

“Almost.” Steve agreed, offering you his elbow. “Right this way.”

You looped your arm through his, letting him lead you out into the initial murmurs of the party. What Natasha dubbed the “extended family” had shown up. Rhodey, Maria Hill, Nick Fury, Happy Hogan, Pepper Potts, and, of course, Thor.

He was a sight, that was for sure. He towered over everyone else at 6’5”, arms the size of tree trunks. It was a bit intimidating to say the very least.

“Rogers!” Thor bellowed.

“Thor! I didn’t think you were coming.”

He grinned. “I never miss a feast.” His eyes fell on you. “And you must be this new team member Banner spoke of.”

“I’m (Y/N). It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“The honor is mine.”

“Here.” Natasha handed you a champagne flute. She eyed up your necklace. “That’s cute.”

“Steve gave it to me.”

She quirked an eyebrow and looked up at the supersoldier, who still had your arm. “Steve has good taste.”

“Steve had help.” He admitted, smiling sheepishly.

“I’d get you one too, Rogers, but Thor has the strong stuff.” Natasha said, patting his other arm while you took a sip of the champagne. It was sweet, tangy. “God’s favorite boy scout has trouble getting drunk.”

“My tolerance is too good.”

“I think we just need to get you a Four Loko. Or two.”

“A what?” Steve asked.

“It’s like four drinks in one can. They’re insane. I tried in college, but tapped out halfway through.”

He considered it for a moment, letting out a laugh. “See, that just might work.”

Tony wandered around the lounge, greeting everyone. He looked you up and down. “You look beautiful, Portal Girl.”

You internally chuckled. The others had advised you not to feed his ego when he used his nicknames. “Thank you, Tony.”

“And you’re also here, Rogers.”

“Tony.” Steve nodded.

“You her date tonight?” He asked, motioning to your joint arms.

“Oh. Yeah, I suppose I am.” Steve agreed, not budging. Neither were you.

“Well, I hope you’ve taken some dance lessons since last time, Rogers. I’m sure (Y/N) wouldn’t want to have her feet walked all over.”

Steve chuckled and rolled his eyes as Tony moved onto his next targets. Sam emerged, looking very sharp in a red suit. Even Vision had dressed up for the occasion, Wanda beside him wearing an elegant red dress. The two of them talked and laughed on the other side of the room and you smiled. You could tell when you moved in that he cared about her.

You wondered if robots could have soulmates, too. If any android had a soul, surely it was Vision. Maybe you’d ask him about it sometime.

Once all of the expected guests were accounted for, Tony did the briefest ceremony in the history of ceremonies, introducing you all to the few members of the press he had allowed to come. You spent the beginning of the evening shaking hands, networking, and then once the strangers left, the real party started.

Nat switched you to something a lot stronger to champagne, and she was running the bar, so it was easy to get refills. Clint and Thor were arm wrestling on one of the tables which was…hilarious, admittedly.

Steve found you after a few hours apart. “Hey, will you be my partner?”

“Sure, for what?”

He laughed, loosening up quite a bit with Thor’s Asgardian mead in his system. “Sam and Bruce are trying to teach me how to play Beer Ball or something.”

“Beer Pong?”

“That one, yeah.” He nodded. “Winners play Clint and Nat.”

“That checks out.” You chuckled. “Yeah, I’m game. I haven’t played since college, though.”

“I haven’t played ever so I’m sure you’re a step ahead of me anyway.”

“We’ll see about that. Your physics skills are pretty good, what with the shield and all.” You complimented, earning that charming smile of his. “We might just give them a run for their money.”

“Enough flirting, kids, get over here.” Bruce grinned as he finished lining up the cups.

“You know how to play Beer Pong?” You asked, plucking a ping pong ball off of the table and fiddling with it.

“Kid, I have seven PhDs. I have played my share of Beer Pong.” Bruce admitted.

You couldn’t help but smile at that. It was nice to see the Avengers loosen up like this, have a good time together, really truly bond.

You gave Steve the basic rundown of the rules: no elbows past the edge of the table, balls back, stoplight, island, and that if you let Sam and Bruce get too many cups, you and Steve would get “schwaisted” as the kids said, or, at the very least, you would. Steve would probably be fine.

“Ladies first.” Sam said, giving you the second ping pong ball, one of which, you handed to Steve.

“You’re gonna regret that.” You said, rubbing the ball between your hands before perfectly bouncing it into the cup at the front of the pyramid. “Your turn, Steve.”

“Don’t mind if I do.” He said, sinking the ball into the same cup. “I believe that’s three cups, gentlemen.”

Sam’s jaw dropped. He shared a look with Bruce. “Maybe this was a bad idea.”

“You’re telling me.” Bruce chuckled, retrieving the ping pong ball and rolling it back. He started drinking the contents of the first cup, leaving the other two to Sam. “Alright, do your worst.”

Needless to say, you wiped the floor with the other two. Barely even gave them a chance. Which is why it was only fair that Clint and Natasha kicked the absolute shit out of the two of you.

You struggled to down your third cup, which is why when you reached for the fourth, Steve shook his head and took it from you, only offering a wink when you opened your mouth to protest.

“Hey! Steve, it’s supposed to be five each.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, she already finished hers.” Steve shrugged, chugging another like it was water. “Right, (Y/N)?”

“Yeah absolutely. What he said.” You shrugged.

You helped clean up the mess a bit after the game was over, rounding up empty cups, wiping down the table, and then washing your hands as Tony switched the music to something upbeat, dancing music.

“Come on, let’s dance.” Steve urged, clearly toeing the line between tipsy and drunk. He reached out for your hand and you couldn’t resist. You didn’t even try.

You let him lead you out to the middle of the room, where Wanda and Vision were already dancing together and looking adorable doing it.

“I thought you couldn’t dance.” You laughed as he spun you around to the music.

“I’m a quick learner.” He whispered, mouth against your ear.

You swore your entire body flushed red, but you let your feet lead you through the dance. Steve took both of your hands, swinging you out and then back in, spinning you around. You blamed the alcohol on what happened next. Your heel caught on the fabric of your dress and you fell over the back of one of the couches, tugging Steve down with you.

He laughed, using an arm to push himself off of you, hovering, eyes soft. “Sorry.”

“It’s my fault. You’ve got me falling for you, Rogers.” You murmured, gazing up at him through your eyelashes.

You said it as a joke, a quip, but there was some truth in it. More than some. It had been a magical, magical night. And if it weren’t for the leather cuff on his wrist, you could see yourself spending the rest of your life with him.

Steve closed his eyes, smiling and sitting up, helping you upright again. “I’ll go get us some water.”

You sighed and sat back against the couch, heart hammering in your chest.

Natasha perched on the armrest, looking down at you. “What was that?”

“Not sure. I think I fumbled the bag. If…if there even was a bag I guess.” You chuckled, shrugging.

“No, there is something there. I can see it.” Natasha said, thinking as she nursed a glass of wine. “Hmmm…”

Steve stood in the kitchen, getting two glasses of filtered water from the fridge. He exhaled a deep sigh, leaning against it. He replayed the moment in his head over and over. The look in your eyes, the way your necklace glimmered in the light, the sound of your voice, the flush of your cheeks. You were catching feelings for him, that much was clear. He wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing.

Steve Rogers, I am so sorry you will not hear me say these words until after I go back tomorrow, but I love you. I have loved you for a very long time. And I know I will love you for the rest of my life.

Maybe it was a good thing, he reasoned, thinking back on his first night with you all those years ago. But you still couldn’t know why. Not yet.

It was going to kill him to keep it a secret for ten more months.

Timeless

Sherbert rays of the sunrise lit the training room, filling it with a warm orange glow. You were sitting on the floor, stretching your legs while you listened to music. That was another thing on the growing list of skills that had improved during your stint as an Avenger: your flexibility.

Suddenly, Steve was standing over you, saying something you couldn’t hear due to the noise cancelling headphones over your ears.

You slid one off, looking up at him. “Good morning.”

“Morning. You’re here early.”

“Couldn’t sleep.” You shrugged, reaching for your other leg.

“Sorry to hear that. Wanna talk about it?”

“Oh, it’s nothing. I think I drank too much caffeine before bed last night. Learned my lesson. No caffeine after six.”

“That’s a good rule. Mind if I stretch with you?” He asked.

“I don’t mind.” You tossed your headphones onto your workout bag and connected your phone to the Bluetooth speakers, putting on some music you could both listen to.

“I recognize her. This girl’s voice.”

“Taylor Swift.”

“Ah. Yes, her. I keep hearing about her.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.” You laughed. “Have you liked any of her songs so far?”

“I don’t know if I could name one for you, to be honest.” He listened to the song that was playing. “This one’s not bad, though.”

“I’ll send you some recommendations. There are some I think you’d really vibe with.”

He smiled. “I’d really like that.”

The others came in not long after, did their warm-ups, and then Steve briefed everyone on the plan for their training session, one in which everyone would swap weapons, practice using each other’s things in case they ever had to in battle if one of their teammates got disarmed.

You started with Clint. He showed you the absolute basics of archery, how to pull back the bow, how to notch an arrow, how to aim, taking into account distance. You fired a few arrows into a target and did okay, you supposed, but you would need some practice if you wanted to actually get good at it. Years of it, realistically.

Natasha showed you how to use her electric batons, which were fun, but did intimidate you a little. You definitely did not want to end up on the wrong end of those things.

And then, inevitably, you were standing in front of Steve. He offered you his shield, which on its own seemed daunting. You held it for a second, assessing the weight of it. It was noticeably lighter than you thought it would be.

“Woah.”

“Yeah. People always expect it to be heavier.” He said, a hand resting on his hip as he watched you hold it. It looked so right in your hands, he decided. “It’s good for a lot of things, but first…” Carefully, he helped you put your arm through the straps on the back of it, holding it in front of your body in its primary and most famous purpose.

You let out a sigh, shaking your head. “This is so crazy.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah, you have no idea.” You chuckled, waving it around a bit.

“You keep looking at it like it’s Thor’s hammer or something.” He teased.

“Feels like it.”

“Well the good news is, this thing is not password protected by some Asgardian magic words. The bad news is, that means the bad guys can pick it up, too.” Steve said, gently positioning your body in an offensive stance, nudging a foot with his own, switching your arms around. “You can use it to bash somebody head on, or you can angle it a bit to get a more direct blow. It will take the force of most things. I…I actually kind of don’t know the limits. Hasn’t failed me yet. The paint does come off from time to time, though, so don’t worry about that.”

“Okay, wow.” You nodded. “Good to know.”

“I trust you with it.” He said, eyes meeting yours.

You smiled, heart racing. “I’m honored.”

He showed you a few other tricks, and then training wrapped up for the day, everyone grabbing some water, taking a shower, or making plans for lunch. Once you walked off with Wanda, Nat cornered Steve.

“What was that?” She asked, that catlike grin on her face.

“What was what?”

“I saw it, you know, the way you looked at her. I think you’ve got a soft spot.”

“Yeah, well, I did rope her into all this. Can’t say I don’t feel responsible for her.” He dodged expertly, weaving through Natasha’s mental gymnastics with skill and precision, or so he thought.

“Uh-huh sure. Well, she, Wanda, and I are going antiquing this afternoon. You should come. After all, you know quite a bit about vintage valuables.”

He laughed. “Hey!”

She walked off, smiling to herself. Steve thought about it for all of four seconds before he decided he would tag along. He hadn’t been to an antique shop in this century, so he couldn’t imagine the kinds of things they had there now. He might even learn a thing or two.

***

After a quick lunch, Steve did decide to tag along. It wound up being him, Vision, and the girls, which he certainly didn’t mind.

You and Wanda were buzzing with excitement, Natasha looking on and following behind with Steve. Vision lingered, studying everything, picking things up to get a closer look. He had projected a human disguise over himself, something Steve didn’t know he could even do, but it seemed to work. No one had batted an eye at him since they stepped foot in the shop.

“This place is…huge.” Steve said, glancing down the hall of the seemingly endless store.

“Biggest one in the state.” You chimed. “It’s the whole city block.”

“There’s a basement, too. And a second floor.” Natasha informed him, patting his arm. “This is gonna be an all day kinda thing.”

“Oh undoubtedly.” He said, setting down the teacup in his hands, a petite, floral thing.

You sifted through a box of records, picking up the soundtrack of the Muppets Movie.

“Is that a frog?”

“This is Kermit thee Frog, show some respect.” You laughed, putting the record in your basket.

“Kermit?” Steve asked again, seeming genuine.

“Oh I forgot you missed the Muppets, oh my god.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t sound familiar.”

“We need to fix that as soon as possible.” You told him. “Can’t have you missing out on cultural icons like Gonzo and Miss Piggy.”

“Okay now you’re making things up.” He chuckled, shuffling through the records as well. You showed him a few good ones and he added them to his basket, saying something about how he’s been meaning to use his new record player.

Wanda browsed some vintage rings, picking out a few, and Natasha rifled through a rack of vintage dresses, most of them from the forties and fifties from the look of it. Nat held up a navy blue one, silky, with short ruffled sleeves and buttons down the front. Steve froze, looking at it. For a moment, it looked just a little too familiar. Like the dress you had worn that night.

Eventually Nat put the dress back. You hadn’t seen it. You were distracted by a shelf of VHS tapes, looking for the old Barbie movies, whatever those were. Wanda was with you, on the next shelf over, calling out movie names when she found something cool.

Steve wandered off on his own, looking around at the different trinkets and toys, old letterman jackets and jewelry, dishes that may or may not contain lead. Finally, he came upon a little room full of art, paintings and photographs, handmade pottery.

Time stood still.

He stared at the large painting on the wall, oil on canvas. Two star-crossed lovers dancing in a bar in Brooklyn, a little guy with a dream, dancing with the most beautiful girl in the world, twirling in her dark blue dress. His heart raced. He never thought he’d see this painting again.

It had been his last painting before leaving for Camp Lehigh, the last painting he did before his life and body changed forever. He’d used the last of his paints to make it, every color mixed with care to get the exact color of your hair, your eyes, your lips, all from memory.

And it was here in front of him. When he had been presumed dead, it must have been sold off. He didn’t really have anyone left it could go to.

In that moment, he wasn’t Captain America. Standing in his shoes was that little guy from Brooklyn.

“Woah.” You murmured, suddenly right next to him. “It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah, it…it is.” He agreed, looking away from it. He didn’t want you to get too close of a look at it. However, that didn’t stop you from walking forward to inspect it closer.

“‘Soulmates.’ Artist unknown.” You read from the plaque. “Oh, it’s from the 40s. 1943. Does it look familiar?”

“Yeah, actually. Bucky liked that bar.” Steve said, pointing to the details of the interior. “It’s a little place in Brooklyn, called Val’s. Well, it was I guess. I don’t know if it’s still open anymore.”

Your eyes lingered on the woman’s face, on the man’s. You didn’t say anything about how they looked, about the uncanny resemblance to yourself and Steve. Instead, you sighed. “Someday, I want to be that in love with someone.”

He just about cried. But instead, he gathered his words, put a hand on your shoulder, and told you with confidence, “You will be.”

***

Hours later, when you were all shopped out and you’d checked out with your things, Steve stayed at the counter while the rest of you went to the car.

“Hey, um, that painting in the art room. The soulmates in the bar. I’m interested in buying it. Would it be possible to have it held here for a while, though?”

“Oh I’m sure we could arrange something,” said the old man at the counter with a smile and a nod. He started writing out the purchase form.

Steve glanced back towards where it was, that fragment of his soul he didn’t think he’d ever see again. He knew the fact that he’d stumbled upon it was nothing short of fate.

Wildest Dreams

It had been Tony’s idea. Of course it had. It always was, wasn’t it? He’d insisted that all the members of the team who hadn’t yet been exposed to Wanda’s mind manipulation should be, just in case there was a misfire during combat and one of you got caught in the crossfire. It would be important to see how each of you reacted, the kinds of things you saw so you’d be able to snap out of it.

Theoretically, of course.

This left Natasha, Steve, Thor, Bruce, and Tony out, as they’d already had their fun with Wanda’s magic. The rest of you, however, were waiting for your turn.

Wanda felt conflicted about it. She didn’t want to hurt her friends on accident, let alone on purpose, but Tony was insistent, and he had some of the others on his side. Namely, Rhodey, who had been hanging out more and more, and Clint, who’d had his experience with a different kind of mind control shortly before the Battle of New York.

It was part of why he’d volunteered to go first. Once he came to, he gave you a thumbs-up, shaking it off and walking over to Natasha.

“You sure you’re good?” She checked.

“Yeah, I’m fine. No big deal. Who’s next?”

Sam looked at you and the despondent look on your face before volunteering himself to go next. Rhodey went in solidarity, despite being too busy with his government responsibilities to be a full-time member of the team. And then it was your turn. You stood next to Wanda. She offered an apologetic smile before red crackled around her fingertips and it hit you.

For the first few seconds, you were fine. You felt tingly. You blinked a few times and your eyes felt weird. No doubt, your eyes were red, like the others’ turned when they were under the influence of Wanda’s powers.

“Hey, (Y/N), you okay?” Steve asked, voice urgent.

“Think so.” You replied, mouth full of cotton. It felt like that time in college someone had given you an edible that was too strong. The first and last time you’d ever gotten high. Like you were sinking and melting. Your legs buckled and Steve surged forward, catching you before you hit the floor, gently lowering you into a comfortable position. “Hey, you’re pretty strong…” You murmured, head lolling onto his shoulder.

The others all looked at each other. Clint dragged over a bean bag and Steve gently lowered you onto it, adjusting it so you’d be comfortable.

“She’ll be okay, Steve.” Natasha reassured him, the guilt in his eyes palpable, yet still not explained. Not entirely. She had a sneaking suspicion whatever it was had something to do with the name written on his wrist, the name he wouldn’t show anyone. Not her, not Nick Fury, not even Sam.

“Yeah, I know.” He nodded, slowly taking a step back. His eyes didn’t leave you. He had to force himself to look away. “I, um…I have to go…There’s a…” Steve motioned towards the door before leaving the room, while you sat there, catatonic, off in your own little world.

***

“Hey, (Y/N), you okay?” Steve asked, his voice close. “That was a long nap. Forget to set your alarm?”

You opened your eyes and you were laying down on the couch. Steve was standing at the island in the kitchen, cooking something. It smelled good. Really good. He was wearing a button-up, sleeves rolled to his elbows, still wearing his slacks from work. He had music playing from the record player, your vast collection of hits from decades of music, and he was still hooked on 40s jazz. You supposed you couldn’t blame him.

“You cooking?”

“Mmhmm.” He nodded. “Come over here and get a taste.”

You followed, out to the kitchen. He set down his wooden spoon and swiftly intercepted you, pulling you up onto the countertop, kissing you deeply, a hand running through your hair. Your hand came up to frame his cheek. He was growing a bit of a beard these days. You liked it, thought it suited him.

You sighed against his lips and then pulled away to look at him. He grabbed your wrist, pressing a long kiss to your soulmark. Three simple words. Steven Grant Rogers.

“I love you, doll.” His words cut through you, eyes tender and sincere. “Always have.”

But this wasn’t your Steve. And it wasn’t your reality, given away by the slightest tinge of red in his irises.

It wasn’t real. And neither was the glimmering wedding ring around your finger.

***

You blinked awake, the power dispersing from your head, leaving you shockingly sober. And hungry. That familiar sting was back, right between your neck and shoulder. You wondered how long it’d been.

Clint was in the room with you. So was Sam. Natasha was gone. Wanda too, surprisingly. As was Steve.

You got chills even thinking about him, the phantom of the wedding ring still clinging to your finger.

“You alright?” Sam asked, making eye contact with you first.

“Yeah, I’m good. How long…?”

“Three minutes. New record.” Clint said with a grin.

“Oh.” No wonder it had felt so short. Part of you wanted it to last longer.

“We’re sending Rhodey to get some food, if you’re hungry.” Sam said.

“Where from?”

“The golden arches.”

“I could go for some nuggies.” You admitted. “A McFlurry, perchance.”

Clint laughed. “How did I know you would say that?”

In the kitchen, Steve stood, hands on the counter, mug of coffee steaming in front of him, untouched. He stared at the cupboard door.

“That must be one interesting cupboard. You’ve been standing there for like five whole minutes.”

“It’s only been three.” Steve said, glancing at the clock.

“And the fact that you know down to the exact minute is why I’m so intrigued.” Natasha chimed, tilting her head. “What is going on with her? I have never seen you look at anyone like that in the entire time I’ve known you. Is she…what, the kid of an old friend? Grandkid?”

“It’s nothing, Natasha. She’s the newest member of the team, I’m just worried—”

“Steve.” She said, cutting him off, that look in her eye. “If you want to get all defensive about it, fine. Keep your secrets.” She sighed. “But if you need someone, I’m here. Whatever it is, you don’t have to carry it alone.”

Steve let out a long sigh, weighing his options. It was something to the tune of eight months until your birthday. That was still a long time. A lot of time for that secret to slip through the cracks and, potentially, break the timeline. The Butterfly Effect was something he had researched extensively. Your future together was something he wasn’t willing to risk.

No, it was too important that you stay in the dark, even if that meant keeping his friends in the dark, too.

“Thanks. I appreciate it. But I’m fine, really. It’s nothing.”

“Uh-huh.” She nodded unconvinced. “Well, she’s out of it. Clint just texted. She wants twenty chicken nuggets and an Oreo McFlurry.”

The relief was immediate. You were okay. He could only wonder what you had seen in there, and why it had been so quick. The others had been under for upwards of ten minutes. You’d only been down three. “Well good. I’ll let Rhodey know.”

Invisible String

It was late. A few weeks after your tussle with the Scarlet Witch, if you could even call it that. You could tell Wanda felt guilty about the whole thing, but it wasn’t her fault. If anything it was Tony’s. Sure, the exercise had prepared you for a worst case scenario, but it had also dug a very awkward gap between you and Steve. You could barely even look at him without wanting to burst into tears.

He had his soulmate, whoever they were. You really needed to let it go.

You walked down to the kitchen to get a cold drink, but there was already someone sitting at the table. Steve, sitting there, hand resting on his chin, papers spread out in front of him. There was a picture you recognized as Bucky Barnes.

You’d heard whispers of him around the Compound from time to time. Steve’s best friend turned Hydra assassin, brainwashed for decades and now, rogue, out there somewhere. Sam always seemed to be looking for the guy. Natasha and Clint, too. And there had never been any sign of him. Well, until now, it seemed.

On the TV, Star Wars was playing. Empire Strikes Back. Steve looked up at it every so often.

“Star Wars?” You asked.

He chuckled and nodded. “Yeah.”

“Your first time?”

“No. They were the first things I watched when I was out of the ice. I like them a lot. The hope, the Force, the Jedi stuff, the music.” He shrugged. “They’re good.”

“Who’s your favorite?”

Steve smiled, sheepish. “Han Solo.”

“And here I thought you’d say Luke Skywalker.”

“He’s great, too. You like Star Wars?”

“Yeah, I used to be obsessed with them in high school. Haven’t seen them in a while, though. I’m something of a Leia girl myself.”

“That makes a lot of sense.”

“Does it?”

“Oh yeah.” He nodded. “You’ve got that spark.”

“What order did you watch them in?”

“Nat made me watch the originals first.” He confessed. “I like the prequels, though. Well, two of the prequels. Phantom Menace is…”

“Oh yeah. You’re not alone in that.” You laughed softly. “You know, I never really pegged you as a sci-fi nerd.”

“Yeah, well, someone I really care about seemed to like them a whole lot, so I knew I had to check them out.” He shrugged. “What are you doing up so late?”

“Getting a drink. What are you doing up so late?”

He looked down at the papers and then back up at you. “Oh. Yeah, this is just…Trying to get some stuff figured out.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” You offered.

He thought about it for a long moment, letting out a little sigh before nodding. That was the only reassurance you needed before grabbing a can of soda from the fridge and plopping down into the seat next to him.

“They found him. Clint and Natasha. They think he’s hiding out in Kentucky somewhere.” Steve said. He shook his head. “He saved my life a few years ago. After all the brainwashing, he still pulled me out of the water. I don’t know how much of him is still him, but…”

“But it’s worth a try.” You reasoned. “Obviously he’s been through a lot, but he must be pretty strong to have made it through everything.”

“I don’t know when I’m going. They haven’t narrowed it down all the way. And Tony doesn’t want me to even go at all.”

“Tony is full of shit.”

He laughed. “Yeah…”

“If you want to go, you should go. And if you need me, I’m there. You shouldn’t have to do it alone.”

He met your eyes with a sobering gaze. “You mean it?”

“Yeah, of course.” You agreed. “When, uh, when I was in the eighth grade, my class took a trip down to DC. There’s a Captain America exhibit in the Air and Space Museum, it had just opened. We learned about you and Bucky. How close you were, what happened. There are videos of me just crying uncontrollably there, learning about it. They had to take me outside, get me some water. I couldn’t go back in. I don’t even know why. Something about it…”

“About me?” Steve whispered.

“That’s embarrassing. I shouldn’t have told you that.” You chuckled, shaking your head.

“It’s not embarrassing. It’s sweet.” Steve said, reaching for your hand on the table. You let him take it, fingers curling.

“So when you found me that day, I guess I always knew it would lead to something like this. A stroke of fate, or something.” You admitted. “Some part of me knew that you would mean something to me someday. I guess I never thought we would be friends.”

“How old were you?”

“God, this would have been like ten years ago at this point. I was like fourteen or something. I was twenty-one when they found you in the ice. It was all over the news my sophomore year of college, kind of right when I was figuring my powers out, actually. And then everything was all over the news and I…went into hiding more or less, hoping it wouldn’t be me on the TV next.”

“Until the mall?”

“Yeah. But I couldn’t just…let it happen, you know? It was like some part of me knew that I had these powers for a reason, and that if I didn’t stop it, who would? I didn’t know you were there, obviously, but, I think even if I had, I still would have jumped in.”

He smiled softly, eyes earnest. He gave your hand a squeeze. “Well I’m really glad you did, for the record. I think we’re all a little better off because of it.”

There was a moment of quiet. “Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“How old are you?”

“Oh, um…I’m ninety-eight.”

You chuckled. “No, like how old are you really?”

Steve took a breath. No one ever asked him that. No one really cared about that. No one except you, it seemed. “I’m not sure. I’d have to do some math. I think I’m twenty-eight maybe. Twenty-nine.”

“Thought so.” You smiled. “Well, Steve, whenever you get it figured out, say the word and I’ll suit up. We’ll bring him home.”

Out of the Woods

The next mission you were sent on wasn’t to bring back Bucky. Not yet. Instead, you were on the team that got deployed into a rainforest to break up a rogue Hydra base. It was warm, almost too warm for your uniform, but you were grateful for the coverage, especially when they started shooting.

You ran down the makeshift path, evading enemies and throwing up forcefields to stop them in their tracks. Thor was in town, so he was zipping around through the trees with his hammer, the force of it bringing some down every once in a while.

“On your six.” Steve reported through the comms. You dodged out of the way and sure enough, a Hydra agent tumbled ahead, tripped by a small field you cast at his feet. A few of Natasha’s bullets took care of that.

“Thanks.” You replied.

“Don’t mention it. I could actually use some backup. I’m in the building. There’s more of them than I thought there would be.”

“I’m on my way.” You reported, changing directions and sprinting towards the building housing the Hydra base. What they were doing here, you had no clue, but Bruce theorized it had something to do with a meteor that had landed out that way a few months prior. They were probably harvesting whatever materials had been inside it.

You kicked down the door. Steve had six guys on him, two of which he disposed of quickly. You made a portal beneath one guy, sending him falling down a flight of stairs with the second portal you opened.

The other three guys went down quickly enough, only for a guy in a giant mech armor to come crashing through the interior wall. He shot and Steve jumped in front of you, taking a hit to the neck. A tiny syringe filled with shimmering purple liquid.

“Fuck! Steve!” You ran to him, but that didn’t take care of the large problem looming behind you. Seeing red, you made another portal at the feet of the robot, opened it in the ceiling, and cut it off as it was halfway through, destroying it in a flash of sparks and shredded metal. It shut down, giving you time to get to Steve.

He was sitting against the wall, head slumped to the side. You took the syringe out of his neck, tucking it into a pouch on your belt for testing. If this thing was poison, you’d need Bruce to start whipping up an antidote as soon as possible.

“Steve, hey, stay with me.” You touched his face, trying to wake him.

At your touch, he blinked a few times, drowsy. He gave you a crooked smile. “Heyyy, there you are.”

“Come on, we’ve gotta get you back to the jet.” You told him, pulling him to his feet, but he slumped in your arms like dead weight. You had been working out since you’d been recruited, but he was still heavy. “You’ve gotta work with me, big guy.”

“They used to call me little guy.” He murmured, sounding drunk. “Back in Brooklyn.”

“I’m sure they did.” You slung his arm around your shoulders and started hauling ass out of the building. A few agents shot at you, trying to hit you while you were distracted with carrying Steve to safety, but they forgot you were the one Avenger whose specialty was defense.

You lit a forcefield in your left hand, using its faint blue light to guide the two of you through the dim hallways. It slowed all the bullets to a stop, causing them to drop to the floor harmlessly. There was something kind of poetic about it, you supposed. Steve was so famous for that shield of his, but now you were the shield, protecting him.

“Did you guys find anything in there?” Clint asked.

“The good news is, we cleared most of it out. Bad news is, Steve got shot with something. I’m bringing him back to the ship now. I don’t know what it was but he’s acting really drunk.”

“Tranq darts seem to have that effect on him, yeah.” Bruce explained. “Bring him back here and I’ll make sure it wasn’t laced with something else.”

“On it.”

You lugged Steve along, stopping to rest and readjust against a wall for a second.

“Thank you for takin’ care of me even when I don’t feel so good.” He said, leaning his full weight against you.

“Of course, Steve. I’ve got ya.” You pulled his arm around your shoulders again. “You would do the same for any of us.”

He smiled, face impossibly close to yours. “Oh, I’d do anything for you, (Y/N).”

You knew it was probably just the drugs talking but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t do something to you when he said it anyway.

Once you were outside, you opened a waypoint in front of the two of you, the second portal in front of the jet, and then stepped through, closing it behind you. Bruce opened the door and helped you haul Steve inside, onto the cot of the makeshift mobile infirmary.

You handed Bruce the empty vial.

“Thank you for remembering. Thor always breaks these and then I have to do bloodwork to figure out what was in them.” He chuckled.

“He’s very smash first, ask questions later.”

“No wonder he and Hulk get along so well.” Bruce joked. “Alright, get back out there. I’ll make sure he’s alright.”

“Thank you.”

“Be careful out there.” Steve advised, eyes half-lidded. “They have guns.”

“I’ll be extra careful, alright? I promise.” You met his eyes and he smiled immediately. Once you were sure he was okay, you stepped out of the jet again, getting back to help the others.

***

When you got back, you were nursing a bullet wound. They’d gotten you in the arm. It wasn’t too bad, though, the bleeding had almost stopped. Natasha went straight for the med kit when you two stepped foot on the jet, motioning you over to the stool.

Steve was there, still on the cot. He stared as Nat started cleaning your wound. “Wait, you got hurt?”

“I’m okay. It’s not that bad.”

He nodded and reached for your hand. “I’m really glad you’re alright, doll. Had me worried sick.”

Doll. You replayed the word in your mind. Steve had called you a lot of things in the past few months, but never once had he used that somewhat outdated term of endearment. You liked it, though.

You met Natasha’s eyes and she smirked while the supersoldier held your hand.

Sam walked in next, eyeing up the scene unfolding in front of him. “Woah, what’d I miss? Feels like I missed several chapters.”

“Steve is drunk.” Clint explained, counting his remaining arrows.

“Tranq dart. He’s fine. Just needs to ride it out for a few hours. He should be back to normal by the time we get home.” Bruce explained as he put away his tablet.

“You feeling alright, buddy?” Sam walked over and put a hand on Steve’s other arm. “You’re holding (Y/N)’s hand kinda tight there.”

“Huh?” Steve asked, directing his eyes to your joint hands. He let go. “Oh. Sorry.”

“It’s okay, Steve.” You reassured him.

The others trickled in slowly until everyone was accounted for, the base destroyed, the Hydra operatives in SHIELD custody for questioning. Fury and his team would handle it from there. You couldn’t help but play the mission over and over in your head.

Never had you used a waypoint to split something in half. But something had clicked in you when Steve was hurt. You’d never felt like that before, like part of your soul itself was being ripped out. He meant more to you than you cared to admit, especially when your fate was tied elsewhere.

Still, your new ability needed training. It was a dangerous skill to have, and if you didn’t hone it properly, you could end up doing some serious damage on accident.

Come Find Me in the Future

It was the night before you and a select group of the team were heading out to find and recover Bucky. Clint had finally gotten a hit on him. But if he had, that meant others could be after him, too. People that wanted him back. Badly.

You were nervous about it for that reason. You weren’t sure why the rest of you hadn’t already left, to be honest. You didn’t want to race with Hydra. It wasn’t one you were sure you’d win.

To stave off the feeling of dread, you had commandeered the living room TV and popped in Howl’s Moving Castle. You were nursing a mug of chamomile tea in your hands, playing games on your Switch.

You were near the end of the movie, at the part where Sophie was whisked to the past, when Steve walked into the room, in his pajamas, a tank top and a pair of plaid pants.

“Hey, Steve.”

“Hey. You’re up late. Big mission tomorrow.”

“Yeah, it’s almost over.” You told him. “Drinking my sleepy tea as we speak.”

“Sleepy tea?”

“Chamomile mint. It’s good. There’s some over by the Keurig if you want any.”

“Thanks.” He smiled, walking over. “What’s this?”

“Howl’s Moving Castle. One of my favorites.” You told him.

“What’s it about?”

“That is a complicated question.” You laughed. “I’d have to start it over, I think.”

“Another time, maybe.” He chuckled, crossing his arms.

Steve watched as Sophie got sucked back through the wormhole to the present.

She called out “I know how to help you now! Find me in the future!”

He perked up. “Wait, she…there’s time travel?”

“Yeah, she gets pulled into the past for a bit and tells him to find her and then years later, the first words he says to her are ‘There you are, sweetheart. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.’ It’s really sweet.”

“They’re soulmates?”

“They are.” You nodded.

“Does that happen? Often?” Steve asked, hung up on it. “In real life?”

“I don’t think so. I’ve never heard of that happening before.” You shook your head. “I don’t think anyone would believe it, even if it did. Happens a lot in fiction, though.”

“Oh. Cool.” Steve nodded. He met your eyes and then looked down at his lap, tongue flitting across his pink lips. “I, uh, wanted to apologize.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “For what?”

“The mission last week. I, uh…I said some things and, uh…I just, I’d hate to make you uncomfortable. I’m sorry if I did.”

“You didn’t.” You assured him. “No apology necessary. You were drugged. I probably would have said worse, to be honest.”

He smiled. “Okay. Cool. Thanks. And thank you for agreeing to come tomorrow. We could really use the help.”

“Of course. I’ve got your back, always.” You told him, earning another one of those earnest, lovesick smiles. “Anywho, I finished that playlist for you. The Taylor Swift one. I can make you a more general one with different songs, but…figured that was a decent starting place.”

“Great, yeah, thank you.” He nodded, looking at his phone as it pinged with the notification you had sent it to him. “I’ll give it a listen.”

“Let me know what you think.”

“Oh I will.” He chuckled to himself. “Really, thank you. I appreciate it. And um, have a good night. See you tomorrow.”

“Bright and early.” You saluted.

He nodded before repeating, “Bright and early.”

Bygones

Bright and early was an understatement. The sun was barely peeking over the horizon when your alarm went off. You groaned, rolled over and silenced your screaming phone, forcing yourself to sit up so you didn’t drift back off.

Today was too important for that.

Instead, you got up, brushed your hair, and went out to the kitchen, where Vision had whipped up a full breakfast for everyone going out. It was you, Steve, Nat, Wanda, and Sam. A small team, but enough firepower to bring him back without overwhelming and/or scaring him off.

“Morning.” Steve said, eyes landing on you the moment you walked into the room.

“Morning.”

“Coffee?” He offered, pushing a cup of your favorite iced coffee over to you. You couldn’t lie, you were impressed.

“Thanks.” You grinned, taking a long sip to kickstart your morning. You loaded a plate up with eggs, sausage, bacon, and toast, plus a little side of hashbrowns, thanking Vision thoroughly.

“It is my pleasure, (Y/N). As someone who does not require sleep, it would be rude of me to let you all starve so early in the day.”

“(Y/N), you got him listening to Taylor Swift?” Sam asked, eyes drilling into you.

You laughed. “Uh, yeah. What about it? She’s a cultural icon, do you want him left out of the loop?”

“Hey, I’m not complaining.” Steve shrugged, sipping on his coffee.

“Of course you’re not.” Natasha chuckled, words warbled by her own cup. You noticed the way her lips pursed. If you weren’t mistaken, you’d say she was nervous. About what, you couldn’t tell. She seldom got nervous. Or at least, she seldom let it show. But it was definitely there.

Wanda was the last into the kitchen, already fully put together. She gave the chef her thanks with a warm smile and sparkling eyes. You couldn’t help but smile. Those two, beyond a shadow of a doubt, were absolutely made for each other. You wondered what her wrist would have to say about it when the time came.

Once everyone had eaten, those who weren’t suited up got ready, locked and loaded for a tense mission. You’d have Clint on the coms here, doing recon from a drone. The rest of you loaded up onto the jet, strapping in.

Nat and Sam hopped into the cockpit. Wanda sat next to you, Steve across the aisle, his eyes meeting yours every so often.

“It’ll be alright.” You said, trying to dispel his nerves.

He nodded, but didn’t reply, just giving a short nod and staring at the holographic map on the wall as you approached closer and closer. You could see that little guy from Brooklyn peeking through the eyes of the supersoldier sitting across from you, nervous about his best friend.

You unbuckled just before you landed, walking across the jet to strap on your weapons. The others did the same, arming themselves. Nat was going to keep the jet warm for a speedy exit, the look in her eyes still unreadable. The rest of you got ready for war.

It was an abandoned warehouse, large garage door, broken windows, slanted roof with a hole in it. Definitely not the most secure of places. According to Clint’s drone, Bucky was in the back room.

“Waypoint, I need you out here ready to get us a quick escape.”

“Got it.” You nodded, positioning yourself within eyeshot of the warehouse and the jet so you could make a portal either way.

“Wanda, Sam, you’re with me.” Steve instructed, taking a minute to breathe, to think. “He’s gonna be ready to run. We have to talk him out of it.”

“Uh, Cap. Might wanna work a little faster. There’s another plane incoming. About three minutes out.”

“Alright.” Steve nodded, taking off his helmet and slinging his shield onto his back. He led the other two into the building.

For a heartwrenching two minutes, you didn’t hear anything. And then you heard a plane. And then gunshots.

“(Y/N), now!” Steve instructed.

You did as you were told, opening the waypoint in the warehouse, another just outside. Nat had picked the jet up off of the ground, firing at the one Hydra had brought. She took another shot, damaging the wing and causing it to go down.

“Shit, wait—!”

There was a flash of light and you expected it to be Steve that came through first. Maybe Bucky, even. Instead, it was a grenade. And a split second later, it exploded, knocking you unconscious.

***

Steve stood over you, horrified. Thanks to your suit, the damage didn’t seem too bad. But you had blood and soot caked on your face, the ends of your hair singed.

It was his fault. He had told you to open the Waypoint, only for a Hydra agent to toss a grenade right through it.

He all but collapsed to his knees, collecting you in his arms. Bucky was on the jet already, Sam, too. Only he and Wanda were outside with you.

“(Y/N), come on. Open those eyes for me.” He pleaded, voice soft, eyes aching with tears. “Hey, come on. Please…”

“We should get her back to the jet.” Wanda goaded softly, a hand on Steve’s arm.

“Yeah.” Steve nodded, a tear slipping down his cheek. He scooped you off of the ground, an arm beneath your legs, the other around your back. Your arms hung down, limp. Your head rested heavily against his shoulder, eyes closed.

By the time Steve walked up the ramp, Nat already had the infirmary cot down, ready to go. Bucky watched, eyes intense. He looked up when Steve approached, eyes falling on you. They widened when he got a look at you.

“Woah, is that…?”

“Yeah.” Steve nodded. “It is.”

Natasha helped him get you situated in the cot, wrapping the cuff around your arm that would measure your vitals. With everyone accounted for, Sam closed the door, lifting the jet into the air.

“I’ve got Banner on the line.” Natasha told him.

“Good.” Steve’s eyes didn’t leave you for a second, watching as the breaths entered and left your lungs. “Tell him to get the infirmary ready for her.”

“Already on it, Cap. She’ll be okay. Her vitals look…well they look good, all things considered.” Bruce relayed. “Just get back here as fast as you can.”

***

As soon as the jet landed, Steve unhooked you from the vitals monitor and collected you in his arms, carrying you to the gurney Bruce had ready, walking with him as he wheeled you towards the infirmary. Bruce insisted he needed some time and sent Steve away, taking a piece of his heart with him.

Vision checked over Bucky, giving him the okay almost immediately before going to help Bruce in the infirmary.

Steve sat at the table, Bucky sitting down to join him. The others gave them a minute alone.

“Hey, pal.” Steve exhaled, trying to force a smile. “Glad you’re here.”

“Me too.” He agreed. “Thanks for coming to get me.”

“Of course.” Steve nodded. “I’m with you—”

“Til the end of the line.” Bucky smiled, eyes soft. His irises flicked towards the infirmary and back. “You wanna talk about it?”

Steve let out a sigh, the wall finally coming down and more tears slipping down his cheeks. “It’s my fault, it’s all my fault. She’s—”

“She’s gonna be fine. I promise you.” Bucky’s hand grabbed onto Steve’s wrist, the covered one. The one with her name etched onto it. “She has to be. Has she…does she know yet?”

“No one does. Just me. And you.” Steve confessed. He wiped his thumb under his eye. “So you’re right. She has to pull through.”

Steve held onto that spark of hope for the coming hours. He showed Bucky to the room that had been prepared for him, but Sam offered to give him a tour of the place, knowing their friend was in a fragile mental state.

Eventually, Vision found him and told him he could enter the infirmary. Bruce had finished treating you. When Steve walked in and saw you, still unconscious, laying on that bed, he choked on more sobs. The bruising on your face was pretty severe. You were hooked up to several monitors, an IV. Supposedly, your injuries were not too extreme, but you had a cracked rib and would need time to heal before you could do any missions or training.

Hours later, Nat found Steve in there, wringing his hands, tears in his eyes. He fiddled with the cuff around his wrist. The playlist you’d made for him played softly from a speaker in the corner of the room. Timeless. As if he wasn’t already crying enough.

“She’s gonna be okay, Steve. Bruce thinks she might wake up soon.” Nat comforted, sitting in the chair next to him. She put a hand on his shoulder, confused by her friend’s sudden mood. Members of the team had been injured before and sure, he checked on them, but he never reacted like this.

“I know, I just…” He shook his head. “I’m worried about her is all. It’s…kinda my fault this happened.”

Nat pressed her lips together, tilting her head. “This seems like a little more than that. You wanna tell me what’s really going on?”

He wanted to hold onto his secret. He did. But he was feeling fragile, vulnerable. It couldn’t hurt to have just one more person on his side. “I can, just…not here.” Steve nodded, leading her out of the room, out of your earshot, if you could even hear him while you were out, but still in sight thanks to the soundproof windows.

Nat’s hands settled on her hips, waiting for an answer. Instead, Steve took the cuff off of his wrist and held it out to her, letting her read the letters that had been etched there for the better part of a century.

Her jaw dropped. She stammered, arms crossing. She met his eyes and when she saw the sadness there, the guilt and longing, her expression softened.

“I should have told her. A long time ago, I should have told her but I can’t. In six months, on her twenty-fifth, she’s going back in time to 1943 to meet me on mine. And it…didn’t seem like she knew until she was already there.”

“So you’ve just been holding it in this whole time?” Natasha asked. “You’ve been in love with her…”

“Since the forties, yeah.” Steve nodded. “My great lost love, as Tony likes to call her when he rags on the band I wear.”

“Does he know?”

“No. Just you. And Bucky.” Steve amended. “He was there when she…”

“Right. Weird.” Natasha let out a long sigh, looking through the window. Her fingers reached for her own cuff. She hesitated, but pulled it off, holding her soulmark out to him. “Fair is fair.”

Steve stared at the letters for a long time, realization slowly filling his eyes. The name on her wrist was none other than James Buchannan Barnes. “Oh my God.”

“I didn’t know how to tell you until all the dust settled, but it just settled, so…” She shrugged, putting the cuff back on. “I’ll figure out how to tell him, too, if he doesn’t know already.”

“Buck’s mark was grayed out back then. We thought…well, we didn’t know what it meant.” Steve said, shaking his head. It was the reason Bucky had dated around so much back then. He’d figured if he just found someone else, his mark would change and he wouldn’t have to be alone. Never could he have guessed what it actually meant, that his soulmate wouldn’t be born for another forty or so years. “And then he lost his arm…”

“Yeah, that part I did know.” She smirked. “Well, I’ll keep an eye on her. Let you know if she says anything you need to hear.”

“She probably thinks my soulmate is dead, too. Everyone else does.”

“Ironic.”

“No kidding.” Steve sighed, gazing longingly through the window.

“We’ll get you through it, Steve. You’ve waited seventy years. Six months is nothing.”

“Yeah. I’m gonna sit with her for a while. I don’t want her to wake up alone.”

He slinked back into the infirmary and sat in the chair beside your bed, watching your steady breaths and listening to the beeping of the heart monitor. Natasha watched him through the window, feeling lighter and heavier at the same time. Nevertheless, she was glad they had talked. At least now, they could be there for each other.

Vol. 2 Here

Tags: @cap-lu20

[demodoggonetired]

After a few months of off and on again work, @cuips-not-cute 's Cyclical is now bound!!! 489 pages, 21 signatures, and about 1.25 inches thick!

And you should read their fic here!!

{Breakdown under cut!} - Contains Spoilers!

Uhh where to start with this. My first attempt at: a more standard book size (fun), a full cloth book (no problem here), full page illustrations (okay results), and chisel trimming (uh oh!).

(Suffice to say I need more practice with that last one, the foredge could have been worse, but it coulda been better - a little wonky but we'll just say it's got character).

I think what I'm most proud of is the color cordination of it all (and the end papers, oh my what a fitting find).

Materials: Made with Cialux bookcloth in night blue and Spanish MM marbled paper for the endpapers. The cover graphics are yellow Siser HTV, a black HTV, and Cricut metallic gold HTV (not near as shiny as one might like). Bound using linen thread and archival pva glue, endbands sewn using single strand embroidery thread in a double core style. Printed on Hammermill 20lb cream paper.

Cover: Cuips mentions Slaughterhouse Five at the start of the fic with a quote, so I used that as a bit of a jumping point for the cover design. Specifically this edition. Only instead changing the red for the blues of the upside down and a somewhat orange-ish yellow (both colors of which we see a lot in the fic). The skull and crossbones is similarly swapped with the hourglass on its pedstal in the UD woods with a flower and petals around it. The back cover showcases a sheep dog's wolf collar hehe. My biggest grief with this cover is that for some reason, one of the HTVs leaked glue when pressed. It doesn't look bad, just adds an odd shinyness but thankfully isn't sticky. Weird!

Title Page: A negative space hourglass with UD vines outlining the shape (perhaps a XII hidden in there too...). In the middle is a repeatedly circled sphere with sand pouring out and the title flipped to be reflected below.

Other tidbits that I think are neat:

All timeloops in the fic end with things dissolving into sand, so I tried to add a little falling sand graphic at those sentences.

The chapter end notes are titled "notes for past self" and the next chapters summary and beginning notes are "notes for future self" because it felt like it fit the timeloop theme

"say it out loud, it'll be okay" (with the Steve and Robin sheepdog and cat) and "enter sandman" have my favorite chapter title illustrations (oh man the feelings I have for the cassette tape..)

the book notes page has the same vine graphic as the title page but this time with flowers on it!

Overall I'm really pleased with how this bind turned out! It was a lot of fun and a bit of a journey to make!

+Bonus timelapse of sewing some of the signatures 'cause I find it fun to watch:

[weaveandwood]

Writing prompt - You and Gale are baking a cake - What happens?

Oh no cake batter found its way onto his dick

LMAO. I'm going to write this as Auroria and Gale , post Midwinter In Waterdeep when they're back together. Hiding under the cut because this got WAY more explicit than I thought it would. You're welcome! Thanks for the fun prompt!

NSFW 18+ Word Count: 1331 Warnings: Vaginal Sex

She returned to the cabin two days ago as promised, in advance of Morena's birthday party. Gale said they would typically order a cake from the baker, but Auroria suggested baking one together as a gift for her. Auroria and Gale had been married about a year, but she always felt a tug to try to impress Morena both in penance for the emotional turmoil she put her son through for seven years after their adventure ended and the desire for a mother figure in her life after not having that guiding figure for the last 27 years. Morena had said all was forgiven seeing how happy Gale was, but Auroria couldn't shake the feeling that she should always try harder.

She walked into their small kitchen from the cozy bedroom, seeing Gale already hard at work preparing the ingredients - eggs, sugar, flour, chocolate, butter. She walked up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her chin on his shoulder. 

"We're supposed to bake this together, dear husband."

He turned his head to look at her over his shoulder. "You know, I never tire of being called that.”

“Good, because I will never tire of calling you that,” she smiled and stood beside him, looking at the neat countertop, everything in its place. “Let’s do this the old fashioned way, no magic.”

“Not even a little?” He looked flabbergasted. 

She shook her head. “No, it’ll mean more if it’s completely handmade. Besides, where is the fun if you don’t get a little messy every now and then?”

“Alright, alright, I surrender. You win again.” He laughed and kissed her softly, the spoon that was magically keeping the chocolate stirred, warm, and melted now laying still in the bowl. 

The pair got to work, Gale naturally taking the lead and instructing Auroria, who did most of the labor - mixing up the butter and sugar, adding the eggs, the chocolate, and finally the flour. Gale poured the batter into the cake tins and set them into their small oven. She stood with her hands on her hips, proud of the work they did and how well they worked together, even on this small project. Her previous demons were becoming smaller and smaller each time she came home. She loved what she and Gale had become.

“Not bad, we make a good team.”

“That we do, we hardly even made a mess..." He trailed off, surveying his beautiful wife, who had somehow gotten cake batter on both of her cheeks and the small sliver of skin showing at her chest in the opening of her top. He walked up to her, leaning in and used a finger to wipe the batter off her cheek. “I take that back,” he said, “you are covered in chocolate, Ora.” He laughed as he licked the batter off his finger. 

She shrugged. “Baking is messy, does the batter taste good at least?”

He leaned in closer, kissing her other cheek, licking off the batter. “Delicious.” He kissed down her neck, hitting that one spot that she liked before kissing down to the opening in her neckline, licking the batter off her chest. 

Auroria gasped, her hands moving into his hair, scratching gently at his scalp as he worked his way back up the other side of her neck to her earlobe. She tilted her head as he whispered, “I should see if you have batter anywhere else, my love.” She felt him tugging up the hem of her shirt, and she gladly lifted her arms up to help him. His hands immediately went to her breasts, kneading them gently, feeling her nipples getting hard under his deft touch. He unlaced her pants, pushing them off her hips to the floor, leaving her naked. She left out a soft moan as he touched her, which only made him want her more. “I need you, Ora. Now.”

“Hmm, first I think I need to make sure you didn’t get any chocolate on you, don’t you think?” She smiled, tugging at his shirt, knowing he didn’t have anything on him, but wanting to tease him just the same. She had never seen him take off his clothes more quickly - well, except maybe that first night in the Shadow Cursed Lands or the first Midwinter they reunited. She looked at him, his body softer with age and comfort though still athletic and absolutely, devastatingly perfect. The orb was now a faint scarring of lighter skin, mostly hidden by his chest hair. As her eyes traveled over his body, she saw exactly how much he desired her. 

“Sadly, I’m afraid you are perfectly clean, my love,” she said before closing the distance between them, kissing him deeply, reaching down to wrap her hands around him, already hard, and felt him groan into her mouth as she started to stroke him. He guided her back to the countertop as they kissed, then she felt his hands on her waist, lifting her up onto the countertop, still covered in flour. 

He broke the kiss and rested his forehead against hers as his hand slid its way down her hips between her legs, rubbing her, feeling her wet for him already. “Gods how did I get so lucky? Look at you, it’s all I can do not to be inside you all day. I want you, please let me have you,” he practically panted, a finger sliding inside her. She loved his fingers for many reasons, but the way they knew exactly how to play her made her wonder if Gale was a musician in a past life. She arched her back, moaning softly. 

“Then have me, Gale. Have me.”

Gale wasted no time. His hands went to her hips, pulling her forward on the countertop so she was at the very edge before wrapping a hand around his hard cock, lining it up at her entrance before pushing it in slowly. He would never tire of this - feeling the way she gave around him, taking him in. A perfect fit. As he entered her fully, all thoughts left him, as they usually did. He lightly bit down on her shoulder as he held her legs apart, thrusting slowly at first, then picking up speed. The sound of their bodies hitting together and their soft pants and grunts the only noise in the small cabin. 

“I will admit I don’t think I will last long, my dear. You feel too good this morning,” he panted, fucking her harder, feeling the familiar tension in his abdomen as he got closer to release. He could feel her tightening around him, knowing she was close as well. Knowing he could bring her to her own precipice this quickly helped spur him on. He reached between them, his fingers circling her clit, rubbing that precious bundle of nerves he loved to pay special attention to. 

She cried out as he rubbed her, holding onto his arms tightly. “Make me come with you,” she panted 

He fucked her hard, each stroke punctuated as he almost pulled out of her before slamming back in, keeping a good pace. He knew she liked it when he was steady. He felt her tightening up, her body going still. She was almost there. He leaned in. “Come for me Ora, I want to feel you around me, then I want to come deep inside you.”

His filthy words, his warm breath on her ear sent her over the edge. She gripped on to him, crying out loudly as her body tightened up and let go, orgasm rocking through her, feeling him fuck her through it. 

“That’s it,” he whispered, his strokes picking up speed as she came, his groans getting louder as he got closer and closer before he found his own release, crashing into her, spilling his seed deep inside her. He finally slowed down, a satisfied exhaustion creeping into his bones as he laid his head on her shoulder, laughing as he looked at her - she was covered in flour handprints, and he assumed he was as well.

“We should bake together more often,” she teased before he kissed her again.

[andradrawsstuff]

An in-depth character analysis of Skipper: pt 2

So, tv Skipper is a bit of a contrast to movie Skipper, as I stated in my MASSIVE ramble in part 1 💀 Even though he’s so different, he does have his quirks and some decent character development. It’s also great to see how much Tom’s voice acting evolves over the seasons and I thank him so much for putting his heart into it 🥺

This is also going to be a long one I am so sorry, I tried

This version of Skipper started off pretty similar to his movie counterpart as the show was finding its footing, but soon evolved into his own version of himself as the series went on. In early season 1, we see Skipper be somewhat down to earth and have quite an honourable attitude. He’s not super shouty-screamy and we see him being pretty domestic, which is probably because season 1 is pretty slice-of-life compared to the other two seasons.

I think the main points to mention here are in Happy King Julien Day and Assault and Batteries - in hkjd, despite all sorts of interruptions Skipper gets a little angry, but doesn’t really act upon it, he just minds his own business. Eventually he confronts Julien, but remains civil throughout the entire thing. In Assault and Batteries, he takes the batteries but does so sneakily to minimise confrontation. And when Julien chases him, he doesn’t fight. Throughout the entire episode (and a good bit of the show), he remains somewhat civil and tries to minimise confrontation with Julien. He’s also pretty sweet at the end when he offers a high five like bro that’s adorable I can’t-

We also get to see some decent character development for him in season 1, as there’s a lot of Skipper-centric episodes. In Needle Point, Skipper realises he should take the shot so that Private doesn’t get sick - he takes accountability for his actions, and his conversation with Private is pretty sweet. I love that you get to see Skipper being sweet (especially with Private) in the series, since they’ve had the time to show a bit of his vulnerable side here and there.

But I think that the most important character development point in Skipper’s story is Miss Understanding - Since the start of season 1, Skipper was pretty sexist and it gets so bad that he thinks he can’t do anything he did before because he’s a girl. He eventually saves the guys and the episode comes to a resolution.

But here’s the thing, not once is he sexist after that (Unless I’ve missed a few things here and there but I think he genuinely learns his lesson) which makes me think that his sexism is intentional on the writers part bc they do make it a point that it’s wrong, so w tpom and it’s pretty neat and rare for an early 2000s show to cover. This is why I love love love season 1 Skipper - he’s flawed but in a realistic way and he usually makes an effort to fix his mistakes. He’s also quite nonchalantly chaotic like in the movies, whereas in later seasons he’s more aggressively chaotic if you catch my drift? Idk how to explain well lmao.

As for his other traits, he’s pretty paranoid and egocentric, but still as suave, sassy and sarcastic as movie Skipper. He’s defo got a lot more of an “I’m right and you’re wrong” attitude than his counterpart and is a fair bit grumpier which is pretty funny. He’s got a bit of a hero complex here (eg. Treasure of the Golden Squirrel) and at first he’s arguably more chaotic good than neutral compared to the movies, but it’s not such a big change that it makes it bad in any way. I mean, he still kinda has it out for the humans and chooses violence without a second thought which is hilarious to me 💀

As the series progresses, Skipper starts to get increasingly paranoid and aggressive, and a lot of his negative traits start to show more. In early season 2 he’s fine but you can tell when the writers were starting to lose the plot both with the characters and stories in late season 2. It kinda feels like his character took a 180 turn and went backwards, but honestly it’s not that noticeable and I just happen to love analysing these things. I mean, it also happens to Kowalski, who around the same time starts becoming a bit of an asshole and gets worse in season 3 - in Snowmageddon, he’s rlly dismissive of Private and Fred.

I think Skipper also ends up suffering what I like to call the “Sabrina Spellman treatment” because he starts making mistakes and refusing to take accountability, usually pinning the blame on someone else without repercussions. I guess it’s the only real “problem” I have with his character in the series but honestly it’s just something that tends to happen as shows go on for a long time and it’s not all that bothersome. But the thing is, he starts getting better again in season 3 and he gets more character development (eg. Snowmageddon where him and Marlene work rlly well as a team and Antics on Ice where he’s pretty much doing everything for Private 🥺) so idk what happened there 💀

Overall, tv Skipper is still a loveable little guy and I find it so funny when he gets angry out of nowhere, my fav crazy Skipper moment being the one where he swears he’s never gonna end up in Hoboken and starts screaming his lungs out 💀 (absolutely top-notch voice acting as always ofc).

But with this, I hope that you’ve enjoyed my ridiculously long character analysis and feel free to tell me your thoughts, this is all just my opinion after all :)

If you’re somehow still reading this I congratulate you, you get a gold star ⭐️

[dr-spectre]

team bread ?!?

side-eyeing aside, how do you feel about this upcoming splatfest ?

Upcoming Splatfest? You mean the Grand Fest right?

I'm gonna assume that is what you're talking about and you know what? I'M SO DAMN HYPED FOR IT!

WE'RE GETTING A BRAND NEW HUB FOR THIS SPLATFEST!!! AND ITS A FUCKING CONCERT WITH GOD DAMN ELECTRONIC RAVE REMIXES OF THE IDOLS SONGS! AND THERE'S INK EVERYWHERE AND UGHHH!!! I LOVE IT!!! ITS GONNA BE SO INSANE IM GONNA CRY I SWEAR TO GODDDDDD!!!!

If I hear Calamari Inkantation remixed by all three of the groups, I will not shut up about it for the next 4 years until we get Splatoon 4. I'm gonna be so fucking annoying and I won't apologise for it.

I mean sure the theme is kind of predictable but hey, it presents some interesting philosophical questions just like how Chaos vs. Order did, and i find those kinds of Splatfests to be the best ones. It's less about an Idol war or some useless shit, but it actually brings about genuine philosophical discussions and I love that!

I know that a lot of people are freaking out about the consequences about this Splatfest, myself included. If Team Past wins, will we go back to the past and never see Callie, Marie, Pearl, Marina, etc, for the next 5 to 7 years? If Team Future wins, will Callie and Marie be old women, and will the other characters we've grown to love.... pass away?

After thinking about it and seeing tweets from people on Twitter discuss it, nah, i don't think either of those outcomes will happen. Remember when people were making a fuss about if Chaos wins that Inkopolis would be covered in flames and be destroyed? Looked at what happened in Splatoon 3. Chaos was just an aesthetic for the new location Splatsville, the Idols, music, etc, and the Inkopolis we know ended up being okay!

If Team Future wins we might get a cool futuristic aesthetic for Splatoon 4 but it'll still be in the same timespan as Splatoon 3! Same with Team Past! Team Present will be the same sort of aesthetic we have currently duh. Obviously it'll be a few years after Splatoon 3 but I'm sure the characters we know we'll be okay!.... right?.... right nintendo?

I think the reason why people say that is because Nintendo has gone on record and said that Splatoon 3 is the "finale of the Splatoon saga" but they only mean the story mode of that game as ROTM tied up everything together theme wise in a neat trilogy. Callie, Marie, and everyone you like will come back because it would be a terrible financial and story decision to get rid of them. How will Nintendo sell new amiibo and merchandise? Off the Hook is so god damn popular and they would obviously come back in new outfits to sell new amiibo. Come on guys. Think like a business person for a second here.

I genuinely don't understand why some fans are so fucking adamant on wanting a clean reboot and to never see these characters again. Why do you want that SOOOO badly? I see that shit a lot on the Splatoon reddit man.

You don't wanna see these two again? Some of the best written characters in the series? You never wanna see these gay cephalopods ever again?!

YOU NEVER WANNA SEE THESE THREE GOOFBALLS THAT WE ALL LOVE AGAIN?!?! THEY HAVE SO MUCH STORY POTENTIAL AND YOU WANT THAT TO BE WASTED?!? FOR WHAT?!?!

And.... you don't wanna see the OGs again? You never wanna see Callie and Marie EVER AGAIN? The most iconic characters in the franchise, up there with the Inklings themselves!!! They have gone through so much and it's clear that Nintendo wants to keep them around, Marie has said in the Splatune 3 interview that she feels like she has an important role in creating the next generation of Idols. And yet... after what the shit they have gone through... you want them gone?

I truly don't believe you want that. Unless you don't really care about them...

Anyways, I am very much excited for the Grand Fest, so much so that thinking about it is giving me weird feelings in my chest. All of the screenshots I'm gonna take... eeeeee.... God help me.

[munson-blurbs]

Eddie, diary, detention ^^

Oh, y'all are getting sick of Eddie fluff fics? Too bad, sorry xoxoxo 💚

Warnings: none, all fluff!

WC: 1.2k

--

“Goddamn Carver,” Eddie mutters to himself, slinging his backpack onto the desk and plopping into the attached chair. “Always running his goddamn mouth and then pulling the ‘But I have basketball practice’ excuse to get outta trouble.” He brings his voice up to a grating falsetto, mocking the jock’s whiny tone. “But does Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson get the same courtesy for his Hellfire campaigns? No, sir, he does not.”

“Wonderful monologue, Mr. Munson,” Mrs. O’Donnell says dryly, heels clacking as she walks through the open doorway. “Perhaps you’ll be a playwright in your next life.”

“Like one lifetime isn’t enough,” Eddie grumbles, low enough so his least favorite teacher can’t hear him. 

O’Donnell peers at him over her horn-rimmed glasses. “You know the drill better than I do, Mr. Munson,” she scoffs with a wry smile. “One hour. No talking, no music, no funny business. You may do homework if you’d like, though I don’t anticipate you choosing now to act like a star student.” 

Eddie slumps down into his seat. He’d already counted all the ceiling tiles last week when he ended up here after shoving Patrick for picking on Dustin Henderson. Guess I’ll start on the floor tiles now, he thinks grimly. 

He makes it to 28 before something catches his eye. In one of the baskets underneath a desk is a purple leather-bound notebook. The way it’s resting halfway out of the basket looks like it had fallen out of a backpack or accidentally left behind. It’s too fancy to only be used for school, and it piques his curiosity. 

“Uh, Mrs. Oh-Dee?” Eddie blurts out, shooting his hand up in the air. “Can I grab a textbook? I think I’m gonna take you up on that homework offer.”

The teacher rolls her eyes. “Fine,” she quips. “And for the last time, stop calling me that.”

But Eddie’s already scrambling to the seat, plucking the journal from its spot and shielding it with a history book. As soon as he opens the cover, his eyes widen. 

This diary belongs to is printed on the first page, with a name handwritten in neat cursive underneath. 

“Shit,” Eddie breathes, earning a scowl from O’Donnell. This is your diary. 

Eddie doesn’t have too many classes with you; you’re in mostly honors courses, while he’s in his third senior year. But you do take health together, and he constantly finds himself stealing glances at you whenever he can. 

He knows he shouldn’t read any further; he can close the diary and turn it into the Lost and Found box. But Eddie Munson’s never been known for his impulse control, and before he knows it, he’s skimming the pages. 

Most of the entries don’t draw too much of his attention. There’s one from a few weeks ago about an argument you had with your best friend, but Eddie’s seen you two laughing together since then, so he assumes all’s well. A few days ago, you’d just written, “that history test was a bitch” accompanied by a frowning face. Eddie laughs quietly, knowing you’d probably aced it. 

It’s the entry after that where he finds what he’s looking for. 

Mr. Ellison paired me up with Eddie today! We had to work on an anti-smoking poster together, which was ironic, because he reeked of cigarettes. He asked me what I was doing this weekend, and I thought he was going to ask me out, but he didn’t. Guess he’s not into shy nerdy girls. Then again, who would be?

Eddie’s heart sinks into his stomach. If you only knew how much he wants to take you to dinner, hold hands across the table, maybe kiss you after splitting an ice cream sundae. He had planned on asking you out that day, only to wimp out at the last second. 

He hastily tears out the page and pulls out a number two pencil that’s sharpened down to a nub. In the margins next to your entry, he draws and arrow and writes:

He’s definitely into shy nerdy girls, but he didn’t think you’d be into loud metalheads. Meet me at my locker tomorrow before health?

He slips the diary into his bag, vowing to put the note in your locker after his prison sentence—erm, detention, is over. 

~

The next day, Eddie waits by his locker in between second and third periods. His heart pounds in his chest, and his stomach is doing that flip-flop thing it does before a gig. He relaxes a bit when he sees you walking towards him, note in hand. 

“Hey,” you say softly, holding up the sheet of paper. “Did you…”

Eddie laughs nervously. “Y-Yeah, that was me,” he admits. 

Your ears heat up, suddenly bashful. When you found the note, you’d assumed it was some prank by one of the jocks. The fact that it actually was Eddie gives you heart palpitations. “I didn’t know you felt that way about me,” you manage. 

“I didn’t know you felt that way about me till, y’know, I read it,” Eddie mumbles, hoping you’re not too angry about that. 

You cross your arms over your chest. “So, we’re just snooping through diaries now? A bit juvenile, dontcha think?” But your tone is light, despite the truthfulness of your statement. 

“It, um, wasn’t my finest moment,” Eddie’s cheeks turn pink as he reaches into his bag, “which is why I wanted to show you this.” He pulls out a tattered composition book and hands it to you. “It’s not as cute as yours—oh, which I also have, heh.” He offers you your beloved purple journal. 

“Thanks,” you mutter, ensuring that it’s now safely stored in your own backpack before bringing your attention back to his notebook. “What’s this?”

Eddie bites his lower lip anxiously. “It’s my lyric book,” he explains sheepishly. “But not the one I show the guys. This has all my lovey-dovey songs in it. Y’know, shit they’d kick my ass for.” Another nervous chuckle. “They’re, um, they’re about you.”

“Me?!” you ask incredulously. 

“Yeah,” he smiles, letting his fingertips graze your hand. “Figured it was only fair, since I totally read your stuff.”

You flip through the pages, heart warming at the words etched on them. Lyrics like, her smile melts me like snow on my tongue/grow old together but we’ll always feel young make you giggle. “These are really good,” you muse. 

Eddie wrinkles his nose. “Not too corny?”

“Oh, no,” you tease him, “they are extremely corny. But I’m a sucker for a good rhyme scheme, so…” You trail off as Eddie grins. 

“Maybe I could play them for you sometime? Like after school today?” He winces, hoping he doesn’t sound as desperate as he thinks he does. 

You nod. “I’d like that.”

“Cool.” Eddie closes his locker and turns to you slowly, a mischievous twinkle in his chocolate brown eyes. “Actually, what do you say we ditch health and hang out at mine? I promise I’m a lot more interesting than whatever Ellison is going to lecture us about today.”

You peer around the hallway, making sure it’s clear of teachers before slipping your hand into Eddie’s larger, calloused one. “Let’s blow this joint.”

“That’s my girl.”

--

[lakesbian]

alright this one is getting its own post instead of a reblog on a post that is Entirely Not About That. presenting the 'what if we put amy and alec in a room together' manifesto because the thing is that it is interesting but not in the way amy/alec shippers think

Amy shook her head, talking over her, “She’s always been emotional, passionate, unrestrained, and she’s channeling all this new emotion into hate, because it’s the closest equivalent.” “New emotion?” Regent asked.  “You mean you mindraped her.” Amy looked like she’d been slapped across the face.  I wasn’t surprised, but hearing it said out loud was unsettling.

“Nice,” Regent said.  “She could be a human-spider hybrid.  Add some insult to injury with the mindrape thing.” I could see Amy tense.

it is relevant to his character that he's the first person to cut through amy's euphemisms (and everyone else's avoidance of saying the unsettling part out loud) and outright say "you mindraped her." he calls the euphemistic language out and then intentionally repeats it a second time for no other reason than to bug her about it. it's vaguely reminiscent of something he says to sophia during his interlude:

“You and I are more alike than you’d suspect, I think,” he said. “We’re both arrogant assholes, yeah?  Difference is, I admit it, I don’t dress it up and tell myself that I’m a bitch and that that’s a good thing.”  He burned Emma’s face out of another photo.

he has a repeated habit of making people uncomfortable by calling something out for exactly what it is, whether it be "yeah sure cape groupies, my dad's girls, people i used my power on towards the end" or "you mean you mindraped her." he's desensitized enough to really all forms of violence to be unbothered by committing or witnessing them, but he seems to harbor a genuine pet peeve for people who obscure or unreasonably justify what they're actually doing. as uncomfortable as he can make taylor, it's often not that he's doing things worse than the other undersiders, but that he's the person most willing to openly admit what he's doing--or to pettily call out what someone else is doing.

i think it more or less boils down to the fact that he's never gotten to be the person on the peripherals of violence making up neat and tidy ways to talk about it: he spent his entire childhood being hurt in every way imaginable & being coerced into doing the same to others. i think it left him with a sort of genuine distaste for being expected to talk in circles around the viscerally awful things he had done to him or did to others, and subsequently, for people who have done similar things but can't fucking fess up to the reality of it. it's like he's been walking around his entire life just absolutely drenched in blood, witnessing so much else get covered in it, and he's starting to get legitimately bothered over people standing around twiddling their thumbs and pretending it's red paint. he knows it's blood. he's been tasting it since he was 6. he would really like if everyone else could also grow up and admit it's fucking blood.

it's always funny to me that amy/alec shipping is, like, a Thing--a niche thing, but a Thing, because i could not think of a rapist more hand-crafted to piss amy dallon off than alec vasil. he cannot go Three seconds in her presence without going "oh you raped her? you mean you raped her? with your mind? like she doesn't just have new feelings you specifically mean you mindraped her?"

she, on some level, views herself as someone who did harm because she's irrevocably, ontologically evil, and is sort of desperately obsessed with minimalizing or half-justifying her actions to herself so that she can avoid recognizing that she feels like she can't be better. she's clinging to the idea that she can be "redeemed" if she does something of equal measure in the opposite direction (e.g 'spending the rest of her life healing people' as she mentions), but because she can't even directly acknowledge how bad her actions actually were without crumbling under the weight of the idea that she's doomed to be that bad, she's fundamentally incapable of looking directly at what she did at this point in the story.

alec, on the other hand, is really fucking upfront and fairly objective about his actions--he never ties them into some Inarguable Truth About His Soul, and he's pretty honest about whether or not he thinks they're justifiable. in 14.1, he has this dialogue with cherie:

“When daddy had you practicing your powers, you ‘hijacked’ a few people at a time, used their bodies to get high with no consequences for you, you threw orgies for yourself…” “Again.  I was a kid.”

but despite the fact that sophia is, on some level, justified in his mind by his "eye for an eye, this is a favor for taylor" rhetoric--he's fine with admitting that he's also just doing it because, yeah, he's an arrogant asshole and he feels like it. some of it was because he was a kid being groomed, and some of it was because He Felt Like It.*

*sure, he only Felt Like It because he has a comically large cocktail of unpacked psychological issues--but he doesn't know that, he just knows he felt like it.

in other words, he doesn't subscribe to the idea that any of his actions are, like, Ontologically Predetermined By His Inner Being or even necessarily all related. he's like the fuckin' "might do it again, prolly not" dude from the sex offender shuffle. okay, sorry for saying that in my seriouspost. but his philosophies would clash hilariously badly with amy--he insists on accepting his own & others actions for exactly what they are, he's generally very invested in not being his father (being asked if he intends to turn out like his dad is one of the only times something briefly upsets him), and he's actually doing pretty okay at that. he's like...shockingly well-adjusted given the circumstances. his entire arc is more or less a slow upward climb.

i think having to be around someone who both believes and would outright admit "yeah i raped people, no i dunno if i feel that bad, no i'm not raking myself over the coals for it, yeah some of it was because i was a kid, yeah some of the other stuff wasn't, no i'm not Predestined To Suck," would like. clash with her beliefs abt 'ontologically evil' being a real thing, abt punishment as justice, etc. in a way that would really bother her. she spends a lot of her time in her head trying to twist things around until they feel salvageable to her, but alec is 0 amount concerned with rationalizing to make him feel alright--he just does things, some bad, most shitty attempts to be better.

it's, funnily enough, far more functional for improving than what amy has going on--he operates on material actions as opposed to her Self-Flagellating Thought Labyrinths, and the fact that he's busier moving on from things he can't materially change than he is kicking himself in the face means he can actually achieve some form of progress towards more functional approaches wrt human interaction. i think if amy had an extended conversation w/ him about the subject, she'd both be disgusted with him for not thinking thoughtcrime is real and deeply resentful that this fellow ontologically evil villain is doing better at moving forwards as a person than her despite not 24/7 flagellating himself + yearning for "redemption" like she is. it'd throw a disturbingly large wrench in her worldview, and she would not be happy about it.

oh, and alec would think she's weird and mopey and dumb and annoying and "why do it if you can't even admit it." and he would probably tell her as much. which is the point where i unlock the door to the room so alec can sprint out to escape amy's attempt to put tastebuds on his asshole.

[catsgetoutduringmidnight]

Aziraphale & Eddington.

Neil has confirmed us that David Tennant *actually* exists within the Good Omens universe. Thus, we may assume that the whole of his filmography, except for Good Omens, also exists. We may assume as well that Aziraphale has more or less followed Doctor Who over the decades, and that somehow, with time, the actor of his favourite doctor earned an eerie similarity to Job. But this isn't about him, right now. This is about his son in law.

I would like to think Aziraphale did enjoy the utterly handsome Eighth doctor, ending up glued to the screen and getting deeply excited about this incarnation. He probably got upset because of his only appearance on TV, but would still be delighted to see the series coming back to the BBC in 2005. The Ninth doctor may have appeared a bit tough to him at first, but there was something deeply endearing about him. Maybe it was the way he rocked that leather jacket, or his sense of humour, or his bravery, or his charming accent... He never really knew, but it was sad to say goodbye so soon again. "Who will be the new doctor?" He thought to himself. "Will they be blond? Taller? Will they wear a vest? A bowtie perhaps?". When the young man appeared on screen before Rose for the first time, Aziraphale was left completely mesmerised. The young man was... Different. He had slightly long hair and, honestly, he really liked how the leather jacket suited him too. Once the credits rolled, he found out his name: David. "Oh, that's a lovely name," he thought to himself. "That's the name of a king!".

He followed his seasons very carefully, blushing with his cheekiness, chuckling with his jokes, and loving how adventurous and fair the man was. Thanks to Crowley, he even dared to go to "the videoclub" and rent some of his earlier works. Oh, how handsome the man looked in The Last September, what a dear he was in Takin' Over the Asylum, how lovely he was in Duck Patrol, and what a cocky detective he was in Blackpool... Although, he admitted not being too focused on observing his labour as a detective there. The young man was rather handsome. Aziraphale flushed, could this be love? How silly of him! Falling in love with an actor! He was an angel! Which, inherently, also meant he was born to love. Maybe, just maybe, it wasn't something bad. It could be silly, of course, but forgivable.

One afternoon, Aziraphale went to the videoclub on his own, and found a movie he hadn't checked out yet. Einstein and Eddington, a scientific movie it was. The young man looked wonderful in those glasses and stunning sandrift linen suit. Humans may say one mustn't judge a book by its cover, but this dvd already seemed perfect for him! Thus, the angel rented it and decided to treat himself with the film. He laid on his white cream sofa, got under his soft tartan blanket, and pressed the play button. A smile came across his face when he saw the man in those light refined clothes. What a delight to the sight that was.

The angel felt it deeply when he learnt that Eddington was in love with a man he couldn't have, but his heart did not only wrench there, no. It was when he saw the man stand before the orrery when things got clearer. He had to pause the video. Aziraphale got up and sat close before the screen, brushing his fingers against the image. "Crowley..." He mumbled. The only thing in his mind was the image of the spectacular ginger angel he met, in their neat white dress, creating a whole universe in front of his eyes. The way their thin fingers moved, the eagerness in their voice, the dark greenish of their gaze, way more breathtaking than the vastness of hues of the newborn nebulae. And when the blond saw, further on, the physicist crying desperately for his vanished love in the wide green garden, his heart shattered into shards.

He would not admit it, but he did not watch the movie just once that night. Not twice either. Eddington was just like his dear boy, not specifically the angel, nor specifically the demon. It was him. With their curiosity, and their passion, and their deep care, and hunger for answers and justice. He felt warm tears threatening to fall from his eyes and his mind started wandering. Because, what if. Just, what if Crowley had ever felt like Eddington? What if he was worried that one day he would never see his angel again? What if there were feelings trapped in his chest he feared never being able to express? Would he be like the astronomer and, once again, question God for her ineffable decisions? It took Aziraphale a good while to get away from the screen, from that eerily familiar image fueling his heart. It took him days for his sorrow over the fictional Eddington's life to lighten, after being the root of many, many wondering.

The next time the angel met his partner, he was certainly still caught up in his thoughts. The demon noticed, so he decided to ask him about his series and that actor that had truly drawn his attention. He didn't really know what he saw in him, but it didn't take much to notice the pure bliss in his blue eyes when he told him about his character's adventures. The way his words flowed in excitement and his hands often moved around to help with it. The angel was finally enjoying himself in something else than books and occasional music, and seeing him so cheerful did really brighten the demon too.

"How are things going with your binge watching? Have you gotten your hands on another series, or...?"

Aziraphale slowly lifted up his head and stared nervously into Crowley's eyes. He did not know what to say, how could he put into words his worry? Even worse, how to explain where all this came from? The ginger would probably laugh. Worrying that deeply about a character? A movie character? The angel got dewy-eyed. Please no, not in front of him, not like this, he prayed. The demon frowned, he sensed there was something his beloved couldn't easily tell.

"Aziraphale? Is everything alright?" The ginger asked softly. The principality breathed deeply and finally, managed to speak, as he fiddled with his vest.

"I- I just watched a movie, a sad one I must say. It made me think." The demon hummed, and answered.

"I get it. It's understandable, and if that David guy is really that good as you say, I bet his acting can move tons of people." Aziraphale's gaze brightened, he couldn't believe what he had just heard. "I mean, I can see him being very talented. From what you've told me, the man does really have a range for acting. That's always important, to be able to adapt-."

"You really listened." Crowley was about to keep on rambling when he saw the angel in awe.

"Well, I have ears, what else am I supposed to do with them if its not listening?"

Tears fell off the angel's eyes. Crowley did not hesitate to get closer, inviting him into his arms. In a matter of seconds, the blond was in his embrace. He hugged his Angel tightly, and let him cry as much as he needed, caressing his back. He could not help but mutter in a caring tone.

"You and your stories, Angel."

[midnightkolrath]

Dante and his deeper layers I've noticed in the 2007 anime

I originally meant for this to be a WAY bigger dig/analysis, as I want to go episode by episode...but I decided to minimize it for now because this anime gives me brainworms so often, lmao.

So, lets get into this light dig of added bits for Dante's character from the anime and just how neat the anime is on what it covers.

Early on in the anime, there's parts of the anime where Patty unknowingly berates Dante about having a picture of his "girlfriend" on his desk, not knowing its actually his mother. Same episode, she talks to Dante about her own mother, and how much she wishes to meet her, after being orphaned for unknown reasons (We learn why later but you know).

And BOTH times, Dante doesn't respond, save for a quiet distant stares off into space or seemingly ignoring her. For the first case, he very much likely excuses it with the fact that she's just not aware of the truth of the picture but not outright scolding her over it.

Like...he doesn't snap or correct her or anything. He just remains quiet. And we know how much Dante loved his mom (his color palette even matches hers for gods' sake) and how he got when facing Trish in DMC1 (which this takes place after). Shows just how those events really changed him afterwards. Especially since this is also after he thought he killed Vergil with his own hands...which the anime VERY MUCH shows the depression he has. He's in it deep for alot of it.

Back to the second part of the Patty thing though, as much as he pretends he isn't listening or doesn't care, he very much WAS listening to her, as later in that episode, he easily figures out where she went (into a trap where a demon disguised itself as her mother to lure her) due to the poster she was gazing at which reminded her of her mother, and the discussion they had right before she ran off.

Like, this man may be the way he is and PRETEND he isn't paying attention to people sometimes, but like...no, when its important, he VERY MUCH is. Speaking of which...episode 3.

This is one of the fun parallel episodes where the situation reflects a part of Dante's life...such as when a demon falls in love with a human, who was originally supposed to serve his master. Obviously, a parallel to Sparda and Eva's relationship, Dante's parents.

Even when its found out that the guy is the target dante's supposed to be after, Dante literally takes time to hear him out and question him over his love for a human woman. Dante's the result of such a relationship, so it makes sense he'd stop to listen.

In the end, he decides to go against killing this demon, despite what his client wanted. He sees firsthand and knows that this is actually a couple in love. Like...he gets it. For obvious reasons, but he also MADE SURE it was a true love relationship. Pretty wholesome actually.

An obvious one if you've seen the instruments and jukebox in his office, but episode 6 adds on that Dante 'gets' music and how it can touch/relate to people. I think its a cute additional touch. :' )

I wanna dig into this episode more eventually, but its obviously music themed. And Dante hangs out as a bodyguard for some fellow music enjoyers. Just one of those nice further looks on the general work Dante does, which this anime does a great job in doing.

Episode 7 onward is where shit gets deep into more parallels and just the kind of guy Dante is, while going through it this whole series. Helping a spirit get laid to rest by pulling a prison break and rescuing her brother (Episode 7)...

Having his status as the son of sparda ending up getting someone originally close to him (Supposedly anyway, its implied that Dante grew up with this guy and was raised by the same mother figure...which Dante denies, but we know how he can be, and he was likely trying to protect him in a way) hurt and said person thrusting hate on him for it as that was why a whole village got burned down...and the guy originally believed and had genuine faith that it wasn't Dante's fault (Episode 8)...

Meeting students (who are brothers, one older and one younger) of his father, arguably bonding with one of them and having to put both down in the end (Episode 10), which can be seen as a cruel parallel to himself and Vergil...(And even going through the effort of respectfully setting a grave site together for them)

And the final episodes, 11 and 12, are the conclusion of the whole arc that was built up in the background...but its also a show of Dante and Patty's relationship becoming so close as she goes to personally save him after he was impaled by the big bad. Its a pay off for the growing bits of them spending time together from episode 1, and later a neat easter egg nod in DMC5 where Patty calls to invite him to her birthday party, showing they still very much keep in touch. (And the novel Before the Nightmare goes more into why, exactly, he actually didn't want to go, but we'll dive more into that later one day).

I'll likely more deeply elaborate about the anime one day, but like...there's a reason why its such a gem in the series. Short, but did great with the episodes it had. A treat for those who want to see more layers for Dante. Its so SO good.

Like you may or may not like the 'slice of life' parts, but its necessary for what they were going for, I think. I know I skipped a few things, but I hope I got the big highlights atleast. Go check out the first anime, its a pretty damn solid ride.

[humbledragon669]

Lockdown Episode Write Up P1 – tableaus

Introduction

So, first things first, just in case you haven’t seen it, or want to see it again, you can watch this little bonus episode here. It takes place between seasons one and two and consists of a series of static “tableaus” with a voiceover of a telephone conversation between Crowley and Aziraphale. In truth, I think its purpose was largely to serve as a public service announcement for people to contribute to the “Stay At Home” campaign that the UK government had enacted as part of its Covid-19 prevention/reduction efforts, though I’m sure it was also a bit of fun to make for the anniversary of the book, and probably gave Michael, David, and some editing crew something to do for about an hour or so. The script never mentions Covid-19 directly, but I think we can assume (given the timeline between the seasons) that the time setting is 2020, May 2020 to be exact.

Despite the fact that it’s less than 4 minutes long (including opening and closing credits), there’s actually quite a lot to say about this sweet little thing (I’m going to call it a minisode from this point on – yes, I know that word has particular connotations for season 2, but we’re not there yet, so minisode it is). I don’t think there’s much linking the dialogue with the images (apart from the cake sequence), so I’ve broken this write-up down into tableaus and dialogue, because there are just as many Easter eggs (maybe more) to be had from the tableaus as there are from the script. Some of the later tableaus are reiterations of earlier images, so I’ve bundled them together where I can for brevity. I have also only commented on the items in the tableaus that can be clearly seen and aren’t out of focus.

This part of the write-up will address just the tableaus, with the dialogue addressed in a separate write-up. As a final bit of uniquity, I’ve placed tableau #12 at the end of the write-up as it’s a wider shot of a lot of the objects we see in other images, so anything left not yet addressed can be done there. Right, housekeeping done, let’s get stuck in shall we?

Tableaus

Tableaus #1and #18

Contents:

A plate of sushi, complete with chopsticks

Multiple piles of books (unfortunately I can’t discern what any of them are).

A drawing of Aziraphale.

What looks like the edge of a map – this will be covered in a later selection of tableaus.

Nothing too cryptic in this compilation of objects – it’s fairly obvious from them and the effects on Crowley’s voice that we (the audience) are in Aziraphale’s bookshop. The sushi and the books are pretty obvious connections to the angel, but I don’t think we’ve known him to be an artist (and a pretty good one at that) before now. The one thing I will say about the use of a plate of sushi in this first tableau is that it makes for a nice parallel to the opening of season 1 – the first time we see Aziraphale in the present day, it’s in a sushi restaurant.

Tableaus #2 and #17

Contents:

A G.K. Chesterton book.

A drawing of Crowley.

A plate of Welsh cakes (links into the cake sequence).

An old map of Oxfordshire – this will be covered in a later selection of tableaus.

A magnifying glass, presumably for looking at the map with.

Alright, now we’re getting into some neat little Easter egg territory. I’m fairly sure there is a reference in the book somewhere to Chesterton being one of Crowley’s favourite authors, but I’m not sure where. It is singled out in the dedication in the front of the book though, so it must be in there somewhere. And then there’s the drawing. It’s very difficult to tell, but in tableau #2 it looks like it might be the other half of the drawing we saw of Aziraphale. Which would mean that drawing is of the two of them together. Drawn by Aziraphale. In a very romanticised way. As much as I really want to believe that, we can see in tableau #17 that this isn’t the case. It’s a nice mental suggestion though.

Tableau #3

Contents:

More books.

A steaming mug (presumably of cocoa).

The objects here are pretty innocuous. The mug is the same one that we see Aziraphale using in season 1 when he sits down to look at Agnes Nutter’s book (and we see it used again in season 2, but we’re not there yet).

Tableaus #4 and #11

Contents:

A bottle of Courvoisier (cognac).

More books.

A glass, presumably containing Courvoisier.

I can’t quite work out what the text on the spine of the uppermost book is – all I can make out is ???WEN ?????YSON – so if anybody has worked this one out I’m all ears (I did Google for all of about two minutes). As far as the Courvoisier is concerned, I have assumed that’s what Aziraphale and Crowley are drinking at the end of episode one, although it comes from a decanter and there’s no bottle in sight (and in fact the Script Book stipulates that they’re drinking whiskey at this point), so an assumption is all it is. I can’t think of any other times that our hero pair drink hard spirits together in season one, but I’m happy to be corrected.

Tableau #5

Contents:

A stack of books, including:

Homer’s Iliad, Vol. II.

Something by G.K. Chesterton published by The Bodley Head, possibly Orthodoxy.

Forbidden Rites: A Necromancer’s Manual of the Fifteenth Century, by Richard Kieckhefer.

Collected Verse, by Hilaire Belloc.

The Club of Queer Trades, by G.K. Chesterton.

A framed picture. The image in the frame is part of this work, described as a woodcutting of witches and devils dancing in a circle from 1720.

Alright, let’s take a look at those books. First up, Homer’s Iliad, specifically Vol. II in this instance. Honestly, I tried to do a bit of research about what this book might contain, but I got bored within reading the first paragraph of the summary, and I have never read the classic poem in its entirety. Don’t get me wrong, I love to read (I mentally inhale books if given the chance), but I have always struggled with classical literature. If anyone can sum up what this volume is about in three sentences (instead of the three long paragraphs I found), I’d very grateful. For now, let’s just say it’s about the Trojan war, specifically the setting of the scene for that coming war. Maybe that’s a subtle reference to the events to come in season 2, but it feels like a stretch.

 There are two Chesterton books in the pile. Given that Chesterton is supposedly Crowley’s favoured author, I find it interesting that Aziraphale has so many of the author’s works lingering around within reach. Has he pulled these out of his collection to gift/lend to Crowley? Or is he reading them purely because he knows that Crowley likes the author? Has he placed them there to make the demon feel at home when he’s at the bookshop? Whatever the reason, there’s perhaps something to be said about the choice of these particular books. The first, Othodoxy, is a companion book to Chesterton’s earlier work, Heretics, which was a collection of essays refuting non-religious beliefs and defending Christianity. Chesterton described Orthodoxy as an account of his personal journey to embracing Christianity and its values, including the concept that biblical paradoxes are actually essential for satisfying the human need for conflict. Bit of a mouthful all of that, isn’t it? Pretty sure it ties it rather nicely to the ideas put forward in both seasons that Heaven and Hell must both exist in order for free will to be effective. I think. I don’t think I’m wording that very well, but you probably get the message. On the other hand, The Club of Queer Trades is a much lighter book of short stories, each one detailing a case taken on by a private detective agency that involves someone who has an unusual occupation. These occupations include a raconteur (someone who tells anecdotes in an amusing way), a vicar, a professor who insists on dancing, and a Lady who refuses to be rescued. Seems like there are quite a few similarities between those descriptions and a certain angel to me…

I find the next book, Forbidden Rites: A Necromancer’s Manual of the Fifteenth Century, to be an interesting one for Aziraphale to have on hand. This is said to be a collection of medieval magic, along with a commentary. It perhaps fits in with Aziraphale’s penchant for books of prophecy, but its contents seem a bit too practical for that.

The final book that I was able to identify in this pile is written by a gentleman I admit I had never heard of before – Hilaire Beloc. I found it difficult to identify what the contents of Collected Verse might be, but the author himself is referred to as one of the Big Four of Edwardian Letters, alongside H.G. Wells, George Bernard Shaw, and… G.K. Chesterton. So perhaps that’s the reason for this book’s inclusion.

Moving on to that picture. Being of Pagan background, that image is one that I have seen many times in my life. The full image shows a circle of four women and four demon-like creatures dancing together, apparently created in 1720. It was doubtless used as propaganda to justify and document the witch hunts that took place during this time in history. This feels like an especially odd object for Aziraphale to have, particularly as it’s framed. He of all people would know that the events depicted in the image were nonsense, and none of the figures in it are recognisable as anyone in particular, so why has he singled it out for such reverence?

I’m sure there’s probably a lot more analysis that could be done on these items and how they tie in to the Good Omens storyline and sub-text, but this was only meant to be a quick write up of a minisode that’s less than 4 minutes long, so if anyone wants to take up the mantle on that one, you’re more than welcome.

 Tableau #6

Contents:

A preserved butterfly in a bell jar, held in place with what looks like a clockwork mechanism.

I don’t think I have much to say about this object except… huh? My initial thought about it is that this thing is ODD. I know people do preserve butterflies in jars, but I’ve never seen one with a cog literally threaded through the wings. I actually spoke to a friend of mine about who’s a qualified etymologist (she studies bugs) and she’d never seen one either. She did manage to tell me that the butterfly in question is called an “autumn leaf” or “leafwing”, which originates in Asia. None of which really helps me understand what this thing is doing here. What is its purpose? Why does Aziraphale have it? IT’S JUST SO WEIRD. Any ideas about this one welcome, because I can’t get my head around it.

Tableau #7

Contents:

A copy of Orthodoxy, open at a page of an essay entitled “The Ethics of Elfland”.

So firstly this would seem to confirm my supposition of the G.K. Chesterton book published by The Bodley Head. I will confess, I haven’t read the whole essay pictured, but you can do so here if you so choose. No, I skipped ahead to the end to see if I can get a feel for what the subject of this particular essay was. In doing so I found the following quotes:

Thus ends, in unavoidable inadequacy, the attempt to utter the unutterable things. …magic must have a meaning… …the proper form of thanks to it is some form of humility and restraint: we should thank God for beer and Burgundy by not drinking too much of them.

The first of those you can just about make out in the tableau, and I’m not surprised that this particular piece of prose has been selected by the editor – the is the very definition of something being “ineffable”, is it not? That which cannot be uttered? The quote about magic seems to me a very obvious link to Aziraphale’s penchant for magic, and that last quote about exercising restraint around good food and drink?

It’s the very antithesis of Aziraphale, so it’s interesting to apply this philosophy to his relationship with God (and Heaven in general).

Tableaus #8, #14, and #15

Contents:

An old map of Oxfordshire.

A magnifying class (presumably for looking at the map).

A plate of cakes (links into the cake sequence).

A newer looking (probably OS) map of Lower Tadfield, annotated with spiralling lines centred on the village.

An open book.

I can’t quite make out what the book is in tableau #15. No matter, the presence of the maps is plenty interesting enough. I think it’s likely that the older map is the one we see in the back room of the book shop:

The newer map is one that I feel like we’ve seen in the show at some point, but I can’t find it. I have a sneaking suspicion that it belonged to Anathema, and that the lines plotted on it are ley lines that have readjusted themselves in light of Adam’s emerging power. If that is the case, I’d quite like to know how and why Aziraphale has Anathema’s map. More importantly, I’d like to know if the presence of these maps in the bookshop is because the angel is still keeping an eye on the ex-Antichrist. Perhaps he’s just looking over his research for nostalgia. Maybe he just hasn’t tidied up properly for a while. Personally, I think there’s probably a reason he still has them – might be something for season 3? Guess we’ll just have to wait and see.

Quick side note: the map explicitly states Lower Tadfield, but Adam’s home is never referred to in this way in the show, only the book.

Tableau #9

Contents:

A piece of paper with Crowley’s full name written on it in cursive script.

A wax seal stamp with what looks like some sealing wax, smouldering.

Now this is a curious one! When I first saw it, I thought it was supposed to be Crowley’s signature, but it’s pretty obvious that this must be Aziraphale’s hand when we compare it with the demon’s request for holy water:

So the next thing I wondered was what Aziraphale was doing “faking” Crowley’s signature. I don’t think that’s right either though, which leaves me with two other possibilities. Firstly, that the paper we see is an envelope, which has been addressed with Crowley’s name. This would fit with the use of the sealing wax, but I can’t explain why Aziraphale would be writing a letter to Crowley, or why he would be sealing in this antiquated way. I know the angel is a little behind the times, but he knows how to pick up the telephone, so I don’t think he’d be writing letters, particularly given he would have to leave the bookshop to post it, and in case you’ve forgotten, this minisode is supposed to be encouraging us to STAY AT HOME. And let’s not forget the addition of the title “Esq.” at the end of Crowley’s name. It’s a pretty outdated term now, and would certainly look out of place if used, even if it was on a letter.

The second possibility is that this is the writing from the drawing of Crowley, providing a description of the subject. This feels more appropriate than the letter explanation, although it does mean that the wax and accompanying stamp become somewhat meaningless. This explanation might also go some way to explaining the title that Aziraphale has given to Crowley, and actually fits quite nicely with the romanticised style applied to the portrait.

Tableau #10

Contents:

An armillary sphere.

I didn’t know what this was, other than something to do with astrology/astronomy, so I had to Google. Turns out they were historically used to predict/calculate and map celestial movements. Taking this into account, this seems like a strange thing for Aziraphale to have, though it would feel right at home in Crowley’s apartment. But. I did a bit more digging, and it turns out that the image of an armillary sphere has been used in classical paintings of saints to represent the presence of Heaven.

Mind. Blown.

Tableau #13

Contents:

Satanism and Witchcraft, by Jules Michelet.

Magic: An Occult Primer, by David Conway.

As with Forbidden Rites, both of these books seem like very strange books for Aziraphale to have at hand. The first of these two books, published in 1862 (!), is widely regarded as being one of the earliest known publications sympathetic to the history of witchcraft, although nowadays it is considered to be largely inaccurate in its facts. The second is a practical guide and introduction to magic rituals. Whilst I can see how Aziraphale’s interest might extend to the former as far as research goes, perhaps into Agnes Nutter’s history, I cannot imagine why he would have need of a guide for how to conduct Pagan rituals. Answers on a postcard.

Cakes

There is a sequence of cake images that falls between tableaus 13 and 14. These tie directly into the dialogue at this point in the minisode, so I’m going to cover them in the part of this write up given over to the dialogue.

Tableau #16

Contents:

A flickering flame.

I don’t think there’s much to say about this particular tableau. I have assumed that this is a candle burning, but it is rather difficult to make out. You’d expect to see the shape of a candle underneath the flame if that was the case, and the burning wick looks distinctly unlike one you would see on a candle, but I have nothing else to draw on for this so “candle” is what I’m going with.

Tableau #12

As a reminder, I’m only looking at the things in this tableau that I haven’t covered elsewhere in this write up.

Contents:

Piles of books, which include:

Several more G.K. Chesterton titles.

A copy of Pilgrim’s Progress.

The Lore of the Land, by Jennifer Beatrice Westwood.

Unfortunately, I can’t make out the titles of the majority of the books in this image. The book on the right of the tableau, The Lore of the Land, is a charming sounding little thing about the legends found in all the different counties of England. Whilst I can’t see an immediate link to the Good Omens storyline, I quite like the idea that Aziraphale and/or Crowley are responsible for the vast majority of the entries in that book! On the other hand, Pilgrim’s Progress has a much clearer connection to the themes and ideas of the show, detailing one man’s life journey through life and his relationship with his faith. What we don’t get any indication of is whether Aziraphale would have this on hand because of his ability to relate to it, or whether it’s simply because it’s considered to be one of the most significant works of theological fiction in all history.

I already covered the creepy mechanical butterfly in a previous tableau, but there is something extra in this image that we can now make out – there’s a plaque on the bottom of the jar. I can’t make all of the writing out, but I think part of it says it’s a science award. Where from and what for I can’t read, and I can’t see what the mechanism is powering or anything in the base of the jar. Still seems like a weird thing for Aziraphale to have if you ask me!

Pre-credits message

What a perfect way to end this little treat. Not just a tip of the hat to the ending of season one, but a message of hope for everyone watching in what was a very dark time in recent history. I’ve no doubt that there was a lot of comfort had from these four minutes of film when it was released, and not just because the fans for this show are deeply invested in its development. This single line seems to convey so much of what couldn’t be said in words (or images), and I’m not about to try here, so I’m going to wrap this part up and move on to the dialogue in the next one. As always, comments, questions, discussion: always welcome 😊

[therummesoccupied]

IDW'S SONIC THE HEDGEHOG, 2024 ANNUAL - THOUGHTS

I wanted to cover this one earlier, I really did, but the Sonic X Shadow Generations hype took me over, and for the past couple weeks I have been incapable of thinking about anything else. If you haven't played that yet, by the way, I highly recommend doing so as soon as possible. It's truly one of the most astoundingly high-quality pieces of Sonic media ever produced. Maybe I'll do a post on it, who knows. But for now, we have an annual special to cover.

This is the first one of these annuals I've discussed on here, but I really appreciate their presence in the story. Both they and the various mini-series have done a great job of sort of filling the void Sonic Universe left behind when Archie Sonic ended. It's nice getting to peek into what the supporting cast is up to and what's happening outside of the main plot.

This one is also a unique little experience since, while most Annuals have had either five or six short stories included within them, this one includes only three stories - with one of them being a full twenty pages. That's as long as a regular issue! So I'll move through the stories one at a time, and give a few thoughts on each.

I wanna start by talking about the cover, though, because this one's kind of interesting to me. In the past, the "A" Covers have always done a bit to give you at least some idea of what to expect from the stories inside. The 2019 and 2020 covers both featured somewhat generic art featuring characters making appearances from stories within. The 2022 cover showed Blaze in a sundress spending time with Cream at the beach - an allusion to the "Guardians" story that kicked off the 2022 Annual and its ending with Blaze taking a vacation in Sonic's world.

This one, though, features a nice little art piece featuring Sonic and Tails rushing through a snowy mountainscape, which... does not happen in the Annual. None of the stories in this one center around Sonic or Tails, and none of them take place in any sort of wintry tundra.

Just an odd detail I noticed. Nothing here gives us any sort of glimpse into the stories we're about to see or the characters we're about to follow. Still nice art, though.

With that bit of business out of the way, we'll move on to the real meat and potatoes of the Annual:

The Stories

Story #1: Hero's Calling

We kick things off with a good old-fashioned Ian Flynn story about Surge and Kit continuing to pursue a life of heroism following the events of the Extreme Competition and Phantom Riders arcs, and finding it more difficult than they had anticipated to live up to the reputation of a hero.

The pencils here are handled by Thomas Rothlisberger with Rik Mack tackling Inks and Colors. Rothlisberger's style is often employed for the series' lower-stakes stories, relying a lot on exaggerated expressiveness and cramming every panel as full of action and detail as possible. They're perfect for slapstick-y stories, and while that fits the bill a bit here, it doesn't fit perfectly for me since, as this story continues, it takes a turn for the quieter and more introspective toward its second half.

After "saving" a runaway trolley in the city of Westopolis (from 2005's Shadow the Hedgehog - neat to see that city show up again), Surge finds herself contemplating a difficult question. As she chases the life of a hero, she takes it upon herself to save others. But she wonders: Why do they even need saving? With this world being subject to one crisis after another, shouldn't its denizens have learned to handle this sort of thing by now? She wonders if maybe, by always being there to save the day, if Sonic and friends have made this world a little soft. Maybe the Sonic Cycle really is keeping the world from moving forward.

Maybe...

I love Kit's reaction to this. Kit has always been quick to support Surge, no matter what, but when she suggests that Dr. Starline, the man who stole their lives, used and tortured them, and destroyed everything they were, may have been right all along... For the first time, we see the tiniest hint of anger toward her flash across his face. Kit. Truly Hates. Dr. Starline.

As she talks things over with Kit, Surge... never really settles on a course of action. The only thing she knows for sure is that she believes Sonic is the problem here, and that she hopes to one day remove him from the equation once and for all.

Kit, on the other hand, arrives at a much more dangerous conclusion.

Kit sees Surge's frustration at the world's ability to solve its own problems, but he also sees the fulfillment she gets from solving those problems. And so, he resolves to continue making sure there are problems for her to solve, even if she is able take out what she perceives as their roots.

This... will not go well. I can already see it. Surge is going to keep solving whatever issues Kit constructs for her to overcome, feeling like she's truly making a difference, only for it all to come crashing down when she realizes she was never changing anything. This will, in turn, create a rift between her and Kit, and since Kit has become heavily dedicated to and dependent on her, it is going to destroy this poor child. Mark my words. These two are in for some sad times.

Overall, Rothlisberger does do a pretty good job at capturing this story's subtler moments, but at times the exaggerated, cartoony style and Mack's very bright, stark colors can take me a little bit out of some of the moodier moments of this story. Still, a solid bit a storytelling dedicated to these two characters who really seem to be going somewhere in the grand scheme of things.

Story #2: For My Destiny

Our second story is a chill, little character check-in on Knuckles the Echidna as he spends his days peacefully guarding the Master Emerald on Angel Island. This one boasts a script and colors by Iasmin Omar Ata, and pencils by Adam Bryce Thomas.

This is yet another case of an artist being used in an odd way, since ABT's art really shines when he gets to do big, shonen-style action scenes. But here, we just get a quick introspective of Knuckles contemplating his relationship with the Master Emerald and all of the events and people it's brought into his life.

Not much else really happens here, and the first time through, I thought this story was a bit of a waste of time. Like, we already kind of get this sort of look at Knuckles in Sonic Frontiers, why keep harping on it here? But then I read it a second time with Frontiers in mind, specifically the Prologue: Divergence animated short. I thought of how this story would be told if it could be animated, with music and performance to really nail down the vibe it's going for, and I... kind of love it now? It's dramatic in a very understated way, and I'm honestly glad its here.

Story #3: Shattered Diamonds

This one. This right here is the real showstopper of the 2024 Annual.

Here, we get a script from Gigi Dutreix, Pencils from Dutreix and Mauro Fonseca, Inks from Matt Froese, and Colors by Leonardo Ito and Valentina Pinto. Everyone here brings their A-game for... a backstory comic about Mimic the Octopus. This is nuts to me. A comic-original side-villain, getting his own full-issue length story exploring his background, and it's... so good.

Dutreix has explained on their social media that they put a lot of work into researching real-life sociopaths, and the commonalities in their worldview when determining how to handle Mimic's backstory. We learn that he was once an actor (hey! I'm one of those!) and that his time in the fiercely competitive industry quickly taught him not to trust anyone. He learned to use whatever means necessary to achieve his goals, even going so far as to stab others in the back to get what he wants.

Then the Eggman War we see in Sonic Forces happens, and Mimic's ugly worldview seems to be proven true, and the means he uses to survive appear justified for a while, further strengthening this idea he has to that no one but him is honest with themselves, and that one mustn't trust or dedicate themselves to anyone else if they hope to survive.

Then. Something happens.

Mimic meets a group of people who seem.. genuine. People who care for each other. Care for him.

And he panics.

He convinces himself that they must be fakes. That they wouldn't care about him if they really knew him. All they have to do is see him for who he really is, and they'll stab him in the back just as he's done to so many others before.

He starts to view the Diamond Cutters as a means to an end. And he fears becoming attached to those means, fears letting those means change him.

So... he disposes of them. Or tries to. From there, we all know how it goes. But now, we have a far more thorough understanding of why someone who claims to be pragmatic and driven by self-preservation continues to engage in this dogged pursuit of revenge against Whisper. He views her as the last remaining evidence of a memory that almost changed who he is. And he worries that he will never be comfortable being himself again until she is gone.

The story ends with a quick little scene of Mimic stalking the New Diamond Cutters as they make their way toward the Eggperial City at the beginning of the Urban Warfare arc, and there's one little bit of weirdness here.

See, in this story, the Diamond Cutters are waiting to meet up with Sonic and Tails before proceeding to the City, but when they storm the city together in Issue 57... Tails isn't there. Tails isn't part of the Urban Warfare arc until Issue 58, after Sonic has reached out to Jewel and asked her to send backup. After that point, Tails arrives with Amy, Silver, and Blaze to lend Sonic a hand. So why is he here with Sonic before he and the Diamond Cutters even make their way to the city?

I actually got a chance to ask Dutreix about this directly, and they provided a fairly similar answer to the conclusion I was already considering: Tails had simply accompanied Sonic to rendezvous with the Diamond Cutters before splitting off to go do something else on his own, returning to regroup with Sonic after Jewel put out the call for reinforcements.

Continuity weirdness aside, though, I loved this story. It was explorative and complex, dark and moody, and it all had such a clear sense of direction. This is the kind of quality storytelling I would never, in a million years, expect to be devoted to a character like Mimic. And that fact just makes it all the better.

Wow.

Massive props to Dutreix and crew for putting together one of the most compelling Sonic stories I've had the pleasure to read.

It might be easy to complain about the smaller amount of stories in this Annual, or about how many of the stories are connected to events that have not yet happened in the comic, but I tell ya, the quality and care put into the stories we got makes it all worth it. This is exactly what these Annuals are for.

Anyway, I think Issue 74 dropped about a half hour ago, so I'mma go read that, and get a review written sometime in the distant future, for sure.

Thanks for reading!

[paperclipninja]

Ok, I don't know exactly where this is going but I can't stop thinking about the fact we got the Crowley/Aziraphale meet-cute in the opening of season 2 and the way the layers of storytelling utilised the same literary conventions our fave demon and angel were inspired by when trying and get Nina and Maggie together.

We get to see Aziraphale and Crowley's understanding of romance and love, or more importantly, their understanding of what they think it should look like, through their misguided set up attempts, and this primarily reveals to us, a) they're both hopeless romantics and b) they have no idea about the subtle and real indicators of love or a burgeoning relationship between two people. But that's ok, they're celestials whose only reference points are books, films and each other (the most unreliable sources of all, exhibit a: Aziraphale telling Crowley Maggie has a 'pash' on Nina).

You know who does know about those subtle indictors of love and blossoming romance? The very human people watching the show. And so throughout the season we witness a series of tropes and moments that indicate Aziraphale and Crowley are indeed the ones whose love story is unfolding, and as viewers we are drawn into certain conventions that we are conditioned to assume will play out and resolve in a particular way. The nebulae creating meet-cute, the ongoing forbidden relationship that continues to build, the friends to lovers dynamic through the centuries and of course, the comfortable and cosy present-day lives, with 'our car' and 'our bookshop' and drinks at pubs and a relatively open existence together.

With each insight into the past, we catch the cues that indicate the developing affection, trust and care between the two; the way Aziraphale looks at Crowley when he realises the crows are goats, the way Aziraphale and Crowley cover for each other with Job's children, the bullet catch ('nough said) and the drinking of wine afterwards. When humans engage with literature or film, we understand the subtext of such moments, something angels and demons seem to miss as they focus on the overt gestures of romance and love in storytelling as confirmation of its existence.

In the present day, its the perching on the same chair, Crowley knowing the angel's different tones, the way they pop into the room at the back of the shop for private conversations, Aziraphale grabbing Crowley's arm, Crowley answering the bookshop phone with, 'Fell's bookshop, we probably don't have what you're looking for and we wouldn't sell it to you anyway'. While these are only a few of the prompts we are given, our brains piece together this storytelling along with the body language and expressions throughout, understand that all these aspects combined flag a romantic relationship developing and so we are swept up in the love story.

The way the flashbacks are interwoven with the present day is disorientating, because we are simultaneously seeing the sweetness and complexity of the developing relationship over time while in the present, Aziraphale and Crowley begin to fall out of step. Yes it starts with Gabriel's arrival and Crowley vs. Aziraphale's reactions and responses (there are many excellent posts that discuss this in great detail), but any misalignment isn't happening all at once, it in itself is like a dance; they move apart but then move together again, as an audience we think oh no, tension! oh good, that's resolved! However the neat trick here is that with each move apart as the individual characters undertake their own journey within the story, the distance grows a little greater. Meanwhile the interactions between the two characters do not necessarily shift dramatically and the set up through the storytelling still suggests that any threats are ones they will face together and it will be ok in the end.

Even the ball, I wanted to be all *swoon* and swept up. Everything that was happening on my screen told my brain that it should be feeling excited and full of all the feelings of seeing these characters finally starting to make a move, like I should be feeling giddy like Aziraphale seems to be because, just like the attendees at the ball and the very literature that inspired it, there's the music and the soft lighting and the smitten little angel face. But it's all those things and also none of those things, because as has been so brilliantly pointed out in this insight, this is all juxtaposed with the demon invasion happening outside and Crowley's futile attempts to convey the seriousness of the situation to Aziraphale. Crowley is doing the movements but he's not part of their dance in that moment, the dance they've been doing for centuries, and as a viewer it feels off kilter.

But we've seen their story unfold, we know that the love and the relationship is all there, and once again we see Aziraphale and Crowley fend off Heaven and Hell, both taking individual risks to do so and protect each other. Heck, we see that an angel and demon can put their differences aside and disapparate off into the universe together, our brains are poised, but also wary at this point because it can't be this easy, can it?

Crowley has to have it explained to him why their plan didn't work, Maggie and Nina sit him down to do so, and in that moment we are also being told that you can't just be pushed together, the timing has to be right (cue small alarm ringing in the back of my head). Despite this, and we know Metatron is never good news, we, as viewers, are held precariously in the hand of the storyteller as Crowley's emotional declaration clashes with Aziraphale's news in a way that side steps the expectations that have been building throughout the season. The final moment of Aziraphale leaving hits SO hard because the expectations many of the storytelling conventions set in motion are subverted at the very last minute. And it's absolutely brilliant.

Just to be clear, I know there is far more complexity in the show, the characters and the storytelling, and tbh I don't even know if any of this rambling makes sense. But the fact is, my tiny mind is just awestruck at the layers of meta in the way our no.1 angel and demon are calling on literary conventions to try to make two people fall in love, while we're watching these conventions in action showing us two people falling in love. The result?

The most incredible tension, yes between the characters and their sudden divergence (which was actually not so sudden after all, we were just a bit distracted), but also tension in the storytelling as the duality of the love story and the individual character stories collide head first in that final moment and we are left trying to untangle our expectations from the reality of what has unfolded.

(that last paragraph should probably have been the whole post honestly)