#and how it lead me into so many other things that made survival/trauma brain even wors | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

helliontherapscallion · 4 years ago

Text

Memory Lane is a Desolate Place (The Ashes of Yourself Part 4)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Spotify Playlist (collaborative)

Warnings: generational trauma, abandonment, neglect, mentions of the following: death, war, plague, famine, genocide

Word count: 2,536

(A/N): Wowza, a Philza-centric chapter! Ik this is a lot shorter than what I usually write for this series, but I’m just trying to ease myself back into this story. I have a lot planned for this, so stay tuned : )

Philza walked through the tundra towards his old household. For the past few weeks, he had slowly been cleaning up the outside area and the interior for the upcoming family reunion. The house, due to nobody living in it, had slowly become overgrown with various weeds and wildlife. He had previously been looking forward to the reunion, ecstatic to see his entire family in one place again, but now he wasn’t so certain that his previous excitement was still there.

Over his many centuries of life on this world, he had seen some truly disturbing things; including genocides that left many children without families, wars that ended in mutually assured destruction, famine that reduced many to skin and bones, great nations once prosperous and grand becoming mere ashes beneath his feet in the matter of days, and plague that ravaged entire populations.

He had learned to ignore them as they passed, as they never affected him. Hardship was always present; time was akin to an arrow slicing through the air at mach speed, never stopping for anybody. To him, it was better to ignore than to be roped into something you couldn’t fix even if you tried. Those memories were shoved into the deepest, darkest corners of his mind only resurfacing against his will in the form of horrific, detailed nightmares.

However, those memories were different. Those were never personal.

The entire time he was walking, the sight of his youngest child’s charred body sinking into the deepest depths of the ocean plagued his mind. The memory was rooted into his mind, being seen in every waking second against his will. His feet led him inside on their own, his mind blank and his body feeling numb; it felt like he was dreaming with how much his subconscious was taking over.

By the time he fully came to his senses, he was standing in front of (y/n)’s closed door. Just like his children’s other doors, their door was labeled with ‘(y/n)’ written in a child’s sloppy handwriting and splotched with random colors of paint. He could remember sitting with them when he first brought them home and telling them to choose their room and holding them up so that they could reach the door.

“Alright, you get to choose your own room!”

The young blaze hybrid paused for a moment in concentration, trying to decipher what he had told them. They hadn’t spoken much English at the time, blaze being the only language they could speak. Luckily, Philza had experience with children not knowing much English; Technoblade had been the same way. After some simpler phrases and a small game of charades, they finally understood what he was telling them. Their eyes lit up and they bounced on the balls of their feet excitedly, making him chuckle.

In an instant, they zoomed down the hallway looking at the decorated doors as they passed. The names on the doors were indecipherable to them, merely chicken scratch compared to the calligraphy that they were used to seeing etched into nether brick. Not that they could read that either, the language was far too complex for a seven year old to understand.

Finally, after Philza caught up to them and showed them the rooms that were open, they had chosen an empty room without a second thought.

“Good choice, kiddo,” Philza beamed, his hand going to ruffle their hair. He hesitated, feeling the unnatural heat resonating from their flaming head before slowly coming to a rest on top of their head. Surprisingly, the flames merely tickled his hand as they flickered about. The heat was pleasantly comfortable, warming up his cold hand in an instant. A strange, weak magical energy made his entire arm tingle almost to an uncomfortable amount. It felt as if he had just touched something packed with static electricity.

They looked up at him with innocent eyes, silently pointing to another door in question. Philza followed their finger and saw that the door belonged to Wilbur, his name being painted in slightly messy spaced out lettering with small music notes surrounding it. Philza’s eyes furrowed before he came to the realization that they wanted to paint their door as well.

His mouth formed an ‘o’ shape before he leaned down to grab their hand and lead them to the kitchen where he had written out the name ‘(y/n)’. It was the name that was shakily etched onto a slightly burnt paper and given to him by the kid themselves when he was walking through a nether fortress earlier that day. Strangely, they were the only inhabitant of the fortress, not even a wither skeleton roamed the twisting halls. The anonymous note, albeit a little difficult to understand (as if the writer themselves hardly spoke any English), begged whomever came across the child to take them in. So Philza, being the type to never leave a child in need, took them in.

He sat next to them at the table and handed them a pencil. On his own piece of paper, he wrote out his own name, said it aloud, and pointed to himself multiple times. The child understood and shakily wrote out their name slowly, mimicking what Philza had written on their paper. This slightly shocked the winged man, he wasn’t expecting them to catch on this quickly. Not even Technoblade had caught on that quickly.

“You’re… a really fast learner, kiddo.” He breathed out with a proud smile on his face. The child, not understanding exactly what he had said, saw his smile and matched it with their own bright one, their face lighting up in a brilliant orange. He felt his heart melt at the sight.

He gathered some paint and paint brushes and led them back up to their chosen room. (Y/n) trailed after him closely, almost bumping into him when he suddenly stopped in front of their room. He lifted them up with one hand and held the palette with the other. The small child in his arm grabbed a paint brush and looked up at him hesitantly.

He gave them an encouraging smile and nodded at the door, telling them to write their name and demonstrating by stroking a clean brush against the door. They understood, gently swiping their brush against the wood with their tongue poked out of the corner of their mouth and their brows furrowed in deep concentration. Soon enough, their name was sprawled out in dripping, brightly colored paint. They looked up at Philza for approval, and upon seeing his large smile and warm eyes, they looked back at their creation with pride. Their eyes flicked between Wilbur’s door and theirs, something was missing.

Their eyes lit up in realization before they suddenly stuck their hand into the paints on the palette. A startled gasp left Philza’s mouth as his grip tightened on both the child and the paints. Before he could stop them, they had smacked their paint covered hand onto the door underneath their name. Paint splattered everywhere, splashing onto their body and his arms and face. He felt them jolt in surprise and felt the slight vibration of a blaze-like grunt rumble their chest.

Despite the mess that it left and the fact that he’d have to clean it up, small chuckles left him before he broke out into full blown laughter. This had been the hardest he had laughed in years, the feeling being almost foreign to him. (Y/n) joined him in his laughter, the sound of their joyed, high pitched giggles being music to his ears.

The two spent the rest of the afternoon decorating the door with small splatters and handprints. By the time they had stopped, Philza had drying paint splotches on almost every part of his exposed skin, hair, and feathers and (y/n)’s small hands were layered with colors and paint was similarly splattered on their body.

Philza pressed his hand against the much smaller handprint on the door and sighed at the memory, his face stretched into a small smile. They had been so innocent back then, their eyes full of hope and naivety, their face not having a single mark on it.

His hand dropped and the smile was wiped clean from his face as he remembered why his clothes were wet and his skin reddened with the unforgiving temperature of the tundra. He shook his head from side to side and squeezed his eyes shut, trying and failing to block out the memory of (y/n) laying scorched on the sandy beach struggling to gasp for the oxygen they were deprived of.

He opened his eyes and forced himself away from the door, instead walking towards the bathroom and running hot water to warm up his shivering body.

The shower was usually a place where he could sort out his thoughts and fully relax, however he was tense the entire time and his thoughts stung him like he was haphazardly tossed into a nettle bush. Once clean and warmed up, he stepped out and put on a dry set of clothes. To get his mind off from things, he quickly busied himself with housework.

That, however, did nothing to distract him from today’s events and the scalding argument that he and (y/n) had. Their words had initially angered him, had he not given them everything they needed to survive? Why couldn’t they understand that he had a constant craving for freedom and adventure that was impossible to ignore?

A mix of emotions poked and prodded at his brain as he contemplated the end of their argument. Their angry voice echoed in his head:

“You don’t know jackshit about me.”

His mind flashed back to the shock and panic he had felt when they nonchalantly stuck their hand into the crackling fire. He had forgotten that they could heal themselves with fire; hell, he had forgotten that they were basically fireproof. He quickly came to the realization that he couldn’t remember a lot of things about them.

“Do you have any idea how much you were gone from my life when I needed you the most?”

He wasn’t stupid, he knew he had missed a lot of their life. Every time he had gotten back from a journey, something about each of his children had always changed and significant milestones had long since passed. He had missed a lot of each of their lives, there was a lot that he didn’t know about them. “I’ll be there next time,” he had wove off a peeved Wilbur when the boy had confronted him about missing Tommy’s second birthday with the family. It wasn’t like he was lying to the older boy, no he fully intended to be there for each and every single milestone his children experienced. However, something always came up and he missed each and every single one. It was easy to make promises, yet it was increasingly difficult to uphold them.

“Wilbur was the one that raised Tommy and I while you were so focused on Techno and your stupid fucking adventures.”

Oh, Wilbur. His only biological child. The boy that had looked at both Tommy and (y/n) with such awe when they first were adopted. The boy that would defend and protect his family with his life. The boy that had once idolized him. The boy that he had left alone with his two youngest. The boy that dreamt of his own nation ambitiously. The boy that begged to die at the hands of his own father. The boy that he had plunged his sword through.

He had never thanked him or even recognized him for the hard work that came with raising two preteens on his own starting at the ripe age of sixteen. His stomach lurched at the memory of his son falling limp in his arms.

Technoblade had been his first son. Adopted or not, he loved him as if he were his own. The second he had allowed the piglin hybrid into his lonely household, it was like the curtains had been ripped open and light immediately spilled into the darkness that had shrouded his heart and mind. Once he was old enough, he had made an excellent sparring and adventuring partner.

He supposed that Technoblade had been placed on a pedestal, but in his opinion, he deserved all the praise he had been given. He had learned to ignore the multitude of voices that danced around his mind deafeningly. He had learned and became completely fluent in another language within the span of two years.

Philza paused as he realized just what he was thinking. Maybe (y/n) was right, maybe he did focus a little too much on Technoblade while they were growing up.

But on the other hand, Technoblade was a gifted child in the art of battle.

However, his other children were important as well.

His thoughts constantly contradict themselves and come full circle repeatedly, being swirled around and bouncing off the sides of his skull. Oh, he despised how much of a whirlpool his thoughts were.

“You were a shitty father.”

Was he a shitty father? His mind strained back hundreds of years to his own father and the last words he had left him with. The memories of his parents were incredibly fuzzy, he couldn’t even remember their faces or voices even if he tried with all his might. He could only remember specific details about them. His father was always absent and exploring the globe while his mother stayed at home raising him.

He could remember how terrified he was when everyone around him aged and he stayed the same. His mother (bless her soul) had passed leaving him home alone distraught on what he should do and angry at the fact that his father wasn’t there. Months had passed since her funeral and Philza hadn’t even heard from him, filling the immortal with blinding rage. When his father had finally come home with the strong scent of sweat and body odor, he had finally let loose what had been brewing in his mind.

“You’re a shitty fucking father and an even shittier husband,” he remembered saying, “she died and you weren’t fucking there.”

It was after that he had left the old man and his childhood home behind in favor of exploring the world. He wanted to see what was so alluring that his father was compelled to miss a majority of his life. After a while of aimlessly wandering and uncovering many treasures, mysteries, and friendships, he had quickly become hooked. It had become a coping mechanism of sorts; a distraction from the death’s shadow following his friends but never him.

He felt as if he plunged through ice and into the freezing inky abyss below as he came to a horrifying realization: he was the person that he hated the most, the person he swore he’d never become when he first laid eyes upon Technoblade. He was exactly like his father.

Memory lane is a desolate place that he’s neglected for good reason, and now it was overgrown with unpleasant memories that forced him to realize who he’s become.

General taglist (comment if you want to be added):

@crybabyjabby @izzybobizzy13 @goldenstarofthunderclan @bunnyz-pxstel @averytiredfanfictionwriter @dcml04 @sparkling-gayyyy @bbigbbrainn @thaticecreambish @kiinokochii @satansphatass @bxkubitch @bxmentchildxx @roxy3457 @montygator17 @feverish-dove @the-fictionwriters-hairdo @jichuuchaeng @404rynnotfound @luluwinchester @laura--444 @the-cult-classic-bitch @youngstarfishdinosaur @nottheotheruser @ohworm-writes @localwolfanon @realitycanbeajerk @v10dw4lk3r @esylwen @seraphsema @boiled-onionrings @smolgreenybeany @louistommosnesquickmilk @galaxios @ryxjxnnx @autumnpleaves @ravennightingaleandavatempus @0ton1n @self-righteous-dumbass @a-simp-for-block-people @fortunatelylazystranger @m1lkmandan @mirios-sunflower @ahmya-4 @shinipii @noyasblush @auroraskyfall @cryptocry @hee-hee-haw

Gender neutral reader taglist (comment if you want to be added):

@totem-awooga @parkeepingparker @whatislifebutlemons

SBI taglist (comment if you want to be added):

@afifaj

Series taglist (comment if you want to be added):

@appetiteofapeoplepleaser @misfortunatem00n @hee-hee-haw @bi-narystars @akikko-yataro @snapple311 @jo171718 @alex--awesome--22 @cinnamonmochi @waterstrawberry @jefferyepsteindidntkillhimself @imamusicalnerd @fo-love @sylum @theshitinmytrunk @rinzyx05 @wasteofspacze @bands-are-amazingly-addicting @im-a-depressed-gay @charlotte-is-missing @s-n1428 @lifestylesleep @dame-sunflowers @bongwaterflavoredgatorade @aestheticpkmntrainer @emma-the-duck17 @pek0ra @wreny24 @willow404 @shiningsunrises @vanhakirja @dont-hug-me-im-a-fander @soulless42 @giavanna @ijustshatbricks @depressed-focker @a-mistake-tbh @jaciahbabes @s0urbear @exorcisms-with-elmo @perseus-666 @aikochan4859 @cutiebear45 @softie7563 @whatislifebutlemons @nagitokinnieissad @angelicaschuyler-church @poggers-froggers @kiritokunuwu @ayuoudro @rubberduckyqueen @demure--daisy @mythicalamphitrite @spiralingtoinsanity @ugabuugaa @bananaaddictmilkshake @supahumbreon @starstruckeds @kakamiissad @trix-cake @beginnerwitchgrimoire @theseventhreincarnation @ilyimagines @jax-cote @binas-idea-vault @marceline1212 @bloodgoddessoftherealm @plaguedoctorsnake @akaza-ryu @vizi0n @asterlie @imapotatoandimconfused @none-the-wiser @yoongi-holland @keiarma @humm1ngj @marvelous-maximofffs @imasimpfortechno @kusuinko @queenthorin1 @artichoke-me-please @queenthorin1

#sbi x reader #sleepy bois x reader #sleepy bois inc x reader #philza x reader #technoblade x reader #wilbur soot x reader #tommyinnit x reader #dream smp x reader #mcyt x reader #tw: generational trauma #tw: neglect #tw: abandonment

625 notes · View notes

theoliviaset · 3 years ago

Text

Trust Issues

Foxy post. This is gonna be full of cussin'. CW for abuse, fakeclaiming, and religion. Consider giving it a read if you're feeling resilient enough rn, and want to know how the syscourse can harm a traumatized system.

[Also holy shit you sure love to roleplay your alters wtf. I know what co fronting is but you chose to not edit out the random unrelated thoughts and that's creepy. Unless you did that as a logical fallacy. Then its creepy and manipulative.]

Okay, so this has fucking been bugging me for a while now. Since longer than Faye's post about ableism went up. Since I figured out who I am really. It's been bugging me just how much a traumatized set of girls have been abused by this very fucking tactic.

So I don't have, let's say, conventional beliefs about my existence. It's certainly not in contradiction to any physical or psychological theories out there. It's just a spiritual belief. Akin to other beliefs about the nature of the soul. But it's... out there by conventional standards.

Of course, this belief doesn't change much how I interact with the world. I don't act like I have magic powers or like I can do extraordinary things. I don't go around harming people because I think I know what awaits me after we kick the bucket. I don't bring our vessel any closer to annihilation because I would rather be home than here. And all of that is true of many religious people. We can coexist with those with different beliefs without much in the way of problems so long as we continue to respect people and call out or fight injustice.

But I'm the only one in this head that has this belief. I'm not the only one with different spiritual or religious beliefs mind you, just the only one who is this unconventional.

Right now, you might be wondering what it is that I believe and why the fuck I'm talking about it so vaguely. Well you're not going to find out right now, because that's part of this whole fucking problem. You see, if I were to tell you what I think about how I got here, a sysmed would come along and fake claim us all to hell. In spite of the fact that I don't even fucking disagree that I'm formed by trauma.

Here's the fucking thing though. Although I may be perfectly comfortable telling intolerant assholes to fuck themselves six ways to Sunday with a cactus, I am not the only one in here. I don't get to make that executive decision.

Wanna know why?

Fucking trauma. The thing that sysmeds are trying to protect systems with from being harmed. (Oh and also ableism, cause this trauma comes from ableist assholes who have never respected our autistic brain).

If you didn't know, a thing that happens to "different" people often enough is that they get abused, ridiculed, and made to feel lesser because of those differences. All of that ill treatment can lead to trauma. Trauma that ingrained a fear response into some members of this system. That fear response violently takes away the autonomy and executive control of anyone who would step out of line and expose the system to further ill treatment.

There's a true saying we heard the other day: "Hurt people hurt people." This system is filled with hurt people. We work together and get along most days. But the disordered part of our disorder comes from the fact that trauma has built in us some survival responses. The primary of these responses has been to avoid confrontation at all costs. Better to say nothing than to say something that could be interpreted in any way as to lead to further abuse.

I've had to deal with that survival response coming from Moxie and Faye so many times. So many paragraphs of text deleted by them forcing their way into the fingers and holding down that backspace key, "People wouldn't understand what you wanted to say anyway." So many times spent frozen staring at the screen knowing what I want to say, "But if you said that, we'd be labeled 'crazy' for sure." So many times having a lump in this body's throat, "If you say that they won't be our friends anymore." And over and over and over again, "Really, what would the neighbors think."

It's abuse. Plain and simple. If a child were trying to be themself, and a parent constantly put them down and stopped them, we would rightly look at that as an unhealthy environment for a growing mind. If an adult were stopped from expressing their own opinions to save their partner's image, we would call that relationship abusive. And so too is it abusive to be trapped in the same head as someone who can take away your ability to talk to the rest of the, all because of what people "might think". Hell, the first few months after I got here I wasn't even allowed to think about what I believe without being bombarded with challenges to my sincerely held spiritual belief; shit that the fucking aspiring minister doesn't get slapped with. Hurt people hurt people, and these bitches are fucking hurt.

You wanna know what happened to us when we were working on that essay? Faye was rehearsing it (as you autisticly do) and I interrupted faer to bring up some of the arguments that we've heard from sysmeds. Fae invited me to help faer out. That was fucking nice. I don't get chances to do a whole lot here. We chatted all day about how that essay was going to go with me acting as the sysmed arguing with faer. I laughed when we did the bit at the beginning where she shushed me for talking about our creative process. She left that in because fae knew how much I enjoyed her reaction. She hoped someone else would get a chuckle too.

But of course, there was a nagging feeling coming from Mox that we shouldn't leave it in; that we shouldn't even bother letting me roleplay the sysmed. If we posted that stuff then people would fakeclaim us, or disbelieve us, or the joke would fall completely flat. But she managed to keep that feeling from overwriting any of our autonomy. She managed to put her trauma response aside to let us express ourselves and have fun.

And the fucking sysmed in the screenshot just told her that she was fucking wrong for that. Expressing ourselves freely is bad. Trying to share a peak into how we work together is unacceptable. Stepping even slightly out of line is worthy of shame and ridicule. That's what we were told in 4 sentences.

Thankfully Mox and Faye are not listening to that bullshit. We're all working as hard as we can to avoid taking away each others autonomy. But being slapped with this kind of bullshit is gonna make this so much harder. Next time I try to post something, or talk to someone, someone won't be able to help but think about that accusation of "roleplaying" our headmates.

It's absolute fucking garbage that this kinda shit happens. Sysmeds aren't protecting anyone. They're causing harm. They're creating an environment where ostensibly traumatized people need to present a very narrow set of behaviors and beliefs or else they're shunned or harassed; traumatized people who've dealt with the same sort of abuse and developed the same sort of freeze/fawn combo. Anyone who doesn't fit within that precise little window is a faker (and idk about anyone else, but one manifestation of depersonalization we get hit with is "I am not real." Fakeclaiming absolutely does not fucking help with people who suffer with depersonalization).

We'll probably be called fucking fake because of this post too. I can feel Moxie's urge to hit that backspace button. I know she's not going to, because we are working on healing. But when we get fakeclaimed for this, it will be another weight around our neck making that path towards health that much harder.

And sysmeds are abso-fucking-lutely going to be to blame. So much for helping traumatized systems. Thanks for creating an environment where we cannot trust that we won't be harassed to no end. Thanks for making our trauma response a necessary survival strategy.

Anyways, fuck you. We'll never know the extent of human experience if we abuse the people trying to share their differences.

-Foxy {O}

#vent #plurality #actually plural #plural #plural system #syscourse #actually autistic #autism #pluralgang

30 notes · View notes

watchmegetobsessed · 4 years ago

Text

Prisoner - Bucky Barnes

a/n: hi everyone! i am really excited to share this with you, because this one was written for a writing challenge! it is part of @wkemeup ‘s 9k writing challenge and it’s the first time i take part in anything like this with a Bucky fic! not that i have many but im sure more is about to come lol! let me know what you thought after reading!

prompt: Character A is possessed/controlled and attempts to harm Character B. [B] refuses to fight back in fear of hurting [A].

pairing: Bucky X Reader

warnings: blood, violence, mind controlling, just the usual jazz lol

word count: 7.8k

masterlist

Bucky and you were a pair made in hell. Only that he is the only one out of the two of you who really went through the deepest and darkest corners of it while you were basically just waiting in the lobby, as you like to say it.

He wasn’t the only person HYDRA had plans with. Being an orphan from the age of four, you didn’t have the life you probably deserved. Abducted at the age of twenty, you lived in cells and labs for years before they gave you the serum, turning you into a super solider, with determined plans to turn you into a kind of winter soldier 2.0, eventually wiping your head like his and turning you into the perfect assassin. Only that before they could start with the torture, you were rescued by none other than Captain America during a raid on one of HYDRA’s secret bases.

The Avengers gave you shelter when you had absolutely nothing left in life. Your previous life was long forgotten, almost entirely non-existent, all you had is the safety these extraordinary people were offering you, that you took more than willingly.

You were there when Bucky was captured, still very much fighting with his own conscious. You were in the building when Zemo triggered him into being a murderer again and he broke free, fought his ex best friend, saved his life and then disappeared again. You often found yourself thinking about how you’d be just the same if you weren’t saved. How you’d be out there, used as just a toy to end lives.

You never had to go through the process of ripping this side of yourself out of your head, because they never succeeded with you. But Bucky didn’t have it as lucky as you did. When Shuri contacted you that he was awake from his hibernation and they were working on wiping the winter soldier out of him, you didn’t hesitate to drop everything and be there for him. You didn’t know him that well back then, but you felt like you shared a deep connection through the torturous things you had to go through. You were there for him until he finally became entirely himself. No more winter soldier, just Bucky.

The two of you have tens of missions together behind your back at this point. Partners in work, friends in life, that’s what you are. And in your dreams?

Definitely lovers.

Now as you are rotting in a dark and musty cell somewhere in the middle of Poland, you are starting to regret you never really told him how you feel. You had so many chances to come clear but you were too afraid of rejection and the possibility of ruining your strong friendship and most importantly partnership that you chose to keep it all bottled up inside you.

It might have been days or hours since they locked you in your cell, you wouldn’t know. You lost track of time and you’re not expecting to see the daylight anytime soon either. Are they looking for you? Or do they think you died? No one was around you when you were abducted and there were no signs left behind that would have let your team know you survived. There was a massive explosion near your location in the raid, anyone would easily think that you were caught in the middle of that.

Does Bucky think I’m dead too? Has he given up on me?

You’re starting to think you’ll never find that out. Just like how you’ll never find out what it’s like to grow old, have a home that’s not just a room in a facility, spend your days with your hobbies rather than trainings and missions.

As the thick metal door opens and a creak of light breaks the heavy darkness in your cell, you look up at the man who walks in. If your hands weren’t cuffed with fucking vibranium cuffs, you would easily kill him in a heartbeat along with the three bulky guards he brought with himself.

“It’s time to make a use out of you,” the man grinned before two guards grabbed you by your arms, dragging you out of the cell, taking you God knows here. Probably to your death.

“You have to check twice,” Buckly growled upon hearing Agent Hill’s report from what was found at the scene. Or what was not found.

“No signs of Y/N were found, Bucky. But that explosion was so massive, it wiped out everything in it’s close radius. If she stood close to that…” “But what if she didn’t?!” he snaps, barking at the innocent agent. The room falls silent, no one dares to speak up against Bucky’s raging anger. Fury steps forward and places a hand to the upset soldier’s shoulder as a soft warning to control himself. Bucky takes a deep breath before looking over at Fury, no longer determined to rip anyone apart who wants to argue with him.

“Let’s all calm down and see what we can do. Do you think she survived?” Fury simply questions him. Bucky taps on the panel and a map of the location pulls up on the big screen, showing a little red dot at the places where the team members were located last before the explosion.

“Her last location was far enough of it for her to survive,” he explains pointing at your dot.

“But if she moved just a little closer—“ Hill starts again, but she quickly silences herself when Bucky shoots her another warning look.

“I think she was captured. We can’t just assume that she is gone that easily,” he insists, refusing to even think about the possibility of you dying in that explosion. That’s just simply not an option for him.

Fury stares back at him hard, searching for something in his eyes before he finally nods.

“Alright, let’s get on the case. We need to find out where they could be possibly hiding her.”

Bucky breathes out in relief as the team gets down to work immediately. This is not the part he can help with, he sucks at technical things, so now he is left with just the painful wait until a lead pops up and he can come to your rescue.

The gym is eerily quiet without your bickering. He always trains with you and it’s been one of his favorite things to do. The two of you liked to race in everything and thought you both knew he was faster and stronger, he always let you win a few times, giving you the chance to tease him about being second after you.

But now as he is punching the heavy bag on his own, he wishes he could hear one of your snarky comments about his lopsided moves, because he still hasn’t entirely gotten used to the uneven strength in his hands.

“If she is really out there, I’m sure she is doing fine.”

Sam walks in, his steps echo in the empty room and though Bucky stops for a moment, he doesn’t look at him, just keeps punching the bag.

“She is tough, Bucky. She can take care of herself.”

“Not when she is outnumbered by a dozen,” he growls back. “I know she is tough, but sometimes that’s just not enough.”

For a long time Bucky thought Steve is the only person he can work with as partners, but he had to realize that he had a special bond with you through the tortures you both had to go through and sometimes he felt like you were the only one who understood him truly. Even though your brain wasn’t washed like his, you were close to it and it gave you a great understanding of what he had to go through.

But it wasn’t just about the trauma. As you grew closer to each other you easily became friends, really good ones for all that matters. Bucky loved spending time with you on and out of missions as well. He finds your humor a little dark but quite entertaining, he likes how you are more social than he is so whenever you need to work with someone else you always take the role of the communicator, building a bridge between him and others easily. He loves how much you care about others, how you show your appreciation for your loved ones in the tiny details as making breakfast or baking their favorite cookies. He loves the way you smile whenever he messes up something and you have to take care of it eventually, he loves the way you laugh at his lame, old jokes, he loves how you always fall asleep on horror movies and he loves…

He loves you.

For years he thought he would never feel this way again for anyone, because it’s so raw and human, he thought it was wiped out of him when he became the winter soldier, but you proved him wrong. And now he wishes he told you how he felt, because if you won’t return, he has to live his life knowing you never knew how much you meant to him.

Tossing and turning in his bed, he stays wide awake, not able to even close his eyes when he knows you are out there somewhere, because you have to be. He refuses to nurse the thought of you gone for even a second. You’re qualified, the best fighter he has ever met and he has this feeling in his gut that you made it out of there alive. Maybe you knew the explosion was about to happen. Maybe you ran the opposite way before it was too late. Or maybe you found shelter, or simply was just knocked out of the impact of it and they captured you.

So many possibilities that are way more better than the fatality of your death.

Kicking the silky sheets off his body, the ones he deep down hates because it’s way too smooth against his skin, something he still has a hard time to grow accustomed to, he pulls a hoodie over his head before creeping his way out of his bedroom, down the hallway until he reaches yours. He stands still at the door, a sense of anxiety washing over him as he thinks about what’s inside. Not that it’s the first time he is here, he has spent endless nights in your room, the two of you talking and laughing as you showed him your favorite movies he hasn’t seen. You often bought a big bag of snacks for your movie nights and the two of you sprawled across your comforter, your legs sometimes touching, or there was this one time when he let you braid his hair.

“You should come to missions like this,” he remembers your teasing as you ran your fingers through the neat braids running along his head.

“And give the boys another reason to tease me? No thank you,” he chuckled.

“Another? What do they tease you about?” you asked furrowing your eyebrows as you popped a gummybear into your mouth.

You. It was you they teased him about and how obvious his feelings for you are. Seemingly everyone saw how you looked at each other but you and him.

He twists the silver doorknob before pushing the door open, part of him hoping to see you curled up under the sheets, snoring lightly and peacefully, but the room is terribly empty without your presence.

Everything is just the way you left them. The abandoned workout clothes hanging from the edge of the hamper, your running shoes under the window, your journal lying on your nightstand with a pen on top and his favorite… a framed picture of you and him on your bookshelf with all your favorite romantic novels stacked neatly on the shelves.

Bucky steps closer, his hands hidden in the pooch of his hoodie as he stares at the photo. It was taken a few days after the two of you returned from Wakanda, Bucky was finally free from the winter soldier and it was probably the best few days of his life. The two of you decided to take a trip to London before returning to your duty, a place you always wanted to see, but never really got the chance. It was just the two of you, taking some time away from the avengers, SHIELD, all the bad in the world, pretending like you’re two normal people for just a weekend before returning to your duties in New York. The photo was taken when you returned from the getaway, Steve took it in the gym, the two of you sat at the edge of the boxing ring after a killer fight. It was a simple moment, his arm stretched behind you as you leant against his side. The glow from your alone time was still apparent on your faces, neither of you felt happier in life before, or not at least in the last decade.

His vision blurs as he runs a finger through the frame, a sharp pain stabbing in his chest as he watches your bright smile and rosy cheeks. He never thought he would feel this way about anyone, not after everything he went through, but you proved him wrong. You showed him how much more human he still is that what he thinks of himself and you might not even have realized it.

Too restless to go back to sleep, Bucky storms out of your room, carefully closing the door behind him before going down to Tony’s office, determined to make himself useful. He can’t just sit around and wait, he needs to feel like he is doing everything he can.

When the first rays of the sun shine above the horizon and the first agents arrive for their shifts, He has already gone through an immense amount of security tapes from all around the world that had even the slightest match through the face recognition system with yours. None of them turned out to be real, but he never gave up.

“Barnes, were you here all night?” Tony asks in awe when he finds the long-haired avenger with his eyes glued to one of the screens, watching yet another tape.

“Not all night, but… for the majority, yes,” he nods without even sparing Tony a look.

Any other day Tony would tease him for maybe finally doing something useful, or not only using his fist in a case, but not today. Everyone on the team knows how much you mean to him and how hard it is to not know where you are. So he just nods, places his coffee down to the desk and gets down to work without a word.

Soon enough the rest of the team joins them and everyone is working together to find even the slightest lead. Every other minor case is put aside, you are their priority.

The more time passes by without anything found, Bucky feels like a part of him is dying more and more. Hopelessness and fear is taking over his already messed up mine, but he is still holding onto the light and that small little feeling in his gut that you are still out there somewhere. And then they find a lead.

“We’ve got a match!” Nat beams from behind her screen and everyone gathers around her as a series of blurry photos play in front of them, showing a group of men carrying a clearly unconscious person to a minivan before driving away. The quality is definitely not the best, your face is also half covered by your hair, but your uniform gives you away. It really is you.

“Where and when was this taken?” Bucky asks in a hurry.

“Last night, outside of Krakow. We have one last coordinate for the van,” Nat informs the group as she brings up a map, a red dot signaling the last spotting of the same van.

“There’s a closed off military based near,” Steve chimes in, pointing at the map a few miles away from where the pictures were taken.

“Alright, suit up everyone. Guess we are going to Poland,” Tony announces and a moment later everyone is running off to get ready for takeoff.

The ground doesn’t feel that bad anymore. It’s wet and there’s gravel here and there, the coldness is not too comfortable either, but you are getting used to it. Probably because it makes you feel things and that’s important to you now. In times when you often lose contact with your own body and mind, feelings keep you grounded and they remind you of who you are.

Last night you finally found out who caught you and it wasn’t a pleasant surprise. Aziel Nowak is a name you’ve already heard before, but not in the best way. The guy is totally crazy and if that’s not enough, he is kind of a genius as well. These two never sit well with each other and you knew it was just a matter of time before you had to face him, but you didn’t think these would be the circumstances.

Nowak’s father, Aleksander was a well-known scientist in the circles of HYDRA, he was one of the assholes responsible for wiping Bucky’s head, unfortunately, his own creation brought his death upon him. Bucky killed him during a raid, all while Aleksander was trying to trigger him, but Bucky was faster than him and shoot him in the head before he could get the second trigger word out. Aziel swore to seek revenge for his father’s death and made it clear that his big plan is to take out every avenger one by one, but all during completely destroying Bucky in every possible way.

Stuck in a clear tube, one that was built specially for super soldiers, you stood in his lab as he got everything ready for his master plan with you.

“The winter soldier was full of flaws,” he started to explain to you, working behind his computer while you couldn’t do anything to stop the madness. Even if you could break out of the tube, you were terribly outnumbered with the hoard of guards in the room, all of them armed and ready to rip you apart. It would have been a suicidal mission.

“The trigger words take a lot of time to enlist and sometimes, we just don’t have time for that. We need our soldier instantly, in a push of a button, if I might add,” he smirked and you almost gagged. He was a lowlife, disgusting middle-aged man, completely out of touch of reality, wrapped up in his own head with his ridiculous misconceptions and twisted view of the world.

“But fear no more, I have a better solution,” he grinned at you, holding up a tiny chip between his fingers and your jaw flexed. You didn’t know what it was, but you had guesses. “Spent years working on this little thing and now I can finally test it out and you get to be the lucky one to do it. Start the gas,” he ordered and a moment later some kind of gas started to fill the tube up. Your pathetic attempt to escape was cut off shortly when you felt your whole body freeze as you inhaled the gas. You just stood there, completely no control over your own body. The back of the tube opened with a hiss once the gas cleared out from around you and you felt a sharp stabbing at the back of your neck. You couldn’t even gasp, you were as frozen as a statue, unable to defend yourself and you truly felt like it’s the end. You wish it was though.

Nowak implanted the chip into your spine and you could feel the wires cling into your nerves, melting into your body like a parasite. A single tear rolled down your cheek as your wound was closed off.

“This is going to be so much fun,” Nowak smirked when he walked into your sight again. He had a control panel in his hands and as he pushed some buttons electricity bolted through your whole body and you completely lost control over your actions. Your body moved without your consent, arms and legs acting without your brain actually telling them.

You became a prisoner in your own body.

The night was spent fighting with Nowak’s best guards as he tested out his new toy: you. He could control your whole body thanks to the chip and while you were screaming and shouting in your head, there was no escape. He made you into his ragdoll and there was nothing you could do against it.

He switched the chip off when you were thrown back into the cell. You sobbed for hours probably as you tried to get the thing out of yourself, blood was dripping down your back, but you had to accept that it was too deep, clinging onto your spine, you couldn’t get it out with your bare hands.

Now you are lying on the floor and try to remember who you are, because you’ve been feeling like you lost touch with your true self. The only thing that has been helping is remembering your favorite memories.

It makes your heart flutter when you realize that most of them have Bucky in them. Your most favorite? The time you spent in London. Those days are the closest and dearest to your heart and now you just wish you could go back in time for even just an hour. Strolling down the streets like any other tourists without a worry in the world, watching the city lay in front of you as you ride the London Eye or walking along the River Thames. You felt so normal, so happy, sharing your time with the man you probably love the most in the whole wide world.

“I could live here,” you sighed when the Big Ben came into view above the brick buildings.

“It rains too much here,” Bucky furrowed his eyebrows at you, his arm brushing against yours.

“I like the rain. Love the smell of it, love how refreshing it feels after it,” you chuckled.

“And what would you want to do here?”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged. “Maybe I would work at a library. Or a café!”

“You want to be a barista!” He chuckled, smirking down on you. “Is this why you wanted Tony to get a fancy espresso machine?”

“Well, not just because of this, I just really like good coffee,” you smiled up at him. “What, do you not like my coffee?”

“Oh, I do. You make the best in the tower,” he nodded.

You could always talk about anything and everything with him. He understood you so well and you liked to think it worked the other way as well. That you were just as important to him as he was to you.

“Bucky.” His name falls from your lips like a desperate plea, as if you could summon him and he’d be here any moment to rescue you. But nothing changes and you are still on your own.

You’ve been wondering if this is how he felt when they made him to be the winter soldier. If he went through the same struggle or if it was worse. He said he doesn’t remember everything he did, as if sometimes he just completely disappeared in his own head, but other times live vividly in his memories.

You remember everything too. The chip has no control over your mind and thoughts, it works as another brain that takes over control in your body, caging your mind in your own head while it works your body.

A siren rings through the building and you gasp, your head snapping in the direction of the metal door. You hear orders in a foreign language and running footsteps somewhere down the hallway. Pushing yourself up you move to the far end of the room as you hear someone approaching your cell. Before the lock clicks on the door, you feel the familiar electricity run through your body and you breathe out before you lose control over your body again. You stand up, not because you want to, but because this is what they ordered. The door swings open and Nowak walks in.

“Guess your little friends figured out where you are. It’s time to show them my masterpiece.”

The military base is pretty lively for a closed off one. As the team is approaching the complex they inspect the possibilities they have to get inside.

“Alright, we have to be smart about this. Nowak is a psychopath,” Tony announces when the quinjet is nearing the base. “Barron and Natasha, we need a diversion. Banner, you stay here and only come in if it’s needed,” he starts and everyone nods along. “Wanda, the same goes for you as well. Listen to the call word and be ready to interfere. Sam and I are going to clear the main building, try to find Nowak. Barnes, Cap, you are tracking Y/N down. Everything clear?”

“As daylight,” Steve nods as he grabs his shield from the side.

Once the quinjet touches down, everyone goes their own way, going along the plan they discussed. Nat and Clint do well with the diversion, a great amount of guards and soldiers are drawn in their way as Tony and Sam make their way into the main building of the base.

“Where should we look, Buck?” Steve asks his friend as they hide behind one of the quarters. Bucky looks around, inspects the place and nods towards a building that’s clearly powered with a lot more electricity for whatever reason, Thick cables running inside, snaking under the doors, pouring extra power inside. Steve nods and once the way is somewhat cleared out, they head inside.

They take down the few HYDRA agents that try to get in their way as they run further into the building without even breaking a sweat. They easily reach the lab and it almost feels way too easy.

“Something is not right,” Steve says as the two of them walk into the empty lab, curious inspecting all the machines and equipment they have absolutely no idea how to work.

Bucky’s eyes fall on the tube in the far corner of the room and walking closer he gets an eerie feeling and he can already picture you trapped inside, the thought making his stomach churn.

“Anyone found Nowak yet?” Steve asks through the com.

“Negative,” Nat grunts back in the middle of her own fight.

“Haven’t seen the fucker either,” Tony answers and Steve sighs.

Just as Bucky is about to head to the door that leads out of the lab at the other end from where they entered, the sliding door opens and they both get ready to fight whatever is about to come into sight. But neither of them were expecting you to walk out.

“Y/N?!” your name falls from Steve’s lips as he lets his shield down, staring back at you confused. But you don’t answer, just stop a few feet away from them, staring blankly ahead of you and Bucky swears he was on the verge of fainting from his anger, because he knew those eyes all too well, because he used to see them in the mirror.

“Y/N, what did they do?” he whispers desperately, a hand reaching out to you, but it’s quickly cut off when you grab his hand and easily throw him over, his back contacting the floor with a painful thump.

Hell breaks loose fast as you start fighting them off, using the advantage of their shock upon seeing you, working against them while they try to make you remember them.

“Y/N, it’s us! We don’t want to hurt you!” Steve growls when he saves himself from one of your hits, his shield coming between the two of you.

I know! I know it’s you, but I can’t do anything! You scream in your own head, unable to even form the words. You’re a prisoner in this body you thought to be yours, but it betrayed you.

You never fought both of them before at the same time, but now that it’s happening, you’re surprisingly good at it, handling two super soldiers at the same time when one of them has a vibranium arm while the other one keeps throwing a vibranium shield at you, though it’s clear they aren’t giving their best, afraid of hurting you even though you’re in killer mode right now and determined to rip them apart.

“Do you think they did the same to her as they did to you?” Steve asks out of breath when you throw them against a wall and return to fight Bucky.

“It’s something else. Look at the back of her neck!” he growls when you throw a punch in his way that he catches with his metal arm, holding your fist tight as you keep pushing it and this moment of pause allows Steve to take a look at you from the back.

“Oh shit,” he breathes out.

Yes! Take this shit out and I’m free! You scream, but no one hears. Your fist frees from Bucky’s grip and you kick him in the stomach so hard he snaps against the desk behind him and wasting no time you jump right at him, the fight continues.

“If anyone finds Nowak, don’t kill him. We’ve got Y/N and she is being controlled by something,” Steve explains through his earpiece before throwing his shield in your direction right when you’re about to attach your hands to Bucky’s neck. It hits you in the side and you fall to the ground grunting.

“Don’t fucking hurt her!” Bucky growls at him, but Steve gives him a look.

“She is trying to kill us, we have to do something!”

You’re on your feet fast, already charging at Steve and it catches him by surprise, he stumbles back as your knee collides with his stomach, a punch thrown at his pretty face.

“I see Nowak!” Tony’s voice comes through the earpieces, but they don’t have the chance to celebrate, because you’re kicking their ass big time.

When you want to launch yourself at Steve again, Bucky’s arms wrap around your waist from behind and he pulls back, pushing you away, making you stumble, but you’re back on your feet quickly. Your eyes meet and you want to touch him so badly, run into his arms, tell him how happy you are to see him and that he was the only thing that kept you sane, but instead, you throw yourself at him, fist colliding with the side of his head.

I’m so sorry, Buck!

“We’ve got Nowak!” Tony announces and Steve sighs in relief.

“Does he have something like a remote or controller?” he asks while you and Bucky are at each other’s throat. You throw him to a desk and drag him across it, papers and equipment flying everywhere before he ends up on the floor groaning. You have the perfect chance to throw a punch in again, but you turn around and run back towards the door you came through.

“He has a controlling panel, do you think it’s connected to Y/N?” Tony asks.

“Very much likely, but please hurry up, she is trying to run away!” Steve begs as they both start to chase after you in the labyrinth of hallways. You’re footsteps are echoing on the checkered floors as they are trying to catch up with you. You take a left turn and get out of their vision just for a split second. As they get around the corner they immediately freeze when they find you standing there, a gun pointing right at Bucky’s head, a deadly, but still rather blank expression in your eyes.

“Shit,” Steve breathes out.

“Y/N, I know you are in there,” Bucky speaks up.

Yes! I’m here! I’m here Bucky!

“The controller is locked, but we are working on it,” Tony announces through the com, but it doesn’t help their situation right now. If he can’t unlock the controller, you are likely to shoot them both if they don’t do something. As you stare back at your two friends, you are using everything in you to try to get back the control over your own body, but it’s like you’re just silently screaming in an empty, locked room.

“I know you hear me. Please, try to fight it off. I know how hard it is, but if anyone can do it, it’s you,” Bucky continues and if only you were in charge of yourself, you’d already be sobbing at the broken expression he is staring back at you with. Your finger is on the trigger and you can feel your muscles trembling.

“Buck, we need to disarm her,” Steve tells him, but he shakes his head.

“No. We can’t do that without hurting her and I’m not doing that.”

Oh Bucky! That’s the only way now!

“She is gonna shoot, Bucky. We have to do something!”

“She could have already fired. She is fighting it off, I know it.”

“Or maybe it’s just whatever it is inside her messing with her head as Tony is trying to break the controller.”

“Y/N, sweetheart, I know you can do this. I’m not gonna hurt you, you can fight it!” Bucky continues, ignoring Steve’s words, who stands behind him with his jaw flexed.

I can’t do it, you need to knock me out! I’m not strong enough to do it!

You are trying everything you can and you are already holding your finger back, you would have already pulled the trigger if it wasn’t for your resistance somewhere in this cage. But you just know you’re not strong enough to stop yourself forever, they will need to disarm you, there’s no choice.

You stare back at Bucky, his forehead and left cheek bloody from wounds you gave him and he probably has a few bruises under his leather jacket as well, all because of you. Nowak made you hurt the person you love the most and now his life is being threatened. You know he won’t fight you, he will not try to disarm you, he would rather take the bullet than cause pain to you, more than what he already did during your fight.

The gun trembles in your hand as you’re desperately trying to gain your control back, sweat beading on your forehead, your chest heaving.

“Stark, we are running out of time!” Steve warns him through the com.

“Just one more second!” he answers, but you’re afraid you don’t have that much time.

“Y/N, please!” Bucky begs, a single tear rolling down his cheek and you can feel your own heart breaking at the sight of him. You can’t believe it’s because of you, you are causing him pain when you swore to work to see him his happiest in his life.

Your jaw flexes and you are on the verge of breaking, the tiniest light flashing in front of you as you keep pushing, trying to take back control, but then you feel like losing again. It all happens so fast, you can barely process.

You know you’re about to pull the trigger, you can’t stop yourself, but just as you are about to do it, Tony’s voice rings through the com.

“We got it!”

In a blink of the eye, the invisible grip that’s been keeping you tight vanishes, the cage opens up and suddenly you feel yourself come alive again as the most painful, deafening and desperate scream rips from your throat, the gun falling from your grip before you collapse on the ground in complete shock of everything that went down.

“Get it out! Get it out! I can’t do this!” you scream, your nails scratching the back of your neck once again, trying to reach the chip, but you’re just breaking your own skin once again, blood dripping down your back.

“Hey, it’s alright, sweetheart. We got you. You’re gonna be fine!” Bucky falls to his knees, cradling you into his arms as you sob into his hard chest, hands gripping the fabric of his jacket tight as your salty tears soak your cheeks, your whole body shaking.

“I’m so sorry! I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” you repeat, shaking your head as if you were trying to get rid of the memories, but they are still there, you still know what it’s like to be a prisoner in your own head but at least now you are with Bucky and that brings you the peace of mind you’ve been seeking all along.

“You don’t have to be sorry, it’s alright. You’ll be alright, sweetheart, you’re safe with me now,” he murmurs into your hair, his arms holding you so tight it’s starting to get hard to even breathe, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

You cling onto him as if your life depends on it and in a way, it really does. Bucky gathers you into his arms as you keep mumbling your apologies and begs to make it stop even though you are not being controlled any longer. He carries you to the quinjet as he keeps murmuring reassuring words into your ear, telling you that everything is going to be alright now. You are in good hands.

You don’t let go of him on the way back and he doesn’t seem to want to do it either. Curled up on his lap, you let yourself fall into a shallow slumber as his fingers are dancing up and down your back, keeping you close to his chest, the feeling of finally being home taking over your senses.

Arriving back to New York you are helped off the jet by Bucky or course as he walks you to the med bay where Dr. Cho is already waiting for your arrival.

“Don’t worry, Y/N. We’ll fix you up,” she smiles at you as you are expected to let go of Bucky, but your head snaps back in his direction in panic, hands grabbing onto his anxiously.

“It’s alright, I’ll be here waiting for you. My stupid face will be the first thing you see when you wake up,” he jokes, his tired eyes fixated on you as you hesitate to let go of him, but eventually do it.

Keeping his promise Bucky stay outside as long as you are under Helen’s hands, not able to even drag him away to change clothes. The only thing he can make himself is dragging his ass to the nearest restroom to at least wash the dried blood off his face, but he quickly returns to his previous spot.

It turns out removing the chip is a bit more complicated than anyone thought. The micro wires are so deep in your nerves, Dr. Cho has to be careful if he doesn’t want to paralyze you with just one wrong move. Five entire hours pass by before the chip is finally out of you, before they place you in one of the rooms until you wake up from the anesthesia. Bucky is right by your side, holding your hand soothingly as he waits for you to open your eyes again. When he sees your eyelashes fluttering, he holds his breath as your eyes open and you adjust to the light and the view around you.

“Hey, sweetheart. How are you feeling?” he softly asks, gently brushing a strand of hair out of your forehead.

“Like… I just fought against two super soldiers,” you breathe out in a joking manner that makes him chuckle. You’re back and he missed you more than he could ever express.

As you let out a long and heave breath, you feel everything coming back to you and you can’t stop your sobs and the tears falling from your eyes.

“I’m so sorry, Bucky,” you gasp and he is quick to leap forward, one hand holding yours while the other one cups your cheek as he makes you turn your head towards him.

“No, no, no. You have nothing to be sorry about, Y/N. You did everything you could, you fought it so well!”

“But I hurt you! I didn’t want to hurt you, I was screaming inside my head, but I just couldn’t stop!” you sob shaking your head.

“I know, it wasn’t your fault! Please don’t think for a moment anyone blames you!” he begs, his bright blue eyes glued to your pained face as you fight your tears back. A hand moves to the back of your neck, feeling the wound where the chip used to be.

“Is it gone?” you ask in a whisper.

“It is. Helen took good care of you. You’re free now,” he smiles and you feel a wave of relief washing over you right away. Your body is yours again, finally.

“I didn’t think I would be myself again,” you admit, your voice slightly shaking. Bucky’s heart breaks at your words, but remains silent as you carry on. “I kept thinking of memories that feel the closest to me and it was the only thing that kept me sane. And I realized that the dearest ones are all with you, Bucky.”

His lips part at your revelation as his heart is beating fast against his ribcage. He has been waiting for this moment to come for what feels like eternity and now it might become his reality.

“When I thought I would never be the same again, I just thought about… you. That I don’t get to see you again, when I always wanted to spend all my days with you, Buck.”

“I want to spend all my days with you too, sweetheart,” he breathes out, leaning closer until his face is only inches away from yours. “I hated the thought of you being gone without ever telling you how I feel.”

“How do you feel, Bucky?” you ask in a trembling voice.

“You are my everything, Y/N. You are my best friend and everything beyond and I was such a fool for not telling you before this, but the thought of losing you made me realize that I have to stop being a coward,” he chuckles with tears bubbling in his eyes. You reach out and cup his face in your palms, your thumb running along the dark circles under his eyes and you wonder if he even slept a moment since you’ve been gone.

“We were both idiots, don’t beat yourself,” you chuckle softly, making his mouth turns into a grin before he leans closer and his lips finally press against yours, capturing them in a sweet, so-good-to-have-you-back kiss you’ve been dreaming about for probably way too long but at least since London. It’s soft and gentle, filled with the promise of many more to come. Thought you’re trying to stretch it as long as possible, a cough is heard from the door and you both pull back, turning your attention at the rest of the team standing there, all of them happy to see you again, or maybe to see the two of you finally taking the step they’ve been waiting for to happen.

“I guess you are feeling better now, yeah?” Nat smirks as she walks further inside, giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze.

“Much better,” you admit with a shy chuckle. “Thank you for the rescuing, guys.”

“It’s the least we could do,” Sam smirks at you.

“And Barnes would have gone nuts if we didn’t find you so that was also quite motivating,” Tony jokes nodding towards the man by your side, who is still holding your hand as if you could disappear any moment.

“Steve, I’m sorry for trying to hurt you,” you breathe out at the sight of the tall blonde man, but he just shrugs with a warm smile.

“It’s alright. At least now we know that you could easily kick our ass at the same time,” he jokes nodding towards Bucky, though you all know they were holding back, not wanting to hurt you. You still remember the look in Bucky’s eyes when you held him at gunpoint. He could have easily disarmed you but it would have cost you at least a broken arm, yet he refused to lay a hand on you and believed that you could control yourself again.

When the team is gone and it’s just the two of you again in the room, Bucky sits at the edge of your bed, his fingers playing with your hand over the white sheets as you let yourself fall into the sense of safety again.

“You should have disarmed me, Bucky,” you tell him, breaking the silence.

“I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“I could have killed you,” you retort.

“I know,” he nods, his lips pressing into a thin line. “But I just couldn’t cause you any more pain.”

“The fact that I was hurting you was already a pain, Bucky. You should have just knock me out.”

“Would you ever do the same to me?” he questions and though you open your lips to answer, you realize that he is right. You would have never hurt him on purpose, not even if he was back at being the winter soldier. You could have never hurt your sweet Bucky, the man that means more than anything ever in your torturous life.

“See? How do you expect me to do it then?” he smiles softly. “But it doesn’t matter, you are free now. It’s all in the past.”

“It still broke my heart, seeing you like that.”

“I can only say the same,” he breathes out, his eyes softening on you. “I wanted to help you so bad, but I couldn’t…”

“You helped me a lot,” you smile at him, brushing a few loose strands of hair out of his forehead. He smiles back at you and through his ocean eyes are still looking tired and a little bloodshot, but there’s a tiny little glimmer in them, something you’ve seen before, it was the most apparent when Shuri was successful at ridding him from the winter soldier and you also saw it in London. You’ve been seeking this little shine for a long time and you’re happy to have it back.

“We should go on a vacation,” he suggests, his smile growing wider with each passing second.

“Oh, I didn’t know avengers had vacation days,” you tease him.

“They do, as much as they want,” he nods grinning. “Where would you want to go? Do you want to go back to London?” he questions as he brings your hand up to his lips, kissing your bruised knuckles.

“Mm, we should go somewhere new,” you purse your lips. “I’ve always wanted to see Amsterdam.”

“Then Amsterdam it is,” he chuckles before leaning closer he kisses your lips gently with a promise of a bright future together.

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed it!

#kas9kwc #bucky #bucky barnes #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky x reader #james buchanan barnes

397 notes · View notes

shatteredatthealtarofwinchester · 4 years ago

Text

Umm, wait. It's more a 15x20 rant than an analysis. I'll call it... a ranalysis. 😏

I just saw J*reds last online panel again, where he called the finale "magical full circle storytelling". 15x20 is his "favourite episode ever" because he "is a fan of good storytelling". Uh-huh... Okay. So the following just was built on pure rage. This makes it more of a rant than an analysis. As usual. You guys know me.

Well. There are various possibilities here, Jared. Possibility A is, you are lying, what I do not believe. To lie that obvious you have to be a talented actor, which you are not. Possibility B is, you really think that way. You believe, the finale was "magical full circle storytelling" and you actually loved it, it was indeed your favourite episode. This again brings me to the only conclusion: You have no fucking idea about good storytelling, not even decent storytelling.

Lets look at every single ending, shall we?

Dean. We all know you think Deans death was a "success story." You think that Dean "ultimately gave his life for his number one on planet." I am sitting here, laughing in pain. First of all, let me say that Dean didn't died for Sam, Jared. He didn't took a bullet for Sam or sacrificed himself or whatsoever. He died in the most ridiculous accident I've ever seen. But lets go back to the very start.

Dean’s childhood was highly abusive. Dean was 4 years old when he saw his mother burning alive and learned that monsters are real. In that age he developed PTSD and stopped talking. Dean had a childhood with a father that was an alcoholic and physically and mentally abusive, who had believed that Dean had a “killer instinct". When Dean was about 6 years old, John forced him into a nurturing role for Sam. In the same age Dean was forced into the soldiers role as well when John taught him how to shoot and hunt. Dean had to obey orders without questioning. If he acted “out of line,” (aka something John didn’t like) John chewed him out or left them alone. Dean was trained to be Daddy’s blunt instrument. Dean gave up his own life to keep Sam safe, because he had no other choice. More than a brother Dean had to be a father and a mother to Sam. He suppressed everything, every psychological pain, every emotion, he just lived to protect Sam and to obey as Johns blunt soldier. Short: Dean gave up HIMSELF for Sam and John. Not because Dean wanted to, because he was forced into it! Dean hated himself, he was suicidal. He was convinced he isn’t worthy of anything, especially not being loved. Dean never had a life for his own, never had a choice, never had a chance, never had own original thoughts, never felt safe or loved. He was used to being left. He felt like he was nothing. Worthless. He was dead inside. Broken. You get what I mean, Jared? Since you own a mental health campaign, you should. And guess what Dean did? He kept fighting. Despite everything, he kept fighting. And his mindset slowly changed. He understood that his father was an abusive bastard, he unterstood that he was forced into a life he never wanted. He understood that he is more than that, that he is not like John. He changed. He opened up. He even wanted to retire. And now it gets interesting, because something happened that REALLY is the start of magical full circle storytelling. Something in Deans mind clicked while Cas' confession. His confession was fundamental to Dean to finally accept his own goodness and the value of his life and love, of his identity. It was the moment of breaking free of the structure that had controlled and corrupted him his entire life. It was the only way out of his abusive and traumatizing cage to experience something for his own the very first time. For the first time in his life he had a chance. A choice. The start of his very own life. Free will, baby! Well, no. Because exactly in that moment he stumbled into a nail and died. Do you even realize how dumb this is? Do you even realize what you did? Wait, it gets worse. Yeah, that's possible, even if you dont believe it. In heaven he goes right back to the life he has spent his whole journey learning to free himself from: Left only with the persons he had been forced, time and time again, to sacrifice his identity, goals, and soul for. None of the family, support, or love, nothing he has built or chosen for himself remains. This is not magical full circle storytelling, Jared. This is abysmal pointless butchering. This has NOTHING, not a single percent of magical or good storytelling! YOU call that magical? YOU call that a success? Seriously, what shit are you on? If it would've been full circle storytelling, there is not one single fucking possibility that Dean would've died in the end. I don't know whats going on in your twisted brain, but Deans death never was and never will be a success. To make it magical full circle storytelling, he MUST have been the one who survives and overcomes his trauma (and raise a certain someone from perdition.)

Sam. He's actually the one who kinda got the best ending, huh? I mean, it was fucking horrific, but it was the best if you compare it to the others. When Sam was young, he wanted a normal life far away from hunting, while the truth is, Sam always was more like John than Dean ever will be. Over time his mindset clearly changed. He even said: "When Dean came to get me at school, I told myself, one last job, you know, (...) it was always one more job and then I was gonna go back to law and to my life. I guess, I really understand now that THIS is my life. And I love it." Sam couldn't imagine a normal life anymore. He had the chances for that and he declined. He loved hunting. He loved working and making progress with the BMOL, he very much enjoyed being a MOL and even took the lead often. I can clearly picture Sam as the lead of a rebuilt version of the MOL, that would've made sense. What did Sam get? Right, the ending he didn't wanted anymore, but since we yeet every single development of every single character out of the window, Sam has to be Season 1 Sam again, BUT with a fancy party wig! And there he is! And what a happy life he lives, exactly what he wanted, woohoo! So much joy, so much fun! Oh look, there is BlurryWife™, who Jared made sure is not Eileen, because “Dean wouldn’t want Sam to be with Eileen”. But wait, didn't Dean wanted Sam to be with Eileen? Didn't Dean literally said: "If it was to work, Eileen, you know... She gets it, she gets us, she gets the life. You could do worse. And she could certainly do better, like SO much better. I'm happy for you, Sammy." Yeah, NO. This was just a writing AND acting AND producing mistake and had no matter at all. *cough* So... As you can see, magical storytelling strikes again. I can feel the magic, I can feel the full circle, it's... Amazing...

Castiel. Castiels story was magical, it was mindblowing. I've never in my entire life seen such a meaningful and deep storyline and I mean this. It's fucking massive. There is this blunt angel soldier, one of the post powerful forces, who was built to blindly obey, who lived for aeons of years, who wasn't supposed to feel anything, but he fell for a broken, suicidal, abused human who never felt loved or worthy the very moment he touched him. He fell so hard he rebelled against his own race, against his own family, against everything he had without any safety. He was the ONLY one in Chuck-knows-how-many universes who GREW outside of Chucks CONTROL! His love was so fucking massive, it couldn't be controlled by the God who built every-fucking-thing. Chuck built millions(?) of parallel universes, heaven, hell, life, death, purgatory, the empty, he created every single being, the light, darkness, every single angel, demon, leviathan, monster, animal, plant, sea, blade of grass, every centimeter of mountains, the four seasons, emotions, what the fuck ever. Everything you can ever think of, Chuck created it. And he controlled it. In every single one of his fucking millions of universes. But not Castiel.This is actually not possible. You can't outrun god. You can't outrun the one who creates, writes and controlles everything. But Cas did. Out of love. And not only that, you also imply that what happened between Dean and Cas was the only thing that was real. Everything else was corrupted, controlled, manipulated, written by Chuck. But what happened between Dean and Cas, he couldn't affect.

Seeing Cas standing there, crying, confessing his love to Dean actually even makes me think that Dean made Cas human. Dean completed Cas. Cas didn't simply said "I love you", he actually said "In all existing universes, in all millions, all aeons of years, you are my only happiness." And Cas completed Dean. He freed Dean. While Dean was used to being left, was used to feeling worthless and unlovable, Cas saw Dean exactly the way he is and chose to stay. With every obstacle, every difficulty he loved him even more and yes, freed him from the abusive structure that had controlled and corrupted him his entire life. Something that no one else could, not his parents, not Amara, not God, not even Sam. Beautiful, isn't it? Unique. Mindblowing. Pure. You enjoyed it? Let's fuck this up in 3...2...1...

Castiels story ended exactly the same way it started. A blunt angel who doesn't care about people and feelings, blindly carrying out instructions from a new God, obeying heaven. No progress. They threw away 12 years of character development and managed to give him the same stupid and senseless ending like they did with Dean. Dean died and Cas... Wasn't there?! WHAT!? There is no single fucking way Cas wouldn't save Dean or wouldn't be there when Dean enters heaven! There. Is. No. Fucking. Way! The way they represented Cas in the end doesn't only imply that Dean isn't important to Cas anymore, he even ended up exactly the same way as if Season 4-15 wouldn't have happened. The ending is exactly the same! He's with God in heaven, supporting him with instructions, not caring about anything else.

Okay, I got it. Summarizing you can say: Jareds "magical full circle storytelling" is to yeet 95% of the past 15 years. No other characters matter, the story itself doesn't matter, every single characters development doesn't matter, it even doesn't matter what the brothers really want, they don't get it anyway.

Okay. But that's not all. As if this wasn't bad enough, they didn't just butchered ... EVERYTHING, they also salted and burnt every single Mantra they ever stood for. I'll make these short, I promise!

Team Free Will. *snort* Dean couldn't escape his fate, he always believed he'll die on a hunt as Daddys blunt instrument and he did. He kept fighting to die exactly the way he felt he was "supposed to". Message? No matter how hard you keep fighting, no matter how long you'll keep it up, you can't escape your fate. Sam couldn't change his fate, he ended how he started. Cas couldn't change his fate, he ended how he started, same for Jack, he ended how he was supposed to. YEET THE FREE WILL, NONE OF THEM CAN CHANGE ANYTHING!

Family don't end with blood. The biggest lie that has ever been told. Do I even have to explain that? No need, right? Don't make me wanna throw up again, please. We all know that 15x20 blasted "Family don't end with blood" in millions of pieces.

Always keep fighting. THE AUDACITY to praise that while Dean is dying! After everything Dean has dealt with, It makes me wanna scream. Dean kept fighting, he always kept fighting, no matter how hard it was, no matter what forced him to his knees, he stood up again, and if he wasn't able to stand up, he crawled. He kept fighting no matter what, despite everything. His mindset changed. He wanted to live, he wanted to experience things, feelings and people differently or even for the first time. He changed. He wanted to retire, toes in the sand. He knew he earned it. Thats why he kept fighting. For what? To die the very first moment he had a free will. To die the very first moment he had a choice, had a life to build for himself. Always keep fighting, but the moment you come close to what you want, what you fought for, you die. It's been more than 3 months and I am having tears in my eyes while typing this. As for Dean, no matter how hard you fight, no matter how long you fight, you don't reach what you deserve anyway. Give up. As for Sam, AKF leeds to Emptiness. Grief. Psychological Trauma. Mental illness. Absolutely nothing worth fighting for.

I wanna go cry now, bye.

#jensen ackles #misha collins #j*red p*dalecki #spn #spnfandom #supernatural #spnfamily #dean winchester #castiel #destiel #deancas #dean #cas

351 notes · View notes

plan-d-to-i · 3 years ago

Note

Plan i am going to scream in your asks because wtf did i just read????

https://haunted-radishes.tumblr.com/post/670521542480953344/okay-im-feeling-a-little-more-articulate

I don't even want to try. Like yeah he didn't know about the golden core but OP has so many points which are not even canon. For all they think JC saw demonic cultivation affecting WWX and was concerned He didn't fucking do shit to stop him and encouraged WWX to use it to win the war. The Jiangs only got disciples equal to those all great sects did because they were attracted by WWX. (You even mentioned this canon line recently in your post)

For all OP says about JC connecting WWX's change with Demonic Cultivation, does OP realize this can very much be a direct effect of war? None of us have witnessed a war that degree so we cannot predict what effects those have but war is brutal and we all agree on that. If people can say that JC should get time to handle his parent's death and the effects of war and the burden of a sect THEN even WWX deserves to get time to handle his loss of golden core and figure something out and fully overcome the trauma the war had on him (before the surgery it was his thought that he would figure something out and he's a genius he would have, in canon he didn't really get time because he was thrown into the burial mounds and had to survive). Also WWX doesn't exactly have many people who weren't wary of him after the war. There is so much going on with tensions high and WWX and his skills are really put at the center of it all. He is considered a weapon by the other people, OP. He is talked like someone has the right to possess him, like he isn't a human and has his own choices and conscious.

OP talks about WN like he hadn't risked his life and his sister's to save JC and isn't the reason JC even got his parents ashes (and a golden core). MOREOVER JC isn't only talking about killing WN. He is talking about sending little A-Yuan, Granny Wen, Uncle four, Wen Qing and all those civilian refuges to their deaths and asking WWX to return to serve under him. It was never about brotherhood or doing things together. If OP read canon with even an ounce of sense then they should know what JC wanted from WWX was total loyalty and lifetime of servitude (look at his attitude when WWX made friends with other sect people, like LWJ and LQY) and WWX would never follow a person who tried to kill innocents and sacrifice his morals for JC.

There were not many there in the ambush who would clearly state what really happened BUT JYL somehow still ran into the battlefield without any person protecting her back and did the same Jin Zixuan did. She asked WWX to stop it all and i'm really going to say it's not something you do when people are trying to kill you.

OMG OP did you even read the book??? If you say you watched the live action, did you even watch it???

JYL sacrificed her life to save WWX.

JC was fucking there

He saw it

He saw his sister give her life to safe WWX but he still planned to seize Burial Mounds for months and don't tell me it was from grief because it was months knowing JYL gave her life to save the person he was ultimately planning to kill.

No, JC was driven by his one tracked brain which was clearly not because he wanted to put an end to the deaths WWX was causing.

This is making me think OP just saw the first few minutes of the Audio drama where a family talks about the seize and consider the rumors going around as facts.

Why is it so difficult to accept that in CQL, JC swore to kill WWX at the nightless city and in Book, JC lead the seize proper to kill him.

It was never about putting an end to the misery. MXTX tried to show how rumors are harmful and incorrect in her book and, OP, you didn't even get the basics.

now, now they got some things right: "really fucking stupid" & "fuck shaped" function as a good summary of the whole...

Otherwise you said it all beautifully.

jc didn't have a problem w using WWX as a weapon he just couldn't stand him overshadowing him.

jiang cheng wanted to kill Wen Ning when he first visited WWX in the Burial Mounds. When he knew him as the guy who committed treason & risked his skin to save his ass and return his precious Zidian and his parent's remains. The only reason he didn't succeed is bc WWX was fast as fuck boy! and better than jc even without his core.

YanLi got killed by one of the very human ppl jc was gathered with pledging to put an end to WWX and the Wens. The same ppl jc enabled by isolating WWX and calling him the enemy of the entire cultivation world.

"Now, this was just one demonic cultivator, and Jiang Cheng’s best friend and the most talented man he knew. Imagine if this became widespread! Imagine hundreds, if not thousands of people" ImaGinE millions! zillions! lol The Jin Clan could only dream... After all they searched high and low and only found Xue Yang who could do shit w demonic cultivation. Of course jc in his infinite altruism and desire to protect all from the scourge of demonic cultivation certainly didn't bother going after JGS's fav. It's almost like that wasn't the reason for his 13 year unhinged vendetta... 🌝

Honestly I don't know what's worse, their reasoning or their rhetoric. xx

#answers

27 notes · View notes

mcmoth · 4 years ago

Text

BOIS

The aro c!Tommy propoganda is done.

Here:

Friends can be Home, too

Summary:

Love. The thing that supposedly drove the world, that made everyone happy. He thought he knew love. But maybe… maybe not. Maybe there has been something deeply, intangibly wrong about him this whole time, and he hadn't even known. Not to this extent.

'Cause he knew before. Knew it in the unease in his bones, and the panic in his brain, and the annoyed buzz in his chest. But… but he had doubted.

He couldn't doubt anymore.

A journey of introspection, self doubt, and realizing you're not alone.

Or read on ao3!

Warnings: swearing, internalized arophobia, which includes self doubt, a bit of self hate, that sort of stuff. Also, this will have like, mentions of attraction and all that stuff, and Tommy gets pretty confused, so if you'd like to avoid that? This isn't the fic for you, ig. Btw, as a reminder, this is all set in the dsmp universe and is not about the irl people in any way.

Now onto the fic!

Welp.

Tommy sure is ready to stab someone right now.

Well, not really. More accurately he wanted to run, or shrivel up into a fucked up raisin, or snap, or just exist in darkness right now. Because there were his two best friends, cuddling on the couch. And he was sat there, next to them, supposed to be enjoying movie night.

It's not like he wasn't happy for them. They can do what they want, he reminded himself, again and again. They're just expressing their love, they're just close, and Tommy has to stop being such a fucking oddball about it. This wasn't weird. It wasn't weird.

And he could even see Ranboo giving him looks, probably about to ask something stupid. But if he made any comment, expressed discomfort, that would just be him being a dick and a weirdo. He's not going to ruin this for them. He just has to… to ignore it. To ignore it. He can do that. Yes.

“You alright, Tommy?”

Tommy's jaw snapped, he could feel his teeth grinding, and the couch was feeling all too small. So with a fast raise to his feet, he stumbled away, throwing a brash “fine" Ranboo's way, something burning deep in the pit that was his chest.

It was fine. It was fine. Why wasn't it fine? What the fuck was wrong with him??

Maybe he was just…

Jealous.

***

“I think I have a crush on Hannah.”

Tubbo and Ranboo stilled. The silence was… bad.

“oh?”

Tommy gulped, anxiously crinkling the chip bag he got from targay. “Y-yeah.”

Tubbo hummed. “I've never seen you interact with her much. When… did that start?”

Tommy's mind buzzed, and he resisted crushing the food in his hands, reclining heavily against the backrest of the bench. “I-I don't know, uh, recently? I guess? She's just… nice. She uh…. Has pretty hair? And she gave me a flower once! That was just, swe- uh, poggers of her, so. Yeah. I just think… yeah.”

Tubbo nodded, head tilting. “Do you think she likes you back?”

Tommy's eyes widened, and he didn't know why he laughed, but he did, and when he responded, he himself was taken aback by the hiss accompanying the words. “No!! She- why would- no- no, I mean… m-ma- I don't know??”

Ranboo swung his tail. “She better not. I mean, how old is she?”

“What does that matter?”

Ranboo stared. “You’re a child. Technically.”

Tommy bristled. “Fuck you, I am a big man! I'll kill you!”

The conversation moved on after that, and Tommy, somewhere along the way, quickly got lost. Head filled with cotton, electricity running through his veins, feeling horribly, oddly, humiliated and strangely… dissatisfied.

They didn't care. And he just felt more confused than ever.

…Why did he even do that?

***

Tommy was walking, grass up to his knees, a lead in hand. When he reached the village, he tied it to a fence, patting his borrowed horse before placing feet on the path, comforted by the gravel crunching beneath his feet, the feel of the sun on his neck. He looked around, at the wooden houses and half stacked stalls and idle chatter. He looked around and he thought.

He thought back to older days. This was… strangely nostalgic. Walking alone, in an unfamiliar town, the vastness of the world enveloping him in it's many potentials. He still wasn't sure when he felt better. Running around on the streets, just trying to survive, noone by his side, weak but naïve, hopeful. Or now, with some people to care for and trust, a place to return to, enough food in his pack, but shouldered with the weight of a dozen betrayals, life slipping past him three times too many. In a sense, he was still just trying to survive. Everything was so different now, yet the same.

He supposes, one thing that remained, was the sense of loneliness.

He grasped the front of his shirt, taking in the beating of his heart, looking at the strangers mingling amongst themselves. At the pairs, at the couples, at the families, sharing laughs and smiles, a contrast to the furrowed brows or tired amusement of shopkeepers and the idle folk visiting them.

He had always wanted a family.

…there was one way to get a family.

Someone to share laughs with. Someone who would comfort you. Someone who would take your hand, or hold you through the night, and never even leave. Someone who promises to stay.

It was a nice thought.

So why was it so hard to conceptualize? To imagine, to picture someone actually coherent, to look at a person and go – yes. I want to be your partner.

...eugh. just that sentence made his whole nervous system do a double take.

But why? Why? Was it the betrayals? Was it some fucked up self conscious mind shit? Was that it? Was he just fucked up in the head? Maybe.

Maybe.

But as it is, he knew he liked girls. He did. He liked them. They were… they were nice. Like Niki, who smelled of baked goods, and had a soft smile, and who had once given him a hug when she found him crying during the revolution, and who looked very nice in dresses. Or Puffy, who had made him a pickaxe when he asked for one, and who opposed Jack in stealing his hotel, and who offered him therapy, and she had really cool horn rings. Or Hannah, with her red flowers, and pretty builds, and the way the nature seemed just a bit more lively with her around, and her laugh was bright with mischievous intent that he could empathize with. They… they were nice. Yeah. Most girls were so nice.

So why… why hadn't he found one that he could. Actually picture doing… anything. In his head. No kissing, no dates, none of that… shmuck. It was just… he could see many girls his age running around, just now, in front of his eyes, many running through his mind as he searched his memories. None of them… no. And he tried thinking of boys, but that didn't… no. Not that either. …Enbies?

No… no, nothing… nothing felt. Good. None of it felt good, he just felt sick, he just felt weird, he didn't even feel dirty per se, but more like he was charting into foreign grounds, into something alien, and none of the thoughts he forced to visualize behind his eyelids, fleeting from how quickly he shut them out, felt like him. It didn't feel like him.

His fingers trembled, his chest felt tight, throat choked, and his head, on his shoulders, heavy and woozy and oh so muddled. He felt his heart race. Was… was that it? Maybe that was a sign. People said heart racing was a sign of attraction. Was there anyone in particular who did that? Maybe he was wrong – he was not lacking or messed up or broken, he just had buried the feelings so deep below his ribs, underneath fabricated doubts and trauma and the disconnect he had with reality and relationships in general, and once he got over those barriers, and just found someone, he would experience that joy that everyone spoke about. That closeness. He just had to… allow himself to get closer. To know more people, know them better.

That was… that was probably it.

But no matter. He raised his eyes, his senses coming back to him like the wind blowing his hair out of his eyes, blinking at the noise around him.

After all, he still came here for a reason.

***

“Yeah, I like these ones the best,” Tubbo said as he handed Tommy the various colored discs. Tommy nodded, smiling as he sorted through them, writing down the names in his notepad, feeling little stones dig into his elbows. Tubbo joined him fully on the ground, laying down next to him. “What do you need these for, anyways?” he blinked, and there was a smirk growing on his face. “Are they for… someone?”

Tommy furrowed his brows, staring at the other. “What?”

Tubbo chuckled nervously, waving his hand around as he stumbled over his words. “You- you know. Like a gift? Are you going to… to try to, get someone?”

Tommy’s stare just became sharper, becoming even more confused. “What??” What the fuck was he talking about?

“You know, like a- a date?” Tommy blanked. “Cause- you know, you've been talking about girls a lot lately, and I just thought-"

“No.” Tommy interrupted, feeling numb. “No, it's not for a fucking girl.”

“Oh.” Tubbo laid on the grass, clearly uncomfortable. He began to tear up the leaf he had picked up. “Sorry, I just thought- I'm not really good at this whole thing… sorry for assuming. W- …what is the reason, then?”

Tommy sighed, thankful for the topic change. “It's for… you know how I’m going to therapy?”

Tubbo hummed in affirmation.

“Puffy suggested that, since I like music, I should like, indulge in that, use it to calm myself or give myself something to do, that junk. So I’ve just been. Collecting, I guess.” He looked over the list again, then closed the notepad and sat up, discs in hand. “I wanna build a place where I just keep all the records, maybe I’ll even sell the ones I don't like. Good business practice, you know?”

Tubbo brightened. “Oh! That sounds really cool! If you need help with the building part, I can help you, by the way!”

Tommy looked at Tubbo's grin, so sweet and infectious, and his heart thawed, thinking of working with Tubbo again, building towards something together. It was a nice thought. “Alright.”

It would be nice to be with Tubbo again.

***

Tommy felt miserable.

This… this was miserable. He didn't know why. It really shouldn't be – it was just music. He was just sorting through all of his music, picking ones he liked, picking ones to comfort him, he loved music, it was fine, it just…

Why did so many of the songs have to be about love.

It made him feel angry and hurt and alone in a particular way that was so familiar and yet so utterly different. Because when he felt alone before, he fought with himself the same, he sunk into the thoughts of being unlovable or broken or undeserving of company, but at least he could understand it. At least he could look back now and think “Dream was a bitch" and that would be some solace. At least he could have hope that even if he was unlovable, he could still love. Love others. Try to seek others. Even if he never got that back.

But now, hearing all the poetics and sweet confessions that were in such abundance, something that sounded so passionate and revered, so integral, it was like looking into another reality he didn't, couldn't, understand, and suddenly, he felt more alien than ever before.

And most importantly, how fucking stupid that was, that the thing that made him feel that way was love.

Cause he knew before. Knew it in the unease in his bones, and the panic in his brain, and the annoyed buzz in his chest. But… but he had doubted.

He couldn't doubt anymore.

God….

He laid on the ground, head to the cold floor, the record still spinning. The noise bounced off the dark wooden walls and into his skull, grating and aching. He covered his ears, messed up his hair, breathed in and out. In and out. What was wrong. What was wrong.

The record fell to silence. Then it started back again, as it automatically swapped out. Next.

His fingers felt restless, his whole body did. He tapped his skull, feeling the thumps echo. Breathe in, and breathe out. Breathe-

“-ow will I ever know you enough to love you, if you're hiding who you are?

Don't ask me to explain-"

He startled, his breath catching. This disc was scratchier than the others. It felt different. Something in him drew in the lyrics, head loud. He blinked.

…He's not hiding. Is he? Hiding what? He’s- no. Just- Breathe in-

“-Who are you hiding from, across the table with a penny in each eye?

Don't ask me to explain, don’t ask me to explain-"

His breath escaped, arms trembling as his body froze. He didn't understand. He couldn't explain. He wanted to cry. Something was unravelling.

“I'd like to marry all of my close friends, and live in a big house together by an angry sea,”

He sobbed.

He did, he thought, with surprise, as the tears fell.

“Am I the devil's marbles don't move on without me,

Who will be watching my body when I sleep?

Who will I believe in?”

Something… yeah.

Something happened.

Because suddenly, all that stress, all that confusion, all that loathing, was detangling, and the tears ran deep, ran painful, silent, wheezing screams escaping as the sobs continued. He couldn't breathe. His chest was tight. His head swam, and he felt oh so light headed. Light. He felt light. Happy. He felt alive.

He felt understood.

He- he wanted that! He could- he wanted to live with his friends, with Tubbo with Ranboo. He wanted to stay as friends. He wanted them to protect him, to be able to trust them, to be able to protect them in turn, he wanted to reside with them, he wanted to sleep amongst them, to have them watch over him, safe, he wanted to wake up in the morning and see the sun rise with then, he wanted to have casual dinner with them, he wanted to grow old together with them. As friends. As friends.

Friends.

What a lovely thing…

He could… he could live with his friends…

He could build a family with his friends.

And he didn't even care at that moment that he didn't know how Tubbo and Ranboo would feel about that. He didn't care whether they'd want him at their house, whether they'd want him around at all. He didn't even care, at that moment, if he couldn’t join them.

Because he realized that it was a possibility at all. Just the prospect, just the thought, the realization, that spending your life, being intimate, finding a stable ground, with your friends, not romantic partner, was possible, that it was possible to not be able to feel otherwise, that it was shared by other people, who wrote this song, who sung it, who had thought about it…

It meant he couldn't be that alone after all.

“It's so easy to lie to myself,

And pretend that I could love you, but I can't"

And oh so comforting it was, that he couldn't.

***

“Ey, Ranboo! Bitchboy!”

Ranboo suppressed a smile, an exasperated sigh hissing through his teeth. Tail swishing, he glanced to the other boy, who was down below, standing in the snow.

“C'mere!! I gotta give you something.” He yelled.

Ranboo raised a brow, but complied, closing the window he had been looking out of. After making a quick detour to check on Michael, he made his way down the stairs and stepped out of the doorway and into the light. Tommy bounded to him, big grin on his face. He seemed jumpier than usual. Ranboo smiled in turn. “what is it?”

Tommy opened his mouth, then closed it, instead going to rummage through his bag. What he took out was a… box? “Here, fuckboy.”

Ranboo winced, taking the container. “Don't call me that.”

“Why, what does it mean?”

Ranboo stared. “Just…. Don't.”

Tommy blinked, laughing nervously. “o-okay.”

Moving on, Ranboo inspected the item in his hands. It was medium sized, and made of simple, but elegant, smooth black wood. On the top, there was a leather sign embedded in it, with the word Beloved stitched into it. His ears flickered. This seemed… awfully nice. “What’s in it?”

Tommy scoffed. “Just open it, you twat.”

Ranboo, with a glance, could see the anxious way Tommy was holding himself, seeming impatient and uncomfortable. So he wasted no more time, and clicked open the surprisingly sturdy iron latch after a moment of struggling, and what awaited him inside was…

“…Discs…?”

Ranboo held his breath, fingers twitching as he held the gift. …was it a gift?

Tommy was staring at the ground. “Yeah. You know, I’ve just been traveling around, collecting, and I wanted to…” He seemed to shake himself lightly, hands wringing. “I wanted to give you some, I guess. That… yeah. These are yours.”

Ranboo was stiff, still perceiving the actual gift in his hands, that looked hand made, that was hand picked, that Tommy had worked to attain, just to give to him. His tail curled, and he carefully, delicately closed it's lid and hugged it close to his chest. “I… Thank you. Thank- O-oh wow…”

Tommy scowled. “You look like a fish. It's not a big deal. Just… take a listen sometime, won't ya?”

“Y-yeah!” Ranboo reverently nodded, cursing the way his eyes felt misty. “Yeah, I’ll… I’ll definitely listen, and cherish it. Thank you, Tommy.”

Tommy curtly nodded. “Alright. Pog.” And then, he was turning around, walking away with a quick “Share it with your family, too, some day. Bye.” Thrown or his shoulder.

And then, he was gone.

***

Tubbo heard music down the hall.

Ears tilting towards the pleasant sound, he skipped with bare feet over to the source, evening light casting warm glow through the windows as he went. When he arrived, to what was Michael's bedroom, he found Ranboo on the couch, curled gently over their son, head resting on his little head as he seemed to just… listen, wistful. Michael was listening too, letting out a little yawn as he turned his head to snuggle even deeper into his parent's warm embrace. Tubbo smiled softly at the scene.

Quietly, he patted over to them both, Ranboo eventually noticing him and watching him as he did. Tubbo buried a hand in Ranboo's hair, and the other leaned in. “What are you listening to?”

Ranboo didn't rush to explain, letting the comforting silence fill the space. When he spoke, it reminded Tubbo of soft flower petals and honey. “I didn't know Tommy's music taste was so…”

Tubbo blinked, turning to the disc lazily turning on the jukebox near them.

“-But in the end, I don't really care what you think,

Cause the bottom line is you make me happier than I’ve ever been...”

“wholesome.” He chuckled, fondly.

Tubbo hummed, unsurprised. “Tommy gave you these?”

Ranboo leaned more heavily in the couch. “Yeah. I don't know why, but…”

Tubbo's smile only deepened as he thought. Slowly, he replied, “I think he just wanted to show you he cared.”

Ranboo seemed to lose his breath a little, looking up at the other. “You think so…?”

Tubbo carded his fingers through Ranboo's hair, looking past Ranboo's twitching ears. “Tommy doesn't do things like these without reason. If he gave you something, it’s safe to say you mean a lot to him. He doesn't like to show it, usually, but… that I know.”

Ranboo stared at the turning of the discs, breathing softly. His tail curled around Michael. “Oh.”

Tubbo sat down at his feet and joined in.

Hearts warm, they laid there and listened until the sun had cast it's last rays and the jukebox no longer had a melody to spin.

***

Tommy sat behind the counter, feet on the counter, just trying to eat his discount chips while some people were being dumb children.

“Stop throwing the fucking food! I'll have to clean this up later!” He whined, to which Tubbo and Ranboo just threw him a glance, Tubbo’s apathetic and Ranboo's at least vaguely guilty, before Tubbo went right back and threw another gummy worm Ranboo's way.

Tommy scowled. “Seriously. At least pick them up and eat them.”

Ranboo made a face of disgust. “I'm not gonna eat candy off the floor, Tommy.”

“Yeah, some of us don't eat mud, Tommy.” Tubbo added.

“There’s no fucking mud here! It's a clean floor! You can totally pick them up and eat them, what the fuck!”

Tubbo raised his brows, staring. “Okay, then go and eat them, trash boy.”

“Okay, that's it.” Tommy raised to his feet, left his chip bag on the table and ran to Tubbo. Tubbo squawked, crawling onto the armchair he was reclining in to curl into a ball around his bag, but Tommy just threw himself onto the armchair with him, trying to reach for the candy. Which, considering the position, it was more like he was half-tickling, half hugging the other more than anything. “Give me that.”

Tubbo just burst out laughing, trying to hide deeper into the couch, attempting to kick the other away. “St-Stoppp!”

“C'mon, you disobeyed my shop's rules, I’m just confiscati-"

Something hit his head. Tommy stilled.

Ranboo peeked from behind his own candy bag, before digging into it again.

Tommy laid off of Tubbo slightly, raising like a puffed up cat. “Ranboo, you fuck!”

Tubbo laughed again, and Tommy was about to go on a murder spree, only for all the commotion to halt when they heard a sudden 4th voice.

Michael.

“Oh shit.”

Ranboo sighed. “He's awake. C'mon.”

Tubbo sighed as well, rolling out of the couch and dragging his feet towards the source of the oinks. “For the record, this is not my fault.”

Both of the other boys gave him the stink eye, but in the name of preserving needed ceasefire they held their tongues.

Michael was sitting up in Tommy's bed that resided in the backrooms, rubbing sleep out of his eyes and hiccuping. Tubbo reached for him, lifting him up. “Aww, did we wake you up? I'm sorry, little bossman.”

Michael clutched Tubbo's shirt, muttering something in piglin.

“He's asking what all that noise was.” Tommy quickly translated, before turning his eyes back to the kid and saying something soft in piglin back. Michael listened, seeming to quiet a little.

Ranboo, gathering that it was an affirmation, smiled and took one of Michael's hooves gently. “Yeah, we were just having fun. Do you want to have fun, too, Michael?”

Michael’s big eyes widened, and he wiggled in Tubbo's grip. “Ye! Ye!”

They chuckled, and Tubbo transferred his hold of Michael to Ranboo, who led the way in making it back to the front of the shop, chatting with his son all the while.

Tommy bumped his shoulder with Tubbo's as they walked, but didn't say anything further. Tubbo bit back a grin.

The next hour was spent feeding Michael and letting him listen to some new discs. Tommy even remembered he had some records that were in piglin, some songs, some stories, and put them on, which seemed to enrapture Michael quite a bit, immersed in the new voices and tales and familiarity. The three boys let him sit in Ranboo's lap and get lost in his own world, residing on a couch together and quietly chatting, around them comfortingly dark walls, bookshelves and the smell of wood and candles.

Eventually, the conversation steered.

“You know, Tommy, why don't you join us?”

…huh?

Tommy blinked, willing his breathing to restart and for the words to come. “W-what?”

Tubbo looked at him with warm eyes and a trepidant smile. “Like, how would you feel about coming to Snowchester? Live with us?”

Ranboo waved his hand. “Of course, you don't have to! But we just thought, you know, if you'd like a bit more, uh, company…”

“We want to be with you, is all.” Tubbo added quietly.

Tommy's heart raced, and he only blinked more, hands clutching the fabric of his pants. “B- be with me… are you…” he gulped down the butterflies clogging down his windpipes, still trying to understand that this is real. “are you sure…?”

Ranboo grinned, patting Michael's head idly. The piglin looked up at them. “Yeah! You're family, Tommy, after all.”

Tubbo tilted his head. As Tommy was still struggling to respond, he assured, “You don't have to if you don't want to, big man. No pressure.”

Tommy laughed, weak and breathless, but bright. “No, I-I’d- I'd really want that, but…” he gestured, trying to put his worries to sudden coherent sentences. “wouldn't that be… awkward? Like… you two, just, l-lovebirds," he chuckled clumsily, “and then there's… me, just, there?”

Tubbo shared a look with Ranboo, then turned back and laughed. “You won't be a third wheel, if that's what you’re asking.”

“Yeah, it's not like we’re really romantic partners, even, it'll be fine.” Ranboo said.

Tommy stilled.

Blinked.

“Uhw- what?”

The other two tensed, Tubbo quickly glancing at his husband before grimacing, thinking deep on how to explain it. “You know, we… we're not really… romantic? We just decided to marry? But we're… not platonic either, it's…”

“I-It's something inbetween. Queerplatonic is the word? I think?”

“It's hard to explain-"

“There's- there's a word for that? And you were- Like. Friends? Living together, this whole time??” Tommy reeled, head in hand.

“Well, not exactly friends, or at least, with how we decide to label our relationship, but… yes?”

“Oh my-" Tommy slumped forwards, now both of his hands holding his head upright, just. Breathing. “Shit. What the fuck. I…” he laughed, wrecked.

Tubbo and Ranboo stared at him, uncomfortable. Tubbo frowned. “Look, if you… if you're gonna say something, I’d rather-"

“No- nono, it's…” he raised his eyes, slowly, like coming out of a cave and into the light. His words tripped upon his tongue, but he was so eager to know. “So you two don't want… romantic partners?”

They blinked. “Not… particularly, no.” Ranboo replied. “…are you okay?”

Tommy laughed. It sounded stilted even to his ears, senses muddled as he was wrapped up in his own head, his own elated feelings, his heart nearly bursting at the seams. “I-I’m not alone.”

Tubbo stared, but then his eyes softened. He sighed, and his smile was immensely gentle, while looking at his friend. “Oh, Tommy…” Ranboo, beside him, wilted the same.

Michael, inbetween them, looked at all three of them silently.

“…Do you want a hug?” Tubbo quietly offered.

Tommy quickly nodded, slumping into Tubbo's side and burying his face in Tubbo's soft hair, not even caring for the way one of his horns poked into his cheek slightly. He held the other, and Tubbo held him. He felt the end of Ranboo's tail drape over his leg.

With a delicate tone and worn vocal chords, he quietly, and simply, admitted. “I'd love that. I'd really love that. Living with you three.”

Tubbo tightened his hold.

That night, Tommy fell asleep not alone, but with his two other closest people, his family. Safe, warm, with that insistent nagging at the back of his chest cavity, that told him he was alone, that he was wrong about himself, that he never even knew himself at all, finally silenced.

He had never felt more at home.

168 notes · View notes

starr-fall-knight-rise · 4 years ago

Text

Humans are Weird, “A Preoccupation with Death.”

Hope you enjoy :)

Analysis By Dr. Krill MD

Humanity’s preoccupation with death has always fascinated me: I say fascinated because to say that it disturbs me would be rather unscientific, and I have been attempting to reign in my anger… I have had some… complaints over the last year about the unprofessionalism of my previous papers. The GA community does not appreciate, and I quote, “Excessive swearing, and screaming” in virtual reports, so today I will attempt to be calm and relaxed as I explain to you, common human traditions based around death.

Now you must understand, from my perspective these practices are quite bizarre. Vrull have no rituals associated with death. The Vrull are disposed of and their bodies are incinerated. The ash is then disposed with by mixing into the soil to produce needed plants on the planet surface. There are no other options, and no other arrangements are made.

However, I am told that funeral rights with humans are, often, more to do with what the living need than what the deceased do. However, there are some funeral rights believed to be required in certain human cultures, so that rule does not always hold completely true.

I will begin from the moment of death.

Unlike the Vrull humans do not know their exact time of death. Granted this is not because the Vrull have a set clocking system in their bodies which sets the time in which we die, but because our society sets forth a time of our usefulness. No one knows how long a Vrull can feasibly live because no one has tried it before. I myself might plan on finding out, as I have no intention of returning for my scheduled termination, which is already a year overdue.

Humans, like most other species die in several different ways, accidents, sickness, or the sudden failure of the body due to old age, the final one generally happening peacefully and in their sleep.

However this is where humans tend to diverge from their inhuman counterparts, in that they are very social creatures, the death of a human is usually witnessed by multiple family members and friends, in the case of sickness, and is mourned many weeks after because the death of someone in your social circle changes that circle forever. Social bonds are cut and entire social lives are upended. Humans bond so heavily with each other that the loss of one of their own can lead to mental and emotional trauma extreme enough to require medication and hospitalization.

Humans plan their deaths months to years in advance. In certain instances, their jobs force them to plan their death in advance in case something were to happen. Decisions need to be made about who owns their property, where it goes, what happens to their dwellings, and how the surviving members of their family will be supported. Sometimes they plan this due to terminal illness which they knew will lead to their deaths, otherwise they might just do it out of precaution.

There are many different ways of disposing of a corpse. First of all, you must determine if any of the human parts are recyclable: this being the very morbid idea of taking someone else’s organs and giving them to another person. Now with the advancement of this technology, organ transplants from donors is not as common as it once was seeing as they can now 3D print organs. However, this method is not time effective and is very costly, in some cases leaving the harvesting of deceased human organs to be the only viable option.

Yes, they take organs from dead people… the doctor and surgeon in me admires that thought process, but the thinking breathing creature inside of me recoils heavily at the idea.

Assuming that no one requires your organs, or if you have especially requested for your organ not to be used than there are other questions that need to be addressed. There are humans who have jobs especially in the business of taking care of dead bodies. They are generally moved in special containers and placed in refrigerated units to slow decomposition while the relatives determine what they want to do with the body.

In certain cases, where the death is suspicious, as related to murder, there are, in fact, humans who specilize in determining the cause and time of death based on the decomposition rate of a body and the stiffness of the flesh itself. This is a semi-common practice across the galaxy, and I myself have performed one or two autopsies since my professional career began though they are far more common for humans.

I find that the most humane method of human enterrement, and the one that makes most sense to me as a Vrull is the idea of cremation. The body is taken and placed in a furnace that is then heated enough to turn the body to ash leaving only bone fragments and the occasional mineral deposit. The ash may then be given to the family members or disposed of accordingly. Some humans find it comforting to keep the remains in some sort of container.... A fact which I find morbid but, we have proven in abundance that I find much of what humanity does, rather morbid.

It is only going to get worse.

The other method of disposal, popular through human history, however made someone obscure in recent centuries due to the proliferation of human burial sites…. The common north american and European Burial and funeral rights went as follows. After death, and freezing in the morgue, a special human with the job of mortician is called in to prepared the body for burial…. This is where it gets very morbid.

The body is drained of all of its fluids and then pumped full of preservatives to slow down the process of decomposition. The faces are then painted with makeup to give the corpse the appearance of sleep rather than death. The body is dressed in fine clothing and placed inside a coffin or casket: these in themselves can cost thousands of dollars as the family members decide what materials the box should be made out of and lined with, precious metals, woods like oak or steel, and the inside lined in velvet satin or silk. The body is placed inside with the person dressed in a finely tailored suit before a hearse: a special vehicle designed to carry caskets is brought to the place of mourning, generally a curch or a funeral home.

Many times the body is then put through a “viewing”.... It sounds just as bad as I make it seem, when the humans come in…. In large groups…. To stare at their dead relative. Just…. Stare at their rotting corpse before it is hauled away and lowered into an six foot hole in the earth. A decorative rock is then place on top of that inscribed with the deceased’s name so that everyone knows where to find their moldering corpse….

….

I am told this provides a lot of closure for family members, though I have yet to understand why staring at a painted corpse would be helpful.’

Unfortunately, with humans, this isn't the most gruesome method they have of corpse disposal, nor the most involved

You may also chose to donate your body to science…

They might hand your bod over to a medical school, where aspiring doctors will, in groups, dissect your corpse slowly over an intervening few weeks or months. It is… gruesome, but a necessary part of the learning process. Your skeleton might even be recycled for use as a tool to demonstrate the skeletal structure to those very same students.

Perhaps your body will end up in a museum, where they will encase your nervous system in plaster and place it on a wall for school children and visiting day travelers to view.

Perhaps you might donate your body to…. A body farm. A palace where scientists will toss your corpse out into different elements to observe the rate and change of decomposition based on different dump sites. They will examine the decomposition, the moisture loss, and the bugs which take to eating your body. This research will then be used to determine the cause o death for other corpses disposed of by murderers or in similar fashion.

It is gruesome, but I suppose…. It is useful for scientific efforts.

These aren't the only methods of body disposal.

Bodies have been tied to the top of large towers

Thrown into the woods to be eaten by animals

Dumped into pits.

And in a couple of cases, launched into the vacuum of space.

Different rituals require family members to spend more or less time with the body, to wrap it in special cloth, or to anoint it with certain oils.

The Egyptians were widely known for their complex and involved enterrement rituals commonly known as mummification.

The body was first embalmed

The brain was removed

The organs removed and placed in specialized canopic jars

The body was then dried

Then wrapped which continued to help in the drying process

Then the body was finally entered, and due to the sandy heat of the desert, the body was often preserved to a great and surprising degree. Egyptians believed that those things you had in life would come with you after death, and so egyptian rulers were entered with great riches and inside grand palaces

Then of course there is the last ritual which I learned about just recently.

Certain tribal societies will….. Eat…. their dead….

They will eat them….

As in the entire village will get together and consume the corpse in a feast, believing that without this they cannot enter the afterlife.

…..

…

I am going to draft a proposal to the GASC that screaming and profanities should be considered scientifically appropriate when in regards to humans

#humans are insane #HUMANS ARE WERID #humans are space orcs #humans are space australians #humans are space oddities #earth is a deathworld #Earth is space Ausralia

775 notes · View notes

professorthaddeus · 4 years ago

Text

so I should probably wait until I can rewatch scenes on monday to write anything, but I can’t stop thinking about the contacting trent plan/what it reveals about where everyone is right now, and I want to talk about something that really stood out to me (sorry for the word vomit ahead)

I know a lot of people were upset and bewildered that the nein would seriously consider working with trent (and hey, I get it, and of course I’m not trying to invalidate feelings that might have come up for people who have had experiences with abuse). personally, though, I thought it made a lot of sense based on where the characters were coming from. was it the best tactical suggestion or even a remotely healthy one for caleb? probably not. but I think that right now, the nein are in a messy state of trying to rationally weigh all their options for the fight ahead while simultaneously dealing with the recklessness that comes with desperation

I understand why people think fjord’s suggestion was cold or insensitive, but I think we need to remember that it was just moments after he found out that jester sent a message to vandran. many have already pointed out that fjord’s resolute optimism in all this is indicative of him stepping up as a leader for his friends, and I think there’s something to be said about how being confronted with the thing he wanted to avoid would make it harder to hold onto that optimism. so he goes into problem-solving mode. reaches for an extreme that just might work to give them an edge

as for the others, most of them are coming off of highly emotional conversations with their families that they’re desperately hoping weren’t their last. they’re trying to make pragmatic decisions while preparing to die to prevent armageddon. they have essek, but otherwise, it feels like they’re facing this monumental threat alone. of course they’re going to find the possibility of having the might and resources—no matter how unreliable—of the cerberus assembly behind them to be attractive right now

and caleb? caleb’s talked about his own issues feeling like petty grievances in the face of bigger things before, and I’m sure he’s feeling his trauma is insignificant when compared to the looming threat now. especially when he’s already written himself off in many ways and has made a vow to do whatever it takes to see his friends through, to keep those families together. he probably thinks this could very well be his last chance to take trent out

and I feel like all of this made it so much more poignant that beau was the one to check in, put things back into a grounded perspective, and say hey, the reality of this is that we’d be working with caleb’s abuser

beau, who up until very recently has brushed aside her own trauma to a point where she didn’t recognize what happened to her as traumatic, to a point where she didn’t even register zeenoth as much worse than an unpleasant ally. beau, who is best able to cut through caleb’s bullshit and “math brain” and has always been (figuratively) straight with him. beau, who knows how much it meant to have someone acknowledge what she went through

she trusts caleb’s judgment, and she knows they all have to consider every angle here, so she’ll follow his lead. but she’s not going to let his trauma be shoved under the rug for the sake of strategy in a high-stress situation

and I just. there’s so much more to unpack here, but I just love the empire siblings and I’m so ready to watch how beau and caleb tackle things back at home when this is all over and if they survive

#critical role #caleb widogast #beauregard lionett #empire siblings #empire kids #trent ikithon #mighty nein #fjord #cr meta #my meta #cr spoilers #c2e131 #my ramblings #this was a super long-winded way for me to say I appreciate the parallels in beau and caleb's stories lmao

109 notes · View notes

xfeliciahardyx · 4 years ago

Text

Summary: What happened in the bakery changed you. The next few years would force you to harden and build so many walls that you vowed to never let anyone in. You can probably guess what happens when a certain soldier starts to scale those walls so that he can get to you.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Warnings: mention of blood, intense details about ww2, side character deaths, traumatic backgrounds, mention of Nazis, mentions of broken bones and bullet wounds, children suffering due to the war, imprisonment in a concentration camp, someone does get stabbed, and angst (Warnings will be added as the story continues if need be. This is just for the first chapter!)

Taglist: ~Here~ (Feel free to add yourself to any other categories!)

Word Count: 9k

Author's Note: Okay everyone reading I first want to say thank you for reading my imagine. There are some things that I need to clarify before you start reading this. The entire series will be me going through the Captain America movies. It first starts at The First Avenger and continues through the places in time where Bucky is and where he is not OoOoOoO plot twists. But yes this can be overwhelming to read because some details are VERY graphic. i did use techniques from my medical skills class so all the medical procedures are researched and correct. Please enjoy The Winter Soldier and The White Feather or as I like to call it WSWF

The war was changing you and everyone around you. It was making kind people turn green and bad people even worse. You learned that the hard way of course. When you’d had been taken to the facility you didn’t know what to expect. Now you had been in it for God knows how long and you didn’t know what would happen. You had no way of contacting your family. Of contacting anyone you knew really. You were lost, scared, hoping for a savior that didn’t seem to be appearing. Lost traveling in a fog ridden meadow without any sense of direction. It killed you to see how many people died and suffered at the hands of the Germans, but your screams were of no use. The way they treated everyone was as horrible as a cat chasing a mouse. Like you were the filth on their boots, the scum of the earth. Any time someone said something to them they’d react as if a fire touched their skin and recoil away. They acted as if they didn’t have enough money to feed anyone properly. The food was sure to break several health codes back in the city but that didn’t seem to stop you all from eating it. If it wasn’t stale bread that you could knock someone out with, it was week old soup that had hints of green to it. The water was as piss pore and was a dull gray. Not your best moments or the biggest feast for the holidays but it was for survival. It was meant for you to get on through the day and do as you’re told. The inmates had started to call it the end of the world. You didn’t blame them because it was. That didn’t stop them from constantly complaining about every little thing. You on the other hand couldn’t give a fuck. It was like every single one up and flew away with the happiness that had been your life in France. You couldn’t even speak after the horrors the world and slammed into your life. You avoided everyone and everything that lived, scared and desperate to stay hidden. It was the way to go and others followed your lead. You weren’t one to speak or do anything with another person and the others around you knew it. So, they cleared their distance and you appreciated it. You had never been one to stay quiet for long around people. Eventually you’d try to get to know them. But you had changed just as times had. Even now you knew to keep your cool and to keep up with your manners. At any minute they could kill you. Or they could do something to shatter your already scarred mind. You knew you weren’t like the people who decided to suck up to them. Kissing the floor, they walked on for a little bit of clean water, or a bowl of soup that was freshly made. They were horrible to the suck ups and laughed at them as they did their best to seem appealing. You would never stoop as low to be a person who supported the people who had made this sad reality your life. Despite everything your parents had done to you, you always managed kindness. The girl who was secretly the crush of every guy because of her brains. The kind of girl that went to the library in her free time. The girl who never dated because she claimed she wanted to focus on school but could never know how to talk to guys. Went to the movies with her one friend who she cared about more than anything. The girl who made life positive because her family had always made it negative. Yes, you were over all kind but when you needed to be you could be as sharp as a spear. So, why did they kidnap you? It was simply a case of being at the wrong place in the wrong time. But that didn’t excuse their actions following the moments they walked in that bakery with their rifles held high and their voices screaming in curses. Why did they have to kill one of the most important people in your life right in front of you? Shot her straight through the heart at the bakery around the block from the school. All because she was Jewish. Their logic didn’t explain why they had the right to take her life. Her younger siblings had been complaining about food and you had an extra food stamp to use. You’d despised the stars they had to wear on their chest that prohibited them from having the normal things every person

needs. You all had practically skipped to the bakery in hopes that they’d have chocolate. It was a nice moment thinking that everything was back to normal. She had only been 21 and you 20. That was 3 years ago. Even so long after you could still imagine the events that had occurred. Her blood had splattered all over your polka dotted yellow dress. All she had asked for was food for her siblings. Sure, sweets would have been kind but you were all hungry in general. When the soldiers had come in, they’d been attracted to her star. You should have been on guard more, but you’d been naive to think they wouldn’t harm them. One had grabbed Ciera and pushed himself against her. In her reaction she’d kicked the German away and his comrade shot her. Her siblings that had been clinging to your side as they shot her cried out for their sister as she dropped to the ground. Siblings that had their throats slit as they clung to your arms. You had begged for their lives. They were just two children. You thought they would have a little mercy. You knew you would take care of them for their sister. You tried to explain that Tommy and Cassandra had been hungry, and their sister had been killed right in front of them. The trauma they had suffered was enough for their minds to endure. All of what was happening was enough to make anyone mad. It was necessary that they cry and mourn. But as heartless as they were, they showed no remorse. That two children crying for their dead sister would never and hadn’t stopped the Germans. They’d ripped the children from your hands and pressed their silver knives to their throats killed them. You wanted to fight for them. You loved them like your own siblings. They didn’t deserve the fate that had been handed to them. The third soldier had held your arms behind your back to stop you from tearing them away. You had tried to fight him, but you knew he wouldn’t let go. You watched the blood slip from their throats, and you sagged against the soldier. He had been the kinder of the three. A recruit perhaps. You didn’t realize until later that he’d held you in his embrace throughout the car ride to the place where you’d be transported. The screams that left their mouths still haunted you and you saw their terrified faces in your dreams. Sometimes they would come together as a group. Other times Tommy would visit you with blood seeping from his throat asking you for his sisters. You blamed yourself for not fighting hard enough. You watched as the life left your eyes when you knew it should have been you. You should have been dead on the ground with them as they lay dead next to their sister on the ground. Yes, life was unfair. But if life was unfair than war was no comparison.

“Gurl!” A German soldier yells pointing his finger to a spot in front of him. Most of them could barely speak English and when they did it was so slurred. Half the times you had to watch their hand motions to understand what they wanted. His eyes are locked on you from your spot by the back of the courtyard. It was a quiet place that everyone avoided because of the sun that would beam on you. They preferred the shade, but you just needed the quiet heat to cleanse your mind. You cursed and grabbed onto the chain fence behind you to lift yourself up. It bent with your weight but you knew it wouldn’t break. It was a trashy fence that if you tried to climb, you’d either be shot down or just get so scratched that you’d just end up doing more harm than good. The fence traveled around the vast courtyard that was rundown and brown. The fence had rust in certain spots from when it rained but it never did anything for the concrete. Blood stains covered the floor from where prisoners had been shot and dragged away. There were splatters and puddles all over the already dirty floor. Even on the ground leading into your cells you’d find the lengthened blood beneath your feet. The courtyard was the only time you got to see the outside world. They also had a calendar on the wall that told you what day it was. You weren’t sure why but maybe it was to bring down the spirits of everyone. You on the other hand had been there for 3 years 2 months and 25 days. Since the beginning of the German’s invasion of France. It was made up of mock punching bags filled with paper plates and hard pillows that no dared to sleep on. People sat in cliques all around speaking in different languages. Most of them spoke French and in your time there you’d picked up bits of other languages. Nothing too major but just enough to understand.

“Ve dount ave foreevare vittle gurl.” He yelled again and you picked up your pace. You didn’t want to do anything to cause any more attention to yourself. His accent sent prickles of fear up your spine and the hairs on your arms stood on end. As you walked by a few whispers drafted into your ears and people glanced away. Being called over by a soldier wasn’t a good thing and people avoided it as much as they could. There was always the possibility of someone getting shot or having to do something you weren’t mentally or physically prepared to do. So, the terror that was filling up your mind with endless possibilities wasn’t a fun thing. Anxiety tightened the space in your chest and your throat was constricted with worry. You stopped a few steps in front of the soldier who towered over you and said nothing as his eyes trailed over your body. Once upon a time you would have blushed and shifted awkwardly where you stood but now you stand still and stare straight at the wall behind the soldier to avoid eye contact. The mic on his shoulder beeps and he holds out a finger to you. You don’t respond and continue to stare straight ahead. He responds to the German voice in his native language rapidly and you fiddle with your hands behind your back. You could feel the tension rising around the two of you and it wasn’t good. His eyes had begun to harden more, and his posture grew rigid. His eyes darted around the dirt filled courtyard until he turned around and stared at a man. He had been beat up. On his eye was a purplish hue with hints of green. You saw a small limp in his walk as you turned your head in his direction. He stopped and leaned against the fence with his arms crossed a pair of tags dangling around his neck. The green Henley he wore was matted and had spatters of dried blood. His pants hung off his body, still fitting but with tears. Looking from the outside in he looked just as bad as every other prisoner of war. He had an unreadable expression as he surveyed his surroundings. You caught a small calculating look in his eyes as he scanned people that walked by. His eyes caught yours and your breath caught in your throat. He didn’t just stare at you from afar. He seemed to bare your soul out in front of everyone to see. His gaze was intense, and a hint of curiosity was in his dark eyes. The soldier beside you muttered something into his radio and your gaze snapped away from the handsome stranger and you turned back at attention. You couldn’t get the image of him out of your mind even as the soldier gave you your new group to follow to your cells. Everyone was given a number when they were placed in the camp. Each cell was alphabetized and most of the time people didn’t even pay attention to them. They did it to give themselves a feel of control. The only one you didn’t follow. You didn’t say anything back to him and when he dismissed you, you promptly walked back to your spot. You didn’t want to turn your head in the direction of the stranger you knew was walking over to you. You wanted to disappear, and you knew the moment he talked to you your tough exterior would break. There was something different about the way his head was held high and his shoulders never slumped. You could practically feel his confidence from across the courtyard and out of your peripheral vision. You slid down the fence with a sigh as you put your head in your knees. You took a few breaths to keep yourself calm as a pair of shoes came into view. They were brown and matted and looked like they’d seen better days.

“You okay?” a voice followed. It was low and soft, but it sent shivers down your spine. You slowly raised your eyes up the body that was wearing them, and your eyes widened in surprise where the man from before stood in front of you. He’s much taller than you initially realized and his eyes a deeper brown. He stares down at you with worry and you just stared at him not knowing what to do. He was around your age and it was rare you found anyone your age and that spoke a language you could speak. Sure, there were people who spoke your language and had tried to talk to you. Soon enough they stopped coming around because staying in a group too long would strike fearing the people because they wouldn’t want the Germans thinking new company meant rebellion. He moved to your side and carefully slid down the steel fence. You stared ahead at the people who stood in the middle of the courtyard.

“So, you people watch.” The stranger says motioning to the people in front of you both. You nod without looking at him keeping a close eye on the people in front of you. Something felt wrong about the gathering. It wasn’t anything good. Someone was shoved across into another person and you heard the stranger suck in a breath. He felt the sudden shift too and he pointed a finger towards a short man in broken glasses. His eyes flipped from each side of the courtyard where the two soldiers stood. His hands were clasped together, and his feet were headed in the direction of the crowd. You nudged your elbow into your newfound companions’ arm tilting your chin up in the direction of the people. The air felt stiff in the courtyard more than normal as the crowd began to step into a circle the short man now joining them. The soldiers seemed to notice it too because their gazes were hardened, and their guns were pointed. Your heart began to pound as you knew what was coming next. It haunted you every night ever since you had seen it the day you’d been kidnapped and taken to this camp. The images of Ciera’s body falling to the ground flashes through your vision and you shake your head, feeling your heart squeeze. The screams of her siblings were in the wind you closed your eyes tight and took in a deep breath. They were screaming out orders in German, but the group paid them no mind. You couldn’t breathe. Your hands rubbed against your rugged jeans completely lost to your nightmares that were coming to life. You opened your eyes slowly and looked around to see if anyone else was witnessing what was going down. A few other small groups of people watched from afar with dead eyes, but none made a move to assist. Your eyes were locked on the German soldier directly across from you that was walking towards the group. With each footstep your breathing became faster and your mind screamed for them to heed the warnings the Germans were giving. The group was large and growing by the minute which in the eyes of your captors was a bigger threat. The German nudged one of the people in the group with his gun and what happened next you had never expected. The stringy thin man with blood hair who had been poked spun around and stabbed the soldier in the neck with a foreign object and someone screamed. His hands went to his throat and he dropped his gun. The man dove for it as the soldier fell slowly bleeding out on the concrete. Everything was chaos as the gun dropped and a single bullet escaped from its chamber. The bullet flew across the courtyard and your eyes flew with it watching it impale a single child.

“No!” you screamed bolting up from your place by the fence. The soldiers burst into action firing down anyone who had been in the huge crowd. Everyone went running towards the inside of the prison, trying to avoid the bullets. It was pure chaos as people from everywhere were getting shot as they tried to escape the rage of the soldiers. There were screams of all different languages and you heard the cry of the mother above all. Her cries for her baby filled your ears as you raced across the courtyard toward the downed child. The man followed you close behind, and you paid him no mind as you shoved through the on rush of people. People were getting into meaningless fights as they tried to get away. A man stops in front of you making a grab for your waist. A hand presses against your chest shoving you back as the stranger jumps in front of you. He throws a hard punch at the man who’d made an attempt touch and he gets knocked to the ground. You grabbed his hand and started running again. The mother’s screams in French guided you through the crowd. You felt your foot hit something before you went flying. Your hands moved out in front of you to stop the fall by instinct and on impact you hissed in pain. You had landed hard on your free hand but was yanked back up just as quickly.

“We have to go.” The man from before whispered in your ear.

“The child needs help.” You whispered back and he didn’t say a word back as he supported you on the remaining distance. The child lay on the ground holding his mother’s hand as she screamed for help. The brown-haired man set you on the floor beside the child and you immediately began ripping your jacket off your arms. You ripped the sleeves off the jacket and used the back to apply pressure to the wound. The single bullet hole was small but on the size of the boy was enough to cause a lot of damage. You quickly felt it become wet with blood and pressed down a little harder as the boy cried out in pain.

“Mon garçon, s'il vous plaît, sauvez mon garçon.”(My boy, Please save my boy) She sobbed as her eyes covered her face. Her hands were covered in his blood and your mind flashed with the memory of your own hands covered in Tommy and Cassandra’s blood. You ignored her cries but that didn’t stop you from helping her. You kept a steady push on his leg to slow the bleeding. After a few checks you eyed the wound and you couldn’t help the feel of triumph that flowed through your heart. The slow of bleeding meant you could check the wound for any other injuries it could have caused. You ripped open his pant leg and wiped the blood away to get a good look at the wound. This wasn’t the first time you’d be a medic and it wouldn’t be the last. Your father had gotten plenty of hunting wounds and you had been the one to take care of them. His leg only held one bullet hole, but his leg was so skinny it could fit in the palm of your hand. Your heart ached that this would be the childhood he remembered and not one filled with days of running in a field with his mother or being in school with his friends. He was one of the lucky ones you had to remind yourself. He was alive and you were determined to keep him that way. Your hands moved with remarkable speed as you lifted the child’s leg and looked for the exit wound of the bullet. A small hole was in the back of his leg and you wiped it clear of blood. You lifted the sleeve from earlier to your teeth and made a big enough tear that you could rip it with your bare hands. The long piece of clothing dangled between your fingertips as you examined the length. From the way the threading looked it wouldn’t hold for long, so you’d have to find a more permanent solution. But that was later and the thin cloth would do good for now.

“How can I help?” The man whispered in your ear again as your mind whirled with adrenaline. Your instincts in healing were helping you move through the steps you’d done so many times before with ease, but you couldn’t help the storm brewing in your feelings. You were enraged, scared, and so many other feelings all at once. You had gotten lost in the moment as you rushed to save the boy that lay before you. People were still running inside, and the screams had begun to slow. The courtyard was filled with sobs of families returning to their loved one’s bodies that lay dead on the floor. The blood on the ground would haunt them for the rest of their lives as the bodies were carried away by the ‘healthy’ prisoners.

“Lift his leg carefully. I need to make a tourniquet to stop the bleeding.” You said softly showing him the places to place his hands. He placed his above and below the wound just as you’d asked and lifted slowly. The boy screamed in pain and the mother began to reach her hands out to stop you. You glared at her, but she ignored your attempts to stop her from distracting you. She was screaming at you in French, begging you to stop hurting her boy. You ignored her cries and curses and continued to work. Her hands were gripping yours now as she tightened them around your wrists, and you struggled to tie the knot.

“Si vous ne retirez pas vos mains, votre fils mourra!” (if you don’t pull your hands away your son will die) you snap back at her in French and her nails stop digging into your skin. She pulls away quickly but doesn’t move her eyes away from your face. You sigh in frustration as you tighten the knot around the boy’s leg. You can hear the boy crying for his maman and she’s trying to calm him but it’s no use. You grab the jacket and place it over the boys wound again and apply pressure. The mother is sobbing as she holds her sons face and you watch knowing that you can only help minimally. You motion for the man to lower his leg softly and he does. He watches you carefully as you wrap the torn jacket around his leg and tie it again in the back. The bleeding has slowed to minimal trickle, but you’ll have to find something to clean the wound to keep away infection. You sigh in relief collapsing on the back of your heels as the woman steps away from her boy and walks over to you. She offers a hand over to you and you stare at it not sure what to do. She smiles weakly and shakes her hand again. You realize she’s trying to get you to stand up and you take it willingly. She helps you stand up and as soon as you’ve got on your feet, she pulls you into a hug.

“You…help…. me Henry.” She whispers in your ear as she pulls away. There’s a new look in her eyes as she apologizes for hurting you in French. She pulls your wrists to her mouth and places small kisses over the crescent moon shaped marks. Her fingers run over them in a silent guilt and you pull away and give her a small smile. Her hand brushes your cheek leaving a trail of blood, but her eyes are locked on yours. She leans in placing a kiss on your cheek before releasing you from her embrace. She quiets quickly once you tell her that it’s alright and that you have something to tell her. You start to give her basic instructions that will keep her son alive. How to clean the wound and tell her the signs of infection. Her hands grip onto her fingers, and her eyes are eager to make sure she doesn’t miss a word. You tell her your cell keep so that if she may ever need your assistance, she can send someone. The man who helped you stands beside you as you give her these instructions nodding as you list off everything. Once you trust that she knows everything you bid her goodbye and tell her to stay safe. She doesn’t respond as she looks away from you down to her son whose hand is out reached for her. She rushes to her knees and grabs his hand and doesn’t give you another glance. You know she won’t leave him alone for a minute. The fear of losing her family wasn’t a good one and it had scarred her heart forever just as it did to you months ago. She would hold on tight to his hands and watch for any signs of sickness. She would not sleep through the night but would tell her boy that she did. She’d do anything to protect her last light in the dark world. Your eyes travel from their joined hands to the boys’ face. It’s pale, most likely from the blood loss but he smiles at you. He opens his mouth to say something, and just as quick as it opens it closes as a grimace of pain flashes over his face. You shake your head giving him a weak smile. You kneel beside his head and place a soft kiss on his sweaty forehead and murmur a good-bye. You give the mother and son a small wave before standing once more and turning on your heel to walk away. Your tail follows you as you make your rounds around the courtyard. People cry out to the two of you as you try your best to help anyone and everyone. Most people have died by the time you reach them, and you close their eyes for the dead to mourn. Some don’t accept that their loved one is dead and continue to scream their fury at your insistence. One man almost attacks you because he refuses to believe his wife was killed and the stranger has to stop him. Tears stream down your cheeks at the sight of each body that lies on the floor. There was so much blood on the court now that it was rare you saw an old patch that was dried. It runs underneath your shoes and covers each piece of cement with ease. It soaks the clothes of the people lying beside their families and friends crying their hearts out to someone who is no longer there. Their pain has become apart of you and you can feel the shock of it numb you by the time you reach the last patient. Your tears have dried up and your hands are covered in so much blood that pieces flake off when the wind blows through the courtyard. You stand beside the teenage girl that holds her arm limp as her companion stands nearby attempting to talk to you in German. You attempt to converse with him in French the only language you’d been able to learn in your months of imprisonment but it’s no use as he doesn’t understand you. The girl cries softly as you touch her arm trying to figure out what was wrong.

“Was ist mit ihr passiert?” (What happened to her?) your partner says in German earning a glance from the boy. He speaks faster now the urgency in his hand motions clear. You can’t help but watch in awe as the man who has been helping this whole time stays remarkably calm. He nods and continues to ask him questions and gives him responses without hesitation. He doesn’t interrupt when it becomes clear that the boy is in full out panic mode. You place your hand on the girls’ shoulder and she flinches away before you give her a small smile. She stared at you with a suspicious glare in her eyes, but you tapped your eyes and then pointed to her shoulder in hopes that she would understand. Her eyes are wide with understanding and she leans in closer to you. You press your fingertip towards the top of her shoulder, and you feel her flinch. Doing this a few more times as you examine her shoulder you realize it doesn’t look like the other. It’s bent at an odd angle and you curse yourself for not realizing sooner.

“Her shoulder is dislocated presumably from being trampled in the panic. I know how to put it back in place, but it’ll be a two person job so I’ll need your help...” you trail off not knowing your assistants name. He glances over his shoulder giving you a smile makes you look down at your hands tat have begun to fidget.

“Call me Bucky.” He winks but you can tell he immediately regrets it because he turns away and starts muttering something under his breath. You catch a small huff of frustration that he cuts off quickly with ‘idiot’ following in English. You chuckle a little and his eyes brighten at your show of emotion towards him. Besides the subtle nudges of worry from before the attack, it was the only one you’d shown. His whole demeanor changed then, and you couldn’t help but feel drawn to the sudden beam of light. He was trying to hide his ear to ear smile as he shifted in place. You shake your head slightly and notice the two people that had been forgotten for a short moment. The man from before is quiet now as the girl talks to him in a soft voice. You motion Bucky over, and he leans down to your level.

“She needs to lie on her back. I’m going to pull it back into place.” Bucky gives you a single nod and begins talking to her in German. She stares at him in confusion but then as he explains it even more, she begins to nod her head in understanding reaching out to her boyfriend for assistance. He grabs her lifted hand and Bucky grabs her waist. Her boyfriend kneels beside her and the two exchange soft words that you don’t attempt to hear. Yes, there were things worse than what she was going through but what you were about to do wasn’t about to be as painless as she’d think. Besides the love that you could see when they looked at each other felt like you were intruding every time they looked at each other. When both men have settled, they both slowly lay her down onto her back, but your eyes don’t miss the flinch she gives once Bucky goes near her and her partner has stepped away. You slightly nudge Bucky out of the way and lightly grab her arm. You can see the gratitude in her eyes, and she tries to grab your hand most likely to thank you in the only way she knew how. You gave her a small nod and remained silent because somethings were better left unsaid. As you go through the steps you tell Bucky what you’re doing and in turn he translates. She doesn’t take her eyes off her partner the entire way as you begin to move her. Her arm is causing her a lot of pain, so your touches are featherlight. She is squeezing his hand and you take a lot of breaks to offer her some relief. Once her arm is outstretched towards you, you place your foot underneath where her shoulder is. You take a deep breath and without warning pull her arm at the same time as you push into her side. A loud pop sounds from her arm and you immediately stop pulling on her arm and let it sit on your lap. A blood curdling scream leaves her mouth and she begins to sob in pain. You can see her body shake as her free hand covers the tears that stream down her face. The three of you aren’t the only ones that heard her of course and a German soldier runs over to you all and starts yelling commands that you don’t understand. The girls companion starts responding to him much quieter than before most likely being careful with what he says. Even with the man explaining the soldier still has his eyes locked on you with a hatred you’d never seen before. It’s as if the soldier doesn’t care that you helped her and that she’d be better off in pain. You glare right back at him without a second thought before he turns his gaze away. He doesn’t respond to the boy before walking back to his post near the corner a few feet away from you. You let a breath you didn’t know you were holding in as he leaves the four of you alone on the courtyard again. You look down at the blonde girl who lies with her hair matted in blood from the concrete. She looks at you with a blank expression on her face that soon turns into gratitude. It’s not the first you’ve gotten but something about the way she put her trust in you makes your heart jump for joy. She lifts her arm into the air slowly but gives you a thumbs up, which in turn makes you laugh a little. She grins at you as you return her thumbs up right back and she looks away reaching out to her lover. He grabs her hands quickly and helps her to her feet. It’s a slow process as she slowly tries to get a handle on her pain tolerance, but eventually she stands up. She holds onto his hands to balance herself and gave her shoulder a roll. She let out a soft laugh in triumph and glanced over to where you and Bucky stood. Her eyes warm with happiness that would only last in the moment but were well deserved. She directed her eyes to Bucky and gave him a small smile as she spoke to him in German. You took the chance to finally look at the man who’d introduced himself to you. Here he was in the middle of a war willing to trust you and take care of all these people and be your assistant and he didn’t even know your name. You could tell by the hard built of his shoulders and the way his jaw tensed was because he was strong. Not in a physical way but in

a mental was as well. He could be one to give support and be just as willing to take it away. He was strong but not with many walls. He was determined but not without conscious. He was a good man. A handsome one at that you think before turning away and blushing. Here this man was helping you as a translator and you were thinking about how strong and physically built he was. You shake your head biting on your bottom lip to avoid the smile that wants to appear on your face.

“What have I got something on my face?” he jokes placing his bloody hands to his mouth. You shake your head but can’t help the small laugh that leaves your mouth. Even as a good guy who’d helped you save 20 people who were either bleeding or needed something fixing, he was a dork. The couple gives you a wave before walking off the courtyard towards the yelling Germans. It was time to go to your designated area. The cell of which you’d have to stay in until mealtime which would be in about an hour. As if on cue your stomach growls extremely loud and you place a hand over it. Usually you could hold your hunger over with some water, but it didn’t seem like there would be anything clean for a little while. The usual stream that came out of a hose was used to clean the victims’ blood away. You turned towards the hose where it had only on clean spot on the concrete. Today had been horrible and you knew there would be more days just like this to come. You still felt the ache for the people you couldn’t save and how their blood was still on your hands. You looked down at the floor and your eyes connected with the blood that covered your shoes. You felt the sudden urge to rinse it off and clean them with bleach, but you knew they would never truly leave. The stains would wash off physically, but it would stay with you forever and trap you in its horrors.

“Don’t let it scar you more than it already will.” He whispered into your ear. You didn’t have the strength for words as the day’s exhaustion hit you. You felt your knees buckle and Bucky’s arm wrapped around your waist quickly, keeping you up. All the adrenaline was dying out and you could barely keep your eyes open as he attempted to have you walk. You couldn’t though and it made your feet hurt 10 times more. You groaned and forced him to stop for a minute. You were blinking rapidly as your vision faded in and out.

“I got you.” He murmured placing an arm under your knees and swooping you into the air. His arms pulled you closer to his chest and you placed a hand on your stomach. You wanted to say thank you, but the words wouldn’t come. You were burnt out of all your energy and your eyes lazily rolled over the man who was walking you across the courtyard. He looked straight ahead, and his gaze sharpened at the people who passed by. It was clear he didn’t trust the people around you. It wasn’t something anyone should ever give out willingly but the thought that he had given you such a fragile thing made your mind whirl with possibilities. You kept staring at him in wonder and you weren’t sure if it was from the lack of food and water, but you felt a sort of friendship growing with Bucky. He made you feel safe and he hadn’t abandoned you as you fell but instead, he’d picked you up. He’d let you work and hadn’t tried to take over either. Your hand gravitated towards his cheek and you held it there. Something about the action felt right and it comforted you. From what you saw it had the same effect on him. He looked down at you with a sincerity in his eyes and a small smile formed on his lips. It warmed your heart that you were able to get that reaction from him after such a long day and you couldn’t stop the smile you returned. He looked up and his gaze sharpened once more but there was something else displayed across his face. It was more lie… astonishment. You turned your head in confusion to see what had made him look such a way and you let out a small gasp. The area around the only source of water wasn’t crowded like it had been when you’d glanced at it. The people had made two lines directly to the water hose. You recognized these people as the ones you’d helped. Men and women who’d lost their loved ones and had found some broken but ready to be helped had stepped aside so that you could get some water.

“No.” you croaked nudging Bucky. You needed them to know you weren’t any special. You weren’t some savior. You’d been able to save them, but you couldn’t save your best friend and her siblings. That their ghosts still haunted you in the depths of the night. You began to squirm in his arms your energy suddenly making its way back into your body. He glanced down at you as you struggled to get down. He lowered your legs and planted them on the floor without a word, but his arm didn’t leave your waist. You were glad because if it weren’t for the support you were sure to fall. You pointed to the hose and Bucky nodded and began walking the two of you towards it. The area was clear as the people watched you from the sides. You could feel your terror rising as you looked to the guards that watched from afar. Your heart was beginning to pound with anxiety. You didn’t want another shoot out. Too many people had died already, and you wouldn’t let any more die. You urged Bucky forward and soon you reached the front to where the boy, Henry stands as his mother washes his wound. He looks up at you and gives you a small wave and begins tapping his mother. She looks up from her action with a look of annoyance, but it vanishes the minute she notices you. Her gaze softens and she smiles urging you forward. You kneeled beside them and murmured a silent hello as Henry proudly held back the torn-up pant leg. He was telling his maman in French about how he would be a strong boy and protect them both from harm. She said nothing but only let a smile and a few laughs through her tough exterior as she let you inspect the wound. There never was a lot of talking in the prison except for the quiet whispers between the terrified families. People weren’t the chatty types when they’d be kidnapped out of their homes and forced away from their families. You shook your head as images of Jews being thrown out into the street and onto a bus in your hometown flashes across your mind. Just like you couldn’t save Ciera and her siblings you couldn’t even save them. But you could save these people. Some part of you hoped that you could help push the everlasting guilt away, but you knew you would always feel that pain. So, you internalized it and turned to the wound on the boys’ leg again. The flesh surrounding the wound looked clean which was already a very good sign. You checked along his leg for any red lines that would travel up. It was a common sign of blood poisoning but seeing as he had none you knew he would be alright for the time being. If there were any of the blood red veins trailing along his pale skin, it would be a sign of infection and with no antibiotics would be the death of him. She pulls the pant leg away from the boy at your request because he dances away from your touch. He giggles because your touch is warm against his cold skin and you smile at her and her boy. Giving her the good news is probably a moment you’ll never forget as she wraps her arm around her son tightly. You can tell from the way she’s beaming at being able to stay with her son for more time means that in some way they’ll get through this together. It makes your heart jump for joy and you can’t help but let the happiness consume you. The mother hands her son to Bucky and he kneels on a rock nearby holding the child. At one point while the mother washes a wound you catch Bucky letting the boy squeeze his cheeks and pull at them every which way. He doesn’t let this stop him from tickling the boy and the sight is so pure that you’re smiling for the rest of the time. More and more patients leave to go towards their cells after you give them direct instructions. They all come to the water and you and the mother wash out their wounds and they walk away. It’s a process that soon you start to do without realizing how many people you’ve helped. Some were far worse than her son with multiple wounds that fill with blood at the touch. It takes a lot to break a person and seeing multiple scrapes and bullet wounds would make anyone sick. After about the 15th person she ran away to throw

up because of the smell of cooking flesh from the sun above. Bucky immediately took her place in helping you clean the wounds. You looked over at the woman in concern but found her son rubbing her back as they sat on the concrete holding each other. You felt for her because this scenario was nothing good or that pleasing to see. Knowing all these people were hurting and that the men who guarded you all watched from afar and refused to help was making you feel 20 shades of green. You wanted to just react at them. To hurt the people who were hurting all these innocents. You despised them and with each wound that began receiving care by your hands the hatred began growing bigger and bigger.

“Neutralize your expression. Showing you’re angry will upset the Nazis even more.” Bucky’s hushed voice interrupted your thoughts. You lift your eyes to meet his as you turn the faucet off and dab at the patient’s jacket to dry his wound. The confusion you felt must have been visible on your face because his eyebrows raise as his head jerks to his right. Your eyes slowly follow the trail to where a German soldier stands with his gun in his hands. His eyes stare directly at your actions as if you were a criminal about to attack.

“They’ve been watching the entire time. Through the cameras in the corners. They have orders to let us be but to shoot if they see anything wrong.” You immediately drop your expression and place a blank look on your face. Bucky’s nod confirms that your expression is fine and you both help the man who’d been stabbed on the right side of his chest. The panic of knowing you were being watched never quite faded so you dived deeper into doing whatever you could for the people’s wounds. He’d been lucky for the knife to not puncture his lung because if that had happened his lungs would have filled with blood and he would end up choking on his own blood. If that had been the case, there would have been nothing for you to do at least long term. You were slowly coming to realize that all those trips spent in the library studying the multiple medical books were coming to work out in your favor. Bucky calls out the information in which you’ve told him to tell the girl who accompanies the man. She nods vigorously before grabbing his hand and helping him walk over to the opening that leads to the cells where you all would be holed up. The prison inside of the prison. How ironic. You call out for the next person to step forward but are met with silence. You look to the previous line to be met with open space.

“Come here.” He urges. He’s kneeling in front of you from where you sit on the high-rise rock. You ignore the outreach of his bloody hand and you walk around him. He sighs as you reach down to the faucet. The cold water greets your fingertips and you don’t move away from it. Bucky taps your shoulder and you turn around to see what he needs. He’s staring at you like you’re the smallest child in the playground and that if you don’t listen, he’ll throw you in time out. He points to his raised knee and you scoff shaking your head.

“Either you do it willingly or I force you.” You shake your head again and he groans throwing his head back in mock pain. You giggle and lean forward to reach the faucet again but you’re swiped off your feet as hands grip your waist tightly. He sits you on his lap and you have to wrap your arms around his neck to keep from falling. You whip your head around to glare at him because you’re certain he’s a mad man and he grins leaning towards the faucet. You let out a squeal and you grip his knees as he shifts back on the rock sitting you square between his legs. You know you look beyond pissed because he avoids your eyes. He’s still grinning though at your reaction as his hands release your waist and reach towards the faucet. You move your hands away quickly and lean forward with him, eager to get the remaining blood off your skin. Bucky turns the faucet to the left and water starts spilling from it. He tuts when your hands almost touch the water and he grabs your wrists. The interaction makes your skin tingle and interlocks your fingers with his. In that moment you feel the firs spread throughout your body. Everywhere he touches you sends a different burn straight to your heart. His chest presses against your back as he washes the blood off both of your hands. When he breathes you can feel it hit your ear and it makes the hair on your skin rise. His hands caress yours as they wash 30 or more people’s blood off. His fingers slide into between yours with ease that you watch in awe as your hands become yours again. Except with his hands on yours you aren’t exactly sure where he begins and where you stop. Funny thing is, you don’t ever want to figure it out. His fingers brush over yours and they move away too soon. Before you can grasp what you’re doing you grab his hands and start the same movements. You slide your fingers against his long ones and watch as they become his just as yours were yours. You hear Bucky’s breathing grow uneven and you look over your shoulder to see what’s wrong. His eyes immediately lock on yours and you can see something that you’d never seen on his face before. You can’t read it, but you know it’s something he tries to hide because his face becomes black once more and his hands move away from yours. You gasp softly at the loss of contact and swallow the complaint that tries to force its way out. The moment has disappeared, and you can feel the slight tinge of embarrassment floating its way through your senses. You wipe your hands on your pants and the sight of you and Bucky’s hands together burns itself into your mind. You know it shouldn’t be there, but your heart holds it close and locks it away for safe keeping.

“You ready?” he whispers. His hand lays on your stomach which does a flop at the sight of it and you nod not sure if you could even get through a full sentence without stuttering. You stand up and take a step away from him. You were trying to get a grasp on your emotions but the only thing you could focus on was how his scent no longer surrounded you. Your legs wobble as you try to walk but your knees give out. Bucky grabs your hand and pulls it around his neck.

“I don’t think I can walk.” You whisper. He doesn’t respond at first but you can tell he’s debating what to do.

“Hop on my back. I’ll carry you.” You nod slowly as you walk behind him and grab onto his shoulders. His hands wrap around your thighs and he pushes you up in the air. You jump and let your legs fall around his waist and let your arms hang loose over his shoulders. His figure shakes a little as he tries to steady you and start his long walk towards the open steel doors. You place your chin on his shoulder and let out a small sigh.

“My knight in shining armor.” You tease half heartedly and he laughs. The sound warms your bones more than anything else could and you don’t catch the small smile that spreads across his face as he starts walking towards the yelling Germans. It’s time for everyone to go back to their cells and if told once more there would be consequences. Your arms become heavy and feel like blobs of jello as they swing. You can feel yourself absentmindly snuggling into the warmth of the man carrying you, but it doesn’t register as your senses begin shutting down. You blink a few times as you stared down at the dog tags that swung on top of the green Henley that adorned Bucky’s chest. The faint sunlight disappears as he enters the prisoner compound and the room becomes dark. You lift your head up as shouts erupt around you. You catch people clapping and you have the urge to tell them to stop. Drawing attention of the soldiers wasn’t a good idea because they had just witnessed what happens when you cause a ruckus. You bury your head back into Bucky’s neck as you silently wish for the cries of joy to stop. Despite all the good you’d done you still couldn’t get over all the good you could have done so many years ago. Bucky senses your discomfort and starts to walk a little faster than before.

“Get some rest. You look like you could use it.” He says softly as a metal door creaks and it gets held open for the two of you. You nod slowly feeling your eyes shut again. You listen to him this time and let the exhaustion finally take over your body.

Tagging some peeps~@randomfangirl82 @stucky-my-ship @jules-1999 @starkssnarks @dallaswinstonswife1109@notsosecretspy @kyn-lyn-blog @alltoowell-taylorsversion@creecree-4-life

66 notes · View notes

nevermindirah · 3 years ago

Note

director's cut: not a gentle laughter, anything you'd like to talk about!

It took me like a whole damn week to reply to this ask (I'm sorry about that!) because I just have so many feelings about this fic.

Quarantine has been really, really hard on me. I think it's zero percent an accident that The Old Guard spoke to so many of us so deeply last year — their tragedy is that any social contact they might have with a mortal could lead to a picture or a story on social media getting picked up by a CIA agent that could lead to them getting locked in a cage for eternity. Social connections outside their group are high-risk, just like in-person social contact is high-risk for us these days.

Booker speaks to me so much as a character because he was profoundly isolated even before he got exiled. Booker struggles to actually communicate about his needs with the people who care about him. Jewish Booker speaks to me so much because it's the mark of antisemitism to assume you won't be wanted, to assume you'll be exiled if you're not useful enough or entertaining enough or whatever enough. I'd love to not know so intimately how depression and trauma fuck with your brain and make it hard to believe people care about you, let alone ask them for what you need, but I do, and here's this character who's seemingly hand-made for me to work out this shit through.

And Jewish Booker speaks to me because I don't have much in the way of Jewish community these days. I'm coming up on another High Holidays that I'll be spending alone, when there are certain prayers you can't say by yourself, and knowing that this niche headcanon of this fictional character is alone too makes it a little easier.

So I sat down to write "5 times Booker gets wasted on Purim and one time he doesn't" and instead all these FEELINGS came pouring out. Feelings about what it would mean for a small group of immortals to be the only long-term source of human connections for each other. Feelings about being able to spend time with an ancestor who survived. Feelings about how beautiful it is when we get creative and find new ways to keep going, as Jews in the face of violence and erasure, and just generally as people in the face of traumas big and small.

Once I accepted that this wasn't gonna be a silly romp and started writing in earnest, I started having a lot of feelings about how Nile might relate to all this. Which led to one of my favorite passages in the fic:

There's a hell of a lot more between the two of them now than just the shared life experience of modern immortals who carry the weight of their ancestors, but it's still one of the things she treasures the most about their friendship. Sometimes she carries her ancestors like a teddy bear, dangling them by the hand as she runs off to explore everything the world has to offer, or clutching them to her chest for comfort. Sometimes it all feels like an albatross around her neck, all these boundaries and expectations for her life set long before she was born, and to ignore it would be naive or a betrayal but maybe a relief as well. It's not the only or most important thing about her, but it's there, all the time, an essential part of her. Booker is the only one of their little family who understands.

That imagery is inspired by this post by @victimhood that I like to think of as the Book of Nile Manifesto 2.0. So much of our understanding of ourselves and our experiences of the world are intimately linked to our context, what's happening around us in the times and places where we live. Booker and Nile were born into a world that had so much context foregrounded for them, and Nile and Jewish Booker are members of diasporas who were forcibly disconnected from so much of their peoples' original contexts. That's a RADICALLY different experience of the world than Andy and Quynh and Lykon, or even Joe and Nicky. The older immortals lived through things that were foregone conclusions before Booker or Nile were even born, and now they're each a diaspora of one as a result of their immortality, but first living a mortal life of longing for impossible connections? It all hits different for our baby immortals.

Telling stories is the very most human thing. Telling stories about what awful things happened to us and what we learned as a result and how we're choosing for it to shape us — that's the crux of so much Jewish storytelling. And I think that survivor's outlook on telling stories would speak deeply to Nile.

It's not an exclusively Jewish way of telling stories, of course. And we even get some of it in the movie, when Andy tells Nile, "You come from warriors." I don't think she's talking about the Marines there — she's talking about what it takes to fight for your survival.

Anyway, I just have a million diaspora feels, and I think that Nile would learn from Booker about Jewish rituals and Jewish ways of telling stories and she would have her own pile of diaspora feels about it. Nile walked into a family in crisis, and she shouldn't have to fix anyone else's shit, but she deserves agency in shaping the next iteration of this little broken family she's been forced into, and I think she'd see all the mess that came from people not fucking talking to each other, and she'd continue to be rightfully pissed that Andy welcomed her to immortality with a bullet to the forehead, and she'd take everything she learned from her parents and grandparents and church elders and everyone else she might've looked up to growing up, and she'd take everything she's learning from Andy and Joe and Nicky, and she'd take what she's starting to learn from Booker, and she'd start building into her life rituals to help her feel connected.

And as much as there's pain in diaspora, there's beauty in it as well. Writing non-Jewish Nile seeing the value in these Jewish practices makes me feel a little more understood and wanted, a little more connected myself.

Thanks so much for asking about this fic, friend. <3

#fandom friends #my writing #jewish things #jewish booker #antisemitism #book of nile #tog

27 notes · View notes

cathrrrine · 3 years ago

Text

RUN | Pietro x Reader

Originally from my Wattpad

CHAPTER 14 - SLUG

"Let's begin with your name."

"You already know my name." I groaned.

"Your real name."

I sighed, "You already know it. My real name is Y/N L/N."

"See? Not so bad." Natasha rolled her eyes as she tilted her head slightly to the left, a mannerism of hers that she often displayed. "Now, your age."

"Oh, that's strictly confidential." I shook my head curtly.

"Y/N..." She warned.

"All I can tell you is that I'm an adult."

She raised an eyebrow in defiance, but she didn't push further. Natasha had brought me to an interrogation room, yet again, but this time it was a different one. It didn't have the big, ugly two-way mirror attached to the wall and instead of hard, uncomfortable chairs, this one had couches. Natasha sat on the one across from me, while I had been instructed to sit on the one with it's back to the wall. The room was annoyingly comfortable, in a way that made me want to vandalise every single object in a room.

It looked like they believed my surrender after all and the change in the way they handled me showed that. For starters, I wasn't in handcuffs. But, to be fair, I guess being in the same room with Romanoff was more than enough security, maybe even more than being cuffed.

Even if I knew I could fight her well.

"I don't need to tell you twice. You lie about anything at all, the deal's off."

It was another interrogation session. Oh my god, I hate that word. I hate even just thinking about it. I've thought about it and said it at least twelve thousand times, and frankly, I've gotten tired of it. If they kept this up, S.H.I.E.L.D would have wrung me dry by the end of the week.

If I wasn't so adamant on surviving, I would've thrown myself off the side of the building by now.

"Don't you think I've been through enough interrogations?" I voiced my thoughts aloud to the redhead in front of me, picking at my nails in boredom.

"There's no such thing as enough interrogations."

"God, you people are scrutinising." That earned me a huff. "And you make me yawn."

"Better safe than sorry, that's the motto." She replied sarcastically. "Next question, how long have you been with Hydra?"

That escalated quickly.

I gulped automatically, not out of fear, but out of habit. "Ever since..." I was born. "For as long as I can remember."

I wasn't lying. But that didn't mean I had to tell the whole truth.

"And you left when?"

"As soon as I could." On my 18th birthday.

"Why?"

"There it is! The hard-hitting question. I've been waiting for that one." This was harder than I thought it would be.

"Why did you leave Hydra?" Natasha repeated the question without a hitch.

"Well, I didn't like it."

"That's all?"

"What do you mean that's all? You don't like something, you leave. Common sense."

She stared at me intently. I've gotta say, she does this thing a whole lot better than Fury. I could technically see the gears in her head turning, calculating every emotion and every word. This woman knew how to play me at my own game. She didn't crack at the silence that ensued. My skin almost crawled at her stare.

Keyword, almost.

"Staring's not going to drag the answer out of my throat, you know." I leaned back on the soft, velvet couch.

They said I had to be honest for them to trust me, but honest hadn't even been in my vocabulary until 12 hours ago. What did they expect me to do? Immediately lose every sense of self-worth and start throwing every single fact about my life, every detail of the trauma that I've endured–to them?

Doing this meant saving my life, but it also meant having to give up at least a sliver of my secrets. Was it worth trading my secrets to these people for my life? Why did the price have to be so goddamn high?

I took a deep breath. "I was 10."

"Pardon?"

"When they first ordered me to kill someone."

I remember the weight of the gun in my small hands, the smell of blood in the air when I shot the man, and the sound of his body thumping on the gravel in the dead of the night.

"I don't remember who it was or why I had to kill him. But I remember enough to know that it was..." I trailed off against my will, the memory getting the best of me. As if the whole situation wasn't already pathetic.

I cleared my throat. "I remember enough to know that it wasn't right. I felt it in my bones."

Natasha stayed silent, willing me to continue. "Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying I'm an angel or whatever. As I grew up I understood that I didn't want to be associated with these people. Hydra wasn't exactly a paradise, obviously. But it took me a while to understand that. And once I did, I took off."

"And they've been looking for you, ever since?"

"Yes."

"Does that explain yesterday's events?"

Him. "Unfortunately."

"How long?"

"How long, what?"

"Have you been running from them?"

My mind went blank. How many years has it been? Time looked like one long line for me. I mentally calculated the amount of days, months, years that it took for me to hide.

"6, 7? I don't remember how long it's been." I bit down on my lower lip, hard. "No one's ever asked. I never bothered to keep count either."

She nodded, uncrossing and recrossing her legs and shaking out her hair. The redhead woman seemed to contemplate what she was about to say next. For a second there, I was curious. How unsettling could the question be to make her visibly bothered?

When the words spilled out of her mouth, I wish I never wondered. "This is an important question—are you Enhanced?"

I winced. One question, out of all the other ones, was all it took the break the dam that I've built in my head. Memories came flooding back in, in flashes, in the aches of my muscles, pouring mercilessly into the forefront of my brain.

Muffled voices, bright fluorescent lights shining into my eyes, cold-sweats...my head pounded vigorously. I pinched the bridge of my nose, praying hard that I was hiding my discomposure well from her.

Was it worth it?

"You have to be honest, Y/N. We need to know if we can trust you."

Strenuous hands pulling at me, strapping me down, dilated pupils, the whirring of their monstrous machines...

"Yes, Natasha. I am."

———

SIX HOURS EARLIER

"She can't be trusted."

"She's done nothing that says so, so far."

"How do you know that, Maximoff? She's sly. She's sneaky. This could just be another game of hers."

"We could be very well falling into a trap right now."

"Send me in." Natasha crossed her arms, her expression unreadable. "I'll get her to tell us what we need."

"I don't doubt your interrogation skills, Nat, but do you really think it's a good idea? I mean, she's a lot like you." Clint remarked.

"That's exactly why I should go." There was an air of mystery to the way she insisted upon it.

They all looked to their Captain for his approval. Steve had both palms on the table, his head slightly bowed. He looked up to his team, eyeing every single one of them before his eyes landed on Natasha's.

"She's right." He stood up straight, mirroring Natasha's pose. "Nat, you bring her to the interrogation room. Do whatever you need to make her talk. Get all the information we need to know about her; her past, her abilities, her name for God's sake."

The redhead nodded, gesturing for him to continue.

"Wanda, I want you to sit in the next room. Read her mind. Make sure she's telling the truth."

"But-"

"Pietro, you go with her, make sure things don't go out of hand. And don't worry, kid. She can't hurt you, especially not when she's basically just waved the white flag."

He paused for awhile before continuing. "If it ultimately goes well...we should let her into the team."

"Are you kidding me?" Tony bit back.

"No. She's an asset. She's got useful information and skills we could put to use."

"Steve. What if she goes rogue, huh? And she decides to wake up one day and kill us all? This is a situation bound to go awry. We can't let a former Hydra agent in just like that." Tony ran a hand across his face before adding another comment. "I made the mistake of giving her the benefit of the doubt before and it only got us in trouble."

Steve pondered upon Tony's opinion for a while before nodding once and announcing his decision. "So, we put her on probation. Let her know that she's not totally off the hook, see where it'll lead."

"Rogers, are you sure about this?" Natasha pursed her lips.

"Yes." He uncrossed his arms and put his hands on his hips, in true Captain America fashion. "Let her know that she'll be pardoned if she tells the whole truth. Maybe it'll encourage her. I'll inform Fury about this whole thing."

The meeting room was silent for a while before the team began to disperse. Steve was the last one to go, but not before Natasha stopped him.

"Rogers. I need to tell you something."

———

PRESENT TIME

She looked surprised, but not as much as I thought she would be. I was expecting a little bit more than raised eyebrows. Maybe even a gasp. "What can you do?"

I chuckled dryly, "Maybe it's better to show than tell."

It was her turn to chuckle, not an ounce of humour in it. "Now's not the time for your sweet little antics. This isn't a talent show."

"Oh, really? Then what is this? I thought I was auditioning for your makeshift boyband."

"Well, maybe if you talked more and sassed less, you'd make the cut."

I shook my head again, slowly. I had to be careful with what I told them. The walls seemed to look duller and the couch I was on felt like a boulder instead of the plush heaven that it was.

"I'm an Echo."

"What does that mean?"

"It means exactly what it sounds like. I echo people." My hands trembled slightly at the mention of it. "I absorb other people's powers and I amplify it."

This was as much as I've ever told anyone ever since I ran from Hydra. Genuinely? I'm a little freaked out at the fact that I just did so. But it had to be the right decision. I couldn't afford to make another wrong turn.

Besides, I was in control here. I had the choice to tell them what I wanted to tell them and what I wanted to keep from them. I figured they should know that I had that little something up my sleeve this entire time.

After all; they were my only lifeline at the moment.

"Was that how you beat us the night we caught you?"

I thought back to that night, when I ran as fast as Pietro did and broke through the barriers of the Witch's force field. I shrugged, not bothering to please her with a response.

"Tell me more about your past."

I narrowed my eyes at her, "Really, Romanov? Digging for more? I already gave you enough, don't you think?"

Natasha blinked once, but didn't back down. "I ask, you answer. That was the deal, wasn't it?"

The smile didn't reach my eyes when I jut out a grin at her. "What do you wanna know about my past?"

"The basics. Where you're from, how you're here."

"I'm half-Russian." I shrugged. "And you already know how I got here."

"No. I know how you came to S.H.I.E.L.D. We brought you here. What I need to know is how you got into this whole ordeal."

A scoff escaped me, "Is this a therapy session or an interrogation?"

"Y/N."

"No, seriously, you're asking me about things that don't matter-"

"Y/N." She repeated, more sternly.

I tucked my arms to my chest so I wouldn't flinch as I said the words that haunted me.

The ones I knew haunted her too.

"I was born into it." My tongue felt heavy. "They raised me in the Red Room."

For the first time since we started, Natasha Romanoff gasped. It was barely audible, and it wasn't the show-stopping theatre moment I'd been looking for, but it was a gasp in itself. It's funny, though. I thought I'd be more amused. But the heavy feeling that sat on my chest drained all the humour out of me.

Natasha immediately rose from her seat, staring at me with possessed eyes. Her face had gone white as sheet, her lips pale.

"What did you say?"

"You heard me, Romanov."

She sauntered over to me, one foot stepping in front of the other. "Don't you dare lie to me."

"I'm not." My voice was weaker than I would've liked it to be, barely above a whisper. "I was trained in the Red Room. As soon as I was old enough, they shipped me off to the hands of Hydra."

She wasn't listening as intently anymore. Her eyes were locked on mine, but I could tell she wasn't exactly in the room anymore. Her head's probably off in the same place mine was in just a few minutes ago.

"Is that enough for you?"

Just like that, something snapped within her. "Tell me more."

"I already did."

"You're hiding something!"

I stood up so I was level to her height, my eyebrows knitting in anger. "I gave you what you wanted. I gave you the truth."

"No." She shook her head. "I want the full one."

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

She trudged towards me, lifting up her shirt so her abdomen was exposed. "Do you know who gave this to me?"

It was a long scar on her hip, positioned slightly to the left of her belly button, the skin raised and bumpy. "How the hell am I supposed to know?"

"I got this on one of my first missions. I was assigned to escort a nuclear scientist out of Iran." She seethed. "We were ambushed by Hydra at the rendezvous in Odessa. My tires got shot, the car ran off a cliff."

"Where are you going with this?"

"I managed to save us both. But as soon as I did, the assassin who ambushed us open fired. Killed the scientist. Straight through me. Left one hell of a scar." She let go of the hem of her shirt. "A soviet slug."

It was my turn to grow pale. There was only one person who could do that. And I was far from ready to say his name.

"You knew him didn't you? I should've known all along."

"How?" I begged, the somewhat 'calm' demeanour I've tried hard to keep was long gone.

"Does it matter?" Her gaze was threatening. "You were trained by The Winter Soldier, weren't you Y/N L/N?"

#the winter soldier #damn i couldnt wait to write that #run pietro x reader #pietro x reader #pietro maximoff #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #miss romanoff hello maam can u pls step on me? thx #avengers #avengers reader insert #avengers x reader #wanda maximoff #steve rogers #pietro fanfiction

48 notes · View notes