#and yes I know that some will point to this as yet another abuse apology but that is not what this is ffs

[nalyra-dreaming]

"Worried about the Nicki/TVL content" here for clarification. I apologize, that came off like I didn't want to see TVL/Nicki. I'm excited to see Louis' journey through Europe and very excited for the theatre des vampires. I'm also very excited to see Lestat's backstory, including Nicki's part in it. What I meant is I'm worried that the showrunner might have been worried they weren't getting a season 3 so they packed in TVL and Nicki into season 2 so audiences got the backstory for Louis, Armand, and the theatre and how that ties to Lestat because they didn't want to leave questions because they may not get a season 3.

I want them to take their time with each major plot point and i wondered if cramming so much in was a hint that there was not going to be a renewal. But your response to my first ask was reassuring. I just really need to see the entire story play out before they end the show and I panicked so much advertisement of TVL in season 2 was an indication that this would be the only time we see it. Does that make sense?

Also, what plot points or storylines do you think we will see in season 3 in addition to TVL because the show always has more than one book or storyline going?

Ah ok :) It does make sense, but I honestly wouldn't worry too much.

For example Rolin talked about Lestat and Gabrielle at the SDCC '22 panel and so far there is no hint of Gabrielle - which makes sense, because Armand does not particularly like her... he probably omits her in his retelling of what happened.

But I don't think Rolin is going to omit her :) ... pass on the possibility to ... dip into that mess, too^^

And Rolin has already talked about Lestat's turning (and it being the literal worst of all the vampires' turnings) in the podcast back then, too. TVL is why Rolin wanted to do the show.

So. I wouldn't worry too much. AMC is financially out of the woods, the modus operandi seems to be the same as last season, and they are ramping up promotion, they are still developing the other shows, too. They said they are in for the long run, and there was once talk of 10 seasons... now I am not optimistic enough to hope for that much *laughs*, but... I'd love it :)) Definitely. Supposedly Sam was signed for 5 seasons though (off the bat). We'll see.

As per story lines... well, I mean, they will need to keep Dubai fresh, so that will develop further, and then, of course, in Lestat's past there is a lot they can hook into as well.

Magnus shows up as a ghost in the later books, too, so who knows, they might explore that aspect already (and there maybe the origins of the Talamasca???) in some kind of fashion. It would serve to introduce Benedict and Rhoshamandes here, too, given the later arcs. Marius' arc, of course, though if the rumor re Justin Kirk holds then they are going towards Marius' story and TWMBK (and possibly QotD) in s4 and s5. Gabrielle could be introduced in Dubai, and maybe bring in Sevraine, I mean Fareed is already there, the ancient vampires are there already, somewhere, out of sight, but there is a lot of possibility :)

And, of course, if they actually bring in Fareed again (which might be needed, given Daniel's health status), then Seth cannot be that far, and through Seth we could get an introduction to Gregory and Mekare, and Maharet, and Khayman, and... whoever else.

The Dubai TL is mixed up already, and I for one love it, because it allows for so much.

For example the piano music in the show... I would have loved it if that had been a live stream, of Sybille playing (for example). You know? Little things.

Sam said that there would be (more/other) cameo's coming in s2, so... I fully expect there to be more vampires, probably only apparent to those who know^^. (Just like last time^^)

Also: by now I do think we will get yet another revisit of episode 5 in s3. From Lestat's POV.

Because there is something there that I have touched on, that @cbrownjc has touched on... namely that we will now get to that the fight was more an actual "fight" downstairs, but even more interestingly, we will in all likelihood see why the fight rekindled upstairs. And... here comes something Lestat says in episode 6 into play, namely: "I don't know what possessed me that night."

Now, anyone who has read the last books (which Rolin as stated takes from) knows that Amel's awakening is bloody, drawn to violence, and that he takes over sometimes. He also likes to be in Lestat.

If the basic structure of the fight stays as it is there has to be a reason why that fight rekindled upstairs, and why it continued then with such a drastic power-imbalance, and why Lestat went on about his "nature", something which I have always found weird.

However, if they are already setting up Amel... I have theorized before that they might combine Akasha and Amel, since the actual threats (the burnings) are quite similar and it would be too repetitive for the show.

IF they are, indeed, already setting up Amel, then we will see the "reason" why it all went shit in Louis' POV next season, and then get the personal account of what happened there in s3. Louis won't be able to make much sense of it yet, neither will Armand, nor Daniel, and not even Marius (in all likelihood). But as these lines have not been come into play yet (and this show does not waste lines) I fully expect them to come back.

And then, if Lestat recounts the possession that story line can segue into s4 and s5 of Akasha/Amel rising, they'll probably skip the "core" going to Mekare first, I think Lestat will take it directly, maybe with the threat of Rhoshamandes thrown in or after, depending.

As I said before, I think they know how they want to do the first 5 or so seasons, and this... this is how I think it might come together :))

Obviously this is the "rough cut" - the details will be the most interesting thing.

What did Louis say in the trailer?

"We should get every detail right."

Indeed.

[reidingandwriting]

Lover (Steve Harrington’s Version)

Chapter Three: The Archer

“Screaming who could ever leave me darling, but who could stay?”

Word Count: 2k

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader

Warnings: Fem!Reader, mild cursing, off screen abuse to reader from her father (mentions of a bruise on face and allusions to past problems), reader is a little emotionally constipated but they work through it

Previous chapter / Next Chapter

You were late. So very late. Your professor went on a tangent, having been distracted by a question another student asked, and it was ten minutes after class was supposed to end before you were finally dismissed. Then your car had a flat and you had to hunt down someone on campus who could help you change the tire. You were now half an hour late to yours and Steve’s dinner reservation, and you fell into your seat with a flurry of apologies.

“I’m so sorry! Class ran late and then my tire was flat, and it was impossible to find someone that would help me. I’m so, so sorry I made you wait this long.” Steve frowned at how worked up you were and he reached forward, taking your hand in his own. You always got so worked up over being late, so apologetic and frantic. Like you were ready for Steve to start a fight over it. Steve could quickly relax you with a gentle touch, voice dropping to a volume where only you could hear him.

“Hey, hey. It’s no big deal. Got a headstart on the breadsticks,” Steve’s voice was teasing yet soothing at the same time. You took a few deep breaths and Steve continued to talk. “Went ahead and ordered Coke for us. You would not believe the day I had.” Steve talked to you about work, judging some of the movie choices of the Family Video customers, and you felt your shoulders slowly relax the more Steve talked. He only stopped when your waitress came by, and after you both ordered, he turned to you. “Guessing your day wasn’t so good either?”

You sighed as you played with your straw. “Classes were good, besides running late. Then my tire being flat really sucked. Could have been worse though. Could have dealt with the patrons of Family Video,” you said and Steve smiled when you started to joke with him. He must have been staring at you longer than he realized, because you startled him when you asked “What is it? Something on my face?”

“Nothin’. Is it a crime to look at my girl?” Steve grinned at you and you rolled your eyes, ignoring how your cheeks burned. You continued to make conversation with Steve until your food arrived, and you enjoyed each other’s presence, the silence comfortable as you ate. You had been dating Steve for about three months now, making it official fairly quickly. Every day with him felt better than the last. Not much had changed in your dynamic after your relationship started, just a lot more kissing and cuddling. It was nice, and so unexpected at the same time. Not like Steve had ever treated you badly a day in your life, but you imagined there’d be some change once the two of you started to date. Yet so far… nothing. “Now who’s the one with a staring problem?” You bit back a remark and instead chose to stick your tongue out at him. “Wow,” Steve drawled, “real mature. You know, I think I see where the kids got their attitudes from.”

“Remind me how many arguments me or Robin have had to break up between you and Dustin, dingus,” Steve leaned forward and flicked your forehead at the nickname and you slapped at his hand. “Asshole.”

“You love me.” Steve smirked, but the blush on his cheeks betrayed him. You took a sip from your Coke, trying yet failing to hide your own smile as you shrugged.

“Sure do.”

-

“What did you do?” Robin asked as Steve walked into Family Video and Steve looked around before he pointed at himself. “Yes, you. Did you two have a fight or something?” Steve stared at Robin for another few seconds before it clicked.

“No! No, we’re great. Why? Did something happen?” Steve walked behind the counter, adjusting his vest and Robin watched him. When Steve met her eyes, there was a doubtful look in them. “What, Rob?”

“We were supposed to hang out last night. I even swiped The Breakfast Club, it was supposed to be a whole thing. She never showed up and when I called to check on her, she wouldn’t give me a solid answer. Just said something came up and she was sorry. Sounded upset, so I just assumed maybe you two fought.” Robin paused. “But that doesn’t make much sense either. One of you would’ve told me if you had a fight. Plus you two, like, never even argue. Adorable but weird.” Steve had to give it to her there. You two had little disagreements here and there but never anything substantial. And if anything had happened, Steve’s first call would have been to Robin, and he’s almost certain you would’ve called her right after he did.

“I don’t know, mind if I..?” Steve trailed off, nodding towards the phone and Robin nodded. Steve walked over to the phone on the counter and dialed your number. He gnawed at his lip as the phone rang and he frowned when you never picked up. “I’ll drop by tonight,” Steve said as he turned towards Robin.

“Let me know if she’s okay, yeah? It’s not like her to skip out like that.” Steve patted Robin’s shoulder and let out a sigh.

“No, it’s not.”

The rest of Steve’s shift went by agonizingly slow. Once he dropped Robin off at home, he sped to your house, anxiously drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. On his way there, he ran into your parents’ car, headed in the opposite direction. Did they do something to upset you? The minutes it took him to park in your driveway felt like hours and Steve jogged up to your door, knocking rapidly. Steve raised his hand to knock again when the door slowly opened. You were hiding behind the door, your face downturned. You looked up at Steve through your lashes and you shied away.

“What are you doing here?”

“Can I come in? Please?” Steve borderline begged and you hesitated. Your name fell from Steve’s lips, and you could practically hear the concern dripping from his voice. You slowly opened the door, still hiding behind it as you let Steve in. You shut the door behind him and you began to walk past him towards the living room. “Hey,” Steve called as he followed you. You sat on the couch and pulled your knees up to your chest, chin resting on your knees and face turned down. Steve knelt down beside you and froze when he saw the bruise on your cheek. “Did he-”

“Don’t, Steve.” You turned away and Steve frowned.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Do I have to tell you everything?” Your tone was clipped and Steve was surprised. You had never talked to him like that before.

“Woah, what did I do? No, you don’t have to tell me everything, but if you’re being hurt-” You groaned as you buried your head in your hands. Steve stood up and began to pace the floor. “I could have helped you. Why wouldn’t you tell me?”

“What would you have done? It’s done. It’s over with, it’ll be like it never even happened within a week.”

“Has this happened before?” Steve asked and you fell silent. “Why didn’t I know?”

“You didn’t need to.” He didn’t need to? “I can handle myself.”

“You don’t have to, though!” You and Steve both flinched from his raised voice. “You’re my girlfriend, my best friend. You don’t have to hide things from me. We don’t hide things from each other. You can’t just shut me out.” You stood up so quickly it startled Steve and you gestured wildly around you.

“It’s all I know!” Your eyes began to water and Steve couldn’t move. He wanted to reach out, to comfort you, but he didn’t know if you’d want him to touch you like this. You had never raised your voice at each other; it was uncharted territory for the both of you. “I don’t get you, Steve. I don’t get us. All I’ve known is passive aggressiveness. When my parents aren’t fighting, they’re ignoring each other. When I’m not getting bitched at, I’m getting ignored.” You sighed as you sat back down on the couch. “I didn’t know what to expect when we started dating. Because we have been best friends for so long, surely dating couldn’t have been that big of a change. But my parents used to be happy, too. Until I came along.”

Your parents never let you forget it either. They spoke of their dreams to have moved to the big city, your mom’s aspirations for her career, your father finally ready to leave Hawkins. And then your mother found out she was pregnant. And all their dreams went to shit. They had done a good job at hiding it the first few years of your life, hiding their bitterness. Their resentment. As you grew older, it became worse. Ever since you graduated, you were lucky to be ignored, spared from their comments and looks.

“I was scared you’d start to look at me the way they did. So I didn’t tell you about things getting worse. I thought it would be easier, but you saw right through me. You, your friends, the kids. And it’s just… I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. And it hasn’t.” Steve took a seat beside you and slowly opened his arms to you. You immediately crawled into his arms, head resting on his chest, letting out a shaky breath. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Steve said. He pressed a lingering kiss to your head, letting you and him both relax for a moment. “I can’t promise everything will always be perfect. But I can, I am promising that I’ll always do my best for you. Call me crazy, but you’ve been a part of my life this long. Hoping you’ll stay in it even longer.” You gripped Steve’s shirt, your grasp tight as if he would disappear if you let go.

“Love you, Stevie.” You tilted your head up and pressed a kiss to Steve’s jaw and somehow scooted closer to him, practically molded into one person at this point. “Need to apologize to Rob for ditching her last night. Is she mad?”

“Never at you,” Steve said. “She was worried but not mad.” Steve looked outside, the sun just now starting to set. “Why don’t we give her a call?” An hour and a half later, you, Steve, and Robin were walking the fairgrounds. You had decided to make a spontaneous trip to Indianapolis since all three of you had a rare weekend off and with the teens coming over the next day for a cookout, you wanted some time together. Robin stood by your right side, hands laced together as you walked towards a swing ride. Steve walked on your left side, hand on the small of your back as you and Robin argued over which fair food was the best (obviously, funnel cake). You were smiling, laughing at Robin’s dramatics and Steve’s comments when he butted in, and he hadn’t seen you this relaxed in a while.

“Take a picture, Dingus, it’ll last longer.” Robin teased when she caught him staring and you giggled as you leaned up to press a kiss to his lips. You could taste the faintest hint of cotton candy and you leaned in for another before Robin started gagging. “Come on, kiss on your own time. Rides!” You let yourself get dragged away by Robin and Steve jogged to keep up with you, laughing the whole time. He could get used to this.

[anika-ann]

Back and Forth - part 5

Part 5 - Backdrop

Type: series; agent!reader, inhuman!reader

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader    Word Count: 16500 🥹 (bestie I-)

Chapter summary:  In which secrets are revealed - by you, by Steve... and by your captors.

Series masterlist

Warnings: pain and unhealthy relationship to pain, mentions of chronic illness and chronic pain (and the relationship to it), blood, canon-typical violence, gunshot wounds, issues with self-worth, implied emotional abuse from a parent (or just shitty parenting), brief torture, mention of human experimentation and Nazi doctors, multiple mentions of death, plenty of swearing

A/N: ALWAYS MIND THE WARNINGS; dividers by @firefly-graphics 💕; moodboard is for the vibes and does not necessarily reflect reader’s appearance

A/N2: Going full circle, sweet readers - aka yes, the beginning might sound familiar, because it is where the prologue came from. And yes, it’s a very long chapter, but it truly feels it works better as one. If you do wish to split, the best point is at the two thirds (the divider). Dooon’t though :)

The exhaustion was coming and going in waves, alternating with pain, concern and fruitless determination.

You wondered if Steve felt the same; you assumed he did. Asking would feel a little silly though; you didn’t see the point and frankly, you and Steve had never been close enough to just sit down on a couch and share your feelings, keeping them close to the vest except for the heat of your occasional arguments. So you stayed quiet, alone in your wondering.

The pulse of pain in your legs dulled a while ago; you let your head lull back against the wall you were leaned against, the thud sounding just as dull.

The irony wasn’t lost on you; you and Steve were colleagues, very reluctant friends as best, guarded and unsure about the other most times despite him being one of the most honest people you had ever encountered. It was true that you stood by his side and he did by yours, but there had always been an invisible wall between you. By the irony of fate, now, when an actual wall separated you, you could feel the figurative one crumble down.

It was surreal and frankly scary; which was just as ironic, given your circumstance that should feel much more terrifying. And yet… you couldn’t help the little warmth spreading in your chest, knowing your back was aligned to the same wall Steve’s was, mere inches apart, and while admitting certain things to him hadn’t been pleasant, in hindsight, it felt good. No matter the outcome, you had no doubt that if you survived, you’d remember these moments fondly, at least to some point.

And yes, it probably made you a masochist; but what else was new.

“Why didn’t you tell me about the files?” Steve’s low voice snapped you out of your musing, making your heart jump a bit in fright.

It shouldn’t have surprised you he asked one of many questions you didn’t want to answer. It was another of his annoying and endearing talents – and you rarely gave him the satisfaction of replying fully, just for that. But what the hell, right? Maybe you were about to die here. And you had just thought about how telling the truth, while embarrassing, felt liberating too.

“Would you have listened?” you questioned him back anyhow.

“Yes.”

“Liar.”

You heard him shift, the clank of metal and a low hiss escaping his lips making you gulp. You weren’t the only one battling pain.

“I would have heard you out. I admit I was angry at that time and I wasn’t… behaving as I should have and I’m sorry. But I would have heard you out.”

A brief barely-there smile curled your lips as he apologized again. Steve Rogers, ladies and gentlemen, unable to bear the fact he himself had been less than a gentleman. You might have been far from a friend and even farer from being able to tell you knew him and understood him despite having screamed at him the opposite, but you understood enough. Even if you sometimes wished you didn’t.

“But would you have listened?”

He didn’t reply.

You both knew the answer: no. He wouldn’t have, because he was the damn Captain America and he believed he knew the best, blindly following his inner compass pointing the true North even should all hell break loose, and those files weren’t a real concern anyway, were they?

Damn him.

And yet. As you challenged him further, you couldn’t stop the warm feeling in your chest humming louder, because yes, that was who he was, and you liked him that way, even if he was driving you mad at the same time.

“Or would have you just waved it off, because you are invincible?”

Silence stretched again.

You closed your eyes and tried to focus on hearing his breathing through the wall, still startled and relieved at how easy it was to do so. It was a good distraction from the pain still radiating from your wounds; and it kept your hope alive.

Dum spiro spero, right?

Despite the situation – or maybe out of spite, given both yours and Steve’s nature – you were still breathing and so was Steve. As infuriating as he was, you knew your heart would break to pieces if he stopped. Unable to walk or not, you’d find a way to break through the wall in mere seconds if he stopped talking to you.

Which he did just now.

Something in your ribcage contracted painfully, your voice shaky when you spoke his name, praying he was only offended at you calling him out. After all, being shot really fucking hurt, so you’d rather not move at all, let alone try to crash through concrete; that was the sole reason for your prayers. Liar, whispered a breathless voice, but you ignored it, your heart hammering against your sternum.

“…Steve?”

Blood rushed through your ears, making it impossible to tell, again, whether you could hear him breathe at all, or whether it was just your wishful thinking; long bony fingers of an invisible hand curled around your throat and squeezed at the mere thought that the latter was the case.

You swore, you swore to all Gods you knew, that if he had lied and his fresh bullet wound wasn’t just a graze, if he was actively dying right now and you didn’t even know and you couldn’t tell, if this infuriating bast-

“I don’t think I’m invincible,” he said at last and you released the breath you were holding, the coil in your chest loosening.

A brief flare of anger tried to replace the heavy weight on your chest – because God, you could kill him yourself for giving you a scare like that – but it was hard to stay mad at the man. It was, in fact, one of the most maddening things about him. That, and the fact he made it impossible not to care about him; a deadly feature on someone who was always the first to rush to catch a bullet with someone else’s name on it. Because he did think he was invincible.

God, he was such a likeable ass.

“Oh? Could have fooled me, really,” you sassed him, pretending you didn’t only barely manage to choke out the words. Honestly, it was a small miracle that you did, considering you had just swallowed the hysteria threatening to creep into your voice.

The responding groan of annoyance had the corners of your lips turn upward. It was like a drop of honey melting on your tongue; warm sweet satisfaction and relief at once, calming your nerves. Steve sure had plenty of fight in him left and you could kindle that fire if you pleased.

He had plenty of spite left too; and that was a very good thing.

“Don’t get snarky with me now.”

“Don’t bullshit me then,” you threw back, earning a huff – and then, a sigh, a few beats of silence, as if he was gathering strength to deal with your bullshit.

Frankly, at times you were surprised he still found that strength.

The other thing you noticed, however, was the pattern of his breathing not having changed. It was erratic in comparison to before he had projected and remained that way. There were many things this could mean, but one – the most likely one – had your heart clench painfully.

He hadn’t dodged the consequences of getting hurt in spectral form. It wasn’t just a startle; his pain did linger, just like yours would have. Your own chest ached at the realization; and your heart raced, because surely it was just a matter of time before he’d ask.

Ask the one forbidden question.

Then, guilt twisted you stomach for not having prepared him for the aftermath of getting shot as a spectre; however, the wise insistent voice in your head reminded you that you couldn’t have. You couldn’t have afforded him to know – you still couldn’t.

And it would have never been an issue if Tony damn Stark hadn’t insisted on dragging you to the stupid charity auction and Steve hadn’t agreed to it and then if he hadn’t projected, but he just had to be the ultimate good guy and take care of his injured teammate by any means necessary. Mr. Hero. Mr. Invincible. Case on damn point. You might have not been the best agent the agency had, but you used your brains at times and if they had only listened goddamnit-

“I don’t think I’m invincible…” he repeated slowly and you bit your tongue as not to protest to such claim again, taking a deep breath instead.

Silence stretched; then, a wavering breath of hesitation, his own this time. He was probably pondering whether he should tell you whatever he was about to say; whether you could be trusted not to turn that against him later.

You gulped, guilt nagging at your mind again.

You truly must have been excellent at your open despise for some of his decisions and him himself if his reluctance was anything to go by. Then again, that was hardly any news – his shouts from earlier had been enough of a testament to that. Even as the moments were hazy, wrapped in a fog, his voice still echoed in your ears.

‘Forget you hate me.’

‘Forget you think I don’t deserve the smallest bit of my fame.’

‘Forget that you think I’m just a glorified science experiment.’

God, he really had no idea in how high regard you held him, did he?

Sure, you hadn’t considered him entirely flawless, even as it was a close call; but you knew he deserved every bit of the reverence some people had in their eyes when they met him. Sometimes, it was just hard to remember that when he was flaunting his perfection right in front of your peasant Inhuman eyes, when you knew you could never reach that perfection yourself.

And yet, for whatever reason, he must have decided you were worthy of his trust; or perhaps he, just like you, thought there wasn’t much to lose anymore.

“But… people deserve a strong leader,” he whispered, the determination in his voice almost scarily firm even as he spoke with strange softness. “Agents need to feel they have someone they can lean onto when they feel like they have no more strength of their own left. They need order and someone to follow when everything else is chaos. They need someone fearless when facing the horrors we face every day. They need someone who swallows their own pain, so they find it in them to continue even when they feel like giving up, someone to take all the punches and kicks and stabs in the back and keeps going nevertheless, because-“

“No.”

His voice fell silent at the single word that spilled from your lips without a warrant, just like the tears that suddenly seemed to find their way to your cheeks. You didn’t think to blink them away before they were already out; you hadn’t realized they had started gathering in your eyes in the first place.

The breath you dared to draw was shaky, hesitant, and painful. Every single word Steve spoke drove a small needle through your lungs; painfully familiar and yet so foreign.

Be strong.

Be fearless.

Don’t let them see.

Get up. Now.

Swallow your pain.

I believe in your potential.

You are a marvel.

You have a duty.

Do good.

Do not dare to fail.

Lead.

Inspire.

All but the last two echoed through your head, spoken in your late father’s voice, clear as ever. Warm and distant; high praise and endless disappointment; a gentle touch and its screaming absence. The light at the end of the tunnel and the ball and chain at your neck, all at once.

It was hard to breathe, your mind hazier than your vision, emotions swirling in your chest violently; guilt, anxiety, longing, compassion. Recognition. Clarity.

Steve Rogers had it different, so much different, and yet, the weight of his burden felt familiar. Only his burden was the heavier for all the watchful eyes following his every move, as reverent as judging; with yours right there in the sea of millions, just waiting for an opportunity to lift yourself up on the ruins left behind by his failure, because if even Captain America made mistakes and wasn’t enough at times, then you could all shine just the same and there was still hope for lousy ordinary people like you to be excellent.

Didn’t you all wait in the shadows of his greatness, praying that he’d prove to be human like the rest of you – and stayed terrified of it at the same time?

Because he had a point, didn’t he? If not even Captain America could lift himself up after getting knocked down, then the rest of you might as well call it quits and abandon all hope.

Steve Rogers lived in own personal circle of hell just to keep you all a little further from your own.

He remained silent as you fought to form words after his admission; rendered speechless and stunned.

“Steve, no. I mean… yes. I— you’re not-“

The cacophony of feelings awoken by the epiphany of how painfully familiar these feelings were tasted salty on your lips, for the nth time in the past few hours. You struggled to explain, but you couldn’t just leave it at ‘no’, you couldn't, because while you heard him, you truly did, he was also so, so wrong.

And yet, he was terrifyingly right. Hadn’t you benefited from his immense strength just moments ago when he projected and treated you? Hadn’t you been insanely grateful for the strength that had nothing to do with the serum, with being a supersoldier, but had everything to do with being Steve Rogers?

The Captain America himself.

It was no wonder he had seemed like an angel at times, looked like he’d been carved by an ancient master of sculpture; a Greek demi-god, a Titan. If he truly believed what he said – and there was no doubt he did, it now screamed from every move, every decision, every tinniest gesture of his that you could recall in your pitiful state – he might have as well been Atlas himself. The world's beast of a burden.

And that was one hell of a burden to take on for one person. Even a person like him.

“I mean… you’re right, Steve, obviously. But… you’re wrong, because that’s just--- too much. And because we---we need to know you’re only human too, that you’re--- well,” you hummed, chuckling humourlessly, “if you are human at all, that is.”

He didn’t scoff, but it was a close thing. A funny sound he should make more often. It did sound quite human.

“I’m plenty human… and I’m not perfect,” he spat the word as if it burned his tongue, drawing a lovechild of a sob and a chuckle from your throat.

“Oh I know. You’re a stubborn reckless son of a bitch.”

And yet, you’re the best of us.

You let your eyes slipped shut, shaking your head, feeling like crying and laughing indeed as he chuckled, a breathy surprised sound.

This was the strangest fever dream. Were you and Steve really talking like this, so scarily open and unapologetic? Had you really just told him he was a stubborn and reckless SON OF A BITCH? If you had the courage and hadn’t you been in plenty of pain already, you’d pinch yourself to make sure it was still reality, as surreal as it felt.

“…I practically asked for that, didn’t I?” he noted self-deprecatingly and you could hear a faint smile in his voice, driving the corners of your lips up as well, the dangerous warmth in your chest rising again.

Warmth and the feeling that with a wall between you, with the note of humour in his voice, with his touch having been so gentle and careful, you could trust him and tell him what you thought without consequence.

Most definitely a fever dream, with your brain drunk on blood loss.

“Yeah, a little bit,” you said, unable to keep the smile from your voice too, despite your heart thundering in your chest.

That smile was quick to slip as something whispered in your head to continue, to share the thought that had your smile slip just as quickly. The mere idea of saying it, of indirectly revealing a huge tender area he could poke at if he pleased, made digging a bullet out of your leg look like a simple inconvenience – but he had to know. He had to realize; it was honestly baffling a man of his intelligence was absolutely blind to the powerful impact he had on others.  

“The problem is… well, that other than that, you just might be less human than all Inhumans combined and that’s… that’s a really hard standard to meet, you know?” you whispered, almost soundlessly, unsure you truly wanted him to hear.

The response came much more swiftly and much more baffling that you had expected. If voices could frown, Steve’s was most definitely frowning.

“I think you’re meeting it pretty damn well.”

You snorted, humourless laugh gathering in your chest and threatening to burst out – you only contained it from the fear of the intense pain returning if you shook too much. But your hands rose on their own will, palms up; a mute gesture of confusion he couldn’t see.

“Since when? You projected here just now because I needed your help to do what I should be doing on my own. You nearly ripped me a new one when I was irresponsible and projected without a second thought to protect Natasha and Sam – which I don’t regret in the slightest, by the way – but that doesn’t exactly meet that standard either,” you added, words spilling without filter now that you opened the floodgates. “About two weeks ago, you literally shook me to snap me back because you thought I was going to pass out before I could do what needed to be done – and you were right. As always. You knew I couldn’t do it even before I did, so really, thanks for the attempt at compliment, but we both know not even you believe you could ever mean it.”

You were breathless as you finished; and the aftertaste of your words was bitter as truth often was.

You could scoff again. How could he mean it?

‘Meeting it pretty damn well.’

Right.

You weren’t that deep into your fever dream to believe that; to believe he believed that. As if meeting that standard was even possible by anyone but Steve Rogers himself.

Steve Rogers. Captain America. Your direct superior.

You gulped, panic seizing you as the small alarm in the back of your mind reminded you with urgency that you were still talking to your Captain, this was reality, and he could easily bench you and maybe, maybe listing all your shortcomings of the past weeks wasn’t the best idea if you wanted to keep your damn job.

“And I know that’s not alright, but I’m… I swear I’m trying to get better,” you added swiftly, lump growing in your throat as the silence that followed your words. “I can get better and I will!”

…Captain, Sir.

You only swallowed his rank and the sir because it felt like he’d think you were mocking him. Not that it mattered; because Steve remained quiet.

You could hear him breathe – without any real change, so you didn’t think the reason for his silence was loss of consciousness.

Which meant that the reason was the complete loss of the last remnants of respect he could have ever held for you.

It was selfish of you, but for a moment, you almost wishedhe had fallen unconscious somewhere during your monologue or at least entered some altered state of mind which would make him forget you had said anything at all, because then he wouldn’t have that muchreason to fire you, to send you back to Coulson like a faulty goods, demanding a refund.

You should have kept your stupid mouth shut.

You should have—he was going to fire you. He was going to take away the one thing you were remotely good, at, he was going to--- he was- fuck, fuck, fuck-

Finally, the sound of your name washed over you like a calming tide wave.

It didn’t sound condescending. It didn’t sound unkind, despite you having basically asked for the exact opposite by serving your failures on the silver platter. If anything, Steve’s voice seemed to waver, thick with an emotion you couldn’t quite understand.

“You are more than meeting the standard. You truly are,” he said again, sighing and for some reason, it sounded as if he was gathering strength to do… something. “But you’re wrong. I… the truth is that I knew I couldn’t do it.”

You sat up straighter, frowning; curious and absolutely dumbfounded – for many reasons.

One was obvious – you had no idea what he was referring to. Two – did he just… was that praise? He truly sounded as if he meant that you were somewhat good enough in his eyes. Since when? That was just too insane even as the past 24 hours were the very definition of insanity. And three – he was once again admitting to some sort of a shortcoming, which was surprising too to say at least.

And your voice reflected all that.

“Do what?”

He sighed again, his breath hitching, the smallest noise signalling pain escaping him, one you probably wouldn’t have heard hadn’t it been for your enhanced senses. You winced, guilt gnawing at your stomach again even as it was already tight with apprehension.

Do what?

“Watch you pass out again, knowing you got shot,” he whispered, effectively turning you into a statue, every muscle, including your heart, freezing. “I always try to plan so nobody gets shot. It’s my responsibility to ensure that no one gets hurt, let alone like that, and yes, sometimes that fails, but… that is the primary objective. To bring everyone home. And then you go and… I simply couldn’t take that again.”

You blinked, a strange feeling settling in your gut, one you couldn’t seem to grasp.

You felt like an idiot. You must have looked like one too, because you had no damn idea what the hell he was talking about.

You understood every individual word, you understood the sentences, but you… didn’t understand.

Worse, you did understand, but that understanding didn’t fit into the big picture, didn’t explain what that had to do with him making you snap back.

Irritation flared up in your gut as your brain raced and kept coming up empty of any coherent image of Steve Rogers. You had thought you had begun to understand better and better; and then his last words shattered the picture again, leaving you baffled.

And frankly, you despised being put into a position where you felt like less than a half-wit.

“…why? Does it really hurt your pride that much, that someone from your troops would disobey your order and mess with your perfect plan? So much that you throw the plan out of the window just to throw a fit? Just so no one gets hurt on Captain America’s precious watch?”

The moment you asked, you knew the questions were much sharper than he deserved, meaner and entirely unfair. You knew it was a lame defence mechanism clicking into place the moment it even remotely appeared that the sincerity in his voice was giving you just the last piece you needed to complete the absolute puzzle he was; because that was just not right, it couldn’t be. It never had been right.

‘I couldn’t watch you pass out again, knowing you got shot.’

He couldn’t be saying that. He shouldn’t be saying that. It made no damn sense. He couldn’t- that wasn’t--- yes, you had established he cared about bringing everyone home indeed, but that wasn’t--- it didn’t sound quite like what he was saying.

What was he saying?

Your body, your brain specifically, had rebooted, neurons firing all messy as you tried to make sense of this and was now coming up with either absurd explanations or none at all.

Steve’s laughter was both bitter and genuinely amused, snapping you from your thoughts.

“Sure, that too. But… it’s up to me to keep everyone safe. I need to do it. I want to keep everyone safe. Including you,” he added, almost softly and the shudder that ran down your spine was unlike anything you had ever felt.

It wasn’t… bad, not necessarily, not when you let it happen. It was the thrill of danger, the call of unknown, luring you in; and at the same time, something pulled at your heartstrings so violently you weren’t sure anymore whose chest hurt more. Your eyes burned and so did your lungs as you couldn’t take a deep breath all of sudden.

He really cared, didn’t he? He cared so damn profoundly for everyone under his command it was a wonder he got up from bed in the morning with such heavy responsibility on his mind. And somehow, that group of people he cared for included you.

He would have taken that bullet for you even if he hadn’t in his spectral form, wouldn’t he? Because that was the weight he had taken upon his shoulders, the weight of the world indeed, the weight he agreed to carry whenever he picked up his shield.

The symbolism of choosing that weapon – a weapon as much as a tool of protection – had never been lost on you, but it now appeared heavier and more tangible than ever.

You gulped, letting the new unbelievable piece of knowledge wash over you, another shiver brushing your body.

And still.

Even with all he said, even if you were crazy enough to believe him, it still made no damn sense that it would make him shake you awake and snap back over two weeks ago. And it didn’t explain why he kept putting himself into the position of your own personal guard dog so often whenever you were to project on a mission.

“I… okay.”

You were the farthest thing from okay, but that was beside the point.

It just made no damn sense.

“But that is what you do, always. I am safe. Even if I do get shot out there,” you said slowly, not sure if you were reminding that to yourself or him. “Even if I get beaten up to a pulp and keep going long enough to almost bleed out after that… it’s not real. The pain is, yes-” More than you’d ever know… or as you already know, you thought, swallowing against your dry throat.“And I do have to push through it hard to keep the spectre going, but--- that’s it. All that happens to the real me is losing consciousness and some serious exhaustion, Steve, it’s not-”

“Until it isn’t,” he interrupted you with urgency, causing your voice die out mid-sentence. “What if I fail? What if I fail to protect you, leave you there unconscious and vulnerable – your real body? What if one of those days your abilities act out? What if, one day, the injuries of your spectre transfer to your body, without prior warning? Look at us now. Nobody could have predicted this and yet here we are. Not to mention the pain you feel, passing out… that’s not nothing and we don’t even know the long-term consequences of that. So no, I--- I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t let that happen to you again.”

‘I couldn’t let that happen to you again.’

The last words echoed through your skull in a bizarre echo, the room out of focus despite your gaze turned to the opposite wall and your frantic blinks.

It still didn’t make a lick of sense, none of the things he had said, words built on fruitless pondering about what-ifs – except it made the perfect sense.

Hadn’t you worried exactly about that just a few moments ago? When Steve had got shot right in front of your eyes – an image that would haunt you forever, you suspected – even if it had been just his projection?

Yes, you had much more reason to worry; the transition of the effects of the serum to you wasn’t complete either, since you hadn’t exactly grown several inches tall nor gained a hundred pounds of muscle, so it was reasonable at least to assume the transition of your powers to him hadn’t been complete either. But you could see what he meant: powers, no matter how useful, were a volatile thing. You had seen how difficult the beginnings with Daisy’s powers had been and how she was still discovering what she could do to this day, almost two years later. And she was someone whom you considered extremely capable with her abilities.

Was it truly so unfathomable that in his overbearing responsibility for his team, Steve would worry about things going awry with your powers, resulting in you being a lot more hurt than anticipated?

Something had grown in your throat, making it hard to speak, but you pushed the words out anyway, even as they had the strangest taste on your tongue.

“You… never told me it worries you. You never told me that it bothered you.”

You never told me that you cared, not only if I get hurt, but if I hurt. Never told me you cared. Not like this. Not… for me.

Even as your whole frame shook under the weight of the realization, your chest too full for you to breathe properly, gaze swimming in tears you had miraculously kept from your voice, it dawned to you how it all added up with him being the one guarding you.

He truly didn’t trust anyone else with it, but not because he was so full of himself.

With everything you knew about him, when you had gathered all the facts, it should have been clear in any moment when you hadn’t been at odds with him. It had just never clicked, not when it was you; apparently, to him, a part of the Avengers just like any other of the heroes he called friends. His team.

You were the newest addition. Your powers were ones of the most unpredictable and volatile, possibly more than the Hulk’s, even if less deadly.

He felt the responsibility in his bones. He wanted to make sure, personally, that you’d be okay, because that was what he did.

“No, I didn’t. Not without my concern shouted in harsh words instead of spoken in clear ones.”

You gulped, brushing over the slightly veiled apology. He had apologized enough; he had done his atonement a long time ago. Not to mention you hadn’t been exactly receptive to what he might have been trying to say besides clearly being disappointed in you, so there was he wasn’t the only one to blame.

There had been a lot happening under the surface; things you should have known that or at least guess, but you had refused to even consider there could have been anything written between the lines for the fear of revealing another deeper layer of perfection you could never even hope to reach yourself.

And for the fear of falling for him deeper.

Too late, wasn’t it?

Because there was no going back now, was it? Not with the memory of his soft touch. Not with the memory of him admitting he cared so profoundly, even if not in the way you foolishly dreamed of and dreaded all the same. Not with being a wall apart and yet finally allowing yourself to see him. Not with him letting you see him.

What was adding a little insult to the injury? 

“You never told me how hard it is to control your strength either and… or how much it hurts to heal. Or how heavy your responsibility feels,” you said, not having the will to silence your mind.

You never even hinted there was so much more to you. You never shared that you feel like the rest of us, that you are so perfectly imperfect and human, just a speckle of fault that makes you all the better person; just like there’s but a speckle of green in your cerulean eyes that make them all the more beautiful.

Jesus you needed to get a grip before your loose tongue revealed even more of your unhinged train of thought. Maybe it was the time for that pinch to your forearm; to remind yourself you were very much in reality still; even as the ever-present breathy quality of Steve’s voice reminded you that he was in a very real pain, just like you.

“I didn’t think you needed to know. And it gets easier with time… most of the time anyway,” he added with a slightly humorous note before he grew serious again. And softer. “A far cry from keeping an astral body and controlling it, even when you’re in a lot of pain.”

It was but a hint, a dangerous hint to the great scary secret you harboured. You had been forced by circumstance before, to project while you still felt the aftermath of your spectral injuries by circumstance, since missions didn’t tend to wait until your imaginary yet painful wounds from previous projections healed. And yet; all Steve could have been talking about was simply getting hurt as a spectre and staying focused on keeping up the illusion anyway.

An illusion a bit like the one in his words; you doubted ‘it got easier’. You knew enough about what it was like to hurt. It didn’t get easier; it just became a routine to ignore it for the sake of something else. For others. For the job. For survival.

Just like it became easier to build impenetrable walls to protect what’s left, no matter how little the scraps were. Just like it became easier to let another of his compliments fly above your head, or at least to pretend it had, while it effortlessly climbed over the ruins of the very wall that had fallen when you and Steve ended up here and it touched you in your very soul.

“It gets easier with time,” you echoed his words with an absent smile, resting your cheek against the literal wall, almost as if the little turn of your head could offer you a glimpse of him. You wondered if he believed you that you meant it any more that you believed he meant what he was saying. “And I don’t know… it’s what you do that feels pretty impossible to me.”

You thought he shook his head; the quiet rustle of fabric and the note of something in his voice made it sound as if he had shaken his head.

“It was never my intention to make you feel like anything less than absolutely incredible,” he whispered sincerely, the grip he had taken on your heartstrings insistent, tugging again. “To make you think I believe you are anything less than that. What I actually believe is that you are that and more.”

You blacked out for a moment.

You must have blacked out, because when you came to, there was a static noise in your ears and burning in your eyes; your palm was laid over your ribcage, the feeling larger than life still swirling in your chest so hot and brutal you must have felt the need to make sure your body remained in one piece, unchanged.

However, the wavering rise and fall of your chest told you that hearing Steve say that, in the sweetly sincere voice and sounding as if it was simply another fact of life, had changed you fundamentally.

He truly cared for people, didn’t he? He cared and he believed in them, no matter how messed up they were. That was his true superpower and no stupid alien artifact could ever take that from him. And if the damn Kree couldn’t do that, if realizing he had lost everything good he had known when he woke up in the new millennium hadn’t done it, Hydra shouldn’t even hope to succeed.

They could develop the antiserum, they could strip him from whatever power Doctor Erskine had gifted him, but couldn’t take that. And that was the reason why even if you damn well died in here – and fuck did you not want to die – he would win. And they’d lose. Because they might eventually succeed in knocking Captain America down, but Steve Rogers would get back up and end them.

And damn, did he deserve better. He deserved the truth.

“I never meant to question your leadership either, Steve,” you responded in kind at last, trying your hardest to ignore the creaky quality of your voice. “I follow your orders, though sometimes with a few adjustments, for a reason. I… I would follow them if they led me through to hell because I know-- well, I know you’d send me there for a good reason. I just… couldn’t follow them that back in that base, because I knew better.”

“Because you were trying to protect me.”

He voiced your true motivation so effortlessly; and yet, his words were wrapped in such an agonizingly tender awe you nearly choked at the tone – and at your own laugh.

Because it was a laughable and unbelievable concept, wasn’t it? One little you trying your best, one little enhanced human thinking they could at least help to protect a demigod.

Worked well for you both, didn’t it?

“Well. Someone needs to try and protect our fearless reckless leader, right?”   

“Right,” he echoed and you could hear a smile just as tender as before, so unlike the light self-deprecating note you had allowed to creep into your voice. “Can I… can I ask you something?”

You felt your eyebrows arch involuntarily, curious – grateful for the distraction from how unbearably full and warm yourheart seemed to be.

“Pretty sure we crossed that line, Steve. Shoot.”

You regretted the choice of words the moment they left your mouth, the beat of silence that followed awkward at best; and yet, a small snort escaped you before you could contain it.

“That’s really not fu-”

“No. No, it’s not,” you agreed quickly, even as the corners of your lips kept twitching for some reason. But could anyone blame you? It was a little funny. It was absurd how all of this felt like a bad joke… even the lovely parts, which were the most absurd of it all. “I’m sorry. I didn’t--- I wasn’t trying to be funny.”

“You’d better,” he grumbled, but the scolding got lost somewhere in translation, because he sounded a little bit amused at least at your horrible choice of words.

You let the smile tugging so insistently at your lips win, feeling like Steve had done the same – at least before his voice fell quieter.

“But what I mean is… when we were fighting, when I was--- yelling at you, and you mentioned pain.”

Your smile froze in an instant, your eyes slipping shut, the feeling of your thundering heartbeat consuming you. There was no doubt where this was going; frankly, you were shocked it took him so long to call you out.

He must have been hurting this whole time, even as the only indication he had given you was his heavier breathing due to the pain in his chest.

“You… curled up, recoiled,” he continued, slow and hesitant – everything your heartbeat was not. “As if you could still feel it. It wasn’t the first time it happened either and it’s been on my mind for a while. Does it--- I’m sorry, I can’t stop thinking about it, I do realize I have no right to ask, not really. I-”

“To ask what exactly?” you interrupted him in a small choked voice, even if you knew all too well what information he was interested in.

It was funny though.

‘It wasn’t for the first time it happened either.’

‘It’s been on my mind for a while.’

There was no way you could confirm what he was saying, but he had no reason to lie. You weren’t sure Steve Rogers was capable of lying, or at least being capable of being good at it. You had no prove but you felt it in your bones that he was telling the truth, tiptoeing around the uncomfortable question awkwardly as if he had been there before indeed. As if he had wanted to ask before.

He had noticed.

Of course he had fucking noticed, who had you been kidding. He was too observant for his own good; and too respectful to ask before. Perhaps he had thought the pain was simply something that had passed in a few minutes – you had been careful to hide it – and thus he had thought it was not his place to pry.

‘I do realize I have no right to ask.’

Except he had every right. As your superior who needed to know your condition to plan missions accordingly – even as you pushed hard enough not to let it affect your results in the field – and as someone who was experiencing the pain no one had warned him about right now.

You didn’t know whether you should burst out laughing or silently weep, the two tendencies pulling you in different direction so skilfully you ended up doing neither, giving Steve the opportunity to ask his question.

“To ask how much of that pain you remember when you snap back. How much of it… you feel after.”

You let your eyes slip shut, your stomach somersaulting despite knowing it was coming.

You could lie. You could tell him it was but a brief temporary side effect which would pass. You could deny you felt anything at all, leaving him thinking it was something he was experiencing due to the questionable power switch between you. The former could come bite you in the ass if you wouldn’t be able to reverse the artifact’s effect eventually; that was, if you’d live long enough to even try. The latter would mean leave Steve thinking he was the problem, the pain not being a universal part of the glorified power you had, only some shortcoming on his side.

Neither of the options seemed fair – in fact, the latter felt downright nasty, sending bile up your throat.

Steve had been doing everything in his power, quite literally, to ease your suffering. He had done justice to the golden part of his mocking moniker and had been nothing short of a good man, offering compassion, kindness and honesty. As much as any kind of lie would make your life easier, you didn’t think you’d be able to look yourself in the eye in a mirror. Steve deserved better than a lie or even a half-truth.

Sharing that burden with him now didn’t seem as scary as it had before either. He was only human too; he was the one person who would, given his past, knew that feeling pain didn’t mean one was completely helpless or useless.

Not to mention that chances indeed were you weren’t going to make it out of here. The least he’d deserve was to know the truth; and to know he wasn’t weak or messed up to feel the pain still. That, or you were both messed up.

The silence stretched as you took a deep breath, gathering courage. While sharing the burden whispered of relief, you weren’t a complete idiot. You had no doubt that Steve was going be less than thrilled to learn you had been hiding this from him. Dread pooed in your stomach as your heart threatened to jump out of your chest, but at last, you forced the words out with a sigh.

“…all of it. I… if it’s something big, I can still feel it even days after, gradually fading away. A bit faster than an actual wound would take to heal by my estimate, but… yeah.”

Dead quiet.

If the silence before had stretched, the quiet that followed this was endless. And deafening, even with Steve’s still ragged breathing.

“So it’s not just me now. It never switches off when you snap back,” he more stated than asked, suddenly sounding at highest alert. And stunned.

You could hear it in his voice, bubbling just under the surface of a matter-of-fact voice, gasoline waiting for a lit match. The anger – and a whole set of emotions you hadn’t dared to guess – he was holding back was almost palpable, even over the wall. There was no going back from your admission; but the safe way was to carefully choose your next words, as to minimize the damage.

And yet.

Maybe you had a death wish. Maybe you were a bit too reckless – that had to be the reason why the words you chose were precisely those, throwing back his assumptions even if with without malice, but with a tiny shrill of satisfaction.

“No. Contrary to the popular belief, it doesn’t.”

A beat of silence; the lit match nearing the gasoline, almost as if in slow motion, anticipation of a catastrophe to sweep the world.

Then, the explosion; a lick of fire on your cheek even if the only thing that happened was Steve tugging violently on his chains as if he wanted to hit anything in reach and a frustrated noise that sounded almost like a growl, causing you to wince and squeeze your eyes shut tighter.

“Goddammnit Spectre! Why wouldn’t you-"

Steve cut himself of mid-sentence, a deep breath of his reaching your ears, even as taking it must have hurt like hell with his spectral wound. And then another. A low noise full of something you couldn’t quite decipher.

But when Steve spoke again, it was on normal volume, perhaps even lower. “How many times have you… why would you-- I’m sorry. It never--- it never even occurred to me. It should have. And I’m sorry.”

Your eyes had snapped open at the first sorry; at the other, you were blinking uselessly, mind having come to a screeching halt as if his reaction had pulled at some sort of a figurative emergency break.

Except everything in your now screamed there was an emergency.

You understood nothing. Not anymore. Not how his anger could have given way to some sort of guilt.

Guilt? How could he have felt guilty?

Everything in your insisted it was wrong, so so wrong, the world not making any sense again. Except just as fast as the shock had overtaken you, soft understanding pushed it away in an annoyingly gentle manner that made a lump grow in your throat.

“You couldn’t have known,” your caught yourself whispering, a tug at your insides insistent as the realization started to take root; Steve felt responsible.

He felt responsible for your choices.

It was absurd. It was stupid. You had taken him for a noble jerk, but not a martyr – not this kind of martyr anyway. Not an idiot.

“I could have asked. But I assumed instead. I’m truly sorry,” he repeated, causing you to blink again, realization dawning to you anew, this time much more logical. That… he had a point in that. That was exactly what you had threw back at him earlier. He was quick to catch on; you less so. You were beginning to understand that despite the intriguing, terrifying and liberating conversation, your brain was registering your blood loss more and more by the minute. It had to be if it was so slow. “I’m sorry not only that it’s happening but for not being understanding of it.”

The thing was, you weren’t sure you’d tell him even if he had asked.

Scratch that. You knew that you wouldn’t.

“It’s okay. Apology accepted, Steve,” you echoed your words from the auction, a brief smile passing your lips as you did so. Your face had grown damp with tears again, you realized distantly; released pressure, dark secret coming to light. Relief.

He hadn’t yelled at you – not really. And he knewnow. You almost wanted to laugh. He knew.

His guilt was misplaced however, you we aware as much; he shouldn’t have to ask. Such thing was expected to be listed on file. Except you had made sure that it wouldn’t when erasing Andy’s records of your sessions.

The sudden urge to sooth Steve, feeling a physical manifestation of how he was beating himself over the fact he had made a half-wrong guess where he shouldn’t have, the burden on his shoulders having now grown another ton heavier as a consequence, slammed into your weary bones.

“It’s okay, Steve. I was hiding it. You simply couldn’t have known.”

“But why? Why didn’t you tell us?” he demanded, urgency bleeding over his shock, his investigative Captain mode activated again. Hadn’t it been that he was asking uncomfortable questions, you’d smile at the change. The man with a plan. A man of action and analytic mind. Steve Rogers, ladies and gentlemen. “You never took breaks after you got hurt. Not as Spectre anyway. If… if the pain lingers… if there is nothing that can to be done about that once it happens, why wouldn’t you let us know you needed time to heal?”

Because you’d take away the only thing I can cling to, your mind but breathed out weakly, fresh tears rolling down your cheeks, hands flexing into fists, brief panic seizing your throat at the mere idea of thathappening. You’d take away the only thing I can do with my life. The only thing I know how to do.

You couldn’t tell him that. You had whispered too many secrets over this wall already, the majority of your defences down. But not this one. This one you had to keep in order to keep your sanity, to keep your place.

You were still an agent. There was no more place for whining; god knew you had already whined for enough to run out of a limit for years and years to come.

But you could still tell the truth. You should. Steve deserved nothing less; but you deserved to have some dignity left dammit. You scrambled to gather the last remnants of your pitiful shield and put it up, along with scraps of rationality.

“I’m an agent – I need to be able to handle pain, more than most. And I can,” you said firmly, ignoring the pull at your muscles as if your wounds wanted to confirm your words; or disprove them “Pain is a part of our life every day.”

“… it really shouldn’t be. Definitely not like this,” Steve protested, voice sounding a little weaker than before. You couldn’t tell whether it had anything to do with his physical state or whether he was simply struggling to protest when he actually agreed with you.

Pain was an undeniable and inevitable part of life; for some people more than others. He should know, shouldn’t he?

A hundred-pound asthmatic with a list of illnesses longer than your resumé in what probably felt like his past life; now, a proud sturdy shield taking punches and bullets left and right to protect others.

He’d know all about pain; back then and now. It suddenly barely made any sense that you had ever kept this from him if you looked at it from this angle. Then again, that was Steve Rogers.

Your life would be a lot easier if Steve Rogers and Captain America – your boss – were two separate people. But they weren’t. Looking back, you truly hated it as much as you loved it, every single day.

With a bittersweet smile on your lips, you wiped at your cheeks.

“I suppose it shouldn’t, but we don’t get to choose. You of all people should know that. You used to live it. You’re Captain America – you still live it.”

He a took a deep breath, sounding outraged and defeated at once – because you were right.

“True, but-“

“But nothing,” you interrupted him, indignant to make him understand. Without revealing too much. He was a smart cookie – he didn’t need all the information. “I have to handle it and I do. Thousands of people handle pain every day. What I have is no different from other chronic conditions, except it is. I have an advantage. Because to a large point, I can prevent it. Unlike other chronic pain, mine is simply an occupational hazard that occurs if I mess up as a spectre. And my occupational hazard is way kinder than any other agent’s, because when other agents get shot, they bleed. They die when they bleed out. I pass out. So really. I’m the lucky one.”

You expected it would shut him up; you expected him to ponder over your words.

You were wrong. Again.

“That is debatable,” he threw back in an instant, though not unkindly. A gentle reprimand rather than a challenge to argue. “And you can still bleed. And it doesn’t answer my question, not entirely at least.”

“I know,” was all you said.

You’d let him pick to which of his words it applied to. It applied to all of them.

“…I’m not… ordering you to answer it,” he continued softly, voice quieter again. “I understand you can have plenty reason to keep it to yourself, I just… I want to understand so we can adjust your schedule to accommodate your needs. You already give more than enough. This… this is beyond anyone could ask of you.”

You smiled bitterly, for once able to stop fresh tears from spilling even as his words struck you straight into your heart.

Of course he would think that. Of course he would want to do that.

Stupid big-hearted hypocritical dumbass.

And what about what we ask from you? What about you ask from yourself? you wanted to retort, but swallowed your rhetorical questions you already had an answer to, opting for a tired smile instead.   

“That’s not necessary, Steve. I’m fine.”

Most of the time. And when I’m not fine, I have to be anyway.

He repeated your name, somehow sounding both compassionate and pissed beyond belief; patient and insistent.

“Why?”

You almost, almost grinned, recalling Simmons’ words with stunning clarity, the words etched into your brain and bones, her British accent included.

An absolute marvel. You�� you are a marvel.

And who wouldn’t want to be that? Even if for a while? Who wouldn’t swallow their pain, their cries, their blood?

A marvel.

It was embarrassing almost, to cling to it like that, you knew that.

And yet. Something about Steve’s voice, the gentle insistence, the genuine desire to simply understand you, pushed you to tell the truth. He’d understand. You had kept telling yourself he wouldn’t, because he had always put on this brave invincible face – or maybe you had believed he did, to make him even more unreachable – but the truth was that he truly was the one person who could understand all too well.

“I can’t afford to have a weakness. Not another one.”

I can’t show any weakness was written between the lines and you had a feeling Steve read just as easily as if it was written explicitly in all capital letters in your blood instead of in ink.

“You’re only human too,” he whispered, so damn quiet and as tender as his hands had been. “You’re allowed to be human. It’s no different than Bucky having a prosthetic, than people taking time off to heal and then rehabilitate after a physical injury to their non-astral body. We would never allow you back to field if-”

“I can handle it!” you exploded at once, a raging fire licking at your veins the second he implied you were unable to do your job properly, the job you had trained for your whole life, since you were a damn child, you were just fine, dammit! “I’m not a charity case, I don’t need any special treatment! I’m nothing less than-“

“But you don’t have to handle it, that’s my point!” he snapped in response to your shout. The authority and conviction his voice held, even on normal volume, had you shut up in immediately. And listen. “And it doesn’t make you less of an agent to be treated accordingly to your condition! I didn’t mean to say that we wouldn’t let you into the field because you’re weak, because I know you’re everything but that – but we wouldn’t let someone with a healing gunshot wound into the field either. All I’m saying is that if we knew, you wouldn’t have to suffer. You’re a person first, an asset to the team next. No one would think any less of you. You deserve to rest, you deserve having your needs met, you deserve to be treated like a damn human being!”

A sharp inhale and exhale; a brief moment to process what he said while he gathered strength to speak again. A brief moment for you to gather the pieces of the world he had shattered for you.

In that moment, a strange feeling of peace washed over you, one you imagined one might find in an apocalyptic world, a place when all that had been known was ruin and fleeting wistful pleasures, when the sun came of for the first time in centuries; so peculiar, incomprehensible and untouchable. But warm. And beautiful.

“Why--- why wouldn’t you--- don’t you-?”

“Not where I come from,” you whispered, smiling tight and bitter through the tears even as Steve couldn’t see you.

The metaphorical sight of that sun was beautiful and you basked in it. But it was as gorgeous as hurtful; tied to the knowledge it would not last.

A pregnant pause followed your words and you knew. You knew you had said too much. Shared way too many things that no one but your therapist should know – and that was already one person too many and she was aware of considerably less.

And then, creeping horror. Steve was quiet – for too long. Deadly quiet too – couldn’t hear his breathing.

Panic hit you like a ton of bricks all over again, digging into your heart with sharp nails, deeper than before with a profound knowledge of the universal truth.

This was how it went, didn’t it? You opened up to someone too much, you told them about your pain, about your most pitiful secret and they showed understanding and compassion – and then they died. One of the great reasons why you had kept it secret, why you had insisted on being in the field so much; if you weren’t there, if you weren’t doing what you were meant to do, people died. They would too if anyone learned and you got benched for your comfort.

Death followed your potential confession in so many ways. You knew that, always had, so why had you been so stupid again to-

You should have never told anyone. Especially not Steve.

“Steve?! Are you-“

“You deserve nothing less than having your needs respected and met,” he said slowly, every syllable carefully measured, unshakable despite the shaky breath he had finally released and you could kill him, your heart thundering in your chest at the brutal scare he had given you and his words alike. “You deserve better than that. You always have. And you are sure as hell going to get that when you’re with us.”

With me, said the steel in his voice.

The shudder running through you had nothing to do with cold, your breathing shallow and quick, something in his voice, something untouchable and so perfectly tangible and the realest thing you had ever touched, forcing you to listen and accept, and accept willingly, because what he said was nothing but the very essence of kind.

This was who he was. Righteous and fair. A vessel for violence to be unleashed, if necessary, but an infinitely kind man. It had nothing to do with you – he would do that for anyone, you were more than aware, because care was in the very core of Steve Rogers; but to have it aimed at you still felt like the warmest hug you had never known, one you got without working hard for it, without deserving it first for once.

It felt like Steve’s large hands gently cradled your heart, fingertips running over the cracks mended with concrete, smoothening the rough edges. It was terrifying because one second of his superhumanly strong grip and the hasty repairs would crack irreparably; but it came with a soft thrill and warm waterfalls of tears running down your cheeks instead, because every tender stroke whispered there was not the tiniest need for caution. Not if these were his hands.

Was it strange to still see them as impossibly strong even if you now carried the supersoldier abilities yourself?

He was waiting, patiently so, you could tell as much – but he expected a reaction. Of any kind. A scream, a scoff, a whisper. A protest or a confirmation, a vague hm. Anything.

What he received was a creaky voice and a bargain, a whisper sounding so shallow in comparison of how terribly profoundlyhis words touched you and rearranged your soul.

“I’ll remember that if we make it out, hm? But only if you take your own advice and allow yourself to be a human too.”

“Sounds only fair,” he whispered warmly. “Deal, Spectre.”

‘Deal, Spectre.’ Just like that. As if you two hadn’t just agreed to try to fundamentally change., but agreed what time the next training session would start.

But the lightness was deceiving; you were both all too aware. But what was a little promise when you had no idea how long you’d live, right?

“Deal, Cap. …but don’t you fucking scare me like that. Don’t you dare to stop talking to me or to close your eyes,” you said sharply and damn, you meant it. Hadn’t you had bigger thing to process, you’d smack the wall and imagined it was him.

Holding him damn breath, was he trying to kill you?

“Sorry. But one of the strongest people I know told me it doesn’t work like that. No amount of talking keeps someone awake.”

You gulped even as the corners of your lips twitched a bit as his sassy response – bless his observation that after dealing with such heavy matters, humour was the most welcomed reprieve. You wanted your reply to reek of snark, but probably failed. Because damn him, you were still too deep into processing what had just happened and he was not sparing a single opportunity to compliment you – the feeling it elicited inside you was foreign and difficult to contain.

“Sounds like a smart girl. But she fails to take into account that hearing a voice might not keep a person awake, but can be just… nice,” you said, not fighting the softness that crept into your voice anymore. “So unless the other person is being an ass… it can feel really good to hear their voice.”

It was too intimate to say that, scarily so; but the warmth that enveloped you when you heard his response was worth it, you thought.

“I like hearing your voice too.”

One of the important things agents were taught at the SHIELD academy was keeping track of time when there was virtually no way to do so; no watch, no phone, no indication of a day or a night. How to keep your head straight, when deprived of one of the basic stimuli – daylight. No training done purely in kid gloves ever worked, so this, being held captive in a room without windows, was how you practised.

And yet; you had no idea how long you had been in captivity. It was a fact that no training could have prepared you for everything – like getting shot twice, having your friend (colleague, Steve was colleague, a superior) shot in front of you, having your powers exchanged – but that made it no less frustrating to not being able to tell how long it had been.

You had a few indications, sure; there was only so many hours one could survive without water, but all that your parched throat, dizziness and occasional zoning out told you, was that it hadn’t been three days – because you were still alive. The water bottle the asshole who had shot Steve had thrown in was staring at you mockingly, your fingers twitching at weak moments of pondering whether you should simply give in; but since you could resist so far, you knew it couldn’t have been that long. Given the blood loss and the fact you hadn’t passed out, your rough estimate was that it had been a few hours.

But god, were they endless.

At least you had good company still; Steve’s soft check-in reached your ears again, a ghost of an exhausted smile passing over your lips.

“What was your favourite class at the academy?” he asked then, causing you to chuckle self-deprecatingly.

It was selfish. Self-centred. But it was the truth – but could anyone really blame a person for liking doing what they were good at?

“Gymnastics. I… I had a head start,” you admitted reluctantly, Steve’s voice warm as he hummed in response.

“That’s fair. It does sounds like you’re underselling though.”

Your smile widened, a small spark of a giddy feeling that was most definitely not supposed to arise in your chest flickering to life.

“What did you like the best back at the camp?”

“Hand to hand,” he replied simply, the smile in his voice puzzling you as much as his answer. You had purposely asked about the camp, thinking he might… tell you about what it was like before the serum. It was naïve, you berated yourself; this was nothing but small talk to kill time, while Steve no doubt kept working on any possible solutions to your shitty predicament. You were an idiot to think- “That is after I was shown that size and strength don’t always matter. That I could still win if I worked hard to improve my skills. And had a bit of smarts.”

Your shoulders sagged, the warmth in your chest spreading again. He was being honest. Open. And the vague image of a small guy kicking arse due to his brains and determination alone was most endearing and powerful. And you had it now to keep; because Steve had shared it with you.

While this was just a conversation to kill time while your hazy brain too vainly tried to come up with a way out of this mess, it was more than you had ever talked. More than you would ever talk in the future, probably. If you lived long enough for the future lasted for longer than another few hours.

You had right to feel like weeping, you thought briefly, to feel like someone had reached for the rug under your feet and tugged, causing you to hit the floor hard; but you had no right to feel an unfamiliarly powerful tug of longing for things that wouldn’t come. And yet you felt it anyway.

You were more than ready for this whole insanity of Hydra captivity to end – one way or the other. And yet, there was an unfairly large part of you, circling around your heart, that wished some things to linger. The delicate bond you and Steve had threaded together over the past few hours was precious beyond anything, as palpable as the wall between you.

Precious things never lasted.

And you already missed it.

You should never get attached, it was the number one rule, but you were the troublemaker sometimes, weren’t you?

When you spoke again, you hoped the sudden acute dullness in your ribcage couldn’t be heard in your voice.

“That’s fair,” you echoed his words, a brief intangible image of his smile flashing in front of your eyes.

He had to be smiling, right? It seemed-

Your heart leaped into your throat, back straightening as the sound of multiple footsteps coming from behind your door reached your momentarily enhanced ears despite the ever-present low whooshing of blood in your temples. 

“Steve-“ you whispered tightly, and that was how far you got before the lock was rattling and people started flowing into your cell. People, plural.

A man in an obnoxiously luxury suit. A three-man army with confidence of men with enough firepower to have a back-up weapon of a back-up weapon, Mr. Hydra Douche With A Twitchy Finger included. A man with a briefcase, in a telling white lab coat.

Instinctively, before you could think better of it, you scooted closer to the wall, instantly regretting it as a jolt of pain shot up your aching legs – and as a ghost a smile passed over the Mr. Hydra Douche’s otherwise blank face.

You swore that if you got your hands on him-

“Morning, Agent. Or should I say afternoon? How are we doing?” the man in the suit – clearly the Head Douche – asked with feigned politeness and had your gaze not moved back towards the doctor, you would have felt like spitting on him just for that. But it had.

And you recognized the man in white. You had seen him before, you were sure of it, despite the light fog wrapping around your brain tighter with every passing second of your heart racing.

You had met him at the Tower, you had no doubt about that and the fact alone caused goosebumps to rise on your arms, your stomach somersaulting.

You didn’t know his name; if someone asked about him, you probably wouldn’t have been able to describe him. He wasn’t any kind of conspicuous, yet he was here. He wasn’t memorable –then again, that was the point of undercover, wasn’t it? That was the mission of double-faced assholes. Be bright enough to get hired to the Avengers Initiative; be the right amount of ordinary to fit among all the extraordinary minds of the scientific department as to not stand out.

If you had enough strength to stand up, you’d punch his fucking teeth out.

“You fucking son of a bitch,” was what you settled for, earning a half-smirk and a raised eyebrow.

“Rich, coming from the daughter of the ultimate All Work No Play Bitch,” he replied calmly, the vindictive tone like a slap to your face, causing you to recoil further.

That, and the mention of your mother.

You did not disagree with his assessment, you supposed; but she was your mother. Was she with them? Was she not – and had the hurt her?

Bile rose up your throat at the idea of either of those being true. It shouldn’t have – you didn’t care, you shouldn’t care, not anymore, god knew she certainly didn’t – but it sent a violent shiver down your spine anyway. You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to supress the tremble.

Fuck him. Fucking fuck Hydra as a whole.

“Now, now, no need to call anyone names…” Mr. Head Douche said, even as he seemed rather amused by your exchange. “We have more important matters at hand. Doctor Barret?”

A low voice sharp enough to cut steel spoke before the doctor could take a single step in your direction, causing your heart to skip a startled beat even as it spoke in your favour; even as it was Steve.

“Leave her alone.”  

The suited man briefly looked as if behind you, a supposedly pleasant smile on his lips that came out as a sleazy one, condescending. It made your hair stand on its end. Then again, this whole room, this whole situation had done good enough job of that already.

“Patience, Captain. We will deal with you in a minute. No need to be jealous about your inferior getting the bigger company.”

Your gaze snapped up, alarm bells ringing for two reasons.

Steve wasn’t alone either.

And you were the one to get the welcoming wagon.

Why? Why you first?

You weren’t a complete idiot; Steve was the more valuable one in terms of intel and strategy. He was the one with supersoldier serum they had been trying to neutralize, even as now they could probably poke both of you like lab rats and get some ‘intriguing’ results for sure.

So why you?

Saving the best for the last? Did they think you were weaker, that you’d crack more easily? Did it have anything to do with you being Inhuman? Did it have anything to do with you being the one, momentarily, in whom the serum effects were manifested? Why-

When the man met your gaze again, calculating, it felt like an icy liquid injected straight into your veins, realization slamming into you with full force along with your panic skyrocketing.

You were the leverage.

They could probe you all the wanted, they could punch and kick and cut, and they would torture Steve – because they knew enough to realize he would not want it on his conscience, not him of all people, not after they had watched you interact – and they wouldn’t have to as much as touch their more valuable prisoner.

Your gaze involuntarily flickered towards the briefcase in Barret’s hand as he stepped closer to you, your chest suddenly too tight to breathe in.

Don’t let them see. Don’t let them see that you’re scared.

You weren’t naïve enough to think you managed to hold face despite the anxious chant in your head.

The boss beckoned wordlessly to two of his brainless henchmen as Barret set the briefcase down, opening it with the lid towards you, obscuring whatever was in from your vision; but it wasn’t necessary.

You were too busy gulping and measuring the two men who approached you and stood each by your side in a blink of an eye, large greedy hands already reaching out.

“Don’t touch me-“ you blurted out, hands curling into fists in an instant to ready yourself to what would probably be a pathetic fight but still a fight.

They gripped your biceps in a vice and pulled you up to your feet before your weary sweat-soaked body could take a single swing at them, holding you upright with your feet barely touching the ground.

And then one of them kicked the back of your knees the same moment they dropped you low enough to force you stand, sending you instantly to the ground due to the weakness in your legs, their hands but a thin rope keeping you from falling face-down on the floor.

The majority on your weight landed on your knees. The rest was held up by your thighs.

Your agonized cry got drowned in the blinding pain seizing your body, tears springing from your eyes as you felt like you were going to be torn from inside out.

An agonizing déjà-vu; except now you had no strength left to keep your pain for yourself.

It hurt. Goddamn fucking Jesus, it hurt, pain consuming all your senses, only leaving space for vague awareness of the dull sounds of Steve’s protests and loud cries of metal as he vainly fought his bound again.

Bless his soul, he was not about to give up even when it was clear there was no other option but that left.

You wished you were that strong.

As you hungrily gasped for air, Steve’s efforts having fallen silent upon a promise of catching another bullet, you blinked your eyes open. Vision blurry with tears, you noticed the doctor had put on thick lab gloves – and was now holding a part of the Kree artifact.

Of fucking course.

Through the white-hot pain still gripping at your brain, your felt a tiny part of you sigh in relief. You supposed it could be worse than being about to get exposed to the effects of the artifact; then again, at least knives and needles were predictable enough. You had no idea what this thing would do now. Send the powers back to their rightful owner? Pass them on? Or take them altogether, somehow absorbing them?

“Fantastic, fascinating thing, isn’t it? We knew the item would be valuable as soon as it appeared on the auction list, but to have such unforeseen properties… had we known, we could have saved ourselves a lot of work,” the boss pondered out loud, tilting his head to side a bit when you grinded your teeth and tried to meet his insane eyes even as your head was spinning and it was hard to focus on anything.

“What work?” you hissed, biting your tongue hard when one of the asshole henchmen tugged at your arm a bit, sending a fresh wave of undiluted agony through your wounds.

You didn’t know where you found the will to ask. You doubted he’d take the bait. But if you were about to pass out from pain and blood loss alike, you might as well be useful to Steve and whoever was hopefully coming to the rescue – and collect your body – eventually.

“That might be the oldest trick in the book, Agent. Tempting the supposed villain to reveal his plans… but frankly, I think you should know, if for nothing than for appreciating my genius,” he boasted, so smug and proud of himself you wanted to tell him to bite you.

But knowing Hydra were goddamn lunatics, you didn’t, because he might do exactly that – and you were not interested.

God, your head was spinning. You were sure that one rapid movement and you’d throw up.

“By all fucking means.”

He raised his eyebrows, clearly amused. Fuck him.

“…cute. You see, you wouldn’t believe how troublesome you can be, Agent,” he said, causing your breath to catch in your throat and your thready thoughts to scatter. Huh? “We really counted on all of you to be much more capable, but in the end, forgive me, you especially turned out to be a real pain in the ass. A real disappointment.”

It was absurd – the most absurd thing of all, you supposed, despite the past hours being a complete funhouse – but being called a disappointment, by a Hydra lunatic, felt like a blow to your solar plexus, shame filling every ounce of your being for a moment.

How utterly useless a person had to be for a Hydra lowlife to find you disappointing, for whichever reason he was cryptically referring to? It truly felt like you hit a new low.

And yet. A defiant smirk somehow found a way to your lips, however weak, a little piece of pride at having made their lives complicated, even if unwittingly.

“My pleasure,” you said, pointedly ignored.

“The data was right there. You had them in your grasp and then you failed to deliver them to your base of operation. Doctor Banner’s and his team’s contributions to our uncomplete attempts to develop the antiserum would have been invaluable.”

…what?

“I mean, their motives for researching the scraps we left behind would obviously be of the purest nature, retracing the ‘big bad Hydra’s’ steps, developing the very antiserum we were working on themselves in order to find an antidote to it, believing we already had the substance in possession. And we’d have it delivered, a sample and a formula, developed and perfected by them. It was brilliant. They could have done all the work, found the solution we needed. But no. The data was planted for you team to find, the perfect bait… and you had to go and muck it up, didn’t you, Agent Spectre?”

Blank.

Your mind turned blank.

Your jaw had fallen slack, ears filling with a strange static noise growing louder and louder with every word he said. And yet you could hear him perfectly clearly, hear him paint an image so bizarre you would have had trouble comprehending it had you been entirely healthy, let alone when missing around two pints of blood.

The reality he described felt everything but real – but it made sense. Despite the plan being absolutely insane, it made sense. And you had to give it to him, it indeed was irritatingly brilliant.

But at the sae time, you could have laughed at the irony, downright wheeze at the cosmic sense of humour.

The data. They had planted the data which you had felt so desperately useless for having lost, the ones you and Steve had fought about.

The blankness of your mind was replaced by a rapid fire of thoughts, even as they seemed to come too slow as seconds ticked by and you were holding your breath in anticipation of his laughter, anticipation of his revealing he was just pulling your leg for laughs, a confirmation you had somehow misunderstood, .

But it didn’t come.

Because it was the truth.

You had messed up, but in a different way than you thought. Not by failing to deliver the drive. They had wanted you to find the files and deliver them; and you had taken the bait like a stupid goose, your instinct to protect the team, Steve in particular, flaring up.

Failing to deliver the flash drive had actually been a good thing. Because otherwise you would have helped Hydra to have the scientists with the AI do Hydra’s work for them instead of just offering vague scraps which doctor Banner and others could barely work with.

Screw exchanging powers, screw the existence of an artifact that caused the switch; THIS was a large mindfuck you weren’t sure you could ever wrap your head around.

Your failure had meant Hydra’s failure. And Steve, precious annoying Steve, having snapped you back before you could have delivered the intel, had actually been a hindrance in Hydra’s evil plans as well. He had been angry with you for taking a risk, he had cared, and so he had broken your concentration for it and you had thought that it meant he thus put himself at risk – but in fact, he had unwittingly got himself further from getting caught in Hydra’s bullshit.

You were stunned.

And rendered entirely speechless with both awe and absolute horror.

“Is that your impressed face, Agent? I can’t quite tell with all the panting for air and smudged black-tie worthy make-up,” the boss hummed mockingly.

You kept absently staring at the Hydra pin on the lapel of his suit, your mind still racing and trying to fathom the things that could have happened and hadn’t.

Hydra didn’t have an antiserum. They had wanted the AI to figure out what they couldn’t. They wanted to hurt Steve in a most effective and most painful way possible, no doubt. And you could have delivered that opportunity to them on a silver platter. You had almost assisted to Steve getting hurt, even more than he was now.

The idea made your ribcage feel tighter.

Fresh panic filled it instead of air when you realized that Steve was quiet, again. He had been quiet for a while now.

Why was he quiet?

You strained your ears despite the loud frantic thump-thump-thump of your own heart echoing in your head, slightly relieved you could still hear his ragged breaths.

“Well, that plan is obviously in the past now. We have something much more effective – a way to take all your powers, hopefully, and maybe even replicate them. Bless the Kree.”

Fuck the Kree, was your thought, but you bit your tongue.

Only when Doctor Barret took the other part of his artifact in his hand as well and rose to his feet, eyes unmistakably set on you, you realized how terrifyingly still everything and everyone had been. Almost robotic. Perfectly obedient; perfectly compliant with Hydra Head Douche’s wishes.

Had he made them comply? The brainwashing program? Was that what awaited you after?

Barret barely took a single step towards you. You immediately tried to move backwards, meeting the unrelenting resistance of the men who held you instead.

The only thing you managed was causing yourself more pain, the grip on your arms growing strong enough to bruise.

“Well, we’re nothing if flexible,” the Head Douche hummed, shrugging almost jovially as the other Trigger-Happy Hydra Douche stepped closer to you as well. “You see, it looks like now we have two supersoldiers now and that changes the game completely too. Generations of scientists thought replicating the serum’s effects was impossible – Doctor Banner being one of the few who live to tell the tale, but your DNA is… vastly different to the Captain’s and yet. You carry his abilities now – and he carries yours, without your bodies visibly changing. I wonder… if we start probing you, we could have a whole new set of data on how to synthetise it...”

You gulped. You had worried about them reviving Daniel Whitehall’s program of brainwashing people to make anyone do Hydra’s bidding; but the mention of the doctor’s other favourite pastime had a shiver ran down your spine.

You hear a soft rattle of chains and you knew Steve was fighting hard to do anything – and then there was quiet again, sharp one at that. Your heart hammered against your chest. Did he pass out now?!

Steven Grant Rogers, you open your eyes right fucking now or so help me god-

“And we can actually have Captain Rogers’ samples, even if tainted by your own… mutation? There are so many questions to be answered. I wonder… if I simply take this, and have you touch the other part, will that make me a supersoldier, just like that? A game of hot potato, so to speak? Is it that simple? To think we went through all that trouble and all we needed was a piece of an alien rock… or is it genetics too? How can we only find out, huh?”

You just glared, forcing your muscles to stop the tremble the man’s words fought to leave in their wake.

Somehow, the fact theydidn’t have a single idea what would be their next best step was so much worse than the opposite, bile rising in the back of your throat and burning.

They’d do anything to get their answers. They’d do everything.

And you were alone.

“Our brightest minds have been analysing this extraordinary piece of work for the past hours and came up with nothing conclusive, nothing that would tell us what will happen…” he said, eyeing you thoughtfully, beckoning to the Trigger-Happy Douche, who put on a single glove himself, taking one part of the artifact from the doctor without his skin making contact. There was no glow to the metal yet; neither of these men were Inhuman, apparently. Then again… were you? Still? “So we must resort to the old-fashioned trial and error, it appears. I wonder if the transfer will be complete… if we take that power from you right now, before you can heal, will it be lights out for you, darling?”

Your heart seized in your chest, the rest of your body outside your control; you attempted to tug yourself free despite the roar of pain it caused, not moving an inch.

That was one option you hadn’t considered yet. If it was this simple, as the Hydra Head Douche just said, if he stole the healing factor from you, you’d— right away. You had lost too much blood already, you had no doubt.

You’d be dead before you could as much as breathe in once.

The shudder that ran down your spine was violent and rattled your bones; you had no strength to stop it.

‘Will it be lights out for you, darling?’

You closed your eyes; and then there was a frustrated sound from behind the wall and you snapped them back open, a blissful flicker of relief.

Not unconscious, apparently. Good.

And then it finally dawned to you, the reason for Steve’s silence; and it made spite rise in your gut along with anger and completely unfair fondness.

Steve Rogers was still fighting; he was still fighting to help despite his unbreakable bounds. He was trying to focus and project, even though the pain.

He truly was stronger and more determined than the entirety of SHIELD together, wasn’t he? If he was about to go down – and you prayed he wouldn’t, you prayed he’d get home somehow, back-up arriving just in time for him to survive somehow – he’d go down fighting, taking as many Hydra lunatics as possible. He deserved so much better than he was getting. He deserved and needed you to get your shit together.

You weren’t dead yet.

There might not be hope left, but that didn’t mean you had to go down without a fight. If you’d die trying to make these bastards lives a little bit more miserable than they were, you could not only take fear and regrets to the grave, but also a fair amount of satisfaction.

You lifted your gaze to the Head Douche’s face with gritted teeth, eyes hard. You hoped.

“Nah, I hope not,” the man mused, eyes following Doctor Barret who now approached you with the other half of the artifact. His eyebrow rose along with your awe, as the artifact lit up with uncomfortably familiar symbols in your proximity. Still an Inhuman, it seemed, at least in body. Still capable of being a pain in the ass. “That would be sad, wouldn’t it? We’d like you to tell us how exactly your abilities work. Even if the Captain seemed to get a hang of it pretty quickly…”

“He’s trying to do it again, I think,” sounded from behind the wall, the new voice startling you despite your determination and making your stomach drop.

Hydra might have been reduced in numbers, but sadly grew in brainpower, apparently. Fuck them.

“Tsk-tsk,” the Head Douche licked his tongue, extending a hand towards the doctor, stepping to you himself. “That’s not wise. We don’t want to waste any more bullets, do we…? Really, SHIELD and Avengers need to work on teaching their agents not to get attached. It makes you all so weak.”

The gun was out of a holster you had missed earlier and aimed at your forehead before you could as much as startle.

And then the safety of it clicked, your view of the man’s face partly obscured by his hand and metal, forefinger firmly resting against the trigger.

Your heart jumped to your throat; your determination bled out of your body in an instant, horror replacing it.

One minuscule movement and you’d be dead.

It didn’t matter if you’d miraculously survived the power switch, if there would be no power exchange at all, since no one knew how the artifact worked, not really. For all you knew, it could have had a mind of its own, you had seen a monolith that changed into liquid seemingly at whim before, you had seen too much insane to believe you knew anything at all.

But that didn’t really matter anyway, did it?

You had thought so many times in the past hours that you would never seen the world outside of this cell, that you’d meet your end here – but it had never felt as tangible as the cold muzzle of the man’s gun hovering an inch from your head.

“Let’s make one thing clear, Captain. You try to project again and each of you gets a bullet. Equality is a virtue, after all, isn’t it,” he announced rather than asked, voice flat all the same as he threatened and mocked what Steve had fought for even since the damn 1940’s. “But I feel like I should inform you that the gun is aimed at Agent Spectre’s head, ready to make her open her third eye to eternity.”

You winced at the imagery and squeezed your eyes shut, a ghost of pain you had never felt circling at the centre of your forehead already.

“Where should we aim at the Captain’s body, what do you think, Agent Spectre?”

“Steve, please stop.”

The words were out of your mouth before you could think twice, quiet and shockingly calm to your own ears.

And even more surprising was the soft sound of metal and fabric as Steve shifted and a single deep ragged breath of his – and the silence that settled after.

He listened to you.

It was as scary as soothing.

You’d get to live a few more moments. And hopefully, he wouldn’t get punished by another gunshot wound. It was a little naïve to believe Hydra would have had any morals and wouldn’t shoot him just to prove a point, but a girl could hope and send a last wish, right?

You had two of those. For Steve to survive and be okay. And for every single person who was in this room with you to suffer unimaginable pain. You weren’t as virtuous as Steve was; had it been a little more realistic than it was, you’d have even wished for you being the one who would be the cause of it too.

The gun lowered minutely, the safety clicking back on, the softest shift of the air telling you the Head Douche let his arm fall to his side. You allowed yourself to breathe in shakily, eyes fluttering open despite your eyelashes growing heavy with tears.

“Touching,” the man commented, unimpressed. “I guess the other shoulder will do then, Mitch. Be ready. Now, as for you, darling, you just stay still. I believe it’s time to proceed. After all, discovery requires experimentation.”

Another violent shudder rocked your body as you recognized the words; the man smiled slightly, a twinkle of vicious glee in his hard gaze when he noticed.

A fire of rage lit up every achy cell in your body.

Asshole. Revelling in suffocating people with fear. Smiling when he had his henchmen to do his dirty work. Feeling so powerful with brainless goons to protect him and do his bidding. The perfect stereotypical bully, all the worse for Nazis being his divine inspiration.

You had no chance of overpowering him whatsoever and he had aimed a gun at you just a few seconds ago and yet, you couldn’t but spit the words burning on your tongue, disgust dripping from your tone despite being aware you truly shouldn’t poke the bear. Or the ancient strange octopus they worshiped for that matter.

“You really should lay off reading all that Reinhardt’s crap.”

The Head Douche cocked his head to side, one corner of his lips rising as he stepped away to make space for Doctor Barret and the glowing artifact.

“That’s doctor Reinhardt to you, Agent Spectre,” he corrected you, the dark glee in his face shining brighter. “He was quite the visionary. I’m glad you’re familiar with his work. Because if this simple exchange doesn’t work as we hope, we’ll move on to his methods. I heard the last Inhuman he had in his care, while still carrying the name you just used, ended up in so many pieces they had trouble reconstructing her body to stitch her up. They barely succeeded, even with her regenerative abilities… I think bleeding out from bullet wounds would be the merciful route for you, wouldn’t it?”

You weren’t proud of it, not in the slightest. But as panic slammed into you, you trembled, your lower lip wobbling.

You had heard the story of Jiaying. An Inhuman who had fascinated Reinhardt, or Doctor Whitehall, as he had been known later. At the death’s doorstep himself, he had been freed from SHIELD’s prison and got his chance to finally examine the woman who hadn’t aged. To experiment. To cut her open, taking a sample of anything he could, and another and another, eventually succeeding at reversing his own aging process.

And dumping the remnants of her body, only for her husband to stitch her up; ironically, for both her to become a villain just as bad.

You supposed Head Douche had a point after all. A bullet would be a mercy, even as that was hardly a pleasant option.

You had no doubt they would shoot you one more time the second they’d find out they stole Steve’s power.

Then again, maybe they would take great joy in seeing you die slowly and in pain, digging into your wounds for fun and took a few samples anyway, in the name of science, despite already getting what they wanted. That was the kind of fuckery Hydra did, didn’t they?

And then, they would do the same with Steve.

But if he was the second, that meant he had more time. And by then, the backup might finally arrive.

The glow of the artifact felt warm, even as the metal still hadn’t touched you; an undeniable reminder of who you were. What you were.

Last flare of fight rippled through you, but it was gone just as fast.

You’d be too slow. You could eliminate the henchmen who held you, maybe, if you pushed hard through the pain, but they were still gunshot wounds. You had already seen and felt the results of standing up, the damage to the muscles too severe. And even if you by some miracle managed to get rid of the doctor too, there were still two other people, both of them with a clearly twitchy finger. Anything less than superspeed combined with superstrength was useless.

You were useless.

You closed your eyes.

“I’m sorry, Steve,” you whispered, trying your best to block your hearing so you wouldn’t hear his reaction, whatever it might be.

You didn’t want to leave this world hearing his disappointment. You had had enough of it throughout your whole life. You were ashamed enough all on your own, but you didn’t have any strength, will, or chance to keep fighting.

So you slowly breathed in and out, vainly trying to relax as you felt the artifact pulse near your cheek, and you accepted your fate.

Had Steve been in your place, he wouldn’t have – you were sure of it. But you weren’t him. Despite what he had said, unlike him, you were only human. And the fact was that even if you did somehow neutralize everyone in the room, Mitch and whoever was in Steve’s cell would just… neutralize Steve.

And you couldn’t have that.

You squeezed your eyes tighter, feeling your body shake even as you tried not to give them the satisfaction of seeing you scared. You cursed the lonely tears rolling down your cheeks. You sent a quick prayer to whatever messed up God listening.

And then you realized it wasn’t you who was shaking.

It was the ground.  

And it wasn’t shaking – it was quaking.

In your mind’s eye, you smiled and then laughed – hysterically. These assholes should quiver in their boots. They had no idea what force of nature was about to hit them.

Agent Daisy Johnson had been a force to reckon with even since she had joined; but Quake would take them by storm.

Or more precisely, by an earthquake.

“What the-“

Before you could let the relief envelop you, a deafening noise swept over the room, the wave of sheer power seemingly shattering your bones.

When darkness pulled you under, it was with a weak, but real smile on your face.

Next chapter

Series masterlist // S.R. masterlist

That’s right, folks, Quake is coming 👀

This chapter took a long time and I'm aware... life's been happening (and not always in a good way) and this chapter was a long one and heavy one to write, despite the oy it brought me. Please, consider leaving a comment if you can - let me know your thoughts, I love reading them!

FYI, I couldn’t resist Quake making an appearance and I couldn’t resist the heart to heart over the wall, it was actually one of the scenes I’ve had written down first along with the screaming match at the beginning of the series 🥹

I hope March is kind to you 💕

[streussal]

i 100% agree with u about the fight, my question is why do you think they even included that scene? i don't feel like it tells us anything we don't already know & it gives ppl who dont remember the original scene opportunity to believe louis was the aggressor.. don't know how to feel about it to be frank

I got this ask after I made this post. Responding almost 4 days later so I don't know if the anon will see this, but I have some thoughts.

First of all, no matter how strongly a piece of media demonstrates who is the bad guy in a situation, there's always going to be people who side with the abuser, ESPECIALLY if the abuser is a white male and the victim is anyone other than a white male. Louis straight up said in the scene (LESTAT'S VERSION) "like you wrapped your hands around our daughter's neck" so it's pretty clear he's responding to Lestat attacking Claudia. On stage, Lestat goes off script and insists that it was wrong of him to drop Louis from the sky, and that afterwards Louis was "a broken thing. I know, I saw, because I am the one that broke him". He then follows this with the admission that he did it because Louis hurt his feelings, not because of any threats or violence from Louis: “I couldn’t persuade him to return my affections. I could force him to love me. And so, I broke him.” If people don't get that Lestat was in the wrong here, I don't think there's anything else the writers can do.

As for why I think the show gave us that scene:

Playing around with different points of view is neat, and showing different recollections of the same event is a recurring thing in this show. (I'm torn on whether this is Lestat's actual recollection or just something the coven added to make Louis look bad - see my interpretation that Lestat is being coerced into participating in the trial - but either way it plays into one of the themes of the series.) Yes showing the POV of an abuser could backfire if it falls into victim blaming but I think the show handled it very well (and there is a portion of the audience that is always going to see Lestat as the victim even when he straight up says he was the bad guy in a situation).

It shows Louis physically protecting Claudia AND prioritizing her over Lestat. One of the major criticisms of Louis is his failure to do either of these things, so I actually think it made a lot of people like him better. Most of the twitter reactions I saw, from people who accepted the scene as 100% fact, was people talking about how great it was that Louis was ready to kill the guy who hurt his daughter.

It allows Jacob Anderson to do something different! One of the reasons I'm suspicious of this version of events with Louis cackling is that I have not seen Louis act quite like that before. But Jacob definitely sold it! Makes me wonder if maybe this is yet another side of Louis! I don't know! It adds rewatch value.

The acknowledgement that Lestat dropping Louis from the sky really did do long term damage to Louis. Not just physically. He became "a broken thing" - there was serious psychological damage. After he got back together with Lestat, we never really saw him push back against Lestat again. A lot of his time in Paris is a reaction against being in an abusive relationship. (And then he gets in another one, which happens a lot in real life.)

But I think it's also significant that right after this scene, we saw Lestat's remorse. And a much more real apology than anything we saw in s1. Now obviously this does not fix anything. (Claudia highlights this - "Can I cry and say sorry too?" - She and Louis tried to kill Lestat and are on trial, Lestat nearly kills Louis and just gives an apology.) But it gives the possibility that perhaps Lestat has changed or realized that he needs to change. And given that the showrunner has repeatedly referred to Loustat as the central love story of the series (link)... we need to see that Lestat is not going to do the same thing again. We want him to be better for Louis. Not that it would ever be an entirely healthy relationship (they are vampires), but not "drop him the sky requiring months of recovery" level awful. (@awildwickedslip wrote an interesting post relating to this here)

[neutron-stars-collision]

Genuinely one of my biggest pet peeves about Bridgerton is the sheer amount of double standards within the fandom.

For years now some elements of the Kathony fandom have come for Luke and Nicola over Simone and Jonathan's promo during season 2. Yes they had very limited promo together, and other cast members got photo shoots together, and they didn't. I can get the annoyance and perhaps there is more nuance than I can understand, but it was in the midst of the pandemic, and I believe Jonathan also took a theatre job to help it get back on track. But that does not mean it is Luke and Nicola's fault that they were able to shoot covers together and do a massive world tour. I wish Simone and Jonathan were able to, but sadly they weren't due to covid, and potentially other things, but that does not mean they deserve the abuse.

Which brings me to another - for some reason Colin/Luke are held to an impossibly high standard. Yes Colin has said some not nice things about Penelope throughout all the seasons. But equally so, Simon and Anthony have too; arguably worse. But Luke literally gets hate for what his character said - words he has no say over.

Admittedly, I was disappointed in a chunk of season 3, Nicola and Luke did the most with what they were given, Luke more so. I'll watch future seasons until the end, but I won't be as invested. I am literally here for the Polin crumbs from now on.

Apologies that this ended up so long.

As I've mentioned before, I've only really been here since April so much of that previous fandom nastiness passed me by, but I've seen my fair share of it already, and yeah, you have a point, Anon. Like the concept of such intense ship wars on a show like Bridgerton makes literally zero sense to me. All couples are canon, so there should be no drama. And yet.

I don't know what it is that makes others hate Nic and Luke with such ferocity, and I don't think I'll ever understand. Like surely these people know that neither Nic nor Luke had any say in the promo of their season?? They aren't a part of the marketing team. It might've been unfair what happened to Simone and Johnny, but that's not Polin's fault.

And don't get me started on the hate Colin receives. I've seen someone here say that Colin is held up to the same scrutiny as female leads usually get, and that's spot on. It's just wild bc for me, a show watcher only, Colin is the greenest of flags and the most decent of Bridgerton men. Sure he's made some mistakes, but then who hasn't? Characters are allowed to be flawed. The fact that Newts also gets hate for his character's actions is another level of fucked up. This fandom needs a whole deal of grass touching.

I know what you mean, I'm definitely only staying for Polin crumbs and I know that no one else will capture my heart like them. As you can see I also got impassioned in the response, so don't apologise <3

[stevie-petey]

Hi! I know it's pretty late to be asking this but I got a random blurb idea at three in the morning so I thought I'd send it in before I forgot it. It's for season one, episode 5/6.

After Steve finds Jonathan and Nancy in her bed and tells bug she deserves better he drives off with Tommy and Carol. Basically his POV that whole car ride. He's grieving, in disbelief and heartbreak. He's angry and sad, not only for himself but for bug. Tommy and Carol are only riling him up at this point. Remember how Tommy or Carol said something like " wow Steve you're right she really is pathetic to still stay with him" maybe we see the convo where that came from. I feel like he was excited to be around who he thought were Nancy's friends outside of barb, and it all came crashing down.

Again this is really random and super late but I was just thinking about season one Steve and this scenario popped into my head. For being such a little shit Steve really is handsome.

i loooove this idea omg yes ! n never apologize for sending blurbs i love doin em

enjoy <3

"did henderson really defend that creep?" carol practically throws herself over the drivers seat in disbelief of what steve has just said.

"she did." steve tightens his hands around the steering wheel. his mind is reeling. hes hurt, hes so fucking hurt, and hes angry. for you, for what nancy has done to him, for what jonathan has done to you. for years youve been his little pet, always doting on the boy, and he still has the fucking nerve to hurt you like this. "shes pathetic."

the words burn steves tongue. he regrets them immediately.

tommy snorts. "i mean, yeah. shes hot, but at least have some self respect, ya know?"

the boys words only cause steve to tighten his grip on the steering wheel harder. youre not pathetic; youre selfless. youre so fucking selfless and always see the good in people. it infuriates steve. youre everything and more, and hes seen people abuse this rare kindness for years. make fun of you for it, mock you as if the kindness you bring isnt a breath of fresh air for everyone.

he hears a yelp next to him and steve knows that carol has slapped tommy for calling another girl hot in front of her.

"i just dont get it," steve sighs out. theres so much he wants to ask, to say and plead and demand. he cant get the betrayal in your eyes out of his head. youd looked devasted when hed told you what he saw at nancys. how jonathan had been wrapped around her.

and yet even as the hurt crossed upon your face, you still managed to swallow down the hurt and see the good in people.

in the people who didnt fucking deserve it.

"fuck if i know, man." tommy rubs at his arm and glares at carol.

she simply rolls her eyes at him and goes back to picking at her nails. "why do we assume she even knows how to do anything other than put on that angelic act bullshit?"

"what, like she doesnt know how to be mean?" tommy asks, furrowing his brows.

steve stares straight ahead. "all shes ever been is kind."

"exactly," carol throws herself against the drivers seat again. "whos to say its real? not some creepy act? better yet: how do we know shes not, like, fucked up in the head?"

youre not. steve has seen your intelligence. youre the top of your class and hes had to shamefully ask you for help with english homework.

tommy frowns again. "wait, i thought she was smart."

"god, youre dumb." carol shakes her head. "what i mean is, what if she physically incapable of being mean. like, some chemical imbalance in her brain."

"could explain her freakish devotion to byers." tommy says.

steves grip tightens once more hearing the boys name. jonathan byers. resident creep who somehow has captured the heart of hawkins sweetheart. the same boy who has now cheated on her with steves girlfriend.

he will never understand this.

nancy has hurt him, shes abandoned him like everyone else has, and he knows that somehow its his fault.

but you? you dont deserve any of this.

what carol has said makes sense. maybe you really dont know how to be mean. if youre physically incapable of it, then steve decides that he has to do something about it.

if you need to be mean, then he'll be mean for you.

[bobbydagen24]

yes JD and Bruce are abusive and Bro zone are Toxic overall and its worrying to me how some in the fandom either can't see this or actively choose to ignore it.

( I Guess this is my return to Trolls fandom posting tho I won't be Doing it as Regularly as I used to )

for starters people seem to write off the argument scene as if its somehow JD and Bruce behaving out of character or its understandable and morally complex when it really isn't

they knew this was a source of pain for Branch ( them being absent for a most of his life since he was upset with both of them when they first met up again )

but they Decided to mock and belittle him for wanting them to be a family again

completely unprovoked since Branch didn't even say anything to them that could possibly trigger such a cruel response such as if he had lashed out in anger

which would have been understandable given he didn't even want anything from his Brothers at the start but Jd and Bruce basically emotionally lured him back in via love bombing

aka acting overly chummy with him and basically ignoring any actual more serous emotions such as Bruce just ignoring Branch's valid feelings of upset towards him

and then wanting to Dump him at the first sign of inconvenience and cruelly emotionally abusing him when he didn't just quietly accept what they wanted

like this is textbook abusive behaviour if you see someone behaving like this its a red flag and its worrying how the fandom ignores this.

simply because Jd and Bruce have surface level likable personalities again something most abusers have as it makes them seem very trust worthy

I said before in another post that the fandom Judges Bro zone on a surface level and this is what I meant as they look at the two or 3? scenes

of them acting like nice people and just Decided that's who they were even tho in said scenes they only acted Decent when literally everything was going their way

as soon as JD and Bruce faced any kind of problem they acted badly which is far more likely to be their true colours because you Really see someone for who they truly are in these kinds of moments

same with Crimp literally standing by and keeping quiet over kidnapping and torture simply because she didn't want to have the inconvenience of finding a new Job.

its strange to me how people write this off as not being the real them when its how they behave for most of the movie and they act in ways that show it

you can be as condescending as you like such as other Bro zone Defenders have been to me in the past by saying stuff like

"" your blatantly missing the point of the character ""

but truth is that isn't valid because Guess what? just because the writers want you to see a character one way does not mean that is who the character they put into their work actually is

we have to judge the characters based on the content we have of them in the work of fiction not what the writers intended them to be

because those two things don't always match up a writer could try and write a certain character as being sympathetic or a good person at heart

but if the content in their own story does not back that up its no one's fault but the writers it isn't the fault of the audience for calling them out on writing shitty people and not Realising it.

and writing a message that amounts to Blood entitling people to Treat you badly and abandon you and not give a shit about you for years on end like Bruce and Clay and Floyd did

( which shows that their care towards Branch and each other is very surface level when they were willing to Drop each other so quickly both in past and present day and only acted nice to each other when it was convenient and easy )

yet its on you to "" fix "" them and forgive them because lord knows they won't be the ones to put in the effort and change and admit to any wrongdoing

like for as much as the fandom complained about Creek's return in TBGO which yes was Rushed as Hell at least he actually admitted to wrong doing and apologised

something Bro zone never did besides Clay but even that was a weak sounding apology that didn't even sound very emotional or sincere tbh.

people complained about Creek's lack of Remorse yet Bro zone show a lack of remorse throughout except for literally one brief animation panel which the fandom loves to go crazy over because its literally the only thing you have that indicates any regret

but it comes after Branch finally stands up to them and leaves so 1. he never sees any remorse or acknowledgment of wrongdoing from his "" Brothers "" yet he still gives them another chance

and 2. it lasts like 1 minute and it comes after they were literally emotionally tearing him down for no bloody reason so that alone should not be enough for the fandom

it Really is the equivalent to your partner getting angry and hitting you and then feigning a little bit of remorse after you threaten to leave them

and later on you give them another chance because they promise to change while never actually admitting to doing anything wrong and of course the cycle repeats.

which I kinda suspect is what the writers are Hoping for because this movie's message Honestly feels like it was written by an abuser

who feels their victim should have to make the effort and put up with whatever shit they throw at them and give them unlimited second chances

no matter how many times they Hurt them.

to be clear I don't actually have a problem with all people who simply like Bro zone's characters my problem is

there's a stark Difference between liking say a morally Grey Douchbag character

and liking a character who is a bad person and making excuses for them plenty of people like characters like Joe Goldberg or Walter White

but there's a difference between fans who enjoy them because they are complex and enjoyable Villains and bad people vs fans who feel like they are actually great people deep down

and thus attempt to justify every single one of their actions and behaviours because otherwise they'd feel bad for enjoying their characters.

those are the Bro zone fans who Bother me and who I feel aren't taking away very Healthy messages from this movie

because they are not good people they are not a good family and you can still enjoy a character who is a bad person but it is not okay to try and justify every single one of their actions

and make stuff up in order to make out like they were actually good people or they were actually bigger victims than they really were or that their actions are somehow complex when they really aren't

Hence why the fandom does so much art portraying them as loving and caring because the actual movie itself sure didn't do that.

and why so many fans make stuff up in order to portray JD and Bruce as secretly being more caring for Branch or more sympathetic in the Grander story when they Really aren't

in short I'm worried about the message this movie is sending out to people about personal Relationships and how they seem to be taking it to Heart

people are not perfect but there is a stark Difference between someone not being perfect and someone showing a lack of care or Regard for you your whole life

and showing no basic Respect for your feelings as a person and mistreating you by weaponizing one of your greatest Trauma's simply because they are slightly annoyed by you

that is not excusable behaviour that is Toxic this movie and Bro zone's Defenders do not understand the Difference and it worries me

and it worries me how a real life child who is in a bad family situation may see this movie and Relate it to their own experiences thinking their neglectful or abusive family

may not be perfect but its on them to forgive them and keep shoving second chances on them because they "" aren't perfect ""

but them showing you the Bare minimum of affection every now and then must mean that they really care about you and you have to stand by them.

just like Branch did with his family this movie's message is not only Toxic its irresponsible for a movie viewed by many young children to put out there.

that's why I'm so against this movie and its message and think it needs to be called out more

it isn't just down to me simply disliking it because I didn't enjoy certain aspects its because I legit think this movie could be Harmful to kids in real life

if they take the message on Board it worries me.

anyway this most likely this won't be fixed by a future film the next movie will probably do what Despicable me 4 did with Dru and just not feature them for the whole film

and have them as a quick cameo at the very end and Honestly its probably for the best Bro zone had potential but the writers messed up badly

and created a terrible family who mistreat each other and only show surface level care when its convenient and the writers Genuinely Don't Realise it

and their fans don't care because JD and Bruce act like silly fun guys so they could literally do anything and the fans would still like them and Defend them.

but being likable does not equal being a good person tho and someone showing you tiny scraps of care and affection every now and then

but most of the time mistreating you or not even giving a shit about your very existence does not mean they are a good family member to you

people Deserve better Bro zone Defenders please Realise this otherwise you will end up in a bad Toxic Relationship which no one Deserves.

[trimalchiooframshackle]

Ever wonder how in the hell Jay's death goes? well do I HAVE A STORY FOR YOOUUUU!!! INTRODUCING HIS NEW CAUSE OF DEATH WOAH!!!! !

TW: Alcohol abuse, Drug abuse, suicide/suicidal tendencies, self harm, overdose mention, gore, ???

Quick note?? All of this is canon, yes he dies like this ;P LOLZIES!!!!! ALso if its all over the place i apologize i am fighting a moth while writing this /srs kinda curious to know how anyone reacts to it, so... if you wanna put that down or make a post go for it, honestly im kinda considering having this be my closing post but idk yet lol </3

The sound of a gunshot can never be heard over crowds laughing and music blasting. Fireworks in the air, water from the pool splashing... The loud BANG deaf to everyone's ears. How could we know that? The only way it was learned was finding the body of Mr. Jay Gatz. In the highest point of his manor, overlooking the crowd below...

Let's start from square one.

Jay felt... Unwanted. Alone, if you will. As a man who's built himself and his business up only for the sake of overthrowing others, he wasn't the most enjoyed man around. Normally he would've handled this by now. The dread, the self pity, everything he had thought about himself was always kept inside. Why not now? Standing alone, pathetic... In the office he had to himself. Bookcases covering the walls of obscure novels that he hasn't even read, a desk holding messy stacks of various papers, making him feel even worse about himself. A never ending ringing phone before he cut it, the gusts of wind blowing from the outside rustling against the curtains behind him. What a pitiful life.

An outsider. That's all he was, wasn't he? Standing up on that balcony of his, absent to anyones attention besides the solemn glow of the moon above him, and even that was leaving him soon. The fireworks lit up the mansion, the people below, the water, and the champagne bottles crashing and being tossed around to be used. He lit a cigarette, holding it for just a moment then he took a drag.

...After another drag, and another, and another... He put out the cigarette... On his own arm. He winced at the burning feeling against his skin, but another scar wouldn't hurt... Right? Scars were littered all over his body anyway, just another part of him to be ruined. He lit another cigarette then walked inside to grab a bottle of vodka from his own personal storage of alcohol. Never touched unless he was feeling more pathetic than other nights.

Ha, maybe this time he can drink himself to death. Or maybe Perkins will call the ambulance again. Jay hoped to whatever god there was above he wouldn't survive this time. His shaky hands moved to the bottle, bringing it up to his lips before pausing. A week of sobriety.

...He can restart another day. Or in another life, perhaps.

He took a drink. The burn of the alcohol going down his throat being a feeling of discomfort but satisfaction was one that he had somehow managed to miss. Gatz went back out to the balcony, drinking away his sorrows before he couldn't even find himself having any emotion anymore. The rich man could barely hear the knocks at the door, let alone the sound of a man calling for his name.

Soon enough, the door opened unbeknownst to Jay. The only thing that managed to get his attention was a quiet voice coming from the darkened room, lit by only one light. But now... There was another. Then another light on as the person flicked on the light switches. ...Perkins.

➳ ❜ Ah, Jay! I was worried about you, sir! Are you doing alright up here? It's quite... Quiet up here. ❛

No response. Jay turned back to stare into nothing.

➳ ❜ Oh, I see... Maybe you should sit down, I can grab you some tea and- ...Well, maybe not any medicine, I don't want to... Let that happen again. ❛

It wasn't needed to be discussed anymore, it was obvious Perkins was referring to the prior... Attempts Jay had made. In an attempt, Perkins had tried his best to hide anything that Jay could use to end things. As of now, it was working. With a slow approach, Perkins had walked over to Jay. Placing down the lantern he held with a small blow to put it out, he found himself standing next to his boss. Or, rather, his semi-adopted son.

The silence felt like a million years. Perkins, thinking of how to approach this properly, feeling the fatherly need to sit there and just be someone for Jay to lean on, but he knew it wasn't a night for that. All he knew is that he could NEVER leave Jay alone in a state like this. He heard a small mutter of a sob coming from next to him.

╰┈➤ ❜ ...Perkins... Can we go inside? ❛ 

➳ ❜ Of course my boy. ❛

Jay tiredly swung his arm around Perkins shoulders as he got guided back into the office, letting the shorter man take the vodka from his bruised and shaky hand. Within the next minute or so, he found himself sitting in the rather comfortable office chair he had right infront of his desk. Almost immediately he put his arms down on the desk and put his head down on them, shielding his face in some form of fear of what'll happen next.

➳ ❜ Jay- ❛

╰┈➤ ❜ You can leave now Perkins. ...I'm fine on my own. ❛ 

➳ ❜ I'm worried, my boy. I can't just leave you like this. Not because it's my job but it's because I care- ❛

Jay's body tensed. Perkins froze as he could practically feel the cold emotion that came from the man right next to him.

╰┈➤ ❜ You don't have to lie to me, Perkins. ❛ 

Silence. Jay thought he had left, but he hadn't. When Jay lifted up his head he saw Perkins sitting quietly next to him. ...Looks like he's here for a while.

╰┈➤ ❜ ...Am I gonna be left alone forever, Perkins? ❛ 

➳ ❜ Oh- of course not! You have plenty of people who would love to be around you - ❛

╰┈➤ ❜ ...Then why has everyone left me? ...Everyone except you. I can't keep being alone like this. ❛ 

➳ ❜ I know, I know... And I'm not getting any younger... But trust me, I won't leave you all alone. You don't deserve that. ❛

╰┈➤ ❜ ... ❛ 

Jay stood up, then went to grab another bottle of vodka. Perkins got up to take the bottle, only for Jay to look down with a look he has only seen a few times. He was desperate for some form of numbing. ...Perkins sighed. He held up a single finger to signal he can only have one glass.

Jay agreed.

He got the glass and drank it quickly as if it were medicine. And it has been his medicine. Ever since he was younger, more vulnerable. Manipulated, oblivious, it's always been his escape.

╰┈➤ ❜ ...If I were to give you the rest of my wealth, would you let me die? ❛ 

Silence. Shock. A beat went by.

➳ ❜ Of course not. I wouldn't let you die at all. ❛

╰┈➤ ❜ Oh. ❛ 

Jay was quiet again. He exhaled and took a drag of the cigarette he had lit earlier. Blowing it out, he looked to the floor with some thought. Jay then opened a drawer in the desk, rummaging around then he let a metal item clatter into the desk.

A gun.

Perkins froze. He took a step forward and Jay put his hand on the gun. Not as a warning to Perkins, but to himself. The blond male slowly picked it up and showed that it was loaded.

╰┈➤ ❜ I was told I needed therapy. You know, I think I’m too far gone. What’s the point of it if im just a lost cause? I’ve been crying and telling too many people my sob story. At this point this… This is better. ❛

➳ ❜ No you’re not too far gone, Jay. …Put down the gun, okay? We can talk about this- ❛

The now slowly breaking millionaire then stood up sharply, stepping back. He took the gun along with him. Then… He snapped. Immediately bursting into tears, he found himself breaking every pushing second. His hands shaking more, he held the gun up to his own head.

╰┈➤ ❜ Talk about what, Perkins? How long have you tried to help me? I’ve been nothing but a waste of time, and god… God I BET if I just- if I just SHOT myself RIGHT NOW, NOBODY OUT THERE WILL HEAR OR CARE, RIGHT?! Who’d go to my funeral? You? Who else? Huh? ❛

Silence. Perkins simply walked over and hugged Jay, catching him off guard. Jays body tensed up again, trying to find a way to keep his composure but failing miserably. The gun slightly moved away from his head, then it sharply went back.

One last exhale, and one last sentence.

╰┈➤ ❜ If you want me to live another day, I need you to start running. Get to the nearest phone. ❛

God, why was he doing this? Why was he trying to help himself? He knew he’d die by then. Somehow, Perkins listened and immediately rushed to the nearest phone only to see Jay had cut the line, then opened the door to go outside. Jay stared.

The door closed, leaving Jay alone.

…Then the gun went off.

Silence. Darkness. Not a feeling. Just… emptiness.

When the paramedics got there Jay was already as dead as can be as he laid in Perkins arms. He had staged it as a murder, writing to Perkins in a final note to never specify it was suicide, but say it was homicide. The people wouldn’t care how he died.

The sight was grim. His only butler making an effort to help, holding him up as if he were still going to live. It was a desperate attempt, really, like a father begging to bring his son back from the dead. The once lively millionaire deceased, his body tense and the blood and brain matter pooling from his head onto the fur rug he had died on. His eyes were still open, only this time they were a monotone and distant blue with less saturation than ever. His skin was pale, suit tattered most likely from the fall. The cigarette lay on his hand, slowly burning at the skin. As he lay there, people were crowded around. Some were investigators, others were people who simply wanted to see. Others taking photos to post on the papers as soon as possible.

…And now Perkins was left to handle the rest of the work Jay had set up.

[funficwriter]

Celestial is Cruel (Tartaglia/Childe x Recruit!Reader)

A/N: Not much, apart from the fact that damn I got some... Fantasies. Fucked up ones but I'd be lying if I said I didn't have a blast writing it. Hopping on to part 2!

Warnings: Sad, disrespect of graves, abuse of power, slight motif of punishment, kinda yandere, horny Tartaglia with even worse timing, talk of a dead friend.

He hated every single thing about this ordeal. The uncomfortable position on the tree was the least of them. At least it offered a good view of you.

He hated how you wailed like a child, because his sweet little recruit shouldn't be sad. He hated how you were laying on the tombstone, arms splayed out as if hugging your dearly departed friend, because such a passionate embrace should only be for him. He hated the flowers you got him tonight, because they symbolized mourning.

He hated it all, because you were giving everything... Your emotions, attentions, presence and more... To another man.

A dead one, too. Really, now! This is how you spent your free nights the last few weeks? Did they stop teaching cadets to not be too attached to each other? That the Fatui had death everyday?

No matter. As your Lord, he was going to put an end to this. He was going to put you back on the right path as a recruit. His recruit.

----------------

Deeper into the icy woods, laid your friend's grave. It was particularly hard to get to by virtue of being so nestled.

One wouldn't have to go as deep to hear you. It's been weeks and you still have such nights, wailing and apologizing to your companion of years. You also never dared an appearance without flowers, even if he wouldn't mind.

Your body felt cold against the tombstone. You could never pinpoint the exact time that you laid down in this manner, arms sore from sprawling them out across the stone. Perhaps once you stopped denying his death. But what really took your energy was your crying.

"I'm sorry, Julian! I'm sorry, I should have taken that hit, and you should be here! I'm sorry, forgive me...".

When you two were cadets, you were constantly warned about the possibility of losing your comrade. You were told, time and time again, 'don't get too attached to each other'. But hearing it in the classroom was worlds different than facing it. You two would laugh about it and drink afterwards, bantering back and forth:

"If I die, you better bring hyacinths instead of roses! I hate those spiral-ey shits!"

"In that case, you better tell me who's dating who over a bottle of fire-water! You can splash it on my tombstone!"

"Forget this old graveyard etiquette, you can chill out on mine if you need to get away from everyone else!"

Now here you were, with this banter being closer to reality.

Forget your status within the Fatui. Forget the heightened expectation of 'getting over' your friend because 'this happens everyday, it's part of our job'. Forget the potential displeasure of your Harbinger; You knew you were going to face his wrath at some point, but for now, you just needed some space to be a messy griever, consequences to be damned and faced.

"Julian... I don't wanna go back yet. I want to stay a bit more...".

"Y/N.".

Of course he'd seek you out. You tried to adhere to your usual duties, but it was obvious that you needed a bit more time to get back on par. Especially by his standards.

His hulking shadow engulfed your figure, even more so as he bent down to your level. You felt his hand patting your shoulder and looked up to meet his eyes.

"There, there. At least we both know that he died for the Tsaritsa's cause. The most honorable way to go.".

You sniffled: "But he was so young... We still count as fresh recruits, and he was always so resilient...".

"Yes, I know that. Julian was a remarkable unit, and a fine comrade...".

His hand could never remain in one place for too long, least of all if your body's concerned. You wanted to smack him when you felt it slide down to waist level, waiting for more. You were expecting this, but right on Julian's resting place? Really?

"But remember, my dear, that this isn't clerking; This is the Fatui. Great units are still at high risk, no matter how powerful they are...".

It wasn't fully here yet, but you knew where all of this was going. How could you not? You've been performing at a 'sub-par' level in comparison to your usual, you've spaced out thinking of Julian more than a few times, and though you did your best, many who came in contact with you swore up and down that eyes could never look as glossy as those of you losing your friend. All behavior unfitting for Tartaglia's prodigy.

It was very obvious that something has changed, and this will affect your Lord as well. He can't let you keep this up; It's his job as your superior to rectify this in whatever way he sees fit. A messy, moping recruit wasn't a good asset to have.

And you knew Lord Tartaglia - Childe, how fitting. If said way could bring him some sort of fun or pleasure, he was going to take it. For it to involve his sweet, little overachieving soldier? Well, the constant lip-licking was expected.

So did the wandering hand, pulling himself a little closer to you. Now your waist was almost encircled by his arm.

"I'm not saying you're bad for feeling like this. You're human. But you both knew what you signed up for. I myself has a couple of near-death experiences and lost comrades, and I'm a Harbinger.".

He could soften his tone all he wanted. You knew this talk was rehearsed. It sounded too much like his usual cold reading voice. You'd assume someone who felt your pain would be a little more empathetic, more supportive. But him? He was doing a horrible job hiding the excitement in his eyes, the prospect of 'putting you in line'. You looked down; The tent in his pants further told you what you needed to know. What did it matter if your face was still blotchy from crying?

You backed away while asking: "Lost comrades?".

"Yup. Ya know, I had this friend, Antony, who I bunked with back in our cadet days. He always sang for us at parties. Really fun guy. We also talked about our families so you can bet we were close.".

"What happened to him?".

The acting was losing whatever little effort it had: "Burned to death. I mourned too, I liked him a lot. But this is part of the job. This can be expected any day, any mission, and our friends aren't exempt by being loved.".

He made a good point. Julian wasn't going to be spared, and if his power couldn't save him, your friendship certainly wouldn't.

Celestia is cruel.

You looked up to Childe's face: "Anything you want to say?".

"Celestia is cruel. And so are you right now.".

Did you screw yourself over with the second part? You weren't intending on saying it out loud, but repression and your mind being on your friend 6 feet under will have you doing that.

He chuckled and decided that the waiting game was over. He got up on the tombstone, looming over you. Though you've stared into his empty blue eyes a lot, you never manage to shake off that mix of morbid wonder and fear at how... Soulless they were. Did Antony notice too?

"Me?".

"I'm sorry, my Lord, but yes. I'm mourning right now. Can we wait until we're in your quarters, because it's a grave...?".

You didn't have the energy to defend yourself more fiercely. Though you were still relatively young (at least by Fatui standards), your tonality belonged to a retired officer who's seen too much in one life.

You didn't defend yourself physically either. You didn't stop Childe from laying you down onto the stone, nor did you really admonish his lust on top of your friend's grave. You wanted to, but for one, he could easily overpower you, maybe even get harsher under the pretense of 'not obeying your Lord'. Paired up with your tired body, you felt helpless.

"You're correct, Y/N. Celestial is cruel. So cruel for seeing two adorable recruits, so dependent on each other... Then snatching one and leaving the other to suffer.".

He grabbed your hands to intertwine his fingers with yours. The backs of them were on the cool, grey stone, not at all like this fiery man above you. Like Schneznaya and Natlan. Ice and fire. As above, so below not in terms of temperature, but cruelty.

"And me... Well, I'm a Fatui Harbinger. Being a little cruel is guaranteed at this rate."

At last, he captured your lips with his. This kiss was unlike the few others you shared. He was the hungriest you've known. The most lustful you've seen.

What would Julian think?

You wanted to step back, even if the primal in you told you to stay. At some point, you did, only for him to grab your face.

"Now, now, comrade... You haven't been performing to your usual standard. It's my job as your Lord to end this. We can't fall behind the other legions, can we?".

He trailed off to your neck, nipping right where he knew you were most sensitive. Those whimpers were meant to be moans, only you weren't going to let them out.

"Wait, my Lord-".

There was the spot; right above your collarbone, just at the base of the neck. Did you really think he wouldn't know at this point? There was still a fading mark from last time, so he guessed it needed a renewal.

He chuckled and looked down into your eyes: "I know you way too well, Y/N. I'd say...".

He always liked cutting off his thoughts through kissing or nipping. You heeded out every word of his for years, it's basically an unconscious habit for you to grin and bear whatever he threw at you if it meant hearing the rest of his sentence.

How devoted. And thank the Tsaritsa for how delicious you were as well. Sometimes he pondered whether she was testing his mental endurance by sending him a recruit of such a lethal combo, along with more attributes befitting of an ideal partner, too.

To remove the last potential competition, putting him under the ground and far away from you, only served as an encouragement to take you.

When he broke away, he relished into the sad look in your eyes. Yes, you were going to be corrected for your poor performance and waste of time, at his hands.

"I'd say... You're right. Celestia is cruel for throwing you to me."

The tug at your collar was only the start. It was going to end with everything else right next to the grave.

You didn't know if souls were a thing, or if they were near, but deep down, you prayed to Julian to forgive the upcoming act.

[astroninaaa]

Can I just.... cellbit suing these people on Twitter feels weird to me. Like they were just believing a potential victim and cellbit didn't exactly refute anything she said previously.

Like I fully believe cellbit and feel bad for him, but suing Twitter users that didn't know that sasa was lying is just odd to me. He should just sue sasa no?

okay yes yes yes yes this is a veeeery good point!!!! thats what i was saying in one of my previous posts - imo the BEST defense these people have is they were just trying to believe a victim, he never denied the claims, in some ways he even agreed with them! he admitted to making mistakes, said he got therapy and changed for the better! and he said all that regarding the accusations, so, like. it was easy to draw the implication that he was owning up to it.

the thing is that there was never any proof, never any investigation, never any judicial action taken against him, never even an official accusation, nothing. it was all sasa's words against his silence. and while yes people were just believing a potential victim, there are limits to things. i believed her for years. i didn't, however, harrass him online because of it. i think the only good way of understanding WHY he's suing specific people is to actually see the tweets, so i'll put some under the cut and talk about them:

[TWs: mentions of pedophilia, abuse, racism, sexual assault, domestic violence, suicide]

this says "here cellbit, a fan for you to abuse just like you did with sasa."

erm. erm. erm. i don't think i even NEED to say anything like what the FUCK is this about.

"Cellbit morally harrassed his ex, made nazi and pedo jokes in old minecraft videos and on twitter, now he changed and everyone likes him because he measures his words, why doesn't Forever get the same treatment? It's selective, admit it"

now, analogies to nazism and pedophilia are both crimes in brazil. this person is accusing him of both without even indicating any proof whatsoever? those are both very serious crimes with very serious punishments.

(i don't speak spanish bear with me. pls feel free to correct me if i translate it wrong)

"the hispanic QSMP community should ask itself if it's right to follow and support someone like cellbit, someone who abused his ex girlfriend, who is a racist and a pedophile, never apologized, and his fans say that his ex girlfriend doesnt want to keep talking about the topic but the truth is that she doesn't for people to keep associating her with something like cellbit, not that she wants people to forget what he did or to act like it never happened. being friends with roier doesn't mean he's a good person."

all the racism and pedophilia claims come mainly from a joke made over 10 years ago. again, he never got convicted of or investigated for anything. this is both difamação AND calúnia tbh

"people are calling him [forever] a pedo because he made a nasty joke lmaooo cellbit would beat the fucking shit out of his girlfriend and it doesnt matter, everything's okay lmaoooo i cant believe this"

there are actually quite a few tweets about cellbit supposedly beating his girlfriend up but sasa never claimed that he did that. she accused him of psychological abuse, not physical. so saying they were just "believing the victim" doesn't work with this accusation specifically, because they literally made it up and it doesn't match with any of her claims, specially back at the time when she hadn't accused him of sexual assault yet.

so interesting to see people literally admitting theyre accusing him of abuse without knowing the details

"people juggle like crazy to ignore the fact cellbit hit sasa, now understanding what Authentic said is impossible"

again, she never claimed he hit her. authentic is another minecraft youtuber who got canceled for saying homophobic stuff.

"is cellbit the one who abused sasa? i'm hoping he kills himself"

yeahhhhhhh there's over 200 of these.

the reason he's suing all these people isn't simply because they believed sasa - it's because they harrassed him. harrassed him, actively tried to harm his image, brought him up when he wasn't even a topic (like to defend forever or authentic) just to say he commited crimes without any proof that he actually committed. so while i think people will be able to say they were just believing the victim, the truth is that he has a lot of support to his claims of being accused of shit without proof. he even added documents to his action that prove he's never been investigated or sued for ANYTHING.

finally, regarding him suing sasa: i bet he will. i'm like, 100% he's already suing her. it's probably under judicial secrecy for now, and we might never get access to it, but,,,,, yeah. he's definitely suing her as well, i think he's just also taking action against people who harrass him online after seven years of taking it silently.

that's the overall i hope it made sense and wasn't too long asjkdbkajsbd still open to answer any other questions :)

[steven-has-exploded]

ive yet to really see anyone else point this out but i think fyodor is going to end up being one of the most gut-wrenchingly unstable and sympathetic (to ME atleast) characters in bsd. what i perceive as foreshadowing for this has all been pretty vague, but thats really only further ammunition considering the way asagiri likes to write via throwing the wildest shit at us out of nowhere at 50mph and expecting us to deal with it. how did i first come to this conclusion? harukawas eye thing

this is going to be long please proceed with caution if you read slowly or just not at literal supersonic speed. rant under cut u know how this works

for those unaware or who have since forgotten the exact details, here is the image explaining harukawas thing with eyes, click to read;

so. fyodors eyes are usually very light, which a few other people have pointed out is probably due to the fact he genuinely believes his goal of ridding the world of abilities is following gods will; almost everything he does is a necessary evil to acheive the idealistic dream of a world without abilities. he understands his actions are wrong, but you cant go through with a goal such as that without doing morally reprehensible things in the process. anws so as user wildflowerteas pointed out his eyes are extremely dark after hes resurrected

now, could this just be signifying that fyodor can now continue doing his fucked up little deeds via his functional immortality? yes. but asagiri doesnt seem to write that way and i need an excuse to defend fyodor because im insane

asagiri generally doesnt write characters, especially important ones, as subscribing to one specific side of the moral compass. sure, there are characters that are more morally good or bad or gray than others, but not every one of their actions is as such. characters arent straight heroes or villains in their actions, and sometimes not even narratively; fitzgerald did everything for his wife to finally be happy and see her daughter again, dazai still trained akutagawa the way he did despite knowing it was abusive because his circumstances couldnt allow him to change before oda died, et cetera

so, lets interpret it another way. fyodors eyes being dark after resurrection may not be a reflection of his sinister personality, but rather the way he views and experiences his own countless deaths. he is purified in death and tainted when hes brought back; at peace in his last moments and destroyed when hes alive again. so what conclusion did this realization bring me to? fyodor is a suicidal maniac and hates his ability hear me out Please

in hindsight it seems really obvious to me now; what other reason could have spurred him on to try to desperately to erase abilities if not because he himself despises his own? his ability is truly the purest act of cruelty someone can experience when driven to the point he has been; it lets him bask in the calm of death, the comfort of everything finally ending, the solace that hes going to be finally rewarded for his actions by god. but only for a moment. once that moment is over, hes torn back into the world of the living, in the body of his own killer, the corpse of his last vessel staring him in the face as if to mock him for what he could never have. it deprives him of the human right to even die. what kind of person who claims to love all humanity wouldnt want to free the world of abilities, if others' have caused them as much pain as his has to him?

okok i apologize for making u hear me wax poetic about an anime twink version of fyodor dostoevsky but if youre still not convinced, which is ok i can see why this would be very insane to someone who isnt obsessed with this guy, i want you to just imagine for a moment how living with that kind of power would effect you. while we dont know fyodors exact age, we can assume that hes been alive for at least about 500 years due to his ability. fyodor isnt some kind of immortal being that has a conveniently human form, he is an actual human being who was first murdered presumably just in his twenties based on his appearance, who then had to slowly come to the realization that he will experience small spots of death before having to continue the same cycle of immortality for forever. human beings cant grasp the concept of infinity; our brains arent wired to deal with the idea, because everything in our own lives comes to an end. fyodor will never experience that. even if you view him as plain evil, pure and simple, no human being wishes to have their brain broken by the hands of infinity. and yet thats what fyodor is experiencing

[petchic101]

Burn the World to Ash

Oops I wrote an Astarion brainrot one-shot? Whaaaaat. Basically what if Tav was an old acquaintance of Astarion's in high society and she was just another victim of the rich and powerful.

Fluff and Angst No smut in this one folks

Word Count: 5371

This is also kind of a trauma dump, how the body reacts to trauma, and how the body reacts when you are dying of blood loss.

TW: eludes to SA and Abuse // Blooood // Death

Enjoy! Please let me know if you want to see more, I have my main play through with my sex positive wood elf xAstarionxHalsinxEmpororxHaleep that I have a tone of ideas for! (mostly smut)

_____________________________________________________

The sun shone brightly on the coastal cliffs as Ren saw an old acquaintance from Baldur’s gate. It pierced off his white locks and pale skin quite vividly. She hadn’t remembered seeing him in this light before, perhaps any light before if she was honest. The high society parties Lorroakan often dragged her to were usually twinkled with firelight after the sun had set. The pale elf had never paid her any attention, odd considering how Lorroakan often paraded her around, dressed provocatively enough to draw any and all attention inevitably towards himself. None of Cazzadors magistrates would flock to her and her master like the other nobility would, even Cazzador himself would stop to pay her false compliments, kiss her hand or smell her hair before talking to the Wizard that kept her. Her eyes had drifted up one of these times, the pale elf stood frozen, staring. Neither daggers nor jealousy met her eyes, but a primal… fear, one of not knowing what was going to happen next.

Suddenly she was on the ground, a knife to her throat, she froze. “Shhhh not a sound, not if you want to keep that pretty little neck of yours.” Her first instinct was to go limp, to comply. He seemed to notice her body language and pressed his knife closer to her, propping himself to get a better angle. He hadn’t yet looked at her as his head turned to her newest companion. “Now you, I saw you on the ship, yes? I need answers or your darling companion will pay the price.

Shadowheart’s fist clenched. “Let her go or I swear to all that is holy-”

“Ah ah ah.” Astarion tsk’d as the dagger pressed to Ren’s neck drawing blood.

“Astarion, yes?” Ren wrapped her hand around the hand holding the knife to her throat. His reaction was knee jerk to the touch and she was slashed. But the attack was sloppy and she was able to roll away with minimal damage to her neck. He quickly jumped to his feet, still holding his dagger at them. “How do you know my name?” He hissed, panic in his red eyes, but they finally registered the girl in front of him. “Gods, your Lorroakan’s pet.” He spat the sentence then sighed rolling his eyes as he hilted his dagger, putting his hands up. “Apologies.” Suddenly the parasite in her head lurched, taking in the quick memories passed between them, not of nights of merriment but a feeling of fear while skulking moonlit Baldur’s Gate. They all held their heads, not used to the sensation. Before a full recovery could be had, Astarion pointed at her, still palming his eye. “You’re some sort of magic witch, explain this!”

Ren looked at him dumbfounded. This beautiful magistrate, plucked from the eves of high society and dropped in the middle of nowhere, why he looked absolutely displaced, a hilarious spectacle. She started laughing, almost keeling over, the somberness of the events were placed on a backdrop of nonsensical impossibilities. Like watching a play where only one of the actors was stuck in song.

Her companions stood awkwardly not knowing what to do, but Astarion puffed his chest, not liking the thought of someone not taking him seriously. “No, no, none of that, do you know what’s going on or not?”

That night at camp things were much calmer, they had managed to gather six survivors from the crash so far, including herself, oddly all of them capable of some form of martial ability or magic. Astarion sauntered up to her while she was alone, much like he did to others at those frequent parties. “How funny it is to run into someone we’ve met before, yes?” His voice was melotic, hypnotizingly so. It hit chords not unlike Cazzadors or Lorrorakan’s but much sweeter all the same.

“I suppose so.” So much had happened today she had almost forgotten how to put on her show, the one she did for high society, it was not something she was hoping to have to do when in a life or death situation. She tried to match her tone to his, a sweet harmony to keep up appearances. “I’m especially surprised you recognized me Sir, we barely saw each other in passing, odd considering how close our patrons are.” She added her own little barb at the end, something Lorroraken would have whipped her for, but he wasn’t here and this man had avoided her like the plague ever since their first meeting.

Astarion paused, perhaps not expecting his tone to be matched so quickly, or perhaps because the barb had actually stung, but she doubted it. He grabbed her hand, bringing it to his mouth. “An error of judgment on my part I’m sure.” As he went to kiss it she ripped her hand from his before she could think. He looked up, shocked. Shit. The fear must have shown on her face, she had just insulted a magistrate, one with a very powerful patron. His face softened but she quickly stood up, giving a slight bow.

“I am sorry Sir, I must be delirious from today’s events.” She straightened herself as he stood next to her. His gaze slowly took her in, her dress was badly torn, exposing old bruises that she probably hadn’t even noticed, was he feeling pity? She was just another victim of the politics inside of the city. She was lucky that Cazzador had banned them from hunting her, she was certainly a beauty, an innocent looking one that would seek comfort in his arms, and Astarion would have been happy to oblige until handing her to her fate. But she was not one of his victims, she was an easy ally to keep, he needed to make sure his grip was tight.

“Don’t be darling, today’s events have all of us out of sorts, perhaps tomorrow we can meet again as allies and not as magistrates and apprentices.” The worms communicate feelings of relief between them and she nodded hesitantly.

“Out here I’m not, how did you put it? ‘Lorroraken’s pet’?” She smirked. A warning, if he were to go to his master about some sort of insult, she could go to hers with the same claim, and this put them truly on equal ground.

Astarion grinned knowingly. She was not the pushover he had been hoping for, but someone formidable makes for easier travel than dragging some tag along noble. In all honesty though,  he could not stop thinking about tasting the blood off of his blade that night. 

_______________________________

The group had made Ren the de facto leader, almost from the fact none of them were willing to step up. Except Laezel of course,  but even she could tell these istyk would only follow one of their own. Karlach was a soldier, Wyll and Gale are self conscious loners with complex mommy or daddy issues. Shadowheart couldn't even remember her favorite book. And of course Astarion preferred the shadows. He did not think she would take to the role well considering how presumably sheltered she was. But her lessons in the nobility paid off, her quick wit in forms of persuasion were a sight to behold. She would not hesitate to use their new powers to get the edge up on whoever they were at odds with, making Astarion wonder if that was a technique her master had taught her to utilize before. She eased into the parties multiple personalities quite readily,  she melded with these people in ways he could not, or perhaps would not. They flocked to her, she was altruistic,  but willing to do what had to be done,  she listened to everyone's problems and promised loyalty and companionship,  she even helped prevent two of their new friends from exploding.  Doing it once would have been a feat in itself,  but it's weird that it happened twice. 

But something that caused Astarion much grief was that she would always find a way to include him,  even when he and the others had a silent understanding that he was better off being alone. Not that she did this all the time,  she gave him plenty of space, but group decisions were always made with the whole group present, his exasperated sighs usually being his only input aside from his snarky comments. He felt himself comforted though,  how she would put herself as a physical barrier between him and the group,  not in an intimidating way,  just something that she picked up on that made him more comfortable.

These past few days they had set up camp in caves or dungeons,  he hadn't hunted beforehand and he cursed himself for it. He was not used to being surrounded by blood this often, the constant smell was intoxicating, especially hers after he had that small snack off of his dagger after their first meeting, and even a small suckle of old blood from her had been the best thing he tasted in 200 years. 

The battle before they set up camp was particularly vexing, they had killed all of the goblins in this abandoned temple,  but fighting that damned drow was a whole ordeal. Ren had stepped in front of him, mage armor made her especially stupid, he was in and out of the shadows usually,  firing sneaked shots in critical places,  but that damn scrying eye stayed on him. Shadowheart had to grab Karlach who had been pushed off the rickety bridge, a half dead goblin still on their tails, the bear kept him occupied though.  He and Ren had been cornered by the drow leader,  but she stood in front of him, quarterstaff defending as rapier and dagger slit her skin, sometimes her magical armor deflected but not enough. She then was quite literally shoved into him, he hit the bookshelves behind them, barely managing to grab her so she wouldn't take the brunt of the force. In doing so her blood had covered him,  bathing him in the sweet smell as his head hit the shelf. Minthara knew this would buy her time and swung to help her companion, not wanting to get overwhelmed from behind. 

Ren seized in and out of consciousness as he fished for a healing potion, he sat them up quickly holding her waist tight so she would stay upright. "Don't die on me now."  He shifted her so he could feed her the potion her hand lifted, cupping his as she drank it. It was one of the more potent ones,  his from the equally shared that were divided amongst them but he didn't care. He needed her to lead this rag tag group,  he needed her alive. He needed to see her smile again, watch her facade slip as she genuinely laughed around a campfire. He needed her. 

The battle finished, all of them nearly dead as Halsin gave some over enthusiastic praise. Shadowheart was out of healing spells, but she managed to patch Ren up for the most part, dried blood and dirt caked her but exhaustion took hold and she fell asleep on top of her bedroll as soon as they got back.  The scent of blood permeated around him. He tried to meditate, read, perhaps relieve himself in other ways,  but nothing worked. And suddenly he was over top of her. Crawling on his hands and knees like some wild cat stalking its prey. He had never indulged himself.  Even when Cazasdor ate in front of him,  letting the blood, off whatever thinking creature, pool on the floor.  He never dared try and lap some up for himself. But tonight he was free, and tonight he was hungry. The campfire casted an uncomfortable spotlight on him as he looked around, no one was awake,  but the light hit him like the heavens judgment for the monster he was. He started with her hand,  lifting it gently,  then a little more fervently to make sure she was asleep. When she didn't stir he slowly started licking her.  Carefully at first then his hunger took over, he lapped his tongue over her uncovered wounds, scraping his teeth against her scabs to hopefully satiate the overwhelming instinct to bite and suck. As skin off her waist broke and as new blood pooled into his mouth he moaned, his hands formed into fists as he shifted his weight to get a better angle. But spawn or not his saliva was still a natural coagulant, and her wounds were shallow compared to what his teeth could do.  As they closed he cursed, sitting himself up and wiping his mouth. And there he saw her bright blue orbs staring at him. The fear of prey written on her face.

"Shit" how did he not hear her heartbeat speed up, for how long she had been awake. He scooted away as she sat up. "It's not what it looks like I swear." He stuttered out,  his regular vibrato gone. Ren rubbed her eyes. The shock of adrenaline to her system had woken her up, but the blood rushing to her head made it feel like it was going to explode.

"It better be what it looks like Astarion." Her voice was a whispered hiss. For some reason she was not trying to wake the others. He waited, confused,  for her to continue. "You were trying to feed I hope, not taking advantage of me, well, not in that way I suppose." She was too calm,  like she hadn't woken up to him feasting on her like a cat lapping up spilt milk.

"Excuse me?" He managed to spit out as the realization hit him. "You knew!? This whole time!? You knew and you didn't even mention it? Not once?" His face scoffed and his nose squiggled up his face making her roll her eyes.

"You're not exactly subtle, Astarion. Though I suppose you only have genuinely smiled around me, the others haven't noticed but you have, let's say, some rather large teeth." She was smirking now,  catching their mysterious companion off guard was quite a feat. He sat more relaxed now as she propped herself up, looking at the wounds. "Closed" she whispered to herself unsurprised.

"I'm sorry I didn't realize I was traveling with Baldur Gate’s local vampire expert!" Astarion flailed his hands making her laugh. But it was a dry one as if she was lost in thought. 

"It's not my… first time being fed on,  Astarion." The words were heavy in her chest as he froze, letting her continue. "Lorroakan would blindfold me and have some of his 'special' guests feed on me sometimes.  I don't know if it was one person or multiple." She trailed off. And her eyes grew dark. "Lucky me, a wizard of that caliber always has plenty of revivify scrolls laying about." Astarion felt the rage grow inside him. Cazzador would force them to hunt for his meals almost nightly,  then would still feel the need to indulge himself at his friend's homes!? Astarion gave a dry laugh that turned hysterical. He covered his mouth to keep the noise under control. 

"I can assure you it was but one man, if you can even call him that. "

"Cazzador." She whispered it as a statment. They paused for a short while. "So you never…" she trailed off. 

"No darling,  Cazzador kept us on a diet of Rats and whatever other stray animals we could get our claws on. 'The blood of the thinking creature is not for scum such as ourselves.'" He quoted his old master with venom on his tongue.

"Then have you ever?"

"No darling, I have not eaten anyone." A guilty look passed over his eyes as he looked at her.

"Then how was it?" The question came out of her so simple,  so mundane,  as if he had just tried a new flavor of pie.

He was taken aback before reflex kicked in and he went back to his suave character. "It was, dare I say, decadent."

She easily fell back into her own character, letting the reality of what they had just admitted to each other fade into the background. "You could have asked."

The frivolously bantered about the possibility of him getting staked before he would ask permission, but he ended it on a serious note. 

"I suppose I should ask then, I can feel like it will unlock my potential, I can prevent things like today from happening, protect you." He offered, licking his lips. 

She thought about the times Cazzador had sucked her dry, when the blood in your body fades, your heart goes on overdrive,  thinking it's doing something wrong, but all of your muscles lose control, the wet of sweat coats your body as you are both in the most relaxed state and more panicked than ever before. It is not a slow death, internally screaming as your body is paralyzed. Fingertips and toes go completely numb, nerves shoot pain up and down your arms and legs until eventually you're asleep. 

Astarion watched her dissociate into the memory as he grabbed her hand. "I won't kill you I promise." His eyes were genuine, knowing the pain from the memory she was going through.

"I want to try." More than anything she wanted her body back, she wanted to make the decision to say yes, so this memory would not always be burdened with the knowledge she never gave consent.

He sat up, too quickly, too hungry. She flinched but relaxed as he did not move to grab her, allowing her full control. He was handsome, she had always thought so, romance stories of vampires and their mortal prey were often read in her younger years, and though that fantasy had been spoiled by the reality she faced, she longed to set herself in that naive state of mind. 

Out of many of the nobles he had always stood out to her.  She would never inflate his ego by telling him this,  but when the attention was finally off of her and she had served her purpose as a conversation starter for Lorroakan, at the end of the evening she would find herself watching him,  how he danced and charmed his way to any and all lads and ladies that surrounded him. It was quite a spectacle. And here he was, all of that grandiose attention on her, well, her blood to be exact, because she was willing and he was able. She grabbed his hand, leading it around her waist. He started to lean in, to move them into a laying position, so he could pierce her neck. But she stood firm and he complied, not pushing her. "Is this alright?" She offered him her wrist. His smile was wide, devious, and happy.

"Of course my sweet, however you are comfortable. This is a gift,  I will not soon forget it." He wrapped his arm tighter around her waist as he grabbed the hand she offered him. Planting kisses from the palm of her hand to her upturned arm. She gave out a squeaked moan as she made herself comfortable in his lap. He purred at the noise, giving her neck and jaw some approving pecks, his own excitement starting to harden in his trousers. She bit her lip, burying her face into his neck, pecking his skin before giving a comfortable hum, rubbing her hips,  happy by the fact she excited him. "Are you ready?" She nodded into his shoulder as her body tensed. "I need to hear you say it aloud." His command caught them both off guard but in the best way possible.

"I'm ready." She braced herself as his teeth pierced her wrist, it was slow, intentional, he did not want to hit bone. Blood started spilling out before he could begin drinking,  making the first few seconds of his meal desperate slurps,  like a man trying not to spill his wine. But he settled into a rhythm, letting her blood coat his tongue. The vibration of his satisfied hum on her skin gave her goosebumps. The pain quickly set itself to a low drone, the moment felt more intimate than anything she had felt before. She had always loved serving others, but in her most formative years her choice to do so was taken away, her forced servitude to anyone her Warden wanted had made her forget about that side of her. This gave her the same joy that voluntarily helping the tieflings gave her. And it was her choice to do so. She peered up from his neck, her head light from the blood loss and the moment. His eyes were closed, the corners of them wet. Without thinking she licked one of his tears away, slowly and gently. This pulled him out of his stupor and he looked at her blankly, in shock.

"Vixen." He grumbled under his breath,  turning back to her pierced flesh to lick the wound closed. His tongue flattened over her skin again and again. She merely stared at him in awe as he occasionally would look to her, a grin flashing on his open mouth as he finished cleaning her. She rested her head back into his shoulder, suddenly exhausted again.

Half conscious she felt him lift her, she felt him cleaning the dirt and blood from her body after he removed her armor, the cloth damp but not cold. She woke up the next morning, still clothed but slightly dizzy, her brain needing to work a little extra hard to find the words she needed. Astarion sat across the cave, reading as usual, but this time no wine in his hand, his gaze only going to her once, smirking after her most likely large plastered smile met his gaze.

________________________________

The tieflings sang and danced throughout the camp, Ren showed a genuine smile, but when she thought no one was looking, a tired half smile placed itself on her face. This was his moment to do what he did best, use his body to earn more of her trust. Besides, he owed her his own body after she had given him hers.

She sunk back, out of the natural circle that surrounded the fire. The tired closed mouth smile carved into her face like stone. As Astarion managed to sneak behind her, he gently grabbed her arm, she thrashed around as if to hit him, most likely instinct. He caught her wrist, putting a finger to his mouth. She let out a breath of relief to see it was just him, but he did not release her, the feeling foreign. She let her arm go limp and he wrapped her hand to his back, letting it rest, her reaction was not flustered but she certainly wasn’t resisting, so he continued. “This is an awful ruckus compared to what we are used to, yes?” He grabbed her other hand in his, and spun them away from the fire and into the shadows. “The wine is pig swill and the devil spawn are loud. Shall we perhaps have our own fun?” His eyes adjusted to the darkness and her face was not blushing, not eager, it had set back to the closed mouth smile.

“Of course sir, if that is what you desire.” The sing-song of her voice was broken, cracking, like a lute slightly out of tune. He released their closeness, stepping back to access her, he left her fingertips in his, so he could pull her back in if need be. He gazed at her, up and down, something was so familiar about how she was behaving, but he could not place it, perhaps she reminded him of a victim from long ago? Her voice brought him back to reality. “Your tent is further from current company.” He nodded and led her there, taking both of her hands to lead her inside, shifting himself around so that she could get a comfortable spot inside.

“Now I will say this is not the lavish rooms we are used to but it will do the job.” He turned to close the tent behind them, by the time he turned back she was already pulling her tunic off her shoulders, exposing her breasts. “Oh my, eager are we?” no something about her movements were practiced, stiff.

“Sorry sir, did you want to undress me?” His eyes widened as he finally placed the familiar feeling. In 200 years he had not been able to look in a mirror, but here stood his reflection, when the body and soul split to do whatever needs to be done. He was not seducing a young woman into trusting him, he had brought a husk into his tent. He silently cursed himself as he slipped her blouse back around her, buttoning the buttons. Her eyes widened, he could feel her fight or flight kicking in as her body tensed. How did he not see it before? He knew that the wizard abused her, but because he had not cared, didn’t mean she was not a person who wasn’t affected by it. She quickly grasped his hands, squeezing to prevent herself from shaking. “Y-you’re doing it wrong.” A ragged whisper escaped her lips.

“Hush now.” He growled, not at her but at himself, her flinch though told him she could not tell the difference. He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he finished dressing her. “And stop calling me sir, I am no master of yours.” He paused as she looked at the ground her hands gripping her shirt tightly. “I may have miscalculated the type of fun I was willing to have tonight, my apologies.” She looked, hurt, no, terrified, as if she had done something wrong. He had been enslaved to act the predator, but she had been caged to act as prey.

“Did I do something wrong?” A panic had set into her voice, as if not fulfilling this role could end in something much worse.

When Astarion was done buttoning her he paused, sitting back on top of his calves. He waved his hand dramatically. “Of course not my sweet, you are perfect.” He was still putting on the false voice when he spoke, perhaps actions would speak louder. “Do you trust me?” They both knew she didn’t but all he needed was the nod of acknowledgment she gave him. He took off his shirt as she sat up from her half lying position. He did not want her to see his shame, not yet, no sob story needed to be poured into her lap tonight, but something in him wanted her to know she was not alone. He held his hand out, allowing her to choose to take it if she wished. 

After a slight hesitation, she matched his sitting position and placed her hand in his and he swiftly guided it to his back, where she could trace his scars. Her eyes widened as she leaned forward to get more comfortable, he grabbed her other hand to help her balance as her fingers gently traced his greatest shame. He struggled not to flinch but his body slowly relaxed under her touch. He gathered the strength to glance down at her face, her lips were pressed tight together but her eyes stared past him, she was not trying to peek at what she was feeling, for which he was more than grateful for. Her neck was strained, a perfect position for a bite. But he shouldn’t be thinking about that now.

After what felt like an eternity of silence she pulled back, he was grateful her eyes were not full of pity but understanding. “There, it seems that high society is not always kind to itself.” His mouth was strangely dry as his voice verged on cracking. Ren nodded. She didn’t have to ask how he knew, the scars she had traced seemed purposeful, almost runic, but she did not want to push him further. His hand that had caught hers to help her balance felt strangely more connected than when she had her shirt off earlier. So she didn’t let go of it and squeezed. “This wasn’t for me you know, I wanted to do something. Something to thank you for the gift you had given me earlier.”

She blushed, neither of them were looking at each other, a strange comfort hung in the air not having to put up their acts. “Astarion, you don’t owe me anything.” She whispered, still holding his hand, their fingers interlocked. You didn’t just take my blood that night, you allowed me to make that choice. That is a finer gift than I have received in many years.”

Astarion sat confused, watching her fingers stroke against his, merely two people getting used to positive touch again no doubt, nothing more. “Than why did you agree at all? If it was merely the decision, you could have, I don’t know, decided to say no, and taht would be that.” He was so used to talking with his hands he accidentally threw hers up as he didn’t let go and she laughed, being thrown off balance for merely a second. But she finally let go and layed down on his many pillows, her head slightly propped up.

The flustered look on her face surprised the vampire. “I wanted to hear you moan again.” she mumbled. He laid next to her, eyebrow cocked dramatically. “Darling there are much easier ways to get a man to moan than feeding him parts of your body.” He was not going to let himself seemingly blush from her confession.

Her laugh was dry. “You never seemed interested in me that way, and besides, I’m… I don’t know if I even want to do that, I tend to shut down.” He nodded knowingly.

“I wasn’t interested in you my dear because everyone I had sex with was eaten and killed. Lorroakan had requested you be left alone. Ironic considering what he let Cazzador do to you in that tower of his.” She listened, taking in Astarion’s words his frustrations. She wrapped her arm around his shoulder, pulling him to her chest, where his rigid form eventually relaxed. She kissed his forehead.

“I don’t think either of us need pity sex.” She spoke, maybe to herself, after the comfortable silence permeated the tent. He laughed, this wasn’t his plan, he wasn’t supposed to share his greatest traumas with someone, he was not supposed to feel bad for her. They had enough to contend with if he was actually going to ask her to kill Cazzador, but if that was the route he was heading for, adding an arch mage to the list just made sense.

“I don’t need your pity.” He huffed haughtily, his arm over her stomach as she played with his hair.

She chuckled. “And I don’t need yours.” He let out another huff. This was not supposed to be how their night ended. She was supposed to be screaming his name against some gods forsaken tree in the middle of the woods. He would finish his role, letting her fall for him, though he hadn’t thought past the first night, he had never had to before. But here he was in some woman’s arms that on some level knew every harsh reality he had seen. He could tell her if she hadn’t lived it, truly known what he was talking about perhaps it would have been easier. It would just be some sob story he would get to milk every once and awhile. But this was real, she probably felt the same feral protectiveness over him that he was feeling for her right now. But he knew he had no excuses anymore, no whoa is me to fall back on, and that was scarier than anything. That she could go through the things he had been through and still want to help and love. Where all he wanted to do was burn the world to ash. A quick peck on his forehead brought him back to reality. A half hummed goodnight escaped her lips as she fell asleep, and he was left to ponder.

[obsolescent]

All Are of The Dust - Part One

Pairing: Leon Kennedy x GN!Reader

Summary: A decision to be made. What will your answer be? Two endings.

Content Warnings: Angst, mentions of abuse, gender neutral reader/no gender specified in this part, protective Leon.

Author’s Note: Who knew all I needed to get out of my block was to listen to Ethel Cain while writing. This has a lot of angst, my apologies. I hope you enjoy.

Words: 2,384

Read on Ao3

“All go unto one place; all are of the dust, and all turn to dust again.” —Ecclesiastes 3:20

He finds you under the magnolia tree. The scent of the flowers lazily sweeping through the humid air. You’re staring up through the branches into the muted sky. Arms crossed over your chest, you would think he was attending your funeral with the blank expression paired with said pose. A thought he hastily dismisses, he sits at your side, not willing to break the silence, waiting for your words. “He said somethin’ ‘bout you today,” you start, not moving or breaking your gaze with the heavens. “Let me guess, low-down bastard? Not worth two cents?” Leon replies, taking his Stetson off and laying down, turning onto his side to face you. “...Accusin’ me of sleeping with you. Said I was a whore. I’m ‘fraternizin’ with you’.”

His eyes widen, a scoff leaving his mouth. “The hell’s he on about now? Always pointing a damn finger at one of us, we’ve been friends for ages now, since we were kids! God, I wish he would keel over already. Honestly, shouldn’t be too long now, he’s got one foot in the grave and another on a banana peel,” he bites, anger flaring. That gets movement from you, a rush of air leaves your body. “If only. Man’s probably going to surpass Methuselah in age,” you jest, finally glancing in his direction. Leon guffawed at the remark, freeing a smile from the restraints of your mouth. 

He understands the need of equanimity, due to the wretch that is your uncle. But, oh how he loves your smiles, with their rarity. Your laughter when it escapes you, also not something he hears much of anymore. He wished the accusations were true, but also so much more. To take you away from this God forsaken place to something you could both find solace in. A place the two of you forge together, a refuge from your short, yet dismal lives. From his time in the orphanage to yours under the weight of a miscreant relative. It’s time you two find lives worth living, serenity you've always longed for, to be free of the scrutiny from this abysmal town.

And he has their opportunity.

Leon gathered his breath and courage. “Hey. Got some excitin’ news…I got a real nice job offer, about a couple hours away from here. Was wanting to see if, y’know, you’d possibly…Come with me? You ain’t gotta give me an answer now, just…Pretty soon, alright?” Leon asked, his voice wavering. The small smile disappeared from your features, replaced by the widening of your eyes, mouth slightly agape. “You’re goin’?” You ask, turning onto your side to face him. “Well, I don’t wanna go without you…This would be yours–our–chance to get away from here. Doesn’t that sound good? Me and you, away from this hellhole,” He starts, reaching out but falling short of grabbing your hand. “Leon…” You whisper, voice faltering. “Hey, it’s alright! I know it’ll be a lot…But that’s why we’ll have each other for! I’ll be there with you every step of the way.” He says, trying to ease your nerves. “There’s also people like you there…People who feel like you. They’ve got lots of stuff they do there for people like yourself. Celebrations and whatnot. I’m sure you would make lots of friends…” He trails off, watching your face for a reaction, any reaction. “Please…Just think about it,” He whispers, heart stuttering in his chest.

He can practically hear the gears turning in your head. “Even if I did end up saying yes and coming with you, how would we–” “Night time would be best. No one in town’s prowlin’ around beyond 9 o’clock anyways. We could wait for sure, until we know everyone’s in, say, until midnight?” He cuts you off, seeming to already have this all worked out. You pause and stare at his face, glancing over his features, until fixating onto his cerulean eyes. Prettiest you’ve ever seen. “There’s something else, ain’t there?” He asked, furrowing his brows as he looked back into your own eyes. You snap back, starting, “I just…You’re doing real good for yourself, Leon, I don’t wanna trouble you.” You admit, laying back in your original position, returning your gaze to the evergreen again. “You won’t be a burden on me!” He rushes out, sitting up and leaning closer to you, making you jump at his sudden movement. “Sorry, sorry…” He mutters, moving back to his original spot, sighing. “I’m not asking for anything in return…Just your company,” he says, looking down at you. “That’s all…Honest. If there was something you wanted to do for me, well, that’s up to you to figure out, but I ain’t making you do anything.” He adds, hunching over to pick up and fiddle with a fallen leaf.

You’re quiet for a while, taking it all in. Weighing the options. Though, of course, Leon’s choice has the most appeal, regardless of the terrifying concept of having to settle into a new place, with new people, new…Everything. When you haven’t stepped foot out of your podunk town your whole life, it’s quite an unnerving thought. But it would be a whole lot better with Leon at your side. He makes you feel brave, even courageous enough to start standing up to your uncle. Though you won’t tell him that, lest you tell him about the retaliation that’s resulted in cleaning up the beer that’s run down the walls and broken glass shattered around your feet. It shouldn’t have to be this way. You wish, yearn, for things to be better. For this town to improve. No more alcoholic kin or hardened lives. To not have to flee in the night and hope it’s something better. It’s something else to pray about, you reckon. Pray to God that it’ll be what you both hope it is. Hoping His plan for you two is something that has a happy ending. Your stomach turns at the thoughts of the worst of the outcomes.

“Can hear the gears grinding in that head o’ yours, whaddya thinkin’?” Leon asks, glancing at you through his shaggy blond locks, hoping his phrasing makes the situation lighter. “A lot.” You answer, causing him to snort. He smirks, turning his head completely to watch you now, a faint smile on your face again. It seems to be working, thankfully. Now there’s no use in letting a good joke go to waste. “Well, don’t hold back now, you know I’m like a cornfield.” He replies, grin getting wider. “Huh?” You ask, furrowing your brows. “I’m all ears.” “God above,” you groan, throwing your arm over your face to hide your grin. He guffaws, slapping his knee. “That one was good and you know it!” He says, still chuckling. “It was…But it’s always good to hear your jokes, Leon, or anything you say, really.” You respond genuinely, giving him a sincere look. His laughter turns bashful, red slowly rising up his neck to his ears and cheeks. “Wow, uh, you sure do know how to flatter someone,” he says your name while grabbing his hat, paying special attention to the stitching. Glad to have gotten him off the subject of your thoughts, you sit up.

“It’s getting late. Gotta start heading back before the old man gets too suspicious,” you stand, brushing yourself off. Leon grunts, standing up himself, adjusting his hat unto his head. “I’ll be back in a few days, ‘m going to get stuff settled at the new place. That enough time for you to have an answer for me?” He watches you fix your clothing and hair back into place, his fingers twitching. “That should be enough,” You answer, nodding your head. “Alright, I’ll see you then. Take care of yourself, you hear?” Leon asks, walking closer. “Of course, Leon. You do the same, don’t get into any trouble while you’re gone,” you say, patting his arm. He hesitates, clenching his jaw. He’s grabbing your wrist before you step away. Pulling you into an embrace, his nose burying itself into your hair. “I meant it. Whatever you need, whatever I can do to make you the most comfortable, feel the most safe, I’ll do it. I care for you…I only want what’s best for you. Now that I’m old enough to, I want to make that promise. I promise to be there for you, always. To never let harm come to you, even if you say no to coming with me. I’ll be back each week to check in. I won’t…Forget you–” starting to choke up, he takes a deep inhale before continuing, “You’ll always be on my mind, you always have been. Since the day we met, from the school’s playground to us sitting under these trees. You never leave my thoughts. I just want you to know how much you mean to me.” 

You’re clenching your hands into his flannel. There’s so much you wish you could say. It’s begun to build up over the years. Unspoken words teeming at the surface, your affection almost suffocating you. Listening to his continued spilling of words, you release one hand from the fabric, feeling its way up his chest, his thudding heartbeat briefly felt under your hand before making its way further up to its destination. Finding its mark, his tanned cheek. You feel he’s also began to weep. He stops, shuddering at the feel of your skin on his. His own hand coming away from your back to cup over your own you’ve lain on his face. You two stay like that, for what seems like eons, both wishing it could be that long. Your own eternal peace with one another. You eventually lift your head up to meet his gaze. His eyes slowly open to see your own tearful stare. “Oh,” He whispers, his other hand not holding your own coming up, brushing away the wetness. His thumb drying the tears away, while feeling your features. So soft and warm underneath his calluses from his job out in the fields, tearing up the earth. ‘God, what I would do to wake up to this everyday’ he thinks to himself.

This close to him, you can see the sun kissed skin so distinctly now. The freckles and scars that dust his face. One mark in particular you’re familiar with, above his right brow. The one he got while climbing up that Crepe Myrtle, trying to get a certain bushel of flowers for you, barring you from climbing it yourself. Wise on his part, since he ended up falling out of it, earning that scar. It’s made more prominent from his tan. You brush over it and feel him shiver. He’s so sensitive to your touch…Do you have this much effect on him, like he does on you? It makes yourself shiver at the thought. With a faint touch, your hand travels down over his nose. Broken a few times in some scuffles, some in play, others in your honor. It occurs to you then, seeing that mark, the slightly crooked nose that those were because of you. You altered his body. You know he would gladly do it again and again for you, without question, and that scares you. You snatch yourself away, stumbling back into the tree’s trunk. Leon is staring at your withering form, wide eyed. “D-did I do something wrong? Did I hurt you, touch you somewhere you didn’t like? I’m so sorry–” “NO– God no. You didn’t,” You whisper. “What is it? Are you worried about touching me? Because you can touch me wherever, I don’t mind–""Leon.” You get out, wrapping your arms around yourself. “It ain’t any of that…It’s me. I’m no good for you.”

“What are you talking about?” He asks, walking closer to you. You try to take more steps back, the tree preventing you from doing so. You suck in air, trying to stifle the rising tears. “The scar above your eyebrow…Your nose…Broken a few times, all because of me. You’ve been hurt because of me. I can’t let you do that anymore.” Who knows what else will happen, especially in a new place, how much more harm would come to him. You’re staring at the ground, knowing if you meet his eyes, you’ll crumble. “I did all that because I wanted to, for you. I’d do it all over again too, without question. I promised you that I would protect you, keep you safe, no matter what. I Intend to keep all my promises to you. But don’t go cold on me, don’t push me away, please.” He begs, bracing himself against the tree with one hand, the other laying lightly on your forearm. “You don’t know the depths I’d reach for you,” he whispers, leaning in, brushing his head against yours. “Why?” You ask. He remains silent, his touch wavering on your arm, jaw clenched. “If I told you, it would probably change your answer…So, you think about it for a few days, and let me know what you decide. Then I’ll tell you.” He finally replies, voice wavering as he pulls away. He takes a few steps back, allowing you space.

“...Alright.” You answer, standing upright, lowering your arms back down to your sides. You keep your eyes firmly on the ground. You have quite a few questions for him, but you feel like you won’t be getting much else from him. “Hey, look at me,” he whispers. Finally allowing yourself to wash your gaze over his features once again, seeing his sad eyes, sad smile. “Three days, and I’ll be back. Now you think long and hard about it, and you get back to me with that answer, you hear?” You nod. “Okay,” he confirms, before turning and starting to walk away. “Leon!” You shout, walking forward a few steps. He turns his head, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “You be careful, you hear?” You tell him. He closes his eyes for a second, opens them, and smiles. “Okay.” Turning back around, his form slowly being swallowed by the trees.

You stand there until he’s no longer distinguishable from the foliage.

Straightening your clothing and hair once again, you start in the opposite direction of Leon, making the trudge back home.

Three days.

You hope you have an answer for him by then.

[hollyparker]

~ Okay, before I start this, I will first like to say that I’m not hating on anyone. This is all fiction; you can like, stan, or hate whatever characters or ships you want. I’m just here to have fun and get away from my real-life issues, honestly. This post was only to talk about the hypocrisy in the Marauders fandom. So I really hope no one gets offended by this because that was not my intention and that never is, and I do apologize if it comes off as such. ~

So awhile back, I saw a TikTok of some girl saying how she never meant to start a war she just told a Snape stan that he was originally a death eater. And I was all like, “Yeah, okay facts, he is/was," but then I read her comments and realized that she was one of those Snape haters. You know, the hypocritical and delusional ones. Where they hate on Snape and the people that like him (which, hating Snape is fine. You don’t have to like him. It’s only an issue when you bully people that do like him and make them feel bad for it), but then go on and stan Barty, Regulus, and ever other death eater in that little cult. 

She was literally saying how Regulus, Barty, and Evan are different from Snape. And I mean, yes, they’re all different, but they’re all still bad people and death eaters. Then she goes on to talk about how they’re different from Snape because “at least they didn’t bully and abuse kids” (which they literally did, especially Barty. As stated in the books and shown in the movies. The DE’s were actively hunting these kids down and literally torturing people ‘i.e. Bellatrix and Barty torturing the Longbottoms to insanity’), “There’s not a lot of information on them”, and “they’re baby girls”. 

Then she goes on to say that “although Barty was a DE, he was clever and loyal, unlike Snape, who is a whimp"…..Huh? You don’t like the fact that Snape wasn’t loyal to Voldemort? So do you actually like what the DE's and Voldy stand for? I’m a little confused on that one. 

And someone commented that Barty did in fact abuse kids, as he was literally trying to kill Harry. And she goes on to say that it’s not abusing children and that Barty didn’t even want to do it; he was simply doing what Voldy told him to do. Like, what?? Just what? Barty is literally a proud DE (and she said it herself that he is loyal to Voldemort), so if his precious “master” tells him to do something, he’s going to want to do it, and he’s going to do it happily. No hesitation, no remorse. If Voldemort wants it, then he wants it. Voldy tells Barty to go kidnap, kill, or abuse some kids, then he’ll do it. Whatever, just to please him.

Then she acknowledges that he tortured the Longbottoms, but then goes on and says, “But are they children? No.” As if that makes it any better!? He was still torturing and abusing people. He is NOT a good guy 😭

I just really don’t understand why they can like all these awful (and I mean awful as in they did terrible things) death eater characters and get praised, and others nod their heads along with them, but the second someone shows the slightest interest in Snape, it’s as if someone killed their pet or their parents. It's like the biggest insult to their name or something. As if those other DE’s are not worse than Snape. They say “we don’t follow canon,” and yet they keep Snape canon or they make him wayyyy worse, like homophobic or a rapist or they’ll give his backstory/upbringing to other DE characters to make them more angsty and sad.

(ALSO, another point is the whole pretty privilege thing that goes on in the fandom, that they don’t like to admit is a thing, but it definitely is).

[thewickedlorchqueen]

I'm sorry but Lily's newest attempt at rewriting history, where G is now meant to represent Courtney

Just makes Lily look worse. I try to keep my post's about Lily mostly opinion fandom based because I don't feel like the best person to discuss serious real world issue's. I also think the best place to process your trauma is through fiction. However I can't help but internally raise a side eye whenever Lily tries to rewrite history. Like how G her gardievor was suppose to represent her sister and the 'abuse' (not going into the allegations on either side) Lily had gone through and her complicated feeling (instead of the fictional best friend as she claimed before) is not the explanation you think it is.

I know Lily has about as much self reflection as a reddit nice girl, but openly saying that yes the character that has a weird relationship with my self insert, to the point people wonder if said writer has a thing for that Pokémon, represents the person that accused them of abuse, while writing:

Having a child with said pokemon,

Having a weird will they won't they relationship (Mariah even suggested a three-some)

Both admitted at one point to have feelings for one another.

In the weird multiverse storyline was married to G, and was catatonic from her death in another.

The character that while yes admitted to abusing/violating C!Lily, was also written as a victim themselves. Was forgiven by said 'victim' and said 'victim' was shamed and compared to their own abusive ex for locking their door. (Establishing boundaries where?)

Would have agreed to the mating bond (that Lily made up) if G had asked?

And maybe, maybe I could see that analogy working if G wasn't seen as a good guy, if her actions weren't justified in comic (G would have died before C!Lily if she hadn't violated created a mating bond with C!Lily) if C!Mikalia hadn't had to apologize for agreeing with C!Lily that her doors being locked was a good thing.

Thats not even taking into account how that if you even take three seconds to look back at how Lily treats character's she dislikes (Hunter, N, the Skywalkers), she has no issue bastardizing them to hell and back. Yet her sibling, that she despises, has claimed to gotten into multiple fights with, called a druggy-murderer-was the actual abuser insert character is treated with compassion and understanding? Lily you can't even understand why people think your star wars oc killing people based on conversations she over heard is a bad thing, but can write yourself 'forgiving' your abuser and showing any sort of compassion?

The same story where Lily's ex is an antagonist, but the character that represents your sibling isn't?

If your going to re-write history, maybe at least try to make it make sense.

[wosoimagines]

You know what strikes me about the whole Lauren James situation, it isn’t that she got frustrated it, it isn’t that she’s now getting racist remarks and online abuse, it’s the fact that the statement made was:

1. Generic

2. Did not even address the wrong doing

3. Is an easy way out for players to not take accountability

I live in the US and there’s plenty of sports I watch and players I hear about from pundits and commentators. The statement that Chelsea made is one I have seen so many times for basketball, baseball, football, and so many more. The unfortunately thing with the statement is that it’s usually made for POC and that usually these players know they did something wrong and could have hurt a player but never apologized to the player they hurt or made a public statement addressing their behavior. Now being a black American myself I absolutely hate when I see these statements because it addresses nothing and fans that are being critical are wanting the issue to be addressed publicly because kids also look up to these players. You can condemn racial and online abuse while addressing the issue that brought that abuse out to begin with. I personally while watching the WSL this past year have yet to see Lauren James apologize for doing something to another player. I have seen so many mentions of Katie McCabe that it’s starting to piss me off a little bit because there is a difference between the two. McCabe most of the time apologizes to players that she hurt or put in harms way either during or after the game, she is known at this point for being a physical player which reminds me a lot of the men’s games because they too get physical, however Lauren James is not known for being overly physical nor should she want to be known for stepping on or purposely putting a player in harms way out of frustration.

“They don’t need to address the wrong doing” yes actually they do otherwise this doesn’t go away and she starts to build a reputation for herself that puts her in a negative spotlight. So since we want to bring race and gender in let’s do that I’m going to bring in David Beckham. Beckham also once stamped a player and that heat followed him for a while and continues, Beckham is a white man who was criticized harshly for his actions against an opposing player. “Oh but it’s David Beckham that’s not the same” but it is he had to address what he did and guess what he did and he went on to be extremely well known. “But she’s 22 we all make mistakes” you are absolutely right we do all make mistakes but most of us probably make them by accident and not on purpose. “It was an accident” but it literally wasn’t when you watch it from different angles there is an angle where she is in fact looking at Wälti and proceeds to step on her foot that is what I would call intentional and to top it off she showed zero remorse after doing it. It would have been different had she done this and then checked on Wälti or alonzie but she didn’t and both times she seemed not to care. By her choosing to not address what she did she is digging herself a deeper hole and she is so extremely talented that it would be a shame to see her waste it because she got frustrated.

This to me is an easy out for players to avoid accountability. I have seen a few athletes that did take accountability for what they did but some let this statement out, repost it, add it to their story, retweet, and so on but they don’t take the accountability themselves. They themselves as the athlete as the one who got into trouble need to take accountability for their actions and learn from what they did. Lauren James has had over 48 hours at this point to make a statement addressing her own behavior and she hasn’t. “Well she apologized after” fun fact after the WC the player she stamped was asked if she apologized and this player said no she did not in fact apologize. But weren’t we told during one of the press conferences that she had apologized, weren’t we told that she felt bad about having done what she did, didn’t she also give a generic statement about what she did? So then why exactly are we right back where we were a few months ago? Everyone of British Medias pundits said she’d learn from what she did that she’ll grow and learn to not do it again. Yet, it’s funny she clearly hasn’t learned and she hasn’t really taken accountability for it.

“But McCabe this McCabe that” to be honest I’m not a fan of McCabe and yes I do find that at times she needs to stop before she really injured someone however McCabe is older than James and McCabe is a physical player. Oberdorf is also a physical player but both of them are more physical during a play and most of the time for the ball. But didn’t McCabe kick a ball at someone’s head, didn’t she hit Chloe Kelly in the head? As someone who has been stepped on multiple times with cleats and I’m talking the nice sharp softball cleats I’m going to tell yo right now I’d sooner take a hit to the head with a ball. “Oh but what if you got tackled by McCabe she does dirty tackles” yeah okay and guess how good at time if you have to be to get a slide right. Trust me 😩I know how hard it is to get the timing perfectly and believe me when I say I would still take that over someone stepping on my back or foot. I had a friend who played football he no longer does thanks to the injury he got in high school, anyways they were playing some team and his foot got stepped on by an opposing player and because of the timing it ended up breaking his foot and he had to get surgery. I had another friend that used to play soccer and she always got her foot stepped on but she never complained much until one day at practice one of our teammates was stepping on her foot, she couldn’t feel someone stepping on her foot, she went to the doctor the next day and came back for our Thursday night practice and told the coach she couldn’t play anymore because her doctor said she had some nerve damage in her foot that came from the sport. Poorly timed tackles may result in injures just like stepping on someone but while both can be accidental and both can be intentional it depends on the intent and behavior of the person that makes them both intentional. If I were to play against McCabe you bet your bottom dollar I’m going prepare myself and how to take those kinds of hits to reduce injury and impact. If it comes to the stepping on someone accidents can happen but if the person knows what they’re doing and the ball isn’t in sight… you better believe I will either do the same to you to give you a taste of how it feels and if it’s not me well they better hope the person they stepped on does not have hands that are rated-E for everyone.

As for anything having to do with McCabe and James comparison I’ll do you all one better. Look up trinity Rodman red card nwsl and I will tell you she did the right thing after, she addressed that happened and how she will learn from the mistake, and I do believe she even checked on O’Sullivan. So if you really have to compare two players let’s compare Rodman and James and acknowledge how one has taken accountability and did not wait for some generic statement and most importantly checked on the player she hurt whether during or sometime after the match.

That’s my take on this situation and sorry for making this so long but I’m done with the bringing race into a situation like this just like I’m done with comparing two individuals that are extremely different in the style they play and are different in age. One still has a chance to go to other teams if she wants the other is older and likely won’t leave anytime in the near future. Thanks for coming to my Ted talk

This.