#but i feel like she truly cares about the schmidt's and it would be the first name where she feels proud and comfortable to wear

[puhpandas]

Vanessa with Afton as her legal, unwanted tainted name, Shelly as her forced name as a cover, and Schmidt as her chosen name and the one she really feels comfortable with after finding a family in Mike and Abby

[pochipop]

＃FNAF MOVIE !! ♡ — IT'LL BE ALRIGHT (MIKE SCHMIDT X READER).

#. synopsis! — mike is used to walking on eggshells, just waiting for another tragedy, and you really don’t want to be just another person who's let him down.

#. characters! — mike schmidt .

#. warnings! — vague references to past traumatic events (canon compliant) , references to a verbal argument .

#. word count! — 1.8k .

#. alt accounts! — @ddollipop (nsfw) @hhoneypop (moodboards) .

#. others! — navigation & masterlist .

Mike is used to people leaving. They come and they go like stray cats who've found someone better to nab food off of, —leaving him with more ghosts in his life than he'd care to admit. At least these ones are metaphorical and melodramatic, though. His saving grace has been the fact that he chooses wisely who to introduce Abby to, just in case. She's been through enough, and she's so young that the absence of anyone would be duly noted. Not that it isn't when it comes to himself, it's just. . . He's learned how to live with loss. Maybe not effectively, but he does it, and for right now, that's probably as good as it's getting.

He's got more pressing matters to attend to. He always does. That's what he argued about with you, —what he fought tooth and nail to defend, even when you backed off. At the end of it, he knew he'd gone too far for no real reason. He wasn't arguing with you at that point, he was arguing with all the people that have left him starved for their affections and their care. The words he said to you were so far beyond your scope that it was almost pathetic to think about all the bullshit he unloaded on you like it was somehow your job to fix it, even when he knew it wasn't. So really, it's no wonder he's adding you to that list of people who've walked away.

For once, he truly deserved it. 

And now he's got to explain this to Abby. Because she likes you almost as much as he does, —almost being the operative word there. Mike sucks at a lot of things, and showing you he cares tends to be one of them, but he loves in his own ways. . . And now, he fears he'll have to do it from afar.

He sort of wishes Abby was the kind of kid he could bribe with ice cream for breakfast to break bad news to. It'd be easier to scoop her some off-brand Neopolitan and tell her she'd never see you again if that would help soften the blow. But it won't, and he knows that. He knows her too well to even try.

Still, he finds himself putting chocolate chips in her pancakes that morning in spite of himself.

When he places the plate in front of her, she narrows her eyes, as if to ask him what he's done so wrong. . . Asking what he's offering silent apologies for in the form of sweet pockets stolen away inside her favorite breakfast food. He opens the fridge in search of orange juice just to avoid her gaze.

Before she can even take a bite, he opens his mouth.

"Listen, Abby—"

She looks up at him with those big, doe eyes, and he probably would have cut himself off anyway if not for the knock on the front door. Mike mumbles for her to hold that thought, then goes to check who's outside.

And there you stand a little awkwardly on his doorstep, a brand new bottle of orange juice in your hand. Once again, it's like you've read his mind, and he's as sick of it as he is thankful for it, especially right now. Still, he can't turn you away.

"Morning," you say, almost hesitantly. "I brought juice. . ."

He tries to think of something to say, but hears the quick pitter-patter of Abby's feet fastly approaching. She calls your name so happily, and you smile at her.

"Good morning to you too," you laugh, returning the hug she gives you with no hesitation.

Mike just stares, as if he can't believe you're even here right now. If you're just here to grab the items of yours strewn about his house, he feels like the least you could have done was wait until Abby was asleep or something.

"Can I have some?" Abby asks, pointing to the orange juice in your hand.

"Yeah, that's what it's for," you smile, handing the bottle to her.

She scurries off to the kitchen to pour herself a glass.

"Mike," you say softly now that she's out of earshot, "can we—"

"I'll get your stuff together," he cuts you off.

Your jaw slacks.

"What?" Is the only thing you can manage to muster up in response.

"You could've done this at a different time," he snaps, trying to keep quiet so Abby doesn't hear. "It's gonna be ten times harder on her now for me to explain why you're not coming back."

You stare at him, trying not to cry. Out of all the things you expected to happen this morning, such a drastic change of heart on his part wasn't one of them.

"You. . . You're breaking up with me?" You question.

He pauses, a lot of the frustration dissipating from his features, replaced by genuine confusion.

"Didn't you already break up with me?" He asks.

Your brows knit together quizzically. 

"No? What are you even talking about, I never said I wanted to break up with you," you point out.

Sure, you didn’t say it. But most of the others had never said it either. It was like flipping a lightswitch. One minute they were there, and the next they weren’t. That's why he'd gotten so good at keeping his relationships at a distance, and he'd taken the biggest leap of faith in introducing you to his sister.

"Yesterday evening?" He says, but it sounds more like a question.

"We had an argument," you acknowledge. "It was stupid, and you hurt my feelings. I'm sure I hurt yours too. That doesn't mean I want us to be over."

Mike stares at you like he's not sure what to say, because he isn't. He's not used to someone caring enough to fight for him, and for what festers between himself and someone else. He's learned to let go before the thread pulls too tight, —before it wraps around his throat and slices through every defense he's built up for the sake of protecting himself, his heart, and the little girl that depends on him.

"Mike," you say softly, almost cautiously. "I care about you. One bad night doesn't change that. . . Not for me."

God, it was stupid. It was so stupid. You weren't even mad at him specifically, and you're fairly certain he wasn't really angry with you in particular either. Long days on both your parts collided like a warm front to a cold one, and the things both of you said in the wake of it were uttered through venom and gritted teeth. Sweeping generalizations, a lot of rolling eyes, some tears that were more about frustration than they were anything else. . . But you still loved him at the end of it, even as you found yourself walking home alone.

In fact, that walk was particularly sobering. The crisp chill of the autumn evening was enough to convince you that you'd rather be back at his place where he keeps an extra toothbrush for you in the bathroom and emptied out a drawer just so you could have a place to store some clothes. The sleep you got in the night that followed was shallow at best, restless enough to leave faint bags beneath your eyes by morning, and you were determined to make up any excuse in the book just to swing by.

So you went out and got some orange juice, knowing there wasn't any left in the fridge, and you stood outside his door for a while, working yourself up just to knock. You thought about all the things you'd need to apologize for, and you were ready to push aside your ego if it meant Mike could understand just how much you care, even when you're upset.

He swallows, just to give himself something to do while he prolongs his own response, because he's just not sure what to say. Somehow, a part of him is whispering that this would be easier if you just didn't give a fuck. . . If last evening was the end, and he could go back to finding comfort in silence again.

That's how it's always been. Someone leaves, and he copes, and then he files them away with the rest. But here you are, and Mike knows he can't bring himself to put you in with the others.

"Mike, I'm—"

"No, I am," he breathes, reaching forward to pull you into his arms. "I'm sorry that I hurt your feelings, and I'm sorry that I suck at being a boyfriend, but I don't know what I'm doing and all I can tell you is that I'm trying."

He feels the tension meld away from you, and it's then, before you even open your mouth to reply, that he starts to think everything is how it should be.

"You don't suck at it," you answer lightly. "I know you're trying, and that's genuinely all I could ask for, and I'm sorry about yesterday evening. I was in a bad mood, and I took it out on you, and that wasn't right."

"We both took shit out on each other," he corrects, ready and willing to share the blame.

"True enough," you acknowledge with a weary smile, finally pulling away from his embrace.

"I'm sorry," he says again. "When things go wrong, I. . . I've just learned how to slam on the breaks. If I stop things before they feel like they'll suffocate me, I can avoid them. But I love you, and I know I don't want to avoid that."

"This isn't a one way street," you remind him. "Relationships are hard, and sometimes things happen in a way that they shouldn't, but I'm here for you, and I want to be here for you. . . It's not contractual. One bad night doesn't take away all the times you've made me feel like the happiest person on the face of the planet, Mike."

He sniffles a little, then lets out a relieved sigh.

"Are you hungry?" He asks. "I can make you some pancakes. Chocolate chip."

You raise an eyebrow.

"Chocolate chip? Are you apologizing to Abby for something?"

God, a part of him hates that he's so obvious, but another part loves that you know him so well. It makes him feel even stupider for just assuming that you'd be willing to throw in the towel after one rough night.

"No, not really," he shakes his head. (Not anymore, at least.)

Mike glances toward the kitchen, just to make sure Abby's still preoccupied with her breakfast, then steals a quick kiss from your lips.

"I'm sorry," he says again.

You smile.

"Me too."

"And I love you," he adds.

Your smile widens.

"I love you too. Promise."

With that, he pulls you to the kitchen, and you sit down beside Abby at the table. She tells you that when breakfast is done with, she'd like to show you some new drawings she's done, and you nod, telling her you're excited to see them. And you are.

Mike stands at the stovetop, his back to the both of you, not bothering to bite back his grin. 

He feels his foot ease off the break.

[jealousjersey]

₊࿔*:･୧”too sweet”₊˚࿔*:･୧

pairing // mike schmidt x gn!reader fluff

mentions // purely fluff just some nice and sweet content, pet names, reader is overwhelmed and stressed with everything and mike uplifts you, y/n isn’t mentioned, reader in college, reader and mike are in a situationship, mentions of being cheated on by past shitty gender unspecified partner

1.4k wc

tags // mike schmidt x reader fluff, purely fluff fic, pet names, slight angst

authors note // yes this is inspired by too sweet by hozier i’ve played it 18 times today (still listening to it) also per request (ty anon) fluff

school is kicking your ass. the lectures are too long and not informative at all, although you’ve had exams all week, they never seem to contain the information you’re supposedly learning.

you don’t even live on campus so you constantly feel like you’re missing out on important events and information. it’s truly exhausting.

that is until you get home, you’ve been in a situationship with this security guard worker, mike. you’ve talked and had dates, even had sex a few times but it doesn’t suffice you. you were made to be a lover, but right now you’re just a piece of ass. you want mike to love you, well, right now it feels more than a need. you want to finally receive the love that you give.

once your classes are done, you leave campus. taking the subway back to your apartment, luckily you don’t live too far, but not close enough to walk. and instead of wasting gas on driving to and from school, so why not take the safer option and just take the train?

as you arrive at your apartment, you finally get to lay down on your bed. you feel a tear fall from your eyes but you’re not sure why. today wasn’t too bad…but your body’s reaction is telling you different. you check the time and wait-

it’s the 2 year anniversary of your ex cheating on you, well atleast it’s the anniversary of the day you found out. you check the date and you get flashbacks, flashbacks to you coming to surprise them at their house for your 1 year together.

you arrive with tickets to some indie concert in hand. but instead you were practically hit in the face with realization as you saw her. she looked…perfect. you still wonder how they ended up with her. but let’s face it, you knew there was signs. but you chose to ignore them.

as of now, you’re laying face down on your bed, basically crying at this point. your breath hitches as you just lay there, helpless. until suddenly

knock knock

“hey? anyone here?” you hear a familiar voice enter your house. it’s mike schmidt, the man you’ve been talking to for a few months. wait a second-

“how did you get in?” you question. you thought you locked the door but apparently not.

“oh, the door was halfway open. wanted to check to see if you were being robbed” he says as he gets a good look at you “shit are you okay?” he asks worried, staring at your puffy face, your swollen eyes as tears leak from them.

his worry makes you feel better. you’ve waited on somebody to actually care about how you were, not just ask without remorse in their eyes. but mike actually cares, and it feels good. it feels like he gives you a little sliver of comfort.

“yeah, i’m fine…schools kicking my ass and-” you cut yourself off, he’s just a fling, why does he get to know your personal problems? but something inside you just tells you to come clean. “2 years ago today i went through hell with my ex. he cheated and things went…down from there you could say.” you open up, not wanting to share anything that could bring back more deep memories- maybe mentioning the abuse would be too far.

“oh baby, i’m sorry. you need me here with you? i can get take out and we can watch one of your weird cartoons” he says. you chuckle. does he mean anime? you don’t even watch it that much, maybe he’s basing his suspicions on the death slayer poster in your room that you got because it looked cool. i mean, you only watched a episode or two. it might make you a poser but it looks good in your room so what’s the harm?

“yeah, take out sounds great. and we can just watch a movie or something.” you smile at his request, your eyes still puffy. mike notices this and sits next to you on your bed, bringing a hand to your cheek as he gently brushes a thumb over your eye bags, taking in the darkness.

“i’m gonna be right back, you want take out chinese food?” he asks with a smile as he presses a kiss onto your cheek. you slightly nod.

“gotta use your words baby” he teases you. “yes, chinese food is perfect” you smile “amazing, i’ll be back in 30. don’t fall asleep” he says as he points a finger in your direction and smiles softly

30 minutes pass, you just stay in your bed until he arrives, he walks in without knocking. “baby, i’m here” he yells, arms full with bags of chinese food. god, how much did he get?

you silently laugh to yourself at the site: mike with both hands carrying giant take out bags that say “thank you” with a smile face, his keys on his mouth and his pinky closing the door. it’s…really funny to be honest.

you snap out of your daze and run to help him, taking the bags out his hands and placing them on your kitchen island. you see him huff out a short breath, taking the keys out of his mouth and hanging them on the key holder.

you place a short kiss on his lips “thank you love” you say. a blush creeps onto his face. he wonders why he’s feeling so intense at your small gesture, i mean it’s not like you two are official….

you two get cuddled up on the couch together. he always said your couch is weird, two seats with a middle compartment in the center, dividing the chairs. he says it’s not ideal for cuddling but you make it work, the chairs aren’t small per say, but you can both fit on k it with ease, kicking up the leg so you can both lay comfortably.

you put on some movie that was recommended through the roku app. it doesn’t matter what movie it was, it just matters that you had mike with you.

soon enough he’s yawning, the mint aroma coming from his mouth isn’t bad. it’s kinda nice. before he could close his mouth fully you kiss him gently, wanting more of that mint taste. he returns the kiss, using the same pace you started.

as you let go, you ask the dreaded question. “do you want to be with me? romantically?” he stops and freezes before speaking. “honey, you’re too good for me- i..i’m not the best person. you’re full of love, i don’t want you to waste it on me, you’re too sweet for me.” he says. you look confused, you know you want to love him. why isn’t he accepting?

“but i want to be with you. i want to love you, and if im being honest i think i kind of already do.” you say after a moment.

“you…really?” he looks confused, almost baffled by your statement. do you really want to love him? like fully and truly?

“god yes mike, I try not to call but there’s some days that i really, really want to. i want to hear your voice, i want to hear you laugh. hell, i even want to smell your cologne. but i stop myself because i know you want something casual.” you blurt out.

“who said i wanted casual? baby i was waiting for you to say that. i think ive been in love with you since we first started talking. it sounds cheesy i know, but i really do.” he responds, making your heart flutter for a moment as you blink, suddenly feeling his breath against your ear.

“i only want you” he whispers, putting emphasis on only. immediately you blush more than ever in his presence. “really?” you can’t help but whisper back. is this really happening? are you about to have a boyfriend?

“really. you are the only person i ever want to be with. promise” he says as he puts his pinky out, asking for yours. sealing it with a pinky promise. he knows you’re serious about those so him doing this for you means a lot.

“you’re the only person i want to be with mike, has been that way since i think i first spoke to you. were so dumb” you laugh.

“yeah but we’re dumb together” he chuckles back as he holds you closer to him.

“so….are we dating or what?” you ask, popping your lips after “so”.

“let me ask you” he fixes his messy hair and uses a takeout napkin as a tie around his neck. “would you like to date me” he says sincerely, still a hint of laughing under his voice.

“fuck it, sure” you laugh as you bury yourself into his neck.

[spiritfrvr]

IM NOT HER DAD — ( Mike Schmidt x Teacher Reader )

“ Well I don’t know what you did and how you did it but, Abby is doing good with making new friends. It feels great to see her smile like this ” You said next to him pleased as you both watched Abby play around in the playground.

Mike cherished his sister more than himself considering what happened when he was younger. Although the memories still repeats in his head he tries not to blame himself for what happened to his brother.

And by the looks of it was clear that his motive was to be there for Abby so that way nobody would come for her next and Mike trusted you enough to tell you about his job accident which had you thinking about two things

One, how the hell did he even manage to find that job anyway I mean, did it not click to him when he walked inside the building? Talking animatronics, Closed down even though it was popular? MULTIPLE MISSING KIDS AFTER IT OPEN? was he stupid, probably…

Two, at least they made it out of there alive and, does that explain the missing posters for Abby’s auntie and her babysitter? You will never know what is going through his head not that it’s a bad thing… it’s a situation where sometimes you wish you could.

You saw him nodding his head in agreement and how he was narrowing his eyes down, “ Mike, You okay? ”you asked holding his shoulder with your right hand, “ is this too much for you? ”

After a few seconds, he glanced at Abby then you, and explained to you that He never felt like a Dad to Abby, he knows he’s supposed to be her “ guardian ” but he’s only her brother… not a dad. A lot of times people think he’s her Dad which he doesn’t mind but, it’s a reminder that Abby truly never understood what a family is supposed to be.

You could see why he would feel that way parenthood was thrown onto him and of course, he’s not going to know what to do. No parents understands what to do they just take care of their baby, let them grow up, and next thing you know they’re gone off to do things without you.

“ Mike you may not be her father but that doesn’t make you less of a guardian, you and I both know she loves you a lot and even if you make her mad ” you chuckled “But you’re a great person Mike I trust you will make the right choices”.

Even if Mike hated advice, it seemed like he needed that one.

[eviscerated-pineapple]

I need to take a social media break.

Social Media Obituary…or Something.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: suicide attempts, self-harm, rape, incest, emotional, and physical abuse mentioned.

I first told my mom I hated her when I was about 6, right after we moved from Sacramento, CA to Dayton, TX circa 1999. My mom, dad and I were in a coffee shop on a dreary day—or maybe it was a restaurant, who cares—at a booth and I distinctly recall saying that as plainly as it was the color of the walls, and a great maliciousness then blossoming in me.

Why did I say this? I struggle with why I hated my mom so much as a kid. There were very good reasons as to why I did: the alcoholism; the drugs; she and my aunt leaving my cousin and I alone to fend for ourselves, as young as six and three, without knowing when they’d be back so they could go gamble and score.

I think that’s where the intense fear of abandonment came from.

The jury is still out on whether or not Borderline Personality Disorder’s physical component (i.e., an un-fully formed amygdala, which is responsible for controlling emotions and impulsivity) is present at birth and causes the personality disorder or if the personality disorder is responsible for this region of the brain not developing properly. Ah, the ol’ chicken and egg scenario.

It, along with cPTSD (complex PTSD) and trauma, can cause brain lesions visible through MRI scans.

While the people who stigmatize BPD try to figure out in what way I will abuse, manipulate, and ultimately damage them beyond repair, I’m still trying to figure out why I was never worthy of love.

I think the hate for my mom, partnered with her actions, was heavily influenced by my dad.

I haven’t spoken to him in about three and a half years. I was too young to first realize the issues with him, and there’s even a suspected repressed memory in there that was revealed in the last year by my mom.

My dad is a hateful, spiteful, sad, lonely, and untreated man. His anime saga includes being shipped off to fight the Vietnam War in 1963 at the age of 17 with the US Navy, having been told “he would see the world.” He was one of 12 children by my grandparents, a little Spanish woman by the name of Natividad Torres from which I inherited one of my middle names (Nettie), and a Spanish/German guy named Joseph Smith (“Schmidt” from what I was told and then that family’s emigration to the United States is what ultimately Americanized their name). I’ve heard that my grandfather was pretty…rough. Alcoholic and abusive, but oddly remembered fondly. My grandmother was tiny and sweet, and often mistaken for being Japanese from what I remember (to be fair, she very much did look Asian, not Spanish, and we’re all heavily mixed so who knows).

Anyway, I’m sidetracking. My dad became skilled as a sniper (“sharpshooter” as he affectionately referred to it, as if that made it any less horrifying to go through as a literal teenager), which was a skill he brought back with him to the US. I can’t say much more—maybe I’ll talk about that in length after he passes—but why do for free what you can monetize back in the States?

We lived in a house on Saxon Way in Sacramento where my childhood memories truly begin. I had a couple neighbor girl friends that accepted me and though found me weird, still made me feel welcome. I remember playing a LOT of Nintendo 64 and original PlayStation games, oddly realizing I liked girls along with boys as early as Kindergarten (for which I was vehemently bullied for by other girls—I didn’t know then what being gay was or that it wasn’t okay, and wouldn’t for a long time), pulling the head off my Barbies because they made me really uncomfortable and sticking Barbie’s head on Ken’s body (Ahh, that’s better. I want to look like Ken when I grow up!), and desperately vying for the toys from the boys’ section at Walmart.

My poor mom tried so hard to make me a little girl. I already have three half-brothers, each with different men, and she wanted her dream daughter. Unfortunately she instead received some sort of chimera child that was often mistaken for being a little boy despite the mid-back length hair.

I’ll never forget that doctor referring to me as my parent’s “son” when I got pneumonia at the age of 12. I digress.

One of my half-brothers came to live with us when I was about four or five. He was 17 and a standard troublemaker, trying to get laid and smoke weed, nothing to really write home about. Except my dad needed things to go his way entirely.

One night, my brother went down the street to hang out with some friends. My dad had the final straw with my brother leaving his bong in my dad’s Jeep, a clear challenge of authority according to my dad. We had an RV in our driveway by this time so my dad could escape the house when my parents began fighting over my brother or whatever else was going wrong. My dad took it upon himself to sit up atop the RV and wait for by brother to come back home.

He lied to the SWAT team that was called, whether by my brother, mom, or the neighbors, and said the discharged round they found was him recklessly firing in city limits at New Years in celebration. He did some prison time, paid some fines, and completed some community service.

I’m not sure he wanted to kill my brother or just intimidate him. I think he wanted to kill him and tried to goad my brother and his friends to charge him so it’d become self-defense. That’s just my theory, though.

Shortly after, we moved to Texas. My dad told everyone it was because of his family spread throughout the state, but only my mom and I knew the real reason: he wanted to ditch California and be free from his parole. My dad would fondly tell me that when he called around, his would-be Texas parole officer reassured him, “Sir, what you did there isn’t illegal out here. Come on out.” I was uprooted and lost the only two girlfriends I ever made because my dad couldn’t bear responsibility for his actions.

Things grew worse in Texas, but my mom was sober for as long as I can remember which was cool. I tried so desperately to make friends and developed my first crush in fifth grade on one of the popular boys. The bullying began in fourth grade, though. I started to get hairy arms and legs, acne, bushy eyebrows, and other androgynous characteristics that the other girls didn’t have. I became friends with two girls, Katy and Stormey, but didn’t know it was a ploy (and why not use their real names here? They’ll never see this).

They took all my secrets and hopes and fears and weaponized them in fifth grade. I started getting harassed for how hairy and ugly I was, being told I needed to shave my legs and wax my eyebrows, and at one point that, “[I’d] look a lot better if I took a sander to my face.”

For sixth grade, my dad moved us back to California but this time to Bakersfield—again because of family, but for real this time. One of my beloved uncles, a beautiful artist that painted hyper-realistic portraits using oil paints and a brush in his mouth (he was a quadriplegic), had passed from pneumonia because his sister, my aunt, denied him my grandmother’s home where he lived after my grandmother passed. This aunt was a real estate agent, and much like all the other Smith aunts and uncles, money was king. So out my uncle went into a month of homelessness before it ultimately killed him.

At least that’s the story I was told. I’ll never know the truth.

Bakersfield was hot, dusty, and terrible. For sixth grade, I had a terrifying teacher by the name of Ms. Laffoon who had anger issues. She’d punish us with physical exercise and flip desks (one of which hit me) in rage when someone didn’t turn in their homework. It wouldn’t be until I was an adult that I realized she should’ve been reported and arrested for various instances of child abuse against us.

From here, I’ll use initials in places of names.

P. was also an androgynous girl, but she hated me upon first sight. One time, she cornered me in the girl’s bathroom and picked me up by my throat and threatened me. For what, I have no idea.

S. was bubbly and loud but well loved. She and A. became best friends, and I was somewhat the third-wheel of the trio, but in eight grade was cast out because I told A. I was sick of hearing her bemoan boys all the time. A. told me she’d “beat my ass” at a time and place, but she was nowhere to be found.

G. was the first crush I ever had that was reciprocated. Our innocent little affair began in the summer between sixth and seventh grade over email, to which he confessed he liked me a lot. Wow, me?! Someone liked me for me!

I started band class in seventh grade and will never forget the entire class excluding myself huddled in Mr. Moynier’s office around the computer. To my horror, G. had shown the entire class my pathetic admissions of like for him, and something about this flipped a switch for me because I became a bully to others after. One stormy day, I wrote the head of band class (or who I recognized as their leader) a death threat via note, explaining that their actions are what lead good people to become school shooters. She told me later in high school she kept that note and vehemently apologized. I think she and I were okay after that.

In seventh grade, E. became my first boyfriend and kiss. I fell in love with him quickly and had never felt pretty or accepted before. In the almost year or so we were together, I learned at one point his asking me out was for a dare by the guys to ask the ugliest girl in school out. I dumped him not long after finding that out. I carried this complex I developed into every relationship I’ve had thereafter, and to this day I will never believe a soul that I could be found attractive, whether physically or by my personality.

I wrote Mr. Falk a suicide note that year after realizing I didn’t want to be around anymore. He was the first teacher I ever trusted, and we bonded over his beautiful sketch art, which I also partook in at the time. My mom thought I was a child prodigy because I could sketch photorealistic portraits of people and objects. Luckily, a focus on GATE and AP classes beat the absolute shit out of that dream to where I experience panic attacks to this day when I try to even attempt artwork of any media.

Mr. Falk brough the note to my house later that week and tearfully apologized to me, saying he was so sorry to betray my trust but he’s a mandatory reporter and needed to let my parents know. My dad was the one to answer the door when he arrived, cool and understanding as ever: “No, sir, I had no idea she was feeling this way. Yes, sir, we’ll get her to see a therapist.” Then once the door closed: “What the fuck do you think you’re doing spreading lies about the way we treat you?”

From there, it was a string of guys and one statutory rape relationship. I could never feel safe with any of them and was often cheated on for various reasons: flat chested, ugly, boyish, loud, obnoxious, bad sex, just felt like it, wasn’t into it, etc. But we’re jumping ahead a bit here.

My mom’s alcoholism and drug use escalated to new heights while we lived in Bakersfield, and I recently learned she used to buy meth from D.’s dad. Ha. Hahaha. D. was my supposed best friend and crush. I think he was genuine, though. I can’t fault him for something our parents did.

Ah, this leads me into high school and the crowd I hung out with. Two D’s and two J’s. One of the J’s was a giggle monster and a sweetheart. I once had a crush on him purely because he treated me the kindest. The other J. was a Dumpster fire of a person who I hate to this day. He could puke on command, sexually assaulted me publicly in the quad at Golden Valley by pantsing me in front of everyone to show all that “I really had a dick,” and almost broke my ankle once by shoving D. into me while we walked along a curb.

This J. will find me on social media throughout the years, a couple times harassing me about my breast size or lacktherof, and it won’t be until I was about 26 before I realized not all attention is good attention, so the blocking began. He recently followed me on my Twitch stream, the stunt I briefly had in early 2023, and I remember getting so much anxiety that I threw up after I realized it was him.

Sorry, tangent again. High school is when my Borderline traits began to come to the surface and the abuse against me was cranked to about a 7. My mom would get a DUI or two during this time and threw herself further into alcoholism the more my dad stonewalled and emotionally/psychologically tormented both her and I, but mostly her. He despised her, was disgusted by her, and wanted her gone. I’ll never forget crying and asking her why she and Dad didn’t get a divorce already because I was miserable.

She did leave when I was 14.

The winter after she left, my dad couldn’t make both rent and utilities, so we just went without electricity and gas. I was in mostly AP classes at this point and could barely manage my workload WITH such luxuries, so I began flunking. My AP Biology teacher approached me one day and asked why I stopped turning in homework and didn’t I know I’m flunking rapidly? Yes, I knew. But how do I do homework that requires a computer with no electricity? How do I juggle such a complex workload, even by college standards, solely by candlelight? My dad refused to take me to the library or anywhere else, and even before my mom left, he’d get his way by arguing that “he wasn’t my babysitter.” Despite the severe depression I was feeling by the time we lost power and hot water in our home, I thought this was just life and what others went through. People began noticing that I was dropping down to 90 pounds, unable to afford much of anything other than canned Ranch Style Beans that my dad insisted we eat (I gag to this day at the thought of eating these).

Even though my dad forced me to work after school and on weekends with him on his “palomitas wagon” as he affectionately referred to his meager pull-behind concession stand, we still couldn’t make ends meet enough to eat.

My AP Biology teacher took it upon herself to have the school host a canned food drive for us and the district paid several months of our utilities to help me out. I’d never been more mortified, and my dad had never been angrier with me. This was around the time he began becoming more meanspirited toward me, now regularly regarding me as “Boy” when I was at home.

It was hot and dusty on the trek home with DDJJ from high school, and one awful day I came home from school after being accosted by several dirt devils (dust tornadoes for the unfamiliar). I was already in a prickly mood and sick of life’s shit by this point, often deliberating the path of least resistance when it came to committing suicide. I came in through our open garage to my dad sitting at what used to be our dining room table when my mom was there, and what had been transformed into his project table for motorcycle engines and whatever stupid mechanic bullshit he had been cooking up at that point. He was enjoying Ritz and a can of cheez-whiz when I threw my backpack on the floor and flopped into a chair next to him. He chuckled at me with how caked in dirt my face was (I have oily skin even as an adult) and on the first, “Boy…” uttered, I took that can of cheez-whiz and beat the FUCK out of his face as hard as I could.

The thrill of power and adrenaline I had was amazing for all of three seconds until utter terror ripped through me with the face of contempt and venom I saw on him. He grabbed the whiz can, reared back, and changed trajectory at the last minute, launching it into our backyard sliding glass door.

He didn’t speak to me for about two weeks afterward.

About a month later, we moved three houses up the street to a bad deal home that he took up. By this point, this straight-A student was skipping school and desperately wanting out of life. Which was the lesser of evils? The angry, abusive father who directed his hatred for the Mexicans, Blacks, and women now toward me? (Oh, yes: my dad is also very racist. This was a norm for me that I wouldn’t realize until my late 20s.) Or the unreliable and shrill alcoholic mother who at least feigned love for me?

I called my mom to pick me up. This was my last opportunity to try to live a life with some blip of happiness.

My mom had rekindled her relationship with Dave, her first husband from the age of 17. All I knew about him when I moved in was that he looked like Bluto from Popeye and my dad treated his name like Voldemort’s, but I’d soon learn that both he and my maternal grandmother (her house that we lived in) were all just as awful as Dad but in different ways.

About a month into living in Sacramento [again] with my mom, grandma, and Dave, I woke up around 4 am to belligerent crying. My mom and Dave were wasted, and he open-palm slapped her for dancing with another guy at the bar they had gone out to.

Nope. No. No. No. Absolutely not. Not this all over again.

I called my dad almost 300 miles south. “What do you want me to do? Call the cops. But hide your phone in your panties; don’t let your mom have it.” Mom tried so hard to get into my room for consolation about her situation, and I was tired at this point of being the parent to my parents and enduring the emotional incest of both. I began slamming my bedroom door on her arm in attempt to break her elbow or shoulder, then locked it when she quickly faltered.

The cops came and arrested her for being drunk in public later that morning. She was quite upset that I called the cops on her and vowed to get me admitted to juvenile hall (yeah, it doesn’t work like that, but the message was still received that she hated me in that moment), moving into the street towards the two officers that arrived—and that was all they needed. I was left with Dave and my grandma, but I’d be damned to stay with them: so, I called my aunt, the one my mom would gamble and drink with about a decade prior.

I stayed with my Aunt Janie for a couple of days. She still abandoned my cousin and I for the casino or meth, but I was older at this point and the reprieve from the screaming, threats, chaos, and fear was welcome. My cousin Desiree was well versed by Janie’s antics at this point and was unphased, having learned to take care of herself by the sad age of 12 [and I had recently turned 15 at this point].

Unfortunately, Mom had been released from the drunk tank and was on her way by the end of the second day. Normally people are housed for about 12-24 hours in jail for drunk-in-public charges, but she was lucky and stayed the whole weekend due to their booking system going down during that time. And she. Was. Livid.

Everything that proceeded her short stint in jail was a blur, but it happened something like this: Dave left, my dad moved in, we lived in Sacramento together for roughly 2-3 months before the fights grew vicious enough that we needed to get out, and he and I moved into a 16-foot camper trailer to a mobile home court down the street for the next six months.

During this time, I began charter school and was in an accelerated program to catch up dropping out of Golden Valley to move to Sacramento halfway through my sophomore year. This charter program only required one hour a week for me to be in class and see my teacher, which afforded me enough time to get a non-palomitas wagon job and I began working full-time [illegally] for a nearby KFC for the next two years.

I graduated a year early and as a Valedictorian in 2010, right before turning 17. During this time, I endured:

More abuse from my father.

Dave trying to kill my mom, her now boyfriend R., and my grandma by burning their house down. The homeowner’s insurance resulted in my charred possessions garnering me a $4,000 check in which I bought my first SUV with.

Ended my almost two-year relationship with D. (unrelated to DDJJ at Golden Valley) who was my statutory relationship—I was 15 and he was 19, and everyone knew but didn’t give a damn.

An awful month-long relationship with C. who was an abusive Mormon-turned-Catholic-turned-Atheist-turned-heroin-addict. He let me take his virginity and when I had a miscarriage, he said I killed his son. Then he cheated on me.

A six-month-long relationship with W. who at that point had turned me into a massive stoner. Cannabis became my escape from reality from 2009 through 2011. He also cheated on me.

A one-month relationship with K. Who cheated on me with eight women.

A one-month relationship with E. He was nice but ghosted me after a month because he liked video games better.

And the worst birthday present I’ve ever received. One of the childhood girlfriends I had before I left for Texas re-entered my life, D. (so many D names). D. and her boyfriend W. promised me a good time for my birthday, and they knew just the trick: W. had a brother named Dustin, and Dustin was horny for just about anything. Including my naïve ass. For my birthday, D. and W. took me to Dustin’s house, barricaded the door to his bedroom from the outside, and giggled while I screamed for help as I was being raped.

I began attending Sierra College at 17 where I took one semester at 16 units while juggling a full-time schedule at KFC. I was tired, especially of taking care of my dad. By this time, we had moved into an apartment where I was covering half the rent and most of the utilities. Why didn’t he work all these years? Well…

While in Vietnam, he was stabbed in the back by a young Vietnamese girl of about 10. She met her untimely fate at his hand, but that back injury prevailed to the current day. He used this injury to get out of a good paying job when I was about three years old and retired early with Social Security disability. And once you’re on that, you can’t get it back if you forfeit it through taking another job. So, my dad has been working under the table and committing tax evasion for about 20 years.

While I was at Sierra College, I met C. and this was right about where my life became irreparably worse as my unknown and untreated Borderline and cPTSD symptoms were fully out in the open. Up until meeting C., I was vehemently against drinking of any kind because of my mom, but it was his vice. This was the beginning of what would become a terribly unstable almost five-year relationship.

From the age of 17 to 22, C. and I took turns hurting each other through cheating, drug abuse, physical violence by my hand on one occasion, suicide attempts and self-mutilation (also by my hand).

With Borderline Personality Disorder, there are nine criteria total, and one has to meet any five of them to be diagnosed. These nine are: fear of abandonment, whether real or perceived; unstable relationships; unclear or shifting self-image (or unstable/lack of identity); impulsive and self-destructive, behaviors through either binge eating, risky sex, spending issues, reckless driving, etc.; self-harm and/or suicide attempts; extreme emotional mood swings; chronic feelings of emptiness; and explosive anger.

I was diagnosed with BPD in 2014, less than a year before things with C. ended, and I had checked off all the boxes. I wouldn’t learn until 2018 that cPTSD shares quite a few of the same criteria as well.

Before summer of 2015, I had had very short relationships or one-night stands with five more guys and a 5250 hospitalization at Heritage Oaks in Sacramento from an almost successful attempt by hanging after I was raped via sodomy once more. I was so exasperated of life at this point, of feeling unloved, rejected, unworthy, ugly, unsuccessful, and by this time I was coming to terms with the contradiction that as an existential nihilist and Atheist, there couldn’t possibly be a god with treatment like this, but also maybe…my role in life was to be used.

Maybe that’s why all of this has happened to me. This is my God. This is my Higher Power: the concept that maybe rape and violence and mistreatment happen to certain people because that’s their pre-determined role. I decided I was a martyr for pleasure for others. I was unlovable, flawed, broken, and ugly: please, can we spare the pretty, successful, clean, and happy women/men/children and make me a beacon for hate and rape? If I can keep just one more guy away from all of that, I’m okay. I’ll be okay. Because it’ll all make sense in the end, right?

My internalized misogyny and self-loathing warped my perception of life and how I navigate it well into the present day, and currently this is the concept I struggle with: that sometimes, bad things just happen for no reason other than wrong place and wrong time. To cope with my life experiences by the time I was 22, I began seeking out movies in the extreme horror genre: Salo, or a 120 Days in Sodom; A Serbian Film; Martyrs; I Stand Alone; Irreversible; Nymphomaniac; Cannibal Holocaust; Cannibal Ferox; I Spit On Your Grave (1978); Ken Park; Kids; Trash Humpers; Gummo; Trauma; Dogtooth; Antichrist; and more.

These movies became my personality. I never sought them out for shock value or to be perverse, but rather to feel less alone. My tastes in movies became ever more depraved, and some of you reading may be well versed in them. For those who aren’t, they’re snuff-film in nature. I’ve since switched to books as my current extreme horror genre: Eric LaRocca, Aron Beuregard, Samuel R. Delaney, Matthew Stokoe, and many other authors who cover topics of incest, rape, necrophilia, cannibalism: you name it. I’ve grown desensitized to just about anything and every time I indulge, I’m left with a widening internal void and adrenaline. Feeling miserable is my safe, my norm, and I’m used to it without ever being truly used to it. I like increasing my internal void in hopes that one day, there’ll be nothing left to feel and I’ll be free.

I met T. in the summer of 2015. We were together about six months before we got married. In 2019, we separated and to this day, I’m trying to idiot my way through the divorce. On New Year’s 2018, the last girlfriend I had named K. was sexually assaulted at a party we both attended. Her predator was the husband of the host, and K. told me about this the next day. The Husband tried the same on me, but I wasn’t yet drunk enough to fall victim. On K’s birthday, Friday April 12th, 2018, it was my turn and I was kidnapped and sexually assaulted by a Lyft Driver after my husband angrily left the tavern we were celebrating K’s birthday at.

I wandered downtown Sacramento for a couple of hours, drunk and sad with a dead phone. I wasted the last of the battery trying to contact T. but his phone was either off or dead. Then the Lyft Driver came and followed me. I ran into him twice in his car and he seemed nice, and I was desperate. I explained that my phone was dead, but he was okay doing this trip pro-bono because I seemed lost and stressed.

I didn’t know that fear would lead a person to try to jump out of a car going 70 miles per hour while the driver tried to forcefully digitally penetrate them.

The Lyft Driver gave up after my escape attempt and took me back to my apartment complex. I gave him the wrong apartment number and he locked me in his car until I complied with a disgusting, blubbery kiss. (This is indeed the story referenced further down in my Tumblr; some details in that story were fabricated, such as the date, names, and phone percentages to keep it hidden, but fuck it: the above are the true events.)

A part of me came unhinged that early morning and for the next few years, I would try like hell to make it out of this life, to include falling victim to one more account of rape by I., a guy from high school who tricked me into feeling wanted when I was finally reduced to dust emotionally.

But at least the Lyft Driver was charged just a few weeks after he was caught: https://www.eastbaytimes.com/2018/05/16/lyft-driver-charged-in-sexual-assault-of-passenger-in-fremont/

My dad suffered a severe stroke in July 2019. He called me from the hospital and told me he wanted to kill himself, and could I find the gun in his underwear drawer. “Dad, you’re not supposed to have guns. You’re a two-time convicted felon.” I found the gun and did the opposite by hiding it in another part of his house, some Frankenstein’s contraption he made himself. My dad was cunning and artistic like his brothers and sisters, and I’m convinced he could rig a gun out of tree bark and acorns at this point if it meant he could avoid the law.

He grew worse over time, forgetting who my mom was on occasion, forgetting key events, and went from being an Atheist to a megalomaniac Christian who would’ve married Trump himself if it weren’t for the whole being-gay-is-wrong thing. His comments towards me and my body became increasingly inappropriate, his racism proclaimed with less awareness of his surroundings, and the manifestation of PTSD from the Vietnam War came out in ways I’d never seen before. He also struggled to walk and move like he used to.

In February 2020, Dad called me and offered me a full-paid trip on a cruise to wherever I wanted, the catch being I had to come over and say hello. I thanked him and declined, then hung up. I haven’t spoken to him since and I also avoided being trapped on a cruise ship with hundreds of others as the world descended into panic over COVID-19.

I’m still reeling over my most recently ended relationship (or maybe I’m still with him? I don’t know—I’ve broken up with him several times now, but we try to repair and the dysfunction continues) and I’m not ready to add that here.

But I’m trying. I tried to drown myself while high on edibles last month, but the body’s will to survive even while heavily intoxicated overtakes the desire for the void (or afterlife depending on what you believe). I still struggle with thinking my only purpose is to give myself to others which has turned me into a workaholic, but I’d say throwing myself into perfectionism over insurance is several steps up from accepting rape as my responsibility and fault. I deal with emotional flashbacks (cPTSD symptom) almost daily and learned last year that I was raped by my dad when I was about three years old; the nightmares of him doing this to me over the years make a lot more sense now even though I don’t remember the details.

I’ve always wanted to bear my soul and experiences to someone who would understand but my resolve is that there’s no one that could possibly understand whether they had it better or worse than me. I often feel unsafe even when I’m home with my cats and nothing bad is happening and I walk through life with a sense of, “When will the other shoe drop?”

I’m really trying to be okay. I don't want compassion. I don't want pity. I don't want love. I don't want justice. I just want to know why the fuck I'm here and where do I belong?

[overcaffeinated-underwhelmed]

Listen friend. SDS (sugar daddy schmidt) is buying the main character new glasses, found her crying in the bathroom and tried to comfort her, and he has a great relationship with his personal assistant which is Cece. So like he's sweet but also very controlling when it comes to his sugar baby. He won't let her do things/makes her schedule (really Cece plans everything because she's a queen) and tells her what to wear but he's just such a sweet guy when he's not putting on a facade.

He's my favorite New Girl character and this idea has been bonking around my head for literal YEARS!

tbh not crazy about the "controlling" aspect, but it truly fits him. i can see it more like him saying "you should TOTALLY wear this bc you would look so good, but also if you're not comfortable, that's totally fine, but like you would like amazing and so hot, but like..." and just like being big on word-vomiting lmao

he'd be confident but in a dorky way, y'know?

obvi i'm not getting the full pic of the your take on the character in this short message, but wanted to like give my 2 cents (which you can take or not, i don't care lmao)

OH ALSO: maybe another thought, reader being jealous of his relationship w Cece and just feeling insecure about it so he like does everything to prove that he ONLY has eyes for reader - like planning an extravagant date & having Cece and Jess help dress shop or something and like they go somewhere soooo bougie

[asoulofatlantis]

Gwyn is one of those characters that really make you want to scream: “You go Grandpa!” XD But seriously, he might have come off as a bit off... uh... you know an old pervert who is a bit to lax with allowing Rean to take Alisa home for the night if he wants to (*lol*) but he actually has a good head on his shoulders, his heart has always been at the right place and he cares A LOT about his family, even after Irina pushed him from his position the way she did. He deserves our respect. We of course know that a lot of the things that Smidts does, come from the heart as well... but his methods are questionable at best.

I always loved how in this scene Alberich playing with the emotions of his Family and thus confusing and hurting Alisa is immediately triggering Rean to get pissed.

I doubt that. While I agree that in the world they described technologie and thus engineers and scientist will be essential and very important for rebuilding a collapsed world, the church will NEVER cease to be important. In times of need and desperation, in times were people were almost starving and dying of diseases, were there was almost only work and almost no fun in the world, the believe in a god has been the only thing keeping people aflood. When bad thing happened they explained it to themselves as a divine punishment for their sins and praying and believing in a good that will eventually grant them mercy and salvation was keeping their hopes up and their spirits high. Meaning that, while the church might not be as important as it was after the great collapse, it will never stop being important, never stop being necessary. Tho it will lose an immense amount if power and influence, which would make way for Alberichs plans to introduce a “new god” with the great one.

This game keeps making Musse look like an immense genius that predicts the future like its a simple math quiz, but at the end of the day, we have multiple instances were the game shows us that Musse is far from able to truly see ALL the things possible. Ever since the activation of the great Twillight, her predictions have been wrong quite a few times. Yes, she said that otherwordly-things kind of ruin her calculations somewhat, but there isn’t much otherworldly stuff going on here. They want to take the world down and make up a new order. Not much otherworldy stuff going on here aside from the role the great one plays in it. So once again, we see that Musses powers are not as great as they tried us to believe in the beginning of this game.

Irinas moral compass, just like Smidts might be a little bit off A LOT off times because her biggest priority is first and foremost business, but at the end of the day, her heart too, is not in the wrong place. In CS3 when she talked about Sharon leaving, she said it like she didn’t care, but at the end of the day, she did very well care and has just a different way of showing it. Irina in itself is like many others in the Trails-Saga, a very strong woman. And we never should forget what Rean said on the Pantagruel, she did raise a wonderful daughter, so despite her faults and mistakes, its obvious that not everything she is doing is wrong and that often behind her cold and calculated actions, stands a woman with a heart.

And here we see were Schmidts shows how is questionable action are often lead by the heart as well. It seems at first he only went to work with Alberich to see what is left of his favorite people, the ones closest to the son he never had, which already is a matter of the heart, but he didn’t stop there. He also showed that despite everything, he still cares about his disciples and wants to get George out of the dark place he got himself into. Granted, his methods are not exactly... uh... the best, so to speak, but it doesn’t change the fact that it comes from the heart.

I guess act 3 is in a sense the continuation of the reunion to end all reunions. It feels good to have Sharon back. She belongs to us, not Ouroboros.

In all honesty, I do wish he would have pulled the trigger... or rather, I did wish it for a moment, given how I almost lost Olivert because of him... BUT that would ruin our reunion-motto and who would I be without complaining about all those traitors who run around freely like they never did anything wrong? XD And... I kinda... sorta... somehow have trouble being too angry at Crow for long... or Cedric for that matter so... the Cold Steel Saga needs at least someone who I can hate for all of eternity and for that, he needs to stay alive XD

Also... proving that Falcom usis gay gals more as queerbaiting then actually making them truly gay kind of serves a purpose for a certain other ship for me and how am I supposed to prove that if the only man Angie actually ever loved is dead? So.... yeah... whatever.

You know... its always fun and extremally frustrating how the traitors themselves always know that and the others, the “good” characters are actually usually the ones not understanding this.

And here comes your casual “you are a damn hypocrite, player!”, reminder by the cast itself. Now go into a dark corner and be ashamed of yourself for the fact that you only hate certain characters for what they did... I join you in that corner of shame in a moment too...

I guess in a way the game tries to tell us that the best way for them to pay for their since, being able to continue living a normal life with the knowledge that other can’t because of their sins. I honestly do not think that quite cuts it for everyone, but who am I to judge that?

That is Crossbells version of the “sister/brother/sibling-zone”. The colleague-zone XD

[gffa]

Hi! Yes, absolutely, Vader could do that, because that's precisely how he got his bled kyber crystal in canon, that he fought Kirak Infil'a to steal his crystal and force it to bend to his will. He could do the same thing with Obi-Wan’s crystal, but I think two things stop him: 1. After Obi-Wan’s death on the Death Star, it feels like a fire has gone out of Darth Vader.  Some of this is that he’s getting older and he’s spent two decades in total misery, but without Obi-Wan to fixate on, with Obi-Wan gone from the galaxy, something vital in Darth Vader flickers out. Oh, he’s still an asshole and he’ll still do terrible things and he’ll become fixated on Luke, but there’s a certain drive in a particular direction that has gone out of him--and one I think that, having been stripped from him, allows him to turn more fully towards Luke, that without Obi-Wan’s pull there any longer, there’s one less gravitational star for Vader to feel the pull of, that now he truly has nothing, Padme’s dead, Obi-Wan’s dead, Ahsoka’s probably dead but if not she’s certainly willing to kill him.  What’s the point of bleeding Obi-Wan’s crystal?  Obi-Wan isn’t there to see him do it, Obi-Wan doesn’t care about worldly things anymore, Obi-Wan left all of it behind when he let Vader kill him, there’s just no fire in Vader there anymore. 2.  I think Vader may also be afraid of what would happen if he tried it.  When he bleeds Kirak’s crystal, the Force and the crystal blast a vision right in his face, one that shows him another path he could be on, shows him that he could do things differently, and it’s an incredibly powerful moment that takes all of his hate and rage to overcome. It’s not even Obi-Wan’s crystal and it still shoves a vision into his head of him killing Palpatine and finding Obi-Wan on some random planet and begging for help/death/forgiveness/whatever.

I think he’s terrified of what Obi-Wan’s kyber crystal would show him. after all the times the Force has tried to show him another way, has tried to show him that Obi-Wan loved him (and he can’t look at that knowledge so close to Obi-Wan’s death, to Obi-Wan leaving him again), has tried to show him that he’s spent all these years on the wrong path. I think he’s terrified of the fire that’s no longer burning in him, that he might get lost in another vision if it’s from Obi-Wan’s crystal. I think he already has a saber and Sidious is already disdainful of his obsession with Obi-Wan, so if he bled the crystal anyway, Sidious might punish him for it. I think he’s filling himself up with the mystery surrounding who this boy is that Obi-Wan gave his saber to instead of looking at his actual problems. And I think he’s lonely and this is all he has left of someone he knew loved him. FROM A CERTAIN POINT OF VIEW:  THERE IS ANOTHER by Gary D. Schmidt

And it was right at that moment--at that exact moment--that Yoda felt Obi-Wan grow suddenly stronger, and stronger, and stronger, and then move in a quick burst into the netherworld of the Force.  And Yoda felt Anakin fall even more deeply into painful loneliness.  A loneliness so terrible that Yoda almost felt pity for him.

Vader could bleed the crystal if he wanted to (and there may one day come a story where they decide that he did, because we don’t know what happened to Obi-Wan’s saber after the Death Star, I could see a lot of interesting potential in that story idea), but I think he didn’t because he was too afraid of it and because it was too painful for him to do it, now that Obi-Wan had gone beyond anywhere he could reach.

[mrs-perfectly-fine]

Clone Wars Characters As Nick Miller Quotes:

Anakin Skywalker: I know this isn’t going to end well, but the middle part is going to be awesome.

Obi Wan Kenobi: It smells like leather and Teddy Roosevelt and wistfulness.

Ashoka Tano: If I had a dollar for everyone I couldn’t hang out with because they hated Schmidt Anakin, I’d be rich.

Captain Rex: Do I regret it? Yes. Would I do it again? Probably.

Padme Amidala: Pink robes are my catnip.

Commander Cody: I like getting older. I feel like I am finally aging into my personality.

ARC Trooper Fives: You treat an outside wound with rubbing alcohol. You treat an inside wound with drinking alcohol.

Commander Fox: (“Would you consider us adorable?”) No, we’re adult men. We’re cute.

Commander Wolffe (and Plo Koon): Of course I make decisions. How do you think I’m wearing clothes right now?
(Plo Koon: “I lay those out for you, Wolffe.”)

Clone Troooer Heavy: If we needed to talk about feelings, they would be called ‘talkings’.

Hunter: I only wanna make a drink a coal miner would want. Straight forward. Honest. Something that says, ‘I work in a hole.’

ARC Trooper Echo: All right. *sighs* Trust the process.

Wrecker: I hate doors!

Tech: I moved to LA to get closer to whales so I could record them.

Crosshair: Nick Miller Trooper Crosshair, turning lemonade into lemons since 1981.

Trace Martez: Is calling a girl ‘Shorty’ still cool?

Rafa Martez: A bank is just a paper bag but with fancier walls.

Yoda: Nothing is ever truly broken.

Qui-Gon Jinn: I am not a successful adult. I don’t eat vegetables and/or take care of myself.

General Grievous: I’m very quick on my… uh…. (“Did you just forget the word fest”) Feet, yeah.

Mace Windu: Light is always more beautiful when it has to fight to be noticed, like sunlight fighting through the clouds after a rainstorm.

Count Dooku: I have decided to give up on women good and put all of that energy into tomatoes bad.

Palpatine: You’re allowed to be happy, but it’s really annoying the way you’re doing it.

Darth Maul: *sarcastic* No part of this conversation is making me wanna boil over with rage.

Cad Bane: Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? No, a summer’s day is not a bitch!

R2-D2: I can’t believe I’m the sober one. That’s actually never happened before in my life.

Hondo Ohnaka: You’re a terrible person. It’s hilarious

Bo-Katan Kryze: I’ve never been an inspiration before… I don’t like this much responsibility.

Asajj Ventress: Life sucks. Then it gets better. Then it sucks again.

Bail Organa: Twenty pages. And they’re all good……. Some of them are good……. Five pages are good……. I really like the title.

Shaak Ti: I fell in love with Jess clones the minute she they walked through the door.

C-3P0: I can’t work under pressure like this, you know that I get nervous.

Satine Kryze: Stop being so mean polite to me or I swear to God I’m gonna fall in love with you.

Luminara Unduli: I once saw a zebra named Gavin give birth at the zoo and I cried hysterically.

Clone Trooper 99: Beauty is not always as perfect as we imagine it to be, but it can be damn close if we learn to accept the scary parts or the ugly parts.

[bruhlsbees]

paradox burning ; 3/5 || ernst schmidt x fem!reader

gif credit to @/guillermodltoro

summary: the domino effect begins, schmidt and reader are thrown into hot water, mundy's arms shows up at the worst time

pairing: ernst schmidt x fem!reader

word count: 7,502

warnings: major character death (no not reader or ernst), spoilers for the cloverfield paradox, semi-public sex, orgasm denial, dick riding, yeah yeah y'all know what this shit about to be, minors dni, 18+, nsfw

a/n: we are almost done with the series!!!! figured i'd throw in a good smut scene before the angst of the ending - if you haven't heard already there will be a sequel to this (and yes it will be around 13 chapters) hope you enjoy!!!

translations (god i hope these are right):

Желим те - I want you, Волим те - I love you

Watching the clock, you waited until the hour hand clicked in place, the new hour beginning. You had been waiting in your room now for an hour, calming down before deciding that enough was enough and you had work to do. You wouldn’t be sitting in your room for the rest of your time aboard the station. Damn the Commander and damn anyone who thought differently.

Standing up from your bed, you didn’t bother with putting your suit back on as you made your way out of your room, down the hall, and back towards the medbay. Inside was Acosta who seemed to be taking a break from the woman in the wall and working on inventory. You walked in the room, watching as he looked up from his clipboard and towards you, his expression falling.

“Hey, you know the-”

“Acosta, please...I’m fine,” You shrugged and made your way over to the gloves, pulling a pair out before putting them on, “I did what the Commander told me to do and cooled off, I’m not just going to sit in my room forever.”

Acosta didn’t want to be the one to admit it, but he agreed with the Commander. Your mental state was failing the longer you were on board the Cloverfield Station - at this point it was only a guessing game as to when you would snap like Volkov or Schmidt. But Acosta cared for you, looked at you as if you were family, he was worried, but he knew how to talk with you about it.

“Yes, you cooled off...but how are you feeling still?” You opened your mouth to speak before catching Acosta turn and look over his shoulder, “Don’t lie to me, I am a doctor after all.”

You smiled at his joke, rolling your eyes before you sat up on the examination table, shrugging your shoulders. “Honestly? Not great.” Nodding, Acosta turned now and made his way to the examination table you were sitting on, leaning against it beside you.

“I know...you know, when I was looking over files to see who would be a good fit for the medical bay with me, you were always my top choice,” The confession surprised you, your gaze looking over at him as he smiled and nodded, “It’s true...I was always impressed with your work. When the Commander told me about your psychological evaluation and your low score, I didn’t care. You’re a great nurse and that’s what I care about.”

You could feel your eyes watering, but you didn’t care if Acosta saw you cry - it was Acosta after all. The words of encouragement were ones you had heard before, but coming from him, someone who had mentored you the past two years, it meant more than anything.

“We all have our faults, that doesn’t make us bad...what makes us bad is living by those faults and letting that define you.” Feeling his hand on your shoulder, you leaned into his touch before falling into a hug, wrapping your arms around his middle as he did the same to you, holding you close.

He smelled of warmth, bay rum, a father’s embrace. Acosta reminded you deeply of your own father - caring, quiet, and yet at the same time so full of knowledge that his mind alone could make up for the lack of his own words. He knew what to say and when to say it.

Pulling away, your hands rested on his back while you stared at him, smiling before closing your eyes as he leaned it, pressing a gentle kiss to your hairline. “Don’t let the bad thoughts take away from all that you’ve achieved. You’ve done so much just to let your own mind take that away from you.”

Nodding, you brought your knuckles to your eyes and swiped away the tears, letting out a sigh as your mind lulled, your brain desperately trying to focus on what Acosta was saying.

Think of the good stuff, think of what is true.

Looking up, the corners of your mouth twitched as you stared at Acosta. You nodded once, thanking him before watching him pat your knee and get up to go and continue on with his work. You kept your seat on the examination table before getting up to join Acosta in taking marks on inventory.

As you went to open the cabinet that had the medicine for common colds, the doors to the med bay whooshed open, Schmidt and Tam stumbling in with Volkov in their arms. Setting the clipboard down, you rushed over to the examination table that Volkov was now on.

“How long has he been like this?” Acosta asked, pulling out his small light to look over Volkov’s eyes, “What happened?”

“He tried to kill us!” Schmidt rushed, catching his breath as he stood at the end of the examination table beside Tam, motioning towards Volkov as he stayed unconscious on the table. It was the Commander, who must have followed them in, that spoke up next.

“Tam? Why do you have a gun?” He demanded. You hadn’t noticed until you finally looked at Tam, seeing the gun that was

When Tam explained that he had approached them on the X-Deck, threatened them with it, your heart sank. You looked over at Schmidt, a worried expression glazed over your eyes while he shook his head, silently telling you that it was fine and that he would tell you about it later.

“Just lock it away, Tam!” At this point, Mundy and Hamilton were joining the rest of the crew in the medbay, watching as Acosta and yourself looked over Volkov. While Acosta used his flashlight to look down his throat, you pressed your fingers to his wrist, feeling for a pulse.

You tried to focus on finding a pulse, moving your two fingers up and down his wrist. You figured that because he was unconscious, his pulse would be harder to find - evidently he wasn’t as unconscious as you thought to believe because when he suddenly grabbed your wrist, you let out a gasp and stepped back, tugging your wrist out of his grasp and stumbling back, the Commander caught you from falling and kept you pulled back away from Volkov who began to finally spit up blood and violently shake.

“W-What’s happening?” You found yourself asking, although nobody seemed to truly know what the hell was going on, all standing around in shock at the disturbing sight of Volkov. His convulsions grew more rapid before finally his spine snapped up, silence deafening the room as he fell down before being replaced by the sound of his flatline.

You never were a fan of Volkov, but you would be lying to yourself if you said that you were happy to see him gone in such a gruesome matter. You wouldn’t wish that on anyone, not even your worst enemy, not even Volkov.

“No...no.”

Glancing to your right, you frowned at the sight of Mundy, who slowly approached the end of the examination table, looking down at Volkov. Hamilton extended her arm out to console Mundy, but then suddenly out of nowhere, Volkov was at it again, only this time it was one final blow.

The worms that came out of Volkov’s mouth was one thing, but the quantity of the slimy earthworms that erupted from him. They coaxed the floors and your feet like mud, impossible to step away from them as you, like the rest of the crew, began to stomp down on them, desperately trying to get them away and off of you.

When the worms suddenly stopped, lying now on the floor, you leaned against the wall, catching your breath after the incident that just happened. Your eyes glanced at Schmidt who was looking at Tam to see if she was okay. You smiled weakly and looked around the rest of the room, noticing that everyone else seemed to be okay as well.

“Well we found the worms.”

You didn’t know if it was Mundy’s poorly timed joke, the excessive amount of worms on the ground and the guts that were seeped into your shoes, or the horrifying sight of Volkov on the table, but something made your stomach churn, and you followed Hamilton closely as the both of you rushed out of the room, back into your quarters to throw up.

Your body hurled over the toilet, the sudden smell becoming almost unbearable. You quickly flushed the toilet before leaning back to shut the lid of the toilet seat, standing up and sitting now on the toilet while you brushed your teeth, trying your best to get the taste out of your mouth.

Leaning over the sink, you spit out the contents of your mouth, rinsing your toothbrush off before cupping your hand under the sink to collect water, bringing to your lips to intake and swish around your mouth, spitting the water out after a moment.

Making your way out of your bathroom, you wiped the beads of sweat that collected over your forehead off, leaning against the doorway to catch your breath. You kept your eyes closed, taking slow deep breaths in and gently exhaling through your mouth. You stayed this way until you heard your door open and shut.

“What happened? Are you okay?” Your attention shifted from the floor and up in front of you to Schmidt who now held you in an embrace, his hands placed on either side of your face, looking over you to make sure you were fine.

Shaking your head, you leaned forward and buried your face into his neck, hugging him tight as you began to cry.

“Volkov...I-,” You whimpered and clung to his suit tighter, “Ernst, I can’t unsee that. Even when I blink I can see him lying on that table and I don’t think I will ever get that sight out of my mind. What if that was yo-”

“But it wasn’t...it wasn’t! Hey, look at me,” He pulled your head back carefully, his thumbs running along your face as he swiped away your tears, pressing a kiss in between your brows, “I’m right here, okay? I’m not going anywhere. I’m always going to be here.”

At this point he had pulled you back into his arms, cradling your head into his neck as he rocked side to side, his right hand on the back of your head while the other rubbed your back.

“I want to go home, Schmidt...I don’t want to do this anymore. I can’t!” You thought of your family, your small home in the country. You always thought you were trapped in that home, sharing a room with your younger sister until you left for school. But now that you were in space, stuck aboard the ship, you only wished to be back in your room with Mila.

Schmidt’s heart sank, wincing at the sounds of your cries and pleads to return home. He wasn’t sure what to do, how to comfort you in that moment. You couldn’t reach your family, so calling was off the table, all he could do was hold you and listen to you cry. Eventually your sobs stopped and were replaced by faint whimpers that vibrated against his neck.

“I’ll get you home. I promise, I promise you’ll see your family again. But you have to stay strong until then, okay?” Schmidt kissed the top of your head, squeezing you one more time before pulling you back to coax you into your bed, laying you down before getting in beside you.

“You don’t have to-”

“I know, but I want to. I don’t think Tam is in any hurry right now, and neither am I.” You were surprised to hear him put you first - you understood why he never did given your secrecy of relationship and the fact that his role on the station was so important. But even now, after everything, hearing him put you first even for just a few minutes, it made you realize just how much you were in love with him.

You leaned forward and kissed his forehead, cradling his head now close to you as you laid with him. Your fingers running through his hair while his ran along your waist under your shirt. If it weren’t for how exhausted you were, you would have asked him how he was doing.

He wasn’t surprised to see you fall asleep so quickly, given how startling things were today for you. While he watched you sleep, holding onto him as if he were your teddy bear, he knew that he would need to leave you to go and get some work done. Schmidt didn’t want to, but he knew that he had to.

Gently pulling your hands away from him, he moved out from the bed and laid your arms down, watching as you shifted your position to your other side, your back facing him as you now faced the wall. Schmidt smiled and leaned down, pressing a kiss to your cheek before tucking you in, standing back up to turn and exit your room.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

Evidently you needed sleep. You had hardly done anything that day, but given the circumstances of what went down with Volkov, all you wanted to do was sleep off that nightmare. You were only slightly disappointed to see that Schmidt was no longer with you, assuming that he was back up on the X-Deck with Tam.

Rolling into the pillow beside you, you pressed your face into it, letting out a sigh before intaking the faint scent of Schmidt that lingered onto the pillow from his time sleeping in your room. He smelled like home - happiness, love, and your mother’s baked goods.

Mama, she would love Ernst.

You knew that you needed to stop dwelling on your family. The lost communication signal and being so far away from Earth should have motivated you to want to help more, but instead it made you scared - your mind fleeting instead of fighting.

When the doors to your room opened, the light footsteps rushed in, cutting you off from your thoughts, you frowned and moved your head up from the pillow, your glare softening once you saw Tam.

“Tam? What are you-”

“It’s Schmidt!” She rushed, pointing towards the door. She began talking so fast that you could hardly make out what she was saying.

“Slow down, Tam, what are you saying?” You focused on her words slowly, trying your best to make out what she was telling you in Mandarian before you finally made out what she was telling you. The Commander had taken Schmidt to the airlock; apparently Jensen, the woman from the wall, was accusing him of working with German Intelligence to keep the Shepard offline.

Shooting up from your bed, you shook your head and got up, making your way towards Tam, “No, no that’s not true. Schmidt wouldn’t do that.” Tam nodded her head and sighed, of course she knew that - anyone who had a brain on board knew that Schmidt wasn’t the enemy. Sure he had his moments where his anger got the best of him, making it hard to see how he was any different from Volkov, but he was different, he was good and he wouldn’t betray you like that.

You couldn’t wait any longer, you had to see him. Excusing yourself from your room, you quickly rushed out and down the hall, making your way towards the airlock that was on the other side. Weaving through the halls, you cut the corners sharp, trying to not get caught by anyone and get down to him as quickly as you could.

Finally, after what felt like a dozen mazes you had gone through, you finally reached the airlock. Making your way up to the door, arms crossed with a frown on your face, you watched Schmidt raise his head from his knees, squinting towards you before rolling his eyes, looking the other way.

“Whatever it is you’re here to lecture me on, I’ve heard it already.”

You weren’t surprised by his irritated remark - hell, if you were thrown in isolation, you’d be pretty pissed too. Your mouth twitched into a smile before you shook your head, leaning against the small opening of the door, your forehead pressed against the glass.

“Do you always have to see me as the enemy? Even now, I think it’s safe to say that I’m here as a friend.” You explained, watching as his head slowly turned back towards you, his body language seeming to calm down.

“Just a friend?” He questioned, his own smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

You smiled and shook your head, your eyes gazing as he stood up and made his way towards the door, leaning forward to mimic your stance, his forehead pressed where your’s would be on the glass.

“More than a friend.” You finally answered, your fingers coming up to rest against the glass, running down where his face sat behind the glass. God you wished you were there with him, to hold him and feel his warm skin against your own.

His fingers raised up to the glass, pressing down where yours sat on the other side, a sigh escaping him - the glass in front of his mouth fogging over.

“I don’t believe them, you know. I know whatever Jensen said was a lie. You wouldn’t do that, Ernst. You’re better than that.” His mouth twitched into a smile and nodded, pulling away from the glass after a moment. He took a step back and stared at you, watching as you frowned, head tilted to the side.

“I wouldn’t say I’m better than that. Now you’re just making me sound like the good guy.” He noted, crossing his arms over his chest. You matched his posture, growing a little annoyed at the sudden lack of faith in himself.

“And aren’t you? You expect me to believe that this was expected of you?” You laughed and shook your head, tears welling in your eyes, “You’re insufferable, you know that? Can’t ever just believe in yourself can you? Always have to live up to what others think of you.”

“Can you blame me? I think it’s fair to say that I’ve had enough and tha-”

“And what?!” You snapped, cutting him off. You dropped your head down for a moment to catch your breath, looking back up at him after a moment. “How do you think I see you? Like the others?”

You took a step towards the window again, staring him down.

“You know what I see? A man who is too stubborn for his own good, who thinks that arguing with everyone to prove a point will get him anywhere,” You paused when you saw his head drop, standing like a child who knows he did something wrong. “I see someone who is too scared to ask someone to just believe them because you’re afraid that nobody will.”

Stopping, you took a deep breath before continuing, “But I also see someone who smart, funny despite your poorly executed jokes, and someone that I lov-”

You cut yourself off quick before the word could come out. Mouth gaped open in shock, you stared ahead at Schmidt who was equally shocked, his head snapped up and staring at you. The tears were now falling from your cheeks, face even redder than before as you shook your head, taking a step back as he took one forward.

“I’m sorry, I-”

“No, wait!”

But you didn’t listen to him. You ignored his pleads for you to come back, to finish what you were about to say. Your chest tightened, your heart hurting as you left the hall, flinching every time his scream for you became louder until finally there was nothing.

When you finally managed to escape the embarrassment of confessing your love at the worst time, you realized that you were down by the medbay. You were pleased to see that Acosta was in there, continuing to work on taking inventory in - the last thing you wanted to be right now was alone.

As you headed inside, his attention pulled from his clipboard and towards you, a weak smile on his face, “You okay?” He asked, noticing your clear discomfort. To him he only knew of Volkov, and how you ran out of the room at the sight of him throwing up the worms, he didn’t know that you were on the brink of tears from your moment with Schmidt.

“I-I think so...maybe, I don’t know,” You sighed and immediately went to work, trying to distract yourself, “I just think everything is finally getting to me. Seeing Volkov like that...I wouldn’t wish that on anyone, not even-” You paused and took a deep breath, closing your eyes before shaking your head.

“It makes you really understand death, how it can come out of nowhere and take anyone, right in front of you,” Your mind went to Schmidt, your family, the rest of the crew on board. Dying was one thing, but to die so horrible and unexpected, that was an entirely different kind of pain. “It makes you wonder about him, what his family must be thinking - if he had any.”

Acosta turned and looked at you, frowning as your back turned to him, continuing to work on your own inventory sheet, “If you live everyday dwelling on the idea of death, you won’t ever enjoy life…” His words paused your work, looking up from the clipboard and turning slightly over to him, watching as he approached you, “What is it that you’re afraid of?”

It took you back, the question. What were you afraid of? Well you were scared of many things - spiders, the dark, and frogs ever since your brother decided to cover you in them when you went camping. But those were silly fears, ones that didn’t eat you away. What you were so afraid of, was losing all your loved ones, to be alone.

“I’m afraid of-” You words fell silent, your breath hitching to your throat as you looked around, finding the confession silly now, “I’m afraid that once we leave the station, I won’t see anyone again. That Ernst will go back home and all of this, all of this was just because of the circumstances we were in.”

And then it hit you - why you were so afraid to tell him. It wasn’t that you were embarrassed or in doubt, you were afraid that he wouldn’t feel the same, that when you told him whatever you two had built over your time on the station would disappear in a flash.

You didn’t realize you were crying until Acosta took the napkin in his pocket and dabbed your cheeks. A weak laugh escaped from you as you shook your head, “It feels like everyday I’m crying more and more.”

“You’re human, crying is normal,” Pulling away from you, he threw the napkin in the trash as your tears soaked through it, leaving it thin and tattered. “Don’t ever apologize for showing emotions. God only knows we could show a little more around here.”

You smiled and shook your head, “You could say that aga-”

But before he could, the medbay doors opened and the Commander came rushing in, his face contorted into a scowl when he locked eyes on you. Did he catch you going down to see Schmidt? What did you do now?

“Commander, is there something we can help you wit-”

“Monk, I need you to be honest with me,” The Commander began, his gaze still locked on you, “How often is she down here alone? What does she do when you’re not here?”

Acosta took a step back, baffled at the questions that the Commander was asking him. Was he trying to accuse you of something?

“Commander, I don’t know what you’re trying to go on about, but if you’re accusing her of doing something I would like to know what it is-”

“We have reason to believe that she is stashing medicine away to take back with her when we land as part of the ongoing alliance with Germany against Russia.”

The laugh that escaped from you did not help your case, but what in the actual fuck was the Commander on? Reason to believe? Who was feeding him this bullshit?

“Commander, this is ridiculous! Why would I be stealing medicine? You know that I wouldn’t do anything to harm anyone on this ship,” You were taken back when the Commander walked over to you, grabbing your arm and pulling you with him, “What are you- let me go!” You cried, desperately trying to pull away.

Acosta attempted to grab you, but quickly stopped when the Commander turned around, “No, Monk! I’m not doing this anymore. I’m not risking another life on board this ship. Until we get back, her and Schmidt stay locked up. If Jensen is right, then we need them to be kept awa-”

“Jensen? The woman from the wall? That’s who is telling you this? Where is your integrity, Commander, if you can’t even trust your own crew?”

The Commander’s eyes fell to you, staring at you for a moment. Inside he knew that it was wrong of him to be so hostile towards his crew, but after everything that happened, he didn’t want to take any chances. He shook his head and kept silent, pulling you with him out of the medbay and down the hall.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

The blow to the floor knocked the wind from you - rolling to your side, you groaned and laid your palms flat on the ground before pushing yourself up, catching your balance before staring at the Commander through the small window of the airlock.

“Commander, you know this is ridiculous!” You yelled, watching as he shook his head and waved you off. Scoffing, you threw your hands up in defeat before taking a step closer to the door. “You’re going to believe Jensen? The woman who came out of the wall? Someone who is from a different dimension? Over your own team-”

“Enough!” The Commander roared and you cowered back, stopping in your tracks by Schmidt who was behind you, his hand on your back to keep you from tumbling back.

Letting out a sigh, straightening up, the Commander shook his head, almost in a disappointed way. “We trusted you both, for two years. Two years we saw you as our friends and just to find this? Messages to Germany and Serbia on complying with orders to keep the Shepard offline? To steal medical supplies for your own good?” The Commander paused and looked over the two of you carefully, his eyebrows bunched together.

“We trusted you...and you betrayed us. You’re going to sit here until we get back to base and then you’re going to explain to everyone why you did what you did.”

Before you could get a word out, the Commander was already turned and heading down the hall, leaving you and Schmidt in the airlock. You let out a sigh and felt your shoulders sink before dropping your head down into your hands, hiding your face in case you needed to cry.

Schmidt, while doing his best to comfort you, was still confused by earlier when you stopped by to see him when he was first thrown in isolation. The two of you hardly argued the way you did and his mind was still racing on what you were going to tell him. Of course he had an idea, but he wanted to hear it from you - he didn’t want the assumption.

“What happ-”

“What do you think happened, Schmidt? That bitch from the wall has everyone convinced now that I’m part of whatever scheme they think you’re on!” You shoved yourself away from him, crossing your arms over your chest as you turned your back to him, seething in your own anger.

He wasn’t taken back by your outburst, that he had come to face before, but took him back was his name - his last name to be exact. You never called him Schmidt unless you were absolutely pissed beyond pissed, it was always Ernst.

Catching your arm, Schmidt tugged you back to face him, a glare casted over his own face, matching yours. You went to push him off you again but he caught your wrist, tightening his grip around both wrists now as he pushed you against the wall, pining you in place.

“I’m not the enemy here, remember?” Pinned to the wall, your hands beside either side of your head, you glared and moved your foot up, gently kicking him back until he stumbled away, giving you the opportunity to dominate him, grabbing his waist and tugging him down until he was pinned onto the floor under you. With your hands on his wrists, pinning them above his head, you sat on his lap, looking down at him.

“I remember, but right now, you’re being a real pain in my ass.”

As the two of you huffed, glaring at one another, it was you who finally made a move, leaning forward and kissing him deeply, his hands instantly breaking out of your grasp and coming to your head, holding you close as the two of you kissed.

His neck strained as he leaned up to kiss you, soon growing tired of the burning in his neck and sitting up fully, moving your legs to wrap around his waist as you continued to kiss. You became needy quickly, unzipping his suit to push down until it settled at his waist, the shirt under his suit coming off just as fast as your own shirt did.

In the moment that led up to you sitting in the airlock undressed, on Schmidt’s lap, you all but forgot your surroundings, realizing just how exposed you were to anyone who wanted to come near the room.

“Schmidt, wait, someone is going to-”

“Nobody is going to see us. Someone will hear us if you don’t keep quiet.” He insisted, his mouth open as he tried to catch his breath. His suit was around his knees, shirt discarded with the rest of your clothes while you hovered over his dick naked. Schmidt did prefer the comfort of your room to fuck you in, but in the heated moment the two of you shared, pissed at the world around you and deciding to take it out on each other, this would do.

Blushing at his words, you bit down on your bottom lip and nodding, doing your best to keep quiet while you rested your knees on his thighs, feeling him guide himself into you, his free hand coming to grab your waist, moving you to settle down on his dick. Your head fell back as you moaned, clinging to his shoulders while your hips rocked down onto him, Schmidt’s head falling forward into your chest, kissing the tops of your breasts before nipping at the skin of your neck and jaw.

“You’re so beautiful...how did I get so lucky?” He murmured, pressing wet kisses up your neck before finally looking into your eyes. Your gaze was locked on Schmidt’s as you continued to ride him, leaning forward to wrap your arms around his neck, forehead pressed against his as you raised up and sank back down onto his dick.

“Shh, don’t, don’t say that,” You whimpered at his words, closing your eyes tightly. You didn’t know why you were getting overemotional, but his words were so soft compared to how rough he was thrusting up into you - it didn’t hurt, but it didn’t match the tone of his words. “Please, Schmidt, just fuck me.”

And he did. He kept his grip locked down on your hips as he guided you up and down his dick, the sounds of skin slapping against each other echoing the room. You couldn’t bite your moans back any longer and pressed your lips to his shoulder, moaning into his skin to muffle you. His lips found your own shoulder, biting and sucking dark bruises into your skin, his pace quickening as he felt you tighten around him.

“Желим те, please Schmidt, oh, plea-”

“What? What do you want? Tell me and I’ll give it to you, liebling.” You whined at his words and felt your core tighten, locking in place sunken onto his dick while he gasped, his fingers digging into your ass that was in his lap.

“I want you, Schmidt,” You weren’t quite at your peak just yet, but you were getting close. Schmidt, on the other hand, wasn’t going to let you quit now. Tugging your head back by your hair, he stared up at you, smirking to himself at the sight of you.

“Not yet,” He warned, one hand in your hair, the other around your waist. He needed to hear it from you, what you were going to tell him, “Not until you tell me what you were going to say.”

It caught you off guard, his demand. Of all the times he wanted you to think, now wasn’t the time. Casting your gaze down at him, eyebrows knitted close, you shook your head, confused.

“I don’t, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” You whined when he thrusted up in you suddenly, trying to get you to focus, “Ernst...please...I don’t remem-”

“When you came to see me earlier - you said all those things about me, you didn’t finish the last part,” He kept his hips moving up into you, reaching his peak as he stared up at you. All he wanted to do was cum in you as you told him that you loved him, “Please...just tell me.”

He was so desperate to hear the confession. His eyes glazed over as he pressed his forehead to you, closing his eyes tightly. If you didn’t love him as much as you did, you might’ve found him to be rather pathetic at the moment.

“Волим те,” You whispered, clinging to him as your orgasm began to finally hit you. You whined and wrapped your arms around him tighter, your legs shaking as you pressed your lips to his cheek, peppering his face with kisses, “Волим те....Волим те….Волим те.”

Of course you had to say it in Serbian - the one language Schmidt still had yet to learn. Before he could beg you to tell him in English, he felt his cock twitch in you and his orgasm finally hit. With a grunt, he sank his teeth into your shoulder, panting against your skin as he came down from his high. You on the other hand, went limp against him, trying to catch your breath.

Both of you sat like that for a few moments, catching your breath while gently petting one another. Your hands running up and down his neck while his went up and down your back. When your brain finally cleared, you sat back and looked down at him, a smile on your face. Schmidt smiled back up at you, taking your face into his hands before kissing you softly.

The kiss was sweet, delicate, pure. This was the Schmidt that you knew, your Ernst - your beloved spaceman. You knew despite all his pent up anger, he was good and gentle. When you both pulled away from the kiss, his mouth fell open to speak, but was cut off by the door opening, although nobody was standing outside.

“Did you do that?” Schmidt found himself asking, staring in shock at the door. Your attention was pulled from the door and at him.

“Ernst, how could I have opened the door if I’m sitting on your dick?” You questioned. You watched his cheeks go red, his eyes glancing towards you before nodding, “Right…”

Helping you up, the two of you quickly pulled your clothes back on, smoothing your hair down to not make it so obvious that you had jumped each other's bones in the airlock. You cleared your throat and took a step forward to see what it was that let you out before coming to a sudden stop by Schmidt.

“Wait, I’ll go first. You just stay back, okay?” You knew there wasn’t time to argue. You obeyed and stayed back, lingering in the doorway of the airlock while Schmidt ventured out, the faint tapping noise picking up the farther he got out.

“Be careful!” You warned, your fingers toying with the string of your sweatpants. Your gaze kept locked on Schmidt as he continued to move down the hall, his steps soon slowing to a stop as he turned, looking down the other end of the hall. He seemed to be in shock with whatever it was that he saw.

“What? What is it-” As you made your way towards him, your own gaze went down the hall where the noise was coming from, your words cut off by your gasp at the sight of a single arm crawling down the hallway.

“Stay here, make sure it doesn’t leave!” Turning, Schmidt quickly rushed back to the door of the airlock, pressing down on the intercom to get everyone down there. “I need the whole crew on M-Deck, as fast as you can.”

Your eyes kept focused on the arm that was crawling to you, stepping back once as if it were going to jump at you. From your spot down the hall you heard the Commander ask who had let them out of the airlock, all for Schmidt to urge them to hurry.

As Schmidt made his way back towards you, standing beside you, both of you couldn’t take your eyes off the arm. It looked to be Mundy’s arm, but you weren’t sure if it was or wasn’t. Of all the things that were happening, this was by far the strangest.

It didn’t take long for the crew to make their way down to M-Deck, the rest of the crew surrounding you and Schmidt as he pointed towards the end of the hall, the arm continuing to make it’s slow approach towards you. When you looked over at Mundy who was beside you, your eyes widened at the sight of his missing arm.

Well that would explain the arm crawling around.

“We need to catch it,” Hamilton explained suddenly. She was right, you couldn’t just stand around watching it, “I’ll go get something.”

While she rushed off to find something to capture the arm, Tam and Schmidt rushed forward, grabbing it and holding it steady until Hamilton came back with a glass box, placing it over the arm to trap it.

“Be careful with it!” Mundy cried. Looking up at him, you offered an apologetic smile, “I just don’t want them to break it.”

“I don’t think you have to worry about that, Mundy.”

He winced slightly, lips pulling to a thin smile before looking back ahead as Schmidt approached Mundy. You were just as annoyed as Mundy was when Schmidt asked if he were controlling his arm.

“I’m not controlling it! It’s over there!” Mundy explained, motioning towards his arm that was kept in the box.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes I’m sure! Because right now I’m giving you the finger!” The two men locked eyes for a moment, as if ready to start arguing before turning back towards the arm.

“How is that alive?” You found yourself asking, crossing your arms over your chest as you took a step closer towards it, wanting to take a closer look. Before you could get too close, Schmidt pulled you back.

“Don’t get too close to it, we don’t know what-”

“It’s my bloody fucking arm, Schmidt! What else could it be?” Letting go of you, Schmidt sighed as he glanced around the room.

“One thing is clear. The overload did it. None of us believed it was real, but this is the paradox,” Of course nobody wanted to believe him, it was too out there to believe that it was real. “Particles interacting with each other across different dimensions. Two distinct realities in a multiverse...fighting to occupy the same space, creating chaos.”

Schmidt paused for a moment, catching his breath from his scientific explanation, Mundy having a seat to process everything while everyone else stayed frozen in their spots around each other.

“These aren’t the things we know...because they don’t belong to us.”

And then it began to click with everyone. Jensen, Schmidt’s communication logs, your own hidden stash of medicine that the Commander found. This wasn’t from your reality, but another.

"While another paradox is thriving, our's is burning...failing." You mumbled. You glanced over at the Commander, who looked between you and Schmidt in guilt. Of course you were still pissed at the accusation, but it seemed to finally click with him that you were telling the truth. Yes, Jensen was too, but that was in her reality, not your’s.

“Uh, guys. I think my arm is trying to write something.”

Looking over your shoulder towards Mundy’s arm that was captured, you were only slightly surprised to see that it was, in fact, trying to write something.

“Quick, somebody get a pen!” At the Commander’s order, Hamilton quickly turned and looked around for a pen, coming back with a red marker and handing it to Mundy, who gave it to his own arm.

“Oh, that’s creepy.” He groaned, stepping back to watch his arm.

As his arm began to scribble, the crew surrounded the glass cage, reading the words CUT VOLKOV OPEN.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

Standing on the other side of the table that Volkov lied on. You glanced ahead at Acosta who held the knife in his hand, shaking as it hovered over Volkov’s chest. He seemed uncomfortable, not able to cut open into him. When he dropped the knife, he sighed and looked around.

“I’m sorry, I can’t do it.”

“Come on, you’re the doctor-”

“Give it to me, Acosta,” You explained, cutting Mundy off with your hand extended out in front of you. When Acosta did, you took a deep breath and looked down at Volkov. It was almost as if he were sleeping, and perhaps that’s why it took you a moment before finally cutting into him.

The knife sinking into his chest wasn’t the worst part, cutting down until you had enough to rip open. It was ripping him open that made your stomach turn. Taking a hold of either side of his opened chest, you broke open his front, trying to ignore the tearing sounds and the smell from his organs.

When the smell hit you in the face, you jolted back, your arm coming up to your face to cover your nose and mouth, gagging harshly. You shook your head as Tam came up to you, holding your hand in front of her.

“I’m okay, I’m okay.” You smiled weakly at her before turning back to Volkov, exhaling through your mouth before going back in.

Your hands sank into Volkov’s organs, surprised to feel the warmth still in him. It reminded you of Thanksgiving with your family, how you always refused to stuff the turkey because you hated the feeling of the guts.

“Mama, please, I don’t want to do this, you know I hate it!” You whined, your face turned away as your hands sank into the turkey, your face going green.

“Oh just smile! I want to put this in the scrapbook!” Your mother insisted, holding a camera to your face.

You winced and peeked an eye open, “Mama!” You whined, earning a laugh from your father who sat at the table prepping the potatoes with your brother and sister.

“Come on dear, just smile once for your mother, it’ll be over before you know it.” Your father cooed, pausing his moments from slicing the potatoes to look over at you near the oven.

Groaning, you glared slightly for a moment before complying, opening your eyes and smiling weakly at the camera, watching as the flash went off before your mother grinned at you.

“Okay, I think that was enough torture for you. Go wash up and come back and you can help me with the pie.”

Ripping your hands from the turkey, you quickly rushed out of the kitchen and down the hall towards the bathroom, the repeated “ew, ew, ew” echoing throughout the home.

You tried to not think about what you were digging through, your eyes sealed tight as your arms sank in Volkov more, elbows deep before finally feeling something. It felt cold, sphere shaped, something that clearly didn’t belong inside of someone’s organs.

“I found something!” You exclaimed, gripping onto whatever you caught and slowly pulling it out of Volkov. When you stood up straight, holding out what you found, you nearly dropped it in shock. It was the gyro.

The missing gyro was inside Volkov.

[avengers-age-of-fanfics]

just for you, honeybee (3/?)

pairing: bucky barnes x reader, steve rogers x reader (platonic)

word count: 3,986

authors note: part three!!!! I'm honestly so happy with how this is turning out so please leave feedback and lmk how I'm doing! thank you all so much :)

warnings: swearing, super soldier serum injection, needles, drinking

summary: dating back to 1943, you, james barnes, and steve rogers were best friends, including bucky being your boyfriend. when you get a notice that bucky died in the war, you make it your mission to find closure for yourself and protect steve as he is the only remaining piece of bucky you have left. once you are offered the super soldier serum, you and steve must make your way through world war 2 - and the unknown future hardships to come.

recap: You picked at your nails, anxiety swallowing you whole, “and what if you don’t make it back, either?”

“I will.”

-

It had only taken you 5 days to make up your mind: either go with Steve as he finishes out his mission with the army or wait in Brooklyn upon his return. “Well,” you always bit back, “if you return.”

You did not want to stay in Brooklyn and wait for Steve to come back. You had done that with Bucky and after learning his tragic death, you needed to go with Steve. You didn’t care who you had to fight – you were protecting Steve Rogers and looking after him, just like James would have wanted.

Peggy Carter immediately welcomed you and seemed somewhat relieved when you had met with them outside your apartment complex, bags packed and ready to go. She had given you a soft smile and a nod, making you feel more at calm with your decision. However, before you left, you needed to say goodbye – just in case.

Dressed in a tie-neck floral dress, you headed across the street to where Grover was, selling newspapers once again in the early morning. However, when he wasn’t on the sidewalk, he was in your apartment, holding you as you cried for Bucky. Grover had helped you open Bucky’s files and put on his dog tags; he was there while Steve was sorting out your arrangements with Peggy. He had your snot stains on his nicest shirts that you always apologized for, and he had carefully placed the dog tags over your head; Grover was certainly one of your rocks when Steve needed to grieve on his own, which you understood.

Noticing your approaching figure, Grover stood up and shooed people away from his stand, meeting you halfway. He noticed your solemn look, “you goin’ with Mr. America?”

With a nod, you wrapped your arms around the older man’s neck, his chubby arms meeting your waist in a split second, “I have to, Grove. I needta’ keep my promise to James, and watch after Stevie.”

Grover tightened his grip around you and squeezed, much like a father would, “sure that super soldier can’t do it himself? Looks more than capable.”

You shook your head against his neck, “I promised – I promised James; you know that.”

Grover pulled away, resting his hands on your shoulders, “I know you did, kid…but that don’t mean it still pains me to see ya go…Come back here, the both of you, in one piece – ya hear me?”

With a nod, you squeezed Grover’s hand on your shoulder and went back to where Steve and Peggy were standing by an army truck, your bags already in the trunk. As the two looked back at you, you gave a curt nod, “I’m ready.”

Steve helped you into the backseat as Peggy headed up front, starting the truck up once you were all piled in. As you rode off, away from Brooklyn, you looked back to your home, and gave a sad wave to Grover who was already back to selling newspapers – but you saw him wiping his cheeks. Tears flooded your eyes as you imagined you and Bucky finding a nice white picket house in Brooklyn once he came back like he promised. Turning back around, you wiped your eyes, looking forward to the road, a hand wrapped around Bucky’s dog tags.

Only a little while into the car ride, you leaned forward, asking the two soldiers a question, “where exactly are we headed?”

Steve turned around towards you, “first, Camp Lehigh where we’ll get you some ID so they know you’re with Peggy and me. Then, London, where Colonel Phillips got a lead on Schmidt’s new hideout.”

You looked down at your nails, picking at the skin surrounding them, “can I be of help in any way? And, uh… who is Schmidt?”

Peggy glanced back at you for a quick moment, “how are your fighting skills, y/n?”

Steve gave her a glare, “no, absolutely not.”

The driver looked back once more, expecting an answer. You glanced at Steve, “I’ve got experience with guns and hand-on-hand combat.”

Steve shook his head, “that’s nice but I’m not letting you do what I think Peggy is insinuating.”

Peggy elbowed him before she answered you, “there’s a chance your skills may come in handy, Miss y/n, but it won’t be an easy feat.”

You nodded to her, “I’d like to be of any service I can, Agent Carter.”

Steve grumbled, “am I just invisible to you two?” That finally got a giggle out of you and Steve glanced back, squeezing your hand, before turning towards the front.

You waited a few moments before you tapped Steve’s shoulder, getting his attention, “hmm?”

With a head tilt, you asked again, “who is this Schmidt guy? Never got an answer earlier.”

Steve seemed a bit tense when you asked before answering you, “he’s a confidant to Hitler and closely affiliated with Hydra. Once we take down Schmidt, we get closer to taking down Hitler.”

Your eyes had widened during his short summary, “so you really been killin’ Nazis, Stevie?”

He huffed, “been trying too – mostly taking over Hydra bases. Buck was more the killing Nazi type.”

With a slight smile, you squeezed Steve’s hand, “sounds like our James.”

The rest of the ride was quiet, save for some mindless chatter over Peggy’s radio.

By the time you three got to Camp Lehigh, getting your identification was nothing out of the ordinary; however, being looked at with either such sorrow or surprise was a shock. You had assumed people knew about Bucky, but you never thought Bucky had told everyone about the girl from home, nor that they knew what she looked like. Tears flooded your eyes very quickly at the image of Bucky boasting about his Brooklyn girl and everything about her, and apparently, his words got all the way back to New Jersey.

Even when you got to the London Bunker, more dejected looks were given your way. Some sick part of you wished he hadn’t made you such a big deal, but if he were still alive, you’d be flustered. With subtle hands, you quietly put Bucky’s dog talks within your new army greens officer uniform. While you definitely were not an officer, Peggy had no problem lending you one of hers, telling you that if someone had a problem with it, take it up with her.

You clearly remembered her conversation as she dragged you into her tent, quickly shoveling through a trunk of hers, “are you alright wearing one of these? I have a few different sizes – whatever fits you.”

You accepted a green skirt of hers with a nod, along with a tan-colored blouse and a green jacket. Thankfully, it had no medals on it so you didn’t exactly feel as if you were impersonating a soldier.

You looked towards Peggy as she made her leave, “thank you, Agent Carter…You truly did not have to do this but – but I appreciate it.”

Peggy gave a soft smile as she opened the tent, “anything for Barnes’ girl.”

Right when she left, you sobbed for a good 20 minutes. You remember mumbling to yourself, “I hope I still am your best girl, Jamie.”

Over the next few days, you had quickly grown accustomed to the troops' fast pace and overall serious atmosphere, along with their Colonel. You would never admit it to the man, but Colonel Phillips scared you when you two had first met; you wondered if he had ever laughed in his entire life. And you definitely wouldn’t tell him this either, but you knew he was a big softie underneath that whole ‘I’m Colonel Phillips and you have to be intimidated by me’ attitude. Once you had arrived in London, you made it your mission to make the Colonel laugh, whether it be at your expense or someone else’s – but it took your mind off James; well, as much as it could.

One man who admired your mission and seemed to play along with it was Mr. Howard Stark; when the two of you weren’t messing around, history was being made, and changing the world for the better was your first priority.

Besides his cocky attitude, Howard had truly become one of your favorite people – besides Captain America himself, of course. When Steve had introduced you to the team focused on finding Schmidt and the rest of Hydra, Howard had taken to you liking a father hen, showing you his new tech and his favorite, the new vibranium shield he made for Cap. He was so ecstatic about showing a new face his greatest creation and how indestructible it was; as he told you, everyone else did not seem as impressed and he needed someone with a brain like yours to comprehend what he made.

While nobody else knew, he had also shown you the last remaining vial of the super-soldier serum Dr. Erskine had made and thus, what Howard had been trying to recreate. He had almost been successful but told you he did not want to use Erskine’s last vial on someone, in case it ever came to that. Instead, he wanted to try his own, one that would not affect one’s looks physically but included all the enhancements. Now that got you intrigued; you loved Steve, truly, but if you ever got the chance to take Stark’s serum and wanted a husband in the future, you did not want to look so…bulky.

The two of you worked closely together, using Stark brainpower and L/N design skills and expert eye to create the new symbol for Captain America.

With a pretty decent paint job on your part, both you and Howard took a step back from the upheld shield, looking over the new red, white and blue design, fit with a silver star. Tears filled your eyes but you refused to let them fall as Howard rested a hand on your back – your Stevie would be carrying that shield proudly very shortly.

Howard pulled you into a quick side hug, “Sergeant Barnes would be proud of you, kid. Look at you, designing Captain America’s new shield!”

With a soft laugh, you wiped your eyes, “I hope he would be.”

Before Howard stepped away to give you some space, you grabbed onto his arm, eyes darting towards the suitcase underneath his desk, “can I ask you something, Howard?”

Howard crossed his arms, “what’s goin’ on inside that head of yours, kiddo?”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, “listen, I know you’re gonna say no, but I just… I need to get this out.”

Howard noticed your serious tone and pulled you against a corner of the huge bunker that had been your home for the past couple of days, surrounded by books that you had read in record time, “go on, kid.”

You fumbled over your words, nails scratching against your skin, “do you think – do you think I could take the serum? Your recreation, of course – I saw your successful attempts and I want to take it. I’ve thought it over, truly, and it’s what I want. Ever since James – ever since James died, I’ve felt so lost and useless; I want to do something, something that James would be proud of. And I know you’re gonna say no, but Howard, I really need to do this, so please-“

Howard interrupted you, hand held up calmly, “let’s talk to Colonel Phillips, okay?”

Your eyes grew wide, “real-really? No immediate reprimanding?”

He looked at you with soft eyes, “I know what you’re feeling, y/n, and it’s not a good feeling. While I wish there was another solution other than you taking the serum, I – I’m not opposed to it. Maybe we need a sidekick.”

You gave a slight smile as he grinned back, “thank you, Howie.” He pinched your arm in response to his nickname, narrowing his eyes playfully.

The moment you asked Colonel Phillips for a private meeting with you, him, Howard, and Peggy, he already seemed on edge. Woke up on the wrong side of the cot, sour coffee, you weren’t sure – but you were sure that he was not going to be happy with your idea.

As expected, the meeting with Colonel Phillips was not exactly great; he may have thrown a fit and yelled at you for even suggesting such a thing. Okay, ouch, that stung – you genuinely thought it was a good idea.

You had interrupted during such fit, “sir, may I remind you that Steve Rogers had no prior fighting experience yet he got the super-soldier serum? I have the skills – well, some skills - the will to fight, and the…”

You stopped.

“I have a purpose, just like Steve,” you began once more, ���Hydra took away the most important person in my life and I’ll be damned to hell if I’m not gonna do anything to stop them. So please, sir, let me do this.”

Peggy Carter stood beside Colonel Phillips, her lips twitching up in a slight smile, “you remind me of him. Of Barnes.” The Colonel grumbled.

You felt a shiver run down your spine, “I guess he rubbed off on me.”

Peggy looked to Colonel Phillips as he was deep in thought, until he spoke, “you talk to Rogers about this?”

You shook your head, “no, sir.”

Colonel Phillips crossed his arms, “I suggest you bring it to his attention before we make a final decision, l/n. Then, if we decide yes, we’re going to need to change the plan just a tad bit.”

With a nod, you stood up and walked out of the meeting room, hoping to find Steve around the corner somewhere; on your way out, you already heard Colonel Phillips grumbling about how it would be nice to have another super-soldier.

One of the Howling Commandos spoke up during your search for Steve, “he’s over at Crocker’s Folly. Bar right across the street from here, kid.” You thanked him and walked out of the site, spotting a very beat-down bar just across the street, surprisingly still standing.

Heading over, you had honestly no idea how to bring up the idea of you taking the serum to Steve; it definitely was no normal conversation. You knew he would say no, but you wanted to take it and be of use during the war and avenge Bucky in any way you could. Once inside, you heard a radio in the distance of the bar, unsure of what song was playing. Following the sound, broken glass and among other things crunched under your footsteps, letting Steve know someone was there.

Sitting at a table with a bottle of liquor and a glass by himself, your best friend turned around and glanced at you, pulling up a chair. You gave a small smile, finding the seat right across from him, “are you okay?”

Steve shrugged, “that Dr. Erskine said the serum wouldn’t just affect my muscles, it would affect my cells. Create a protective system of regeneration and healing… which means uh.. –“

“You can’t get drunk.”

Steve shot you a look, “when you’d get so smart?”

You kicked his foot with a chuckle, “when I started hangin’ out with Howard.”

He gave a sad smile as tears flooded his eyes, “I am so sorry, y/n.”

You choked back a sob, eyes filling with tears, “it wasn’t your fault, Stevie. I know that you did everything you could.”

Steve’s eyes were brimmed red, “how are you – how are you staying so strong?”

Clearing your throat of the sob making its way up, you licked your lips, “I feel like I’ve cried too many tears, Steve. I want to cry more, my god I do, but I know he wouldn’t want that.”

Steve nodded, “’m sorry to bring him up, I just…” he mumbled, “I’m going to kill Schmidt and all of Hydra if it’s the last thing ‘m gonna do, y/n.” His hand had curled into a fist and you felt the anger radiating off of him.

You grasped his hand, softly uncurling it, “I actually wanted to talk to you about something, pertaining Schmidt.”

Steve let out a grumble, taking one last sip of his drink, “everything okay?”

You nodded, “I – I’m okay. But Howard…he has a remaining vial of the serum from Dr. Erskine and has even recreated it himself. I talked to Peggy and Colonel Phillips and I’m going to take it, the recreation.”

Steve’s eyes shot up to yours, “Y/N, I can’t – I can’t let you do that. It’s too dangerous and I promised –“

“Steve,” you stopped him, “I know you promised Bucky that you would look out for me. I promised him that about you, too. But I want to do this. It’s my decision and I’m hoping you’ll let me do this for myself and Buck.”

The man across from you looked down at his glass for a long while before he looked you in the eyes with a grin, “’gonna pretend I can get drunk and forget why I even agreed.”

A small smile formed on your lips as you reached over, squeezing his hand, “thank you, Stevie. Now c’mon, we got a serum to inject and plans to tweak.”

When the two of you reached the bunker once again, you nodded to Howard and he let out a breath. He was not exactly looking forward to this, injecting you with the serum, but it’s what you wanted. Word quickly got to Colonel Phillips who seemed a bit relieved himself, glad there were no tantrums thrown – much like his.

Down the many halls of the bunker, Howard, Peggy, and a few nurses prepared an operation room, a bed centered in the middle of the room as lights displayed it. Once you were injected, you would need a few moments to recollect yourself – both of them knew this.

You, Colonel Phillips, and Steve stood outside the operation room, looking in as Howard laid out the serum and sedation if needed. The Colonel spoke up first, looking down at you, “you certain about this? There’s no guarantee you’ll live.”

You nodded, “I’m aware, Colonel. But I’ve thought it through and it’s what I want.”

Steve looked to you as the Colonel looked on, “you yell for me if you need me, okay? I’m right outside.” You gave him a small smile before you headed inside per Howard’s direction.

Steve stopped you once more, “and y/n?”

You turned around to look at him as he continued, “you’re a good person. Maybe not a perfect soldier yet, but a good person.”

You smiled at Steve, “looks like I’ll need you as my teacher once I become your sidekick, Stevie.” You both let out a chuckle.

Nurses stood behind the two tables surrounding the cot you were instructed to lay on, taking off your shirt and tossing it into Peggy’s arms, letting out a whistle, immediately calming your nerves. You flashed her a smile which she returned.

Bright lights shining onto your body – now only clad in a bra and some army green cargo pants – your gaze shifted to Howard. He looked albeit nervous but once he caught your eye, all nerves disappeared, “how ya feelin’ kid?”

You chuckled, “like I’m about to be turned into a super-soldier.”

Howard’s shoulders shook with a slight laugh, “that’s nuts – it’s almost as if I’m administering said serum. I’m gonna inject you with some penicillin, okay?”

You nodded your head, looking towards the window where you saw Steve looking way too tense. With a smile, you gave him a thumbs up in which he chuckled at, shaking his head. Beside him stood the Colonel who looked nervous himself, but with a blow-kiss, you saw him roll his eyes and turn back into your stern Colonel Phillips.

Howard spoke up, grabbing your attention, “now, y/n, your transformation will be a bit different from Steve’s, but the outcome should be the same – just no outer physical changes, as I mentioned. No need for nerves. You ready?”

You nodded, and with a deep breath, you felt the sharp needle penetrate your skin, injecting you with the serum. As the serum coursed through your veins, your skin felt as if it were on fire, your breaths growing quicker and sweat already forming on your skin. Howard noticed your breaths, “deep breaths, kid, don’t rush the process. You got this. How ya feelin’?”

You grunted, “burning – hot but cold. Freezer burn.”

Howard grew pale, somehow making sense of your words, “okay, y/n, you gotta fight this. Don’t let the serum override your body – you gotta let it combine with your cells. C’mon, kid!” Peggy’s grip tightened on your shirt as she looked on, whispering words of encouragement.

Outside, Steve and Colonel Phillips began pacing, the Colonel glaring through the window, telling himself that he could telepathically communicate with you and force you to live through this. Steve bit his thumb, growing more and more anxious by the second.

Your body had now started to sweat profusely, the shine adding itself to your figure as you breathed heavier, a gasp and a sharp scream leaving your lips. Steve immediately ran in, holding your hand, “y/n, come on, please! Fight this – don’t give up, please. I – I need you, we all do.”

In a split second, your eyes opened, meeting Steve’s for a split second before you let out another yell, eyes squeezing shut once more, “Steve! It hurts – it hurts!”

Your whole body felt as if it were on fire yet hypothermic, your chest feeling so heavy that it was difficult to breathe. Every cell in your body felt as if it were being torn apart and being put back together again; you talked to yourself in your head, “how the hell did Steve do this?”

Steve ran a hand over your now-damp hair, “I know, I know, but you got this, y/n. Once you beat this, we’ll go and kill those sonsabitches at Hydra, you hear me? You gotta beat this.”

Over time, which honestly felt like hours, your body slowly started to welcome the serum and new changes within your body, your breathing returning to normal and sweat disappearing onto the cot below you, body returning to normal temperature. With only a slightly bloody nose, you felt…good. Resting against the cot, you let out a sigh, eyes fluttering.

Howard hooked an IV up to your arm, returning the liquids you had sweat out, pushing your shoulder lightly, “’gotta talk to me, kid.”

You grumbled, “’m tired…but feel like I could run a marathon.”

Steve’s hand squeezed yours as he let out a laugh, looking up to the ceiling, “that’s your girl, Barnes. You did great, y/n – you did great.”

Eyes still shut, you hummed, “mmm…do I have abs of steel now?”

Steve chuckled, “would it make you feel better if I said yes?”

You nodded your head, a dopey smile on your face. Steve continued, “I wouldn’t want to fight you in the ring, bug.”

Slowly but surely, you opened your eyes, adjusting to the way your body felt and sensed everything around you. With a grunt, you rubbed your eyes, glancing at your hands – hmm, they looked the same?

Howard noticed your confusion, “Remember what I said, kid? No outer physical changes, but you got all the upgrades Rogers has. Better looking, obviously,” you let out a soft laugh, “just not as bulky.”

With a hum, you sat up, fighting off Steve and Howard’s mother hen tendencies, “’mentioned that earlier…bulky. ‘m fine, by the way – stop worryin’.”

Slowly getting off the cot, you walked around the room, stretching your legs and your whole body. Everything felt different but good; it’s like your senses and every cell within your body were heightened. “It felt cold,” you mentioned to Howard, “the serum.”

He nodded, “as opposed to the vita-rays, we had to keep it in cold storage. Easier that way.”

You hummed, and while turning around in the small room, your eyes met Steve’s once more, “well Captain, what now?”

-

Honeybee Taglist:

@clownerlyluv @ginger-swag-rapunzel

[sebstanseabass]

Afterglow (A Bucky Barnes AU fan fiction) - Chapter 21

Afterglow chapters

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

NOTE: Again, the third person POV starts after this sign: ✪

Tag: @maladaptivexxdaydreaming

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Still covered in nothing but sheets, Bucky was sleeping in your arms by the time you woke up. Little snores were coming out from his mouth. You smiled at the fluttering sound and planted a small kiss on the top of his head. You laid there listless, legs still shaking from what happened last night, and mind still clouded by Bucky's past.

Peter's annoying coffee bean grinder started filling your ears. They echoed against the apartment walls. You internally groaned at the sound. You looked on your right to take a peek at the small gaps between the curtains and the window. It was still quite dark out, the sun almost waking up. The time on the clock read 6:00 in red blinking lights. You let out a sigh. Peter hated mornings, more than Garfield hates Mondays. The only logical explanation of him getting up early in the morning and making loud, annoying noises with that old grinder was that he didn't sleep through the night or he woke up too early with too many things in his mind. You wanted to choose the latter. If he didn't get to sleep last night, there was a tiny chance he could've heard you and Bucky — might've even walked right in the middle of a very heated, wild sex between his best friend and his stepbrother, seeing as you stupidly left the door unlocked (by this time, you were already out of bed, your naked body wrapped with a cheap bathrobe you've had with you since your college days).

You made a mental note to yourself to lock the door all the damn time, now that you and Bucky were being careful.

Last night might have not been the best thing you've ever done but it sure felt so good.

You stepped out of your room and approached the kitchen. Peter had his back on you and was just getting a filter paper from the top shelf.

"Good morning, Peter Parker." You said, earning a genuine shock from your best friend. Your voice came out groggier than you'd expected.

He turned around, a filter paper in his hand. "Jesus, y/n Don't sneak up on me like that!"

"Sorry," you replied, "but it's six in the goddamn morning and you've probably woken up the whole building with your grinder."

He went back on his filter paper, placing it inside the coffee machine. That was probably the most expensive thing he'd ever gotten himself. "I ran out of coffee grounds. I had to make them."

You stayed quiet for a while, leaning against the counter and watching Peter pour the grounds into the filter. You watched as he smoothed the grounds with his finger. After a while, he placed both his hands on the edge of the counter, looking at the coffee drip. The whole time, you prayed to God Bucky didn't stir or make any noise in the bedroom. Thankfully, he didn't. He looked like he would be sleeping for a while, anyway.

Biting your lip, you walked to where Peter was standing and stood beside him. You waited for him to say something — anything about any noises he must've heard from last night but there weren't any. If he did, you'd be dead. You and Bucky would be dead.

Moments have passed. The coffee machine whirred on the table. The coffee pot was almost full. The dull kitchen smell was replaced by the inviting coffee aroma. Then, you found my voice

"I'm not sorry for taking the job, Peter." You started, your voice weak, barely a whisper. "I need it. But I am sorry for not appreciating you and your efforts to help me with my career. You have to know that. It's just... you know I feel about the corporate life — "

"I know, y/n." He cut you off. His gaze was now off the coffee maker but at the tiled wall in front. "I'm sorry for reacting that way. I was just tired from the trip." He faced you. A somber look crossed his face. Even if he was, just as he put it, "tired from the trip", you knew he was still hurt. And the more you looked at his baby-like face, the more you wanted to tell him about you and Bucky. You stifled yourself from doing so in your head.

Baby steps, y/n. Baby steps.

"I am proud of you." He stated. "I always have been. I hope you know that."

"Of course I do, Parker." A smile started to settle on your lips.

"It's one of the reasons why I want you to come work in the company. You've got a business degree, and you're a good photographer. And I'm proud of that. But," he paused, "I don't want to upset us both — especially you — by forcing something on you that you clearly don't want. If you're happy, then I'm happy. That's what matters, y/n."

That was a good opening, right? Usually, that was it: the perfect time to tell him that you were dating Bucky. If I'm happy, then he's happy. End of discussion. But things that don't go as planned also usually don't end up as well as you'd hope. After that, all you could utter was:

"Thank you. I am happy."

"And I trust Sam and Bucky."

You nodded, shying away at the mention of your lover.

Trust. It truly was a big and powerful word. The more you looked at Peter, the more the word "trust" started to blur all around him.

You shook your head, dissipating the thoughts swarming in your mind. "I'm starting today, by the way." You said.

"That's great, y/n." He replied. "And who knows, maybe you'll get bigger clients after this. I know Sam has a lot of connections when it comes to independent business owners. Bucky too! He probably knows a lot of models. Maybe he can help you with it, y'know? I mean, he's already helped."

"Maybe. Let's see." By this time, Peter was already pouring the coffee in his favorite mug. The words "Bucky" and "model" weren't sitting right with you. Was it a hint of jealousy on my end?

"Oh, how's it going with Wanda, by the way?" You asked, stirring the question in a different direction. Albeit liking that Peter was warming up to the idea of Bucky helping you, you didn't want to further the topic anymore as it was making you all shake up.

"She's coming in for a meeting today as well, actually. I really hope it goes well. This is the biggest account we've landed."

"That's good." You replied, nodding. Hoping that she wouldn't get Sharon Carter'd during the meeting. But then again, she was Wanda Maximoff — already known for her unremarkable talent. No one would ever think twice to question what she was capable of.

And who am I compared to her, anyway? You thought.

"So... you're starting today!" Peter exclaimed, stirring his coffee after putting in some milk.

"Yes. I have this pitch presentation for Sam and the team. But there's nothing to worry about. The last meeting went well and Sam and I have The Falcons' best interest." Then you told him about how you butted heads with his assistant, Sharon Carter.

"Oh, she's a Schmidt!" He commented, laughing. "Everyone's got a Schmidt."

You laughed alongside him, reminding yourself to beat Schmidt's ass when you see him.

"Man..." he trailed off. "How Bucky could convince you... it's still a mystery to me. You're kind of a hard shell to crack."

You chuckled nervously, gazing down at the floor. You didn't answer. You didn't know what else to say.

You and Peter chatted for a little while, burying the little hatchet you had. You talked more about the trip he'd had with his colleagues, the shocking truth about Steve's past ("Who knew he could write?"). Here, you made a mental note to yourself to perhaps check some articles he had written in the past. You also hoped some of them were online. By the time you and Peter stopped talking, he had already finished his cup of coffee and the sun was almost all the way up in the New York skies.

Before you even got out of the kitchen, you turned around and asked him one thing: "Hey, you still in love with that girl or did the whole retreat thing help you forget her?"

His back was turned to you once again as he was washing his mug. But his actions stopped once you asked the question. His head tilted. "Very much so."

You frowned, crossing your arms. "Very much in love with her still or..."

He turned around, his eyes meeting yours. "I'm still in love with her. Nothing's changed."

"See." You snorted. "The retreat thing was complete crap. Didn't do you shit. My advice for you? Tell her how you feel."

His eyes averted to the tiled floor, continuously nodding his head. "Perhaps."

With that, you left Peter with his lingering thoughts and wished him good luck. You must admit, the curiosity of who this girl he had been in love with for years was eating you. He was the kind of best friend who practically tells you everything that goes on in his life: all the good ones and the shitty ones. But you counted it fair, knowing that you too were keeping a dirty little secret from him. The only difference was your secret involved someone dear to him; whereas, his involved, perhaps, some girl you haven't even met yet. Maybe he met her in the office. Who knows?

You came back to your room, finding Bucky still asleep in your bed. You locked the door behind. The little snores coming out of his mouth were now gone. You woke him up quietly by kissing his temples and his forehead. After a few moments, his eyes fluttered open and a small curve by the corner of his lips started to show. The sun shone on half of his face, his ocean blue eyes absorbing all the light.

"Good morning, handsome." You whispered, smiling at him.

He chuckled and closed his eyes once more, letting his head dip into the pillow, as if shying away from a compliment. "G'morning." He lazily replied. "Is Peter still out there?"

"Yes, he's getting ready for work. You can go out after he leaves."

He rolled towards you, one arm dangling on your waist. "I don't want to go."

"You have to, silly." You giggled.

He shook his head on your tummy, tickling you. You laughed at the way he behaved. Different from the one you had witnessed last night. You stayed in bed for a little while, just in each other's arms, the silence closing in. It was a comfortable silence. One you could get used to. After what had transpired last night, silence was all you needed. Sometimes, it speaks louder than words could. We listened to each other's heartbeats, the sound of Peter's footsteps a few feet away from us, your shallow breathing, and the ongoing traffic just a few stories below

Then, Bucky broke the silence. "I never noticed how loud the traffic could be."

"It's either you've been living in a jungle or in a penthouse that almost reaches the sky."

"I'd like to live in a jungle." He continued. You prepared for his little ramblings, smiling to the wall in front. "So peaceful and quiet. I'd be swinging on vines to vines to vines like Tarzan. I'd like that."

You wanted to tell him a jungle isn't peaceful and quiet, with wild animals lurking around. But perhaps, compared to the human world, it was peaceful. Humans are behaving more like animals these days — or worse than them, even worse than the wild ones. But you liked that he was comfortable enough to tell you all the little weird things that were going on inside his head, all the good and bad, all the big and small. Things he had never uttered to others.

Perhaps it was good that the child in him was still there. At least he still sees the beauty in the world.

His phone vibrated somewhere on the floor, making your thoughts dissipate. He quickly picked it up as soon as he saw the caller ID.

"I have to go, doll." He sighed after talking to whoever was on the other line, picking up his boxers and his pants. You tilted your head to the side as he bent down, subconsciously biting your lower lip. "Tony's in the penthouse."

"Stark?" You frowned. "What's he doing in there?"

He pulled his shirt over his head. By this time, Peter had just finished showering. The water in the bathroom had just stopped dripping. "I'm about to find out."

"Peter's still out there. How are you gonna go out?"

His eyes moved to the closed window in front of him. "The same way I got in last night."

I raised your eyebrows, standing up. "In broad daylight? When people could see you? You're crazy."

"Well baby, I'm crazy for you and I see nothing wrong with that." He smirked, making his way towards you. "What's one more crazy thing to do?" He sped towards the window and quietly opened it, letting a cold breeze inside the room. His foot was just outside the window when you grabbed him and placed your mouth on his.

"Thanks for telling me about your past last night." You said, pulling away. It needed to be said. Now, you felt that you knew him better, knew the deep parts of himself he had been keeping, rather than the parts you already know about him. "I really appreciate it."

A soft smile landed on his lips. His hand caressing your jaw. "Thanks for listening, doll."

Then, he climbed down the fire escape, vanishing like Aladdin on his magic carpet.

--

The inviting smiles of the marketing team invited you into the conference room (the same one as last week) as soon as they saw you walk in. With your head held high, red lips, stilettos, and a bunch of papers and a laptop in hand, you shook all their hands with your free one, introducing yourself. Your eyes landed on Sharon who just gave you a nod. You turned around and fixed all the things you needed for your pitch on the table and felt a bit sad about you and Sharon's little exchange.

You were the only women in the room. The least you guys could do was to back each other up but clearly, it wasn't the way she usually goes. Or maybe she just really hated your guts.

While waiting for Sam to arrive, you practiced the speech you've had prepared a few days ago in your head as you skimmed the slides you prepared — all the color schemes, the tones, the framing, everything were on there.

Sharon approached you hesitantly. You looked up and gave her a questioning look, your fingers suspended in mid-air against the touchpad of your laptop.

"Barnes not coming with you today?"

"No." You briefly replied.

You went back to your presentation but Sharon didn't budge. She just stood there, looking down on you. "Can I help you with something or are you just gonna stand there?"

"You're not so bad, Ms. y/l/n." She said, startling you.

"What?"

"I saw your online portfolio." She answered. "You're good. I mean, you're no Maximoff but yeah, I guess you have potential. You just need a bit of push and the right audience."

You looked back up, giving her a small smile. Albeit the backhanded slap, it was the nicest thing she had ever said to you since day one. "Thank you."

"I'm looking forward to what you might bring to The Falcons."

"And I as well."

Sam arrived a bit later, having had some problems with the shipment of the next batch. You asked if this was going to be a problem in the production for the shoot but assured you and everyone else that it wouldn't be. Not anymore.

Bucky sent you a short text message right before you started the pitch, attached with a photo of him in a black hoodie with an unamused expression crossing his face. The hood perfectly framed his face in a weird way.

The day got dragged in seconds. Even though your pitch presentation about the production and post-production of the photos ended in a New York minute, with no further questions asked (surprisingly), the interview with the countless models and athletes took longer than you thought. Some even flirted with you (and not so subtle, you might as well add) to get the job. That alone just said a little too much of their work ethic and professionalism — which none of them had.

"She's taken, buddy." Sam glared at the model right across from you. "Move along now."

We watched the Australian model get up with a huff, mumbling something incoherent under his breath.

"I could've taken care of that, y'know." You sneered. "I don't need you looking out for me when Bucky's not around."

He scoffed, crossing his arms across his chest. His eyes on the papers lined up on the table. Beside you, Sharon was scribbling something on a piece of paper, double checking all the resumes, and couldn't care less about your conversation.

"Bitch please. I ain't looking out for you, kid. I'm looking out for Bucky."

"Sure, you are." You smiled, your eyes following the next model entering Sam's office. "Admit it, you care about me."

"Ha! You wish." His body language did say exactly that but his smiling eyes said otherwise.

The series of interviews went well after that, less people flirted. If not with you, with Sam and Sharon as well. Despite that, you've met people from different walks of life; people with stories to show and tell through photographs, stories worth telling, people who have been through success and failure, who have been marginalized by people who think of themselves as superior beings, people who are still finding purpose in life. And this is what you adored in this project and what you loved about photography. It was more than making money, more than a business, more than a face. It's all about the stories behind. And you couldn't wait to capture these stories in your lenses once you've chosen the twenty models and athletes.

After the long interview, you bid goodbye to Sam and Sharon, thanking them for the time and the work you've had today. To your surprise, you saw Sharon curve up a small smile as she shook your hand. Maybe you'd get along after all. Who knew?

You hailed a yellow cab in front of Sam's building and went straight to the bar, texting Bucky that you were on your way. You smiled, sitting closer by the window, looking up at the sunset hues in the sky. Now, whenever you looked at the sunset, all you could think of was Bucky.

As you looked above, some striking letters caught your eye: Stark Industries. The biggest, most famous business franchise there ever was not just in New York but in America. Tony Stark had hotels, restaurants, clubs -- you bet there wasn't something he hadn't owned yet.

Upon getting at the bar, Bucky was already sitting on the high stool by the counter. You were getting ready to hug him from behind but seeing Peter get out from the toilet stopped you. Instead, you went for a small smile and a wave. You would've killed to hug him and kiss him after a long day.

Nat wasn't around for her shift tonight, so it was just Nick and the other guys going around for orders. You wondered if Steve too was around or not but it looked like he wasn't. Well, that explains things. It wasn't that hard to put two and two together.

The bar's atmosphere was different without Nat around. Everyone was nice.

"Hey, it's Miss Big-Shot!" Even Nick was nice. "What can I get for ya?"

You ordered a non-alcoholic drink while telling Peter and Bucky how things went through today, secretly wishing it was just you and Bucky. You would've been sitting close together, thighs grazing each other, fingers brushing against each other under the counter, like a couple morphing into one entity.

You secretly kept glancing at Bucky, wondering what was in his mind, wondering if he too wished the same thing you had wished for, wondering if he would kiss me every chance he'd get to. You weren't a big fan of the whole PDA thing but when it came to Bucky, you'd let him do anything to you anytime, anywhere.

After you told them how your day went, you decided to ask a stupid question: "Oh hey, Bucky, how'd it go with Tony?"

Silence filled the counter. Bucky's eyes filled with horror while Peter shot you a questioning look. Then, he looked at Bucky. "You saw Mr. Stark today?" Then, back at you. "Wait, ho-how did you know about that?"

It was a good thing you were quick to think off the top of your head. "Bucky and I ran to each other in Manhattan and I asked how he was doing and then he told me about it! Right, Bucky?"

"That's it!" He replied, smiling awkwardly. "We did and yes, I told her."

"Aw, man. Mr. Stark never answers my phone calls or messages." Peter pouted. "What did you guys talk about?"

Bucky shrugged, taking a sip of his beer. "Business stuff. He says he wants me to be more... present. You know how he is."

But Peter didn't seem to mind about Bucky's reply. "How come he doesn't call me?"

"Oh my god, Parker, are you jealous?" You laughed, nudging his shoulder.

"Well, he never calls me!"

"Aw, is daddy too busy for his little boy?" You joked, pinching his cheeks which he slapped away.

"Ew, don't call him that!" Peter exclaimed, playfully glaring at you. "And he's not my dad! He's his dad!" He pointed at Bucky with his thumb."

"I'm adopted."

"Which technically means he's your dad." He replied. "Did he say anything about me?"

"No, not really." Bucky chuckled at Peter's whining, putting a hand on his shoulder, as if reassuring him. "Don't worry, kid. We'll go pay him a little visit and you can curse him out if you want. I'll be happy to back you up."

"Oohh, I can never do that to Mr. Stark."

"Why not?" You asked. "He's not your father. I say go curse him out."

"He's Tony Stark!" He exclaimed. "You'd be crazy to do that."

"You are such a baby, Parker." You groaned.

"I know." Peter smirked. "That's why women find me adorable."

"Gross." You cringed at him, throwing a cashew nut to his face. "Never ever say that again."

After about an hour of catching up, you three went to the apartment, the awkward silence during the elevator ride killing you each passing second.

You and Bucky stood behind Peter as he struggled to open the door, a little too close for Peter's liking (if he could see us now). Bucky slowly hooked his pinky with yours. You looked at him with a small smile on your face, then down at your pinkies hooked together.

They looked like a little knot on a string.

Bucky looked straight ahead, a sly smile playing on his lips as his hand moved from your hand to your ass. You slightly jumped at the contact, a small blush covering your cheeks. He removed it immediately when Peter managed to open the door after mumbling a few profanities under his breath. You quietly whimpered at the absence of Bucky's touch.

You went straight to your room after that, leaving Bucky and Peter in the living room. While changing, you noticed a gift-wrapped box sitting on your bed. It was a sleek black medium-sized box, adorned with a thick black ribbon, and thin silver ribbons. You frowned at it as you unbuttoned your blouse. You brushed your hand against the ribbon, looking for a note but there was none.

Once you put on some house clothes, you sat on the bed and carefully opened the box. You gasped as you carried the lid. Inside was the Nikon D850 — exactly what you've been wanting — and three different lenses, each with a different purpose.

"Bucky, you son of a bitch." You mumbled, adoring the equipment laid out on the bed.

On the bottom of the box, was a little white note that read:

For the most talented person I know.

Yours,

B.

You glanced at the door as you heard Bucky's laugh echoing against the apartment walls and immediately got out of your room. Peter was already walking to his room to change, leaving you and Bucky in the living room.

"You're welcome, doll." He whispered.

You wasted no time to push him towards the kitchen, and trapped him on the counter, your lips already smashing his. "You don't know how much I've wanted to do that since I saw you at the bar." You breathed out.

"Oh trust me," a quick peck on the lips, "I know."

"Bucky, the gift — "

"Is not too much."

"I was going to say I appreciate it." You smirked. "I think I know you well enough now not to say those kinds of things. But — "

He groaned, throwing his head back. "No buts, baby, please. Unless it's your butt." Then he, the cheeky guy he was, moved his hands on your ass, squeezing them.

"But..." You placed his hands back on your waist, giving him a look. "You don't have to do this all the time, okay?"

"I'm not making any promises."

"James, I mean it."

"Y/n." He smirked. "I mean it too."

"You're never gonna stop, aren't you?" You sighed, gazing into his eyes.

"You know me well enough to answer that question yourself. Now, what do you say when you've received something from me?"

"That's not fair. When you give it to me," you pushed your crotch against his, earning a slight groan from his end, "I normally don't say thank you. How come I should say it now?"

He sighed, shaking his head. "You're really something else. You know that, right?"

You rolled your eyes. "The amount of times you've told me that, Bucky, I swear — "

Then, he shut you up by kissing you softly on the lips. "Where's my thank you?"

You giggled, pressing against him harder. "How about I say thank you in a different way? How's that sound?"

"Right here? Doll, y'know I'm not one for a quickie. If I want to fuck you — "

The sound of Peter's door opening made you jump off Bucky faster than the speed of light. Peter entered the kitchen as you pretended to grab something from the fridge.

"So... this was nice." Bucky said, peeling himself away from the counter. "But I have to go. It's getting kind of dark now plus Howard's waiting for me downstairs."

You watched as Bucky and Peter exchanged their goodbyes by the door, and watched your lover walk away from you without a short hug.

As soon as you went back to your room, your phone rang. You immediately picked it up seeing Bucky's name on the screen.

"If I want to fuck you — and trust me, I always want to — I'd be doing it all day, all night. My place tomorrow. I'll be waiting for you, my little devil."

And with that, you laid on your bed, together with Bucky's gifts, with the thought of Bucky pleasuring you in all ways possible running through your head.

✪

Steve Rogers strode in the mirrored hallways of the Stark industries with Jarvis right beside him, dreading for this spontaneous meet to end. Keeping his head low, he asked Jarvis:

"What does Stark want from me now, Jarvis?"

Jarvis gave him a side-glance, not uttering a single word.

"Oh come on, now." Steve looked at the blonde beside him. "Don't be shy. Usually, you have the right words to say."

But Jarvis didn't budge. He knew Tony well enough not to talk to Steve. Besides, it wasn't any of his business. He was just Tony's little errand boy -- alright, perhaps errand boy was a bit degrading. His... assistant. Someone who does the dirty work for the boss.

"The silent treatment? Really?"

Jarvis internally groaned. Steve didn't use to talk that much back in the good old days. Almost reaching Tony's office, Jarvis showed him the way but Steve stopped him.

"Yeah, yeah. I know where it is." Steve huffed.

"Very well, then."

"Oh, now you talk." Steve said, stopping right outside Tony's tall metallic doors. Jarvis offered him utter silence. "Always a pleasure, Vis."

Tony Stark sat on his cushioned throne, trailing a little yellow cab with his fingers, as if playing with toy cars. Once he heard the door close behind him, he turned around and met Steve's cold blue eyes.

"Mr. Rogers." Tony acknowledged, eyeing Steve from his head to his feet. "Please, sit down."

"I won't be long."

"I'm afraid that's not for you to tell." Tony's voice was firm. Authoritative. Something Steve never missed. "We have much to discuss."

Steve sighed, defeated. He had no other choice but to sit across from the jerk.

"If you're here to tell me to shut up about that thing you don't want Bucky to know, don't worry, I will."

"So..." Tony trailed off, pulling himself closer to his table. "You know that I know."

"It was more of a guess." He replied, frowning. "But knowing you, I just knew it to be true."

"Alright," Tony exhaled, minding Steve's cockiness, "let's cut to the chase here. Your little bar? Captain Brews? I want to buy it."

"No."

Tony was taken aback by Steve's swift answer but he didn't show it. People always said yes to Tony. Always. "I'm afraid that word isn't a part of my vocabulary."

"See, that's where we differ 'cause in mine, it is." Steve answered, keeping his voice strong and steady. "I don't want anything to do with you. I did everything you told me to. Leave me and my bar alone."

"How much do you want for it?"

"What?"

"Ten million? Fifteen?"

Steve scoffed, biting his lower lip. "I told you, I won't tell Bucky what I know. I've burned all the papers, all the articles, all the drafts. There's no evidence left. Buying the bar just to have your strings on me won't do you any good, Stark. I won't allow it. You've already had my word before, right? What's one more?"

[3pirouette]

Fic: The Honey Trap (10/12)

Title: The Honey Trap By: TriplePirouette/3Pirouette Disclaimer: They're not mine. Distribution: AO3 Anyone else please ask first :) 

Story Summary: Peggy’d lost count. She wasn’t sure if she was a double or triple agent at this point, and in the end, it didn’t matter. What mattered was getting out of this alive.

AN: I'm pretty sure this will be 12 chapters now. Thank you for going on this journey with me. This chapter is short and transitional, and I'm hoping to get at LEAST one more up this weekend, if not the whole story posted soon.

Chapter 10: Anticipation

The Next Morning

“Zola’s not talking,” Phillips paced the room, arms crossed tight. “It’s only been a few hours but—”

“But Peggy’s at that Swiss base by now,” Steve finished, leaning over the large map of Europe laid out before him.

Howard shrugged. “If this is anything, anything like those blue battery powered weapons we’ve been seeing Hydra use so far, we’re in trouble. The amount of destruction they could cause if ramped up even just the tiniest bit…” Howard sighed, wiping the hair out of his eyes. “We’re talking thousands… millions dead, if not…” He gulped and stopped, still and quiet.

Phillips looked up at the scientist, concerned as the man never seemed to stop talking. “If not what, Stark?”

Howard was uncharacteristically serious. “I haven’t… It’s just a… just a hunch, really. But if he has enough of that stuff? Which I—I seriously think he might. If they calculate wrong, or put it with the wrong kind of accelerant or explosive—”

“Out with it, Howard,” Steve interrupted, knowing how his friend could babble on and on when he didn’t quite want to get to the conclusion.

Howard stood very still and took a long, slow breath. “By accident or on purpose, if they have enough of that stuff and combine it with the right, or wrong, explosive, we could be looking at an extinction level event.”

~*~

Steve paced the room, eyes stuck on Zola. He could feel the energy coiling deep in his belly, he was frustrated and needed an outlet.

Zola, for his part, tried to look calm, but he was unable to stem the fidgeting of his fingers under the table. The small man jumped when Steve pulled out the chair across from him, sitting suddenly.

Steve looked him up and down, something he hadn’t cared to do before. It was the tactic of a bully to try to intimidate someone smaller than them, and it felt wrong trying to use it. He still didn’t much care what the man looked like, or what he had to say for himself, but there were lives on the line, and that meant someone had to get him to talk.

“You could make this a lot easier on the both of us,” he started, folding his hands together on the table between them, “if you just told me what we want to know.”

Zola pressed his lips tight, though Steve thought he could see just a hint of sweat at the man’s forehead. “I’ve said all I will say.”

“See, that’s not enough for me.” Steve leaned forward, serious. “Schmidt’s planning something, and I’m going to stop him.”

Zola laughed. “Erskine made you. In a lab. Given more time I could have had the same results. But it matters not.” He shook his head, leaning back in his chair. “Herr Schmidt and Hydra will not fail.”

Steve didn’t say anything, but matched his relaxed posture, leaning back. “You know, I don’t really need you.” Steve almost smiled at the way Zola’s eyebrow twitched at that. “I know where the base is. I know that whatever it is, it has to do with your advanced energy source. And I know that Schmidt is there right now.” Steve shrugged, standing. “Shame you don’t want to help yourself.” He looked at him harshly, “Every death that happens today will be on your head, Zola. Deaths you could prevent.”

Steve waited, hoping his words would move the man, but they didn’t. He left, as frustrated as he had been when he went in.

Bucky and Phillips were waiting for him outside of the interrogation room. “Well?” Bucky asked, following as Phillips motioned them away from the isolation rooms and towards his office.

“Nothing,” Steve lamented.

“Then gear up,” Phillips ordered, stopping at his door. “I hate going in blind, but Carter’s messages were clear. We have a short window before they’re going to do whatever it is they’re going to do, and this is our opportunity to stop it.” He nodded at Rogers. “We’ll get you on a plane first, and I’ll lead ground support right after. This ends tomorrow, one way or another.”

~*~ That evening

Peggy paced the small room. The train ride had been a tumultuous affair, and they’d been ushered from train to car to room at the Swiss base so quickly she felt like her head was spinning. Wallace had been anxious the entire time, but refused to speak to her on the trip.

Instead, Peggy used the time spent in the train to think of the blue of Steve’s eyes when he’d looked up at her from the floor, blinking to consciousness. She missed his eyes, his sincerity. She found it comical that anyone could truly believe a woman would choose Wallace over Steve, that Wallace’s squirrely nature could capture her heart over Steve’s kind-hearted earnestness.

Peggy had thought about following Wallace out of the small guest room, but he’d shot her a dark glance and she’d stayed behind. It hadn’t escaped her that there was a masked Hydra guard at the end of the hallway, or that there was no way out of her room besides the one door that led to him.

She was pretty sure things had gone south, and quickly. Zola’s disappearance at the party had everyone on edge, and they’d been ushered out early. She’d expected as much, and had been relieved when no one had connected her time with him or her time away from the ballroom with his disappearance. At least, she didn’t think they had yet. Wallace had eyed her up and down, but she gave nothing away.

She stopped pacing as he came back to the room, shutting the door tight behind him. He looked at her, and let out a shuddering breath.

“Well?” She asked, hoping he’d lead her on where to take the conversation.

His knees collapsed and he sank to the floor. “It’s…” He smiled, eyes almost unfocused as he looked up at her. “It’s amazing.”

“What is?” She took a slow step forward, the cold cement echoing under her heels. She wasn’t dressed for this, had no way to prepare for anything that might happen, and the flimsy heels and fancy dress left her feeling woefully exposed.

Wallace stood, moving over to her and taking her hands, his body nearly shaking in excitement. “We meet with Schmidt tomorrow, and that’s when it all begins.”

Peggy couldn’t stand it anymore. She pulled her hand from his and slapped him, hard, across the cheek. “What is wrong with you?”

He stepped back, eyes filled with betrayal, and held a hand to his face. “Maggie?”

Peggy could do nothing but laugh at his bewildered expression. “Wallace! What happened to you?” She dropped her voice, knowing full well they were being surveilled, or at the very least the guard in the hall could hear them. “When did you become a double agent?”

He shook his head, the wild look in his eyes still there. “Maggie, you can’t tell me that you haven’t seen to truth of this yet?”

“That Hydra and the Nazis are killing thousands of innocent people for the sake of superiority?” Her heart pounded, finally confronted by the truth of his loyalties.

“Maggie—”

“Peggy!” She huffed, walking away, her heart breaking at the thought of having been pulled in by this man. “My name is Peggy. And you brought me into this- you brought me into this whole mess to stop this war.”

“And we will!” He rushed up, taking her hands in his sweaty palms. “Don’t you see? Don’t you see the beauty in the world Hydra will create?”

Peggy pulled her hands from his, stepping back. “I see hate. I see violence. I see men sick in the trenches and missing limbs when they come home. I see thousands of people dead--” she seethed, her voice low and the pain of everything she’d seen and gone through in the last months coming to a head as she stuttered over the last word, “…dead, just because they were different and didn’t fit into an ideal.”

“Maggie, you have to be careful,” he whispered desperately.

“Peggy,” she spat, moving further away, but he didn’t seem to hear her.

He shook his head at her, “If they hear you talking like that, I can’t save you.”

Peggy let her hand rest against her thigh where her gun was safely holstered. She looked at him with narrowed eyes, knowing she wouldn’t sleep at all tonight, but rather would stay up, hand at her side, waiting for whatever was coming next. “Then I suppose I’ll have to save myself, and everyone else.”

[iamtrebleclefstories]

Let You in on a Little Secret

This story was an idea that just popped in my head and I couldn’t get it out until I wrote it down. It takes place in a season 12 AU where Cristina never left, Derek is still alive, and Jo divorced Paul with the help of Alex after confiding in him about her past at the end of season 9 (before the tree crashes into the living room). This is my first Jolex and Grey’s fic so I hope you like it!!

To say he was excited would be an understatement. He was bursting with joy, anticipation, and love. He had tried his best to contain it, truly, but he was sure that he had weirded a few of the nurses out with the large grin that was on his face. He hoped no one would care enough to ask, because if they asked, he didn’t know how long he’d be able to keep this secret to himself. And that was saying something, because despite his bluntness and honesty, Alex Karev was a private and guarded person. He knew how to keep a secret if necessary. But today was different. Today he was walking on air. Today he was happy. Today he had finally grown up.

Making his way into the attendings’ lounge, he hoped he wouldn’t run into anyone. He entered the lounge to find it empty and poured himself a cup of coffee before sitting on the couch to read through a patient chart. He was alone for about ten minutes when the lounge filled with people. He looked up from his coffee and smiled, “Hey guys.”

“Karev, what’s with the look on your face?” Jackson asked.

“Ooh he’s making the ‘I just got laid face!’ Did you and Wilson do it in an on-call room?” Yang teased.

“No I did not just get laid. I’m just in a good mood today,” He answered.

“Alex Karev in a good mood? Yeah I’ll believe that when pigs fly,” Callie snorted.

“Whatever, I can be in a good mood if I want to. I had a great night, a great morning, a successful tumor resection, a cool surgery scheduled today, and I get to tell a kid and his parents that we found a lung after 2 years of searching.”

There was a pause before Cristina spoke, “Ah! So he got laid last night and this morning.”

There was a chorus of laughters as Meredith walked into the lounge. “What are we laughing about?” She asked.

“Alex is all bright and shiny today because he got laid last night and this morning,” Cristina wiggles her eyebrows.

“Shut up,” Alex grumbled. “I already told you guys. I’m not smiling because I got laid. I told you, I’ve been having a very good day today. I’m allowed to smile.”

Meredith’s eyes widened as she walked over and pressed her hand to his forehead, “Well he doesn’t have a fever so it’s definitely not the delirium talking.”

Alex rolled his eyes, “You know what? I’m not gonna let it bother me. I’m having a good day and I’m not gonna let anyone ruin it. I’m gonna go see patients.”

*****

A few hours later, he was at the nurses station updating a few charts when he felt a pair of airs wrap around his waist. Smiling, he pulled them closer to him before turning, “Hey.”

“Hey,” a beaming Jo answered.

“How’s your day been so far?”

“Great! Callie keeps asking me why I’m smiling so wide today. She mentioned that you seemed to be in a very good mood this morning and asked me if we had really hot sex this morning.”

Alex laughed, “Yeah... they kept teasing me about the goofy look on my face while we were in the lounge. Yang was convinced that we had just come back from a quickie in an on-call room.”

Jo chuckled, “If only they knew the real reason we’re so giddy today. I think they might combust.”

“You’re probably right. I know we said we weren’t gonna make a big deal about it yet but, I’ve gotta tell someone before I spontaneously combust.”

“Okay, you can tell one person. But they must be sworn to secrecy. Also, I think I would be kind of hypocritical to say that you can’t talk to anyone about it because I kind of already called Ms. Schmidt this morning on my way in before rounds.”

Alex looked at her in disbelief, “I can’t believe you spilled before I did. You owe me thirty bucks.”

“Haha, I know. I’m so weak.” Jo exclaimed.

“No you’re not,” Alex shook his head. “You’re just excited and happy and so am I. I mean, I’m scared out of my freaking mind but, I’m happy.”

Jo smiled softly at him, “I love you.”

“I love you more,” he said before kissing her. “Okay, you gotta go before Torres gets on your ass about wandering off during work hours.”

“Ugh, I know. I’ll see you later!” She called as she walked away.

Smiling to himself again, he made his way over to the elevator. When the doors opened, he found himself face to face with Meredith Grey. He smiled at his friend as he pushed the buttons for the peds floor. They stood in silence for a minute before Meredith the emergency stop button, “Okay seriously. What the hell is going on with you? You’re scaring me with that happy look on your face. Who are you and what have you done to Alex Karev?”

Alex huffed out a breath, “It’s nothing, Mer. I’m just happy, is all.”

Meredith looked at him skeptically for a moment and let out a gasp, “Oh my God! You proposed, didn’t you?”

“What?” Alex scrunched his face, “No I didn’t propose. You’re still holding onto the ring. But speaking of rings, I think I’m gonna need to back soon.”

“So you’re gonna do it? You’re gonna propose!”

“Soon, yeah. I finally feel like things are coming together and the time is right, ya know?”

Meredith nodded, “I do. But I still don’t get why you are in such a good mood today. You haven’t proposed yet.”

Alex sighed, “Okay. I’m going to let you in on a little secret. But you have to swear you won’t tell anyone. Not Cristina. Not Shepherd. Not Torres. Not Zola. Not even your damn pillow. You’ve got to be sworn to secrecy.”

“I swear.”

“Okay,” Alex took a steadying breath. “Jo and I have been talking about fostering kids. We both had really rough childhoods and wanted to make a difference in some kid’s life. So we went through the whole process and got approved two weeks ago. Last night we got a call that we’ve been placed and we’re getting a four year old kid at the end of the week. And to top it all off, this morning, we found out that Jo is pregnant.”

“OH MY GOD!” Meredith squealed in joy. She threw her arms around his neck and gave him a giant squeeze, “Oh my God. Alex! I am so happy for you!”

“Thanks,” he replied, allowing the goofy grin to make its way back to his face.

“This is huge! You two are going to be parents!”

“I know,” he laughed. “I can’t believe it. It still feels like I’m dreaming.”

“Well okay, but I need the details! So spill everything.” Meredith said, matching his smile.

“There’s not much to tell. The kid we’re getting is a boy named Beau Carter. His mom died of an overdose and his 19 year old dad was raising him but realized about a year ago that he wasn’t fit to raise a kid so he’s been passed around for the past eleven months. If we’re a good fit, the hope is to foster to adopt. And as for Jo’s pregnancy, we’re not positive how far along she is, but we’re pretty sure she’s about ten weeks or so.”

“Were you guys trying?”

“No,” he chuckled. “We were being careful because we knew we wanted to foster, but you remember the inter mixer Bailey forced us to all go to? Well, Jo and I got pretty drunk that night and I don’t remember using a condom so we’re pretty sure that’s when it happened. We made an appointment with OB for tomorrow morning to find out.”

“Alex! I’m speechless. Now I understand why you’ve had that look on your face all day. I would too!” Meredith beamed. “You’re growing up! You’ve got a girl that loves you, a foster kid, a baby on the way, and you’re going to propose. What the hell happened to you?”

“Haha, I’d say I don’t know but the truth is, I do. Jo happened.”

Meredith patted his face, “Okay. So I’m going to be the godmother, right? I swear if you give it to Cristina, I will haunt you after I die.”

Alex rolled his eyes, “I have to talk to Jo first but yes, I think you’d be the perfect godmother for my kids.”

“You have to come over and get that ring. It’s sitting in my sock drawer. You’re lucky Derek hasn’t found it and started asking questions yet. Or worse, one of my kids.”

“I know. I’ll come get it this weekend. I was hoping we could maybe come over and introduce Beau to the kids. I think it would be a good way to get him to be more comfortable with everyone.”

“Of course!” Meredith nodded. “We can have Sunday brunch with the kids. We can make waffles.”

“Sounds good to me.”

The stood there for a minute taking in the moment before Meredith pulled on the emergency stop button, “We’ve been in here too long. I was so excited about your news I forgot that we have patients.”

“I know me too.”

The elevator doors opened and as he stepped out, Alex heard Meredith call him, “Alex!”

He turned to look at his closest friend, “Yeah?”

“You are going to be great.”

He smiled as he thanked her genuinely. Yeah today was a great day. But he knew it wouldn’t compare to all the amazing tomorrows to come.

[nikolaiisms]

『 aron piper. twenty three. cismale. he/him. 』 oh heavens, is that NIKOLAI SCHMIDT from CHESTNUT DRIVE i see roaming around mapleview? minnie may’s always calling them -ABRASIVE & -PESSIMISTIC. i happen to think they’re not that bad! they’re a pretty cool FIREFIGHTER and every time i’ve seen them, they’ve always been +ECCENTRIC & +FREE SPIRITED. i hope i see them around again! 『 mack. 20. gmt. she/her. 』

coming from virtually nothing in the city of new york, it was no surprise to his peers when nikolai turned to a street gang to survive what life had become. born to a young teen mom who was scared, alone, and also not living in the best part of town, her grandparents coaxed her into giving her first born up, for a better life or whatever lie she needed to tell herself to go through with transaction. that’s how he’ll forever see it, like a drug deal. she handed him over and that was that. he’s never met her, nor does he want to...anymore. nikolai gave that up after his ninth birthday party, the theme was ninja turtles and of course she was a no show. he couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact she truly wanted no contact with him whatsoever. when he finally accepted that his life in the foster care system was the luck the universe dealt him, it was like a switch flipped.

the sweet, caring, curly headed boy who once had a twinkle of hope in his eye was gone. his bubbly naive outlook on life was ruined and he shut himself off emotionally for his biggest fear is getting attached to someone, needing them, and then being abandoned again. because of this, he joined a street gang at a very young age as a way to fill the void he has concerning family and belonging. don’t get me wrong, nikolai was a sweet kid but, he had to survive somehow and his baby face wasn’t doing him much good in the popularity department. he was an easy target, emotional, and vulnerable. weak. Rafael, the leader of the gang took him under his wing of some sort, protected him, fed him, gave him a place to sleep when he didn’t feel like being cramped in his foster parents home while they foster more kids than they’re supposed to at one time. in return? all nikolai had to do is sell a little weed, what’s the harm in that? it’s not like he’s a murderer. that’s how he sugarcoated it so he could live with himself. anything else the gang was involved in? that was none of his business and as long as he continued to mind it, he thought he’d be safe. 

all of that changed when his best friend was murdered and died in his arms due to gang violence. nikolai spiraled farther down the wrong path and like a miracle, his biological father tracked him down and reached out to him. at this time, nikolai was sixteen and had never thought much about who his father was. his mother had given him up, he assumed his father had down the same. since he was still in the foster care system, it took time but eventually nikolai ended up being reunited with his father in mapleview and now resides in chestnut drive as a firefighter. 

he can come off as emotionally distant and isn’t the best with making friends. part of him still lives like he’s in survival mode because he witnessed his best friend’s murder and often looks over his shoulder expecting the killer to find him and make for certain he will never tell. he can be paranoid, introverted, but also is very eccentric and authentically himself when he does express his personality (he is bisexual though that’s not something he advertises, it’s sort of just like ‘if you know you know, if you don’t then it isn’t your business to know’ he’s very private in general and doesn’t just offer up intimate details of his life, but he doesn’t go out of his way to necessarily hide his sexuality, he just doesn’t think it’s something that has to be spoken on). somewhere deep down is still that little boy with hopes and dreams and if you dig deep enough, you may be able to have a breakthrough with him. 

he’s calmed down from his chaotic, disruptive past life and has built somewhat of a healthy relationship with his father since being in mapleview. new york city is a lot different than the small town but he’s grown to like it (though he would never admit that to himself) and has become a firefighter to satisfy his need for a good thrill and risk of safety that he’s used to from the gang life. 

[beginagainbugle]

What: Erik sits with The Daily Planet for an interview about Genosha: who they are, what their government is like, their hopes for the future. Tagging: Erik Lehnsherr ( @master-of-magnetism​ ) & Kara Danvers ( @maidenxfmight​ ) Warnings: Holocaust mention, genocide mention, death mention, injury mention

KARA: “You ready?”

Was she? Kara’s jaw hurt from how hard her teeth had been clenched. The notes on her page seemed to jump off, the contrast too high. There was too much noise. The cameraman’s heartbeat pounded like a drum against the inside of her skull. She’d rather be home, tucked under her blankets with her ear-muffs on. Room dark.

“Yeah, I’m ready.” If she tilted her glasses down, she could see him. If she cared less, she could fry through the wall that separated them. Someone said ‘bring him in’ and Kara pushed her glasses up her nose.

ERIK: This, he’d expected. The world had turned upside down over one long weekend, and everyone was still trying to make sense of it all. There were mixed responses to the change of status quo, thus far, and news organizations had been clamoring for a word from the leader of the world’s newest sovereign state.

If Erik had his way, he’d be there now, but it was important to go through the motions this early on. It was strange but freeing to be able to walk the streets of New York without concealing himself.

The producers were chatting at him now, presumably trying to prep him, but Erik was more focused on trying not to smack at the hand of the makeup artist tapping powder on his face. As it turned out, he didn’t have to–she was brushed aside by the producer, who had one hand pressed to his earpiece. “Right through here.”

It was Kara. Because of course it was. He knew, he’d been prepped, but his ribs still twinged slightly at the memory of the last time he’d seen her. Even so, he plastered on a cool smile, settling himself into the chair opposite her. “Ms. Danvers.”

KARA: She waited until he was seated across from her before meeting his eyes. She looked at the set of the cameras, the rug beneath their feet, the small coffee table with the obligatory glasses of water that sat on top, him. He looked the same, and her heart moved double-time in her chest. Rao, she didn’t want this.

But she kept her gaze firm, and she refused to back down. He’d told her to embrace her anger, and she was learning. She found a polite smile for the sake of manners, and the camera crew around them. “Mr. Lehnsherr. Shall we get right to it?”

The less time she spent with him, the better. She gave a nod to the cameraman, keeping Erik in her periphery as she watched him count down. “Welcome, ladies and gentleman, to another Daily Planet exclusive. Today we’ll be talking with Erik Lehnsherr about his recent acquisition of Genosha. He has been a vocal proponent of mutant rights for years; a war that only last week ended in a showdown with government authorities. Mr. Lehnsherr, thank you for coming in today.”

ERIK: The cast of her eyes made something between his still-sore ribs and his stomach twist itself into knots. She glanced around the studio, eyes cutting back to him every few moments, and Erik knew intimately that particular sort of wariness. The importance of keeping eyes on a threat without making eye contact and risking the response to that. He could feel the way her heartbeat sped up in her chest, even behind the carefully maintained mask of neutral interest.

She had almost killed him. Could, still, if it came to it. And yet she was afraid. Furious, too, since the heat in her eyes was only just banked, but he knew the signs of fear nevertheless. (She was looking at him like he’d once looked at Schmidt, and he wasn’t… he wasn’t like that. Was he?)

Erik looked away for a moment, shoved whatever that was squarely back into its box. Now was not the time. (Never was preferable.) Focus on Genosha. Only Genosha. Not Kara, not Raven, and definitely not Schmidt.

And then the cameraman was counting down, and Erik plastered back on a cool smile, watching the camera light flick from red to green. Compartmentalization. He settled back in his seat, demeanour shifting into the suave steadiness Kara had become acquainted with in the Before. “It’s my pleasure, Ms. Danvers. The world has changed very quickly, in the last few weeks, for everyone, and I’m honored to help provide what I can of clarity and perspective.”

KARA: “I’m sure our viewers would love some of both.” Kara’s fingers ran over her edges of her notebook. He looked as comfortable in the hot seat as he had in that alley, with a cigarette held loose in his fingers and fire dancing in his eyes. She had to remind herself this was a job, just a job.

She loved what she did, truly. Journalism hadn’t only been about following in Clark’s footsteps, it had been about sharing the truth. Her own planet had died, and everyone she knew along with it, because her parents had kept the truth to themselves. She wondered what truth she was trying to expose here. Genosha wasn’t only for Erik. It was for Scott, for Jean and Gabby and Lorna. Twisting it for them wouldn’t actually help.

Her own feelings didn’t matter, and she tamped them down as best she could. Even when her skin crawled, even when her heart hammered out of her chest.

“Let’s start with your vision for Genosha. It’s obviously new, and will have much growing to do. Tell us about it now, and where do you see it going in the future?”

ERIK: The mention of Genosha made the smile a bit easier, a bit more genuine. He was proud of what they’d accomplished, proud to be able to talk about it.

“My vision is, and always has been, a place where mutantkind can be safe from the oppression we’ve faced for so long in human societies. I lived in Israel for some time, many decades ago, and I quite took to the idea of creating a space where a people that had been roundly oppressed on a global basis could live freely in close community with their own kin. That’s why we offered mutants, and by-birth metahumans, automatic citizenship eligibility. And the island is coming along well, so far. We have a diverse set of mutants on the island who are willing and able to help shape our peoples’ new homeland. There are teams dedicated to terraforming the island and fostering fauna growth, teams dedicated to construction, and then, of course, the Council, led by myself, that will be shaping our national policies. We’ve been able to swiftly secure resources and funding for business growth. In the meantime, transportation between New York City and Genosha is easy–all that’s required is a security check at the border.”

KARA: It had always been hard to argue with Erik. His history had more than earned him the right to his anger, and his love for his people shone through in every word he said. She thought of Jason, and blacks and whites, and all those grey areas in between. What happened to her felt so black and white, wrong, but Erik saw more shades of grey than she did.

Her hands skimmed over her notebook, a movement she worked hard to quell, and her eyes never left Erik. “An admirable vision.” More than a vision, a reality literally growing not too far from where they sat. There was a notable enough pause between one question and the next that her cameraman poked his head around his screen. A question burned on the tip of her tongue, and she swallowed it back. “What would you say to mutants or metahumans who want somewhere safe, but who were possibly…spooked by the violence it took to create it?”

ERIK: A long silence settled between them, in the wake of her noncommittal response, and Erik didn’t falter in demeanor even as the cameramen and producers exchanged confused glances. Silence had a tendency to reveal truths–and there one was, plain as day in the question. Plain to the two of them, anyways.

“Many of us grew up surrounded by violence–if not from the beginning, then certainly from when our powers became clear. Whether it was experimentation, harassment, familial abuse, workplace discrimination, or something else, every single one of us has stories they can tell. And I am sorry that more violence was necessary to break us free. But we tried warnings, we tried negotiations. It is my honest opinion that we went above and beyond our obligations to try for peaceful resolution before the seige, even after they murdered a mutant hero in the middle of Central Park. The X-Men spent years trying to protect humans from threats, even at their own peril. Professor Xavier was happy to welcome students into his home whose families were either unwilling or unable to house their mutant children. We wrote op-eds, we made speeches, we penned explicit warnings that war would come if we weren’t brought to the table to help smooth things out. Instead, humans only raised the stakes.” There was only a hint of anger in his tone, most of it stubbornly crushed under the facade of careful diplomacy. Most, but not all.

“Some of the methods necessary to our win were unfortunate, I’ll freely admit. But it got people to listen, finally. And now we have our own place, where we are building the peaceful society we’ve never had the chance to live in for ourselves. I want the mutants and metahumans who watched their TV screens for that long weekend to know that I didn’t build Genosha as a victory pyre. It is not meant to be a symbol of constant war. It is meant to be for all my people what I always wanted myself–a *home. A safe haven. Nothing more or less.”

KARA: A safe haven. Kara let herself smile, despite the way her heart still hammered against her chest, how she had to remind herself to sit still. It was the message she’d wanted to get out, after all. The only thing that had pulled her out of the moment of shock following Snapper’s given assignment was the thought of ensuring the message of hope that was Genosha itself would get out.

That Erik somehow answered her unspoken question in the process of answering her actual question was unimportant.

(It still curled tightly in her chest, settled heavy on her shoulders. She still had to swallow against the nauseous feeling of it in her throat.)

The room seemed to shift around them, the tension rising in the wake of the small strain of anger in his voice. Kara remained steadfast in the center, “You built peace at the end of a war you’ve been fighting a lot longer than just one weekend. And it is peace, for any mutant or metahuman who wishes to enter.” Alien was notably absent. The tension in the room told Kara it wasn’t the time or the place to point that out. This was about Genosha. “For anyone looking to enter, what do you think day-to-day life will be like for citizens of Genosha? What can they expect in the ways of laws, economy, relations and movement between other countries?”

ERIK: The next question was expected, wasn’t a surprise, but his heartbeat ticked up in speed once, twice, thrice before he took control to slow it down, gaze and steady smile still aimed at Kara before he turned to the camera.

“In some ways, Genosha won’t be all that different from what our citizens are used to elsewhere. We have the same basic laws meant to keep the peace. We’re building small businesses, infrastructure, greenhouses for food supply–exactly what you’d expect to find in any community. Obviously, given the nature of our citizenry, we intend to have a large space in society for the use of powers and abilities. No mutant needs to be afraid to use their abilities on Genosha–if you need help learning to use them, Xavier’s Institute has been the golden standard of that sort of education for years. People will find their place in our society where their interests and skills meet, and that is on particular display in the High Council, whose names and positions I do believe I sent over. Warren Worthington is in charge of our Ministry of Commerce due to his expertise in business. Jean Grey is heading up our Ministry of Health and overseeing the construction of our healthcare system due to her medical experience. Charles Xavier is responsible for our Ministry of Education, for obvious reasons. I’ve taken great care to select an experienced and trustworthy Council to guide the direction of our growing country, and they in turn are excellent at scouting talent to best fulfill their own responsibilities.” And now to relations. The truth wasn’t something even those close to him knew, yet, but he knew the story that needed to be told. The one the world needed to hear so they wouldn’t decide Genosha was too much a threat, after all. “As for diplomatic relationships, building and maintaining good relationships with other nations is of paramount importance. We want to serve not only as a safe haven, but as an advocate for our people abroad, improving conditions for mutants and metahumans who may not wish to relocate. As I mentioned before, movement into and out of Genosha currently requires only a security check at the border. We’re working on the creation of passports and visas, so it’s possible that the border may tighten in the future, but such is the case for any country. Border security varies based on the political landscape—and we’re making a good-faith effort to be far more open than I think most new countries would be in such close proximity to one with which they recently finished a war. I want to extend my thanks to the U.S. State Department for their willingness to work on forging a positive working relationship between our nations despite the obvious rocky history.”

KARA: His heart ticked up, and Kara zeroed in on it. She watched the expressions play across his face, his smile steady but the moment between the question and his answer notable. Her fingers danced across her notebook, and she wanted to push. It was half her job, wasn’t it? Get answers. But there was a stark difference between sitting across the table from someone demanding answers for an article in print, and sitting in front of a myriad of cameras.

“That brings us to the actual layout of your government. Are you looking at a democracy, wherein officials are elected after the initial establishing of the country is done; a constitutional monarchy?” Her lips ticked up, imagining Jean with a crown. But that would mean Erik falling into a soft life somewhere, finally at peace. The race of his heart and the anger flashing through his eyes before she’d flown away from Genosha told Kara peace was still so far away for Erik Lehnsherr.

ERIK: He could see the questions burning on her tongue by the way her fingers curled around the pen and skirted across the page, as if she were mentally imagining it filling with all the answers she wanted to demand.

But she was not alone with him, for better or for worse, the both of them were on camera, and there were lines, professional and personal, that she wouldn’t cross. Not here.

“Certainly, that’s along the lines of my vision for what lies further down the line. I believe that people deserve a right to be represented by their government–something which was decidedly not the case for mutants in America, before the recent restructuring of the Accords. That’s one of the primary reasons I established the Council; of course, I could hardly be expected to do all the work on my own, but large decisions for our country are meant to be discussed by myself and relevant Council members–or for the most important decisions, amongst the entire Council. I can understand that from the outside it might look like simply delegating tasks, but my Council is meant to lay the groundwork for a deliberative body that makes decisions for our people. For purposes of ease, in these early days, I have the final say as of now, but I chose people that I trust to be honest with me, not simply tell me what I want to hear. I’m confident that the decisions we make moving forward will be what’s best for all of our people. But in short, yes: I intend for our country to eventually shift officially to a constitutional monarchy. Eventually, my hope is to abolish the monarchy entirely, but that would obviously be quite a ways in the future.”

KARA: So Jean could end up in a crown. The thought was oddly comforting, even while her heart continued to race. She wanted to do Genosha justice, ensure any mutants wishing to find peace knew there was a place for them. There were viewers who wanted to know everything, and Kara just wanted to be home. She wanted to be somewhere she couldn’t hear his heartbeat.

Her eyes dropped to her notebook, where most of the questions had already been asked. “Of course, of course, yeah. One more question, Mr. Lehnsherr, and we’ll let you get back to what I’m sure is an incredibly busy job building an entirely new country. And again, thank you for taking the time to talk with us today. It means a lot, not only to The Planet, but to so many who are looking at Genosha with so many questions, and even hope.”

She wanted to ask him to promise against violence in the future. She wanted to ask him if had any regrets. She wanted to ask him selfish things she already knew the answer to. She swallowed them down. “If you close your eyes and you imagine Genosha five, ten, fifteen years in the future, what does daily life look like, the culture, the…food, the smells? Is religion engrained in the culture? What does it look like when Genosha goes from an upstart to a home?”

ERIK: She was sitting there asking him what the future looked like, and Erik had to bite the inside of his cheek to refrain from laughing. That was the question, isn’t it? Erik had spent his whole life fighting for a better future, but in all honesty? He’d never expected to live to see it. He’d long ago resigned himself to the idea that this fight would kill him–that he could open the door for others, but wouldn’t make it to the other side.

But here he was, now, and he didn’t know what to do with himself. He could never concede that–not to his family, not to his people, and certainly not to his enemies. He was pushing through, helping construct this new world step by step, but the final vision was still shrouded in clouds on the horizon.

( He should be dead, should’ve been in Raven’s place– )

Erik smiled at the camera and pretended that he’d ever had the optimism to sustain a dream. Pretended that the dreams he’d once had hadn’t been squashed by the people watching this broadcast, all the little humans snuggled up under their blankets at home, again and again and again. Pretended that his dreams hadn’t been massacred in Auschwitz, and burned in Vinnitsa, and killed again by a bullet in Cuba and another in Central Park a decade later. “Genosha is open to all mutants and metahumans, from all over the world. Every one of them will bring different traditions with them, a different piece of fabric in the quilt. As we grow together, new traditions should spring up, native to Genosha, to our species.” They needed to move away from human traditions. Away from humans.

“I see children who can claim a homeland rather than a host, able to play safely in our communities and learn their powers while surrounded by people who can provide the guidance they need. Genosha will be built on community for our people, not competition–all of us working for collective benefit instead of individual wins at the expense of our kin. I see my people using their gifts freely, creating new advances that will change the world. I want a city centre that showcases the best we have to offer–restaurants filling the air with the smells of their food, boutiques of creative wares, monuments commemorating our best and brightest, a government that works efficiently to meet the people’s needs as thy arise instead of being bogged down in political disagreements.”

Erik sat forward, eyes shining with earnestness. “Most importantly, I want every single resident to feel the words I’ve been pushing for years: mutant and proud. Or metahuman and proud, as the case may be,” he tacked on with a chuckle. “Regardless, I want my people to embrace their true nature, their true power. Perhaps some would paint that as a religion: I wouldn’t go that far. I am a Jewish mutant, and I am proud of it. At last our people have their freedom. And if I do my job right, we will never be afraid again.”

KARA: A small silence followed the answer. The cameras took a moment to focus on his face, and Kara tried to parse through everything he’d said. She wanted it for them. For Scott, Jean, Gabby, Lorna. A place to be happy and themselves, to grow and thrive. Again, alien was notably absent, but she pushed it aside.

This was the end, a goodbye, hopefully without the ‘see you later.’

“That sounds…wonderful. Thank you again, Mr. Lehnsherr. I’m sure you have much to do. And thank you, viewers, for joining us tonight. This has been a Daily Planet special.”

The red lights on the camera ticked off one by one, and Kara was out of her seat in an instant, almost suspiciously fast. She gave a polite ‘thank you’ and a smile, and offered her hand to shake because that’s what good reporters did. That’s what the camera crew expected of her. She made it out of the room, down the stairs, into the alley before the rolling in her stomach caught up with her and she bent over the studio dumpster.