#but in the tags I’m gonna be negative as hell lol

[damthosefandoms]

thinking about how bob sheldon never heard “no” in his life and all he wanted was for someone to say it to him, but when they did, he couldn’t process it, because he’s never had consequences in his life. he couldn’t stop because he’s never had to and he doesn’t know how to. he just takes everything too far until he digs a hole he can’t get himself out of (would he have changed if johnny hadn’t killed him? if pony had drowned that night? what wound he have done? what would it take for him to realize what he’s done?)

also thinking about how he yelled at cherry during the break up scene in the musical, how he wasn’t just annoyed, he was angry and how scary it must’ve been for her in the moment, and how she and marcia ditched him and his guys because they were drinking and how in the book version she refused to get in the car with him at the drive in but eventually did anyway, and how book cherry was so stuck on how much bob drank “but when he was sober he was so good to me” and what that sounds like if you think about it too much.

[juniperhillpatient]

I can’t even deal with going into the tags right now. I have to process. I’m just not the kind of person who can just immediately know 100% all my opinions & thoughts. I need to think & reflect.

But personally? My initial reaction? I LOVED this finale & the show has completely & totally redeemed itself for me from my negative opinion on the season 2 finale. I have NO idea how the hell they think they’re gonna already this into 5 seasons when it really feels like there should only be 1 left but I also thought the show had ruined itself after season 2 & it turns out the writers knew exactly what they were doing & why so I’m gonna go ahead & sit down & have some faith 🤷🏻‍♀️

I will say though that it’s really shocking to me to see people saying things like “thought this show would break the lord of the flies with teen girls allegations” (quoted from an actual post I saw that I can’t believe is serious) & like….. continuing to be upset that people keep dying in the show where the OPENING scene is a girl being hunted into a pit & eaten. I’m beginning to think some people watching just don’t like the premise or plot they signed up for lol

[thecoolerliauditore]

I really liked your analysis on the discourse around flower husbands and I would like to give my personal perspective from someone who’s been here since the end of third life.

The fandom was 100% still reeling over from negative effects of no shipping in the hermitcraft fandom. The majority of life series fans came from hermitcraft as well, after all nearly all of the players in third life were hermits. You could joke about treebark and maybe scarian being gay but I remember seeing a lot of homoerotic art being tagged “THIS IS NOT SHIP ART ITS PLATONIC” and later on a few of those artists would post shipping art without fear. If you had a romantic interpretation of a relationship in third life, you would quickly chalk it up to being friends. Shipping was still uncomfortable territory for many. Maybe because they didn’t like shipping themselves and weren’t expose to it or maybe they did but was still feeling the effects from others in 2019/2020.

Flower husbands you couldn’t chalk it up to just being friends. If you didn’t like shipping you can make everything platonic but you would look like an idiot trying to say that they were “good friends” or “roommates” in third life. No, Scott and Jimmy were known as husbands, they did it themselves. Not the fans, the creators themselves. Yes there will be dramatic and angsty ship art of the two. For everyone else? Not really. Like I said, people would have to explicitly say it wasn’t ship art between Ren and Martyn or Scar and Grian. If you didn’t want that type of art you just wouldn’t look at Scott or jimmy’s tags. Simple as that.

As time went on I would say around double life shipping had coursed its way back into the fandom. Having a romantic interpretation of Treebark was fine, just properly tag it and everyone was chill. Same with Scarian, hell, I would say the shipping lens started taking over more than the platonic one lol. And with double life having soulmates, that gave the shipping culture a big boost. You don’t like it? Well it’s gonna be hard to avoid Bdubs or Impulses tags when they’re making “honey imm home!” jokes or BigB and Grian literally in their own words “cheating on their soulmate for their secret soulmate” Grian saying “I’m gonna take your man” is just fuel to the ever growing fire. If you didn’t like shipping then buckle up because double life was fruity as hell with nearly all of the creators. Mother fucking Joel Smallishbeans made a ship called “The Relations” and put Etho’s face on his skin’s shirt. You couldn’t avoid shipping at all when the creators are also the ones doing it.

So shipping is wild spread now and more accepted. As for flower husbands well you couldn’t really make the ship more than “tragic gays with fluff and angst”

Scarian you could make it toxic, you could make it healthy, you could make it whatever you want because it was never “canon”. Flower husbands was built in a time where shipping was uncertain and a lot of their early day works was either them being fluffy husbands together or tragic yaoi. To make one of them toxic it was out of the question.

I however could not tell you why it’s only Scott being the “toxic” perpetrator in flower husbands. Could be an individual’s bias and own experiences, could be how they view the creators, maybe a bit of projection or maybe they have only been exposed to toxic!scott that branching out to toxic!jimmy, something that’s extremely rare, might be hard and they don’t want to put the work in to make it themselves.

In conclusion, flower husbands was the only way you could ship in early days of the life series because you couldn’t ignore the romantic relationship Scott and Jimmy portrayed. If you did with other relationships it could easily be chalked up to being friends and if something could be seen as shipping you HAD to disclose that it wasn’t. Flower husbands was allowed but dear god if you said a king and his hand was tragic yaoi you would have been sniped.

People are attached to a ship that was the “acceptable” ship so having a negative interpretation can be viewed as bashing the ship or worse one of the creators (most often Scott) but now that it’s more open to other interpretations people are rightfully be a bit protective.

Also also if you have found any posts interpretation Jimmy being the toxic person with his relationship with Scott please do share. I haven’t seen any posts like that and I’m quite bored of toxic!scott within flower husbands shipping. I need a little bit of spice in my life you know? Anyway, have a good day.

Yeah this is pretty much what I assumed, ty for the peer review 💪

I think I didn't make my point about Jimmy clear, my bad -- my point was that making FH toxic was always discourse that reflected back onto Scott, instead of Jimmy. I don't think it's the Jimmy fans up in arms was what I was trying to convey.

I personally see Scott as abusive towards Jimmy and have held this view since my first watch of Scott's 3L POV. I feel like it's almost hard not to arrive at this conclusion if you approach it in the same way you approach other ships. i.e. I've never seen someone storyboard the "go back and get the sugar cane!" sequence from episode 1 and have it not read as anything other than that (btw if anyone knows any way of making this scene not horrifying I'd be genuinely curious)

As for toxic jimmy posting, I'm not the biggest fan of these interpretations because I operate by a different school of thought when it comes to this series and I've found some arguments for Jimmy being toxic in the past a little uncomfortably reminiscent of irl victim-blaming but that being said who am I to get in the way of people making stuff they enjoy. I'm not the FH/Scott maintag 🤷‍♂️

There's this guy who's posted a few things in the FH tag that I find fun.

Their posts range from the usual FH fluff to Jimmy cheating on Scott and Scott leaving Jimmy for someone else.

This one's a personal favourite.

I would also love it if I could summon this anon for you I think you guys could workshop smth together

But other than those specific examples I have definitely seen more vague posts that imply Jimmy mistreats Scott, you might wanna hit up the Scott/Tango shippers? Snowbugs, I think their name is? Lots of memes in there about just ditching Jimmy lol

[chibishortdeath]

I actually really like the messed up skeleton Dracula design, it conveys that he’s not at full power yet pretty well :3. More explanations and two unfinished doodles under a cut—

Close up on Drac’s upper half cause the drawing was way too big for one photo of it. Something that I noticed while staring at his sprite for a while is that he’s probably not wearing a hood, but chainmail armor with a helmet on top :O!

Entire page view to get all the Dracula in frame lol. His armor isn’t falling off btw, everything is rising into place from the altar. Hopefully he’s not too gorey for general tags uhhh yeah d(TwT ).

This is him when he’s done coming together. He’s still not fully powerful or physically all there yet, but it’s just enough to be able to troll Simon at the end 💀💀💀. Anyway yeah he’s totally me when my arch nemesis doesn’t find my teeth and accidentally summons me before I’m ready lol.

Simon is literally so fun to just put in poses. He is almost always my model for drawing poses because his big thighs kinda force you to make his pose even more exaggerated to get the same amount of open space and ratio of things— yeah idk it’s fun. He’s also allowed to have some sass sometimes I think. Fun fact! I didn’t use a reference for these :3. I’m so proud! Angles like this are usually hard!!! Oh and rare family heirloom sword moment. I’m taking this as a nod to the recent Haunted Castle remake now, which was so out of no where like (*o* ). I’ll take it!!! Simon game!!! A win!!! Hopefully the next collection they put out has Adventure Rebirth in it X3.

Simon but he is staring at you with the saddest pouty wet cat eyes. Tbh I think this general kinda neutral/resting sad expression is what I draw him with the most.

Which is why I also tried drawing him with other expressions!!!!!! In this one he is surprised and awkwardly responding to being told something so negative it’s almost comedic 💀💀💀. I was imagining the one town in Simon’s Quest with some bangers like “after Castlevania I told you never to return” and “you’ve upset the people now get out of town” X,,,,,D. He’s a little taken aback and was gonna try to defend himself, but he just leaves anxiously.

Please imagine that in this one he is saying that one meme that goes “it is hot as hell in this fucking ass hot ass room I’m in… IS THAT THE GRIM REAPER⁉️⁉️⁉️”.

Yay! Putting him on furniture for background practice!!! He is sitting on a church pew, having a couple micro sleeps cause he’s sleep deprived. He may fall off cause that armor is a little too heavy when sitting down I’d imagine.

These last two are for the images below. First one is just him kinda tweakin idk, he’s been awake too long and seen too much, somebody direct him to the nearest church, bro needs rest 💀. His hand shaking reminds me tho, a couple days ago I played the jojo fighting game so hard I had to put ice on my hand 💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀. It SUUUCKED like take it from me don’t play as Polnareff in story mode if you’ve already been playing for a long time ｡ﾟ(ﾟ´ω`ﾟ)ﾟ｡

This one is just general anatomy practice, just doodling his proportions to keep the skill of being able to draw them d(^^ ). I ended up really liking how I drew his hair in this one though, it’s cute :3.

[doubleclotheslinebaybay]

Yauna’s Wrestling Thoughts (Review for Raw on August 20th, 2023)

Sami zayn/ the judgement day segment five minutes of standing whole the crowd sings and cheers He doesn’t even get a word in then the caddy shack (the judgement day) comes waltzing in Then THEY don’t even get to say a word when KO runs through there to deliver a STUNNER Then Kevin does the right thing and cuts off the audience to set up a match against the judgement day, says some French gibberish and tosses the mic.

•Slow start but great set up at the end —> 7.5 Kurt Angles out of 10

New Day v Drew and Riddle thoughts right off the bat: I love the new day and I have negative feelings about drew and riddle (THAT SHOULD BE RANDY!!! D:) but I know this match will be entertaining for what it’s giving then the new day stands in the dark for the commercial. Did you know that? When there’s a commercial they just stand around until the broadcast is live again with the lights down. I love it. Love how Drew tosses Riddle into the new day. That was so sweet somehow. Any awkward feelings I had about them dissolved after that. I didn’t want it to be a Randy relationship and they’re serving Scottish warrior realness instead. Drew never got tagged in and the Viking raiders disrupted the match

drew stood there and looked pretty until until after the match but riddle and drew has real chemistry tonight —> 6.7 Kurt Angles out of 10

Interview with JD and Finn A couple of leprechauns talking that boo boo.

•Don’t even remember what they were talking about —> 4 Kurt Angles out of 10

Shayna Promo Tbh she deserves a lot more and she’s lowKEY getting it now.

•Nice package and the visual of Ronda getting her skull cracked was funny and I laughed and I’m going to hell —> 9 Kurt Angles out of 10

Words from Gunther and AA interview it’s Gunther and AA- what else do I have to say? I been waiting for this one!

•Bryon looks like a human with hair and segment was great —> 9 Kurt Angles out of 10

Gunther v Chad for IC I love cute men fighting. This is either gonna be amazing or super disappointing.

IT WAS SUPER DISAPPOINTING —> 0 Kurt Angles out of 10

Caddy Shack Discussion Hour soft booing for Dominick in the distance

Mami showed her dominance —> 8 Kurt Angles out of 10

Cody Rhodes interview adrenaline in his hole. Don’t know why he called JD a funko pop but that’s funny. I bet he loves that audience reaction. He was talking that big French today.

Obama said when I was younger —> 7 Kurt Angles out of 10

Shinske promo Love that Shinske mentions Seth’s back- I read an article not too long ago about that so I’m glad Shinske will take advantage of that.

very nice, very evil, watch your back —> 8 Kurt Angles out of 10

Mami v Candace This is just gonna end up being a mommy mash. Both of them look super hot so I’m just gonna enjoy it. Rhea submits Candace but I’m more intrigued at how healthy Candace’s hair is despite it being bleached and purple. Rodriquez comes by to say hello and whoop some ass which was nice of her. Then she set up a Payback match (hoping she wins ngl).

gonna enjoy my weekly Rhea picture from my brother later, 8.7 Kurt Angles out of 10

Ciampa Blab He’s got small dog energy and that’s all I have to say on him.

he was angy —> 7 Kurt Angles out of 10

The Miz v Tozowa Great talk from the Miz as always. And i laughed a few times when Tozowa came out lol. Glad they giving him something to do bc I think he’s pretty damn good for a jobber LA Knight distracted Miz and he got his ass handed to him and got a good yeah to the face. I got the privilege to see an LA Knight match in person and it was amazing. If Tozowa wins I’m gonna give this match a 10.

Tozowa won and Miz got some LA Knight love —> 10 Kurt Angles out of 10 (MEGA KURT ANGLE!!!!)

The New Day and McRiddle

wasn’t gonna mention it bc it’s short but mcriddle got me giggling —> 8/10

The Man speaks I pray for Becky’s make every night bc she looks different every appearance. I’m not a fan of the Trish rivalry but everyone gotta do something. Trish milking the Canada teet even more tonight except she twists it at the end and I thought that was funny. Excited for that steel cage match, however. I always love seeing them get tossed into the cage or see them scaling it for their dear life. Becky talking about fighting Stark next week- finally, get her to work!

blah blah blah, Trish —> 7 Kurt Angles out of 10

Chelsea and Piper interview + fight v. Kayden and katana Byron is on fire tonight I guess. I love the dominance from Piper, she really did nail he audition. I’m expecting a fairish fight but a quick one, with Piper absolutely dominating. I really like Kay and Kat but they really just fillers at this point. In the future they’re gonna be a great team if they stick together. And I was wrong, this was a squash match, but still entertaining to see Piper whoop some ass on her own.

I’m like the only Piper Stan on this planet —> 8.2 Kurt Angles out of 10

Piper package She is my idol. You don’t see a powerhouse like her. I remember when she was empowering and sweet, but I like her as a heel much more.

slam me into the ring —> 9 Kurt Angles out of 10

Seth Rollins interview Daddy Rollins speaks! and the crowd sings, nothing new. However, there was a spark of honesty here about his back. I felt like he was being somewhat genuine about his it. I’m living for a Heel Shinske!!!

nice mic clip Seth —> 7.9 Kurt Angles out of 10

Main event- KO and Sami v The Caddy Shack am I excited for this? Meh. You’d think the magic between this feud would be out by now. I miss when Zayn was an honorary uce. However, if the judgement day crumbles I would be kind of happy. They’re facing Damien and Finn cuz Mami said so! Kevin Owens gets him and Sami disqualified cuz JD tried to throw Damien’s brief case at Finn, so the caddy shack had to gang up on JD. Cody said fuck that noise and wanted the smoke from the judgement day. When Dominick breathes the crowd hates it “I run this bitch” more like the bitch (Rhea) runs YOU Damien clotheslined Kevin and that mfer spun like a merry go ground 😭KO Sami and Cody win, Caddy Shack loses and breaks down into tears.

the fall of judgment day is near —> 8.9 Kurt Angles out of 10

First Raw I don’t fall asleep to in a while. There was a lot of progression story wise and a lot of faces that deserve more screen time so I give this episode a thumbs up.

Overall rating: 8 Kurt Angles out of 10

[musclesandhammering]

I’m gonna get kicked out of the Loki stan community for this, but your tags are spot-on.

I interpreted it as the staff was cranking his negative emotions (that were already there, that were all his after Thor1) up to 11- more so than it did with the Avengers in the lab scene because he was exposed to it a lot longer- but there was zero literal mind control. Saying it’s the same thing as what happened to Clint and Selvig is just… wow lol.

And to take it a step further, all my fellow fans just assuming that Loki fell from the bifrost and immediately crash landed on Sanctuary and was taken into custody and made into a slave by Thanos, or that Thanos kidnapped him and forced him to go to earth…. y’all be serious. Loki willingly agreed to work with Thanos of his own volition. You can argue that he didn’t know the full extent of what he was getting into, but he still went into it as an ally of Thanos, not a slave.

Now I don’t necessarily believe there wasn’t physical torture involved- but I think the “torture” was just the rigorous training process getting him ready to go to earth. Which, again, Loki willingly submitted to, because he was willingly participating in the plan.

Now if you wanna say Loki’s terrified of Thanos? I agree. You wanna say Thanos had it out for Loki after the invasion failed? I agree with that too. But there’s a big difference between choosing to go in kahoots with a mafia boss knowing full well that he’ll waterboard you if you mess up his plans… and being a helpless captive with no agency.

And what OP said about stans being the ones who deny him redemption because they deny that he did anything that would need redeeming from is just accurate as hell. But the one quibble I have with that is: is redemption really necessary though?? Why does everyone always push for chaotic neutral characters to be “redeemed” (translation: turned into chaotic goods)?? Loki was charismatic and creepy and cool as hell as a villain, and the thought of him ever turning into a full-time hero is just gross tbh. Him being a villain (at least some of the time) is such a huge part of his charm and I don’t understand why so many fans go to such lengths to prove that he was never a villain in the first place. Like… that’s so uninteresting.

While I firmly believe that he was genuinely wronged in a lot of different ways (by Odin, by Asgard, by his family, by society) and that a lot of the grievances he expresses in the movies (being in Thor’s shadow, Odin using/not loving him, being raised to hate his race, etc) are completely accurate and very valid….. that doesn’t contradict the fact that he chose to do terrible things and hurt innocent people for his own purposes. Those two things can be true simultaneously. Just because Loki deserves a big apology from several people, doesn’t mean he doesn’t owe a big apology to several other people.

A character can be a villain and a victim, and that victimhood makes their story so extremely relatable and sympathetic to the viewers and makes us almost root for them in their wrongdoings…. but it ultimately doesn’t excuse or justify the bad things they do. It makes their bad actions more tragic and frustrating and complex.

TLDR- Loki’s badness is a gigantic part of his character, and his instances of villainy can and should coexist with his tragic backstory- they give him more agency, more edge, and make him even more human.

both The Avengers and Age of Ultron make a point to demonstrate how someone's eyes change when under the direct influence of Loki's scepter. Loki's eyes were unchanged. years later, Loki flat-out says early in his series that he does and has done horrible things out of cowardice. every single thing he's done in canon with any impact on narrative can easily be understood as some combination of self-defense, self-aggrandizement, and/or love.

what I've seen of Loki-centric fanfic over the years loves to portray him as a victim of all manner of mistreatment, an innocent deprived of his agency who deserves forgiveness because nothing he did was his fault in the end. I see it in fandom directly, too, and I find it fucking hilarious, because nobody's denying Loki his agency except the stans themselves. they're the ones denying him the redemption they so want for him--the multiple redemptions!--because they refuse to acknowledge what he did wrong to necessitate being redeemed.

anyway, all of this is just to say that it has been literally eleven years since The Avengers came out and there was never a shred of evidence within the canon itself that Loki was brainwashed by Thanos. the most support the notion ever had was word of god, which has long since been contradicted and which was probably only said to shut people up in the first place. Loki is a backstabbing, triple-crossing bitch who wants to be loved and respected but is too deep into his own head to recognize when he is, and I love him for that.

[golbrocklovely]

it’s so weird that stas is only ever really in vegas with kat when snc leave lol. just a year ago those 4 were the best of friends and now they’re rarely in the same place together anymore

maybe i’m jumping the gun and speaking too soon and stas will still be there when snc return but 🤷‍♀️

it’s strange to see people still hung up on tc4 this tc4 that when they’re barely friends anymore

“burns half as long when it’s twice as bright” comes to my mind when i think of tc4. they were EVERYWHERE together for a year or so and they had traditions (spending a couple months in vegas together) and it was just the 4 of them for a while. now only 2 or 3 hang out at a time. it’s lowkey sad but i felt they were kind of too close… like they were isolating themselves from everyone else. they all seem to have good friendships with other people now which is why i don’t feel so bad. sorry if this is really long lol i just had to get my thoughts out after seeing kat and stas’ stories

i think the downfall of their group was a mix of things.

mostly, i think it was stas catching feelings for colby. she did a lot of questionable shit when she caught feelings for him that i think left a bad taste in his mouth, and thus caused them all to split slowly but surely.

bc she wanted to live in this fantasy where she was y/n and her life was a fanfic with colby in it, and she just took it too far. once the malishka shit happened, i think that was the turning point for colby. bc right around that time he started deleting comments about her and him together (even did the same for him and shea which was very surprising) and constantly saying "i'm single, i don't want a gf, i'm not dating anyone rn" when stas was trying to make it seem like the opposite was true.

and my thing is, i don't fault her for having feelings towards colby. i've been there many times before. but, to get upset at a guy that has never shown interest in you for not reciprocating your feelings back is just weird. not to mention her constantly telling fans in gcs about stuff….. it's no wonder things ended the way they did.

is it possible that there is a lot we don't know that happened bts? of course. i don't pretend to know the whole picture. hell, we probably only know a piece of the puzzle. but it's clear to me that colby had to put his foot down and put some distance between him and her. and that was the first time he's had to do that bc god knows colby doesn't like anything negative or having to stick up for himself (which i'm just gonna assume he sees as negative).

that's why for a while it was just kat hanging out with stas. and i think as time goes on, i think the whole group will come back around. i don't see them being as close as they once were, but i can see them being able to hang out all once again (i mean, they technically already did for when we were young and sort of on colby/stas' bday lol). bc even tho colby put some distance between him and her, i don't think he hates her or anything like that. i think he just needed distance. and obviously kat still likes her, and sam doesn't really have an opinion unless kat tells him to so i'm gonna assume he also likes her.

and while i don't agree with the sentiment that they were all never really that close to begin with and she was just kat's friend that tagged along bc kat was lonely, while that last part is true, i do think they were all close at one point. which is why i think they haven't hung out as a group since. when a problem arises in a group, it's gonna take some time to heal from it. also, snc are on their grind rn, colby has more important shit to worry about, so repairing a friendship is probably last on the list.

i think they were the type of group that did well in positive situations, if that makes any sense. they were down for the partying, they were down for the festivals, for the drinking, for the staying up late and going to vegas and ghost hunting and all that good stuff. i had friends similar to that in college. but when the party was over… what exactly did we have in common? we never hung out sober, or if we did the vibe just wasn't the same. clearly, in a party we were awesome and it was fun. but when the morning would come, we were sorta strangers in the end bc we just never got deep on that level.

while i do think tc4 were friends, i do think that once things got "negative", so to speak, that's when they stopped thriving. and that's when they couldn't be friends anymore.

i honestly think that they just need time, and they could all be friends again. it might take a bit of time, but i won't be surprised if later this year they're all hanging out somewhere or ghost hunting. like i said in a previous ask forever ago, i'll be very surprised if stas isn't in some video of snc's.

but who knows? maybe i'm just an optimist and they'll never all hang out again as a group lol tbh i don't care either way.

[lovelybarnes]

dog tags- b. barnes

pairings: bucky barnes x reader warnings: breaking laws and doing crimes, mentions of cracking heads open and murder but it’s humor i swear (at least meant to be) about: PF12 "committing crimes" + DH8 "how dumb can you be?" a/n: reuploaded because posting from my computer is apparently different lol

“we’re going to get caught,” bucky taunts, and you frown, not looking at him as you concentrate on not falling and cracking your head open. “we are not going to get caught,” you respond once you’re on the ground, not sticking the landing and toppling over. cursing, you get up, and bucky shakes his head, jumping over the gate and landing gracefully. you scowl at him and he ignores you, “we’re going to go to jail,” he says negatively. you smack his shoulder in response, which does nothing to his super soldier self but makes you feel better. “we are not going to jail, god-”

bucky’s hand is suddenly over your mouth, muffling your words, and you flail as he practically manhandles you to behind a shrub. he shushes you as a woman walks out of the house, car keys dangling from her fingers as her other hand pulls open her car door, phone shoved between the crook of her neck. she’s muttering angry words into the phone, too distracted to note the build of bucky’s six foot one self and you, pressed up against bucky.

bucky waits until she’s gone for a minute to let you go, and you wipe at your mouth, “when was the last time you washed your hands, that’s disgusti-”

he cuts you off with a frustrated whisper, “you said she’d be gone by now. if it had been just you, you’d be arrested by now!” you shrug, peeking above the leaves before standing fully. bucky pulls you back down again, making you yelp. “ow-”

“shut up, if anything else goes wrong or contradicts your information, i’m leaving,” he promises, and you shrug, rolling your shoulders. “i don’t need your help, anyways. you’re the one who just followed me.”

bucky’s eyes thin, “to make sure you didn’t die- do you know how many times i’ve had to pull you out of some near death situation?”

you shrug, “i was handling it.” bucky breathes in and counts to three, shutting his eyes for a second- a second- and when he opens them, you’re at the house’s front porch, tiptoeing like an idiot into the house and leaving the door open. how the hell are you an avenger?

he huffs angrily as he goes inside the house, thankful for the privacy gate surrounding the house. shutting the door, his eyes nearly pop out of his head. you’re snooping in a cabinet, a huge dog you don’t seem to notice growling at you.

he stops, trying to look at you as loudly as possible. it’s only when you drop a file and he wonders for the eighth time today how he can possibly be in love with you that you notice him. “oh, bucky, you finally came in-”

“there’s a dog,” he cuts you off, trying to calculate his moves so that the drooling thing won’t attack either of you and ruin this idiotic mission you seem to be set on. “really?! i didn’t-” you stop yourself, remembering his past words. “i knew that. i have a plan for that,” you lie. you’re moving your hands, and the dog only seems to get more agitated, and all bucky wants to do is make you stop moving so your arm doesn’t get bitten off, but an actual idea seems to come to you and you turn, crouching down to the dog.

bucky eyes widen as you make the incredibly sudden movement of spinning and he feels like attacking you. in all of your years of being careless have you ever been so stupid. he’s frozen for a second, and he expects to be drawn out by growls and penitent shrieks, not your voice, higher pitched than usual, babbling about good boys. he blinks, startled to see your hands scratching behind the dog’s ears, baby talking to it, “who’s a good boy, huh? protecting the house from evil intruders, you are, yes!” the dog seems to be enjoying your attention, head nuzzling into your hand.

what the fuck.

you hum quietly, ignoring bucky when he pushes you with his foot, and he squints at the dog when it growls the moment he comes in contact with you. “fellow evil intruder, she’s gonna be back at some point. leave the thing alone.”

you glare at him, petting the dog’s head one more time. “brutus is not a thing, bucky. and she’s not going to be back for at least another hour. i made sure emily had her boyfriend wrapped around her finger,” bucky’s eyes narrow, “how do you know she won’t come back?” he tested.

“i told her to casually mention a new hotel opening for when they make up,” you shrug, but stand anyways as his face contorts. “what are we looking for, anyways?” bucky asks as you look in between books and couch cushions, humming distractedly. “don’t you worry your pretty little head about it, buck.”

bucky’s cheeks heat up without his permission, and he shakes it off, following you as you head into another room, the dog trailing after you as well, curious.

“y/n, you kind of need to tell me so i can help you find it,” bucky reminds. you ignore him, throwing random items over your shoulder. he catches all of them amidst his frustration, “how dumb are you?- you’re going to break these and they’ll know we were in here and we’ll-”

“go to jail, yes i know, yada yada yada,” you say distractedly, grumbling as you kick a chair. “i’m going to look in the other room,” you say and take off, leaving a grumpy bucky to organize the objects you’d left him.

bucky still hasn’t finished when you get to the next room, and after a quick scan, you can tell it’ll be your last. you ha, immediately recognizing the safe covered by a hideous painting. you pull it off easily, leaning it carefully against the wall. you count silently while you unlock the safe, laughing in triumph when you beat natasha’s record, and remind yourself to tell her when you get back. rifling around in the safe, you find what you’re looking for quickly, a small smile settling on your face as you tuck it away. your hands are in the safe again, fingers searching for something shiny to throw in sam’s face when bucky bursts in, “they’re here.”

you curse, taking your hands out and beginning to close the safe, bucky shoving you aside to do it himself, much quicker. he’s walking out the door, pausing when he notices you crouching down. “y/n, we have a minute to get out of here.”

you nod, “i know, just-” you hang the painting where it had resided before, standing back to squint at it and straightening it. “there,” you whisper, and then bucky’s pulling you by the hand, eventually throwing you over his shoulder when you decide to give up trying to run with him.

bucky manages to squeeze both of you through the barely open gate without being seen, and he’s huffing when he puts you down. “i thought you had extremely high stamina or something,” you tease, and bucky glares at you. you shrug innocently, grabbing his hand, “c’mon, let’s go home.”

bucky peers at you, “what?”

“we’re going home, i’m tired and hungry. do you think we can stop by mcdonalds or something?” you ask, tugging his hand as you walk in the compound’s direction. “breaking and entering really wears me out.”

“and that’s not even including how stressed you seemed to be,” bucky remarks sarcastically, and you nod, “exactly.” bucky pauses his movements, and you groan, pulling at him. “bucky,” you drag out, but he quiets you. “what was it you needed so badly?” he asks. 

your eyes slant, biting your lip in contemplation. “i’ll tell you if you give me a piggyback ride,” you bribe after a moment, and bucky rolls his eyes but crouches down, back to you. before getting on, you reach into the pouch on your suit, taking out the chain and wrapping it around your fingers delicately. you jump on bucky’s back right after, making sure to be careful with the item in your hand.

bucky’s walking now, and you lean your head on his, drawing letters with your free fingers on bucky’s chest. “so, what is it?” bucky asks, and you trace the tags in your hand with your thumb. “you remember how disappointed you were when you came back and your dog tags had been auctioned off?” you query quietly, and feel bucky nod beneath you. “well, i found out who bought them a month ago and asked them if i could buy it back from them. they said no, because of stupid reasons and called you things that i could’ve murdered them right then and there for-”

bucky can tell what you’re talking about and looks down, “y/n,” he mutters, and you cut yourself off, “right- anyways, so i tracked them down and since they rejected the first offer, i did the obvious thing: break into their house to get it back,” you say like it’s obvious, “it’s not like it’s theirs, anyways.”

“wait, you- you did all this to get my dog tags?” bucky asks, stopping to put you down. you whine, “yes, why’d you put me down-”

bucky’s arms are around you and pulling you to him before you can finish. you’re taken aback before hugging him back, kissing his shoulder. “thank you,” he mumbles, “i’m sorry you didn’t get it back after you went through all that trouble.”

you pull away, “you think i didn’t get it?” you show him your hand, dog tags dangling, “your faith in me is shocking.” bucky grabs the tags, his fingers skimming over the words. “i can’t believe you did this for me.”

“i love you, doll,” bucky replies, pressing a kiss to your lips and remembering this. this is why i’m in love with you.

“of course,” you say softly, “i love you, buck.”

[roadfortherogues]

// i heard we’re doing intro posts

i’m tin (or harlow if we’re buds) and i use they/them pronouns! i’m a university student so i can get pretty busy but rp is my primary hobby so i’ll answer eventually! just be patient with me lol

i’ve been a part of this little roleplay corner for a while now so i’ve accumulated quite a few blogs. it’s about time i jump on the bandwagon and listed them all, but while i’m here i’m also gonna state my boundaries. they’ll be below the character roster which is below the cut

blogs, in order from mains to inactive:

@tiintype (not a rp blog, my main/primary blog)

@roadfortherogues

@rumblebunny

@snapssnitch

@asters-arcana

@jd-and-a-hood

@theonlytimeofday

@hell-of-a-story

@bitterglory

@listen-to-tidefall

@foxbounties

discord’s the easiest way to reach me and my user there is tin #4889

a lot of my most-used blogs feature themes of gun violence, regular violence, homophobia, racism, religious trauma, child abuse, drug use, substance abuse, underage drinking, smoking, et al. those posts will be tagged on an individual case-by-case basis and the blogs that frequently engage with that content will also have a warning in the bio, but it is not at all uncommon for any of my blogs to discuss heavy themes every now and again.

i encourage anyone who might be uncomfortable with that sort of content to keep themselves safe, and to either not interact with my characters or block me if you don’t wish to see that sort of thing. i promise it won’t hurt my feelings, roleplay should be a positive experience for everyone- and for me it can be a place to express negative past experiences in a safe, fictional way. discussion of these sorts of heavy subjects in roleplay do not bother me so long as they are properly tagged and warned.

i hope that those who want a purely positive/escapist experience can find it, but my blog is not the place. all sensitive content will be properly tagged for anyone who wants to selectively interact.

as i am an 18+ roleplayer, nsfw content will sometimes be alluded to. there will never be outright graphic content posted publicly on a blog (and characters like rao, who regularly interact with underage characters, will not discuss these themes), but be aware that implied sexual content is possible on any blog of mine excluding ocs who are minors. any such content won’t surpass more than a joke every now and again, but if that makes you uncomfortable, i tag “implied sexual content” and/or “nsfw” so y’all can filter it out.

WOOH i think that’s everything! send an ask if you want certain stuff tagged and stay safe out there ✌️

[partyinthemysterymachine]

I'M CURIOUS AF WHO ARE THESE TWO MONSTERS NEAR POOR SCARED HARRY? 😳😳😳👀👀👀

SHAKES AND VIBRATES

oh!! oh you wish to know my monsters?? u wish to hear GOOMT's monsters?? WELL!!!! ha ha ha OOOHHH

OOH I'M GLAD YOU ASKED!!!

(no rly bless u, ilusm, thank u for asking and ur vested interest, i'm REALLY SUPER appreciative ❤️❤️❤️💖💖💖🥚🥚🥚🥚🥚)

and ofc, since u know i gotta, here is the obligatory link to my Harry/James glacial slowburn, Get Out Of My Town, and GOOMT’s corresponding blog for updates, aesthetics, art, and all that jazz!

NOW KEEP IN MIND: these are only descriptions of the monsters in the full picture i did here. there are others in the monster cast too, that are LOTS of barrels of fun, and VERY intricate and intriguing in their own way, just as the ones mentioned/following.

(the picture itself is a part of the GOOMT actor AU, where it’s all just a show, folks! (consider it to the likes of the Silent Hill blooper reel, which we were ROBBED OF in later games >:( 🔪 @ konami 5ever) and you can find its tag here.)

CONTENT WARNING: descriptions of child death, James Sunderland

JAMES SUNDERLAND 

James Sunderland is a stupid little idiot weasel and conduit of Silent Hill. he has so many problems and is not going to do anything about it because he’s a stupid and depressed little wanker who doesn’t have any rights, not that he ever did in his life. 

after the events of Silent Hill 2, James pitched himself into the lake but the town wasn’t gonna let him off easy. it had plans, and needs, for James. our boy here crawled right out of Toluca Lake after haphazardly (and illegally, but whatever; who’s gonna give him a ticket? .. yeah that’s what i thought) parking it in its depths and has remained in South Vale ever since. James sure darn well tried, but he cannot escape through death at his own hand, or otherwise. in fact, the monsters he (and we) have come to know and love have gradually become disinterested in him.

(as for Pyramid Head? huh! well, it’s weird; James hasn’t seen him around in quite a while.. hrm.. really gotta wonder what’s up with that.. ;3c )

what it means to be a conduit of Silent Hill, however, is a little complicated; but the baseline is that he’s Silent Hill’s little battery pack. it needs him and through fun time psychological (and physical, now and again.. but the monsters don’t wanna play anymore, for some reason..) torture, James does what he does best and wallows a sure hell of a lot, thus accumulating nutritious and scrum-diddily-umpious negative power for the town.

oh 👂 you ask, “and for what does it need it, and why James?” great question!

wouldn’t you like to know, weather boy?? ;) but you can read about it all riiight here, babey!!

ok ok jk jk (sorta lol) (bc i mean come on. ISN’T he a monster, tho......? ....hrrmmm hmm hmmmmm........ sources point to yes, if SH2 has anything to say about it, LOL)

let’s ACTUALLY start with my HONEST personal favorite:

THE MEMORY OF HARRY

(this monster was very aptly named by a good friend of mine - hi Gospel! - and so credit must be given where credit is due.)

ART BY capitán solsikke

(uncertain of where solsikke is keeping their public art contacts/social media now, so solsikke, if u happen to see this, pls drop ur deets so i can link back to u pls :< pls..)

FURTHER NOTE: to reduce the long post scrolling and bc tumblr’s image insertion format is horrid, i’m going to put additional art/links to the GOOMT blog posts for Memory of Harry, bc y’all REALLY gotta see the actual faithful renderings of him i also commissioned from capitán solsikke

the Memory of Harry first appeared at the end of GOOMT’s Chapter 27: Yeah, Me Neither. his description is as follows (and ADDITIONAL NOTE: Harry is, GOOMT-canonically, left-handed):

A lean man teetered on exhausted legs. Because his entry only allowed them to view him from the side, from that angle they saw he wore a brown leather jacket discolored by smoke stains and was torn at the shoulder. The jeans on his legs were tainted and ratty, and his shoes only held together by determination.

From what could be told of his profile, this man’s face had retained most of its features, despite the crusty, black skin covering every inch. His dark hair lay flat on his head, save for a wispy few strands that fanned loose over his brow. Misshapen scarring created a thick, blinding patch over his visible eye. And lastly, the reason his nonstop weeping was muffled was due to a mouth sewn shut so many times that it was replaced by nothing but a bulky, knotted mask.

But this visage was nothing compared to his cargo. In his hand he held a smaller one attached to a thin, tiny arm, of which was connected to the raw and burned corpse of a little girl. She was on her belly, her head hung like a sack of sand between her shoulders, obscuring her face, and her stringy, oily black hair dangling and swaying with every move the man made. On her body was a tattered blue dress, perhaps once long-sleeved as suggested by the remains of ripped fabric at her elbow, and black shoes over white socks patched by dried orange blood and char. Wherever she was forced to go, she left a wet streak of black and crimson in her wake.

James scrutinized this gruesome new monster hard while it shuffled directionless and wracked with demoralizing sobs. It didn’t seem to know they were there and moved at such a slow pace that James figured they were in no immediate danger. He looked at Harry for guidance.

Harry, however, was in no state to do anything but remember how to breathe. His face was contorted in grief and oddly, recognition. James eyed him, somewhat disturbed by it but moreso uncertain, then took his stare back to their visitor.

The victim of a fire unknown changed his direction, somehow having noticed they were there and faced them. Wherever it could be seen, his skin was indeed blackened, cracked, and flaking like bark, and revealed that both of his eyes were blindfolded by the scarring. Beneath the leather jacket, which sported a broken replica of their flashlights, was a sweater vest that bore a royal blue color somehow notable under the charcoaled damage. It was frayed at the hems and layered over a shirt that was once white. But now that he had confronted the resident and veteran full on, James could have never been prepared for what brought it all together:

The bereaved’s left hand which, until now, had been hidden on his other side, was not empty - and never could be. His arm hung lifeless and his fingers welded, forever clutching, a long, rusted, and bloody steel pipe.

James’s lips parted, and his heart dropped like lead straight through the floors.

Neither moved, and the man, at his snail’s pace, sought to meet them. The next garbled cry caused Harry to twist his bludgeon so hard in his white-knuckled fists that his arms briefly trembled. Each step drew the walking corpse a little bit closer, and still, they couldn’t find their feet. With the pieces having fallen together, the implications of what was before them pulled the ropes in James’s stomach tight enough to make him vaguely nauseous.

James heard himself utter a whisper of his companion’s name. His voice seemed to shake Harry out of his stupor, and in time to choke back sob of his own before it began.

He didn’t even feel his vocal cords nor his tongue move when he spoke again. “Is that..”

“It’s me,” Harry said thickly. “Yeah. That’s me.”

===

he was, considering his importance, intended to be used sparingly - and he is. this monster is (thus far, and understandably,) Harry’s least favorite monster, lmao. Harry would really rather this guy Didn’t, but hey - ain’t nobody here that’re gonna let HIM call the shots any time soon!! 

the Memory of Harry is an extremely foreboding warning and tale on two legs. he is also 100% capable of ruining Harry’s day in a pinch, just by existing. 

(Harry really doesn’t like to think about him.)

CRYING, BURNING WOMAN

(who is taking a moment out of her day to T-pose to get her point across; and of whom has not yet been properly rendered in art form BUT I’M WORKING ON FIXING THAT 👀 @ all local artists with commissions open)

this monster tends to travel in packs of two or more. she’s first seen alone, and is the debut monster in GOOMT’s story, in Chapter 5: Stop Stopping

From the fog emerged a staggering, loose-limbed creature that was closer than either of them had anticipated. It shuffled on buckled legs, its ropey arms swinging carelessly in the momentum. The head drooped on its neck, masking its face from everything but the asphalt, and they ought to be grateful for it. The entirety of this abomination was ravaged in sickening swirls of exposed muscle, black rot eating away at its flesh, and raw, peeling skin. Like most of the hell creatures in Silent Hill, it was an impossibility. The thing moved as though it was treading through tar, but these two were wise to the fact that that shouldn’t be undermined.

The stench of it reached them as soon as they saw it, triggering bile washing up Harry’s throat, and gritted disgust on James’s face. It smelled of charred meat forgotten in an industrial oven fueled by sulfur and was heavy with the unmistakable odor of wet, moldy clothes. Every breath it took sounded labored and painful, and vaguely feminine. In its wake were slicks of thick blood, and if they dared to be any more observant, flung drops of blood from its stiff fingertips as the arms swayed.

she’s seen again, in Chapter 10: Turn Around, Look At What You See

The smell reached them. It was the same they’d experienced before: burnt flesh and moldy clothes. Harry remembered what she looked like, how her arms swung and her spine could barely support her. Her flesh had been peeling, burnt to the bone in some places, and her head hung to conceal her shame. It sounded like there were more than one of these tortured women - perhaps two or three. 

and in Chapter 11: The Pocket Travel Guide To Silent Hill, James reflects upon them - and one other.

There were the crying, burning women, and the creature made of static and fumes. The former were forever smoldering, blighted by singed holes in their baked flesh, and dripped black, acidic ichor. Some were bald, their scalps incinerated, and others had long black hair that was both wet and decorated with kindling flames. When they staggered, their faces were obscured by the way their heads hung on broken necks, and when dead, Harry and James rolled them over to unearth the fact that their eyes were blinded by melted skin and their mouths silenced by a red square made of steel. How their screams were audible from behind the plates, they didn’t know. Their bodies reeked of gasoline and scorched wood. 

===

(sensing a pattern, here? >;) )

now in that, there’s mention of a “creature made of static and fumes”. she is not pictured, and has a different appearance - and she’s a radio mimic. the radio (huh.. radio..... what’s going on with that radio.....? is it broken...?? hrm. better take it anyway) mimic.

as you can imagine, she’s also one of Harry’s beloved favorites. ;3c

and finally, however quite (so far) unfairly depicted and appearing MUCH later into the story:

THE LOST BOY (1 of 2)

his (and his better(?) half��s) first appearance comes in Chapter 54: Touché

And before one could say “knife”, galloping, meaty claps on vinyl tile heralded the proper, and fashionably late, introduction of the quadrupedal couple. Upon emerging into the artificial headlights, however, they recoiled. At once, and reminiscent of their earlier behavior on the security monitor, Harry and James watched them volley apart. Furthermore, their emotions seemed to be unchanged from the scene with the girl in the corridor.

Demonstrating that behavior in person sowed the seeds of interest, for as intimate as they seemed to be, they also showed signs of having a mysterious, innate fear of being seen together. The predators chose their quarry and took sides on an archer’s bow. During their slow, deliberate advance, they verified the surmised size discrepancy as correct  - and the larger made James its target.

Its hunched skeleton made it hard to decipher its entire build, but anyone could see that it boasted the hallmarks of an athlete: lean, sturdy, balanced, and if it stood on its legs, would probably surpass the six foot mark. In contrast, its partner, who had business with Harry, posed an all around average height and body type. As far as fitness went, this was one that strongly hinted it preferred the bleachers, as there was barely any muscular definition on it at all.

Other than that, the pair’s bodily design was nothing special. Moist and raw burns covered their unpalatable topography from head to toe, mapping out ice cream swirl streets hued in apricot and ripe peach, and pronouncing the sewage brown lagoons dotting them like Dalmatians. Their figures were ugly to be sure, but they weren’t the focus - their faces were.

At one side of the mouth, a necrotic, flat, fabric string vertically secured the starting base of a pattern. It was a simple motif, too: laced shoes. Criss-crossing over the lips and tunneling north and south through septic punctures ringed by crystalized pus eyelets, the strings wove impenetrable diamonds all the way to the other side, triple-knotted in gunky yellow paste, and the uneven ends left dangling. Once upon a time, these mouths must’ve had something to say, or needed to say; but none were permitted to listen. They, like all other fiends, were victims of silence.

Harry and James didn’t much care for the trendy, stringent enforcement of ‘silence is the best policy.’ A while ago, Harry, at least, began to suspect that there was significance behind each individual, unique means; granted, the allegation seemed like no-brainer. All aside, the two here helped build his case.

He’d chew on it later.

Two slanted holes pretended to be a nose, and above them sat two anomalous eyes.  One visualized the world through an eternal squint, the eye semi-obscured by a grafted skin bandage. The second, in juxtaposition, told further tale of torture. Stapled to brow and cheek were the upper and lower lids, stretched beyond capacity to plate the living, twitching centerpiece netted in spider silk threads. Firetruck red painted the inverted inner lids, and by merciful grace of the monster’s exotic biology, the socket and orbit glittered from moisture that preserved its functionality.

===

RUBS NASTY LITTLE FLY HANDS

ooh, this pair - OOOH, this P A I R. i LOVE this double trouble. i was VERY excited to introduce them, because they are A TREAT. these boys are a first for GOOMT’s story for being boys, so gosh..... gosh, ho hum hrmmm hmm mmmmrmmm hrrrrmmmm, wonder what that could mean??? 

>;3c

but yeah, as you can see - their details are quite immense and uhhh.. all we got up there right now is zombie Orange Julius lookin’ out for his next big orange to squeeze. soon, buddy.... don’t worry, my guy; soon.....™️

aaaaand THAT is THAT ON THAT!!! 

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR INTEREST IN MY MONSTERS OF GOOMT, AND GOOMT ITSELF 😭😭😭😭 WORDS CANNOT DESCRIBE MY THANKS AND JOY (despite the 232,398 of them in GOOMT so far but eh, who’s counting)

forreal tho THANK YOU so much for your ask and your curiosity, it means the absolute world to me and i’m shoving it into my mouth and storing it in my cheeks. GOOMT is the love of my entire life and also my bane of existence and i LOVE talking, and sharing aspects of GOOMT* for all that will listen :3c

*except for lore, future planning and scenes, and things not otherwise already published because i am a VERY superstitious writer and VERY cautious of what, and to whom, i share. i won’t answer questions or talk about GOOMT’s lore and planning to anyone - not even Ren, my best friend and patient editor since ch10, who doesn’t even go here. so rest assured, it’s not (the royal) you; it’s me. 😔

AND NOW since you’ve either made it or scrolled to the end, the detailed depictions of the Memory of Harry by capitán solsikke under the cut, and their original posts from GOOMT’s blog:

POST FOUND HERE

POST FOUND HERE

AND BONUS ROUND: ACTOR AU

POST FOUND HERE

[theres-an-impulstor-among-us]

Among Us: Crewmate Impulse getting an imposter voted out on a hunch, except this time the "hunch" is actually just Ghost Tango somehow yelling at him from the dead loud enough to influence his subconscious/code (this idea brought to you by: rewatching vods from before Tango got his compressor lol)

yeaaaa so this one is gonna have a LOT of caps in it lol i hope that’s okay. i’ll put a cw in the tags as well just in case

also i want to share the fact that this google doc is labelled “Tangy yell” lmfao

…

Impulse is standing at the upload panel when Tango enters admin to do his card swipe. The two exchange “hey”s at the entrance, before Tango heads over to stand at the admin table.

The last thing he sees before his vision goes black is the image of a figure popping out of the vent in the corner.

Tango sits bolt upright with a gasp. “Gaah! Skizz, what the hell?! That was the stupidest thing ever! Impulse is-!”

He breaks off as he spots Impulse turning away and leaving the upload panel without even turning to check the rest of the room.

“Hey,” says Joker, floating through the wall to join Tango in admin. “How’s it-.”

“Are you KIDDING me, Impulse?!”

Joker winces and covers his ears. “God, man… You need a compressor.”

“Impulse was RIGHT there!” Tango bellows, flinging his arms out towards his dead body over and over again. “He was standing FIVE FEET away from me! How did he not even notice I DIED?!”

“Tango!” Astro, who has just entered the room through the wall, yelps. “Inside voices, please!”

Crossing his arms, Tango floats furiously in the middle of the room, his upper half sticking out of the admin table, steaming so hard that he can almost feel actual steam rising off his transparent ghosty body.

“And I thought I was bad at noticing bodies,” grumbles Tango. “‘Least I’ve never had someone die five feet behind me and just left without checking if the person behind me two seconds ago is still alive. Stupid Impulse and stupid Skizz with his stupid face. I hate ‘em. I hate their stupid faces.”

“You might feel a bit better if you decided to do some tasks,” Astro says pointedly, finishing his upload. “So, you know, we have a chance of winning?”

“Don’t patronise me, Zoan.”

Just as Tango turns away, his dead body is finally reported. At the meeting, Tango has to just sit silently and watch as everyone discusses where they saw him last.

“I saw him in admin a minute or so ago,” Impulse reports. “But he was alive when I left.”

Astro winces, already knowing what’s coming.

“ARE YOU MOTHERFRICKING KIDDING ME RIGHT NOW, IMPULSE?!”

Sure enough, Tango’s subsequent roar shatters the ghosts’ eardrums.

“YOU ONLY THINK I WAS ALIVE WHEN YOU LEFT BECAUSE YOU WERE- YOU DIDN’T- OH MY GOD, IMPULSE!” Tango face is as red as a tomato, the blood vessels sticking out of his neck despite being dead. “HOW CAN ONE PERSON BE SO UNOBSERVANT?! SKIZZ LITERALLY VENTED! INTO THE ROOM! AND KILLED ME! THEN VENTED OUT AGAIN! UNDER YOUR MOTHERFRICKING NOSE! AND YOU DIDN’T EVEN CHECK ON ME BEFORE YOU LEF-!”

Tango’s voice cracks and he breaks into a fit of coughing.

“Oh my GOD, Tango, you need to take it down like a billion notches!” Joker rubs his ears in pain. “Or get a compressor or something, dude! You’re giving me a headache and I’m DEAD.”

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.” Tango lets out a prolonged funny noise, unable to do much else with his now sore throat. “Hate. Hate you all.”

“Stop talking before you lose your voice completely,” Astro says in a dad-like way. “You can get some water when we’re back in the lobby. Just take a moment to-.”

“Oh my god, guys, listen to the meeting,” interrupts Joker suddenly. “Listen!”

“-can’t explain why,” Impulse is saying. “I just think it’s Skizz. I mean, not only does he not have an alibi but also he says he just went into navigation, which has a vent leading from admin outside it.”

“Oh c’mon, that’s circumstantial,” retorts Skizz.

“I feel it in my bones, dude. I just have a hunch that it’s you.”

Astro turns to Tango with an impressed expression. “Dude, I think you yelled at him so loudly that your voice crossed the border between life and death.”

“Good,” croaks Tango hoarsely. “I hate him.”

“You know what, I’ll buy that,” Brody says in response to Impulse’s accusations. “I haven’t seen Skizz all game and he hasn’t really tried to be helpful at all lately, so I’ll vote him off, sure.”

“Oh come on!” Skizz snaps. “Really?”

Impulse nods. “Yup, cuz I know you’re the imposter.”

“As Tango would say: negative!”

“You said he only says that when he’s imposter.”

Skizz opens his mouth but apparently can’t find anything to say back to that.

Tango watches with a certain amount of satisfaction as Skizz is voted off the ship. With the sheriffing of Endless earlier in the game, the round ends and everyone is sent back to the lobby.

Tango immediately storms up to Skizz and glares at him. Skizz gives a chuckle as he gets up off the seat. “Hey, buddy. That was a really good kill, you gotta admit.”

All Tango can do in reply is glare at him.

“Tango lost his voice from screaming at you guys,” Astro explains with a grin.

“Wait, he can’t talk?” Skizz snorts. “That’s hilarious.”

His face twisted in a furious expression, Tango makes a wringing-neck hand movement at Skizz, who laughs and takes a step back. “Oh man, you’re REALLY mad.”

Nodding firmly, Tango turns to Impulse. He jabs his finger at his best friend, then draws it across his neck.

“Why’s he mad at ME?!” yelps Impulse.

“Because I vented into admin, killed him, and vented out again right under your nose,”Skizz snickers.

Impulse’s eyes widen. “No way…!”

“And you left the room without checking on him so you thought he was still alive when you left,” adds Astro. “As he kept saying. Or yelling, rather. Many times.”

“Ohhhhhhh noooooooo…!” Impulse gives his best friend an apologetic grimace. “I’m so sorry, Tango! I had no idea, man.”

Clearly still furious, Tango jabs his finger at him, then makes the same neck-wringing gesture at Impulse, before finally throwing his hands up in frustration.

“I, uh… I think we might need to take a break and get Tango some water,” Impulse says sheepishly.

Tango opens his mouth and dissolves into another fit of coughing.

“...and some cough drops.”

“I’m gonna have permanent hearing loss after that,” grumbles Joker, still rubbing his ears. “I swear to god, I’m not playing with you again until you get a compressor.”

Tango gives him an apologetic and slightly sheepish look.

“So wait, what exactly happened there?” asks Etho suddenly. “Impulse, you had no information and then suddenly you were saying it was Skizz. What happened there?”

“I literally heard Tango’s voice in my ear,” Impulse explains. “It sounded like he was yelling and I didn’t hear full sentences, only bits and pieces. I heard “Skizz”, “kill”, and “vent”. So I put two and two together.”

“Your voice was so strong that it broke through the beyond and reached the realm of the living,” Skizz snickers. “I can’t even be mad about that; that’s pretty awesome. But bro. Joker’s right; you desperately need a compressor.”

Tango rolls his eyes, wishing his friends would stop saying that.

“Anyway, let’s take five and meet back here after,” says Impulse. “Tango, let’s get you some water.”

Etho watches the two of them leave the lobby together, before sitting down on the floor and leaning his head back against the wall. He doesn’t know how it’s possible that Tango managed to get through to Impulse despite being separated by death, but he does know that this can’t be good. There’s a reason the living can’t hear the dead.

Or maybe he’s just thinking too hard about it. If there’s anyone out there who can yell loud enough to make someone who shouldn’t be able to hear him hear him, it’s TangoTek.

Maybe they really do need to get him that compressor.

[captainsimagines]

To Topple A Giant || Chapter Eight

Summary: You had made it your mission to destroy even the smallest evils. When the opportunity arises to finally take down your own family after years of gaining their trust, you reach for it. And so does Steve, the man who represents a symbol of everything you hate.

Pairing(s): Steve Rogers x Reader || Avengers x Reader

Part 8 of 10 ~ Mini-Series

Warnings: This story contains mature themes and discussions such as extreme canon violence, strong language, emotional angst, mentions of Endgame deaths and recoveries, sexual situations, and emotional/physical abuse. This is purely fanfiction.

Warnings in this Chapter: abusive parental relationship; extreme canon violence (gun violence, hand-to-hand, baton use, knives); strong language; mentions of drug smuggling, drugs, and human smuggling; mentions of blood and blood loss; major/minor character death (not the mains, don’t worry!); angst; gunshot wounds; heavy alcohol consumption

Word Count: 14,600+

A/N: Listen... you know damn well I had to put some American Pie lyrics in this. The reader’s and Jackeline’s relationship is not modeled after Nat and Yelena lol it was literally the biggest coincidence. 

~

MedBay - The New Compound, 2024, 1:52 pm     

     “He did what?”     

Bruce smiles sheepishly as he lugs Steve’s practically lifeless body onto one of those beige medical beds. Dr. Cho is pacing calmly around the room, getting her instruments cleaned and ready. She tries to ignore the way you’re crowding her, inspecting everything she touches and in turn is going to end up touching Steve.      

“He took a bullet for someone.”     

“And where is that someone?” you bite. You immediately want to apologize to Bruce for your tone but you’re distracted by the tiny groans of pain coming from the pale super soldier beside you. You have to look away to avoid whimpering yourself, but you can’t exactly make yourself deaf. “Don’t tell me he took a bullet for you.”     

Bruce rolls his eyes and steps to the side as Dr. Cho begins cutting away Steve’s pants. “Everyone else is on vacation. He has no one here to take a bullet for besides. It was a shitty liquor store robbery and Steve was, of course, being a hero.”      

“Where’s he hit?” you ask, heading over to grab a pair of gloves yourself. No one questions it.      

“Femoral artery. Seems like he was plugging his own wound until he could get help.”     

Dr. Cho is right. There’s a massive gash in his thigh that’s leaking excessively and the skin surrounding the wound is raised like Steve’s own fingers had plunged so deeply it left an imprint. Not only that, but his hand is covered in his blood. So is Bruce’s, you realize, because he had tried to plug the artery as well.      

“How is he not dead yet?” Dr. Cho more mutters to herself than to you guys. Steve’s head is lolling to the side and his lips are an awful shade of white. His eyes are fluttering open and closed… open… closed… and he’s still mumbling random phrases. There’s a rough tug at the bottom of your stomach that pulls and pulls and there’s a weird urge to crawl onto the table to keep Steve warm.      

“He needs blood,” you say, even though all parties in the room know that as fact.     

Bruce, however, winces. “Sam’s not even in the state right now and I don’t think we have enough time to fly him-”    

“Is he Sam’s blood type? What’s his blood type? Why can’t Bucky do it? Bucky’s in Brooklyn, he can be here in five minutes if he runs.”    

Bruce starts rummaging through the upper level shelves and freezer cabinets. “Can’t mix the serums. We’ve tried.” He finally finds the blood bags, pulling them all out and spreading them across the clean tables. “It’s - shit - do we not have?”     

Dr. Cho is now covered in blood, working as fast as she can to close the wound. “What’s his blood type?”    

Bruce repeats it out loud and watches as Dr. Cho’s face falls. “I ran out yesterday. The blood drive isn’t until this weekend. I had a patient come in yesterday, I - I ran out yesterday.”     

They seem to be having their own conversation with their eyes and are too focused on each other to see you already stripping your long-sleeve shirt and wrapping that horrible blue rubber band around your upper arm. “Me. Take mine.”    

Bruce immediately shakes his head, stuttering as he tries to remove the rubber band. “Nu-uh, I don’t know if you know this but you’re human. I need two bags, three tops. I can’t just take it all from you right now!”    

“Then get me some cookies and a juice box. I don’t care how much you have to take to make him speak a coherent sentence. Do me.”    

Bruce hesitates but he rushes to the cabinets for the needles, vials, tubes, whatever - “No, do it direct.”     

Your words startle the two doctors but they don’t question it. They hook you up and poke the needle in the first vein they find, attaching the tube instead of a single vial and direct it to Steve.      

“You sure your blood matches?”     

You give Bruce a pointed look as if that isn’t something written on your dog tags or on your weekly personal reports.      

In the end, you’re told that you gave him the equivalent of two pints of blood. Not that you were awake for the second anyway but you vaguely remember Steve’s voice ringing in your ears. You’re not awake as he regains consciousness or to witness his very confused glare at seeing you in the bed next to him.     

He swears he heard small mumblings… ‘If you die because of some highway robbery, Rogers --- I’m never gonna fucking stop bullying your grave --- haunt it’.... ‘Stay --- with me, please’.... ‘---supposed to apologize first’....   

He tests the waters, mumbling a name he only says with annoyance nowadays. But now, it’s gently said. Soft, a whisper that sounds like a fractured hymn. 

Present Day, 2025, 12:05 pm

     There isn’t a set emotion in the world that seems appropriate. What are people supposed to feel when they’re singled out and chosen to suffer a life of pain? Self-hate? Pity for themselves? Anger? Sadness? Remorse? Nothing?

You really don’t know what you’re feeling. In the middle of rubbing vaseline on your newly acquired cuts and scrapes and bandaging yourself up, biting on a belt as Bucky set your shoulder back in place, and lying with Steve discussing everything and nothing all night after your promise - well, what the hell are you supposed to feel? As inevitable as it was considering he had ordered you shot before, the one feeling you know you feel is betrayed. Because even though Ernesto has proven himself evil time and time again, to his own flesh and blood, there was still a small part in your heart that didn’t think any parent truly wanted to inflict pain on their children. And your heart keeps proving itself wrong again and again.

“You just... jumped out of the car?”

Ramirez’s voice snaps you from your inner thoughts. He was let out of custody this morning. He’s currently filling in anyone who asks about the shipment, about Ernesto’s future plans, about the role he thought he had.

“Against my better judgment, but yeah.”

He chuckles and grins like he’s a kid hearing the best story ever told. “That’s what superheroes do. At least, what I’ve seen in the movies. John Wick, Bond, esos tipos.”

“I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this before, Omar,” there’s a teasing tone, “but I’m a fucking Avenger.”

That makes him laugh louder and in turn pulls one from you. “Ya se, ya se. I’ve known you since you were born. It’s weird hearing stories about you saving the world and jumping from bombed cars.”

“Mm, wait until you hear about that time I went into space and landed on another planet. Or time traveled. Take your pick.”

He’s stunned into silence and after a few more praises, he lets you return to typing out your report. There are plenty of other agents around for him to busy himself with. The base is tiny and not at all what you expected, but it’s secure enough to fit Torres, Sam, Bucky, and about fifteen other agents as they prepare for tonight. The plan you and Steve outlined was simple: attend the wedding, butter everyone up, send Steve away to help Ernesto retrieve and move the shipment, Scott and Sam will infiltrate, Bucky would be on standby to help you fight, and the rest of the team at base will begin arrests and sweeps. If everything goes according to plan, at least.

It’s easy to speak negatively about these things - there really were only two ways this could go.

You finish your report and go to stand, only realizing a minute later walking through the base that Ramirez is following you. You send him a funny look over your shoulder and he returns with a small smile of his own.

“Tengo preguntas!”

You stop and let him catch up. “Hmm?”

“Okay,” he starts, motioning his hands wordlessly until he could form them. “Are you and the Captain actually... juntos? Or just Avenger partners?”

“That’s personal, Omar,” you say with a roll of your eyes. “But I guess? That’s weird discussing with you.”

He nods in agreement. “It’s okay, I was just curious. So, him being mad was just an act? He doesn’t really hurt and threaten you, no?” He’s treading lightly, but you can already see the cartel mind turning. He would order Steve’s execution if he had to, even if he believed it to be morally wrong in some situations.

“Never. It was just an act for Ernesto.”

“Ah, Dios. Thank goodness.”

“Yeah, keep your men in line. It’s fine.”

He chuckles at that. “And the other Avengers?”

“They’re my family, Omar,” you grin wide, waking slower for the old man to keep up. “They would never hurt me.”

“That’s good, but not what I was asking.”

“Oh?”

“What are they like?”

Handing your report to one of the agents at a handful of monitors, you laugh loudly. “Do you want to meet them officially?”

“Aye, I know my daughters would like that...”

You raise an eyebrow.

“But I would like to meet them, too.”

“That’s what I thought. C’mon.”

The rest of the team are all relaxing and discussing the past days events in the lounge area, which is really just a glorified break room. Bucky’s still in his morning sweats same as Scott, Torres is already suited up, and both Sam and Steve are wearing their Avenger gear (minus Sam’s wings and Steve’s battered shield). Steve is the first one to notice you enter and he instantly gets up from his chair to greet you with a kiss on the cheek.

“Gross,” Bucky mumbles.

“You’ve been trying to get me a girl for over ninety years, Buck. And now that I’ve finally got someone who likes me back, you bully me for it?”

“Who’s bullin’? I said the same thing when Agent Carter smooched you in the weapon’s room and you thought you were alone.”

You pat Steve’s shoulder. “Think about it, Rogers. When Bucky settles down with someone, you have free reign.”

Steve pulls a thin smile and glances back at Bucky. “I’ll make them hate you.”

“Love and hate are the same thing, pal. It worked out for you two.”

“Okay, we’re done. Everyone, Omar wanted to formally introduce himself.”

Ramirez gives a shy wave. Torres returns it. It’s kind of hilarious to witness. Here you all are, Avengers and some standing over six feet with one of the most wanted drug lords in the world, and the all mighty drug lord is shy. 

“I’m so sorry we got off on the wrong foot.” You notice how when Ramirez speaks to strangers or those he deems good people on his side, his accent is a little thicker. It’s like he wants to speak only in Spanish other than the Spanglish you were all accustomed to. “But it really is an honor to meet you all.”

Scott is the first to stand and shake his hand. “Sorry I pointed my gun at you, man. Habit.”

Ramirez chuckles, “Sorry I broke into your room.”

Steve interjects, “Thank you, though. For telling us what more we’re fighting for.”

Ramirez nods, a solemn look spreading over his face. “The minute I found out, I didn’t know who to tell. I’m lucky you were never truly on his side.”

“And what will you do after all this is over?” Bucky stands. “How do we know we can truly trust you?”

Ramirez sneaks a glance at you and you raise your hands. “Hey, I’ve got the same questions as him.”

Ramirez must know he isn’t getting out of this one because he answers quickly. “Drugs have a market where people choose. I just meet supply and demand protocols. I don’t do the unnecessary violence or blackmail. There is no need to. People will always want drugs.”

There’s a round of agreement throughout the small room. Ramirez continues, “But smuggling humans? There is no choice, nothing moral about it, it’s evil.”

“But people get addicted to drugs. They die from them everyday,” Sam argues.

“I produce and deal what you American’s call weed. Ernesto does the big stuff, as does White. I’m,” he laughs a little. “I’m their weed guy.”

“That is true,” you confirm. You’ve moved and packaged Ramirez’s product before. “Literally just weed.”

Everyone seems deep in thought, like their processing Ramirez’s words and the weight behind them. Ramirez ran with the big boys and was the biggest distributor of marijuana in Mexico and America alike, but he never messed with any other product. Besides producing, selling, and smuggling illegal weed, his only other crimes included conspiring with Ernesto on how to get the product over state lines.

“Okay,” Steve starts. “So how is tonight gonna work? We have to discuss that.”

Ramirez bows his head. “You’ve allowed me safety, you’ve listened to me speak, and you’re saving both my life and my daughter’s. If you must arrest me, then you arrest me.”

“The minute you’re transferred to a prison with less security, Ernesto’s men will get you,” you reason, already shaking your head no.

Ramirez gives a nonchalant shrug, “But you’ll get him and White. That’s all that matters.”

You look over to Steve for some other ideas, but like you he doesn’t have any. No one seems to have any.

Torres matches his shrug and his voice is small as he speaks, almost like his next idea is insane. “We can always put him in the Raft.”

Everyone’s eyes go wide.

“That’s where all the enhanced humans go, no?” Ramirez is stunned. “Do I count?”

“We’ve got no idea,” Steve rubs at his chin, looking at you for confirmation he knows you don’t have. “But it’s an idea.”

     The plan is no longer singular. Fury had sent his best field agents for the job, the ones with the best aim, the ones with great strategic planning. Although you and Steve were still in charge, it was no longer just your mission. Your mission was to arrest the big three, big four when including Seda. That was it.

The plan goes like this: half the team will be focused on the venue itself, hidden in the shadows and monitoring the big three as well as your mics, and will aid you in the physical fight and arrests. Some are on the ground while others in the sky. Afterwards, they’ll sweep the estate and collect stolen property or priceless artworks. The other half is split into two, where one of those halves will be spread out for miles to capture anyone that might slip through, like guests who were on the most wanted list or guests that have helped Ernesto in the past. The other part of that half will intercept the shipment (once Steve radios in the location), save the hostages, and shut down the routes. 

They instruct Ramirez to call Ernesto and to ask him if there’s a vegetarian menu offered. Ernesto responds with only a muttered groan and in a wild turn of events, asks if Ramirez can call you to make sure you arrive earlier than expected to make sure Jackeline walks down that aisle. He’s completely serious. Not only does Ramirez play along, but Ernesto doesn’t give any indication that he knows about the car bomb. So the team makes a judgement call: this was only Seda’s doing.

Ramirez is then told that the Raft is not an option; both the US and Mexican government want him and the only reason he hasn’t been arrested is because he still has many cards to play. The more he helps, the less time he’ll get. 

One thing is known: this is the biggest mission anybody has been on in over two years. 

      Bucky remembers things in bits and pieces. Sometimes he’ll be minding his own business, enjoying this new world and the countless amenities it offers, and remember exactly where he was on the hottest day of the year in 1936. He remembers the blistering heat, boiling his once pale skin and giving him that beautiful olive he was now known for. He remembers the way his tongue dried almost instantly the moment he stepped outside and how he asked his next door neighbor, Ms. Kranshall, for a cup of water before work. He remembers her massive square glasses and how they nudged the tip of her nose as she nodded sweetly at him. He remembers her high but smoky voice and the way she patted his shoulder as he drank the cup down. 

The first time he remembered Natalia was around the same time he remembered Steve. He sees a flash of ember in strands, speed almost matching his, and he sees those panicked green eyes he was once all too familiar with. 

She was twelve when he first met her, forced to throw her around like a ragdoll until her ribs were bruised and her spirit broken. He went again and again, and when he wasn’t forced he would teach her how to fight properly and how to shield her most vulnerable areas. Scared as she was, she never showed it in those private moments, and decided to follow his lead in most things. And she learned to be fierce, no matter how hard he hit, and he still remembers the look in her eyes and the pull of her young face as they yanked him away for cryo before he could congratulate her on winning her first fight. 

The first time he remembered you was when you leapt onto T’Challa’s back as the chase neared, tackling the young prince become king, and watched with sad eyes as both him and Steve climbed onto the jet for Siberia. He remembers your clumsy punches when you fought him with half his brain and how he kicked you so hard you flew. He also remembers how when you took that kick for Steve, the sound of his wail almost deafened the soldier. 

Everytime he remembers something, a memory, no matter how strangled it may arise, the twinge in his chest is good. He’s remembering. He’s James Buchanan Barnes.

He feels that same twinge when a face full of freckles greets him at the entrance, documents raised above her head in a show of selfish glee, and a pep in her step that tells him she remembers him too. 

“Sergeant Barnes!” Maribel gives a toothy grin. “Never thought I’d see you again!”

Bucky tilts his chin up and rests the tip of tongue between his incisors. “What? Hydra wasn’t enough for you, you gotta infiltrate the Mexican cartel, too?”

She scoffs playfully, “Other way ‘round.”

He snatches the documents from her hand and leads her inside. “I hope you got something here. Steve put a lotta faith in you.”

“Don’t you trust me?”

“Y/N does. That’s enough for me.”

Rolling her eyes, she snatches the documents back to turn the pages herself. “Follow me. We need to chat in private.”

“Shouldn’t we get-”

“I’d rather you know, and you tell them later. No audience.”

This causes Bucky to tense. He follows her in further and closes the door behind them both. 

The left side of her face had less freckles back in 2012, he remembers, and now she’s covered in them.     

Bucky remembers things slowly, but he remembers them. 

      It’s cold outside, air bruising your skin, and there are hundreds of goosebumps now erupting. You joke with yourself that in the end, you’ll most likely have to ask Steve for his jacket and ruin your overall look but hey, you’ll be warm. The wedding doesn’t start until five in the evening and it’s one’oclock right now, and there are white clouds in the sky instead of gray and the songs of some desperate birds searching for their lunch near your ears. It at least drowns out the constant noise of the agents hammering away at each other and preparing for tonight.   

It makes your stomach roll: these agents are putting their lives at risk because of you. 

     You stepped through the discarded papers and tried not to leave your footprint anywhere important. His office was empty, left in a state of purgatory, and his lamp was still on. It’s like he stepped out for a minute.

You picked everything up: pens, computers, books, chairs. Under everything, there was dust. 

He really did die.

As much as you wanted to step on his remains and spit on him, you couldn’t. The gash in your heart was still open and bleeding for everyone else and there was no room left for anger. You were indifferent, for lack of a better word. Frustrated?

A paper crumbles outside his office. No one had followed you in - a week after the snap and every single person on earth was still searching for loved ones or running from something - so no, no one else was supposed to be here. Mexico had been hit hard, it’s government shattered, and every cartel was picking up pieces or tearing the world further apart. There was no line anymore. 

You twisted around and aimed your gun at the door, immediately lowering it when you saw Natasha raise her hands. She had this embarrassed smile on her face like she knew she had been caught.

“I meant to say hi over your mic. But you turned it off.”

You sighed deeply and dramatically shrugged your shoulders. “Well, I’m here. Guess who’s not.”

Natasha only nods and steps further into the room. She looks over the same things you did. “He’s gone? Good, good riddance.”

“But his death means nothing if trillions of others died also. It’s so fucking typical of him. If he’s going down, he takes everyone else with him.”

“He didn’t take them, Y/N.”

“I want to be happy,” you spit out through clenched teeth. “I want to feel relief. The fucking bastard is finally gone and I can’t even enjoy it properly.”

Natasha takes one more look at the hallway before letting her guard down almost completely. She envelopes you in a hug, squeezing tighter each time your breath hitches. “Hey, listen to me.”

“He’s gone.”

“I know,” Natasha’s voice is low and reminds you of the gentle hum of record static. “He’s gone and he can’t hurt you anymore.”

“But everyone-”

“No,” she pulls away and places both her palms over your neck. “He’s gone. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

It takes a while before you’re nodding along, repeating her words gently.

“You’re more than the pain he inflicted. You’re more than his name or crimes. You’re worth more than his impact ten times over. He can’t hurt you anymore. I know everyone’s gone, and we’re going to fight like hell to bring them back, but in this little moment, this little thread you can pull - pull it all out - he can’t hurt you anymore.”

She’s all muscle and bone and blood and real. What would you do without Natasha?

     The grass beneath your bare feet calms you down. It’s tendrils are a little ticklish and there are droplets of silver morning water fog melting as they touch your skin. Focusing on the feeling isn’t enough to get you out of your own head and for a wild second, you think the God of Thunder is going to come up behind you and hold your hand. It’s peaceful out here, but what you wouldn’t give to see him again. 

The day before Steve and Carol returned the stones, he had been here. He did as he promised: the second the flood of happiness extinguished like a Christmas candle, he found you settled in the mass of pillows with only instrumental music playing. He left for two cups of tea, sat in silence with you as you both drank, and whispered a strangled ‘I’m sorry’ as if you weren’t meant to hear it. Apologizing for someone who did come back, and you for someone who didn’t. 

‘You know I don’t regret what we did. We brought everyone back.’ 

‘Don’t try and justify your sadness. Not at all, not with me.’ His voice was stern and his eyes serious.

‘I’m sorry he didn’t come back.’

His eyes had closed, as if he was expecting that apology, and he looked out the window where the sun was just barely rising, shining on him and him alone. ‘I’m sorry, too.’

There are footsteps, though. Heavy ones, footsteps that announce his upcoming presence on purpose so as to not startle anymore. Bucky was too generous for his own good. 

“Had a visitor.”

You remain silent as Bucky sits next to you, looking up from his spot and expecting you to sit as well. “There’s water on the grass.”

“There’s water in the air in this godforsaken state, now sit down.” A push of laughter escapes your lungs but you follow his instructions anyway. 

You sit in silence for a few minutes, admiring the way the pine trees bend slightly with the gusts of wind and how the birds have changed their pitch. You expect Bucky to speak first so you occupy that time by playing with the strands of wet grass. 

“In 1997, I was taken out of cryo for a mission.”

You wince on accident. This wasn’t how you expected the conversation to start. 

Bucky continues, “There was this man south of the border.” He points south to prove his point. “Hydra wanted to take him out because he was interfering with the drug routes they were monitoring.”

“Hydra controlled drug routes?”

“Hydra had their heads in plenty of places. They didn’t control them, but they did monitor them.”

You shake your head in understanding. “And this man?”

Bucky sighs heavily. His eyes are focused on the gentle yellows behind the trees instead of you. “He was told to take out another man traveling through and out one of these drug routes. He made a different call.”

“Who was your visitor?”

“Maribel.”

“Wha-?” You go to stand but Bucky gently pushes your left shoulder back down. “Why are you telling me this and not her?”

“She wanted me to tell you. And I guess, in turn, you tell Steve and the rest of the team.”

“Bucky,” your voice trembles on accident. “Tell me.”

“The man I was ordered to take out was Maribel’s brother.” He chuckles at your frantic shuffling and pushes you down again. He continues, “Hey, it’s okay. She never knew him and she doesn’t hate me for what I was.”

You don’t really believe him. But his face isn’t telling you otherwise. You're stuck between wanting to dig for more information and giving him a giant bear hug. “Did you… succeed?”

“The soldier ever rarely lost.”

Your face contorts. “Bucky…”

“He disobeyed orders, Hydra didn’t like that since it disrupted the drug routes, and so I was sent to help. Hydra didn’t seem to care about the man he let go, though.” Bucky shrugs and starts playing with the grass behind your hand. “The thing was, Maribel’s brother had been doing this a long time. Ernesto was on Hydra’s radar but in a good way. Maribel’s brother was also given very specific orders from one other person - their mother.”

The story pieces are all discarded haphazardly, pieces that are from different boxes and don’t seem to entangle properly. 

“She told him to let the man go. Because this man was an American, and killing an American on Mexican soil was something that was impossible to hide from the claws of the law. So, this American made it back on US soil safely and was never heard from again. Until 1998, when he tried to re-enter Mexico under a false name but with one purpose. To see his newborn baby girl.”

The yellow behind the pine trees fades into orange. 

“Are you saying-?”

“Maribel’s mother kept everything your mother left her when she tried to cross the border herself. Your real birth certificate, her real birth certificate, you.”

Bucky looks over finally, sad smile and all. “Maribel thinks, and now I think, that Ernesto isn’t your real father.”

There are so many questions formulating at the base of your skull that you don’t really take the time to absorb the news. “What did she bring you? What was in those papers?”

Bucky seems startled that your reaction wasn’t one of shock. “Like I said, Maribel’s mother kept a lotta things.” He pauses momentarily before speaking again. “Blood results was one of them. Still trying to authenticate them.  The American was a doctor, after all.”

“A doctor,” you whisper. 

“A doctor. He changed his name but he’s alive. Maribel’s checked.”

“Why would she tell me this now? Why now just hours before the wedding? Isn’t that why you guys didn’t tell me about what was really in the shipment?”

Bucky winces and his expression tells you he’s sorry. 

You continue, “Why now? Why does it even matter anymore?”

He inspects you quickly, scanning your features for any signs of discomfort. “You’re okay? I thought this would surprise you more.”

The chuckle you release is dry, kind of harsh. “It actually answers a fuckload of questions. Like, number one, why he fucking hates me.”

His eyebrows scrunch together. “You think he knows?”

“If he doesn’t, then he’s a super fucking asshole instead of just a fucking asshole.”

Bucky pauses again and smiles up at the sky. The clouds are white and extra large today, and he suddenly remembers the taste of that mini popcorn he had bought and shared with his little sister Becca… Becks… while watching Snow White and the Seven Dwarves at the theater. The salt and butter had stuck to Becca’s fingers and she had wiped them on Bucky’s sweater. He remembers scolding her for that but giving her a napkin in between his giggle fit. He feels the same swell in the meat of his heart listening to you. “We don’t deserve you. You’re like the moon. Always there, shaping yourself into what that person needs, crater after crater beat into you and yet, you move the tides.”

The little snort that leaves your nose hurts a little. “That’s pretty damn poetic for this moment of ‘you’re not the father!’”

Bucky bites his lip and smiles toward the yellow and orange hues. “Like the moon.”

      The hotel had replaced the door, no questions asked. The reason Sam decided to bust open the door instead of using the very functional key you had given Torres? No one knows. But the poor receptionist was told that you couldn’t possibly change rooms because this was top secret business and you absolutely wanted to slap Scott upside the head for worrying her. So they fixed the bolts and gave you all new keys. 

Didn’t matter much anyway since you weren’t sleeping here tonight. You had already packed and made the beds. 

You lay your dress and Steve’s dress attire on the respective beds. The dress sent over was a backless red silk, spaghetti strapped and slit on the left side - you’ve wanted to wear it since it arrived when Scott did. 

Steve knocked before entering the room. You almost laughed at the gentlemanly aspect of it. “Thought for sure they’d have kept you for another hour at least.”

“I gotta change sometime. That your dress?” Steve shrugs off his uniform and climbs on top of his freshly made bed.  

“That’s my dress. Sort of skimpy for a wedding, no?” You hold it up to show him the front and back.

“Does ‘skimpy’ mean bad?”

“Means slutty.”

He gives you this disappointed look, like he’s judging your vocabulary. “I wouldn’t use that word. So no.”

You silently apologize and move the dress over to the end of your bed. Everyone else was also getting ready for tonight. Agents were posing as local police, many infiltrated the wait staff, suits were being double-checked for any malfunctions. There was so much going on, but all was relaxed in your room. Steve smiles at you from his bed, head resting in his palm as he leans up to stare at you. It’s impossible not to blush under his stare, so you move to climb into his bed. You lay down with your feet to his head, the sides of your hips pressing together; just two upside down puzzle pieces. He chuckles and goes to lay on his back, right arm coming up to lay rested on top of your right thigh. 

“All this week I thought I wasn’t ready.” You’ve had no more nightmares. “But I am. I’m ready to end this.”

He runs his fingers delicately along your thigh. “I’m ready to help.” He sighs deeply and cranes his neck to try and meet your gaze. “We’ll make sure they get maximum time.”

“You know that’s not our call.”

“Still.”

You rest for another few minutes, gentle touches calming you. His body is so warm, emitting sweet thoughts like the beginning of spring heat, and it’s impossible not to curl up into it. Steve breaks the comfortable silence, “What are you thinking about?”

You suck in a breath and tell him the truth. “That in the matter of like… five days, you and I are basically lovers now.”

“Lovers?”

“Lovers.”    

He laughs out loud and goes to sit up.  “I intend on taking you out when we get back home.”

Lifting your head, you rest on your elbows and grin at him. “Oh? And where are you planning on taking me?”

He thinks for a second before pressing his lips together and giving up. “I have to ask Peter or Wanda. I have no idea where you go during the day to eat.”

You laugh, “Seriously? I could’ve sworn you tagged along once or twice.”

“Nope. I always refused.”

You frown slightly, “Riiight.” Not wanting to rehash the reasons why, you try to soften any wrong feelings about what that implies. “I’m sure you’ve been, though. I take Bucky places, too. Ask him.”

“Mmm, I have my pride. Can’t have Bucky thinkin’ he knows more about my girl than I do.”

You smile largely now and hope no lipstick rubbed off on your teeth. “Your girl?”

Steve averts his eyes like he’s just now asking for your name and if you’d like to go dancing. There’s a beautiful scarlet glow painting his pale cheeks. “Like I said, I’m taking you out and asking properly.”

“We’ve already surpassed third base. I remember it vividly.”

His smile falls comically and he turns to grab a throw pillow to smack you with it a couple times. “Crude! Crude as always. Goddamn.”

“I’m sorry! Hey, I’m sorry!” 

He stops his attack and pulls you into his chest. He warms your back instantly. “So, you’ll let me take you out?”

“I really, really like french fries,” you hum lightly and tilt your head back to lean into his shoulder. 

“That narrows it down, thanks.”

You chuckle due to his sarcastic tone. He rubs his hands up and down your arms. An idea formulates while in the warmth of his body. “You know what I really want to do after we finish with this?”

“What’s that?”

You tell him honestly. “Rent a cabin. Spend a Christmas there, maybe. Catch some fuckin’ fish. Experience the snow properly.”

His eyebrows furrow like he’s dissecting such a claim. “I… wasn’t expecting that.”

You shrug, “Sounds cool though, right?”

“Got room for one more?” He looks down to meet your gaze and there’s a glint of hope shimmering in the blue of his eyes.

       “Nat… Natasha.”

Natasha took in a sharp exhale as she lifted her head from the desk, left cheek numb and pink. Steve shot her a funny grin and continued shaking her shoulder until she fully opened her eyes. She slaps his hand away with a huff of laughter. 

“Come here to do your laundry? You know, there’s only so many times I can help prevent shrinking shirts.”

Steve scoffs, “I used to do laundry by hand. I can figure out a few buttons.”

“You would think.”

Steve rolls his eyes and bumps her shoulder with the palm of hand before speed-walking into the kitchen. “It’s one of those days.” He opens the high cabinets and pulls a few vodka bottles. 

Natasha pushes down whatever was starting to eat at her. She calms her deep breaths and rises from her chair. No words needed to be exchanged. She makes her way over to pull two glasses from the same high cabinets. 

Steve watches her a little hesitantly, but she has that lopsided smile that pinches through only one cheek and her eyes are the slightest bit swollen from her power nap, and Steve breathes a sigh of relief. She tilts her head to the other side of the kitchen, that lopsided grin gracing her bare feet. Steve fumbles through a few cleaning supplies and some plastic bags before he finds the bottle. 

“I hid it after… after Thor had that meltdown a year ago.”

Now, he was second guessing. It was a small bottle, only half left, but half a bottle of Asgardian liquor was enough to knock the God on his knees. For Steve, a few sips would do the same. But he needed it, he needed it, god help him. It’s been four years, he needs it. “Be my designated driver?”

“How about you spend the night? Y/N wanted to start a new show anyway.”

“I’ll be passed the fuck out during the opening credits.”

“But you’ll be here.”

Steve sighs and pops open the bottle. Natasha puts her hand up to stop him from pouring, “Check under that sink again.”

His eyebrows pinch together but he does as instructed. More cleaning products… more cleaning products. He tilts his head to look at the corners and there it was: a small, pink paper airplane taped mid-flight. Steve hunched his shoulders to grab it and crawled out carefully. “You know, you’re not supposed to tell me where you hide them.”

“Well, I felt bad! I’ve found like fifteen of your blue ones and how many do you have of mine?”

“That’s besides the point-”

“Say it. You’ve found six.”

His cheeks turn hot. “I’m not here all the time.”

“Excuses.”

“I leave mine in good spots. You probably got better eyes or something.”

Natasha laughs, loud and from her chest. “Sure. But hey - I’ll promise you somethin’.”

Steve pours the Asgardian liquor into his glass and straight vodka into Natasha’s. “What do you have in mind?”

“You find more than me by the end of this year, and I’ll take that vacation.”

Steve takes his first sip and tries not to pull a hard face. “You’re on. But what if you win?”

Natasha raises her glass and clinks it with his. He wants to apologize for forgetting to toast but her eyes are playful and forgiving. “You come with me. I’m not the only one who needs it.”

“So, I win regardless?”

She takes a sip and pulls a funny face. “Easiest battle, don’t ya think?”

They’re off their right minds twenty minutes into drinking and the common area is chaos. Pillows are thrown, the TV somehow ends up with dozens of fingerprints, and they’ve broken a couple flower pots. The cushions of the couch know Natasha’s bare feet and Steve’s boots; the walls fail to constrict their loud singing; Rhodey has already snuck past them to get himself a snack undetected. 

‘And so I cry sometimes when I’m lyin’ in bed, just to get it all out what’s in my head!’

‘Hit the high note, Rogers!’

‘When you do, I will!... I scream from the top of my lungs-’

‘What’s goin’ on? And I say, ‘hey!’ ‘hey!’ I say ‘hey!’ What’s goin’ on?’

Steve’s still clear-headed enough to twirl Natasha around. She’s flexible enough to climb onto his shoulders.

‘I pray every single day - for a revolution!’

She’s starting to slur her words and Steve wonders if that blond streak in her hair was there last week. 

‘The story of my life! I take her home, 

I drive all night to keep her warm and time, 

Is frozen!

The story of my life, I give her hope, 

I spend her love until she’s broke inside!

The story of my life.’

She can longer feel her toes but seeing Steve let go makes her so incredibly happy and breaks her heart. I needed this too, she thinks.

‘So, bye-bye, Miss American Pie

Drove my Chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry

And them good ol' boys were drinkin' whiskey and rye

Singin', "This'll be the day that I die

This'll be the day that I die!”’

She’s all muscle and bone and blood and real. What would Steve do without Natasha?

     “You wanna come?”

“Sure. I’ll cut down the trees for wood. Have a real fireplace.” He’s serious, you realize. Like, really truly serious. 

Your heart swells with excitement and some other feeling you can’t quite place. But it’s good, like really good. The sigh you release is full of sweet wonder. “A real Christmas tree.”

Steve tightens his grip around your arms. “December’s right around the corner. Trees should be ready and standing tall.”

It’s almost too much to imagine. You have the sudden urge to talk specifics, to plan out this vacation. A beautiful, rustic cabin with only a coffee maker brought from the outside century, knitted quilts, real snow, Steve’s body heat, Christmas lights… inviting Sam, Scott, Wanda, Peter, and Bucky down for Christmas dinner and presents. A whole sleepover filled with ghost stories, candle burning, board games, Christmas movies. You’re up and tucking your knees under yourself to look down at Steve in an instant. “You’d throw on that checkered shirt, grow out your beard even more, and chop down a few trees for me? With me?”

“There’s nowhere in the world I’d rather be,” Steve says, eyes crinkling. For a second, he’s worried you’ll realize that he’s quoted your letter. But that same moment, you’re giggling with excitement over your future plans.

“Well, we lasted a week here without killing each other. The holidays always hold a few surprises.”

Steve picks up another pillow.

       Business is not conducted during the church service. It feels normal, with half the guests attending the service and watching the happy couple exchange vows, while the other half only arrives for the party. 

Jackeline’s dress is modern with a mix of vintage - simple, with long sleeves of lace and fabric that isn’t entirely white but with hints of beige; the dress dips lower in the back than it does in the front, and it’s tight near the waist but loose as it drapes down her long legs. Her hair is left loose and her make-up is heavy, and she illuminates under the sun rays that burst through stained cathedral glass. You don’t even pay mind to Ernesto and Seda seated in the aisle in front of you - not when Jackeline looks the way she does. 

As the service ends, Steve tells you to wait until most of the guests exit. The priest eyes him warily, inspecting his young face and build and obvious persona. He says nothing, but he places a gentle hand over the cross on his chest as he follows the guests out. Steve stands, and out of respect dips his fingers into the holy water provided near the heavy wooden doors. He signs the father, the son, and the holy ghost and dips his fingers in again to sign the same on you. With a silent thank you and tender wipe to your forehead, you don’t question it. He’s not Catholic, or at least you don’t think, but you know he does it for what’s to come. No matter your beliefs, he just wants something, someone, to protect you. You turn back to the cathedral and grip the door as you bend down to one knee and tip your head. 

       Everything is grander, that’s for sure. The decorations are tripled; the violet lights are reflecting like diamonds off every marble and glass surface; the chandelier’s are no longer gold sculptures but diamond; the clay flowers hanging from the ceiling yesterday are now a part of the centerpieces, squeezed in with the largest bouquet of roses and violets; the live bands (because of course there are two) are each still setting up as everyone is getting seated; and there are about fifty round tables circling the large dance floor. There’s still a nice view of the lake and the pine trees ahead, and the tarp was abandoned as there was no rain in the forecast. All in all, and there were a thousand other things you could focus on but didn’t have the energy to, everything was beautifully put together.

Jackeline wasn’t lying when she said half of Mexico was attending. Besides family, there were celebrities in attendance, famous musicians who were simply guests and not performing, family of some of the other biggest drug lords from both countries (minus Europe), and a couple politicians who dipped before the new couple even walked through the doors after seeing Steve. But Steve worked his magic like he had yesterday and had everyone eating out of the palm of hand in pure amazement. He even had a famous actress hanging off his shoulder in under three minutes. Walking away to go congratulate Jackeline, Steve doesn’t miss the quick, sarcastic flick of your middle finger aimed in his direction.  

“You’d tell me if you needed my help, right?” Jackeline asks after a while, bottom lip dripping champagne. She wipes it gingerly, careful not to smudge her pink lipstick. 

“I would if there was anything wrong,” you respond truthfully. She pauses to swallow her sip and squints. She follows your gaze to Steve, whose right arm is being tugged by a girl who looks about twelve with five multi-colored bows trailing down her french braid, and who is also trying hard not to blush at the very attractive actress he can’t seem to get rid of. 

“You’re going to stop him, aren’t you?”

You glance to your left, but it isn’t really a question. Jackeline knows. “Yeah.”

She nods and tilts her chin up, eyes still on Steve. “Make him watch as you burn it down.”  You know she’s referring to Ernesto. She continues, “Every last bit of it.”

Smiling down at your feet, you raise your glass at nothing in particular. Just to salute the night air and whoever is watching. A few seconds pass as you both watch the guests enjoy the music and appetizers. Jackeline shuffles in her heels but she doesn’t seem to want to leave your side just yet. “You run, you understand?”

She’s only momentarily startled by your words. “Okay.”

“I never meant to leave you here, Jackie. I just had to find a way out first.”

“You found a loophole,” she chuckles, but the next moment she’s serious. “There is no way out.”

“Might not be,” you admit, downing your glass in one shot. “But I know this. He can’t hurt you anymore.”     

      You don’t exchange more than a few words with Steve before he’s called by Ernesto’s men and motioned toward those massive dry lava rock doors; doors that don’t muffle sound but are strong enough to withstand a bullet wound. You watch him leave with them, and he shoots you a smile over his shoulder to simply look at you. Your eyes swell only slightly, burning the corners and blurring everything. He’s bright and brilliant, walking head first into Hell and shining like the bolts of Zeus.

Steve has faced giants before, from all backgrounds and all worlds. He has blocked their punches, taken near mortal injuries; stared them in the face with every ounce of anger and determination his cells could produce. There was always this whispered voice in his head that warned him of the last day he would pick up that shield. In 1945, the voice was loud and raging as he drove that nosediving plane into the Arctic. Over the last few years, however, the voice had quieted and let Steve ponder his fate himself. Steve swears the voice, or rather his own conscience, is getting tired. 

He listens intently, responding only when spoken to, and prays his mic is picking up every bit of this conversation. Ernesto commanded the room as he screamed orders in both English and Spanish. His men fell in line; some as determined as the old man, some quiet, some bothered. Didn’t matter what the orders were. Steve noticed the few who would glance at one another and speak their distaste with their wandering eyes. And when Ernesto would speak directly to Steve, the same men would pinch their lips into a thin line and glare. 

The shipment had arrived mid-conversation and as men were sent out to do their jobs, Ernesto kept Steve behind. I need you to stay with me until the shipment is secure and can be moved - you’re my bodyguard, Ernesto had told him, confident and only slightly bending his back in discomfort from the weight of the day. Steve agrees, and hears Bucky mention how they have eyes on the shipment from the sky. 

Steve stays by Ernesto’s side even when Ramirez is called in. He’s prepared for a bloodbath, for two big men to cement their graves in this tiny office, but it doesn’t happen. Or at least, it doesn’t happen yet. Ernesto regards Ramirez as an old friend and finally trusts him enough to tell him what the shipment contained. Steve isn’t surprised, however, when Ernesto takes nasty satisfaction at Ramirez’s horrified expression. Because even though Ramirez had already known, the confirmation adds a multitude of terror. Steve can feel his palms sweating. 

As expected, Ernesto tells Ramirez that he plans to use his lands for his gain. The safe thing to do would have been to agree, to nod along, and to live in the knowledge that the shipment most likely wouldn’t head out. But Ramirez, for some reason Steve can’t fathom, stands up and says no. 

Steve understands now; the odd shaking of your shoulders even when your face was completely blank and emotions calm. He watches the beads of sweat drip from Ernesto’s forehead onto the tip of his nose; he watches the way his chest heaves as his voice becomes louder; he watches until he can’t take anymore and he enlarges the shield with Scott’s tech and tells Ernesto to move away from the other man. Steve understands now - the man really is scary, even if he wants to admit it or not.

      “You really are a phenomenal actor.”

Swaying slowly, you try not to step on Seda’s feet as he guides you across the dance floor. The music is calmer than it was five minutes ago, the guests are enjoying dinner and conversing, and Steve had told you fifteen minutes ago that he would be right back. Ernesto had sent you a malicious wink, but you knew better. Steve’s name was written in blue and Ernesto’s real target had to be you. 

“Acting with what? Acting that I enjoy this dance? Acting like I respect you?” Your upper lip twitches into a teasing smile. “Or acting like I don’t know it was you who planted that bomb?”

He matches your smile, looking down at you with a glint in his eyes. His grip around your waist tightens. “Acting like you’re really on our side.”

Lowering your voice just a fraction, you lean in, top of your head level with his chin. “I’m on Ernesto’s side. You almost had me and my Captain blown up.”

His left hand is settled on your shoulder and he uses the opportunity to dig his nails in. All around him, his men are watching. “How did you get away?”

You give a dry laugh. “You think that was my first bomb? It was childsplay.”

Seda scoffs, “You speak of this Avenger business like I don’t know who you are. You’re still that scared little girl who hid in her room when alien’s fell from the sky.”

“I may be. But there’s a difference between you and I. I actually stared them in this face and won.”

“The second time, maybe”

Sticks and stones, but goddamn did those words always hurt. Blame goes a long way but you and your team are used to keeping it close to home. “Why do you want me dead?”

His scowl deepens and the wrinkles by his eyes crinkle over each other as he squints down at you. “The Avengers are not secretly on our side. Tony Stark never was but Ernesto loves to tell people otherwise. Same about your Captain. You’ve been playing us for years.”

“What evidence do you even have? For years, we’ve done nothing but clear the roads for you,” you say, shaking your head in disbelief. 

He unwraps his arm from around your waist and sets both hands around your upper arms. He’s pressing down as hard as he can but still loose enough not to draw unwanted attention. He breathes a sharp exhale, and the puff of air hits your cheeks. “I don’t know what happened to my men after you got what you deserved. They were good men and just like that, erased.” He smirks. “I know you had something to do with it.”

A guest with bright red hair laughs loudly to your side as she is twirled around by her partner. It’s not as vibrant as you’re used to, but you still imagine that lopsided smile you hadn’t seen in forever. “Does it matter? You know what they did, so why is my hypothetical revenge chastised?”

“Tell me right now that none of your Avenger friends did your dirty work. Tell me your Captain’s hands are clean.”

“I promise you, my Captain is clean.” Seda doesn’t show any signs of believing you. Still, your mouth twitches into a mocking smirk. “But our once mutual friends Tony and Natalia tell another story.”

“Am I supposed to believe that two people who are dead are responsible for this? Ironic,” he grits his teeth.

You repeat, clear and true. “My Captain is clean.”

He fakes a tiny gag but you know he means his disgust. “You turned over so quickly for him. For the heroes who destroyed the world. Pathetic.”

“You really need to stop underestimating me,” you practically order, voice full of warning and annoyance. 

Seda continues, “Following orders from a fascist. Following orders from a country that only does harm.”

He turns you around as the dance instructs, a half-hearted waltz that didn’t have a beginning, middle, or end. You take that second to scan your surroundings and weigh your options. “I agree about the country part. But I don’t follow orders from the country, I follow them from my Captain.”

You’re facing him again and in those hellish eyes you see truth. “No, he’s a symbol of everything we hate. Of everything we need to destroy.”

“Touch Steve and I’ll blind you.”

His feet stop mid-step, as do yours. His eyes widen only a little, but it’s all the ammunition he needs. “I knew it.”

It’s barely a whisper, a tickle from a single strand of hair, but you catch it. No longer keeping it a secret, or rather a secret you didn’t care that you let slip, Seda now knows it was all a lie. All this time you had never referred to Steve as anything other than your Captain.

You feel the blunt head of a .22 press against your abdomen as Seda laughs, “You never could get a mission right.”

Twisting his arm and knocking the gun from his loose grip with your wrist was easy. So was catching the gun mid-air and elbowing him in the ribs. Seda falls to the floor in a state of shock, instinctively gripping his chest. You aim the gun at him and like you’ve seen in the movies, place the tip of your heel just below where his belly button would be. He releases a sharp breath and his eyes are challenging, practically begging you to dig deeper and get on with it. 

You can hear the screaming and frantic murmuring from the guests surrounding you and the leveling of guns from Seda’s men. But you’re focused on the man trying so hard not to quiver beneath you, his nasty grin spreading wider. 

“You’re alone,” he bites. “Your Steve is helping Ernesto right now, no? You’re alone.”

Your grin forms slowly, and you’re counting down the seconds you have until his men start firing, but you lean your upper body down slightly to make sure he hears you. “That’s never been a problem before. Don’t you remember?” You click back the safety as discreetly as possible. “I was trained by the Black Widow herself.”

You quickly raise the gun to shoot the closest of Seda’s men in between his collarbones, effectively starting the bloodshed. You jump out the way in a flash, rolling across the floor and behind a table. Tipping the table over is easy and it seems like a smart idea at first, until you realize the tables are all glass. The tablecloth had covered that detail, which sucks like hell, because now the bullets are shattering through and you’re forced to kick yourself away and run behind the pillars instead. The heels are kicked off at the same time you’re fishing underneath your dress. 

A stray bullet hits the pillar’s side making you squeal. It makes you work faster, though. 

Once you find the secure nano-tech ‘button’ (as Scott liked to call it), you strip as quickly as you can and slap the button on your bare shoulder. The nano-tech spirals and threads into itself as intricately as frost spreads on a window, shielding you in both metal and kevlar. 

When a storm of bullets hits the pillar and cracks the marble, you’re forced to crouch and hope Seda’s .22 and the myriad of weapons you’re now equipped with are enough. Before your thoughts can creep into a ‘last man standing’ mode, a roar of wind sweeps across the estate and between the cracked pillars, causing your loose hair to slap your face and blind you for only a second. Quickly putting your hair up and pulling the metal batons from the back of your suit, you’re met with the best sight - one that was a little late, in your opinion. 

“Kind of you to show up!” 

Sam ignores your quip as he flies into three men at once, feet first with his wings extended with the might of a guardian angel. He immediately shields runaway guests who were caught in the middle. He takes the ones on his left, you take the ones on his right. 

You let them swing first. They’re fast and pulling their punches and are clearly aiming for the end result of sticking you to the ground. But you’re quicker and deflect the punches. You manage to deliver a solid punch upward to crack the nose of one. As he reaches up as instinct, his ribs are open season. 

He falls out cold easily after your batons do their damage and the next man isn’t nearly as fast as the first. He doesn’t move enough to his right to avoid the harsh kick to his sternum. Each ambitious kick to the chest seems to demolish the man’s protective wall he’s trying desperately to keep intact, but once you give your legs a break and switch back to the batons, he doesn’t stand a chance. There are bullets raining across the venue, but Sam is shielding you and deflecting them elsewhere. It allows you the freedom to rip into whoever you think deserves it. 

You’ve got two men on your tail and after knocking their weapons from their hands, it seems like a fairer fight. The first doesn’t step back far enough to avoid your roundhouse kick and he falls hard on his ass, gasping for a lick of air. The second is closer, however, and manages to wrap you in a chokehold. Releasing yourself to fall deadweight for only a second, gravity tricks him and you use the momentum to kick up and fly over his shoulders. It’s hard to do without a wall to propel yourself off of. But your abs and thighs are clenched and you don’t quite think you’ll actually end up on this guy’s shoulders but you do. You don’t dwell on that moment of personal pride, though. Tightening your thighs, you use your upper body weight to lean downward and wring his neck. Once he’s down, you sweep your leg around across the floor to trip the other man who was just barely standing back up. With the .22, you fire point blank. 

Detaching yourself from the gore has never been much of a challenge. Eyes rolling back and clouding, limbs dangling limp after having just been full of life, bodies thumping against the floor after eating your bullets - you don’t so much as grit your teeth anymore. 

Sam is dealing with his own mess closer to where that poor cake is now destroyed, vanilla filling exposed and now two stories instead of four. The other cakes are no better. Sam pulls the trigger once more at someone charging at him and he averts his eyes. Sam, however, clenches his jaw. 

“Where’s Seda?” you shout, firing at men who are jumping out from behind tables but giving away their location before they even surprise you. 

“Lost him. I think he’s heading over to Steve!”

You look over the room and pray everyone got out safely. There are no civilians lying in their own puddle of blood, no guests begging for help, but you can never know for sure. “We need more hands. Where the hell are Scott and Bucky?”

A storm of bullets starts crashing into the tables and pillars beside you. Trying to duck doesn’t work and you’re grazed in the left arm. Sam tackles you behind the stage, wings extending further and out bending around you. 

“I’ve been shot!”

Sam can’t help the laugh that erupts from his throat because of your dramatic tone. “You’ve been grazed. The nano-tech has already rebuilt itself.”

“I don’t care, I hate being shot. It’s not nice. I’ve been hit.”

“Dramatic.”

“Y/N?” a harsh whisper sounds from under the stage tables. Watching your eyes bulge paints a mournful expression on Jackeline’s face. Julian is right beside her, pistol out but not shooting. You wonder if he knows you’re the invader.

“What in the hell are you still doing in here? I told you to run!”

“I’m sorry,” Jackeline squeals as bullets continue firing. “Everyone crowded. I was scared so I just got down.”

“Sam.”

Sam nods, already reading your mind. You had to find Steve; you couldn’t stay here. But there’s bullets still blazing in your direction and you find yourself hopping on your ass slightly each time a bullet connects to the ground beside you. The nano-tech does great in deflecting the lead but it really isn’t an invitation to get shot more times. The graze on your arm is already starting to burn. 

“Sam is going to guide you both out of here, alright? Julian, cover her. Sam will cover you.”

There’s a war going on behind Julian’s eyes. His face does a thousand things at once as he hears your orders and the scream of guns combined, but he nods. He grips Jackeline’s waist and pulls her in close, but before they can begin crawling Jackeline turns back to you. 

“Mátalo. Okay? Para nosotras dos.” She’s got this fierce determination in her eyes and her accent is as thick as can be. 

“Okay.”

Sam relays his location over his mic and who he has behind his wings, but before he can safely guide the married couple down the stage, a new wave of men enter and open fire. Sam’s wings can only take so much, and even though they’re vibranium, his suit is not. Ducking behind the table and reloading your gun, you then lift your head over to view the scene. It’s a mess and you could surely take them down hand-to-hand if you were close enough, but you’re stranded with your batons and seven bullets and a world of automatic machinery pointed at you. 

The storm of bullets pauses and every single person looks up to the sky. You thank the Gods for no rain today because the absence of a tarp allows for the quinjet to settle over the chaos and create a much needed distraction. Sam takes his leave, wings still wrapped around your sister, and you do the same. Running from behind the stage with batons lit up and tazed, you knock out the closest men. They fall in a strangle of electricity, vibrating and convulsing as each shock travels through their veins, ultimately paralyzing them for however long it turns out to be. This gains the attention of almost everyone else but before they can train their weapons back toward you, the back of the quinjet opens. There were a few tables still standing and it seemed the super soldier liked them better than the flat floor. 

The glass shatters from the impact of Bucky’s weight, glasses of champagne and plates with unfinished meals folding onto the shards. He’s dressed in his tactical gear and a dark navy blue jacket without a trusty sleeve. Even if the arm was covered and his hair was long rather than the short length it was now, the men would certainly know who just fell from the sky. Almost immediately, the men scatter. Bucky takes them down one by one, shot after shot, and decides to use his knives for the ones who don’t run. It’s tricky, but he manages to lodge his knives in the base of the spines of those who later changed their minds. 

He catches your eye after you manage to snap the neck of one of the runners. He tilts his head toward the left and watches you run to give Steve the backup he needs. 

     The mansion seems longer, wider, just generally bigger as you rush through the rooms and halls to get to Steve. The stuffed exotic animals follow your gaze and you can’t ignore them for long. There are men following you and men leaving Ernesto. You duck behind the standing polar bear and wait until the footsteps sound farther. Checking the amount of bullets in your gun, just in case, you finally flick the safety off and run.

There’s really only one thing of importance floating around the padded confines of your skull - get Steve out. Another thing you two had in common: both sacrificial idiots. But there wasn’t any way that you would give up the chance to save his life, as he would yours. Didn’t matter if the man you were protecting him from was your father or not. It hadn’t really settled, hadn’t truly digested, and you didn’t think it ever would. Because for years, this man was your father. He was the only man with that title. He wasn’t fatherly, far from it, but he had the label and that’s what you were going to focus on. It made no difference. 

You push the office door open and start stuttering over your words. You want to ask what happened, why there’s so much blood, whose blood it is, but all that comes is a fractured series of what the hell’s? The last syllables push through with necessary force, hardly intelligible, but exhaled at last. 

Ernesto is kneeling with his head hanging low and his hands behind his back, defeated. But it isn’t Steve who’s holding a gun to the back of his head - it’s Seda. 

No, Steve is in the corner clutching at his right hip and gritting his teeth, a wild look on his face that tells you he too was blindsided. He’s hurt. He’s gasping and wincing at the slightest of movements and it ignites the flame you’ll use to burn this world to the ground. It’s splitting your fucking ribs apart. 

“Don’t move!” Seda yells, gun still locked on Ernesto’s head but eyes on you. “Put the gun down.”

“Seda-”

“Put the fucking gun down!” 

Biting your tongue, you flip the gun in your hand so it’s facing downward and move to gently place it on the table. Flicking your eyes to where Steve is, you get your answer as to why he’s been so easily shot. His massive body and shield are draped over Ramirez, who is also disarmed and pissed. 

The self-righteous idiot, you think, he’s always gotta save the little guy.

“We’re gonna talk about this like the gods we are, yeah?”

Your face pulls awkwardly, “Seda, what is happening?”

“Don’t act like you’ve been on this asshole’s side the entire time now,” Seda bites, shoving the head of the gun harshly into the base of Ernesto’s neck. “Go on, tell him.”

“The shipment was intercepted,” you tell him. But you’re not just telling Seda, no, it’s the first Steve is hearing the good news and it allows him to feel a bit of relief. “You’ve both lost.”

“What have you done?” Ernesto screams, cheeks vibrating and face red with anger. He pays no mind to the gun and dares to glare at you. “Tell me!”

The top of your lip greets a run of tears and snot and it isn’t until then that you realize your hands are shaking mid-air and your throat is closing. “My mission.”

Blood or not, this man had the power to tie your thoughts into knots. He only had this power at precious moments and sadly, this was turning out to be one of them.

Seda bites out a laugh - it’s wet and bloody and scares you half to Hell. “I’m not the only one here who wants to kill you. But I’m going to beat her to it. She brought you back, I can’t have that.”

“No!” You curse inwardly at your involuntary hiccup. “We’re not here to kill you!”

“Oh?” Seda raises the gun at you. “What’s the endgame? Que mas necesitas?”

“I don’t need anything. The shipment is intercepted. The estate is on lockdown. Your routes are down. You’re cornered. It’s over.” You let your shoulders drag just a little. “For both of you.”

Surprisingly, Seda doesn’t pull the trigger when Ernesto charges toward you. He doesn’t pull it when Ernesto wraps his hands around your throat, either. 

It’s instinct for you to hold out your hand to stop Steve from doing what he does best. He’s already halfway up and wincing with each push to help you, to rip Ernesto from your capable body, but Seda clicks the gun in his direction. Steve watches the way your arm extends, all five fingers spread in a hopeless plea of ‘don’t you sacrifice yourself for me, don’t you dare’. 

“I have done nothing but help you! I put food on the table and clothes on your worthless back! You spent my money!” Ernesto’s eyes are practically bulging and his thumbs are almost crushing your windpipe, but his placement is off. You can still breathe air, no matter how bruising his grip may be. “This is how you treat me? I should have killed you all those years ago. I should have ripped you limb by limb until your cries bled!”

“Please,” you whimper out, hand still extended toward Steve and the other attempting to push Ernesto by the chest. 

“Please? Please? Te voy a matar aquí, ahora, porque siempre te lo mereciste!”

You let out a strangled scream and are about to fight back. To save yourself and to end Steve’s suffering of watching you suffer, of watching his newfound hope dwindle right before him, when a gunshot erupts. Everyone screams, ears ringing, and there’s blood splattered all over your cheeks and neck, spots and leaks that trail down into the collar of your bodysuit. A heavy weight lands on you and knocks you back into the shelves. You hold Ernesto’s now limp body as best you can, knees locking painfully. There’s a massive hole where the top of his head should be and for the first time in years, you have to look away to keep from throwing up. 

“Dejalo.”

You open and close your mouth but regret it when the taste of copper lands on your tongue. You follow Seda’s order and drop Ernesto to your feet, the thud sending a shiver up every single one of your vertebrae. 

“Por qué hiciste eso?” you ask him, voice small. You choke on another hiccup. 

“Don’t lie to me and say you weren’t going to do it yourself.”

You look over at Steve. His eyes are just as wide as yours and the same red specks, now turning brown, are tainting the flush pink skin of his beautiful neck. 

“No,” you whisper. Steve hears your lost accent returning and it clutches at his heart. 

“It was for the best.” Seda marches over to grab Ramirez by the tie, ripping him up from the ground and pointing the gun to his head. Steve lunges forward and Seda fires another bullet into the same hip. 

“No!” Your throat is raw, scratched, and Steve hits the floor in another heap of muffled groans. Seda returns the aim on Ramirez. 

“Imagine my surprise when I saw this one confronting Ernesto with your Captain. Imagine my fucking surprise when I tried to find all our passports, all our files, and nothing was here! Imagine my surprise when I saw that fucking idiot White being taken away by one of your agents!”

“Seda, please.” You were never much of a negotiator. It was always go in and let the others do the talking. Steve was the talker, he was the negotiator, but he was out of his element. He was always the enemy to Seda. He could never convince him otherwise. 

“You’ve given me new purpose,” Seda grins and Ramirez is rather calm in his arms, like he accepts this. “Look at the crime scene. I’m using the gun Ramirez got from your team. My men are still loyal.”

He pauses and smiles with all teeth, blood in between most of them. “You shot Ernesto. You shot your Captain. You shot Omar.”

The frightened look on your face seems to fuel him even more. He continues, “We’ll never stop hunting you.”

“Try it,” Steve manages, standing up again and vaguely registering the flash of light to his right. His shield is no longer there. “You’ll have to kill me to win. You’ll have to kill all of us to win. Me, Y/N, Omar, Sam.” He breathes in deep but smiles. “The Winter Soldier.”

You swear Seda’s face pales but his grip around Ramirez’s waist only tightens. “Easy.”

“It won’t be,” you finally say, voice no longer wavering. There’s no plausible way Seda could win. But one thing is fact: whether they’re Seda’s or Ernesto’s men, they’ll never stop hunting you now. “You lost, Seda.”

All stills but there are shouts and the ring of gunshots still echoing near the lake. 

“No,” Seda looks to you and to Ernesto’s body. “I didn’t.”

He aims the gun at you and fires. 

Steve’s wail is grease to the fire in your soul and you accept whatever pain might hit. There’s space and then there isn’t. There’s emptiness and then there’s a space being filled by that horrid but lifesaving shield. There’s no one and then there’s Scott, blown up to his regular size with shield in hand and in front of you. The bullet bounces off the shield easily and hits the wall. You’re pushed into motion and in about two seconds, you’ve grabbed your gun again and do not hesitate to fire. The bullet hits Seda in his exposed chest and Ramirez fumbles to get the gun from him. Seda hits the floor and no one else follows. 

The shot hits its target perfectly. Seda doesn’t so much as stutter. 

“God,” Scott grumbles, eyes trying to focus on anything other than the pools of blood. “Was I late?”

You don’t pay any mind to Scott and rush over to Steve, where he’s barely holding himself up with his hip tilted on the edge of the desk.  “Steve? Steve. Did he hit anything important?”

“Besides the fuckin’ meat of my stomach?”

There isn’t a way to see beneath the kevlar, but your fingers have a mind of their own as they try to dig in. “You know what I mean.”

Steve huffs a laugh and gently slaps your fingers away. “No, but motherfuck me Christ, I get shot way too much and it hurts no less.”

“Was the shield not enough? You had to sacrifice your one-hundred year old hips? Are you hit anywhere else?”

“I was caught off guard. What about you? I heard over the mics that you were shot and-”

“Are you two done?” Scott interrupts, clearing his throat awkwardly but half a mind still paying attention to his own mic. 

It’s like you’re snapped back to reality. There’s not only Steve but others, alive and dead, and the smell of copper is all too familiar.  “Sorry, I’m still in shock. I don’t really know how to proceed from here.”

“Y/N-” Scott tries, but you resume.

“We were supposed to arrest them. Just arrest them.”

“Okay, I think we should get you outta here,” Steve acts like he’s the one guiding you, but his weight is falling. You faintly register a phone ringing in the room but Steve, ever so persistent, is still acting like he is holding you up. He lunges forward with a sharp wince, and your hand immediately goes to his hip. 

“Captain.”

Ramirez lowers his phone, call ended, and he wears an expression Steve recognizes immediately. It’s an expression that looks all too similar to Dugan’s when he relayed the news of enemy forces breaching their base. “...How many?”

“They’ve already sent the news to their men in Mexico.”

“Have they shut down the border?”

“It wouldn’t make a difference.”

“They don’t know two of their men are dead, so we can-“

Scott shakes his head, shield still in hand with specks of blood drying on the blue stripe. “They know White was arrested. That’s all they need. They’ll assume the rest, the worst.”

You sigh, “Seda was right.”

Scott literally pouts and he looks like he wants to wrap you in his arms. “No, don’t send yourself there.”

Steve, however, agrees with you. “If they know about White, then they know about Omar. Seda had time to tell his men.”

“Then we make sure he’s arrested and taken to a secure facility. We can keep an eye-” Scott starts, but you shut him down quickly.

“He’s wanted by the US government, not the Avengers. We can only transport him. We can’t guarantee his safety.”

Ramirez gives a small smile. “Mija, voy estar bien. No te preocupes.”

“I don’t know.”

Scott looks between the three of you. He places the shield against the wall near the door. He raises his eyebrows at Steve and looks to his wounds, but Steve waves him off. Reluctantly, Scott nods. “I’m gonna go check on Sam.”

There’s a pool of blood near your boots. You don’t want to know if it’s from the dead or from Steve.  

“Doll, what are you thinking?”

He can’t hurt you anymore. “That I need you to go, too.”

Steve forgets about the pain in his hip and focuses solely on you. “What?”

“Go. If there’s one more thing you can do for me and my reckless family, go check on Sam.”

“You know I can’t leave you here alone with him.”

Your voice is steady and calm and it’s scaring Steve. It’s scaring him. “I promised myself that you wouldn’t be hurt by this mission. I stand by it.”

“I promise, Captain, I have no resentment. Whatever she does, I will follow,” Ramirez speaks, and Steve doesn’t even pay him a glance. 

“I can’t just go.”

“Steve,” you interlock your fingers behind his neck. “Please. Listen to me.” He looks so confused, a million questions flying through his mind and almost escaping those sweet pink lips. Fierce, you whisper for only him. “He can’t hurt me anymore. He can’t hurt me anymore.”

He relishes the feeling of your soft hands behind his neck. They’re bloody, but yours. His neck is bloody, but you don’t seem to care. “Two minutes.”

“Two minutes,” you confirm.

He pulls from your hold and turns to leave. He picks up the shield. Before he leaves, he grips the doorway and looks over his shoulder, eyebrows pinched and jaw tense. “Two minutes, I swear to Almighty Christ, Y/N. I’m coming back for you.”

You smirk, the dim light from the office lamps creating nothing short of a sparkle in your eyes. “I don’t expect anything less, Rogers.”

Steve hesitates for a moment and then he walks away. Once his footsteps are no longer heard, you turn back to Ramirez. There’s a voice in your head telling you this was a bad idea and that you were an idiot to have your back turned on him for so long, but Ramirez is simply leaning on one of the chairs and grimacing at the bloody scene before him. 

“Remember when Ernesto bought you that car when you were thirteen? And then another when your brother crashed it?”

Your nose pinches, “I don’t feel like reminiscing when he’s lying right there.”

“Do you remember what you told me when he bought you that second car? The sports one?”

You sigh. Ramirez was clearly going to continue speaking. “‘No lo quiero. Soy una niña. Get rid of it.’”

“And I did.”

“You did.”

He smiles, and for the first time you notice all the gray hair dusting his head, the most by his temples. There's a limp in his step too but you can’t remember if he had before or after the wedding. “I’ll get rid of this.”

“What?” you blink, unsure if you heard him right.

“I’m already a traitor. If I spin this, you can continue the mission. You can arrest even more of his men. They’ll come after me instead of you.”

It’s what he’s been trained to do. It’s what he’s done since he transported his first shipment. It’s what he’s done time and time again for Ernesto, for Seda, for some of his own careless men. He’s numb to it, just as you were a few days ago, but now you can’t stop thinking about the aftermath. Where would he put their bodies? Would they be buried here or back in Mexico? Would people really care if Ernesto was dead? They didn’t seem to care when he was snapped out of existence. But Ramirez has this sag in his shoulders that tells you he’s already calculating the best way to wrap the bodies and how deep he plans on sending them… or burning them. Burning them was always easier. 

“They’ll come after your family. Your daughters.”

He shakes his head, “I’ve ensured their safety. They’re safe.”

Against your better judgement, you tap your mic discreetly and turn it off. “I can’t let you take one for the team.”

He chuckles, “I’m a part of your team? I’m an Avenger?”

You can’t help but laugh with him. It’s not a light moment, but it’s a moment nonetheless. “Sure, Omar. But we don’t trade lives.”

“I had this coming.”

“No, you didn’t. You don’t.” Straining your ears and shutting your eyes, you mumble a quick prayer in hope that this plan of yours worked. You pass Ramirez your own gun and speak low. “Go.”

He’s shocked and he stutters. “Que haces? Que esta pasando?”

“There’s no one on the east side right now. All the guests were moved to the front. It’s clear. But not for long.” Pushing him to the door, you make sure he’s not leaving any bloody footprints behind. He’s clear. “Go.”

“This will kill us both.”

“But it will give us a head start.”

“No puedo hacer eso! No quiero hacer eso.”

“Omar, they’re not going to protect you once you’re charged. I can’t protect you then. So I need you to go.” You reach into your suit and pluck that random Roman coin you had stolen just a few days earlier. It was a token of good luck but you didn’t need it anymore. You avoid looking at the carving for fear that the likeness to Steve will make you change your mind. You place it in Ramirez’s hand and clench his fist shut.  “If there’s one thing you can do for my stupid, anti-hero mentality, go.”

“Que hago con esto?”

“No me llamas. But let me find this.”

He looks at you with pity. It’s so much pity and understanding for your situation that you have to look away. “I owe you my life.”

Eyesight now on the wall over his shoulder, you offer him a thin smile. “You wouldn’t be the first.”

He stumbles at first, unsure if this is really happening, and finally passes by. “Y/N.” 

You figure it’d be pretty rude not to answer. You turn slowly. He continues, face somber and head shaking with so much pity. “The amount of Hell that’s coming...”

It’s funny, really. You shoot him that famous smile you were known for. It tricks him like it’s supposed to. “I’m already going to Hell for the lives I’ve taken and the crimes I’ve committed. But the journey to my fate has been worth it.”

     The estate is being swept as quickly as possible. There are agents dressing wounds, reading rights, snapping photos, on the phone, etc. It’s organized chaos and there’s so much happening but it’s never impossible to catch Steve’s side profile in a crowd. His nose is pinched up and he’s dealing with his wounds himself. No one is even looking at him. 

Speed walking to him, you hook your arm in his and turn him around. He’s too tall, and your toes strain as you rise on them, but you wrap your arms around his neck anyway. He returns the gesture and squeezes you as hard as you’re squeezing him. After a few seconds, he whispers quietly.

“Where’d Ramirez go?”

If he saw your eyes, he would know you were lying. You keep your arms in place. “He got away.”

He tries to push you away but fails. “Y/N.”

“He got away,” you repeat. Slowly, regretfully, you pull back.  “We should go.”

There’s a horrible crease in between his eyebrows and he knows he’s caught you in a lie, but he also knows that if there was one thing he knew most about you, it was that you were just as stubborn as he was. Quick with wit, always asking to be punched, and stubborn to the point it made strangers worry. So he doesn’t question it, and turns with you in the direction of the jet.  “Maribel has the safehouse set up. Montana.”

“You sure you can make it to the jet? Should I get Bucky to come with us?”

The quinjet is empty except for a few supplies, a medical bag, and Friday. There are only two seats and by the way Steve’s bending over to show his true pain, you’d be flying it. Once you land, you can fish out those bullets.

“No one else.” Steve bites. He can’t risk anyone else - hell, he doesn’t even want to risk you. “I’ll protect you.”

You board the jet and watch as the trees sway in rhythm to the movements of everyone doing their job. It’s dark, and you push the fact that you’re so horribly night blind to the back of your skull, and it’s starting to eat away at you that the mission didn’t really go as planned. No one seems to notice yet that you never brought them the two main players they were hoping for. It only makes you close the quinjet faster. You sit Steve down in one of the seats and kneel before him. “And I you.”

If anyone asked, Steve would lie and say he was tearing up because of the bullets piercing his skin in half.  To protect and be protected. 

“Let’s go.”

~

TAGLIST: @dumb-ass-writer @justab-eautifulmess @supraveng @mycosmicparadise @missnighttigress​

[yanderecandystore]

I really like your work. Can I request another yandere among us I really liked the first one?

Look boo, I thought that it would be nice to change a little of the dynamics, yet now I'm kinda concerned at my performance here ;-; thank you so much for liking my stuff tho, really kind of you boo

TW/Tags: unrequited love cliches // this is a continuation of (🌱🌌🔪) ←this/ A wild simp appears! // I'm sorry for using such a cliche, I just felt like it would work nice lol // some yandere tendencies with a little twist maybe // I feel like I could have done better, let me know what y'all think tho

🍭꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖🍭

"- You're pretty sus, not gonna lie." Ch - 2 [Yandere!Among Us x Reader - Short Fanfiction]:

You wake up agitated after a bad dream. It wasn't terrifying as a nightmare, just… Bad. You can't remember what it was all about now that you woke up, yet you feel like it was something bad.

(Ch - 1)

Maybe you're starting to lose it. Or maybe you just had a bad night and that's it.

Well, "night", again you're floating through space, time doesn't really apply over here, yet to keep the crew from feeling too alienated, Black and White decided to create a little routine so everyone can be occupied but also have time to relax and do something that brings joy to the crewmates.

It may be silly, but in a situation that you don't know when you'll go back home and if you're going to go back at all, is pretty terrifying. So something silly like that really helps.

You like to record vocal diaries every time you're going to bed, and sometimes when you wake up. Sometimes you just want to record your crazy dreams, others are to help you feel more energized to start the day.

To be honest, you don't want to get out of bed, it's so comfy and you just wish you could stay and enjoy the comfort of your bed for a little longer. Besides, because of your nightmare you feel like you haven't slept at all!

But of course, all good things must end.

"- WAKE UP, SLEEPY HEAD!" Red was banging on your door.

"- You're late, dumbass." You heard a voice that you could only guess was from Orange.

You look up at the clock on top of your nightstand to see that you were in fact, one hour late.

"- I-I'm coming!" You scuttle to put on your clothes. Normally you would have taken a shower first thing when you get out of your room but… Well, you're too late for that!

"- You'll miss breakfast!" Red said, apparently he was still waiting for you.

After awkwardly changing your clothes, you opened the door to find Red and Cyan waiting for you. Red had hugged you tight the moment you appeared.

"- What took you so long, sleeping beauty?" He ruffed your hair again, this time being a little more gentle, and you guess it's because of how sleepy you still are.

"- Ugh, I didn't manage to get enough sleep." You whine, even if you did sleep, somehow you still feel like you were robbed of a good peaceful night.

Maybe it was the worries clouding your mind. The fear of never going back to Earth.

"- Yeah, I know how you feel." Red said while pulling you to follow him to the cafeteria. Cyan was right behind.

"- Really?" You asked the energetic man, concerned he is also dealing with nightmares.

"- Yeah, ya know? I heard things crawling in the vents all night." He said, darkening his tone of voice when he said literally the creepiest shit ever.

"- What!?" You said, well- Practically yelled. You felt like you instantly woke up at the idea of something dangerous lurking in the ventilation. N-not that you were scared or anything!

"- Nah, I'm joking." He turned his head to look at you with a little smug face, proud of how he manages to catch you.

"- Oh, come on man! You scared me…" You elbowed him weakly. You almost had a heart attack thinking about it!

"- Ha! Don't worry okay? It was just a joke to wake you up. If you're scared so much than-"

"- You don't need to worry, [Y/N]. I can reassure you that nothing is going to hurt you." Red was interrupted when Cyan decided to butt their way into the conversation.

"- What- How are you so sure?" You were surprised by their sudden voice. They spoke so seriously, you turned around and saw how they didn't seem to be joking.

"- I… Won't let it happen." They said almost questioning it. Not only was the idea of protecting their prey absolutely ridiculous and foreign to them, but they were considering the fact that it sounded pretty obvious, why would you even question it?

"- Come on man, I was just about to say that." Red said, a little bit shyly compared to his normal attitude. He looked so down even though he was trying to keep his smile on his face.

Tension was slowly rising and you were starting to catch on to it.

"- I- Wait, are your two really that worried about me? Come on guys, don't worry about it! I can protect myself too, you know?" You said trying to place yourself in-between them, distracting them from the weird stares they kept throwing at each other.

"- Sure you can, so, let's just go to the cafeteria already." Red's entire demeanor had changed out of nowhere. You were a little scared about how off putting it is to see him… Angry?

Cyan had taken your left arm, pulling you closer to them than to Red. It wasn't too obvious to an outsider perspective, yet it did make a bit of a difference when you were pulled closer to them.

"- He is acting strange." They whispered to you, hopefully Red didn't hear it. You didn't say anything as you only looked at Cyan with a concerned expression.

The day hasn't even started yet and it was already going to be a bad day.

While this whole event was happening, Cyan was pissed at how the human Red was acting strange. Not only had he taken you in his arms for a long period of time (a pretty long hug for "friends"), Red had made sure to not include Cyan in the conversation. Hell, he even made sure to keep you near him rather than them! What was he doing, trying to piss them off? And for what purpose??

The thing that really sparked annoyance in Cyan's head was how he lies blatantly to your face, only so you could be scared so he could sound like the hero in this situation. Cyan knows Red didn't listen to them crawling the vents, Red was sleeping like a rock the entire time Cyan was wandering around the ventilation.

Cyan had entered his room to collect information, and oh boy, had they collected some information. They started to think that maybe you would be better off away from Red.

Cyan had soon caught what Red was trying to do, he was trying to court you. And what a pathetic display of courting, it's not like Red was bringing any proof of how "strong" and "protective" he could be to you.

If Cyan were in your place, they would have eaten Red's face as a sign of disapproval.

Cyan had seen you sleeping that night, they saw you having night terrors. You went from peacefully sleeping to having nightmares in only a couple of minutes, so no wonder why you didn't sleep well.

Ugh. They were probably overreacting. They shouldn't care that about the half-assed courting they just witnessed, they shouldn't even care that you had night terrors! They should only care about their next meal, yet-

Yet, they don't know why, but-

Seeing Red be so desperate for your attention is messing with their heads. If Cyan was in your place, they would have rejected his request and tried to wait for someone a lot more competent to show up.

"- So. How it's your tasks going?" Red asked you. It's been three hours after the incident, and you were now finishing your tasks when Red suddenly decided to join in.

"- I'm doing okay, how about you? Did you finish yours?" You asked, still paying attention to your own work.

"- Yeah, I did… Look, I want to say sorry for earlier. I guess I overreacted, heh." He apologized, clearly embarrassed by the fact he acted so jealous in front of you.

Red had started to get easily fascinated by your person. You're incredible in his eyes, and even if you didn't reciprocate your feelings towards him, he at least hopes you don't end up with someone like Cyan.

Someone that is a coward and a player, someone who is very aware of how you feel towards them yet keeps you in the dark just because they're "afraid" of turning into something official with you. If he knew that the whole crew would be in this terrible situation that you're in right now, Red would have made a move earlier.

He thought that Cyan had stopped trying to be with you, yet apparently not.

"- That's okay, I guess we're all losing our minds slowly." You told Red even though you were mentioning that more to yourself. You feel like you also need to calm yourself down, since the gravity of your situation was starting to settle in a lot stronger than anticipated.

"- Yeah, I agree." He was losing his cool, he had to admit that. He remembers listening to you and Cyan yesterday, he couldn't understand everything going on after he had joked about you and Cyan making out in the halls, but he remembers hearing something that sounded like Cyan scolding you for… Worrying? Really? Honestly, what monster would ever consider scolding someone like you for being worried about their safe being?!

A lunatic, clearly. Someone who doesn't deserve your worries, yet you keep going towards them! You keep being kind to someone who is a lunatic if not an absolute moron.

Oh, here we go again. He is being negative again, he needs to keep calm if he wants to keep the bad thoughts away from his mind, but it's already too late.

Every time Cyan is unfair to you, he has these bad, intrusive thoughts. How annoying.

"- I'll go see how Cyan is doing, see you later [Y/N]." He said. His entire mood has been pretty down the whole day, you noticed how his normally uplifting voice has been pretty serious the entire time.

You say goodbye as you still have many tasks to do. You wonder if you should consult White about this, everyone seems to be on edge lately and it's starting to affect your environment-

"- Oh, [Y/N]! Do you need any help?" You turned your head around at the sound of a sweet voice calling you.

"- Hey Yellow. I do need some help, but are you sure? I don't want to be a burden." You said noticing the shy girl coming forward.

" Not at all! I-I want to help! I just finished my own tasks so I thought it would be nice to be useful." She was probably feeling anxious since the last meeting, trying to search for someone to help and talk with.

You decided to let her join you, Yellow has her quirks yet- You really like her, she can be pretty comforting to be around.

While you and the crew were doing tasks, Cyan was trying to find a good opportunity for their next victim. Their hunger had started to become stronger, and because they refused to eat human food (they're very picky), they haven't been able to gain enough energy to go through the day.

They need some flesh, and it needs to be as soon as possible-

"- Hey!" Oh look, that sounds like free food.

"- Hello, Red." They said, their rough voice was raspy due to the fact that they haven't eaten in a while. Their tone didn't hide the annoyance at seeing such a low human in their presence.

"- I wanted to tell you something. Can we talk?" He said. Cyan wasn't too interested in what he had to say, yet they were intrigued to know why he couldn't just say what he wanted in the first place.

Cyan noticed that they couldn't simply get rid of him just yet. There were at least three people here. The rude Blue one, the little Lime thingy talking with the Purple guy.

"- Privately, that is." Red had looked around, giving a glare towards Blue's direction, which caused them to flinch when noticing the odd way the male was acting out of nowhere.

"- Of course." He was making their job a lot easier. He took them to an empty room, O2.

"- So, what do you want- Argh!" Red took the opportunity to pin Cyan to the wall. The sudden reaction took the much stronger creature by surprise, and although they could simply split him in half, Cyan decided to see where this was going.

"- What it's your problem?" Cyan choked, since Red was forcing his arm in their throat. Then again, they could easily get out of his grip.

"- You. You're acting weird since yesterday and-" He paused, was he really about to say it? Would he really let his jealousy get in the middle of his friendship?

"- And you have been acting weird especially with [Y/N], I heard you two yesterday." Red confessed.

"- Oh, fascinating, is that why you've been giving me bad looks every now and then?" But Cyan did not seem to care for what Red was telling them. I mean, they only been here for like- 24 hours, and even so they could see Red's feelings towards you from a mile away.

"- Are you jealous?" Cyan provoked the unstable man. Clearly the time spent inside this spaceship has been messing with his mind.

"- No! I'm- I'm being serious here, [Y/N] was concerned about your well-being yet you got mad at them!" Red's grip from Cyan's neck was slowly fading as he was starting to get more agitated.

"- And what does any of that has to do with you?" Cyan asked, pushing Red's arms away from them, which caused him to notice how irrational he was being.

"- Just- Just stay away from them, okay? I thought you didn't even-" He interrupted himself, he was sounding so… Different, from his normal self. He was sounding like an possessive freak, even he could tell.

"- … I didn't what, Red?" Cyan was starting to get bored by the human's whining. In less than 48 hours, humans have proven to be simply too emotional, letting their distrust eat them away. Even for a creature as anxious as Cyan, they can at least think twice before doing something stupid.

Something stupid like provoking a creature that could easily kill him.

"- Stay away from them." Red warned them, while deciding that the best course of action would be to leave them alone.

He wasn't acting like usual self, yet, it doesn't seem like he cares at this point. He was stuck in this hell, no one can judge him for losing his mind a little. Wouldn't you lose it as well if you were stuck in space?

Cyan however wasn't really impressed by the male's threat. They didn't even do anything for him to be so feisty, they haven't even tried anything with you for stars sake.

Maybe he was truly starting to lose it, or maybe the original Cyan did say something regarding you. Yet, it doesn't matter now.

Red is unstable, acting like a douche towards the crew, even if they didn't have anything to do with this conversation in the first place! It wouldn't take long before he turned into a burden in the eyes of the rest, just like Blue is already considered the most unlikeable asshole in this place.

Although Cyan was already pretty hungry they just lost the opportunity to both satisfy their hunger and the want to choke Red, they thought about something more interesting. There are way too many humans here, and if Red suddenly died, people would be suspicious of Cyan and you, since he is always near you two.

But what if, there was a way to get rid of Red while also satisfying their hunger?

Could they create a scene where Red is the "culprit" of someone else's death?

It doesn't sound so unlikely now that they think about it.

🍭꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖🍭

P

[banhchao]

Hello! I read your tag about the SAH post and I agree with it! I didn’t realise how anti-black some people in the movement are and that takes away from the movement entirely (honestly there are some Asians that are super colourist and racist as hell so I’m not surprised.. and that sucks because we should be banding together as oppressed minorities)

From what I understand the goal of SAH is to attack the xenophobia the west has towards Asian people? Especially in wake of COVID-19 and the xenophobia people have towards Asian because of it. One example is how the west often see all Asians as one entity rather than recognise the different types of Asians there are — and as you said the Asian community is so diverse but it’s difficult to address each issue different Asian communities face when we are all treated as ‘Asians’ and not recognised by our specific ethnicities.

About the systemic racism part, I think it’s difficult to tackle that especially in western countries when many Asians being treated as 2nd class citizens, because there is this assumption that they are new immigrants, the colonialist mindset, and etc. Again, I believe that the root of the problem towards Asian hate stems from ignorance and xenophobia. So for the movement itself, I feel that it might seem like there is no solid goal because the campaign does not seem to tackle the main issue that Asians face but rather a recent manifestation of it? And of course, it definitely does not compare to the history of the BLM campaign.

I hope this ask doesn’t come off as aggressive, I just want to share my understanding of the situation and I look forward to hearing what you feel about this view point on my perspective as I want to open my understanding.

IN REGARDS TO MY TAGS OF THIS POST (OP is @rickgormortis I suggest you guys checking this post out!)

Hi hi Love !! 💗💗💗

First off, do not fret!! you did not come off as aggressive at all! I appreciate you and this message and your perspective! it’s great to open dialogue and talk freely with clear and open minds to possibly gain new perspectives and understanding of things 🌻☁️🦋🪐. Your ask presents a lot of opportunity to speak on different things and expand further on my own perspectives.

I would like to say that I have not conducted any research writing this out and everything stems from my own knowledge, observations and experiences so if I say anything wrong or misinformed, please let me know! Also some of this is not directed at you lol I just feel the need to expand in order to clearly articulate my thoughts so I hope u don’t feel that anything negative is targeted towards you!

I’m gonna start off by saying something that might sound controversial but just like OP said, if not for the work of BLM and especially when it start picking up a lot of traction last year, I don’t think SAH would be as big as it is now. In fact, I don’t think SAH would have been able to sustain itself for this long and would have died out quickly. The reason why it picked up to this level was because ppl see the movement as the asian version of BLM. Like I’ve heard ppl say “SAH is the new BLM” which is fucking stupid as hell but I digress. Ppl see BLM as a trend thus they see SAH as the “latest trend” to jump onto (which is... gross but unfortunately the truth). I think there would have been a call to attention of these hate crimes against e and se asian ppl spiking cause of COVID and definitely activism regarding this but the popularity of the movement itself (and maybe even it becoming a movement) is thanks to BLM. It was an indirect after effect that the work of BLM left (which has been going on for over a decade and continues to) so no matter how you go about it, SAH owes a lot to BLM’s hard work and dedication.

So many antiblack Asian ppl think activism is transactional. They pull out their “Anti-Asian cards” and whine false calls of hypocrisy when they see the attention and support BLM garnered in comparison to SAH... as if SAH didn’t only come to popularity as a result of BLM picking up globally and as if SAH hadn’t just been created last year (unlike BLM). They argue “if we supported you, why don’t you support us?” ACTIVISM ISN’T TRANSACTIONAL. You are supposed to support a movement because you genuinely care for the issues, the cause and the ppl involved. You do it because you want to help ppl that face terrible shit cause of oppressive systems. So to say “I did this now u have to help me” is inherently selfish because at the end of the day, you only supported the cause with the incentive of getting the support back. You only saw BLM as a trend and now that you are the centre of the latest “trend” you want the support. As OP stated, these asian ppl exploiting BLM as a guilty tool especially when SAH owes so much to BLM is just hypocritical, antiblack and gross. and this doesn’t even factor in the prominent antiblackness permeating the asian community as is. I actually wrote a post here calling out the influencer IAMKARENO for doing this - and she’s just one of so so so many on IG, Tik Tok and Twitter.

OP also brought up a fantastic point that BLM has been going on for YEARS. This means several years of organizing, of protest, of taking the streets, of fighting for policy and policy changes, of research, of grassroots efforts, of community-led initiatives, of education, of funding, of collective action etc. This also means activists being arrested, facing jail time, some have been injured or even killed. Blood, sweat and tears goes into this continuous fight. BLM has been fighting hard and hasn’t stopped fighting for years for their causes and for the betterment of Black Lives - the way Asian ppl call the Black community hypocrites for “not supporting SAH” and even ACCUSE them of committing the violence is like spitting in their faces. I mention this later on, but SAH has only started and has barely done anything - the AUDACITY for these ppl to want the movement to be on the same level as BLM without putting in the hard work, the time and the effort and then BLAMING them is disgusting. They have helped us enough when they didn’t even have to - it’s up to us now to actually put in the work and time. OP called SAH a rip-off of BLM and I agree - SAH is trying to follow the same formula but with no depth and lack of substantial efforts. If SAH wants to be a real movement it has to keep pushing forward in its own way and stop trying to imitate and want the same results as BLM. Cause rn it honestly seems like asian ppl put in more effort in asking and guilt-tripping ppl for support than doing any work as if others are supposed to do the work for us.

(also whoever claims that it’s primarily Black ppl committing the hate crimes I hope you get your ass beat. Like I hope someone manifests into ur house and beats you to a pulp for spreading that racist and completely false garbage. I’ve seen that narrative floating around and not only is it a blatant LIE but it demonizes Black ppl further and pushes harmful antiblack narratives. you will burn in hell if u spread that shit around I guarantee it.)

Onto my next point - as a movement, what exactly is the goal of SAH? What does it do and how does it help? you brought up many fantastic points - Stop Asian Hate became a movement as a response to hate crimes against e and se Asian ppl and them being scapegoated as the cause of COVID-19. Diving deeper, we realize these hate crimes occur because ppl see e and se asian ppl as the cause of covid because of the perpetual foreigner narrative (in which we will always be seen as too foreign for the West and never belonging) and this weird orientalist view that e and se asian ppl eat weird things which caused COVID. It’s the narrative that we are too strange, too foreign and too weird thus, we deserve to be dehumanized cause our foreignness is threatening. Stop Asian Hate also brings to attention racism and ignorance against Asian ppl in general and calls out both the explicit and implicit ways it manifests in Western society (as u perfectly stated). And u r right that racism against e and se asian ppl manifests so much differently than other forms - a lot of it is rooted in racism and ignorance. however, SAH only addresses racism against e and se asian ppl on a personal level AND only addresses the E and SE asian communities (thus conflating the term “Asian” with only those communities when many others exist). simultaneously, ppl have criticized the establishment of a “pan-asian” movement because we are all so diverse and face different obstacles (as u have mentioned).

many asian ppl have expressed their dislike of the usage “stop asian hate” and instead prefer “protect asian lives”. This is because stopping asian hate isn’t a long term goal because the way the movement is framed right now, the solution is actually quite easy. To stop asian hate all u literally have to do is stop hating asian ppl. Stop committing hate crimes and stop being racist towards asian ppl and all is solved. But that only addresses individual racism which yes, may lead to asian ppl feeling more accepted within their personal communities but doesn’t actually address anything systemically. Tik Tok user @haileyych (I suggest following them they r super well spoken and great at covering issues!) also points out that SAH allows for framing the issue as “Black vs. Asian” (which many Asian and White ppl have succumbed to thinking) thus ignoring the white institutions that enforce violence against Asian ppl. Because even if we were to rid the world of racism and ignorance against asian ppl, there are still systems put into place that actively oppress them.

Here’s Haileyych’s video that perfectly explains this point: VIDEO !!!

When we speak of systemic racism, we mean dismantling systems of oppression that push these harmful stereotypes narratives and that present social, economic and legal obstacles for asian ppl. Where does the perpetual foreigner narrative come from and how is it embedded into and enforced by our institutions? How does our education system and the immigration system and the military for example, harm and oppress asian ppl - and when I mean asian I mean west, North, central, south, southeast and East Asian ppl? There are so much bigger factors here at play when we take into account historical and political contexts that help us fully understand what harms asian ppl. Thus, we need to “protect asian lives” rather than just “stop asian hate.”

Unlike SAH, we can see how BLM actually tackles systemic racism through efforts in the legal system, prison abolition, defunding and abolishing the police, housing, social services etc. BLM not only addresses individual antiblack racism and police brutality but also calls out these oppressive institutions that actively work to marginalize the black community. Not only that but BLM was officially established in 2013 and has been working so hard for their issues and their cause - they deserve every piece of recognition and support they have received and more. SAH (or moreso Protect Asian Lives) can only rlly become its own movement once it actually establishes its own goal by working on dismantling its own oppressive systems - and I’m not saying this to compare the two. this is the main purpose of a social movement. they are meant to empower people and enact change - and real change starts by addressing and targeting the system. By lacking this vital part, SAH is barely a movement. But as my mutual @vanillasoylent has mentioned (sorry btw lol by the time I finally publish this it would have been a long time since then) SAH has actually gained an increase in police funding in efforts to stop these hate crimes - which really goes to show how SAH’s focus is mistargeted. SAH contributing and supporting a system that actively works to oppress the black community (and in general is an authoritarian force that works solely for the interest of the state) for its own gain is antiblack and terrible. This is not real activism and this is not what a social justice movement should support. This is why I cannot stress enough that POC solidarity, as nonexistent as it is, is one of the most important and imperative factors for protect asian lives. We must be pro-black and support the black community whilst resisting and fighting against white supremacy to truly get this movement going - not constantly pointing fingers at the Black community when they don’t owe us a single thing.

Elaborating more on the vitality of POC Solidarity, systems that affect Asian ppl also affect other racialized minorities. We do not face these obstacles in the same way but we do suffer under these same oppressive systems. For example, the immigration system does not only affect immigrants from Asia but also immigrants from Africa, South America, Central America and North America etc. (we saw this recently with asylum seekers from Haiti facing inhumane violence at the US border). I will elaborate more on systems of oppression that oppress asian ppl later on, but u will see that these systems do not only affect asian ppl but many other communities.

That is not to say I think SAH is useless. I think u r absolutely correct that SAH is doing good things for the asian community - they have brought attention to implicit and explicit racism on an individual level against asian ppl and uplift fantastic asian-led initiatives that address intracommunity issues such as mental health or organizations that help sex workers, LGBTQIA+ Asian ppl etc. they have also brought attention to how the media portrays harmful racist tropes and stereotypes of Asian ppl that get permeated into society and in turn, affect us as a human beings. It’s a good starting point. Racism and ignorance on an individual level are good to address but where do we jump to after? Or rather, we can dismantle oppressive institutions AND address personal racism simultaneously. SAH as it is now lacks sustainability and real depth - it needs to have long-term goals in place for the betterment of the wellbeings of all asian ppl. OP stated this so clearly and perfectly in their post and we can see its clear shallow nature thru just one look at the SAH tag; see how it is pinned at number 2 but there are barely any new posts in it? And even if there are, they don’t say anything substantial just the basic “DON’T BE RACIST TO ASIAN PPL!”, irrelevant selfies using the tag for clout or supporting the racist incel from Shang Chi (that is... a whole other can of worms in itself). The only substantial ones are old ones that pertain to Free Palestine, gofundmes etc.

Now u may be wondering, what institutions are there for us to dismantle? There’s colonialism such as the illegal Israeli occupation of Palestine for example. There’s post-colonialism and dismantling its harmful after effects such as the British occupation in India, colonization of the Philippines by Spain etc. There’s imperialism such as American imperialism in Afghanistan, Iraq, the Philippines, South Korea etc. There’s labour exploitation of workers in developing countries (ex. mass production of fast fashion) such as Bangladesh, Cambodia, Sri Lanka etc. There’s the sex tourism and trafficking industry that has brought upon the harmful fetishization of asian women that occurs in Thailand, Cambodia, the Philippines etc. and the exploitation of poor Asian women. there’s the immigration system that has enforced violent borders and made immigration so expensive and difficult for all asian ppl to immigrate here despite western countries invading many Asian countries, killing their ppl and taking whatever resources they want. there’s the inhumane abuse of refugees and asylum seekers where they are detained, abused and forced to live in terrible conditions for merely trying to seek a better life. There’s national security which actively works to target ppl from the Middle East, South Asia and North Africa (ex. No-fly list in Canada, Airport checks, security certificates etc.). There’s racist and/or islamophobic policies such as the restrictions of wearing the hijab in Quebec (I’m from Canada so I know more canadian examples). And of course, the media, politics (especially propaganda such as red scare) and the education system, which still perpetuate harmful stereotypes and teach racist narratives to this day. These are some of the systems that oppress asian ppl and these are what protect asian lives should be working to dismantle to work towards reaching a goal of protecting asian lives everywhere on top of dismantling racism, xenophobia and the perpetual foreigner narrative.

Overall, as I said in my tags, SAH is mostly boba liberalism (especially with these weird calls to support Shang Chi when Simu Liu is an antiblack incel and p*do apologist that has said homophobic things and Awkwafina is infamous for being antiblack, for the sole purpose of “Asian representation”) at the moment. SAH as it is now, still allows and perpetuates antiblackness whether it be antiblack asian ppl thinking activism is transactional, blaming the black community for violence or supporting “asian representation” that is antiblack in nature or has antiblack elements. It only calls for dismantling racism and xenophobia on a personal level and still has a long way to go even in this regard (ex. Inclusion of all Asian groups, addressing intracommunity issues). In order to become a real sustainable movement that calls for revolution and change, it must put in the work to dismantle oppressive systems - and MUST support Black Lives.

Thank u for this ask and I hope this made sense! So sorry it took me MONTHS to write this out lol and I hope you see this. Have a lovely day anon ! 💗

[favefandomimagines]

Goodbye Love (t.h.)

Summary: Tom doesn’t realize how much being shipped with another woman hurts you, until you leave.

AN: i did a concept like this with a ben hardy imagine so I thought I’d do it with Tom. This is old and is one of the 41 drafts i have saved but too scared to post lol SO i hope you enjoy (using hailey bieber as a face claim cause i felt weird having a faceless photo of someone on a red carpet) xx

Ever since Tom had finished filming Spider-Man: Far From Home, the tomdaya shippers have been in full swing.

Shipping them ten times as hard as they did the first time. It was easy to ignore but now it was getting hard. Especially when Tom isn’t doing anything to make it stop.

His fans found an interview of him, being asked if he found his Liz Allen in real life and when he answered yes, the video was edited to show videos and pictures of him and Zendaya. Even though in that interview he was talking about you.

Currently in Atlanta, you sat on the bed you shared with Tom, Tessa laying close to you, almost as if she knew that you were upset. You were waiting for Tom to come home, though you were a nervous wreck. How were you supposed to tell him how you felt and that you were going home for a little bit?

“Love, I’m home!” Tom called from the living room. You didn’t move and neither did Tessa. Which was odd because she always left to go greet Tom when he got home.

He entered the room and saw you two on the bed. “There are my girls.” He greeted with a smile on his face. He walked over and tried to kiss your lips but you moved your head so his lips landed on your cheek instead.

Tom looked at you for a moment, a curious look falling on his face. “What’s wrong?” He asked. Tom knew you inside and out and he could tell something was wrong with you.

You didn’t look up at him, just handed him your phone with the screenshots and screen recordings, of people praising him and Zendaya’s nonexistent relationship and degrading you and your real one.

“Two years, Tom. I’ve been going through this for two years.” You finally spoke. “At first, I ignored it. Knowing I could put up with it for a few months while the movie was out and you were doing press. Then it just kept getting worse. Seeing people call me terrible names and wanting you to break up with me and wanting me to-” You started but stopping yourself, the more intense comments being worse than most. “Y/N-“ He tried to speak. “And you know what the worst part is? You haven’t done a single thing to end it.” You cut him off.

You still hadn’t looked at him when you got off the bed and grabbed the two bags you packed.

Tom watched you place them on the bed and his heart started to beat faster and his eyes widened. “W-What are you doing?” He asked. “I think, I should go back to LA for a little bit and just let you think things through. Is letting your fans have some fun with the idea of tomdaya worth losing me?” You replied.

“Y/N, please don’t do this. Please don’t leave me.” Tom begged, tears welling up in his eyes. “We’re just taking a break, Tom. But if you decide that I’m not worth it, that’s going to be it.” You told him. You picked up the bags and headed towards the door when Tom grabbed your wrist. “Please don’t leave.” Tom whispered.

You looked at him for a moment before leaning in and pressing a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth. “I have too.” You whispered back. Tom reluctantly let go of your wrist as you opened the door.

Tessa got down off the bed and began to follow you out the bedroom door. The dog began to cry softly as you headed towards the front door of the airbnb. “Goodbye, love.” You said to Tom before exiting the house.

Tom watched you leave, the tears falling freely at that point. He didn’t know it had gotten so bad for you. He’s ignored the shipping a million times knowing it was you he loved but he never knew you were second guessing everything about your relationship and yourself.

He ran his hands through his hair out of frustration before retreating back to the bedroom.

***

It had been three weeks. Three weeks since he had seen you. Of course he’d seen the photos of you in LA. Just because you’re going through something emotionally, doesn’t mean your career stops.

You had been doing a bunch of press for the TV season you had just wrapped before you went to Atlanta with Tom. It was the best idea you could think of to get your mind off of Tom.

He wasn’t having such luck. Everything reminded him of you and he wasn’t the same knowing that your relationship was in the balance. And everyone around him noticed.

“Tom, what’s going on?” Zendaya asked him one day. “Y/N didn’t leave for work, she left because of the fans shipping you and I. She couldn’t take it anymore.” Tom answered. “What do you mean?” She asked. “I’m supposed to be her boyfriend and you’re supposed to be her friend and yet we let thousands of people ship us together, without even thinking of how that could make Y/N feel.” Tom ranted.

Zendaya had never thought of that before. She didn’t realize just how cruel the fans were until she checked while she was talking to Tom.

“Oh yeah. This is, uh, very bad.” Zendaya said. Tom looked at her phone and noticed that there were new comments.

‘Y/N is so beneath Tom. Zendaya is a queen’

‘Y/N should just kill herself.’

‘Y/N’s show is gonna flop and then tom will see how much better zendaya is’

‘tomdaya is better.’

Tom’s stomach twisted seeing all the negative comments about his girlfriend and one wanting her to end her life. If they were really his fans, they’d support him 100%. “How could they be so cruel?” Tom asked. “I don’t know but maybe we do need to say something.” Zendaya replied.

“I need to get her to come back.” He muttered. “You setting your fans straight will do that.” Zendaya told him. Tom nodded his head before taking out his phone and posting an old picture of you at the Infinity War premiere.

@tomholland2013: i am going to be blunt and i’ve never done this before so bear with me. but the constant shipping of Zendaya and I, had gotten out of hand. I am in a happy and loving relationship with the woman in this photo. You don’t have to like it but you have to respect it. Y/N is the love of my life and seeing her being brought down my total strangers, breaks my heart. No fan of mine brings her down. And that’s that. @y/f/n_y/l/n

You got the notification that Tom had tagged you in a photo. Swiping your phone, you read the caption carefully. “He finally did it.” You said to yourself. But why now, two weeks later?

That conversation wasn’t one to have over the phone so you had your agent get you the next flight to Atlanta.

“Are you sure you want to leave half way through press?” She asked you. “I have too. Everyone will understand, they know how much Tom means to me.” You answered. “Okay. Your flight lands at 9:45 and pack an umbrella. There’s supposed to be a huge storm when you land.” She told you. You gave her a gracious smile before getting in your Uber.

***

Tom sat on the couch, quietly watching whatever soccer game was on, only wishing you were there next to him. You hated watched soccer with him because of how competitive he got but whenever he asked, you watched with him. 

He was knocked out of his reminiscing by the sound of his phone vibrating. Seeing it was Harrison, he sighed but picked it up. “Hello?” He answered. “Are you still sulking?” Harrison asked his best friend. “What do you think?” Tom retorted. “You have to stop that, Tom. She’ll come back when she’s ready.” Harrison told him. 

Tom sighed, knowing well that Harrison could hear. “Look, you saw the comments. They’re terrible. Telling her to kill herself so that you and Zendaya can finally be together. You don’t get over something like that over a few nights.” He added. “I know, but I just wish I could make it better. It’s been three weeks.” Tom said. “I know but you did all you can do. It’s all up to her now.” Harrison said. 

Tom knew his best friend was right. He knew you needed time to yourself, to make sure you were fully ready to come back to him. “But, if it’s any consolation, I had a surprise sent to your doorstep.” Harrison added. “What?” Tom questioned. “And you might wanna hurry up and bring it inside before it gets absolutely soaked.” He said. 

With furrowed eyebrows Tom got off the couch with his phone still pressed to his ear. “What are you on about?” Tom asked him. “Just do it.” Harrison ordered. Tom rolled his eyes and walked towards the door. He opened it up to reveal a soaking wet you. 

“Hi, love.” You greeted him, the sound of the rain nearly drowning out your voice. “Y/N, w-wha- you’re here.” Tom stammered. “Yes, I am now can you please let me inside before I get pneumonia?” You asked with a small laugh. 

Tom didn’t let you inside but instead hung up the phone and walked outside to pull you into him. He didn’t care if you were soaked from the rain or the fact that he was also getting wet as well. The only thing that mattered to him was you. 

“Tom, you’re going to get sick.” You told him, breaking the silence. “I don’t care. That’s the last thing I care about. I just need to hold you.” He replied.

You let go and looked up at him for a moment. “Y/N, I was a mess without you. You are everything to me and not having you here was hell.” Tom told you. “I love you, I am so in love with you. And I’m so sorry.” He added.

You didn’t say anything at first but wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down closer to you, to place a deep kiss on his lips.

Pulling apart, he rested his forehead on yours. “Let’s get inside before you catch a cold.” You told him, pushing him inside the house.

Tessa barked and ran to you and a large smile made it’s way to your face. “Tess! I missed you!” You greeted the dog, crouching down to her level. Tom smiled at the sight, feeling as if everything was back to normal.

“Y/N,” Tom started, causing you to turn to face him. He offered you his hand, which you took, to help you up from your crouched position. “I will never make you feel unimportant again. I am so sorry.” He said. You gave him a warm smile before kissing him gently.

“I know. It’s okay.” You replied. “I love you, Y/N. With everything I have.” He told you. “And I love you.” You said, the two of you plus Tessa cuddling on the couch for the night. 

[zigtheeortega]

redeemed

pairing | m!raleigh x mc

word count | 6.6k

warnings | cursing, innuendos, mentions of sex

tags | @natesewell, @choicesarehard, @empressazura, @raleighcarrera, @pixeljazzy, @pixelsandkink [tagging people who usually ask to be tagged !] 

author’s note | i’ve talked about this before but i’m not a huge fan of the platinum mc’s personality, so i’ve kind of crafted my own that’s quite a bit more rebellious than canon. i’m obsessed with the idea of an mc who’s romancing raleigh and falls into the same pattern of behavior and it genuinely concerns them – so yeah i play with that idea here! i deviate from canon some but not too much ! this is my submission for day 2 of @platinumweekend as well ! also i had no idea how to end this so i apologize for the fizzle out at the end lol

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As soon as he stepped off stage, he was shuffled to his tour bus, Fiona on his heels. She looked like the human embodiment of rage in a grey blazer, a look in her eye that made him thankful he wasn’t the one it was directed at – or at least he hoped he wasn’t the reason she was two seconds away from a murderous rampage.

She slammed the door behind her, locking it, running to the windows and closing the curtains, peeking out at the paparazzi that no doubt had already tried flocking at the edges of the blocked off area where the bus was parked.

“Damn, what’s the problem? Can’t I at least get my food from craft services? Jesus,” he complained, grabbing a bottle of water from the fully stocked mini fridge, downing it while Fiona frantically ran around the bus, turning off every electrical device in sight.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

She wheeled on him, a few strands of her hair sticking to her lips. “We’ve got a problem.”

“Yeah, you won’t let me go get my fuckin’ overpriced grilled cheese that I know is waiting for me,” he jabbed his thumb towards the venue. “At craft services.”

She eyed him, pupils wide, her anger nearly palpable. “It’s bigger than food.”

He ran a hand through his damp hair, some strands completely drenched in sweat. “Lay it on me.”

And the three words that fell from her lips were soul crushing, his post-show high wearing off in an instant.

“Dom’s been arrested.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He sat up, posture rigid. “What happened?”

“Not here. We’ll talk on the plane,” Fiona said, twisting the knob of the closet door, grabbing the black duffel bag on the ground. She tossed it at his feet, motioning for him to stand. “The jet leaves in an hour. I packed for you.”

“The plane? Where is she?” He was getting more and more frustrated, nearing hysterics. He should’ve felt a bit more shame about how worked up he was getting, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

Fiona took notice, her fiery gaze softening at the edges, the blue flames flickering across his face. “Not here, Raleigh.”

He slung the duffle bag on his shoulder, walking to the door.

“Wait –” Fiona said, leaning over the couch to pull the curtain to the side, peering out again. “I paid off a security guard to distract the paparazzi. And when he does, we have to run to the car that’s gonna pull up any minute now – undetected,” she shot back at him, her icy gaze warning.

Within minutes, a security guard with a similar build to Raleigh sprinted towards the venue, jacket over his head, paparazzi on his heels.

With the camera’s flashing finally pointed away, they were able to slide into the back of the cab, thankful that Hank had connections everywhere. The driver rolled up the barrier without question as soon as Fiona tossed him a wad of cash that she’d fished out of a plain leather pouch.

She shook the pouch, her lips set in a thin line. “You know what this is?”

“A purse?” He asked, brows furrowed. “Is this some kind of fuckin’ trick?”

“It’s an emergency fund. Cash. Not traceable.”

She shook her head, dropping the pouch into her lap, before pinching the bridge of her nose. “When Dom first started getting into trouble, I had to pay off a few people here and there, but when it became more frequent, I had to actually sit her down with her accountant and sort this out.”

“Sort… what out?”

“How much money she needed to allocate to her… antics,” she rolled her eyes, propping her elbow on the back of her seat, hand pressed to her forehead.

She looked drained. Fiona never looked disheveled, but he sensed this was the closest she’d be to it.

“If it’s money she needs, that’s fine. Lemme call my agent –”

“There’s only so much cash I can hand people under the table before it becomes a problem. Not just financially, put publicly,” she sighed, chewing the inside of her cheek. “I’ve been able to cover up the smaller mishaps, but this, I’m afraid, might be the start of something… much worse than disorderly conduct.”

“You gonna tell me her charges?” His jaw set in anticipation, already running through a list of the best lawyers in L.A. that got him off from potentially hefty lawsuits.

Her short locks swayed as she shook her head. “I don’t think it’s my place to tell you.”

He blew air out of his cheeks, leaning into the corner of the cab, legs splayed wide as he tried to take a nonchalant stance. “Can you at least tell me where we’re going?”

“You’ll be glad you have a bedroom, shower, and fridge on the plane,” she said with another shake of her head.

––––

Raleigh laid in bed, aimlessly scrolling through his burner account.

He never really cared for social media under the public eye. Every post of his was either related to tour or the series of brand deals for products he never used. Each page was a personified advertisement – some shit he regretted signing up for.

One drunken night, his curiosity got the best of him and he found himself making a pretty inconspicuous profile, following some funny internet personalities and political commentators. And although he had plans to delete it, once Dom came into the picture, he unabashedly lurked.

He followed her on all platforms, and when he had the chance, he watched her stories, voted in her daily polls, and occasionally scrolled through her old instagram photos.

This time in particular, though, he was looking for something specific without really knowing if there was an answer.

He scrolled to her first post, hundreds down, smiling at high school Dom. Thick eyeliner, layered hair, brace-adorned grin – she was a poster child of adolescence.

Photos of her with Shane at pep rallies, in Halloween costumes, in prom formal wear filled the screen, later transitioning to senior portraits, graduation photos, and dorm photos. A setting of picturesque normality as Dom grew into herself, growing out her choppy layers, softening her makeup, her gleaming smile lighting up each photo.

She grew more beautiful with each year, each little phase of her life coming with a new style, a new little identity or association, Dom’s willingness to try new things the reason she was able to break free from her small town.

God, was Raleigh so fucking envious of this imperfect little portion of her Instagram. If someone were to look this far back for him, there’d be photoshoots and magazine spreads and paparazzi photos all neatly planned. The shaky off-guard photos, the unedited red eyes, the off guard photos, the expressions they made in them… it was something Raleigh never had the chance to do.

Being in the business for ten years, everything was pristine, crisp – always smiling or smoldering, no in between. Sexy and rugged or smiling and happy. Like he had two modes and he wasn’t ever able to exercise those other parts of himself because being in front of the camera was restrictive – while Dom was able to be unabashedly herself.

He was breaking shit just to feel something, to have some range of emotions even if it was a stupid fucking publicity stunt where he damaged property or made out with another politician’s daughter or attempted irreparable blows to his public image.

The more recent the posts, the more calculated her photos got, the phrase “ad” showing up more and more. But even with a skincare brand deal, her step-by-step skincare routine video was on brand for Dom, her bright smile and wit always present in everything she did.

But Raleigh couldn’t help but feel like parts of her were slipping away.

Her online persona was still pretty crisp, except for her style shift – tattoos, a couple piercings, and some edgier photoshoots signified a tonal shift in Dom’s aesthetic, but nothing he hadn’t seen before.

Hell, when he used his first innuendo on his solo album, there was widespread outrage on Sunset Skatepark fan forums, ripping into him for singing about using his dick (even though he was definitely an adult and definitely not a virgin).

But other than her general style, nothing was different. Nothing to indicate this downward spiral that Fiona kept a secret.

Where’s the shift? He thought to himself as he scrolled to the top. When the hell did she start changing for the worse?

She’d come a long way from her clean songs that didn’t require a radio edit. He felt a pang of something in his chest –– regret, maybe? Was he the reason she’d changed?

The questions sent him into a near tailspin, his pulse quickening at the realization.

He was the problem.

She’d since deleted her photos with Raleigh, because their breakup was so public, but he could tell that the shift happened right around the time she started spending more time with him.

He’d been a mentor of sorts, opposite of Avery, showing her the ropes… which meant that he was teaching her how to evade the press, fuck with the paparazzi, pick out industry plants – the whole nine yards.

She was impulsive, daring, adventurous, fearless – all the qualities he liked in himself. But he never thought those traits would take a negative turn, morphing her into a rebel with an affinity for breaking laws.

He could blame himself all he wanted, but he couldn’t blame her for taking the same route he took. 

He knew it better than anybody – it was hard to shift the public’s persona of you. Once you did something horrible to make them hate you, either the rebrands and ass kissing worked, or you get written off by everyone.

Raleigh Carrera was a special case, a wild card of sorts who toed the line, unpredictable, both with his craft and his behavior. The nastier his lyrics, the crazier his publicity stunts were, the more polarizing he was.

And that was no doubt the route Dom was on, heading towards an inevitable press nightmare – if people were to find out the home grown rags-to-riches Dominique Avalos dove headfirst into her rebellious phase with no smooth transition, she wouldn’t be able to Google herself for months without having a panic attack.

She’d changed drastically, but that’s what fame did to people. Some people cracked under the pressure, or they rebelled to show the public they were in control of their narrative… or that they desperately wanted it back.

He took a shaky breath, swiping out of the app.

He wasn’t sure if he could save her, but he’d be damned if he wasn’t gonna try.

––––

The moment the jet touched down, Fiona was in full manager mode, adamant on abandoning his phone, stressing the importance of going off the grid.

“If anyone finds out you’re here, they’ll be able to put two and two together. Why else would you be in the same country as Dom when you’re supposed to be heading towards New York for your next show?” She asked, hand outstretched.

“I hate it when you’re right,” he grumbled, tossing his phone into her palm. “Where are we exactly?”

“I can’t tell you,” she sighed, looking exhausted. He had a gut feeling she hadn’t slept a wink since they’d boarded the plane.

“Why not?”

“It’s a bit safer that way.”

He scoffed. “You’re serious? Look, I’m not exactly thrilled to pull the A-List celebrity card, but this is borderline kidnapping.” 

“Let’s just say you might be able to pick up on some of the language,” she said, turning on her heel to exit the plane.

Within minutes, they were pulling onto a dirt backroad, the small houses they passed barely casting shadows onto the ground.

The town itself was seemingly innocuous – the tiny brick houses riddled with dust, the stone paths lining the road cracked and deserted. The tiny town had turned in for the night, their old Sedan sticking out like a sore thumb despite the old model.

Raleigh squirmed in his seat, twisting the expensive watch on his wrist. He fucking hated this.

No matter where he went, he was noticed in some capacity – so wearing a Rolex and Cartier rings in a small village in the middle of nowhere just made him look pretentious.

He slipped the rings and watches off, shoving them deep into the pocket of his jeans, ignoring Fiona’s calculating side eye (one he knew all too well).

The only light, other than the gas lamp posts and their high beams, came from the building at the end of the road.

The car pulled around the side, flicking their lights off, the driver peeking around before motioning for them to exit the car.

“Throw the hoodie on, Raleigh,” Fiona ordered while slipping on a ball cap of her own, her casual t-shirt and leggings wildly different from her normal outfit.

“Sure,” he murmured, tugging the hood on.

The walk from the car to the dusty glass front door was short, Fiona breaking into a light jog to keep up with Raleigh’s brisk pace.

The makeshift “waiting room” in the front corner of the station was empty, the scratched up folding chairs in crooked rows. The front desk was occupied by a sleeping form, head buried in the crease of his elbow, snore muffled by the counter top.

The other officer stood at the back near an old vending machine, sliding coins into the slot, the clink of each piece ringing out against the brick and linoleum.

No cameras, he thought, after a quick scan of the room, shoving the hood back in its place at the nape of his neck.

The holding cells were farther back, but he couldn’t see her.

He stepped up to the counter where the man was sleeping, giving a gentle knock to the top. The man stirred, unfurling his arms, while the other man in the back glanced up from where he was, elbows deep in the snack machine as he fished out his bag of chips.

Raleigh offered a basic greeting in Spanish, frowning just a bit when both officers’ eyes lit up – the phrase “famoso” and “celebridad” falling from their lips almost as soon as they recognized him.

Yeah, he was gonna use his notoriety to their advantage, but that didn’t mean it still didn’t sting when people immediately tried gauging what they could get from him when they realized who he was.

For a long time he’d been waiting for the day where name dropping himself didn’t get him out of deep shit.

And the day he met Dom, when he assumed she knew who he was, all she did was raise her brow as if to say “Why the fuck should I care?”

It startled him, truthfully. But it was such a breath of fresh air. He couldn’t remember a time before or after that someone showed no interest in him.

The officer in the back jogged to the front, pulling his phone out of his back pocket while asking for a picture.

He looked to Fiona, who was shaking her head furiously, stepping up next to him like her 5’5 stature was enough to shield him. “Nobody can know we’re here.”

He nodded, turning back to the men, trying to negotiate with them.

Yes, Dom’s here.

No, you can’t see her.

He racked his brain trying to figure out how he was gonna get himself – and Dom – out of the situation unscathed if he couldn’t give them a photo or autograph.

“Dom bought me the Rolex and Cartier rings, right?”

Fiona’s brows furrowed. “Yes. She gifted them to you on your birthday. You know this –”

“No, what I mean is, she has the receipts? Or you do?”

“I don’t have them, but I have access to them,” she said, still confused.

“Get rid of ‘em. I haven’t told anyone she bought them for me.”

Her face lit up in recognition, and she nodded, encouraging him to go on.

He dug in his pockets, fishing out the watch and thin bands.

After a quick exchange, the officers took two rings each, and began rapid fire arguing over the Rolex. They tossed Raleigh the keys, stepping out the front door.

“I’ll keep watch,” Fiona said, turning towards the door.

“Hey –” Raleigh said, laying a hand on her shoulder.

She quirked a brow at him. “What?”

“You’re not coming with?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Why not? I’m not even sure what the fuck I’m supposed to say –”

“She specifically asked for you.”

He took a step back, resting his palm on the countertop behind him. “What the – are you… are you serious?”

She nodded once. “She might’ve been slurring, but she was clear as day. She wanted you.”

He blew air out of his cheeks, running a hand through his short waves.

Fiona’s gaze softened, her eyes still piercing. Fiona was a lot of things – steadfast, headstrong, determined – but she wasn’t soft. She didn’t sugar coat shit.

“She’s missed you. She doesn’t confide in me much, but even I can tell she’s unhappy. Be gentle with her,” she said, gaze tearing right through him.

The walk to the holding cells felt miles long – his resolve was shrinking with every step.

He wasn’t afraid of seeing Dom, not at all. He was afraid of whatever part of himself that might’ve been reflected in her.

The cell was empty, save for the curled form on the bench, long dark hair cascading over the edges of the seat.

“Dom?” He called, hearing her sharp inhale of breath as she stirred, bending into a long stretch, her limbs unfurling until she was lying on her back on the bench, tilting her head towards his voice.

God, even when she looked like life had torn her to shreds, she still looked beautiful.

“Raleigh?” She croaked, her eyes squinting to adjust to the low lights. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

She arched her back, stretching again, her long frame covering the bench. It was almost the right level of distracting to stop the creeping annoyance at her question.

“What do you mean? I’m here to bail you out, obviously.”

“Where’s Fiona?” She asked groggily, rolling off the side of the bench awkwardly, trying to gain her footing.

“You asked for me, didn’t you?” He raised a brow, sliding his forearms through the bars, resting them there.

“She told you?” She asked, voice raising in betrayal, a scoff following his silence. “I was drunk.”

“And? You still asked for me.”

 “Oh, fuck off,” she murmured, crossing her arms as soon as she was balanced.

He dangled the keys between his fingertips, gently jingling them. “I’ll let you out if you tell me what happened.”

Her lip curled in annoyance. “You’d really leave me here?”

“You don’t want to find out.”

She ran a hand through her hair, blowing air out of her cheeks. “Alright.”

He unlocked the door and slipped in, the heavy door creaking as he slid it wide enough for him to fit through.

She backed up, plopping back onto the bench, arms lowering to curl around her sides.

He followed suit, sitting a couple feet away from her on the other end of the bench, shoving his hands in the front pocket of his hoodie.

She stared at the floor, clearly waiting for him to make a move.

“So…”

“So, what?” She grumbled.

“So… how’d you end up here?” He asked, trying to remain as relaxed as he could since she was clearly on edge, ready to tear him a new one at a moment’s notice.

“I was drunk. I got in a fight. Here I am.”

He sighed. “Look, you don’t have to tell me everything, but I can’t help you if I don’t know if you’re ankles deep or neck deep.”

She chewed her lip, chin dipping lower, strands of her hair falling forward, creating an inky veil. “Fine. I’ll tell you but… can you not… look at me?”

Raleigh’s face contorted in confusion, but he listened, swivelling until he was facing the back wall, propping one leg up on the bench.

He waited for her to speak. The break in conversation was a bit too long – but before a quip could fall from his lips, she spoke.

“I did get drunk, and I did get in a fight. I’m telling the truth but I, uh, left out some details,” she started, her voice low.

“I, uh, was passing through this town after my last show because I wanted to go to a bar without being noticed. Like the old days. I know it was stupid, but I didn’t think anyone would find me here.”

That was her first mistake. Smaller towns surprisingly had the most dedicated fans – maybe because they’re bored or nothing exciting happened in their towns, but most of his die hard fans came from the middle of nowhere. 

“The first hour was fine, and I was able to drink and dance with strangers. Most of them were a lot older than me and spoke zero English – and I speak a little bit of Spanish as you know, so I could make some small talk, but I was on my own just… enjoying myself and my freedom,” she said, and he could almost see the grin tug at the corner of her lips.

“I noticed someone taking photos of me with their phone, so I got a bit paranoid and sat in a booth in the back drinking for a little while longer so I could figure out my next move,” she continued, before sighing loudly. “I guess they told the local news or something, because by the time I decided to leave, I ran smack into a reporter on the sidewalk.”

Silence ensued again, this time more deafening than the last.

“I didn’t mean to give her a black eye. Or break the camera. Or elbow the camera man in the face when he tried restraining me. I just… couldn’t think straight. I was mad. Intoxicated and wrong, but still mad.”

“I know Fiona’s trying her best to get me out of this mess but… I think I went too far this time.”

Raleigh stared at the wall, racking his brain for something. He was a little dumbfounded that she spilled to him so fast. He figured it was gonna take a bit more digging to get her to open up, but she blossomed in front of him; despite the wilted petals, he was relieved to know she still trusted him enough to confide in him.

“Are you gonna say something?” She asked, a bit timidly.

“Not if I can’t look at you.”

“Okay, then don’t say anything.”

He sighed, settling into his spot on the bench, waiting again for her to speak.

“Why did you come?”

Instinctively, he shrugged. “You asked me to.”

“But you don’t owe me anything. We’re not together.”

“Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t drop everything to come help you. I mean, I’d like to think we’re at least acquaintances, if not friends,” he joked, resting his arm over the back of the bench.

“Sure,” she said, voice straining just a bit. Just enough for him to notice.

Dom was a special kind of resilient – one trait that Raleigh was sure she didn’t copy from him.

He knew that being a woman in the industry was already hard enough – everything from beauty to body standards to raging misogyny was enough to give people reasons to hate her, as stupid as they were.

Raleigh benefitted from the standards in place for men. He was young, attractive, talented – didn’t matter what he did wrong. He’d bounce back.

But he’d seen some vile shit since he’d ascended to fame. So many celebrities fading into obscurity after one mishap. One bad album. One bad interview. One rude encounter. One rumor.

For some reason, despite diving headfirst into troubled waters, Dom bounced back every time, fire in her eyes, her jaw set in determination, her face painted with the look she got when she was ready to face the world.

But whatever she was feeling in that moment, in that jail cell in the middle of nowhere – was enough to break her. 

He heard her take a deep, shaky breath, and he started to turn, but he felt her warm palm on his shoulder, holding him in place.

“Don’t,” she whispered.

He listened to her labored breathing, likely struggling to hold back tears, while he stared at the cracks in the wall, trying to think of something – anything – to console her.

“Did Fiona seem… upset?” She asked, seeming a bit nervous.

“It’s kind of hard to tell, to be honest. She’s pretty intense all of the time,” he laughed, not really meaning to.

He was relieved to hear a light chuckle from behind him.

“Yeah, I figure she’s pretty mad at me. I don’t blame her,” she sighed, another break in conversation ensuing. A couple beats later, she asked, bluntly, “Are you mad at me?”

“No,” he answered with zero hesitation. “I know you’d do the same for me.”

She laughed again, a bit more genuine that time. “Not sure where you got that impression.”

“You wouldn’t leave me here to rot if I asked you to come, Dom. You’re not that heartless,” he teased gently, glad that things were taking a lighthearted turn.

“I’m just glad you’re not gonna lecture me. I already know I’m gonna get an earful from Fiona, not to mention the shit I’ll get from Shane and Avery. I couldn’t handle one from you.”

He grimaced. “Uh, well, you’d rather hear it from me than Fiona, right?”

“Oh, you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” she mumbled under her breath.

“You know I normally don’t care what you do, because it’s your life, and you should be able to do whatever the fuck you want, but Dom…” he trailed off, trying to choose his words carefully.

“I know I fucked up, Raleigh. I don’t need you making me feel more guilty than I already am,” she said defensively, voice raised.

“I’m not gonna make you feel guilty. Just offering some advice.” God, did those words feel foreign to him. Offering advice. He never did shit like this for anybody.

He took her silence as a green light. “You’ve just gotta slow down, Dom.”

Whatever impact his words made, he couldn’t see it, since he was still facing the damn wall. “Can I please turn around? I can’t talk to you like this.”

“Sure.”

He adjusted himself on the bench, trying to look attentive without staring. She was stunning, even with the smudged makeup, the dark circles, the red eyes  “You don’t have to do anything and everything you’re asked to do, but you gotta find some kind of balance.”

She wrung her hands in her lap, picking at her cuticles absentmindedly. “Yeah, I know.”

“I mean balance the good and bad, Dom. There’s a line for people like us and you can’t cross it often. You can get close, but you can’t just dive over it and not expect there to be some fallout.”

“I know,” she said, bluntly, looking a bit more annoyed with each word that came from his mouth.

“You can cause some chaos, but some of it isn’t acceptable,” he said, watching her expression contort in anger. “For them. Not acceptable for them. The average person, I mean.”

“Oh, you’re one to fucking talk!” She rolled her eyes. “How are you gonna sit here and tell me that your brand of shit stirring is okay, but mine isn’t?”

“I’m not the one sitting in a jail cell right now, Dom,” he said, calmly but firmly. He wasn’t used to being the rational one, but he had to be level headed. He was trying to save her.

She ran a hand through her hair, leaning back against the back of the bench. “You’re infuriating, you know that?”

“Trust me, I know.”

“You’re hypocritical.”

“Not necessarily,” he said, propping his arm up on the back of the bench. “I was in the industry for years before I started dirtying up my image. You just got here.”

“And you’ve been here too damn long to act the way you do,” she nearly spat, lashing out.

“I’m too far gone,” he simply stated, keeping surprisingly calm through it all.

“What the hell do you mean by that?”

“I’ve been here for a long time, which means, I’ve got a lot more fuck ups under my belt. Irreparable damage, if you will.”

“People love you,” she said, matter-of-factly, like that solved it – it honestly relieved him. A bit of Dom’s naivete from when they first met was shining through.

“People also hate me, because I’m a little shit who sets fires for fun,” he grinned. “For legal reasons, my lawyers insist I clarify that I’m joking.”

She rolled her lips, trying to suppress a smile. “People who hate you don’t know you.”

He nodded. “You’re right, and you’re so close to the point I’m sure you can taste it.”

“I’m too far gone to save. No matter how hard I try for the rest of my career, I can never get away from the wild card label. Plenty of people don’t wanna work with me. I’ve damaged business relationships. Lots of artists don’t want to collab with me because of how it’ll make them look.”

“Why are you telling me all this?”

“Because I know you don’t want this. You’re too good for whatever baggage comes with being a ‘rebel’, Dom. I don’t want to see you turn out like me.”

For the first time that night, she stared at him – really stared at him. Her deep brown, nearly midnight eyes searched his for any sign of insincerity.

“You’re… serious?” She asked finally, brows furrowed in confusion.

“One hundred percent honest,” he said, nodding.

She sat back in her chair, chewing on her lip, contemplating.

“Can you turn back around again?”

He nodded, wordlessly facing the wall again.

“I left out a few details,” she said from behind him.

“I’m listening,” he affirmed.

“I, uh, was pretty hammered by the time I left, so it was even harder for me to understand what people were saying,” she said before he could speak. “I heard the reporter say ‘Raleigh’ and ‘novio’ and I saw red… so… I, uh… swung.”

His chest clenched, tightening until it was difficult to breathe. He was thankful she’d asked him to face the other direction, because he knew his reaction betrayed his cool demeanor.

“I guess I’m not over it,” she laughed humorlessly.

He ran a hand over his face, racking his brain for a response, but coming up short.

“You, um, don’t have to say anything if you don’t feel the same. I shouldn’t have gotten attached. It’s on me.”

That made him turn, swivelling around before she could finish speaking.

She flicked her head towards the bars of the cell, raising a hand to cover her face. “I said ‘don’t look at me’, Raleigh. Goddamn.”

Years and years of PR training and interviews and he had no idea how the fuck to console her. Partially because he was trying to get a grip on whatever the hell was going on in his brain as well.

Instead, he answered her with a question of his own, a tactic he’d used anytime he wanted to deflect in interviews.

“Why can’t I look?”

Dom tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, slowly rotating to meet his gaze. She sank her teeth deep into her bottom lip to keep it from trembling.

“Fuck,” she cursed, rubbing the backs of her hands under her eyes, the dried black mascara under her eyes beginning to liquidate again. “Because I’m crying, Raleigh. And I don’t cry.”

“You wanna tell me what’s wrong? I know there’s more to it than you’re telling me,” he asked, holding up two of his fingers in a solute. “No judgement.”

She sighed, crossing the room to put some distance between them. She began pacing, taking slow steps as she spoke.

“I might’ve fucked up my career and I keep letting people down and I’m destructive because this whole fame thing isn’t what I signed up for and I didn’t think I’d cave under pressure like every other mid twenties child actor who goes through a premature mid-life crisis, but here I fucking am,” she said, nearly out of breath by the end.

His legs carried him across the room before he could think twice, pacing towards her while she strode across the room in the opposite direction.

“God, I’m so fucking stupid –”

“Stop. You’re not stupid.”

“I am,” she said, wheeling on him. “And – and I’m embarrassed. I’m embarrassed that my manager and – and my ex –” She stopped in her tracks, rubbing a palm over her forehead, shutting her eyes.

He reached out to her, but let his hand fall almost immediately.

“My acquaintance had to fly out to a fucking village in the middle of nowhere to bail me out –” 

“Dom, stop –”

“– because I fought a fucking reporter over not being able to handle my fucking feelings –”

“Dom –”

“– like an adult with a functioning frontal lobe all because I love someone who –”

Her eyes popped open, her expression horrified. “Oh my god, I’m – I –”

She dug the heel of her hands into her eyes, dropping into a squat. “Fuck, fuck, Goddammit –”

“Did you just –”

“Yeah, Raleigh, I did. Don’t make me feel worse, alright? I know I fucked up,” she groaned from her heap on the ground.

“You just said you love me, Dom. I think I’m allowed to react,” he said, a slight teasing to his voice.

She glanced up, glaring. “Okay, then, react.”

Her gaze was fiery, her deep brown irises challenging – something else a bit more vulnerable lying beneath.

She was terrified.

He leaned down, gripping her around the waist to pull her back up, wrapping his arms around her upper back, hugging her to his chest.

She melted into his arms, relaxing and leaning into his embrace.

“I didn’t mean to say it,” she murmured into his chest.

“So do you?” He asked, chin gently balanced on her head.

“What?”

“Do you love me?”

“I don’t know,” she said truthfully, voice small.

“You don’t have to know. I don’t know either,” he said, just as earnest, feeling her tense in his arms. “But I do know that I like you enough to want you around, and that counts for something, right?”

She laughed (as genuine as he’d heard it), leaning back to look at him. “Yeah, it does.”

Their bodies were still pressed together, Dom’s chin tilted upwards towards him, their faces nearly touching.

“If this gets out, don’t let anyone make you feel like you’re a bad person,” he said, voice low. “You’re the best person I know –”

Dom closed the gap between them, capturing his lips in an intense kiss. He cupped her face in his palms and held her in place, moaning into her parted lips.

God, there was nothing that compared to kissing her. Nobody matched up. He’d made out with a lot of people since he was flung into stardom at sixteen, and no one – absolutely no one – left him in a daze like she did.

She gripped the strings of his hoodie, pulling him closer, sighing contentedly against him.

The smell of her shampoo mixed with the sweet scent of her skin and the warmth of her hands and her chest flush against his – it was the next best thing to being inside of her.

He pulled back, trying to catch the dreamy, half-lidded look she always got when they parted.

“So… did you take your jet here?”

He smirked and rolled his eyes. “Out of context, that sounds so superficial.”

She grinned, her first genuine smile that night. “Oh, but you’re not? Hanging around a rising artist to cling to relevancy?”

He laughed, the sound reverberating off of the walls. “I really am rubbing off on you, aren’t I?”

“Yep. The good and bad,” she agreed, still smiling at him.

“The good?” He shook his head. “Nah, I’m not so sure about that.”

“You’re literally the reason I haven’t walked out on my label and moved to bum fuck nowhere and lived off the land,” she said, shrugging. “You taught me how to have fun. You were the only one keeping me sane.”

He thought he was the one encouraging her to leap over the edge, but he was the one tugging her arm back.

The whole time he was convinced he was a bad influence, but he was doing some good – for her.

But with that revelation came the guilt at her words.

“‘Were’?”

“Well, we don’t really talk anymore. I haven’t seen you in weeks.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t care about you.”

“Yeah,” she chewed her lip, stepping back, unraveling herself from his embrace. “I’m sorry.”

That was a slap to the face. Dom rarely apologized, because if she felt she was right, she wasn’t going to budge. She was stubborn as hell.

“Huh? Why?” “I don’t want to guilt you into spending time with me… or feeling things for me,” she said, rubbing her arm. “I didn’t mean to corner you.”

“You didn’t. I wanted to come.”

She glanced up, blinking at him. “No, you didn’t –”

“I did,” he emphasized, slipping her hand into his, intertwining their fingers. “I kinda missed being forced to hang out with you. Feels like old times.”

She couldn’t stop the laugh from ripping from her, this one louder than the last. “Oh, shut up.”

“No, but seriously, I’m here for you. Whatever you need. Always.”

“Thank you.” With her free hand, she punched his shoulder lightly. “You’ll regret that sooner or later.”

“Nah,” he said, lip curling into a smirk. “I don’t think I will.”

––––