#has this been done before? almost certainly

[us3rnam3-r3dact3d]

how it is, how it was, how it has to be

Ao3 | 2.8k Words | Darlin's POV

This was not your fault. That was the truth you kept repeating to yourself, the grounding thought that swirled in your addled brain to keep you from coming out of your skin entirely. No matter how D.U.M.P. spun this, no matter what the vamps said when they were questioned, you knew that it wasn’t your fault.

__

Darlin' and Angel have a run in with some vampires. They get arrested. David comes running to help.

TW: Blood and injury, violence, death (not a main character, a random vampire), DUMP sucks and makes this way harder than it should be, poor practices by law enforcement, trauma responses.

This was not your fault. That was the truth you kept repeating to yourself, the grounding thought that swirled in your addled brain to keep you from coming out of your skin entirely. No matter how D.U.M.P. spun this, no matter what the vamps said when they were questioned, you knew that it wasn’t your fault. 

You also happened to have the Alpha-Mate of the Shaw Pack to back you up, which lent you a bit of credibility. You wouldn’t blame any official who had glanced at your cinder block of a file for not believing a word that came out of your mouth. You’d all but made a career out of lying to cops and enforcers, and you weren’t exactly inclined to stop that now, even as Sam attempted to tame you. 

You’d been home for three months. David had known for two and a half. Slowly but surely, the pack had folded you back into itself. You felt like you were circling yourself like a buzzard, on the downdraft, landing on the carcass of the person you used to be. You couldn’t escape the kid you’d been when you were a Shaw. You couldn’t help but see that kid in the mirror every day, in the ugly things you’d done with Quinn, to Quinn.��

People didn’t change, not really. And people weren’t good. 

That was why David’s mate made you so fucking nervous. Everything about them set your nerves on edge. You met them for the first time at the pack meeting where David all but forced you to spill your guts. So frayed, so exposed, their introduction was about as comforting of a thing as you could imagine at the time. 

“Hey.” They’d said, smiling at you like you were an old friend they were relieved to see again. “Come on. Let’s get  burgers or something. I’m starving.” 

That was how it had been with them ever since, an instant familiarity, friendship at first sight. People weren’t good, but they were. You didn’t trust people like that. You didn’t trust things that felt that good that fast. 

They were so comfortable with you so fast that it took a solid two weeks before you’d learned their name. David referred to them almost exclusively as his mate, the title heavy and purposeful. They were small. They looked weak. To essentially any empowered person looking in at the pack, they were an easy target. So he named their title, spoke their status as often as he drew breath, hovered his big hands over them everywhere they went. 

So it didn’t surprise you when the others called them stupid nicknames like ‘Little Alpha,’ and ‘Little Shaw’ whenever strangers were around. Everybody in the pack telegraphed their position, let outsiders know exactly who they would have to answer to if the Alpha-Mate was touched. You’d taken to, in the few months you’d known them, calling them simply ‘Little.’ 

Little had a few tricks up their sleeve. They’d caught you off guard that night when, after dragging you out to a club for a few drinks and a dance, they’d decked a vampire directly in the jaw with a mean right hook. You heard their knuckles crack and break when they did it, but even if it didn’t hurt the asshole, it certainly stunned him. 

You’d been waiting for the other shoe to drop for weeks. Quinn had friends. Friends who owed him favors. Friends who were willing to interrupt your night in dingy back alleys, away from unempowered eyes. Friends who were willing to put their hands on David Shaw’s Mate to get you to comply. 

It wasn’t your fault. They had touched your Alpha-Mate, and they had to pay the price. You circled yourself like a buzzard, and the corpse of the reckless, destructive kid you had been now rotted under your talons. You’d never had the sense or the charisma to talk your way out of a situation like that. For you, the only way out was through. 

It was just your luck that an off-duty Enforcer was walking home and passed your clandestine ally just in time to see you shift. It wasn’t a fair fight, three to one, but you would have gotten a lot further if he hadn’t called down the alley for everybody to freeze. 

When the law showed up, it tended to make people desperate. You saw the shift in one of the vamps’ faces from rehearsed cruelty to panic. He was closer to Little than to you, and his fangs cut into the paper-thin skin of their throat like a knife into butter. 

Dammit. You had to kill that guy. And in front of an Enforcer too. 

By the time he broke the fight up, you’d taken a bit more than your share of hits. One vamp was ashed and two were nearing it quickly. Little was on the ground after that first bite, twisting in pain and clutching the gnarly bite on the side of their neck. If they didn’t see a healer soon, they’d scar. They’d die. 

You shifted back, clothes torn and bloodied as soon as they settled over your body. You were extending your hands to try and help (how the fuck you didn’t know, you really wished Sam were there), when a pair of dampening cuffs clicked into place over your wrists. 

You’d done what you could, through spitting venom and curses at anybody who touched you or Little, to insist that somebody heal them. You were subsequently assured by every person who saw you through transport, processing, and eventually into the dingy, tiny holding cell you found yourself in now, that that was somebody else’s responsibility. 

That would have been fine if they had taken your cuffs off. You could at least try to heal them yourself. But they hadn’t. 

You could have started raising even more hell if they hadn’t shuffled the two surviving vampires into the same holding cell as you, as if attempting to manifest a brawl. Instead, you had to focus what little energy you had left on guarding Little. 

You crouched over them as you twisted your arms, pinned behind your back, and tried to gauge your range of movement. It wasn’t much, and the shoulder that you’d dislocated in high school sang with dull, familiar pain. 

You needed your arms in front of you. The vamps were getting their bearings. Their wounds were healing. Their eyes shone like predator’s in the low light, training on you. On them. 

When you popped your shoulder out of its socket, it gave you just enough room to slip your bound wrists under your feet. You huffed as the pain washed over you. You tugged Little up and wrapped your arms around them awkwardly so that you could apply pressure to their throat with one hand and dragged them back until you were pressed into the far corner of the cell. From there, you could see every inch of the space, could track any attack before it came. 

They would call David. They would have to, it was in your record that you were a member of the Shaw pack, not to mention the fact that they would know by now they had the Pack’s Alpha-Mate in custody, unconscious though they be. David wouldn’t let you sit for long. 

Minutes ticked by like molasses. You watched, crouched in the corner and bleeding steadily into the concrete, as the shift changed. Your knees ached from your unchanging position. Your shoulder pulsed with pain. 

It wasn’t David who came. It was Milo’s mate. You had known the Investigator for a while, had brushed shoulders with them a handful of times before you broke from the pack. You’d stayed away from them since coming back to town. The last thing you needed as a Department official sticking their nose into your business. They were good people, sure, Milo wouldn’t have picked them otherwise, but that didn’t mean they weren’t mandated to report the things you had in store for Quinn and his fucked up friends. 

Their sharp eyes scanned the holding cell for just a moment before they landed on you and went wide. You saw them gasp a curse before turning to the attendant and sharing some sharp, direct words. They marched over to the bars, but the attendant didn’t follow. Their brow screwed up in frustration. 

“Have you been seen by a healer?” They asked sharply, looking you over. Clearly you had not. They pursed their lips. A high, angry flush had overtaken their features. They turned back to the door and poked their head out of it, speaking quickly with whoever was waiting there for them. “Hey, that’s fine!” You heard them snap, their voice raising. “But when the Alpha gets here, it’s your ass!” They cast their gaze back over their shoulder, face twisting up in something you couldn’t identify.

They slipped back through the door, still shouting, and left you alone with the attendant and the vamps. 

It had been a few hours since you’d been tossed in the cell. Your energy and stamina had waned, but it had given the two vamps in the corner a chance to heal. After the Investigator’s visit, they started getting bolder. 

You couldn’t shift, but you could growl. You could jerk at them, bare teeth. You could ward off any attempt to get close with a sharp, predatory warning. They didn’t dare get too close. The memory of their friend’s ash must have clung to the back of their throats. You reminded them how easy it had been for you, voice tinged with animal hunger, to tear their friend to pieces. 

It took another half hour for the door to open again, and when it did, the air in the room changed. You were tired. You had been bleeding steadily from a smattering of wounds across your side and neck. Your wolf was crushed down in your chest by the cuffs, core straining to break free but unable. But as soon as the door opened, energy surged through you. The prey animal inside of you knew a predator when it came close, and it flooded your body with adrenaline in preparation for its attack. 

David Shaw stepped one foot into the room, his dark eyes sweeping over you, over his mate, over the vampires in the corner. You met his gaze, your vision hazy. You opened your mouth to say something, to call out his name, to tell him that this was not your fault. He held up a hand, a shaking finger and stopped you. He stepped back out of the door. Rage seethed off of him in waves. Your core responded, coiling back, away, your body bending and turning away in submission. You couldn’t help it, just like you couldn’t help baring your teeth when you were angry, or shifting when you were frightened. You hated how that made you look to the vampires in the cell with you, who snickered and eyed you, daring to inch closer as you cowered. You curled over David’s mate protectively, their little form shivering against you as you got ready to defend your little corner. 

There was shouting from outside of the door. Something crashed into the wall. You flinched violently, the wounds in your neck and side tearing open, weeping fresh blood. You hissed and flashed teeth, watched as the eyes of both vampires in the cell went with and locked on you. 

“Come a little closer, puppy,” one of them dared, moving closer. His face was twisted with hunger. You had made them bleed. They had had to heal. They would be hungry. “I just wanna bite.” 

A hand connected with your shoulder at the same moment the door slammed open. David’s form cut through the bright, fluorescent light from outside the holding room, casting a heaving shadow across the floor. Everybody froze. 

The Enforcer that had arrested you stepped out from behind him, his shirt wrinkled and a bruise beginning to blossom on his cheek. He motioned and the attendant jumped to obey. The door was opened. 

David entered the cell and every person in it crowded themselves against the wall, you included. You tightened your arms around Little, curled them into your chest, your eyes cast down and away from David’s face. All you could do, all your mind could hold on to was that you had to keep them safe. 

David’s hands were big and warm and gentle when they found you. One slipped to the back of your neck, holding your head where it was, blocking the wounds on your neck from view of the vampires in the cell. The other found his Mate, pushed their hair back from their face, gently stroked their cheek as he roused them. 

“Come on,” he said softly. It was still an order and your body still jolted to obey. He slowly extracted them from your arms, cardled them against his chest as he rose. You followed, even as your knees ached and threatened to buckle. You followed as he stepped out of the cell, his head high, his eyes cutting into the vampires in the corner. So big and brave when they had you injured and defenseless, now cowering back with their tails tucked. 

You managed to hold yourself up until the door was closed behind you. David stopped in the processing room, where the Investigator was waiting. He bent his knees, turned Little in his arms until they could reach. You watched as they pumped healing magic into them. They stirred, face pinched in pain, before settling back into David’s chest. They looked so serene in his arms, when even unconscious they had been tense in yours. 

The Investigator nodded as they finished with Little, turning to you. They unlocked your cuffs, and caught your shoulder as you threatened to double over. Your magic surged back through you as your core woke up, and your bones and muscles moved under your skin, threatening to shift. 

David’s presence pressed into your side. His voice cut through the buzz in your ears, quiet, concise orders. Do not shift. You’re safe. You don’t have to fight. Focus on me. 

Your core relaxed at his order, at his touch, as his presence grounding you in the present. Cool, thin hands snaked over the wound on your throat. You jerked back, slammed your dislocated shoulder into the wall on accident. 

“No!” You barked, your gut twisting. The Investigator stepped back, hands raised, smeared with blood. “No. I’ll… I’ll wait for Sam.” David said your name, low and in warning. If he ordered that you let them heal you, you wouldn’t have a choice. You flashed your eyes up to his. A high, pleading whine escaped from your throat. You felt pathetic. 

David didn’t say anything else. The Investigator hovered by your side as David started leading you to the parking lot.

David had to help you climb into his truck, his hands firm on your waist as you slid into the back seat. You huffed, embarrassed, and scooted across the leather seat as David lifted Little in after you. He tucked them into your side, his gaze flicking to yours for just a moment before he closed the door. He shared a few quick words with the Investigator, too muffled by the car door to make out. You watched as he dipped, bent his back and brought his hand up to cup the nape of their neck, pressing their foreheads together for a moment before they turned back to the building and he hopped into the driver’s seat. 

“It wasn’t my fault.” You said softly, about halfway through the drive back to the Shaw’s house. David’s dark eyes flicked up to the rear view mirror. You looked away, unable to meet them. 

“I know.” He said softly. Your heart stuttered in your chest. “I got the report. You didn’t do anything until they touched my Mate.” 

“The one who bit them is dead.” You supplied, like that bit of information was a peace offering. A deep, satisfied growl cut through the cabin of the truck. The vibrations of it shook loose the tension in your body. You relaxed, just a bit, rested your head against Little’s where it rested on your shoulder. “I made sure of it.” 

“Thank you.” He said it so softly you almost missed it as your consciousness drifted. You would be at David’s soon, and he would call Sam and take care of the bite wounds and your shoulder. Little was safe, tucked against your side. David was there. There wasn’t anything else for you to worry about. Your body caught up with you. You felt like shit. You hadn't felt like this since Sam had saved your life. 

You circled and circled, always the same, no matter how much time had passed. 

“Go to sleep, Troublemaker.” David’s voice cut through your spiral. “I’ve got you.” 

You couldn’t help but obey.

[chuellas]

Auld Lang Syne | You never thought you’d make it to the New Year after the events of this previous one, but here you are spending it with both new and old acquaintances.

⤷ Ft. Nakahara Chuuya

Warnings | Fem!reader, mentions/consumption of alcohol, terms “Doll” & “Baby” used, Dazai makes a questionable decision, WC: 1.8k

A/N | I am so incredibly late to this but I’m a sucker for a good New Year’s kiss fic >.<

It’s strange to be celebrating after all that’s happened in the last year. There is certainly plenty to celebrate, but there’s also plenty to mourn over too. The feelings are conflicting, however, the more you drink the more you’re leaning towards the former. Maybe you’ve done enough grieving.

The other odd thing is the presence of the Port Mafia, in fact, the event you’re attending with your colleagues is being hosted by the very organization your president had previously declared an enemy. Sure, both the Armed Detective Agency and the Port Mafia had worked together in order to stop the catastrophe that was Fyodor Dostoevsky, but that was only circumstantial — “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.” You had thought it was one of those situations, but maybe Mori and Fukuzawa saw a benefit of everyone working together.

It’s not often that you agree with Dazai, but the two of you are on the same page as you lurk in a corner, unhappy with the situation. You both should have taken a page out of Yosano’s book and faked being ill. Although you think if anyone deserves to play hooky this evening it’s her. The one truly jarring thing about this evening is just how many wary looks the two of you were getting. Most are being directed towards the former “Demon Prodigy” but considering your past with the Port Mafia, quite a few were directed towards you as well. 

“How far into the fall do you think someone would get before passing out from shock?” You side eye Dazai at his words, only to find he has turned around and is now leaning over the ledge of the highrise you're on gazing down at the street far below almost longingly with his champagne glass still in hand.

Normally you wouldn’t entertain his intrusive thoughts but you’ll take the morbid question as a distraction from the pair of bicolored eyes that have been glued to you all night, making your skin itch with anxiety. Beggars can’t be choosers, right? You turn your head to peer over the ledge yourself and let out a breathy snort.

“Would a fall like that even scare someone like you? Most people that fall from this height pass out from shock because of how scared they are.” You take a sip of your champagne, the back of your head burning from the hole being seared into it.

Dazai turns back to you with an exacerbated expression on his face. As if he isn’t the one that brought up the subject. This is what you get for humoring him instead of just continuing to side eye him like you usually do.

“I wasn’t talking about just myself!” The brunette looks like he’s about to protest more but he goes silent when something behind you catches his attention and suddenly his face shifts into a dangerously amused smile.

You shiver and it’s not from the cold. “What? Quit smiling like that, you’re freaking me out.”

“You have an admirer.” He practically sings the words and you’re once again acutely aware of the gaze that’s been almost glued to you all night. 

“I’m quite aware that he’s been staring but thanks for reminding me, Osamu.” Your voice is dripping with sarcasm as you scowl and take a generous sip of your champagne, finishing it off, while Dazai’s grin only widens. 

Chuuya has been watching you all night. He tried approaching you earlier, thinking he could just smooth talk his way back into your good graces, but you pointedly avoided him until he got the message. You didn’t want to talk to him until you were inebriated enough to not care. So far you’re at 3 glasses of champagne and the thought of the ginger still irritates you. The thought of him plotting with Dazai and packing up to go to Europe and try to play hero still pisses you off.

Dazai got a mouthful from you when he got back. He was apologizing to you for weeks before you finally let up and forgave him. But Chuuya has apparently been too busy with Port Mafia matters to put in more than half of the work Dazai did. 

The Port Mafia executive has a long way to go until you’ll willingly give him your attention. 

The problem is, you don’t want to be mad at him. You want to ring in the New Year with him. You want him to be your last kiss of this year and the first kiss of next year. You want to be securely in his arms, the place you feel the safest in this world, when the year starts. You want to start it off right. 

You’re stuck between a rock and a hard place, too stubborn and upset to approach him but internally yearning for his touch and attention.

You should have just stayed home. 

Dazai’s cinnamon eyes flit between you and what you can only assume is his former partner behind you. You watch as something washes across his face in a short wave, something so small that you would have missed it entirely if you didn’t know Dazai as well as you do. Guilt. He still feels guilty for several things but you think this time specifically is for taking Chuuya away from you and not cluing you in on any of their plans. Dazai would never in a million years admit that, though.

So instead he says, “Y’know…I’ll never understand how the slug ever managed to captivate a girl as beautiful as you, but I do understand just how much you mean to him. Maybe you should cut him some slack, for both of your sakes.” 

His words elicit another side eye from you, this one far more suspicious than the others. He puts arms up in mock surrender, a goofy grin spreading across his face when he looks behind you again with a nod. He’s up to something but before you can figure out what it is, Dazai is hoisting you up and unceremoniously tossing over the railing.

You’re falling, plummeting to the ground and suddenly his question from earlier made sense. You shouldn’t have entertained him, you should have scolded him and walked away. This was another one of their plans. Somehow you weren’t scared, you knew he would come catch you. He always did. 

Your body, however, didn’t have as much confidence in Chuuya as your mind did. You feel an unsettling queasiness wash over you, waves of panic thrashing inside your stomach. Vertigo is surely fast behind with the way everything is moving around you in a blur that’s disorienting. But before it can barrel over you, a familiar sensation spreads across your skin, it’s warm and familiar. Almost like home.

Gentle, yet firm hands grip onto you and slowly halt your fall to a stop and suspend you in the air. 

“I’ll kill that damn Dazai for pushing you over like that. Are you ok? Didn’t hurt yourself while falling did you?” His voice drips with concern and you can practically see the crease in between his brows. 

Somewhere in your free fall you had screwed your eyes shut. You hadn’t even realized you’d done it or why. Maybe to try and settle the heavy nausea you were experiencing or maybe because there was that small part of you that was whispering in your ear that Chuuya wouldn’t make it to you in time. 

You take in a stuttered breath, grip instinctively tightening on his arms as he shifts gravity again so the two of you are standing comfortably on the side of the high rise you were just pushed off of.

You open your eyes to find one brown and one blue eye watching you cautiously. “...You didn't put him up to this?”

Your tone is accusatory and Chuuya flinches at the implication. A flash of hurt displays on his features before he looks away with a frown. 

“I can’t believe you’d think I’d go along with a plan that insane. I know you’re pissed at me but c’mon, Doll, d’you really think I’d risk your safety like that?” 

The answer is ‘no, of course not’ but the words get caught in your throat for some odd reason. You try to form the words but your vision blurs and throat spasms. When you finally get your lips to part a hiccup spills from them and you find yourself crying. Your fingers sink further into his arms, biting into the cloth. 

Gloved fingers are instantly caressing your face, wiping away at the tears spilling from your eyes. You lean into his touch, finally giving into him. You come to the realization that Dazai was right, of course he was right, you hate that he usually is. You’re never going to hear the end of it from him. You know he’s watching you admit to yourself that you miss Chuuya more than you’re upset with him. 

You melt into the Port Mafia Executive and let his ever present warmth sooth your distress, within moments you’re calmed down enough to form an actual response. 

“I know you wouldn’t.” You look up at the ginger and smile weekly at him. “Make sure to thank Dazai before you kill him, he pushed me, quite literally, to forgive you.”

Chuuya rests his forehead on yours and lets out a relieved but tired sigh. “I missed you-”

He’s cut off by the whole city erupting in cheers and fireworks going off, a signal that the new year has started. Chuuya searches your eyes for a quick moment, looking for any possible opposition to what he was about to do. He doesn’t find any.

The executive is quick to lean in and tenderly place his lips atop yours in the sweetest kiss you think you’ve ever experienced. It’s gentle but filled with an emotion you can’t quite place. Before you can figure it out, Chuuya is pulling back with a smile.

“Happy New Year, Baby.” 

Your smile is wide when you reciprocate the sentiment. “Happy New Year, Yacchan.”

The ginger opens his mouth to say something else but is cut off once again, this time by a mess of tousled brown hair peering over the ledge again and a sing-song tone. “You guys owe me! I think I should receive a New Year's kiss too!”

You watch in amusement as Chuuya’s brow twitches and his jaw clenches. “How ‘bout you kiss my damn fist you jackass!”

Dazai sticks his tongue out at him, taunting him like always — knowing exactly which buttons to push and you can’t help the light laughter that escapes your throat. You missed this. You missed them, despite how much they make you worry. The familiarity of it all spreads a warmth through your chest and you can’t help the feeling that this will, in fact, be a good year. Maybe the best you’ve had in a while.

[wild-typo-turtle]

Home for the Holidays - Part 1 of 3

On your way home from work, you see a mysterious door. And since you're the only one who can see it, there's really only one call you can make...

A Steve Rogers x Reader fic for @stellar-solar-flare Stella's Starry Winter Sky Challenge!

Rating: T

Themes: Meet-cute, Reader has a secret, other worlds

Home for the Holidays - Part 1

The door wasn't much to look at, actually.

You stared at it, your hands clutching the cup of steaming hot chocolate that had been your indulgence as you'd closed down the bookstore. Your breath plumed out into the night, but you barely noticed how cold it was. Or how dark - it was the solstice, the darkest night of the year, and the air around you was black and frozen.

There was a door.

You knew you'd never seen it before. You crossed this park almost every day, twice a day: once on your way to work, once on your way home. You had certainly never seen a door standing there all by itself with no walls around it. 

You weren't sure that anyone else could see it. You stood there gaping at it, but no one else seemed to be. 

You pulled your phone from your pocket, pretending to be absorbed in it as you slowly approached the door.

It was an old door. The wood was weathered and splintered; it had been neglected. The handle, also wood, was a round knob, worn smooth and shiny with years and hands. It looked as though it belonged in a barn, as if opening it would take you into a feed room or a tack room.

Your phone lit up, and you really did look down at it that time.

Ben: Done with rehearsal. Doing anything?

You could just walk away. You could head home, and you could text Ben back when you got there. And his blessedly uncomplicated self could come over and you could enjoy a few hours with him before it was time to go to sleep. Maybe he'd stay the night, and you could get breakfast in the morning at the little cafe down the street that made the best cinnamon raisin bread.

But on the other hand…

There was that door.

The door where there shouldn't be a door. The door that no one could see but you.

Were you losing it? Were you hallucinating?

But then you noticed something else. Everyone walking past the door walked around it, deliberately avoiding the obstacle. On some level, they knew it was there. 

You weren't crazy.

And as you looked at it, you remembered something you'd seen on the news a few months ago. Something about a tip line for unusual occurrences in New York.

Back to your phone. And it was an easy search to find the number, and a woman's voice answered after only one ring. 

“Avengers Initiative, how may I assist you?”

“Yes, um…” You cleared your throat. “Um. Hi. There's…there's this door…”

-~-~-

They had asked you to wait until they arrived, assuring you that it wouldn’t be long. And so you found yourself an empty bench within sight of the door, huddled in your coat and sipping on your cooling hot chocolate, your breath pluming out in clouds in the clear and frosty air. For all the bustle in the park, it was quiet, a perfect winter night at the height of the cold and the dark. 

You watched the door. Nothing happened.

People kept walking around it absently. You watched their feet for something to do as you waited; they seemed to feel the door’s presence about ten feet away, their steps slowly angling around it. Far enough that the motion did not need to be sudden or jerky; it was subtle, smooth, easy not to notice. And no one did - even those few whose heads were high, looking forward and not buried in their phones - seemed unaware that they had adjusted their paths.

It was quiet, and that made it easy to hear the new footsteps. They crunched briskly through the snow, and you turned away from the door to see them coming towards you.

Eek.

You’d figured the Avengers would send some sort of preliminary team - the equivalent of a beat cop, just to check things out and make sure you weren’t lying. But no, they had sent the big guns, faces you’d only seen on television and the Internet, striding toward you and ignoring the gasps and stares that greeted them and that followed in their wake.

Natasha Romanov, the Black Widow.

Sam Wilson, the Falcon.

Bucky Barnes, the Winter Soldier. 

And Steve Rogers himself. Captain America, at the head of the group. 

It was a good thing you’d finished the hot chocolate several minutes ago. It would have ended up splattered on the ground.

You had about thirty seconds before they reached you, and you frantically tried to gather your composure. You stood up and brushed off your coat; you threw away your empty cup in the garbage can next to your bench. You’d given the woman on the phone your name, but they wouldn’t know what you looked like, you would need to - 

Oh. They were coming straight for you.

You gulped as they came up to you. Rogers gave you a nod of greeting; he was the only one to do so. The rest of them were busy scanning the park; their postures said they were relaxed, but their faces maintained alertness, looking for any and every possible threat. 

“Ma’am,” he said politely. “Thank you for waiting for us.”

“I, uh - um, yeah, no trouble,” you fumbled. “I wasn’t…wasn’t expecting…”

“Oh, us?” He grinned, chuckling, as you flapped your hand at him and his teammates. “Well, yeah. Normally we wouldn’t come right away, but we verified your report at the Tower. It’s not anything that would have tripped up our early detection systems, but once we looked for it, you’re absolutely right. There’s definitely something going on here. So we called in the cavalry.”

You couldn’t help breathing a sigh of relief at the confirmation that you hadn’t lost your mind. Rogers saw it, and his grin softened a little bit.

“It’s okay,” he said. “You did the right thing by calling us in. This is exactly why the A.I. even exists.”  

You nodded mutely, but you weren't sure if Rogers saw it. He was already turning to his teammates, Wilson and Romanov, his brow lifting in inquiry as Barnes continued surveilling the park.

“Anything?”

Romanov was holding some kind of tablet, and she was poking at the screen in unmistakable frustration. “Something, but that's about all I can tell you,” she grumbled. “It's like a fly in your house. You know it's there, but finding it's a bitch.”

Captain Rogers looked back at you, and the expression on his face was heavy. “Look, I'm sorry,” he began, and you did not like the sound of that. “I'd do it, normally. One of us would. But since you're the only one who can see it…”

“He's asking you to open the door,” Barnes said, not even turning back to look at you. “And he would do it, the stupid punk.”

Rogers let out a sound that was somewhere between a groan, a grumble, and a snarl - but you noticed that he didn’t attempt to deny what Barnes had said. Either part of it.

You looked at him, your insides trembling, and he laid a hand - a big, strong hand, and you were certainly noticing those details - on your shoulder. “It’s okay,” he said, very quietly. “If you don’t want to, we can find another way. There are people we can call.”

People, but those people hadn’t come with him, and there was probably a reason for that. They would take time to arrive, and who knew what would happen while they were getting here?

You were no hero. You worked in a bookstore, you lived alone with your cat, and the closest thing you had to a romantic relationship was a friends-with-benefits actor. You weren’t like these people. 

But maybe you could be, just for one night.

You squared your shoulders, looking up at Rogers. 

“I’ll do it.”

-~-~-

They made a plan. And after they’d done so, more agents arrived, garden-variety this time, cordoning off a circle around the door and setting up a perimeter of barriers and screens. You were still the only one who could see it - Rogers had checked with everyone as they’d arrived - but they’d given you some plastic stakes to mark where it was. Everything was terribly efficient, and it was easy to forget the chill in the air with the bustle of activity. You stood huddled in your coat, watching, until Rogers waved you over to a section of the perimeter. It was draped on three sides with tarps, creating a small tent, and someone had set up a little portable heater that was doing an excellent job of warming up the space. 

As you got there, sighing happily at the heat, you noticed that Rogers was holding what looked like a climbing harness and a coil of rope. 

“Ever worn one of these?” he asked. When you shook your head, he continued. “Nothing to it - just a safety precaution. We’ll have the rope attached to the harness and we’ll secure it here. That way if something tries to pull you into - uh, well, wherever that door goes - we can get you out of the way fast.”

You nodded, trying not to think about being pulled into wherever that door goes. Instead you let Rogers help you into the harness, easing it over your coat and helping you tighten the straps, and tying the rope to a metal ring on the back. 

And then, what seemed like a mere second later, you were standing in front of the door.

Behind you, Rogers and Barnes were holding onto the rope. The sight of the two supersoldiers didn’t exactly banish the butterflies in your stomach, but their solid forms did inspire at least a little bit of confidence. They weren’t going to let you go anywhere.

You offered Rogers a small, trembly smile, before you turned back to face the door. Romanov was right beside you, and she nodded at you. Just once - but it was, in its way, just as reassuring as the two men holding the rope. You got the impression that there was very little she couldn’t handle.

“You ready?” she said softly. 

Off to your right, Wilson was standing with his wings extended. He was the backup plan: if Rogers and Barnes lost hold of the rope, he would dive in and try to grab you before you were pulled in too far. You were no hero, and yet they were treating you as if your life was just as precious as theirs. 

Well. Perhaps that was what made a hero, a hero.

In answer to Romanov’s question, you shuffled forward two steps and placed your hand on the doorknob.

It was cold. Ice cold, and you hissed as the chill bit at your skin even through your thick mitten. Your teeth chattered, and you stumbled back a step, as Romanov caught you. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” you gritted out. “Just - ‘s just cold.”     

But you were all right. And now that you were braced for it, it wasn’t as bad when you touched the knob again. You twisted it, and it moved easily in your hand, and the door fell open.

You were not sure what you’d been expecting. But it definitely had not been an older gentleman standing on the other side of the door. 

He didn’t move. 

His hair was an ashy, golden white - a color that made you certain he had been as blond as Steve Rogers in his youth. He was dressed in brilliant green, a tunic and trousers and a thick cloak, green with accents of gold and red. A thin golden circlet sat on his brow, and as you looked at him, he bent, sweeping into a deep bow that almost left him lying flat upon the ground.

It was winter beyond the door, too. A light snow was falling, and it was piled up high around the gentleman’s brown boots. 

No one spoke. No one moved. Everyone was staring at the strange man as he straightened from his bow, and looked straight at you.

“Your Royal Highness.”

TBC...

[room-surprise]

I feel like people are getting hung up on the word "bit" in this comic, I don't think it's meant to imply that the entire soul isn't used... Though if it isn't, yeah an incomplete soul, not attached to anything, would probably just die. Kind of like how you can't have an arm or a leg keep on living without being attached to the rest of a person.

The following is just my opinion based on what we've been told:

Lycion was made by attaching an animal soul to a human host. This is done by killing the animal. Because of this, he can "let out" the animal soul when he wants to by using magic, and his body temporarily becomes more animal-like. Lycion's mind remains unchanged.

Izutsumi was made by attaching a human soul to an animal host. Yes, this means they killed a human child.

This means Izutsumi's true self is an animal, not a human, and she's already spent most of her life in a "mixed" form, like Lycion's wolf-man form. She can't "let out" her human soul any further than what she's currently doing... Just like Lycion can't transform into a full wolf, Izutsumi can't transform into a full human. Probably because the soul that is "attached" to them isn't strong enough to manifest a complete body and take over.

Obviously a chimera is different, but originally Chimera Falin was controlled by the dragon, because their souls were mixed, and almost all of their physical body came from the dragon. Later, when most of the dragon's body was eaten, Falin was able to take control of their shared body and become the dominant part.

For comparison, Lycion and Izutsumi don't have any physical part of their "attached soul" left. The bodies belonging to them are dead and gone (possibly absorbed? But certainly not capable of independent life), and only the soul remains... Weak, and bound to their host.

Binding a human soul to Izutusmi's animal body made her become human-like, and presumably enhanced her intelligence. Kui mentioned in an interview or a Q&A that if Izutsumi tried to do what Lycion does, she'd turn back into her animal form, and most likely be unable to change back. Kui didn't specify why, but I think it's logical to assume it's because she would lose most or all of her human-like intelligence, and thus be unable to cast the spell to turn herself back, or understand that there was something for her to "turn back" to. Her human memories would probably not make much sense to her as an animal.

(We do know that some animals can use magic, however this seems to mostly be simple or instinctive magic that happens without the animal having high intelligence.)

This suggests that transforming Izutsumi into a human-like animal was done to her when she was made, and if there's a spell for changing back, they probably didn't teach it to her, since it would just undo all of their hard work, and make Izutsumi useless as a soldier... Since she could just run away and live in the jungle any time she wanted.

So Izutsumi's lived her whole life like a human (a very abused, maltreated human)... But she is in fact an animal that has some human traits. This may be why she struggles so hard to learn some basic human behaviors - they are unnatural for a cat, and so she gets frustrated and angry when people try to force her to do things that feel "wrong" for her. This also may be part of why she's unable and/or unwilling to understand complicated things that she's told, like in the comic with Lycion, or when she has to hear from every member of the party before she realizes "sometimes you have to do things you don't want to do in order to get a result you want."

I'll also add that we don't really know if the timeline numbers Kui gives us at the start are for Izutsumi's animal self, or the human child that was killed. I'm inclined to think it's the animal, but Kui worded it vaguely on purpose to avoid spoiling Izutsumi's story.

If Izutsumi only has a 'bit' of human soul where's the rest of it? Dead and gone? She doesn't suffer for the lack of it, so it doesn't seem like people need their whole soul. Could someone even take the piece she's missing and stuff it into another monster??

Well, this is gonna be a lot of speculation and very little facts, so beware (will never forget you anon who said I posted my opinions without clarifying it was speculation)

My theory is that in dungeon meshi bodies and souls have some sort of relationship? After all Marcille used the dragon's flesh to resurrect Falin and that cause part of its soul to be mixed in with hers, and at the end to get rid of his soul so Falin could be brought back without being a chimera they ate it's flesh and ground up it's bones so plants would absorb it. So I think it's safe to say there's some relationship between body and soul, at least inside the dungeon where resurrection is possible.

If we take Izutsumi's timeline as a basis, she was a 6yo child when she was taken from her parent's and turned into a beastmen (you could argue that it was a 6yo monster but Izutsumi's ages like a tallman so I doubt only here it would be referring to the monster)

So she was a small child fused with a big monster, so maybe that in itself is why there's way more monster?

The other possibility is that only part of the child was fused with the monster, or perhaps they did take the soul out of her body to put it in the monster, maybe like how ghosts that don't have a body might posses someone that dies and is resurrected and their souls are fused??

But here she only talks about the "personality" changing not their appearance, I really think beastmen and chimera fusions where parts of each show up in the final form makes more sense if their bodies (along with the soul) is fused too? But I'm just speculating.

Anyway, two possibilities

The (whole) child was fused with a much bigger monster and that's why it's the smaller part

The child killed and then only part of her (or her soul) was fused with the monster

Very fucked up either way, about your question if there could be two izutsumis made from the soul of the same child I doubt it, if we take resurrection as an example I don't think they can "divide" the human soul in two different beings? Same as how they couldn't separate part of the dragon soul away from Falin's without before consuming it's flesh? So maybe they burned the rest of the child's body to get rid of the rest of her soul in that second possibility

The AB comic about resurrection says you can't really bring back someone from pieces even if you try to resurrect all of them, so I'd ASSUME that's true for trying to use the same soul for different beings

Anyway these are my thoughts, I love Izutsumi's backstory is so fucked up and tragic... what was done to her is horrible.

[irate-iguana]

Sorry, but we’re burying your girlfriend alive. Yeah, she decided that the laws of Zeus take precedence over the laws of the state. Your father’s trapping her in a cave in punishment for giving her brother a burial. I mean, you can try to talk him out of it, but good luck. So sorry.

[raichett]

that fucking desert is basically the third member of the scarian polycule at this point

[thepsychopompsthrenody]

desolation row has been done to death but i just wanted frank caps

last gif--no frank, but also no cops at pride

caps from the music video for desolation row covered by my chemical romance for the Watchmen movie (2009)

[fizzymilkcan]

Side profile practice or smthn idk

[korrasamibottles]

Lost focus and had a consensual workplace relationship

[swiggity-swexual-i-am-asexual]

DPxDC media story prompt

Okay first off, this sort of thing has been done before, but here’s a different version involving Jazz Fenton.

Popular in DPxDC fanfic is that the GIW have a media blackouts—or whiteouts, there’s kind of a difference, where whiteouts work more like… there is a file, but you can’t edit it or it may be locked out for certain users, or an edited version of events where things are ‘whited out’ like with correction paste, among other definitions.

Point is!

The GIW have a media restriction, and among these is social media, probably with certain words or phrases pinging to location restrict the post. There was probably a phase for a while where the A-Listers tried to get around it, but ultimately failed, and since they could only get information IN rather than information OUT, and possibly still a limited amount of outside information in the first place, social media didn’t take off as much in Amity Park than in other places in the world. There’s still a small local presence, but at this point it’s almost like a city wide chat room than actual social media.

Enter in, Jazz Fenton. She’s chronically behind on trends, so by the time she decides to get on social media, the GIW aren’t being as militant on it. And she has that habit of calling the ghosts by code names instead of their actual names, such as Crate Creep instead of The Box Ghost, or Ghost X instead of Skulker. By pure coincidence of her personal language use and Tucker messing with all of Team Phantom’s phone locaters for easier excuse giving, Jazz manages to dodge all the word censors.

She accidentally creates a whole online story community convinced it’s some kind of altered reality game or role playing game, what have you. Meanwhile, Jazz is letting off steam by ranting online with, of course, made up names of all the people involved. She doesn’t even notice the numbers, and that’s assuming the GIW didn’t just—region lock the ability to see them for whatever reason. The few Amity Parkers on social medias see Jazz, maybe look at a complaint post or two, then move on because this isn’t even an unusual video inside Amity Park’s social media sphere.

Heck, PHANTOM has a social media presence and he’s done several rant videos too! One particularly famous one is him complaining about keeping his boots and gloves white while being chased and one of the GIW agents actually stops and gives him advice before shooting at him again.

Those outside Amity Park, of course, only see Jazz’s videos. And she has no idea that she has an entire online presence and mild amounts of online fame. And again, almost everyone thinks the whole thing is just a fun little game, if oddly detailed.

Until, that is, a certain young man by the name of Bernard comes in. One of the few who are totally convinced this is real, he tries to also convince his boyfriend—Timothy Drake-Wayne. Who, in turn, finds it incredibly suspicious that it’s this hard to get news and posts from one random town in the Midwest.

[random-jot]

I got that dog in me.

The dog:

[pidges-lost-robot]

*Keith and Shiro are splitting off from the team*

*Lance catches Keith's arm*

Lance: Hey, uh, be safe

Keith:... We will

*Shiro and Keith head off*

Pidge cradling Hunk's face: Be safe...

Hunk dramatically: I'll be so safe

Lance: Will you guys stop?-

Hunk: I'll be safe... for you

Lance:.... I'm gonna kill you

Pidge, still dramatically: But how would that keep us safe?

[martianbugsbunny]

Midwife? Nah babe he's a perfect 10

[living-la-vida-lesbian]

steph and tim fr put the 'ex' in 'bisexual besties'

[transsexualcoriolanus]

[xiaohuayaos]