#he adjusts well. he accepts it and moves on and honors/avenges them along the way

[threadmonster]

I'll (maybe) elaborate on this more at a later time, but I just keep thinking about the part in Storm Bringer where it states that Chuuya doesn't dream.

I think, "oh, but what if after those events he does start to dream. He has peace of mind with who he is, what if that opens doors and he has a dream for the first time"

"are his first dreams nightmares, but sentimental at the core? Playing back his memories with The Flags?"

"once he and Dazai are a team and form a deeper bond, what are his dreams like then? When Dazai leaves the Port Mafia and Chuuya doesn't know where he's gone to, do those dreams turn to nightmares over the anger and worry?"

Unfortunately, I think Chuuya would have nightmares and not really know how to deal with them. I think he adjusts well with what's thrown at him, but we do see when he loses comrades he gets angry and hurt.

Maybe his first dream is his memories of his time with The Flags. He dreams of what the anniversary party, that day, would have been like if nothing had interrupted it but then is hit with the reality of what really happened.

Previously he had (unwillingly) revealed to Dazai that he doesn't dream. Dazai was teasing him and he snapped. But Dazai had noticed that this might have changed.

Dazai casually teases Chuuya, that he knows he doesn't dream but if he's having nightmares he can come to him. It's not like he'd publish fliers and send them through the organization or anything.

Chuuya snaps at Dazai, but later, probably after they're soukoku, Chuuya lets his guard down a bit and decides to trust Dazai with his nightmares of his fallen comrades. That he doesn't actually want to lose Dazai like that too. That he doesn't even know why these things still bother him at times.

Dazai only listens. He enjoys the moment. He, who never doubted Chuuya's humanity, maybe finds seeing him like this actually makes Dazai feel his own humanity too.

Dazai's only regret about leaving the Mafia is knowing Chuuya is going to be haunted by his disappearance in his dreams, with no one to listen to them. He knows the bad ones don't outweigh Chuuya's good dreams, the bad ones just affect him more.

Okay, that's where I'm going to leave off because I don't like typing out too much on my phone. I lose track of what I'm saying (⁠•⁠ ⁠▽⁠ ⁠•⁠;⁠)

[anything-goes-my-friends]

A New Beginning

The ending of ROTT broke me and I was left very disappointed in the ending of the show. I loved the movie, but the last 10 minutes didn’t sit well with me. I needed a fix-it fic with the ending I think the series deserves, so don’t be mad at me if you don’t like it. This is just what I think it needs, obviously not what everyone else thinks it needs.

In this fic Jim goes back to the day he got the amulet, but instead of giving it to Toby he takes it himself, and relives his journey with the knowledge and experience to save everyone he lost.

A New Beginning When he said goodbye to Blinky, Claire, and the others, Jim knew the journey ahead would be the most difficult thing he’d ever have to do. He needed to find a good time to jump back to, but whenever he settled on a date he thought of someone else he could save, and the date was pushed forward.

So he settled on the day it all began.

When his alarm buzzed, there were no words to explain the emotions swirling through him. With the deaths he witnessed still raw, and the destruction fresh in his mind, being in his old room seemed foreign. He remembered one of the last times he was there, recently half troll and struggling to adapt. But now, none of that had happened, but it had to him. He thought of everything ahead and smiled. But first, Toby.

He hastily prepared the meals for himself, his mom, and Toby, but nothing as fancy as the meatloaf he made the first time around. His head was buzzing and he struggled to focus on the simple task of making the sandwiches. But soon enough it was time.

The garage door opened and he gripped the handlebars of his bike until his knuckles turned white. This would prove that everything he did was worth it. Just to see Toby’s smile once more. The innocence in his eyes. He would never take it for granted again.

And there he was, his best friend. Jim let out a sound that was a mixture of a laugh and a sob and rammed into his friend to engulf him in a hug. It was worth it. All the pain he’ll endure again, and the burdens he has to bear were worth it for this moment.

“Come on Tobes, let’s take the canals today, I have a good feeling about it.” Jim took off on his bike, Toby hollering nonsense to pass the time and it was music to Jim’s ears. 

And when they reached the bottom of the canal, and he heard the amulet speaking his name in Kanjigar’s voice, Jim smiled.

“Hello again, old friend.” He whispered as he ran his finger over the familiar metal of the amulet.

<><>Time Skip to the end of ROTT with the new ending Jim created<><>

Jim read the text on his phone from Claire, asking him when he was on his way to Trollmarket. He hastily typed out ‘be there in 10’ before shoving the phone back in his pocket. He could feel the amulet buzzing in his bag, and grinned to himself. He knew what today was, he had it marked on his calendar for years. Today was the day the Titans were defeated in the old timeline. The day Toby died, and Strickler, and Nomura, and countless others. He thought of how different things had become as he rummaged in his bag for his horngazel. The door opened easily under the bridge and he started to descend the stairs.

“There you are, Trollhunter, cutting it close aren’t we?” Claire teased as she met him at the bottom of the stairs. He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and she threaded her fingers through his. They began to walk through Trollmarket, all the familiar buzz that had been lost the first time. Jim had learned from his mistakes, but also knew there were some events that had to happen. Losing Trollmarket was not one he could bring himself to do. His gaze shifted to Claire, who’s white streak in her hair, the ponytail, and purple armor was the same as the day the titans attacked. But she was smiling, and there was still a light in her eyes.

“Romeo and Juliet? I would love to try out...Your brother was taken by goblins into the Darklands, I’m sorry, but I’ll get him back I promise. For now, try to get to know NotEnrique, he might surprise you...Everything we’ve done, we’ve done together, I love you Claire, and I always will.”

He had dreaded letting Enrique get taken into the Darklands, but Claire had once remarked that she was glad NotEnrique came into her life, and thought of him as a brother. He didn’t want her to lose that relationship. And saving Enrique pushed Claire to become the sorceress and warrior she was destined to be, bringing the two of them closer together in the process.

The two of them waved to Barbara and Strickler, as Barbara showed off her new ring to a group of changelings. Strickler gave Jim a nod, and he returned it with a smile.

“Strickler, I would like you to meet my mom...The Janus Order has fallen, you’ll be safe in Trollmarket...Yes, I would be honored to be your best man.”

The fall of Gunmar had been a shock to troll kind. Jim had arrived in Trollmarket knowing where the Janus Order had hid the bridge, and used that knowledge to secure it early on. Toby, Claire, and Jim had trained for months as Trollhunters, answering calls and building strength to enter the Darklands. Jim had made the mistake of going alone once, and didn’t want to do that again. So when they were ready, they entered together. Blinky and Aaarrrgghh had rescued Gunmar’s prisoners, even though they got distracted by Blinky’s brother. Claire and Toby had gone off with NotEnrique to free all of the babies, while Draal and Jim faced Gunmar. And at the end of the day, and with a battle that lived in infamy, they emerged victorious.

Gunmar, eager to avenge his son that Jim had slain, and his ego clouding his judgement, had agreed to a fight to the death with Jim. A fight that Jim won. The Trollhunters exited the Darklands with refugees and freed Gum Gums, and babies that were taken care of by Barbara and Strickler until they could find loving homes for them all. And with the fall of Gunmar, the troll world was left without direction. The Janus Order struggled to adapt now that they couldn’t take form as human, but Jim made sure they were welcomed into Trollmarket with open arms. Gunmar’s spies and allies were hunted down by the Trollhunters if they made a mess of things, and after months of struggling, peace was nearing. When Strickler was brought into Trollmarket, he drifted closer to the Lakes, and when he got down on one knee, Barbara didn’t even hesitate to say yes. He had even given Jim the ring to Angor Rot’s soul, and Jim was able to return it to its rightful owner, and set the Trollhunter Hunter free. And Claire, reunited with the real Enrique, gained a brother in NotEnrique, and her family became a little bit bigger. 

Jim never slept better after the Darklands. He was proud of his decision to go in together once they were ready, as was the original plan the first time around. Jim knew the importance of seeking help from friends, and he was able to live without that particular trauma twice.

Gunmar was defeated, Trollmarket wasn’t lost, Angor Rot became an ally, and his friends were alive and happy. Jim smiled as he and Claire walked past the forge, where Draal and Nomura were sparing, swapping insults that bordered on flirting, although both would deny it. Jim was most proud of saving Draal, although he would never tell anyone that. After defeating him in battle in the forge and gaining the respect of Trollmarket, Draal moved into his basement and the two of them renewed the bond that had been ripped away by Gunmar. Draal never lost his arm, was never under the control of Gunmar, and never died saving Jim’s life. He fought beside Jim as equals throughout his battles, and remained one of his closest allies and friends.

Vendel entered the forge to yell something at Nomura and Draal, but it wasn’t long before the three of them erupted in laughter. Vendel looked around and noticed Jim smiling at them, and gave a curt nod with his staff to signal a hello and his continued respect. 

“Vendell, Queen Usurna is working for Gunmar, she wants to take over Trollmarket and steal the Hearthstone.”

When it had come the time of the Eternal Night, there was no Morgana to rage war, and no Gunmar to destroy Arcadia. Jim stayed human, and stayed in Arcadia where he belonged. Blinky shortly became Vendel’s right hand, and the two of them set out on a mission to organize trollkind in the wake of Gunmar’s defeat. Dictatious had wanted to go along with his brother, but knew he was needed in Trollmarket to help the Changelings and Gum Gums adjust to a life post-war. He was joined by Aaarrrgghh in his endevor, who was happy to help others the way Blinky helped him. 

After the day the Eternal Night was supposed to be, Jim found himself wandering into the cafe Douxie worked at.

“Douxie, we need to find Merlin.”

Teaming up with Archie and Claire, the four of them set off to the tomb, where Merlin was resurrected and the next steps were taken. While they prepared for the war with the Arcane Order, Toby had stayed back in Arcadia as it’s one Trollhunter. He had formed bonds with Aja and Krel, and protected Arcadia from the threats better than Jim would’ve. He came into his own as WarHammer, and had accepted the role he chose himself.

“Claire, let’s free Morgana. She isn’t a bad woman, and she can help us in the days to come.”

With Douxie and Merlin at her side, Claire had freed Morgana and managed to settle her down enough to talk. And with her help the plan was made. The Wizards and Trollhunters traveled in time to determine the identity of the Green Knight, where Douxie was named a Master Wizard and the Trollhunter amulet was made. Deya was named the first Trollhunter, and the past was secured. And when they returned, it was Morgana that saved them from the Green Knight. She gave Arthur the rest he deserved, and when the battle was over, she left with Merlin to grieve and find themselves in the new world. Nari had stayed behind with Douxie, who had accepted his role as protector.

“There’s Douxie!” Claire briefly let go of Jim’s hand to wave, and Douxie beamed and returned it. Archie was sitting on his shoulder while Nari padded along after the two of them. Archie was mentioning something about going to visit his dad, and Douxie agreed to go along for moral support. Nari looked at Jim with a knowing look in her eyes, the way she always looked at him. He could never tell if she knew what he did, and all that he had changed, but he decided he didn’t care. She was alive, and Douxie had succeeded in protecting her, and that was all that mattered.

“We need to find the seals Nari...Do you know where the rest of the Arcane Order might have gone?...It’s over now, you’re safe.”

The Genesis Seals had been found and rehidden by Douxie, who didn’t tell anyone where he hid them. Not even Jim or Nari. They had all agreed it was for the best. When Douxie died the secret would die with him. Unable to find and open the seals, Skrael and Bellroc scrambled to find Nari and finish what they started. And with the help of Krel and Aja, the Trollhunters, and the Wizards, the two had their magic stripped away by Akiridian tech, and Jim was able to deliver the finishing blows.

Now today, the day the Titans were supposed to have risen, there was nothing but blue skies. School happened like normal, and the world was at peace. Claire and Jim finished their stroll through Trollmarket as they arrived at Blinky’s study. He was ready for them, and complained that they were the last to arrive. 

Inside sat Toby and Aaarrrgghh, who were shoving their faces with the feast that Blinky had prepared. Jim and Claire sat down at the large table and Blinky looked at him expecting him to speak. Jim chuckled and rose to make a toast.

“We have overcome a lot. The defeat of Bular, Gunmar, and the Arcane Order. Merlin and Morgana are off on their own. Douxie and Archie are protecting Arcadia from mystical threats. Aja, Krel, Steve, and Eli are off on Akiridion-5 to rule together. The Darklands liberated, our families reunited, and our loved ones close. This was all I ever wanted for all of you, and I couldn’t be happier.” Jim looked around at the smiling faces surrounding him. This was his family, the ones that had been with him since the start. Blinky, his mentor and father figure, Aaarrrgghh his loyal friend, Claire the love of his life and powerful sorceress, and Toby, the friend who had been with him since the beginning. From a time before trolls and aliens and wizards. When he had wanted more excitement in life.

There were days the burden of the what-could’ve-beens plagued Jim’s mind and he struggled to carry on with the weight of his mistakes. But then days like this happened, where he knew he had changed things for the better, and the world was better off because of his sacrifice. He wouldn’t change a thing, and given the choice to have the time stone again, he would toss it aside. This was the happy ending they all deserved, the ending he worked hard to give them all. There had been changes that brought new threats to face, new calls to answer. But he faced them all with the friends and family he chose and surrounded himself with, and he used his experience to do what he could. He was a hero, the Trollhunter, the champion of Trollmarket. He was Jim the Bular Slayer, the Gunmar Slayer, but most importantly he was Jim Lake. The first Human Trollhunter. And he didn’t think, he became.

[for-bucks-sake]

Old News.

Pairing: Steve x Reader Word count: 5.5K. Warnings: Angst, a lot of smut!! (Unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving), just a tiny bit of choking and cockwarming.) some fluff. Summary: Sometimes, even being Captain America isn’t enough.  A/N: This one was requested by the lovely (and very patient) @fandomslut666, I like to think it’s somewhere between the area of catws and aou.  Your comments and reblogs are so appreciated you don’t even know. Thank you so much for reading, hope you enjoy! Btw, requests are open!

Gif’s not mine.

“Captain Rogers! Captain Rogers!” His name was thrown at him from every possible direction, repeated again and again like a mantra. Countless of eager eyes seeking his gaze, desperately enough to convince him they would do anything for just a moment of his undivided attention.

Steve wasn’t a regular at press conferences. Usually, it was more of a Stark territory, but once in a while he was forced to go; it’s good for PR, they said, the people love seeing their captain.

He only went because of her anyway.

In all honesty, Steve would rather fight on his own twice as many journalists than answer their questions. A man with a striped tie and a combed hair nearly pushed a microphone to his chest. Also, he thought, make them be ninjas.

“Please, everyone, let’s all stay calm and in time, The Captain will answer each and every one of your questions.” A woman with a neat hair pulled back smiled, adjusting her grey pantsuit when she spoke. The buzzing in the room gradually died down.

Steve knew who she was. Penelope was one of The Avengers representatives in the news and the media. She was very stern but not any less kind because of it. He assumed she was very good at her job.

His eyes bore into the crowd, his guts twisted in disappointment when he couldn’t locate her.

“Captain Rogers will only answer question regarding the body formerly known as SHIELD, as well as the latest mission of The Avengers and the new aiding initiative for helping PTSD suffering veterans recover.” Penelope glanced at Steve as he nodded, confirming what she said.

He was already debriefed an hour ago, but the woman knew who she was dealing with, and after the scandal of last time…he needed to be reminded he can’t be saying exactly what’s on his mind.

“Captain Rogers will not answer any further questions referencing political views nor personal life.” Penelope smiled, “use your time wisely. Thank you.”

In a brief second suited arms were raised as high as they could, it was like the were in a competition of who can speak louder and raise his hand higher. Steve adjusted in his seat, his suit widely uncomfortable and restricting;

“It makes you look professional.” Natasha said,

“Handsome.” Clint added,

“As long as it’s not your stealth suit or those god awful grey sweatpants…” Tony huffed and physically pushed his broad shoulders out the door, sending him to the jungle.

“Carl, go ahead.”

A man from the back row stood up and cleared his throat, smoothing down the wrinkles of his pants.

“Captain Rogers, it’s an honor to meet you again.” Steve nodded, not even the faintest smile on his lips, “what is your stance regarding the conflict in the middle east? Will you explain-“

“Let me stop your right there.” Penelope talked straight to the black microphone, “Really, Carl? I thought we were very clear with our instructions. He will not answer that. Next!” She announced, already scanning for a different journalist with her eyes. They fell on a young woman, so contrasted in that view of tired dark suits, her confidence refreshing and covering everything she lacks in experience.

“The LA Times, y/n.”

Steve’s eyes lit up when he saw her thin golden bracelet sliding down her wrist as she raised her hand up.

Despite the scuffs that filled the room, a satisfied grin decorated her features when her name was pronounced ceremonially, her stance straight and impressive.

“Captain Rogers.” Y/n smiled, not missing the way Steve’s eyes roamed over her body, he swallowed the gulp in his throat and smiled back.

“Will the initiative Mr. Wilson and you have come up with only be relevant to the citizens of New York? Or should we expect to see more branches soon?”

Her skirt was hugging her curves perfectly, light purple that ended just above the knees, enhancing her body’s already sinful shape, even when she was fully clothed.

Steve swallowed again, registering her question only by some miracle; “Sam Willson is the mind operating behind this incredible innovation,” he began. 

Y/n exhaled, her mind already forming the words that soon will be written on her laptop; Captain Rogers, looking authoritative in a navy suit, humble as always, credits his fellow Avenger and good friend Sam Wilson for their conjoint hard work on the anticipated “VetsForVets.” project that will debut in two weeks.

On a second thought, maybe she should scratch that comment about the suit. He does look authoritative though, and if she may add, fucking hot.

He was uncomfortable, she could see that, the way he was fidgeting with his white collar even though he didn’t have a tie, his overly tensed back, the strain in his voice when he spoke, but mostly, because he told her.

“Apart from New York, we expect to open addition stations in Washington D.C. and Boston in the next three months.” The tight fabric of her white t-shirt clung to her breasts, showing just enough cleavage to drive him crazy but still be considered appropriate. How he managed to form a coherent answer, he didn’t know.

“We aim to expand to the midwest as well, and hopefully, in six months, we’d reach the west coast. Our main goal is to be where we’re needed. Anywhere that might be.”

“Thank you, Captain.” Y/n licked her lips and looked straight at his darkening eyes. The both of them knew exactly where they needed to be.

-

“Fuck, Steve.” Y/n whimpered, back crushed against the bathroom stall in full force, bones hitting the plastic in motions coordinated with the rapid slams of their hips.

He shushed her gently, bringing his fingers to her mouth in a gesture so delicate it clashed with his violent thrusts, “we don’t want to be heard, do we?”

She threw her head back, hitting the stall, eyes shut in pleasure. Accepting his fingers and sucking on them in a desperate attempt to be quiet.

Steve pulled his hips almost completely out, she opened her eyes just in time to see his lower abdomen contracted, sculpted abs shrinking and a devilish smirk on his lips before he pounded into her again, forcefully pressing his way into her pussy as she squeezed her eyes shut, mouth closing tighter around his digits and filling with her own salty flavor that lingered to his skin, evidence of her previous orgasm.

“Good girl.” He rasped when she only squeaked, visibly preventing herself from making any louder sound.

They still were in a building full of journalists, after all, and damn good ones. It would be too easy for them to connect the dots if they heard anything at all. And then, all hell breaks loose.

“Shit, you feel so good baby.” He groaned into the crock of her neck, adjusting his grip on her ass and squeezing her between his thighs. When he was sure he had her secure in place he lifted his palm from her body,

“FUCK!” She moaned when he spanked her, left hand hits back hard and unforgiving on her cheeks. The place when he landed his hand heated up, skin prickling and burning in an already red spot.

Steve renewed his grasp on her skin and lifted her body against his, his cock still inside her, its stretch more defined than always when he raised her up, easily finding a comfortable position to support her in the air just in the right angle, even with one arm only.

“Steve.” Y/n cried, tears forming in her eyes as her shoulders hit the stall again and Steve picked the pace of his thrusts. His hipbones brushed against the inside of her thighs, smoothly sliding in and out as shiny sleek leaked from her hole down to her ass. She was at his mercy again; one wrong move and she could meet the hard stone floor. If it was anyone else she might’ve been worried, but not with Steve.

His free hand slowly sank down to her throat, dragging over her red lips and her chin, leaving a wet trail of saliva. The grip was loose around her neck, heavy and felt on her hot skin.

Steve bit his already swollen lips and tightened his hold, using it to bring her mouth closer; He couldn’t help it. She looked so wrecked. And delicious.

To think that less than an hour ago she was still in her fancy little skirt, strutting around with a smirk on her flawless makeup covered face. So collected and pretty- now look at her;

Melting like jelly between his arms, so begging and desperate and even more beautiful than before, needy for his cock even when it was already inside her. The thought alone made him smirk just before he crushed their lips together, taking advantage of y/n’s gasp of surprise and sliding his tongue past her lips, stroking slowly the inside of her cheeks and her own tongue- moving against each other in a sloppy rhythm.

The heat in her lower belly ignited, threatening to combust as she felt it raise to her flushed cheeks, painting them in what he thought was the most beautiful shade of pink.

She moaned into his mouth, trembling so much he had to bring down his other hand, nearly covering her asscheeks with his palms, squeezing hard but holding her in place.

“Hold tight, doll.” Steve warned, picking up the speed of his movements, slamming into her boneless body in a vicious pace.

Her grip on his biceps tightened, breast moving up and down to her ragged breaths, muffled curses leaving pulp lips and getting lost in her own pleasure.

He jerked his hips, making her produce an utterly sinful sound, dripping erotism and lust; the fire in her stomach finally consuming all of her as she burst. Fingers clawing hard into Steve’s muscles, mouth open and thrown back along with her head, legs shaking so violently she thanked god she wasn’t standing on her feet.

Steve buried his face in the crook of her neck again, leaving an uneven trail of sloppy kisses as he rode his high with her, her walls clenching around him and milking every bit of his pleasure when he marked them with his cum.

-

“Ugh shit, the mess we’ve made.” Y/n stared in terror at the mix of juices leaking lazily down her thigh. She grabbed a handful of toilet paper and gathered the liquids in a somewhat awkward position.

“Do you need help?” Steve didn’t even bother to button his dress shirt. He laid on the closed toilet in blissful obliviousness, the expensive suit Tony got him was in a puddle on the floor. Oh wouldn’t he be furious if he ever found out.

He reached his hand and placed it on her hip, caressing the skin under her thin panties and smiling at her, she returned the smile but slowly zipped up her skirt, forcing Steve to remove his palm. He thought it would be the perfect time to ask her.

“Hey y-“

“I gotta go.” Y/n picked her phone from her purse before he could say anything, seemingly unaware of his attempt to speak. She had too many messages, and the governor of Georgia tweeted something completely scandalous again, she needed to see if someone has written about it…

“Already?” He was disappointed, voice higher than usual and sobered up from his post orgasm euphoria.

“Yeah, uh…sorry Steve.” She didn’t look up from her phone, blindly searching for her tight t-shirt, “next time, ok?”

Steve nodded but he wasn’t sure she could tell. He located the white fabric that was thrown near her legs and passed it to her. She mumbled a distracted thank you and kept typing, only stopping once when her head was stuck inside the collar.

Steve chuckled lightly when he watched her while buttoning his shirt, slowly, without any real effort. He thought that he can make time last forever by staying in there, in the last stall of the VIP rest room, and she would stay with him.

She slipped into her Louboutins swiftly, (they were her only pair, she wore them when she had to leave an impression, she once told him in a vulnerable moment of truth) waved goodbye, and just like that - she was gone.

Steve didn’t like how empty he felt, the feeling of bliss already out the door just like her, grounding him with sheer force and striping him of his joy.

He should really get used to that by now, he thought as he picked up the blue suit, the void in the pit of his stomach getting terrifyingly deep.

Steve held his fitted blazer above his shoulder and pushed the door open with a sigh, meeting his own face in the mirror. He couldn’t ignore the fragments of past expression that masked his features before it faded away.

The creases were rooted on his forehead, curved lines and loose corner of mouth, blue dim inside his orbs.

Something downed on him then. He looked sad.

-

Y/n waved her magnetic card in front of the small machine, waiting for the familiar beep to arrive. The glass doors opened automatically, letting her in the elegant looking lobby. She sent a hurried kiss in the air to Daniella, not even having the time to chat with her dear receptionist friend as she walked to the elevators with determination, nodding when Dani held her phone, and pantomimed texting, as to let her know she won’t get off that easily.

From there the way to her cubicle was short. It was small and unimpressive but for her it meant everything; at her young age she managed to score her position in the LA Times’ branch in New York. She was ambitious and persistent and unforgiving- people her age could only dream of what she does. Most of them are stuck as an underpaid interns, their names written on coffee cups instead of being on top of articles. She, on the other hand, just returned from interviewing Captain America.

Y/n didn’t need a fancy office with see through walls to know she was damn good at her job, she only had to look at what tasks she was given.

So yes, a shower would be incredible right now, but also meeting her deadline that was pretty much today.

“Y/n! The boss wants you in her office.” Ruth’s assistant lightly touched her back, bringing her attention to him as she was too concentrated into typing.

“What? Right now?” It wasn’t unusual her boss required a report after a big press conference, normally she would just mail it to her, though. Speaking to her directly was only reserved to special news. Or perhaps, a slap on the wrist. Or something way worse.

What if she somehow found out she was sleeping with Steve? This could be a disaster. Everything she previously wrote about him or with relations to him would be considered unreliable. All her work for nothing and she will never be worked with again. Unethical and stupid and-

“You coming?”

Y/n nodded slowly and got up in terror, steps heavy in her suddenly very uncomfortable heels.

Jamie the assistant opened the door for her and she thanked him weakly, shrinking when she stepped forward and met with the proud back of the stern woman.

“Do you have a dress?” The grey woman ask nonchalantly after what felt like an hour of silence.

“I’m sorry?” Y/n asked, confused, trying to hide her baffled face when Ruth turned around, patting one of her famous black pantsuits .

“Did the press con go well? Have you started your report and article yet?” The tall woman seem to ignore her own question, confusing washing over y/n even further.

“It went better than expected, got enough material for a great piece about Rogers and Wilson’s project. Both the article and the report will be at your desk by the end of the day, ma’am.”

“Very well.” Ruth nodded, “now do you have a dress? I have an invitation to the Gala Stark hosts in two weeks. I already confirmed going, but unfortunately something came up and I can’t go. Since we cannot afford missing it- every single paper in the city is going to be there- and you are already familiar with the story, I thought you were fit for the job. That brings me to my question- do you have a dress?”

-

Steve loved watching her falling apart beneath him. Her trembling thighs secure between his arms, face buried deep between her folds and her pleasure to him mercy.

It was so intimate, sometimes. How she would whisper his name like some kind of a secret, a soft hidden truth that was only known to them.

Y/n dug her nails into his scull, weaving her fingers through his hair and pulling him impossibly closer, tongue debouching her heat, his lips applying more pressure to her core.

His cock twitched in his pants when he looked up, just for a moment. He had to watch;

She looked like a work of art, his name leaving her nearly bloody lips again and again, thick lashes fluttering on her cheeks, hair spread on the pillow in a mess that almost seemed artificial.

“Fuck!” She yelped when Steve buried his head again, grazing his teeth against her clit and biting it gently, her body squirming as he pressed a kiss to it right afterwards.

Steve bucked his hips into the matters, his crotch desperate for some friction, the delicious noises she made and being surrounded by her sweet smell were almost too much.

Content it would last forever, he felt the desperate grind of y/n’s hips against his face, and the thrill of watching her cum overpowered the pleasure of prolonging the dwelling of her flavor on his lips.

Steve groaned into her center, flicking his tongue and squeezing her thigh hard, holding in place a handful of her body as he consumed her passionately.

Ignoring the shaking of her legs he continued, back arched above the sheets as bids of sweat formed on her temple, shutting and opening her eyes in hopelessness when she chased her high, feeling the warm liquid finding its way out of her hole and right into the Steve’s waiting tongue. The sensation of him licking every last drop astonishingly erotic, arousing all over again her sensitive clit.

Y/n exhaled and looked down, exhausted.

His satisfied grin was utterly unholy, jaw coated with her juices, the sensual licks of his tongue on his lips can’t cloak that cocky expression he didn’t dare to steer. Intense stare fixated on her swollen bit lips, as if he could actually devour her whole with his eyes only.

Y/n never shied away from him, not even once- but something in the way Steve watched her from between her legs, so focused and fascinated at the same time - raised her blush higher on her cheeks, the urge to close her thigh almost overpowering her.

He kissed her left inner thigh for the last time, sending shivers down her already shook spine. He cupped her sides, bringing himself up. One corner of his lips curved his smirk even wider as he captured y/n in a kiss, smearing her up with her own release and biting on her bottom lip before he pulled away.

The pout her mouth shaped into gave him the last drop of courage he needed to gather, her still erratic breath hot on his skin when he formed the words in his mind into a question.

“I was thinking…” He began, choosing his words carefully, the growing boner in his boxer doing nothing to clear his mind, “there’s this event next week. Tony…Tony Stark is hosting it. It’s for “VetsForVets”, and I thought,” he inhaled, for some reason her breaths not as close as before, “I thought that I would love it if you went with me. I mean…That I want you to come with me. I mean, only if you want to, because I want you. To come with me, I mean.” He kept stumbling over his words, making it even more of mess than it was. Steve knew it would be awkward, but this lame attempt had him fighting the burning desire to punch himself.

Y/n flinched back, moving backward and pressing herself against the headboard of her bed, her pout turning into a frown.

“I’m sorry if I, I just assumed-“ He found it difficult to create the sentence even more than before, “it’s a thing for the press, actually, I thought you’d wanna go, since you may know some people, uh, there.”

He watched her eyes losing any trace of previous lust when she spoke, “I’m going.”

“You’re going? With…with me?”

“No, I mean,” y/n said reluctantly, “I’m already going. I got an invitation from work.”

“Oh…” Steve said, visibly confused as to why she said it like it was a bad thing, “we can still go together, it would be even easier since you already got the clearance to-“

“I’m going alone.”

Steve exhaled sharply, his mind filling with silver fog he couldn’t find the source of, eyes closing and then opening wide again.

“You…Don’t want go with me?”

People seemed to forget who he was, once. Just a skinny kid from Brooklyn that was too short to reach any girl’s eyes and couldn’t throw a punch to save his life.

People seemed to forget, but he remembered. He remembered every woman that looked down on him, dismissing him over his looks. Every foot he stepped on, limbs too awkward to dance. He remembered, and he never blamed anyone but himself.

So when y/n’s gaze met his, apologetic and with a hint of pity, he remembered.

“Steve I- I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.” He was on his feet in no time, already pulling his shirt back up, feet searching for his boots.

She got up after him, her sex still bare with a small trace of her wetness that was there before.

“It’s okay, really.” And everything about him screamed it wasn’t, “I asked. You said no. What’s the big deal?” His t-shirt was half up, fabric too tight for his muscles, he already had one shoe on.

“Because, I don’t want you to be upset! It’s nothing about you. I just…can’t show up as your date. It’s unprofessional.” She tried to explain, laying a comforting hand on his forearm. She could feel the clenched muscle under it, flexing harder than it should.

His brain was beat, irrational with that screen of black smoke that made him even angrier, “I’m just a job to you, then?”

Steve spat his words at her, flinching away from him once again as he shook his shoulder to get her hand off.

“You’re not just- what are you even talking about? Steve, I really didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“It sure don’t seem like it.”

“God,” she moaned in despair, “I can’t be seen with you. It can ruin my career, did you know that? I would definitely lose my job at the Times. Which I fucking love, by the way.” Steve opened his mouth to react, but she beat him to it.

“Everything I have ever wrote about you, which you should know, is a lot, would be considered biased. Invalid. Fake. Do you know what happens to journalists who publish fake new?”

“But it’s not fake.” He whispered.

“Yeah, well, they don’t know that.” Her throat was sore, her head was hammering with the pain of a sharp needle that was permanently stuck inside her temple. Her vision was blurry and kept losing its focus.

“Then tell them.” He knew the fight was already lost, “I’ll tell ‘em.”

“And you really think they’ll listen?”

Steve took one last look at her and fixed his laces, eyes stinging with tears he barely managed to blink away.

She was right. Of course she was. And he couldn’t afford being angry, but he was. He told himself it was at the situation and not at her, and it felt like a lie.

“See you around, I guess.” Steve adjusted his jeans, the uncomfortable stretch still there but not as irritating as before.

“Yeah,” y/n said, watching him leaving her room on his own, talking more to herself than to him, “see you around.”

-

Y/n didn’t stop throwing up all morning. The terrifying thought of pregnancy dug its way to her brain but it wasn’t it. She checked.

Might be because today is the day of the Gala. Biggest event she’s ever been to all alone. Must be performance issues. Excitement, maybe.

She didn’t even think about the fact Steve will be there. Who even Steve was, anyway?

It’s been almost two weeks since what was their impromptu breakup, separation, termination of relationship, Whatever that was. And when her temper cooled down, a couple of days after, y/n realized something.

She realized she missed him. She missed him so much.

Calling in sick wasn’t an option. She will not fuck up the first time she’s given that kind of opportunity, not even for a man. Not even for a man like Steve.

Her red dress was hung outside her closet, she could see it from the narrow space left open between the bathroom door and the wall.

Sharp pains hit her stomach again, nausea and disgust pulsing through as she emptied what was left in her into the toilet. She can go.

She is going.

-

Even Steve didn’t see anything quite as extravagant, and he’s known Tony for years. The ballroom was decorated with the colors of the American Flag; massive sheets of red velvet and silk descended from the artificially tampered ceiling, a technology Steve didn’t fully understand made it seem like they were looking at a sky colored with changing shades of blue. The marble floor was different as well, now indigo instead of stoney beige. As for the white- it was in everything else.

The chairs and the tables, even the bar. The walls and the donation and information stations, the odd one out being the small stage that looked like a hill raised from the floor, covered in a velvety royal blue fabric. Tony was pulling all the stops to promote “VetsForVets” even though it wasn’t his.

He didn’t seem to mind though, given Steve didn’t let him donate the entire amount they needed for all the branches in plan and even more, Tony wanted to help as much as Steve allowed him, and he did an amazing job at it.

Steve searched with his eyes for anyone familiar, catching Sam and Tony standing near the stage. He approached them quickly, press hasn’t arrived yet.

“Tony!” He called, “this is incredible, I don’t know how to thank you.”

Sam patted him back with a smack and nodded, “I tried it man,” Sam smiled, “he won’t accept any thank you but a thank you.”

“Enough about me now,” Tony adjusted his glasses, “it’s your night.” He motioned to the two of them and put his hands on their shoulders, furthering them from each other and creating a space to walk through between the two.

Sam chuckled and shook his head, nodding to the entrance as a new wave of people streamed past the door, cameras and microphones in hand.

The knots at the bottom of his stomach twisted, mouth dry as he hastily searched for the inevitable.

That’s when he saw her.

Her wine colored dress fit right in the background, like she was just another mesmerizing decoration. The silk hugged her body perfectly, embracing it down until the fabric reached her mid thigh, ending with a wrap.

His gaze followed her up, moving through her bare arms, modest cleavage, the thin straps that highlighted her collarbone, until they reached her face- lips painted outrageously red, rosy blush high on her cheeks that couldn’t obscure something was off. He wanted to approach, ask her what’s wrong, before he could move she locked eyes with him, watching him watching her. Y/n retreated back to the crowded area behind her, blending in with everyone else.

- She vowed not to drink, her stomach still not recovered from the rough morning it’s been through and the last thing she needed was to make a fool of herself in front of some of the most important people in the world. And him.

Yet for some reason, the combination of an open bar with the most exquisite cocktails she’s ever seen and the overwhelmingly good looks of one super soldier, made her reconsider her decision.

Now she was pleasantly tipsy, talking to a handsome stranger and circling her sparkly straw in her nearly empty glass, even between unnecessarily loud laughs and drawn out touches she was too aware of the side glances she was getting from a particular person across the room.

They kept calling them the men of the hour, then why did he feel like he was the smallest person in this room?

Steve muttered a distracted apology as he moved past the donors they were talking with, Sam looked at him questionably but Steve dismissed his worry, smiling wide and congratulating all of them a with a good night. Sam was charming them way better anyway.

Determined, he walked to the bar and ordered himself a useless whiskey. Once he got his order he turned around to lean on the high counter, sipping slowly from the amber liquid. He glimpsed quickly at the man y/n was speaking with, getting closer an inch with the wish to be noticed.

Steve downed his drink in one go, longing for how carefree it used to make him.

“Oh, excuse me just a minute.” Jacob cut her flow of words to look above her head, his eyes lighting up when Steve nodded at him.

Jacob ducked down abruptly, “this is Captain America!” He whispered loudly, sending unpleasant breaths in her direction.

Y/n jumped in her place, breath hitched in her throat. “Fuck me.”

“I’m sorry?”

She heard Steve’s breathy chuckle too close to her neck.

“You are Captain America, right?” The man that slowly revealed himself to be more and more disappointing asked.

“Steve Rogers.” He stuck his hand for a shake, smile lopsided, “nice to meet you. Y/n.” He acknowledged her by nodding to her direction.

“Oh, you two met?” Jacob’s eyes seemed like they’ve never shone brighter.

“Briefly.” Y/n answered sternly. The cosmopolitan she drank already on its way up.

“Oh, great. I’m Jacob. A big fan, Cap. Captain America. Can I call you Cap?”

Y/n rolled her eyes and kicked Steve’s foot not very subtly. His amused grin didn’t leave his face even then.

“Steve is fine, Jacob. Thanks for coming here today. It means a lot.” He managed to say through his smile, just before Jacob’s phone vibrated loudly.

“I gotta take this.” He mouthed and pointed to his phone, strolling away objectively to find a quieter spot.

Steve leaned against the white bar again, crossing his legs and watching a general spot in the distance, a satisfied smirk on his face. “Jacob. Really?”

“Shut up.”

“What? He seems like a nice guy.”

“We literally just met ten minutes ago. And even if he is - that’s none of your business.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

The music filled the silence between them, ceiling somehow capturing the blue of Steve’s eyes the exact moment y/n looked up.

“I’m sorry. About the other day. I overreacted.” She said finally, breaking the static noise.

Steve place his empty glass on top of the counter and scratched his jaw, “no you didn’t. You don’t need to apologize. I’m the one who needs to-“

“I’ve missed you.”

He raised his gaze to meet hers, eyes sincere, her mouth slightly open. Like it was inviting him to come in.

“I’ve missed you too.”

When Jacob finally returned from his call, they were no longer there.

-

Steve steadily moved up her body, his weight held by his forearms to her sides. It was slow, paced. So different than any sex they’ve had before.

Sensual and incredibly frustrating. Desperate pulls of fabric and skin seeking impossible proximity, wets sound of him sliding in and out, the smell of sweat and alcohol intoxicating in their noses.

Y/n walls squeezed Steve’s cock tight inside her, clenching and releasing and pulling him deeper inside. He let his fingers down to her clit, adding to her arousal as he circled it lazily, not breaking eye contact even once.

Steve came first. Having her in his arm more profound than the act itself.

She was a close second, waves of pleasure hitting her one after the other to the voice of Steve encouraging her to cum between his throaty groans, moaning loudly as he shot warm strips of cum inside her.

“Shit.” Y/n exhaled. He was still on top of her, his cock buried deep inside. She didn’t know what about that moment changed her mind. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe Steve is worth losing some things so she could win new ones. Better ones.

“They’re probably looking for you.” She giggled breathily.

“Mmm, ‘think we can afford five more minutes. Can’t we? Unless you…unless you have to go?”

She thought about every time she left hastily after they finished. Grabbing her phone first thing and everything else next. Leaving him alone.

“Don’t worry.” She whispered, “I’m not going anywhere.”

[yeet-me-dad-dy]

Beautiful Condition

Summary: You have a condition called Rosacea, which makes your face red and splotchy. Loki is eager to make sure you know that you’re beautiful.

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Words: 2,197

You hadn’t been an Avenger for very long. Technically, you weren’t even fully an Avenger yet, having not completed your training. Despite this, the others already considered you part of the team and you were invited, along with the rest of them, to attend a party. The event was being thrown in their honor, to celebrate their most recent successful mission; the prevention of the obliteration of the entire East Coast. You had turned down the invitation not once, not twice, not three, but four times already, saying that you hadn’t even been a part of that mission and didn’t deserve to be celebrated. With the whole team against you, however, you caved in the end. Natasha and Wanda tried to reassure you, saying that they would help you get ready, that they would make you a true spectacle, that everyone would be jealous of you.

But that wasn’t the problem.

“Y/N, are you done in there?” Wanda asked from outside the bathroom door from her place on your bed. You adjusted your formal wear a final time, appraising yourself in the large mirror above the bathroom counter. Your eyes roamed up your body, taking in the clothing that the pair had picked for you to wear tonight. It fit nicely and complimented all of the curves and angles of your body, and just as you were thinking that you might actually look hot, your gaze fell upon your face.  

The angry red splotches covering your cheeks were something that you had come to accept as a part of you. That didn’t mean that you had to like it. The bathroom door opened behind you and you saw Natasha reflected in the mirror.

“Worried about your face?” she asked tactlessly.

You turned around with a scowl. “Yeah.”

“We can put some makeup on you. Try and cover it up,” she offered.

You shook your head. “Makeup doesn’t cover it up. Trust me, I’ve tried everything. I’ve blown whole paychecks on foundation and creams to try and hide it. Nothing works.”

You pushed past her with a huff.

Wanda rose from the bed with a soft smile. “I know you don’t believe it, but it’s not that bad. Noticeable, yes, but not ugly. Having red on your face does not immediately make you ugly.”

“Maybe not to you, but to the rest of the world it does.”

She sighed, her smile dropping into a pitying frown.

Natasha cleared her throat. “Come on. We’re already late, we should get going.”

It was late in the year, and a chill breeze hit you as you slid out of the limo, followed by Wanda and Natasha. You rubbed your arms, trying to find some warmth in the friction. Before you stood a massive hotel, dark and foreboding against the bright New York skyline, the gray bricks and Victorian architecture giving the place an eerie feel. You shivered, though not from the cold, and before you could turn around and get back into the limo, your friends were pulling you toward the front doors, one on either arm.

“You’ll be fine, Y/N,” Wanda whispered in your ear.

“I hate parties…” you grumbled as a young man in a sharply tailored tux opened the door to grant you entrance and you were pulled inside.

The feel of the hotel’s interior was in sharp contrast to the exterior. It was brightly lit, with red velvet furniture and a massive gold chandelier hanging from the tall ceiling. You gaped at anything and everything you laid your eyes on as your friends lead you farther in.

“You’re late.”

You pulled your gaze away from an exquisite stained glass window high up in the wall and dropped your head to see Tony Stark striding toward you, a glass of champagne in hand.

“Only by half an hour,” Natasha responded with a smirk.

“So, fashionably late, then,” Tony quipped with a playful grin. He turned to you then. “Glad to see you here, Y/N. I was sure you wouldn’t come.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” you mumbled coldly.

“You look good, if that’s any consolation,” he tried to reassure you.

You offered a curt nod in thanks, but said nothing else.

“Well, party’s this way,” he said and lead you, Natasha, and Wanda through the entrance hall and to a set of heavy, ornately carved doors that hung open on their hinges to reveal a massive ballroom. Well… it may not have actually been a ballroom, but that was the only word that you could think to describe it. It reminded you of something from a fairytale castle, and suddenly you felt very out of place. This is a room for royalty, not… not you.

Your friends departed as soon as you stepped over the threshold, weaving their way through the crowds of elegantly dressed guests to find the rest of the team. The sea of people within swayed like a tide and you had to dance around them to move farther into the room, lest you crash into someone. Luckily, you were fairly graceful on your feet and managed to find your way to the bar without causing an accident.

The young woman at the counter smiled at you as you pulled up and leaned back on the bar. “What can I get for you tonight?” she asked, her soft voice harmonizing with the piano and cello music whispering through the room from the stage.

You looked over your shoulder at her. “Oh, sorry. No, I don’t want anything right now, thank you.”

She nodded and moved on to another customer as you hopped up onto a barstool, facing the counter. You tried to read some of the labels on the fancy glass bottles lining the shelves, but they were either too small or the font too curly for you to make out much. After a few minutes, you were picking at your cuticles as a body took the stool to your right. Not wanting to make small talk with a stranger, you opted to ignore them, turning your body slightly away so that they would hopefully leave you alone.

“What can I get you?” the bartender asked.

“A glass of ice water for my friend here,” a dark, smooth voice with an unforgettable accent replied.

Your heart stopped in your chest and you held your breath. He wasn’t supposed to be here.

The bartender set a tall glass of ice cold water in front of you and you wrapped your hands around it instinctively before muttering a thank you.

“Having fun?” Loki asked and you knew the question was directed at you.

You took a sip of water to try and cool the heat that was rising to your face. You were fond of the God of Mischief and his presence always sent fire rushing to your face, which you knew made your condition so, so much worse; the red splotches on your face darkening to a deep crimson. You tried to angle your face away from him, to hide it from his searching gaze.  

“I, um… Yeah, I… It’s… It’s a good party. Nice music,” you stammered in answer to his question. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him because you knew how he was looking at you. He didn’t look at anyone else that way, which was part of the reason that you had such a hard time being around him. When he looked at others, his eyes were dark, full of judgment and self-righteousness. When he looked at you, his eyes held the bright blue of the sky. They were soft, kind, caring. He looked at you like you were all the stars in the sky, like you were an exploding nebula, brilliant and beautiful, like you were the only thing in the whole world worth looking at. “I didn’t think you were coming tonight,” you said.

“I wasn’t going to… Until Thor told me that you’d be attending.”

You didn’t answer, unsure of what to say. He shuffled beside you. “You needn’t hide your face from me, darling.” His voice was barely a whisper as his hand came up to gently grasp your chin. You didn’t fight him as he turned your head to face him and a soft smile tugged up at the corners of his mouth as his eyes met yours. You were sure your face was beet red at this point and subconsciously you turned away once more as he lowered his hand.

You could see his smile drop and his brow furrow. “Do I truly make you so uncomfortable?” he asked.

You shook your head, eyes downcast and focused on the bar in front of you. “No, it’s not you…” you began. “It’s not you, Loki.” Finally, grudgingly, you angled your whole body toward him with a sigh. “You don’t make me uncomfortable, not in the slightest. In fact, I enjoy your company. I enjoy it more than any of the others.”

“Then… why do you avoid me?” he looked confused, but there was still a tinge of hurt behind his eyes.

There was no reason to lie to him. No reason to keep hiding. If there was one person that could look past your condition, it would be Loki. However, you’d thought that about people before, and every time, they’d let you down.

You rubbed a hand down your face and took a deep breath to steady your nerves before you looked him right in the eye. “I avoid you because I like you, but I’m afraid that my face will make it so that you won’t ever like me back.”

The crease between his brows deepened with his confusion. “Your… face? You have a beautiful face, darling. What could possibly make you think any different?”

You cocked your head to the side. “The redness,” you stated simply. “My condition.”

The prince chuckled. “Last I checked, blushing isn’t a condition, my dear.”

You shook your head. “No. No, it’s not blush. Well, I mean it is, I always blush when I see you, but it’s not… It’s not just that. It’s called Rosacea. It makes my face red, but the red gets worse when I experience strong emotions, like happiness, sadness, or anger, or when… when I like someone. Blush is just a little splash of color on your face not… not… this.” You gestured wildly to your face, to the scarlet that painted your cheeks.

His smile returned and he reached a hand up, brushing the tips of his fingers ever so gently across the splash of color before he cupped your cheek and looked once more into your eyes. “If this is a condition… then it’s surely the most beautiful condition I’ve ever seen.”

You felt the heat rush to your face once more. “Oh…” you smiled, lowering your gaze to your hands, which rested in your lap.

“You have no reason to be embarrassed or ashamed of the patterns that adorn your face, darling. Da Vinci himself would envy the color upon your cheeks were he alive to see it.”

“Now you’re actively trying to make me blush,” you said, poking him in the stomach.

With a chuckle, his thumb ghosted once more across your cheek before he dropped his hand to take one of yours. “Well, of course, dear. I do so love the color that springs up when I do.”

Suddenly, the chipper piano music was replaced with a dark, haunting melody that wove through the crowd like ghosts. A sound fit to compliment the dark prince of Asgard, you thought. In one swift movement, he had slid from his barstool and stood before you, your hand still in his.

“Would you dance with me?” he asked quietly.

With a smile, you nodded and he wasted no time in pulling you to your feet. The crowd parted for him so you could easily pass and he pulled you close once you came to a stop in the middle of the room. The crowd of people faded into darkness, indistinct shapes dancing in the background. He held you tight as he gazed down at you and took a step. His smile widened as you moved with him and he took another. Soon enough, you were dancing an elegant dance with Loki, who was looking down at you as if you were the very oxygen he needed to breathe.

“My crimson flower…” he sighed, resting his forehead against yours. “My alluring crimson flower. Do you think you’re not beautiful?” he asked. “Roses weep as you pass. Do you think you’re not regal? The sea bows to the sand when you stand upon it. You are not your condition, Y/N. Don’t you ever think you are not enchanting. You are everything to me.”

He glanced down at your lips and you knew what he wanted. Without hesitation, you inclined your head and brushed his lips with your own. He pressed them together, kissing you softly, slowly, passionately, starting a fire in your chest. All too soon, he pulled away, his breath hot against your skin.

“You are beautiful,” he whispered in your ear. And for once, you believed it.

[roaminginspiration]

The Empty Space Next to Me

Really not sure about this post-endgame fanfic. Let me know if I should continue. 

Why Katherine? Because it means 'pure' and it's a major focal point in this fic, or more like the starting point of it.

chap 2 (x) / chap 3 (x) / chap 4 (x) / chap 5 (x) / chap 6 (x) / chap 7 (x) / chap 8 (x) / chap 9 (x) / chap 10 (x)

Chapter 1

The place reeks of gloom and forebodes the worst in every aspect of it. Steve has just appeared on the dark dunes that have been haunting his dreams for the past weeks. The eclipsed sun peeks through the stifling clouds.

He warily looks up at the mountain towering over Vormir. The amber light of the last stone in his pocket glows through the fabric.

After a long and dreadful ascension, Steve comes face to face with the floating red creature that Clint had described to him many times. Except he is a familiar face from his past.

“Steven, son of Joseph,” Red Skull says.

His somber specter floats down from the sky. Steve clenches his fist.

“Schmidt,” he grits his teeth.

“That was in another lifetime. I am no longer that person — I have changed. And so have you.”

Steve probes him coldly.

“But I never thought our paths would meet again,” Red Skull continues. His eyes glance down at his pocket. “You have come to return the Stone.”

Steve stands up square, both fists clenched.

“That is one reason. I’m here to get her back.”

Red Skull knows who he is talking about. He guides him up the trail to the sacrificial altar. It looks just the way Clint described it, but his description doesn’t come near as frightful as it is to his eye.

Staring down at the worn stone, it seems he can see the print of her boots as she ran over to the edge. His eyes begin to fill with water. He looks away and shakes his head.

He takes a deep breath in and turns to Red Skull again. “Where is Natasha?”

“The sacrifice required by the stone cannot be revoked.”

“Bullshit.”

“Her soul now belongs to the stone. It has been cleansed and made anew before departing.”

Steve shakes his head as he comes to the realization that his worst nightmare is becoming true. “It can’t. It can’t. I am bringing the Stone back to have an exchange.”

“The sacrifice made is permanent.”

“We’ll see about it,” Steve mutters decisively.

He lifts Mjolnir, summons thunder and hits the specter with it. The thunderbolt jolts through him like through air and dies out.

“Your effort is vain. I cannot be fought just as I will not fight you. I am simply serving the Stone.”

But Steve can’t hear it. He stepped on the time machine with the strong determination to bring Natasha back with him. It was the only thought his mind could grasp onto not to fall into despair. The certainty that she could be brought back is what made the past few weeks more bearable.

He summons thunder again and hits the specter, again and again, but always unsuccessfully. Physical exhaustion, coupled with mental weariness, eventually get the best of him. And as he realizes that he has failed in his mission, he collapses to his knees. The heavy silence falls over his shoulders and he stares down at the floor. He sees Clint’s broken arrow on the ground, only token of their visit and her sacrifice.

He clutches it in his fist and tears roll down his cheek.

Natasha is gone.

The sadness he feels and the bitter memory of his failure near self-loathing. Since he has returned to the present, he hasn’t found sleep. The memories of Natasha haunt his nights. His brain goes over the same thoughts over and over again, the most obsessive one being he hasn’t done enough to try and bring her back and that he should go back to fight Red Skull.

But Sam and Bucky are always there to talk him out of it. Both seem to genuinely believe has tried his best but, to him, it feels like it wasn’t enough.

It is a bright, sunny day outside and he is sitting on the edge of his bed, staring blankly at the black blazer hanging on the backrest of the chair in the corner.

His eyes flicker to the mirror standing in front of him and he sees his pale, haggard face staring back at him in revulsion. The perfectly ironed white cotton shirt and black trousers can hardly conceal his disheveled look. The thin black tie is hanging loose around his neck. While dressing up, he had to take a break.

A knock on the door echoes across the dead room. Bucky steps through, fully attired, his hair neatly slicked back.

“It’s nearly time,” his best friend softly says, hands in the pockets.

Steve looks down at the floor again. “I’m not sure I can do it, Buck.”

Bucky walks up to him, his body language and expression bear the solemnity of the day. Today is Natasha’s funeral.

Steve had refused to have a funeral because there was no reason to believe she was gone. Tony’s ceremony took a toll on him, but he stood up strong fueled by the hope he would bring her back.

After the ceremony, he had gone to Clint and shared his intention to go to Vormir for her. Clint had not been as enthusiastic as he had expected. His sorrow did not resemble his to the least as it already bore the first traces of mourning. But he could not mourn; mourning would have meant accepting she was forever gone. He forbid Clint to hold a funeral. Clint had reluctantly agreed.

But when he returned without her, Barton immediately set a date.

Nothing big or public — like she would have wanted— but something so her family could gather and say goodbye.

Although Steve can see why it is important to have it, he is not sure he is fine with the idea of it.

“I know it’s hard,” Bucky says. “But saying goodbye is what you need right now.”

He lifts his fist up to his chin. “What I need right now is Natasha. If I go…,” his voice breaks, “If I go it means I have given up.”

He looks up at his friend with red eyes.

Bucky nods slowly. “I know. But she would want you there with the rest of her family.”

One of their last conversations in the command room plays again in his head. “I had this family,” she said with fond sadness.

Bucky gently presses his hand on the back of his shoulder to make him stand up. He holds the two ends of his tie and meticulously ties it. He adjusts the knot at the base of his throat and looks at him.

“You got this,” he reassures him.

Steve and Bucky join the gathering by the lake and are immediately met by Sam bearing a sullen expression. He shares a rapid glance with Bucky then walks over to Steve and lays hand on his shoulder.

Hulk is sitting along with Rhodey on one the benches, his arm still in a splint. Clint is farther away with his family — the children are standing quietly with sad looks — glances in his direction then resumes conversing with Laura. Wanda, who is staring at the lake, turns around and comes up to Steve. She opens her arms and holds him in her arms. She seems relieved to see he has come.

The gathering is outrageously small — part of him hates that only a few people are attending when her sacrifice has helped to bring trillions of people back.

Clint is the first to speak with tearful eyes but with a peaceful and collected tone of voice. Then Wanda with the heavy and accepting voice of someone who has gone through too much loss. Banner speaks next then the audience turns silent.

All are quietly waiting for him to say a few words— he can feel some glances on him. Sam is sitting beside him, a little tense. He is about to stand up to divert the attention away but Steve stops him with a gentle pat on the arm. He gets up and walks to the front.

“Natasha is one of the first people I met when I arrived here. And she practically never left my side from then on…because she knew solitude well enough to know how dreadful it can be. So over the years, she successively became a teammate, then a friend, a confidante, an ally, family —sometimes all of these at once—, without I ever needed to ask her. That’s who Natasha is,” he says with a small shrug. “She selflessly soothes the people she cares about and never asks anything in return. And it’s why the exchange for the Stone was so painfully successful. Nat is…was…the soul of this team. Pure and giving.”

He looks away for a moment as he tries to hold back his tears. He has lost the woman he loves but it took him too long to realize. He made the same mistake of waiting too long again. “Natasha was all of these things for me the past 11 years because she didn’t want me to be alone, and now that she is gone, the empty space next to me is excruciating. I see the absence of her everywhere. But I know what she would say to me. When I told her we should both get a life, she told me “you first”. It seems like a Sisyphean task right now but after what she’s done for us, the least I owe her is to honor her dare.” He pauses with a sad smile and looks up. “So Natasha, wherever you are, I hope you have found peace and I promise I’ll try my best to move on.”

And so he tried to move on.

Weeks go by, and then months. Life goes back to some kind of routine. For him, it mostly consists of work and casual drinks with Sam and Bucky from time to time. He laughs at the jokes, but only at the surface. He tries to ignore the empty seat at their table. He tries to mute the ghost chuckles that echo through the compound. Sam and Wanda took care of packing her belongings and empty her bedroom, but he doesn’t let anybody use it. And he has kept her pointe shoes. They’re hung at the edge of his bedhead. They’re worn out but he can’t bring himself to wash them up — he is afraid it will spoil them, strip them of their history.

It has been four months since Thanos was defeated and the world has changed greatly. The Avengers aren’t as needed as they used to be. The few disturbances are easily handled by authorities or with the intervention of a single Avenger.

He monitors things but only on paper. What it really means is him giving obvious instructions and waiting for the update.

A couple of months ago, he began taking on cooking classes. His skills have improved — Nat would probably be proud.

“Captain Rogers,” the software calls. Something that has become rarer and rarer.

“Yes, Friday? Any issue somewhere that would need our intervention.”

“No, Captain. But there have been a couple of similar reports by civilians that have caught my attention.”

“What kind of reports?” Steve asks.

“It seems they have had an encounter with someone resembling agent Romanoff.”

He frowns. “Probably erroneous reports. Why are you sharing this with me?”

“I had a look through the local data in search of more evidence and found something.”

He freezes and gulps nervously. “Show me,” he says.

The holographic screen opens and he falls in his seat as he clearly identifies the woman strolling down the street in the CCTV footage. She undeniably looks like Natasha. She is wearing a casual top with jeans and is smiling.

“Where and when?” he asks.

“Four days ago in a small town of Louisiana.”

He has a thousand questions right now but he can hardly hear over the sound of his pounding heart.

“I have to go and clear this up.”

“Shall I warn agent Barton and the others?” Friday asks.

“No. Not until I am sure it is her. I don’t want to give anybody false hope.”

He runs to his room and quickly packs up a bag. “Tell the team I’ll be back in a few days.”

“Yes, Captain.”

He goes to the garage, gets in one of the cars.

He knows he shouldn’t, but he can’t help himself to hope it is Natasha. The engine roars as he drives off.

Steve enters the small county with apprehension. The place is so rural and remote that the cap and sunglasses he is wearing to remain anonymous are unnecessary.

He soon walks along the street where the woman looking like Natasha was caught on CCTV. He starts asking around about her with a photo of Natasha. But nobody seems to have seen her. She is like a mirage.

An elderly man eventually takes a second look at the picture Steve is holding.

“Oh yes, I have seen her before. But she doesn’t live here. She works at the Millers guesthouse 30 miles from here.”

“How long has she been working there?”

“I don’t know. More or less 3 months.”

“Do you know her name?”

The man shakes his head no.

“Are you sure it was her?”

“Oh definitely, she isn’t the type of woman you forget.”

Steve jumps in the car and drives out the town. Nearing the destination, he enters an area filled with nothing but woods, lakes, and meadows. Nothing makes sense and he doesn’t understand what Natasha could possibly be doing here.

He parks his car in front of an old, big house with worn white paint.

He gets out of the car and a Golden Retriever comes running to him, wagging its tails then barks as if to make the arrival of a visitor known.

The door of the front porch opens and a slender figure steps out. The woman is wearing a white floral dress with leather flat shoes. Her bright red hair, tied up in a ponytail, shines under the bright rays of sunshine.

He stands still, feeling his legs thaw under him.

Natasha — because he knows it is Natasha — gracefully walks down the stairs, across the lawn to him. She has a little smirk on as she looks him up and down with a mildly curious expression. The dog runs up and around, waiting for his reward. She pets its head softly and opens her palm to give it a candy.

She finally comes to stand in front of him.

“Hi,” she says with a friendly smile. She patiently waits for him to voice his request.

“Natasha?” he murmurs.    

She smirks. “Almost. Katherine,” she corrects with an amused smirk.

Her aloofness surprises him. As amicable as she is, her interaction lacks companionship.

He thought he lost her but she is standing right here in front of him, looking well. He reaches over and holds her in his arms tightly.

Her arms do not hold him, instead, her palm gently push his waist away but he does not notice. He looks at her face again — because he needs to — and he leans in to close the unbearable distance between them.

He is suddenly flipped backward and falls harshly on his side. Natasha is hunched over him, her palm hardly pressed on his chest. She looks confused and downright annoyed.

“I don’t know who you are and where you come from but this isn’t how we greet strangers here.”

[mldrgrl]

Full Circle

by: mldrgrl Rating: PG Pairing: Hank/Stella Summary: Preparing for the big move

Leaving a job after more than twenty years was difficult.  Stella thought she could be an exception to the rule.  She’d kept her colleagues at a distance for most of her time on the force, which allowed her the detachment necessary to do her job effectively.  Whereas others might have felt isolated, she felt comfortable.

It came as a surprise to her that packing her office came with unexpected melancholy.  Hank had come with her to carry heavy boxes, according to him, but she knew it was only because he’d been curious about what her life in Scotland Yard was like and he’d never been inside.  If he didn’t tag along now, there’d never be another opportunity.  He rescued an anti-stress ball that had been in a gift bag from some conference somewhere that she’d just thrown in the rubbish bin and flopped down on the couch in her office to toss it around.

“I expected more funny hats,” he said.  “I never asked, why are your cops called Bobbies?”

“The home minister that created the police force was named Sir Robert Peel,” she answered, wrapping an elastic band around a folder of personal files to take with her.  “The public referred to them as Peelers for some time, and then Bobbies.”

“Do you think Emma Peel was named in honor of Robert Peel?  God, she was hot.”

“I’m not up to speed on my Avengers trivia, I’m afraid.”

There was a light knock on the open door of her office and she looked up from packing her files.  Jim Burns gave her a half-smile and gave a nervous glance around the room.

“You’re needed, Mrs. Peel,” Hank said in a posh British accent.

“Jim,” Stella acknowledged.  “This is my husband, Hank.  Hank, this is Jim Burns.  He was my supervisor once upon a time.”

“What’s up?”  Hank waved his fingers and then tossed his ball in the air again.

“Uh.”  Jim cleared his throat and began to stammer over a goodbye.  “I know today is...well, I thought I would just come down...you know, uh, wish you luck and everything.”

“Thank you.”

“Well, I’ll uh...I should let you…it was nice to meet you.  Hank.”

Hank waved his fingers again and Jim patted his hand against the door frame before making an awkward exit.  As soon as he was gone, Hank whistled low like a bomb dropping and raised his brows at Stella.

“What?” she asked.

“You must’ve done some kind of number on that guy.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You want me to believe you never fucked that guy?”

She glanced at the empty doorway and then raised her brow back at him.  “I’m merely denying that I did any type of number on him.”

Hank threw the ball up again and caught it mid-air.  “I’d be jealous, but I just feel sorry for him.”

Stella put the lid on the banker’s box she was using to pack her personal items and placed her hands on the top.  Twenty years in one small box.  She breathed in deep through her nose and then collected her jacket from the coat rack.

It’s just a job, she told herself, watching Hank pocket the anti-stress ball and then grab the box from her desk.  Just a job.

*****

The house was empty, save for a few select pieces of furniture the new buyers had requested as part of the sale.  The barstools remained, the slender end table in the hallway remained, and the pair of chairs in front of the bay window also remained.  They had asked for the glass bookcase in the bedroom, but it was one item Stella wouldn’t part with, and wouldn’t send to storage.  It was costly to ship, but she was attached to it and so it was making the journey to New York as well.

Stella stood in her empty bedroom and took a final look around.  In less than an hour she would be signing the final papers to complete the sale of her home and then in the morning she and Hank would be on a plane to New York where they would remain.  Permanently.  No traveling back and forth across the Atlantic anymore.  They were no longer Londoners and she was no longer on the police force.

“Hey,” Hank said, stepping up behind her and hooking an arm around her chest.

“Just taking a last look,” she said.

“Fond memories of this room.  Very fond.”  He pressed his hips up against her back and she took hold of his arm across her chest and smiled.

“You’re the only man that’s been with me in this room.  Have I ever told you that?”

“I took your bedroom virginity?  Humbled and honored.  You should’ve told me earlier, I’d have written an acceptance speech.”

“Do you know, when I looked at this house, these walls were blue.”

“Blue?  How blue are we talking?  Ocean blue, Smurf blue, or Stella blue?”

“Like a hazy sky.”

“I can see why you’d paint over it.”

“I wonder if the new owners will paint.  I wonder if by next week these walls will be buttercream or lilac.”

“You can pull out, you know,” he said, opening up his arm to step in a half-circle to face her.  “You don’t have to sell if you don’t want to.”

She put her hands on his chest and patted very lightly.  “I want to,” she said, her eyes drifting over the bare walls for another look.

“I’ll be downstairs.”

She nodded and her eyes fluttered shut as he cupped her cheeks and caught her lips with a few short pecks.  On his last kiss, he lingered and she captured his wrist to tug his hand away.  He got in one more peck to the corner of her mouth and then brushed past her and out the door.  Before she joined him, she gave herself one last walk around the perimeter of the room, feeling unexpectedly sentimental to the point that she found herself caressing the closet doorknob almost reverently.  Suddenly feeling foolish, she jerked her hand away and held her wrist near her chest.  

It’s only a house, she thought.  Nothing more.

Adjusting her blazer by tugging on the lapels, she turned on her heel and joined Hank downstairs.  He was on his cell phone, leaning against the wall.  Their bags were in front of the door.  He nodded at her and pushed away from the wall.

“Gotta go,” he said.  “Becca says hi.”

“Hello to Becca,” she answered.

“Stella says hi back, we’ll see you soon.”  He hung up the phone and put it in the pocket of his leather jacket.  “Ready?”

“Yes.”

*****

Papers were signed, checks were distributed, and keys were turned over.  The townhouse was no longer hers.  On the one hand, she was relieved of the burden of a mortgage, on the other, she felt bereft and untethered, even if she had a home in New York.  The house was the first move towards something permanent she’d ever made in her life.  Marrying Hank was the second.  Moving to New York, well that was almost like making the permanent officially permanent.

Hank had waited with the car while she went into the realtor’s office to sign the papers.  When she came out, he was chatting up the driver as they both leaned against the hood of the black towncar.  For one last time, she’d called her favorite car service and her favorite driver, Nicolá, had shown up promptly on time, as effusive as always.  He and Hank had met on several occasions, but she couldn’t recall if they’d ever had a conversation.  As soon as he saw Stella, he put his hat back on and opened the back door for her.

“To the bank now, signora?” he asked.

“Please,” she answered.  

After the banking was done, there was officially nothing left to be done except check in to their hotel for the night.  She’d left those arrangements to Hank and didn’t know where they’d be staying, but she hoped they had room service.  She didn’t feel much like going out.

“Signora, may I say it’s been a pleasure driving you,” Nicolá said as he set their suitcases at the curb in front of their hotel.  “If you return to London at any time, please allow me to drive for you, it would be my honor.”

Stella smiled and on impulse, embraced the older man.  He’d been a constant in her life for the past few years and she would actually miss him.  Her eyes grew a bit misty, but she blinked away any sign of emotion before she stepped back.

“My wife is going to call me a silly old goat when I tell her the most remarkable woman in London next to her majesty embraced me today.”

“Take care, Nicolá.”

“You as well, signora.”

Stella managed to draw out the process of gathering their bags together to enter the hotel just long enough to watch Nicolá drive away.  She felt a little foolish for wanting to see him off and she reminded herself that drivers come and go.  He was just a man who got her from place to place, nothing more.

*****

The hotel was familiar to Stella in a way she didn’t pinpoint until they walked into the room.  She paused by the bed, looked out the window, and then turned back to Hank who was still in the entryway.

“This is…” she started.

“Where we met,” he finished, and then drew a line beneath the brass 908 above the peephole with his fingertip.

“Same room.”

“Your room.  I was in 523.”

Stella stepped out of her heels and untucked her blouse as she walked to the window.  It wasn’t dark yet, like it was the night she went to bed with him.  Hyde Park bustled below.  She heard the door snick shut and a few moments later Hank was beside her.

“Nice view,” he said.

“It is,” she agreed.  She’d never really appreciated it before and now she didn’t know when she’d be back.

“I know it’s not easy, Sherlock.”

“It’s just a city.”

“Nothing is ever just anything.”

She wanted to nod in agreement, but there was a lump in her throat that caused her to remain still.  She stared out over treetops and rooftops that she’d seen her whole life, but never taken a good look at.

“Why here?” she asked.

“Because when I walked out the door that night, I didn’t think I’d ever see you again, even if I wanted to.  Tomorrow morning we’ll walk out of here together and I won’t have to wonder where you are, I’ll know.  You’re with me.”

She turned from the window and put her hands on Hank’s chest.  His jacket was in her way so she pushed it off his shoulders and he shrugged it to the floor.  “I am with you,” she said.

“I thought that, you know technically, we began here.  And we can begin again here with something new.”

Stella nodded once and took a step closer to rest her head against Hank’s chest.  She put her arms around him and he wrapped his around her, swaying back and forth a little.

“It’s harder than I thought it would be,” she admitted.

“I know.”

“I want it though.”

“Stella, did you ever imagine that one night would lead us here?  Or even that weekend in LA.  Did you ever think, even for a second, that we’d end up where we are in this moment?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“You know, if we weren’t already married, I’d propose to you right now.”

“I would say yes.”

“What do you want to do now, Sherlock?  On our last night?”

“Mm.”  She breathed deeply and closed her eyes.  “Hot shower.  Room service.”

“Cheeseburger?”

“God, yes.”

“Fries?”

“I knew I married you for a reason.”

Hank gave her a squeeze and then let go.  “Take your shower.  I’ll place an order.”

Stella went one way towards the bathroom and Hank went the other towards the phone.  She pivoted when she was halfway, unbuttoning her blouse as she walked backwards.  “As I recall, the shower is large enough for two,” she said.

“You don’t have to ask me twice,” he answered, the hotel service guide on the end table in his hand.  “I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Don’t make me wait.”  She turned and shed her shirt just before the door to the bathroom.

“Hey, Sherlock,” he called to her, the phone at his ear.  “Think of this new life as an adventure.”

“It already has been, Watson.  A very lovely adventure.”

The End

[the-mira-life-project-mtf]

My MtF~H.R.T. Journey -- As Gender Nonconforming, People Still Love Me

Finding Acceptance Where I Though None Existed

     COMING OUT...IT ALWAYS OCCUR OVER AND OVER

     Back in 2018, I initially came out as gender-nonconforming as I did not want to fully convert as I was terrified of my family and being outcast by my friends. My transgender identity keep changing as I found myself adapting and becoming Mira. I was turning from gender-nonconforming and turning into gender-fluid.

     Even now, I am gender-fluid as I prefer to remain between genders. Male when it serves me and female when it comforts me. Since the start of 2019, both of my genders have been active with a case of a-gender to protect my feelings. Unknown to me, I have lived my life as a-gender as I have no set of pronouns and typically refer to myself as ‘they’ or ‘we’. However, since March of 2019...I have converted once more into a trans-woman as I am now on the path to turn my appearance and identity, female.

     To this day, I still call myself gender-nonconforming and gender-fluid as I know I will always have a male and female side, however, my trans-woman side will take dominance.

     MY NEW FAMILY IS LETTING MIRA BLOOM

     Ever since I have came out to the Messinger’s, I have witnessed Mira bloom. Even though I am the same person, I ‘feel’ different now. I feel allowed to act out my emotions, show love and seek family. My whole Transgender nature depended on the Messinger’s accepting me as Mira and since they did, that is why I am writing this.

     I was visiting the Messinger’s as I was dropping off some of my stuff from my old home as Michelle was sharing her day. “I had to take Ryan to the doctor today, we thought he might have a nasal polyps, and as a mom, I was concern for him.” I released a concerned groan as I listened from the stairs, which I was sitting upon. “Luckily it wan’t that, his nose has a deviated septum. Anyhow, I told him about you moving in with us and joining our family, he thinks that is a good idea. Then I told him about your other issue and he was excited. He said that he wants to help you!”

     “Oh?” I ask as I know that I will need all the help.

     “He said, if anyone messes with you, he will protect you. He can’t wait to do your makeup and do your hair...I told him that you need to ask him.” Michelle says as I thought about having makeup and having my hair done...looking feminine.

     REACHING OUT TO ONE WHO ONCE HATED THE GAYS

     Barb:  Your dad and I would love to get together with you. We could meet at a restaurant, your grandmother's house...wherever. Whenever, just let us know what works for you. Scratch Crisco's and AJ's ears for me.

Mira:  I certainly have been needing to have a revisit, and look forward to setting up a time.      Might have to be awhile, I am in the process of moving and transitioning to a new family who has asked to take me in (countless times). They are wonderful people, very loving and have been there for me when my family would not (besides you and Dad, who have came more times then my mother, which really means much to me). I believe their willingness to adopt me as a member of the family is due to the fact that Mitch lost both of his daughters to CF and for two years prior, one of his daughters named Amanda, was the one who keep pushing me to be tested for CF. If it wasn’t for her diligence, I probably would not be here today. So I feel indebted to the family, and I believe it is a way he can properly grieve and hope to save me from the mistakes he made with his own girls. Ironically, I am much healthier with them as they keep me true to my regiment and help with clearing my airways.      They are also willing to let me live my life without hiding an embarrassing secret, which I am certain will nevertheless have me excommunicated from the family. I am not certain how you both will take the news, and if you wish to distance yourselves, I would not be offended and honor your wishes. Only four people know this, and you’ve both been quite like family to me, so I will share it with you, so you can decide if you still want to visit:      Since I was seven years old, I’ve struggled with identity. I have come to a conclusion that my gender dysphoria was caused from being raised in a female-styled family with no male influence, many links to me being female started when I was nine, steroids I was taking for my asthma starting my development on the incorrect path. Teen years were not easy, my actions certainly were not masculine as I avoided sports and sang soprano in my choirs until I was 18 years old, then lowered to alto. With my failing health, and depression from hiding this from my family, and hearing their opinions about transgender individuals with borderline on the violent side, I lived a double-life. About five years ago, when I could not work, my health was crashing, grandfather passed away and my relationship with Ruth failed, I accepted my nature and began converting my identity. I am enrolled in hormone replacement therapy and have plans to change my name and identity once I am fully adopted into the new family.      I don’t press my views on other people (as that personally annoys me); and so I will not be ashamed or upset if you still wish to refer to me as David. However, my identity will be shifted to Mira Carlene Messinger probably by the summer.      It has taken me much will to write this, and again, I understand this is much to accept...it took me a year just to accept it myself. So I expect, and understand that many old relationships will be destroyed by this.      Please let me know your thoughts.      I will certainly pass on your love to Cisco and AJ...they love the attention!

Steve: Your my son and I love you, that will never change! Barb's cares about you. Search your heart; seek Jesus . Remember, your my son. I will not turn my back on you!! We love you. Dad.

Barb: David your dad and I love you, We love you as David and will love you as Mira. We still want to be part of your life and we still want to see you.

 Mira: That is so comforting to hear! I can’t express how happy it makes me, that both of you are so willing to except me for who I am!  I still like to meet-up, catch-up on how you’ve been doing. Hopefully sometime in May would be great! With all my love!

     I was shocked to see that Barb and my biological father were so accepting of my transgender nature. When I sent the message, I watched the message gain a thumbs-down, then a angry face and finally a thumbs-up. This was probably because the revelation was shocking for Barb and Steve that she did not know how to respond. (amended 9-26-2019 — misleading information in article has been corrected after learning family past)

     REKINDLING A LOST LOVE

     Back in 2016, Ruth (Bisexual) and I got into a fight while traveling the Oregon Coastline. We had dated for over eight years and after that August disruption, we called it an end. It wasn’t until 2018 when I reached out to Ruth to talk about my transgender revelation; but did not tell her I was taking hormones and wishing to become female. Today, I sent a message to her to see what she thought.

     I have started coming out to a selected few as I don’t want these people to feel bad when I come out officially in May. It is easier to privately speak to these people...preparing them for my transformation:

Mira:  Thank you so much for reaching out...it means a great deal to me! I just want to drop a few lines to bring you up to date about what is going on. Much is about to change in my life and a few are on board to see me through, and I want to inform you too before I decide to go public about my choices.      So, after long deliberation, I have decided to move from my grandparents place and to Mason county. This move is due to the nature of my health, knowing they will not be there for me, and placing myself in the hands of someone who has experience with treating end-stage cystic fibrosis. They have asked for me to come live with them, and willing to adopt me into their family permanently. For about a year I said no, but have decided that living there is best for my physical and mental health.      The second change that is coming soon is to align myself with my identity. I have been in deep consideration and reflection and last year, I decided to act upon my gender-fluid issue by taking hormones to correct my physical form. As you know, I closely identify as female over male, and my discomfort in my body made me isolated and unwilling to be affectionate. Sorry for the ordeal this has put upon you, since taking hormones...I’ve noticed that it is so much easier to be comfortable with myself and have became deeply empathetic. It is wonderful!      If this makes you uncomfortable, I apologize and totally understand your feelings and respect any decisions you make. I     f you are willing to continue our relationship, I would like to start over! I know the past two years had some strain and I hope my choices will help us become closer. This experience has been hard upon me as I fear losing people I love, but I think it is time. I have came out to my new family to see what they think and they fully support my decisions and will help me convert over time. By summertime, I hope to leave my old life behind and become Mira Carlene Messinger.      Let me know your thoughts.      I’d like to set up a time for us to see a movie, there is a sad one about cystic fibrosis in the theaters right now. I’ve read the book, it was well written and hauntingly accurate. We could wait and see Avengers Endgame. Maybe this summer we can take a few day trips until we feel comfortable to take longer ones. Love you!

Ruth:  Hi Mira, I must say I am in awe of your courage in embracing who you are. I must also say you were right about me in noticing the characters I identify with are primarily male, and I have suspected for awhile that am either bi-gender or identify as male.

     For the time being, I'm staying physically female, but I am absolutely willing to both continue our relationship and start over.

     Once you admitted to me that you are female, it was like the whole universe aligned and everything just made sense. I would love to see a movie with you, and have been wanting to see both the CF one and the Avengers one.

     I'm dog sitting at the moment and am enjoying the time to be the alpha male I am inside. BTW, if I had been born a man, my name would be Timothy. As things stand now, I identify as both Ruth and Timothy, although only you, my sister, and my shrinks know that.

     I love you, Mira, and am excited to date my new girlfriend. Much love,      Ruth/Timothy

Mira: Much love too Ruth/Timothy...I love that name, very pretty. Be curious to hear about it!

     Sorry my last message was rushed, was talking with my soon-to-be family; been busy planning my room and needs...it is all rather exciting!  Just wanted to acknowledge your wonderful comment.      I certainly love you, either as Ruth, Timothy or both! And I wish to express my sincere gratitude that you shared this with me.      I always was pleased that you played the masculine role in our relationship...and it comforts me to start anew as your girlfriend.      It will take some time to conform, but from what my mom and dad say, looks like I am conforming quite well...even my moms 13 year old daughter is going to help me adjust...and I can always use advice along the way.      I can’t express how excited for our first date! As Mira, my world has open...it is amazing and I can’t wait to legally take the name!      Have fun dog sitting my young Alpha and I look forward to even possibly sharing our first kiss.      Let me know when you are free sweetheart!      Mira

Ruth: I will be done dog sitting on Monday. On Tuesday I work at L'Arche, but I am free all other days. As for my male name, the story behind it is quite simple. Either ultrasonic imaging hadn't been invented yet, or my parents chose not to know my gender right off the bat. My parents each chose a name for me. Dad chose Ruth Ann if I was a girl, and Mom chose Timothy John if I was a boy. I feel like both

Mira: Oh...that is so awesome! That is so wonderful that you have both of your given names! You are blessed to have such a loving mom and dad! They are great people! My schedule is pretty free, will be gone the weekend to clam dig and then gone the third weekend. I have my facenra injection on the 19th, digging clams 20-24th at Ocean Shores and see my transgender physician on the 26th for the first time. Anytime next week be wonderful!

[wackygoofball]

Moodboard: Jaime x Brienne - Captain America AU

Note: After the Iron Man AU Moodboard was surprisingly well-received by you guys (I already thought it would bring the wrath of two fandoms merging upon me LOL), I went down that rabbit hole for more plot bunnies. So I wanted to do one that is more from Brienne’s perspective next, and that sent me down Captain America road. I know I hereby set myself as a Steve/Bucky shipper, even though the canon romances were assigned differently, but it is the relationship most heavily explored and has both at the same age across the different movies. Plus, you gotta give me that much: One blond Character A who is honorbound and brave past the point of sense who shares a significant relationship with Character B with GREAT hair whom A likes to banter with and trusts deeply, and also someone who also loses a limb in the course of the narrative, an arm no less. And no one else sees in Character B what Character A sees in B… the point is… I think JB work well for a Wackyfied version of Steve and Bucky in the Captain America franchise. But… enough of that, LOL. Let’s go down the MCU Rabbit Hole of No Return.

Brienne, formerly known as Captain Westeros, still has a hard time adjusting to the new age she now lives in, and that even though she is a relic from centuries ago, a super soldier who was put into cryostasis and now revived by a secret agency to aid them in defeating the same organization that took everything Brienne ever cared for away from her.

She came to care about the head of the organization, Davos Seaworth, and the young man who was assigned to her assistance, Podrick Payne. Even more so after they were there for her when Brienne had to bid Margaery Tyrell goodbye. She was the one person who lived long enough to see Brienne re-awaken, after Tyrion passed away while she was still asleep, even though Marge was an old lady by the time, a mirror image of her grandmother Olenna. Who could have guessed that Marge would turn out to be a founding member of the organization that now employs Brienne? It broke her heart to attend Margaery’s funeral, as it reminded Brienne of how her time should have been up the same way, long, long time ago. Marge at least lived her life. Pursued her career, helped create something she believed in, married, had children.

And what is there for Brienne other than service? Other than duty? Nothing much.

Back during the old days, Brienne made a choice and it predetermined her path all the way to here and now, and she doesn’t know what to make of all of this as of late. She doesn’t belong to this time, and she is not entirely sure whether she belongs to the agency at large, even though she has great faith in Davos and Pod. However, of that one thing she is certain: Brienne will bring down that organization that took so much away from her, even if it is the last thing on earth she does.

For him.

And so, she finds herself fighting bad guys along the way, back in her old, if updated, Captain Westeros suit alongside her shield which she named Oathkeeper. However, things take a sudden turn when she is up against a new, masked enemy with a metal arm destroying half the city. And to Brienne’s even greater shock, the man can handle catching her shield, something that normally no one can.  

Though that is only the beginning as the man turns out to be someone from her past.

“Jaime?!”

“Who the hell is Jaime?”

The man rushes off before Brienne can do as much as question him, but apparently, it is Jaime, the man she thought died in the mountains on the mission that changed her life forever.

“It was him. I know it. But how did he survive that fall?” Brienne questions once she reports back to the headquarters. “I thought he was dead.”

And she didn’t even get to hold him as he died.

“We have to find out what exactly happened,” Davos tells her. “Though I am afraid the man you knew may no longer be in there. For all it seems, the Faceless Men… changed him, erased everything from his memory to make him do what they want. He is their tool now, a very dangerous tool without mercy.”

“Doesn’t matter. I have to get him out of there,” Brienne insists. “I failed to protect him once, and I won’t repeat that mistake a second time.”

“The agency will demand of you to bring him down, I am afraid.”

“Then I suppose I am out. Sorry, Davos. I owe that man everything. So unless you can convince the officials to let me catch him alive, I will do just that without getting a permit. This is about a war hero, someone who was willing to make the ultimate sacrifice for our country, to keep the peace. And if we don’t even try at the very least to get him alive and cure him, I don’t know what this agency is meant to stand for. Or rather, if that is the case, I know that I can’t stand for it. Because that isn’t just.”

With that, Brienne takes off. While she dedicated many years of her life to nothing but service to the government, there is one thing where she finds it has to stop, and that is Jaime Lannister.

Because, if not for him, Brienne doesn’t know where she would have ended up.

He saved her when no one else even so much as looked at her.

It was him, always only him.

Brienne met Jaime in a gym at King’s Landing what is now seventy years ago. She went there after the closing hours to get her head clear when she was yet again refused from active duty at the military. While they were fine offering her an administrative position, they refused to let Brienne enter the warzone like any other male soldier. And then she ran into a commander fallen from grace after Jaime killed Admiral Aerys Targaryen while on active duty. Though to her surprise, she found that the man was not at all what he seemed to be because Jaime was the first one to accept this ugly, mannish woman and understand her wish to serve as he shared just that sentiment.

“I joined even though my father had pulled threads to bypass the draft for me. I told him to fuck himself and enlisted on my own. Well, now I have to live off of the small fortune I have earned myself as a soldier, but the family wealth is gone for me. Though it’s worth it, I guess. The apartment is big enough for one person and I get to do what I want to do. Even if no one wants to see the honor of the act.”

It wasn’t until long that the two developed a deep friendship, though it was soon put to the test when Brienne received the devastating news that her home island Tarth had been bombed, in the process of which it was almost entirely destroyed. And no one, including her father, survived the vicious attack. Thus, she stood there without money, without a place to stay as her father had provided for all of it, and it was Jaime who instantly took her in, helped her arrange the funeral and held her hand as Admiral Selwyn Tarth was given the last honors.

Jaime was the first man who made her feel less lonely in this world, but her wish to join the military only ever gained power as Brienne wanted to avenge her father as well and bring those people to justice who bombed an entire island just for strategic gain. Her wish expanded off-limits when Jaime received the news that he was back in the draft as they could not afford to leave one of the most able men out of service against the odds of his reputation.

“Seems like I get a shot at earning my spot as a war hero after all, wench.”

After a dance that never happened and Jaime’s departure to the North to join the forces there, Brienne found herself soon approached by Jaime’s brother Tyrion, a scientist who also worked for the military, whom Jaime had tasked to “look after her,” though the dwarf had other intentions: He found a loophole that allowed Brienne to join active duty as he worked for the agency at a higher level than those who kept refusing her. For that, all Brienne had to do was to become his “guinea pig” as Tyrion meant to turn the tide in the war with genetically enhanced super soldiers to defeat the underlying threat of the Faceless Men who had successfully moved the chess pieces in such a way that countries went to war. All she had to do was sign a contract with the Special Forces, which is what Brienne did. The fact that the experiment turned her even more mannish and stronger than she was by nature didn’t matter much to her as Brienne was only driven by one idea: To finally get into the warzone and hopefully reunite with Jaime.

When the experimentation phase was over, Brienne was finally granted the privilege to put together a team, and she instantly wanted to enlist Jaime, only to find out that he had been taken by the Faceless Men. The generals gave her little hope that he had survived, but Brienne insisted on going anyway, and thus headed North with the rest of the team to where they suspected the hideout. And indeed, Jaime was alive by the time they got there, though the man was very much shocked to see Brienne after all this time.

“Wench?!”

“I thought you were dead.”

“I thought you were... not that tall last time I saw you. And you were a giantess already.”

“I should just leave you here.”

“Nah, you love me too much to leave me behind. Plus, honor compels you and all.”

With Jaime reunited, Brienne thought things were finally going right. She could fight by Jaime’s side and they were taking on the people who had staged the war that had cost them all so very much. It was like a dream, but that dream then turned nightmare when another mission in the North cost her everything all over: Jaime fell off a train, and to his death, which left Brienne completely devastated.

Government shut down the Special Forces team thereafter, deeming it too ineffective to end the Faceless Men, though Brienne didn’t care much about it by the time as the loss of Jaime consumed her.  

Things took a sudden turn in another direction when Brienne was approached by Margaery Tyrell, a young officer at the military who told her upon first meeting that she owed Brienne her career:

“If not for you, there never would have been women on active duty. And while I still like to recruit rather than get my hands on a gun, it is thanks to you that we have the chance to do it ever since, Captain.”

As it turned out, there was a secret effort by some officers, including Margaery, to revive the Special Forces to bring down the Faceless Men after they received some vital information about who were the people behind it, one name most prominent being Red Skull, an ominous figure somehow connected to a businessman named Jaqen H’ghar. Since Brienne had nothing much to lose, she enlisted and was given what Margaery called “an overall outfit upgrade.” And so, with new suit and shield made of Valyrian steel which Brienne named Oathkeeper in Jaime’s honor, they went on the hunt again.

They were very close to finally catching Red Skull as they figured out that he was the same man as Jaqen H’ghar in disguise, but the man was determined to see chaos spread, which is why Red Skull was willing to use remaining wildfire resources hidden underneath King’s Landing to blow up the city to blame the attack on opposite parties to keep the war running. Brienne managed to load the missiles on a jet and fly it into the Narrow Sea, even at the risk of her own life. After all, she had nothing to lose anymore.

She lost everything when Jaime fell to his death.

However, as it turned out, it wasn’t the end for Captain Westeros as Brienne opened her eyes again seventy years later, only to come face to face with the man she thought had died half a year before the decisive day that she crashed into the ocean.

Which means that there is something to lose again, or rather, something to gain again if she acts fast enough and makes sure Jaime doesn’t slip away from her another time, no matter the costs, no matter the sacrifice.

Now known as the Winter Commander, Jaime has become an integral member of the Faceless Men. Brienne has to learn that they did indeed rescue him after the fall, which Jaime barely survived, in order to erase all memory from Jaime’s mind and thus use him as a pawn to continue to spread chaos across the Seven Kingdoms and take out vital political figures to further the interest of the Faceless Men who have since profited from the ongoing wars.

They make their money with the dead after all.

Alone on her quest of catching Jaime alive, Brienne thus has to fight not just the agency she wants to defeat anyway, but also has to deal with the circumstance that she is considered a criminal now in the eyes of her government. However, Brienne won’t let that stop her.

This is not the end of the line for them just yet, she won’t let it be.

And so, Brienne hunts down the Winter Commander and under much, much effort, manages to overpower Jaime and bring him to a safe hideout, as Podrick still aids her in secret, an order Brienne knows comes from Davos, though he would not admit it as he is still running the agency. At first, Brienne fears that there is no way to bring him back, but as she keeps talking to Jaime, the memories seem to resurface at last:

“Jaime, do you remember me?”

“Your dad's name was Selwyn. You broke off the heels of a new pair of shoes one time to chase down a thief and the high heels were in the way.”

While Brienne is overjoyed that Jaime finally comes to remember her and their shared past, they are made painfully aware that even a safe hideout isn’t safe for them. They are both wanted targets, by government and Faceless Men alike, and both are eager to take them out – and have the resources to carry it out.

They have to continuously run away from either agency hunting them down as they try to find a way to ensure that Jaime won’t slip back into the Winter Commander persona. However, that is not the end of the struggle as Jaime remains convinced that he is past the point of being saved. Now that he remembers both the past and what he did while operating as the Winter Commander, he knows that he has done horrid deeds for the Faceless Men to keep the war running he once tried to prevent alongside Brienne. And to make matters worse, he has to realize soon enough that his corruption may well mean that of the woman he cares about so much as well. Because Brienne is an honorable person, past the point of sense at times, and to see her being framed as a villain, as a public enemy, tears Jaime apart even more than does all of this anyway. Which is why he, time and time again, suggests to Brienne to simply turn him over to her agency and let them end it, something that Brienne resolutely refuses.

“But I am dangerous. You have seen it, you have felt it. I am a monster.”

“Not to me. I knocked you into the dust before, remember? I can overpower you to this day, Jaime, nothing has changed about that ever since I took apart the guys who talked behind your back in my presence.”

“The Faceless Men messed with my brain. You can’t defeat that with muscle strength, wench, that’s the whole problem.”

“Then we just have to find a solution. The way we always did, the way we always do.”

While Jaime remains skeptical about the success of the mission, he finds himself joining Brienne on the quest for a solution. Thus, the two team up to find information on the Faceless Men to find those responsible who turned Jaime. If they manage to expose that conspiracy, they may clear his name and thus get means from the government to work on his healing rather than his erasure from the face of the earth.

And the closer they are forced to stand together in the face of the omnipresent danger all around, the two have to discover, or rather rediscover feelings that they have kept hidden for so many years, centuries in fact.

While the two find old feelings burning up even stronger than before, they struggle to dodge the bullets aimed at them from all sides. However, much worse trouble is ahead of them when agents from the Faceless Men are ordered to reset Jaime and turn him back into the submissive Winter Commander as they have the word combination it takes to make Jaime forget all about his life and only remember the mission the Faceless Men assign to him. And it may be that Brienne will lose Jaime another time, unless they find a way to defeat the Faceless Men, stop their schemes for another war they plan on, and make sure Jaime stays Jaime, just Jaime…

Additional Image Sources: Captain America: The First Avenger (2011), Captain America: The Winter Soldier (2014), Captain America: Civil War (2016).

[sparda3g]

Tokyo Ghoul:re Chapter 171 Review

Emotional attachment can lead to complexity within a person. “Easier said than done” is one quote that will be thrown around a lot when it comes to settling the issue. It’s up to their companion to relieve them from despair or among themselves to accept it. The arc is drawing near to the end as one battle ends, another one coming to a close. After a long period of waiting, it was well worth it for this emotional driven chapter.

It’s a bit challenging to say which scenario is the best part of the chapter. Sometimes I like the first half more, sometimes I like the latter. Both scenarios carry the similar theme of attachment to the world and its people, human and ghoul. When it comes to connecting themes and character’s growth, Ishida shines brightly with his delivering on his compelling characters.

I thought the last chapter concluded the battle between Yomo and Uta, but instead, we got a definitive ending here and it’s all for the better. It’s good to know Uta didn’t die from that devastating attack. Granted, I had a hunch he was going to live, but if he did die, that would be a bit easy. The chapter treated us with a really delightful ending to their bout and if there’s more room for the series, a really good future for the two.

Uta goes into greater detail on his thoughts on life itself. The way how he described his life in the past compare to the present somewhat reminds me of Citizen Kane. In that film, there’s this “checkpoint” of a man’s life that often look back and think that’s where the path was decided. Uta had fun back then because nothing in life mattered, even when they break their legs, him and Yomo. It began to change when Yomo was heading towards a different path alas Anteiku with Yoshimura. If Uta doesn’t follow or move anywhere else, what does he have left?

I thought it was pretty sad that Uta did in fact try to help Yomo to avenge his sister because it was like his way to keep him together. You know how many stories go about revenge won’t reward you greatly, if not any. This one is no different but it doesn’t address the obvious, rather use strong words to not only address the morale but connect to Uta’s despair. They couldn’t avenge for Yomo’s behalf, but now, Yomo has move ahead of it, because the world is changing.

Uta is a man that watches the world change but don’t adapt any of it. He has tried enough to adjust, or rather recover from the losses but he just couldn’t change. Every man adapts differently; he’s just harder to crack open. Honestly speaking, I am amazed and moved by Yomo as of late, which is funny considering how much of a mute guy he was. I know he let out his inner feelings when the moment is right, but his connections and thoughts speak to me.

Yomo comes off genuine with his words that it’s a bit unbelievable. Okay, no more knocking on him; I actually like his character a lot. The thing about his words is the fact they are sincere and relatable. He doesn’t come off as a leader or spokesman for a noble peace prize; it’s just two friends talking like friends. Surprising how Yomo did once come close to become another Uta on simply saying life sucks. He lost many loved ones before joining with Anteiku and convinced himself that cruelty is inevitable. When the café was burnt down, his reaction didn’t match up to his thoughts. Easier said than done.

It’s relatable to his thoughts about what should he have done instead of following orders to stand back and watch it fall. Many of us would often think about the past action and debate if it was a mistake or not. What I really like about Yomo transcribing his past is how we get a better view of his character. He was a mute person, but his subtle reaction clued you in how he really felt about it. The most obvious display is against Arima, but it’s also the moment of change for the better.

It’s ironic due to how Arima revolved Yomo’s character for past vengeance yet it intertwined with the present with Ayato and Touka. It’s no longer about fighting for the past cause. It connects very well to theme of attachment since Yomo is now fighting forward to see what rewards him, good or bad. Uta was avoiding the change around him, so nothing seem to progress. He’s there to adjust other’s life. Yomo is part of the world changing and contributing it till the end, hence soon to be a grand uncle. Best grand uncle ever, that’s for sure.

It has a charming way to end the grudge with Yomo willing to allow Uta to earn his desire. Yomo only wants for the best for others and prefer to be taken alone and him alone. It makes sense since Uta was only part of Clowns to change shape of others, even though his target has been only on Yomo. I like how Uta’s reply simply state that they are adults now. These two had a good sit down chat over their problems and reason each other like adults. It also implies he is finally stepping forward and hopefully for a better path.

The charm is how they start talking like good friends again. The topic is amusing because even the characters themselves can see the obvious pairing that is Kaneki and Touka. Who knew that they’re shippers since the beginning? I still remember when Uta asked Kaneki on his opinion on Touka; now it makes sense. The parallel panel is a nice way to end the battle; past or present, some things never change.

The rest of the chapter belongs to Amon and Donato though not without some new revealing details that was well timed for connecting themes. You got to credit Amon to keep on striving against Donato, even against the odds. I know some fans are tired of him getting wrecked, even though most of them are understandable; however, this time is actually relatable, reasonable, and powerful.

To my surprise, Takizawa isn’t there to join along the battle with Amon or even watch him to die. I was certain that the former was going to happen. It came close that Takizawa was pulling the old Shounen method of “Don’t interfere. He is fighting for his honor!” However, the reason to not to interfere is valid because Amon is actually struggling to himself. It wasn’t because Amon is weak or outclassed completely, though wouldn’t mind to be the case. He simply can’t kill Donato due to his attachment.

Whatever the missing pieces from the last chapter were are found here, including Tomoe. Like I said before, she had the perfect chance to kill Amon, but she didn’t do anything. Although she has some pity, it shouldn’t stop her. What stopped her is fear of losing a purpose. All she has left is vengeance and that can be settled now if she like, but then what? Not a single word came out from her after that thought. It’s a small yet valuable moral to exploit on fearing to fulfill their selfish wish.

The part that got me compelled is the flashback scene with Takizawa versus Houji, back at Rue Island. It was a bout that was skipped entirely, and I never knew why. With how Ishida put two and two together, I can understand clearly why it was on hold. In retrospect, fans including me believed Takizawa overwhelmed everyone, but the truth is in and it turns out that Houji held back and accepted death.

It humanizes the theme further because that bout was more emotional influence than a typical a monster versus humans. I was left believing Houji was a cold guy that had no remorse, even though I believed he drew a tear while confirming their next target. Takizawa was a loose cannon but that one expression opened his mind; Houji did care and felt sadden to end up this way. You can argue on why he was sad like regretting to save him before, but the bottom line is he was hindered by emotion and Takizawa technically took it for granted.

Basically, Takizawa’s purpose is to watch Amon develop or die before anything. If he steps in and somehow defeats Donato, what does Amon gain from it? It’s equivalent to a guy who wanted revenge on a criminal, only to be killed by another. No lesson will be learned and if there’s no other way around it, the man is lost. Amon has always been one of my favorite characters of the franchise. I find it appealing whenever he gets a development. While the bout as a whole is pretty solid, it transpires to one of the best humanized development that the series has offered so far.

What intrigued me about Amon the most is his justice system and his origin with Donato. Normally, it would be a simple premise with a boy who grew up with an evil father-figure, now against his kind. While he did embark that journey, he however remained attached to him despite everything he stands for. This portion would challenge readers if they are fine with his struggle despite one is clearly evil. The context is what saved it for me and bonus, shined his character deeper.

It’s a complicated scenario where a character meets his/her faithful enemy who is also the one who fathered them. It has a great parallel display of his tie with Kaneki and the current situation. The two prime examples of his divine character development. He has stuck to the code of justice system based on CCG. His hatred from his past went on Ghouls and killed them for what he believed was right. Once he becomes a ghoul, his view started to change.

It’s a shame that those who are so high up on their code would be forced to be a Ghoul alas force them to wear their shoes. He established a while back that not all Ghouls are evil but they are classified as one, so that may never change. I do wonder about the aftermath, which I still press on for part 3 as long as there are other elements left unsolved. Basically, Amon established both Human and Ghoul are largely the same, and yet he can define who is real evil and Donato is one. So why can he kill him if that’s the case?

The most powerful part is how he finally developed his view about the world being twisted. Remember how he told Ghouls or Kaneki to be specific that they’re the one that ruined it. After what he has gone through, he realizes the world would be twisted by anyone and among them is him. If he let Donato roam free, he is no better than anyone he’s against; a cruel irony. It’s intriguing with Takizawa realizing late of Houji’s emotional attachment result to a sad end while Amon realizing late would result to a good end. Not everyone have a same meaning and he has to deal with it.

The ending is interesting. Amon makes a sword shape weapon, though it can be considered as a cross; a fitting design. Donato looks at him and smiles like a proud father. Amon finally pushes through and takes a huge portion of his left’s side body; similar with Kaneki to Amon in Part 1. Amon actually concludes that he loved Donato and he can’t be hold back because of it.

If it wasn’t for its context and delivery, it would be difficult for readers to accept to like a murderer. The point is Amon and Donato did come a long way in their life in the orphanage. It’s hard to dispute any connection and detach any love they harbored in the past, especially since childhood for Amon. Growing up as such isn’t easy to forget and set free. Even if he seeks for vengeance, it didn’t grow out of air. The bond exists and he had to accept that fact no matter if it is wrong.

After a long break, this chapter was a great return with emotional connection with these characters. The art is pretty solid with its nice use of parallels and expressive feelings. Yomo and Uta have a relaxing bromance ending and Amon and Donato are closing their feud soon with a strong message. It seems like this arc will end in this volume. It’s a only matter of time.

[khaleesi-in-the-north]

In the Crosshairs (33/?)

@waverlys

The first time Margaery pulls the trigger of her brother’s semi-automatic pistol, she nearly drops it. The two shots it fired off before she let go of the trigger leave her ears ringing. The bullets scream several feet to the left of the target.

                    “Don’t be scared of it Margaery,” Loras positions her arms to point straight at the target, a couch cushion. “You have to keep your arms still, but don’t brace them to be inflexible. Give the gun room to recoil.”

                    The second pull doesn’t startle her as much, but she still veers wide left of the target. She adjusts her stance and re-aims the gun. This time she misses shoots too high and right.

                    Half way through their lesson she finally hits the target. Barely, but it’s progress. She’s able to hit it a few more times before Jon comes out.

                    “Nice as all this training is, you should wrap it up. We’ve got a long day travelin’ tomorrow. And I’d like to preserve some of our ammo just in case,” he smiles to show he’s joking, but Loras doesn’t take kindly to the interruption. Still, he holds his tongue, allowing Margaery to relax.

                    He still wasn’t getting along well with anyone except herself and Obara. Meals were awkward. Margaery had taken back to chatting with Sansa and Jon. Whenever she would attempt to engage Loras in their conversation, he would give tense and short replies to extrac himself from the talk as quickly as possible. When he did talk, it was with Obara in huddled conversation.

                    It had only been 48 hours, but Obara had adjusted well since Margaery let her down. She still helped with the training, even if she was a little rougher than before. And after the first day, she even cracked a joke to make Margaery laugh after knocking her on her arse. It gave her hope that they could actually maintain a friendship.

                    **************************

                    She knows they’ve reached King’s Landing when the car begins reeking of sewage waste. South side of the city where her old apartment was, and the east side don’t like dung, but the North side still harbors the old sewage plant. It’s also the home to the most impoverished people in the country. The sheer number of security checkpoints set up for hounds to sniff for drugs means Margaery is relegated to hiding beneath the seats to ensure no one recognizes her.

                    Once they Baelish’s parking garage, Jon double taps the seat, their code for when it’s safe to come up. As she comes up, she notices Jon looking at a photo of himself and Ygritte on his phone. “Are you going to visit her?” Margaery asks.

                    Jon shakes his head. “I want her safe. Until Cersei is delt with, Ygritte is safest away from me.”

                    “If she finds out you’re in the city and avoiding her because of safety, she’s going to hunt you down Jon,” Margaery reminds him.

                    A smile creeps across his face. He slides to the next picture, one of him, Ygritte, Margaery and Alayne on an outing to the amusement park. It was just under a year ago, but it felt longer.

                    Both cars pull into parking slots simultaneously. Margaery follows Jon out of the backseat. She steps toward Sansa’s car, but is cut off a flood of henchmen who rush to unload Sansa’s things. Arya greets her sister, leading her out of the parking garage and away from Margaery.

                    Loras, Oberyn and Obara follow Jon, the defacto tour giver. Margaery doesn’t budge. She has no desire for a walk down memory lane. She does, however, need to lug her bags in. She hoists one over her shoulder and bends for the next, but a large hand scoops it out of her view. She straightens up to find Brienne towering above her with the most awkward and forced grin Margaery has seen since Megga told Elinor she was okay with her dating her ex.

                    “Ms. Tyrell. I would be honored if you allowed me to take your things to your room.” She sounds sincere enough.

                    Margaery plasters on her own far more convincing smile. “Of course, Brienne.”

                    As they walk in uncomfortable silence, Margaery wonders what Loras would do right now. Would he lose his temper and go for the woman now, or reign it in enough to appear complacent.

                    “Your brother…is he doing well?” Brienne finally asks.

                    “Fine, thank you. He’s adjusted quite well,” she lies.

                    Brienne accepts it without a second thought. “Good. Do you think he would be open to speaking with me? I feel so badly about Renly. He needs to know that. I never would have taken that shot if I knew Renly was going to do that. I’ve regretted it ever since, and he was such a kind friend to me and…”

                    Margaery pats her arm as if they are friends that go back years. “He understands. He’s a bit tired though from traveling and wants to right his mind for the mission. Forgive him if he’s not the most forthcoming with you.”

                    The truth was that Loras would go out of his way to avoid Brienne until a confrontation was impossible to avoid. Margaery prays that the situation is not forced for two more days. After that, Loras can do whatever he likes.

                     “Of course,” Brienne leads her up a set of stairs Margaery hadn’t seen during her escape with Ygritte. They open into a hallway lined with windows, far better lit than the dungeon of a basement she had been in before. “I don’t expect forgiveness. I can’t forgive myself. I want him to know it wasn’t on purpose though. I’d give anything to bring Renly back.”

                    Margaery lightly grasps Brienne’s shoulder in a seemingly friendly gesture. “We’d all give anything for him. He is not returning though. We must move on and make the best of the situation we are left with.”

                    Brienne nods, turning right and opening a door for Margaery. She allows Margaery to step in and follows her. She places the bag by a cherry wood dresser. Margaery puts her own bag at the foot of the bed. The room looks homey, yet fancy. Salmon painted walls, a four-poster bed, elegant mirrors on the dressers, leading into an insuite bathroom.

                    “I apologize for any stress I caused you as well, Ms. Tyrell. Although it was a dangerous situation, I could have handled it better. I failed you and Ms. Stark in insuring your safety. Can you forgive me?” Brienne ducks her head, hands clasped behind her back. A soldier accepting repudiation for ill behavior would not look so gallant. It makes it harder for Margaery’s words to be a lie.

                    “Yes, Brienne. You have my understanding and forgiveness,” She turns her back on Brienne and pretends to bend for her bag. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to freshen up before whatever events this evening has in store.”

                    “Yes, Ms. Tyrell,” Brienne’s footsteps thump toward the door. “I’ll let Ms. Stark know you’ve taken to your room once I see her.” She shuts the door behind her.

                    Margaery unzips the bag on the bed and takes out fresh clothes and goes to the bathroom. It’s nicely decorated and more upscale than the space she had stayed in before. This part of the building must be used to keep up with appearances. A place intended more for the façade and less for use as the headquarters for an underground mafia.

                    She’s redressed and refreshed in time for someone to knock on the door. She expects Loras or Sansa, or even Obara. Certainly not Arya.

                    “Is there a meeting I’m needed for?” Margaery’s eyebrows knit together. She could understand why one of them would come fetch her, but not both.

                    Arya shakes her head. “You’re not needed with them.”

                    “Actually, I was…” Margaery begins.

                    “Let’s rephrase that. We’re going to come have a chat, Margaery,” Arya cuts her off.

                    She’s left with little choice but to follow Arya and Jon down the hall and into a dim lit room with wood panel walls. The Stark mafia insignia hangs on banner on the left wall. Photos of Ned Stark, Catelyn Stark, and what Margaery can only presume are Ned’s sons and a beast of a dog that must be Robb’s hound ornament the shelves. In the center of the adjacent wall is a massive sword. It looks authentic and sharp enough to pierce her skin with a prick.

                    “Is this the point where the mafia threatens me to stay silent or send me down the river?” Margaery asks, lacking all irony.

                    Arya folds her arms as she stares at the sword on the wall. She slowly approaches it, stopping two feet away.

                    “Something like that.” Arya’s pose reminds Margaery of a sergeant training cadets in for battle. Stiff but fluid. She twists around on her heel. “Everything in this room used to belong to my father. What little survived the fire is locked away. These pictures were at his headquarters in Winterfell. His jacket is in the closet. Ice was his most treasured possession.” She gestures to the sword behind her.

                    The name triggers memories of the sword tattoo on Sansa’s thigh. It has a similar pommel and exact blade shape. She’d always wondered why Alayne had the sword and word permanently inscribed on her skin. That one had always stood out the most to her.

                    “It’s a beautiful sword,” Margaery murmurs. She keeps her eyes trained on Arya. The mistress of disguises paces in long measured strides.

                    “Father used to say it was passed from generation to generation as a reminder of the trials the First Men faced during the harsh winter months. That sword slew wolves, elk, and dragons if the legends are to be believed….This is more than a mission to avenge our family. Pleasant as it will be to see Cersei Lannister with the chill of death over her body, this is for the greater good of the North. Peace and stability for our people. Listen, Tyrell. This is not the time for games. Whatever grudges you may still hold against Sansa and Jon are to be forgotten from this moment. Understood?”

                    “I have no grudges,” Margaery’s voice hardens at Arya’s accusatory tone. If she still had issue with Sansa, who was this girl to tell her to let them go?

                    “I doubt that. You can tell yourself that all you’d like. I did. I let it fester within me for years, motivating me until the moment came. And vengeance tasted sweet. Should anything go wrong with this mission, I’m sure my vengeance will taste just as sweet when it comes upon you.”

                    She’s not about to let herself be cowed.

                    “Is that a threat dear, or a promise? If it’s the first, you need to work on your delivery. You’re not as menacing as you believe. If it’s the second, I believe you’ll find yourself disappointed. Fortunately for both of us, we have a common enemy. I’m far too concerned with the woman who’s hunting for my head to worry about past…discrepancies.” she smirks at the flicker of surprise across Arya’s face.

                    It returns to an unreadable mask just as quickly as it broke. “Take it as both. And stay out of Sansa’s way. Your presence will enough of a liability. Pointing a revolver at a target isn’t the same as shooting a man twice your size. Have you ever watched a man die, Margaery? Not just seen, but watched the life leave his eyes? His last puff of breath lingers in the air just a second before his lips begin to cool and his face pales. I’ve never regretted watching a Lannister die. Do you really understand what you’re doing?”

                    She sees it all replay in her mind again. Renly falling from the bullet. Struggling for breath. Eyes blinking a final time before staring blankly at the ceiling.

                    “I will handle myself. I know you won’t worry your pretty head about me out there, nor do I want you to.”

                    Arya comes closer, tilting her head up to meet Margaery’s eyes. “I won’t worry the least about you. Sansa will. Which brings us back to the core of our problem.”

                    Me or the mission, Margaery realizes. “There won’t be a decision. Sansa will do what she needs to, regardless of what happens to me.”

                    Despite the pressure of tears in her eyes, she maintains a straight face. She’s not sure why it’s so difficult to say. She’s known all along she would be the weak link. A liability in the field, no matter how useful she was in the preparation. The what if’s of failure had never felt so real before. Even when she was on the run from Sansa and Cersei, Margaery knew she had certain advantages. Her life never felt endangered at insurmountable odds. Yet the way Arya speaks, she might as well be making a blood oath for her casket size.

                    Does Sansa see her this way? Perhaps Arya is merely the vessel for Sansa’s own concerns. Between herself and the entire North, Sansa would choose her people. Margaery has no doubts about that. That doesn’t mean Sansa wouldn’t feel guilty. All along she’s been trying to protect both simultaneously. She believes Sansa loves her. Love isn’t always enough.

                    “Thank you. We have an understanding then,” Arya nods. “Watch for yourself and don’t drag any of us down.”

                    “Never been clearer,” Margaery mutters.

                    She heads for the door, ignoring the irritation she feels bubbling that she waited until Arya had clearly dismissed her to leave and not left sooner. Alliances only go so deep. Whatever she has with Sansa, the Stark Mafia is not her friend. It’s a partnership of convenience.

                    She marches down the hall, back to her room. She steps aside as Sansa rounds the corner with Baelish and a handful of other mafia members. Sansa leans over Baelish’s arm to read a report as a round man with a long chubby face and cropped white hair drones dully about the increased security personnel he has observed around the Lannister mansion in recent days. They almost go by without any acknowledgement until Sansa halts. Her entourage continues on, seemingly unaware that their leader has not.

                    Margaery is also unaware, about to continue back to her room when she feels a tapping on her shoulder. She turns back to find Sansa looking down upon her with a slight frown. From her periphery, she notices that the rest of the Stark mafia has finally noticed and waited.

                    “Babe, we’re heading to the kitchen for dinner. Join us? We were just talking about entrance points and your opinion could be useful,” Sansa offers. The desire to include her is sweet and would warm Margaery’s heart had it not been for the grimaces her trusted men and women wore. Only Petyr maintained a neutral face, which told her all she needed to know about how the mafia felt about her. They shared a mind with Arya.

                    “I’d love to, darling, but I’m tired and not feeling well. I think I’ll just catch some sleep,” she takes a small step back.

                    “Oh,” Sansa’s hands fall over the top of Margaery’s, holding her in place a moment longer. “I’ll bring you back something in case you feel better.”

                    “Thank you,” Margaery rises on her toes and kisses Sansa’s cheek, allowing herself to indulge a second longer than normal. She can feel the glares of the mafia drilling into her, warding her from their leader.

                    Margaery slips her hands out from underneath Sansa’s and wanders back to her room. She knows where she stands with the mafia and it shouldn’t surprise her in the least. Especially the Starks.